Over the Misty Mountains Page 5

  “Come in.”

  “No, I don’t want to.”

  His father was there almost instantly. “Your mother said come in, Josh!” James Spencer’s voice was harsh, but there was pain in his eyes. “We’ve got to talk before you leave.”

  Josh hesitated, then put his bundle down out in the hall and stepped inside the bedroom.

  James stood watching his son, and a sense of hopelessness swept through him. However, he felt he had to try. “Son, this is a foolish thing you’re doing,” he said.

  “That may be, Pa. But I have to do it! I’ve got to get away!”

  “Why do you have to go now?” Esther Spencer came to stand beside her tall son. She was not a tall woman, and she had to turn her head upward to look into his face. Her tone was pleading, and with something close to a mixture of pity and worry in her voice, she said, “You’ve got a family here, Josh. You’ve got a son to raise.”

  He could not meet his mother’s eyes or his father’s stern gaze. Quickly he glanced over at the cradle where the baby lay sleeping quietly. Suddenly he felt an impulse to go over, look down, and even pick the child up. He knew that was the right thing to do.

  Josh was not a hardhearted young man. On the contrary, he was gentle and compassionate to those less fortunate than he. But the death of his wife had snuffed something out in him. It was as if a candle had been burning brightly, and then suddenly a snuffer had closed over it so that nothing was left but a smoldering, evil-smelling wick. He hated what he had become, but each time the dark cloud of despair and hopelessness settled on him, he had found it easier to run to the tavern and drink it all away than to face it.

  Quickly he shook his head. “You’ll be a better mother and father to him than I’d be. Right now I just can’t think straight.” He saw the hopelessness on his parents’ faces and quickly added, “I’m just going out to see what the country looks like west of here. Maybe I’ll do some trapping or just wander around for a spell.” When he saw a lack of comprehension in their faces, he said, “I can’t explain it, but I need some time alone.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I . . . can’t say, Ma.”

  The three of them stood there, and a silence fell across the room. The feeble rays of the sun slanted downward on the patterned carpet beneath their feet, and millions of tiny dust motes danced in the bars of golden light. The slow, monotonous ticking of the Seth Thomas clock on the mantel was the only sound in the room for a time, and then suddenly the baby, as if startled by the silence, awoke and began to cry.

  “Don’t you even want to hold your son once, Josh?”

  Josh glanced quickly at his mother. Again the impulse came to go over and hold the tiny bundle. He knew that, even as little as he had seen the child, he would remind him of Faith, and this, perhaps, was what stopped him. He could not bear the thought of another reminder of the great love that had been torn away from him. “No! It would just make going harder! Maybe when I work through this, and he’s older, I’ll be able to handle it.”

  “I think you’re going against God’s will,” James said firmly.

  A hardness came over his face, and he looked at his father and said, “Pa, don’t try to talk to me about God. If God’s so good, why did He take Faith away from me?”

  “Wiser men than you or I have pondered such questions,” James Spencer said. “We’re living in an evil world, and I can’t explain it. Job struggled with it. Why did evil things happen to him when he had done nothing wrong? The only answer is the verse that says, ‘Shall not the judge of all the earth do right?’”

  “Do right? You think it was right for Faith to die?” Josh snapped bitterly.

  “I think this world is full of evil, son. But one day it will all be taken away.”

  “Well, I can’t wait for that!” Josh said harshly, then immediately was sorry, for he saw his mother’s face become contorted, and he knew she was fighting to keep the tears back. Awkwardly he reached out, put his arms around her, and held her close. He kissed her cheek, felt the wetness of the tears, and whispered, “I might be back, Ma, and maybe things will change.” He released her quickly, put his hand out, and when his father took it, he squeezed it hard. Swallowing convulsively, he said to both of them, “Try not to think too hard of me.” Then he turned and left the room as quickly as possible.

  When the outer door slammed, Esther said, “He’s gone, James.”

  James walked over to his wife and put his arms around her. “We’ll have to trust God. We’ve tried our best to raise Josh, and you know the promise. You raise up a child in the way that is right, and when he is old he will not depart from it. We’ll have to hang on to that.”

  “There’s another one, too. I came across it just last night. Let me show it to you.” Releasing herself from James’ embrace, Esther walked over and picked up the Bible that lay on the rosewood table beside the bed. It was open, and she said, “Here. Read this one.”

  James Spencer took the Bible and read the lines that Esther had marked with a thin spidery line. Aloud he read, “All thy children shall be taught of the Lord.” Tears came to his eyes, and he whispered, “It’s hard to believe, but we’ll have to trust God. His promises never fail, do they, sweetheart?”

  “No, they never do.” Esther turned, went to the cradle, and picked up the baby. She held him tightly, and he stopped crying at once. “Jacob,” she whispered, “you’re going to grow up to be a fine man. And someday your father will come back to teach you how.”

  The large dark eyes of the child studied her thoughtfully, then without preamble a gurgle came, and the infant seemed to smile.

  “Look at him! He’s laughing!”

  James leaned forward, studied the baby’s face, then reached out and traced the silky cheek. “By gum, I think he is! He looks like Josh, doesn’t he?”

  “Except the nose. He has his mother’s nose.”

  “There’s some of both of them,” James nodded. “You know, as long as this baby’s alive, there’s something of Faith alive, too. That’s the way it is with children. They’re the heritage of the Lord.”

  The two stood there, looking down at their grandson. Their thoughts were with their son, who was running from his pain and his responsibility of being a father—and his Lord. Inside, both of them were praying the same silent prayer. Lord, teach him—and then bring him back home again.

  ****

  Anderson’s General Store stood out both by its size and ornate design from the other businesses on the main street of Williamsburg. Silas Anderson, Paul’s father, was a man astute in catching the winds of business. Before designing his own, he had visited several large stores in Boston and New York. As Josh entered the establishment, his ears filled with the hum of many voices, for the inside of the store was almost cavernous. Merchandise of all kinds was stacked and neatly organized in sections, and everything from French lace curtains to plows and fancy harnesses were available.

  At once Josh was greeted by Paul Anderson, who had seen him enter through the front door. Anderson was wearing a black wool frock coat with a pair of matching knee britches and white stockings. The brass buckles on his shoes glistened, and the cravat that rose high around his throat was of a pristine whiteness.

  “Josh! It’s good to see you!” he said. He stopped abruptly when he saw the coat Josh had on and asked, “Are you going hunting?”

  “Let me talk to you privately, Paul.”

  “Why, of course. Come over here.” Josh’s friend led the way to a deserted section of the store that dealt primarily in blacksmithing supplies. “How’s Jacob?”

  A slight hesitation broke Josh’s speech, which told Anderson a good deal. He had spoken with James and Esther Spencer often, and he was aware of Josh’s reluctance to enter into his responsibilities as a father. Now he saw the rather adamant cast of Josh Spencer’s tanned features and knew that nothing had changed.

  “He’s fine. A healthy child.” The words were short and clipped, and at once Josh c
hanged the subject, saying, “I’m leaving Williamsburg, Paul.”

  “Leaving? Going on a hunting trip?”

  “Yes, a long one. Maybe all the way over the mountains.”

  Paul Anderson was speechless for a moment. He ran his hand through his sandy brown hair, which was clubbed in back, and a stubborn expression clouded his light green eyes. “It’s a bad time for you to be leaving,” he said simply. “I know you’ve had a hard time since losing Faith, but—”

  “I didn’t come here to discuss anything, Paul!”

  The terseness of Josh’s words stopped Anderson short. Paul was a rather stubborn young man himself, but he had good insight into people. He saw now that Josh was waiting for him to argue, and he knew that it would be useless. “Well,” he said tentatively, rubbing his short nose with a forefinger, “maybe it’ll be good for you to get away from things for a while.”

  “I want to pick up a few more things.”

  “Of course, Josh. What do you need?”

  For the next thirty minutes, Josh carefully looked over the stock of items, picking things carefully, for he knew that he would have to carry all of the equipment he would need on his horse. Finally his eyes lit up, and he said, “I want one of those, Paul.”

  Anderson looked over quickly and smiled. “A coonskin cap! Tail and all!” Picking it up, he said, “See if it’ll fit you. It’s the only one we’ve got.”

  Josh took the cap, which was lined with heavy silk, and clapped it on his head. “Perfect fit,” he said, grinning. He turned his head from one side to the other, feeling the tail brush across his shoulders. “Well, I look like a long hunter, even if I’m not one.” Long hunter was the name being given to those men who left the East and plunged into the dark and unknown recesses of the western lands past the Appalachians. Men like Daniel Boone.

  “Add it all up, Paul.”

  Paul shook his head. “Nope. It’s a going-away present from me.”

  A moment’s silence fell, and then Josh smiled. “Why . . . thanks, Paul.” He hesitated, then added, “I know you think I’m crazy, or worse.”

  “No. Just a bit confused. We all get that way sometimes, and you’ve had about the roughest blow a man could get.” Paul Anderson had a great affection for Josh Spencer. The two of them had spent most of their lives together, and though they were far different in temperament and inclinations, there was still a bond between them that was not easily broken. As he wrapped up the purchases Josh had selected, he said quietly, “You’ll be back.”

  Josh took the package, then lifted his eyes to his friend. “I just don’t know, Paul.”

  “You will be. Your parents are praying for you, and you can depend on my prayers, too.”

  Josh considered Paul’s words for one moment, then he shook his head and appeared to put the whole thing out of his mind. He reached forward suddenly and grabbed the smaller man and gave him a hug. “I’ll think about you when I’m out, hiding from the Indians and the bears.” Then he turned quickly, as if he was afraid he would say too much, and left the store.

  Standing still, Anderson watched him go, and a regretful look touched his countenance. Once again he rubbed the bridge of his short nose with his forefinger, and a long thought came to him about the ways of God and man. He was not a theologian, and yet suddenly he knew that the fate of Josh Spencer was somehow tied up with his own life. He thought of the baby—the innocent child, the victim of the tragedy—and said a quick prayer for him, then for the grandparents, and finally for Josh himself.

  ****

  The bitter cold numbed Rhoda Harper’s fingers. She stuck them into the muff that she carried to warm them. Her face felt stiff. She had walked aimlessly for over an hour down the main business street of Williamsburg, looking in the windows. Once she went into a dress shop and looked at the items of clothing. She had been well aware of the proprietor’s disapproval. The owner was a tall lemon-faced woman with a pair of muddy brown eyes set too close together. Her words had been like bait in a trap when she had asked, “Yes? What is it?”

  Rhoda, accustomed to such treatment from the respectable members of Williamsburg society, had grown stubborn. She had saved enough money for a new dress. She met the woman’s stare and said coolly, “I would like to see the materials that you have.”

  “I don’t think you could afford them.”

  Rhoda pulled out her purse and let the gold sovereigns clink in her hand. “I can afford it, but I doubt if you have anything good enough for me.”

  It had been a clash of wills that had somehow symbolized Rhoda’s life. In the end, she had walked out of the shop angered by the woman’s attitude and somewhat surprised at her own tenacity. You’d think I’d be used to being treated like dirt, she thought as she made her way through the snow that covered the sidewalks. Sleds passed on the main part of the wide streets, and there was a strange quietness as the snow muffled ordinary sounds.

  Her head ached slightly, for she had drunk far too much the night before. Jacques Cartier had appeared after one of his long absences and had forced her to get drunk with him. As always, the remembrance of what had ensued shamed her, and she thought, not for the first time, of some way to flee from the life that she was leading. Her family came to mind now, scattered and making lives of their own. She knew they would be ashamed of her if they knew she had become a common doxie. As she moved along the street, she forced her mind to go blank.

  One day is just like another, she thought, and it’ll never be any different.

  “Hello, Rhoda.”

  Looking quickly around, Rhoda saw Josh Spencer, and her eyes lit up. “Hello, Josh.”

  “Going shopping?”

  “Just looking mostly.” Rhoda studied his attire, taking in the coonskin cap, the long hunting coat that fell to his knees, and the heavy leggings and moccasins. “What are you all dressed up for? Going hunting again?”

  “I’m leaving Williamsburg, Rhoda.”

  A sense of disappointment came over her. She had never referred to the past, for she was sure he did not remember her as a child. All he knows, she thought bitterly, is that I’m a loose woman in a tavern. However, he had always been kind to her, and perhaps because he had never bought her services, she had learned to admire him very much.

  She looked up quickly, wondering if he still remembered the brawl he had had with Cartier, but she did not mention it. “Where are you going?”

  With a wide gesture of his arm, Josh said, “Over there!”

  She followed his gaze and said, “Over the mountains?”

  “That’s it. Going to see some new territory. Maybe I’ll look up Daniel Boone. I’m tired of being cooped up in a town.”

  Without thinking, Rhoda said, “I wish I could go with you. I hate this town.”

  Josh looked at her suddenly. She was wearing a deep blue cloak and a hat that came down over her cheeks and ears. “You wouldn’t like it out there, Rhoda.” He reached out and grinned, touching her dark brown hair that had escaped from her bonnet. “It’s dangerous trying to live on the frontier.”

  A shiver ran through Rhoda as she thought of the stories she had heard. “Aren’t you afraid? Of the wild animals, I mean?”

  “Well, I don’t intend to get too friendly with ’em.” The two walked along, and Josh was cheerful enough now that the die was cast and he was on his way. “I guess I won’t be seeing you for a while.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  Something plaintive and sad in her voice caught at Josh. He stopped suddenly and turned around. When she looked up at him, he saw more than he had ever seen before. He had always thought of her as a pretty girl. She displayed very few indications of the effects of her rough profession, and although he did not know her age, he guessed she could not be over seventeen or eighteen. Her eyes were opened wide, and he noticed how doelike they were and the thickness of the lashes that shaded them. She had very smooth skin, now paled by the cold weather, but her lips were rich and red. A thought came to him, and he let it
stay in his mind for a moment, thinking hard before he spoke it out. “Why don’t you get away from here, Rhoda?”

  “Get away?” His statement surprised her. “Where would I go?”

  “Anywhere away from here. Do something else. You’re too nice a girl to be living the kind of life you do.”

  “Are you going to preach at me like all the rest of the preachers in town? Your friend Paul Anderson came by and tried to talk to me the other day.”

  “I guess I’m no one to preach to anybody, Rhoda,” Josh shrugged. “I believed for a time . . . but here lately, it’s just . . . well, life’s pretty short. It’s a shame to waste it.”

  The same thought had occurred to Rhoda many times. She had a longing to do something different, but she had no idea what adventures the world even had to offer. She hadn’t pursued an education other than being able to read or write. She was left to the confines of her own little world. And since her world was limited to that of the tavern, she heard very few fine sentiments. Now she looked up at Josh and said simply, “I don’t know anything else to do.”

  Josh said, “Why, I’ll help you. You could get a job somewhere else. Out of Williamsburg where they don’t know you. Start all over again like I’m going to do.”

  “Would you take me with you to the frontier?”

  Instantly Josh knew he had gone too far. “I couldn’t do that, Rhoda. In the first place, I’m a greenhorn. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve hunted a little bit around here, and I consider myself a pretty good shot, but the frontier is a harsh and unforgiving place. I’ve listened enough to those who have gone and returned to know how dangerous it is. A man has to be smarter, and quicker, and stronger than the wilderness to survive. I don’t know if I will or not. I couldn’t take a woman into a place like that.”

  Josh saw the glimmer of hope die in Rhoda’s eyes. She turned again and started walking slowly away. Watching her go, he said, “I’ll see you when I get back.” But she did not turn. Somehow the incident troubled Josh Spencer. She was no more than a common prostitute. But there was a different quality in this one, and he hated to see her life come to ruin. There was something in the girl worth saving. Shrugging his shoulders with resignation, he headed toward the misty mountains.