Beyond the Quiet Hills (30 page)

After she had washed her face and slipped on a cool cotton dress with a white apron over it, she checked on Hannah and Joshua, who were both still sleeping, and then moved into the kitchen. Skillfully she built up the fire until it roared in the fireplace. Heating water in a kettle, she made herself a pot of tea, then stepped outside to watch the sun creep up over the horizon as she sipped from the china cup. She liked the early hours of the morning, savoring the coolness of it, and the silence that lay over the homestead. Even as she finished the cup, the clarion call of the big red rooster shattered the morning silence. She smiled quietly and spoke aloud, “Right on time. I wonder how you know to do that.”

Moving back inside the cabin, Elizabeth was startled as she moved across the puncheon floor. A clatter of pots and pans falling in the fireplace made her blink, and she ran to see the green sapling that Hawk had wedged across the back of the fireplace had burned through.

“Oh no!” she muttered under her breath and quickly made efforts to pull the different utensils out of the fire.

“What's going on?” Hawk entered the room, wearing only a pair of trousers, his hair ruffled and his eyes crinkled with sleep. “Sounds like the house fell down.”

“I told you that green sapling wouldn't work, Hawk!” Elizabeth said with exasperation. “It burned through! Now I can't get the utensils out!”

“Let me do it.” Hawk crossed the room and, using the poker, managed to extricate all the utensils. “I'll go by the forge in the village and get an iron rod. That won't burn through,” he said.

“That would be fine.” She sighed and shook her head. “It seems like the harder we work on this place, the more things there are to do.”

Laughing, Hawk came over and put his arms around her. The smooth muscles of his back and chest tightened as he held her closely. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “If the worst thing that happened to us would be some pots falling into the fire, I'd say we were fortunate.”

“I know you're right,” she said. She leaned against him, putting her cheek against his chest, her arms around his back. They stood there quietly for a moment, then she shoved him back with a laugh, saying, “You go get shaved. I've got to fix breakfast.”

“Fix a big one. I'm pretty hungry.” Hawk returned to the bedroom to shave while Elizabeth turned back to her cooking.

“What do you want for breakfast?” she called through the door.

“Dressed eggs and johnny cakes.”

Elizabeth was a good cook, having learned from the other frontier women, and she quickly made the preparations for the dressed eggs. When she was done, she made the johnny cakes. She had made them so often that she did not even have to think. She heated water and butter in an iron saucepan, and when it was bubbling, she poured in cornmeal, salt, and sugar. She did not even have to measure them exactly. Afterward she added milk and stirred the batter until it was well mixed.

Her movements were methodical as she reached over and got a black skillet, which she set over the fire on a spider—an iron contraption designed to hold a skillet over the hot coals. As soon as the skillet was hot, she took a wooden spoon and dropped six spoonfuls of the batter in the skillet. While the johnny cakes were cooking to a golden brown, she boiled the eggs. Before she started, she heated her long-handled shovel, which everyone called a salamander, in the fire until it was red-hot. After the eggs were cracked and cooking, but not hard, she held the red-hot salamander over the eggs to cook the tops. When they were cooked, she set them out on a plate, covered them with a cloth, then turned again to the johnny cakes, which were now a golden brown.

Knowing her family's appetite, she made double portions and then cut up parts of a ham and fried the slices over low heat. She poured the grease out into a small saucepan, then poured cold water over the grease and heated it until the gravy was bubbling hot.

By the time she had finished the breakfast, the family had gathered, and Hawk sat down at the head of the table, where he asked a blessing.

“What happened at the meeting?” Elizabeth asked at once.

Along with Paul, Sequatchie, James Robertson, and William Faulin, a trader among the Cherokee who was highly respected by the Indians, Hawk had attended a meeting with the Cherokee chiefs. He smeared one of the johnny cakes with apple butter and took a huge bite. Chewing around it, he said, “It was a fairly close thing. Wars have been started over smaller things than what happened at the celebration. Cherokee Billie was very popular, and I thought for a time that even Attacullaculla wouldn't be able to stop the hotheads among the Cherokee.”

Andrew piped up. “You think they'll try to get even—for the murder of Cherokee Billie?”

“Dragging Canoe would.”

“That's Attacullaculla's son, isn't it?” Jacob asked.

“That's right. He's got a temper like I've never seen. Nothing at all like his father.”

“What did he want to do, Pa?” Sarah asked. She was stuffing eggs in her mouth despite her mother's admonitions and could hardly be understood. “Will there be a war?”

“No. Attacullaculla and the older chiefs prevailed. There won't be a war, right now, at least.” He picked up his tea and sipped it, his eyes thoughtful. “James Robertson says we've got another problem.”

“You mean with the Cherokee?” Elizabeth inquired. She got up and refilled the cups with tea, then sat down again, listening as Hawk explained.

“We found out that the Shawnee, down in the Ohio country, are trying to get the Cherokee to join them. They are making a war against Lord Dunmore, the Lieutenant Governor of Virginia. Dunmore claims the whole region the Indians call Can-tuc-kee. He says they got a treaty with the Iroquois.”

“Do you think the Cherokee will do it?” Elizabeth asked as she fed Joshua the last of his breakfast.

“No. Dragging Canoe would, and the younger warriors, but the older ones do not want a war.”

As they sat around the table, all of them knew that the idyllic peace that had been in the Watauga area could be broken in one day. All except Jacob and the youngsters had heard the screams of maddened Indians, and also the moans of the dying, and in the quiet that followed Hawk's words a solemnity prevailed.

“No one has seen William Crabtree,” Hawk said, changing the subject. “I hope he's left the area. He's a bad one.”

“Do you think he's left?” Elizabeth inquired.

A doubtful look clouded Hawk's eyes and his lips grew tight. “No, I don't think we've seen the last of him. Well, fine breakfast, wife! Now it's time to get to work.”

****

Jacob pulled up in front of the Stevenses' cabin early in the afternoon. He had worked hard all morning with Hawk and Andrew but had asked for some time off, which Hawk had readily granted. Now as he dismounted and tied his mare to a post set in the front of the cabin, he was greeted by George Stevens, who nodded and smiled. “Hello, Jacob,” he said. “I bet you didn't come to see me.” A sly humor in the man surfaced from time to time, and he laughed as Jacob showed some embarrassment. “I'd be surprised if you did, and maybe even disappointed. You'll find Abby over there in the back helping her mother in the garden.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Jacob walked quickly around the cabin and found the two hoeing weeds.

“Hello, Abby. Hello, Mrs. Stevens.”

“Why, hello, Jacob.” Deborah smiled. “Did you come to help us with the garden?”

“Well, I guess I could, but to be truthful I had about enough gardening for one day.” He looked at Abigail, who was looking pretty, as usual, even in a plain gray dress. “I thought you and I might go for a walk down by the river.”

Deborah intercepted Abigail's quick look and nodded. “Go ahead. Will you be staying for supper, Jacob?”

“That'd be mighty fine, Mrs. Stevens.”

Abigail, putting her hoe down, turned to the path that led down to the river. As they walked along between the trees that sprang up fifty yards from the cabin, she said, “It ought to be cooler down by the river.”

“It has been hot. I'm glad your mother asked me to dinner.”

They spoke quietly as they walked along the path. The trees overhead shaded them from the hot afternoon sun, and when they reached the river, Abigail said, “I like to sit over there under that chestnut tree.”

“It looks like a good spot,” Jacob murmured. He watched as Abigail sat down, tucking her feet under her and spreading her skirt over them, then plopped down beside her. Taking off his hat, he tossed it down and stared at the water, which made an elbow, forming a deep pool. Even as he watched, small fish broke the surface, and he said idly, “I'd like to fish for a while, but I'm too lazy.”

Abigail brushed her hand across her hair and smiled at Jacob. “Pa's been catching catfish at night, but the mosquitoes are too bad for me. They leave big welts on me.”

“Don't do it, then,” Jacob said quickly. “You've got the prettiest skin I've ever seen. It's just like peaches and cream.” He smiled and Abigail flushed, then for some time he flirted with her in a lighthearted way. Finally he asked, “What are you going to do on your birthday? I remember last year. It was the biggest birthday party I've ever seen.”

“I hope this one will go a little bit better, but I won't have a party this year.” She leaned back, pressing her hands into the moss that lined the bank, letting the faint breeze blow through her hair. She was very attractive as she sat there. Finally she turned to him and asked, “Are you going to the service that Brother Anderson's going to hold next Sunday?”

“I suppose so. Everyone will be there.”

“Ma and Pa are glad about the preacher's and Rhoda's new baby. She is a sweet thing.”

“She sure is. I wonder what they will do about going back to the Cherokee? They can't take a baby with them.”

“I don't know. Pa says he hopes that they'll stay here in Watauga and pastor a church here, but I think Reverend Anderson will go back to the Cherokee.” She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “How's your new baby brother, Joshua?”

A cloud seemed to descend over Jacob, and he shook his head slightly. “He's fine,” he said. “He's wonderful, according to my father.”

“I'm sure Hawk must be very proud of his new son.”

“Yes, he is.”

Something in Jacob's voice caught at Abigail. She turned to him and studied his face intently. “You don't sound very happy. Aren't you proud of your new brother?”

“Oh, I suppose so.” Jacob seemed disturbed by the conversation and said, “Can I ask you a personal question, Abby?”

“Why . . . I suppose so.”

“How do you feel about Andrew?”

Jacob's abrupt question caught Abigail off guard. She lifted her hand to her cheek involuntarily and blinked her eyes with surprise. When she spoke, her voice was somewhat unsteady. “I . . . I'm very fond of him. We're very good friends.”

“Is it anything more than that?”

“What more could there be? He's such a nice young man. Naturally I like him—everybody does.”

“Well, that's good,” Jacob said, looking satisfied. “I mean,” he said, “it's good that you're just good friends.” Then his mind seemed to veer. “How do you like it out here on the frontier?”

“Why, I love it. Don't you?”

Jacob picked up a stick and traced a design in the loose moss. He seemed to be thinking about her question, and finally he tossed the stick into the water and watched as the current swirled it around, then carried it away. “It's all right, but someday I want to go back to Virginia.” His eyes grew bright and he leaned forward, saying with some suppressed excitement, “One of these days, Abigail, I'm going to start my own plantation right in the Tidewater area. My grandfather promised to help me get started.” He leaned back then and thought back to the time when he was younger, then said, “That's always been a dream of mine as long as I can remember.”

Abigail was surprised. She had never thought but what Jacob would stay on the frontier. “I'd hate to see you go back. You'd be missed here. Especially by your family.”

“I haven't told you all my dream yet.”

“What's the rest of it?”

“I've got to find someone to share that dream with me. Would you ever leave the frontier, Abby?”

“Why, I never thought about it, Jacob.”

“I bet you would if . . . if the right man asked you to.”

Abigail was disturbed by the direction his conversation had gone. “I think the right man might want to stay on the frontier.” She stood up rather abruptly and he stood before her. She was apprehensive somehow.

Suddenly he said, “Abby, you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen.” He put his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her.

Abigail was taken by surprise. She had been kissed before, but somehow this was different. This was not a childish thing, for she was becoming a woman and Jacob had reached the threshold of manhood. His lips were firm on hers, and for a moment she found herself surrendering to him. Then she pushed him back and murmured, “I've got to go back and help Mother.”

“All right, but can I come and see you?”

Abigail understood, of course, that he was asking if he could come calling, and she said quickly, “Why, you can come and see us anytime. Ma and Pa are always glad to see you.”

“Will you be glad to see me?”

Abigail was more disturbed now. She had mixed feelings about the young man and said, “I'm always glad to see all my friends.”

She turned and walked quickly to the cabin, but somehow Jacob knew that it would take more than this to win Abigail's hand in marriage.

He ate supper with them, and as he rode home that night, all he could think of was,
Somehow, someday, I'm going to have that big plantation and a fine wife. Then Pa will be proud of me, and Andrew will see what it's like to have a brother who's rich and has a pretty wife! I don't need any help, either. I can do it all by myself
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