Over the Misty Mountains (30 page)

“It’s good to have a minister on the train. I haven’t met him yet.”

“He’s going to preach tonight,” Sequatchie said. “Preach the gospel from the Bible.”

“Oh, that’ll be wonderful!” Elizabeth said. She saw that Rhoda looked downcast, then added brightly, “Is it a Christian community, Hawk?”

“Like every place else,” Hawk said. “Some are Christians, and some aren’t.”

“What about yourself, Hawk? Are you a Christian man?”

Sequatchie glanced covertly at his friend and listened for his answer. It came about as he expected. “My parents are the best Christians I’ve ever known,” Hawk said quietly. “But I don’t reckon I can say that I have faith, even though I once did.” He did not speak for a while, and then he said, “I suppose I’m a lot like that brother-in-law of William Bean’s, George Russell. He lost his wife and did about what I did—just left and went out to the woods.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your wife,” Elizabeth said. “It’s hard to lose one we love. But you know the last thing my father said to me when I left?” She grew meditative and said, “He’s not in good health, and it’s unlikely that we’ll ever meet again in this world. That was so painful for me.” She reached out and took Patrick’s hand and squeezed it. She continued softly, her voice barely audible. “He said, ‘Christians never say good-bye.’ Isn’t that wonderful?”

“That is good,” Sequatchie said. “We all go to be with our people. That is what the Bible says, isn’t it, Hawk? Read me that part!”

“Not now, Sequatchie!”

“Yes!” Sequatchie said. “About when Abraham died.”

“It says Abraham died and was gathered to his people.” Hawk knew that verse well because Sequatchie loved it. “Isaac died and was gathered to his people, then Jacob died and was gathered to his people.”

Sequatchie was squatted on the ground, staring at the face of his friend. “I will be gathered to my people one day, and with the Great Jesus God. Death is not the evil that we think.”

Hawk looked up suddenly, knowing that Sequatchie said this for his benefit. But, still, the bitterness in him brought him to his feet. He walked away without another word.

Rhoda said, “He’s a bitter man, isn’t he, Sequatchie?”

“Yes, he thinks God took his wife. He’s mad at God. But he will learn better one day.” The Indian nodded. “I have asked the Great God to help Hawk.”

Shortly the train pulled out, but they had not gone more than two miles when the heavily rutted road tossed the wagons around. A cry came from somewhere in the back, and Hawk turned his horse and moved to where John Russell’s wagon was turned at a cockeyed angle. “What’s the matter, John?”

“Axle broke,” Russell grunted. He crawled out from under it, and said angrily, “It didn’t break by no accident either.”

“These are pretty rough roads,” Hawk said.

“Crawl down there and look at it!”

Hawk stepped off of his horse and slipped under the wagon. He looked at where Russell, who had joined him, pointed and said, “Look! That axle’s been tampered with, Hawk.”

Reaching out, Hawk touched the axle. It was splintered, but half of it was sawn through cleanly. Alarm ran through Hawk and he said, “You’re right, John. That axle didn’t saw itself through. You got any enemies on this train, John?”

“Nary a one that I know of, but I must have! Like you say, that axle didn’t saw itself.”

The two men crawled out and stood there thoughtfully. “This is going to set us back. We’re going to have to send back to Williamsburg for an axle.”

“No, I’ve got a spare,” John said. “If you’ll jist let me get some men together and jack this wagon up it won’t take too long.”

Hawk nodded, and soon a crew was busy replacing the broken axle. When they had finished the repair, Hawk was walking along thinking hard. He turned to John who had joined him and said, “I don’t like the looks of this, John.”

“I can’t figure it out! Why would anybody want to saw an axle only halfway? Why didn’t they saw it all the way in two? That’s the way I’d do it if I wanted it to break down on the journey. But why would anybody want that? Must’ve been some kid just being mischievous.”

“I don’t think so,” Hawk said. “I looked for some trouble on this trip, but not this kind.” His eyes narrowed and he said, “Keep your eyes open, John. If a thing like that can happen, no tellin’ what will come next. I don’t like it.”

****

Rhoda moved around the wagons as they were drawn up for the night. Everyone was in bed. She had seen Hawk moving silently along earlier, but now no one seemed to be awake. Overhead, a sliver of a moon was falling down in the sky, and it seemed to be dragging some stars with it. Taking a deep breath, she continued to walk, for she could not sleep. It had been a wonder and a puzzlement to her how she had been taken in with such wholeheartedness and warmth by the MacNeals. As she had known it would happen, some word had gotten out that she had been a prostitute at a tavern, and some of the men had already been pestering her. It was then that she had been most thankful to be with the MacNeals, because she stayed very close to them, and those men did not have the nerve to bother her when Patrick MacNeal was close by.

Suddenly, a shooting star lit the heavens overhead. Rhoda looked up and admired the fiery track of light as it scored the blackness of the heavens. She never saw one that didn’t make her heart beat faster. She thought,
It’s the most beautiful sight that earth’s got to offer
. Somehow the pains and griefs and discomforts of her life seemed to be a little bit less. “They say, make a wish when you see a shootin’ star,” she whispered. She stood there in the darkness, looking up as the light from the fiery finger of flame seemed to fade, and she whispered, “I wish I could be better, somehow, than I am.”

It was a special moment for her in the silence of the forest, and she hated to go back. Suddenly a voice called her name, and she started violently.

“Rhoda!”

She knew that voice and said at once, “Jacques, is that you?”

“Yes!” Cartier seemed to simply materialize out of the darkness. For all his size, he could move as quietly as a cloud through the woods. He held her arm and said, “I see you kept your part of the deal and joined the train, and that’s good.”

Rhoda said, “That wagon wheel. I heard Patrick say it was tampered with.”

“Yes, and it was I, Jacques Cartier, who did the tampering.” He frowned and said, “I didn’t intend for it to break so soon, and I didn’t think he’d have a spare. But there are other ways.”

“What do you want, Jacques?”

“I have decided to let these people wear themselves down before we make life really hard for them. I will meet you two weeks from tonight. Once the sun sets, you go outside of camp and I will be there.”

“Why didn’t you come along on this train yourself, instead of sending me?”

“Because Spencer and that Indian friend of his would recognize me. They think I’m dead, and I want them to keep thinking that.” He touched the scar on his neck and said, “Someday, I will have the scalps of both of them dangling from my belt.”

Rhoda suddenly knew fear, for there was no mercy in the big man. She wished somehow that he would go away and never come back, but she knew full well he would never do that. “Why do you want to do all this? Why not let these people go on?” she asked. “They’re good people, Jacques.”

“As I told you before, that is not for you to ask. You just be ready, and meet me in two weeks.”

“Ready for what?”

But Cartier had faded back into the darkness. Rhoda stared, trying to catch sight of him, and for one wild moment she had the impulse to go to Hawk and tell him what was happening.
But if I told him that, he would know that I’m part of it, and he would hate me. And so would everyone else
. She found it odd that she desired their acceptance so deeply, but she couldn’t deny that she did. Wearily she moved back, thinking of the wish she had made—that she might be better. “I’ll never be any better,” she said grimly. “No matter how hard I try.” Sadness came to her, and her shoulders slumped. She went back to her bed and lay awake for a long time. Just as she dropped off, somehow she thought of two things at once—the beauty of the shooting star and the words of Elizabeth MacNeal—
I want to be friends with you, Rhoda. We can help each other
—and then she plunged into sleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

Amanda

The exodus of the small group from civilization to the wilderness had lasted for one week. During that time, the road had practically disappeared, so that now what the pioneers followed was little more than a path. At times the men would have to get out and chop away the thick growth that had overgrown the path so that the wagons could squeeze through. It was difficult to keep the packhorses on the trail, for they would wander away and nibble at the grass among the trees. Day after day they forded creeks, some of which were so deep midstream that the wagons were washed sideways as the teams struggled to pull them through. Once, one of the packhorses was caught by the strong current when he missed his footing and was dragged to his death by the heavy load of supplies on his back. The men salvaged the supplies but watched with apprehension as the dead animal floated off, for there were no extra pack animals.

“This old path was used by my people before the white men came,” Sequatchie said. He looked down at the faint ruts that wagons had made where traders had taken goods to cabins farther on, and he shook his head. “One day there will be a big road through here, and the white people will come like the locust.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Paul said.

He had, as a single man, moved around from family to family, getting to know people better. He was always sharing food from his supplies to those in need.

Late Saturday evening as they were all sitting around the campfire, Elizabeth said, “Reverend Anderson, wouldn’t it be good if we had a service tomorrow? It’s the Sabbath.”

“I think it would,” Paul said. He looked up and saw Hawk passing by and called out, “Hawk! Could you come over here a moment?” When Hawk came to stand beside them, holding his rifle in his hand as he generally did, Anderson said, “Elizabeth thinks it might be a good idea if we held services tomorrow.”

“I’d like it mighty well,” Patrick agreed. “I’ve always felt that a man can do more in six days than he can in seven. At least that’s what my father always taught me.”

Hawk rubbed the barrel of his musket and nodded. “I think a rest might do us all good. Some of the folks are just about worn down. It will be all right with me, Reverend.”

Rhoda said nothing, but afterward Paul joined her, saying, “Let me help do a little of the clean-up work.” They took the tin dishes down to the small creek, which had a sandy bottom, and scoured them. “This water’s cold,” Paul said.

“Yes. It’ll be frozen over in a few months.” Rhoda paused, and a thoughtful look came into her eyes. “I’ve always hated winter.”

“I always liked it myself. I used to ice-skate when I was a boy. I don’t guess I’ll be doing any of that out here.”

Rhoda smiled at him and continued washing the dishes. It was quiet, with only the murmuring of the creek as it bubbled over the rounded stones. There was a peacefulness during this late hour. Overhead the skies were milky, and the moon hung low in the sky.

Paul asked, “Do you ever think of those days when you and I and Hawk were in school together? Of course, he was Josh then.”

Rhoda cast a quick glance at him and said, “Sometimes.”

Something in the tone of her voice caught at Anderson. He was a thoughtful young man, and now he quickly contemplated her age. He was thirty-five, and he remembered that she was two years younger. “I think of them a lot,” he said. “I remember you had a braid that went way down past the middle of your back.”

“You pulled it one day,” Rhoda replied. “And I picked up a stick and hit you with it.”

Anderson’s white teeth gleamed as he smiled at her. “I remember that,” he said. “It’s a good thing you didn’t hit me in the head or my face, or you might have left a scar.”

“I’ve forgotten where I hit you,” Rhoda confessed.

“Right across the bottom! It left a welt that my mother saw. She wanted to know how I got it.”

“What did you tell her?” Rhoda smiled.

“I lied to her, of course.”

“I didn’t think preachers lied.”

“Well, I wasn’t a preacher in those days, but I think even today if I had a welt there that you’d given me, and Hawk or somebody asked me about it, I believe I’d have to use a little imagination rather than tell the exact truth.”

“Then I’d better not hit you with a stick.”

They laughed and Rhoda found herself enjoying the man’s company. She had expected that he would launch out at her with a fiery sermon as several ministers had done back in Williamsburg. So far on the trail, he had not even mentioned God to her, and it puzzled her. The dishes were all done, and she turned to him now and said, “Paul, why don’t you preach at me? You know what my life’s been.”

Anderson was surprised at her straightforwardness. He turned to face her, and in the darkness he could barely make out her features. “Well, to tell the truth, Rhoda, I’ve had the temptation, but it just seemed that the time hadn’t come.”

“It surprised me a little bit,” she admitted. “You know what I’ve been—nothing but a Jezebel!”

“Well”—Paul was flabbergasted at the bluntness of her words—“no matter what you have been, it’s not too late to change, Rhoda.”

“It’s too late for me,” she said. “And some of the men on the train have been after me. You’d be surprised. Some of them are married men.”

“I know. I’ve been watching, and I’ve been proud of you. You’ve stayed with the MacNeals, and that’s good.”

“But I can’t stay with them forever!”

“Maybe I will preach at you a little bit, if you don’t mind, Rhoda.”

She suddenly felt a warmth with this man. She knew men very well, and Paul Anderson was different. There was a goodness in him that most other men did not have. “All right. Go ahead,” she said.

“It won’t be much preaching. It’s just that you only need one thing in your life to make you happy and complete, Rhoda—and that’s Jesus.”