Crockett of Tennessee Read online

  She was afraid, no denying it; and despite a near full day of increasingly panicked exploration and a dozen false hopes, she was no nearer to finding her way home than she had been when she first became lost. In terms of finding her way home, she might as well be in the dark forests of Europe. Hunger gnawed at her, despair its partner. Darkness was falling. She dreaded the thought of spending the night here in wolf country, all alone, without food, without a clue as to how to extricate herself from her situation come morning.

  And so she ran. What else was there to do? If she could go far enough, surely she would encounter some trail, some road, some cabin. And yet she knew the country here was sparsely populated. She might be running into nothing but endless wilderness. But run she continued to do, feeling driven.

  What was that?

  It sounded like the shout of a man. An alarmed shout … somewhere not far behind her. She stopped and looked into the gathering gloom. She saw nothing. A chill made her shiver. She thought of the stories her father sometimes told, of ghosts that roamed the woods and screamed, the dead calling out to the living, warning them that soon they would be living no more, and their own wraiths would be dwelling in these dark groves.

  Frowning, she scolded herself. Wraiths? That had been no wraith she heard, but a living person. Maybe someone who could help her. Steeling her courage, she strode toward the place from which the yell had come. Where could the man have gone? She looked around, then down.

  A wolf trap! That explained it. Whoever had shouted must have stepped on the stone-balanced, pivoting trapdoor that opened above the eight-foot wolf pit, dug bigger around at the bottom than at the top so that wolves that fell into it couldn’t climb out again.

  “Hello?” she called into the hole. “Is there a man in there?”

  A long pause, then a tentative reply: “Polly?”

  That shocked her. How could he have known her? “Who’s down there?” she asked.

  “It’s me—David Crockett! Polly, that is you! I can tell your voice anywhere!”

  She grinned. “Even in the bottom of a wolf trap?”

  “I feel the fool for falling in here, but I’m well enough. I’m glad you come along … can you run a pole or something down here and help me out?”

  “David, what are you doing out here?”

  “Wolf hunting. I got separated from the others, and lost. I ain’t proud of it, but it happened. Then I saw you flitting through the trees and tried to follow, and that’s when I stepped into this trap. But what are you doing roaming around in the woods at dusky dark?”

  “Pa sent me to find some lost horses of his, and I ended up getting lost. I’ve been trying all day to find my way home. I never would have dreamed that I’d run across you here, miles away from where either one of us live.…” She paused, taken with how remarkable this meeting really was. Surely chance alone couldn’t explain the miraculous bringing together of two people who were growing so fond of one another. Destiny’s hand was at work here, sure as anything! It was thrilling, even eerie.

  “Can you help me out of here?” David asked again.

  “I’ll run fetch a stout stick,” she replied.

  When David was out, skinned and bruised but otherwise not injured, they walked together in the darkness, neither of them afraid now, nor even all that eager, except for their hunger, to find a way out of the vast forest. Hand in hand they traveled in the night, remarkably comfortable together, each convinced that this meeting had to be a sign they were intended to be together.

  At long last they found a path and walked along it, knowing it had to lead somewhere. They saw a light through the trees, and followed the path to the door of a little house, in which they found living the very man who had played gourd fiddle at the reaping where they had first met. Another sign! What else could explain it?

  David Crockett never forgot that night for the rest of his life. The fiddler was a nocturnal soul; he told them he often sat up the entire night, playing his fiddle and feeling as rested by that the next morning as if he had slept soundly all through the dark hours. He played for them tonight, soft old songs that were minor and haunting and beautiful in the darkness. Polly held David’s hand, and let him kiss her more than once, and together they sat up all night, Polly sometimes dozing against David’s shoulder, while the fiddler made his music. It was a magic night, the kind never to be forgotten, the kind that cannot be planned, but must happen on its own.

  The next morning David walked Polly home, following directions given by their fiddling host. Then he set out for his own home, knowing now that he could not rest until Polly Finley was his wife.

  He intended to return very soon, and this time he would not make the mistakes he had with Maggie Elder. He would ask William and Jean Finley for their daughter’s hand—and he would take it whether they granted their permission or not.

  Never had David seen a more savage-looking face than the one Jean Finley presented to him at this moment. Her countenance was something out of a childhood nightmare. There was no questioning it now: she truly had taken a dislike to him.

  He wondered if the rival he had intimidated on the road sometime back had gotten word to her of his treatment. Whatever the reason, he didn’t expect to hear her making jokes about him becoming her son-in-law during this visit!

  And that was too bad, because it was the prospect of becoming Jean Finley’s son-in-law that had brought him there. Polly had already agreed in private to become his wife, but she had warned him that her mother preferred her other and former suitor to him. Her father, on the other hand, liked David; if all went well, he would be able to persuade his wife to the right side again.

  “Mrs. Finley, Mr. Finley,” David said to the couple, who sat facing him, “I won’t squander around about what I’ve come to say. The fact is I’ve been took in deep affection by your daughter, and I aim to marry her. She’s done agreed, but I’d be appreciative of your blessing on the union.”

  Jean Finley stood, her face growing red. “Would you? Well, I’ll tell you what I’d be appreciative of. I’d be appreciative if you’d drag your skinny bottom out of this house.”

  William Finley gaped. “Jean!” He stammered around, unable to find words. “How can you … what a thing to say … why, I can’t see how …”

  “I’ll not see our Polly marry this rooster,” she said firmly, her eyes never leaving David’s face.

  David could see he wouldn’t succeed in overcoming her resistance through nastiness; in fact, such a thing might risk stirring Polly’s father against him as well. So he gave Jean Finley the most kind and gentle smile he could muster after such an insult, and kept his voice quiet and even.

  “Mrs. Finley, I don’t know what I’ve done to turn you against me so. I recall how once you called me ‘son-in-law,’ long before I ever thought of wanting to become that. I took that as a compliment, and was grateful for it. Now, you might have come to think it an ill thing to have me for a son-in-law, but I’d be honored if you was my mother-in-law. I truly would. I’d brag about it, and treasure it in my heart. So I’m hoping your anger against me will cool, and you’ll see that it’s all for the best that your daughter marry herself to a man who loves her dear and will cut off his own arm before he let any harm come to her.”

  “There’s the door,” she said. “Use it to let yourself out. And don’t never again use it to let yourself in.”

  Polly, standing by the fireplace and listening to the tense exchange, burst into tears. David saw there was to be no defeating this woman’s will. He allowed himself the luxury of becoming just a little bit angry, enough to show, but not so much he couldn’t control it.

  “Very well,” he said. “If I can’t convince you, I can’t convince you.” He turned and faced the weeping Polly. “Polly, I’ll be here on Thursday with a horse, and I’ll take you to my father’s inn. We can get married there; Lord knows we can’t marry here. You be ready, now. I’ll stop by the justice of the peace on the way home, and set it up for him
to marry us.”

  Polly kissed David, right in front of her parents, as he headed out the door. He didn’t turn to look back at William and Jean Finley, but he was almost sure that from the corner of his eye he saw the woman reaching for the rifle above the mantel, and her husband holding her back from it.

  One thing seemed certain: married life was going to be interesting where family relations were concerned.

  The justice of the peace, also a magistrate, was named Henry Bradford. He was a resident of the Long Creek community. David presented his request and the planned date of the wedding. Would Bradford be so kind as to conduct the ceremony? He agreed readily, and David headed home.

  Much remained to be done. He arranged for word to be sent to the Crockett tavern of the upcoming marriage, and went with his friend Thomas Doggett to sign for his marriage bond. And there was one other arrangement to be made too: he had to find some alternative way to obtain ownership of the horse he had been working for. There wouldn’t be time now for him to finish out the agreed work term. He went to Robert Canaday and offered the only bargain he could, and Canaday accepted.

  The bargain caused David to make quite a sacrifice, but he didn’t begrudge it. Polly’s troth was worth whatever sacrifice it took.

  John Canaday had a very serious look on his face as he and David talked on the porch of his house. “Marriage is a great leap for any man to make,” the Quaker said. “I wonder if this is truly understood by thee?”

  “I understand. I’m a man now, Mr. Canaday. I’ll be twenty years old in just a few days. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to be a good husband. I love her a mighty lot.”

  “That is good, that is good. Love is required for any marriage to succeed as God intends.”

  “You still look worried.”

  “I see thee as still a boy, not a man,” Canaday admitted. “I wonder if this marriage is being done in too great a haste. I ask forgiveness, if this doubt seems an insult to thee.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I have only respect and affection for you, Mr. Canaday. You’ve done much to help me, made me almost like one of your own.”

  “I have much regard for thee, David Crockett.”

  “Thank you. Don’t you worry. I’m ready to be a good husband. I’ve already done all I can to ready ourselves for marrying. I’ve signed my bond, traded my rifle for a horse—”

  “Thy rifle? The one loved so dearly by thee?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Canaday smiled slowly and nodded. “If David Crockett is willing to part with so beloved a gun, then indeed David Crockett is ready to be married,” he said. “I extend thee my best wishes, David. May thy marriage be blessed and thy house filled with children.”

  “Thank you, sir.” David was deeply touched by the old Quaker’s sentiment. John Canaday was in some ways more like a father to him than John Crockett.

  “Where will thy house be?” Canaday asked.

  “There’s a cabin at Finley’s Gap I’ve made arrangement to rent, along with some land. It’s not much, I reckon, but it will suffice to begin with.”

  “And sufficiency is enough for any man. May God bless thee and thy young lady in this new home, David Crockett. I’ll never forget the time I have spent with thee, and my house is always open to the Crocketts.”

  David was a little distressed to feel his eyes growing hot and red. Canaday’s words, spoken so sincerely and kindly, stirred his emotions. He realized what a great transition in his life was taking place.

  “Thank you, Mr. Canaday. I’m obliged for your words, and for all I’ve learned from you and your family. I’ll not forget you, no matter where I go or what I do. I promise you that. I promise.”

  Chapter 28

  Thursday morning dawned bright and clear and found David filled with a mix of joy, anticipation, worry, and simple nervousness. All preparations were made; the Crockett tavern stood ready to receive the couple, and Justice of the Peace Bradford was on hand, as promised, to conduct the ceremony.

  In the company of his brothers Wilson and John, along with John’s wife, sister Betsy, and friends Tom Doggett and James Blackburn, David mounted and rode toward Polly’s house. The group brought one riderless but saddled horse; this would be for Polly. David’s intention was to fetch her back to the Crockett inn; certainly he didn’t want to get married at Polly’s house, given her mother’s attitude toward him.

  About two miles from Polly’s, David was surprised by a group of other friends who had gathered to help him celebrate his day. Following local custom, David’s brothers and sisters, along with Tom Doggett, headed on to the Finley house, leaving the others to wait. Tom Doggett carried with him an empty bottle; this would be presented to William Finley to be filled with wine or liquor, symbolic of his acceptance of the impending marriage. The beverage would then be returned to the waiting wedding party for consumption.

  Waiting was intensely difficult for David. For all he knew, his prospective mother-in-law’s hostility might have won the day in her household. The bottle might come back empty. Even so, David fully intended to go ahead and have his wife today … but better to have her without a battle, if possible.

  He was relieved at the sight of Tom Doggett and company returning, smiles on their faces, and Tom waving a filled bottle above his head. David advanced and accepted the bottle.

  “What did you find?”

  “The old woman is still mighty savage in her disposition about you,” Doggett said. “I thought she’d turn dogs onto us, sure as shooting. But the old man was of much better spirit. He come out and filled our bottle, as you can see, and told us to come on.”

  “Did you see Polly?”

  “Not directly, but John says she was peeping out a window.”

  David unstoppered the bottle and took a swallow. Poking the stopper back into place, he said, “Let us proceed, ladies and gentlemen.”

  They went on, David’s nervousness growing with each pace, but no more than his determination. He was comforted to know that William Finley, at least, was on his side. And he knew Polly was—she would come with him no matter what her mother said or did.

  They came into view of the house; David noted the stocky form of Jean Finley in the doorway. She withdrew inside the house and closed the door as soon as she saw them.

  David did not dismount, but rode directly to the door, leading the riderless horse. “Polly Finley!” he called. “Your bridegroom has come to fetch you! Are you ready?”

  The door opened and Polly emerged. David drew in his breath. Never before had he seen her looking so beautiful. She wore a dark blue homespun dress, with a brilliant red kerchief draped appealingly around her neck. He eyed her up and down and smiled.

  “You’re a beauty, Polly. More a beauty than the finest sunrise I’ve ever seen.”

  She blushed, smiling. David looked beyond her into the shadowed interior of the house. There was Jean Finley, looking bitterly unhappy, and William beside her, arm across his wife’s shoulder, hand patting her gently, placatingly. David caught his eye; William gave him a quick nod.

  “Climb up, Polly,” David said. And she did. David doffed his hat and saluted Polly’s parents, who had moved up to the doorway, and he and his bride-to-be turned their mounts and rode out of the yard and onto the road.

  “Wait!” William Finley called. “Just a moment, please!”

  David stopped his horse and turned in the saddle. William Finley left his wife in the doorway and walked up to David.

  “Stay,” he said. “It would surely be pleasing to see Polly married in her own home.”

  “Well, sir, the truth is that I ain’t been made to feel much welcome in this house. It don’t seem right to have a marrying here when there’s still such strong feelings against it.” He glanced significantly toward Jean Finley.

  “I know your meaning,” William said. “Pay no heed to her. She’s like any woman—too much tongue, too little sense and respect. She’ll not stand in the way of a marriage here, if you�
�re willing.”

  David studied the face of his wife, and saw an expression of hope. Obviously she would prefer marriage here instead of at the tavern. How could he deny her? He didn’t want to—but it seemed to him that one barrier yet needed to be removed.

  “I’ll gladly marry here, if your wife will ask it with her own lips.”

  William scratched his chin. “Well … well, sure she will. Just give me a minute to have a word with her.”

  He returned to his wife and they withdrew into the house. Five minutes passed; David could occasionally hear loud voices coming from inside, but then the volume lowered, another minute passed, and the door opened again.

  Jean Finley walked out, paused on the doorstep, then walked up to David, looking up at him in the saddle. “I believe I’ve been a fool,” she said softly. “And I ask your pardon.”

  David smiled. “It’s already given. And I’ve never thought you a fool.”

  “Thank you, thank you. But a fool I’ve been. You must understand, Polly is the first daughter I’ve seen go off to be married, and it’s a hard thing to let her go into … into poverty.” She paused; this clearly was a delicate subject for her, as it was for David. But he couldn’t deny the truth of what she was saying. He was a poor man, just as his father had been and still was. Suddenly he understood a little better the way Jean Finley had acted. The Finley family knew the bitterness of want, and Jean had not been eager to see her daughter move into a marriage that might be unable to provide her anything better than she had known through her growing-up years. It was difficult to fault her for that.

  Jean Finley went on. “It’s clear that Polly loves you much, and if it’s you she wants to be with, then I want nothing less for her. Stay here, David. Have the wedding right here. I don’t think I can bear to see my girl carried away like this.”

  David nodded. “Very well, then. I’d be glad to marry here … if that’s what Polly wants.”