“Don’t reckon that’s possible,” Fin said. The ol’ pony jest plodded slowly along the path, but the city lady sat stiff-backed, gripping the saddle horn with both hands, and her pretty face was all tight and tense and pale.
“This pony doesn’t seem very happy to have me on her back.”
“Jenny can git sulky. She’s a touch moody.” He rubbed an eye and yawned.
“Do we have much farther to go?”
Mid-yawn, a laugh nearly burst out of Fin. They were still ambling along the creek, slow as molasses in January. He rolled his eyes, wondering how long these errands might take. It was his own fault; he knew better than to let Miss Cora catch sight of him in town. She always had things for him to do, and whilst she paid him a fair wage, Fin would ruther call his own shots on his rare day off. But how did a man say no to the likes of Miss Cora? He never could. He shoulda known better than to sit at the livery in her line of vision. Fin sat down in the sun to rest a spell, and that was when Miss Cora spotted him from her window, rapped on the glass, crooked her finger, and beckoned him to her office. Something about Miss Cora made his back go straight as an arrow. Eyes on the back of her head. Eyes everywhere. He was more than a little afreared of her. Everyone with half a brain was.
But he was smart enough not to tell this city lady anything more than she needed to know. “Pert-near. Jest up yonder a bit. Deerlick Holler.” He glanced at her. “Don’t suppose ya know why we call places hollers and not valleys.”
“I have no idea.”
“Cuz ya can holler across and still be heered. Cain’t do that in a valley.”
She didn’t respond. “Tell me again to whose house we’re going?”
He snorted. To whose house? Such fancy talk. Nobody talked like that. “Mollie McGlothin. She’s as old as the hills. Older. Her great-grandpappy was one of the first settlers ’round these parts. Mollie claims he was kin to Daniel Boone, but it’s best not to ask her to prove it. She can git tetchy.” He turned back to check on Miss Lucy and thought her face seemed a little less drawn, so he decided to keep on talking. He liked to talk and tell stories. “Mollie McGlothin’s birthed hundreds o’ babies. Thousands, maybe.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s the gospel truth. She’ll tell ya ’bout it. She birthed pretty nigh on everybody in the county.”
“Oh! Now I see. You meant she’s trained in midwifery.”
He turned to look at her. “No. She helped the womenfolk have their babies.” He noticed Miss Lucy had loosened up her grip on the saddle. She still held on tight, but she wasn’t clenching quite so much. He didn’t think so, anyhows. She was wearing gloves.
“I didn’t expect it to be such a circuitous trail.”
“Huh?” He frowned. Angie Cooper was always showing off by throwing them fifty-cent words at him. “What’s cir . . . cir . . . cue . . .”
“Circuitous. Circular. It appears we’re going in circles through the trees.” She let out a deep sigh. “It’s so dark and shady. More of a forest than I’d expected, as well.”
Going in circles? Well, how else did a body get hisself up a steep hillside? Oh brother. Fin had a heckuva lot better things to do with his time than this. But he did like the feel of them bit pieces clinking in his pocket. He pointed to a fork in the path. “We’re going down that way. Coming up to Ghost Crick. Jenny’ll cross nice and easy. She’s done it thousands of times afore. Crick used to be a good bit wider and deeper, but we’ve had a real bad dry spell this year.”
“Ghost Crick?”
“Yes indeed, Miss Lucy. Thar’s a haint that lives in the water. Long time ago a feller crossed the creek on his horse and the horse began to sink in the middle. The feller called for holp and folks ran to holp him, but afore they could git to him, this feller and his horse plumb disappeared. Never to be seen again.” He paused and shifted around on his horse so he could see Miss Lucy’s face as he delivered the rest of the story. “Except on full moons. Folks say there’s a man on his horse swimmin’ down the creek, calling out for holp.” He cupped his mouth to mimic the haint’s shouts. “Holp! Holp me! I be drownin’!”
Her eyes went wide, jest as he’d hoped.
“Finley James, by any chance are you telling me that tale just to spook me?”
“No, miss. That tale is the gospel truth. And you can call me Fin. Everybody does except Miss Cora. She says it holps to put the fear of the devil in me.” Angie Cooper called him Finley James, too, which annoyed him to no end.
“Tell me what my errand is with Mollie McGlothin.”
“Mollie’s got herself a daughter Jane up there in Chicagy who sends her letters. She be wantin’ to know what Jane sez. Miss Cora does the readin’ and writin’ for her.” He glanced back. “And now you be doin’ it.” They ambled along the narrow bank of the creek. Little by little, the creek widened, then joined another branch, until it had become one large stream. When he didn’t hear another question aimed at him, he looked back and realized Miss Lucy wasn’t following behind him. Way back, Jenny had stopped to snack on some grass, and Miss Lucy looked like she was scared half to death. He turned Sheila around. If’n he lost the city lady, Miss Cora would never let him hear the end of it. “Shake the reins, Miss Lucy.”
She jiggled the reins and Jenny kept munching on the grass.
“Harder. Give her a kick.”
“But I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Not to fret. Ponies got thick hides.” Fin watched Miss Lucy give Jenny a feeble kick in the girth, which the ol’ pony ignored. He turned Sheila back and leaned over to grab Jenny’s bridle to yank the pony away from her snack. They plodded along for several minutes, then he turned to give her fair warning. “We’re heading acrosst Ghost Crick.”
Miss Lucy stared at him.
“What’s wrong?” What’s wrong now, he wanted to add.
Her gaze was fixed on the crick. “There’s absolutely no way I can cross that.”
“Jest grab on to Jenny’s mane and hang on tight.” He kicked his horse and took Jenny’s reins to lead her down the bank. The pony huffed and snorted as they went, hooves skidding at times, which made Miss Lucy yelp. As they waded into the water, he said, “Best not to look down.” He held tight to Jenny’s reins so the pony wouldn’t balk.
“I’m not looking down. I’m not even looking.”
He glanced back to see Miss Lucy’s eyes squeezed shut, her arms clinging around poor Jenny’s neck for dear life. He grinned. One thing he had to admit about this little city lady—she looked and acted like a fish outta water, and he’d half expected her to turn tail and head back to town. But she sure as heck weren’t giving up.
Heck was the sole cussing word his maw would allow him, so he tried to use it as often as he could.
LUCY WOULD HAVE screamed as the pony picked her way through Ghost Creek, but she was terrified that any movement or sound she made might cause the pony to miss a step and she would nosedive into the creek.
As soon as Lucy returned to the town of Morehead today, she would have to explain to Cora that she simply couldn’t do this job. She faintly wondered if there was a train running back to Lexington tonight or if she’d need to wait until tomorrow.
The pony tripped, caught itself, stopped, until Finley James yelled at it to keep going, and thankfully, it started to move again.
This was too much. It was all too much. She wanted to collapse on her lumpy bed at Miss Maude’s boarding house and weep, but she could do no such thing. She had made a vow to herself to be brave in this new venture. But this? She hadn’t expected this.
What had ever possessed Father to agree to Cora’s request for Lucy to move to Morehead? And why hadn’t she been more forceful in her objections? Perhaps she hadn’t felt as if she had a place in Father and Hazel’s life, but at least she wasn’t in danger of tumbling right over a pony’s big ears and plunging to her death in a haunted creek!
Breathe, Lucy, breathe. In and out.
Now and then the pony
would just stop short, but Finley James would make a clicking sound and urge it on. At long last they made it to the other side and Lucy thought she was safe. So wrong.
“Hang on tight,” Fin said. “We be going straight up this hill.”
“Wait! I’m going to slide right off the back of this beast.”
“Lift your bee-hind up and lean forward. But drop the reins a bit. Hold ’em loose so Jenny can stretch her neck.”
Lucy cringed, holding on to the saddle horn until her hands ached with tension. Hours passed, or possibly minutes, as they snaked up the steep hill. Finley James sat loose-limbed in the saddle, practically sashaying up the hill along with the horse. Lucy had been gripping the saddle with the inside of her knees so tightly that they burned from the constant rub. As they climbed higher and higher, plunging deeper and deeper into the woods, it grew dark. Tall trees crowded out the sun. Even the sound of the pony’s hooves was hushed, plodding on top of a carpet of pine needles. When the boy came to a level place where the path was wide enough that they could ride side by side, he reined his horse until Lucy caught up. He reached out to hold back a low-hanging branch so it didn’t hit her in the face.
“Finley James?”
“Call me Fin, Miss Lucy. I prefer it.”
“Yes, sorry. Fin, what kind of shrubs are these?”
“What. Them showy flowers? That’s red buckeye.”
She looked up. “What about that tree? The leaves look similar to the shrub.”
“Yellow buckeye. Pretty to look at but the wood ain’t no good. Too weak, real soft.There’s lots of trees up here.” He swung his arm, pointing at one tree, then another as he talked. “Birch and beech, sugar maples, lindens. And that one . . . that’s the loblolly pine. Best tree in the world. Finest lumber you’ll ever find. And the best turpentine from the pitch too. Them trees are wanted the world over.” He lifted his chin. “Hear that?” He pointed halfway up a pine tree. There was a persistent tap tap tap sound that Lucy followed until she saw a bird, about nine inches long, knocking its head against the tree. “That be a red-cockaded woodpecker. They peck little cavities in the loblollies for their nests. If you work in the timber, like my paw did, you shoot ’em.”
“Why?”
“Cuz they damage wood meant for lumber. But if you asked my opinion, I’d tolerate a few holes in the wood. I’m rather fond of ’em.”
“Your father works for the lumber company?”
A shadow passed over Fin’s face. “He passed on a while back. But Paw didn’t work for no one but hisself. Wouldn’t have it no other way.”
It took every effort for Lucy to not wince at his horrible grammar. Didn’t he pronounced as dint. Wouldn’t was pronounced as wooden. Fin didn’t speak again for a long while. Had she overstepped? She felt a bit concerned, wondering what she’d said that hit some kind of sore spot. From what her father had told her, the lumber companies in Morehead had tried to bring economic prosperity to this impoverished county. “Do you intend to work for the lumber company after you graduate from school?”
Fin gave her a sharp look. “I’d quit school now, if Maw would let me.” He fell quiet again, and Lucy sensed she shouldn’t ask more. She wanted to, though. She was grateful for his knowledge of the mountain. She couldn’t believe Cora thought she could handle this trip alone. Just what kind of a person did she think Lucy was? Because whatever it was, she wasn’t.
The trail forked off to a level area, though trees still surrounded them on all sides. And then, through the trees, there sat a little one-room schoolhouse with a bell tower topping its roof.
Fin stopped in front of it. “That’s Little Brushy School. That’s where I go, so long as the teacher ain’t ailin’ or moonin’ after the postman.”
“It looks new.” The simplicity, the beauty of the little roughly hewn building shone through.
“It shorely is. Old one burnt down. I built this one m’self.” He rocked his hand in the air. “Mighta had a little holp.”
A young girl wearing a large floppy calico sunbonnet came out of the schoolhouse carrying a bucket, and Lucy thought she heard Fin utter a mild profanity.
The girl’s face broke into a beaming smile when she saw Fin. “Hey there, Finley James.”
“Hey yourself, Angie.” He sounded much less enthusiastic than the girl.
Her smile dissolved as she sized up Lucy. She took in her face, then her eyes traveled slowly to her boots and lingered there. Lucy glanced down at the clothes she wore—traveling clothes. A well-tailored overcoat that covered a white shirtwaist, tucked into a charcoal-gray woolen split skirt borrowed from Cora. And her boots—something this young girl seemed particularly fascinated by—were new, a gift from Hazel and Father. She suddenly felt acutely aware of how finely dressed she was, and it almost shamed her. No wonder this barefoot country girl couldn’t stop staring at polished boots.
The girl seemed just as aware of her own plain appearance. With the palms of her hands, she tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her dirty pinafore. “Finley James, your horse wantin’ some o’ this here water?” She held up the bucket.
“Nope.”
“Did you come for your lessons? I could try and holp you with ’em. I noticed you made a dreadful mess of your ’rithmatic yesterday.”
He scowled. “Heck no.”
All this time, the girl continued to eye Lucy suspiciously. She was right on the cusp of leaving girlhood behind for good, with bright blue eyes, unruly blonde hair, and a turned-up nose. Not pretty, exactly. But she had presence. “Then,” she said, turning her gaze to Fin, “whatcha doing up here?”
“Angie Cooper, you keep your beak outta my business.”
Angie’s eyes narrowed, as if wounded by his curtness. “I’ll tell your maw I seen you gone off fishing this morning.”
His chin jerked up. “I’m doing a favor for Miss Cora,” he said defensively. “Escortin’ this fine lady here to meet some folks.”
“Who’s she?”
“I’m Lucy.” She lifted a hand in greeting. “Lucy Wilson.”
“She’s kin to Miss Cora. Came from the big city to holp with her work.”
Angie’s face clouded. “You teachin’ school in place of Miss Norah?”
“No, no. Goodness, no,” Lucy said quickly. She had no desire to teach school. None.
“Good. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do, soon as I pass my grade 8 exam. I jest passed my grade 7 exam. With flying colors, Miss Norah sez. Not a single mistake.”
“Biggerty. She brags on herself all the livelong day.” Fin turned to Lucy. “See what I have to deal with?”
Angie scowled at Fin before she turned back to Lucy. “So why’re you here?” There was an edge to her voice.
Lucy had to fight back a smile at this girl’s direct ways. Her face gave away every feeling she had. “I’m employed as Cora’s stenographer.”
Angie’s face crinkled into a question. “What’s that?”
“It means she’s working for Miss Cora. And today, so am I. We gotta go.” Fin gave Sheila a kick and started along a thin trail that wound through the grass behind the schoolhouse.
Lucy waved a gloved hand at Angie and squeezed Jenny’s sides with her legs to urge her forward. The pony didn’t budge. She dropped her neck to chew on some grass. Jiggling the reins, Lucy could feel Angie’s amused eyes on her. The pony still didn’t move. By now, Fin realized she wasn’t following and circled back to grab the reins to yank Jenny along. “Ya gotta be the boss with her.”
“I’m trying my best,” Lucy said.
“Try harder,” Fin said, sounding irritated.
Lucy had a feeling his sudden bad mood had something to do with Angie. “She’s a very attractive girl.”
“Angie Cooper?” He shrugged, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Her paw is the trustee for Little Brushy.”
“Don’t like her much?” Because Angie was obviously smitten with Fin. Besotted.
“She’s a know-it-all. Betcha
by now she’ll get word to my maw that she seen me. She’s been tattling on me since as long as I can remember. Prickly as a thistle, that girl.”
Lucy grinned, glad Fin was facing forward. No wonder he emphasized to her that Miss Cora had asked him to work for her today. “She seems quite knowledgeable.”
“Angie’s been known to give advice,” he warned. “Most any time, you don’t gotta ask for it.” He thought for a moment. “That’s pretty much true of everybody here.”
This boy was good company. “Fin, how old are you?”
“Almost sixteen.”
“Oh? When’s your birthday?”
“February.”
Lucy choked back a laugh. Today was the fifteenth day of March. “So, you must be in grade 8?” She could see his back stiffen and wondered what she’d said now to make him bristle. Goodness, he could turn fractious fast. “That’s how it is in Lexington. Boys your age were in grade 8 or 9.” Actually, more like grades 9 or 10.
“Different here,” he said gruffly. “I’m needed to work. Cain’t be bothered to waste time in school.”
“School isn’t a waste of time. It’s important to know how to read and write well, and to use arithmetic.”
He stopped Sheila abruptly and turned to face Lucy, a cross look on his boyish face. “My paw didn’t need learnin’, his paw didn’t neither. I’d ruther be outside any day of the week than stuck inside a stinkin’ schoolhouse.” He turned Sheila back around and continued along the trail, as if to signal the conversation was over.
But not for Lucy. “Then, why do you bother to go to school?”
Fin led Sheila through a shallow rock-strewn stream of water that looked clear and cold, and took his time answering, so long that Lucy thought stalling was his way of not answering. “Miss Cora,” he said as they reached the other side of the stream and waited for Jenny to plod along. “Since she’s been superintendent, she’s been chasing after every boy and girl in the county to git to school. No chance to escape.”
“Angie seems to like it.”
He shrugged. “She’s the only one in Little Brushy who’s had straight-through schooling, on account of her paw being the trustee. She’s planning on being a schoolteacher for Miss Cora as soon as she can. She tries to practice on everyone. Thinks she’s boss of everybody in the whole holler.”
The Moonlight School Page 3
