Beyond the Quiet Hills (39 page)

Whatever Jacob Spencer had expected, it was not to be asked to pray. He frowned slightly, and two vertical lines appeared between his eyes, and his lips grew tense. “To pray? What about?”

“Why, about us. I've been thinking so hard about our engagement, and I know we need to pray about it.”

Jacob stared at her hard and then shook his head. “I don't need to ask God for permission to marry you.”

Something in Jacob's voice disturbed Abigail, and she said hurriedly, “It's not like that, but we need to make sure that it's right. That it's what God wants us to do.”

Anger flared inside Jacob, and he could not explain it. His voice was hard when he answered. “I'm not going to ask a God that let my mother die and my father desert me what He thinks about who I'm going to marry.”

The harshness of the reply grated against Abigail, and she was silent for a moment. Then she said evenly, “Why do you want to marry me, Jacob?”

“You know.”

“No, I don't know. Tell me.”

Jacob shifted his feet uncomfortably. He was not good at talking about things like this, although he wished he were. Now he thought briefly before answering. “I want someone by my side, to be with me.”

It was not an answer that Abigail wanted. Finally she straightened her back and asked more directly, “Jacob, do you love me?”

“Why, of course I do!”

“You never told me.”

“All right, then. I love you.”

Suddenly Abigail knew that there was something terribly wrong in her decision to marry Jacob Spencer. “You have such a hard time saying that, Jacob,” she said mildly.

“It's hard for me to talk about things like that.”

“I don't think it's hard for us to talk about things we like, things we love. And I think what the trouble is, is that you don't love me in the right way.”

Jacob blinked with surprise. “What do you mean, ‘in the right way'?”

“I mean, you care for me after a fashion but not in the way you need to. A man who wants to marry a woman should love her in a very special way. Not like anything else in this world, Jacob. Just like a woman should have that same kind of love for a man. And for a week I've been praying. . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “I don't think either of us has the sort of love a man and a woman should have to be married.”

Jacob reacted immediately. “You're wrong about that! It's right that we should get married! I know it is!”

“I don't think so. We're not right for each other.”

Suddenly Jacob's lips grew into a tight line, and he reached out and took Abigail by the upper arms. He almost shook her, and he exclaimed, “I know what's the matter! It's Andrew! That's what it is!”

Shocked and hurt by his accusation, Abigail replied instantly, “It's not Andrew. That's not the reason I'm doing this. Andrew has nothing to do with you and me, or my decision.”

“That's not so. He's gotten to you, and now you want him instead of me.”

Abigail knew then that she was right in her decision. She shook her head regretfully and said, “We can't talk about this now. You're upset—and you're wrong, Jacob.” She suddenly reached out, laid her hand lightly on his chest, and in a very gentle tone said, “I know this hurts you. It hurts me, too, to think that I could have been so wrong about something so important. But I know it's best for both of us.”

She stood there for a moment, then whispered, “Forgive me, Jacob,” and tears gathered in her eyes. She turned and walked blindly back down the path, stumbling, and then broke into a light run.

Jacob stood there watching her. It was as if the heavens had fallen, and anger began to rise in him—anger that was so harsh it startled him. He found himself wanting to strike out at someone, or something, and as he whirled around and strode away in the opposite direction, he knew his life had been turned upside down. And he was certain it would never be put right again.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Wounded Lion

Jacob could not seem to control the rage that boiled up inside of him. He walked rapidly for fifteen minutes, stalking blindly along the trail that led outward from the homestead. Once when a branch struck him in the forehead, he angrily pushed it out of the way. He was not given to bouts of blind anger, but Abigail's announcement had taken his reason from him, and all he could think of was how he had been set aside in favor of someone else once again. “First my father abandons me and then takes up with Andrew—and now Andrew takes the girl I want to marry!”

Abruptly he turned and moved back toward the homestead. He went directly to the barn, where he found Andrew inside, hanging up the harness for the horses on a peg.

“Hi, Jacob,” Andrew said, barely looking up. Glancing over his shoulder, he hooked the harness over the peg, then turned and said, “What do you think—” He broke off abruptly when he saw the thundercloud on his stepbrother's face. “What's the matter?” he asked quickly.

“You're the matter!” Jacob stopped directly in front of Andrew, his feet spread apart and his fists tightly clenched. “You've done it, haven't you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about! What's wrong?”

“You've stolen my girl, that's what! You stole my father's love first, and now you have to have Abigail!”

“That's not true!” Andrew protested. He had been taken completely off guard by Jacob's accusations, for he had no idea of what had been happening between the two. He started to speak but never got the words out. Jacob suddenly caught him in the mouth with a blow that drove him backward. He sprawled out on the floor and saw that Jacob was coming at him to fall on him. Raising his feet, he shot them out and caught Jacob in the chest, driving the breath out of him and knocking him to one side. Scrambling to his feet, he said, “Wait a minute, Jacob. Let's talk about this.”

But Jacob Spencer was past talk. A red curtain of rage had fallen over him, and he threw himself forward, striking out with all his force. The blow grazed Andrew's cheek but did not strike solidly.

Andrew grabbed Jacob by the arm and made a full sweep so that Jacob lost his balance. When Andrew released him, he crashed headlong into the side of the barn, practically rattling the rafters. With a cry of rage, Jacob scrambled to his feet and threw himself forward. He caught a blow high on the temple that stunned him for a moment, but blindly he moved forward, throwing blows from every direction.

Andrew saw that there was no reasoning with Jacob and defended himself as best he could. An anger grew in him, for Jacob stung him with his blows, and he began to fight harder.

The two were suddenly halted when a figure came between them and Jacob shoved at him, muttering in a guttural voice, “Get out of my way!”

Sequatchie reached forward and pulled Jacob away from Andrew. “What's the matter with you two?” When Jacob did not answer, Sequatchie turned and said, “What's going on, Andrew?”

“I don't know,” Andrew panted. He reached up and wiped a smear of blood off of his face and shook his head. “He came in here and accused me of breaking him and Abigail up. I don't know what he's talking about.”

Jacob stood stubbornly, his chin thrust forward, and his voice revealed the hot anger that remained in him. “He did it, and I'm going to pound him for it!”

“You're not going to pound anyone,” Sequatchie said harshly. “This is not a way for grown men to act, and it better not happen again. Andrew, please leave. I need to talk to Jacob.”

Without a word, Andrew stomped out of the barn, his face flushed, and at once Sequatchie said, “Now, what's the matter? What's this about you and Abigail?”

“He stole her! That's what he did!”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because she told me she wasn't going to marry me!”

Sequatchie paused for a moment, then said, “Was it because of Andrew? Is that what she said?”

“Well, no. She didn't exactly say that.”

“Then, what did she say?”

Jacob dropped his head. Reason was beginning to return to him, and with it a measure of shame. He did not answer for so long that Sequatchie demanded again what she had said, and finally Jacob threw his hands apart. “She says that God doesn't want us to marry.”

“Well, does He?”

“How should I know? What do I know about God?” Jacob ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, then said abruptly, “It's time for you to keep your end of the bargain, Sequatchie.”

“You mean take you back to Williamsburg?”

“Yes. Now.”

Sequatchie shook his head at once. “I cannot do it now. The Cherokee could go on the warpath anytime, and it would not be safe. Hawk would never forgive me if anything happened to his son.”

“Who cares what he thinks? He doesn't care about me anyway.” Again the anger and bitterness rose in him, and he added, “I'm going whether you take me or not!”

Sequatchie suddenly reached out and grabbed Jacob by the front of his shirt. His dark eyes were glowing now, and Jacob, who had never seen the Cherokee angry, knew that this was a dangerous man he was confronting. He tried to pull away, but Sequatchie held him easily and began to speak in a voice as hard as flint.

“You need to grow up! You're nothing but a papoose! Yes, your father was wrong in leaving you, but he's done all he could to make it up to you these last few years! Everyone makes mistakes, and Hawk has tried to make up for his—which you have not done!”

Jacob flinched at the severity of Sequatchie's words. He wanted to turn and leave, but Sequatchie held him firmly, and there was almost a merciless quality in his tone. “I'm tired of hearing you complain of what's happened to you! You think you're the only man that ever had a hard time? You need to get over it and forgive!” Sequatchie suddenly released Jacob and said in a milder tone, “You need the Lord Jesus in your heart. I can understand why Abigail won't marry you. All you ever think about is yourself. You never show love or concern for anyone.”

“Is that all you've got to say to me?” Jacob said bitterly.

“No!” Sequatchie hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath. “If you really want to keep on living the kind of life you are living, go ahead and try to get home. It would hurt your father, especially if you were killed—which will probably happen! But I will not help you to hurt him anymore!” He took a deep breath again and said, “I am sorry to be harsh, for you need God's help. You are like the wounded lion in the Bible who needs to return to his Creator to be healed.” He started to say something else, then shook his head sadly, turned his back, and walked away, leaving Jacob totally confused and deflated.

****

After supper Hawk rose and followed Jacob, who had said not one word during the meal and had left the table, having eaten practically nothing. Sarah had come to Hawk earlier and said, “Pa, I found out what the fight was about between Andrew and Jacob. Jacob thinks Andrew has stolen Abigail from him.”

Stepping out on the porch, Hawk squinted his eyes in the darkness and turned to see Jacob standing with his back to the house, looking up at the skies. He approached his son, saying, “Jacob—?”

Jacob turned and stared at his father in the darkness. Only a few stars burned overhead, throwing a feeble light over the yard. Jacob was glad for the dark, for he did not want his father to see his expression. He said nothing but waited.

Finally Hawk spoke. “I heard about you and Abigail. Anything I can do, I will.”

“You can do one thing. That's take me home.”

Hawk said at once, “I can't leave the family now. You know that.” He tried to find some way to put his love into words but finally said only, “It's a bad time to travel, Jacob. Cherokee could be surrounding us right now. I don't want anything to happen to you.” When Jacob did not respond, Hawk said quietly, “I'll pray for you, son, and I'll be here if you need anything.” He turned and went back to the cabin, troubled in spirit and under a cloud of despair.

Later that night when they were alone, Elizabeth asked, “What about Jacob? What's he going to do?”

“He wants to go back to Williamsburg.”

“Abigail's refusal has hurt him terribly. His pride is shattered, but I hope he doesn't go back. You can't turn your back and run from a thing like this.”

“No, I think that's right.” Hawk was silent for a moment, then he said almost grimly, “The only thing we can do is pray for him—because I think he's going to go through a very rough time.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Preparations for War

As the revolution heated up in May of 1776 along the eastern seaboard, the Watauga settlers concluded that there was a need for a stronger fort in the area. All of the men took time out from the work on their own homesteads to help build the new fort at Sycamore Shoals.

George Stevens and Hawk were lifting one of the final logs on the eastern end of the fort, and both men gave a sigh of relief as it fell into the notches at the end, fitting perfectly.

“Well,” George said, wiping the sweat from his face, “this is beginning to look like a real fort.”

Hawk leaned back against the logs. “We needed a new fort. The old one was too small to hold everyone in case of an attack.” He moved over and took a drink from the bucket, using a small gourd for a cup, then shook his head. “I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, George.”

“I suppose we all were, but now that the Cherokee have sided with the British, we don't have any choice. Did you hear about John Carter?”

“I don't reckon so.”

“Carter got word from the British authorities that all of us here are illegal squatters and we've got to move on.”

“Where do they suggest we move?” Hawk asked caustically. He was becoming more and more angry with the British for their treatment of the Colonies. “They want us to move to the moon?”