Into the fray ran Christy, David, Mr. Halliday, Jeb, and Fairlight. But before they could separate the combatants, Granny O’Teale appeared. The tiny, frail woman stood in front of Kyle and Duggin, her cane poised over her head.
“Stop it, you pig-headed, greedy geezers,” she commanded, “or I’ll whop you both to kingdom come!”
Kyle and Duggin stopped in mid-swing. They looked at Granny and gulped. The rest of the room fell silent, too.
“Granny,” David said, giving her a hug, “I couldn’t have said it better myself!”
“My, my,” Mr. Halliday whispered to Christy. “I see you weren’t exaggerating before. This certainly is very different from any service I’ve ever attended!”
“It’s usually a little calmer,” Christy said with a weak smile. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”
Mr. Halliday didn’t answer. He seemed to be lost in thought. “You know, Christy,” he said at last, “I’m sorry, too.”
Thirteen
That afternoon, Christy was sitting in the yard writing a letter to her parents when Ruby Mae emerged from the mission house. She was carrying a napkin full of oatmeal cookies.
“For you,” Ruby Mae said. “Miss Ida just made ’em.”
“Thank you, Ruby Mae. I could use a little pick-me-up. After that fight at the church, I didn’t have much appetite at noon.”
“I brung some for Mr. Halliday, too.”
“He’s in the storage shed,” Christy said. “We told him he could use it to develop his photographs.” She put down her pen and paper, then reached for a cookie. “Come on. I’ll walk over with you.”
“That was quite a commotion at church today,” Ruby Mae said as they started across the lawn. She paused. “You think the preacher was mad?”
“Mad? No. But I do think David’s worried about the effect this gold seems to be having on everyone.”
Ruby Mae took a bite of cookie. Christy could tell from the faraway expression on her face that something was bothering her.
“I noticed you had a long talk with your stepfather after church today,” Christy said gently.
“My step-pa asked if maybe I wanted to come back home to live.”
“Oh? What did you tell him?”
“I told him I was right happy livin’ here at the mission house. And if’n I moved back home, it’d be such a long ways to school I might hardly never go.”
“And what did he say?”
“Said that was all right with him. As long as I didn’t get uppity and forget to honor my pa and ma and give them what’s rightfully theirs.”
“The gold?”
Ruby Mae nodded. “I told him how I maybe wanted to save the gold. You know, for the future. Told him all kinds of crazy dreams I have.” She stopped walking. Her lower lip trembled. “Then he . . . he slapped me. Said I didn’t have no right to be dreamin’ dreams. He wanted to know where the gold was, so I told him you was holdin’ it till it could go in the bank and that was that. Then he got even madder and stormed off.”
Christy put her arm around Ruby Mae. “This has all gotten awfully complicated, hasn’t it?”
“Worser than those ’rithmetic problems you gave us to figure.”
Mr. Halliday was emerging from the shed as they approached. He was wearing a black apron. In his hand was a large photograph.
“We brung you some fresh cookies,” Ruby Mae said.
“Wonderful! I’ll trade you.” Mr. Halliday handed the photograph to Ruby Mae. She passed him the cookies.
“You’re just in time to see my latest effort,” he said. He bit into a cookie. “Wonderful cookie. My compliments to the chef.”
Ruby Mae squinted at the photo. “It’s a creek,” she said. “Looks like Dead Man’s.”
“So? What do you think?”
Ruby Mae shrugged. “I don’t mean to be hurtful, but it just kinda looks like a bunch of water to me.”
“I think it’s lovely, Mr. Halliday,” Christy said quickly.
Mr. Halliday stroked his beard. “Thank you, Christy. But I’ve already appointed Ruby Mae as my primary critic. She has a wonderful eye.”
“Two good eyes,” Ruby Mae said.
“I stand corrected.” Mr. Halliday took the photo and held it out at arm’s length, gazing at it critically. “What’s wrong with it, Ruby Mae?”
She leaned against the shed, lips pursed. “I don’t rightly know. I guess it’s just water. Your tree picture, that had the mountain and the sky, all wrapped up together.”
“So it’s the composition you have trouble with. Not the subject.”
“What do I know?” Ruby Mae said irritably. “I ain’t no expert.”
“Of course you are. You know the beauty of these mountains as well as anyone. And if I’m not getting it on film, well then, I’m not really doing my job, am I?” Mr. Halliday took the photo into the shed, then returned. “Ah well, I shall have to try again. It’s a hard task, capturing the riches of this place for posterity. Perhaps it can’t be done.”
“Ain’t no more riches,” Ruby Mae said. Christy was surprised at her angry tone. “I keep tellin’ everybody, we done found all the riches there was. It was just plumb lucky, is all.”
Mr. Halliday looked at her thoughtfully. “I wasn’t referring to those riches, actually.”
“What, then?”
“I was talking about the incredible beauty of the evergreen trees. The way the sun paints the garden with gold in the morning. The way the warblers argue in the woods.”
“Shucks,” Ruby Mae said. “That ain’t riches. That’s just the way the mountains is.”
“Exactly.” Mr. Halliday reached for another cookie. “There’s something else, too. The way the people here love the mountains. And each other. You can’t put a price on that.”
“You didn’t see too much of that at church today,” Christy said with a rueful smile.
“Sure I did. By the time everything settled down and the congregation got to singing hymns and clapping and carrying on. I saw it, all right. There was so much love in that room I thought the roof might just pop right off.” Mr. Halliday looked at Ruby Mae. “That’s all part of the composition, don’t you suppose?”
Ruby Mae rolled her eyes. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Halliday. But you talk in pure riddles sometimes.”
He laughed. “I like you, Ruby Mae Morrison. You speak your mind.”
“Well, my mind says I need to go help Miss Ida clean up. But before I go, I was wonderin’ . . .” Ruby Mae glanced at Christy nervously.
“Wondering?” Mr. Halliday repeated.
“Well, I know Miz Christy gave that catalog back to you and all . . . but I was wonderin’ if I could tear out one tiny little picture in it.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all. Let me go get the catalog. It’s in the shed.”
Ruby Mae gave Christy a sheepish smile. “I promise it ain’t for makin’ anybody feel bad, Miz Christy.”
“Just remember what we talked about, all right?”
Mr. Halliday returned with the catalog. “There you go.”
“Miss Ida has some sewing scissors,” Ruby Mae said. “I promise I’ll be right careful.”
“Bring it back when you’re done,” Christy called as Ruby Mae dashed off. She smiled at Mr. Halliday. “I think she’s a little preoccupied by all the commotion lately.”
“Indeed. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your work. But I wanted to ask you something first. David and I were wondering if you ever take photographs of people anymore.”
“Not really.” Mr. Halliday gave a wistful smile. “I suppose I’ve seen all I need to see of people. Through the lens of my camera, at least.”
“We were just thinking . . . well, that a photograph of the congregation—everybody, all together—might help the people here see themselves differently. As a whole, a group. Although I doubt we could even begin to afford such a thing.”
“That’s one photo I’d be happy to take.
”
“How much . . .”
“I’ve been paid in shillings and pennies and moonshine and gold nuggets,” Mr. Halliday said. He stared past Christy at the green mountains surrounding the mission. “But you’ve already paid me more than I deserve with your hospitality. If anything, I owe you. I fear I’ve rather complicated lives here.”
“You? But how?”
“Oh, the catalog . . . and other things,” Mr. Halliday said vaguely. “You tell the reverend I’d be delighted to take a picture of the people of Cutter Gap. I only hope I can do them justice.” He gave a sad smile. “After all, I can’t even seem to photograph a simple creek.”
Fourteen
That evening, Christy went to her bedroom and closed the door. It was a beautiful night, warm and perfumed with flowers. A full moon lit her room like a golden lamp. She looked out the window and sighed. Mr. Halliday was right. Such beauty!
She walked to her bed and slipped her hand under her mattress. The key was there, just where she’d left it.
Slowly, Christy unlocked her trunk. She opened the jewelry box. The gold inside looked dull in the moonlight. How could a handful of rocks hold such power? The power to make grown men fight and young girls cry. The power to split families and change lives forever.
Where had it come from, and why was it here? Was it just “plumb lucky,” as Ruby Mae had said? Or did this gold belong to someone . . . perhaps someone right here in Cutter Gap?
Again she went over her conversation with Mr. Halliday that afternoon by the shed. “I fear I’ve rather complicated lives here,” he’d said. What had he meant by that?
He’d talked today of having been paid in gold. And he’d taken photographs near the very creek where Ruby Mae and her friends had found the nuggets.
Suddenly, she remembered the white piece of cloth Ruby Mae had been holding when Christy and Doctor MacNeill had confronted Lundy. It had looked like a handkerchief.
Like one of Mr. Halliday’s handkerchiefs.
But why, if the gold belonged to him and he’d lost it, hadn’t he told them the truth?
And could it be that Ruby Mae had the same suspicions?
Christy put away the gold. She locked her trunk and hid the key. Then she pulled out her diary and began to write.
What if my instincts are right? What if the gold that filled the girls with such hope—and this community with such anger—really belongs to Mr. Halliday? He’s such a kind man. I doubt he’ll ever be able to bring himself to say anything. But if Ruby Mae and the other girls know this gold isn’t just the result of luck . . . If they know that their gold really belongs to someone else, and that they’re taking advantage of his kindness, they’ll never be able to live with themselves. The question is, am I right? And if I am, how can I find a way to reach the girls before Mr. Halliday leaves forever?
“Lots of children missin’ today,” Clara commented on Monday morning as she took her seat next to Ruby Mae and Bessie.
“Out gold-huntin’,” Bessie said. “Pa said everybody from here to Asheville’s heard about it by now. Said he wished he had some pickaxes and shovels to sell.”
“At least Lundy ain’t here,” Ruby Mae muttered. “Probably scared to show his face.” She turned to check the door. “Mountie O’Teale come yet?”
“Why are you so all-fired interested in Mountie all of a sudden?” Bessie asked.
“No reason.”
The girls watched as more children took their seats.
“Am I crazy,” Clara whispered, “or are we sittin’ all by ourselves? How come everybody else is off in other rows?”
Bessie scanned the room. “You’d think we had the pox!”
“They’re just treatin’ us like royalty, is all,” Ruby Mae said.
A few minutes later, Mountie entered the schoolroom. Ruby Mae leapt from her seat and pulled the little girl aside.
“I got something to show you,” Ruby Mae said excitedly.
“Don’t care,” Mountie said softly. “I know I ain’t no princess, but that’s all right. ’Cause I got my ’magination. Teacher said.”
Ruby Mae pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of her dress. “Here. This is to help your imagination. For when it gets tuckered out and needs some help rememberin’.”
Mountie stared at the little piece of paper. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. “I-it’s my dolly!” she whispered.
“Mr. Halliday let me cut her out of the catalog.”
“Can I keep hold of this for a little while?”
“You can keep it, Mountie. It’s for you to have.” Ruby Mae looked away. “I know she ain’t a real dolly, but she’s easier to carry.”
“Th-thank you, Ruby Mae!” Mountie whispered.
Ruby Mae had never seen Mountie grin so wide. “Shucks, Mountie. Ain’t nothin’ much,” she muttered. Quickly she ran back to her seat.
“What was that about?” Bessie asked.
“Nothin’. Just ’cause we’re princesses don’t mean I can’t talk to the common folk, do it?”
“Don’t get all riled,” Bessie said. “You ain’t mad at me ’cause our pas was beatin’ up on each other in church, are you?”
“Naw,” Ruby Mae gave a short laugh. “You mad at me?”
Bessie giggled. “Naw. Can’t help it if’n the grownups act like kids. It’s a good thing we can act proper-like.”
Ruby Mae glanced back over her shoulder. Mountie was hugging the little piece of paper to her chest as if it were a real doll. “Yep,” Ruby Mae said softly. “It’s a good thing we can act proper-like.”
Fifteen
Instead of reading from a book today,” Christy said later that morning, “I thought maybe I’d tell you a story.”
Her announcement was met with enthusiastic applause. Even the older children loved it when she told stories. Fairy tales, myths, mysteries—it didn’t matter what. She wasn’t sure if it was her storytelling ability, or the fact that they preferred just about anything to the prospect of another arithmetic or spelling lesson.
Christy sat on the edge of her desk. The children pulled their desks and chairs closer. She couldn’t help noticing that Ruby Mae, Bessie, and Clara were sitting apart from the others. She wondered if it was their doing, or if the other children were keeping their distance.
“This is the story of three fair maidens,” Christy began.
“Teacher?”
“Yes, Little Burl?”
“What’s a maiden?”
“A maiden is a young girl.” Christy cleared her throat. “One day, these three maidens were walking through the woods when they—”
“Teacher?”
“Yes, Creed.”
“Don’t these maidens go by names?”
“That’s a very good question, Creed. Let’s see. Their names were Lucinda, Drusilda, and—”
“Pearl!” Creed exclaimed.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m right partial to Pearl, Teacher. If’n it don’t get in the way of your storytellin’.”
“Pearl it is.” Christy smiled to herself. She’d long since learned that with the aid of her students, a ten-minute story could take an hour.
“As I was saying, Lucinda, Drusilda, and Pearl were walking through the woods on a bright summer day when suddenly the air was filled with the most beautiful sound their ears had ever heard. ‘It sounds like the first call of birds in the morning,’ said Lucinda. ‘It sounds like a church bell on Christmas morning,’ said Drusilda. ‘It sounds like angels singing,’ said Pearl.”
“What was the sound, Teacher?” Mountie asked shyly.
“Well, the maidens didn’t know for sure, Mountie,” Christy said. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Very carefully the maidens crept to the clearing that seemed to be the source of the wonderful sound. But Pearl tripped on a root—she had very large feet—and suddenly the sound vanished. All was still.”
Christy glanced over at Ruby Mae and her friends. They were listening as attentively as th
e other children—maybe even more so.
“Well, the maidens went to the clearing. They saw footprints leading away into the woods. They saw a campfire, too, the embers still glowing from the night before. And next to the campfire, what do you think they saw?”
“A family of three bears?” Creed ventured.
“Well, no, Creed, that’s another story. What they saw was a tiny silver flute. That’s a long, thin tube with holes in it. It’s a kind of musical instrument, just like the dulcimer Clara’s father likes to play.”
“Or like the piano over to the mission house that Wraight plays on?” Lizette asked.
“Exactly,” Christy said, grinning. It was no secret that Lizette and Wraight Holt were “sweethearts,” as the children put it.
Christy paused for a moment, considering where to take her story. She was making it up as she went along, and she wanted to be sure she got her point across to three members of the audience in particular.
“Well, the maidens gave some serious thought to this flute,” she continued. “‘Maybe we should leave it,’ Drusilda said. ‘After all, it doesn’t really belong to us. Maybe the music-maker was so frightened he left this behind. Or maybe he left it for us out of the kindness of his heart.’ But Pearl was the leader of the group, and she said, ‘No, if we found it, it’s ours, fair and square.’ So she picked up that silver flute and she put it in her pocket and off the maidens set for home.”
“So then they played songs on it, Teacher?” George O’Teale asked.
“Well, that’s the thing, George. Drusilda tried, and Lucinda tried, and Pearl tried. They blew on that flute till their faces were purple, but the only thing that came out was the most dreadful noise. A noise like a hungry hog and a balking mule and a howling hound all mixed up together. The maidens had to wear earplugs day and night while they tried to make that sweet music they’d discovered in the woods. But you know what?”
Christy looked over at Ruby Mae. She was staring at the ceiling with a strange, unhappy gaze, her mouth set in a frown.
“The maidens couldn’t make the silver flute play because it wasn’t theirs. They’d taken something that didn’t belong to them, and because of that, there was no joy in it.” Christy paused. “Finally, in frustration, the maidens took the silver flute back to the clearing in the woods. Day after day they waited patiently, hidden in the trees, far enough away so the music maker wouldn’t be afraid. On the last day, when they were just about ready to give up, what do you think happened?”
The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness Page 6
