Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder

by Catherine Marshall

  Still, Christy was a “city-gal.” It seemed odd that the raven was making these mountain children uncomfortable, too. After all, they’d grown up surrounded by wildlife. They certainly hadn’t been afraid of the hogs.

  “Creed,” Christy said, “open the door, would you? Maybe our uninvited guest will take the hint.”

  Creed ran to open the door. A blast of cold air filled the room. “All right,” Christy said to the bird, “it’s been nice visiting with you, but it’s time to go.”

  The raven did a little dance around her desk, pecking at the surface and bobbing its head. Suddenly he stopped cold.

  Christy heard a gasp. Granny O’Teale stood in the doorway, a horrified expression on her face. The old woman pointed a trembling finger at the raven.

  “Mountie, Mary, Thomas!” Granny cried. “Get out here, now! I want all the O’Teale children to come with me.”

  The raven locked a glassy eye on Christy. It let out three cries—CAW! CAW! CAW! Then, with a flourish of its wings, it whipped past Granny and sped out the door.

  “Now, I tell you!” Granny yelled, beckoning with her arm. One by one, the O’Teale children began heading toward the door.

  Christy stared past Granny at the darkening sky and dancing pines. “Why don’t we call off school early today?” she said to the class. “I don’t want you to get caught in bad weather, and I know that some of you have a long walk ahead. Class is dismissed. I hope to see many of you at church here Sunday morning. Assuming, that is, that the weather doesn’t cause us any trouble.”

  She was surprised to see the relief in her students’ eyes. Other days this week their departure had been filled with joyous laughter, dancing and running, and goodbye hugs. But today, the students filed past Christy in a quiet, anxious procession. A few gave halting goodbyes. Creed and his friend, Zacharias Holt, paused just long enough to examine the top of Christy’s desk, then dashed off through the door at high speed.

  “Mary, I ain’t a-goin’ to tell you again,” Granny cried, almost frantically.

  “I’m comin’, Granny,” Mary called. “I’m just gettin’ Mountie’s coat on for her.”

  Christy watched as Mary and Mountie made their way through the maze of desks toward the door. As usual, Mountie’s hair was snarled, her face smudged. She wore a dress two sizes too big for her, and over that, a ragged coat with patched elbows and no buttons. She walked past Christy without expression. Her eyes were flat and dull. In her first week of teaching, Christy had never once seen Mountie smile or laugh.

  “Mountie,” Christy said gently.

  The little girl paused. She did not turn.

  “Mountie,” Christy said again, touching the little girl’s shoulder, “I just wanted to tell you how very lucky I feel to have you in my classroom. I hope we can be friends. I’d really like that.”

  Then Christy lifted her hand from Mountie’s shoulder, and the girl moved on. Her face showed no sign she’d registered Christy’s words. How could a little girl so young and innocent seem so dead inside?

  “Take care of that arm, Mary,” Christy called as the two girls joined Granny.

  Granny shook a finger at Christy. “Stay away from my girls, you hear? I’m a-warnin’ you. I seen all I need to see. You’re bad luck, you are.”

  With that, Granny yanked the two girls away. Christy watched Mountie’s small bare feet padding across the snow. Big, feathery flakes were starting to fall.

  “What is that old woman so afraid of?” Christy whispered. “I just want to help.”

  As if in answer, one of the hogs under the school let out a very uncivilized grunt.

  “Another vote of support,” Christy said. She smiled, but as she watched Mountie clasp Mary’s hand and slowly disappear into the dark woods, her smile vanished.

  High up in a swaying pine, the shiny, black raven stared down at Christy with a haunting glare.

  Three

  And that’s the end of it,” Granny said firmly as she led Mary and Mountie into the O’Teales’ tiny cabin.

  The girls’ mother, Swannie O’Teale, was poking at the fire. “End of what?” she asked. She held out her arms, and Mary and Mountie ran over to give her a hug.

  Granny dropped into her rocker. The door swung open and Smith, Orter Ball, George, and Thomas dashed inside. Smith was carrying a snowball.

  “Out with that,” Swannie O’Teale said wearily.

  Six-year-old Thomas ran to Granny’s side. “Did ya tell Ma?” he asked excitedly.

  “Tell me what?” Mrs. O’Teale asked.

  “About the raven,” Thomas said.

  Smith tossed the snowball out the door. “Today a raven, big as you’ve ever seen, came a-flyin’ straight into the school,” Smith said, his voice low and spooky.

  “Big as an eagle, it was,” Orter Ball added.

  George nodded. “Swooped around that room and went straight for that teacher like a huntin’ dog sniffin’ out a coon.”

  Mrs. O’Teale pulled Mountie into her lap. “Ravens is evil birds. Where’d it come from, do you ’spect?”

  “Came out of nowheres,” Smith said. He made a low moaning noise, like the wind outside. “Just like a witch-bird.”

  “Stop it, Smith, you’re a-scarin’ me,” George whined.

  “I ’spect it came in through the steeple up top,” Mary said. “The preacher ain’t finished it all up yet. I’ll bet there’s holes up there. Raven probably came in to get warm.” She smiled at Granny. “Or like Teacher said, maybe he wanted some book learnin’.”

  Granny shook a finger at her. “This ain’t nothin’ for you to go makin’ light of, girl. A raven’s a bad omen. Outside a house is bad enough, but inside, like this ’un . . .” She shook her head. The fire danced in her eyes. “This flatlander’s bringin’ a heap of badness with her, I’ll wager.”

  “Tell me the rest,” Mrs. O’Teale urged. “What happened to the raven?”

  “He done flew straight to that teacher’s desk like he knowed right where he was a-goin’,” Smith said. “And then he locked a beady eye on her and let out three loud calls for all the world to hear.”

  “CAW! CAW! CAW!” Orter Ball and George piped up.

  “And then Creed Allen opened up the door, and that bird flew out like he’d done what he set out to do,” Smith finished.

  A hush fell over the cabin. Outside, a branch cracked and tumbled, bouncing off the roof. The wind moaned and whistled. Mountie reached for Mary’s hand and squeezed it.

  “That mission school is the work of the devil!” Granny hissed. Her eyes were wide and filled with fear.

  “Might be you’re right, Granny,” Mrs. O’Teale said, nodding.

  “I told you no good would come of sending the children to those people. They ain’t like us. And now you have the proof of it, plain as day. Tell her about your arm, Mary.”

  “Ain’t nothin’, Mama,” Mary said quickly, but it was too late. Her mother had already noticed the ugly mark.

  “Mary! Did that teacher—”

  “No, Mama, no! Lundy Taylor done tripped me, is all. I fell down the slidin’ hill and hit a tree.”

  “It’s another sign,” Granny said, her voice quavering. “That, and the tree a-fallin’ on Bob Allen, and probably this storm to boot.”

  “Granny, it’s January,” Mary argued. “We have storms like this all the—”

  “Don’t go sassin’ me,” Granny said. “That raven went straight for that city-gal. And that’s a sign she’s cursed, sure as I’m a-sittin’ here.”

  “I say she’s a witch,” Smith said.

  “Smith don’t like her cuz she told him not to talk out of turn,” Mary said. “Teacher’s not really bad, Mama, I promise you. She’s got this way of talkin’, so pretty it well-nigh sounds like music. And a red sweater so soft you’d a-swear it were made of sunrise clouds. And her eyes! There be something magic about them—”

  “Black magic,” Granny cried. “Already she’s got you under her spell, girl.” Granny go
t up from her rocker and went to Swannie O’Teale’s side. “You mustn’t send these children back to that mission school,” Granny said. “No good will come of it. Wherever that teacher-gal goes, troubles will follow like the moon follows the sun. I’m a-warnin’ you.”

  “But we wanted the children to have some book learnin’,” Mrs. O’Teale said slowly. “I was hopin’ they could learn Latin, all proper-like . . .”

  “Look what happened to Bob and to Mary,” Granny argued. “Could be worse, much worse, next time.”

  “I s’pose yer right.”

  “But Mama—” Mary cried. Her heart sank. She could already tell that her mother was going to give in to Granny’s demand.

  “No point argufyin’ with Granny,” said Mrs. O’Teale. She hesitated. “Course, I would like to get to church on Sundays still. Do you think that would be safe, Granny? After all, she were at church last Sunday and nothin’ bad happened.”

  Granny stroked her chin. “Coulda been lucky that time. I’d advise against goin’ back.”

  “On the Lord’s day,” Mrs. O’Teale said, “with the whole of the Cove there to ward off her curse? And no teachin’ a-goin’ on, just proper preachin’?”

  “Well, I s’pose that might be safe,” Granny gave in reluctantly. “If’n I brew us up some powerful herbs to ward off that gal’s curse, we might just could go. I’d have to think on it a spell. A little garlic, a pinch o’ dill to ward off the evil. A clover leaf, if’n I can find some dried. . . . If I put together a proper recipe, I ’spect we could go to church.”

  “Too bad for that,” muttered Smith.

  “Mind you, now,” Granny warned, “you can’t be a-lettin’ her in on why you’re wearin’ my recipe. Gal with a curse on her that strong, she’ll be able to work against all my medicine. So you’uns keep your mouth hushed when you’re over to the church.”

  “So we don’t have to go to that mission school no more?” Smith asked.

  “Looks like not,” said Mrs. O’Teale.

  “Good thing,” Smith said. “She was way too bossy for a gal-woman, if’n you ask me.”

  “Please, Mama—” Mary began.

  “Hush now,” Granny interrupted. “I need to figure on what herbs and such will ward off a curse that strong.”

  “Could you make it somethin’ that don’t smell too bad, Granny?” Orter Ball asked. “’Member that time we was afraid of catchin’ sick and you done made us rub that lard mess on ourselves? Stank to high heaven, it did.”

  “You stop your fussin’ and be thankful you got a granny who knows such things,” Granny replied. She cast a warning look at Mary. “And not another word about that teacher-gal, you hear?”

  Mary lay in her bed that night, listening to the wind howl and carry on. Creed Allen had been right when he’d told Teacher it was going to storm. Tree limbs heavy with snow cracked like lightning. The icy wind found every chance it could to sneak through holes and cracks.

  Mary shivered beneath her thin blanket. Mountie lay beside her on a straw mattress on the floor. Three of their older brothers slept in the loft, a hole cut in the ceiling that led to a small space they reached by ladder. Their mama and papa slept in the far corner of the room. Thomas, the youngest, slept near them. The oldest brother, Wilmer, who had fits, slept in a sort of half-bed, half-pen, in the corner. Granny, on account of her age, had the only bed off the floor, and it was just a straw mattress on some crates to keep her away from the cold floor.

  It was not much of a cabin, Mary knew. Most of her friends at school had nicer ones. Cleaner, anyway. Once, when she’d gone to the Spencers’ cabin to play with Zady, she’d seen a bunch of flowers in a bowl, just sitting right there on the eating table for no reason except to look pretty. Miz Spencer was like that, always laughing and singing and picking flowers.

  Mary’s mother never sang. She had saggy shoulders, as if she were carrying some awful load of rocks she could never put down. Sometimes Mary wondered why that was. It could be that Wilmer, who’d been simpleminded ever since he was born, made their mother extra tired. He was a heap of trouble and pain, drooling and muttering and running away when no one was looking.

  Even though Wilmer barely knew who Mary was, she loved him just like she loved all her brothers. She even loved Smith, although he had a bit of a mean streak running through him. But Mary saved most of her love for Mountie, because her sister seemed to need it more than any of the others. Their mama and papa were too busy to pay much attention to the silent little girl, and Mary had always been the one to watch out for her. Granny loved Mountie as much as Mary did, but she had a hard time showing it.

  Mary rubbed the bruise on her arm. Already it was the color of a ripe blueberry. Granny said it was Teacher’s fault, but Mary didn’t see how that could be. Lundy Taylor was always causing trouble. You couldn’t expect Teacher to fix the whole world on her first week, now, could you?

  But she hadn’t said that to Granny. She loved her great-grandmother, but she was afraid of her, too. Granny had a hot temper, and a way of looking at the world that other folks didn’t have. Some even said she had second sight and could see clear into the future. And it was true enough that Granny could see signs and portents where no one else could.

  The wind let loose a powerful shriek. In the corner near the fire, Granny snored away. Mary thought again of the strange raven who had flown to Teacher’s desk that afternoon. Remembering the bird’s evil black eyes, Mary shuddered.

  She nudged Mountie, who rolled over and smiled. “Mountie,” Mary whispered, “do ya s’pose that raven comin’ to Teacher’s desk meant anything bad? Bad, the way Granny says, I mean?”

  Mountie gazed at Mary thoughtfully. She hardly ever spoke. Once or twice Mary had heard her say a clear word, but mostly Mountie just communicated in grunts and nods. Still, Mary knew her sister understood everything. She could see it in Mountie’s eyes.

  “Some folks say ravens near a house is a bad omen,” Mary continued. “So what do you s’pose a raven comin’ right into school like that could mean? What if Granny’s right, and it’s a powerful bad sign?”

  A head dropped down from the ceiling. It was Smith. “Can’t you quit your jabberin’?” he demanded loudly. “Good thing cat’s got Mountie’s tongue for good, or I’d have to listen to two gal- folk carryin’ on like a couple of crows. You ask me, that Teacher’s trouble, and Granny’s right about her.”

  “You just don’t like her ’cause she makes you and Lundy Taylor mind,” Mary said.

  “You think that raven was some kind of accident?” Smith said.

  “Could be.”

  “Naw. It was a sign for sure.”

  “Smith?” Mary whispered. “S’pose I wore Granny’s herbs and kept a-goin’ to school? You think Granny’d let me?”

  “Ask her, why don’t you?” Smith wadded up a piece of straw and tossed it at Granny’s bed. The old woman stirred slightly, grunting. “Granny!” Smith said in a loud whisper.

  “No, Smith!” Mary hissed. “Don’t go wakin’ her. You know how ornery she gets.”

  Granny’s eyes fluttered open. “What in tarnation is your trouble, boy? Can’t you see I’m a-tryin’ to sleep? Not that it’s easy, mind you, with that storm wallopin’ the walls.”

  “Go ahead,” Smith urged Mary. “Ask Granny.”

  Orter Ball and George stuck down their heads. “CAW! CAW! CAW!” they cried in unison.

  “Next bird I hear, I’m a-shootin’ for,” warned Mr. O’Teale.

  Granny yawned. “Ask me what, child?”

  “S’posin’ I wore your herb recipe and kept on a-goin’ to school?” Mary asked softly. “Me and Mountie, we could sit way in the back, where nothin’ bad could get to us—”

  “A curse like that don’t care what row you’re a-sittin’ in, girl,” Granny said.

  Mary gazed at her great-grandmother. Her eyes blazed with life. It was almost as if she were enjoying what was happening to Teacher, the way some people like to watch a storm unwind.<
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  “Night, Granny,” Mary said. With a sigh, she leaned back. “I guess that’s all the book learnin’ for you and me for a while, Mountie,” she whispered.

  Mountie didn’t react. But much later, when everyone else was asleep, Mary wasn’t surprised when, over the moaning of the endless wind, she heard her sister softly crying.

  Four

  I just don’t understand it,” Christy said at dinner Saturday night.

  “Give them time, Christy,” Miss Alice advised as she reached for a biscuit. “Rule number one here in the Cove—everything takes time.”

  “Sometimes centuries,” joked David Grantland.

  All the workers at the mission gathered in the main house for dinner each evening. Although Christy had only been there a few days, she was already beginning to feel at home. Miss Alice, of course, made that easy, and so did David, who had only been there a short time himself. David’s sister, Ida, was more difficult—a crotchety, no-nonsense sort. And then there was Ruby Mae Morrison, who was staying at the mission temporarily because she was not getting along with her family. Ruby Mae seemed to have appointed herself as Christy’s official shadow. She followed Christy everywhere.

  “But why would Granny O’Teale react that way to me?” Christy asked for what seemed like the millionth time. “I understand that she was upset about her great-granddaughter. And maybe she was right. I do need to find a better way to keep an eye on the children at all times.”

  “Sixty-seven children, Christy,” David said. “Nobody can keep track of all of them every minute. Trust me, I know.” David helped out with Bible and arithmetic classes in the afternoon.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about Granny, Christy. Her reaction isn’t unusual,” Miss Alice said. “These mountain people are proud of their heritage, and stubborn, too. It’s going to take them a while, maybe even a long while, to accept you. It’s taken me years to be accepted.”

  “But she sounded so . . . so angry,” Christy said. “As if she blamed me for Bob Allen’s accident. She said she saw signs that I was cursed.”