Ruby Mae had told Lizette she thought Dr. MacNeill was sweet on Miz Christy too. Of course Ruby Mae was full of crazy gossip half the time, but she might just be right about the doctor. She’d sounded pretty sure of herself.
“I have a special announcement to make,” Miz Christy said. “I am going to appoint three Junior Teachers today. This is a very special honor. Junior Teachers will help me work with the other students.” She held up a small piece of cloth in the shape of a shield. It was trimmed with fancy gold braids and beads. “This is a special badge I made. Each of the Junior Teachers will wear one.”
Lizette sat up a little straighter and crossed her fingers. She had never seen anything as beautiful as that badge. Oh, how she wanted to be a Junior Teacher! It was all she could do to keep from waving her hand in the air and begging Miz Christy for the honor.
“John Spencer,” Miz Christy announced. John looked over at Lizette and smiled.
“Rob Allen.”
Lizette closed her eyes. “Please, please, let it be me,” she whispered.
“And Lizette Holcombe,” Miz Christy finished. “Come on up and accept your badges.”
Lizette gasped. Had Miz Christy really called her name?
“Go on up,” Ruby Mae said to Lizette.
Her cheeks flushed, Lizette joined John and Rob at the front of the room. Miz Christy pinned a badge on each of them. John winked at Lizette and nudged her with his elbow. She smiled back, but most of her attention was on her new badge. Miz Christy had made them herself, she’d said. The beads and spangles were as pretty as real diamonds and worth much more to Lizette.
As the Junior Teachers returned to their seats, the class applauded. Lizette glanced toward the back of the room, where she knew Wraight was sitting. Her heart jumped when she realized he was looking right at her. But he didn’t return her smile, and he and Lundy and the other boys at the back were not applauding.
Lizette sat down with a sigh. Maybe she was crazy to think Wraight could ever like her. All he’d ever done was throw snowballs at her or tease her a little now and then. But there was that one time he’d sung to her at recess. It had been a song about love and broken hearts and sweet pain, and she’d been almost sure he’d felt something then.
But that had been a while back. Wraight hadn’t brought his dulcimer to school in quite a spell. For that matter, he hadn’t even thrown a snowball at her lately. There’d been a dark cloud over Wraight, it seemed, these last few weeks. He’d been spending more and more time with Lundy and Smith, and they were not the best kind of friends to have. Those boys were trouble.
She wondered if maybe Lundy wasn’t the one who’d written that awful message on the school wall. Of course, Lizette hadn’t said anything to Miz Christy. She didn’t exactly have any proof. And Lundy wasn’t the kind of boy you wanted to tangle with, that was for sure.
Slowly Lizette turned around again. Wraight was still staring at her. She smiled, and this time, she thought maybe—just maybe—she saw him smile back. But when Lundy whispered something to Wraight, his smile vanished.
Lizette picked up her chalk and made another heart. L.H. + , she wrote.
She left the rest of the heart empty.
That afternoon, Christy walked to the Spencers’ cabin. The Spencer children—John, Zady, Clara, and Lulu—went with her. Lizette Holcombe came along too. As official Junior Teachers, John and Lizette were anxious to talk about ways they could help the younger students. As she listened to their discussion, Christy felt very pleased. Her Junior Teacher idea was obviously going to be a big success.
As they walked through the sun-dappled woods, filled with the clean scent of pine and balsam, Christy could almost forget the ugly message on the schoolhouse. Even with the help of her students, it had taken most of the noon recess to scrub off the messy letters.
The Spencers’ cabin came into view at the top of a ridge. Christy thought back to the first time she’d met the Spencer family. When no one had been at the train station to greet her, Christy had decided to set off on the seven-mile journey to the mission with Mr. Pentland as he delivered the mail. They’d stopped at the Spencers’ cabin to warm themselves. But almost as soon as they’d sat down before the fire, a man named Bob Allen had been carried into the cabin on a homemade stretcher. Mr. Allen had been on his way to meet Christy at the station when a tree had fallen on his head. He was very badly hurt.
Before long, the local doctor, Neil MacNeill, had arrived to perform risky brain surgery right there in the Spencers’ simple cabin. Christy had actually assisted the doctor during the operation. The doctor was a big handsome man, if a little gruff. Christy had been amazed at his skill, not to mention his ability to remain calm under tremendous pressure.
Fortunately, Bob had survived. But she had felt terribly guilty about his accident—after all, he’d been on his way to meet her when it had happened.
During the anxious moments before and after the operation, Fairlight Spencer had offered Christy a gentle voice and a kind smile. She was graceful woman, with delicate features and lovely eyes. Somehow she didn’t seem to belong in that primitive cabin, tucked far away in the woods. Christy had liked Fairlight instantly, and she had the feeling they would grow to be good friends.
Jeb Spencer, Fairlight’s husband, was in the yard, chopping wood. When he heard the children coming, he set his ax down and opened his arms to hug Lulu, his six-year-old daughter, who was running to greet him.
Two of the dogs raced over to John, yapping eagerly.
“And how was school today, you rascal?” Jeb asked Lulu. Jeb had deep-set blue eyes and a red beard. The front of his hat was pinned up with a long thorn. A sprig of balsam stuck out from the hat band like a feather. In spite of his ragged clothing, there was something dashing about him.
“Pa, we brought Teacher home with us!” Lulu cried proudly.
“So I see,” Jeb said. He removed his hat and gave Christy a little bow. “Howdy-do, Miz Christy. Fairlight’s been so excited about your comin’, she ain’t sat still all day long.”
Fairlight was waiting at the door of the cabin. Little Guy, a chubby-faced toddler, clutched at her worn calico skirt. “I’m so glad you come, Miz Christy,” Fairlight said, her face glowing. “I was half afraid you wouldn’t. Jeb’s right. I’ve been so all-fired excited, I’ve been buzzin’ around this cabin like a hungry bee a-huntin’ for honey.”
Christy laughed. “Of course I came, Fairlight. I’ve been looking forward to starting our lessons. I’m just sorry we couldn’t start sooner. It’s taken me a while to get settled in.”
“With all those young’uns to teach, I should say so!” Fairlight exclaimed. “Come on in. You children, too, but mind your manners. There’s gingerbread I made fresh, but don’t be eatin’ it all. We have company.”
The Spencer cabin was just two rooms: a kitchen area and a main room that served as dining room, living room, and bedroom. The floor was bare. Clothes and a worn saddle hung off pegs on the wall. Across an elk-horn rack rested a long-barreled rifle. A narrow ladder led to a hole in the ceiling where a sleeping loft was located.
The first time Christy had seen this cabin, she’d been shocked at the primitive conditions. The Spencers had no running water, no phone, and no electricity. Stepping into their home was almost like stepping into another century, back to the days of the American frontier.
But since then, Christy had visited some of the other cabins in the area. Now she saw how much Fairlight had done to make this simple home special. She’d made the cabin warm and inviting by adding little touches of beauty. The rickety table by the fire, for example, was covered by a worn piece of delicately embroidered fabric. A chipped ceramic bowl sat on top of the table. Fairlight had carefully arranged sprigs of pine and balsam in it, then added the first delicate crocuses of the spring for a bit of color. Next to the bowl rested a plate piled high with gingerbread, still warm.
Christy sat down at the table. On the floor beside her she placed the box of
teaching materials she’d brought along. Little Guy climbed onto her lap. He seemed to be fascinated, like all the children, with her soft red sweater.
She accepted a piece of gingerbread from Fairlight. Giving half of it to Little Guy, she took a bite of the spicy bread. “Fairlight, this is wonderful,” she exclaimed.
John grabbed two pieces of gingerbread. When Fairlight sent him a warning look, he quickly said, “One’s for Lizette.”
“What are those fancy things you two are wearing?” Fairlight asked, pointing to John’s badge.
“We’re Junior Teachers,” John said proudly. “Me and Lizette and Rob Allen. We get to help Miz Christy with the young’uns.”
“Well, that’s mighty impressive,” Fairlight said, winking at Christy. “I’m proud of you, John. And just to give you a little extra practice, you can keep an eye on Lulu and Little Guy while Miz Christy and me are a-studyin’.”
John groaned.
“We don’t mind,” Lizette said with a grin. “Come on, Little Guy.” She reached for the toddler and lifted him off Christy’s lap. As they passed the fireplace, Lizette’s gaze fell on the dulcimer that belonged to Jeb. “John,” she said, “did you ever think of learnin’ to play the dulcimer like your pa does?”
John shrugged. “Naw. Pa plays enough for all of us. You know how he loves his ballad singin’.”
“Wraight plays,” Lizette said.
“So?” John asked.
“So . . . nothin’. Have you ever heard him?” Christy noticed her eyes had a faraway look in them.
“Nope. Don’t want to, neither. Besides, I think Wraight Holt has a voice like a bullfrog with the sniffles.”
Lizette smiled wistfully. “You know that ain’t so. When that boy takes a notion to sing, he’s got more music in him than a tree full of birds.”
“What are we talking about Wraight for, anyways?” John demanded. He glanced at Christy and his mother, then lowered his voice a bit. “He’s trouble.”
“No, he ain’t,” Lizette said.
“Well, he and Lundy and Smith are friends. And those other two ain’t exactly angels. Look at what happened today at school. And yesterday.”
“That don’t mean Wraight had anything to—”
“Come on,” John said gruffly. “We’ve got work to do.”
Christy and Fairlight watched John and Lizette head over to the far corner of the room. Fairlight leaned close to Christy. “Near as I can figure, John’s got a real hankerin’ for Lizette. Lately, he’s been walkin’ around all moony eyed.” She lowered her voice. “But I have a feelin’ Lizette don’t feel the same way about John. I’m just guessin’, mind you, but I think she’s got her heart set on Wraight Holt.”
Christy nodded. “It does sound that way, doesn’t it?”
“What was John talkin’ about?” Fairlight asked, reaching for a piece of gingerbread. “Did somethin’ happen at the school?”
“Someone wrote ‘Get away, Teacher’ on the side of the schoolhouse,” Christy said with a sigh. “Not only that, they nailed the front door shut.”
Fairlight blinked in disbelief. “Who done it, do you figure?”
“I wish I knew. Naturally, I suspect Lundy Taylor. But I don’t have any proof. And I thought I saw Zach Holt running from the school . . .”
“Zach’s such a good boy,” Fairlight said. “I reckon it wasn’t him, unless one of the big boys put him up to it.”
“Well, whoever it was, he wasn’t a good speller.” Christy smiled. “And speaking of spelling, we have more important things to be talking about. Shall we start?”
“I can’t wait,” Fairlight said. Her eyes were wide with excitement.
Christy opened the box she’d brought. Inside lay a copy of the alphabet printed in large, clear letters; a Bible; a fresh ruled pad; and some pictures Christy had cut out from old magazines. Some were of landscapes. Others were figures of men, women, and children pasted onto cardboard bases so they could be stood upright, the way Christy used to do with paper dolls when she was a little girl. She was hoping to find a new and interesting way to teach Fairlight. She didn’t want to use the same simple books she used for children beginning to read—the ones that began with sentences like “The rat ran from the cat.”
Christy picked up the Bible. “There are lots and lots of words in this book.”
“How soon will I be able to read it, Miz Christy?”
“In no time. And I’ll tell you why. All the words in this book use only twenty-six English letters.” She pointed to the alphabet. “After you’ve learned how to put the letters together, then, with some practice, you’ll be able to read.”
Fairlight’s eyes shone. “I’d like that the best in the world.”
After they had read through the alphabet twice, Fairlight began studying the letters with such concentration that she seemed to forget Christy was even there. After a while, she looked up. “Think I’ve got it,” she announced. “A—B—C—D . . .” She went all the way through the alphabet, only making one mistake.
John and Lizette applauded. “Ma, that was wonderful!” John exclaimed.
“Isn’t she the smartest ma in the whole wide world, Miz Christy?” cried twelve-year-old Clara, who was playing by the fire with her younger sister, Zady.
“Fairlight, I can tell you are going to be a wonderful student,” Christy said. She felt almost as excited as Fairlight clearly was. She propped up one of the background pictures of a landscape drenched in sunlight. “Now, Fairlight, you pick out one of the paper people from this pile.”
Fairlight selected a well-dressed young man and stood him up before the landscape. Christy taught her the word man, and Fairlight eagerly practiced saying it and forming the letters. Soon they’d moved on to tree, sun, grass, sky, and light. Before long, Fairlight had mastered ten words.
Christy opened the Bible to the first chapter of Genesis. “Now, Fairlight, look at this,” she said. “The words on this page are just ideas marching along. Like this one: ‘And God said, Let there be light.’ ”
“L-i-g-h-t,” Fairlight spelled out. “There it is! ‘Light’! Just like in my own name. I see it!” She turned to Clara and Zady. “Look, girls. L-i-g-h-t, ‘light.’ ”
Christy couldn’t help beaming. It was such a thrill to be able to open up a whole new world of reading to someone like Fairlight, who was so grateful for the chance to learn.
“Before long, you’ll be reading the Bible to the children,” Christy said. “I must say, Fairlight, you’re a joy to teach.”
Zady pulled on Christy’s sleeve. “How about us, Teacher?” she asked, her dark eyes wide. “Are we joys too?”
“You are a joy to teach too,” Christy said, patting Zady on the head. “All my students are.”
“Even Wraight and Lundy and Smith?” John asked from the corner.
“Even them,” Christy said. Although the truth was there had been many days when she’d wished the older boys weren’t at school trying her patience and testing her will.
Fairlight turned toward the only window. “What was that?” she asked, frowning.
“What?” Christy asked.
“Thought I heard somethin’ at the window.”
“Probably just Pa,” John said, standing. “But I’ll go check.”
Outside the window, the shadows had grown long. Already the sun was vanishing behind the mountains. “I should get going,” Christy said. “Miss Ida frets so if I’m late for dinner.”
“John’ll walk you,” Fairlight said.
Christy shook her head. “Oh, there’s no need.”
“I’ll walk with you partway, Miz Christy,” Lizette volunteered. “Time for me to get goin’, anyhow.”
“John’ll walk you both,” Fairlight insisted.
“All right, then,” Christy said, recalling her promise to David that morning.
John appeared in the doorway. “Ain’t nothin’, Ma,” he reported. “Pa stackin’ logs, most likely. He says he didn’t see or hear n
othin’.”
“Probably just my ears playin’ tricks on me,” Fairlight said. “John, I want you to walk Miz Christy and Lizette on home. It’s gettin’ on toward dark, and I’m afraid I took up way too much time with my schoolin’.”
“Don’t be silly, Fairlight,” Christy assured her. “I enjoyed every minute. In fact, I can’t wait for us to get together again for another lesson. I’ll leave that box of materials for you to work on.”
“Meantime, maybe I can get me some help from my very own Junior Teacher,” Fairlight said, giving John a hug.
John blushed, glancing over at Lizette. “We’d best get goin’,” he said, pulling out of his mother’s grasp.
“Thank you again, Miz Christy. I’m goin’ to practice my letters till I know ’em backwards and forwards and inside out.”
After Christy said goodbye to the children and to Jeb, she and Lizette and John set out along the rough path toward the mission. They took a slight detour that led to Lizette’s cabin. When Lizette was safely inside, John and Christy resumed their walk to the mission.
After a few minutes of silence, John turned to Christy. “Have you ever been . . .”
“Ever been what, John?”
“You know.” He picked up the pace. “You know, sweet on somebody?”
Christy hurried to catch up. “Well, once or twice, I suppose.”
“Lizette says the preacher’s sweet on you.”
“Oh, she does, does she?”
John gave a terse nod. “S’posin’ the preacher were sweet on you, but you weren’t sweet on him?”
Christy felt herself blushing. She wasn’t “sweet on” David, exactly. After all, she’d only known him a little while. But she had to admit she did look forward to his sly smiles and silly jokes.
“Miz Christy?”
Christy cleared her throat. “All right, then. Let’s suppose. As long as you understand we’re just supposing.”
“Well, s’posin’—” Suddenly John stopped in his tracks. “You hear somethin’?”
The Angry Intruder Page 4
