Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice

by Catherine Marshall

  “But to teach without being able to see . . .” Christy gave a shuddering sigh. “I can get by without paper or pencils. I can’t get by without sight.”

  “You may not be able to teach in the same way,” Miss Alice said. “And you most certainly will have to learn to rely on others for help. But then, we all must ask for help from time to time.”

  “I can’t do it,” Christy whispered. “I just know I’ll never teach again.”

  “Perhaps not right away. But you will teach again, when you are ready. The Lord does not give us more than we can handle, Christy.” With a gentle hug, Miss Alice left the room.

  Christy ran her fingers over her Bible as Miss Alice’s words lingered in her ears. Blind, she wasn’t going to be the same person she’d been. Miss Alice was wrong. There was no way that Christy could ever teach again.

  What would she do instead? She could go home. Back to safe, secure Asheville, where her parents would take care of her. But then what? What would she do with her life? She thought back to that day last summer at the church retreat where she’d first heard about the need for teachers in the Great Smoky Mountains. Something deep in her heart had told her that she’d found the place where she belonged. Teaching here in Cutter Gap, she’d felt certain, was her calling. But how could it be now?

  Christy fumbled for her nightstand. She nearly knocked over her plate of untouched toast before her hand grazed her little diary. Her pen was tucked inside. It took several more minutes for her to find her inkpot and prepare to write. At last the diary was perched on her lap. She opened to the last page she’d written in, marked with a silk ribbon. At the top of the page, she began to write. Each letter she wrote with great care, slowly and evenly, imagining the lines and curves in her mind. She felt like one of her students practicing penmanship.

  Saturday, May 4, 1912

  The Lord does not give us more than

  we can handle.

  Christy paused, her head tilted down, her bandaged eyes aimed toward words she could not see. She tried to make them come alive on the page. She tried to hear Miss Alice’s confident tone as she’d spoken them. But in her heart, Christy knew that they were smudged scribblings, and nothing more.

  Six

  Miz Christy! What are you doing out of bed?” Christy was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed combing her hair.

  “It’s Sunday morning, Ruby Mae,” Christy said calmly. “I’m getting ready for church.”

  Christy heard the clatter of dishes. The smoky scent of bacon filled the room. Ruby Mae must have brought up a breakfast tray.

  Well, that was very thoughtful. But Christy intended to eat downstairs in the dining room, just like she always did. She could at least manage that much.

  “Did I hear you right? Did you say church, Miz Christy?”

  “Yes. Church. You remember—sermons, hymns, prayers?”

  The bed bounced as Ruby Mae plopped down near Christy. “I don’t see how you can go to church,” Ruby Mae said earnestly. “I mean, seein’ as how you’re in a cap that’s dated.”

  “I’m what?”

  “In a cap that’s dated. That’s what Miz Ida says you are now. On account of not seein’ nothin’.”

  Christy thought for a moment. “Oh! You mean incapacitated.”

  “Like I said.”

  “Well, if it’s all the same to Miss Ida, I’ll decide what I can and cannot do. And I’m going to have breakfast downstairs, then go to church. After all, I got dressed all by myself this morning. It took nearly a half-hour, but I did it.” Christy stood. “As you can see, I’m ready.”

  “Well . . .” Ruby Mae hesitated. “I don’t mean to be a botheration, Miz Christy. But you ain’t exactly ready.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Well, to begin with, your skirt’s all turned which-a-ways. And your colors are kinda . . . colorful.”

  “You mean they don’t match?”

  “I guess that all depends. I mean, the colors in a rainbow don’t rightly match up, neither. But when you look at them together-like, it’s a heap of purtiness just the same.”

  Christy dropped onto the bed with a sigh. She’d awakened this morning feeling determined to make the best of things. But what could she possibly accomplish in this world if she couldn’t even manage to get dressed by herself?

  “Don’t you worry yourself none, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said firmly. “I’ll git you fixed up as purty as a spring rose.”

  “Thanks, Ruby Mae. I guess I need more help than I thought.”

  Ruby Mae bustled about the room. “Now, I ain’t no fashionable city-gal, but I figger these look church-right.” She placed a pile of clothes in Christy’s lap.

  “Thanks,” Christy said quietly, wondering if she should trust Ruby Mae’s fashion tastes. “When I’ve changed, will you help me down the stairs so I can have breakfast?”

  “Yes’m.” A long silence followed. Somehow, Christy could feel Ruby Mae’s intense dark gaze on her.

  “Miz Christy?” Ruby Mae said at last. “Can I ask you somethin’? Somethin’ personal-like?”

  “Of course.”

  “What’s it like? Bein’ blind, I mean?”

  “I’m not blind, Ruby Mae,” Christy said sharply. She took a deep breath. “What I mean is, I’m not sure that this is permanent. Doctor MacNeill says that when the swelling goes down, I may be as good as new.”

  Ruby Mae reached for Christy’s hand and gave it a shy squeeze. “I hope so, Miz Christy. Truly I do. And I’m sorry I asked such a fool question.”

  “It wasn’t foolish, Ruby Mae. The truth is, it’s hard to describe what it’s like not to see. You know how it is when you look down the well in the mission yard? How the dark just seems to go on and on forever? It’s like that, a little.”

  “Lookin’ down that well gives me the cold shivers.”

  Christy sighed. “Me, too,” she said softly.

  A few minutes later, Ruby Mae led Christy down the stairs. Even holding onto Ruby Mae’s arm, every step felt like a gamble. It was like walking off a cliff while wearing a blindfold. Being so helpless was a strange and awful feeling. Christy was Ruby Mae’s teacher. Yet here she was, being dressed and guided by her thirteen-year-old student.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Christy heard the clink of silverware. The sharp smell of coffee wafted past.

  “Christy!” Miss Alice exclaimed from the direction of the dining room. “How wonderful to see you, dear.” A moment later, she was at Christy’s side, helping her to the table. “Do you feel up to this?”

  “I’m fine, really I am,” Christy insisted as she sat down in her usual spot.

  “She got dressed all by herself,” Ruby Mae announced.

  Christy fumbled for her napkin. “Actually, I required a little fashion advice.”

  “Are you sure you should be up so soon?” David asked.

  “I fixed a fine breakfast tray,” Miss Ida said. “It doesn’t seem right, you walking around like this.”

  “Would you all stop fussing?” Christy demanded. “I’m having breakfast, that’s all. It’s not like I’m trying to climb Mount Everest, or—” she paused, “or teach school.”

  “Christy’s right,” Miss Alice said. “It’s her decision.”

  A chair scraped on the wooden floor. “I’ll start another plate of eggs,” Miss Ida said.

  “I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Christy apologized.

  “Not at all,” Miss Ida said, putting a comforting hand on Christy’s shoulder. “Anything I can do, you just ask.”

  It was all Christy could do to keep from crying. Miss Ida was usually so gruff! The pity in her voice was almost more than Christy could bear. But perhaps she was going to have to get used to the pity of others.

  Breakfast was an ordeal. Christy insisted on doing everything herself, which meant that half her scrambled eggs ended up in her lap. She was only slightly more successful with her toast.

  She was almost done eating when Doctor
MacNeill entered the mission house. “What on earth are you doing out of bed?” he demanded as he strode into the dining room.

  “Making a huge mess of the breakfast table,” Christy replied.

  “I want you to go straight back up to your room,” the doctor said, sounding furious. He knelt beside Christy and examined her bandages. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

  “I feel perfectly fine.”

  “Pain?”

  “My head still hurts some. But not much, I promise.” Christy crossed her arms over her chest. “And there’s no use arguing with me, Neil. I am going to church.”

  “I can’t allow that,” the doctor said. “You’ve had too much trauma. You need to rest for several days.”

  “You look like you need to rest, Neil,” Miss Alice said. “You may not have heard, but there’s a new-fangled idea floating around these parts. We call it ‘sleep.’”

  “I was up all night reading medical books.” Doctor MacNeill pulled up a chair. “I was hoping . . . well, I just wanted to be sure there wasn’t anything I’d missed.”

  “What did you find out?” Christy asked as she struggled to locate her glass of juice.

  “There are cases of sight recovery after concussion. And then there are other cases . . .” The doctor’s voice trailed off. “We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said simply.

  “And pray,” David added.

  “Thank you, Neil,” Christy said. “Thank you for trying. Now go home and get some sleep.”

  “That is, unless you’d care to join us in church, Doctor,” David said. “There’s always room for one more.”

  “Not for a wayward soul like me,” the doctor said. “I can’t talk you out of this, Christy?”

  “I need to go, Neil. I can’t explain it. I just know I’ll feel better there.”

  “Well, I can see I’m outnumbered.” The doctor pushed back his chair. “I’ll check on you again soon.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Miss Alice said.

  “And tomorrow at school, I’ll watch out for her like a mama hen with her chicks,” Ruby Mae vowed.

  David cleared his throat. No one spoke. Someone—Miss Ida, probably—began clearing up the dishes, one by one.

  Christy knew what they were thinking— there wasn’t going to be school tomorrow, at least not with Christy teaching.

  “Why’s everybody so all-fired tongue-tied all of a sudden?” Ruby Mae demanded.

  “We’re going to have to wait and see about school, Ruby Mae,” David explained.

  “Christy is in no condition to teach,” the doctor added.

  Again, Christy felt the pity flowing around her, tugging at her like an ocean current. It was as if, in the space of one terrible moment, she’d lost the person she was. She wasn’t Miss Christy Huddleston, teacher, anymore. She was just another helpless somebody to whisper about.

  Who could blame them? The truth was, she felt sorry for herself, too.

  She started to sob. Just as she pushed back her chair to leave, she heard someone knocking at the mission’s front door. “Preacher?” someone called. “It’s Ben Pentland.”

  “Mr. Pentland!” David exclaimed. “Is this about the service today? Or have you taken to delivering mail on Sundays?”

  “It ain’t mail I be deliverin’. I done brought you a visitor—”

  “And I must say it was the most uncomfortable buggy ride of my life!” came a high-pitched, woman’s voice.

  “Mother?” David cried.

  “David, sweetie pie!”

  Seven

  Christy heard the swish of petticoats as Mrs. Grantland rushed to embrace David.

  “Sweetie-pie?” Doctor MacNeill whispered loudly.

  “But I thought you weren’t coming until next week!” David said, sounding a little shocked.

  “I changed plans. I knew you wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Grantland said briskly.

  “Well, welcome to our humble abode,” David said.

  “Humble, indeed! I’ve seen outhouses with more style.” Mrs. Grantland clapped her hands. “Ida, dear girl, come here and give your mother a kiss.”

  “It’s good to see you, Mother,” Miss Ida said.

  “What have you done to yourselves? You both look positively rural.” Mrs. Grantland clucked her tongue. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

  “I’m Alice Henderson, Mrs. Grantland. It’s a great pleasure to meet you at last.”

  “Oh, yes. The missionary woman from Pennsylvania,” Mrs. Grantland said. She did not sound altogether impressed.

  “I’m Neil MacNeill, Mrs. Grantland,” said the doctor.

  “And this—” Mrs. Grantland gasped. “Don’t tell me this is Miss Huddleston, the one you’ve written me so much about?”

  “Oh, no’m. I’m Ruby Mae Morrison.”

  Mrs. Grantland gave a relieved sigh. “Ah, yes. David mentioned you in his letters.”

  “Proud to meet you,” Ruby Mae said. “I never rightly figgered the preacher had a mama. But I guess everybody does, even preachers—”

  “Yes, well, delighted to meet you,” Mrs. Grantland interrupted. “And who might this unfortunate soul be?”

  Christy realized with a start that Mrs. Grantland must be referring to her.

  “This,” David said, “is Christy Huddleston, Mother.”

  Christy extended her hand out into the air, but Mrs. Grantland didn’t take it. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Grantland. David’s told me so much about you.”

  “Is she blind?” Mrs. Grantland asked David, as if Christy were deaf as well.

  “Christy had an accident, Mother,” David said tensely. “She can’t see, but we’re all praying that it’s just temporary.”

  “Oh, my. Poor dear. What a shame.”

  Christy felt a hand patting her on the head. Suddenly she felt the need for air. “We were just on our way to church, Mrs. Grantland,” she said as she stood. “Will you be joining us?”

  “I was hoping to freshen up first. Not that it would matter much here,” Mrs. Grantland added with a dry laugh. “The church—would that be the wooden building I noticed on the way in?”

  “It’s the schoolhouse as well,” Miss Alice said. “David built most of it himself, from the ground up.”

  “He always was a talented boy.”

  “Indeed,” the doctor muttered under his breath.

  Mr. Pentland cleared his throat. “There’s a couple big trunks out yonder.”

  “I’ll help you with them,” David volunteered.

  “Me, too,” Ida said.

  “I’d better supervise.” Mrs. Grantland rushed off, skirts swishing.

  “Is she gone?” Christy asked in a whisper.

  “Yep,” Doctor MacNeill said in a low voice. “She’s not one to mince words, is she?”

  “David warned us she could be rather blunt,” Miss Alice said. “Now I see what he meant. Of course, she’s probably very tired after her long trip.”

  “I thought she was kinda mean about Miz Christy and all,” Ruby Mae said.

  Christy sighed. “I could use a little fresh air. Doctor, would you mind escorting me over to the church?”

  “As long as you don’t ask me to stay,” the doctor joked.

  Christy took his arm and they headed out into the sunshine. She could hear Mrs. Grantland’s voice on the far side of the mission house, directing David to be careful with her bags. She could hear the squeak of the springs in Mr. Pentland’s wagon, and the babble of the mockingbirds in the nearby oak tree.

  Christy paused near a stand of pines. She rested her hand on one of the trees and held up her head toward the sun. “Do you think I’ll ever see the sky again, Neil?” she whispered.

  “I hope so, Christy. With all my heart, I hope so.”

  They stood for a moment, arms linked. Mrs. Grantland’s harsh voice floated over the breeze.

  You can’t possibly be thinking of marrying her now, David.

  Christy clutched Doctor MacNeill’
s arm tighter. “She’s talking about me!”

  “Come on,” he said. “You don’t need to be hearing this.”

  But Christy stood firm. She could hear David replying in hushed tones. Then she heard Mrs. Grantland again.

  But she’s blind, David. What kind of a wife would a blind woman make?

  Christy’s heart seemed to stop. Mrs. Grantland was right, of course. What kind of wife would Christy make now? What kind of teacher? What kind of person?

  Miss Alice had been wrong to encourage Christy last night. She’d just been trying to be kind. Mrs. Grantland was only saying what everyone else was thinking.

  Doctor MacNeill pulled Christy along toward the church. “Ignorant old crow,” he muttered. “You’d make a fine wife for any man. I hope you know that.” He gave a short laugh. “Well, not any man. Not the Reverend, certainly.”

  “And why not David?”

  “You’re a fine woman, Christy. You don’t have to settle for less. Remember that when you answer the Reverend. Don’t make a choice you’ll regret the rest of your life because . . . because you’re selling yourself short now.”

  Christy was surprised when his voice broke. He led her up the stairs to the schoolhouse and helped her settle on a front bench. Then he left without another word.

  Church was a new experience. Without being able to see, it became a picture made of sounds and sensations and scents. It was the familiar smell of chalk and wood smoke and tobacco. It was the sound of rustling Sunday school papers and the coos of babies and the whispers of restless children. It was the vibration in the wooden floor, as the congregation tapped their feet while singing an old hymn.

  Oh, for a faith that will not shrink, they sang, and Christy listened to their voices surround her like a warm embrace. Here, with her mountain friends, she felt safe and secure. One by one as they’d entered the church this morning, they’d come to her. The children had climbed in her lap and hugged her. The women had brought her cakes and cookies and breads—things they could hardly afford to give away. The men had been more awkward, but they, too, had come forward. Their words were simple—Powerful sorry to hear about your troubles, Miz Christy, or I done prayed for you last night. But what she’d heard in their voices wasn’t pity. It wasn’t anything like the tone she’d heard in Mrs. Grantland’s harsh words. It was love.