Christy paused to catch her breath near the top of a wide ridge. With her skirts weighed down, she was already exhausted. Her feet were cold, her shoes caked with mud.
The icy rain had chilled her to the bone. She could not stop shivering.
Near as she could tell, Blackberry Creek was down the steep incline to her left, another quarter-mile or so. She could make it that far, then decide her next move. Perhaps she might even find some tracks, although that seemed hard to imagine, in this rain.
She started down the ridge. The forest floor was slick, and she had to use trees to support her. Twice she fell. She was climbing to her feet the second time when she heard the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.
Christy froze. She scanned the darkness, but all she could make out were the dark ghosts of the nearest trees.
“Well, well, well. What have we here? If’n it ain’t the teacher-gal!” came Bird’s-Eye’s voice from somewhere to her right. “Lookin’ fer us, was you?”
“Changed her mind about the likker, I’ll wager!”
She heard the shuffle of feet through leaves and pine needles, and suddenly the men came into view—Bird’s-Eye, Jubal, and Duggin Morrison, Ruby Mae’s stepfather. So he had been the third man on the porch.
Bird’s-Eye came closer. Rain dripped off his felt hat. Christy could smell the sharp tang of tobacco and moonshine. Her stomach lurched.
“Ain’t so purty now, is she?” he said. “Looks more like a drowned rat than one of them citified wimmin.” He poked at her shoulder with the end of his rifle, but Christy stood tall. “Let me pass,” she said.
The three men hooted. “Let her pass, she says!” Jubal cried. He put a jug to his mouth and guzzled down some liquor.
“Boys, we got business to tend to,” Duggin Morrison said.
“The still!” Jubal said, his voice slurred. “I plumb forgot! Let’s take the teacher-gal with us. We’ll make sure the still’s all right. Then there’ll be plenty o’ time for sweetheartin’.”
Bird’s-Eye nudged Christy with the barrel of his gun. “Git a move-on. We got business by the crik.”
With Duggin in the lead, the four of them started down the steep incline. Christy could hear the roar of the swollen creek, not far below them. Bird’s-Eye kept his gun trained on her back, poking her along when she stumbled. It was almost impossible for her to keep up, even though they were clearly very drunk.
“Imagine a blossom-eyed gal like her, out in a gully-washer storm like this ’un,” Jubal said thickly. “Wonder what she were up to.”
“Lookin’ fer some jollification, I reckon,” Bird’s-Eye cackled.
“Since you’re interested,” Christy said, loudly enough to be heard over the steady rain, “I was looking for Ruby Mae Morrison.”
Duggin spun around. “I hear you right? Yer a-lookin’ for Ruby Mae?”
“She’s lost, Mr. Morrison. I think Prince ran off and she’s searching for him.”
“Aw, don’t listen to her, Duggin,” Jubal said, taking another swig from his jug. “She’s just a-pullin’ yer leg.”
“It’s true, Mr. Morrison,” Christy said. “I swear it is.”
Duggin paused for a moment, stroking his long beard.
“Could be, I reckon. Ruby Mae do love that preacher-horse somethin’ fierce.”
“That stepdaughter of yers is as twitter-witted as they comes,” Bird’s-Eye said. “Wouldn’t be a-tall surprised if she’s wanderin’ round in the dark lookin’ for some no-tailed horse!”
A few feet below them, Blackberry Creek rushed furiously.
Duggin paused near the bank, scratching his head.
“You say she run off tonight?” he asked Christy.
“Quit yer frettin’ over that no-good gal,” Bird’s-Eye snapped. “Ruby Mae ain’t been nothin’ but trouble and woes fer you since the day she first took breath and squalled. Ain’t never shut up since, neither.”
“Spring’s swolled up somethin’ fierce,” Duggin said softly. “Ruby Mae told me and her ma she come down here with that preacher-horse. Said she liked to think thoughts.”
“Actual thoughts,” Christy said with an affectionate smile.
“Ruby Mae Morrison?” Bird’s-Eye scoffed. “Much as I hate to admit it, the gal can ride. But think? Ain’t likely.” He poked Christy hard with his gun barrel. “Git movin’, teacher-gal.”
Just then, Christy gasped, but it wasn’t because of Bird’s-Eye’s threat. She pointed a trembling finger at a bush near the creek’s edge.
A swatch of yellow cloth was caught on one of the branches overhanging the rushing creek.
“That piece of fabric,” Christy cried. “That’s from Ruby Mae’s skirt!”
Ten
Duggin knelt by the bank and grabbed the wet fabric. “It’s Ruby Mae’s, all right. Her ma made this skirt fer her last Christmas.”
Christy stared at the raging creek. She knew Duggin was thinking the same thing she was. What if Ruby Mae had fallen in? What if she had drowned? And if she hadn’t fallen in, where was she?
“Ruby Mae!” Duggin called out. “Ruby Mae! Is you here, gal?”
Bird’s-Eye cocked his gun again. “We got better things to worry about, Duggin. That gal o’ yers is fine. She’s a tough ’un. Now, let’s git to where we’re a-goin’.”
Duggin stood slowly, his own gun pointed directly at Bird’s-Eye’s chest. “I’ll tell you where we’re goin’,” he said fiercely. “We’re lookin’ fer my Ruby Mae.”
The two men stood a few feet apart, their guns trained on each other. Christy shuddered. One wrong word, and those guns could go off. That was the way of Cutter Gap.
“Mr. Taylor,” Christy said gently. “What if Lundy were lost right now, instead of Ruby Mae?”
“My boy ain’t that stupid.”
Duggin answered by cocking his gun.
“Maybe I don’t understand much about these mountains,” Christy said, her voice trembling, “but I do know one thing. Family counts more than anything here. Isn’t that true, Bird’s-Eye?”
Bird’s-Eye took a long, slow breath. His mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer.
“Send Jubal to check the still,” Christy urged. “You and Duggin and I will look for Ruby Mae.”
Bird’s-Eye blinked at her in disbelief. “You even know what a still is, teacher-gal?”
“I know.”
“Well, I never. Cain’t say as I thought I’d ever hear such words from the likes of you.”
“Neither did I,” Christy admitted.
Bird’s-Eye jerked his head at Jubal. “Do what the teacher-gal says and go check the still. Duggin and me’ll go searchin’ for that dang-fool stepdaughter o’ his.”
“What about her?” Jubal demanded, pointing to Christy.
“Her, we’ll deal with another day. Blood ties come first in these parts. Teacher-gal’s got that much right, at least.”
With a sigh, Jubal headed off, weaving and swaying along the muddy bank.
“Now what?” Duggin asked. “She could be anywheres. Even . . . ” He stared at the raging water mutely.
“You know, Ruby Mae told me once about a cave she goes to near this creek,” Christy recalled. “Do you know where it is?”
“Sure,” Duggin said. “Just down a ways yonder, on the other side o’ the crik.”
“It’s worth a try,” Christy said. “Maybe she went there with Prince to take shelter from the rain.”
Christy followed Duggin and Bird’s-Eye along the bank. The rain was still coming down hard, and it was difficult to keep up with them. For two men who’d consumed a great deal of moonshine, they were surprisingly nimble.
After a couple hundred yards, Duggin paused. “Cain’t see that cave from here, but it’s over yonder, behind that brush.”
“Ruby Mae!” Christy called. Duggin and Bird’s-Eye joined in. After a few moments, they paused to listen.
“Ain’t in that cave, I’m afeared,” Bird’s-Eye said at last. “We’re yellin’
loud enough to wake the dead.”
“You haven’t seen Ruby Mae sleep,” Christy said.
“True enough,” Duggin agreed. “Gal can snore somethin’ fierce.”
“I’ll go see,” Christy said.
“Ain’t no way yer a-crossin’ that creek,” Duggin said. “I’m her pa. I’m a-goin’.”
“Duggin, you old coot,” Bird’s-Eye said. “Yer older than the hills. I’ll go. ’Sides, yer drunker’n I am.”
Duggin cocked his gun again. “Old coot, ya say?”
“Mr. Morrison,” Christy said, pushing away the gun. “We don’t have time for this.”
Duggin hung his head. “Yer right. And so is Bird’s-Eye, I’m afeared.”
Bird’s-Eye handed Duggin his gun. “Here goes nothin’,” he said.
Slowly Bird’s-Eye made his way across the raging creek.
Halfway across, the water came all the way to his chest.
“Careful, you mean old buzzard,” Duggin called.
They watched as Bird’s-Eye crawled back up the far bank and disappeared into the brush, where the cave was hidden.
“Mr. Morrison?” Christy said.
“Yep?”
“Are you the one who shaved Prince?”
The old man paused. “Naw. Jubal did that.
Me, I ain’t never seen any point in pickin’ on critters. It’s men I got my feudin’ with.” He shrugged. “’Sides, I would never a done somethin’ to hurt Ruby Mae that way.”
“Maybe you should tell her that,” Christy said. “When we find her.”
“If’n we find her.”
They heard Bird’s-Eye’s cry from the far bank.
“Ya think?” Duggin asked hopefully.
A moment later, the thick brush parted to reveal a sleepy-eyed Ruby Mae on Prince’s back. Bird’s-Eye came running out behind them.
“Sound asleep they was, in the cave, snorin’ away just like you said!” he called.
“Miz Christy?” Ruby Mae yelled. “Pa? What’re you doin’ out here in the rain? You’re soaked to the bone!”
“Come on, Ruby Mae,” Bird’s-Eye said, “yer goin’ straight back to the mission, where you cain’t get into any more trouble.”
Christy looked over at Duggin. “Are we?” she asked. “Going back to the mission, I mean?”
Duggin nodded. “I reckon so.”
He went to the edge of the bank, waiting for Bird’s-Eye to return Ruby Mae safely.
Christy thought she saw him wipe away a tear. Of course, she realized after a moment, it might just have been a drop of rain. After all, there was no telling what was going on in the hearts of these mountain men. Not long ago, they’d had her fearing for her life. Now, she didn’t know whether to fear them, or pity them.
Maybe, she thought sadly, that’s how it would always be.
Late that night, Christy sat by the fire in the mission house. Everyone had long since gone to bed. Only she and Doctor MacNeill were still awake.
“If only I hadn’t left,” the doctor said for the hundredth time. “None of this might ever have happened. If you hadn’t sent David to fetch me, if the rain hadn’t slowed down our return . . . ”
“Ifs,” Christy said as she watched the embers in the fireplace glow. “There’s no point in doing this again, Neil. Everything turned out fine.”
“This time,” the doctor said darkly.
“I feel badly, too, actually,” Christy admitted. “I wanted David to bring you back here because of your fever, but getting soaked in that rain couldn’t have helped you any.”
The doctor smiled. “Come to think of it, I am feeling a bit light-headed. Could be delirium setting in.”
Christy reached over to feel his forehead. “You do feel hot.”
“Strangest thing. I’m hearing music, too. Think I’m hallucinating?” He stood, grinning down at her, and reached out his hand. “You do still owe me a dance, you know.”
“Now that you mention it,” Christy said as she got to her feet, “I seem to be hearing music, too.”
She gave a little curtsy and the doctor pulled her close, using his good arm. Together, they swept slowly around the parlor, dancing to the music of the rain drumming on the roof.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” the doctor whispered.
Christy lay her head on his broad chest. Memories whirled in her mind—frightening memories. The doctor’s blood-soaked shirt. The sound of the parlor window shattering. The cold muzzle of Bird’s-Eye’s gun between her shoulders.
She closed her eyes. The doctor was humming an old mountain tune. The fire crackled softly.
Slowly, one by one, other memories came to her. Miss Alice’s graceful smile at her birthday party. Starlight, spilling over Prince’s coat that night in the shed. Ruby Mae’s musical laughter. Christy’s class at recess, filled with high spirits and spring fever—filled with love for these beautiful, dangerous, complicated, God-given mountains.
The doctor paused. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I was thinking,” Christy whispered, “that I don’t want this dance to ever end.”
The Proposal
Contents
The Characters
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
The Characters
CHRISTY RUDD HUDDLESTON, a nineteen-year-old girl.
CHRISTY’S STUDENTS:
CREED ALLEN, age nine.
LITTLE BURL ALLEN, age six.
WANDA BECK, age eight.
BESSIE COBURN, age twelve.
LIZETTE HOLCOMBE, age fifteen.
SAM HOUSTON HOLCOMBE, age nine.
WRAIGHT HOLT, age seventeen.
ZACHARIAS HOLT, age nine.
VELLA HOLT, age five.
SMITH O’TEALE, age fifteen.
ORTER BALL O’TEALE, age eleven.
MOUNTIE O’TEALE, age ten.
RUBY MAE MORRISON, age thirteen.
JOHN SPENCER, age fifteen.
CLARA SPENCER, age twelve.
LULU SPENCER, age six.
LUNDY TAYLOR, age seventeen.
DAVID GRANTLAND, the young minister.
IDA GRANTLAND, David’s sister.
MRS. MERCY GRANTLAND, mother of David and Ida.
FAIRLIGHT SPENCER, a mountain woman.
JEB SPENCER, her husband.
(Parents of Christy’s students John, Clara, and Lulu.)
DELIA JANE MANNING, a friend of David’s from Richmond, Virginia.
PRINCE, black stallion donated to the mission.
GOLDIE, mare belonging to Miss Alice Henderson.
DR. NEIL MACNEILL, the physician of the Cove.
ALICE HENDERSON, a Quaker mission worker from Ardmore, Pennsylvania.
BEN PENTLAND, the mailman.
One
Miz Christy! I got a question to ask you! And it’s a matter of life and death—yours!”
Christy Huddleston paused near the edge of Big Spoon Pond. Creed Allen, a nine-year-old who was one of her students at the Cutter Gap Mission school, dashed toward her.
“What is it, Creed?” Christy called. “The Reverend Grantland and I were just about to go for a boat ride.”
Creed came to a stop, panting. “I know.
That’s what I got to ask you about.”
“Actually, Creed,” David Grantland said with an impatient roll of his dark eyes, “I have something to ask Miss Christy, too. Something very important.”
Christy looked at David in surprise. Something in his expression sent a shiver through her of excitement mixed with uncertainty.
Could it be . . . ?
David had arranged this special evening so carefully. He’d told Christy to dress up, so she’d worn her favor
ite yellow dress and braided daisies in her sun-streaked hair. David was wearing his Sunday best, and his dark hair was slicked back. They’d had a dinner picnic.
David had brought hand-picked flowers and a homemade cake his sister, Ida, had made especially for the occasion. He’d even brought a candle along in case it got dark. The sun was just now beginning to sink, sending a golden sheen over the pond.
Creed tugged on Christy’s arm. His freckled face was tight with worry. “Please, Miz Christy.
I need to talk to you, in private. It’s for your own good, I reckon.”
“David,” Christy said, “would you mind giving Creed and me a moment of privacy?”
David sighed loudly. “Creed, do you understand that Miss Christy and I are in the middle of . . .” He hesitated, glancing at Christy. “Of . . . an appointment?”
“Appointment?” Christy teased. “Is that what this is, David?”
“Shucks, Preacher,” Creed said apologetically. “I didn’t know you was appointin’. I just figgered you was sweetheartin’.”
Christy stifled a giggle as David’s cheeks turned as red as the setting sun. “Tell me, Creed,” she said, taking the boy aside. “What brings you so far out of your way? What was it you wanted to know?”
“Well . . .” Creed tugged at a ragged overall strap. “It’s like this. Can you swim?”
“Yes, I can. But why do you ask?”
Creed lowered his voice to a whisper. “See, me and Sam Houston saw the preacher out here after school, practicin’ his boatin’. Now, the preacher’s mighty fine at speechifyin’, don’t get me wrong, but he ain’t no boatin’ man.” Creed glanced at David, then hung his head sadly. “It was like watchin’ a hound try to strum a banjo. Just ’cause he tries hard don’t mean the Lord meant it to be so.”
“Thank you, Creed, for your concern,” Christy said, trying very hard not to smile. “But I promise I’ll be fine.”
“That’s a mighty tippy ol’ rowboat.”
Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice Page 8
