Over the Misty Mountains (42 page)

Deborah Stevens was a faithful Methodist and had been working on Paul to get him to liven up his preaching a little. Now she said to Rhoda, “Has Reverend Anderson said anything about a brush arbor meeting?”

Sarah MacNeal looked at her with an odd expression. “What’s a brush arbor meeting?”

“Oh, we just make a big covering out of saplings, and we have preaching sometimes for a week or a month between the time we lay the crops by and wait for harvest,” Deborah said. “It’s about the best preachin’ there is. We go early in the morning and hear preaching, and then we eat at noon, and go back for the afternoon and get more. Then we eat supper, and sometimes the preachin’ goes on until midnight. Sometimes people shout and holler.” Her eyes lit up. “I’ve done so myself many a time.”

George made a face. “She tries to get me to do the same, and I tell her the Spirit don’t move me in that direction.”

“I think the Spirit moves you that way. You’re just too stuck up and stubborn and proud!” Deborah said.

Hawk listened as the talk went around, and finally when a silence fell, he said, “I remember going to those meetings when I was just a boy. They were Methodist meetings, too. It seems like the Methodists and the Baptists could always shout louder, jump higher, and fall down to the ground more than anybody I ever saw. I’m not sure all that’s of the Lord, but I saw some real good folks who believe in it.”

Deborah smiled at him. “Why, thank you, Hawk. I’m glad to hear there’s one other person here who’s got a little judgment about things like that.”

Elizabeth smiled but covered it up. “It seems like Paul’s torn between this settlement and the Indians. When he goes back to the village, we don’t see him sometimes for months.”

“That’s right. I think we need a permanent preacher here,” George said. “I wonder if Brother Anderson would consider it.”

“I doubt it.” Hawk shook his head. “He’s mighty given to returning with Sequatchie and preaching to those Cherokees, and they love him, too. I never saw them take to a white man the way they take to him.”

“Why is that, do you suppose?” Elizabeth asked.

“Well, for one thing, he loves those Indians and they know it. You can’t fool an Indian about a thing like that.”

“I don’t think you can fool anybody about that,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“Well,
I
been fooled a few times,” Hawk grinned. “But anyway, I don’t think you’ll ever nail Paul Anderson down to one place. He’s not as much a wanderin’ man like me. I go sometimes just to see what’s on the other side of the mountains. Paul, he goes to find a heathen to preach to.” He tasted another bit of the cake that Elizabeth had made and nodded at Andy, who had heard very little of this, for he was whispering to Abby. Then Hawk turned and said, “But as long as he’s got a heathen like me to work with, I guess he won’t have to go too far.”

After the meal, Hawk and Elizabeth moved outside, and he walked her home to her cabin. The children were staying all night with the Stevenses, which suited both Andrew and Sarah. They had begged so hard that Elizabeth couldn’t say no. They always stayed up in the loft.

When they got to the cabin door, Elizabeth looked over in the direction of Hawk’s lean-to and said, “It’s a shame you don’t have your own cabin and have to live in that old shack. Don’t you get tired of it?”

“It’s the most house I’ve had for fifteen years,” he said. “Most of the time in the woods I just roll up in a blanket.”

“And when it rains do you get wet?”

“That’s what happens when you get out in the rain,” Hawk said. The two stood there talking. It had grown darker, and now the stars were out.

Elizabeth looked up at the sky and said, “I wish I knew their names. We all have names.”

“I guess a fella could learn them, but who’s got time for that?”

“I think we ought to make time for things like that.” She pointed and said, “That’s the Dipper, the Big Dipper. I know that.”

“That’s right, and there’s the Little Dipper.”

“Where?”

“Look right there at the top of the Dipper, the big one. It makes a line. Just follow it.” She could not see it, so he got behind her and said, “Okay,” putting his hand over her shoulder and pointing. “Now, look right along my finger.” He moved his head down so that it was right next to hers. Her hair brushed against him, and he could smell the fresh scent of soap and, very faintly, some sort of lilac perfume.

“I still don’t see it,” she said with one eye closed. Then suddenly she was conscious of how close he was. She turned around slowly, and his arm was still over her shoulder. Without thinking, he pulled her close and kissed her. It was a kiss that stirred Elizabeth MacNeal to the very fiber of her being. Except for a few innocent pecks before she married, Elizabeth had kissed no man in her life except Patrick. It took her off guard, and she felt so strange being touched and held and kissed by a man. His lips were firm on hers, but his hold was gentle. If he had grabbed her, she would have been offended at once and shoved herself away, but he held her tenderly, and she gave herself to his embrace.

Hawk felt the soft curves of her body, and they stirred the hungers that a man, especially a lonely man, feels for a woman. He had always considered her one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and now as he held her, savoring the wild sweetness of her kiss, everything else seemed to fade away. He forgot the forest, and he forgot about all of the trials and difficulties of his life. There was nothing but this woman in his arms, yielding herself to his embrace.

Then Elizabeth stepped back. Her lips were trembling, and she turned away from him.

Hawk thought she was angry. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I didn’t plan to do that,” he apologized.

“It’s all right,” she said, still turned away. She could not face him, for the kiss had shaken her more than she could have imagined. She had never once thought of loving any other man, but now with the touch of his lips still so near, she knew she would think of this moment and be disturbed for weeks to come. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. Her expression was serious and she said, “You’re the first man I ever kissed, except for Patrick.”

Hawk looked down at her. “He was a good man. You’ll never find another one like him.”

“No, I never will,” Elizabeth said. “But then I don’t want to. He was who he was. God made him exactly the way He wanted. He makes other men in other ways. He made you what you are.”

Hawk was quiet for a moment. “Well, I made pretty much of a mess of what God made,” he said. There was a heaviness in his voice, and he looked at her. “I’m sorry about the kiss. Good-night.”

He turned and walked away, but Elizabeth called after him and ran and caught him. “I’m not angry,” she said. “And you mustn’t think so. I think about you so much, Hawk. You don’t know how I feel. If it hadn’t been for you we wouldn’t have a home. I don’t know what would’ve become of us,” she said quietly. “And the children dote on you. I think there’s something in you that wants to get out. People love you, but you’ve built a wall around yourself.”

Hawk listened as she continued to speak. He, too, had been stirred by the embrace, and he knew that this woman had wisdom beyond most women. He could not answer her for a while, then finally he said, “In all that, you may be right, but I’m still pretty much of a lost man.” He thought for a moment and said, “Someone asked Daniel Boone if he was ever lost, and he said, ‘Nope, I got confused once for a couple of weeks, but I’m never lost. Not in the woods.’”

Overhead, the wind sighed in the trees, and an owl made a soft call, and Hawk said, “I think I’m lost, Elizabeth. Not in the woods, but somewhere in my own heart.” He turned quickly without another word and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rhoda and the Preacher

It had been almost a ritual—Paul’s coming and having supper with Rhoda Harper. Hawk had warned him, “I’m not one to gossip, but some around here are. You keep on seeing Rhoda like you have, and there’s bound to be talk.”

Paul Anderson thought of Hawk’s words now as he sat with Rhoda in front of her cabin. He had come over, eaten supper, then the two had washed up the dishes, and gone out to sit on the bench backed against the logs of the small cabin. Paul had been telling her of the meetings that he’d been having in the area. “It seems like the settlers want more church services. They’ve asked me to be a regular minister here.”

“Will you do it, Paul?”

“No, I can’t. I’ve still got to go to the Indians.”

“What will happen if they get a regular preacher? Will you come back here?”

“Well, not a great deal. There wouldn’t be any need for me then.”

Rhoda was troubled over this and tried to picture life without the good humor and the many helpful things that Paul Anderson found to do for her. She finally said, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“What trouble? I’ve enjoyed all of it. It was fun building the cabin, and we’ve had fun with the garden, too.” He grinned ruefully and looked at her. The moon was coming up now clearly in the sky, a huge disc. It was a harvest moon, for mid-September had come in the year 1771. “I’m not much of a gardener, but we did get a fair crop for a couple of amateurs, didn’t we?”

“We didn’t know one end of a row from the other, did we, Paul? You remember I wanted to plant some crops under the trees so I could work in the shade, and everybody laughed at me?”

“That wasn’t as foolish as some of the things I did, but it’s a good garden, and I’ve enjoyed it more than anything I’ve done in a long time.” He turned to her and said, “I’ve never told you how much I admire you, Rhoda.”

Accustomed to men using sweet words as a ploy for physical intimacy, Rhoda turned to Paul and studied his face carefully. The silver light of the moon highlighted his cheekbones, and she noticed that his jaw, which was very prominent, gave him a stubborn appearance. But there was an honesty in his eyes, as always, and she knew that he meant nothing indecent by the remark.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing her drop her head and become silent.

“I don’t know. I just feel like there’s something in me that can never be cleaned out.” She looked at him suddenly and said, “I don’t want you to come here anymore, Paul. It’s not right for a preacher to spend time with a bad woman like me.”

“Rhoda,” Paul said quietly, “if you’re bad, it’s the same way that I’m bad. The Scriptures say that there is none that doeth good and sinneth not.”

“You haven’t sinned as much as I have,” she said stubbornly.

“It doesn’t matter. The Bible says that all sin is bad. The things I’ve done wrong may be different from the things you’ve done, but we both have one thing in common. Like everybody else, we need God’s forgiveness, and I want you to find it, Rhoda.”

There was a long silence, and suddenly Rhoda was surprised to feel two tears roll down her cheeks. The simple trust and obvious admiration of Paul Anderson had long been a mystery to her. He knew many of the terrible things that she had done. She had mentioned it to him more than once, and now she whispered again, “You can’t know the awful life I’ve led, Paul. You think you do, but you don’t. All the men—all the drunkenness—you just can’t know!”

Paul Anderson suddenly knew that God had softened Rhoda’s heart. At once he began speaking gently but very insistently. He quoted Scripture after Scripture, and finally he said, “Rhoda.” He turned her around to face him. Tears ran down her cheeks, making silver trails as they caught the reflection of the moon. “I know you feel terrible. I know your life was bad, but I don’t think you understand. We can never shock God.”

Rhoda stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I would be disappointed if you told me you’d do something and then you didn’t do it. Or if you did something wrong—but God knows everything that’s in our hearts. He knows the hairs of our head. They’re numbered. He knows all about us, Rhoda. He knows every sin you ever committed, and He isn’t shocked.” Paul thought about how to say it better. “God is grieved with our sins, but never shocked. So the things that you would be ashamed to tell me, you can tell God. He already knows them.”

Rhoda had never thought of this. She was silent for a long time, and finally she whispered, “Do you think I could become like you, and like Elizabeth?”

“Why, of course you could!” Paul said at once, and exultation filled him. “God’s just been waiting for you to ask that question.”

Paul continued to quote Scriptures concerning salvation. As Paul watched, he was amazed at the change he saw on Rhoda’s face. Whenever she spoke of her past life, the guilt and shame of it all would cloud her face like a dark veil. As she listened to the promises of cleansing, Paul could see the hope and deep longing begin to dawn in her troubled eyes. The tears that ran down her face were no longer ones of despair and of a life thrown away, but of honest repentance. She cried out as Paul prayed for her, confessing her sins aloud. Paul never admitted it afterward, but he was shocked at some of the things she confessed. She was not confessing to him, but to the One who had promised to make her white as snow. She began to shake and weep so hard that Paul reached over and held her.

“Oh, God,” he prayed, “you’ve heard this woman’s cry of her heart. You’ve promised that if we confess our sins, you are faithful to forgive us
all
of our sins. Forgive her and save her in the name of Jesus.”

“Oh, Paul, I feel so . . . so
different
.”

“You
are
different, Rhoda. You no longer are what you were. That’s gone forever, and God has made you His daughter. God has come into your spirit. I can see it in your eyes. The wildness and the fear and the anger, it’s all gone.”

Rhoda stood up and took several quick paces. She was still trembling, but her tear-streaked face beamed with peace and joy. “Will it go away? What I feel now?”

“No.” Paul stood up and took her hands. “That’s what brothers and sisters and the Lord are for. To help those who come into the kingdom of God.”

“Will you help me, Paul?” Rhoda asked simply.