“Looks like you painted more than the house, Preacher,” Ruby Mae teased.
“David!” Miss Ida scolded. “I just washed this floor. Look at those boots! They’re covered with paint!”
“Do any of you remember the story about the Little Red Hen?” David asked.
Ruby Mae frowned. “Is that in the Bible, Preacher?”
David bent down to unlace his boots. “No, Ruby Mae. It’s the story of a hen who asks for help while she’s baking bread. Nobody’s willing to help her.” He grunted as he yanked off one boot. “But everybody’s willing to eat the bread after it’s made.”
“So you’re sayin’ you’re the hen?” Ruby Mae asked.
“Exactly.”
“But that don’t make a lick o’ sense. If you had feathers, Preacher, like as not you’d be a rooster, I’m a-guessin’.”
David sighed. “Never mind. I can see my story is going to be wasted on you chickens.” With one boot still on, he started toward the table.
“Preacher, stop where you are!” Ruby Mae screeched. She plowed into him, nearly knocking him down.
“What’s wrong now, Ruby Mae?” David asked.
“Your boot!” Ruby Mae cried. “Don’t you know nothin’ about nothin’? It’s bad luck to step around with one shoe off and one shoe on! Every step is a day o’ bad luck for you, sure as can be.”
“That’s nonsense, Ruby Mae.” David gently moved her aside and proceeded to the table.
Ruby Mae watched in disgust. “I declare, you sure can be ornery, Preacher.”
David took a chair across from Miss Alice and yanked off his other boot. “Where on earth do you get these notions, Ruby Mae?”
“Same place she learned to leave her old, tattered socks in the yard,” Miss Ida said. “I was all set to throw them into that pile of rubbish you were burning the other day. But Ruby Mae would have none of that.”
“Everyone knows if’n you burn a piece o’ clothing, your body’ll burn where the clothing was coverin’ it. You didn’t want me runnin’ around with blisters on my feet, now, did you, Miss Ida?”
“Who tells you these things, Ruby Mae?” Christy asked. “I mean, things like the shoes and the socks and the Boggin stories?”
“They’re just there, plain as the nose on your face.” Ruby Mae glanced at David and giggled. “Or I guess I should say plain as the nose on most people’s faces.”
“Stories like these are passed from one generation to another,” Miss Alice said. “I’ve heard the legend of the Boggin from dozens of different people. Many actually claim to have seen him.”
“Where did they get that name, I wonder? It’s not as if they’ve ever met him,” Christy said. She rolled her eyes. “Listen to me! I’m starting to talk like this creature really exists!”
“But he does exist. You saw the signs yourself, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae protested.
“The name comes from the mountain people’s Scottish background,” Miss Alice said. “It refers to a ghost or goblin—a scary creature of some kind.”
“And is he ever scary!” Ruby Mae let out a low growl, like a hungry wildcat. “That’s how he sounds. Granny O’Teale done told me.”
Christy laughed. “I can see I’m not going to get this superstition out of your head any time soon.”
“You shouldn’t act so high and mighty, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said. “You’ve got your own superstitious side, after all.”
“Me?” Christy cried.
David winked at Ruby Mae. “She has a point, Christy. Didn’t I see you go out of your way to avoid walking under my ladder?”
“That . . . that’s different,” Christy said to David. “For one thing, I was just trying to avoid the possibility of your spilling paint all over me.” She winked at Ruby Mae, turned back to David, and added, “I didn’t want to end up looking like you!”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” David demanded.
“Go look in the mirror, Preacher,” Ruby Mae said. “You look almost as scary as the Boggin.”
Four
The mountains are so peaceful at night,” Christy said that evening.
Christy and David were sitting in old wooden rockers on the front porch of the mission house. Crickets chirped noisily, while off in the distance, frogs carried on busy conversations. The damp air was sweet with pine. The Great Smoky Mountains towered around them, black silhouettes against the deep blue twilight sky.
“I always feel so calm when I take in this view,” Christy said. “It’s like a wonderful painting that constantly changes.”
“God’s canvas,” David said, nodding.
Christy turned her gaze in the direction of Boggin Mountain. “I hate to think of the children fearing that mountain,” she said. “It’s such a beautiful place, really.”
“Someone had to put those tracks there,” David said. “And the skinned animal head.”
“Don’t tell me you believe—”
“Of course not. I agree with you that it sounds like a prank. Still, you were right near the base of Boggin Mountain. And having these stories start up again is troublesome.”
“What do you mean?” Christy asked.
“I’d hoped to get together some volunteers to help me string the telephone wires—now that I’m almost done with my painting project. We’re having a meeting here at the mission house on Saturday.”
“Will stringing the wire be difficult?”
“Difficult? That’s an understatement. We’ll have to cross Boggin Mountain, then go over Bent Creek.” He shook his head. “If the men are worried about the Boggin, they may refuse to help me string that wire. And it’s not exactly something I can do solo.”
“I’m sorry,” Christy apologized. “I guess when I asked for a telephone donation, I didn’t really think about the complications.”
David gave a rueful laugh. “How could you have foreseen that one of the complications would be a mythical creature with huge feet?”
“I’m sure this will pass,” Christy said. “By tomorrow, the children will be telling some new ghost story.”
“Maybe,” David said doubtfully.
“If not, I’ll try to distract them with a nice, exciting grammar lesson.”
“You’re a fine teacher, Christy Huddleston,” David said with an affectionate smile. “But even you aren’t that good.”
As she got ready for bed, Christy mulled over her lesson plans for the next day. With so many students in one classroom, it was always a challenge to keep their interest.
She stared into her mirror as she unpinned her hair. She looked so different from the Christy who’d come here a few months ago. Her skin was bronzed, her hair streaked by the sun. She was stronger, too. Her arms and legs were hardened by the physical demands of work here at the mission.
Still, she loved Cutter Gap—even this tiny, simple room, so different from her lace-trimmed, lovely bedroom back in Asheville. Her room here was not luxurious, to say the least—a washstand with a white china pitcher and bowl, an old dresser topped by a cracked mirror, two straight chairs, the plainest white curtains, and two cotton rag rugs on the floor.
But the furnishings didn’t matter. It was the view outside her window that made this room so special. Eleven mountain ranges, folding one into another, the summits reaching up as if to touch heaven.
Christy retrieved her diary and pen. She’d been keeping a journal about her adventures ever since coming here to Cutter Gap. By now her pen was almost worn flat. Soon she’d have to switch to a pencil—that is, if she could spare one. Even with the recent donations, supplies were hard to come by at the mission school.
She climbed into her bed and began to write.
I’ve got to find a way to get the children past this Boggin nonsense. I’ve seen the way rumors and superstitions can take hold among these people. It’s no different, I suppose, from the rumors that old Mrs. Dottsweiler back in Asheville used to spread about the neighbors while she hung out her laundry to dry.
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p; And as Ruby Mae pointed out, I’m not exactly perfect when it comes to superstitions. After all, everyone “knows” it’s a bad idea to break a mirror— that means seven years’ bad luck. Or how about going out of your way not to walk under a ladder? The truth is, I have my share of silly superstitions.
But this Boggin nonsense—that seems so much worse, if it gets in the way of something important, like the new telephone. I would hate for Cutter Gap to lose such an important connection to the outside world. Especially if it’s because of some ignorant superstition.
When I think of little Vella’s scared expression today, I just know I have to find a way to make the children forget about their fears. But they’ve learned those fears from their parents and grandparents, and I’m not sure if they’ll be willing to “unlearn” them.
Suddenly Christy had a brilliant idea. If the children could learn from their parents, maybe the parents could learn from the children. If she got her students excited about the new telephone David wanted to install, maybe the children could get their parents excited.
And if their parents were excited, maybe they’d be willing to help out installing the wires—even if it did mean going near Boggin Mountain.
Now, if she could just find a way to sneak that grammar lesson in, too. . . .
Five
I have a surprise for you,” Christy announced the next morning at school. “I know how disappointed you’ll be to hear that instead of our usual grammar lesson, I have something special planned.”
From under her desk, Christy pulled out two constructions of wooden boxes, paper, and string. She’d made them early that morning.
“What in tarnation are those, Teacher?” Creed asked.
“These,” Christy said proudly, “are telephones. Well, they’re not really telephones. They’re practice telephones, until we can get the real thing. The Reverend Grantland is going to be putting up telephone poles and wires soon—hopefully, with the help of your fathers. When the new telephone is installed at the mission house, I want us all to be prepared.”
“Teacher?” Little Burl waved his hand frantically.
“Yes, Little Burl?” Christy asked as she placed one of the makeshift “telephones” on her desk.
“Can I call my granny on that newfangled contraption right now?”
“That’s not quite the idea, Little Burl,” Christy said. She carried the other telephone to the back of the room and set it on a desk. “These are just pretend. You see, the telephone works by carrying your voice over a long piece of wire.”
“How?” John Spencer asked.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about how they operate myself,” Christy confessed. “I could try to find out more, if you’d like, John.”
“Teacher?” Little Burl asked. “I figgered teachers knew just about everything in the world there is to know.”
“Wrong, Little Burl,” Creed said. “Preachers know just about everything.”
“You’re both wrong,” said Clara Spencer. “In my house, it’s my ma who knows everything. Just ask my pa.”
Christy laughed. “Back to the subject, please. This box represents the telephone machine itself. The string is a wire. This paper cone is where you talk—the mouthpiece. And this other paper cone connected to the string is the earpiece where you listen.”
“It’s pure magic, it is!” Ruby Mae exclaimed.
“Now, the phones are really going to be connected by miles and miles of wires,” Christy continued. “But I don’t have enough string to spare for that, so you’ll have to use your imaginations.”
“Where do the wires go, Teacher?” Creed asked.
“Well, all over, Creed. But because Cutter Gap is in such a hard-to-reach place, with lots of high mountains, it’s taken us longer to get connected.”
Christy didn’t add the other reason—that this area had simply been too poor to afford the luxury of telephones.
“My pa says those new-fangled contraptions is a heap o’ nonsense.”
Christy looked up in surprise. The low voice belonged to Lundy Taylor, a seventeen-year-old bully with a nose for trouble. Christy had suffered through her share of run-ins with his father, Bird’s-Eye. Bird’s-Eye made and sold illegal liquor—“moonshine.” And whenever a fight broke out in Cutter Gap, you could always count on Bird’s-Eye Taylor to be involved.
“Why do you think your father feels that way, Lundy?” Christy asked.
Lundy shrugged. He was a big boy, with dark, messy hair and a constant sneer. “Pa says we got along just fine and dandy without no telephones for as long as his pa and his great-grandpa was around. Says it’s just a way for you mission folks to sneak in with your wires and poles and poke around where you don’t belong.”
“But Lundy, that’s not the reason for the telephones at all. Suppose we desperately needed supplies or medical help? The telephone is a wonderful invention, truly it is.”
Lundy rolled his eyes. “Can’t trick my pa any sooner ’n you can catch a weasel asleep.”
“Maybe so. But tell him to give this a chance,” Christy said. “Now, who would like to be the first to try out the telephone?”
The classroom went wild. “Ruby Mae and Clara. How about you two?”
Each girl took her place at one of the “telephones” while the others watched, mesmerized.
“Now, Ruby Mae, I want you to pick up the receiver—that’s the little cone-shaped thing. Put it next to your ear.”
Ruby Mae did as she was told. “Cain’t hear a thing, Miz Christy.”
“Remember, these are just imaginary telephones, Ruby Mae.”
“I know. I was just imaginin’ I couldn’t hear a thing.”
“Next, turn the crank on the right side of the telephone.”
“Ain’t no crank.”
“I know. You have to pretend.”
Dutifully, Ruby Mae made a circular motion with her hand.
“Excellent,” Christy said. “Now, in a moment, you’ll hear the operator’s voice through the receiver. That’s me.”
Christy went behind the blackboard and pinched her nose. “El Pano operator,” she said in a nasal voice, sending the class into a fit of giggles. “To whom would you like to speak?”
Ruby Mae considered. “I’d be tickled pink to speak to President Taft.”
“No, Ruby Mae!” Clara cried. “You got to talk to me, ’cause I’m the one with the phone!”
“I was imaginin’,” Ruby Mae said. “After all, it’s a purty sure thing President Taft’s got himself a fine telephone. Probably one made o’ gold. But if’n you’re goin’ to get all sore about it, I’ll talk to you instead.”
Ruby Mae peeked behind the chalkboard. “I don’t rightly see as I need a telephone to speak to Clara, Miz Christy. Seein’ as she’s standin’ right over yonder, clear as day.”
“Imagine that Clara’s in El Pano, miles away. You’re here at the mission, and you want to tell her something very important. As the operator, it’s my job to connect your phone to hers. I’ll plug in the right wire to my switchboard, and, as if by magic . . .” Christy grinned. “R-I-N-G, R-I-N-G!!”
“Are you there?” Clara asked, holding the earpiece to her mouth.
“That’s the receiver, Clara. And say ‘hello’ when you pick up the telephone. Try again.”
“Hello? Is that you, Ruby Mae?” Clara said, this time speaking into the paper mouthpiece.
“It’s me! Ruby Mae!” Ruby Mae cried, caught up in the fantasy. “And have I got news for you! The Boggin’s a-hauntin’ us. And . . . let’s see. Last week in church, Granny O’Teale fell asleep and snored so loud the preacher said she coulda purt-near waked the dead. And Doctor MacNeill brought Miz Christy pink flowers the other day, for no reason. ’Ceptin’ o’ course he’s sweet on her. . . .”
Christy laughed. “That’s probably enough about my social life,” she said. She should have known that Ruby Mae, Cutter Gap’s biggest busybody, would instantly fall in love with the telephone.
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Christy watched in satisfaction as the two girls prattled on. The grammar lesson could wait. For the rest of the day, the children took turns playing on the pretend telephones. Even Lundy gave it a try. Christy had rarely been as happy with one of her lessons. She might not have much in the way of supplies. But sometimes a little ingenuity was all it took to create excitement about learning.
Six
I know the telephone machine’s a fine invention,” Clara said that afternoon. “But I’m afeared it’s causin’ a heap o’ trouble.” She gave her brother a meaningful look. “If’n you know what I mean.”
“Shh!” John put a finger to his lips. “The little ’uns will hear you.”
The four Spencer children were heading home from school along the sun-dappled path that led to their cabin. Up ahead, six-year-old Lulu and ten-year-old Zady were picking wildflowers for their mother. Clara and John hung back a little so that they could talk in private.
“Trouble with you is, you think too much,” John scolded.
Clara stopped walking. John could be such a know-it-all! She shook her head at her big brother. Like all the Spencer children, he had wide eyes fringed by long lashes. And like the others, he was dressed in worn but clean clothes, carefully mended again and again by their mother.
“All I’m sayin’,” Clara said, “is it could be him doin’ it, John. To scare people off.” She chewed on a thumbnail, something she did whenever she was worried.
“Stop chewin’ off your nails,” John said. “Ma says you keep that up, one day you’ll wake up without any fingers.”
Clara rolled her eyes. John was only three years older than she was, but he liked to act like he was her pa. It drove her crazy.
Of course, the truth was, they were a lot alike. They were always thinking, always looking at things and asking, “How come?” They loved school, and they both thought Miz Christy was the finest thing to ever happen to Cutter Gap.
“You got to admit, it could be him,” Clara said, sighing.
“I don’t know,” John said darkly. “Could be you’re right. It’s like you were sayin’ yesterday, when we found those tracks. About how the Boggin just wanted to be left alone, like a wild critter.” He gave her a playful punch in the arm. “’Course, you shoulda just kept your tongue from waggin’.”
The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness Page 17
