The Bridge to Cutter Gap

by Catherine Marshall

  “Nice to meet you, Ruby Mae,” Christy said. She pointed to some leftover buckwheat cakes. “Would you two like to join me?”

  “They both had breakfast,” Miss Ida reminded Christy primly. “Hours ago.”

  “Reckon I’m hungry again, though,” Ruby Mae said, pulling up a chair.

  Miss Ida sighed. “I suppose, if Miss Huddleston is done, you may as well finish up what’s left. But, please, Ruby Mae, go wash up in the basin in the kitchen.”

  “Wash up, wash up, wash up,” Ruby Mae muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward as she reluctantly headed for the kitchen. “If’n I wash up much more, I’ll wash my skin clean off!”

  Mr. Grantland laughed as she disappeared into the kitchen. “She’s a character, that one,” he said.

  “She’s trouble, is what he means,” Miss Ida said, scraping crumbs from the table into her palm. “She’ll talk your ear off if you let her. And gossip! Where that girl gets her information, I’ll never know.”

  “Ruby Mae is a one-woman newspaper,” Mr. Grantland said.

  “Why—” Christy lowered her voice— “why is she staying here?”

  His face went serious. “She and her stepfather don’t get along. After a particularly bad argument, he ordered her out of the cabin. She had nowhere else to go, so we took her in.”

  Ruby Mae returned, thrusting her hands in front of Miss Ida for inspection. “Ain’t no more of those germy things a-growin’ on these hands,” she declared. She winked at Christy. “Not that I’ve ever seen one, mind you. But Doc MacNeill and Miss Ida and Miss Alice, they keep a-swearin’ they’re there.” She pointed to Christy’s plate. “You done with those?”

  “Oh—yes. Here, please. I couldn’t eat another bite.” Christy passed her plate to Ruby Mae, who began to eat like she hadn’t seen food in weeks.

  “She’s got the appetite of a grown man, that girl,” Miss Ida said with evident distaste.

  “That’s all right,” Christy said, smiling at Ruby Mae. “So do I.”

  Ruby Mae grinned back gratefully, her mouth stuffed with buckwheat cakes. “Maybuf latef I shoof yoouf aroumf.”

  “Allow me to translate,” Mr. Grantland said. “I speak Ruby Mae. I believe she was offering to give you the royal tour of the mission.”

  Ruby Mae nodded enthusiastically.

  “Which would probably be a fine idea,” he continued, “since I, unfortunately, cannot do the honors myself. I’ve got another load of school desks to pick up.”

  “I’d like that, Ruby Mae,” Christy said.

  Ruby Mae glowed, obviously thrilled at being assigned such an important duty.

  “I’m afraid it will be a rather brief tour,” Mr. Grantland said. “There’s not much to see, really.”

  “Oh, yes, there is,” Christy replied. “When I looked out my window this morning, it practically took my breath away. The mountains, the sky . . . It’s amazing.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Grantland gazed at her thoughtfully. “I’m glad you can see that too.” His voice went soft. “Sometimes, with all the problems here in the Cove, it helps to see God’s beauty in His creation.” He smiled a little self-consciously. “Well, I must be off. Enjoy your tour. And enjoy your meeting with Miss Alice.”

  He gave a little wave and in a few long strides had disappeared out the door.

  Ruby Mae leaned across the table. Her mouth was still full of buckwheat cakes.

  “Swallow,” Miss Ida chided.

  Ruby Mae obeyed dutifully, but not without another roll of her lively brown eyes. “He’s not married, you know,” she confided to Christy in a loud whisper.

  “You mean . . . Mr. Grantland?” Christy asked uncomfortably, noting Miss Ida’s grimace.

  “He don’t even have a gal-friend, near as I can tell. And believe you me, I would know. I keep up on everybody’s comings and goings.”

  “David has his mind on far more important things than a gal-friend, Ruby Mae,” Miss Ida snapped. “He’s here to do the work of the Lord, not to fall in love.”

  “I reckon sometimes that’s sort of the same thing, ain’t it?” Ruby Mae asked thoughtfully.

  Christy tried very hard to hide her smile. It was clear that Miss Ida was not amused.

  “And this here’s the outhouse,” Ruby Mae said with a grin. “Reckon you ain’t seen nothing this fancy before.”

  Christy blinked. Actually, the outdoor toilet was more primitive than anything she’d ever seen. And drafty, too, in this January cold.

  It had not occurred to her how simple the mission buildings would be. She gazed back at the white three-story framed building with a screened porch on either side. The mission house where she’d slept last night was a palace compared to the Spencer cabin, of course. But still, there was no electricity, no telephone, no plumbing. The house, along with the church-schoolhouse, a lattice-covered springhouse, the double outhouse, Mr. Grantland’s bunkhouse by the creek, and Miss Henderson’s cabin, were the only buildings at the mission.

  “It’s a fine outhouse,” Christy managed to say, and Ruby Mae beamed with pride, as if she’d built it herself.

  The girl had not stopped talking during Christy’s tour of the mission. One question, one smile from Christy, was all it took for Ruby Mae to break into a beaming grin so full of excitement that Christy wondered when the last time was that anyone had really paid attention to the girl. Would all her students be this needy, this dying for affection? As Ruby Mae’s questions began to accumulate, so did Christy’s. She was anxious to talk to Miss Alice and get some answers.

  “And now, for the finest part of my showin’,” Ruby Mae announced. “The school!” She took Christy’s hand and led her toward the simple church building. “I saved the best for very last.”

  Christy followed Ruby Mae up the wooden steps. As they entered the building, the girl fell silent for the first time.

  The school room smelled of varnish and woodsmoke. A small potbellied stove sat in one corner. A few battered school desks were scattered across the floor.

  Slowly Christy walked to the teacher’s desk near the stove.

  This was hers. This was where she would soon be teaching. This was where her adventure really would begin.

  “Fills ya up with excitement, don’t it, just to come inside?” Ruby Mae asked in a hushed voice.

  It’s the same voice you would use in a church, Christy thought. Then she realized this was a church every Sunday.

  “I can’t tell you how much we all have been lookin’ forward to havin’ a real school with a real live teacher,” Ruby Mae said sincerely.

  Christy smiled. “I hope I turn out to be a real live teacher.”

  “I don’t rightly see your point,” Ruby Mae said, her face puckered up in concentration.

  “It’s just—” Christy stared into the girl’s bright eyes. “Well, I’ve never taught before, you see. I suppose I’m a little nervous.”

  “You, nervous? That’s a good one!” Ruby Mae laughed loudly, slapping her leg, as if she’d never heard anything funnier. Slowly she realized Christy was serious. Her face went instantly solemn. “Oh, Miz Huddleston, I declare. I weren’t laughing at you. It’s just that I figure it’s us students who have the right to be all nervous-like. I mean, Lordamercy, you’re the teacher!”

  I’m the teacher. Christy tried out the words in her mind. She liked the sound of them.

  Sure, it had been a long and dangerous journey here. Sure, things hadn’t gone as she’d hoped so far. But what was she so worried about? Ruby Mae was right. Christy was the teacher.

  Now that she was finally here, what else could possibly go wrong?

  That afternoon, Christy knocked on the door of Miss Alice Henderson’s cabin. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Already the stories about Miss Alice had impressed her. She wanted to do her very best to impress Miss Alice too.

  The woman who answered the door had beautiful, clear features and deep gray eyes that looked both excited and tired at the same time. Her hair had once
been blond, but now was sprinkled with gray. She was wearing a straight, blue woolen skirt and a clean, white linen blouse. Mr. Pentland had said there was something queenlike about her, and he was right.

  “Do come in,” she said, staring intently at Christy.

  Stepping into Miss Henderson’s cabin was almost like going home to Asheville. There was warmth and color and shine here. Firelight gleamed on the old pine and cherry furniture and the polished brass and pewter. Windows along the back of the room brought the beautiful Cutter Gap scenery indoors. The winter landscape and the towering peaks filled the room like a gigantic mural.

  Christy had not realized how homesick she was until she felt the relief pouring through her. There was some beauty and order here in the Cove! It wasn’t all just plainness and poverty.

  “Come, sit down, child,” Miss Henderson urged. “Does my cabin surprise you?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. After that nightmare scene yesterday at the Spencers’, I wasn’t sure that I . . . that I belonged here. But this is so beautiful that I want to hug it—if you could hug a room. It’s like . . . Well, like coming home.”

  “That’s the nicest compliment my cabin’s ever had. Here, sit by the fire. Got down to ten below zero this morning.”

  “Miss Henderson,” Christy asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, “how is Mr. Allen?”

  “About seven this morning he opened his eyes and asked about his ailing hound dog. I think he’s going to be all right.”

  Christy felt relief wash over her like a warm breeze. Now she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of thinking she’d caused Mr. Allen’s death.

  Miss Henderson sat down across from Christy. “Now, tell me, Miss Huddleston,” she said suddenly. “Why did you come to Cutter Gap?”

  Surely she must be joking, Christy thought. But one look at her face told Christy she was not. “Naturally, I thought Dr. Ferrand would have told you,” Christy answered. “I came to teach school, of course.”

  “He didn’t tell me much. And anyway, I want to hear your version. Why are you here?”

  It was such a complicated question. Christy hesitated. Where should she begin? “I was so moved at the church retreat when I heard about the mountain people,” she began slowly. “I volunteered right away.”

  “Looking back,” Miss Henderson asked, smoothing out a crease in her skirt, “do you think you were carried away by the emotion of the moment?”

  “Somewhat, perhaps,” Christy admitted. She wanted to be completely honest with this woman. Something about Miss Henderson demanded honesty.

  “And Dr. Ferrand is eloquent,” Miss Henderson pointed out.

  “But I’ve had plenty of time to think it over,” Christy added quickly. “If I’d wanted to back out, I could have.”

  “And why didn’t you?”

  “Because I knew you were desperate for teachers. I’ve had a year and a semester of college, enough to start teaching. And—” She paused. It was so hard to explain what was in her heart. “I’d like my life to count for something.”

  Miss Henderson fell silent. It was different from the embarrassing lapses in conversation Christy had felt, talking to a boy she liked or a person she didn’t know. This was a silence full of meaning, a comfortable silence.

  Christy longed to tell Miss Henderson about the feeling she’d had that there was some special mission waiting for her. Maybe that feeling just came from reading too much poetry—or because she was young. But Christy didn’t think so. She wanted her life to be full. She wanted to laugh and love. She wanted to help others. Those were the hopes that had sent her on this wild adventure into the mountains.

  But she couldn’t explain those things, not yet. So she just sat silently, staring at her hands.

  “You’ll need some information about your new job,” Miss Henderson said, suddenly changing the subject. “School opens on Monday next. Your coming gives us an official staff of three: David, you, and me, with Dr. Ferrand in overall charge. By the way, those at the mission call me ‘Miss Alice.’ David you’ve already met. He just graduated from the seminary. He’s from Pennsylvania, like me.”

  “How long have you been here, Miss Alice?”

  “I first came to the Great Smokies almost nine years ago. I started several schools in the area, then I saw Cutter Gap and loved it. I felt this was my spot.” She gazed around the room. “I wanted this cabin to be a sort of sanctuary, a quiet spot for me and for other people, where they could talk out some of their problems when they want to.”

  “You mean the mountaineers?”

  “They prefer to be called mountain people or highlanders. And believe me, there’s plenty of problems for them to talk out. These people were brought up on a religion of fear. I believe one of our tasks here is to show folks a God who wants to give them joy. How they need joy!”

  Her eyes took on a soft, remembering look. “I am a Quaker, you may know. My father was a strict member of the Society of Friends. But he had one favorite saying as I grew up. ‘Before God,’ he would say to me, ‘I’ve just one duty as a father. That is to see that thee has a happy childhood tucked under thy jacket.’ ”

  “I like that,” Christy said, grinning at the image. “And did you have a happy childhood?”

  “The happiest imaginable.” Her voice trailed off. “I would like a little of that for these children. They have such hard lives.”

  “I’m afraid the hardness is all I’ve seen so far.”

  Miss Alice nodded with understanding. “At first I couldn’t see anything but the dirt and the poverty either. But as I got to know the people better, flashes of something else began to come through. It’s like looking through a peephole into the past. The old ballads, the words from another century. You’ll see. These are tough people, proud and self-reliant, with an intense love of freedom. They’ve got iron wills that could bring major achievements.” She sighed. “Of course, now their wills are used mainly to keep feuds alive.”

  Christy shifted uneasily, remembering the warnings of the train conductor and Mrs. Tatum. “You mean real shooting feuds?”

  “Real shooting-and-killing feuds.” For the first time, Miss Alice’s face was grim.

  “What do you and Mr. Grantland do about it?”

  “Well, the first thing I did was buy a gun and learn to shoot.”

  Christy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You did! But I thought the Quakers—”

  “Believe in nonviolence. You’re right. I’ve had my dear ancestors spinning in their graves ever since. Now that I’ve seen violence close up, I believe in nonviolence more than ever. But I had to meet these men on their own ground. So now I’m a better shot than a lot of them, and they all know it and respect it. I tell them, ‘I like your fierce pride and your loyalty to your family. That’s why I long to keep you from doing anything that will shame your sons and your sons’ sons.’ ”

  The room was very quiet as Christy considered the Quaker lady’s words. I can learn much from this woman, Christy thought, if only she will teach me.

  When at last Christy rose to go, Miss Alice held out her hand. “Christy Huddleston,” she said, “I think you will do.”

  The warmth of her voice brought unexpected tears to Christy’s eyes. She hoped Miss Alice was right.

  That night, Christy sat in her bed, her diary propped on her knees. During dinner, she’d discussed lesson plans with Mr. Grantland and Miss Alice. They’d seemed a little amused at her ambitious ideas.

  “Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” Mr. Grantland had warned. “We’re talking about a lot of students, a lot of ages. You’ll be lucky to get them all to sit still for an hour.”

  Christy chewed on the top of her pen, considering. At the top of a fresh page, she wrote:

  Goals for School Year:

  (1) Establish basic reading and arithmetic skills

  (2) Penmanship exercises

  (3) Calculus?

  (4) French lessons?

  (5)
Latin?

  (6) Music lessons?

  (7) Hygiene and etiquette?

  She scanned her list. Well, maybe etiquette was too much. It didn’t much matter if you knew which fork to use if you didn’t own any forks. Still, she had to set standards, didn’t she? She had to aim high.

  And what was the goal that Miss Alice had mentioned? To show folks a God who wants to give them joy. Now, that was a tall order. How could Christy begin to show these poor people what joy meant?

  She thought about the question Miss Alice had asked her today. Again, she began to write:

  Miss Alice asked me why I’ve come here to Cutter Gap. It’s a good question. It made me think back to my life in Asheville, full of parties and pretty things. Of course, there was nothing wrong with that life—in fact, now I see how very blessed I have been. But I can’t help wondering what it all meant. Where was it leading?

  There must be more to life than that. Or is there—for

  a woman?

  What was I born for, after all? I have to know. If I’d stayed at home, going the round of the same parties, I don’t think I ever would have known. Mother and Father didn’t understand why I was so anxious to come here. But I couldn’t wait forever.

  Come Monday, I won’t have to wait any longer.

  “You okay?” Mr. Grantland inquired on Monday morning. “You look a little green around the gills.”

  Christy gave him a weak smile. “Butterflies,” she said.

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “My stomach. It’s full of butterflies. So full it’s amazing I haven’t fluttered away.” She gazed at him hopefully. “Was it like this for you, the first time you preached a sermon, Mr. Grantland?”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me David?” he asked.

  “David,” she amended.

  “And the answer is yes. Matter of fact, I still get the shakes every Sunday. Feel better?”