Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder (7 page)

“Now, Ida,” Mr. Grantland chided. “Miss Huddleston has had a rough day.”

“That she has,” Mr. Pentland agreed. “Walked all the way here, she did. Then helped the Doc with his surgery, and plumb fell off a bridge to boot.”

Miss Ida seemed to soften a little. “Let's get you upstairs and into some dry clothes,” she said, leading Christy toward the stairway.

Christy turned. She gave a weak smile to Mr. Pentland and Mr. Grantland. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you both for everything.”

Mr. Pentland gave a courtly nod. Mr. Grantland grinned. “Not at all,” he said. “It isn't every day I get to save a damsel in distress.”

His sister rolled her eyes. “Damsel in distress, indeed!”

She took Christy's suitcase and helped her up the wooden stairs, all the while grimacing at the trail of muddy water Christy was leaving in her wake.

At the top of the stairs, Miss Ida gestured to a simple room. It was not luxurious, to say the least—a washstand with a white china pitcher and bowl, an old dresser with a cracked mirror above it, two straight chairs, the plainest kind of white curtains, and two cotton rag rugs on the bare floor.

“First things first,” Miss Ida said. “We need to get you into some dry clothes.” She handed Christy some towels.

“I have some things . . .” Christy paused, “. . . in my suitcase.” She was tired, so tired. Had she ever been this exhausted? The very insides of her bones ached. Never had a bed looked so inviting.

Miss Ida unlatched the suitcase. She pulled out Christy's diary and set it aside. Carefully she removed a nightgown. “Here, now,” she said. “You get yourself good and dry; then put on this nightgown. Whatever you do, don't sit on that bed in those soaking clothes.”

Too tired to respond, Christy did as she was told. By the time Miss Ida returned, Christy had managed to put on her nightgown and run a comb through her tangled, wet hair.

Miss Ida frowned at the pile of wet clothes in the corner. “I'll take care of those tomorrow,” Christy promised, feeling guilty at the awful impression she must be making. She glanced longingly at the bed—the soft, warm, and
very dry
bed.

With a grimace, Miss Ida picked up Christy's wet clothes. “
I'll
take care of them,” she said in a long-suffering tone.

“Thank you, Miss Ida. I'm so sorry to be such trouble. I guess I'm not making a very good impression. . . . ” Christy's voice faded off.

“Oh, you seemed to have made quite an impression on my brother,” Miss Ida said flatly.

Christy attempted a smile, but Miss Ida did not return it. “I suppose you'll be wanting something to eat?” Miss Ida asked.

“The truth is, I'm too tired to eat.”

“Well, then. You can get yourself settled in tomorrow. Miss Alice will be wanting to meet you.”

“I'm looking forward to it. And I can't wait to see the school.”

For a moment, Miss Ida's expression warmed. “The building's almost complete. David did most of it himself. It's a sight to behold.”

“I hope I do it justice,” Christy said.

“I do, too,” Miss Ida replied. The tone in her voice told Christy that she had her doubts.

At last the door closed and Christy was alone in her little room. Her whole body was sore. She could tell she was going to have a nasty bruise on her hip from her fall.

She retrieved her diary and pen. She wanted to keep track of her adventure as it unfolded, and so much had happened today. As exhausted as she was, she had to get it all down while it was still fresh in her mind.

Christy climbed into bed. The fresh sheets felt wonderful. She propped herself up against her pillow, with the diary on her knees.

Where should I begin?
she wrote.

A few words, that's all. Just a few words. . . . Slowly her eyelids began to droop. Tired, she was so very tired. . . .

Christy set down her pen and lay her head against the pillow, her eyes already closed. As she pulled the sheets up to her chin, her hand grazed her neck.

It was only then that she realized her locket was gone. It had come off, no doubt, during her tumble into the creek.
I'll go back
, she told herself.
Maybe, by some miracle, I'll find it
.

But as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, in her heart she knew the truth—that the locket had been lost in the raging mountain creek. But she also knew that she must not dwell on the loss of her precious family keepsake. Instead, she must put her old life behind her and concentrate on beginning a new life in this strange place.

Eight

C
hristy slept late the next morning. When she awoke, her body was stiff and sore. Just as she'd expected, there was a large, ugly bruise on her hip.

The events of the previous day seemed like a dream. But if they were all a dream, what was she doing in this strange little room? The long, exhausting walk; the Spencers' cabin; Mr. Allen's surgery; her terrifying fall off the bridge . . . had it all happened in the space of one short day? Christy reached for the place at her throat where her locket should have been. She couldn't believe she'd lost it. What would she tell her father?

She hobbled stiffly over to one of the windows. Nothing had prepared her for what met her eyes. Mountain ranges were folded one behind the other. Some were snow-covered. Others showed patches of emerald or deep green, and then the blues began. On the smoky blue of the far summits, fluffy white clouds rested like wisps of cotton.

She counted the mountain ranges. Eleven of them, rising up and up toward the vault of the sky.

Only yesterday at the Spencer cabin, watching a man undergo surgery because of her, Christy had wondered if accepting this teaching job had been a dreadful mistake. Now, staring at this peaceful view, she was not quite so sure what to think. Had Mr. Allen survived the night? She still did not know. But meanwhile, in the face of tragedy, these mountains were whispering a different message to her. A message that seemed to say,
Stay
.
This is your view. This will be your source of peace and strength.

Someone knocked on her door. It was Miss Ida. For the first time, Christy got a good look at her. She was a plain woman with thin, graying hair. It was drawn into a tight bun, so meager that her scalp showed through in several places. Her nose was too large for her narrow face. Already Christy could tell she was a nervous person. When she smiled, it seemed to be an afterthought, as if her brain had ordered, “Now, smile,” but her feelings hadn't joined in.

“You slept well, I hope?” Miss Ida asked.

“Just fine.”

“I've cleaned up your clothes. They're downstairs, drying.”

“Thank you so much,” Christy said gratefully. “Oh, Miss Ida, tell me—I've got to know. Mr. Allen, how is he? Is he—” She couldn't quite say it.

“Alive? Oh, yes. Dr. MacNeill spent the night there. Miss Alice Henderson, too. She went right to the Spencers' soon as she heard about the operation. She's catching a wink of sleep now.”

“Then Mr. Allen's out of danger?”

“Not yet, I take it, or the doctor wouldn't still be there. Now about breakfast—everybody else has eaten. When you get changed, come on down to the dining room. I'll see you get something.”

Christy wondered who “everybody” was. How many lived in this house?

“Miss Alice would like to see you today,” Miss Ida said. She crossed the room to the window and pointed. “See that smoke? That's her cabin. Just there, beyond the trees.”

After Miss Ida left, Christy dressed quickly and rushed downstairs. She felt as if she hadn't eaten in days. The dining room turned out to be a simple square room at the back of the house. A round, golden oak table sat in the center.

Miss Ida provided a wonderful breakfast— hot oatmeal followed by buckwheat cakes and maple syrup. “David's at the Low Gap School near here,” Miss Ida said as she watched Christy eat. “He said to tell you he was sorry not to be here when you woke up.”

“I'm sorry I overslept. Does Mr. Grantland teach at that school?”

“Oh no, that school is closed. There were some old school desks there. They said we could use them. Supplies, you'll soon see, are always a problem here.” She pointed out the window to an unfinished building about a thousand yards away. It was rectangular, with a half-finished belltower. “David can build anything he sets his hand to,” she said proudly. “He's working on the steeple now.”

“Then will that be the church as well as the school?”

“That's right,” Miss Ida said, with a tone in her voice that made Christy uncomfortable. “We haven't the lumber and funds here to put up two buildings when one would do. This will be used for school on weekdays, and church on Sundays.”

“They've never had a school here before?”

Miss Ida watched, curling her lip just slightly as Christy helped herself to a second round of buckwheat cakes. “You've quite an appetite, haven't you?” she said. “But you asked about the school. No, this will be the first term.”

“Does Mr. Grantland live here, in the mission house?”

Miss Ida shook her head. “He has a bunkhouse, down by the creek. That's why it's lucky you fell in there. He and Miss Alice take their meals here in the house, though.” She smiled proudly. “David begged me to come and keep house for him. He says maybe we can find a mountain woman to train as a housekeeper. But I have doubts myself that anybody else can cook to suit him.”

Just then the side door banged and suddenly Mr. Grantland stood in the kitchen doorway. A young girl with snarled red hair peered curiously from behind him. “Miss Huddleston,” he said with a smile, “I must say you're looking much better—not to mention drier—this morning.”

“I'm not sure I thanked you properly yesterday,” Christy said.

“For—”

“For everything. For carrying me here, for . . .” she hesitated as the words sunk in, “for saving my life.”

Mr. Grantland laughed. His big, booming voice filled the room. “All in a day's work. Oh—” he turned and beckoned to the red-haired girl, “allow me to introduce Ruby Mae Morrison. She's staying here at the mission house with us for a while.”

The girl stepped forward. “Howdy,” she said eagerly. Her eyes took in every inch of Christy. She was a teenager, maybe thirteen or so, Christy guessed, with abundant red hair that looked as if it had not been combed in a long while. Her plain, thin cotton dress was torn at the hem. She was barefoot, just as the Spencer children had been.

“Nice to meet you, Ruby Mae,” Christy said. She pointed to some leftover buckwheat cakes. “Would you two like to join me?”

“They both had breakfast,” Miss Ida reminded Christy primly. “
Hours
ago.”

“Reckon I'm hungry again, though,” Ruby Mae said, pulling up a chair.

Miss Ida groaned. “I suppose, if Miss Huddleston is done, you may as well finish up what's left. But, please, Ruby Mae, go wash up in the basin in the kitchen.”

“Wash up, wash up, wash up,” Ruby Mae muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward as she reluctantly headed for the kitchen. “If'n I wash up much more, I'll wash my skin clean off!”

Mr. Grantland laughed as she disappeared into the kitchen. “She's a character, that one,” he said.

“She's trouble, is what he means,” Miss Ida said, scraping crumbs on the table into her palm. “She'll talk your ear off if you let her. And gossip! Where that girl gets her information, I'll never know.”

“Ruby Mae is a one-woman newspaper,” Mr. Grantland said.

“Why—” Christy lowered her voice, “Why is she staying here?”

His face went serious. “She and her stepfather don't get along. After a particularly bad argument, he ordered her out of the cabin. She had nowhere else to go, so we took her in.”

Ruby Mae returned, thrusting her hands in front of Miss Ida for inspection. “Ain't no more of those germy things a-growin' on
these
hands,” she declared. She winked at Christy. “Not that I've ever seen one, mind you. But Doc MacNeill and Miss Ida and Miss Alice, they keep a-swearin' they're there.” She pointed to Christy's plate. “You done with those?”

“Oh—yes. Here, please. I couldn't eat another bite.” Christy passed her plate to Ruby Mae, who began to eat like she hadn't seen food in weeks.

“She's got the appetite of a grown man, that girl,” Miss Ida said with evident distaste.

“That's all right,” Christy said, smiling at Ruby Mae. “So do I.”

Ruby Mae grinned back gratefully, her mouth stuffed with buckwheat cakes. “Maybuf latef I shoof yoouf aroumf.”

“Allow me to translate,” Mr. Grantland said. “I speak Ruby Mae. I believe she was offering to give you the royal tour of the mission.”

Ruby Mae nodded enthusiastically.

“Which would probably be a fine idea,” he continued, “since I, unfortunately, cannot do the honors myself. I've got another load of school desks to pick up.”

“I'd like that, Ruby Mae,” Christy said.

Ruby Mae glowed, obviously thrilled at being assigned such an important duty.

“I'm afraid it will be a rather brief tour,” Mr. Grantland said. “There's not much to see, really.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” Christy replied. “When I looked out my window this morning, it practically took my breath away. The mountains, the sky . . . it's amazing.”

“Yes,” Mr. Grantland gazed at her thoughtfully. “I'm glad you can see that, too.” His voice went soft. “Sometimes, with all the problems here in the Cove, it helps to see God's beauty in His creation.” He smiled a little self-consciously. “Well, I must be off. Enjoy your tour. And enjoy your meeting with Miss Alice.”

He gave a little wave and in a few long strides had disappeared out the door.