Free Beyond the Quiet Hills by Aaron McCarver Page A

stronger than he was. Finally he forced himself to say, “If you force me to go, I will.”
    â€œNo, that won’t do,” James said instantly. “You can’t make people different in their hearts. It would do no good to force you to do something you hated.”
    â€œYour grandfather and I have been praying that you would change your mind and decide to go with your father—at least for a time. It doesn’t have to be forever, Jacob, but you need to give God a chance to work things out between you.”
    Jacob found it hard to resist his grandmother, for her gentleness was one unchanging factor in his life. He looked up at her now and bit his lip as he thought hard, then said, “Don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think I can do it.” He got up and left the table without another word, and behind him he left two people grieved over a young man they loved with all their hearts—and over the son they had never given up on.
    ****
    The home of Silas and Martha Anderson was not opulent, but it was solid and well built. A single step led up to the large clapboard-sheathed saltbox home. It was painted a light brown color with mauve and light blue trim around each plank-framed window and had overgrown bushes on each side of the small landing. The windows were twelve-over-twelve sash with three on the top floor and two on the first floor, one on each side of the large oak door. A massive brick chimney made its way through the center of the dark brown shake roof that sloped sharply down the back. Through the large door was a foyer with hardwood floors and eggshell painted walls. The first door to the right led into the best parlor, a large room with chocolate brown-colored carpet with black diamonds running through it. The walls were painted a light slate color and had a border of various kinds of trees and animals edging the windows, surbase, and cornice. The small pine and pewter fireplace had a warm fire crackling, and the larger furniture had been moved to the hall outside and replaced with Windsor easy chairs standing in rows for the guests.
    Rhoda stood beside her husband-to-be in the center of the room, and Reverend Joseph Jefferson, the local Congregational minister, stood before the couple. Rhoda was not wearing a bridal gown but had chosen a simple dress made out of sapphire blue handwoven light wool. It had a square neckline edged with black lace and long, tight sleeves that ended at the wrists in a small ruffle. The bodice was tight, and the stomacher was embroidered with black and gray flowers. The skirt was full, long, and had two small rows of the black lace along the edge.
    Paul Anderson, standing beside her, had not even bought a new suit. He was wearing a charcoal gray woolen suit with an overcoat that came to below his knees, worn open to reveal a white linen shirt with ruffles at the neck and wrists, and a waistcoat buttoned to the top with black buttons and decorated with black brocade along the edges. His breeches were loose fitting and reached below the knees and fastened with large black buttons. His face was alight as he looked at Rhoda, for he was very much in love with this young woman. They were the same age, thirty-six, and while Paul was not a handsome man, there was a winsomeness about him that was very attractive as he looked his bride full in the face.
    Standing beside Paul, Hawk had drawn himself up straight so that he could see the profile of the minister and the faces of the bride and groom. He had known Rhoda for years, and suddenly old memories of her past tried to surface and he quickly pushed them aside. Her new faith in Christ had grown so fast that she truly looked like a new person. She had a bright expectation in her dark eyes, and she looked young and beautiful as she was about to take her vows.
    He let his glance lift slightly, taking in Silas and Martha Anderson, Paul’s parents. He knew it had been a disappointment to them when Paul had