The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness

by Catherine Marshall

  Christy exchanged a glance with the doctor. Bob Allen owned a dapple gray mare.

  “Where’s your father, Hannah?” the doctor asked as he cleaned John’s wound.

  “Ran up the path lookin’ for the men.”

  “With his gun,” Margaret added anxiously.

  “That could mean trouble,” the doctor said. “Christy, would you finish bandaging John’s arm? I’m going to try to catch up with Curtis before there’s any more shooting.”

  “I’m going with you,” Christy said firmly.

  “There’s no point in you—”

  “I’m going,” Christy repeated.

  Doctor MacNeill sighed. “Fine. I know better than to argue with you. Margaret, there are bandages in my bag. Apply one to John’s wound with a little pressure. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  “Be careful,” Margaret said.

  Christy and Doctor MacNeill climbed onto Prince. The doctor kept his shotgun at the ready, while Christy scanned the dense woods for any movement.

  “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you?” Christy said as they headed up the shady path.

  “That you’re the most incredibly stubborn woman in Tennessee and I shouldn’t have let you ride along with me?”

  “That Bob Allen’s behind this.”

  Doctor MacNeill nodded. “Not that we’d ever be able to prove it. But yes. I’d bet my last dollar it was Bob. He could have been alone, but my guess is he brought along some help.” They heard a noise in the bushes. Christy stiffened. By now she recognized all too well the metallic click of a shotgun being cocked.

  “Hold it right there!” a low voice cried from somewhere in the underbrush.

  “Curtis?” the doctor called. He brought Prince to a stop. “Is that you? It’s me, Doctor MacNeill.”

  Slowly Curtis emerged from the woods, his gun at the ready. “They shot my boy, Doc,” he said. “I gotta find the men who done it.”

  “Curtis, I understand how you feel,” the doctor said. “But it’s not going to help your family one bit if you walk into an ambush up the path.”

  “So you’re sayin’ just let it pass? Let the white folks shoot my boy and laugh about it?”

  “No. I’m saying let Christy and me try to deal with these people. Calm them down, talk some sense into them.”

  “They shot my boy, Doctor—”

  “John’s fine. It was just a minor flesh wound.”

  “So that makes it all right?” Curtis demanded, his voice choked with rage. “Why should I listen to you? How can you talk that way? Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “Nobody’s more upset about this than Doctor MacNeill, Curtis,” Christy said gently. “And if anybody can talk some reason into these men, it’s the doctor.”

  Curtis shook his head. “Ain’t no reasonin’ with hate.”

  “The doctor sold you that land because he thought you could make a home here. He thought the people of Cutter Gap were ready for a change,” Christy said. “Give him a chance to make things right. You head on home and tend to John.”

  Curtis exhaled slowly. He stared off into the trees, considering. “All right, then. I’ll do what you say, Miz Christy. But if anyone comes near my children again, they’ll be answerin’ to the barrel of a gun.”

  “I’ll stop by later to check on John,” the doctor promised.

  They rode on in silence for a few minutes. “You may be stubborn,” the doctor said, turning back to smile at Christy, “but you’re also persuasive.”

  “That’s not all,” Christy said jokingly. “I speak four languages, too.”

  “Impressive,” the doctor said as they approached the Allens’ cabin. He reined Prince to a halt. “You may need all four to get through to Bob. Why don’t you wait here till I check things out?”

  “I know Bob and Mary Allen very well, Neil. And if Creed or Rob or Festus are mixed up in this, I’ll have as good a chance as you of calming things down.”

  “All right, then. Stay a safe distance behind me, at least.”

  They dismounted and stepped into the clearing. The cabin was quiet, and so was the little mill beyond. The only sound was the babble of Blackberry Creek as it rushed past.

  Bob’s mare was in front of the cabin. There was foam on her mouth, as if she’d been running hard. Christy touched the mare’s flank as she passed. It was damp with sweat.

  Suddenly, the cabin door flew open. Bob appeared, his shotgun in the crook of his arm. “Howdy, Doc. Miz Christy. What brings you to our neck o’ the woods?”

  “John Washington’s been shot,” the doctor said. “But then, you already knew that, didn’t you, Bob?”

  Ten

  Don’t know what you’re speakin’ of, Doctor MacNeill.”

  “Put the gun down, Bob. We need to talk.”

  “If’n you come here about them no-accounts, I got nothin’ to say to you. You come for socializin’, then you’re welcome.”

  Doctor MacNeill pointed his own gun right at Bob’s chest. “I’ve come,” he boomed, “to warn you that if you go near those people again, I’ll—”

  Christy put her hand on the doctor’s arm to silence him. “Bob,” she said sweetly, “I think I’ll take you up on your kindly offer. I haven’t seen Mary in such a long time. And how is Granny Allen doing?”

  Without waiting, Christy marched up the front steps, walking right between the two guns each man had trained on the other. She brushed past a stunned Bob without even blinking.

  At the door she spun around. “Coming, Doctor MacNeill?” she called.

  “Might as well head on inside, Doc.” Bob gestured with his gun toward the door. “Confounded women! Don’t give no stock in argufyin’ the way we men does.”

  Mary, Granny, and the Allen children were waiting in the cramped, dark cabin. “Come in, come in,” Mary said, taking Christy’s hand. She was a stooped, graying woman who looked much older than her years. “All this fussin’ and carryin’ on! Like to make a body plumb wore out.”

  Christy took a seat at the table, and Della May and Little Burl gathered close. The doctor stood in the doorway, his face set in a stony grimace. Bob leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. In the corner, Granny Allen sat in a wooden rocker. She was a tiny woman, well into her eighties, with a toothless smile and hands gnarled by rheumatism.

  Silence fell in the crowded room. “Where’s Creed?” Christy asked, to break the quiet.

  “Mopin’ out by the creek,” Della May said.

  “Moping?” Christy repeated. “Why?”

  “Scalawag’s done disappeared. Can’t find him nowheres.”

  “When did he disappear?”

  “Oh, that’s hard to say,” Della May replied a little evasively.

  “He’ll turn up,” Granny said loudly. She was slightly deaf and tended to yell. “Mark my word.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “Could I fix y’all somethin’ to eat?”

  “This isn’t a social call, Mary,” the doctor said firmly, eyes locked on Bob. “This is about what just happened at the Washingtons’ place. A young boy was shot.”

  “Shame, ain’t it?” Bob said, with a hint of a sneer.

  Della May and Little Burl looked at the floor, as if they were afraid to meet Christy’s eyes.

  “You did it, didn’t you, Bob?” the doctor said.

  “Prove it,” Bob challenged.

  “Your horse was seen there.”

  “That don’t prove nothin’.”

  “Bob,” Christy said, “Curtis Washington was on his way over here to even the score. The doctor and I stopped him. But next time, you might not be so lucky. We need to stop this madness before it turns into a war.”

  “That’s a war I’d win,” Bob grinned. “Purty much everybody’s on my side, ’ceptin’ you mission folks.”

  “Haven’t you had enough fighting to last a lifetime?” Christy cried. “The Taylors and your clan have been feuding for generations. Why do you need another enemy?
Look what you’re teaching your children.”

  “Teachin’ ’em the way o’ the world, is all,” Mary said softly.

  “But it doesn’t have to be this way,” Christy said. “The Washingtons are good people. Why can’t you give them a chance? I invited Margaret and Louise to our next Bible study. You’ll see then, Mary.”

  “She ain’t goin’ to no Bible readin’, not if they be there!” Bob shouted.

  “But I like goin’ . . .” Mary said. “I get so lonely here. And Miss Alice makes us tea and reads Scripture to us—”

  “You ain’t goin’, woman!” Bob screamed.

  “Hush, Bob,” Granny said. “You’re a-hurtin’ my ears, and I’m purt-near stone deaf. Let Mary go to the Bible study, if’n she wants.”

  “Didn’t you hear? You want her near them two women that ain’t our own kind? I won’t have it, I’m a-tellin’ you!” Bob pounded his fist on the wall. He beat it so hard that a needlepoint stitching in a crude frame—the only decoration in the cabin— fell to the floor. The frame splintered and broke apart.

  “My stitchin’!” Granny moaned.

  Christy picked up the faded fabric. The alphabet was carefully embroidered on it. The date “1841” had been sewn into the corner. Instead of a signature, like the other needlepoints Christy had seen, Granny had stitched a tiny bluebird.

  “This is beautiful, Granny,” Christy said.

  “Made it when I was just a wee thing,” Granny said.

  “I’m powerful sorry, Granny,” Bob said, hanging his head like a guilty child. “I’m sure I can mend the frame.”

  Granny looked at him sharply through clouded blue eyes. “I’ll tell you what you can mend. You can let that wife o’ yours go to the Bible readin’, just like always. I’d go myself, if’n I was a little more spry.”

  “But—”

  “Hush! I’ve had mules with more sense than you, Bob Allen. Mary wants to go, she’ll go.”

  Bob frowned. “Women!” he muttered.

  “Bob, we haven’t settled this,” Doctor MacNeill said. “Next time I hear you’ve been near the Washingtons, I’ll be using my gun. And I won’t stop to socialize first. You understand me?”

  “I understand you started this whole miserable mess,” Bob shot back. “And I understand one other thing. You, Miz Christy, Miz Alice, the preacher, maybe two or three others are on the Washingtons’ side. But I got me the whole o’ Cutter Gap on my side. Who do you think is gonna win that war, Doc? We’ll get you and those Washingtons. You started somethin’ you ain’t able to finish. You done forgot your roots, Doc. You’re as much a part of this place as the rest of us.”

  In two great steps, Doctor MacNeill placed himself squarely in front of Bob. He grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him hard against the wall.

  Della May cried out. Mary gasped, her hand to her mouth.

  “Don’t you threaten me, Bob Allen,” the doctor said between gritted teeth. “That’s a fight you don’t want. And don’t you talk to me about my roots. Right about now, I’m embarrassed to be from this place.”

  Christy touched the doctor’s shoulder. “Neil. Come on.”

  Doctor MacNeill released Bob, who slumped against the wall, rubbing his neck. “Traitor,” Bob growled.

  The doctor stomped out the door. Christy started to follow, then hesitated. “Come to the Bible study, Mary,” she said. “Please.”

  When Mary didn’t answer, Christy knew there was nothing more to say.

  Eleven

  On Monday during the noon break, Christy sat with David on the front steps of the mission school. The children were spread all over the lawn, lazing under the trees while they ate.

  “So, any problems so far today?” asked David, who taught Bible study at the school and helped with arithmetic classes when he had time.

  “Somebody put molasses on Louise Washington’s chair while she was writing on the chalkboard. I tried, but I couldn’t find the culprit. I’m pretty sure it was Lundy, though,” Christy sighed. “I just can’t seem to get through to these children, David.”

  “Join the club.” David gave an understanding laugh. “How do you think I felt yesterday, during my sermon about brotherly love and tolerance?”

  “It was a wonderful sermon, David.”

  “Too bad the church was only half full.”

  “I keep thinking if I could just get one or two of the children to make friends with the Washingtons, that would be a good start. I thought I saw Della May whispering to Hannah this morning, but I was probably imagining things. Given the way Bob Allen feels, it’s difficult to imagine one of his own children defying him that way.”

  “It’s hard for these children to take a stand like that,” David pointed out. “It takes real bravery to go against your family and friends and do the right thing.”

  He pointed to Creed Allen, who was sitting under a tree, head in his hands. “Speaking of the Allens, what’s wrong with Creed? He’s been so quiet lately.”

  “Scalawag ran away,” Christy explained.

  “Oh, that explains it. Poor kid. Speaking of running away, I hear you’re planning a trip with Doctor MacNeill.”

  “Word travels fast.”

  “You’re going to a wedding?” David asked, brows raised.

  “We’ll see. If things don’t settle down around here, I’m not sure I’ll be comfortable leaving, even if it’s only for a couple days. Miss Alice did say she wouldn’t mind filling in at the school.”

  “I’ll help out, too, if I can. Although I’d prefer it,” David added with a grin, “if you were going to a wedding with me.”

  Before Christy could reply, a sharp cry rang out. “Miz Christy, Preacher, come quick!” Ruby Mae called. “John and Lundy’s a-fightin’!”

  Christy and David ran to the other side of the school. A small group of students had circled around John and Lundy. John was on the ground. Lundy straddled his chest.

  “Tell me, you slime-belly snake!” Lundy screamed. “Tell me what you did with it!”

  “I don’t know what you’re a-talkin’ about. I swear it!” John shouted.

  Lundy raised his fist to strike. Just in the nick of time, David grabbed his arm. Together he and Christy yanked Lundy off John.

  “Lundy Taylor!” Christy cried. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “He stole my hat!” Lundy screamed. “Stole it right off my desk when I weren’t lookin’.”

  “I didn’t take his fool hat,” John said as he climbed to his feet shakily. “What would I want with that dirty ol’—”

  “I’m goin’ to pummel you good for that!” Lundy started for John, but David held him back.

  “Did anyone see John take Lundy’s hat?” Christy asked.

  Nobody answered.

  “Who else woulda took it?” Lundy asked. “That’s how they are, my pa says. Can’t trust ’em as far as you can throw ’em. ’Sides, I ain’t the only one what’s had somethin’ stole since they come to school.”

  “Someone took my bread last Friday,” Wraight Holt said, glaring at John.

  “And Mary O’Teale,” Lundy added, “she done had her hair ribbon swiped.”

  Mary nodded. “It’s true, Teacher.”

  “And that rag doll Vella Holt’s always carryin’ around with her like it’s a real baby,” Lundy said. “That’s gone. All of it since they —” he jabbed a finger at John, “come to school.”

  Christy put her hands on her hips. “Has anyone seen these items taken? Does anyone have any proof that John or his sisters are responsible?”

  “That’s how thiefs is,” Wraight said. “Sneak up on you when you ain’t suspectin’.”

  “I didn’t take your things,” John said defiantly. “I ain’t got no need of ’em.”

  “All right,” Christy said firmly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I want everyone to look high and low for these items for the rest of the noon break. Until we can prove what happened to them, there will be no more accusations. And Lundy, I
want you to go home for the rest of the day. You know how I feel about fighting.”

  “But it weren’t my fault!” Lundy screamed. “It was him—”

  “That’ll be quite enough, Lundy,” David said. “You’re lucky we aren’t going to expel you.”

  Lundy sent a poisonous look at John. He spat on the ground. “You’ll get yours,” he growled. Then he spun on his heel and stomped off, muttering to himself.

  When the fighting was over, Della May went over to her brother and sat beside him. “Bad fightin’,” she reported.

  “Lundy and John?” Creed asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I figgered as much.”

  “You think they stole those things like Lundy said?”

  “Don’t rightly know.” Creed leaned back against the tree trunk, sighed, and closed his eyes.

  “Creed,” Della May said, “Scalawag’s bound to turn up. You heard Granny. She ain’t hardly never wrong.”

  Creed didn’t answer. That was a bad sign. Creed always had something to say.

  “I ain’t never heard Granny yell the way she did at Pa the other day,” Della May said. She picked a piece of grass and chewed on it.

  “Nope,” was all Creed said.

  Della May paused. “You think Pa was the one shot at John?” she asked softly.

  “Most likely.”

  “If someone shot at you,” Della May said, “I’d be powerful mad.”

  Creed opened one eye. “Thank you kindly, Della May.” He smiled, but just a little.

  “Creed?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You figger pas are ever wrong about things?”

  “Hardly never. That’s why they’s pas and we’s just children.”

  “Creed?”

  “Lordamercy, Della May! Can’t you see I’m restin’?”

  “You figger Pa’d be right mad if’n I just talked to Hannah now and again?”

  For that, Creed opened both eyes. He scratched his head, eyeing her like she’d gone plumb mad. “Talk to ’em to say mean things? Or talk to ’em to say friendly-like things?”

  “Friendly-like.”

  Creed let out a low whistle. “Della May, you’d be a-walkin’ on thin ice, girl.”