Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder

by Catherine Marshall

  “Well, I am a city-gal,” Christy said with a laugh, “but I’m pretty sure you feed the end without a tail.” She shook her head. “But I still say there’s got to be some mistake. When I requested donations, I didn’t ask for a horse. Did he come with a note, or any kind of explanation?”

  “Just that tag on his saddle with your name on it.”

  “But Teacher,” said Zach, “the mission needs a horse bad. All you got is that half-crippled mule, Old Theo.”

  It was true. Miss Alice owned a horse, but she was often gone on long trips. Without any transportation, it was very difficult for David to visit families living in remote areas.

  “You’re right, Zach,” Christy agreed. “But we still can’t keep this horse.”

  The entire class moaned in disappointment. As if he understood what was going on, the horse stepped closer to Christy’s desk, his horseshoes clopping loudly on the floor. He nudged Christy’s shoulder.

  “I reckon he likes you, Teacher,” said Mary O’Teale, a gentle eight-year-old with wide, green eyes. The horse’s tail swished over her face as he tossed it to and fro.

  “I’m sure you’re a very nice horse,” Christy said to the stallion, “but we can’t keep you without knowing where you came from.”

  “I plumb forgot!” Mr. Pentland exclaimed. “You’ve got a couple letters, too. Had a monstrous big pile of mail this week. Eight whole letters!” He stroked the horse’s neck. “Nine, if’n you count this big, hairy one.”

  Christy smiled. She still couldn’t get over living in a world where eight letters meant a “big pile of mail!”

  Mr. Pentland handed Christy the letters. One was from her mother. The other had a North Carolina postmark, too, but Christy didn’t recognize the name on the envelope.

  She opened it and read:

  February 8, 1912

  Dear Miss Huddleston:

  I hope that you will forgive a stranger writing to you. Let me explain that I have just returned from Asheville, where I was visiting my sister.

  At a tea she gave in my honor, I met your mother. She spoke most charmingly about the contents of some of your recent letters, your fascinating pupils, and their needs.

  When she mentioned the mission’s need for a good horse, my heart soared, for I knew of the perfect animal. My husband, Charles, having developed rheumatism this past year, has been unable to give our fine stallion, Prince, the exercise and attention he properly deserves. I trust that the mission will find him the loving friend and companion that we have.

  Sincerely,

  Lucy Mae Furnam

  Christy stroked the horse’s glossy mane. “Well, Prince,” she said, “it looks like you have a new home.”

  “You’re a-keepin’ him for sure and certain?” Ruby Mae cried.

  “It seems he is a gift,” Christy explained, “from some people back in my home state. His name is Prince.”

  “And he looks like one, don’t he, Teacher?” asked Little Burl Allen, a sweet, red-haired six-year-old.

  “Yes, he does, Little Burl,” Christy agreed. “Very majestic. All he needs is a crown.”

  “Can Ruby Mae and me ride him double-like?” asked Bessie Coburn. Twelve-year-old Bessie was Ruby Mae’s best friend.

  “I think what Prince needs right now is a little rest after his long journey,” Christy said.

  But just then, Prince reared up on his hind legs.

  “Look out!” Ruby Mae yelled.

  The horse’s black head nearly touched the rafters as he pawed the air with his forelegs.

  “Whoa, there, boy,” Mr. Pentland soothed, pulling on the lead rope.

  At last Prince lowered his legs. He stood calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened.

  “No, ma’am,” Little Burl said, shaking his head. “I don’t reckon he is tired.”

  Christy laughed, a little flustered by the sudden display. “Well, we’d better take Prince outside.”

  Ruby Mae and Bessie jumped up to grab the lead rope. Prince, with his head still high, allowed himself to be led through the door. Christy, Mr. Pentland, and the rest of the children followed behind.

  As soon as he was out on the snow-covered grass, the horse yanked free of the girls’ grasp and took off at a gallop. He ran in a great, wide circle, tossing his head back and forth and kicking up sprays of snow. Finally, after several minutes, he meekly returned to the children.

  “Thank you, Mr. Pentland, for bringing him all this way,” Christy said. “He really is a beauty.”

  “All part of bein’ a U-nited States mailman,” Mr. Pentland said with a tip of his worn hat. “Anyways, kind of liked having a critter around for company. By the way, I ’spect there’s more surprises a-comin’. Big delivery come into El Pano yesterday. Should be here soon.”

  Ruby Mae tugged on Mr. Pentland’s sleeve. “Another horse?”

  “Nope,” he said with a sly grin.

  “We’ll let it be a surprise,” Christy said. “Just tell me this, so I can prepare myself— does it breathe?”

  “Nope. Don’t breathe,” said Mr. Pentland. “Course it do make noise. . . .” With a mysterious smile, he was on his way.

  As Christy watched him go, she realized she felt a real fondness for the gentle mailman. Mr. Pentland had escorted Christy on her seven-mile journey through the mountains when she came to Cutter Gap two months ago. It had been a rough trip, ending with Christy’s fall into a dangerous, icy river. Through it all, Mr. Pentland had been a kind friend when she’d needed one.

  “Ruby Mae,” Christy said, “why don’t you and Bessie take Prince over to the mission house? I believe I saw Mr. Grantland over there. He’ll take care of our new friend.”

  Christy turned back toward the school. A snowball fight had already started. If she didn’t get everyone back into the classroom soon, she’d lose what little control she had.

  “All right, now,” Christy called loudly. “Back to John’s math problems.”

  The children responded with loud groans. A few of her more willing students, like John and Lizette, rushed up the steps to the schoolhouse. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Christy thought, if all her students were so eager and quick to learn? Unfortunately, most of them had never even handled a pencil or a piece of chalk or a real book. And without the necessary supplies, there were days when Christy wondered if she would ever make a difference in the lives of her young students.

  Still, Prince’s unexpected arrival had filled her with hope. She couldn’t exactly take credit for the beautiful horse—he was a surprise gift, after all. But if some of the other donations she’d requested came through, think of all the changes she could make to the mission school! She couldn’t wait to see what the next delivery would bring.

  “Miz Christy! Come quick!” Lizette called from the doorway.

  “What is it, Lizette?”

  “Somebody’s done erased all of John’s figurin’. And there’s ink spilled all over your papers!”

  Rounding up the last few stragglers, Christy hurried inside the school. A deep blue puddle of ink covered her attendance book. Ink flowed to the edge of her desk, where it dripped like a tiny waterfall onto the rough, wood floor. John stood by the blackboard, staring in dismay at the smeared remains of his addition problems. The ghosts of a few numbers were still visible, but most of his work had been completely erased.

  Christy wondered if Prince had somehow knocked over her inkwell. But no, the horse hadn’t been near her desk when he’d reared up. And he certainly hadn’t erased the board.

  “Sit down, all of you!” Christy cried. Reining in her anger, she lowered her voice. “Please, go to your seats. I need to get to the bottom of this.”

  She heard snickers outside. She leaned out the door to see a group of the older boys— Lundy Taylor, Smith O’Teale, Wraight Holt, and Wraight’s little brother, Zach—hovering near the steps, whispering.

  “Inside, now!” Christy ordered.

  The boys sauntered in, taking their time. Zach, a thin boy with
curly blond hair, cast a nervous glance in Christy’s direction, then slipped into his seat. Lundy chuckled as he walked to his desk.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing, Lundy,” Christy said. “But I’m afraid I do not. John worked very hard on those math problems. And as for my attendance book, it’s ruined. Do you realize how difficult it is for us to obtain supplies? Ink and paper and chalk cost money.”

  Christy paced up and down the aisles of the small classroom. An uneasy quiet fell over the class. Some students hung their heads. Others looked out the windows. Lundy, Wraight, and Smith avoided her gaze.

  “I want to know who did this,” Christy said. “And I want to know right now.”

  She was not surprised when no one answered.

  After a tense moment, John raised his hand. “Miz Christy, I can do the figurin’ again. It ain’t no problem.”

  “That’s not the point, John. I need to find out who is responsible for this.”

  Actually, Christy had a pretty good idea who the culprit was—Lundy Taylor. Although she’d never been able to prove it, she was certain that Lundy had thrown a rock at five-year-old Vella Holt on the first day of school. It was also likely that he’d tripped Mary O’Teale at the top of an icy slide, causing her to tumble down a steep slope and hurt her arm and head. But no one would ever directly accuse Lundy of anything. He was big and hulking and mean, and even Christy was a little afraid of him.

  “Lundy, do you have anything to say?” Christy asked.

  “I’d say you got yourself one big mess up yonder on that desk,” Lundy said with a smirk.

  Christy clenched her hands. She took a deep breath. She was determined not to lose her temper.

  “It’s just some spilled ink,” she said. “I’ll clean it up. John will redo his arithmetic. And that’s that. But if I ever catch one of you vandalizing the school again, I’ll . . .” She lowered her voice. “This is your school. It belongs to you. You should treat it with respect and love.”

  Christy put a fresh column of numbers on the blackboard for John. But as she wrote, she couldn’t help glancing back at Lundy. He glared back with steely dark eyes. What else was Lundy capable of doing to the school?

  It’s just a prank, nothing more, Christy told herself, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it.

  Two

  When school was over, Lizette offered to stay behind and help clean up the classroom. “I’d be glad for the help,” said Christy, “and the company.” Lizette couldn’t help beaming.

  She loved the way Miz Christy talked, so nice and citified. And she had a sweetness to her that Lizette admired. She often tried to picture herself as a teacher someday, just like Miz Christy, with fine clothes and pleasant manners and so much learning inside her head.

  Lizette took the blackboard erasers outside to bang them together. The chalk dust exploded in big puffs and floated away on the breeze.

  Just then, she spotted a scene that sent her heart leaping straight into her throat. Lundy, Smith, and Wraight were standing shoulder-to-shoulder by the edge of the woods. Wraight’s little brother, Zach, stood a few steps back, looking worried.

  John Spencer stood alone, facing the three older boys.

  Lizette strained to listen. She could hear the sound of angry voices—especially Lundy’s.

  “I’ll knock you good, if’n you don’t keep your trap shut,” Lundy was saying.

  John said something in response, but Lizette couldn’t tell what it was. She wondered if she should go back inside and get Miz Christy. It looked like things could turn ugly, right quick. No doubt Miz Christy could put an end to it all with a few words. But Teacher wouldn’t always be around every time Lundy Taylor decided to act like a bully.

  Lizette made up her mind. Trying to look as tough as Miz Christy did when she had words with Lundy, she strode over to the boys.

  Lundy saw her coming and gave a nasty laugh. “Look’a here, John. Lizette is a-comin’ to rescue you.”

  John did not turn around. He just scowled and stood his ground. But Lizette could tell he was plenty scared. She tried to meet Wraight’s gaze. But Wraight was looking straight ahead, his eyes dark with anger.

  Why does Wraight get so angry sometimes? Lizette wondered. Wraight wasn’t like Lundy. Not really, not deep down.

  “John, Teacher was wonderin’ if’n you was still here, and if maybe you could go back and help her with somethin’,” Lizette lied in a shaky voice.

  “Maybe you’d best run along and hide behind Teacher’s skirts, John,” Lundy sneered.

  “I’m just warning you, Lundy,” John said. “You shouldn’t go messin’ up Teacher’s things.”

  Lundy stepped closer, until his chest was right up against John’s. “You’re warnin’ me? I’ll do what I please with Teacher. If’n I want, I might just get rid of her, permanent-like. That city-gal’s got no business here in the Cove. You hear me, boy?” He balled up his fist, ready to strike. “I believe it’s time you was taught a real lesson.”

  “Lundy, don’t!” Lizette cried.

  “Lundy, don’t! Lundy, don’t!” Lundy mocked her.

  Suddenly the glint of anger in Wraight’s eyes flickered. He glanced at Lizette. “Let him go, Lundy,” he said in a low voice.

  Lizette sent him a grateful look.

  “Let him go?” Lundy demanded. “Well, Wraight, it was you who was made a fool of by this little teacher’s pet, a-showin’ off in class. Him and all his figurin’.”

  Now, the black anger raged in Wraight’s eyes. He seemed to be fighting with it. “It weren’t John’s fault,” he said at last. He jerked his head back toward the schoolhouse. “It’s that flatlander teacher who’s got everything all mixed up.”

  Lundy looked annoyed. He shoved John away with both hands. “I reckon you get to live another day, teacher’s pet. Run on to Miz Christy now. That’s where you belong.”

  Lizette could tell how angry John was. But it was clear he saw no point in starting a fight he was sure to lose.

  Slowly, John turned away.

  “You’d best go, too, Lizette,” Lundy said with a sneer. “Two of a kind, you and John. Two little teacher’s pets.” With a last snort, Lundy turned away, followed by Smith.

  Wraight began to follow them, but Lizette grabbed his arm. He looked at her, surprised.

  Silently, so that only Wraight would know what she said, she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  For a second, the anger in Wraight’s eyes was truly gone. In its place was something gentler, a look Lizette had seen before.

  “Lizette?” Miz Christy called.

  Wraight looked past Lizette to the schoolhouse. Once more, the dark shadow settled over his face. He turned and followed Lundy and Smith into the woods, followed at a distance by his little brother.

  Late that night, Christy awoke to the sound of pounding. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. Tap. Tap. Tap. No doubt about it. It was the steady, sharp sound of a hammer hitting a nail.

  She ran to her window and pulled back the curtain. The wooden floor was icy. The light of a full moon spilled over the snow-covered mission yard.

  Who could be hammering in the middle of the night? Was David doing some kind of emergency repair on the school?

  Just beyond the school, Christy noticed a small figure dashing into the thick trees. It looked like a little boy. Christy couldn’t tell who it was, but she did catch a glimpse of the red cap the boy was wearing.

  Zach Holt? What could he be doing here, in the middle of the night? Perhaps someone in the Holt family was sick, or hurt. Christy had heard that Ozias Holt, Zach’s father, sometimes drank too much. Maybe it wasn’t hammering she’d heard. Maybe Zach had been pounding at the front door, trying to get Christy to wake up. But why had he given up and run away so quickly?

  Christy put on her robe and slippers. She met Miss Ida, David’s older, no-nonsense sister, at the top of the stairs. She was carrying a lamp and wearing a nightgown, with a knitted shawl draped over he
r shoulders. It seemed strange to see Miss Ida’s gray hair hanging loose. Usually she wore it in a tight bun.

  “What on earth was that banging?” Miss Ida asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “I thought I saw one of my students by the schoolhouse,” Christy said. “Let’s go take a look.”

  Miss Ida led the way down the stairs. The lamp cast long, dancing shadows on the walls. Walking side by side, Christy and Miss Ida crossed the main room.

  The mission house was a white three-story frame building with a screened porch on either side. Miss Ida and Christy lived there, along with Ruby Mae, who had been having problems at home and needed a temporary place to stay. Miss Alice had her own cabin, and David had a bunkhouse nearby. The house was primitive, with no electricity, telephone, or indoor plumbing, and only the barest of furnishings. Still, Christy had already begun to think of it as her real home.

  “I thought maybe someone was knocking on the door,” Christy said. “Maybe Zach needed help, and when no one answered, he ran off.”

  “No,” Miss Ida said firmly. “That was hammering I heard, I’m certain of it.”

  “Maybe David was doing some repairs on the schoolhouse.”

  “In the middle of the night? Nonsense.”

  Christy opened the front door. Cold air slapped at her like an icy hand. It was March, but the mountain nights were nearly as bitter as they had been in January, when Christy had first arrived at the mission.

  She stepped out onto the porch. The yard was covered with muddy patches of snow. Up the hill stood the newly built schoolhouse, which also served as a church on Sundays. In the silvery moonlight, the freshly painted building practically glowed. A gust of wind set the tree branches chattering.

  “I don’t see anything,” Miss Ida said.

  “Or anyone,” Christy added in a whisper. She turned to Miss Ida. “You wait here. It’s awfully cold. I’ll go take a look.”

  “Take my shawl,” Miss Ida said. “And be careful.”

  Slowly Christy crossed the yard. The snow patches were crusty and packed. I wish I’d worn my boots, she thought. Instantly she felt guilty. The little footprints of her students filled the yard. Few of the children owned shoes. Even in the coldest weather, they walked to school barefoot.