Title: "All Thy Ways Be Established" Author: Waldenellis;
please feel free to contact me through the PAX forum
Disclaimer: Catherine Marshall's beautiful story of
Christy is owned by the Marshall-LeSourd Family, L.L.C. I
am in no way seeking profit or credit for her story. I
am continuing the story of Christy for my own amusement
only.  Acknowledgements: This story would never have
been written without endless encouragement, feedback,
and virtual chocolate from the Christy Forum Young'uns.
To my dear friends RachelSunshine, Ganymede, Janis Lee,
and Ellen-thank you! Mwah!


Part One Summary: The beginning! 

The sun was setting low over Cutter Gap when the children
tore across the clearing in front of the MacNeill cabin.
"Reckon it was four, mebbe five foot long, at least,"
Jeb Spencer panted, holding onto his hat for dear life.
"Honest, it were, Fairlight!"

Fairlight Allen slowed and tossed him a coy look over
her shoulder.  "Jeb Spencer, you're foolin' with me!
I knowed you ain't caught no five-foot fish.  You ain't
that good a fisherman.  Is he now, Neil?"

The curly-haired boy slung his arm around Jeb's heaving
shoulders and grinned.  "Aw, leave ‘im be, Fairlight.
He jest thinks you're cute."

Jeb tensed. "Neil MacNeill, you take that back!  I ain't
fixin' on no gal-woman!"  Fairlight giggled to herself
as Jeb chased Neil up the steps and tackled him with a
flying leap.  Boys. Always so eager for a fight.

"Awright, awright! Uncle!" hollered Neil, ducking Jeb's
punches.

Jeb raised an angry eyebrow and sat back on Neil's
chest. "You sure you had enough?  No trouble a-tall fer
me to wash yer mouth out with soap, too."

Neil had to smother a smile, but he made his eyes wide
and shook his head innocently up at Jeb.  "Aw, c'mon, Jeb.
I'm only teasing."

"Yeah, well," Jeb stared at Neil. "T'ain't funny." He
climbed off, but his slitted eyes held Neil's as he
leaned back against the porch rail, still breathing hard.
Neil had to gulp for air, still a little winded.  Everybody
in the Cove knew Jeb and Fairlight had been dead gone on
each other for months now-at least, everybody under the
age of 20.  Neil wondered why Jeb was so touchy about it
all of a sudden.

"Jeb--"  Fairlight began.  Jeb looked at her, his face
hard, and she stopped.  Whatever she had been about to
say died on her lips.  There was a moment of stillness.
Fairlight looked away.

"Neil," said a voice behind them. "It's time for supper."
Slowly, the children turned to see Neil's mother standing
in the cabin doorway, batter-filled spoon still in hand.

No one spoke.  In one glance, Fiona MacNeill took in
Neil's torn shirt, Jeb's sullen face, and Fairlight's
sudden interest in the floorboards.  She sighed.  It was
not the first fight Jeb and Neil had been in lately.
"What's going on here?"

No one spoke.  Fiona set her spoon down and wiped her
hands on her apron as she waited.  After a moment, she
pulled the corners of her mouth back and crossed her arms.
"All right, now, it's getting late.  Neil, I want you to
go set the table.  Fairlight, you get on home.  And tell
your mama I'll be over to see her soon's I get the dishes
cleared."  Fairlight nodded, her thirteen-year-old's legs
stumbling down the wooden stairs.

When Fairlight was gone, Mrs. MacNeill looked at Jeb.
"Jeb Spencer, what just happened?"

Silence.

"Is this how you treat your best friend? With punches?
And hateful words?"

Jeb mumbled something to his feet.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, no, ma'am."  Jeb looked up at Fiona, his eyes
full of tears.

She took a quick step backwards. "Jeb, honey, I . . .what's
wrong?"

But Jeb was already flying down the stairs towards home.
Fiona stared after him for a long moment.  Then she turned
and stepped inside the cabin, licking her chocolately
spoon, and wondering what on earth had gotten into the
two best friends in all of Cutter Gap.


Part Two 

Summary: Young Jeb and Neil are fighting In the
fading light, Fiona could just see her son's silhouette
leaning against the kitchen shelves.  Neil was staring
out the window, lost in thought.

Silently, Fiona lit the lamp and measured ingredients
for dumplings into a bowl.  For the hundredth time,
she wondered whether he was unhappy in Cutter Gap.
Last summer, Neil had spent a week playing gofer to a group
of Baltimore doctors-one of them, a distant relation from
the city--on a hunting trip in the Cove.  Fiona had gladly
let Neil go, figuring he would come home rested from his
schoolwork and eager to help his daddy with the farm.

Instead, Neil had talked of nothing but Baltimore since.
Had Fiona ever been there?  Did she know they had real
moving picture theatres there, where boys Neil's age could
spend the afternoon, all by themselves?  Buildings taller
than trees?  And best of all-real schools.  Not like the
one-room school Neil attended in El Pano, but big campuses,
with many different teachers and whole libraries full
of books.  Neil could hardly imagine a place like that.

Fiona had listened to her son's eager descriptions of the
city with a small smile.  Someday, maybe, Neil would get
the chance to visit Baltimore.  A trip that far would
surely satisfy the most wandering of hearts.  And then
maybe he would stop picking fights with Jeb.  And stop
gazing into the distance like that every time she turned
her back.

Neil began to pull plates down from the shelf and looked
over at her.  "I didn't start that fight, Ma," he said
quietly.

Fiona nodded and waited.

"Jeb hates me."  Neil's fists clenched, remembering.

Fiona sat her bowl on the table and patted the bench beside
her. "This the same Jeb who whittled you a fishing pole
when yours fell in the river yesterday?"

Neil's suspicious face relaxed a tiny degree as he sat.
"Yes'm."

"Same Jeb who got a hidin' for sneakin' out them honeycombs
of his daddy's for you two to eat last week?"  Neil's eyes
widened, then caught Fiona's twinkle.

Neil grinned sheepishly.  "Yes, ma'am."  For a moment he
looked thoughtful, but then darkened again.  "He's awful
tetchious lately, Momma.  And he ain't never paying
attention in school no more.  All he does is talk about
Fairlight."

"About Fairlight?"

Neil rolled his eyes.  "Oh, Momma, he been gone on her
for nigh on three months now.  Thinks nobody knows it, but
ever'body does.  He's moonin' about her somethin' silly."

For a moment, Fiona's hand paused over her bowl of dough.
Then it seemed to Neil that she changed her mind about
something, and she smiled instead.  "Not that you'd know
anything ‘bout moonin' silly over a gal, now, would you,
baby child?"

Neil wrinkled his nose-but the image of a certain girl with
a smile bright as sunshine crept into his mind anyway.  And
then, realizing he hadn't said anything yet, he arranged
his face into what he hoped was an unconcerned look.

Fiona grinned. "Son, would you bring in some more wood?
We got to get supper on afore your daddy gets home."

"Too late, love, I'm already here." Fiona and Neil turned
to see the tall figure in the doorway. Stamping his
boots on the threshhold, Robert MacNeill crossed the room
in one long stride to drop a kiss on Fiona's forehead.
"Who's moonin' over who?"

Fiona pushed his dipping fingers away from her bowl as
she kissed him back.  "It's a sure thing nobody's gonna
be moonin' over this dinner unless you leave some left
for the pan."

Robert smiled and took the stack of plates from Neil.
"Thank you, Son.  You go on and wash up."

As Neil went out, Fiona turned her dough onto a pan on the
fireplace and joined Robert at the table.  "Welcome home,"
she said, laying her hand on her husband's arm.

"Thank you.  Supper smells good."  Robert laid his hand
over hers and looked down at her.  "Neil's shirt's all
torn up.  He been fightin' with Jeb again?"  Fiona nodded.
"I dunno what's got into those two, but it's gonna stop."

Fiona rubbed his shirtsleeve.  "They're just boys, Robert."

"No, they ain't, Fiona. Neil's almost a man.  And I don't
want him fightin'. No MacNeill's been part of that feud
yet, and it won't be my son that's the first.  Man does
enough killin' to feed his family without killin' his
neighbors, too."

"I know that, Robert.  Neil and Jeb ain't feudin'.
They're just bein' friends.  Hit's that age. Reckon they'll
outgrow it soon enough."  She smiled softly, remembering.
"Reckon you did."

Robert started to answer, but Neil was back, arms full
of wood.  Fiona gave her husband a look, and Robert didn't
argue.  Neil would hear no talk of the mountain grudges
from his mouth.  Not tonight.  Feuding was no business
for young ears.


Summary:  Fiona learned that Fairlight has recently been
the source of some tension between young Neil and Jeb.

Part Three 

After supper, Fiona MacNeill walked down to
the Allen cabin.  In the silent darkness, the leaves
crunched loudly under her feet, and Fiona shivered.
Soon her sweater would be too cold for the mountain nights.
She would have to confine her visiting to sunlight hours.
Much as she loved the changing seasons in the Smokies,
she missed the freedom of summer's warmth and long days
when autumn came.  There was something suffocating in
knowing that the snow would soon stop most travel in the
Cove altogether.

Just then, a squirrel darted across the path, cheeks
fat with treasure.  Fiona watched it scamper up a tree
and disappear into the branches.  As she stared up into
the shadows, she felt a sudden, irrational sympathy with
that squirrel.  She could understand the need to stockpile
something safe against the gloom of winter.  If she could,
she would hoard up walks like this so she could take
one out later and admire it.  She would wrap one up for
Neil, too.  A piece of the Cove to take with him, to warm
his hands in his pockets as he fought his way through the
snowy drifts.  To school.  To El Pano.  To remember her by.

She shook her head clear of squirrels and snowdrifts.
She had reached the birch trees that marked the edge of
Allen land, glistening silver in the moonlight.  "Hallo!
Sarah!" she called out.  Almost immediately, Sarah Allen's
figure appeared on the porch, waving her down towards
the cabin.  Fiona noted silently that Sarah had been
expecting her.

"Fiona," said Sarah as she arrived.  "Fairlight said you
was comin'.  Everything all right?"

Fiona chose her words carefully.  "I hope so.  Come for
a walk with me?"

Sarah frowned.  "All right.  Wait 'till I tell Sam I'm
goin'."  When she returned, they walked down the path,
watching the moon as they measured the silence between
them.

"Neil ain't himself lately," Fiona said finally, attempting
a lighter tone than she felt.

Sarah smiled.  "Still talkin' a blue streak about
Baltimore?"

"Yes, he is.  Lord, Sarah.  Fourteen wasn't all that long
ago, ye know?  I remember swearin' to myself I wasn't
never gonna forget what hit felt like. . ."

"And now ye've gone and forgotten," Sarah finished.

Fiona nodded. "Like I done lived four lifetimes since.
He ain't happy here.  I know it.  But I don't know why."

Sarah looked thoughtful.  "Baby birds got ta make they
own way eventually, Fiona.  But they don't always know
that's what's itchin' 'em.  Reckon sometimes they got ta
kick up a fuss in the nest, get plumb tired a' lookin' at
the same tree branches ever' day, complain about havin' to
eat them same old worms all the time.  Reckon they gotta,
'fore they git the nerve to see what else is out there."

Fiona raised an eyebrow.  "You sayin' I'm feedin' my boy
worms fer supper?"

Sarah giggled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"I'm sayin' Neil's gettin' ready ta fly-only he don't know
hit yet."

Fiona considered this possibility.  Somehow, the
idea of Neil sprouting wings and flying away
somewhere-anywhere-didn't make her feel any better.
She watched her breath freeze in the air, and she shivered.

Sarah let go of her shoulders and took her hand
tightly. "But that ain't why you came to see me tonight,
is it?" she said quietly.

"No."  Fiona was silent for a moment.  "Neil says Jeb
Spencer is sweet on Fairlight.  Has been since summertime."

She didn't expect the way her words would hit Sarah, who
crumpled like paper thrown in the fire.  Fiona sank to
her knees beside her and grabbed Sarah's face between
her hands.  "Sarah?  Sarah, come on now, you're all right."

Sarah nodded and held on to Fiona's wrists, trying to
slow her breathing.  "I'm all right.  I didn't know."
Her eyes were sad as they met Fiona's.  "I didn't know."

"I know you didn't."  Fiona kept her voice low and calm.
"And I'm sorry to be the one to tell you.  If I thought
it waren't serious, I'd'a not even told you.  But I seen
'em together, Sarah.  Jeb and Neil been fightin' about it."

"Jeb and Neil?  What's Neil got to do with it?"

Fiona shook her head.  "I don't know.  Don't make no sense
to me, either.  But Neil says it ain't much of a secret no
more-Jeb's talkin' to him 'bout Fairlight at schooltimes.
Lord only knows why that teacher ain't put a stop to it.
She knows better."

"Oh, no...oh.  Fiona, I--what am I gonna do?"  Sarah's eyes
were clamped shut, but Fiona could see tears beginning to
seep out from under the lashes.  "What happens when Sam
finds out?"

Fiona gripped her hand tighter still and looked hard at the
oak tree above them.  "There any reason," she said slowly,
"he needs to find out?"

Sarah's eyes opened.  "How you figger to keep him from
knowin'?  He watches Fairlight like a hawk.  Ault and
Bob do, too.  Her and Opal, both.  Their baby girls.
Dunno why they ain't noticed it yet, if ever'body else in
the Cove knows."

"Sometimes it's hard to see a thing unless you're lookin'
for it.  If Sam still sees her as his baby, maybe he ain't
thinkin' that way."

Sarah's voice was starting to go slightly hysterical.
"So I should just let her be?  Let her see him?"

"Now, I didn't say that.  Fairlight needs a good
talking-to, Sarah, and you know it as well as I do.
But getting Sam involved ain't gonna help nothin', now,
is it?"

Sarah shook her head in agreement, but she still looked
dejected.

"Come on, it's gettin' cold down here," Fiona said,
brushing leaves from their skirts. "Come on, you all
right."

 "Help me up," said Sarah, and they walked. "Does Jeb's
 parents know?"

"I don't know.  I don't think so.  Ye s'pose Jim Spencer'd
kept quiet 'bout it this long if'n he did?"

A look of disgust settled on Sarah's face.  "Reckon not.
Man's got the quickest trigger finger I ever seen."
She paused.  "'Cept maybe that nephew of theirs.  Rachel's
brother's boy.  You know who I mean-family's from up the
river, near Lyleton."

"Harris?  Harris Taylor?"

"Aye, he's the one.  'Cept his family don't call him Harris
no more.  I heerd Ault call 'im Birds-Eye once, he's sech
a good shot."

"Birds-Eye?  Purty name, fer a fella."

Sarah grimaced.  "Ain't purty the way he kills, Fiona.
Sam's heard bad things 'bout that family."

"Them Taylors was always a mite queer."

"Aye."  Sarah closed her eyes, hand still tightly in
Fiona's, as they made their way back to the Allen cabin.

"You gonna be all right now, Sarah," Fiona said as they
reached the porch.  "I know it.  Your Fairlight's a smart
girl, and she ain't gonna do anything she cain't handle."

Sarah could only nod, but as Fiona turned and climbed the
path home, she stood watching, thankful for such a friend
as this.  And then, remembering Fairlight with a lurch
of her stomach, she went inside to make sure her children
were tucked safely in bed.


Part: Four Summary: Fiona MacNeill has just told Sarah
Allen that Jeb is secretly courting her daughter Fairlight
******************************** 
"Hallo!  U-nited States mail!"

It was nearly noon the next day when they heard the holler
from the creek.  Robert MacNeill pulled on his horse's
reins, pushed the plow firmly into the earth, and brushed
the hair out of his red face.  He waved across the pasture
to the young postman. "Fiona!  It's Ben Pentland come!"

Fiona met the men by the water with three sweating mugs of
sweet cinnamon tea.  "Thank you kindly, ma'am," grinned
Ben, tipping his hat to her and taking a long drink.
"Shore is tasty.  Hot enough to bake a snake out here
today."

 Robert laughed and shook his head.  "And if it ain't
 October already, too.  An Indian summer if ever I seen
 one."

Fiona grinned up at them.  "Mr. Pentland, you didn't come
all the way up here just for some of my tea."

"No, ma'am," Ben said, handing her his mug and digging
into his mail sack. "Got you-all a letter.  All the way
from Baltimore, too!"

 Robert and Fiona exchanged glances.  Baltimore?

 Putting one arm around his wife's waist and stuffing
 the other in his pocket, Robert cleared his throat.
 "You mind readin' it out for us, Ben?"

 Ben nodded and opened the envelope.  He let out a
 low whistle.  "Ooo-weee.  Some mighty fancy writin'-on
 paper, here."  The MacNeills waited, studying his face
 for some hint of what the letter contained.

 "October 10th, 1890 My Dear Robert and Fiona,

Greetings to you all in Cutter Gap!  I trust that the
autumn finds you happy and healthy.  Thank you again for
your hospitality during my visit in August.  I am obliged
to you both for opening your home to me, and particularly
for allowing Neil to accompany my colleagues and me.
His help was invaluable to us, and his love for your
mountains was obvious.  My partners were quite taken
with him.

 It is in regards to Neil that I write you today.
 I know you're aware that he's a very intelligent boy.
 As I'm sure he's told you, he showed a great interest
 in city life, and especially in our stories about the
 schools here in Baltimore.  I admit that I saw in Neil's
 curiosity something of his cousin Harry.

 My dear cousins, I have an offer for you, and I beg you
 to hear me out before refusing.  Let Neil come here, to
 Baltimore, to complete high school.  He will be as welcome
 in my own home as I was in yours.  My congregation here
 has been looking for a worthy young candidate for our new
 scholarship program, and on my recommendation, they have
 agreed to fund Neil's tuition and fees in full.  He can
 enter ninth grade in January with Harry, and will have
 all the opportunities that a young man of his caliber
 ought to have, and which only the city can provide.
 Upon graduation, he may decide whether to return to Cutter
 Gap, or stay ! and continue on to college.

 While I have only Neil's best interests at heart, I
 confess another motive, as well.  Harry, as you know,
 is an only child, and a sickly one at that.  I hope
 that in Neil he might find a companion and friend his
 own age.  I feel certain that the two boys will get on
 well together, and that Neil's enthusiasm and vigor would
 do Harry no end of good.

Cousins, I know that my offer presents you with a difficult
decision.  Please do not hesitate to write if you have
concerns.  My family and I eagerly anticipate the news of
Neil's arrival.

 I remain, Yours faithfully, Richard MacNeill, M.D."

There was silence as Ben finished reading the letter.

"Thank ye, Ben."  Robert's voice was low.  Ben nodded.
Looking at the MacNeills, he seemed to sense that the
mood had changed, and without a word he tucked his sack
under his arm, made his way back across the field, and
disappeared.

 "I don't want you to tell Neil about this letter."
 Robert was still staring after Ben.

 Fiona was aghast.  "What?"

 "You heard me."

 "Robert--"

 "I won't have my son obliged to nobody for an education.
 If Neil wants to leave the Cove so bad, he kin earn the
 money for it himself."

 She paused, felt her face go red.  "And jest where is
 he gonna git that kinda cash money?  We ain't got it
 ourselves!  How d'ye reckon a fourteen year old boy is
 gonna find money his daddy cain't?"

 She knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it.  Her
 husband's eyes hardened as he grabbed her elbow roughly.
 "You ashamed of me now, woman?  I ain't provided for you?
 And for Neil?"

 "No!"  She took a breath.  "No. I'm sorry." She twisted
 her fingers together, searching for the right words.
 "That ain't what I meant.  You work hard for this family,
 and I know it, and Neil knows it.  Robert, it ain't me
 that wants to leave."

 Robert sighed and looked down at her.  "I know."
 His voice was still gruff, but his words came out gentler.
 "Arm OK?"

 She nodded, massaging it. "He needs to go, Robert.
 He's got a chance at somethin' better'n us."

He folded his arms across his wide chest.  He felt that
if he let go at that moment, he might fall apart, pieces
flying everywhere as if shot from some uncoiling spring.

Fiona reached out and stroked his curly hair, trying
to reassure him with her touch.  What was her husband
thinking?

"At least talk to him about it, Robert.  He's old enough to
make up his own mind."  She smiled softly.  "He's almost
a man.  You was right, you know.  Hard to believe it, but
our baby's almost grown."

 Robert's smile was slow, but it came, and for a
 moment, he could see Neil, older, sitting by the fire
 in the MacNeill cabin with a little girl on his lap.
 Neil was whispering something to her, her face contorted
 with giggles as she bounced up and down.  Neil with a
 family of his own...Robert looked forward to that day.
 Still, if Neil left the Cove-would he ever come back?
 More likely, he'd get a job and marry some city girl
 and make a home there.  Robert's chest tightened at the
 thought of never seeing his only child again.

 Slowly, he became aware of Fiona's hands stroking his
 hair.  She was right.  Much as he hated to think it, she
 was right.  Neil ought to have a say in the decision.

 "All right," he said at last.  "We'll see what he wants to
 do.  Mind, I ain't agreein' jest yet.  I'm only askin'."

 Fiona smiled.  "Only askin'," she agreed.  She wrapped
 her arms around his waist, and they walked, side-by-side,
 back towards their cabin.


Part Five 

	"Cindy got religion,
            She got hit once before, But when she'd hear
            that fiddle play, She's the first one on
            the floor.

	Git along home, home, Cindy git along home.
	    Get along home, home, Cindy, I'm a'gonna leave
	    you now.

	Cindy in the summertime, Cindy in the fall.
	    If I cain't have the one I want, I won't have
	    none a-tall."

Jeb finished the song with a flourish of his bow that
sounded remarkably like a catcall.

"Ooooo-eeeee, Jeb!" a man across the floor hollered. "Play
us another'n!"	Jeb grinned and nodded and bowed his
head to start the next tune.  Though he pretended to
focus on the music, he was keeping one surreptitious
eye on Fairlight.  She and her sister Opal were sitting
by the food table, toes tapping furiously, laughing.
Jeb desperately wanted to go ask what the joke was, but
he forced himself to keep his fingers moving.

Neil and his parents were just arriving, although the dance
had been in full swing for hours.  It was rare for the
people of Cutter Gap to take a holiday that did not include
work, but the harvest dance was a rare exception.  Neil was
glad to see so many friends here tonight.  Not only did
they get a chance to relax, each family's presence was
also a reassuring sign that the crops were safely in.
As far as he knew, no one in the Cove had had any serious
problems with their take, for which Neil was grateful.
Surely fate was looking out for Cutter Gap this year.

Neil had barely stepped into the barn and seen his
mother to a seat when he heard rough voices coming from
the shadowy corner just beyond the perimeter of benches.
Whoever the noisemakers were, they were obviously trying
to keep the conversation hushed-and failing.  Neil stopped,
listening.

". . .You gonna git ‘er tonight, Harris?  You gonna?"
The voice was snickering, almost jeering.

"Yeah, I aim ta."  This second voice was cold.	A little
shiver ran up Neil's neck. "I reckon I aim ta."  The voice
laughed.  It was a harsh, hard noise.  Neil thought he saw
the light glint off a jug being raised in the corner, and
heard the tell-tale sounds of liquor glugging, but before
he could speak, he felt someone at his elbow.

"Evenin', Neil," said a soft voice.

Neil looked down into the sparkling green eyes of Sunny
Spencer, Jeb's sister.	Younger by only a year, Sunny was
Jeb's pet and his constant companion whenever the nine
Spencer siblings were together.

Neil felt his face go a little warm as he stared at Sunny's
mischievous face.  She was clearly tickled to have snuck
up on him without him realizing. "Uh. . .evenin', Sunny."

 "C'mon, Neil, will you dance?"

He laughed out loud at her audacity. "Menfolks s'posed to
do the asking, Sunny."

"Well, nobody's asked me yit."	She stuck out her hip and
rested a hand there, glaring at him in mock frustration.
"How long'm I s'posed to wait?"

Keeping her gaze, he grinned and bowed a long, low,
silly bow.  "Ah, m'lady," he said in his best citified
voice, "then you must excuse the manners of these rude
country folk.  ‘Tis their own misfortune not to dance with
the most beautiful lady in the grand ballroom this evening.
May I have the pleasure?"

Her curtsy was equally dignified.  Only the laugh trying
to squeeze out of her tightly pressed lips betrayed the
haughty look.  "Why, Mister MacNeill, the honor would be
all mine.  Oooohhhh!"  The giggle escaped anyway as Neil
grabbed her hand and whirled her once where she stood.
She flashed him a wide, grateful grin, took his arm, and
off they went across the floor.

 "Ye dance right nicely, Neil," Sunny observed as she
 danced around to face him.

Neil grinned as he twirled her once, twice, three times.
"You, too.  Good night for a dance."  Then there was no
more time to talk, as they dipped and spun, the fancy
fiddlework making their feet fly faster and faster.
They could hear the caller straining to make himself heard
over the musicians' pounding.  From the corner of his eye,
Neil saw his mother and father join the dance on the other
side of the room.

"Allemande left with your left hand around that room with
 a right and left grand.  Kiss your partner and thank the
 band at the dance in old Kentucky!

Clear the hallway, sweep the floor, find you a partner
and couple up four at the dance in old Kentucky!"

"Allemande!"  hollered the caller as the next verse began.
Neil led off towards the back of the barn, and Sunny
gasped as she felt him lift her easily off the floor and
swing her back to her feet in the opposite direction.
"Do-si-do!" they heard, and as their shoulders brushed,
Sunny found Neil's eyes again.	In that one moment, the
intensity of his gaze, the crinkle of his smiling eyes,
made Sunny blush and look quickly away.

"'Ginia Reel!" came the command.  The other dancers lifted
their arms in a joyful arch, and Neil and Sunny were the
first to duck through it, heels clicking as they went,
then peeling off to complete the reel.	Breathless but
exhilarated, they honored one another from across the floor
and found each other again, laughing, as the music ended.

"Cain't hardly keep up with ye!"  Neil panted, clutching
his chest in mock agony.  "Gonna take a quick man to win
you, Sunny Spencer!"

Sunny laughed, as relieved to see the intense look gone
 from Neil's eyes as to take a rest.  She plopped into
 a chair, wiped her sweating forehead and looked over
 at her friend.  "And what about you, Neil MacNeill?
 Jest what kind of woman will it take to win you?"

"Oh, I dunno, Sunny...some ol' city gal, prob'ly."

Sunny suddenly looked hard at him.  For a moment, she
seemed not to blink.  "Ye're a good man, Neil.	You may
not believe it, but it's true."

Neil smiled automatically, but inside he was suprised.
That wasn't what he'd said...?	He stared back at her for
a moment.  Then he shook his head clear of the dance, and
relaxed.  Never mind, he thought.  Everyone's a little
giddy tonight.	For a brief moment he wondered just
what was in the jug of punch sitting on the table next
to them, and then he got up to join the men of the cove
seated around the long tables against one end of the barn.
Surely one of them could be convinced to spin a good ghost
story or two.


Part Six 

Across the room, Jeb and the other musicians bowed
their heads and grinned at the applauding dancers, then
set their instruments down and signaled for a short break.
Jeb was grateful for the rest; at fourteen, he was the
youngest of the players here tonight, and he didn't yet
have their stamina.  He stepped off the raised platform
and headed out the big barn doors into the open night air.
Leaning his sweaty back gratefully against the chilly barn
wall, he slid down to the ground and reached for one of
the jugs of water that had stayed cool in the shade behind
the doors all day long.

As he drank, his mind wandered back to Fairlight.
Jeb grinned in the darkness, realizing how often his
mind wandered back to her lately.  Fairlight.  He allowed
himself to remember the day that they had spent together
last summer.  The day he had really stopped seeing
Fairlight as the girl she had been and saw her as the
woman she was becoming. . .

Jeb and his mother Rachel had been on the way to visit her
family, his Gramps and Granny Taylor, way up in the hills
above the Spencer cabin.  Gramps and Granny were, as Jeb's
father liked to teased them, no longer spring chickens.
When he could spare the time, Jeb liked to walk the three
miles up to the old Taylor land and collect kindling for
them, or help clean the barn, or any of the other outdoor
chores that were getting harder for his grandparents to
attend to regularly.  On that clear June morning, he had
left his mother halfway along the path up to the cabin and
headed into the woods.	He smiled, imagining how delighted
his Granny Emily would be to have a fresh squirrel to skin
for supper.

 Suddenly, the sound of breaking twigs had caught Jeb's
 attention.  Something was moving just ahead of him.
 It was too big to be a squirrel.  Instinctively, he
 crouched low to the ground.  When he peeked, he was
 surprised to see not a deer, but Fairlight Allen, basket
 in hand, her graceful fingers deftly snapping dark green
 leaves from their thick stems.  Jeb started to call out
 to her-he didn't want to startle her-but something made
 him pause and stay silent.  Jeb noticed the sunlight
 gleaming in Fairlight's blonde hair, and he felt his
 throat tighten oddly.

Jeb and Fairlight had never known each other well, but
they been friendly when they were much younger, when all
the children of the cove had played together, splashing
in the river or pretending to be mommies and daddies.
But then, Jeb had recalled as he watched Fairlight
work, the cove-wide feuding between the Taylors and the
Allens had gotten worse.  Fairlight's parents had stopped
allowing her to attend the El Pano school after only a
year or two there.  Ostensibly this was because Fairlight
was needed to help her mother at home, but looking back,
Jeb now guessed it had more to do with the fact that the
schoolteacher at that time had been a Taylor by marriage.
By now, of course, the El Pano school had a new teacher,
Miss Randall.  But the children of the cove had grown up,
and had responsibilities to their families.  Some of them
already had families of their own.  In short, it had been
many months since Jeb had seen Fairlight, even though their
cabins were not two miles apart, on opposite sides of the
very same mountain.

Jeb, still hidden in the grass, wondered how it was
possible that Fairlight should have changed so much in
less than a year.  She was taller, and her back seemed
straighter, and somehow, Jeb thought, her walk was prouder.
Even as a girl of five or six, Fairlight had always had an
assured way about her, a knowingness about the course of
things that Jeb admired and envied.  He thought to himself
that the rest of her seemed finally to have caught up with
her wise-looking face.

"I know you're watchin' me, whoever ye are."  Fairlight's
clear voice interrupted Jeb's thoughts.  "So ye might as
well c'mon out and admit it."

Jeb peeked.  Fairlight's back was still to him, her fingers
working nonstop.  How had she known he was here if she
hadn't even seen him?

Jeb hesitated.

"C'mon, now.  Ain't got all day for it."  She was getting
irritated now.

Reluctantly, Jeb poked his head up through the grass.
"It-it's me, Fairlight.  Jeb Spencer.  Howdy," he added,
a little awkwardly.

She turned to look, and when she saw him, she smiled her
beautiful smile, and Jeb felt his throat start to go again.
"Well, howdy, Jeb."

He didn't know what to say next, but Fairlight did.
"I'm pickin' goatweed for my Granny.  Will ye help?  C'mon,
it's this little ‘un with the oily leaves, see?  That's it.
The stems, too.  They holp ye when ye cain't sleep."

They had picked and talked all morning.  Jeb was not
inclined to talk much under normal circumstances, but
somehow, talking to Fairlight was easy as talking to
himself.  He felt a little guilty admitting this, but
being with Fairlight was more interesting even than being
with Neil.  Or, interesting in a different way.  After that
first moment, Jeb never felt ill at ease around her.
There were moments when they didn't even need to speak,
when they simply walked or gathered or sat in silence,
munching on the flatbread Fairlight had stashed in her
basket.

Late in the afternoon on that wonderful day, Jeb had
suddenly remembered his trip to Gramp's and Granny's with
a guilty drop of his stomach.  They wouldn't worry about
him-Jeb often spent an entire day out hunting with Neil
when the trapping was good-but he'd broken his promise
to see his grandparents, and he didn't like to disappoint
them.  Particularly when their supper would suffer without
his catch.

"Fairlight," he had said, more gently than he'd ever said
anyone's name, "I've got to go.  My Gramps and Granny
Taylor, they were expecting me."

Fairlight stiffened at this reminder of his Taylor kin.
Once again, Jeb could think of nothing to say.

Silently, he felt Fairlight slip her hand into his.
"I know ye ain't a talker, Jeb Spencer.   But that's all
right," she grinned up at him, "I reckon I talk enough for
the both of us."  He smiled uncertainly.  It was true-but
he saw no need to hurt her feelings by agreeing.

"We been blessed today, you and I," she said slowly.
Her face was serious now.  "And that ain't jest common.
So don't ye forget today, y'hear me?"  She looked at him to
make sure he understood her.  "Even if I am an Allen girl.
Even if I am."	And with that, she laid one cool hand on
his burning cheek, swung her basket to her shoulder, and
was gone.

One day was all it took.  Jeb was smitten.  If he was
honest with himself, he'd spent most of the last three
and a half months sneaking off to see Fairlight-or else
devising ways to sneak off to see Fairlight!  Sometimes
they'd meet up on the mountain ridge halfway between
their cabins.  Sometimes Fairlight would wait for him on
the El Pano road on school mornings, and they'd giggle
and run and chase each other.  Jeb would tell her things
he was learning in school, and Fairlight would tell funny
stories about the calamities her older brothers Ault and
Bob had gotten into, or about the silly swooniness of her
younger sister Opal, who was known to be more of a dreamer
than a do-er.  Jeb never felt more like himself when he was
with Fairlight.  He wondered what the reaction would be if
he tried to steal a dance from her tonight.  And then he
rolled his eyes at the thought.  Taylors and Allens dancing
together?  Not likely.	Not in his lifetime. . .if ever.


Part Seven 

Whispered voices brought Jeb back from his
daydream with a start, back to the hard barn wall against
his back, and the sweat cooling on his chest.

"You let go of me, Harris Taylor!  Let go!"

Jeb heard a low, sneering laugh.  "Whatsa matter, now, gal?
Ye waren't so prickly last night when I saw ye home.
Was ye?"

There was silence from whoever was with Harris.

Harris's voice got a shade nastier. "I say, was ye?"

"No, I wasn't.	But you wasn't drunk then, either."

Again, the sinister rumble, half chuckle, half disdain.
Jeb leaned out of the shadows.	In the dim light from
beneath the barn door, it looked like Opal Allen standing
with Harris.

 "Waaal, how ye aim te fix that, now, gal?  Hunh?  How?"
 Jeb heard Opal whimper, though from fright or pain, Jeb
 could not tell.

Suddenly, the barn door flew open with a crack, and out
strode Fairlight and his own baby sister, Sunny, their eyes
blazing in the bright lights and noise that streamed out
from the party inside.	Fairlight took one look at Harris's
drunken posture and her sister's terrified face, and
grabbed his arm and twisted it, twisted it still further
until he was forced to drop his grip on Opal's shoulder.
Jeb was frozen in place, amazed.  Was this the same gentle
Fairlight who'd held his own hand so sweetly last summer?

"Owwww---oooo----awwwwww!"  Harris groaned, cradling
his arm against him.  "Consarnit, Fairlight!"  His pain
receding, Jeb saw his surprised eyes return once again to
their menacing, suspicious slits.

"You touch my sister again, and I will kill you, Harris
Taylor."  Fairlight's voice was low and her breathing
ragged.  "I swear it."	Sunny, still at her side, nodded in
agreement, her face twisted with spite-and then, to Jeb's
immense surprise, his baby sister spit on the ground at
Harris's feet.

Jeb saw Harris's hand go for the pistol beneath his coat
before the girls did, and in the same instant, he felt
himself launch from the earth and straight towards the
other man.

They landed in a rolling tangle, and the gun went off.
Scrambling to his feet, Jeb whirled to face Harris's angry
grin, his knife already in hand, weaving back and forth,
daring him to make a move.  Jeb stood his ground and tried
to look threatening, breathing hard and taking a moment
to get his bearings.

"Why, Jeb Spencer," Harris drawled, "Ah never knew ye cared
fer an Allen girl."  His knife hand was still weaving,
his voice slurring the name into an insult.

"Shut up," Jeb spat back.

"Why don't ye come'n make me?" Harris taunted, and raised
his arm to aim a throw at Jeb.

"Put it down, Taylor," came a growl from behind the bully.

It was Neil.  Jeb saw the glint of silver, and realized
that his friend had his own hunting knife up against the
back of Harris's throat.  Gulping in surprise, Harris
slowly lowered his hand and dropped the knife.

It was at that moment that the adults arrived from
the barn.

"What on earth is going on here?"

Neil knew his father's voice without even looking. He also
knew how bad the scene must look: his grip on an unarmed
opponent--and Fairlight and Opal Allen shivering in Jeb
Spencer's arms.

Jim Spencer, Jeb and Sunny's father, had arrived just
behind Robert MacNeill.  "Give me that knife, boy," he
ordered Neil.  Neil reluctantly released Harris and
placed the knife in Mr. Spencer's outstretched hand.
Harris, still out of breath, stumbled a few steps to the
support of the barn wall.  Sunny looped Neil's free arm
around her neck, planted one foot in front of her body,
and let him lean heavily against her.

Robert MacNeill's face was ashen as he repeated his
question. "I said, what's going on here?"

Neil looked at Jeb.  His friend was imploring him with his
eyes, begging him not to tell-something?  What?  And then,
as if he'd just realized where he stood, Jeb released
Fairlight and Opal and stepped away, hands shoved in
pockets, head raised defiantly.  Suddenly, Neil understood.
Jeb must have been out here alone with Fairlight.

The girls were huddled together, still in shock at the
unexpected fight.  A crowd was gathering behind Robert
and Jim; Neil could see only one large silhouette of
darkness full of dim, angry faces against the glow of the
open barn doors.  Everyone seemed to be talking at once,
trying to figure out what had happened, was anyone hurt,
when had all this started?

Neil took a deep breath.  "It ain't how it looks, Pa."

Robert was immoveable.	"Let's hope so."

"Swearit, it ain't!  Pa, you know I ain't got no quarrel
with Taylors."

Jim Spencer wiped Neil's knife angrily on his trousers,
then slid the blade into his own boot.	"If'n ye got no
quarrel with ‘em, why ye takin' it on yerself to fight
‘em?"  he demanded.

"It was me, sir."  Everyone turned to look at Sunny,
surprised.  "Neil was defendin' me."

Mr. Spencer frowned.  "Howsat, girl?"

Neil hesitated, not knowing whether to let her go on or
not.  She shot him a quick look and continued, "Neil asked
me to dance."  She looked at Neil a bit uncertainly, and he
could tell she was thinking quickly, trying to steady her
quavering voice. "But then Harris cut in, and I could tell
Neil waren't happy ‘bout it.  And then-and then, Harris,
he took me out here, outside.  And then all of a sudden,
Neil and Jeb come runnin' out after us."  She smiled at
Mr. MacNeill and lowered her eyes a little. "Y'see, sir,
Neil was worried about me.  He came to make sure we was
alright out here."  Sunny's voice went a little bashful as
she added, "And I'm sure glad he did, sir, ‘cause Harris
been drinkin'.	As you can see."  Neil almost laughed
aloud-what an actress Sunny was turning out to be!

Mr. Spencer and Mr. MacNeill exchanged glances.  Sunny held
her breath.  Would they believe her?

"What're you Allen girls doing out here?"  Mr. Spencer
demanded grumpily.

Fairlight and Opal looked at each other.  "We was takin'
a walk, sir," Fairlight ventured.  "We came runnin' when
we heard someone arguin'."

Mr. Spencer seemed to accept this.  MacNeill leaned over
to Harris, got one look at his bloodshot eyes and a whiff
of moonshine breath and grimaced.

 "All right, Sunny," he said.  She exhaled in relief.
 "Jim, get this good-fer-nothin' nephew of yours back
 to his daddy.	And while you're at it," he added,
 "Tell Joshua Taylor to keep a better eye on his kin."
 Mr. Spencer nodded and hustled Harris off into the dark
 night.  Only Sunny heard the muttered curses thrown in her
 direction, but she turned resolutely away and gave Neil's
 arm a squeeze.  He squeezed her hand back a silent thanks.

"Jeb, I think it's time you took your sister home now,"
Robert said, nodding to the boys.  "Neil, wait here with
your mother.  I'm going to see Fairlight and Opal back
to their cabin.  Don't," he glowered at them, "you girls
go nowhere.  I'll git the horse."

With this, the last few onlookers seemed to give up hope
of seeing any more fighting, and returned to the barn, or
wandered out into the now-quiet night.

When Mr. MacNeill had gone, there was an awkward silence
among the children.  Sunny could see the angry set to
Neil's jaw remained, and her brother looked exhausted.
"C'mon, Jeb," she said gently. "It's time to go."
Jeb nodded.  He gave Fairlight a quick kiss on the cheek,
and then turned to Neil.

"Thank ye," he said simply.

Neil nodded, and was relieved.  Jeb's recent irritation
with him seemed to have dissolved.

Then Jeb punched Neil lightly in the shoulder, put his
arm around his sister, and they headed down the path home.

Neil watched them go.  And then steadily, deliberately, he
turned back to the girls.  Fairlight saw him walk slowly
towards her, and as his tall frame leaned over her, his
body outlined by the glow of the barnlight behind him, she
saw something unfamiliar in his eyes, something quiet and
raging.  When he spoke, his voice was low, but Fairlight
could tell that he was choosing his words very carefully.

"Don't do this to him," Neil said.  "This secret's gonna
kill someone, Fairlight."  She blinked, not understanding.
"Someone's gonna die for this love.  And it ain't gonna
be Jeb.  So help me, it ain't gonna be him."

In his silent fury, Neil knew the proud lift of Fairlight's
head before it happened, knew the flash of her angry
eyes. She drew breath for a sharp retort--and then suddenly
she exhaled, and nodded, and it seemed to Opal, standing
next to her, that her whole body deflated.

"You're right, Neil," Fairlight said, so softly that he
almost missed the words.  "You're right."

And with that, she turned and walked away. Opal looked at
Neil wonderingly for a moment, and then without a word,
followed her sister up the path.

Neil couldn't move.  Part of him was still shaking with
anger.  How dare she mix them all up in this?  All this
fighting for some stupid schoolgirl crush.  How dare she?

And then he remembered seeing the light go out in her
eyes when he had threatened her, saw her shoulders sag
as she walked away.  She had willingly given Jeb up.
Simple as that.

Neil had gotten what he wanted.  So why did he still feel
so miserable?


Part Eight 

Three nights after the dance, Neil sat alone
on the creek bank, plopping pebbles into the water and
listening to the crickets call.  It had been a quiet day
in the cove.  Occasionally, he remembered flashes of the
fight--the feel of Harris Taylor's fleshy throat in his
hands, and of Fairlight's sad eyes.  But he was getting
better at squashing that memory down.  Much better to move
on, concentrate on something else.

But though he could ignore the events of the past week,
Neil still had that dizzy, spinny sensation in his
head that he'd had while dancing with Sunny.  He felt
exhausted thinking of the things he usually enjoyed
daydreaming about: the El Pano school, girls at the El
Pano school-Neil grinned for a moment, remembering the
deliciousness of the barndance-the first part of it,
anyway. . . .and he got tired thinking, especially,
about his parents.  Neil closed his eyes and wished he
didn't have to think about them so much.  He liked the
dizzy, spinny feeling.	It made him feel off-balance, and
somehow braver.  Dizzy-Neil wasn't stuck in Cutter Gap
for the rest of his life.  Dizzy-Neil didn't have to be.
He'd just leave one day, just tilt himself down the path
towards El Pano and instead of only stopping to look at the
train out to everywhere else, he'd get on it.  He'd feel
the chugging, the chugging of the wheels, and he'd see the
wheels revolving, revolving, faster and faster. And before
his brain had righted itself again, he'd be away-his eyes
would be fixed on the mountains sliding by so quickly, so
quickly-and he'd be free. . . .

He closed his eyes again, felt his shoulders uncurl
and his spine straighten.  He took a long breath, and
concentrated on letting it sigh slowly out, then felt
it pull him upright as he breathed in again.   His head
stopped spinning.  He opened his eyes, and slowly the creek
slid back into focus, the oak trees etching sharply black
and gray against the moonlight.  He became aware of leaves
crunching behind him, and turned to see his mother with
a lantern in one hand and a covered basket in the other.

She smiled at him.  "I brought you something," she said,
setting the basket down and herself beside it.

Neil dug through and found half a loaf of still-warm
bread and a big handful of nutmeats.  "Thanks, ma.
I missed dinner."

"Yes, I'd a-noticed that."  Fiona looked up at the
sky while Neil devoured the good bread.  "Neil, I have
somethin' to tell you.	It's important."

Neil looked at her in surprise, his mouth still full.
"Mmmuupphaaat?" he asked.

 Fiona raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed, swallowed,
 and tried again.  "What's that?"

"Your Uncle Richard wants you to come live with him."

Neil's eyes widened.  "In Baltimore?"

"Yes, in Baltimore."

Neil had a sudden flash of his Uncle Richard's grinning
face, his narrow nose that looked so much like Neil's own
mother's, his smiling eyes.  He couldn't think of what to
say next.  "Er. . . why?"

"So you can go to school there.  He say it's a nice
school, a heap nicer than we got here.  And git to know
your cousin Harry.  And live in a real city-like."

Suddenly, Dizzy-Neil was back.  A real city.  A real
school.  With people Neil had never met, places he didn't
know every inch of already, and so much more to learn than
Cutter Gap could even imagine teaching!  Uncle Richard was
a doctor-Neil could visit the hospital where he worked.
His Aunt Faith knew everyone in Baltimore-Neil would have
dinner with men and women who had done all sorts of exotic
things. . . .

His mother was poking him with the handle-end of the knife
from her basket.  It took Neil a minute to realize it.
"Are ye gone already, then, lad?" she teased.

"Oh, Ma!  Baltimore!"  Neil felt like leaping across
the creek in one step-and then he had a thought.
"Oohhh-but. . . what does Pa say?"

"He said I should tell ye what your uncle said."

Neil frowned.  "But he doesn't say ta go."

"He didn't say no, Neil."

"He didn't say yes, either, did he?"

"No.  He didn't."

Neil was still.  "Ma?  What do you think?"

Fiona considered him.  "I think. . ." she said slowly,
"that your daddy loves you.  And so do I."  She smiled.
"And if you go away, we will miss you so much. And. . ."
She paused. "I think that nobody can do this choosin'
except you."  She kissed him lightly on the forehead,
gathered up her basket, and turned to go.  "I'll see ye
back, Neil.  Don't be out late, now."

Neil kicked at the dirt as he watched her disappear.
What kind of an answer was that?


Part Nine 

Well before dawn the following morning, the
five middle Spencer siblings were strolling down the El
Pano road towards school.  Jeb and Sunny had the smallest,
six-year-old Joy, by the hands between them.  Oralie and
Nathan, ages ten and nine, were, as usual, tearing down
the road ahead of the others, picking at one another about
something only they understood.

"How," said Sunny a trifle blearily, "they git s'much
danged energy afore the sun's even up?"

Her brother yawned.  "Beats me.  Reckon it's Momma's
fine cookin'?"

The siblings giggled at this idea.  Their mother's cooking
was well-known among cove folk as being quite possibly the
worst ever.  Not, Jeb thought to himself, that they weren't
grateful-but his momma could do with a little variety.
A body did get honest tired of grits every morning, noon,
and night.  Funny how their daddy never seemed to mind,
though.  For her part, Sunny thought longingly of dinners
eaten at Neil's house.	Mrs. MacNeill made a cornbread
that'd get a girl to sing for her seconds.

Thinking of Neil made Sunny grin.  Then she remembered
the dance Saturday, and she sighed.  Joy looked up at
her curiously.

Jeb looked at them. "So, Miss Joyful," he said a little
too loudly, "What did you learn in school yesterday?"

"I learned ‘bout fish!"

"You did, huh?" Joy nodded importantly.  Jeb swung her
little arm gently between them.  "Yeah?  Whatcha know
‘bout fish, now?  You better teach me ‘fore you git all
smarty-pants and pass me up in school."

This made Joy giggle.  "I ain't gon' pass you up, Jeb!
You a big boy."

"Yeah?  You know how big I am?"

Joy knew what was coming next, and she shrieked with
delight as Jeb swung her across his shoulders. "Big ‘nuff
to steal me ‘way and never come back!!"

"That's right!"  And off they ran towards Oralie and
Nathan, Joy struggling gleefully, leaving their sister
alone with her thoughts.

Sunny sent a silent thank-you to Jeb for giving her a
moment to herself.  Neil hadn't spoken to her in four
days, ever since the dance, hadn't even acknowledged her
at school.  Irritated as Sunny was about this, she had
to smile at Neil's stubbornness-ignoring somebody you sat
across the aisle from took some doing!

Mentally she scolded herself for being so nice to Neil's
memory.  She'd risked a lot for him on Saturday night-her
Taylor relations' anger, not to mention her own reputation,
pretending to be out there half-willingly in the dark
with Harris.  Luckily, Harris hadn't shown himself since
the dance.  Sunny's daddy had told her how he'd dragged
Harris back home late that night, and Sunny had winced
as he grimly related hearing the boy's screams as he'd
ridden away again.  Everybody knew Joshua Taylor beat his
son something awful.

Sunny reminded herself of the more important issue here.
She had put herself out for Mr. Ungrateful MacNeill,
and this was the response she'd gotten.  Jack Frost.
Had he even said thank you?  No, he hadn't. Not one peep.
Just remembering the blandness in his eyes when he
walked past her at lunch yesterday made her boiling mad.
So, the boy wanted to pretend she didn't exist?  Fine.
She wasn't a bad pretender herself.  She made up her mind
not to see Neil until he saw her first.

"Hssst!"

Sunny shot a glance into the trees along the side of
the road.  Was someone calling her?

"Sunny!  Sunny!"

It was Fairlight, hiding.  Sunny looked, and kept right
on walking.

"Sunny, it's me!" Fairlight's voice became more urgent.

Sunny never slowed.

"Aw, c'mon Sunny, I ain't done nothin' to ye, have I?"

Sunny glared into the trees.  "I don't talk to no Allens.
‘Specially no ones that's playin' my brother for a fool."

"I ain't playin' Jeb fer no fool.  I cain't talk ta him
no more.  You know your daddy don't like it."

"Ain't never bothered ye ‘till now."

Fairlight stepped out into the road, forcing Sunny to stop
abruptly to avoid knocking her down.  Her hands were up,
pleading-or defending herself, Sunny wasn't quite sure.

"Please, Sunny," she said.  "Jest hear me fer a minute.
Neil told me not to see Jeb no more."

Sunny frowned grumpily.  Neil wasn't talking to her, but
he was talking to Fairlight?  Since when did Fairlight get
to be the end-all and be-all of Cutter Gap?  "Why would
he do that?"

"Because he loves Jeb, jest like you do.  And he knows
what'll happen if anyone finds out about us."

Sunny didn't feel like being reasoned with. "And jest what
d'you care ‘bout our daddy?"

Fairlight was getting impatient.  "I don't care ‘bout
yer daddy!  I care about Jeb!"

"Then why you ain't come ‘round him in four days?"
The words sounded irrational even to Sunny's ears, but
she no longer cared.  No way was an Allen girl going to
tell Sunny what was best for her own family.

Fairlight took a deep breath and tried not to snap.
"I cain't see him no more.  And I got to tell him so."
Sunny started to say something, so Fairlight rushed ahead,
"-because he needs his family, Sunny, jest like you do.
And I cain't ask him to choose between you-all and me.
He deserves better'n that.  So will ye tell him fer me?
Please, Sunny, please, will ye tell him why I'm goin' and
I cain't see him no more?"

Sunny kept her sullen face on, but Fairlight's plea had
surprised her in spite of herself.  Her brother did deserve
more than a lifetime of war between his wife and his
parents.  And yet, the fact that Fairlight knew this-and
was willing to leave Jeb for it-made Sunny realize how
deeply the girl must be in love. For a moment, Sunny felt
very small and ungrateful faced with a love that unselfish.
She looked at Fairlight, still waiting desperately for
her answer.

"OK," she said quietly.  "I'll tell him."

Fairlight pressed Sunny's hand between her own.
"Thank you."

Sunny shook her hand free. "We're almost to school. Ye
best git."

Fairlight nodded, a bit awkward.  "Thank you Sunny."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, and Sunny thought she saw
tears start to form in her eyes.  "Tell Jeb I love him."
And then she fled into the woods, as silently as she
had come.

Sunny did not look after her.  Instead, she ran to catch
up with her sisters and brothers.  She had news to deliver,
and she intended to deliver it before she changed her mind
and broke her promise to an enemy.


Part Ten 

The following Sunday, Neil sat squashed
uncomfortably at the end of a long bench, trying to keep
the squirmiest of the Spencer siblings seated on his lap.

"Lordamighty, Miss Joy," he whispered pleadingly, "Cain't
you sit still for jest a few more minutes?"

Her own stage whisper was equally urgent. "No, I cain't,
Neil, I gotsta go!"

Neil sighed.  Generally, he was glad to sit with the
Spencers during church. He was able to help keep the
younger children amused during the long sermons, and
frankly, he never felt like he was missing that much by
giving the worship leader only half his attention at any
given moment.

And-if he was being honest-it was another hour to be away
from his own family each week. His mother sat in the pew
in front of him, unaware of the capers Neil and Joy were
pulling behind her back.  Not that Neil didn't love his
parents. . .but  the MacNeill home had been a silent place
ever since the dance.  His mother was doing her best to
mediate the unspoken hurt between father and son, but even
Neil could tell that skirting the subject was only making
things worse.  He was just as glad to escape to the noise
of the Spencers' when he could.

Today, however, little Joy had been nothing but a nuisance
all morning long.  She'd progressed from pulling Neil's
curly hair, to pestering him to bounce her on his leg, to
this, an all-out struggle to scramble away and out into
the aisle of the barn that the congregation used as a
meeting house.	Neil had half a mind to turn her over to
Jeb and Sunny, standing on his other side, but they had
their own hands full with the babies, Willie and Janis.

He supposed this particular annoyance couldn't be avoided
any longer, though.  "All right, all right, down you
go." He opened his knees and let Joy plop gently down to
the floor.  She gave a tiny giggle. "Shhhh!" he said, when
he saw Mrs. Spencer leaning forward at the other end of the
bench, eyebrows raised threateningly, searching out the
source of the noise. "Go ‘round the side.  And you best
be quiet when you openin' that door, hear me?"	He gave
her his sternest look.	Joy nodded solemnly, and tiptoed
with tiny, exaggerated steps towards the back of the barn.

When Neil was satisfied that she really meant to stay
quiet, he turned front again and poked Jeb in the side.
He could see his father eyeing him from the pulpit at the
front of the room.  The congregation was in the middle of
a hymn.

"Owww!" hissed Jeb.  "Cut it out."

"Joy's out to the privy.  Somebody should go after her,
make sure she comes back like she s'posed."

Jeb shifted baby Janis on his waist.  "She's a big girl.
She knows she s'posed to come back."

"Knowin' it and doin' it, that's two things altogether,"
Neil said dryly.  He knew church wasn't Joy's favorite
way to spend a sunny Sunday morning, either.  Splashing in
the creek outside was generally far preferable.

Jeb rolled his eyes. "Take yer point.  Here," he said,
thrusting Janis at a surprised Sunny, and moving past Neil.
The hymn finished, and the rest of the church settled in
for the readings.  Jeb patted Neil on the shoulder as he
scooted into the aisle and headed towards the back doors.

". . .A lesson from our Holy Father!"  Neil noticed
that the volume of his father's voice had gone up a
notch or two, and raised his head to find Robert staring
directly at him.  Lacking an ordained minister, Cutter
Gap men took turns leading Sunday service.  Neil suddenly
wished that Joy had not picked a day when his father was
preaching to be such a distraction to the congregation.
Neil swallowed hard, then realized awkwardly that he alone
was still standing.  He sat.

Robert's clear voice began, "A reading from the book
of Proverbs, chapter four, verses one through five."
He paused, waiting for the congregation to give him their
full attention. "‘Hear, my children, the instruction of
a father, and give attention to know understanding; for
I give thee good doctrine; do not forsake my law.'"

Neil, looking at his hands, could feel his father's eyes
upon him.

 "‘When I was my father's son, tender and the only one
 in the sight of my mother, He also taught me, and said
 to me: "Let thy heart retain my words; keep my commands,
 and live."'"

The heat started to rise up Neil's neck.  So his father
had picked a reading about fathers and sons, had he?

"‘Get wisdom!  Get understanding!'" his father continued,
his voice rising with energy.  "‘Do not forget, nor turn
away from the words of my mouth.'"

Mr. MacNeill turned a page. "And from the same chapter,
verses twenty through twenty-seven: ‘My son, give attention
to my words; incline thine ear to my sayings.  Do not let
them depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of
thy heart; for they are life to those who find them, and
health to all their flesh.'"

Neil's face was flaming red, he could feel it.	What was
taking Jeb and Joy so long?

"‘Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it spring
the issues of life.  Put away from thee a deceitful mouth,
and put perverse lips far from thee.  Let thine eyes look
straight ahead, and thine eyelids look right before thee.
Ponder the paths of thy feet, and let all thy ways be
established.'"

Neil looked up again, and when he saw the mixture of
sadness and anger in his father's eyes, it seemed to him
that his own vision narrowed.  He forgot the congregation
around him, forgot Sunny's solid presence beside him,
forgot the walls and the bibles and saw only the man
speaking before him.

"‘Do not turn to the right or the left,'" said the man,
" ‘Remove thy foot from evil.'"

He closed his bible gently.  "The Word of the Lord."

"Amen," finished the congregation.  Neil shook his head
a little, and the room came back into focus.

Robert stepped down from the small pulpit.  Every face
turned towards him.  Neil sensed a change in his father's
manner from his fiery reading of the lesson; he seemed
smaller, almost nervous without the pulpit to lean against.

 "Neighbors," Robert began,  "What does God want us to
 take from His words this morning?"

He paused for a moment to let his question sink in.

"Well, when I read these verses, I think ‘bout King
Solomon, the man who wrote the book of Proverbs.  Now, King
Solomon, even though he had a heap o' cash-money, he didn't
have an easy life. He had to fight his own family for the
right to be King. We know he fought lust, ‘cause he had
all them wimmin' around him, his for the takin'.  And he
even had to fight to keep his faith.  Even though God gave
it to him, Solomon still struggled to believe, to be the
good man he knew he should be.	Fact is, I reckon Solomon
spent his whole life fightin' to do what was right."

Neil couldn't take his eyes off his father's earnest face.

"And so, when I read Solomon's Proverbs, I ‘spect he's
talkin' to his own son.  ‘Hear, my children,' says Solomon,
‘the instruction of a father, and give attention to know
understanding.'   Folks, King Solomon is sayin' to his
child, ‘Boy, you set yourself down and you listen good!'"
The congregation laughed in recognition of Robert's
scolding tone.

"But why," he continued, "should Solomon's kid listen?
After all, he don't know nothin' ‘bout his Daddy's
problems.  He's just a boy.  But Solomon lets ‘im know
right quick that Daddy seen some troubles in his time.
He says, ‘For I give thee good doctrine: do not forsake
my law.  When I was my father's son, tender and the only
one in the sight of my mother, he also taught me, and said
to me:	Keep my commands, and live.'"

Robert rested one arm on the pulpit rim.  "Solomon knew
how hard it was to live a life of fighting, and he knew
it ‘cause he done did it himself.  He is tellin' his son,
‘You don't have to learn the hard way, like I did.' But
Solomon also knew how hard the fightin' was ‘cause his
own father had told him so.  And I wonder-does he mean
his Heavenly Father-or his earthly father?  Is Solomon
talkin' ‘bout his own daddy?"

Neil noticed with growing discomfort that the rustlings
and the coughings had increased in the pews around him.
Beside him, baby Janis started to fuss, and Sunny bounced
her slowly on her hip.	Neil's mother was sitting straight
up now, her shoulders taut.  Neil wondered if she was
crying.

"Friends, Solomon lived in a time of feudin', jest like
we do.	Ever'body wanted ta be king, and plenty was willin'
ta die fer it.	But Solomon saw somethin' different fer
his son.  He saw a time o' peace and abundance.  This is
the wisdom he talks about, the wisdom that he learned the
hard way.  This peace-this is the life he wanted to give
his only child."

Now the fidgeting and hum of noise had stopped, and a hush
had begun to fill the room.  Neil felt tears starting in
his own eyes, and he suddenly felt the urge to stare at
the ceiling.  Hard.

"And the hard part is, Solomon knew what would happen if
his son didn't listen.	Because his son was answerin' to
a higher power than just him, the daddy.  It wasn't ‘bout
obedience to Solomon, but obedience to God.  Obedience to
the truth.  Livin' a lie, well," Robert scratched his
head, "reckon that takes a mite more breath'n a man's got
in hisself.  The King said hit plain: ‘Keep my command,
and live.'  Son--stop strugglin', he's sayin'.	Do what ye
know is right.	Because if his son kept fightin' that same
fight, then Solomon knew that he would die."  And with
a catch in his voice, Robert smiled at his own son.
"He would die."

There was silence in the church.  Nobody moved.

"King Solomon is speakin' to us, my friends.  And through
him, God is speakin', too.  Do not hesitate, He says. Do
not waver.  ‘Remove thy foot from evil'.  The time has
come, men and women of Cutter Gap, to remove our feet
from the evil that surrounds us."  Robert's eyes came back
once more to Neil, and the smile was replaced with sudden
fury. "To stop our sons from fightin'."

And then with a cry of rage and frustration, Neil rose
from the bench and ran from the room.


Part Eleven 

Neil ran from the church, gladder than anything
for the cold wind stinging his cheeks.	He couldn't think
what to do next.  He kicked at the tree stumps in front
of him.  He ripped leaves off the trees and flung them at
the ground.  He couldn't control the contortions of his
face, the howls coming from his body.  He found himself on
the ground, screaming, kicking, gasping for air.  And then
he was crying, sobbing, reaching, dying for someone, anyone
to hold onto.

And someone was there.	Neil clung to the strong arms that
wrapped themselves around his chest, and sobbed, spinning,
too angry to care who it was that surrounded him.

In a few minutes, when his breathing had slowed, Neil
wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up.

"Hi," said his father softly.  He still held Neil in a
bear hug, cradling him from the cold ground.

Neil closed his eyes.  "I hate you."

"I know that."

Neil opened one eye.  "You do?"

"Hard to mistake that temper tantrum for a love song, now,
isn't it, son?"

Any other day, Neil would've laughed aloud.  But he still
raged at the memory of his humiliation in the church. "How
could you do that to me?  Yell at me in front of all
those people?"

"How could you do that to me?" Robert shot back. "Fighting
a Taylor at that party.  Y'know I don't abide feudin'.
Son, the boy didn't even have a knife."

"He did so.  He did so!  I swear hit!"

"Then why'd he have hit drawn? What provoked that boy to
draw on his own kin?"

"Pa, that Harris Taylor is a mean ‘un. He'd kill ye,
soon's look't ye.  They call ‘im Bird's-Eye, he's sech a
good shot."

Robert placed a calm hand on Neil's frantically gesturing
arm. "Neil, you ever been out to the Taylor cabin?"

Neil grumbled at the restraint. "No, sir."

"Then you ain't never seen the way Joshua Taylor treats
his kin .  Ain't never heard the hollerin' when Joshua
tans Harris ‘cross his backside for nothin' much, so.
Hatred breeds in a man's family, Neil.  A daddy learns
it, and he teaches it to his young'uns, and they teach it
to their'un."

"Pa, he was gonna hurt Jeb!  Ye want I should ignore hit
when he's in trouble?"

"No, son.  I want you to find another way.  And I
want you to help keep Jeb outta trouble in the first
place, ‘specially with that loaded-cannon kin of his.
Jeb listens to you, and he'll lay off feudin' if you do.
Because otherwise, Neil, you gonna find yourself teachin'
that same killin' to your son.  That's what I preached
about this mornin'.  The feudin' ain't never gonna stop
less'un it stops with us."

Neil considered this. "Pa?"

"Hmmm?"

"How come your daddy ain't never passed his feudin' on
to you?"

Robert sighed.	He'd hoped he wouldn't have to answer
this question.	"He did, son."

Neil tried to imagine Grandaddy, his namesake, the late
Neil MacNeill.	He had heard rumors of his grandfather's
famous temper, but the old man had died when Neil was
just a baby. Had his father been beaten the way Harris
Taylor was?  Why hadn't anyone told him about this before?

"But--you ain't like that now."  Neil meant it as a
statement, but it came out like a question.

"Neil. . .ever' boy has to decide for hisself whether to
be like his daddy or not.  I guess that's what hit means
to be a man.  You got to look at the path your parents
done laid down for you and choose whether hit's one you
can feel right followin'.  And if you cain't, then-well,
then where is the path you gon' make for yourself?"

Neil's eyes widened as he realized what his father had
just said.  "Then, Pa," he said, latching on to the words,
"then let me make my own path, too.  Pa, you got to let
me go to Baltimore."

Too late, Robert realized he'd set his own trap.  "Now hold
on Neil, we was talkin' about feudin'-"

But Neil had heard, and would not be dissuaded.  "Why not?"
he demanded angrily, struggling out of his father's arms.
"Why won't you let me go?"

"It ain't about me lettin' you, son--" Robert protested.

"Yes, hit is!"

Robert could feel his control slipping away.  "And jest
how you reckon to pay for sech a notion?"

Neil's fists clenched.	He couldn't let his father reason
him out of this one.  "I-I don't know yet," he admitted,
"but I'll write to Uncle Richard.  He invited me, he'll
find a way to git me there.  And then mebbe I can pay him
back-when I get me a job--" He was grasping for logic, he
knew, but he couldn't back down now, when the unbearable
silence had finally been ripped open.

"A job doin' what?  You don't know nothin' ‘bout no
city jobs."

"Then I'll finish school and I'll-I'll go to college,
and. . . ."

"College? Hah!"  Don't do this, pleaded a voice in Robert's
head.  Don't hurt the boy just to keep him with you.
But the other voices were stronger.  He must not lose
his son.  His only child.  "Ye cain't go to college!
Y'ain't smart enough, boy."

Neil was on his feet now, eyes flashing.  "Don't you
ever say that to me again," he growled in a low voice.
"It ain't true."

Robert was desperate, grasping at anything to win back
the ground he'd lost.  "So the cove ain't good enough for
you, now?"

Suddenly, Neil understood. "You don't want me to go!"

"No, I don't want you to go!" Robert yelled back, relieved
to finally be shouting out the truth.  He no longer cared
what impression he was making.	He had shown his son more
patience today that he'd known he'd possessed. "I am your
father, and you will do as I say!"

"WHY NOT?" Neil screamed at the top of his lungs, planting
his feet in front of his father's chest, sticking his
nose in the other man's face.  He took a deep breath, and
through gritted teeth he spat, "Why.  Won't.  You let.
Me go.	To Baltimore?"

Robert blinked in suprise and said a silent prayer for
the right words.  How could he make Neil see?  How could
he make him stay?  "How," he said slowly, "you expect to
make peace with yourself in Baltimore if'n y'cain't even
make peace with your neighbor-folk here in Cutter Gap?"

Neil stood firm, unmoving, so close to his father's chest
he could feel his shirtfront rise and fall.  "Pa, I told
you afore: hit ain't my quarrel.  It's between the Taylors
and the Allens."

"Thass right son," Robert agreed quietly.  "Hit ain't your
quarrel.  And until y'learn how to stay out'n a quarrel
that ain't none of your business, then you ain't ready
to git you to Baltimore."  Robert searched Neil's eyes.
"You ain't done with Cutter Gap yet, Neil. Hit ain't done
with you, neither.  You ain't ready to leave."

"No," said Neil.  And he felt a quiet calmness come over
him.  It felt like a blessing. He wiped the last tears
from his eyes.	"You ain't ready for me to leave, Pa.
It's you that ain't ready."

"Neil!" his father cried.

There was no answer.  Neil only stood and stared for
a moment.  For the first time, he saw his father-not
a tall, proud pillar of his community, but a mere man.
A frightened, speechless man.

And with that, he walked away, leaving his father weeping
silently behind him in the frozen morning air.


Part Twelve 

"Joy? You still out here?"

Jeb heard a small thump from within the outhouse.

"No," came his sister's small voice, muffled by the heavy
wooden walls.

"Joy."

"Wha-at?"

"Time to c'mon outta thar."

"No."

Jeb blinked.  "Excuse me?"

"I said, no," repeated Joy.

"I heard what you said, missy, I jest ain't believed you.
C'mon, now, you got to git back to sarvice."

"I don't wanna."

"I don't care if you don't wanna, git your behind out that
privy this instant."

"Cain't make me."

"Oh yes I can."

Joy giggled.  "Nuh-uh."

Jeb knocked once more on the door.  "You come on out, or
I'll--" he stopped himself, swearing under his breath.
Why couldn't his confounded sister give someone else a
headache for once?  He tried again.  "You come out, now,
or I'll--"

And then all at once, Jeb sensed someone slip up behind
him, felt a gentle hand press over his mouth, and heard a
whisper: "-or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your
house down!"

Jeb's eyes went wide.  It was Fairlight.  One of her
hands was still around his mouth, the other around his
waist, pulling him to her as she slowly kissed the back of
his neck.  Jeb closed his eyes and felt her press herself
against his back.  She was soft, and warm, and he could
hardly believe she was really here, that he wasn't stuck
again in the dream where she came back to him, came back
for good.  Her lips touched the soft skin behind his ear,
and he sucked in his breath in surprise.  In one fluid
motion, he turned to pull her towards him, and kissed her
long and slow.

Jeb didn't know or care if they stood there for hours or
only seconds.  All he knew were Fairlight's arms around
his neck, her hair pressed up against his cheek, and the
tears that pricked in his eyes.

Finally, he drew her face from him and cupped it in
his hands.  "Hi," he said softly.

"Hi," she smiled.

"You came back."

She nodded, taking her hands in his.  "I been trying to
talk to you fer days, but you been around yer family all
the time.  First time I seen you alone.  I missed you."

"I missed you, too.  God, Fairlight, I missed you."

She smiled again, that glowing, searching smile.  "I don't
think I can do this, Jeb."

He frowned.  "Do what?"

"Not seein' you.  I'm sorry, but I cain't."

"Well, dadgummit, woman!" Jeb threw up his hands, "Nobody
asked ye to!"

She looked away.

Jeb's stomach flipped over.  "Fairlight-what?  What is it?"

She looked at him for a moment, measuring him with
her eyes.  "Neil did, Jeb.  Neil asked me not to see you
no more."

"Neil?"  Jeb shook his head, certain he hadn't heard
her correctly.	"What does Neil have to do with it?"
He looked at her blankly, not understanding.

Fairlight made an impatient noise.  For a smart man,
Jeb could be awfully thick sometimes.  "Because of the
feudin', Jeb!  Neil don't want you to get hurt!  He knows
what your daddy'll do if he finds out."  Her eyes were
unhappy under her pursed eyebrows.  "Because Neil loves
you," she added softly.

Jeb nodded slowly, and Fairlight could see that he was
thinking. She reached out a hand to push back the lock
of hair that had fallen in his eyes.  "And so do I,"
she whispered.

Suddenly, Jeb grabbed her in a fierce hug, lifting her off
the ground and twirling her around.  "Then, Fairlight," he
said, setting her back down eagerly and taking her hands
in his, "Marry me."

"What?" she gasped, her eyes going wide.

"Ye heard me.  Marry me.  And we'll leave the cove.
We'll take one of my daddy's horses, and we'll ride far
as we can, somewhere where there ain't no feuding, and
won't nobody stop us from gettin' married."

And before she could disbelieve it, Jeb was kneeling
before her, taking her hand in his.  "I cain't give you
much, Fairlight.  But I love you." He smiled up at her.
"I love you so much.  Will ye have me?"

Fairlight didn't know whether to laugh or cry or scream
with delight.  The noise that issued from her mouth turned
out to be a mixture of all three.  "Yes!"  she giggled,
sniffling noisily, "I will marry you, Jeb Spencer, with
all my heart."

Part Thirteen 

"Jeb?"

Jeb and Fairlight laughed and wiped away tears and hugged
each other, hardly daring to believe what the other had
said.  Had he really asked her to marry him? Fairlight half
wondered to herself.  Had she really said yes?	Jeb half
wondered back.	They might have stood there, wondering,
all day, if a small voice had not insisted on interrupting
their reverie.

"Jeb?"	There was a tugging on his trouser leg.

Jeb tore himself from Fairlight's smile long enough to
look down.  He was mildly surprised to see his little
sister, Joy, standing there gazing up at him, an impatient
look on her small face.  And then he remembered-he'd been
out here in the first place to fetch Joy back into church.

"Je-eb,"  Joy whined, "I'm done and hit's cold. Can we go
back inside?"

Exchanging a look, Jeb and Fairlight knelt down on either
side of the little girl.  "Joy," Jeb began, "You know
Fairlight and I ain't--."

"What your brother is askin'," Fairlight interrupted
him, "is how much of our conversation did you jest hear,
baby girl?"

Joy looked from one worried face to the other.	"'Most all
of hit, I reckon," she answered, quite matter-of-fact.
"I heerd you say ye missed each other, and then Fairlight
said she cain't live withoutcha, Jeb, even though Neil
told her to.  And then I heerd that you gon' take one
of daddy's horses and run' way and git you-all married
someplace far away," she finished cheerfully.

"No!  Joy!"  Jeb grabbed his sister by the shoulders.
"Girl, you tell a soul what you jest told us and I swear
I will hide your backside so fast--"

"Ow!"  whined Joy, "You hurtin' me! Owwww, let go!
What's wrong with you?"  she added, rubbing her arm and
looking spitefully up at her brother.

Frustrated, Jeb pushed her aside and stood, arms crossed
over his chest.  Fairlight gave him a long look.  Jeb knew
better than to hit a child in anger-and it worried her
some that he was upset enough now to even say the words.
"Joy," she said quietly, taking the girl by the hand,
"what Jeb means is that we is keepin' a secret.  You know
what a secret is, right?"

"Yes'm," Joy nodded, "Hit be somethin' ye cain't tell
nobody.  Like because somebody told you, and hit be
mortally wrong to tell on a friend."

Fairlight felt a pang of guilt at what she was about
to say.  How could she ask a child to lie for her?

But then, she thought, what else could she do?	Give up
Jeb?  She had tried that already.  Maybe if they lived
far apart she would forget him and fall in love again
and marry someone else instead.  Maybe Jeb would, too.
But she knew it wouldn't work that way.  They lived on
the very same mountain.  Their lives were connected, two
threads all tangled up together in the fabric of cove life.
Like it or not, Fairlight knew that she was not strong
enough to weather seeing Jeb every day for the rest of
her life, knowing they couldn't be together.

She could leave, she supposed.	But where would she go?
And how would she support herself once she got there?
No, if anyone left, it would have to be Jeb.  He was a
man, and perhaps he could at least find work somewhere-on
a farm, maybe, or at one of those big factories up in
Knoxville.  Fairlight's heart sank at the thought of her
Jeb--who so loved the great silence of the outdoors, loved
to work outside, alone with his thoughts--cooped up in a
factory all day, surrounded by noise and grease and the
shouting of the other workers. . . .

At any rate, Fairlight told herself, Jeb would need a horse
to get himself that far.  If Joy spilled the secret of
their escape, his chances of leaving would still be ruined.
No, she realized.  There was only one choice now.

"That's exactly right, Miss Joy.  That's jest what a secret
be." she said, trying to sound casual, "And Jeb, he's your
friend, right?"  Please say yes! she pleaded silently.

Joy considered this.  "Waaal-reckon he ain't ‘zactly my
friend. . . he's my kin, you see." She was still looking
grouchily up at her brother.

Fairlight paused, uncertain what to do next.  This was not
a moment she felt inclined to argue over word choice with
a six-year-old.

"But you," Joy continued, "I reckon you can be my friend,
Fairlight.  ‘Cause you and me ain't related.  See?"
she finished, proud of her logic.

Fairlight sighed in relief, and then smiled up at Jeb,
who was grinning back.	It was going to be OK.

"I see.  Well, then, Missy, you gots to keep this secret,
if you goin' to be my friend.  I let you hear what I told
Jeb, and hit wouldn't be right if'n you told somebody
else, now, would it?  Not if you and I are friends?"

"Waal. . ." Joy thought about this for a long minute.
"No," she concluded, "I guess not.  But only if you'n me
are bodaciously good friends."

Fairlight almost laughed aloud.  "That's an awful big
word, Miss Joy!  I can see that you are somebody that I
will be proud to be friends with!"  And with that, she
reached down to shake the girl's tiny hand with all the
seriousness and ceremony due to such a solemn compact. Joy
beamed back up at them.

"Joy-girl," said Jeb, kneeling beside her, "You gonna
remember that I love you, right?"

Joy threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big hug.
"'Course I ‘member, Jeb!  I love you, too!"

"Good," he smiled, giving her a kiss on her small
cheek. "Now git you back on into sarvice."

And off she ran, blonde hair flying.

Fairlight offered Jeb her hand, and pulled him up to stand
beside her.  "I love you," she said softly, kissing him.
For a moment, he stood, watching his sister go.

"I love you, too," he said finally, his eyes sad.
"And now," he added with a sudden grin, "We got ourselves
a weddin' to pack for!"

Part Fourteen Late that night, Robert MacNeill stood by
the stream just beyond his cabin, chewing on a willow
reed, and thinking.  In the half-light of a waning moon,
he could just make out the bobbing end of his fly-line,
the pole cool and reassuring within his hands.

"I told you afore, Pa: hit ain't my quarrel."

" You was right, you know.  Hard to believe it, but our
baby's almost a man."

"No, son.  I want you to find another way."

Robert tried to shut the voices out of his head, but found
he had to listen.

"It ain't how it looks, Pa."

"Reckon they'll outgrow feudin' soon enough. . .reckon
you did."

"Ye cain't go to college.  Y'ain't smart enough, boy."

The voices were coming faster, Fiona's and Neil's and his
very own, crescendoing, swirling into a symphony inside
Robert's ears.

"You ashamed of me now, woman?"

"How he gon' to find cash money his own daddy cain't?"

"Son, where is the path you gon' make for yourself?"

"Pa, how could you do this to me?!"

"The time has come, men and women of Cutter Gap, to remove
our feet from the evil that surrounds us."

"He needs to go, Robert.  He's got a chance at somethin'
better'n us."

"I hate you. . .I hate you. . .I hate you. . . ."

Neil's voice was the loudest.  Robert thought the words
might never stop echoing back to him.

"I'm scared."

"I am, too."

"Are we doin' the right thing?"

"Girl, hush up!"

"Hush up!. . .hush up. . .hush. . .hush. . . ."

It took Robert a moment to realize that the voices were
no longer coming from his own mind, but from the grove
of trees on the far side of the stream. Instantly, his
pole was on the ground, his rifle at his shoulder. One
eye peered through the site as he scanned the grove for
any sign of movement.

"Don't you keep hushin' up at me," replied a whispered
voice from the trees, "or I'll push you off this-here
horse!"

Robert saw a horse step gingerly out from the grove.
Two shadowy figures sat astride, jostling one another.
Robert trained his gun on the rider in front.

There was a sound of nervous giggling, and a man's low
voice.	"Stop it!"

 More giggling.

"I said stop! Stop, now."  There was one more giggle, and
then the noise stopped.  Robert saw the rider in front
slip off the horse and lead the animal towards the water.
"We got to let Trouble drink before we go tearin' on outta
here," continued the hushed voice.

Robert cocked his rifle.  In the silent night, the noise
shuddered through the trees like an earthquake.  Trouble
started and whinnied, and the rider on her back had to grab
the reins to keep her from rearing up.	"You're on my land,
strangers," Robert called, putting menace in his voice.
"What's your business?"

"Mr. MacNeill?"

Robert was taken aback to hear himself addressed by
name-and by a woman's voice.  He shifted his gun slightly
but held his ground.  "Who's there?"

"Mr. MacNeill, it's me."  The rider fumbled in her
pocket, and grabbed the lamp tied on the saddlebags.
"It's Fairlight Allen."

The lamp quickly lit, held up in front of her, Robert
looked.  He was stunned into silence by the contours
of her face.  Could this be little Fairlight Allen?
Neil's childhood playmate?  The woman he saw before him
seemed many years older, and even from across the stream,
Robert could see the deep shadows underneath her eyes. He
had to look away for a moment.

"Sir," said the rider on the ground, "we ain't meant
no harm, sir.  We's just waterin' Trouble."  Fairlight
handed down the lamp, and Robert's site landed on a
terrified-looking Jeb Spencer.	Confused, he lowered
the rifle.

"Honest, Mr. MacNeill," Fairlight added, imploring,  "we
was only out for a ride.  We just stopped fer the water."

Robert's gaze went from the frightened couple to the
overstuffed saddlebags to Fairlight's best embroidered
shawl, clutched around her as she shivered in the cold
night air.  He raised an eyebrow at them. "You-all shorely
carryin' a lot, considerin' you only out for a midnight
stroll."

Fairlight gulped visibly.  "Yessir."

"Looks to me like maybe you-all runnin' off somewhere."

"No, sir!" Fairlight protested, "we was just. . .um. . .."

Jeb turned around and poked her in the shin.

"Owww! Whatdja do that for?"  Fairlight glared down at him.

"Fairlight," said Jeb, gesturing up at the package-laden
horse, "look at us.  We ain't hidin' nothin'."

Taken aback, Fairlight blinked and kept silent.

"Look," Jeb said, turning back to Robert, "We're runnin'
off to El Pano to git married."  He took a deep breath.
"Mr. MacNeill, we're in love, Fairlight and me.  And you
know as well as I do that we cain't tell nobody here
‘bout it.  My momma's a Taylor, and if my daddy found
out I been courtin' an Allen girl ever since summer?
Or if somebody told Mr. Allen?	Hit wouldn't be safe for
me here and you know it."

Robert could see the earnestness in the boy's face.
Jeb Spencer had never said so many words together at once
to the older man, and Robert could tell how much courage
he must be summoning in order to speak so plainly now.

Jeb was standing taller now, the force of his feeling
pulling him upwards.  "So we're goin' away, Mr. MacNeill.
And I jest guess that you gonna have to let us."
Jeb crossed his arms, and steeled himself for the reply.

For a moment, the older man said nothing.  And then the
voices began again.  But this time, Robert heard not Fiona
and Neil, but the long-ago voices of his own mother and
father. . . .

"I lost one son to the city and I ain't losin' another!"

"Robert, listen to me, she's not the girl for you--"

"You're ruining your future, boy--"

"Son, we only want what's best for you--"

"You listen to me or I'll make you listen!"

"Neil, stop it! He's only a child!  Neil, you're hurting
him!"

"Ain't your own family good enough for you, now, boy?"

"Robert, please.  Let her go.  Let her be.  For his sake.
For yours."

"How could you choose her? How could you?!"

"How could you?"

"How could you?"

"How could you. . . ."

Tears welled up in Robert's eyes as he remembered.
How could you?	he whispered to himself.  How could you?

Silently, he shook the tears away, and crossed the
stream, stepping lightly over the stones.  Taking hold
of Fairlight's hand, he pulled her bewildered face down
to his, and kissed her cheek.  "Go," he said, putting her
hand in Jeb's.	"I know ye cain't have your own fathers'
blessings, so take mine instead."

Jeb and Fairlight looked at one another, astonished.
Neither could think of a thing to say in reply.

"Thank you," Jeb finally managed, squeezing Robert's hand.
"Thank you."

They were still clasping hands, Fairlight's whispered
prayers of thanks echoing in their ears, when the shot
cracked across the stream like thunder.  And in that
terrible moment, as Robert crumpled before them, they saw
the great shadow rising across the water.

It was Jim Spencer, the gleam of an avenging father in
his eyes.


Part Fifteen 

In the first second after Mr. Spencer fired
his rifle, nobody moved.  And then it seemed that everyone
was yelling and panicking at once.

"Pa!" Jeb hollered, kneeling by Robert's side. "Oh my God.
Mr. MacNeill?  Mr. MacNeill, can ye hear me?"

"Git away from him!" screamed Mr. Spencer, splashing
through the stream towards his son  "Git away!"

"NO!" screamed Fairlight, launching herself off Trouble's
back and towards her fiance. "Don't you touch him!" she
warned Mr. Spencer, her breathing ragged. "This ain't none
of your business!"

Jim grabbed Fairlight by the wrist and bared his teeth
at her.  "You good-for-nothin' Allen girl.  This is all
your fault!"  Fairlight buckled under the pain.

Jeb tore his father's hand from her arm.  Grabbing her
by the shoulders, he shoved her towards the ground.
"Fairlight, listen to me.  Go git Neil and his mama."
He stood, staring his father down, daring him to move in
Fairlight's direction.

Fairlight hesitated.

"Go now," Jeb snarled at her.  Stumbling on the damp
earth, she scrambled to her feet, and ran as fast as she
could towards the cabin, whispering desperately under her
breath for God to strike Jim Spencer down before he hurt
his own son.

 Jeb was down on his knees again, checking for Robert's
 pulse.  It was there, but it was faint.  Jeb could see
 that he'd already lost a lot of blood.  "Damn you!" he
 hissed up at his father, "He's gonna die because of you!"

Jim's eyes were narrowed to slits, his face pure poison.
"He helped you two escape.  Man deserves to die!"

Jeb's eyes flashed with a righteous fire.  "Nobody deserves
to die over what me and Fairlight done!" he breathed in
his father's face.  "Mr. MacNeill was the only person in
this whole cove who understood that.  Ain't nobody stood
up for us but him!"

Before Jim had time to reply, there was a cry from beyond
the streambank.

"Robert!  Oh my God, Robert!"  It was Fiona MacNeill, Neil
behind her, splashing through the stream towards the three
men on the other side.

"Robert!" Fiona threw herself at her husband's body,
cradling him away from Jeb's supportive embrace.
"Robert, talk to me.  Robert!  You listenin' to me?"

Robert's eyes flickered open, and he groaned.  All eyes
were instantly upon him.  "Fiona?" he said weakly.

"Robert," she said, "I'm here.	I'm here."

Neil was beside them, his arms holding his mother upright,
stroking his father's forehead.  "Pa," he said, "It's me."

Robert smiled a little.  The blood was rushing past his
eyes so hard he could see nothing, but he recognized his
son's voice.  "Neil."

"Robert, you're gon' to be fine," Fiona said firmly.
"You hear me?  You stay with me, now.  I sent Fairlight
to get Sam Allen to go for the doctor in El Pano.  You got
to hang on ‘till he gits here."

Robert gave a slight shake of his head.  "I ain't gon'
make it, love.	Neil, listen to me."

Neil leaned in closer.	"Pa, you gon' be fine!	You have
to be fine!"  He heard the hysterical note in his voice,
and it scared him.  Noticing the bandages in his mother's
hand, he pried them out of her clenched fist and began
frantically trying to stem the bleeding coming from his
father's back.	There was blood everywhere.  In the mess
of shirt and hair and blood and skin, Neil couldn't even
tell where the bullet had entered.

"No," Robert's words were clearer now.	"Listen to me.
Take care of your mama.  I mean it.  Take care of her."

Neil's only reply was to wad more bandages into the
never-ending blood.  He wished angrily that he knew
something else to try.

"Robert?"  Fiona was crying again.  "Robert!  You cain't
go nowhere!  Don't you go nowhere!"  She was shaking her
husband harder and harder, as if she could shake her words
into his ears.

"Mrs. MacNeill," coughed Jim Spencer from behind them.
"Mrs. MacNeill.  Leave him be."  He caught her hands
between his to stop the shaking.  "Stop now."

Fiona cried out in anger and wrestled free from the
capture, but he held her back, her arms pounding the air.
"Robert!  No!  No!  Let go of me!"

Neil had his father's head against his chest, his hands
still trying futilely to stop the bleeding.  "Fiona,"
Robert called in the direction of her voice, "Fiona, I
love you.  You know that, don't you?  You were the path
I had to follow.  I love you."

Fiona wept, her head buried now in the arms of a helpless
Jim Spencer.  Neil felt a touch at his shoulder, and
looked up.  It was Fairlight.

"My daddy's gone for the doctor," she said.  He nodded
his thanks, rocking his father gently now, back and forth,
trying to soothe or trying to hold on, he could no longer
tell.  His head spun and his vision was blurry with tears
and with sweat.  He knew he needed to do something, but
he couldn't think what.  His brain felt numb.  Robert's
breathing was coming slower and raspier.  Neil could feel
the clutch of his hand weakening.

"Damn it, Pa!" Neil said, at a loss.  "You cain't die on
me now!  I'm still mad at you!"

Robert chuckled, then shifted slightly at the pain.
"I know hit."

Neil breathed a little easier at this.	"Well--" he
pressed, "hit ain't fair.  You	gon' send Jeb and Fairlight
away but you ain't let me go to Baltimore?"

Robert's frown lifted.	Neil had never seen his father
look so at peace before.  "Neil," he said with love in
his voice, "I cain't stop you no more.	You're a man now.
You got to do what you think is right."

"No!  Wait!  Don't say you ain't gonna stop me!"
Neil shook his father's arm, willing him to stay alive.
"Tell me I cain't go!  Pa, you gotta tell me I cain't go!"

For one moment, Robert opened his eyes and saw his son.
Then, looking beyond Neil to Jeb and Fairlight standing
quietly in the background, he smiled.  "Go," he said at
last, so low that Neil had to bend his head to catch it,
"You have my blessing."  Then it seemed to Neil that he
sighed in relief.

"No!--" cried Neil.

And Robert was gone.

Neil looked over at his mother, wiping her tears away
with Jim Spencer's handkerchief.  When she saw Robert, she
reached over and gently closed his eyes. For a second, her
hand rested on her husband's cheek.  Then mother and son
embraced, holding on to one another.  No words were needed.

Jim Spencer was still sitting awkwardly by the stream, a
bit detached from the surreal events before him, seeming
not quite to know what to do with himself.  Robert's death
had silenced his anger. He had removed his hat and laid
his gun on the ground, waiting for an appropriate moment
to leave.

Fairlight went to sit by Fiona, and gently explained what
had happened.  Jeb did the same for Neil.  Their voices
were hushed, and it was some minutes before anyone was
able to move.

To Neil's surprise, it was Fiona who felt need to speak
first.	"Mr. Spencer," she said, turning towards him, "As
Robert's widow,"-Neil flinched at the word-"I am entitled
to justice for his death."

Jeb and Fairlight exchanged worried glances.

Fiona continued.  "Mr. Spencer, my husband didn't abide
feuding.  He knew how bad people git hurt by it.  He knew
how hit can kill--"  She paused, a catch in her voice.
"-how hit kills the innocent as well as the guilty.
You owe my family, Mr. Spencer, but Robert wouldn't want
no more blood on our land.  And neither do I."	She was
sitting upright now, the conviction as clear on her body as
a cold mountain stream. "So what I am askin' is this: let
Jeb and Fairlight stay here, in the cove, and let them be.
If'n they want to git married, let them."  Her eyes were
gentle, hoping now to appeal to Mr. Spencer's heart as
well as his honor.  "There's been enough hurtin' here for
one night, Jim.  Now hit's a-time for healin'."

Jim raised his eyes from the ground long enough to see the
passion in her face.  Fiona saw him considering, weighing
her request.  Every instinct within him urged him to deny
her. And yet-he had killed a man this night.  A good man.
A man whose convictions Jim trusted, the same way he
trusted Robert's skill with a knife and rifle.	And Fiona
had the right to name her blood price.	Saying yes might
mean facing the displeasure of the cove-but saying no
would mean dishonoring a friend.

"Awright," he said softly.  "Awright, Fiona.  They can
stay."	He nodded gruffly towards his son, never noticing
Jeb's astonished look.	And with this, Jim stood, bent to
lift Robert's body onto his shoulder, and headed gravely
towards the MacNeill cabin.

Her hardest task accomplished, Fiona's knees buckled.
Neil caught her hand before she fell, and she opened her
arms wide and hugged her son, hugged Jeb and Fairlight who
joined them.  Together, they wept, all wept, in anger and
grief and joy--a small seed of peace waiting, buried deep
beneath the darkness of the night.

Part Sixteen 

Once he'd made himself begin, it didn't take
Neil long to gather his belongings.  Three shirts, an
extra pair of trousers, his brand-new Latin reader-a gift
from Uncle Richard in anticipation of Neil's arrival.
His teacher, Miss Randall, had presented him with a
small box of slate pencils, and these he placed with his
old slate on top of his clothes and book. A lock of his
mother's hair, and several of his father's best fishing
lures.	Everything wrapped easily in a large bandanna.
Neil tied the bundle onto the end of the fishing pole Jeb
had whittled for him, and was finished.

Had it really been only five weeks since Jeb had made that
pole?  Neil could hardly believe how much had changed in
that time.  Five weeks ago, the letter from Uncle Richard
had still been making its way to Cutter Gap.  Five weeks
ago, Jeb and Fairlight would've never even admitted they
were in love-and here they were, newly married.  And then
Neil's stomach turned over as he remembered-five weeks
ago, his father was still alive.

He pushed the thought aside.  Now was a time for moving
forward, not looking back.  He would have plenty of time
to think about his father on the train to Baltimore.

His mother called up the ladder to the loft.  "Neil?
It's time to go."

"Okay."  He took a last look around, trying to imprint
every detail into his memory.  How long would it be before
he saw it again?

He took his pole and climbed down to the main room.
Fiona handed him an apple for his breakfast and tucked
one in her already-bulging apron pocket.  Neil wondered
how much food she was planning on taking-El Pano was only
seven miles away!

"Where's Jeb and Fairlight?" he asked, biting into the
crisp fruit.

Fiona smiled.  "I ‘spect they're givin' you a bit o'time
to say goodbye."

Neil wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the newlyweds
living in his own home.  On the one hand, the trade seemed
a fair one: Jeb and Fairlight had someplace neutral to
stay-neither on Spencer land nor Allen-at least until the
spring, when they could begin building their own cabin.
In exchange, his mother was able to stay in her home,
helping Fairlight keep house-and more importantly, helping
to deflect some of the cove's disapproval of the unusual
marriage.

On the other hand, if he was being honest with himself,
Neil resented having such a crowded house in the very same
week he was trying to leave.  His mother sure hadn't lost
any time replacing him, he mumbled in his most ungracious
moments-would she even notice he'd gone?  Deep in his
heart, he knew this was not true-but that hadn't kept him
from fearing it, from complaining about it to anyone who
would listen.

"Are you ready, son?"  He looked down to find his mother
at his elbow.  He experienced a moment of disorientation;
when had he gotten taller than her?   He stood a full head
above her now, and Fiona was not a short woman.

As if reading his mind, she reached up to ruffle his hair.
"I think you've grown on me, Neil.  You look so much like
your father."

But Neil was ready to go, and eager not to prolong his
goodbyes.  Gently pushing his mother out the door in front
of him, he blew out the lamp, and stepped into the still
dawn air.

Down by the stream, Fairlight and Jeb were dancing slowly
to music only they could hear, lost in each other's arms
and each other's eyes.	He whispered something in her
ear, and she laughed her low, soft laugh and leaned closer
to him.

Neil hated to interrupt, but the time had come.  He cleared
his throat.  Looking up, the couple stopped and smiled at
the MacNeills.	Fairlight gave Neil a kiss on the cheek,
hugged Fiona, and then headed towards the cabin to let
her husband and her friend make their goodbyes.

Now that the moment had come, Neil couldn't think what
to say.  How did you take leave of someone who had loved
you-- and hurt you--so deeply?	For a moment, they simply
stood, both a little awkward.  Much as he cared for Jeb,
Neil wasn't ready to forget that it was Jim Spencer's
bullet that had killed his father not even a month ago yet.

Finally, Jeb reached for his hand.  "Good luck to ye in
Baltimore," he said gruffly.  But instead of letting go, he
pulled his friend in for a hug.  "I'm sorry," he said, his
head on Neil's shoulder, tears escaping against his will.
"I'm so sorry."

It was enough.

"Thank you," Neil said, pulling back from the embrace and
looking his friend in the eye.	"Thank you."

"I left ye a present in the barn," Jeb called as Neil and
Fiona walked away.  Wondering what it could be-and why Jeb
hadn't just given it to him on the streambank-Neil asked
his mother to start down the road and told her he would
catch up to her.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of
the barn as he entered.  When at last they did, there was
a girl standing before him, a piece of paper in her hand,
smiling her bright smile, just for him.  His heart leapt.
It was Sunny.

"Hi," she said softly.

He grinned, then, a big grin, caught her up in his arms,
and twirled her around for a hug.  "How did you get here
so early?"

"I snuck out last night and spent the night at your
place-I got there late, after you were already asleep.
Your ma and Jeb and Fairlight were in on it all along."

He couldn't stop grinning.  "I'm so glad you came."

She grinned back.  "Me, too.  I brought you something."
She put the paper in his hand.

He unfolded it carefully.  It was a charcoal drawing-where
had she gotten charcoal?  And real paper?--Maybe Miss
Randall had given it to her.  The sketch was rough, but
it was obviously two heads side-by-side, and their hands
below, fingers intertwined.   Neil thought he could just
make out his own curly hair and Sunny's freckled cheeks.

"Is this us?" he asked, disbelieving.

She nodded, delighted that he'd guessed.  "To take
with you.  To remember me by."

Neil felt his heart drop into his stomach.  For the first
time that morning, he wondered if he was making the wrong
choice in going.  Here was this beautiful girl-no, this
beautiful woman-giving him her friendship-maybe even
her love.  How would he survive in Baltimore without her,
without Jeb, without his mother-without his father?

Sunny saw the change in his eyes, and her heart ached
for him.  "Don't look so sad," she whispered, taking his
face in her hands, "You have to go."

And then she kissed him, slowly, slowly, their eyes shut,
both unwilling to admit that their first kiss would also
be their last.

When they finally broke apart, Neil held her against him
for a long time, as she ran her fingers through his hair
and looked hard at the roof, willing herself not to cry.

"You have to go, your mother's waiting," she said at last.

"I know."

"I love you," she whispered.

Neil nodded.  "I love you, too."

And then reluctantly, he let go of her hand.  For a
moment, he stood there, simply looking at her, memorizing
her, loving her.  And then he turned, and walked out of
the barn.

He forced himself not to look back.  His mother was farther
down the path than he'd expected, and he jogged to catch
up with her, glad for the motion and the breathlessness
that kept him from crying.

When he reached her, he slowed to a walk and took her hand.
Fiona looked at her son, and chose to say nothing.
Silently, they headed down the long road to El Pano.
In the distance, Neil saw the sun just appearing over the
next ridge, and felt his heart tighten at the strange,
new light spilling across his path.


Epilogue 

As soon as they arrived in El Pano, Neil and Fiona
were called out of their silent thoughts by the hustle and
noise of the town.  There seemed to be people everywhere,
calling, crying, arguing, reuniting.  The train huffed
and whistled from its track, and Neil imagined it felt as
impatient as he did to be off.

But first, he had to say goodbye to his mother.

"I'm not going to say goodbye," she announced, as she
walked him towards the train door.  "Because I know that
we will see each other very soon."

Neil nodded, a little surprised, but wanting to humor her.
"Uncle Richard said I might be home for Christmas.
Depends on whether I can earn enough for the train fare
between now and then."

For a moment, it looked to Neil as if his mother hesitated.
And then she reached into her pocket, and pulled out
something Neil had never seen before.  It was a pipe,
carved of cherrywood, with a wide silver band crossing
the stem.  He turned it over in his hands, savoring the
wood's silky finish.

"This belonged to your father," Fiona said, "and to your
grandfather, and to his father before him, back all the
way to our kinfolks in Scotland.  It was made for the Clan
Lord, the man who built your family's castle, Kisimul,
on the Isle of Barra.  His name was also Neil MacNeill."
Neil grinned at this connection.

She continued, "This pipe is important to your family, son.
There are a few other things from the Barra kin, some
in your Granny MacNeill's house, and some up your at
Uncle Christopher and Aunt Hattie's.  But this was given
to your father and I on the day we married.  We been
savin' it for your weddin', too." She paused, searching
for the right words. "Savin' it for when you was a man.
But, I think your daddy woulda said that day was today."
She smiled again. "And so would I."

"Ma?"  Neil's voice wavered, suddenly full of emotion.
"How can I go away?  How can I leave you and Cutter Gap
and Sunny and Jeb and everyone?"

"You gon' make your own path, son, now's the time.
It ain't gonna git any easier.	Hit's only gonna git
harder.  Go, Neil.  Don't think-just go."

"Ma?" he asked again, quietly.	"Would Pa want me to be
doing this?"

Fiona looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Son, what does
that pipe say on it?"

He looked again at it, and this time noticed the writing on
the band. He had to hold it up to the sunlight to read the
strange syllables: "Tha mo chas air ceann mo naimhdean."

"It means, ‘My foot is on the head of my enemies.'"

He frowned.  "That's an odd thing to put on a pipe."

She nodded.  "Fightin' was important to your kin, Neil.
You come from a country of warriors.  So don't you think
it means somethin' that your daddy held on to this pipe,
even though he didn't abide feudin'?"

Neil was still confused.

"Neil," she said, taking his hand.  "You can respect the
past without agreein' with it.	It is time to make your
own way now."

Behind them, the train whistle blew, and the conductor
yelled the all-aboard.	Neil turned to look.  And then,
beneath the din of the train and the crowd, he thought he
heard his father's voice, "Well, then, son-where is the
path you gon' make for yourself?"

"Listen, baby boy," Fiona said, hugging him, "It don't
need to make sense to you now.	It will later, I promise.
Some day, you gonna remember what I said, and you'll know."

He looked at his mother standing in front of him one
last time.  "Thank you, Ma.  I love you."

"You know I love you, too. Don't you ever forget it.
I love you, too."

And then he stepped on the train, and made his way to
a seat in the car.  Through the window, he could see
her searching for him, her face relaxing when she found
him again.  She blew him a kiss.  He pretended to catch
it with a laugh, then kissed his own finger and pressed
it up against the glass for her.

Slowly, the wheels of the train started to turn, and Fiona
began to wave madly.  He waved back, waved until they
pulled away from the platform, and his mother became just
a waving blur, and then just a black dot in the distance,
and then nothing, invisible against the landscape, as El
Pano slid by, the morning sun lighting the way through
the mountains towards Baltimore.