Disclaimer:  The story and characters of Christy are the property of the 
LeSourd family.  This work of fan fiction is for personal amusement only 
and no infringement of those rights is intended.  The writer seeks no 
profit or credit from this story.  Any additions of story line and 
characters were invented by the writer.

***************************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap
Author:  Greer
*******************************

PROLOGUE -- April 1942

        The man methodically wound his way along the twisting curves of the 
narrow dirt road.  The terrain was rough and uneven, and he had to take 
care lest he slip into the steep ditches that lined his route.  Recent 
torrential rains created gaping puddles and mud holes that made the path 
treacherous.  In the distance, the man saw his destination.  The wood 
cabin nestled among a backdrop of trees as it had for the past fifty 
years, the surrounding firs and maples easily dwarfing the small 
building in their midst.  Smoke lazily rose from the stone chimney.  It 
was spring, but the mountain air retained more than a hint of winter.  

        The inquisitive and scrutinizing eyes, now gazing out from behind 
steel-rimmed spectacles, returned to the road.  The hands tightly 
gripping the steering wheel were still rough, callused and incredibly 
skilled, though not as strong as they once had been.  As the road turned 
rocky and the man struggled to avoid hitting large stones as well as 
deep crevices, he reflected upon the hundreds of times he had traveled 
this same route on the back of a horse.  A few years ago his wife 
persuaded him to trade his mare for the convenience of an automobile, 
which shortened his trips and provided shelter from the elements.  But 
he missed the naked passion of riding along these mountain paths, with 
their familiar aromas and breathtaking views.  It had been his time for 
personal communion with nature and, on occasion, with God.  The car's 
wheel dipped into and out of a hole, jerking the man from his daydream 
and focusing his attention on driving.  

        At the cabin, he climbed out of the car, scarcely noticing the soupy 
mud into which his boots immediately plunged.  He reached into the back 
and grabbed his traveling medicine chest.  Only when his children had 
presented him with the magnificent leather black bag with his name 
emblazoned in stark gold letters had he abandoned the saddlebags which, 
for most of his professional career, had toted the tools of his 
practice. 

        As he trudged up the hill, he recalled the many times, he had raced to 
this cabin in the dead of night.  Although experience told him that 
today there was no need to rush, he nonetheless had a slight spring in 
his step.  It was something he had carried with him from his first days 
in practice.  Every patient, every disease, every injury was a fresh 
challenge.  

        Ahead of him, the door to the cabin opened.  He allowed himself a wry 
grin.  The noise of the car invariably alerted people of his arrival.  
He gazed at the woman who awaited him.  She stood at the open door, a 
small child in her arms, its head resting against her shoulder.  Her 
blonde hair, streaked with shadings of fawn brown, was pulled back from 
her face.  The carved lines around her eyes and the weariness with which 
she carried herself belied an inner fire and determination.  Her 
piercing blue eyes greeted him, as they had so many times.  Clara 
Spencer McHone broke into a full smile.  "Good morning, Doctor.  Glad 
you're here."

        Neil MacNeill could not help but smile at the sincerity of the welcome.  
It had not always been this way.

****

PART 1 – June 1904

        Neil briskly stepped down onto the platform and took a full, deep 
breath.  For the first time in nearly ten years, mountain air surged 
through his lungs.  Despite the beauty of the sloping gray peaks, it was 
the smell that first touched his senses.  If asked, he could not have 
described it and no one around him would have remarked on an unusual 
odor.  But to Neil MacNeill the scent was unmistakable.  He was home. 

        "So this is Cutter Gap," said a feminine voice behind him.

        "Not quite, Margaret," Neil replied.  "Remember, I told you that the 
train station is in El Pano.  It's another seven miles to Cutter Gap."  
Neil helped his wife down the steps of the passenger car.  She 
immediately opened her umbrella to garner protection from the midday 
summer sun.

        The station looked the same as the day Neil began his long journey to 
Scotland.  Only a few travelers lingered along the wooden planks.  Neil 
did not expect a welcome party but felt a touch of disappointment that 
no one was here to meet him.  Many times over the past ten years he had 
reconsidered his decision to return.  The lures of research in Edinburgh 
and big city practice in Philadelphia sorely tempted his resolve.  He 
hoped that the fortitude that brought him home would sustain him through 
what he knew would be difficult days ahead. 

        He took Margaret's arm and steered her down the platform.  "We'd best 
get our things," he said, heading for the baggage car where men unloaded 
an assortment of trunks, crates, and packing cases, forming a small 
mountain next to the train.  "I've hired a man to take us to the cabin.  
I'll check to see that he's here."  Neil strode toward the station 
entrance, leaving Margaret standing with the supplies.  

        "Yer first time ta El Pano?" one of the workers asked.

        "What?" Margaret asked, startled.  "Oh," she recovered quickly, "yes, 
it is.  How did you know?"

        "From up Yankee way, ain't ya?" the man asked, not answering her 
question.

        "I'm from Philadelphia.  Have you ever been there?"
        
        "Cain't say that I have.  Where ya headin'?  He tossed a light bag onto 
the top of the pile.

        "My husband and I are going to Cutter Gap.  He's going to be the 
physician there," Margaret announced proudly.

        "Ah huh," the man replied, obviously unimpressed.  He grunted as he 
brought down another heavy case from inside the baggage car.

        "What's it like?" she asked.

        "What's what like?"  The man paused in the midst of his unloading.

        "Cutter Gap.  What's it like?"

        "Ya'll see."

        "This place is so beautiful.  Is it like this?"

        "Ya'll see.  Well, that's all," the man grunted again, throwing the 
last trunk onto the pile.

        "I'm really looking forward to seeing Cutter Gap.  Neil – my husband – 
has told me so much about it."

        "Ah huh."

        Margaret's attempts to engage the man in further conversation were 
thwarted by Neil's return, accompanied by their driver.  Neil supervised 
loading.  Although his personal possessions were meager, many of the 
trunks and crates were filled with his medical supplies and equipment.  
He would have preferred the modern instruments he had so recently used 
but settled for the outdated and antiquated equipment donated by the 
hospital and friends.  The price was right. 

        Neil led Margaret to the horse-drawn flatbed, helped her onto the stiff 
wooden seat and climbed in beside her.  "Let's be off then," he 
remarked.  With a thrust of the reins, the driver set the horses in 
motion.  Neil glanced back at the station one last time, then 
permanently fixed his eyes on the trail ahead.

****
        
        The transport stopped a few hundred yards from the cabin, where Neil 
and the driver unloaded supplies.  Once the contraption rattled its way 
back down the trail, Neil picked up a light pack, took his wife's hand, 
and started up the hill to his boyhood home.  

        They had traveled a short distance when Neil froze, staring at the 
scene before him.  Margaret followed his gaze.  On a sloping hill, among 
a throng of overgrown brush and trees, stood a cabin.  For a moment, 
Neil recalled the day when he closed its door and strode down this hill, 
away from all that was familiar.

        "Is that it?" Margaret asked.

        "Yes," Neil said with a smile, his thoughts returning to the present.  
"That's our home."  Together, he and Margaret raced along the path.  At 
the cabin, Neil let go of Margaret's hand, rushed up the steps of the 
porch, and pushed open the door.  His nose wrinkled slightly at the 
musty smell.  

        The fireplace rose magnificently to the rafters.  A mixture of dust, 
insect carcasses and leaves lay amidst furniture covered with heavy 
cloths.  Cobwebs crisscrossed the ceiling, mixing with a pasty film that 
coated the windows.  The stove stood empty in the corner.  It was 
ghostly, yet comfortingly familiar.  From behind, he heard the faint 
taps that signaled Margaret had climbed the steps.  He turned toward her 
and swooped his wife into his arms.

        "Mac, what are you doing?" she cried with delight.

        "What a proper newly wed husband should do," he announced as he crossed 
the threshold between his past and his future.



***************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 2
Previously:  Neil & Margaret arrive at the cabin
Author:  Greer
***************************

        "Hello there.  Anybody home?"  Neil and Margaret were exploring the 
cabin when they heard the call from the front yard.  

        "That sounds like-"  Neil ran onto the porch.  "Jeb Spencer!" he cried.  

        "Neil MacNeill.  Or should I be callin' ya ‘Doctor?'" Jeb asked, firmly 
clasping Neil's hand and simultaneously wrapping his arm around his 
friend's shoulder.  "Welcome home.  It's good to have ya back."

        "It's good to be back."  Neil could not help but notice the strange 
look that crossed Jeb's face as he spoke his first sentence.  "Is 
something the matter?" he asked.

        "Don't sound like ya did."

        Neil nodded – he'd forgotten that his accent would sound out of place 
here.  "In Scotland, my professors and most of the students talked this 
way.  Over time, I picked it up."

        Jeb only nodded.  Suddenly, he looked toward the open cabin door and 
yanked the cap off his head.  "Ma'am," he said respectfully.

        "Jeb, this is my wife Margaret.  Margaret, this is Jeb Spencer.  I've 
known Jeb and his wife Fairlight since I was a small boy."

        "Pleased to meet ya, ma'am."  

        "It's my pleasure," Margaret said, stepping onto the porch.

        Jeb broke the silence.  "Hope the cabin's okay.  I checked it couple 
weeks yon when I got yer letter.  Didna look too bad then.  We've got a 
workin' tomorrer.  The womenfolk'll come too."  This last sentence was 
directed at Margaret, who could only stare.  

        "The cabin's fine," Neil replied gratefully.  "Better than I expected.   
I've no doubt the working will help."

        "I saw yer crates up on the trail.  Could ya use some help bringin' 'em 
up?"
        
        Neil quickly accepted Jeb's offer and for the next hour the two men 
hauled gear into the cabin.  After heaving the last box through the 
doorway, they fell into dusty chairs, exhausted. 
        
        "I'm sorry I can't offer you something cool to drink," Margaret 
apologized.  "We only arrived a few minutes before you did."

        "Don't ya worry none.  I'd bes' be off.  Fairlight'll be wonderin' what 
become o' me."  He hauled himself out of the chair.  "We'll be here 
bright ‘n early tomorrer.   I'm hopin' ta have a surprise fer ya, Neil," 
he said mysteriously.  "Ma'am," he acknowledged Margaret before heading 
out the door.

        "Mac, what's a ‘workin?'"  Margaret struggled to mimic Jeb's accent.

        "A working," Neil explained, "is when the men of the Cove come together 
to help someone accomplish a large task such as clearing land or 
rebuilding a cabin.  The women will come as well to meet you and bring 
food."

        "You mean all the women of the town will be coming to my house?  But I 
haven't done a thing."  She glanced in despair at her surroundings.  
"Whatever will they think?"  Margaret strode aimlessly around the room.  
"I'll be up all night cleaning."

        "Margaret," Neil said gently, intercepting her path.  "Don't worry.  No 
one here will judge you."  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and 
brought her head to rest against his chest.  "These are good people.  
They know how much work lies ahead.  They'll come tomorrow because they 
know that one day they may need our help."  He brushed his lips against 
her forehead.

        She remained content in that position until her eye caught sight of the 
boxes strewn about the cabin.  "Oh Mac, we have so much unpacking to 
do."  She started to pull away.

        "Our unpacking will wait, love," he replied softly, pulling her back 
into his embrace.  "Right now, Mrs. MacNeill, I thought we might take a 
look at the bedroom."

        "Neil!" Margaret squealed, her voice a mixture of irritation and 
delight.

****

        Neil rose early the following morning and began uncrating supplies.  By 
the time Margaret descended the stairs, books, pots, bottles and 
instruments covered nearly every surface.  "Good morning, sleepy one," 
he called, crossing the room to give her a peck on the cheek.  "Sleep 
well?"

        "Oh, Neil," she yawned.  "You can't beat this mountain air.  I don't 
remember the last time I slept this soundly."

        "Good.  You'll need your rest.  I promise you this will be a long day."

        "I'm looking forward to meeting your friends."

        "You'd best get ready then," he suggested.  "They'll be here shortly."

        The sun had barely risen and in the distance a soupy fog covered the 
mountains.  Mist coated the ground, making the short trek from the cabin 
to the privy more precarious than Margaret expected.  The thought of 
using these outdoor facilities in the middle of winter did not comfort 
her.  

        Neil had tried to explain what living in Cutter Gap would be like.  To 
Margaret, whose life had been consumed by the antiquated and strict 
rules of Quaker existence, the notion of a quaint little cabin in the 
wilds of the Tennessee mountains seemed adventurous and romantic.  Now 
it was reality.  She shivered slightly as she stared at the wooden box 
that would be her bathroom for—, for the rest of her life?   Everything 
about this cabin, her home, seemed so primitive and desolate.  Neil had 
been honest with her, but had she been honest with herself?
        
        By mid-morning, the air was filled with sounds of sawing, pounding and 
chopping, as the men took to the cabin and surrounding land with a 
vengeance.  Several repaired the cabin siding, replacing rotted sections 
with fresh cut panels while others chopped wayward trees and cleared 
away brush and undergrowth.  Making his way among the workers, Neil 
found that most of the mountain people were surprised by his accent and 
he frequently had to repeat himself to be understood.
        
        Jeb Spencer arrived late, towing a striking young horse.  "Reckon this 
is what ya need," he said, presenting the animal to Neil.  "John 
O'Malley says it's his finest stock.  Got a good price fer ya."  Neil 
slowly walked around the animal, eyeing it closely.  "Wanna try him?" 
Jeb asked.
        
        Neil shook his head.  Since leaving the mountains, he had ridden only 
occasionally and had no intention of perfecting his skills in front of 
the assembled men of Cutter Gap.  He was confident of Jeb's choice.  
"He'll do nicely.  Has he a name?"
        
        "John calls him ‘Charlie.'"  
        
        Inside the cabin, Margaret was having difficulty understanding the 
conversation around her.  As the wives of the Cove piled into her home, 
she wondered how they could ever expect to leave the cabin cleaner than 
when they arrived.  Each seemed enveloped by a cloud of filth.  She 
tried to guess their ages.  Although she suspected many were not much 
older than she, their faces reflected years of hardship and suffering.

        "So I hears yer from Philly-del-phier," one woman commented as she 
swept her broom across the floor.  "Reckon that's up north somewheres."
        
        "Yes, it's about--"  Before Margaret could complete her answer, she was 
pulled aside.  "These shore is perty things," another woman said, 
lifting one of Margaret's dresses from a trunk.  She held it up, turning 
it from side to side, then ran her grimy fingers along the material. 

        It was all Margaret could do not to wrest her dress from the woman's 
grasp.  "I think I'd like to unpack these later," she stammered, guiding 
the woman away from her clothing.  

        "Well, shure.  I don't mean to be apryin'."

        "So," Margaret asked a woman who introduced herself as Mary Allen, 
"what activities do you participate in to occupy your time?"

        The woman looked confused.  "Come agin?"
        
        Margaret sighed.  "What do you do around here?"
        
         "Oh," Mary nodded eagerly.  "There's lots o' chores.  Cookin' an' 
washin' and plantin' an' cannin'.  And, of course, there's the 
young'uns.
        
        "Do you have many child-- young'uns?" Margaret asked politely, glancing 
outside in the vain hope that Neil might return to the cabin to rescue 
her.
        
        "Only got me the two now, boy an' a gal.  But I'm fixin' to ‘ave 
another real soon," Mary added, pointing to her bloated abdomen.
        
        A young, blond woman approached Margaret.  "I'm Fairlight Spencer," she 
introduced herself.  "Jeb's wife."
        
        "Yes, of course.  He came by yesterday."  Margaret was proud of herself 
for remembering at least one name.  
        
        "I was wonderin' if ya quilt?" Fairlight asked.  "Some of us womenfolk 
git together every now an' agin fer sewin'."
        
        "I haven't done much sewing.  Perhaps I can learn," she offered 
half-heartedly.
        
        Outside, Neil helped clear brush.  It was backbreaking work, and he 
could well imagine how long the task would take working alone.  The 
Allen brothers, Bob and Ault, took turns with the axe, chopping and 
removing fallen trees.  "This should tide ya over, Neil," Bob grunted, 
swinging the ax over his shoulder and bringing it to bear with great 
force.

        "More than we'll need, for sure," Neil replied, eyeing the growing 
stack of firewood.  "Take what you want."

        Bob paused in his chopping.  "Nah, storm couple months ago left more'n 
enough fer this winter an' next.  I'll ask ‘round.  Reckon someone kin 
use extra.  Shame fer it ta waste."

        From the direction of the cabin, the three heard splintering wood as 
men tore apart a section of rotted porch.  "So, ya went way over ta 
Scot-land an' got yerself an ed-u-cation."  It was more of a statement 
than a question from Ault.  "With all that learnin', what'd ya come back 
here fer?"

        "Cutter Gap needed a doctor," Neil replied simply, cautiously.

        "Reckon we done all right up to now."

        "Yeeooww!"  The cry came from the direction of the cabin.


********************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 3
Previously:  During the working at the MacNeill cabin, someone screams.
Author:  Greer
********************************
        
        Neil reacted first, quickly covering the short distance to his 
porch, where a small crowd had gathered.  “Let me through.”  He pushed 
his way toward a young man who held out his arm.  A long, deep cut ran 
from the wrist to the elbow and blood poured out of the wound.

        “Doggone it,” the man cried.  “Caught a nail.”

        “Nathan, let me see it,” Neil commanded, taking the injured arm in his 
own.  He recognized the slender young man as a nephew of Swannie 
O’Teale.  He’d been but a boy when Neil left Cutter Gap.
 
        “Tain’t nothin’.”  Nathan, feigning nonchalance in the face of 
the pressing crowd, tried to pull back his arm.

        Neil, however, would not be deterred.  His grip was iron strong.  
“Well, it doesn’t look too bad,” he commented, scrutinizing the wound.  
“But it’ll need sutures.  Come inside and I’ll clean it up.”  His voice 
rang out through an eerie silence.  All sounds of chopping and pounding 
had ceased, and Neil was keenly aware that all eyes were on him and the 
injured young man. 

        “I kin jes’ wrap it up.  I does it all the time,” Nathan 
protested.  

        “Oh, let him do his fancy doctorin’,” came a snide comment.  Neil 
looked up to locate the source, but the expressions of those around him 
were blank.  

        He turned back to the young man.  “Come along,” he repeated.  
When he saw Nathan hesitate, he added, “You don't want it to become 
infected.”  

        Nathan reluctantly allowed himself to be led into the cabin where he 
sat in a straight-backed chair with his arm resting on the table.  Under 
the watchful eye of the women and a few men who had straggled inside, 
Neil collected supplies from the half-unpacked boxes scattered about the 
room.  He lay a cloth on the corner of the table on which he placed 
instruments, bottles, and a stack of bandages.  He then sat next to the 
boy, who had observed the preparations with amusement and trepidation.

        “Whattya gonna do?” Nathan asked warily.

        “I’ll start by washing your arm.”  When the area was clean and 
dry, Neil reached for one of the bottles.  “This is antiseptic,” he 
explained, pouring a small amount onto the wound.  “It will sting.”

        “Ooowww!”  The young man nearly jumped out of his chair as the liquid 
hit the open sore.  At the sound of his cry, several of the women jerked 
backwards.  

        “There, it’s not so bad now, is it?” Neil asked sympathetically, 
already picking up another bottle and a hypodermic needle.

        Nathan, slightly dazed, shook his head.  “Nah.  I was jes 
seprised, that’s all.”  He looked warily at the needle that had appeared 
in Neil’s hands.

        “What’s that fer?”

        “It’s morphine for the pain.”

        “I don’t need none,” Nathan argued, trying to act braver than he 
felt.

        “I say you do,” Neil replied firmly.  “I can’t have you moving 
about while I’m sewing up your arm.”  After giving Nathan the injection, 
he passed a metal instrument through the flame of the lamp.  “Hold still 
now,” he warned.  Using a curved needle and a pair of forceps, Neil 
painstakingly placed a neat row of sutures along Nathan’s forearm, 
feeling the crowd’s eyes on him as he worked.  Finished, he reached for 
another hypodermic.  “This is tetanus anti-toxin,” he explained, again 
emptying the contents into Nathan’s arm.

        “So is this what ya learned in doctor school?” Nathan asked 
wearily.

        “This and a few other things,” Neil replied as he bandaged the 
wound.  “Now, you must keep this clean.  I’ll stop by in a day or two to 
change the bandage.”  He tucked in the last piece, leaving a bulky 
wrapping around the young man’s arm.  

        “I’se seen less bandages when granpa got his arm clean shot off,” John 
Holcombe commented sarcastically.

        “Looks worse than when I done lost my finger,” came another 
voice from the back of the room.

        Neil bit back the retorts that surfaced to his throat.  
“Remember what I said about keeping it clean,” he reminded Nathan.

****

        As he unpacked over the course of the following days, Neil set aside a 
corner of his cabin as a treatment room.  The kitchen table would double 
for examinations or surgery, with a screen fashioned from leftover wood 
and sheets adding an element of privacy.  A few sawhorses and boards 
made excellent instrument tables.  Medical texts and treatises lined 
makeshift shelves in the corner.

        That first week, the room sat empty.  Neil had not expected a parade of 
patients, but no one had come by for treatment.  He watched in 
anticipation as friends strolled up the trail, yet each merely welcomed 
him or brought a basket of food.  Neil encouraged them to return if they 
needed medical attention but their evasive responses were not 
heartening.  Now, Neil and Margaret had food to feed a small army, but 
the room awaited its first patient.

        “Get your things together.  We’re going out,” Neil called across the 
room to his wife.  

        “Out?  Out where?” Margaret asked as she haphazardly folded 
linens into piles on the kitchen table.

        “You’ll see.  There’s someone I want you to meet.”  

        “Who is it?” Margaret repeated as they trekked across the mountain.  In 
her dress and heeled shoes, she struggled to keep up with her husband’s 
long strides.  Noticing her distress, Neil took her arm to help her 
navigate the steep slopes and slippery paths.

        “My Aunt Hattie.”  Neil explained he had not seen his only relative in 
the Cove since he'd left for Scotland.  “I must warn you, she suffers 
from trachoma and her eyesight is quite bad."

        When they reached the hillside cabin, a middle-aged woman rocked on the 
porch.  Her gaze, though directed at the couple, seemed to penetrate 
through them.  “Neil, is it really you?”  She stood to embrace her 
nephew.  "It’s been such a long time.  I kept hopin' you'd come home.  
Back ta stay, are ya?”  

        Neil returned the embrace.  “Yes, I'm back to stay.  Hattie, there’s 
someone I’d like you to meet.  This is my wife, Margaret.”  He carefully 
placed Margaret’s smooth, soft hand into Hattie’s rough, callused one.  

        “Pleased to meet you.  You’re new to the Cove, ain’t ya?”

        “Yes.  We just arrived the other day.  I’m from up north.”

        “Well, don’t stand there.  Come inside an’ I’ll fix ya somethin’ ta 
eat.”  Hattie felt her way along the porch, running her hand across the 
doorway as she entered the house.  Neil surmised that his aunt’s vision 
had deteriorated drastically.  She was nearly blind.

        “I done heard ya talked different,” Hattie remarked to Neil as she 
fiddled near the stove.  

        Margaret tuned out Neil’s answer as she explored the tiny cabin.  
She despaired at the thought of living alone on the top of a mountain in 
this primitive shack and was trying to think of something complimentary 
to say when her eyes fell on needlework lying across a rocker.  “Is this 
yours?” she asked, picking up a piece of knitting.

        Hattie nodded.  “Sure is.  It’s ta be a blanket.  Takes more 
time nowadays.”

        “But how do you knit--?

        “With my eyes?”  Hattie finished the question with a smile.  “I’ve been 
knittin’ since ‘fore I was younger ‘n you.  Don't need ta see it no 
more.  D’ya like it?” she asked.

        “It’s lovely,” Margaret answered sincerely.

        “Then it'll be yours.”

        “Oh no, I couldn’t--” She started to object.

        “Thank you, Hattie.  That's very kind,” Neil smoothly finished.  
“Now, can I help you?”

        “No, Neil.”  She motioned him away.  "Jes’ sit yerself down.  Ya ain't 
been home in nigh ten years.  Bout time I fixed somethin' fer ya."  
While Hattie set out squares of bread, cheese and fruit, Neil filled in 
the gaps of his infrequent letters.

        When Hattie joined them, Neil encouraged her to relate her mountain 
lore, hoping Margaret would be inspired by the stories.  However, after 
only a short time, he sensed his wife was bored and ready to return to 
home.  He tried to hide his discouragement.  “Hattie, I think we’d best 
start back.  It’s getting dark and we walked over.”

        “I understand,” she replied in a tone that made plain she did not.  “Be 
sure to take some o’ the pie.  I’ll not be eatin’ it all.”  She allowed 
her nephew to kiss her forehead.  “Ya'll come back any time."

        “I’ll stop by in a few days, Hattie,” Neil said, dropping a large 
slice of pie into a tin.  “I want to have a look at your eyes.”

        “They ain’t goin’ nowhere an’ neither’m I,” Hattie said, rocking 
slowly in the chair as the couple departed. 

*******************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 4
Previously:  N & M are settling into life in Cutter Gap, including a 
working at their cabin and visit to Hattie.  
Author:  Greer
*********************************

        Margaret rolled over in bed and found the space next to her empty.  
Still half asleep, she ran her hand along the cool sheets.  Failing to 
make contact with anything, she reluctantly opened her eyes and realized 
Neil had gone downstairs.  A quick glance at the bedside clock revealed 
it was mid-morning and once again she had overslept.  Clad in only her 
nightgown, Margaret drifted down the staircase.  The front door stood 
open and she could see the beginnings of an overcast day. 

        Neil was seated in a straight-backed chair on the porch, hunched over a 
small table.  At the sound of footfalls on the steps, he looked up.  
"Well, good morning," he welcomed her in a hearty voice.  "I see you 
decided to join the land of the living."

        "It was you who deserted me," she teased, throwing her arms around his 
neck. She looked over his shoulder at the materials scattered across the 
table.  "What in the world are you doing?" 

        "Tying flies," he responded, picking up a pair of shears.

        "What?" 

        "I'm tying flies.  I'll use them as bait for fishing.  Try to catch us 
some dinner."  Neil briefly explained the basics of fly fishing and the 
need for "flies" to resemble insects which populated this stretch of 
river.  "Later, I can show you how it's done," he offered.

        "No, that's all right.  You go ahead.  I thought I might--"  Margaret 
realized she had no idea what she would do all day.  "Work in the 
garden," she blurted out.

        "Sounds good.  We'll need to get vegetables in the ground if we're to 
have enough for winter," Neil said.  "Once it starts snowing, it's not 
easy to get out."

        "No, I'm sure it's not," Margaret replied uneasily, retreating back 
into the cabin.  She had experienced numerous heavy snowfalls in 
Philadelphia, but something in Neil's tone warned her that snow in the 
mountains would present unexpected challenges.  

        A short time later, Neil was startled by a cry inside the cabin.  
"Oooh!"  Then, a few seconds later.  "Oh, darnit!"

        He bolted into the kitchen and found Margaret standing over an upturned 
kettle.  Steaming water stained a large section of the floor. "What 
happened?  Did you burn yourself?"  He examined her hands for signs of 
injury.

        She pulled her hand back.  "No."  Her voice was riddled with 
frustration.  "I was heating water for the wash.  The kettle just 
slipped out of my hands."  She sighed loudly.

        Neil had dropped to his knees to move items away from the spreading 
water.  But now he stood up and put his arms around his wife's 
shoulders.  "It's all right, Margaret.  The kettle was quite heavy.  I 
should have helped you."

        "I've let you do everything.  I should at least be able to manage the 
laundry."

        "I know this is hard for you," he said sympathetically.  "Maybe 
Fairlight or one of the other women can give you a hand," he suggested.

        "Fairlight," Margaret snorted.  "What can she teach me?  It's hard 
enough to understand her.  I doubt there's much she can show me."

        Neil forced himself not to respond in anger.  This was a difficult 
adjustment for Margaret and though he had tried to describe the 
hardships she would face, he realized that no words could prepare an 
outsider for the realities of life in the Cove.   "At least let me help 
you with the laundry," he offered.

        "No," she insisted, taking the pail from him.  "I can manage.  Go back 
to your flying ties or whatever."  Neil could not decide whether she was 
serious or merely teasing him.  But he sensed that being able to run the 
household on her own was important to his new wife.  After mopping up 
the water, he returned to the porch. 

****

        Neil wound the fishing line in small circle and pulled it tight, very 
tight.  Anything else would have broken under the strain.  Much as he 
loved fly fishing, he had done enough in the past week to last him a 
year.  He collected more fish than he and Margaret could eat in a month 
and released enough to feed the entire Cove for a week.  He had tied 
enough flies to start a museum.  Neil was bored.  But more than that, he 
was deeply frustrated.  

        Nathan O'Teale's arm mended without incident and a few residents 
dropped by with the most minor of ailments.  But he had been in Cutter 
Gap for over three weeks.  It strained credibility that not one person 
had been injured or fallen ill since his arrival.  He knew from his 
years in the mountains that scarcely a day went by without some minor 
calamity.  Yet no one sought out his services.

        Today was not the first time he questioned his decision to return home.  
He had known practicing here would be difficult, that these people, his 
people, would not quickly or easily accept modern medicine.  But he 
always believed that they would accept him.  After all, he was one of 
them.  Surely they would not begrudge him the years required to educate 
himself.  

        But things were different.  When he strolled by the mill, he sensed the 
men did not know what to say.  And he in turn fought to carry on a 
conversation with the very people with whom he'd spent most of his life.  
It was as if he were a stranger in his own community, a situation made 
all the more frustrating because he had no idea how to remedy it.  He 
made another loop with the line.

        "Neil!  Neil!"  A familiar voice broke into his thoughts.  Jeb Spencer 
rode into the yard, maneuvering his horse until he was almost upon the 
porch.  "We need ya!  It's John.  He's burnin' with fever."

        As they rode side by side, Neil learned that Jeb's son had been ill for 
several days and this morning Fairlight discovered a rash covering his 
face.  She wanted to call Granny Barclay but Jeb insisted they seek 
Neil's advice first.  

        At the Spencer cabin, Fairlight sat on her son's bed, gently touching 
his head with a moist cloth.  She glanced nervously at Neil when he and 
Jeb entered.  It was clear she did not intend to relinquish her 
position.   She turned back to John, squeezing his hand.  Even from a 
distance, Neil could see that the boy was ill.  Beads of sweat pooled on 
his forehead and a red rash pocketed his cheeks.        

        "Fairlight," Jeb started, "we done talked 'bout this.  Let Neil--"

        Neil touched Jeb's arm, stopping him in mid-sentence.  "Fairlight, 
might I have a look at John?" he inquired softly.

        Fairlight continued patting her son's forehead, ignoring the question.  
"It's all right.  Momma's here."  After a moment, she again turned 
around to look at Neil, who remained at the door.  "We always git Granny 
before."

        "I only want to examine him," Neil said.  

        "You won't hurt him?" she asked cautiously.

        "No, I won't hurt him," he assured her.  "You can stay here with us if 
you like."

        Slowly, as if in a trance, Fairlight stood up and moved a step away 
from the bed, her eyes never leaving her son.  Neil slipped into her 
place by the boy's side, resting his saddlebags on the floor.  John, who 
had observed the ongoing drama in silence, stared at him with 
trepidation.

        Neil took a deep breath.  This boy, who had not even been born when he 
left for medical school, was his first real patient in Cutter Gap.  Neil 
understood the importance of this moment and fervently hoped that his 
knowledge and skill would be sufficient.  He could not fail here, in 
front of his best friend.  "John, I'm Dr. MacNeill," he introduced 
himself.  "I've come to see how you're feeling." 
        
        "Don't feel good," the boy said weakly, squinting at the sunlight 
streaming in the doorway.

        "I can see that."  Neil turned to Jeb.  "Can you close the door?  And 
bring something to cover the window."  He directed his attention back to 
the boy.  "The light hurts your eyes, doesn't it?"

        John nodded, his eyes widening in amazement.  "How'd ya know--"

        Neil seized the opportunity.  "Can you open your mouth, John?  I just 
want to have a look inside."  The moment Neil began his examination, his 
anxiety disappeared as he found comfort in the familiar routine.  He ran 
his hands along the boy's rash and down his neck then pulled an 
instrument from his bags.  "Have you seen this before?"  John shook his 
head warily.  "It's called a thermometer.  I'll put it under your tongue 
to see if you have a fever."

        "Will it taste bad?" John asked suspiciously, clamping his mouth shut.

        "Not at all," he assured the boy, who allowed Neil to place it in his 
mouth.  Neil pulled back the covers and inspected John's torso, noting 
the rash had yet to spread.  Retrieving the thermometer, he was not 
surprised to read a temperature of one hundred and four degrees.  "I'm 
almost finished.  I need to listen to your breathing now."  

        When Neil revealed his stethoscope, fear bordering on panic filled the 
boy's eyes.  "No--" John's voice quivered.

        Fairlight, too, saw her son's reaction and stepped forward.  "John, 
don't be afraid--"

        "It's all right, Fairlight," Neil interrupted her.  "John, this is 
called a stethoscope," he explained.  "It lets me hear your heartbeat.  
It doesn't hurt at all.  Would you like to try it on me first?"  When 
the boy nodded, Neil placed the tips in John's ears, unbuttoned his own 
shirt, and placed the instrument against his chest.  "Do you hear 
anything?"

        The adults could see that the boy was intrigued as his fear turned to 
curiosity.  "It's a thump, thump.  But it's real quiet."  

        "That's the sound of my heart beating.  You have to listen very 
carefully."  After a moment, Neil said, "May I try now?" and received a 
nod in response.

        "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Neil asked when finished.  Exhausted by 
fever and the anxiety of the examination, John could only shake his head 
as he lay back on the pillows.  

        Neil faced Fairlight and Jeb.  "John has the measles," he announced 
with confidence.  "He'll be feverish for a few days and the rash will 
spread.  But if you take care of him, he'll get better on his own.  He 
must stay in bed," he continued.  "I'll leave aspirin to bring down his 
fever. Keep the room as dark as possible.  John's rash will itch and you 
must try to stop him from scratching.  I'll give you lotion that will 
help."

        "Granny always uses elderberries fer itchin'," Fairlight interjected.

        "That should work as well," Neil acknowledged and saw Fairlight smile.  
"There is one other thing.  Measles is highly contagious, meaning it 
passes from person to person very easily."

        "Might we be gittin' it?"  Fairlight asked worriedly.

        "No.  Once you get the disease, you body develops an immunity--"  
Seeing his words were not understood, Neil tried again.  "You can only 
have it once.  We had measles as children so we won't get it again.  
Zady, however," he looked at the five-year-old playing in the far 
corner, "will likely get sick as well."  The doctor turned back to John.  
"You need to sleep as much as possible.  And no scratching," he added.  
The boy nodded meekly.  "All right, then.  I'll stop by tomorrow."

        As Neil prepared to leave, Jeb pressed a jar of honey into his hands.  
"I've got a chicken outside fer you."

        Neil tried to return the offering.  "It's all right, Jeb.  There's no 
need to pay me."  He longed to explain that Jeb's trust in him was worth 
more than any financial reward.

        Jeb was adamant.  "Neil, yer a doctor now and takin' care of my John.  
I kin pay.  I won't be beholden fer what ya done."

        "Jeb, please--"

        "Ain't this good enough fer ya?"  Jeb asked with a touch of anger.

        "It's more than enough."

        "Then it's settled."  Jeb softened his tone and looked earnestly at his 
friend.  "Neil, if you're goin' ta be a doctor here, ya gotta let folks 
pay ya.  They won't be takin' charity.  Ya knows that."

        Neil nodded.  Jeb was right.  For all of his education, his old friend 
had just taught him a very valuable lesson.

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

Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 5
Previously:  Neil diagnoses John Spencer with measles.
Author:  Greer
********************************

        "Up you go."  Neil helped his wife clamber into the saddle.  
"Comfortable?"

        "Not really," Margaret said as she settled into the seat.  Neil had 
convinced her to ride astride and it was difficult getting properly 
positioned in her long dress.  "I don't know about this, Mac.  I'm only 
a city girl.  I don't think I'm cut out to be a horsewoman."

        "Nonsense."  Although not all the women of the Cove were accomplished 
equestrians, Neil surmised that his wife would not be content being 
confined to their cabin.  A horse would give her freedom and 
independence.  "You can do it, Margaret.  You know, if you're going to 
get around Cutter Gap, you must learn to ride."  He looked at his wife, 
perched awkwardly atop his horse.  "I know Charlie's a bit big, but we 
can get you your own horse later."

        "Why can't I just walk wherever I want to go?" she protested.  "The 
scenery here is so beautiful.  And it's not as if I have much else to 
do."

        Neil unhitched the horse from the rail.  They had been in Cutter Gap 
for less than a month, and the hot, dry summer made travel on foot 
relatively simple.  "You won't be saying that when fall arrives.  It 
will be too cold to walk anywhere."  He handed Margaret the reins.  
"Hold these loosely in both your hands."

        "Don't let go of me," she pleaded.  

        "I won't," Neil promised, maintaining his grip on the bridle.  He 
slowly walked her around the cabin perimeter, explaining how to make 
Charlie start, go faster, and stop as well as how to reward and correct 
him.  "The horse knows what to do," he concluded.  "You only need to 
guide him.  I'll just have you walk him today.  Once you're comfortable, 
we can move up to trotting.  Before you know it, you'll be galloping 
through the fields."

        Margaret paid close attention, trying to take in all of Neil's 
instructions.  By their third circuit of the cabin, she felt secure on 
the horse and was looking forward to taking charge.  As if reading her 
mind, Neil asked, "Are you ready to try for yourself?"  She nodded 
eagerly.  "All right then."  He brought the horse to a stop and released 
his grip on the reins.  "Go slowly at first.  Let Charlie get to know 
you."

        Margaret gently squeezed her legs together to encourage the horse to 
move forward.  Nothing happened.  She tried again with the same result.  
"A little harder," Neil coached.  "But not too hard," he quickly 
amended.  "You don't want him taking off on you."

        It took several more tries, but eventually the horse started forward.  
"Look, I'm doing it!" Margaret squealed with delight.  "I'm riding."  
She looked back at her husband in triumph.

        Neil grinned broadly with pleasure.  He desperately wanted Margaret to 
see beyond the hardships and share in the joy he felt living in Cutter 
Gap.  So much of what she had become accustomed to in Philadelphia was 
impossible here and she had yet to find new passions to take their 
place.  He watched her make a second round of the cabin and a third.  
This time she brought the horse to a stop.  "Had enough for one day?" he 
asked.

        "I thought I'd take him down the hill a bit."

        "All right, but hold on tight."
        
         Margaret led the animal down the rocky path.  Whether it was the steep 
terrain or an inadvertent knee to his side, Charlie suddenly accelerated 
his pace and took off at a trot.  Unprepared, Margaret lurched forward 
in the saddle, then struggled to maintain her seat as the horse picked 
up speed. 
        
        Neil immediately realized what was happening and sprinted toward the 
horse and rider.  "Hold on!" he shouted, racing after them.  "Pull back 
on the reins!"

        Margaret tried tightening her grip, but jerking the horse's head only 
seemed to spur him on.  "Whoa!" she cried, frantically trying to 
maintain control of the horse while simultaneously trying not to fall 
off.  "Whoa!"  She managed to tighten the reins and the horse finally 
slowed to a walk.  By this time, Neil was sufficiently close to grab 
onto the bridle.  Once he had tied up the horse, he reached for his 
wife, who was dangling from the edge of the saddle.

        "Are you all right?"  Neil helped Margaret to the ground and 
immediately took her in his arms.  He stared into her eyes, concern 
reflected in his own.
        
        Half laughing and half sobbing, she was swallowed in his embrace.  "I'm 
fine.  A little undignified maybe, hanging on like that."  She took a 
deep breath.  "Oh Neil, I don't think I've ever been so scared.  Or had 
so much fun," she added brightly, with a smile.  

        "I'm so glad, darling."  Relief was evident in his voice as his lips 
found hers.

        For a brief moment, the miseries of Cutter Gap were erased from 
Margaret's mind.  All she could think of was her husband and the passion 
that rose within her.  She took his face in her hands and gazed into his 
hazel eyes.  "Neil, I love you so much.  I don't know what I'd do 
without you.  Promise you won't ever leave me."

        "I won't Margaret.  Not ever."  He wrapped his arms tightly around her.  
They remained in a tight embrace, clinging to one another in body and 
mind.  Finally, Neil retrieved Charlie's reins and, with one arm snaked 
around Margaret's waist, the three of them trekked up the hill.

****

        When he checked John Spencer a few days later, Neil was pleased that 
the boy's symptoms had nearly abated.  Also as predicted, Zady was in 
the earliest stages of measles.  "You need to keep her in bed," Neil 
cautioned Fairlight, as she poured him a cup of coffee.  "But John is 
much better.  It will be difficult to make him rest," he added, "but I 
don't want him up until he's fully recovered."

        "I ‘member when you an' Jeb was down with measles," Grandam Spencer 
mused.  Jeb's mother had come from across the Cove to help Fairlight 
care for her sick children.  Slightly built and with her silvered hair 
pulled back severely from her face, Grandam looked every bit the family 
matriarch.  "Jeb was six and ye was what?"

        Neil smiled.  "Nearly five."  

        The older woman nodded.  "When ya come over yer face was all red.  
Feared ya might have the fever."  Neil and Fairlight knew Grandam was 
referring to scarlet fever, a common scourge in the mountains.  "But 
‘twas measles.  Weren't a week later Jeb took sick.  Then May an' John 
an' the rest o' the young'uns.  All that fever 'n itchin'."  Grandam's 
eyes glazed over at the recollection.

        "Measles is more difficult for the parents than the children," Neil 
admitted.

        "How long will it last?"  Fairlight asked.

        "The epidemic?  Hard to say," Neil replied thoughtfully, swallowing the 
remains of his coffee.  Although he'd been called in on very few cases, 
he was well aware that measles was making its way through the Cove.  "It 
usually runs its course in several weeks."

        Grandam had risen to refill the three cups.  As she returned the kettle 
to the stove, she staggered and clutched the edge of the table.

        "Grandam, are you all right?" Neil asked in a concerned voice.  He 
noted that her face was flushed and her movements sluggish.

        "Jes tired.  The young'uns kept us up most o' the night with their 
itchin'."

        "Maybe I should have a look at you," Neil offered. 

        "Neil, ya worry too much.  Don't be lettin' that doctorin' go ta yer 
head."  Her tone warned him not to press.  She sat down across the 
table, rolling the mug between her hands.  "How's that wife o' yers 
gittin' along?  Ain't seen her much 'round the Cove."

        "It's been a bit rough for Margaret," Neil admitted.  ""She's been 
keeping mostly to the cabin.  I'm afraid she gets bored."

        "Ya'll need young'uns," Fairlight said with a sly smile.  "That'd keep 
her busy."

        "Now, Fairlight," Neil began.  

        "It's true," she said, glancing at her children in bed.  "I'll stop by 
once Zady gits ta feelin' better."

        "I'm sure she'd like that.  Margaret could use a friend," he said 
honestly.

        Jeb eased his way through the door.  "Howdy, Neil.  How's my 
young'uns?"  He snatched a mug from the cupboard and poured himself some 
coffee.

        "Zady's feverish but John's much improved."

        "Good.  I kin use his help gettin' the honey ready.
  
        "When are you going to market?"

        Jeb sat down at the table.  "End ‘o August.  Say, d'ya hear ‘bout that 
preacher comin' ta El Pano ‘round then?  Word is he's a fire an' 
brimstone type come all the way from Arkansas."

        "Why would he come here?" Neil asked, perplexed.

        "Ain't fer sure.  Some say he's lookin' to set up a preacher fer 
regular."

        Just what Cutter Gap needs, Neil thought cynically.  Someone eager to 
impose his morality on people already contending with too much misery 
and hardship.  Although religion was no longer an important or necessary 
part of Neil's life, he knew that it was vital to his mountain 
neighbors.

        "Shure could use a preacher ‘round here.  Ain't got no one fer two 
years now -- since ole Deacon Jonas died."

        Neil vaguely recalled the man from his youth.  To the Deacon, God was 
to be feared and hell and damnation were the automatic and inevitable 
results of disobedience.  Jonas had spoken at the funerals of both his 
parents.  Neil remembered little of what was said as he had vainly tried 
to understand how any God could leave him so alone. 

        "Hafta go ta nearly ta Knoxville fer church.  It'd be mighty fine ta 
have a man of the cloth round here, don't ya think?"

        Neil nodded automatically, absorbed in his memories.

****

        The aromatic mixture of cinnamon and yeast wafted through the cabin. 
The summer heat was stifling and standing over a hot stove only 
intensified Margaret's discomfort.  After several unsuccessful attempts, 
she had finally produced something more or less resembling a loaf of 
bread.  With apprehension she now turned to the chicken sitting naked in 
the pot.  She could not fathom eating the local delicacies of rabbit, 
squirrel and possum and limited her dishes to beef, fowl, and fish.  
Even so, a part of her rebelled at cooking an animal which only hours 
earlier had been running through the yard.

        By early evening, the sun had given way to heavy overcast clouds as a 
storm blew in from the south.  Neil had left several hours ago to make a 
call across the Cove and Margaret hoped he would return soon.  The 
howling wind whipped trees against the cabin.  Every few moments a flash 
of lightning illuminated the cabin interior and thunder rumbled in the 
distance.  Droplets of rain pelted the roof, sporadically at first, then 
increasing in intensity until the torrents formed rivulets in the muddy 
ground.  

        The door to the cabin burst open.  A soaked Neil dropped his bags 
inside the door and joined his wife at the stove.  "Looks good," he 
commented, grasping her arms while looking over her shoulder at the 
array of pots and pans. 

        "It'll be done soon," she said, turning to gaze up at him.  "I hope," 
she added, wrinkling her eyebrows.

        "Very tasty," he assured her, reaching out to sample from one of the 
pans. 

        "I'm trying, Mac."

        Neil gently pulled her around to face him.  "I know.  I wish I could 
make it easier for you." 

        "I'm fine as long as I have you."  Her tone brightened.  "Now, go 
change out of those wet clothes and get washed up for supper."

        "Yes, ma'am," he joked, throwing her a mock salute before climbing the 
stairs to the bedroom.  As his success with John Spencer spread through 
the Cove, a number of families had sought out his advice and assistance.  
His practice was not exactly thriving, but he his days were now filled 
with more than fly fishing. 

        Margaret was scooping vegetables onto the plates when she heard a faint 
knocking.  Heading for the door, she nearly ran into Neil who had 
tumbled down the steps.  On the stoop stood a thoroughly drenched 
Fairlight.  "What are you doing out in this storm?  Is it one of the 
children?"  Neil pulled her into the cabin, where her clothing dripped 
onto the floor, forming a small pool of water.  

        She shook her head.  "No, they're fine.  D'ya know about birthin' 
babies?"  Her voice was anxious.

        Neil looked at her quizzically.  "I've delivered many babies --"

        "Then ya gotta come," she said urgently.  "It's Lety Coburn.  She's 
been workin' at it fer hours now, cryin' an' wailin'.  Ain't never heard 
nothin' like it."

        "Of course I'll come.  Isn't anyone with her?"

        "Granny's been there the whole time.  But it ain't gettin' better.  I 
couldna stand it no more.  I didna know what ta do an' I thought--"

        Neil grabbed his saddlebags and coat, giving Margaret a kiss on the 
cheek.  "I'm sorry to ruin your dinner, love.  I'll be back as soon as I 
can."  He followed Fairlight into the storm.  

        Spoon in hand, Margaret stared at the door for a full minute before 
turning back to her empty dining room and two plates heaped with food.

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

Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 6
Previously:  Fairlight comes to Neil's cabin in the middle of the storm 
to tell him Lety Coburn is having problems with childbirth
Author:  Greer
*****************************
  
        Living in one-room cabins, mountain children learned about reproduction 
at an early age.  But birthin', as it was called in the Cove, remained 
the province of women.  When serious labor began, the women congregated 
and the men and children were banished.  Thus, Neil did not witness his 
first birth until his second year of medical school.  He had been 
surprised at its simplicity and thrilled the moment the first and each 
subsequent baby dropped into his hands.  Yet he was also terrified how 
quickly things could go wrong even in a modern hospital.

        Although midwives in the Cove lacked formal training and possessed only 
a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy, Neil considered them capable of 
supervising an uncomplicated delivery.  However, he knew that few 
deliveries in the mountains were simple and believed he could make a 
real difference -- if he could overcome prejudices against involving men 
in the process.

        As they approached the Coburn cabin, Neil and Fairlight heard 
unmistakable cries of anguish from the upstairs bedroom.  Neil 
immediately recognized that Fairlight was right -- these were not normal 
sounds of a woman in labor.  Bags in hand, he pushed open the door and 
headed for the stairs.  He had placed his foot on the first step when he 
was rudely jerked backwards.

        "Jes whattya think yer doin'?" snapped an incensed Kyle Coburn.

        "I'm going to help your wife."  

        "Nobody done ask fer yer help, Doctor," Kyle snarled, clearly 
emphasizing the last word.  "Granny an' the womenfolk is with Lety.  
They're doin' fine."  A shriek from the loft undercut Kyle's statement.  

        "Listen to her.  She needs help," Neil pleaded.

        "Birthin' is for womanfolk," he replied curtly, his eyes blazing.

        "Kyle, I'm a doctor.  I've delivered hundreds of babies.  I can help."

        "Look, Doctor or Neil or whatever ya be callin' yerself nowadays.  No 
man is goin' to see my woman like that."  Another scream split the 
silence.  Neil bit his lip so hard he almost drew blood.

        Fairlight now lent her support.  "Kyle, I was up there.  Lety's hurtin' 
real bad.  Please let Neil help her." 

        "I says no.  It ain't fittin'," Kyle said stubbornly.  "I don't care 
who ya is, no man is goin' ta be with my woman when she's birthin'."

        "Lety and your baby could die if you don't let me help," Neil appealed 
one last time.  "At least let me talk to Granny."

        "Lety be needin' her now.  Ya kin talk when she's done."

        Reluctantly, Neil took a seat in the main room.  Beside him, Fairlight 
apologized quietly.  "I'm sorry.  I dinna know this would happen.  I 
cain't understand--"

        "It's all right, Fairlight," he consoled her.  "You did what you could.  
It's not your fault.  Why don't you go upstairs and see if you can 
help," he suggested kindly.
****

        For hours the two men waited, Kyle standing guard over the stairs and 
Neil fidgeting in his chair.  Each scream and moan from above pierced 
his soul.  When Lety's shrieks stopped, Neil listened attentively for 
the infant's cry he knew should replace them but heard only silence.  
Finally, Granny appeared on the landing.  Neil sensed the news was not 
good.  The older woman turned first to the expectant father.  "I'm sorry 
Kyle.  I done what I could.  The baby -- it came out all blue an' 
wouldn't breathe."  

        "I knows ya done yer bes', Granny."  Kyle bowed his head, his tone 
solemn.  "It was God's will."

        Across the room, Neil absorbed the news in horrified silence.  It took 
every ounce of self-control not to cry out in anger.  But Granny was 
still talking.  "I think Lety's okay."  The hesitancy in her voice was 
not lost on Neil as she turned to him.  "Fairlight said ya was here.  
Thought ya might ‘ave a look at ‘er, jes ta be shure."  Although stated 
matter-of-factly, Neil recognized an urgent plea.

        Neil glanced at Kyle who, in turn, looked intently at Granny.  "If ya 
think it best, Granny," Kyle said slowly.  When the older woman nodded, 
Neil headed for the stairs with alacrity.  "But I want you with 'im," 
Kyle called.  "Don't want ‘im alone with my Lety."

        Neil climbed the steps two at a time, Granny at his heels.  At the top, 
on the bedroom floor lying in an open dresser drawer was a small bundle 
swathed in blankets.  He knelt down and pulled away the covering to 
reveal a dead baby boy.  Replacing the cloths across the tiny form, Neil 
sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and forced his lips together lest 
an untimely word emerge. Instead, he focused his attention on the dead 
baby's mother, writhing in the center of the bed.

        "My baby.  Where's my baby?" Lety wailed, as Fairlight attempted to 
console her.  

        The women in attendance seemed bemused by Neil's presence.  As he 
examined Lety, Neil immediately recognized the urgency of the situation.  
"Someone boil me some water," he commanded.  No one moved. 

        "Daisy, go do it," Granny ordered.  A young woman who'd been standing 
in the corner scurried down the steps.  

        "And I'll need more sheets and towels," he called after her.

        "She's okay, ain't she?" asked a concerned Mary Allen.

        Neil contemplated how to reply.  Lety was hemorrhaging badly.  If he 
did not get the bleeding stopped, she would die.  Yet, clearly he was 
not the person in charge in this room.  He needed to convey the 
seriousness of Lety's condition without undermining Granny's authority.  
"Lety's bleeding more than she should.  I think some of the plac-- the 
afterbirth is still inside."  He faced Granny.  "I'll need to give her 
some ether and get it out.  Will you help me, Granny?"

        "Well, I ain't so sure ‘bout what ya fixin' ta do," Granny replied 
slowly.  "We done got it all out.  I'se shore we did," she said 
defensively.

        "You did a fine job," he reassured her.  "Sometimes this happens. 
There's nothing you could have done."  It wasn't exactly the truth, but 
it was close enough.  "We must work quickly now, before Lety loses too 
much blood."  Without waiting for another objection, Neil pulled a 
bottle of ether from his bag and explained to Granny how to administer 
the anesthetic.  

        For the next hour, he worked to stop Lety's hemorrhaging, then showed 
the women how to massage her abdomen to help the process along.  Only 
when he was convinced they understood his instructions and that Lety was 
out of danger did he pack his instruments.  "Granny, I think you have 
things in hand.  No need for me to stay."  He took one last look around 
the room.

        The older woman's voice stopped him before he could descend.  "I be 
beholden," she said tightly.

        Neil gave her the slightest nod and disappeared down the steps.
        
****

        "Is Scot-land further ‘n Asheville?"  Rob Allen's nine-year-old eyes 
were riveted to Neil's hands as they meticulously adjusted the splint on 
his lower arm.  Wrestling with John Spencer and Will Beck, Rob had 
fallen awkwardly and broken a bone.  Neil had been surprised to receive 
the summons from the Allens and wondered if the events at the Coburn 
cabin a few nights earlier had been a factor in Mary's decision to send 
for him.  

        The bright afternoon sunshine provided ideal lighting, so the 
two sat on the steps of the Allen porch as Neil tended to the boy's 
injury.  
        
        Neil glanced up from his work.  "Much further."

        "Further ‘n Washington?"  The boy grimaced as Neil manipulated his arm.

        "Much."  Neil noted that Rob was in pain but was also doing his best 
not to voice his discomfort.

        "Further ‘n--" Rob thought hard for a moment.  "Boston?"

        Neil smiled as he smoothed out a piece of plaster.  "Here, let me show 
you."  He reached for a small stick lying on the ground and drew in the 
dirt.  "This," he said indicating an oddly shaped figure, "is the United 
States.  And this," he pointed to a spot inside the figure, "is Cutter 
Gap."  Neil proceeded to show Rob the location of other cities the boy 
had mentioned.  "About here, between Washington and Boston, is 
Philadelphia, where I did my bedside training.  Where I worked in a 
hospital," he clarified.

        "So where's Scotland?"

        "On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean is Europe."  Neil quickly 
sketched Scotland and the British Isles.

        Rob looked up at Neil in amazement.  "Ya went thar?  Why'd ya go all 
that way?"

        A faraway look came into Neil's eyes.  "When I was a boy, a few years 
older than you, some doctors came to Cutter Gap to go camping.  I told 
them I wanted to be a doctor but didn't know how to go about it.  Or how 
to pay."  Neil paused, afraid he was boring Rob.  However, the boy sat 
at rapt attention, hanging on his every word.  "They told me that if I 
passed the exams, they would send me to college and medical school."

        "They must've liked you a whole lot!" Rob exclaimed.
        
        Neil chuckled.  "I suppose they did."  Ten years later, he still didn't 
understand what had motivated those men and began to suspect he never 
would.  "Several of the doctors had gone to medical school in Europe and 
thought I should too."  He shrugged.  "What did I know?  So off I went."  
Neil secured another piece of plaster to the splint.

        "Weren't it hard, bein' in a big city all by yerself?"

        "It was, for sure."

        "Did ya like it?" the boy asked tentatively.

        "Very much.  But," he added hastily, "no more than Cutter Gap.  You 
know Rob that our own ancestors came to America from Scotland?

        Rob's eyes opened wide.  "Really?  What'd they do that fer?"

        "Well, it all started about a hundred and fifty years ago, when a young 
prince tried to win back the throne of England and Scotland."  Neil 
explained how, after the failed rebellion, life became intolerable for 
the Scottish highlanders and many left their homeland to seek freedom in 
America.  As the story unfolded, Neil sensed that Rob was fascinated but 
also that the boy was in increasing pain.  
        
        "I think that's enough story telling for today."  He cut the story 
short, tucking in a final piece of cloth and checking the security of 
the splint.  "All done.  You were very brave, Rob."  The boy smiled in 
appreciation.  "I'm counting on you to take care of this arm.  You can't 
be playing around with the other boys until it heals."

        Rob studied his splint. "What's this fer?

        "When you fell, you broke one of the bones in your arm."  Neil again 
picked up the stick and broke it in half.  "It's called the ulna.  I put 
the two ends of the bone back in line."  Again he demonstrated with the 
twig.  "The splint keeps them in the proper position until they grow 
together."  Neil began to pack up his supplies.  "Now, we need to get 
you inside so you can rest.  And I'll give you something to help with 
the pain."

        Rob nodded appreciatively.  "Hey Doc?  Kin ye learn other things in 
Scot-land.  Not like doctor stuff?"

        "Do you mean other subjects like art or history or mathematics?"  The 
boy nodded eagerly.  "Yes, Rob.  They teach all those things in college 
and much more."
        
        "You learned all that?" Rob said incredulously.  "Reckon ye knows 
everything."

        Neil couldn't stop himself from laughing.  "I fear not.  When a man 
goes to college, he can study many different things.  But there is more 
to learn than any one man could ever know."

        "Even you?"

        "Even me."

******************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 7
Previously:  Neil tends to Lety Coburn & Rob Allen
Author:  Greer
******************************


        In late August, summer still suffocated the Cove, chilly mornings 
quickly yielding to a blistering sun which scorched the earth and turned 
cabins into ovens.  Thus shortly after dawn, Neil and Jeb began 
rebuilding a section of the Spencer chimney, hoping to complete the task 
before the heat made physical labor nearly impossible.  For two hours 
the men painstakingly layered stones and mortar.  At first, the project 
was relatively simple.  Now, at the higher levels, the men had to climb 
ladders with heavy stones and equipment.  The work was hot and grueling.  

        Young John hovered around them, eager to participate in this "man's 
work."  Only Jeb's stern reprimand prevented him from climbing the 
ladders as well.  Instead, he assisted by handing up tools or carrying 
buckets of mortar until his mother's voice called him inside.

        "What do you think?" Neil asked, breathing heavily.  "One more level?"

        "Looks like.  Dunno if'n I kin take more 'n that," Jeb said wearily.  
"Heard ya was at the Thompsons the other night.  Little Katie wasn't 
it?"

        "Yes.  I didn't do much," Neil replied modestly.  "The girl only had a 
bad cold but they feared something worse."

        "They was mighty grateful.  Mort ain't stopped talkin' ‘bout ya since."  
Sensing Neil's embarrassment, Jeb abruptly changed the subject.  "That 
preacher I done told ya ‘bout is comin' ta El Pano next Sunday."

        "Is this the ‘fire and brimstone' one?" 

        "That's the one."  Jeb panted with exertion.  "John Holcombe was 
talkin' with the McTierneys who was talkin' with the Wallers who heared 
‘im preach in Cataleechie.  Said the devil himself would have been 
afeared.  Fairlight ‘n me's fixin' ta go.  Mebbe you ‘n Miz Margaret kin 
come along."  Jeb noticed Neil's noncommittal response.  "Yer not much 
fer religion these days, are ya Neil?" he asked, smearing mortar onto 
the stone.  

        "No," Neil responded slowly.  "I don't see that it has much to offer."   
>From his perch atop the cabin, Neil drank in the magnificent view.  If 
anything made him question his rejection of God, it was the scenery 
before him.  Even the beauty of Scotland could not compare.  No man or 
act of fate could design such beauty and perfection.  Only with 
reluctance did he return to the task at hand.

        Jeb peered around the chimney at his friend. "What happened ta ya," he 
asked quietly.  "I knows your ma was a God-fearin' woman.  Was it that 
schoolin'?"

        "In part.  I learned that medicine and science are a lot more effective 
than prayer."  Neil clambered down to gather additional mortar, 
stretching as he reached the ground.  He knew his back muscles would be 
sore in the morning.  

        "God makes doctors and medicine," Jeb called down.  "I know it was God 
that sent ya back here to us."

        "I'm not sure He had much to do with it," Neil countered, preparing to 
ascend once again. He was still on the ground when John came tearing out 
of the house.  "Daddy, daddy!" he cried frantically.  "It's momma!"
        
        Neil dropped his supplies and followed the boy at a run, leaving Jeb to 
descend from atop the chimney.  Inside the cabin, Fairlight stood bent 
over at the waist, clutching her stomach with one hand and the dining 
room table with the other.  Neil put his arm around Fairlight's 
shoulders, supporting her until the dizziness passed.  "Take slow deep 
breaths.  That's it," he encouraged.

        "Momma!"  Zady cried as Jeb rushed into the room. 
 
        Neil glanced up at him.  "Jeb, go get my bag off Charlie.  I left him 
in the meadow." Seeing Jeb hesitate, he added, "Go!  I'll take care of 
Fairlight." 

        "I'm all right," she insisted weakly as he walked her toward the bed.

        "Fairlight," he admonished, maintaining his grip.  As he settled her in 
bed, Neil noticed the children cowering in the far corner.  "John, why 
don't you take Zady outside while I tend to your mother."

        "Momma's gonna die, ain't she?" the boy blurted out.  Beside him, Zady 
looked terrified.

        Neil was momentarily taken aback until he recalled that in the Cove 
adults invariably sent children from the room when death was imminent.  
It had happened to him when he was John's age and his father was ill.  
"No, John," he said firmly.  "Your mother is not going to die.  I'm 
going to take good care of her."

        Fairlight spoke up with what little strength she had left.  "John, 
momma's gonna be fine.  You an' Zady go wait fer yer daddy, d'ya hear."  
John looked dubiously between his mother and Neil.  "Go on," she 
encouraged.

        "All right, momma," the boy said reluctantly, taking his sister's hand.  
"Come on, Zady."  Both children gave their mother a long glance as they 
left the cabin.

        Neil turned back to Fairlight.  Although disturbed that she was 
rundown, frail and painfully thin, he was virtually certain she was not 
seriously ill.  He had just begun his examination when heavy footsteps 
announced Jeb's return.  

        "Here ya are," Jeb said breathlessly holding out Neil's saddlebags.  He 
lingered for a moment, then mumbled something about checking on the 
children and exited the cabin. 

        By the time Jeb again poked his head inside, Neil and Fairlight were 
laughing heartily.  "Jeb, come in.  Fairlight has some good news."

        She looked up at her husband.  "Neil says I'm gonna have another baby."

        "In about seven months," Neil added, standing up and collecting his 
things.

        Jeb's gave a whoop and his face broke into a huge grin.  "Well I'll be!  
That's wonderful."  He knelt beside his wife, taking her hand in his.  
Suddenly, his expression clouded.  "Then she ain't sick?" he asked 
apprehensively.

        "No, Fairlight is not ill," Neil reassured him.  "However," he 
continued in a serious tone, "she is very weak.  She told me about her 
last pregnancy.  We don't want to repeat that."

        "Ya tell us what ta do, Doc," Jeb declared.  "I'll be sure she follers 
yer orders."

        Neil smiled inwardly but kept his tone severe.  "First, she needs to 
rest to build up her strength.  It will be difficult with John and Zady 
to care for, but it must be done.  And she needs to eat good food.  I'll 
leave you a list of what she must have -- red meat, fruits and 
vegetables, mostly.  Finally," he said, ticking off the list on his 
fingers, "no strenuous activity such as riding or heavy lifting.  Do you 
understand?"    

        Both Fairlight and Jeb nodded.  "You'll be here for us, won't ya Neil?"  
Jeb asked.  "I mean you'll help Fairlight with the baby."

        Neil warmed with pleasure but allowed only a brief smile to flicker 
across his lips.  "If Fairlight wants me, I'll most certainly be here."

        Fairlight smiled as her gaze alternated between the two men.  "I'd be 
beholden to ya, Neil."  As he left the cabin, Neil wondered if 
Fairlight's baby would be the first he delivered in Cutter Gap.   
        
****
        A few days later, Margaret trotted into the yard on Charlie.  "How was 
the ride?" Neil called out from the garden.  He dropped his shovel and 
strode over to her.

        "Wonderful," she replied enthusiastically, allowing her husband to help 
her dismount.  "I've never felt so free and alive."  How could she 
explain that the brief moments on that horse represented the only 
freedom she'd felt since arriving in Cutter Gap?  She dared not tell him 
that she wanted to ride and ride until Cutter Gap was but a speck on the 
horizon.  

        "Did you stop by Aunt Hattie's with the food?"  Neil grunted as he 
lifted one of the horse's legs to inspect its shoes.

        "Of course.  She's almost finished that blanket."  Margaret smoothed 
out her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair.  "I don't know how 
she manages all alone up there, nearly blind.  What did she do before 
she had you to help her?"

        Neil led the horse to its stall.  "She has friends who look in on her, 
bring her food, fix the cabin.  Mountain people take care of their own.  
It's what makes Cutter Gap special."

        "I suppose."  She noticed Neil's disheveled appearance.  "What have you 
been doing while I've been out?"

        Neil reclaimed his shovel.  "Preparing the garden for winter.  It'll be 
here before you know it."

        Margaret plopped down on the porch steps, resting her chin in her 
hands.  She watched her husband work, appreciating the rugged physique 
that had attracted her long before she knew anything about him or life 
in these mountains.  "Neil," she mused, "what'll we do in the winter?"  

        He leaned on his shovel.  "I've no doubt I'll be quite busy.  Winter 
nearly always brings outbreaks of influenza and pneumonia.  And the ice 
and snow will mean more than a few injuries. I suppose the best that can 
be said is that the feuding usually stops until the spring thaw."

        "The feuding?"

        Neil returned to his digging.  "Yes.  Several families -- the Taylors 
and the Allens mostly -- have an ongoing blood feud."

        "A feud?  You mean like the Hatfields and McCoys?"  Margaret laughed.  
"You can't be serious?"

        "Deadly serious," Neil replied soberly.  "I'd hoped it might have 
stopped while I was away, but the other night I pulled a bullet out of 
Elmer McGraw's leg.  He's one of Bird's Eye Taylor's men who got into a 
scuffle over missing moonshine."

        "Moonshine?"  Margaret was plainly amused, but the serious expression 
on her husband's face stopped her from laughing aloud again.  "Is that 
what they're fighting over?"

        "That and just about anything else.  It began nearly twenty years ago 
as a dispute over land," he explained.  "Now, they fight over anything 
or nothing at all.  The adults, the children, it's all the same."  

        "We won't get caught up in it, will we?  I mean, if you treat one of 
them, won't the other side get angry?" Margaret was suddenly worried.

        Neil pulled up a dying root and tossed it into a growing pile.  "No, 
I've made clear that I'll patch them up but I'll not be taking sides.  
They understand that -- and respect it."

        "I hope so," she replied nervously.

        "I'll be heading to Lyleton tomorrow for a few days.  Would you like to 
come with me?"

        "What's it like?  Is there anything to do?"

        Neil shrugged.  "It's much like Cutter Gap.  A bit bigger, I suppose."

        Margaret sighed.  She knew what this trip would be like.  A month ago, 
she had accompanied Neil to Raven Gap.  She recalled trooping in and out 
of cabins so filthy that she wanted to bathe after each visit.  No 
wonder everyone was always sick.  In the cabin where they'd spent the 
night, the overpowering stench prevented her from catching even a 
moment's rest.  She was not anxious to repeat that experience.

        And the people.  Margaret had finally learned to interpret their accent 
but that didn't improve her conversations.  Neil could talk with them 
for hours about medicine, the impending hunt or local gossip.  But she 
could find no common ground.  It didn't take long for Margaret to decide 
that she didn't know these people and didn't really want to know them.  

        "Oh Neil, I'd be bored with all that medical stuff.  I'll just around 
here and tidy up."

        Neil gave her a penetrating look, then shrugged.  "All right then, if 
that's what you want."

****

        The fall night was pitch black, the crescent moon shedding no light on 
the tiny mountain community.  After dinner, Neil and Margaret retired to 
their living room where, by the light of a kerosene lamp, Neil pored 
through medical journals.  He intended to conduct his own research on 
trachoma in Cutter Gap.  Not only had the disease devastated Hattie's 
eyesight, but was invading the eyes of several children.  He sighed 
wistfully.  The key, Neil knew, was to convince the mountain people to 
let him study their disease. 

        Across the room, Margaret attacked one of his shirts with a needle and 
thread.  He'd caught it on a branch while riding, tearing a sizeable 
hole.  At last, she held it up.  "How does it look?"

        Neil pulled the pipe from his mouth and lifted his head out of his 
book.  He had married Margaret knowing little about her domestic skills.  
Inspecting the mangled piece of cloth in front of him, he was sure that 
sewing was not among her talents.  "It's-- quite an improvement," he 
commented lamely.

        "No, it's terrible," she said in a disappointed voice, eyeing the shirt 
critically and then dropping it onto her lap.  "Maybe I should leave the 
sewing to you."

        "Margaret, it's fine.  I'm not trying to impress anyone with my 
appearance."

        "There must be something I can do right," she complained.  "My cooking 
isn't any better either.  I tried some new recipes, but we don't have 
most of the ingredients and I don't think my improvising has worked."

        Neil took a long drag on his pipe.  He had fended for himself for years 
and had not married Margaret for her ability to cook or keep house.  Yet 
he knew that she was anxious to please him.  "You're doing fine," he 
assured her.  "When I to go to El Pano next week, I'll pick up some--"

        They both turned at the sound of insistent banging.  Neil put out his 
pipe and quickly crossed to the cabin door.  Opening it, he found 
himself staring into the barrel of a shotgun. 

***************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 8
Previously:  Neil stares into the barrel of a shotgun
Author: Greer
*****************************

         "They sez you's a doctor," an unfamiliar voice snarled suspiciously 
from the shadows.  Neil could not make out the man's face.

        He sensed Margaret's presence at his back.  "Margaret, go upstairs," he 
said, his eyes never leaving the gun.

        "She ain't goin' nowhere," the man responded in a menacing tone.

        "Margaret, do as I say," Neil repeated in a calm, firm voice that 
belied the fear rising within him.  He sensed her move away, followed by 
the sound of footsteps on the stairs.  Only then did he reply.  "Yes, 
I'm a doctor."

        "Ya know 'bout gittin out bullits?"

        Neil nodded.  "Why?  Is someone hurt?"  He struggled to see in the 
darkness.  

        The gunman stared at him.  "All right then."  He whistled softly.  A 
few seconds later, Neil heard shuffling feet and a muffled cry.  Two 
figures emerged from the shadows -- a second gunman supporting a third, 
who was obviously wounded.  Blood smeared the front of his shirt, his 
left arm dangled loosely at his side, and his face was a study in pain.  

        The doctor sighed heavily.  "Bring him inside." 

        Although the cabin lamps allowed him to make out the men's features, 
none did he recognize.  The first was the oldest, shorter than Neil, 
stocky and bearded.  The blond, lanky and clean shaven second gunman 
appeared youngest.  The injured man was nearly Neil's height, dark and 
swarthy.  All three wore the grime, stubble, and alertness that 
suggested a life spent outdoors.  

        The doctor cleared the few items remaining on the table.  "Lay him down 
here."  While the gunman helped his companion onto the table, Neil 
started water boiling on the stove.  "What happened?"

        "Don't be worryin' 'bout that," the first gunman replied.  "Jes do yer 
doctorin'."

        The injured man groaned, trying to roll off the table.  "Keep him 
still," Neil ordered, approaching again.  "He'll make it worse if he 
moves."  Neil grabbed a pair of scissors from his instrument table and 
began cutting off the man's shirt.  

        The first gunman spoke to his companion.  "Git outside an' keep watch."

        "But what about Ed--?"

        "Ye heard me," the man said roughly.  The second man took a long look 
at his friend on the table, turned on his heel and stalked out of the 
cabin.

        Neil's terror was momentarily pushed aside as the physician in him 
instinctively took over.  Saving his patient had become more important 
than personal safety.  He probed the wound, causing the injured man to 
cry out.  The gunman tightened his grip on the barrel of his gun.  
"Whattya doin' ta 'im," he asked, poking the weapon at the doctor.

        Neil's eyes did not leave his patient.  "I need to locate the bullet, 
see how much damage there is."  Finally, he looked up.  "You, what's 
your name?"

        "Don't ye be worryin' 'bout that," the gunman repeated.

        Neil simply shook his head.  "Come over here."

        "What fer?"

        "The bullet's still inside him.  I'll have to remove it and I need 
help."

        The man backed away.  "Git yer woman ta hep ya."

        Neil's voice was harsh.  "My wife will not be involved in this.  Your 
friend is bleeding to death.  If I don't operate, he'll die and I can't 
do it alone."  For a moment, neither man spoke.

        "Ye take care 'o Ed here or I'll kill ye," the gunman said menacingly, 
once again taunting Neil with his gun as another moan escaped from the 
table.

        Neil found courage in his knowledge and did not flinch.  "And who'll 
save your friend?"  He glanced up to see Margaret peeking down the 
staircase.  Hoping the gunman would not notice, Neil turned his back and 
gathered a stack of cloths.  Taking one in hand, Neil poured some liquid 
and approached the injured man, who started to twist and squirm.

        "Whattya want me ta do?" the gunman asked hesitantly.  Then, in a voice 
filled with apprehension, "Whattya doin'?"

        "I'm giving him ether," Neil explained.  "You can start by holding him 
still."  When the man hesitated, Neil added, "Come now.  We haven't much 
time."

        Reluctantly, the man dropped his weapon to his side and stepped toward 
the table.  He placed a hand on the man's injured shoulder, causing him 
to scream in pain.

        "Not there," Neil cried.  "Hold his head."  The man tried ineffectively 
to restrain his friend with his free hand.  "I said to hold him still." 

        The man placed his gun on the floor and, using both hands, held Ed's 
head until the ether took effect.  Taking a scalpel, Neil made a deep 
cut through the injured man's shoulder.  Blood spilled over the skin and 
onto the table.  The gunman started to step back.  "Stay here," Neil 
ordered, using clamps to arrest the bleeding.  

        After a few moments, he exposed the wound.  "See where I'm holding 
these?" he asked, indicating the retractors.  The gunman nodded.  "Hold 
them exactly like this, so I can see what I'm doing."  When the doctor 
finally pulled out the bullet, additional blood poured from the 
incision.  The gunman started to loosen his grip on the instruments.  
Again Neil spoke sharply.  "Don't move.  Do you want him to bleed to 
death?"

        A short time later, Neil released his assistant.  "I'll be awhile 
sewing him up," he explained, as Margaret crept back up the stairs.

****

        The injured man threw up.  Neil, who had been straightening his 
surgical tools, rushed over to the sofa.

        "What's happenin'?  Do somethin'," the bearded gunman demanded.

        Neil rolled the injured man onto his side.  "It's the ether," he 
explained.  "He'll be all right in a minute." 

        A short time later, the man regained consciousness and attempted to 
rise.  "Don't try to move," Neil cautioned, pressing the uninjured 
shoulder back onto the sofa.  "I've taken the bullet out.  You need to 
rest.  If you move, the bleeding will start again," he warned.

        "It's okay, Ed," the gunman added.

        The injured man's free hand wandered to the bandages on his shoulder.  
He nodded and closed his eyes.  As he had several times since the 
surgery, Neil checked for fever and listened to the man's breathing with 
his stethoscope.  

        Without warning, the second gunman burst into the room.  "I 
heard noises in the woods.  Think it's the law," he reported.  

        The leader of the trio digested this information in silence, looking 
from the injured man to the cabin door.  Finally, he grabbed for his 
gun.  "We're gettin' outta here," he said.  "Ya hep Ed," he instructed 
his cohort. 

        Neil's response was immediate.  "Are you mad?  This man's just had 
surgery.  He's not fit to travel.  If he moves, he could start 
hemhorraging -- bleeding -- again."

        "Sorry, doc.  Ain't got no choice.  If they done catch us, we're all 
dead men," the first gunman replied, nodding to his companion.  

        "You don't understand.  He can't be moved," Neil insisted.  "You'll 
kill him.  Leave him here," he pleaded.

        "An' let the law git 'im?  Nah."  The second gunman approached the 
divan and began to help up his friend.  Ed groaned as he tried to sit.

        "Can't you see what you're doing to him.  The sutures won't hold."  
Despite the doctor's protestations, the men prepared to depart.  

        "We be beholden to ya, doc, fer what ya done.  Won't soon fergit."  The 
gunman nodded at Neil, then followed his companions out the door.  Neil 
slammed it on them. 

***************************
Title: Return to Cutter Gap, Part 9
Previously:  Neil is visited by a band of outlaws
Author:  Greer
****************************

        Neil had only minutes to wait for his next visitors.  The gunman had 
been correct; the strangers at his door identified themselves as U.S. 
marshals.  After describing the men, the marshal added, "They robbed a 
train near Knoxville.  We think they was headed this way and one of them 
is wounded.  You seen ‘em?"

        "They were here earlier," Neil acknowledged.  "One of them was injured 
and I treated him.  But they left a short time ago."

        "How badly was he hurt?

        "Bad enough.  Bullet in the shoulder."

        "Where were they headed?"

        "I don't know."

        "You know these men are felons.  Doesn't look good, you helping them," 
a second lawman said bluntly.   
        
        "I'm a doctor," Neil replied indignantly.  "I treat anyone who comes to 
me, no questions asked."

        "Maybe you should start asking some questions."  Neil remained silent.  
"Well, we'll be off then.  If one of them was injured, they won't get 
far."  Neil closed the door on their retreating figures.

        "Those men you treated -- they were criminals, weren't they?"  Margaret 
had come downstairs in time to overhear the end of the conversation.

        "Yes, Margaret."  Neil's voice reflected his exhaustion.

        "What are you doing helping men like that?  They broke the law."

        "The man was hurt.  He needed treatment."  

        "Then let him get it somewhere else," she said flatly.  

        "Where?" he challenged her.  "How many other doctors do you see in 
Cutter Gap?"  Neil's voice started to rise.  "The man was nearly dead 
when he got here." 

        "I don't care if he was nearly dead or he was dead.  I don't want 
criminals in my house."  Margaret faced him squarely, raising her voice 
to match his.

        Neil made a conscious effort to deescalate the argument.  "When I 
became a doctor I took an oath to treat the sick," he said in a low, 
calm voice.  "Not only the good people but all people.  The man was 
injured and needed my help.  That's all I need to know."

        "So you don't care who comes into this house so long as you can 
practice your precious medicine."  Margaret bit her lower lip.  She 
looked at her dining room table, still stained with blood from the 
evening's surgery.   "Mac, they could have killed you -- or me."  Her 
voice dropped to a whisper.

        Neil followed her gaze.  "I wouldn't let them hurt you," he said 
quietly.

        "Could you have stopped them?"  Without waiting for an answer, Margaret 
stomped up the stairs.

****

        Margaret lugged another kettle of water to the large container behind 
the cabin.  Once one of her favorite activities, bathing was now among 
the most exasperating.  She longed to turn on the spigot and watch 
steaming water rush into the tub.  Here, to get her hot bath, she had to 
heat the water, haul each kettle outside, refill it, and repeat the 
process until the tub was full.  Even so, the water invariably was too 
hot or too cold.  Though Neil erected screens, she bathed in fear that a 
local man would stumble upon her.  Neil assured her that mountain folk 
respected privacy and that no one would disturb her.  Nevertheless, she 
worried.

        "Hello.  Anyone home?"  Soaking in the tub, Margaret gasped at the 
sound of the voice, relaxing only when she realized it belonged to a 
woman.

        "I'm out back," she called, climbing out of the warm water into the 
fall air that was brisk but not yet chilly. 
        
        Fairlight carefully peered around the screen.  "Don't mean ta be 
disturbin' ya," she said, pulling her head back to give Margaret 
privacy.  

        "No, I was finished."

        "We kin come back later," chimed in Opal McHone.  The teenager looked 
at the tub with trepidation.  "Ya was in that thar water?" she asked 
incredulously.

        "Yes," Margaret replied, toweling off behind the screen.  "I was taking 
a bath."

        "But it ain't Easter."

        "Of course it's not Easter," Margaret said, obviously surprised.

        "I wouldna be bathin' 'cept on Easter," Opal said nervously.  

        "Folks 'round here think too many baths is dangerous," Fairlight 
explained.  "They don't bathe but twice a year."  

        "Twice a year?" Margaret's eyes opened wide and she nearly laughed 
aloud.  "But how do you stay clean?" she called over the screen as she 
dressed.  "Do you mean you bathe in the river the rest of the time?"

        "The devil'll git ya if ya bathe too much," Opal asserted.  Her voice 
trailed off as she caught sight of Margaret's elaborate dress draped 
over the screen.  A faraway look came into her eyes.  "What's it like?" 
she asked quietly.  "Livin' in a big city."

        Margaret delicately laced her corset and reached for her dress.  "Well, 
there are a lot more people and they live close together," she answered 
automatically.  "Houses are two and three stories tall and stand next to 
each other in rows.  There are streets with carriages and taxis and even 
a few cars.  And many stores."

        "Is that where ya gits them perty things?"

        Buttoning her collar, Margaret came around the screen to face the two 
women. "Yes.  There are stores for clothes and hats and shoes and 
underthings."  Suddenly she felt self-conscious in her finery.  "Besides 
stores, there are plays and dances and picture shows."  As Margaret 
spoke, she waxed nostalgic about the life she had given up.  When was 
the last time she'd done anything social?  

        "I ain't never seen no pic-ture show," Opal proclaimed wistfully and 
Margaret wondered if she'd said too much.  

        "Can I offer you a cool drink?  And Fairlight, maybe you'd like to sit 
down inside."

        "Go on, Miz Margaret," Opal encouraged when they were seated indoors 
and Margaret had poured three glasses of water.

        "Let's see.  There are restaurants to eat in.  They cook the food and 
serve it to you."

        "Ya mean ya don't never have to cook?" Opal asked incredulously.

        "Not exactly," she clarified.  "No one eats out every night."  Margaret 
knew she'd painted an incredible picture of life in the city and tried 
to think of something about Philadelphia that was not better than Cutter 
Gap.  "But, the city is very crowded -- there certainly aren't the 
wonderful views you have here."

        "It is perty here, ain't it."  It was more of a statement from 
Fairlight.

        "I reckon I'd like ta see a big city," Opal mused dreamily.  "But I 
ain't sure I'd want as ta be stayin' there."  She took a sip of water 
and surveyed the cabin.  "How you be likin' the Cove?"
        
        I hate it! Margaret wanted to cry out.  Instead she replied, "I'm 
getting used to it, I suppose."

        Fairlight interrupted the momentary silence.  "Some of us women is 
fixin' to pick apples tomorrer.  We was wondrin' if you'd like ta come."

        "Well, I don't know," she demurred, quickly reviewing her options.  She 
had little desire to accompany these women or to pick apples.  But it 
had to be better than spending yet another day alone in the cabin while 
Neil was away on calls.  "I'd be happy to join you.  Where should I 
meet?"

        "At Fairlight's," Opal answered, "when we be done feedin' the 
young'uns.

        "Jes come in the mornin' after ya eat," Fairlight added.

        Margaret shook her head.  She had already begun to realize that the 
mountain women had no sense of time.  "I'll be there." 

        "Make sure ya brings a basket fer ya apples."

        "Of course."  Margaret forced a smile.  "I won't forget."

****

        "Margaret, you mustn't scratch."  Neil had repeated the same words at 
least a dozen times in the past hour.  Three days after the excursion to 
pick apples, Margaret had broken out in a rash.  Pustules of poison ivy 
covered her face, hands, and forearms, and the patchy swelling nearly 
closed her right eye.  The inclination to scratch was overpowering.

        "Then make it stop itching," she demanded.  "That lotion you gave me 
doesn't work.  I can't stand it any more."  Margaret reluctantly pulled 
her hand away from her face.

        Neil sighed.  "I promise you, it will get better in a few days.  Why 
don't you come with me?  It'll do you good to get out of this cabin."  
He was sure that his wife was intensely bored spending her days around 
the house and the bout of poison ivy hadn't helped.  Nor had his 
absences, made more frequent by his expanding practice.  Neil was unsure 
how to ease Margaret's loneliness and isolation and simply assumed that 
in time she would develop friendships and interests in the Cove.

        For now, he tried to convince his wife to attend the singing at the 
Spencers'.  The given reason for the festivities was to celebrate fall 
and the success of local products at the recent state fair.  However, 
mountain residents seized upon any excuse to join together to sing and 
dance.  It could not compare to the dance halls of Philadelphia but Neil 
hoped that the comraderie would help his wife blend into the local 
customs.  "It will give you a chance to meet everyone.  There'll be food 
and music and dancing."

        "Mac, I'm not going anywhere," she stated pointedly.  "Look at me!  I 
look like a freak."

        "Margaret, the rash is nearly gone.  Besides, you're not the first 
person in Cutter Gap to suffer the effects of poison ivy.  Trust me, 
I've already treated it several times.  Now, put aside your vanity and 
come with me.  Fairlight and Jeb are expecting us."
        
        "No, I'm not going."  She gave him a defiant look and retreated up the 
stairs.

        He stared after her for a moment then called loudly.  "Fine then.  I'll 
go alone."

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

Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 10
Previously:  Margaret, suffering from poison ivy, refuses to accompany 
Neil to the singing at the Spencers'.
Author:  Greer
*****************************

        In the woods approaching the Spencer cabin, a young boy darted among 
the trees.  "Morning, Rob,” Neil called out as he passed.

        "Sssh!"  Rob implored, glancing around suspiciously and holding 
his finger to his lips.  "We're playin' hide an' seek.  Don't want John 
ta find me."  He slipped behind another tree.  

        Neil shook his head as he continued up the trail.  He'd removed the 
Rob’s splint only a few days ago and the boy was already roughhousing.  
Closer to the cabin, he passed a group of girls engaged in a spirited 
game of jump rope, their laughter echoing through the woods.   "How-dy, 
Doc-tor Mac-Neill," Bessie Coburn chanted, grunting out each syllable as 
her alternating feet hit the ground.  

        Hearing her, one of the other jumpers looked away, causing her 
legs to become entangled in the swirling rope.  "You missed!  My turn," 
an elated Sarah McTierney cried.  

        "Nuh-uh.  That's ain't fair.  Bessie made me lose count," 
eight-year-old Josephine pouted.

        "Is too fair," young Sarah retorted angrily, reaching to snatch 
the rope from her adversary's fingers.

        "Is not."  The two girls stared each other down.  "Ya gotta let 
me start over.  Doc MacNeill, ain't she gotta let me start over?" 
Josephine pleaded.

        Neil only laughed.  "Sorry, ladies.  I fear I can't help you."  
Striding along the path, he could hear the girls continue their dispute.  
Only a few feet away, he came upon a young girl sitting dejectedly on a 
fallen log.  He recognized her as one of the Donnegans from the far side 
of the Cove.  "Ellie," he said softly, taking a seat beside her.  
"What's the matter?  Why aren't you jumping rope with the other girls?  
Are you ill?

        Ellie refused to look at him.  "They don't want me.  I cain't 
play no good."

        "I'm sure you're a fine jumper.  Why don't you join them," he 
prodded, nodding toward the cluster of girls in the distance.

        "I kin jump," she said defiantly.  "But my eyes be itchin' an' I 
cain't see the rope no good so I'se always losin'."

        Neil took her chin in his hand and slowly raised it, 
scrutinizing the young girl's red, weeping eyes.  As he reached his free 
hand toward her eyelid, she immediately drew back.  "It's all right, 
Ellie," he said kindly.  "I only want to have a look at your eyes."

        "No.  It'll hurt."  She pulled her head away from his grasp.

        "Ellie, I won't hurt you."  The girl shook her head 
apprehensively, inching further away.  

        Neil thought for a moment.  "I tell you what.  How about we make 
a bargain, just between us."  When Ellie appeared intrigued, Neil 
continued.  "You let me look at your eyes and if I do anything that 
hurts, you yell good and loud and I'll stop right away.  How's that 
sound?"

        She looked apprehensively at the doctor then, in answer, slowly 
edged closer.  Ever so gently, Neil peeled back her eyelids, feeling the 
girl quiver beneath his fingers.  The signs of trachoma were 
unmistakable.  

        "Is that all ya gonna do?" she asked in astonishment when he 
released her.

        "That's all."  Neil watched her sigh with relief.  He sighed as 
well.  Trachoma was devastating enough in a woman Hattie's age, but to 
see such a young child condemned to blindness incensed him.  "Ellie, I 
have some medicine that will help your eyes so they won't hurt so much.  
Would you like that?”

        She nodded eagerly, then appeared to reconsider.  "I don't know 
as my pa'll be lettin' me take no med'cin from ya.  He ain't keen on 
it."

        "I'll stop by tomorrow and talk to him about it.  Now," he stood 
up and reached for Ellie's hand, "how about we get some of that food.  I 
can smell the apple pie from here."

        A sizeable crowd had already gathered outside the cabin.  Neil watched 
Fairlight arrange platters of food on several large tables.  She rushed 
forward to greet him.  He, in turn, handed her a pie he’d salvaged from 
Margaret’s rampage.  “How are you feeling?”  Neil was pleased that her 
color was good and her face had a healthy glow.  His trained eyes noted 
the hint of weight gain that represented the growing child inside her.

        “Never better.  Been doin’ jes as ya said.”  She looked around.  
“Where’s Miz Margaret?” 

        “Suffering from a severe case of poison ivy,” he explained.  
“She doesn’t want anyone to see her.”

        “Got it pickin’ apples, I reckon,” she responded knowingly, 
rearranging several platters.  “Even Grandam got it a bit.”

        “How is Grandam?” Neil asked.  “I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

        “Fine, far's I know.  Bit tired of late--”  A cry from the house 
interrupted the conversation. "Looks like someone's needin’ me.  The men 
are out back,” she called over her shoulder.

        “Howdy, Doc,” Ben Pentland greeted him as he rounded the corner of the 
cabin.  “I'll have ya know, my leg’s nearly healed up.”

        “Good,” Neil replied.  “Try not to do too much dancing today, 
hmm.  Your ankle can use the rest.”  Ben had come to him after tumbling 
down a ravine.  His injuries had been minor – a laceration and sprained 
ankle -- but Ben needed healthy legs to deliver the mail and Neil’s 
ministrations had allowed him to continue his route.

        “So, Neil.  Will ya be joinin’ the hunt?”  Ault Allen wandered over.  
“Mebbe we kin be like them marshals a few week yon.  Caught theirselves 
some real outlaws.  Or don’t ya do things like that no more?”

        Neil refused to take the bait.  “I be there.”  He still 
shuddered at the fate of the men who had visited his cabin.  

        “D’ya do any huntin’ in Scot-land?” Tom McHone wanted to know.

        “Some.”  Neil wasn’t willing to admit that his hunting had been limited 
to rabbits and the occasional fox.  Here, hunting meant deer and only 
deer.
 
        “Too busy studyin’, I’ll reckon,” Ault commented.  “Though I don’t know 
what’s so important it takes ten years ta learn.”

        “Yeah, what did ya learn in them fancy schools?”  Jed Horner 
joined the group.

        Neil could not decide if the men were genuinely curious or 
subtly ridiculing him.  How could he explain years studying literature 
to friends who could not read?  Or the hours spent on chemistry, physics 
and anatomy?  These men would never understand all he’d learned or why 
he’d left home to seek an education.  To them, life was measured within 
the confines of Cutter Gap and most would die without ever leaving these 
mountains. 

        “Mostly, I studied what I needed to become a doctor.”

        “Why’d ya need ta go off an’ be a doctor?  Weren’t Cutter Gap 
good enough for ya?”

        It was the question he had asked himself many times without finding an 
acceptable answer. What made him different?  Why was he not content to 
remain in Cutter Gap working in the mill or making honey?  What spark 
had pushed him to educate himself and ultimately driven him from the 
confines of these mountains?  

        He looked around.  In so many ways, he was no different from these men.  
His family, home, childhood, even his early education did not set him 
apart from his lifelong friends.  But growing up amidst the endless 
suffering and death that permeated the Cove, he knew he had to do 
something.  When the doctors had come on their hunting trip, it was if 
God had sent him a message.  In those days, he had believed in divine 
intervention.  

        “Of course, Cutter Gap is good enough for me.  I’m here, aren’t I?” 
Neil challenged them.  

        “Neil, d’ya hear about the preacher come to El Pano last week?”  
Jeb joined the group, his question giving Neil a momentary respite.  
“Gave quite a sermon.”

        “Oh?”  Neil’s curiosity was piqued.  “What did he say?”

        “Done told us that God would help us ta help ourselves,” Bob 
Allen answered. 

        “Preacher’s fixin’ ta help too,” Jeb offered.  “Talked ‘bout missions 
all over these mountains.  He's got some mighty big plans."

        “Missions?”

        “With a preacher an’ everythin’.  He’s startin’ one nears 
Cataleechie.  It’ll even have a school fer the young’uns.”

        “A school as well?”  Neil was skeptical.  “Who will teach in 
this school?” 

        For the first time, Jeb looked slightly unsure of himself.  
“Don’t know,” he frowned.  Then he brightened.  "But if Doctor Ferrand 
says he’ll do it, by God he’ll do it.”

        “Doctor--?” Neil questioned.

        “Yep,” Bob Allen chimed in.  “He’s a real doctor jes like you.”  

        A medical doctor and impassioned preacher.  It was a combination 
Neil had difficulty fathoming.  

        “Mebbe he’ll build a mission right here in Cutter Gap.” Jeb offered.  
“I figgered we might talk ta ‘im ‘bout that when he comes back.  Mebbe 
ya could come with us, Neil, ya being a doctor an’ all.”

        “Well, I--”

        “Come on ya men, the singin’s about ta start.”  Fairlight 
rescued him from further conversation.  

        Neil had forgotten how much he missed social gatherings in the Cove.  
The songs, long buried, resurfaced quickly from the depths of his 
memory.  The moment he started singing, he felt the differences 
disappear.  The words and tunes came rushing back as he eagerly joined 
in the festivities.  His hands and feet naturally moved to the music and 
he partook of the folk dances for the first time in a decade.  Once 
again, he was a mountain man.  

        After the last chorus had been sung, Jeb took center stage, his mother 
and wife beside him.  "I thank ye fer comin'.  Thought I’d let momma say 
our blessin’.  Grandam.”

        The older woman took a step forward as the assembled group became 
silent and bowed their heads.  Men removed their hats.  “Dear Lord, we 
thank ya fer bringin’ us together an’ fer the joy of singin’.  We thank 
ya fer our families, specially our young'uns. An’ fer this food--"  
Grandam put her hand to her chest and coughed as the audience waited in 
silence.  After a moment, she continued in a strained voice, “Amen.  
With a bit more energy, she added, “Now start eatin'."

        The adults laughed and lunged for the tables of food.  Neil, 
however, bypassed the crowd and sidled up to Grandam, who stood alone 
against a large maple.  "How long," he said in a low voice, "have you 
been having pains in your chest?"

        Grandam gave him a searching look.  "Why'd ya say that, Neil?"

        His eyes met hers.  "You haven't answered my question."

        For a moment, Neil expected a denial.  Instead, the older woman replied 
simply, "Had 'em fer years."

        "Don’t lie to me, Grandam.  I'm worried about you.  I'll stop by 
in the morning."  Grandam started to protest but Neil had already moved 
away.

*****************************
Return to Cutter Gap, Part 11
Previously:  Neil attended the singing w/o Margaret & discovered Grandam 
Spencer was having chest pains.
Author:  Greer
****************************

        "It's harder than ya ‘spected, ain't it?  Comin' back here," Grandam 
Spencer remarked as she carefully rebuttoned her blouse.  

        Neil removed the stethoscope from his ears and leaned back in the 
chair.  He gazed intently at the woman sitting across from him.  Neil 
had known Grandam his entire life, and he realized that she was not yet 
ready for his diagnosis.  "What makes you say that?"  He replaced his 
instruments in his saddlebags.

        Grandam refused to answer him directly.  "When ya left, half the folks 
figgered ya'd be back in a month and half figgered ya'd not be back 
a'tall."  She relaxed in her chair, holding Neil's eyes with her wizened 
features.

        Neil smiled.  "I'm glad I proved them both wrong." 

        "I knows ya would."  Neil suspected that was true.  After his parents 
died, Grandam became like a mother to him.  She had been one of the few 
in the Cove who understood his aspirations to be a doctor and had 
supported his dreams.  "All that fancy learnin' ya done.  Reckon some 
folks round here ain't too keen on it."

        "No."  He sighed. "I don't think they understand why I went away to 
school.  Or why I came back."  His gaze wandered around the cabin.  
"Some people won't listen to me.  And I don't always know the right 
things to say."

        "An' ya sound different.  All ed-u-cated now."
        
        He smiled again.  Grandam had less formal education than most residents 
of Cutter Gap but retained a wisdom measured in longevity and 
experience.  Much like Hattie, only Grandam was older, wiser and more 
direct.  "Yes, I suppose I sound like a stranger as well as act like one 
at times."

        "Jeb said ya done a good job with John an' Zady and with Fairlight."

        "At least they're willing to let me care for them."  His voice was 
clipped and he looked down at his hands clasped in his lap.

        "People round here don't take ta change easily.  Ya knows that, Neil."

        "But I thought that they--"

        "Listen to ya right off?" she finished.

        "At least listen to what I say."  Neil ran his fingers through his hair 
before once again meeting her eyes.  "I know I can help people but not 
if they won't let me."

        "Are ya wantin' them to listen to what ya say or do what ya say?  
Surely, ye knowed it'd not be easy."

        "I know.  But they must give me a chance."  His voice exploded with 
frustration.  "Look at Lety Coburn.  Her baby is dead because Kyle 
wouldn't let me help."

        "And be ya blamin' Kyle or yerself?"  Grandam asked quietly.

        "Kyle, of course," he responded automatically.  "If only he'd--"  Neil 
stopped, sighed.  "Myself," he said with resignation.  If I hadn't tried 
to push, hadn't forced myself--"

        "If it weren't fer ya, Lety'd be gone too.  I knows that.  Kyle does 
too."  Neil glanced at her sharply.  "Folks'll come round in time," she 
promised.  

        "How much time?  And how many people will suffer needlessly in the 
meantime?"

        "Neil, ya cain't be spectin' folks ta change all at once."  She placed 
her frail hand on his arm.  "Some things is jes meant ta be.  Even you 
cain't fix everythin'."

        "Maybe not."  Neil sensed Grandam was prepared to discuss her own 
medical condition.
 "Enough about me.  Let's talk about you," he announced.

        Again she read his eyes.  "My ticker ain't workin' so good, huh?"

        Neil leaned forward.  He knew she would demand the plain truth.   "No, 
Grandam.  I don't like what I heard in there," he said softly, nodding 
toward her chest.  "I think you have a problem with your heart."

        She nodded thoughtfully.  "Whattya ya gonna do ta fix it?"  Her voice 
was strong, unafraid.

        "I'll give you medicine to take when you get those pains in your chest.  
And you'll need to take it easy from now on."

        "I'll try," she promised.

        "You must," he said sternly.  "You can't be putting a strain on your 
heart.  And I want to take you to Knoxville to see another doctor.  A 
specialist."  Grandam shook her head.  "Don't you fight me too," Neil 
pleaded.  

        "I ain't fightin' ya, Neil," she said wearily.  "I've known ya since ya 
was a tiny babe.  I trust ya and I'll do what ya says."

        "Then let me help you."

        "I said I'd take yer med'cin."

        "You need more than that, Grandam," Neil replied.  "I can't help you 
here.  I don't have the proper equipment.  The doctor in Knoxville--"

        "Neil," she said gently.  "I've lived in Cutter Gap fer nigh seventy 
years.  I've had a good life.  Been happy.  For the most part been 
healthy.  When the Lord says it's my time, I'm aready ta go."

        "But Grandam, it needn't be.  If you get the proper treatment, you 
could live another twenty years."

        "I ain't never left Cutter Gap.  And all this time God's done provided 
fer me.  I ain't leavin' now.  If God means fer me ta live -- or ta die 
-- I'll do it right here."  She crossed her arms over her chest and Neil 
knew he would not change her mind.

****

        If fall was a beautiful time of year in Cutter Gap, winter was cruel.  
Frigid temperatures, inadequate heat, threadbare clothing, and lack of 
food created a test of endurance for even the hardiest residents.  The 
foul weather precipitated its own medical emergencies and Neil was 
pressed into service with greater frequency.  

        As his patients increased in number, so did his days and nights away 
from home.  After six months in the Cove, Neil was reasonably pleased 
with his practice, though he found it ironic that the very people who 
ran to him in a crisis remained reluctant to seek out his services for 
routine complaints.  He could not decide whether they accepted his 
treatment only when all else failed or if they preferred not to offend 
the elder citizens who still functioned as unofficial practitioners of 
medicine.  Although many distrusted his modern techniques, Neil 
discovered that if he did not try to force his ideas on the mountain 
people, they were willing to accept his friendship.  He could only hope 
that in time his friends would also become his patients.
        
        For Margaret, winter brought intense isolation.  Bitter cold and icy 
trails made travel virtually impossible.  Not that there were many 
places to visit.  Her nascent friendships came to a standstill.  
Fairlight could not leave her cabin, Mary Allen was nursing a new baby, 
and Opal was now also with child.  Even if she had been able to see 
these women, Margaret decided she had little to talk about with them.  
She didn't have a baby or one on the way.

        December brought the first major snow to the Cove.  The storm hit when 
Neil was visiting diphtheria patients and a planned two-day trip kept 
him away twice that long.  Margaret was both joyous and angry at his 
return.  "Where have you been?" she greeted him in a measured voice.  
"You were supposed to be back two days ago.  I was worried sick."

        Neil dropped his pack and saddlebags on the table and slumped into the 
nearest chair.  "I'm sorry, Margaret.  I was in Low Gap when the storm 
came up and I didn't want to chance getting caught on the way home.  
Might I have a cup of coffee?"

        "I was going out of my mind here," she declared as she retrieved the 
kettle from the stove.  "I was afraid you were stuck in a snowdrift or 
were lying dead in some ravine.  I don't know why you had to go all that 
way in the first place.  It's the middle of winter."

        "Two babies were sick, Margaret," he replied patiently.  "They needed 
my help."

        "And what about me?  Don't you think I have needs too?  I am your 
wife."  She plunked down a cup of coffee, spilling some of the contents 
onto the table.

        He looked up at her, surprised.  "You know I'm a doctor.  I told you 
when we married that there would be times when I'd be away, when you'd 
have to manage alone. You said you understood."  Neil's voice had risen 
slightly.

        "But you didn't tell me you'd leave me alone in a cabin in the middle 
of nowhere in the dark of winter while you were gone for weeks on end," 
she countered, stomping across the room and sweeping her arm to 
emphasize her plight.

        "I don't think four days qualifies as ‘weeks on end,'" Neil replied 
mildly.

        "Well, what about the next time and the next?" Margaret demanded 
returning to the kitchen.  She stood over him, hands on her hips.  "What 
do you expect me to do around here while you're off saving the world?"

        "I don't know, Margaret.  I suppose you can do whatever you want to.  
I'm going to bed."  Neil was exhausted and the argument only added to 
his weariness.  He took a last sip of coffee, stood and headed for the 
stairs.

        His wife, however, would not release him.  "That's fine for you to say.  
But you're not the one stuck here day after day with nothing to do."

        "Can we have this conversation later?" he asked plaintively.  "I've 
ridden most of the night and I need sleep."  He slowly climbed the 
steps.

        "Of course, put it off.  Don't deal with the problem," she called after 
him.

        Neil drifted off thinking not about Margaret but of his recent travels.  
He relived the joy of being welcomed into far-flung cabins and the 
intense pleasure of knowing exactly what to do to save a young life.  He 
wanted to savor that experience, to revel in it.  Even Margaret's angry 
words could not dull his sheer delight. 

        He awakened to a ferocious pounding.  "Where's the doc?  We need him!"  
The voice was familiar.  Tom McHone.  Neil threw off the covers and 
dragged himself out of bed.  A glance at the bedside clock revealed he 
had been asleep for only two hours.  As he staggered toward the stairs, 
he noticed he was still wearing his riding clothes.

        "He's sleeping," he heard Margaret reply.

        "It's all right, Margaret," he called out.  "I'm awake."  Neil 
descended halfway down the staircase.  "What can I do for you, Tom?"

        "It's Becky O'Teale," he said frantically looking up at the doctor.  
"She's gone missin' an' we're gittin' up a search."

        Neil was instantly awake.  "Becky's missing?  In this weather?  I'll be 
right there."  

        Margaret followed him up the stairs leaving Tom standing inside the 
door.  "Don't tell me you're going back out in this?" she demanded.

        "I have to.  Didn't you hear?  Swannie's little girl is missing.  She 
could freeze to death in this weather."  Neil donned extra socks before 
pulling on his boots.

        "You've been out in ‘this weather' for four days.  Let the others look 
for her.  You're not the only man in the Cove."

        "I am the only doctor."  He forced another sweater over his head and 
tugged it across his torso.  "She may be injured."

        "Oh, Mac, I can't another day alone in this cabin.  Please don't leave 
me again," she begged, clinging to his shoulder.

        He carefully disentangled her.  "Margaret, I'm sure the women are 
waiting with Swannie.  You'd be welcome there.  Get some warm things and 
I'll ride you over."

        Margaret sighed heavily and turned away disgusted.  "Go then.  Leave me 
alone.  You care more about that stupid girl than your own wife."

        Neil responded by grabbing his coat and running down the stairs.  From 
Tom he learned that Becky had been playing in the snow with Orter Ball.  
Her brother tired of the games and went inside, expecting his sister to 
follow.  Not long after, Swannie noticed her daughter missing.  

        At the O'Teale cabin, Neil traded his exhausted horse for a fresh one 
and joined the men searching the surrounding woods.  The task was 
arduous and he was frequently forced to dismount to search among the 
fallen trees.  As the chill ate through his layers of clothing, he 
wondered how the small girl would survive in this cold.   

        A noise in the brush startled him, and he raced toward its source.  
"Becky!  Becky!  Are ya here?  Can ya hear me?  Becky!"  His cries were 
heard only by a squirrel, which scampered up the nearest tree at his 
approach.

        Dejected and nearly ready to turn back, another sound caught his 
attention.  Bob Allen appeared in the distance, waving at him.  "They 
found her."

************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 12
Previously:  An exhaused Neil returns from a four-day trip only to join 
the search for Becky O'Teale.  Becky had just been found.
Author:  Greer
*******************************

        The O'Teale cabin was pandemonium.  Searchers clustered around Becky's 
bed arguing over what should be done as the child's mother lay prostrate 
atop her daughter.  "Becky, wake up!  Wake up for momma," she pleaded.  
"Please, Becky, ya gotta open yer eyes."

        Entering the cabin, Neil fought to stifle the stench that clawed at his 
nose.  Swannie's home was crowded with carcasses and pelts.  Bloodstains 
covered the floor and dust and dirt filled the room, inches deep in the 
corners.  Trying not to show his discomfort, Neil picked his way through 
to the bed, the room becoming silent with his arrival.  He took hold of 
Swannie's shoulders and gently pulled her away.  "You need to stand 
aside Swannie," he said brusquely, sitting beside the small child.  

        Becky was swallowed up in the bed.  Her clothes were soaked and covered 
with melting snow.  Strands of wet hair were plastered across her face, 
her ashen skin easily blending with the white sheets.  She was 
unconscious.  Neil checked her eyes then felt her neck for a pulse.

        "She's alive, ain't she?" Swannie asked shrilly, crowding over his 
shoulder.  "Tell me she's alive."

        "Yes, she's alive," he replied tersely continuing his examination.  
"But we need to warm her up.  Swannie," he said in a kind but firm 
voice, "you need to stand back and let me work.  Please."  Out of the 
corner of his eye, Neil noticed a woman escort the tearful mother away 
from the bed.  

        Neil barked out orders.  "We have to get her out of these clothes."  He 
looked around the room, his eyes settling on Opal.  "Opal, cut these wet 
things off her."  He handed her a pair of medical scissors.  "Someone, 
get me blankets -- all that you can find.  I'll need a large tub, big 
enough to put her in.  And start some water heating.  But don't let it 
boil, I only want it warm."  As Neil spoke, a part of his brain 
registered the fact that people scattered to follow his instructions and 
no one questioned his orders.

        As Opal wrapped Becky in layers of blankets, Neil pressed his 
stethoscope against her chest.  He was concerned that her heart rate was 
so slow, her breathing shallow.  The girl's fingers and toes remained 
icy to the touch, and he could only hope frostbite hadn't set in.  
Finally, he took Becky's temperature, distressed that it failed to rise 
above the minimum mark on the thermometer.

        Swannie had been observing from a distance.  Now she stepped forward 
tentatively.  "Kin ya help her?  Is she gonna be all right?"

        Neil covered Becky in her cocoon of blankets.  "I hope so, Swannie.  
We'll know in a while."  He observed several men drag in a trough used 
to feed cattle.  "How's the water coming?" he called out.

        "Gittin thar," an unseen voice answered from the direction of the 
stove.

        Beside him, the young girl slowly regained consciousness, struggling 
against the confining covers.  "Becky."  Neil placed his hand against 
her cool cheek.  "It's Doctor MacNeill."  With his free hand, he 
restrained her movements.

        "Cold," the girl murmured.
                
        "I know you're cold."  His voice was gentle  "You were out in the snow 
for a very long time.  We're going to make you nice and warm.  But you 
need to lie very still right now.  There's a good girl."
        
        "Momma?  Where's momma?"

        Neil motioned Swannie forward.  "She's right here, Becky."  Then to 
Swannie, "Talk to her.  Keep her calm.  She must stay still and in the 
blankets."  He allowed the mother to take his place by Becky's side but 
maintained a watch over the girl, who was now shivering uncontrollably.  
Swannie started to rub the blankets against her daughter's frail body.

        "No!" Neil almost shouted.  "You mustn't rub her skin," he warned.  
Swannie gave him a questioning stare and Neil sighed.  The reasoning was 
too complicated to explain to the mountain woman.  "Trust me, Swannie.  
I know what I'm doing.  Just hold her and keep her still."  He crossed 
the room to check the temperature of the water.  Satisfied, he rolled up 
his shirtsleeves and carried the girl, still wrapped in a sheet, to the 
makeshift tub.

        "Whattya doin?" Swannie asked as she watched her daughter lowered into 
the water.

        He looked up.  "We need to warm her slowly.  The water will help.  Look 
at her fingers and toes," he said, pointing to the girl's still whitened 
appendages.  "She may have frostbite."  The word sent a gasp through the 
crowd, which had barely thinned throughout the ordeal.  "The water helps 
warm her without damaging the skin."  Neil sensed from the reaction that 
some of the onlookers were not convinced of his methods.  

        As Becky lay listless in the tub, Neil again listened to her heart, 
relieved to find the beat approaching normal, then checked her fingers 
and toes, fervently hoping they would begin to turn pink indicating 
renewed blood flow.  Occasionally, someone asked him a question.  But 
for the most part, people lurked silently in the shadows, watching him 
work.

        "Don't wanna water," Becky wailed, struggling weakly to free herself, 
then crying as the pain of returning circulation surged through her.  
"Hurts."  A few people crept forward.

        Neil easily held her down.  "I know, Becky," he said soothingly, 
brushing away her tears.  "I know it hurts you.  But you must be a brave 
girl and lie still."

        "Don't wanna."  Even as her flailing soaked his own shirt, Neil 
rejoiced.  He recognized her animation as a clear sign that the girl's 
condition had improved dramatically.  Those around him noticed it too.

        "Is she gonna be all right, Doc?" Swannie whispered.  
        
        For the first time that night, Neil allowed himself a smile.  "Yes, 
Swannie, she's going to be fine."  A murmur went through the crowd and a 
feeling of contentment lodged in Neil's heart.
        
****

        Thirty-two.  The number of floorboards in the cabin.  Margaret had 
counted them over and over again as she restlessly crossed back and 
forth across the wooden planks.  She stopped at the mantle, gazing up at 
Neil's pipe.  The lingering aroma of tobacco only served to remind her 
of her missing husband.  She longed for his voice, his touch, even his 
scent.  Her home had become her prison, and she feared she was losing 
her mind.  

        Five days ago someone had appeared at the door with an urgent plea for 
Neil's assistance.  To Neil, all the pleas were urgent and he answered 
every one.  This time, as often was the case, he'd given her no clue as 
to when he would return.  Margaret had grown to detest the sound of 
knocking.  She could no longer sleep soundly -- every creak or snap was 
a prelude to banging on the door, which meant Neil would leave her yet 
again.

        Neil had still not come home when a foot of fresh powder fell atop the 
icy crusted mixture that covered the ground.  The storm trapped Margaret 
indoors with no one to talk to and nothing to do.  To ease her boredom, 
she tried needlework.  She knitted socks and scarves and even a sweater 
for Neil.  And she tried reading.  But she had few books of her own and 
Neil's library of medical texts held little interest. 

        Most of all, she craved human companionship.  Day turned into night 
turned into day without the sound of another voice.  She longed for a 
telephone or a phonograph -- anything to relieve the miserable sounds of 
creaking trees and melting snow dripping from the cabin roof.  She 
awakened to silence, spent the day in silence and drifted off to sleep 
hearing only silence.

        It was the afternoon of the sixth day when she heard the crunch of 
snow.  Could it be?  She raced to the window.  It was.  She flung open 
the cabin door, ignoring the gust of cold air that enveloped her.  Neil 
had barely stepped inside when Margaret threw her arms around him.

        "Oh Neil!  Thank goodness you're home.  You don't know how much 
I've missed you.  I've been waiting and waiting."  

        Neil trudged into the cabin, Margaret clinging to him.  After setting 
down his bags, he took his wife into his arms, giving her a deep 
passionate kiss.  "I've missed you too, darling.  I'm sorry I was gone 
so long."  His face clouded.  "It's pertussis.  Whooping cough," he 
explained.  "It started with Ruby Mae Morrison -- you know, that little 
girl with the flaming red hair.  With all the children living and 
playing together, it's spread rapidly.  I saw at least a dozen cases, 
some quite serious."

        "Mac, come sit with me next to the fire," Margaret cooed, running her 
fingers through his hair.  "Hold me close."

        Neil absently returned her affection.  "I wanted to come home to let 
you know I was safe. And pick up fresh clothes and supplies," he added.

        "Or maybe you can relax while I fix us a wonderful dinner.  Then we can 
spend the entire night together."  Her hands gently stroked his face and 
back.

        Neil took her head in his hands, his eyes burning into hers.  
"Margaret, I want so much to stay with you.  And I will stay for a 
little while."  He sighed heavily.  "But I must go out again tonight.  
Several of those children are bad off."

        Margaret pulled away from him with such force that Neil was almost 
rocked backwards.  "How dare you!" she snarled, her eyes flashing.

        "Margaret, I--" 

        "You leave me alone in this rotten cabin for six days.  Nothing to do.  
No one to talk to.  No idea where you are or even if you're alive."  Her 
voice was frosty.  "And then, when you finally deign to come home, it's 
only to tell me you're leaving again.  How long this time?"

        "I have no choice.  Those children are seriously ill.  They need me."

        Margaret took several steps toward the fireplace before spinning to 
face him.  "And what about my needs?"  She raised her hands, palms 
upturned.  "What am I supposed to do here all by myself?  Who am I 
supposed to talk to?"

        "Margaret, I've told you many times that you can come with me.  It's 
not glamorous--"

        "Go with you?" she shouted.  "And do what?  Sleep in cold smelly cabins 
and talk to a bunch of mountain women?"  She edged closer to him, her 
hand lightly caressing his chest.  She took a deep breath and 
momentarily softened her tone.  "Mac, it's you I want.  I miss you.  I 
want to fall asleep beside you, wake up next to you, eat dinner with 
you, talk to you.  I married you."

        "You also married a doctor.  The only doctor here.  If I don't go to 
these children, they could very well die."

        "If I have to stay alone like this, I'll die."  Margaret's voice was 
bitter.  

        Neil leaned heavily against the mantle, weary beyond words.  "What can 
I do to make it better for you?" he asked. 

        "Stay," she replied simply.

        "I can't.  Not right now.  You know that."  

        "When will it end?"

        "The pertussis?"  Neil shrugged.  "I don't know.  The disease can 
linger for weeks--"

        "No!  I don't care about that stupid disease."  Again she pulled away.  
"I want to know when you will stop leaving, when you'll start acting 
like a real husband.  I need you here."

        Neil's worry and exhaustion quickly eroded his patience.  "I, I, I.  
Why must it always be about you?  There are children dying out there."  
His arm swept outward.  "Maybe you don't care, but I do.  I can't turn 
my back on them now, not even for--"  Suddenly he stopped.  Margaret had 
retreated to the overstuffed chair, where she curled up and sobbed.  The 
sight nearly broke Neil's heart.  He was accustomed to the vibrant, 
irascible woman he'd married.  He'd rarely seen weakness or 
vulnerability from his wife.  

        Neil knelt down next to the chair, brushing Margaret's hair from her 
face.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to hurt you."  He gently massaged her 
neck.  "I hate leaving you.  If there were any other way."  His voice 
drifted off.  She would not raise her eyes to look at him.  He left her 
sitting there while he went upstairs to collect fresh clothes.  

        Returning, he again knelt beside her.  "Margaret, please talk to me.  
Look at me."  When she continued to bury her face in her knees, he 
sighed heavily, rose, and touched his lips to the top of her head.  
"I'll be back as soon as I can."  And he was gone.

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

Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 13
Previously:  A pertussis epidemic in the Cove keeps Neil away from home, 
much to Margaret's consternation.
Author: Greer
***************************

        Neil watched dirt tumble into the tiny grave.  The repetitive sound of 
the shovel scooping up clumps of half-frozen earth mocked him.  More 
than anything he hated this moment.  It represented failure, his 
failure.  At the bottom of the hole was a small pine box bearing the 
body of young Thomas Holt.  The two-year-old had died last night in his 
mother's arms and Neil had been powerless to stop it.  Death had won.  

        At the moment, his thoughts did not include the children who had lived 
through the pertussis epidemic; his mind did not register the prayers 
being murmured for the dead boy.  He could only see the eyes of the 
small child closing for the last time and the eyes of the mother who 
would forever be haunted.  

        Ozias and Rebecca had not blamed him.  Death, especially among 
children, was a fact of life in these mountains, and they had not 
expected Neil MacNeill to change that.

        Without a minister in the Cove, funerals were brief, with family and 
friends reading scripture and delivering a short eulogy.  "We thank ya 
fer all ya done."  Ozias shook Neil's hand after the service had 
concluded.
        
        Neil looked down.  "I'm sorry."  
        
        "Doc, our other young'uns is fine thanks ta you."  He pointed to a 
cluster of children gathered near their mother.  "Thomas," Ozias looked 
at the mound heaped with fresh dirt, "is with God now."

        What kind of God would take the life of an innocent young boy, Neil 
asked himself as he drifted away from the small crowd.  The previous 
night he had watched the family pray over their dying child.  Neither 
their prayers nor his medicine had worked.  He stood alone for a moment, 
hands in his coat pockets, gazing toward the mountains.  He had never 
easily accepted the loss of any patient, but here he knew every single 
one.  His patients were his friends and when one died, he mourned not 
only as a doctor but as a man.  

        "Neil, don't ya be beatin' on yerself."  Grandam Spencer stood beside 
him.  Neil had not noticed her at the gravesite.  

        "Grandam, what are you doing all the way out here in this cold?  You 
promised not to tire yourself."  His physician's eyes looked her over 
carefully, relieved to see the older woman was properly attired and 
appeared well rested.  

        "I'se fine, Neil.  Don't ya be frettin' ‘bout me."  She glanced back 
toward the grave.  "An' don't ya be frettin' ‘bout young Thomas.  Ya 
done yer best."

        He did not reply as his eyes returned to the mountains.  Once again, 
Grandam's voice caught his attention.  "Look ‘round, Neil."  When he 
didn't respond, she repeated in a louder voice, "look ‘round."  He 
dutifully turned toward the dispersing families.  "How many of them 
young'uns did ya visit?"  
        
        Neil shrugged.  

        "How many?"  Grandam was insistent.

        He shrugged again.  "I don't know."  He looked at the departing 
children.  "Five or six I guess."  

        "An' how many more that ain't here?"
        
        Neil understood what Grandam was trying to do and it irritated him.  "I 
don't know, Grandam," he said harshly.

        "Ya does too.  I reckon ya could name every last one."  Grandam was 
equally harsh.  "An' if you wasn't here, we'd be diggin' them graves 
too."  She softened her tone, speaking almost in a whisper.  "Neil, ya 
ain't gonna save everyone.  People's been dying since ‘fore ya left and 
they'll be dyin' long after ya're gone.  Ya ain't gonna stop it."

        "I know that."

        "Do ya?  Neil, ya ain't God.  You don't git ta decide them that lives 
‘n them that dies.  That's fer the Lord."  
        
        He turned to face her.  "Then tell me how the Lord can take an innocent 
child."

        Grandam shook her head sadly.  "It was his time.  And someday it will 
be mine.  An' yers.  We got no callin' ta question the Lord."
        
         "Doc MacNeill!  Doc MacNeill!"  Neil's response was interrupted by Tom 
McHone approaching on horseback.  "Miz Margaret said I might find ya 
here," he said breathlessly.

        "Is something wrong with Margaret?" Neil asked worriedly.

        "No.  She's with Fairlight.  Says ya bes' come quick."

        "Where's Jeb?"

        "Went ta El Pano."  

        Neil swore under his breath, exchanged a concerned glance with Grandam, 
and sprinted for his horse.

****    

        Neil and Jeb arrived at the cabin almost simultaneously.  One glance at 
Neil's face turned Jeb's hearty greeting of welcome into one of concern 
and panic.  Neil gave his friend a long look but said nothing as he 
hurried inside.  

        Margaret, who had been seated on the bed beside Fairlight, stood at her 
husband's arrival.  "Neil, thank goodness you're here."  The relief in 
her voice was palpable.  "John borrowed a horse and rode all the way 
over to our cabin-- "  Seeing Neil was not interested in the details, 
she cut short her explanation.  "I came over myself.  But I didn't know 
what to do," she finished helplessly, wringing her hands.

        Neil nodded at her.  "You did the right thing," he said approvingly.  
Margaret stepped away from the bed, allowing Neil to take her place.  A 
few feet away, John and Zady huddled next to their father, who absently 
stroked their hair.

        "Fairlight," Neil said, sitting beside her and feeling for her pulse.  
"What happened?"  

        "I was bringin' in logs for the fire when I start gittin' pains."  At 
this comment, Neil glanced sharply at Jeb, his expression hard.  

        "I figgered they'd stop if I laid down," Fairlight continued, slightly 
breathless.  "I know it's too early fer the baby.  Then John said he was 
goin' ta fetch ya.  I didna want 'im goin' out alone.  I tried to stop 
'im.  But he jes' ran out."  This last comment was directed at Jeb.  

        "Fairlight, sshh.  I need to listen to the baby's heartbeat," Neil 
chided, placing the stethoscope in his ears and gently palpating her 
abdomen.  

        The tiny room seemed to hold its collective breath awaiting the 
doctor's verdict.  He was careful and methodical.  When he finally 
looked up, his expression was serious, his tone somber.  He addressed 
Fairlight directly. "You've been very lucky.  You're not in labor."  
Behind him, Neil heard Jeb exhale.  "But you're not out of danger 
either," he explained quietly.  "Those pains were a warning."  

        He turned to Jeb.  "Fairlight must stay in bed.  I mean that," he said 
sternly, looking squarely at his friend.  "She is not to get out of this 
bed for any reason, until I say otherwise.  Not to use the privy, not to 
fetch a cup of coffee, not to run after the children.  Nothing.  Is that 
clear?"

        Jeb nodded numbly, but Neil was not finished.  "Any movement could 
bring on labor.  I don't need to tell you that a baby born now won't 
survive.  Fairlight is to do nothing, absolutely nothing, until the baby 
is born.  That means she cannot be left alone.  And make sure she eats," 
he added tersely, putting away his instruments.  "She still looks too 
thin."

        "I'll take care o' her.  I shouldna gone.  Shouldna left her alone.  
It's my fault.  If she hadna been carryin' that wood--"  Jeb's voice 
trailed off.  Beside him, the children looked slightly panicked.  
Margaret, too, had tensed at her husband's tone.  She'd rarely heard him 
speak like this to anyone, let alone a patient.

        Neil knew he should offer some words of compassion or kindness.  But he 
was angry and frustrated.  He'd already watched one child put in the 
ground today.  He did not intend to bury another.  He turned back to 
Fairlight.  "I'll stop by tomorrow.  And I expect to find you in this 
bed."
        
****************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 14
Previously:  Fairlight has problems with her pregnancy and Neil rushes 
to the cabin to assist.  It is later the same day.
Author:  Greer
**************************


        It was nearly midnight when the couple arrived home.  Neil lay in bed, 
watching his wife in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.  Margaret stood 
in front of the small mirror, running a brush through her ebony locks.  
She had not cut her hair since arriving in Cutter Gap and her once short 
bob now reached nearly her shoulders.

        "Will Fairlight and her baby be all right?" she asked, mentally 
counting brush strokes.

        "I hope so," Neil replied in a tired voice.  "We'll see."  He glanced 
over at his wife.  Even in the darkness, he was awed by her beauty.  It 
was an exotic look that had captured him the moment he had first set 
eyes on her.  

        "You were a bit hard on Jeb."

        "He deserved worse," Neil replied curtly.  "Leaving Fairlight alone was 
a stupid thing to do."
        
        "I'm sure he didn't intend for this to happen."
        
        "No," he agreed reluctantly.  "But it happened all the same.  And it 
could have been much worse."  

        Margaret eyed her husband in the mirror.  She could hear the worry and 
tension in his voice.  "Fairlight and Jeb mean a lot to you, don't 
they?"

        Neil clasped his hands together under the back of his head, staring at 
the ceiling rafters.  "When we were boys, Jeb and I did everything 
together.  We were like brothers.  Then, when my mother died, Grandam 
almost became my mother.  I think I spent more time at his house than at 
my own.  Until he married Fairlight," he added.

        "How old were they?  They seem so young to have a child John's age."

        Neil rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.  "Jeb was 
sixteen when they married, Fairlight only fourteen.  They had a baby 
before John, not long before I left Cutter Gap.  It died of influenza.  
She lost another about a year ago."

        "No wonder they're so concerned about this baby."  Margaret set down 
her brush.  "Didn't you want to get married when you were Jeb's age?  
I'm sure a good looking boy like you didn't lack for fair mountain 
maidens," she teased.

        Neil thought for a moment before speaking.  It was true that several 
girls had caught his attention.  He remembered one in particular.  
"Shelley."  When Margaret turned to stare, he realized he had spoken 
aloud.  "She had the most beautiful blonde tresses and deep green eyes," 
he mused.   "There was a time when everyone thought we would marry."

        "What happened?"  Margaret had to know.

        A faraway look came into Neil's eyes.  "She died when she was fourteen.  
Typhoid."  He shrugged.  "After that, I lost interest in girls."  He 
smiled at his wife.  "Until I met you."

        "What about Fairlight?  Did you two--?"

        "No," Neil laughed.  "Fairlight only had eyes for Jeb.  I stood up for 
him at the wedding."

        "And now they already have two children and a third on the way.  And 
Mary Allen, and Edna Dunne and Opal McHone.  It seems like all the women 
in Cutter Gap either have a baby or are pregnant."

        "I'll grant you there are a lot of babies born in these mountains," 
Neil admitted with a grin.  

        "Why is that?  You'd think that with so little money people would want 
small families."

        Neil shook his head.  "Quite the opposite, I'm afraid.  First, there is 
little more important in the mountains than one's family.  Having many 
children and grandchildren is a great source of pride -- more important 
even than wealth or possessions.  Unfortunately, people also have large 
families because they know that some of their children won't survive."

        Margaret put down her brush and turned off the light.  The only 
illumination was provided by the moonlight creeping in the window.  "Do 
you think I could do it?" she asked, sitting on the side of the bed.

        "Do what?"

        "Have a baby.  Take care of one."

        Neil reached up and placed his hand on his wife's shoulder, pulling her 
down onto the bed beside him.  He caressed her face, her milky smooth 
skin untouched by the harshness of mountain life.  "I think you'd make a 
fine mother, Mrs. MacNeill."

        "Do you really?" she asked quietly. 

        "I do indeed," he answered, pulling her into a tight embrace.  

*****************************
Title: Return to Cutter Gap, Part 15
Previously:  Fairlight had problems with her pregnancy; Neil and 
Margaret talked about Neil's past.
Author:  Greer
***********************

        Six weeks later, an excited Jeb Spencer stood outside Dr. MacNeill's 
cabin.  His anxiety was palpable.  "It's time, Doc.  Fairlight said her 
water done broke." 

        Neil smiled.  Jeb had been through this numerous times, yet the father 
was still nervous.  "I'll get my things together and be along shortly."  
He had a sudden thought.  "Fairlight's not alone, is she?"

        "Oh no," Jeb reassured him.  "Opal's with her.  I wouldna leave her 
alone.  No sir."  

        For once, Margaret expressed an eagerness to accompany her husband.  As 
they rode toward the Spencer cabin, she voiced her concern.  "It's too 
soon isn't it?  For the baby I mean." 

        Neil nodded.  "It's a couple weeks early, but there's no need to worry.  
When I examined Fairlight last week, the baby was more than ready."  It 
had been a difficult pregnancy, though since his dire warnings six weeks 
ago, Fairlight had generally been a cooperative patient.        

        At the cabin, Margaret watched as Neil focused his attention entirely 
on the expectant mother.  While Opal took John and Zady back to her own 
cabin, Margaret quickly found herself awash in a whirl of activity, 
boiling water, collecting sheets and towels, and comforting Fairlight.  

        Each time Fairlight cried out with the pain of another contraction, 
Margaret quaked with fear.  She had heard friends' stories of childbirth 
but this was the first she had witnessed.  She was certain that 
Fairlight must be suffering terribly and wondered what Neil would do to 
ease her agony.  Her husband seemed both oblivious to Fairlight's pain 
yet keenly aware of what she was enduring.  Margaret marveled at his 
control of the situation and how his calm permeated the room.  She felt 
herself relaxing at his soothing voice and steady demeanor.     
        
        Neil did feel calm, confident in his skill and his knowledge.  Yet 
beneath this exterior lurked an inner anxiety.  In a few moments, he 
would deliver the child of his best friend, his first delivery in Cutter 
Gap.  This was what he had come home for.  This moment belonged to 
Fairlight but it also belonged to him.  
        
        "Rest now between the contractions," Neil instructed.  To his 
amazement, Fairlight followed his every direction.  He wondered whether 
she was thinking about that miserable, rainy night at Lety Coburn's 
cabin.

        Margaret held Fairlight's hand tightly, trying to imagine the intensity 
of pain that would cause her to cry out as she did.  During each cycle, 
Neil spoke words of encouragement, and when the contraction ended, 
Margaret mopped Fairlight's sweating face.  Just when Margaret feared 
the baby would never arrive, she heard a sharp cry as Fairlight dropped 
back against the pillows exhausted, but with a smile lingering on her 
lips.

        "Welcome to the world, little girl."  Smiling broadly, Neil held up a 
milky-white screaming baby.  "Margaret, get me a blanket," he ordered.  
He cut the umbilical cord, wiped off the baby and suctioned the inside 
of her mouth.  Finally, he listened to her heart and lungs.  "Absolutely 
healthy," he pronounced, handing the baby to Margaret.  "Maybe we should 
let the tired mother see her.  And let Jeb know about his new daughter," 
he added, heading for the door.   "Have you chosen a name?" he called 
over his shoulder.

        "Clara May," Fairlight responded, eagerly reaching for her newborn.

        As she passed the baby to Fairlight, Margaret marveled its perfectly 
formed fingers, hazel blue eyes, and tuft of light brown hair.  "She's 
so perfect."

        A moment later, Jeb rushed into the cabin and immediately knelt next to 
the bed.  He caressed his wife's face then tenderly reached out his 
fingers, intertwining them with the miniature ones of his baby daughter.  
"Oh Fairlight, she's beautiful," he exclaimed.  "So beautiful, just like 
her momma."   He looked up at Neil, who had followed him into the cabin 
and returned to working on Fairlight.  "She's okay, ain't she?  I mean, 
comin' early an' all—"

        Neil looked up with a smile.  "Clara's fine.  Good size, about six and 
a half pounds, I'd say.  And her mother's doing fine, too."

        As Fairlight expertly cuddled her new daughter to her chest, she looked 
up gratefully.  "Thank you, Doctor.  An' you Miz Margaret."  Margaret 
smiled, stunned at how quickly Fairlight had seemingly recovered from 
her ordeal.  

        "I don't believe I've ever experienced anything so wonderful," Margaret 
said dreamily a few hours later as she and Neil exited the cabin.  "It's 
a small miracle."

        Neil smiled knowingly.  "I'll tell you, Margaret, as many as I've 
delivered, that feeling never goes away." 

**** 

        Neil shook his head as he trudged up the steps of his cabin a few 
nights later.  Instead of spending a serene evening at home with his 
wife, he had spent the past six hours repairing the effects of a 
ten-minute mountain feud.  The elation he'd felt at delivering 
Fairlight's child had been quickly replaced with disgust and 
resignation.

        Marty James, a distant relative of the infamous Taylor clan, disagreed 
with Willie Allen, Ault's son, over the price of some moonshine and the 
war of words quickly escalated into violence.  Neither youngster was 
particularly proficient with a shotgun.  The result was a shattered leg 
and a blown apart abdomen.  Neil had done what he could, but one boy had 
already lost his leg and the other would be lucky not to lose his life. 
        
        Throughout his surgical training, Neil had become accustomed to sterile 
conditions, modern equipment and, most importantly, the highest quality 
assistants.  Here in the mountains however, the men and women were too 
emotional or ignorant to provide much help.  At one point, Neil hoped 
Margaret might become his assistant.  But she had shown no such 
inclination and he had not persisted.  As a result, he not only 
performed surgery but was invariably forced to function as nurse and 
anesthetist as well.  For minor injuries, this presented little problem.  
But for major surgery, the patient's life rested on Neil's ability to 
juggle too many tasks and he wondered how long it would be before the 
lack of skilled help resulted in death.

        That March night, he expected to find Margaret asleep when he returned 
home and was surprised to see a light still burning in the cabin.  He 
knew he had spent far too many winter nights away from his wife.  But he 
did not know what else to do -- having made the commitment to practice 
in Cutter Gap, he could not refuse legitimate requests for his help.  He 
appreciated Margaret's suffering but knew of no way to ease it without 
turning his back on the people he'd come home to serve.  

        Opening the cabin door, he was overtaken by a huge embrace.  
"Margaret!"  He feigned anger.  "You're hurting me," he said playfully, 
even as his lips searched for hers.  Untangling from her grasp, he 
immediately noticed two things.  The table, set for two, was bathed in 
candlelight and Margaret wore her wedding dress for the first time since 
the day they'd married.  

        "What's all this?" he asked following her into the cabin.  

        "You've been out all night saving lives." she replied simply, helping 
him off with his coat.  

        Neil was not sure if she was mocking him and chose not to answer.  
        
        "I want you to have a special meal," Margaret said mysteriously.  
"Don't look so shocked. And don't worry, I've been working on my 
cooking."  Taking him by the arm, she led him to the table.  "Now sit 
down and enjoy."  

        As he watched in stunned silence, Margaret retrieved a pot from the 
stove.  "It's a bit cold," she apologized, piling a portion of meat and 
vegetables onto his plate.  

        Neil's eyes narrowed as his wife flitted about the kitchen.  "Margaret, 
is something wrong?" he inquired.  "Is there something you want to tell 
me?"

        "Why would you say that, Mac?  Can't a wife fix a nice meal for her 
husband without arousing his suspicions?"

        "Of course, but--"  Not you, he wanted to add.

        "But nothing.  Try some," she insisted, putting a platter heaped with 
food in front of him.  She sat down across the table, staring into his 
eyes.

        Neil obediently picked up his utensils and cut into the venison.  He 
slowly raised the fork, his eyes not leaving his wife.  As the food 
entered his mouth, he found himself pleasantly surprised.  "It's good," 
he said truthfully.  "Very good." 

        Margaret smiled.  "I'm glad you like it.  Have some more." 

        Neil continued to eat.  It had been a long day without much food and 
he'd forgotten how hungry he was.  Between bites he asked, "Margaret, 
what's with the dress?"

        "It's my wedding dress."

        "I remember.  But why wear it tonight?"

        "Not until you've eaten."  Margaret smiled coyly, only picking at her 
own plate.

        Although Neil tried to elicit an explanation, Margaret refused to 
elaborate until he had finished his entire meal as well as a large piece 
of gingerbread for dessert.  Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he looked 
across the table at his wife.  "All right, Margaret," he said patiently.  
"I've eaten a very delicious meal.  Now, are you finally going to tell 
me what has you so excited?"

        She smiled sweetly at him, as if deciding how to proceed.  "Wait here.  
Let me show you something" she said abruptly, pushing back her chair.  
His eyes followed her as she darted into the living room and returned a 
moment later, hiding something behind her.  "I have a surprise for you."  
Slowly she brought the object from behind her back, holding it up for 
him to see.  

        Neil looked quizzically from it to her.  "Is that for Fairlight's 
baby?" he asked, staring at a tiny knitted bootie.

        Margaret frowned slightly, then smiled.  "No, silly.  It's for our 
baby.  I'm pregnant."

**************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 16
Previously:  Margaret informs Neil she's pregnant.
Author:  Greer
**************************


        The following morning, Neil confirmed that his wife was indeed
expecting a baby.  Margaret was remarkably patient and listened
attentively as he pummeled her with instructions regarding her
pregnancy.  He worried that she would chafe at the restrictions he
sought to impose and her reaction startled him.

        "Oh, Neil," she exclaimed when he was through.  "I'll do anything and
everything you say.  I'll even stay in bed the whole time if you want me
to."

        "I really don't think that's necessary," Neil assured her, but
Margaret's mind had already switched gears.  
        
        "I'm so happy.  I'm going to have a baby. A baby of my very own."  She
lay on the bed, looking up at her husband.  "You're happy too, aren't
you?" she asked tentatively.  "About this baby."

        "Of course," Neil replied reflexively.  He stared at his wife, yet
looked through her.  Of course he wanted children; he adored them. 
Small creatures scampering around his feet, climbing onto his lap. 
Instinctively he smiled, yet at the same time he worried.  He and
Margaret had been married for less than a year and in Cutter Gap less
than that.  He was still trying to establish his practice and earn the
people's trust.  He'd already spent far too many nights away from home
and the situation would only worsen as his practice grew.  How could he
possibly find the time to devote to a small child?

        And what about Margaret?   She had yet to settle into life here.  It
was difficult enough for her to manage on her own – he worried that a
child would only add to her problems and further erode her confidence
and self esteem.  But it was hard for him not to get caught up in her
enthusiasm.  Neil had not seen his wife this happy and animated since
they'd left Philadelphia.
        
        "I thought I'd ask Bob Allen to make a crib," she prattled on
excitedly.  "We can put it right here," she pointed, "near the bed.  And
I can get Fairlight to sell me one of her beautiful quilts.  Well," she
corrected herself, "maybe not sell.  But I'll bet I could get her to
trade – I must have something she wants.  And I can go to Knoxville to
buy all those cute little baby clothes.  And I can make some, of
course."
        
        "Whoa, Margaret," Neil interrupted.  "I think it's a bit early for all
that.  I know you're eager, but maybe we should wait until you're a
little further along."
        
        She stared at him, her expression icy.  "There's something wrong, isn't
there?"  Her tone was laced with suspicion.  "You found something wrong
with the baby?"
        
        Neil almost laughed but stopped himself after seeing the look of
concern that creased Margaret's face.  "No," he replied sincerely,
taking her hand in his.  "I promise you I found nothing wrong.  It's far
too early anyway.  The baby is smaller than the tip of my finger.  But
you're likely to feel quite ill for the next few weeks and I doubt
you'll be anxious to be go out."
        
        Margaret seemed to relax slightly at his explanation.  "Oh Neil, I want
so much for this baby.  I want him to have a mother and a father and to
be loved all the time."
        
        Neil smiled at her use of the male pronoun.  "He – or she – will be."

        "And for him to be wanted."  She frowned again.  "You do want him,
don't you?"

        "Yes, Margaret," Neil said sincerely.  "I want this child very, very
much."  It was the truth. He wanted this child for himself and for his
wife.  He longed to see her content and if he couldn't do it, maybe a
child could.  "And I want for you to be happy."

        "Oh, I am.  I'm so happy."  She remained silent for a moment.  "We'll
be good parents, won't we?" she asked apprehensively.  "I'll be a good
mother?"
        
        "You'll be a wonderful mother, darling," he assured her.  "And I'll try
to stay home as much as possible to help you out."
        
        "I'll be fine, Mac."  She touched her stomach.  "This baby and I'll be
just fine."
        
****

        Spring was a time for birth and renewal, and Margaret could feel the
small life surging inside her.  Neil maintained this was impossible only
two months into her pregnancy, but Margaret disagreed.  Her baby was
alive and growing and she could sense it.   She had been spared the
worst miseries of morning sickness.  A few times she had awakened
feeling nauseous, but had not endured the agonizing symptoms about which
Neil had warned.  She knew she should be thankful, but a part of her
wanted to experience every moment of this pregnancy.  She wanted not
only to be pregnant but to feel pregnant.  

        When she had confessed this to Neil, he had shaken his head and
laughed.  "I assure you, Margaret, that you will have more than enough
time to experience the joys and tribulations of pregnancy.  This is only
your second month – you have nearly eight more until the baby comes."

        Margaret absently stroked her abdomen.  For a brief moment, she heard
the sound of a child's laughter.  Her child.  She imagined herself
sitting before a blazing fire rocking her tiny baby to sleep.  She
envisioned a toddler running around the cabin and rolling in the grassy
meadow.  She smiled at the thought of a child saying "mother" and
referring to her.  She was going to be a mother!  Neil could come and go
but she would never be alone again. 

        More than once, Neil had meticulously explained the medical details of
pregnancy to her.  But as he talked, Margaret realized she had
absolutely no notion of how to be a mother.  She hadn't spoken to her
own mother in years.  Soon, she would be entrusted with a tiny life. 
She needed advice and had only the mountain women to turn to for
answers. 
        
        On this mild spring afternoon, Margaret and Fairlight were more than
comfortable sitting on the steps of the Spencer porch.  Baby Clara,
wrapped tightly in a blanket, lay asleep in Fairlight's arms.  

        "Fairlight, how did you know what to do?" Margaret asked.  "As a
mother, I mean?  How did you learn?  Who taught you?"  Margaret was
desperate for information and of all the women in the Cove, she
considered Fairlight the most sophisticated and most likely to be able
to help.
  
        The mountain woman chuckled.  "It ain't like book learnin'," she
replied.  "A momma jes knows."

        "But how?" Margaret demanded as Fairlight looked on in amusement.  

        Observing the pensive expression on Margaret's face, Fairlight turned
serious.  "I was jes sixteen when I had my John.  When Granny put 'im in
my arms, I was so scared.   I thought, what am I gonna do?  He was so
tiny an' couldn't do nothin' fer himself.  An' what if I done somethin'
wrong?"  Margaret sat at rapt attention.  These were her fears, too.  

        "But it weren't nearly so bad as I thought," Fairlight continued. "Tho
that first time when he cried I didn't think I'd never figger how ta
make 'im stop.  All I could think of was callin' fer my momma."

        "So what did you do?"  Margaret was absorbing every word.

        "I got ta thinkin'.  Fairlight's laughter again filled the air.  "Only
a few things it kin be.  He be wantin' ta eat or needs changin' or
rockin'.  Ya try it all – somethin' always works.  After a spell, ya
gits ta know."

        "And how do you know if something's really wrong, if she's sick?"

        "Don't think you'll be havin' no problem with that, what with Neil
bein' the daddy."  Fairlight smiled.

        "I suppose you're right."  Margaret still wanted answers.    But how do
you--"

        "Momma!  Momma!"  The shout echoed from across the yard.  Zady ran
toward them, screaming at the top of her lungs.

        "Zady, Miz Margaret an' me be talkin'," Fairlight began.

        "But momma, lookee what Ruby Mae done."  The girl put her foot onto the
lowest step, pulled up the hem of her dress and pointed to her knee,
which was slightly bloodied.

        "Now how'd that happen?" Fairlight asked in a concerned yet calm
manner.

        "Ruby Mae pushed me," Zady declared triumphantly.

        "Did not."  Seven-year-old Ruby Mae seemed to appear out of nowhere to
defend herself.  "Besides, she broke my doll."

        "Did not!"

        "Did too!"

        After several rounds of blame, Fairlight intervened.  "All right,
that's enough.  Zady," she looked sternly at her daughter, "did you
break Ruby Mae's doll?"  The girl stared sheepishly at the ground.  "I
want an answer young lady."

        "Well . . . I . . . I didna mean ta," the girl stammered.  "Twas an'
axe-in-dent."

        Margaret was amazed at how serenely Fairlight dealt with the incident. 
She tried to imagine herself in Fairlight's shoes -- how would she
handle her daughter being injured and destroying someone else's property
all the while tending to a tiny infant in her arms?  It made Margaret
dizzy thinking about it.

        Fairlight shook her head.  "Zady, let's go inside an' git ya cleaned
up.  And then," she declared firmly, "you kin take yer doll to Ruby
Mae."

        "Ah momma.  I only got the one--"

        "I don't want no argument, Zady.  Ruby Mae," Fairlight addressed the
gloating child, "why don't ya run on home.  I'll send Zady along in a
bit."  She stood, still holding Clara.  "Miz Margaret, would ya be
willin' ta hold my baby whilst I tend ta Zady?  She's asleep, shouldn't
give ya no problem."

        "Of course, I'd be happy to."  Margaret reached out to retrieve the
small bundle.  She held it awkwardly in front of her, hands stiff as
boards.  Sensing her inexperience, Fairlight demonstrated how to hold
the baby more comfortably.  

        As Fairlight and Zady's retreated into the cabin, Margaret delicately
fingered Clara's nose, ears, fingers and toes.  In an instant she
understood Fairlight.  It felt so natural to hold the baby in her arms,
to caress its smooth skin, to murmur words of love and reassurance. 
Margaret paced the ground in front of the cabin, cradling the baby to
her chest.   As her arm muscles started to fatigue, she shifted the
baby's position.   Clara started to squirm and Margaret stopped all
movement, scarcely daring to breathe lest she disturb her slumber. 
        
        "Waaaa!"  The cry was so loud that Margaret almost dropped the baby
onto the ground.  "Waaaa!"  Again the ear-piercing shriek filled the
air.

        Rocking only seemed to make the baby scream louder.  "There, there,
Clara.  It's all right.  Your mother's inside.  She'll be right out. 
Don't cry now."  Ignoring Margaret's entreaties, tiny Clara continued
screaming, each cry louder than the last.  

        "Oh, Clara, please stop crying," Margaret begged the unhearing child. 
She glanced toward the cabin, expecting Fairlight to come rushing out to
discover who was torturing her youngest daughter.  She rocked the baby
harder, singing the only lullaby she knew.  What was it Fairlight had
said about why babies cry?  Margaret gingerly checked the tiny cloth
diaper, which felt dry.  

        Hours seemed to pass as Margaret held the shrieking child.  Finally,
she could take it no longer.  Something must be seriously wrong.  Baby
in arms, Margaret dashed into the cabin to find Fairlight in the final
stages of cleaning Zady's knee.  "Oh Fairlight, I'm so sorry.  I don't
know what I did."  Margaret struggled to be heard over the baby's
incessant cries.  "She was lying so quietly and all of the sudden she
started screaming.  I don't know what to do.  I checked her diaper and I
rocked her--"

        Fairlight took the shrieking child in her arms.  "Don't ya worry none. 
She's jes hungry.  I'll feed her in a minute."  Fairlight ignored the
baby's wailing as she redirected attention to her elder daughter.  Only
when she had dismissed Zady did Fairlight set about appeasing her baby.

        "Fairlight knew exactly what Clara wanted," Margaret reported to Neil
later that night. 

        Neil smiled.  "She's a mother.  She knows when it's time for her baby
to eat."
        
        Margaret ran her hand from her forehead down to her chin.  "Oh Mac,
will I ever know?  Fairlight seems so sure of herself.  And Opal.  She
can't be more than seventeen, yet she knows what to do.  Why do I feel
so stupid?"

        "All mothers feel that way at first.  But they all learn, every last
one.  As will you."

        "Oh I hope so."  Margaret's voice was haunted.  "I do hope so."


********************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 17
Previously:  A pregnant Margaret discusses motherhood with Fairlight.
Author:  Greer
********************

        In many ways, Bob Allen's flour mill was the heart of Cutter Gap.  Not
only did it employ men from several families, but it also served as the
hub of activity and the center of gossip for the community.  Any changes
in its operations invariably attracted a great deal of attention.

        This crisp spring morning, the mill was bristling with activity as men
worked to install a new millstone.  The stone had been brought to El
Pano by train, loaded onto a cart, and transported to the mill by a team
of horses.  The arrival of the new equipment was a once in a decade
event, and many of the wives and children appeared at the site to
observe the goings on.

        Neil and Margaret arrived late.  Although Neil had a passing scientific
curiosity in the day's events, his presence was due to more altruistic
reasons.  It was important for him, as the Cove's only physician, to
interact with his friends and his patients.  More importantly, the day
would provide a convenient forum to practice some preventative
medicine.
        
        "Will it hurt?"  Ruby Mae Morrison looked between her bared shoulder
and Neil's hands with trepidation.
        
        "No more than a scratch," he promised truthfully.  After swabbing her
upper arm with antiseptic, Neil gently scraped a needle across the skin.
 "All done," he said when finished.  "That wasn't too bad, was it?"
        
        "Well—" the young girl started.  Spying two friends in the distance,
she quickly rolled down her sleeve and sprinted across the field after
them.  Neil had his answer.
        
        Upon arriving in Cutter Gap, he had been shocked to discover how many
residents, especially children, had never received smallpox
vaccinations.  Nine months had been far too long to wait, and Neil knew
that only luck had prevented an outbreak of the disease.  But, as he
moved to his next patient, he appreciated that only the trust he had
earned over these long months enabled him to do what he was doing
today.

        Neil had yet to win universal acceptance or approval from the people of
Cutter Gap.   But slowly, one patient at a time, he had made inroads. 
Increasingly, he found himself summoned for injuries, illnesses, and
deliveries.  His successes were transmitted through the Cove by his
satisfied patients and this inevitably resulted in additional requests
for his services.  Some families still categorically refused his help
and rejected his advice.  The resulting senseless suffering and death
enraged him, but Neil knew that to press would mean losing the goodwill
he had achieved.  
        
        "Who's next?" he called.  "Bob?"  He walked over to Bob Allen, who had
taken a break from offloading the large pieces of machinery.  He stood
leaning against the side of the building, breathing heavily.   "Why
don't you have a seat over here," Neil suggested, pointing to a nearby
tree stump.
        
        "Bes not ta sit down.  Might never git meself back up."  Bob grinned,
took a few deep breaths and carefully stretched his muscles.  "Say, d'ya
hear ‘bout the new school in El Pano?" he asked, dutifully rolling up
his sleeve.
        
        "Orvis mentioned something about it last week," Neil replied, never
taking his eyes from his work.
        
        "Rob's itchin' ta go all the time.  Darla too, but Mary needs her help
with the baby."
        
        "Rob's going to school in El Pano?"  Finished with Bob's vaccination,
Neil put away his instruments.
        
        "Couple days a week.  It's all I kin spare ‘im."
        
        "That's a long walk."  Neil remembered the times years ago when, after
completing his morning chores, he had walked the seven miles to school,
invariably arriving after class had started and often falling asleep
long before the day ended.  Sometime after he'd left Cutter Gap, the
school had closed.  Now, apparently, it had reopened.  
        
        "That's what I said.  But Rob's been doin' it, I'll grant 'im that." 
Bob pushed down his sleeve.  "There's a preacher settin' up schools all
over these mountains.  Heard from Ted Robbins bout one startin' up in
Cataleechie any day now."
        
        "Where are they finding people to teach?"  Neil was pleased but
surprised.  He could not imagine what would lure anyone with the skills
to teach school into these backwoods communities.  
        
        "From outside, or so I hears.  A young gal's comin' ta Cataleechie from
Virginie or somewhere near theres."  Neil raised his eyebrows.  "They's
startin' work on a mission, too.  Ted saw it fer hisself.  Big
building."
        
        An' there's gonna be real preachers in every one o' them missions." 
Jeb Spencer joined the two men.  "Leas' that's what Doctor Ferrand done
said."
        
        Neil was impressed.  When he'd heard Jeb talk about these projects
several months earlier, he'd never believed they'd come to fruition. 
But his optimism was edged with apprehension.  A school and a mission
together.  Were the people expected to accept religion in order to
receive the benefits of education?  Was this Dr. Ferrand making belief
in God the price of admission to his precious school?
        
        Neil left the two men and moved among the workers.  He passed the
women, some of whom were doing needlepoint while others scampered after
wayward toddlers.  
        
        A young woman came running up to him, dragging behind her a small boy. 
"Doc MacNeill!"
        
        Neil smiled inwardly at her form of address.  Many of his friends still
couldn't decide what to call him, although his professional title was
becoming more common.  The use of  "doctor" acknowledged his expertise
and success as a physician, yet at the same time attested to the wedge
that was forming between Neil and his people.  Much as he might be a
mountain man at heart, his experiences outside of Cutter Gap would
always set him apart.  Although he welcomed the newfound respect, he
nevertheless mourned the bond that was inexorably broken.  "Yes, Meg."
        
        "It's Jake," she said, pulling the child up beside her.  "Look at ‘im. 
His eyes ain't no better."
        
        Reaching under the boy's chin, Neil inspected the seven-year-old's
face.  "Did the medicine I put in your eyes the other day help, Jake?"
he asked.
        
        The boy shrugged.  "A little," he replied without much sincerity.
        
        "Reckon they'll become bad as mine?" Meg wanted to know.
        
        Neil automatically switched his gaze to the mother.  She, too, suffered
from trachoma, but her case was much more advanced than that of her son.
 "Not for a long time, Meg," he assured her.  "And maybe not ever.  Why
don't the two of you stop by my cabin in the morning.  I have something
else that might help Jake's eyes."
        
        Meg acquiesced with a nod.
        
        Neil silently berated himself.  Meg and her son were among the many
victims of trachoma in Cutter Gap and surrounding communities.  If a
cure for the disease were not found, they would one day suffer the same
fate as Aunt Hattie.  In Philadelphia, Neil had been encouraged by new
treatments.  Yet his research here had not moved beyond an embryonic
stage.  

        Neil preferred to blame his busy schedule for his failure to proceed
more quickly.  But in truth, he was afraid.  The treatments were
experimental and the surgery radical; they could make the patient's
condition worse.  Neil was not sure he could persuade people to try his
new methods.  And he worried that, if he tried and failed, he risked
alienating the entire Cove and dooming future research as well as his
practice. 

        "Oh, and Meg?"  The woman turned back to look at the doctor.  "Did you
clean up around the cabin as I told you?"  
        
        Neil knew the answer before Meg said a word, and it frustrated him. 
Doctors suspected that trachoma was related to poor sanitation, and
these mountain cabins were breeding grounds for the germs that likely
caused the disease.  The few suggestions he had made regarding
cleanliness had been rudely rejected.  It was not that the mountain
people enjoyed living in filth.  Rather, they did not understand the
role of germs in transmission of disease and were not yet willing to
believe Neil's pronouncements on the subject. 
        
        "I done sweeped a little," she replied sheepishly.  
        
        "Meg, it's very important.  Remember I told you about how the dirt
makes Jake sick?"
        
        Neil continued to talk quietly with Meg as they walked toward the group
of women.  "Ladies," the doctor greeted them.  Soon, a number had
engaged him in conversation about everything from the impending birth of
a new foal to the recent spell of good weather.
        
        Sitting among them, Margaret watched her husband.  He'd changed since
their arrival in Cutter Gap.  No longer was Neil apprehensive or unsure
of himself.  Now he moved through the  families with ease and
confidence.  Inwardly, she sighed.  She had harbored some vain hope that
Neil would not be able to adjust after being away for so many years,
that he would be overwhelmed by the apathy and ignorance and return to a
city practice.  As she observed him giving injections, tending to minor
injuries, and merely communicating with those around him, she was
certain he was at peace and would be content to stay in Cutter Gap for
perhaps the rest of his life.  She wondered if she would be able to do
likewise.
        
****
        
        It was late afternoon two weeks later when Neil bounded up the steps of
his cabin.  It had been a busy day – he'd made nearly a dozen calls all
across the mountains, treating everything from dysentery to depression. 
Yet, none of his patients was seriously ill and, for the first time in
nearly a week, he had arrived home before dark.  If luck held, he would
not have to venture out again that night.  He looked forward to sharing
a quiet meal and relaxing evening with his wife.  
        
        Margaret had been carrying her child for less than three months, but
the pregnancy seemed to consume her.  Neil was thrilled that planning
for the baby gave his wife a new passion and sense of purpose.  She had
pored through his medical texts and, when that failed to satisfy her,
she had sent away for additional books and pamphlets on childrearing. 
Neil had doubts as to their accuracy or usefulness, but said nothing for
fear of disturbing his wife's buoyant mood. 

        Although not entirely sure what contributed to her change in attitude,
he was heartened that she no rarely complained about his frequent
evening calls.  Nevertheless, with a baby on the way, he needed to
divert his own efforts and make his family his first priority.  He
intended to start that very night.

        "Margaret," he called as he pushed open the cabin door.  "I'm home!" 
When he did not see his wife in the main room and she did not rush down
the stairs, he tried again.  "Margaret, are you here?"  His query was
met with eerie silence.  He looked around the cabin, puzzled to see no
evidence of dinner preparations or of any recent human activity.

        He briefly wondered if she'd gone to visit Fairlight.  Since learning
of her pregnancy, Margaret seemed to have formed a tenuous bond with
their mountain neighbor.  Even so, it was unlike Margaret to be out late
in the day.  This time of year, darkness still came early, and his wife
was reluctant to travel the mountain paths after twilight.  
        
        Dropping his bags inside the door and tossing his coat onto a chair, he
climbed the steps, calling as he went, his voice tinged with alarm. 
"Margaret?  Margaret?"  

        When he reached the top of the stairs, he discovered his wife.  Clad in
her long white nightgown, she huddled in the corner of the bedroom
beneath the window.  "Margaret?" he called quietly, edging toward her. 
She did not respond as he knelt down next to her.  "Margaret, what's
wrong?" he asked, putting his arms around her shoulders.  He felt her
tense at his touch.

        "Are you ill?  Did someone hurt you?  Margaret, please talk to me," he
pleaded softly.

        For a moment, she said nothing, refusing to meet his concerned gaze. 
Finally, slowly, she looked up at him, her face drawn and her eyes
streaked with red.  "Oh, Neil.  I'm so sorry."

        "Margaret, what is it?  Please tell me."

        "I lost our baby," she whimpered.

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

***********************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 18
Previously:  Margaret tells Neil she's lost the baby.
Author:  Greer 
***********************

        "You lost--  What do you mean?" Neil asked tightly, fear squeezing his
throat.

        "I lost it."  She looked down at her clenched hands.  "It's dead."

        Neil froze, unable to speak or move.  For a moment he gripped
Margaret's arm, not knowing if he was giving or receiving strength.  He
tried to think, to force words from his mouth and found himself unable
to do either.  Finally, instinctively, the physician in him took over. 
He picked up his wife and carried her to the bed.  Only then did he
notice the red stain that spread across the lower part of her nightgown.
 He laid her down, sat down beside her, and gently stroked her hair. 

        For a moment, Margaret said nothing, her eyes expressionless.  Then, as
if seeing him for the first time, she sniffed, "Neil?  Is it really
you?"

        "Yes, Margaret," he said soothingly.  "I'm here."

        "Help me, Neil.  Please help me."  This time it was Margaret who
reached for Neil's arm.

        "What happened, darling?"  

        Her nails dug painfully into his forearm.  "This morning after you
left, I started having these terrible pains," she sobbed.  "And then I
started bleeding.  It wouldn't stop.  I didn't know what to do.  I was
so scared."  

        "Sshh, there now," he murmured softly.  "Don't be frightened.  I'm here
to take care of you."

        "Oh, Mac.  What did I do?  What did I do wrong?"  Her eyes begged him
for an answer.
        
        "Nothing, my love.  You've done nothing wrong.  I promise you that." 
He squeezed Margaret's hand.  

        For a moment neither spoke.  Neil started to rise, but Margaret pulled
him back.  "Don't leave me," she begged.  

        "I won't leave you.  I'm only going downstairs to get my bag so I can
take care of you," he said gently.  He resisted the urge to bolt from
Margaret's side.  He had been traipsing around the Cove helping others,
leaving his own wife to face this trauma alone.  The physician in him
knew that, medically, his presence would have been irrelevant.  But that
did not absolve him of guilt for leaving Margaret in the cabin day after
day and night after night.  Suddenly, he had to get out of that room, if
only for a moment.
        
****

        Margaret remained silent as Neil attended to her medical needs and
helped her into a fresh nightgown.  When he was finished, he sat on the
bed next to his wife, holding her hand and slowly stroking her face.

        "It's dead, isn't it?"

        "Margaret, you've had a miscarriage," Neil explained gently.  He hated
himself for resorting to medical terminology.  But he could not yet face
the fact that their baby, his child, had died.  Thinking of the issue
clinically, as a physician, made the result somehow easier to accept.

        "My baby's dead.  I killed it."

        Neil was taken aback by the vehemence of her statement.  "Margaret," he
tried to soothe her.  "Don't say that.  This isn't your fault.  You
didn't do anything wrong," he reassured her.  "This happens sometimes
for no reason at all."

        "No, it was my fault."  Margaret turned remorseful.  "Look at me.  What
kind of mother would I be?  I can't even cook a decent meal.  How would
I ever take care of a baby?" 
        
        "Don't talk like that," he scolded gently.  "I didn't find any
permanent damage.  We'll be able to have many children.  You'll make a
wonderful mother."  He tried to inject hope into his voice, hope that at
this moment he did not feel.

        "No," Margaret almost shouted.  "I'm not meant to have children.  I
can't be a mother."

        "Margaret, please don't blame yourself."  He took a deep breath,
frustrated with Margaret's unwillingness to relinquish blame and angry
with himself for his frustration.  "This was nothing you did."  Over and
over again, Neil had mouthed the same words, trying to convince Margaret
of their sincerity.  She blamed herself for the baby's death and he
blamed himself for not being with her when it happened.
        
        "I was so scared, Neil."  Margaret's voice was now a whimper.  "I
didn't know what to do."

        Margaret sounded so forlorn, and her vulnerability only reinforced his
guilt.  "I know.  I should have been here for you.  I shouldn't have
stayed away for such a long time."  
        
        She appeared not to hear him.  "I knew I couldn't have a baby," she
wailed.  "Someone like me doesn't deserve a baby of her own.  This was
God's punishment."

        Neil was having trouble keeping up with his wife's changing emotions. 
He had tried to answer her concerns rationally, but her heightened
emotional state impeded her understanding.  "A miscarriage is not a
punishment," he replied sharply.  "And no God would do such a thing." 
He immediately regretted his tone, if not his words.  Margaret needed
his compassion, not his anger.  

        "It's my punishment for being a bastard child.   For thinking I could
have a baby of my own."

        Neil again tried to console his wife.  "Don't say that.  This is no
one's fault." 

        "How can you say that?  You knew something was wrong from the
beginning."  Her demeanor changed.  Suddenly her tone became harsh,
accusatory.  "If you'd been here--" she started.

        Neil was taken aback by her stinging words.  "Margaret, I knew no such
thing."  He forced himself not to lash out at her.  "I wish more than
anything I had been here with you.  But my being here would not have
changed what happened."

        "Don't spout that medical nonsense with me, Neil," Margaret cried
hysterically.  "I know why my baby died.  Look at us.  We're not fit to
be parents."

        "Let's not start that again, Margaret.  This was an accident.  We can
try again."  Neil was emotionally exhausted.  

        "No!" she almost shouted.  "I'll never be a mother.  I'm not good
enough!"  Margaret was starting to breathe heavily, holding her stomach
as she writhed in pain.  Suddenly, she was aware of Neil pushing back
the sleeve of her nightgown.  "What are you doing?" she asked
suspiciously.

        "This will help you sleep," he explained, bringing a hypodermic into
view.

        "No, Mac.  Don't.  Please."  She tried to squirm away.

        "It's all right," he said soothingly.  "This will help with the pain
and let you rest."  He shot the contents into her arm.  After putting
away his instruments, he held his wife's hand and stroked her cheek with
the back of his hand.  "Close your eyes, Margaret," he encouraged.

        "No, please.  I don't want to sleep.  I don't want to dream about my
baby."  Margaret continued to murmur until the drug took effect.

*************************
************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 19
Previously:  Margaret lost her baby due to an accidental miscarriage and
blames herself for the baby's death.  Neil, too, feels guilty for being
away when the miscarriage occurred.  After trying unsuccessfully to
console her, Neil gives Margaret a sedative.  It is now the following
morning.
Author:  Greer
*************************

        Margaret awoke to Neil's concerned face staring down at her, his hand
entwined with hers.  The late morning sun streamed in the window and the
exhaustion in Neil's eyes and stubble of his beard told her that he had
not slept or shaved during the night.  "My baby."  She squinted as she
fought through the grogginess.  "I dreamed I lost my baby."

        Neil began stroking the back of her hand with his own.  "It's all
right, Margaret."

        She shook her head to clear the confusion.  As she tried to sit up, she
gasped and grabbed at her abdomen.  "It hurts."
        
        Neil eased her back onto the bed and replaced his hand over hers.  "I
know it hurts," he said softly.  "Here, turn onto your side."  He helped
her curl up facing him.

        "Our baby's gone."  Margaret's tone was one of resignation as the
memories of the previous day resurfaced.  "I killed our baby."

        Neil's despair returned as he realized Margaret still blamed herself
for the miscarriage.  "No, Margaret," he said, almost harshly.  "Our
baby died but it's nobody's fault.  It's nothing you did.  Nothing you
could have done."  He continued to console her until once again she fell
into a fitful sleep.  

****

        Margaret awakened to the sound of furious knocking downstairs.  "No,"
she cried softly, grabbing for Neil's arm.

        "I'll send them away," he assured her, planting a soft kiss on her
forehead as he rose from the bed.  "I'll just be a minute." 

        Bob Allen stood outside the door, his manner conveying a sense of
urgency.  "Ben Pentland says there's been an accident on the road ta El
Pano and they needs ya real bad."  Bob's simple words conveyed the
severity of the situation.  Any other day, Neil would have already
reached for his bags.  Yet the thought of Margaret grieving alone caused
him to hesitate.  She needed him now more than at any time in her life. 
He had promised to put his family first.  He couldn't leave her now.

        Neil turned toward the staircase.  "Bob, I can't.  It's Margaret. 
She's-- ill.  I can't leave now."

        Bob spoke almost inaudibly, shuffling his feet.  "Twas Jeb's wagon in
the accident."  Neil reeled backwards as if kicked in the stomach.  "If
ya like, I'll run over an' git Rebecca ta sit with yer woman," Bob
offered.  "Shouldna take but a minute."  He looked at Neil leaning
against the stair railing, eyes vacant.  "Doc?  Neil?  Ya awright?"

        Neil shook his head and took a deep breath.  He blinked rapidly and
forced himself to collect his thoughts.  "Yes.  Go ahead.  I'll be ready
by the time you're back."

        When he returned to the bedroom, Margaret's eyes followed him
expectantly.  "Margaret," he apologized, "I'm sorry but I have to go
out.  There's been a serious accident near El Pano.  Jeb's been hurt." 
He closed to within a few inches of the bed but remained standing.

        "Neil, don't leave me," she begged tearfully, reaching out a trembling
hand toward him.  Her ashen face was stained with tears.  As she tried
to rise into a sitting position, pain again overtook her and, with a
small cry, she fell back onto the bed.

        "Margaret, you must lie down."  He again eased her onto the pillows. 
Neil's face was drawn as he tried to consider his options logically,
scientifically.  Margaret was overcome with pain and grief, unable to
accept her loss.  She had no friends in the Cove other than perhaps
Fairlight.  This was his responsibility – he was her husband and it was
his child whose life had ended a few hours ago.  But his best friend lay
critically injured on a lonely road.  Bob Allen would never exaggerate
the seriousness of the situation.  If he did not leave now, Jeb would
likely die. 
        
        "You know I don't want to go."  His voice was tight.  "But I must. 
Jeb's been badly hurt."  He searched her eyes for some sign of
understanding and found none.  "Bob's gone to fetch Rebecca to stay with
you until I get back.  You won't be alone.  And I'll be back the minute
I'm no longer needed."

        "But I need you," she sobbed.  "Don't go.  Please don't leave me alone
again.  Please!"

        Neil sat down next to his wife.  "Margaret, I want more than anything
to stay here with you.  But there's no one else to take care of Jeb.  I
have to go.  You understand, don't you?"  As the words tumbled from his
mouth, Neil wondered if he was convincing Margaret or himself.

        Margaret turned away, tears spilling from her eyes.  After a moment she
felt him rise from the bed.  She was dimly aware of Rebecca Holt's
concerned voice murmuring words of reassurance.  They meant nothing to
her.  A short time later, the sound of the cabin door closing told
Margaret her husband had left her.

****
        
        Grey clouds formed a seamless blanket with the horizon.  The ground was
thick and muddy from the melting snow, which still coated the tips of
the mountains.  The icy chill of winter had long since departed, but the
air remained refreshingly cool.  The sodden paths were eerily silent,
with only a few animals scurrying about in search of food.  Amidst the
brown and barren trees, tiny green buds had begun to appear on the
branches.
        
        Riding through this scenery, Neil and Bob were oblivious to all but
their objective.  No words passed between the men as they covered the
nearly five miles as quickly as conditions  permitted.  As each stride
of the horse took him further from Margaret, Neil's thoughts returned to
his wife.  Once again he had failed her.  But, much as he hated himself
for deserting her, he would have felt no better staying home and leaving
Jeb out here to die.  
        
        Approaching the accident scene, Neil saw Jeb's overturned wooden cart
resting precariously along the edge of a small ravine.  A few
possessions dotted the nearby ground.  Amidst the wreckage, Ben Pentland
stooped over a dark form.  Neil dismounted at a full canter, leaving Bob
to tie up the horses.  

        "Doc's here," Ben reported, giving way to Neil.  "I tried gittin' ‘im
outta thar but coundna.  He keeps sayin' somethin' ‘bout John," Ben
added.
        
        Barely acknowledging the mail carrier, Neil knelt next to his friend,
his heart in his throat.  A corner of the cart rested upside down
diagonally across Jeb's torso, leaving the mountain man's body pinned in
the dank ground.  Neil recognized that spongy mud had probably saved
Jeb's life.  One look at Jeb's face told Neil his friend was in
considerable pain. 

        "Jeb, it's Neil."  Seized by unrelenting and overwhelming panic, Neil
was not entirely successful in keeping his voice calm as he positioned
himself within Jeb's view.  "We're going to get you out, but first I
need to know where you're hurt."  His hands were already examining Jeb's
head.  

        "No!" Jeb cried forcefully, jerking away from Neil's touch.  "John," he
gasped.

        Neil looked at him quizzically.  The boy was nowhere to be seen.  He
wondered if Jeb could be hallucinating.  "What about John?" 

        "Throwed."  It seemed to take all of Jeb's strength to utter that
single word.

        The doctor's eyes narrowed.  "Jeb, I don't understand.  Now, lie
still," he said impatiently.  "I need to examine you--"

        "John.  Throwed."  More than his words, the horror in Jeb's eyes
conveyed his message.

        "Are you saying John was with you?  That he was in the accident?"  The
injured man nodded.  "He was thrown from the cart?"  Again a nod.  Neil
looked around the barren landscape and saw nothing amiss.  "Where?" 
With his eyes, Jeb indicated the direction.  

        "We'll find ‘im."  Bob shouted as he and Ben sped off.  

        "Jeb."  Neil tried to refocus his friend's attention after they had
gone.  "Tell me where you hurt."

        "Gut."  A pause.  Then, with renewed effort, "leg.  Arm."  Jeb closed
his eyes.

        It was nearly impossible for Neil to evaluate Jeb with the cart resting
atop him.  But from Jeb's own description, Neil had little doubt that
his friend had internal injuries and at least a few broken bones.

        "Doc, over here."  Ben's cry came from about fifty yards away.

        Neil saw Jeb tense at the news.  "They've found John.  I'll go have a
look at him but you must lie absolutely still until I come back."  He
received the slightest of nods in response.

        Neil could not shed his abject terror as he picked up his bag and
hurried across the muddy field toward a stretch of pine trees in the
distance.  It seemed this nightmare would never end.  He was almost
afraid to look at the young boy slumped against a tree.  

        "He's alive, I think," Ben said.  "Breathin' an' all."  

        "Ben, go stay with Jeb.  Keep him calm and don't let him move an inch. 
I'll be right there."  As Neil knelt next to the boy, he saw that Ben
was correct – he was alive and breathing.  "John, can you hear me? 
John, wake up."  Neil ran his fingers over the boy's head and neck,
relieved to find no obvious signs of injury.  As he checked for trauma
and broken bones, the boy regained consciousness and started to moan
softly.  

        "John, it's Dr. MacNeill.  You've been in an accident.  You're going to
be fine."

        "Daddy."  The boy's eyes roved his surroundings.

        "You'll see him in a minute," Neil said curtly, carefully turning
John's head to face him.  "Listen to me now.  Tell me where it hurts."

        "Head hurts."  Neil was not surprised.  He had little doubt that John
had sustained a concussion in the fall.  The boy took another breath and
sobbed.

        "Is he okay, Doc?" Bob asked, peering over his shoulder.

        Neil glanced his shoulder at Bob.  "Yes.  A concussion and a few broken
ribs, I think.  Why don't you carry him back.  But be gentle with those
ribs."

        Neil sprinted ahead of them back to Jeb.  Several more men had arrived
and were preparing to lift the cart.  "No!" Neil cried, rushing toward
them.  "Not yet."  He bent over Jeb, speaking softly.  "I've seen John. 
He's taken a nasty bump on the head but otherwise he's fine.  Bob's
bringing him over now."  He saw Jeb's features relax.  Neil stood and
spoke to the men.  "He'll need more than I can do for him here.  We've
got to get him to a cabin.  We'll need a stretcher as well -- he can't
be jostled around."  

        One man ran off promising to alert the occupants of the nearest house. 
Others quietly collected branches and used their coats to form a
stretcher.  Only when they had finished did Neil kneel again next to
Jeb.  "They're going to lift the cart off you now.  When they do, it'll
hurt like the devil."  Jeb nodded solemnly.  Neil turned to the men. 
"All right then."

        Jeb's scream as the men raised the cart sent shivers down Neil's spine.
 Once it was clear, it took Neil only an instant to confirm his worst
fears.  In addition to the internal injuries, Jeb had a fractured arm
and a deep laceration along his leg.  With each touch, Jeb groaned
softly.  As he was lifted onto the stretcher, he caught sight of his son
being comforted by Bob.  Only then did Jeb's eyes fill with tears.  


************************
Title:  Return to Cutter Gap, Part 20
Previously:  Margaret miscarries.  Neil leaves her to take care of Jeb,
who has been injured near El Pano.
Author: Greer
************************

        Hurrying toward the cabin, Neil pushed thoughts of Margaret out of his
mind as he focused on his upcoming task.  He knew the surgery would be
intricate and dangerous.  Jeb was bleeding internally and Neil had no
way to replace the lost blood.  He had to find the source of the
bleeding quickly or his friend would die.  

        As he prepared for surgery, he glanced helplessly around the cabin.  He
desperately needed another set of hands, but who among this rag-tag
group of mountain men could be counted on to assist him?  He removed his
instruments from the kettle of boiling water and began laying them out
in a precise order.  

        There was a slight commotion at the cabin door and the men parted to
allow Fairlight through.  At the sight of her husband lying prostrate on
the table, she nearly collapsed.  Neil was quickly at her side, guiding
her to a chair.

        "John," she whispered.  "Where's John?  He's not--"

        Neil turned her to face him.  "Fairlight, listen to me," he said in a
no-nonsense voice.  Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his.  "John's
fine.  He was thrown from the cart and hit his head.  They took him next
door and Martha Curtis is watching him."  He searched for understanding.
 "I promise you, Fairlight, he's fine."  

        She nodded gratefully, then mouthed the question she so desperately
wanted answered.  "And Jeb?"

        Neil sat down next to her, taking her hand in his.  "I won't lie to
you.  Jeb's been badly hurt."  His voice was firm.  "He has internal
injuries.  I have to operate to stop the bleeding."  

        She bit her lower lip.  "Will he be all right?"

        Neil did not flinch from her gaze.  "I don't know.  I'll do my best but
he's already lost a lot of blood."

        Fairlight swallowed hard.  "Kin I talk to ‘im?"

        "Of course.  I've given him something for the pain, so he may be a bit
groggy.  Keep him calm."  Neil walked her over to where Jeb lay
motionless on the dining room table.  She reached for his right hand and
noticed the arm was swollen and slightly askew.

        "His arm is broken," Neil explained, returning to his preparations. 
"I'll set it when he's under the anesthetic."  

        "Oh Jeb," she cried, kissing her husband's forehead and cradling his
face with her fingers.

        "Fairlight," he croaked, awakening at her touch.  "I'm so sorry. 
John--"

        "Sshh.  Don't talk.  Doc says John's doin' fine."

        "I made a mess o' things."

        "Ye jes worry ‘bout gittin' well.  Neil's gonna take good care o' ya."

        Jeb's eyes met hers.  "I don't want ta leave ya."  His eyes brimmed
with tears.

        "Don't ya be talkin' such nonsense."  Fairlight fought to keep her
voice strong and steady.  "We're gonna be all right."

        "I dunno.  I'se hurt real bad.  I seen it in Doc's eyes.  Pray fer me,
Fairlight," he urged.  "Pray real hard."  His eyes closed.

        "I will, Jeb.  I promise."

        "Fairlight."  Neil stood behind her.  "I need to get started."

        Fairlight squeezed her husband's hand tightly as if she could give him
strength.  "Don't ya leave me, Jeb Spencer."  She turned away and buried
her face in Neil's chest as he led her toward the door.  When she
realized what he was doing, she tried to pull away.  "No, I want to stay
here with Jeb."

        Neil shook his head.  "No, Fairlight.  John needs you now.  I'll let
you know the moment the surgery is over."   He nodded at Bob, who waited
at the door.  "I'll take good care of him."  He put Fairlight into Bob's
waiting arms.  Only when they were out of sight did he call out.  "I
need some help."  

        Nathan O'Teale, the young man injured at Neil's cabin so many months
ago, stepped from the shadows.  "I'll do it."

****

        As Neil made his first incision, Nathan's knees buckled.  "Still with
me?" Neil asked, wiping away the excess blood.  The young assistant took
a deep breath and nodded slowly, keeping his gaze averted from the
table.

        "I need a clamp."  The boy looked blankly from Neil to the instrument
table.  "The one that looks like pliers, next to the scalpels." 
Nathan's hand roamed over several instruments.  Neil tried to keep one
eye on the wound and the other on Nathan.  "No, no, yes, that's it," he
said, grabbing the instrument from the young man's fingers.  

        "Another clamp."  A moment later, "sponge."
        
        As the surgery progressed, each request required a new round of
explanations.  Forceps, hemostats, specialized scissors -- all were
foreign to the young mountain man, who vainly tried to keep pace with
the doctor's commands.

        Neil groaned inwardly as his hands probed Jeb's internal organs for
evidence of damage.  This would never do.  Nathan was well meaning but
it was all he could do not to faint at Neil's every move.  He had no
concept of surgery and no idea which instrument the doctor needed.  At
this pace, Jeb would be dead long before they finished the surgery.  

        Neil worked in virtual silence.  He knew he should offer encouragement
to his young assistant, but could not.  The complex surgery demanded all
of his attention and any remaining emotional energy was given over to
thoughts of Margaret.  

        More than an hour into the operation, the sound of raised voices from
outside the cabin interrupted the eerie silence.  Neil glanced up
briefly, then returned to his work.  "Those forceps," Neil said pointing
to the desired instrument.  "Nathan."  Neil tried to redirect the
attention of his assistant.  "Forceps.  Those, right there."

        Suddenly, a middle-aged woman rushed into the room.  "I was in El Pano
and heard about the accident," she announced without preamble.  "I
thought I might be of some assistance."  Nathan stared at her
gratefully.

        "What I need is a trained nurse," Neil replied tersely without looking
up.  "Sponge," he said to Nathan, who reluctantly turned back to his
tasks.

        "And that is exactly what I am."

        This time Neil did look up in surprise.  He nodded toward the corner,
too intensely focused on his work to question her.  "You can wash up
over there.  This man has internal injuries," he explained.  "I fear his
spleen is ruptured."

        A few minutes later, the woman approached the makeshift operating
table, displacing an obviously relieved Nathan.  "D'ya need me any more,
Doc?"

        "What?  Oh, no, you can go.  Thank you."  The young man scurried out
the cabin door.
        "Forceps."  Neil was shocked to find the instrument in his hand before
he had completed the word.  Again, he glanced up at his new assistant.

        "He's lost a lot of blood," the nurse commented.

        "I know.  Sponge."

        Neil's pace quickened as instruments were immediately slapped into his
hand, at times before he even called for them as the two professionals
quickly began to function as a team.  For the first time in several
hours, the cloud of dread that hung over him started to lift and Neil
began to believe that Jeb might survive this night.  

        After finishing the abdominal surgery, the two turned their attentions
to the fractured arm and deep cut than ran along Jeb's thigh.  More than
four hours after he had started, Neil placed his last suture.  He
stepped back from the table and stretched.  

        "That was a fine job, Doctor."  Admiration filled the woman's voice as
she tossed soiled instruments into boiling water.  "I believe the
patient will live."

        "Thanks to you," Neil replied giving the woman a tired smile.  He
looked over at Jeb, asleep in the cabin's only bed.  "He's not out of
danger yet, though.  I need to talk to Fairlight -- his wife.  She's in
the next cabin.  Can you stay with him a spell?"

        "Of course."

        Neil started to leave the cabin, but turned back at the door.  "I've
been quite rude.  I should have introduced myself.  I'm Neil MacNeill." 
He was unprepared for the expression of shock that crossed the nurse's
face.  Silently, she mouthed his name.  "And you're--" he prodded.

        "Alice Henderson," she said quietly.  "Margaret's mother."

        Neil felt the blood drain from his face and the air rush out of his
lungs.

The End.