Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder (27 page)

“We're Junior Teachers,” John said proudly. “Me and Lizette and Rob Allen. We get to help Miz Christy with the young'uns.”

“Well, that's mighty impressive,” Fairlight said, winking at Christy. “I'm proud of you, John. And just to give you a little extra practice, you can keep an eye on Lulu and Little Guy while Miz Christy and me are a-studyin'.”

John groaned. “We don't mind,” Lizette said with a grin. “Come on, Little Guy.” She reached for the toddler and lifted him off Christy's lap.

As she passed the fireplace, Lizette's gaze fell on the dulcimer that belonged to Jeb. “John,” she said thoughtfully, “did you ever think of learnin' to play the dulcimer like your pa does?”

John shrugged. “Naw. Pa plays enough for all of us. You know how he loves his ballad-singin'.”

“Wraight plays,” Lizette said.

“So?” John asked.

“So . . . nothin'. Have you ever heard him?” Her eyes had a faraway look in them.

“Nope. Don't want to, neither. I 'spect Wraight Holt has a voice like a bullfrog with the sniffles.”

Lizette smiled wistfully. “You'd 'spect so. But when that boy takes a notion to sing, he's got more music in him than a treeful of birds.”

“What are we talking about Wraight for, anyways?” John demanded. “He's trouble.”

“No, he ain't,” Lizette said.

“Well, he and Lundy and Smith are friends. And those other two ain't exactly angels. Look at what happened today at school. And yesterday.”

“That don't mean Wraight had anything to—”

“Come on,” John said gruffly. “We've got work to do.”

Fairlight watched John and Lizette head over to the far corner of the room. She leaned close to Christy. “Near as I can figure, John's got a real hankerin' for Lizette. Lately, he's been walkin' around all moony-eyed.” She lowered her voice. “But I have a feelin' Lizette don't feel the same way about John. I'm just guessin', mind you, but I think she's got her heart set on Wraight Holt.”

Christy nodded. “It does sound that way, doesn't it?”

“What was John talkin' about?” Fairlight asked, reaching for a piece of gingerbread. “Did somethin' happen at the school?”

“Someone wrote
Get away, Teacher
on the side of the schoolhouse,” Christy said with a sigh. “Not only that, they nailed the front door shut.”

Fairlight blinked in disbelief. “Who done it, do you figure?”

“I wish I knew. Naturally, I suspect Lundy Taylor. But I don't have any proof. And I
thought
I saw Zach Holt running from the school. . . .”

“Zach's such a good boy,” Fairlight said. “I reckon it wasn't him, unless one of the big boys put him up to it.”

“Well, whoever it was, he wasn't a good speller.” Christy smiled. “And speaking of spelling, we have more important things to be talking about! Shall we start?”

“I can't wait,” Fairlight said. Her eyes were wide with excitement.

Christy opened the box she'd brought. Inside was a copy of the alphabet printed in large, clear letters; a Bible; a fresh, ruled pad; and some pictures Christy had cut out from old magazines. Some were of landscapes. Others were figures of men, women, and children, pasted onto cardboard bases so they could be stood upright, the way Christy used to do with paper dolls when she was a little girl. She was hoping to find a new and interesting way to teach Fairlight. She didn't want to use the same simple books she used for children beginning to read—the ones that began with sentences like “The rat ran from the cat.”

Christy picked up the Bible. “There are lots and lots of words in this book.”

“How soon will I be able to read it, Miz Christy?”

“In no time! And I'll tell you why. All the words in this book use only twenty-six English letters.” She pointed to the alphabet. “After you've learned how to put the letters together, then, with some practice, you'll be able to read.”

Fairlight's eyes shone. “I'd like that the best in the world.”

After they had read through the alphabet twice, Fairlight began studying the letters with such concentration that she seemed to forget Christy was even there. After a while, she looked up. “Think I've got it,” she announced. “A—B—C—D . . .” She went all the way through the alphabet, only making one mistake.

John and Lizette applauded. “Ma, that was wonderful!” John exclaimed.

“Isn't she the smartest ma in the whole wide world, Miz Christy?” cried twelve-year-old Clara, who was playing by the fire with her younger sister, Zady.

“Fairlight, I can tell you are going to be a wonderful student,” Christy said. She felt almost as excited as Fairlight clearly was. She propped up one of the background pictures of a landscape drenched in sunlight. “Now, Fairlight, you pick out one of the paper people from this pile.”

Fairlight selected a well-dressed young man and stood him up before the landscape. Christy taught her the word
man
, and Fairlight eagerly practiced saying it and forming the letters. Soon they'd moved on to
tree
,
sun
,
grass
,
sky
, and
light
. Before long, Fairlight had mastered ten words.

Christy opened the Bible to the first chapter of Genesis. “Now, Fairlight, look at this,” she said. “The words on this page are just ideas marching along. Like this one—‘And God said, Let there be light—'”

“L-I-G-H-T!” Fairlight cried. “There it is!
Light!
Just like in my own name. I
see
it!” She turned to Clara and Zady. “Look, girls. L-I-G-H-T,
light
.”

Christy couldn't help beaming. It was such a thrill to be able to open up a whole new world of reading to someone like Fairlight, who was so grateful for the chance to learn.

“Before long, you'll be reading the Bible to the children,” Christy said. “I must say, Fairlight, you're a joy to teach.”

Zady pulled on Christy's sleeve. “How about us, Teacher?” she asked, her black eyes wide. “Are we joys, too?”

“You are a joy to teach, too,” Christy said, patting Zady on the head. “All my students are.”

“Even Wraight and Lundy and Smith?” John asked from the corner.

“Even them,” Christy said. Although the truth was, there had been many days when she'd wished the older boys weren't at school, trying her patience and testing her will.

Fairlight turned toward the only window. “What was that?” she asked, frowning.

“What?” Christy asked.

“Thought I heard somethin' at the window.”

“Probably just Pa,” John said, standing. “But I'll go check.”

Outside the window, the shadows had grown long. Already the sun was vanishing behind the mountains. “I should get going,” Christy said. “Miss Ida frets so if I'm late for dinner.”

“John'll walk you,” Fairlight said.

Christy shook her head. “Oh, there's no need.”

“I'll walk with you part way, Miz Christy,” Lizette volunteered. “Time for me to get goin', anyhow.”

“John'll walk you both,” Fairlight insisted.

“All right, then,” Christy said, recalling her promise to David that morning.

John appeared in the doorway. “Ain't nothin', Ma,” he reported. “Pa stackin' logs, most likely. He says he didn't see or hear nothin'.”

“Probably just my ears playin' tricks on me,” Fairlight said. “John, I want you to walk Miz Christy and Lizette on home. It's gettin' on toward dark, and I'm afraid I took up way too much time with my schoolin'.”

“Don't be silly, Fairlight,” Christy assured her. “I enjoyed every minute. In fact, I can't wait for us to get together again for another lesson. I'll leave that box of materials for you to work on.”

“Meantime, maybe I can get me some help from my very own Junior Teacher,” Fairlight said, giving John a hug.

John blushed, glancing over at Lizette. “We'd best get goin',” he said, pulling out of his mother's grasp.

“Thank you again, Miz Christy. I'm goin' to practice my letters till I know 'em backwards and forwards and inside out.”

After Christy said goodbye to the children and to Jeb, she and Lizette and John set out along the rough path toward the mission. They took a slight detour that led to Lizette's cabin. When Lizette was safely inside, John and Christy resumed their walk to the mission.

After a few minutes of silence, John turned to Christy. “Have you ever been . . .”

“Ever been what, John?”

“You know.” He picked up the pace. “You know, sweet on somebody?”

Christy hurried to catch up. “Well, once or twice, I suppose.”

“Lizette says the preacher's sweet on you.”

“Oh, she does, does she?”

John gave a terse nod. “S'posin' the preacher were sweet on you, but you weren't sweet on him?”

Christy felt herself blushing. She wasn't “sweet on” David, exactly. After all, she'd only known him a little while. But she had to admit she did look forward to his sly smiles and silly jokes.

“Miz Christy?”

Christy cleared her throat. “All right, then. Let's suppose. As long as you understand we're
just
supposing.”

“Well, s'posin'—” Suddenly John stopped in his tracks. “You hear somethin'?”

Christy paused, straining to hear. “No.”

“Bushes cracklin'.”

“No, I don't hear anything.”

Christy glanced over her shoulder. The trees cast long, black shadows. The edges of the sky were tinged with pink, but the sun had vanished.

“Hearin' things, I guess. Sorry.”

“So, John, you were saying?” Christy asked as they started walking again.

“Oh. That. I guess I was just wonderin' if there's a way to get a girl to be sweet on you when maybe she ain't.”

“That's a good question. I suppose you should just be the person you really are, John. And if Liz . . . I mean, this girl . . . isn't the right one for you, trust me, someone else will come along who sees how special you really are.”

John gave a small, hopeful smile. “You reckon?”

“I'm sure of it.”

After a few more minutes, they reached the last ridge before the mission. The first stars had begun to glimmer.

“You go on home, now, John,” Christy said. “If you head back now, you might not miss dinner.”

“No'm. I promised I'd take you all the way.”

“John,” Christy said firmly. “I insist. Otherwise I'll have to worry about you.”

John hesitated. “I don't mind, Miz Christy—”

“But I do. The mission is just over the next ridge, and I don't want you going home in complete darkness.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now, go home. That's an order. After all, you may be a Junior Teacher. But I'm the Senior Teacher.”

John laughed. “All right, then. You take care to go straight over the ridge so you don't get sidetracked. The path is hard to follow when it gets this dark.” He started to turn, then hesitated. “Miz Christy?”

“Yes, John?”

“Thanks for the . . . uh, the advice.”

“Any time.”

Christy smiled as she started up the crude path. John was a nice boy. She wondered why Lizette was interested in Wraight—if she really was. Well, love was funny that way. Maybe Lizette saw something in Wraight that Christy couldn't see.

She climbed up the path, taking careful steps because of the patches of snow and mud. After a while, the path seemed to disappear in the twilight gloom. Hadn't it been better marked? The hill was steeper than she'd remembered it, too.

She stopped. Had she lost the trail, just as John had warned her not to do? It had been here a minute ago—

Behind her, something cracked. It was the distinct, loud crunch of a dry stick breaking.

An animal, Christy told herself. She turned, straining her eyes to see if she could make out anything. John had long since vanished. She saw no animals. Nothing. In the near darkness, the trees blended into one another, forming a lacy, black curtain. She gazed back up toward the top of the ridge. Above her, a stand of pines lurked like a group of menacing giants.

Hoo—hoo—oo —hoo —hoo.

Christy started. It was an owl, that much she knew. She wasn't such a “city-gal” that she'd never heard an owl before. But it seemed to be coming from deep in the bushes, just a few yards to her left. Shouldn't any self-respecting owl be up in a tree?

You're almost home, Christy
, she told herself.
Relax.

It was just like Fairlight had said—her ears were playing tricks on her.

Christy quickened her pace, but the snow was hard and icy in spots. She'd only gained a few feet when she slipped and fell. She landed on the cold ground with a thud. As she struggled to untangle her long skirts, a deep, horrifying howling noise seemed to fill the whole woods. It was the cry of a wolf, so close it might have been just inches away.

Christy froze in place. Her heart galloped in her chest. If he saw her move, he might attack.

The howl came again, a long, sad wail. It was close, too close. She was sure she could hear the wild, dangerous animal breathing.

Whatever you do
, she told herself,
don't move
.

On the other hand, she couldn't sit here all night in the cold, could she? They'd find her here tomorrow, stiff as a statue, with a look of terror permanently frozen on her face.

No, that was too awful to think about. One way or another, she had to take her chances.

Christy stumbled slowly to her feet. There was no point in looking for the path now. She'd just aim for the top of the ridge, where the dark blue sky glistened with a dusting of stars. She couldn't run up the steep, bramble-covered hill, even if she'd wanted to. Instead she grabbed at limbs and bushes wherever she could, pulling herself toward the top.