The sight of an especially small set of footprints, glowing in the moonlight, filled Christy with a mixture of love and awe. The school meant so much to these children that they would walk for miles through snow-covered mountains just to spend a few hours here. It showed just how much they wanted to learn.
Suddenly, Christy froze in place as the front of the school came clearly into view. “No!” she cried in outrage.
The message was scrawled across the front of the school, in huge, dripping, brown letters:
Hugging Miss Ida’s shawl to her, Christy stared in disbelief at the crude writing. Get away Teacher, she whispered, nearly choking on the words.
She stepped closer, touching her index finger to one of the letters. It wasn’t paint. But it was an oily, smelly goop that certainly wouldn’t wash off easily.
She heard steps behind her and spun around, her heart racing.
“Christy?” came a familiar voice. “What is it?”
Miss Alice walked across the yard. She was wearing a blue coat over her nightgown. Her long, thick hair, sprinkled with gray, hung down past her shoulders. Even now, awakened from sleep in the middle of the night, she walked like a magnificent queen, tall and dignified.
Miss Alice shook her head sadly as she draped her arm around Christy’s shoulders. “It’s terrible,” she murmured. “Just terrible.”
“Isn’t it?” Christy cried. “How could someone do such a thing?”
Miss Alice gave a wry smile. “No, I meant the spelling.”
“How can you make jokes?” Christy moaned.
“I find that laughter is almost always the best way to deal with a difficult problem,” Miss Alice said. She climbed the steps to the front door and pointed. “This explains the hammering.”
For the first time, Christy noticed the long piece of wood nailed across the door frame.
“But why would anyone do that?” Christy cried.
“To keep us out, I imagine,” Miss Alice said calmly. “It’s a simple enough thing to remove the nails, of course. Not a very well-planned prank.”
“Is that all you think it is?” Christy asked. “A prank?”
Miss Alice examined the nailed board. “Most likely.”
“Are you all right?” a male voice called from the distance.
Christy craned her neck. It was David, dashing across the yard. He was wearing big boots and long johns. His black hair was a tangled mess. She couldn’t help grinning. He looked a little ridiculous.
“David to the rescue,” Christy teased.
David rushed up the stairs, panting. He combed a hand through his snarled hair, but one stubborn lock still poked into the air. “It’s a long way from the bunkhouse, you know,” he said sheepishly. “I came as fast as I could.”
“Nice outfit,” Christy said. “A little flashy for Cutter Gap.”
David started to respond, but just then he noticed the words scrawled over the schoolhouse. “What—” He rubbed his eyes. His mouth hung open.
“Miss Alice thinks it’s a prank,” Christy said.
David ran a finger over one of the letters. “What is this stuff?”
“A mixture of things, probably,” Miss Alice said. “Goodness knows no one around here can afford paint. I’d guess some lard, some mud, maybe some of the homemade dye the women use for coloring yarn. Could be any number of things.”
“My beautiful paint job,” David moaned.
“They nailed the door shut, too,” Christy said.
David rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s easy enough to remedy, at least.”
“Let’s get inside before we all end up with frostbite,” Miss Alice said. “We can take care of this mess before school starts in the morning.”
Christy shook her head. “I don’t want to clean it off.”
“But we have to,” David insisted.
“No. I want the children to see what someone has done to their school.”
“Come to think of it, that’s probably a good idea, Christy,” David agreed. “Maybe someone will even confess. I doubt it, though.”
“Let’s get over to the house and warm up with some tea,” Miss Alice urged.
“First I want to check on Prince,” David said. “It’s his first night here, and I want to make sure he’s doing all right.”
“I’ll go, too,” Christy said.
Miss Alice grinned. “Might as well make a night of it.”
The little shed that served as a barn was dark and cozy. It smelled of leather and hay, a soothing, warm smell. Christy went over to Prince, who eyed her sleepily. She stroked his velvety muzzle.
“How do you like your new home, Prince?” she asked.
“Seems to like it fine,” David said. “He and Goldie are already good friends. Old Theo, I’m not so sure about.”
“Isn’t he beautiful, Miss Alice?” Christy asked.
“He is indeed,” Miss Alice said.
Christy rubbed her cheek against the stallion’s warm neck. What an unexpected gift he was! His arrival had made Christy all the more anxious to receive responses to her letters. Miss Alice was going to be so surprised. She didn’t know about the letters Christy had sent requesting donations from businesses.
It wasn’t that Christy wanted to keep them from Miss Alice. But there was no point in discussing her plan, she told herself, until she saw the results. Then it would be a real surprise. Christy’s thoughts turned back to tonight’s disturbing incident.
“Well, it looks as if everything’s in order here,” David said. “Let’s go have that tea.”
“It’ll be dawn soon,” Miss Alice said. “Perhaps we should just have breakfast.”
“Coming, Christy?” David asked from the doorway of the shed.
Christy stroked Prince’s ear distractedly. “Oh—yes. Sorry. I was just thinking about the writing on the school. Why would someone write that about me? It’s hard not to take it personally. I keep thinking about Zach, wondering if I’ve hurt him in some way. . . .”
“Zach Holt?” David repeated. “Why him?”
“I thought I saw him running from the school,” Christy explained. “Or at least I saw his red cap. But the more I think about it, the more I can’t believe it was Zach. For one thing, some of those letters are very high. A fairly tall person had to write them.”
David nodded. “Good point. Unless, of course, Zach was sitting on the shoulders of a friend.”
“Or using stilts,” Miss Alice added with a grin.
“There’s another reason I doubt it was Zach,” Christy said.
“And what is that, Sherlock Holmes?” David inquired, arms crossed over his chest.
“Elementary, my dear Watson. Zach Holt just happens to be a very fine speller. He would never spell ‘Teacher’ with two E’s.”
Miss Alice laughed. “With you on the case, we’re sure to get to the bottom of this prank.”
“I hope that’s all it is,” David said, his voice tense.
“What do you mean, David?”
“Well, Zach’s been spending a lot of time with the older troublemakers—his brother, Wraight, as well as Lundy and Smith. They’re capable of making more than simple mischief.” He stared at Christy thoughtfully. “I just think you should be careful for the next few days.”
Christy smiled. It was sweet, and a little flattering, that David was acting so protective. Still, she could take care of herself. “I’ll be fine, David. I’m a big girl.”
“After all those problems with Granny O’Teale, though,” David said, “there may still be some bad feelings about you.”
Christy shuddered at the memory. She had only been teaching for a week when Granny O’Teale, the great-grandmother of the six O’Teale children, had started a terrible rumor about Christy. She’d decided that Christy was cursed, after a big black raven flew into the schoolroom and perched next to Christy on her desk.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, David,” Miss Alice advised. “Maybe this is just a onetime incident. H
as anything else happened at school like this?”
“No . . .” Christy began. She hesitated. “Well, come to think of it, today someone erased some of John Spencer’s arithmetic problems off the board and spilled ink on my attendance book.”
“You be careful, Christy,” David said. “These aren’t all just innocent children. The mountain people have been raised to think that feuding and fighting are part of daily life.”
“There is good in all these people, David,” Miss Alice chided gently. “And in all God’s creatures. Sometimes we just have to look a little harder.”
David nodded. “I know that, Miss Alice. But that doesn’t mean Christy shouldn’t watch herself. Things could get out of hand, even if this prankster doesn’t mean for them to.”
“Stop worrying, David,” Christy said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll take care of myself, I promise. Besides, I have more important things to worry about.”
“Such as?” David asked.
“Such as how I’m ever going to teach these children how to spell correctly!”
“See how things go today,” Miss Alice said. “We’ll talk more after school at dinner.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Christy said. “I promised Fairlight Spencer I’d start teaching her reading this afternoon. I may be a little late getting home.” Fairlight Spencer was the mother of four of Christy’s students—John, Clara, Zady, and Lulu.
“Well, just be careful coming home from the Spencers’ cabin,” David advised. “That’s a long walk, and it gets dark early, you know. Maybe I should walk you home.”
“I’ll have John walk me home,” Christy promised.
“All right, then,” David agreed.
The three of them left the shed and made their way across the yard. Christy glanced back over her shoulder at the school. Get away, Teacher, she murmured.
Prank or not, the words still stung.
Three
By the time the children arrived for school that morning, David had removed the plank nailed across the schoolhouse door. As the students read the message scrawled on the front of the school, Christy watched their expressions, hoping to get a clue about the culprit. She kept a careful eye on Lundy, Smith, and Wraight. Lundy seemed to find the message especially funny, but that was hardly proof he was involved.
When Zach arrived, trailing behind the older boys, he just glanced at the message for a moment, then turned away. He pulled his dirty red cap down so low that his eyes were almost hidden.
“It’s the most all-fired rotten thing I ever did see, Miz Christy,” cried Lizette. Her wide brown eyes glistened with tears. “Makes me madder’n a peeled rattler to see something like that on our brand-spankin’ new school. Who do you think done it?”
Christy patted Lizette’s shoulder. “I’m not sure, Lizette,” she said. “But I intend to find out.”
“Let’s clean it off,” John suggested.
“We will,” Christy said, “but first I want everybody to have a look.”
A tiny, cold hand reached for Christy’s. It was Mountie O’Teale, a shy ten-year-old who, with Christy’s help, was learning to overcome a speech problem that had left her nearly silent.
“But Teacher,” Mountie said softly, “i—it was so purty and clean.”
Christy smiled. Every time Mountie spoke, it still seemed like a small miracle. “I know, Mountie,” she said. “But we’ll fix the school. Don’t worry, sweetheart. Soon it’ll be good as new.”
When all the students had arrived, Christy signaled for them to quiet down and gather by the school. “First things first,” she said to her hushed audience. She knelt down and dipped her hand into a slushy spot of half-frozen mud near the steps, scooping up a big handful.
“What in tarnation are you doin’, Miz Christy?” Ruby Mae cried.
“Mud fight!” Creed yelled, and some of the other boys cheered.
“Nice try, Creed,” Christy said. “But this mud is for another purpose.”
Lifting her long skirt, Christy picked her way along the edge of the building through the snow and mud.
“She’s gone plumb crazy, I ’spect,” Ruby Mae whispered loudly.
Christy turned to the group. Laughter is almost always the best way to deal with a difficult problem, Miss Alice had said.
“I want to say that while I appreciate the effort that went into this . . . this little writing exercise, I am very disappointed in the spelling.” Christy turned to the wall. “To begin with, it’s get, not git.”
Using the cold mud, Christy carefully drew three small horizontal lines extending from the letter I. Behind her, the children watched, murmuring and whispering in amazement. A few giggled.
“And the rest of this is no better.” Christy corrected the remaining message as well as she could. She glanced back at her students. Most of them were staring at her mud-covered hand.
“And frankly, I don’t much care for the punctuation,” Christy added. “I would add a comma here, after away. And how about an exclamation point at the end? That way—” she paused to smile, “it’s clear that you’re serious about wanting me to leave.”
Christy stepped back to admire her work:
“There,” she said with satisfaction. “Much better. I want to thank the person responsible for providing us with such an excellent opportunity for a spelling lesson. Next time, however, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d prefer to work on grammar.”
Christy motioned to the door. “Time to head inside.”
“But Teacher,” came a small voice.
Christy felt a tug at her skirt. It was Little Burl.
“What is it, Little Burl?”
“Ain’t you mad? About the writin’?”
Christy smiled. “Sometimes getting mad just gets in the way, Little Burl. I’m disappointed that somebody hurt the new school. And I’m sad to think that someone is angry at me, because I would never want to hurt one of you in any way. Not ever.”
“But what about the mess?” Creed asked. “Who’s a-goin’ to clean it off?”
Christy winked. “Guess what we’re going to be doing during noon recess?”
Everyone groaned. “If I ever get my hands on the person who did this, I’ll whop him good!” Creed said.
“I appreciate the offer, Creed,” Christy said. “But I don’t think that’ll be necessary. The person who did this knows that it was wrong. And I hope that he—or she—will reconsider before pulling a similar stunt. Now I want all of you to get inside. I’ll be there in a minute. I’ve got to wash off my hand in the snow.”
While the children made their way up the steps, Christy knelt down and wiped off her muddy hand in a patch of snow. When Zach passed by, she motioned for him to join her. He grimaced, glanced over at his brother, then reluctantly shuffled over. Wraight, Lundy, and Smith waited for him by the door, scowling at Christy.
“Zach,” Christy said in a soft voice, so the others wouldn’t hear, “you know that I would never accuse you of something unless I had a very good reason, don’t you?”
Zach shrugged. He kicked at a mound of snow with his bare foot.
“The thing is, I thought I saw someone running away from the school last night. He was about your size, and he had on a red cap, just like the one you’re wearing.”
Zach touched his cap. His cheeks were flushed. “Don’t mean nothin’,” he finally said. “Sure don’t mean I done it.”
Christy stood, drying her hand on her skirt. “No, it doesn’t. As a matter of fact, I happen to know from your work that you’re an excellent speller, Zach. You would never spell Teacher the way it was written on the wall.”
A small smile lit up Zach’s thin face. “Got to admit it ain’t the best spellin’ I ever seen, that’s for certain.”
“How did you learn to spell so well, Zach?”
“My Aunt Georgia came a-visitin’ last summer. She had a real, live book with her. Taught me some of the words. Little ones, leastways.”
“That’s wonderful. You
should be very proud.”
Zach shifted from one foot to the other. He glanced nervously toward the door of the schoolhouse. “I reckon so. But just ’cause a feller can’t spell and such, that don’t mean he’s worthless or nothin’.”
Christy nodded thoughtfully. Was Zach trying to tell her something? “Zach, I don’t think you wrote that, but I do think you might know who did. Can you tell me who it was?”
“Don’t know nothin’ about that.”
“Are you sure?”
Again Zach stole a fearful glance toward the steps, where the older boys were waiting. “Yep.”
“Is someone making you afraid, Zach? One of the older boys?”
“I ain’t afraid of nobody!” Zach cried. “Now can I go in?”
Christy sighed. “Of course you can.”
She watched the boy march into the school. “Lundy,” Christy called.
Lundy glared at her. “You be wantin’ somethin’?”
“I want to know if you have anything to say about the writing on the school wall.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you,” he spat. Wraight and Smith came to stand beside Lundy.
By now, Christy was used to Lundy’s angry outbursts. From the first day of school, he’d been this way. But the sneer on his face today was almost more than she could bear. Still, she reminded herself, she wasn’t going to get anywhere by yelling at Lundy—even if she did suspect he was responsible for the vandalism.
“I’m just going to ask once. Do you boys know anything about that writing?” Christy asked calmly.
“Why are you blamin’ us?” Wraight demanded. He was a taller version of Zach, with the same gray-blue eyes and tangled blond hair. But there was something troubling in his gaze.
“I’m not blaming you, I just—”
“Why don’t you ask Rob Allen or John Spencer if’n they done it?” Wraight pressed, his anger growing.
“’Cause they can spell,” Smith said with a snort. “Myself, I don’t take no stock in spellin’ and such. Can’t feed an empty stomach with no spellin’ words.”
Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder Page 19
