Christy

by Catherine Marshall

  “Something like that.”

  “But it still seems like too small an operation for that. What evidence do you have for all of this?”

  “Not much, I realize. It’s mostly guesswork. You see, right now there’s considerably stricter law enforcement for blockade-runners in North Carolina than in Tennessee. They’ve got a county sheriff over there now who’s cutting down barrels and furnaces right and left. So now good whiskey is in more demand here in Tennessee than it’s been in a long time. What’s more, I’ve made it easier to get the stuff to the state line by building and improving the road from the flagstop as far as the mission.”

  “But I just can’t believe that they’d dare count on a spot under our school building as their steady supply depot.”

  “They’d dare anything. That might be stupid or it could be positively brilliant. Like deliberately hiding something in the most obvious place possible, so you miss it.”

  “But it isn’t quite like that.”

  “Well anyway, I wanted to tell you this much.”

  My thoughts swung back to my schoolroom. “David, what will I do with Lundy now? I mean, if he comes back to school and we don’t have all this settled, how will I treat him?”

  “Treat him normally. Only I don’t think he’ll be back right away. But beyond that, we’re going to have to talk this out with Miss Alice as soon as possible. And I’m going to have to find out which men are behind these boys, maybe go after the still.”

  Suddenly I was afraid for David. As if sensing this, he reached for my hand. “Do you have to go after the moonshiners yourself, David? That’s dangerous. You know it is. Those men won’t stand meddlers.”

  “I know. But I can’t get the federal marshals on the case without more evidence. As for meddling—believe me, the blockaders are asking for it. These mountain men can guzzle all the corn liquor they please, but when they start involving our school children—”

  As we walked back to the mission house, David and I were both preoccupied with our thoughts. I was remembering that I had seen strangers several times during the last few weeks, and at the time, had wondered about it. By now I knew the Cove folk, at least by sight. And tourists did not ordinarily make their way so far back into the mountains; those who took the trouble to journey to Cutter Gap had a reason. But my thoughts were so jumbled by all that David had told me that I could not, at the moment, recall the exact incidents involving the strangers.

  It was not until the next night that one of the scenes came back to me. About two weeks before, I had been hanging out some wash after dark (since that was almost the only time of day I dared invade Miss Ida’s kitchen to do my personal laundry), and I had seen three strange men on horseback riding along the edge of the mission property. They had come out of the woods to the west behind the schoolhouse, had loitered out of sight behind the building for a time, and then had galloped off down the road northward toward the flagstop. Most local people had mules, not horses, and I had never before seen those horses or those men. And few people in these parts galloped—with the exception of Miss Alice. I had tucked the incident away in my mind to tell David, but then had not thought of it again. Now—with all that had happened—he should know about it.

  Miss Alice and David had each gone off to their cabins. Miss Ida was reading by the big oil lamp in the parlor. To avoid her I went outside on the porch. Should I tell David tonight? Suddenly I found myself walking down toward his bunkhouse. It was not that I had any intention of inviting myself inside. It was a nice night; perhaps he might be outside too.

  Halfway down the walk I looked across the road and noticed that lamps were lit inside the bunkhouse with all the shades drawn tight. Unusual! David did not ordinarily close things up so completely.

  As I got closer I thought I saw a movement in the bushes close to the little building. I stood still to listen. There it was again, a branch, moving; yet there was no wind this night.

  Not having any idea what was going on, I ducked behind a thicket of laurel bushes and held my breath, listening. Not a sound except the gurgle of the stream and the low hum of voices inside the bunkhouse. Someone was with David.

  Holding my body very still, cautiously I parted two branches and peered through. Clouds were scudding across the moon casting murky shadows. The foliage was inky, blurred before my eyes. Then a shadow moved and a pebble rolled down the incline to the road. I stared at the place where I had seen the movement, but still I could see nothing: the darkness was impenetrable.

  Then momentarily, the clouds parted and moonlight bathed the foliage in soft light. Whoever was hiding there had on dark clothes. I could almost see his face—Lundy! It was Lundy Taylor skulking in the bushes.

  At that instant the bunkhouse door opened and Bob Allen stepped out on the stone step, with David silhouetted in the doorway. Certainly they did not suspect anyone of spying on them, they were still talking earnestly. Though I was glad that I had seen Lundy, I did not relish being discovered hiding like a fugitive, so I drew back even further into the shadows and gave up trying to peer out. After a time I heard Mr. Allen’s footsteps going brisky down the road. Then I waited for awhile and looked out again. The pale moonlight caught Lundy’s retreating form moving across the road and through the field beyond the schoolhouse.

  This was not the time to talk to David about the three mysterious men. Perhaps it was not important. I would confess my hide-go-seek game to David tomorrow. Slowly I walked up the hill to the big house.

  Ruby Mae and I were almost finished with our breakfast the next morning when David strode in looking weary and grizzled, his riding clothes and boots muddy. Ruby Mae, never reticent, asked in surprise, “Where have you been so early, Preacher?”

  “Prince and I were having an early morning ride, that’s all.” He looked at me and grinned. “You know, mountains in the spring . . . good way to get exercise. Ida, got any hot coffee out there?”

  Ruby Mae was not satisfied with the explanation. She prodded and hinted but David parried her every query. Finally she finished breakfast and left while I lingered over my coffee.

  “David, I’ve a confession to make.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Last evening while I was out for a little stroll, I saw someone hiding in the bushes near your bunkhouse. It turned out to be Lundy Taylor.”

  David looked startled. “Did Lundy see you?”

  “I don’t think so. That’s my confession—I hid too.”

  “Well, more important, did he see Bob Allen?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he did. Saw him leaving.”

  “Then thank God I didn’t find anything this morning, or Bob Allen would be a dead man.”

  Lundy did not come back to school that Tuesday. When he was still absent on Wednesday and Thursday, David seemed relieved. I guessed that he was going to use the lull to go scouting for the still, though he told me nothing. Actually it was not until the following Tuesday during our regular weekly conference with Miss Alice that I learned what was happening. There over after-dinner coffee in her cabin David and I discussed the week gone by and planned for the week ahead. Miss Alice had the knack of making these Tuesday evenings a refreshing oasis in the midst of our otherwise hectic lives.

  I often marveled that the interior peace of the woman was reflected so faithfully in her surroundings. Even the selection and arrangements of her possessions gave an aura of uncluttered calm. In addition, there was a directness in her approach to all of life—including the art of housekeeping—that never failed to fascinate me.

  Miss Alice was a woman to whom color, symmetry of line and contrast of texture were important. She flouted the accepted custom of covering her table tops with doilies or small scarves; the sheen and patina of the lovely old wood were all the decoration needed. In a pewter bowl she could arrange with artistry a few well-polished apples and some nuts, or a piece of quartz picked up somewhere in the mountains along with some unusual leaves and berries.

  I reveled in a
ll of this. Though David, manlike, noticed none of these details, he nevertheless responded to the atmosphere they created.

  On this particular Tuesday night, he sank gratefully into the easy chair, stretched his long legs and sniffed appreciatively the fragrant aroma of brewing coffee. Both Miss Alice and I were immediately aware that he had important news to discuss.

  “We’ve found the still,” he began abruptly.

  Miss Alice’s hand, pouring a cup of coffee, paused in midair. “Who? What men?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We looked at him quizzically, not comprehending. “You see, the men weren’t there. The still had just been moved. But maybe I’d better begin at the beginning.”

  In silence Miss Alice finished pouring the coffee as we listened intently. “Yesterday afternoon Prince and I started in the direction of Big Lick Gap. You know how good the water of Coldsprings Branch is, as good as its name. Well, we got to the Branch and Prince stopped and stretched his long neck down to drink. Then he began acting strangely—sniffed the water, snorted and backed away. Wouldn’t drink a drop.

  “Right away I knew something was wrong. So I dismounted and scooped up some water in my hands. You couldn’t miss the smell of mash. That told me. I knew there had to be a still—maybe the one we were hunting for, somewhere upstream. I started to follow the stream to its source and found the path along the Branch trampled. Also—and this was odd—small branches had been broken at more or less regular intervals and left dangling all along the path. Then I saw a piece of copper tubing lying in the leaves.

  “Well, right about then I decided it was too risky to go farther. It was time to bring the United States marshals in on it. I didn’t dare use our new telephone—too public—so I rode to the telephone exchange in Lyleton and from there phoned the federal office in Knoxville.”

  David paused, sipped his coffee, then went on. “The marshal who answered seemed grateful for the tip and eager to move on it. Within an hour they had two of their men on the train to El Pano. I was to meet them in that grove of trees behind the general store. They told me where to pick up two horses which I was to bring with me for the agents. Apparently they have connections all over for such details.

  “By the time the marshals got to El Pano, it was a little past midnight and so far as I could see, the streets were deserted. There was a bright moon out so we pushed on immediately to Coldspring Branch, but when we got to the place where I’d turned back before, one of the marshals said he thought I’d better not go on with them. Said that if they surprised the blockaders, bullets might fly. So I watched them light their hooded lanterns, wished them luck, and Prince and I rode on home.”

  “Then how did you find out what happened?” I asked.

  “Because one of the marshals, Gentry Long his name is, telephoned me today. Told me they had gone a mile or so upstream when the path ended abruptly at a rocky ledge. There, hanging from a branch at the edge of the woods, they had found a dummy stuffed with straw, swinging in the breeze like a man strung up. The usual warning message for revenue men. The marshals had wriggled on through the underbrush and finally worked their way to a clearing. But then they had been disappointed. There was nothing there but some pieces of copper tubing and a pile of devitalized lye. Somebody had warned the blockade-runners so they’d cleared out just in time. The ground was actually still warm.

  “Officer Long said it had been a large still, probably with a production of twenty to thirty gallons of whiskey a day.”

  “So they want you to keep looking?” Miss Alice asked. “They think the still will be set up somewhere else?”

  “Oh, sure. Men around here don’t scare easily.”

  “Weren’t you tempted to go along with the agents?” I asked curiously. “I think I would have been.”

  “Not really. No point in my getting involved. Well anyway, that still leaves us not knowing which men are in this. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

  Miss Alice nodded, saying nothing. Obviously she was thinking hard, her mind roaming over the Cove, cabin by cabin. This man? That one?

  I voiced the question with which she was plainly wrestling. “David, who could have warned the moonshiners? Who could possibly have seen you?”

  “I’ve no idea. The mountaineers have had a century of experience with this sort of thing. All ‘revs’ are their mortal enemies. Anything goes, even bushwhacking. To the last person, they’ll stick together against the agents.”

  “David, what’s bushwhacking?”

  My innocence seemed to amuse him. “Bushwhacking, Christy, is their term for a murderous attack from ambush. But relax! They made their getaway, they’re not going to harm me.”

  Miss Alice broke in. “David, I want to change the subject a bit. I would have an opportunity with thee—”

  “A what?”

  She laughed at his bewildered look. “A Quaker expression, David. In the community of Friends they speak often of ‘opportunities.’ By an ‘opportunity’ they mean a strong inner urging to speak their mind about something that’s burdening them.”

  “Oh? Something about me is burdening you?”

  “Yes, your run-in with Ozias Holt. Fairlight Spencer told me about it.”

  “Well, I hope Fairlight told it straight. Anything I said to Ozias, he deserved. If he wasn’t going to work, I wasn’t going to pay him.”

  Miss Alice’s voice was mild. “I’m not passing any judgment on the rightness or wrongness of any part of it. All I want to point out is that there’s now a breach between Ozias and you, so it’s up to you to take the first step towards righting it.”

  “Why me? He’s the one who was wrong.”

  “David, I’ve been back here in the Cove a little longer than you. One of the worst evils around here is nursing grudges, sometimes for years. Retaliating evil for evil is considered a virtue, the mark of strong character. Here with this Ozias situation, you’ve got a ready-made chance to demonstrate a better way: the strength of forgiveness.”

  “I fail to see how my forgiving Ozias for being a lazy bum would demonstrate anything to him and the other men except weakness.”

  “David, no Christian ever has a right to sever any relationship with anybody out of anger or pique, or even injustice, no matter how much he disapproves of someone’s actions. It’s our place to demonstrate reconciliation—not judgment or revenge or retaliation. That’s God’s business, not ours.” Her voice grew softer. “Beware the chasms in thy life, David. Sooner or later thee will fall down in the chasm thyself.”

  She paused. “David, I bring this up now simply because with the blockading problem unsolved, this is no time for misunderstandings around here.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “I suggest that you make a point of talking to Ozias. Extend the hand of friendship. At least try it. After all, David, when the lines of communication are cut so that two people can’t even talk, what have you gained then? All you’ve done is sever what may have been God’s only route into a man’s heart.”

  “Well, I guess you’re right,” said David slowly. He rose to end the conversation. “I’ll walk you to the big house, Christy, if you’re ready to leave too.”

  David had little to say as we went up the hill.

  From the parlor I could hear the loud banging on the side door (only highlanders pounded like that!) and then a man’s voice talking to David. “Here to give ye and Miz Christy an in-vite to the Workin’, come Satur-day.” Whoever it was sounded halting and ill-at-ease. “Aim to clear Deer Moun-tain back of our place.”

  “Ah—thanks, Ozias.” David was not comfortable either. “Appreciate that. Nice of you to ask us. What time do you want us?”

  “Onytime suits you.”

  “Well, we’ll sure be there.” The voice was a little too hearty. “Thanks again.”

  David looked puzzled as he walked slowly through the parlor door. “Did you hear that? Ozias Holt.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “I d
on’t get it. Not a bit like these people.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean I haven’t done a thing about following Miss Alice’s advice on contacting Ozias. And when mountain men are mad at you, they’d never invite you ‘to break bread with them.’ They just don’t forgive and forget that easily. Wonder what’s up?”

  “No need to be suspicious, David. Mr. Holt seemed friendly enough. Whatever else, the highlanders aren’t devious. They wouldn’t know how to put on an act.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But I think Ozias intends this Working to be a challenge to me. Some of these men still aren’t ready to accept me as a man.”

  “Why not? They watched you build the church-schoolhouse and dynamite for a road and string telephone wire.”

  “Yes, but in their minds, there’s always a catch. For the road there were sticks of dynamite to help: it wasn’t all muscle. About the school building, I’ve heard them say it ‘weren’t real buildin’, ’cause sawed boards and fancy do-dads were used.’ What they want to know is, can I handle my end of a crosscut saw? Can I keep up with the rest of them swinging an axe? How good a shot am I? Can I use my fists, if I have to?”

  I laughed at David’s seriousness. He looked like a youth about to face his first examination. “So can you do all those things?” I teased.

  “I doubt it.” Finally his brown eyes lit up and a smile crinkled his face. “Have no trophies to show for bare-knuckle fighting. That and target practice just weren’t entrance requirements for seminary.”

  “That’s because the seminary didn’t know about Cutter Gap, Tennessee.” More seriously I asked, “Do we have to go? To the Working, I mean?”

  “I’ll say we do! Especially now with this moonshine mess. If I didn’t, I might as well catch the first train back to New York. Nope, this one I’ll have to see through to the end.”

  Since I had already attended one “Working,” I knew that this mountain custom was a carryover from pioneer times when there were few workmen to be hired, even if the frontiersmen had had any cash with which to hire labor. A man’s only chance to get his land cleared, a roof over his family’s head, or a barn built was to ask for the help of his neighbors. “Many hands make light work” had been a favorite pioneer axiom. So all the way from the Appalachians to Abraham Lincoln’s Illinois and on into the great west, an acre of land could be cleared or a cabin or a barn “raised” in a day.