I make all the usual disclaimers about it. Title: "A Stitch in Time" Author: Lisa R. A Stitch in Time “I trust that thee will treat the garment with the utmost care,” said Alice Henderson, her raised eyebrows reflecting the gravity in her voice. “Oh, yes’m!” Ruby Mae Morrison replied, vigorously shaking her head of abundant red hair. “I shorely will---don’t ye be worryin’ none about hit!” The teenager clutched the Quaker lady’s best grey skirt and jacket to her chest. “Why, this here suit’ll be so darned clean and tidy, no one’ll say nothin’ ’bout how funny that ole black bonnet---” Ruby Mae clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were wide with mortification. Alice only pursed her lips and mounted her sorrel mare. “Just see to it, Ruby Mae, that my Sunday best is laundered and pressed for me when I return from Cataleechie.” * * * * * Saturday morning meant two things at the Cutter Gap Mission: no school---and plenty of house work. Christy Huddleston had been scrubbing and scouring the mission house since breakfast, and by a quarter past eleven, she had completed the cleaning tasks. And though weary, she decided to go into the yard and help Ruby Mae with the laundry. Christy had just put away the mop and emptied the dirty water from the bucket, when an ear-piercing shriek filled her ears. “LORDAMERCY!!! MIZ CHRISTY!!!!! MIZ CHRISTY!!!!!!!!!!!” Christy made a mad dash for the yard and was at Ruby Mae’s side in an instant. “Ruby Mae,” she panted, “what is it?” Tears rolling down her befreckled cheeks, Ruby Mae held up two strips of grey surge. “I ruined hit, Miz Christy.” The young schoolteacher gasped. Miss Alice’s best Sunday skirt had been ripped in half. And not even neatly ripped---it was shredded by the teeth of the rusty old washboard. “Oh, Ruby Mae,” Christy said in a low voice, not bothering to hide her dismay. “Miz Christy, whatever are we goin’ t’ do? Miz Alice’ll tan my hide fer shore and sartain---” “We’ll take it to Fairlight,” Christy said, taking the torn skirt from Ruby Mae. “She’s a fine seamstress, and I’m sure she can mend it.” She wiped Ruby Mae’s tears with the corner of her apron, and gave her the best reassuring smile she could produce under such dire circumstances. “It’ll be as good as new.” And with that, Christy marched down the path in the direction of the Spencer cabin. * * * * * It was laundry day for the Spencers, as well as the mission, for when Christy walked into her friends’ yard, Zady was busy scrubbing a pair of worn, patched overalls. “Howdy, Miz Christy,” she said, stopping her chore to wave and smile at her teacher. “Hello, Zady,” Christy replied. “Is your mother here?” Zady shook her head. “No’m, she ain’t.” “Oh no!” Christy cried, wringing Miss Alice’s skirt in her hands. “She’s not?” “She went with Paw t’ El Pano t’ sell honey thar,” Zady explained. “Oh, Miz Christy!” Ruby Mae’s tears had not ebbed since the accident with the skirt had occurred, and now she wailed all the harder. “If’n Miz Spencer ain’t here, that skirt ain’t never goin’ t’ git fixed! An’ Miz Alice’ll---” “Good day, ladies,” came a deep Scottish brogue from behind the cluster of young women. “And what is the cause of all the tears, if I might ask?” Dr. MacNeill’s brow was furrowed inquisitively as he slid down from Charlie’s back. “This,” said Christy, holding up the two pieces of grey fabric. Dr. MacNeill reached out and took them from the teacher, the lines of his brow drawn even tighter as he scrutinized the material. After a moment, he looked up at Christy. “This isn’t Alice’s---” Christy animatedly nodded the affirmative. “Yes, it is! And I brought it here to see if Fairlight could mend it, but she and Jeb went to El Pano, and---” Dr. MacNeill wasn’t listening. He had turned away from Christy, taking the two pieces of skirt with him. He went to Charlie, draped the skirt over the saddle, and proceeded to rummage through his saddle bags. When he had found a needle and thread, he turned to Christy and grinned. “I’m a surgeon, Miss Huddleston. I imagine that if I can suture cut bellies, I can mend a skirt.” The physician sat down on a stump. The three females watched as he carefully wet the end of the thread, then slid it through the eye of the needle. He tied it off, then, after piecing the skirt together, pierced the fabric with the needle. Dr. MacNeill made one stitch, then two. Tiny. Even. Unnoticeable. Christy watched the Doctor’s big, rough hands move deftly as he sewed the torn skirt. Her eyes wandered from his hands, up his arms. The shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms. Her eyes continued their journey, up to his shoulders, his face. . . Christy studied his rugged features, marveling at how intent he was upon his task, and of course, how handsome he was... “And there you are,” Dr. MacNeill said, less than an hour later, knotting the end of the thread and cutting off the excess. He smiled broadly at the three mesmerized young women. “Miss Huddleston, does my sewing meet with your approval?” Christy took the newly-mended skirt from the Doctor and examined it. “Yes, Dr. MacNeill, you certainly do meet with my approval.” Dr. MacNeill’s smile widened, and Christy blushed crimson as she realized her blunder... The End!