Mirror-Fic:  Luck of the Irish
By Lisa3

DISCLAIMER:
Catherine Marshall's beautiful story of Christy is owned by the
LeSourd family.  I am in no way seeking profit or credit for her
story.  I am continuing the story of Christy for my own amusement.
Any additions in story line or characters were invented by the
writer.  


I kept looking at myself in the mirror, and it never got any better,
no matter what angle I chose.  What was I going to do?

Pinned right to the right of my collar was a huge, cloth shamrock. 
Mother had sent it to me; it had arrived yesterday along with a nice
long letter from my parents and even a short note from George. 
Mother wrote, saying I had made this for her when I was in the 3rd
grade.  I vaguely remembered.  In her letter, she begged me to wear
it on St. Patrick's Day, saying that if she knew I was wearing it,
she would feel closer to me, like we weren't even apart.  She said
she remembers how proudly she wore this shamrock on St. Patrick's Day
those many years ago.  How could I refuse?

The shamrock was about 5 inches in diameter, it's edges worn, the
green color faded.  But, I would wear it and be close to my mother
today.  Today, Monday, March 17th, 1913, was St. Patrick's Day and
this shamrock had given me an idea.

******************

I was a few minutes late for school.  My arms were full of material
from the mission barrels as well as a pot of steaming liquid, which I
set on the floor near my desk.  The children had quieted down at my
entrance and I heard many inquiries.  

"Teacher, whatcha got thar?"

"Miz Christy, what's that store bought fabric fer?"

"Teacher, that's a mighty big pail of soup you brought fer your
lunch," said Creed Allan.  He looked to Sam Houston and whispered
"but it smells funny."  He waved his hand under his nose.

I couldn't help but smile.  "All right, children, settle down and
I'll answer your questions."  The room immediately grew silent. 
"Thank you.  Now, since it's St. Patrick's Day, I though we would do
an art project.  I want each of you to draw a shamrock, a four-leaf
clover, on a scrap of fabric.  Then you can take turns cutting them
out."

The children's voices grew louder again in their excitement.  I had
to raise my voice to be heard.

"And!"  The room grew silent once more.  "While our guest speaker is
talking, our shamrocks will be placed into this pot."

"What's in thar, Teacher?" asked little Burl.

"It's beet greens, Little Burl.  I boiled them this morning.  The
color from the leaves will turn our shamrocks green."

"Who's visitin us today, Miz Christy?"

"Dr. MacNeill is, Becky."  The class erupted into chatter again.  I
knew they loved it when the doctor paid us a visit.  "Quiet down,
please.  Thank you.  Dr. MacNeill will tell you a bit about your
Irish heritage.  He knows just as much about Ireland's heroes as he
does about Scotland and Bonnie Prince Charlie."

"I certainly do, Miss Huddleston," said a deep voice from the side
doorway, causing me to startle.  Neil MacNeill always seemed to know
how to fluster me with just a few words.

"Welcome doctor.  You're just in time to help us with an art project.
 Would you care to join us?"  I tried to use my best teacher voice
and hoped it sounded convincing.

Dr. MacNeill entered the school and stopped next to me.  "It would be
a pleasure, Miss Huddleston.  Where do we begin?"  He smiled down at
me, then to the class, rubbing his large hands together in
anticipation.

"Could you hand out these scraps of cloth to each child?"  I handed
him the bits of fabric.  Underneath the many scraps of cloth, our
hands met.  I froze for an instant and quickly glanced up at Neil. 
His face seemed unaffected, but his eyes…I could not define the look
I saw in them.  

Disturbed, I let go of the fabric quickly and turned to face the
children.  "I'll draw a huge shamrock on the blackboard so you'll all
know how to draw one on your piece of cloth.  Remember to put your
name on the back of your shamrock."  I was glad to have my back to
the class…and Dr. MacNeill.  My hands were still tingling from where
we touched.  Why was that?  And why didn't David's touch affect me
the same way?

******************

It took about 45 minutes before each child had a cloth shamrock on
their desk.  Some were big, some were small, and some you could
hardly tell it was a shamrock.  But every student was wearing a smile
and that's what mattered.  I formed the children in a line so they
could place their white shamrock into the pot of beet greens, then
they filed back to their seat.  

"I see you're already wearing your shamrock, Miss Huddleston."  Neil
came up next to me, his eyes glinting with mirth.

"Yes, I am.  Mother sent this to me.  I had made this for her when I
was no bigger than Mountie.  She said my wearing it today would make
her feel closer to me…"  I trailed off.  Why was I telling him this? 
Would he think it childish?  I blushed and turned my head, pretending
to watch the children.

Neil's voice was low when he spoke.  "That's a nice thing, Christy. 
It doesn't matter how old you get.  You'll always be your mother's
daughter."

Again, this man amazed me by his ability to read my thoughts and I
was glad he understood, but I could still not meet his eyes.  "All
right class, while your shamrocks are turning green, Dr. MacNeill
will give you a brief history lesson."  I moved to the side of the
classroom, giving Neil the room he needed and me the distance I
needed.

"All right, Lads and Lassies.  St. Patrick was born to a wealthy
family in England at the end of the fourth century A.D.  As a
teenager, he was taken captive by a group of Irish raiders.  He spent
6 years as a prisoner in Ireland…"  

As I watched the each child get caught up in Dr. MacNeill's story, I
too found myself drawn to his voice; that deep, Scottish accent…I
felt my face burning.  What was happening to me?  Why did I feel like
a girl with her first crush?  Could I harbor feelings for Neil? 
Neil, who taunted and pushed me at every turn.  How did this happen? 
When did this happen?  As my eyes stayed glued to his face, I had one
last thought.  Did Neil return my feelings?

******************

Dr. MacNeill stayed with us through lunch.  He said it was because he
wanted to see the shamrocks after they dried out on the schoolhouse
porch, where we had placed them in the sun.  During recess, I tried
my best to avoid him.  What if my eyes gave my feelings away?  Neil
was always so connected to my thoughts.  What if he saw…

"Teacher!  Our shamrocks are dry!" shouted Little Burl.

Thank heavens for Little Burl!  I rushed up the steps and organized
the children so they could pick out their own shamrock.  I had
brought with me a straight pin for each child so they could wear them
home.  

After the shamrocks were passed out I ushered them back into the
school.  Mountie O'Teale was waiting for me at the door.

"Teacher, this shamrock was stuck with mine.  It has Doc MacNeill's
name on it."

I had forgotten.  My face flushed, but I remained calm.  "Thank you,
Mountie." I took the clover from her.  "Rob?  Would you please start
the class in spelling?"

As soon as Rob ushered Mountie into the building, I quickly ran down
the steps, catching Neil as he was mounting Charlie.  "Neil!"

He turned, and just for a moment, I could almost swear his eyes were
burning into mine.  Then it was gone, just like before, just as
quickly.  Was I imagining it?  Was it wishful thinking on my part?

"Yes, Miss Huddleston?" he said warmly.

"I…you forgot this." I held out my hand, the shamrock lying in my
palm with a straight pin stuck in the cloth.

He gazed down at it for the longest time.  I grew uneasy, and shifted
from foot to foot.  Then, he picked it up, his finger-tips brushing
my palm like a feather as he examined my gift.

"Did you make this for me, Christy?" his voice was very low and deep,
and his eyes…they were burning as he looked at me.  I was not
imagining it!

"Well…yes."  To keep my hands busy, I grabbed the shamrock back and
proceeded to pin it to his pinstriped shirt.  "I wanted to thank you
for coming here today," I said breathlessly, "taking time out of your
busy schedule…"

The back of Neil's fingers brushing my cheek stopped my flow of
nervous chatter.  My hands fell to my side and I couldn't help but be
hypnotized by his gaze.  Then he smiled, and my knees almost gave way
beneath me.

"I'll think of you whenever I wear it, Christy.  Thank you."

This time as I looked into his eyes, I could read his statement. 
There was promise, yes, a promise, in his eyes.  A promise of what? 
I didn't know.  But as I watched him ride away, I knew that any
promise from Neil would be my heart's most secret wish.