~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
TITLE:  "How Sweet the Sound"
AUTHOR:  Charlotte 
PART: 1

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  This fan fiction is written as an
episode to follow "Amazing Grace" where Margaret
Henderson MacNeill comes back to Cutter Gap and then
leaves.  It picks up from the last scene in "Amazing
Grace" where Christy comforts Miss Alice.

Like the series, it is primarily in first person, from
Christy’s perspective, but occasionally shifts
perspective to include action that does not involve
Christy.  While this is a major no-no in traditional
writing (the author tips her hat to Greer, writing
tips maven), I have decided to follow the format of
the show, sticking to first person as much as possible
with occasional lapses into third person. 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:  My deep felt thanks to my fellow
Christy Sisters whose brains I have picked for
insights into characters, past episodes, writing tips,
and overall editing--you know who you are!  Whatever
good there might be in this story is due in large part
to their comments and help.  Whatever stinks is
totally my fault!  

DISCLAIMER:  This story is a work of fan fiction for
entertainment purposes only.  The characters of
"Christy" are property of the LeSourd family and no
infringement upon those rights is intended. Any
additions to the story line, including characters,
were created by the writer of this story.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

All around us, the sky turned brilliant shades of red
and purple, but my attention was focused on Miss Alice
and the figure growing ever smaller in the mountain
twilight.  I had stood in the mission filled with joy
for the first time since Margaret Henderson MacNeill
arrived in Cutter Gap.  The gentle sounds of Hattie's
voice reached deep inside of me, making me believe
that Miss Alice was right after all--this story would
have a happy ending.  "I once was lost, but now am
found, was blind but now I see..."  

The song haunted me.  Those words echoed over and over
in my head, reminding me of Margaret.  Margaret had
been lost, but she had come home.  Home to her
mother...and her husband.  Despite Neil's insistence
that she was dead to him, I knew he cared.  The pain
in his eyes that day as he rushed past Mr. Harland and
me had left me numb.  I wanted to reach out to him
then to comfort him, to settle his mind and troubled
heart as he had mine so many times, but I couldn't. 
Later, I overheard Ruby Mae tell Miss Alice that she
saw Neil and Margaret on Coldspring Mountain.  Perhaps
they had decided to work out their differences, but
Margaret left as quietly as she had arrived.

"Miss Alice, please come back inside.  It's too cold
for you to be out here."

Alice held up one hand to stop me, and continued
looking in the distance.  "I can still see her,
Christy.  Maybe she'll come back."  

I glanced up, but it was already dark. "She's gone,
Miss Alice."

She held her hand against her chest and said, "I can
still feel her here."  Turning to look at me, she
said, "Why did she leave without me?  What did I do
wrong?"  Her soft gray eyes were filled with tears.

My heart broke for her.  "I'm so sorry..."

She slowly stood up and brushed the dirt from her dark
skirt.  "I need to be alone for a little while."

"I can tell David.  He'll end the singing early..."

"No, that won't be necessary, Christy."  She sighed
deeply and turned toward the church, leaving me alone
in the dark schoolyard.

I stood there dazed and hurt.  My eyes moved from the
church to the meadow in front of me, searching,
praying for Miss Alice's sake, that Margaret had not
left her family again.  I scanned the moonlit meadow,
but I saw nothing. 

Her family.  "Neil..."  I grabbed my skirt and started
running toward his cabin as fast as I could.  The cold
air burned my lungs but I ignored it.  Neil needed
me...

Slowing down only when I reached the door, I pounded
on it.  I wanted to call out to him.  To let him know
that I was there.  But I was too tired.  My side
ached.  My lungs felt as if they were on fire.  Again,
I pounded.  But no one answered.  I opened the door
and looked around.  The door to his laboratory was
locked from the outside, so I knew Neil wasn't there. 
But where was he?
  
I rushed out onto the porch and saw Charlie tied to
the hitching post at the side of the cabin.  Neil had
to be nearby.  I hurried down the stairs and
instinctively headed for the river.  As I rounded a
cluster of large oak trees, I saw him.  It was almost
pitch black now, and I could just make out the shape
of Neil's back in the moonlight, sitting on a wooden
bench by the river.

Overwhelming guilt washed over me.  I had no right to
be there.  I was Neil's friend and nothing more.  As I
turned to leave him in peace, I stopped. Overhead an
enormous yellow moon shone down, reflecting bits of
light off the surface of the river.  Neil was only
several yards away, but he seemed so distant and
alone.

I would wait, just to make sure that he was all right,
and then I'd go.  I leaned against a tall cedar and
watched as he sat quietly, staring out into the dark. 
His shoulders were slumped.  As I thought about how he
must feel, tears started to flow down my face.  He was
hurt and needed someone, and I was the only one there.

Slowly, I walked up behind Neil.  Leaves crackled
under my feet, but he didn't look up or turn around. 
I put my arms around him, just like I would do with
Little Burl or Creed if they were hurt. I leaned my
head against his sandy curls as tears continued to
trickle down my face.

Neil leaned against me, his breathing short and
deliberate.  Reaching up, he took my arm, leading me
around to the front of the bench where I sat down next
to him.  I glanced down and noticed that he was
rolling two gold bands back and forth between his
fingers.  I gasped as I realized the magnitude of what
Margaret had done.

He shoved the rings into his shirt pocket and looked
directly at me.  His face was softer now and his eyes
shone with a strange mixture of pain and hope that I
didn't understand.   He turned away slightly, glancing
at the river.  His voice hoarse and distant, he said,
"It's over, Christy."   

"Margaret?" 

"Yes.  She's gone."  I reached over and took his hand,
stroking it gently as I watched his face.  The pain in
his eyes was still there, but he seemed calmer, more
peaceful than when I had first arrived.  I smiled,
glad that I had come to see him.  Margaret hurt Miss
Alice too, but she had God.  Neil had no one.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


PART: 2



I reached out slowly, my fingers gently touching
Neil’s face as he continued to stare into the
blackness.  I noticed that the corners of his mouth
turned upward slightly.  Sighing deeply, he closed his
eyes for a moment.  I whispered, "You have me, Neil. 
You'll always have me."

His eyes snapped open and he looked at me with such
intensity that I felt weak.  Reaching for my hands, he
said, "Christy, I want to tell you how much…"  As his
large hands enveloped mine, he stopped.  "Christy,
your hands are so cold!  You shouldn't be out here
without gloves.  You could get frostbite."   

Neil quickly pulled off his own gloves, tucking them
into his coat pocket.  His warm hands now bare, he
pressed them over mine, surrounding them.  Bringing my
hands up to his lips, he gently warmed my numb fingers
with his breath.

As my hands warmed, they started to throb.  I tried to
pull away, but Neil held them tightly.  "I'm sorry,
lass.  They're going to hurt a bit as they warm up. 
Let's get you inside by the fire."

I nodded obediently and followed him back toward the
cabin.  Once inside, he added several logs to the
dying embers.  Soon, the logs were popping and hissing
as they blazed brightly.  Drawing a chair closer to
the fire, he knelt in front of me.  He slipped off his
coat and wrapped it around my shoulders.  "I need to
check your feet, Christy.  Are they cold?"

I smiled shyly.  "I'm not sure.  I can't feel them."

"I should have guessed.  Off with those shoes then."

I leaned down and tried to unlace my shoes, but my
fingers were too clumsy and I couldn't get them to do
what I wanted.  "I guess I am colder than I thought,"
I said, giving him an embarrassed grin.

He unlaced my shoes, gently sliding them off.  As he
started to push back the hem of my skirt, I suddenly
felt very uncomfortable.  "Neil?"

He stopped and his voice took on a professional air. 
"Could you take off your stockings, Miss Huddleston? 
I need to see if your toes are frostbitten." 

My cheeks grew hot as I blushed furiously.  "Is that
really necessary?  They feel better now, see?"  I
wiggled my toes to show him and winced as sharp pains
shot through my feet.

"Of course not." he said. "I can see them later when I
have to amputate several toes because of your
stubbornness."  He stood up angrily and paced about
the room.

I felt foolish.  He was a doctor after all and I
trusted him.  Quietly, I said, "It's just that …"  My
voice trailed off as his blue eyes met mine.  I bit my
lip nervously, unable to meet his gaze.

"What? `It's just that' what?  Do you have an extra
toe or something?" His voice was firm, demanding even,
but there was a hint of playfulness in it for the
first time all evening.

I gritted my teeth as he kneeled to meet my downcast
gaze.  "It's not funny, Doctor!"  He raised his
eyebrows and looked at me with an amused expression. 
His silence and teasing infuriated me.  "Mother always
said I had the most unattractive toes she had ever
seen," I said.  "I'll thank you to stop teasing me!"
 
"I see," Neil said, his voice returning to its normal
pitch.  "I suppose you think they will look better
frostbitten?"

I glared at him but finally gave in.  "All right," I
said, bending down to take off the stockings.  "But so
help me, if you say one word, just one, I'll never
speak to you again."

Neil, with his back to me, tended to the fire, and for
a second I thought I heard him chuckle.

"All done," I said, as I instinctively tried to curl
my toes under and press them into the rag rug.  Neil
knelt and started to examine my feet.  I stared at the
wayward sandy curls creeping over his forehead.  

"Well, Christy," he said after a few silent moments. 
"I have some bad news for you."

I stared at him.  "Is it bad?  They feel better now,
honestly."

"No, it's not that."  He paused and placed a gentle
hand on my knee.  "Let me show you what I mean." 
Gingerly, I leaned forward.  "You see this right
here?" he asked as he held my right foot and pointed
at my little toe.  I nodded.  "It's my professional
opinion that this toe looks just like a grub worm. 
I've never seen anything like it, really."

I jerked my foot out of his grasp.  "Neil MacNeill, of
all the low-down, dirty things to do!  How absolutely
horrid of you to say that!"  Neil leaned back on his
heels and laughed.  I glared at him and he only
laughed harder.

Snatching my shoes and stockings, I stormed out of his
cabin, barefooted.  As I reached the stairs, he caught
me by the arm and swung me around.

"And where do you think you are going?"

"I'm going back to the mission.  I don't need to stay
here and have you taunt me, Dr. MacNeill."  

He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Really now?  And
are you planning on walking back to the mission
barefooted in the dead of winter?"  

I glanced down at my feet. "Mother was right.  I do
have ugly toes."  I frowned and flopped down on the
porch intent on putting on my shoes and leaving as
quickly as possible.  

"Oh no, you don't, Miss Huddleston," Neil said,
picking me up in his arms and carrying me back into
the cabin.

I struggled to get out of his grip but he held on too
tightly.  Finally, he put me down in the chair near
the fire.   I clenched my jaws and frowned.  Oh, how I
wanted to slap his face!

Neil put his hand on the arm of the chair where I was
sitting.  Leaning closer, he said, "I'm sorry.  I
shouldn't have teased you."  I refused to look at him.
 Taking my chin in his hand and turning my gaze to
meet his, he said, "Christy, there is nothing about
you, inside or out, that is ugly."

He stared at me in that all-consuming way that he did
sometimes, and I felt weak.  That look made me feel as
if I was under his microscope.  I swallowed hard to
press the lump in my throat into submission, but it
didn't work.  Suddenly, the cabin seemed too small. 
Neil was a married man!  What would Miss Alice think? 
She was upset over my friendship with the doctor
before we knew that Margaret was still alive.  What
would Miss Alice think now?  My eyes darted about the
room looking for an escape, but there was none.  

"I see," Neil said flatly, more to himself than to me
as he backed away.  He ran his fingers through his
hair, trying to control the unruly curls that flopped
down around his now faraway eyes.  He nodded several
times and sighed deeply.

Neil slowly sank onto the wooden floor, leaning his
back against the table, his broad shoulders again
sagging.  I slid off the chair and sat beside him,
curling my feet under me as I faced him. As I placed
my hand on his knee, his eyes came up and met mine. 
The pain and anguish I saw in those clear blue depths
made me gasp.

I wanted to help him, the same way he helped me, and
so many others who were hurting.  But what could I do?
 Then, I remembered how when I was a little girl, my
father would place his hand over a scrape or bruise
when I was younger.  "This way, I'll take away some of
the pain," Daddy used to say, and I believed him. 
Daddy's "special medicine" worked as well as any hug
or kiss after a nasty fall.

I drew closer to Neil and placed my hand on his chest,
right over his heart.  His sad eyes locked with mine. 
Gently at first, I held my hand there and watched his
face.  After a few moments, I pressed my palm tighter.
 Then I felt the rings in his shirt pocket.

I pressed my hand even harder against his chest until
the only thing I could feel was the warmth of his skin
through his shirt and the rhythmic beat of his heart. 
We said nothing; there was no need to.  For the first
time in my life as I sat on the floor facing Neil, his
heart beating beneath my fingertips, I fully
understood what my father had meant.

As I held my hand against his chest, I could feel Neil
relax.  His face softened and he leaned his head back
against the wooden table.  But his eyes never left
mine.  I didn't even notice the tears that once again
streamed down my face until he brushed them away. 
Silently, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms
around me.  I exhaled deeply, a long shuddering
breath, and leaned my cheek against his shoulder.

Behind me, the logs continued to hiss and crackle.  He
pulled back and glanced at the clock on the mantle. 
"We should get you back to the mission and in a warm
bed, lass."  I nodded, quickly laced my shoes and
followed him outside.

~*~*~*~*~
When we arrived back at the mission, all of the
windows were dark.  Nervously I thought about what
David and the others would say if they caught me
sneaking in at this hour.  Neil helped me down from
Charlie's back.  Silently, I handed Neil's coat back
to him.

"Now, don't soak your hands or feet in hot water or
rub them.  You could damage the tissue.  Just stay
warm and I'll check on you tomorrow.  Toes included." 
His voice was professional yet soft. 

"Yes, doctor." 

"Until tomorrow then."  As I turned and started toward
the mission, he put his hand on my arm. "Thank you,"
he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  I smiled,
nodded, and quietly went inside the mission.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



PART: 3
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Mornin’, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said cheerfully as
she walked past, two steaming bowls of oatmeal in her
hands.  “You look mighty rested for havin’ come in so
late last night,” she said and snickered.

David and Miss Alice, already seated at the table,
didn’t even look up.  I felt the color rise in my
cheeks and took my place next to the young redhead.

We ate our meal in uncharacteristic quietness, except
of course for Ruby Mae’s normal mile-a-minute
monologue.  Thank goodness for her incessant chatter,
I thought.  I was accustomed to Miss Alice’s Quaker
silences, but David?  This was very unlike him indeed.
 

Saturday morning breakfast over, I gathered up my
plates and headed toward the kitchen.  I rushed out
the door after Miss Alice who had quickly excused
herself and was started up the hill toward the church.

“So, did Dr. MacNeill feel better after your little
visit last night?”   David asked.  Startled, I turned
toward the sound of David’s voice.  The young preacher
stood in the door of his bunkhouse, leaning pensively
against the door frame, a strange and distant look on
his face.  

The bitterness in his voice surprised me.  Without
thinking, I snapped back, “Dr. MacNeill is my friend
and nothing more.  He needed me and I tried to help
him.  That’s what friends do, David.  Perhaps you
could take a lesson from him.”  The instant the words
left my mouth, I regretted them.  They were hurtful
and bitter, no more bitter than David’s, but they
shamed me nonetheless. 

David said nothing, but the expression of hurt and
pain on his face spoke louder than any words he could
have said.  Tucking his large black Bible under his
arm, he returned to his bunkhouse, closing the door
behind him.  

Ruby Mae rushed by me, a riot of red hair, chattering
all the while about Rob Allen’s newest story, but my
thoughts were elsewhere.

~*~*~*~
Shortly after two in the afternoon, I sat on the front
porch in an old wooden rocker.  A wool shawl wrapped
around my shoulders protected me from the still crisp
winter air.  In the surrounding trees the birds
chirped and sang, warming themselves in the late
February sun.  Focused on the book I was reading, the
sound of heavy footsteps drew my gaze up. 

“Must be an interesting book you’re reading there,
Miss Huddleston,” Dr. MacNeill said.  His blue eyes
twinkled mischievously and as I always seemed to do in
his presence, I felt my cheeks grow warm.

“It’s quite good actually.  Little Women, it’s one of
my favorites.  I must have read it a dozen times
before I was Ruby Mae’s age.”  The memory of lying on
my back under the sycamore tree in my parents’ yard
holding the book up against a summer blue sky quickly
flashed through my mind.

Neil leaned closer.  “I imagine you especially liked
the character Jo.”  His smile was intoxicating and for
a moment, I almost forgot the stir my late night visit
with him had caused earlier in the morning.

I smiled involuntarily.  Jo was my favorite character,
I thought!  I admired her passion for life, her
family, and those she loved.  She too had not chosen
the traditional path that was laid out before her. 

“I see that I am right,” Neil said, his lips still
drawn in that bewitching smile.  “So did you climb
trees too?”

With a quick jerk of my chin, I glanced up at him,
ready to do battle with my ever present opponent, the
Great Dr. Neil MacNeill.  “Why yes, I did!  And what’s
wrong with…”  I stopped as I realized that he was not
taunting me, as he usually did.

“Easy there now, lass.  Don’t go getting offended.  I
think that you’d make a fine tree climber at that,
especially with those unusual toes of yours.”

I sneered for a moment.  “And you think I’m going to
give you another opportunity to tease me about my toes
after that, Doctor?  You’ve got another thought coming
then,” I said, standing up and snatching my book and
shawl from the chair in mock offense.  

I had rounded the corner of the mission porch when I
spotted David.  He was leaning against the large
wooden posts supporting the upper floor, not unlike
his stance earlier in the day.  Had he been listening?
 The disgusted look on his face unfortunately gave me
my answer.

David’s eyes pounded down on me with such intensity
that I felt ill.  I paused in my tracks, wishing that
I could just vanish into the weathered brown and gray
floorboards at my feet.  I wanted to respond, to
explain, to say…anything, but my voice was caught in
my throat, trapped just the way I was.  His
disapproval sickened me and he was right—Neil was a
married man!

“Christy?  What is it?”  Neil’s voice grew closer as
he followed me around the corner.  

Please go away, Neil.  Don’t!  I silently begged,
pleaded with him to leave.  Neil had enough trouble
without me adding to it.  What on earth was I
thinking?  Joking with him like that just now?  Going
to see him at his cabin so late in the evening the
night before?  

I am his friend, only his friend, I argued back, my
mind trying to make sense of all of this.  But the
look of disapproval on David’s face now, and on Miss
Alice’s at breakfast earlier, made me think that not
everyone saw my relationship with Neil as appropriate.

Neil placed his hand protectively on my shoulder and
said, “David, is there something you would like to
tell me?  It’s obvious that you’re displeased by
something.  Out with it, man.  Now!”

David slowly pulled himself up to his full height and
directly his gaze right at Neil, ignoring me
altogether.  “I don’t think the amount of time that
you spend with Miss Huddleston is appropriate. 
Particularly in light of recent events.”

“What?  You mean Margaret?”  Neil’s voice bristled and
his brogue became thicker as he removed his hand from
my shoulder and brushed by me.  “I don’t care what
your opinion is, Reverend Grantland.  I came to see
Christy for professional reasons, if you’re so
curious.  I’ll thank you to step aside while I see to
my patient.”

David’s face grew serious as he glanced at me.  “Are
you all right, Christy?  What’s wrong?”

“I…it’s just…I…well…um…”  My voice was weak and I felt
lightheaded.  

Neil turned around to face me, took me by the arm, and
led me inside the mission parlor.  I glanced over my
shoulder for one last look at David before Neil
virtually slammed the door in his face.

Neil led me to a carved wooden chair in the parlor. 
Weakly, I sat down.  “Now, let’s see if your
stubbornness last night did any permanent damage,” he
said, his voice again calm and professional, totally
unfazed by his angry confrontation with David just
moments earlier.

I sat motionless on the chair, unable to speak or
move, paralyzed by the inner debate and confusion
reigning in my head. Neil’s hand cradled my chin and
lifted my downcast face toward his.  For a moment, I
fought it, unwilling to look at him.  “Christy, what
is it?  Did what David say trouble you?”  My silence
and anxious looks about the room were my only
response.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he said softly. 
“Margaret chose to make us believe she was dead.  I
looked for her for weeks, long after Alice begged me
to stop.  Now, I know that she wanted to leave, to
leave me.”
 
“Dr. MacNeill, you shouldn’t be telling me these
things.  It’s not right.”

“Why not?  It’s the truth.  You asked about Margaret
before.  What’s different now?”

“Everything.  She’s alive and you’re still married to
her.”

“Aye.  That.  I couldn’t stop her from leaving then
and I can’t stop her now.  To me, nothing has changed
really.  She’s still dead to me.” 

“But everything has changed, Neil.  Although we are
just friends, people, even good people like David,
might not understand it.”

“Friends, eh?”  Neil gave me a sideways glance and a
wayward curl crept over his forehead.

“Of course.  I care about you, I respect you.  You
make me so angry sometimes I could slap your face, but
I admire you.  You gave up a life of fame and fortune
to come back here to the people you love…”

He waved his hand to stop me.  “I came back as much
for myself as I did for them.  Don’t make me out to be
a god, Christy.  I’m far from that.  As for
Grantland’s comment, he’s no right to dictate morals
to me—hanging around listening to people’s
conversations.”

“David was just speaking the truth, Neil. I know how
upset Miss Alice was before with me.”

“With you?  What on earth about?”

“She told me before that you…”  I stopped, embarrassed
that I was about to repeat what Miss Alice had said to
me.  `When he’s with you, there’s no one else in the
world.  He can tell himself he never had a wife, that
he never loved her…’  Her words echoed in my head and
I felt myself blush.

“That I what?”  Neil leaned his arm on the mantel, the
slight hint of a smile curling the corners of his
mouth.

“It’s not important,” I said, nervously playing with
the small cross that hung around my neck.  

“I can ask Alice myself then…” he said and started
toward the stairs.

“No, Neil, don’t!”

He turned and looked at me, his eyes playful.  He
strode back across the room, and settled into the
sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. 
“All right then, what’s this big secret Alice shared
with you?”

I thought about what Miss Alice had said.  She didn’t
mean it, she was just angry and upset about her
daughter.  It meant nothing, but Neil would never let
it go.  It would be better if I just told him, I
thought.  My gaze never leaving the crack in the
floorboard in front of me, I said quickly, “She said
that you forget that there is anyone else in the world
when you’re with me.”

I paused, completely mortified that I had divulged
this conversation.  It meant nothing.  Neil felt only
friendship for me, the same as I for him.  Finally, I
glanced up.  “Miss Alice was upset, she really didn’t
mean it,” I said.  

Neil ran his fingers repeatedly through his sandy
hair.  “Alice is a very observant woman,” he said
flatly.  “Now, let’s have a look.  How are your
hands?”  He grasped my hands and turned them over
several times.  “Do they hurt?  What about your feet?”

I was puzzled by his comment and rapid change of
subject, but complied when he instructed me to take
off my shoes and stockings.   

“Well, it looks like you’ve suffered no ill effects
from your late night walk.  Just remember to take your
gloves with you the next time you decide to wander
about in the cold.”  He picked up his saddlebags from
the dining room table and walked out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

PART: 4

Neil walked over to the mantle in his cabin and picked
up his pipe.  He packed his pipe with tobacco and
paused for a moment as he spotted an old metal tin. 
Reluctantly, he opened it and pulled out a small sheet
of paper.  He lit his pipe and sat down.  Taking off
his  boots, he warmed his feet with the fire. Smoke
curled around his head as he leaned back in his chair.
 

Neil held the letter out toward the fire, watching as
the edges of the paper shone red against the flames. 
He crumbled the paper in his fist and drew his hand
back toward his chest, ready to toss it into the fire.

But he stopped.  "What would that change?" he
muttered.  "She's right, you know."  He sighed and
opened his fist.  Margaret had once again disappeared,
but this time, at least she thought to leave a note.

His eyes narrowed to two hardened slits as he glared
at the paper, and his body tensed with the emotions he
struggled to hold inside. "I'd forgotten how cruel you
could be.  Maybe you had no respect for our marriage
or your vows, but at least you could have shown some
for yourself," he said, directing his words to the
crumbled sheet in his hand.  His jaw clenched with
rage and the veins in his arms rose in angry protest
as he took one final look at the letter and hurled it
into the fire.

Flames leaped eagerly at the paper, making their
determined march along the edges and finally into its
heart.  Neil watched them as they blackened out the
words.

"Mac, I did know what I was getting, but I thought
that all of those years in Scotland, studying at the
university might have made you into something more
than a hillbilly.  But I was wrong.  

I long for the hustle and bustle of city life, of
operas and plays, shopping and claw-footed tubs filled
to overflowing with hot water.  For you, a musty, old,
drafty, hand-hewn cabin and a bath in the river are
enough.  For me, they could never be. 

Since I left, I found the freedom that life in Cutter
Gap didn't allow.  I traveled whenever I liked, ate in
fine restaurants, and dressed in store-bought clothes
and fancy shoes.  Men no longer leave me, Mac; I leave
them.  I am wanted, in every way possible.

Enclosed you will find my rings.  Keep them, I haven't
had any use for them for a long time.  The city and
its charms are far too overpowering for me to return
to a cabin in the mountains and a husband who was
never there.  Teddy says that he knows a lawyer that
can help me.  Teddy is wonderful.  Unlike you, Mac, he
always has time for me…"

Neil stared at the fire.  "Yes, Margaret, I'd
forgotten how cruel you could be.  If you want a new
life, I can't keep you from it."

~*~*~*~*~
The sun had set several hours earlier and Neil was in
his laboratory making some final notes on a recent
patient, Eliza McLein from Raven Gap, when a knock at
the door interrupted him.  Thankfully, this winter had
been relatively quiet with fewer feuds than normal due
in large part to the unusually severe weather.  But
today the weather started to clear, and Neil feared a
renewal of the Cove violence, particularly the Taylor
and McHone feud.  Although Opal McHone cleared Bird's
Eye Taylor of any involvement in the shooting of her
husband Tom, Bird's Eye resented that he had been
implicated unjustly.  "Please don't let this be Lundy
or Opal," Neil said to himself as he reached the
wooden door.

Framed against the darkness was a woman's silhouette. 
The light from the fire illuminated her face.  "Alice!
 What on earth are you doing here?  Is everything all
right at the mission?"

"Yes, Neil it is.  My business with you is strictly
personal." 

Neil looked surprised, but held open the door and
motioned for her to come inside.  She strode in, a
deliberate look on her face and refused the seat that
Neil offered her.  "I'm not here for an extended
social visit, Neil.  I want to know what you said to
Margaret."

"Margaret?  I should have guessed," Neil said, not
bothering to hide the bitter edge creeping into his
words.

"Yes.  What did you say to her that caused her to
leave early?  She promised that she would go to
Asheville for treatments.  We were going to go there
together."

Neil nodded, "I know."

Alice stormed about the cabin, wringing a handkerchief
as she crossed the floor for the fourth time.  "What
did you say to her?  I heard that you met her on
Coldspring Mountain."

"I did.  Margaret said that she wanted to talk to me. 
We agreed that we had no right to get married.  We are
just too different.  I told her that you love her,
Alice.  I asked Margaret to let you help her." 

"I wanted to, oh how I wanted to, Neil.  But she's
gone and you're the last one she talked to! How do I
know that you didn't say something to drive her away
again?"  Alice's face was furrowed in anger and tears
rolled freely down her face.

"Again?" Neil shouted.  "I didn't drive her away in
the first place, Alice.  You know that!  Margaret
married a doctor.  She knew what she was getting.  I
tried to make her feel at home here, but she refused. 
She obviously got her stubborn streak from you!"  Neil
snatched up the fishing rod leaning against the corner
of the room and stormed out of the cabin.

"You can't run away from this, Neil!" Alice shouted
out after him.  

"Your daughter is the one who does that, Alice, not
me!" he yelled back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The Richmond & Danville line train moaned and the
brakes hissed as the locomotive pulled into the
station.  The dark haired woman glanced out the window
at the crowd milling around on the platform.  Dressed
in the latest fashions, the crowd eagerly watched as
the passengers stepped down from the train.  She
turned and smiled at the tall gentleman seated next to
her.  "Oh, Teddy!  It's wonderful, just like you
said."

"I knew you'd like Richmond, Margaret.  I do say that
I doubt they are ready for the likes of you, though." 
He smiled and winked at her.  She reached for her bag,
placed in the rack overhead when Theordore Harland
stopped her.  "No, allow me, Miss Henderson."

"Miss Henderson.  Hmm.  That sounds nice.  Do you
think your friend can really help me?"

"Anything is possible if you want it badly enough, and
have the money," he said as they made their way toward
the door.

The conductor reached out to help her down from the
train.  "Easy there, miss."  

A bright smile grew across Margaret's face as she
looked all around her.  The brick station loomed
nearly four stories above them.  They made their way
through the well-heeled crowd and onto the street. 
Margaret's eyes sparkled with delight as she watched
car after car speed past and listened to the
occasional honk mingle with the sound of a nearby
trolley clanking its way up Broad Street.  

"Margaret?  Margaret?"  Theodore's voice interrupted
her thoughts.  

She turned to face him, her eyes sparkling and a
joyous grin on her face.  "Yes, Teddy?"

"My dear, it's like you've never seen a city before. 
What on earth has come over you?  You'd been in
Atlanta for months when we first met."

Margaret smiled, and reached out to place a small
gloved hand on Teddy's arm.  "Of course.  It's just
that I forget how magnificent cities are.  Let Mother
have her dreadful barefoot mountain people.  For me,
these buildings are mountains enough," she said,
spreading her arms wide to take in the multistoried
buildings surrounding them.

"Well, then.  Let's get settled in."  Theodore Harland
confidently strode over to where several cabbies stood
beside their vehicles. He spoke to a short, heavyset
man,  who nodded and opened the door for Theodore and
Margaret to get inside.

They drove slowly through the city as Margaret peered
out the window at ladies strolling along dressed in
their winter finery. "I've made so many mistakes in my
life," she said quietly, almost to herself. 

"What's that?" the man seated next to her asked.

"Nothing, Teddy.  I was just thinking that I'm going
to enjoy my new life." She smiled and lovingly looked
at the tall, blue eyed man seated next to her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



PART: 5

As I lay in bed, unable to sleep, I heard the
downstairs door to the mission open and then rattle
shut.  I glanced at the little clock on my desk. 
Nearly midnight.  Miss Alice must be as restless as I
was, I thought to myself.

My hands fingered the smooth brown leather cover of
the book lying in my lap.  I had tried to go to sleep
hours earlier, tucking the covers under my chin as I
lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.  But I
couldn’t.

My mind raced with the events of the past few days. 
Margaret, Miss Alice’s daughter, the one she mourned
with a pain that was still fresh years after her
supposed death, had returned.  Margaret had hurt Miss
Alice so terribly with her lie, but a mother’s heart
quickly forgave, rejoicing in the life that had
returned to her.

Neil had been hurt too, and unlike Miss Alice, he
didn’t thank God for Margaret’s return.  It only
seemed to make him sadder, like rubbing salt into a
wound that had nearly healed.  Why Margaret had left
in the first place, I wasn’t sure, but she had, and
even though Neil said their marriage was unhappy, her
death haunted him like a specter.

The story he told us the night I brought Becky to his
cabin, the story of the Silkie searching for his lost
love, reached deep inside of me, showing me a side of
Neil that he carefully had kept private.  He was like
the Silkie, I thought.  Until Margaret’s return, he
cursed and raged, hating himself for not being good
enough for her.  Like the Silkie, he was caught
between two worlds.  Half man and half fish.  Stuck
somewhere between the life of a doctor educated in
Scotland, and a mountain man, tied to these hills. 
Again, like that stormy night in Neil’s cabin, my
heart ached and my eyes filled with tears for a man
who continued to search and found no answers.

I opened the book on my lap and stared at the drawing
I had begun days earlier.  Two bright eyes framed by
curls stared back at me. Determinedly, I reached for a
pencil.  My fingers softened the curls along the brow
line, but my vision blurred as tears welled and
threatened to spill over onto my as yet uncompleted
drawing.  I tried to push the sketchbook away, but a
tear trickled off my chin and fell onto the page,
slowly gliding down the portrait and off onto the
quilt.  

The blank expression on Miss Alice’s face at dinner
and the hurt in Neil’s eyes the night before filled my
mind.  I closed my eyes to try to shut out the
emotions that rose inside of me.  It washed over me in
wave after wave. The harder I tried to fight it, the
more it engulfed me.  I quickly placed the sketchbook
on the floor, tucking it under my bed.  Strangled sobs
clogged my throat and I buried my head in my pillow to
try to muffle the sounds.

I laid there for what seemed like an eternity, my
heartbeat pounding in my ears and my sobs coming in
shuddered gasps.  How could Margaret do that, I
thought?  How could she pretend that she was dead,
only to return and then leave again?  How could she do
that to people she supposedly loved?   As I lay there,
my face pressed into the feather pillow, I thought I
heard soft footsteps come down the hall, pause in
front of my door, and then retreat.

~*~*~*~*~
Morning light spilled in through the window and fell
across my pillow.  I slowly opened my eyes and glanced
around the room, forcing myself out of bed and to the
washstand in the opposite corner.  My body ached and I
winced as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. 
Dark circles framed my bloodshot eyes.  I applied a
cold cloth to my face, hoping that the coolness would
diminish the telltale signs of a mostly sleepless and
tear-filled night.  When I removed the cloth, I
discovered that it was to no avail.  I shrugged and
hoped that no one would notice as I tried to mask the
circles with a little powder.  

~*~*~*~
Breakfast over, I took my plates back to the kitchen,
and rolled up my sleeves, ready to help Ruby Mae with
the Sunday morning dishes.

“Miss Huddleston, I would like to have an opportunity
with thee.”  I turned from my task to find Miss Alice
standing in the doorway, a Bible in her hand.  

“Excuse me, Ruby Mae,” I said and dried my hands on a
nearby towel.  I removed my apron and hung it up on a
peg just inside the doorway.  “Yes, Miss Alice.”

“Come with me, Child.  I’d like to speak with thee in
private.”  

My heart fluttered for a moment, but I obeyed and
followed her toward the pond.

We walked for a few moments in silence, and only when
we reached the footbridge did she speak.  

She turned to look at me, her gray eyes soft and
filled with concern.  “I see that thee had a difficult
night, as did I.”  I smiled weakly but said nothing. 
“I noticed that thee had the lamp still lit when I
came in.  Is something troubling thee, Christy?”

“No, Miss Alice.  I was just restless.”  

“Christy, thee need not try to hide the truth from me.
 I heard thee crying.”  She cocked her head and looked
directly at me, a look of concern written on her face.

“It’s true, Miss Alice,” I said, averting my eyes to
look across the pond and toward the mountains still
clothed in early morning mist.  “I just don’t
understand how Margaret could…”  My voice broke and I
struggled to continue, “…could leave like that.  She
hurt you so badly, both of you.”  Tears flowed down my
face like two small streams, and I reached up and
tried to brush them away.

“It did hurt me that she left when we had agreed to
leave together, but she’s alive, Christy.  Less than a
week ago, I still mourned for the daughter I had lost,
but now she’s come back.  She may not be here, but
thank God, she’s alive.”  With a look of happiness
mixed with regret, Miss Alice lifted her gaze
heavenward, the corners of her eyes filling with
tears.

“But you were going to leave together…”

“Yes, we were…”  She held her hand up to her mouth as
she sighed deeply, her eyes focused on some distant
point.  “I just pray that she’ll go for the treatments
that she needs.”

Miss Alice’s gaze returned to me.  She removed a small
handkerchief she had stuck into her belt, and
carefully wiped my cheeks.

“I thought that yesterday when you were so quiet…”

Miss Alice backed away slightly.  “I was angry.  Angry
that I had found my daughter and that she had again
left.  I blamed everyone.  Myself.  Neil.  Even for a
moment or two, God. But she’s alive.  That’s more than
I ever hoped for, Christy.  Perhaps we can be
reconciled.  For now, I rejoice in the fact that she
is no longer lost to me.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



PART: 6

I sat in church and listened to David’s sermon, but my
mind was elsewhere.  Ruby Mae fidgeted beside me,
alternating tugging on the ribbons in her hair and
smoothing the invisible wrinkles in her dress.  Out of
the corner of my eye, I could see Miss Alice, sitting
tall and serene, her attention focused on God’s Word. 
I berated myself for not concentrating and made a
concerted effort to listen to David, but to no avail.

~*~*~*~
After lunch, I tried to slip away for a quiet walk,
but Ruby Mae shadowed my every move and I knew that
solitude would be impossible.  Instead, I settled down
in the parlor, determined to catch up on my lesson
plans for the next week.

The young redhead slunk into the parlor, drew up a
chair near mine and busied herself with a new pocket
she was making for a dress.  Occasionally, she glanced
up at me, and looked down whenever I noticed her gaze.
 

“Ruby Mae, is something troubling you?”

A broad smile grew across her face as she scooted her
chair closer to mine, “Oh Miz Christy, I just knew
ya’d ask me what was a-troublin’ me.  Ya see, it’s Rob
Allen.  He showed me his story the day `fore
yesterday.  I tole ya `bout it, `member?  Well, I been
talkin’ ta Bessie Coburn `bout it an’ all, and she
says that Rob Allen must be sweet on me, even if’n he
don’t wanna say so outright.  What do ya think, Miz
Christy?”

“I know that all the children like you, Ruby Mae. 
Lulu is always saying how nice you are to the younger
ones, like her and Mountie…”

“No’m, that’s not what I be meanin’ a-tall.  I mean,
how ken ya tell if’n a boy is sweet on ya?” 

“Well, Ruby Mae, I didn’t really have that many beaux
in Asheville.”

“Shoot, I done hear Preacher say one day that he bet
the boys lined up two deep an’ round the corner jes’
ta come callin’ on ya.”

“Ruby Mae, you weren’t snooping again, were you?”  I
gave her a serious look, but a smile tugged at the
corners of my mouth.

“That ain’t th’ point, Teacher,” Ruby Mae said, her
voice growing more insistent. “I gotta know.”

“Well, usually you’re friends. You have the same
interests perhaps.  Eventually you find that he might
single you out at a party, open the door for you, talk
to you about things that are important to him…”

“Oh, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said, as she jumped up and
upset her sewing.  “He does like me then!  He asked me
ta read his story…”  Her words ran together in a
jumble as she grabbed me around the neck and squeezed
tightly.

“Easy now, sit down and tell me all about it.”

“Rob Allen gave me his new story, the one `bout his
daddy workin’ th’ mill, an’ he made me promise not ta
show it ta nobody.  Said he didn’t want nobody but me
lookin’ at it.”  She sat up tall in her chair, a
bright grin stretched nearly from ear to ear.

The side door swung open and Miss Alice walked in. 
She removed her hatpin and hat and joined us in the
parlor.  “What good fortune it is that the weather
seems to be breaking.  I believe I’ll be able to
travel to Sand Mountain tomorrow as I had planned.”  
She paused and looked at Ruby Mae.  “Has this weather
put thee in a good mood as well, Ruby Mae, or has thee
found a possum that thee is planning to cook for
dinner?”  

“Oh no, Miz Alice, it’s better than that!”

“Better than fresh possum?” Miss Alice asked and gave
me a wink.  I stifled a laugh.

“Yes’m, Rob Allen showed me a new story he was writin’
and tole me that he didn’t want nobody but me ta see
it.”

“Well, that is a compliment indeed, Ruby Mae.  You
know how private Rob is with his stories.”

“Yes’m, that’s what I was thinkin’ but I wanted ta ask
Teacher since she knows all `bout courtin’ an’ such.”

Miss Alice raised her eyebrows and looked directly at
me.  “Is that so?”

“I just told her, Miss Alice, that a girl can tell if
a boy likes her by how he acts with her.  If he is
polite and talks to her about things that are
important to him, for example.”  

“Good description indeed, Miss Huddleston.  `They do
not love that do not show their love.’  William
Shakespeare, `The Two Gentlemen of Verona,’ Act 1,
Scene 2.  Neither Miss Huddleston nor I will need to
tell thee when it happens, Ruby Mae.  Thee and those
around thee shall know,” Miss Alice said.  She smiled
and disappeared up the stairs.

~*~*~*~*~
I stood out on the mission porch, staring again at the
mountains I had grown to love so well, watching them
fade into blackness.

The sound of rapid hoofbeats caused me to turn. 
Prince’s flanks and shoulders were covered in thick
white foam, and his dark, sweat-drenched mane lay
against his neck.  David swung down when he reached
the yard, and snatched off his hat.  Like his dark
steed, David’s hair was drenched with sweat, plastered
down in a hatband-sized ring around his head.  

“David, what on earth is wrong?”  I ran down the
stairs and laid a cool hand on Prince’s lathered neck.
 

David turned and looked at me.  “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.  You know that you’re my friend. 
Obviously something is troubling you for you to ride
Prince like the devil himself was after you.”

David started back up the hill toward the corral with
Prince. 

“David, wait!  I want to talk to you about this.”  I
rushed after him, nearly forced into a run as his long
strides were even longer now.  “David, please, if this
is about yesterday, then I’m sorry.”

He wheeled around on his heel and towered over me. 
“Really?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So what are you sorry for?  That you were flirting
with Dr. MacNeill or that I caught you doing it?” 
David’s voice was flat and unemotional, yet his
furrowed brow and sad eyes betrayed his otherwise calm
exterior.

I stood there shocked, my mouth agape.  

“Christy, I care for you.  Don’t forget how upset Kyle
Coburn was when he saw us together at the school that
night.  It nearly caused you to resign.  I’d hate for
anything like that to happen again.”  David turned and
murmured to Prince, “Come on boy, let’s cool you down
a bit.”  David led the horse up the hill and
disappeared among the pines.

Slowly I made my way back to the mission house.  Once
inside, I sank onto the davenport and focused on the
logs as they crackled and popped.  As I stared into
the fire, I touched the gold cross hanging from my
necklace.

I wanted so much to do good in Cutter Gap, to make a
difference, and I thought I had.  Mountie was finally
talking and the other children seemed to really take
to learning.  In such a short time, the Cove had
become my home, but over the past several days no
matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to do the
right thing.  The longer I sat alone in the dark, the
sadder I felt.  

I heard footsteps behind me, and quickly tried to
compose myself.  “Why Miz Christy, what on earth are
ya doin’ here sittin’ in the dark like this?”

“Oh, just thinking Ruby Mae.”

“Are ya all right, Miz Christy?  Ya seem kinda sad.”

I had forgotten how the people of the Cove spoke so
directly, unrestrained by what those in the city
called “proper restraint.”  

“Ya like ta talk `bout it?  Ya always been so kind ta
me.  I’d like ta do the same for ya, if’n I can.”  Her
beautiful eyes were so sincere and earnest that I
couldn’t help but respond with a smile. 


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

PART: 7


As soon as David headed up the hill, leaving Christy
standing near the corral, he sighed deeply.  The walk
was to cool himself off more than it was for Prince
and he knew it.  

Slowly he made his way through the pine trees and down
into the meadow on the other side of the school.  The
night air was calm and still, and the only sound
echoing around the young preacher was the clop-clop of
his horse’s hooves and his own weary breathing.  He
had no idea where he was going or what he was going to
do when he got there, but he stubbornly refused to
return to the mission.

The pair walked along, following only a path David’s
unconscious heart knew, until he found himself nearly
on the other side of the Cove, near a large stand of
maple trees.  He had come here many times before—when
he wanted to think, to work on a sermon, or just to be
alone.  The trees grew closely together, their
branches pushing and crowding each other, fighting for
every inch of available sunlight.  In the fall,
yellows, reds, and oranges mixed together and reminded
David of his neighborhood back in Boston.  

David tied Prince’s reins to a small sapling and
nestled into a spot between the roots of one of the
maple trees.  From this spot during the day, he could
see the many ranges of the Smokeys, stretching out in
an undulating wave one after the other.  But now, it
was dark.  There was no magnificent view to distract
him, no squirrels scurrying around gathering nuts to
hoard for the winter, no birds singing in the trees
above him, no colorful leaves that reminded him of
home.  

He picked up a twig and absentmindedly pushed the
leaves around.  His shoulders were drooped and his
head hung downward, eyes focused on the leaves he
pushed to and fro.   Unexpectedly, hot tears started
to rise up in his eyes and he quickly snapped his head
up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.  He
wanted to cry, but even with no one to see him, he
would not give in to that temptation.  At that moment,
David Grantland felt more alone and sad than he had in
the months since he first came to Cutter Gap straight
from his graduation from seminary. 

“Dear God,” he said, the sound of his voice cracking
as he continued to fight back the tears that
threatened to rise again.  “I never thought that I was
really cut out for the ministry.  I always saw myself
more as a carpenter or an architect maybe, but it
would have broken Mother’s heart if I didn’t enter
seminary.  So, I decided I’d try to do my best.”

“I’m not perfect, by any means, Lord.  You know that. 
I’m too opinionated.  I don’t seem to understand these
mountain people sometimes, even after being here
nearly a year now.  But I see that I’ve made a
difference, at least in a small way.  I see it in Jeb
Spencer’s face when I preach a sermon, or in the way
that the children come up to me after church with
questions about the stories from the Bible…”  He
paused, glancing up at the mountains he knew were
there but couldn't see.

“But when Christy came, I started feeling differently.
 I saw the way that she tried so hard, even from the
very first day.  The exhausted look on her face after
she had walked seven miles from El Pano, just to get
here…Only later I found out that she had been at the
Spencer cabin when Dr. MacNeill operated on Bob Allen.
 All that and before she’d even spent a night in the
Cove!  She never gave up, despite everything.”

“Before Dr. MacNeill’s wife came back, I was afraid. 
Afraid that I would lose Christy to the doctor.  I saw
the way he looked at her, came to help with lessons,
took an interest in the mission—something he refused
to do before Christy came.  I love Christy.  Not
because she’s the only single woman for fifty miles,
like she said, but because of who she is, and more
importantly, who I am when I’m with her.”

David sighed deeply and leaned his head against the
tree trunk.  “Why then do I just say the wrong things?
 I want her to realize how much of a risk it is for
her to be seen with Dr. MacNeill now that we know that
his wife is alive.  Even the suggestion of impropriety
could force Christy to resign.  She’s done so much
good here, more than I’ve accomplished in twice as
much time.  She’s got to understand that she can’t
save everyone, especially Dr. MacNeill.”
 
The minutes passed as David continued to pray. 
Reluctantly, he stood up, and untied Prince.  It was
late and the people at the mission would be wondering
where he was.  He couldn’t change his feelings for
Christy or the incessant jealously that rose in his
veins whenever Dr. MacNeill was around, but at least
he had admitted to himself and to God that he needed
guidance. 

~*~*~*~*~
Still lost in thought, David rubbed the brush over the
stallion’s back.  With each pass, the stallion’s coat
glistened in the lamplight.  Prince’s ears twitched as
the stable door hinges’ sounded with a mournful creak.

The young preacher glanced up.  “Miss Alice,” he said,
acknowledging her presence and polite smile, and then
returning to his work.

Silently, Alice walked over to Goldie’s stall and
stroked the mare’s nose.  After a few minutes, she
spoke.  “A neighbor of ours back in Pennsylvania,
Farmer Smith, owned this mule—Timothy he was called. 
Poor Mr. Smith couldn’t do anything with him.  He’d
try to hook Timothy up to the plow and as soon as Mr.
Smith would turn away to step behind it, Timothy would
put his head down and take off across the field
dragging the plow behind him.”

She glanced up out of the corner of her eye at the
young preacher intent on his job, apparently oblivious
to what she was saying.  Noticing that the pace of
David’s brushing had slowed just so slightly, she held
a hand up to her mouth to cover the faint traces of a
smile and continued, “Mr. Smith was fit-to-be-tied. 
He couldn’t even get the reins in his hands, or if he
did, Timothy would just jerk away, and off that old
mule would go, running like the devil himself was
after him.  Mr. Smith finally got so upset that he
sold Timothy to my father for $10.  He lost money on
the deal to be sure, but he was glad to get rid of
that terrible mule.”  

She paused, lost in another one of her Quaker
silences.  David stopped his brushing long enough to
glance up.  Miss Alice stood quietly nearby, gently
rubbing the white stripe that reached nearly to the
mare’s nose.

A firm set to his jaws, David returned the brush to
its place, picked up his saddle, and draped it over
the side of the stall.  He opened a small tin and the
strong smell of saddle soap filled the stable.  The
leather creaked and squeaked as David made quick,
circular strokes over the saddle. 

“Timothy, my father later found out, was afraid of the
plow.  Father had blinkers made and would put them on
the old mule before he would even lead him out of the
pasture to go to plow.  Never seeing the equipment
behind him that he feared so much, and with the gentle
sound of my father’s voice, that mule became the best
animal we ever owned.”  A gentle yet work-worn hand
reached out and rested on the preacher’s arm.  She
smiled, her eyes soft and kind, turned and walked out
of the stable.

David leaned his arm against the stall and lifted his
head back to look up at the lamp hanging above him.  A
large rusty nail held the old lamp.  Next to it on an
even older and rustier nail was a small can.  Wisps of
dried grass and feathers peeked out from the top. 
David smiled to himself as he remembered giving
Christy a tour of the mission not long after she had
arrived.

<flashback>
As usual, Ruby Mae insisted she tag along, and in
typical style had commented on every twig and bush
between the corral and the schoolhouse.  David pointed
out the horse's stalls and the equipment, in case she
needed to borrow one of the horses.  Remarking that
she was not a very good rider, Christy nevertheless
paused in front of the stalls and reached a small,
delicate, gloved hand out to rub each animal's silky
nose.

They turned to leave the stable and a childlike,
almost angelic smile had crept over Christy’s face as
Ruby Mae pointed out the small can hanging from an old
nail.  “Those swallers’ are jes’ the sweetest thangs,
Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said.  “Ya should see their wee
little mouths, all hungry like, waitin’ fer the momma
bird ta bring `em somefin’ ta eat.  They’ll be back
next spring jes’ ya wait and see…” 
<end flashback>

David sighed.  He still wasn’t exactly sure what Miss
Alice was trying to tell him with that story, but he
knew that it had to do something with his conversation
with Christy earlier.  Miss Alice’s advice was often
cryptic, but fair.  It was up to him now to decide
what to do.  Staring at that rusty old can and
remembering Christy’s sweet smile and kind heart, he
felt awful.  

David plopped the lid back on the tin with a metallic
rattle and returned Prince’s saddle back to its place.
 Giving Prince one final pat, he took down the lamp
and headed out into the darkness.  He hoped that
Christy was still awake inside the mission.  He had a
lot of explaining to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

PART: 8

It was late and I knew I'd regret it in the morning,
but I couldn't sleep.  That had been happening a lot
lately, I thought as I rubbed my bloodshot eyes.  Ruby
Mae's offer to talk had helped, and even though I said
little, just knowing that I was cared for helped. 

I glanced down at the book in my lap, open to the same
page for the last half an hour, and sighed.  Over the
past few days, I had felt so useless.  All around me
people were hurting and there was little that I could
do.  

For the hundredth time, I tried to quiet my thoughts
and concentrate on my reading.  The mission door swung
open and I jerked my head up.  "Miss Alice," I said.

"Thee seems surprised.  Was thee expecting someone
else?"

The corners of my mouth turned in a sad half-smile. 
"I thought you were--"

"David?" Miss Alice responded, removing the hat pin
from her hat.

"Yes.  We quarreled earlier.  I try so hard to help,
but all I seem to do is hurt everyone I care about."  

She walked closer and sat down next to me on the
davenport.  Taking my hand in hers, her face softened
and she looked at me with an expression of love that
suddenly reminded me of my mother.  She pushed a
tendril of hair from my face and said softly, "It is
so like thee, Christy, to take on another's cares.  I
have watched thee over these past four months.  Thee
has always sought out those in pain-Mountie, Opal,
Becky.  Thou art drawn to them by some unexplainable
force, and the sheer desire to help them.  Thee has a
kind heart, Christy.  A heart that feels for those
around thee, rejoices with them, and breaks with them
as well.  It is an uncommon gift, one that will bring
thee much joy and pain, as thee already knows."

I started to speak but the words clogged in my throat.
 Miss Alice said nothing, put an arm around me and
drew me close.  I leaned my head against her shoulder
and sobbed.  The touch of her hand on my back, the
slight smell of woodruff that surrounded her, and the
comforting, rhythmic "shhh. . ." were like an open
door for me, releasing all of the hurt and pain of the
past days.  I cried for Dr. 
MacNeill, Miss Alice, Margaret, David, and even myself
as I realized, at times like these, how much I missed
home.

As the tears slowly subsided, I sat up straight and
wiped my eyes with the handkerchief that she offered
me.  My vision now clear, I could still see the
motherly expression on her face.  She smiled, smoothed
my hair and stood up.  "Christy Huddleston, God bless
thee," she said, then leaned over and gently kissed me
on the forehead.

She was nearly at the stairs when Ruby Mae met her on
her way down.  Clad in an old nightgown I had given
her, her red hair was brushed until it shone-a recent,
and hopefully permanent, habit she had acquired.  "Miz
Alice, I'm so glad ya here.  Miz Christy was a right
bit upset earlier, but we talked an' she said that she
feels a mite better.  I thought I'd come on down an'
see if I could sit with her for a spell `til ya came
in."  She beamed and her eyes sparkled with pride.  

"Why, Ruby Mae, thy talk must have done Christy a
world of good.  She looks much better now.  Does thee
not think so?"

"Yes'um, I reckon so.  Ya feelin' alright, Miz
Christy?"

"Much better, thank you, Ruby Mae."  I attempted a
smile and found that it came much easier than I
expected.  "I'll be up in just a few minutes.  I just
want to finish this chapter."

"Lordamercy, Miz Christy.  Ya been readin' on that
there chapter near `bout all night--"

Miss Alice caught Ruby Mae by the elbow and turned her
toward the stairs again.  "Why don't I show thee how
to braid thy hair like thee asked this morning?"  Ruby
Mae smiled broadly and eagerly headed back up the
stairs.  Miss Alice gave me one parting glance before
they disappeared into the upstairs hall.

I curled up on the davenport and returned to my book,
reading with more concentration than I had been able
to muster all night.  I quickly finished that chapter
and two more before a chilly blast of air blew into
the parlor.  I shivered and looked up.  

David stood in the doorway, his eyes searching the
first floor of the mission.  Quickly, I placed my book
on the davenport and walked over to him.  A bright
smile on his face, in several large strides he met me
mid-room.  

"Christy, I wanted to tell you--"

"David, I'm so glad that--"  

"Christy, please.  I need to tell you this."  He took
me by the hand and led me over to the davenport where
he drew a chair up beside me.  "I'm sorry that I said
those things to you earlier.  I know that you never
meant anything by your friendship with MacNeill.  I
just don't want anything to jeopardize your being here
at the mission."

"David, thank you for saying that."

"No, wait, let me finish.  I've been thinking about
this, and I want to make sure I get it out right." He
took a deep breath and continued.  "My reasons were
selfish.  I've learned so much from you since you've
been here.  You've taught me so much about putting
Christianity into action.  I admire you."

"David, that is the sweetest thing you've ever said to
me."  David's face started to grow crimson and he
looked down uncomfortably at the floor.  I grinned
uncontrollably, and continued, "Aside from that
comment about my hair smelling like roses of course."

His eyes snapped back up and he gave me an awkward
boyish grin.  The honest, heartfelt look in his dark
eyes made me feel even more despondent.  I stood up
and picked up the book still lying on the davenport. 
"I'm sorry too, David. You were right.  Your work here
is so much harder than mine.  All I have to do is to
teach them to read.  Your job is to save their souls.
. ."

David took both of my hands in his and looked at me
intently.  All traces of boyishness were gone now,
replaced by a seriousness that I had only seen when he
stood in the pulpit on Sundays.

"I should never have said that.  I was angry with
myself for trying so hard and seeming to always fail. 
Your work here is every bit as important as mine. 
Wasn't Jesus a teacher too?"  He squeezed my hands
gently.  

He was so sincere, so earnest.  Sitting there looking
at me, his face lighting up in the sweet way it did
whenever he smiled, I was completely speechless. 
Instinctively, I leaned over and kissed him on the
cheek.  "Thank you," I whispered.  

As I reached the stairs, I turned.  David was turned
toward me, his arm draped over the back of the
davenport, his hair still wild and windblown from
being outside.  "Good night, David."  He nodded and
smiled.  

~*~*~*~
I sat propped up in bed, a fluffy feather pillow
behind my back.  Lost in thought, I stared out into
the darkness outside of the mission house.  With each
pass of the brush, my hair crackled and snapped. 
Without even knowing it, David, and Ruby Mae, and Miss
Alice had helped me.  They had made me see what I had
refused to see because of my anguish and frustration. 


I had felt that my presence here in Cutter Gap didn't
make a difference.  There was still ignorance and pain
and no amount of education could change that.  Yet I
had to keep trying.  I had to believe that somehow
God's way would win out in the end.   That night for
the first time since Margaret had returned to Cutter
Gap, I slept soundly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


PART: 9

Dawn broke the next morning, clear and cold, a sure
sign that the weather would turn inclement.  I dressed
as quickly as possible, anxious to be downstairs by
the fire.  

In the kitchen, Miss Alice was packing a small bag of
provisions.  “I’d better leave for Sand Mountain now. 
That snow won’t hold off for long.”

“Please be careful, Miss Alice.”  

Miss Alice smiled and touched me gently on the head. 
She wrapped her scarf tightly against her neck as she
headed out the side door.  I followed her out onto the
porch and watched her swing up onto the mare’s back. 
I waved as she turned the horse and rode off, pausing
at the top of the hill to offer one last goodbye.

Shivering, I returned inside the mission and helped
prepare breakfast.  As Fairlight and I set the bowls
of steaming oatmeal down on the table, David rubbed
his hands together eagerly.  “This looks delicious!”

David, Ruby Mae, and I ate our breakfast slowly.  We
were all hesitant to leave the warm comfort of the
mission for the cold walk to the school.  I knew I had
to leave early to start a fire in the stove, to warm
the school up before the children arrived.  It seemed
such a small sacrifice on my part to leave the warmth
of the mission.

All winter long, I had watched my children enter the
school with shoes so old only shoestrings and leather
patches kept them from falling apart.  Then there were
the one with no shoes at all.  The sight of their
little feet, nearly gray by the time they walked the
several miles from their home to school, still brought
me to tears.  Oh how I wanted to fuss over them, to
give them shoes from the mission barrels!  But I would
not wound their fierce mountain pride.  I tried to
ignore them as they rubbed their cracked and raw feet
against their legs, desperate to stop the itching
caused by the cold.  Even though I had watched this
ritual for weeks, the thought of the fancy new shoes I
wore on my first day of school, the ones that now lay
abandoned at the bottom of my trunk, still shamed me. 


Determined to do the little I could and oblivious to
the cold, I headed up the slope toward the
schoolhouse.  Stopping at the side of the building, I
loaded my arms with firewood and kindling.  Soon, I
had a fire, albeit small, going in the stove.  I was
standing on the steps, brushing the wood chips off my
coat when I saw the first snowflakes start to fall.

~*~*~*~*~
Despite the temptation of a dusting of newly-fallen
snow outside, the children concentrated on their
studies.  Lundy Taylor had become one of my most
improved students, when he decided to come to school. 
Creed Allen thankfully had kept his end of our bargain
and Scalawag the raccoon remained safely at home. 
Mountie was braver now, often raising her hand to
answer a question, and while her voice was, at times,
barely above a whisper it was a marked improvement
over when I first arrived.

During the lunch break, I sat on the steps and watched
as the children scooped up the fine snow and tried to
form it into snowballs.  Unsuccessful, the boys
resorted to pouring handfuls of the powder down each
other’s shirts.  “Creed!  Sam Houston!  Don’t do that,
you’ll catch a chill!”

“Let them be, Christy.  Boys will be boys.”  David
said as he rounded the corner of the school building. 


“That’s what I’m afraid of,”  I said and gave him a
smile.  “Recess is over, children.  Reverend Grantland
is here for your afternoon classes.” 

I walked back inside and gathered up my lesson plans
as the children milled back inside and took their
seats.  I had started down the aisle when David
stopped me.  “Could you stay for a little while?”

“Certainly,” I said.  David had never asked me to sit
in on his lessons before, I thought, as I took a seat
in the back row, next to Lizette Holcombe.

David took his place at the front of the school,
serious as he scanned the young faces before him. 
“We’re going to do something a little different today.
 Instead of a story from the Bible, I’m going to tell
you two more recent stories.  The first one was told
to me by Miss Alice.”

David paused and looked around the room before he
began. “A neighbor of Miss Alice’s in Pennsylvania,
Farmer Smith, owned this mule. . .”  As David related
the story, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what
had prompted David to talk to me last night.  “Mr.
Smith finally got so upset,” David continued, “that he
sold Timothy to Miss Alice’s father for $10--” 

“Miss Alice had a daddy?” asked Creed.

“Of course, she did, just like I do—did.”  I noticed
the abrupt change to past tense when David spoke of
his father and the sad look that crept into his eyes,
but he quickly recovered and continued as if nothing
had happened.  “Why would you think she didn’t have a
father?”

Creed shook in his head.  “I jes’ can’t see Miss Alice
being little like us is all.”

David chuckled and continued the story.  He explained
how the mule had been afraid of the plow.  The
children glanced at each other, some smiling
knowingly, others nodding with understanding, as he
explained how Miss Alice’s father had put blinkers on
the mule to prevent him from seeing the equipment
behind him.  

“So, what do you think this story means?” David asked
when he had finished relating the tale.

“I’m ain’t sure `zactly,” Sam Houston said.  “Miss
Alice’s stories are a mite confusin’.”  Many of the
younger children shook their heads in agreement.  

“Maybe. . .” Zady Spencer said, “it means that the
farmer didn’ think o’ how the mule mighta felt.  If
he’d a-known that he was scared o’ the plow, he coulda
still worked him, `stead a-sellin’ him ta Miz Alice’s
daddy.”

A smile came across David’s face.  “That’s exactly
what I thought.”  He walked down the aisle to the back
of the school and stared out the door for a moment.   

“What about that other story ya were gonna tell us,”
Becky Holt asked, just one row up from where I was
seated.

David turned on his heels.  “That’s right.  There is
another story.  This one is about a very important
man.  He wrote the lyrics to one of the most famous
hymns we sing in church, although you may have never
heard of his name before.  Can someone guess which
song it is?”

Instantly, dozens of small hands shot up.  “Little
Burl?”

“`Silent Night,’ Preacher.  I reckon it’s the pertiest
song I know.”

“That is a beautiful one, Little Burl, but the one I
am going to tell you about isn’t a Christmas song. 
Lulu?”

“`Amazing Grace’?”

“Exactly!  This story is about the man that wrote the
words to  `Amazing Grace.’  His name was John Newton. 
He was born in London and at an early age, he, like
many of you boys, started to work with his father, who
was the commander of a merchant ship.  Young John
hated the terrible conditions onboard the ships, so he
requested to be transferred.  He went to work on a
slave ship that took him off the coast of Africa.” 

Rob Allen smiled wistfully.  He quickly jotted
something down on his tablet and I wondered if John
Newton would somehow figure in one of Rob’s future
stories. 

“There he worked as a servant to a cruel man, until a
friend of his father’s rescued him.  Eventually, he
became the captain of his own slave ship.  One day,
there was a terrible storm at sea.  The waves lashed
against the boat, coming over the top at times, and
Captain Newton feared that the boat would sink and
they would all drown--”

“Lordamercy, Preacher, what did he do?” asked Ruby
Mae, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

“Well, not knowing what else to do, he cried out,
`Lord, have mercy upon us.’  He later said that at
that moment he believed that God had spoken to him. 
For the rest of his life, he looked at that day, May
10, 1748, as the day of his conversion.  God was now
at the center of his life.  While he continued to work
as a slave trader, he made sure that the slaves under
his care were treated humanely.  Eventually, he became
a minister and his songs, including `Amazing Grace’
were published in 1779.”

“Can we sing it, Preacher?”  Orter Ball O’Teale asked.

“I don’t see why not.  John, do you happen to have
your harmonica with you?”

“Shorely do, Preacher.”  He reached into a pocket of
his overalls and pulled out the shiny instrument. 
Bringing it to his lips, he begun the haunting melody
as dozens of tiny voices sang the words that now held
special meaning.

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav'd a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

"Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev'd;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ'd!

Thro' many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis'd good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call'd me here below,
Will be forever mine. 

After the song concluded, David glanced at me before
he continued.  “What do you think that the song
means?”

“Don’ hit mean that we need God to make things right,”
asked Zach Holt, who remarkably had stopped throwing
spitballs at Creed Allen long enough to listen.

“I think hit means that God loves ya no matter what ya
done,” said Ruby Mae.

“Those are all good answers, and I think you’re right.
 It does mean that although we may have gone against
God’s will in the past, with His love and grace, our
sins are forgiven,” David said.

I had never seen David teach the class before.  He
seemed so natural with them, so different from the way
I was on my first day.  Already I had learned so much
from him.  As the lesson continued, I smiled. Although
David had apologized just last night, he wanted me to
know how sorry he was.  We were still friends, and I
knew that after today, our friendship would only
strengthen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


PART: 10
PREVIOUSLY:  Miss Alice leaves for Sand Mountain. 
David tells the children about Mr. Henderson’s mule,
and John Newton.  


Over the next few days, my prediction about my
friendship with David came true.  As the snow
continued to fall, and with school cancelled, David
and I began to talk.  Really talk.  I soon came to
realize that we had more in common than I had ever
imagined.

“I always wondered why you never mentioned your
father,” I said as we sat at the dining room table,
lingering over a hot cup of coffee.  

David glanced down at the cup he cradled between his
hands.  “I tried to convince myself after it happened
that it wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t talk about
it.  For a long time, that was true.  I even believed
it right up until Creed asked me about Miss Alice’s
father.”  He sighed and looked away.  

I sat there quietly, watching his face as he lost
himself in memories that had long been tucked away. 
Minutes passed and David did not take his eyes off the
distant spot that held him.

I knew how he felt.  At times, Amelia’s face would
come to me in a dream, or I would think I saw her
among the children as they played in front of the
school.  Just before I could reach her, to take her
into my arms and kiss her sweet face, she would
disappear and I would lose her all over again.  

I reached across the table, and placed my hand over
David’s.  Without a word or a look, he lowered his
head and cried. On the mantle, the wooden clock’s
pendulum swung back and forth.  Tick. Tock. Tick.
Tock.  It was a lonely, rusty sound that seemed to
fill the room.  Instinctively, I wanted to comfort
David, but I knew that he needed to grieve. 

His sobs grew quieter.  Finally, he lifted his head,
his eyes bloodshot and rimmed in red.  He reached for
a handkerchief and wiped his face, trying to compose
himself, trying to pretend that it hadn’t happened. 
“I’m sorry, Christy.  I don’t know what got into me.” 


I sat down in the chair beside him.  Reaching over, I
brushed away a tear that lingered on his chin. 
“David, you don’t have to pretend.  I know how you
feel.  It’s hard to lose someone you care about.”  He
nodded.  “Do you want to talk about it?”  He shook his
head no.  

David took my hand and held it, rubbing his thumb over
the back of my hand, his eyes never leaving the table.
 We sat there together, silent, as the minutes passed,
how many I don’t know, as the sun lowered in the sky,
its rays slowly inching across the floor leaving a
dark brown glow that began to fill the room.  

“I was eight when my sister Amelia was born,” I said
after a while.  She was the most beautiful baby I had
ever seen.  She had the tiniest hands and feet.  And
the most beautiful blue eyes.  I used to take her out
in her stroller the minute I came home from school.” 
I smiled as I remembered.

“What happened to her?”

“Just a few weeks before her second birthday, she came
down with scarlet fever.  My parents rushed me out of
the house, and sent me to stay with my Grandmother
Rudd who lived just outside of Asheville.  I was
frantic.  All I knew was that my Amelia was sick and
they wouldn’t let me be with her.  She died a week
later.”  

“Oh Christy, I’m so sorry.  I had no idea.”

“I do the same thing you do, David.  You tuck their
memory away in a secret place in your heart, close
enough to never forget but far enough away that you
can go on.”

He nodded and fell silent again.  A few moments later
he said, “My brother, Timothy, died in an riding
accident.  He was the perfect big brother, and I
adored him.  Although I was ten years younger, he
always let me tag along with him.  He’d play ball with
me after school, and taught me how to ride his horse.”
 

He smiled for a moment before he continued.  “He was
on his way back from seminary, to surprise Mother and
Father for their anniversary, when he was thrown from
his horse and broke his neck.  We didn’t even know he
was coming home until we received a telegram from the
seminary that he hadn’t returned.  We found him just a
mile from the house.”  

He swallowed hard and looked away as tears welled in
his eyes.  “Father was heartbroken.  Timothy was the
oldest, Father’s pride and joy.  Two days after
Timothy’s funeral, he went to the cemetery and put a
pistol in his mouth . . .”  David’s voice broke.  He
quickly stood up, headed for the door, and leaned
heavily against the porch railing.  

As I reached his side, I could see that he was
breathing deeply, as if trying to clear his mind of
the painful images he had revealed.  “David . . .” 
The right words escaped me.  

He turned and looked at me, his eyes sad and distant. 
He stepped toward me and drew me close to him,
wrapping his arms around me and resting his face
against my hair.  “I haven’t talked about this to
anyone since it happened.  Thank you for listening,
Christy, and thank you for being my friend,” he
murmured.

“You’re welcome, David.”

A long, slow whistle snapped both of us back to the
present.  Ruby Mae stood near the bottom of the stairs
holding a bucket of milk.  “Land sakes, a body goes to
milk ole Bessy and looky what happens!”  She snickered
and proceeded up the stairs, giving David and I one
last parting glance as she headed toward the kitchen
where Fairlight was preparing dinner.

“Maybe you better set Ruby Mae straight,” David said
as he stepped back inside to fetch his jacket.  “I
think I should take a walk.  Don’t worry, I’ll be back
in time for dinner.”

I remained on the porch and watched David as he
rounded the corner.  Sighing deeply, I returned
inside.

~*~*~*~*
Two more days passed and the snow slowly began to
melt.  By the third day, the children were able to
make it to school again, and life returned to normal. 


Miss Alice had returned from Sand Mountain a day later
than she had planned, delayed by the snow that closed
the school.  She seemed more at peace, bolstered by
her faith in God, and no longer tormented by the
sudden appearance and disappearance of her daughter.

“How do you do it, Miss Alice?” I asked her shortly
after she had returned.  

“What is that, child?”

“Accept things that hurt you?”

She smiled, the corners of her mouth twisting upward
slightly.  “You realize that it’s up to God’s will,
not ours.  We may want certain things, but only He
knows the true plan.  We must believe and trust in
Him.”

Her answers seemed so logical, so simple, but they
only left me with more questions.  How could I accept
the things around me that made no sense?  How could I
find Miss Alice’s strength, or her capacity to
forgive? 

*~*~*~*~
Several days later, I remained at my desk after the
children went home.  My journal lay in front of me,
opened to the drawing I had started a little more than
two weeks ago.  Those same sad eyes stared up at me,
framed by a halo of curls.  I sighed deeply and picked
up my pencil, determined to finish the drawing this
time.  

Slowly, the portrait took shape.  Green eyes.  Dark
curly hair.  A gentle mouth curled in a half-smile.  I
still couldn’t imagine what had driven Margaret to
fake her own death and to now leave again, especially
when she was so sick.  But in the days since she had
left, I had started to gain a new understanding of
her.  The pain I saw in Miss Alice’s face and in Dr.
MacNeill’s eyes still stung me.  

Yet, despite that pain and betrayal, I realized that
Margaret was hurting far more.  Whatever drove
Margaret away didn’t disappear with her “death.”  Not
only was she fighting the tuberculosis that strangled
her, but the demons inside of her that drove her away
from the only family and home she had.   

Where was she?  Was she getting treatment?  I hoped
that she was.  As I looked out onto the meadow, I
remembered the words from the song that Aunt Hattie
had sung that afternoon, “. . .I shall possess, within
the veil, A life of joy and peace.”  Silently, with
Margaret’s finished portrait lying open in front of
me, I prayed that she would find peace.

THE END