Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder (20 page)

“It must be hard for you, too,” Christy said, glancing over Mrs. O'Teale's shoulder at Wilmer.

“Naw.” Mrs. O'Teale considered. She seemed to be losing her fear. “Not too bad. I got Granny here to help me.”

“And does she help?”

“Lord-amercy, yes! Loves these children more'n I do, I sometimes think. She's especially partial to the girls.” She winked. “Though she won't let 'em know it, mind you. Don't want 'em gettin' all high and mighty with the boys. But many's the night I seen her watchin' Mary and Mountie when they're a-dreamin'—” She paused, straightening her faded calico skirt. “I . . . I shouldn't be lettin' my mouth run on like this.” She lowered her voice. “I know you mean well, Miz Huddleston, and maybe you ain't cursed and maybe you is. But it'd be best if you get goin' right quick.”

She couldn't go, not now. Christy could sense that she was making progress. If she could just win over Mrs. O'Teale, maybe Granny would follow.

“Mrs. O'Teale, do you think I could step inside for just a moment to sit? I'm not used to walking such long distances, and I could use a rest before I head back to the mission.” “I just don't rightly think—”

“A minute, that's all,” Christy said, practically pushing her way inside.

“You're buyin' yourself one passel o' trouble,” Mrs. O'Teale said, still holding her necklace. She watched warily as Christy sat down on one of the two chairs in the room. “Granny'll give you more trouble than ever you saw in all your born days.”

“See?” Christy smiled, trying hard not to stare at the horrible filth or breathe in the stench. “Nothing's happened. No one's hurt. Mrs. O'Teale, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. I didn't come here to hurt your children. I want to help. I know what Granny's said about me being cursed, but that's not true.”

A loud noise filled the room. Christy jumped. Wilmer had dropped his tin plate. He pointed to it and laughed as it rolled across the floor. Saliva poured down his chin. Christy looked away, then felt ashamed for her reaction.

“You're wrong about Granny,” Mrs. O'Teale said. “She's got the second sight. Sees signs and portents where you and me just sees clouds or rain or embers in the fire. She's a wise 'un, Granny is. Knows things you and I plumb can't.”

“I'm sure she does. But I wish she could give me another chance. Maybe I know one or two things, too. Maybe together we could help the children. I've been thinking about Mountie. If I worked with her, took some extra time, we might be able to help her speak.”

A glimmer of hope sparked the woman's tired brown eyes, then faded. “You had me a-goin' there for a minute. But all the book-learnin' in the world ain't a-goin' to fix my Mountie.”

“It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?”

Mrs. O'Teale started to answer, but suddenly her mouth dropped open. There, in the doorway, stood Granny O'Teale, flanked by Mountie, Orter Ball, George, and Thomas. The old woman pointed a shaking finger at Christy, her eyes flaring.

“Out!” she cried. “Out of here, or there'll be the devil to pay, you hear?”

“Granny,” Mrs. O'Teale began, “she ain't hurt nobody—”

“What were ye thinkin', Swannie?” Granny demanded. “You gone as simple-minded as Wilmer? That girl has a curse on her as black as midnight.”

Christy stood. When she reached the doorway, Granny and the children backed away. “Granny,” Christy said, trying to keep her voice from revealing the anger she felt, “I came here to make peace with you, to show you that there's nothing to be afraid of.” She stepped onto the porch.

Granny stood her ground a few feet away. Mountie clung to her hand, but the other children backed away into the filthy yard.

“I ain't afraid of you,” Granny said. “I'm just protectin' what's mine.”

“I don't want to harm the children,” Christy persisted. “I came here to the Cove to help. To teach. Learning to read and write can't hurt Mountie or Mary or Smith or the others.”

“It ain't the learning and such. It's you. You're the one hurt Bob Allen and little Mary. You're the one made the lightning hit.”

“Those were accidents, that's all. I can't control the weather.”

Granny's eyes narrowed to slits. “How do you explain the raven, then? Surest sign of a curse I heard of in all my days.”

Christy glanced back at Mrs. O'Teale. She was standing in the doorway, her face blank. Behind her, Wilmer grunted and drooled. Near Christy's feet, a chicken pecked at what looked like human waste.

Suddenly a feeling of overwhelming weariness filled Christy, weighing her down like a great, impossible burden. What was she thinking, standing here in filth and horrible poverty, trying to reason with a frightened old woman? Miss Alice and the doctor had been right. Christy couldn't change generations' worth of ignorance with a few well-chosen words. She'd been a fool to think she had that kind of power. She'd been a fool to think she could leave her comfortable life in Asheville and make a difference here. What did she, Christy Huddleston, have to offer these desperate, unhappy people?

“I just wanted to help, Granny,” Christy whispered. Tears came to her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“Don't need no help from some city-gal with a curse on her head,” Granny said, but her voice had softened just a touch, as if she sensed that she'd finally won.

“I wish I understood what you're so afraid of,” Christy said. She knelt down beside Mountie. Granny tugged on the girl's arm, but Mountie didn't budge, and at last Granny gave in.

“Mountie, I just want you to know how much I'll miss you,” Christy said. The little girl stared at her, eyes wide and unblinking. Christy reached over and gently pulled Mountie's shabby coat closed. “You take care of yourself, you hear?” She stood and smiled at the other children. “I'll miss all of you,” she said.

Granny tightened her grip on Mountie, pulling her close. Miss Alice had said there was good in Granny's heart, good in all of God's children. But perhaps Miss Alice could see what others couldn't. When Christy looked at Granny, all she saw was fear and ignorance and hate.

“All right,” Christy said. “All right, Granny. You win.”

She ran across the yard to the path. Her long skirt tore on a holly bush, but she didn't stop running until the O'Teale cabin had vanished from sight. She made a wide detour around the dead rabbit.

Halfway to the mission house, Christy heard someone approaching. It was Mary O'Teale, heading home. Christy hid behind a tree until the little girl had passed.

She had failed Mary, failed all her children. She didn't want to have to face her—not now, not ever again.

Nine

A
t the mission house, Christy dashed up the stairs directly to her bedroom. There she changed all her clothes and brushed her long hair by a wide open window so that the clean mountain air could pour through it. She washed her face, first in warm water, then in cold, scrubbing her hands over and over. But try as she might, she could not scrub out the memory of what she had seen at the O'Teales' cabin.

Miss Alice, David, Ruby Mae, and Miss Ida were at the dinner table by the time Christy made it downstairs. She felt woozy, but she forced a smile as she sat next to Ruby Mae.

Miss Ida passed plates of salmon croquettes and hash-browned potatoes. She was a fine cook, and normally Christy would have enjoyed the food. But tonight her stomach was churning.

“I hear you went to the O'Teales'. How did your visit go?” David asked.

Christy reached for her fork and stabbed half-heartedly at the salmon. “Let's just say that Miss Alice and Doctor MacNeill were right. It was a waste of time.”

“I'm sorry it wasn't what you'd hoped for,” Miss Alice said gently.

“Not what I'd hoped—” Christy choked on the words, then caught herself. Her head was spinning. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

“I understand,” Miss Alice said.

Silence fell over the table. A sullen Ruby Mae stared at her plate.

“Aren't you going to eat, Ruby Mae?” Miss Ida chided. “I can always count on you to take seconds, goodness knows.”

“I don't want to be no bundle,” Ruby Mae muttered. She glared at Christy, then down at her plate.

“What are you talking about, dear?” Miss Alice asked.

“Don't pay me no mind. I just talk for the sake o' talkin'.”

Miss Ida cleared her throat. “I've forgotten my cooked apples,” she said, rushing off to the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a steaming bowl. “Here, David,” she said. “Your favorite. Lots of cinnamon.”

“Well,” said Miss Alice, “I'm happy to report that the doctor says Granny's herb concoction is indeed the cause of those mysterious rashes. He treated all the children who were affected. I believe David and I managed to convince them that if they insist on carrying her herb mixture around, they need to put it in a pocket and keep it away from their skin.”

“I done tied mine around my waist, see?” Ruby Mae said to Christy, eyeing her angrily.

“She doesn't need to see it. She can
smell
it,” David said. He took a sip of milk. “Don't you understand what nonsense all that superstitious stuff is, Ruby Mae? I'd have hoped to have at least gotten through to you, of all people. After all, you live right here with Christy.”

“All the more reason for me to protect myself,” Ruby Mae countered, accepting the bowl of apples from David. “Don't know when she might spread the curse to me.”

Ruby Mae shoved the apples toward Christy. The steam wafted up toward Christy's face. She swallowed back the sour taste in her mouth.

“I just don't know why we can't get through to you, Ruby Mae!” David cried in exasperation.

“Don't bother, David,” Christy said bitterly. “There isn't any point in trying to reach her. There isn't any point in trying to reach any of them—” Suddenly her stomach did a wild flip and she knew she was going to be sick. “Excuse me,” she managed to blurt.

She dashed out of the dining room and out into the yard. Moments later she felt Miss Alice's firm, cool hands supporting her head. “Go ahead, Christy,” she said. “Get rid of everything. You'll feel better now.”

“I—I haven't been so sick since I was a little girl. . . .”

“No, don't try to talk.”

Finally it was over. Christy stood on unsteady feet. “I . . . I have to go think. . . .”

“You go on upstairs,” Miss Alice said gently. “I'll come by later and we can talk.”

Christy sat on her bed, staring bleakly at her lesson plans. When she heard a soft knock on the door, she knew who it was. “Come on in, Miss Alice.”

“How are you feeling?” Miss Alice sat down on the edge of the bed.

“All right, physically . . . but . . .” Christy fought back the tears burning her eyes. “But I'm so confused, Miss Alice. I think maybe Father and Mother were right. Everyone was right, all the people who said I don't belong here. I wasn't willing to listen. I thought I could come here and be welcomed with open arms. I thought I could make a difference.” She began to sob. “I . . . I can't fight the ignorance and superstition. I can't.”

She cried for several minutes, sobbing while Miss Alice listened quietly. At last Christy lifted her head to look at the peaceful woman. Suddenly she needed to know what Miss Alice was thinking.

“Am I wrong to feel this way?” Christy asked.

“Any sensitive person would feel exactly as you feel.” Miss Alice's voice was matter-of-fact. “Maybe it's just as well all this has happened. Now is as good a time as any to decide whether you'll go home or not—provided you make your decision on a true basis.”

“What do you mean—a true basis?”

“The way life really is.”

“Not much of life can be as bad as what I saw this afternoon,” Christy said.

“You'd be surprised. Every bit of life, every single one of us has a dark side,” Miss Alice replied. “When you decided to leave home and take this teaching job, you were leaving the safety and security you'd known all your life. I was the same way. I know. Then we get our first good look at the way life really is, and a lot of us want to run back to shelter in a hurry.”

Christy hugged her pillow. “You? Even you?”

“Yes, certainly.”

Christy thought of the horrible conditions at the O'Teale cabin, of Wilmer, of poor Mountie . . . even of the little rabbit that had never had a chance. How could there be such suffering? How could she fight such horrible things?

“But why did you stay?” Christy asked. “When you wanted to leave? When you saw all the evil here?”

Miss Alice considered for a moment. “I believe that you've got to see life the way it really is before you can do anything about evil, Christy. Certainly, people like you are more sensitive than others. But if we're going to work on God's side, we have to decide to open our hearts to the griefs and pain all around us. It's not an easy decision.”

“Miss Alice, even if you're right . . . how can I fight back against the things Granny has said? I can't reach the children if they fear me.” Christy gave a bitter laugh. “And I can't be a teacher if I don't have any students.”

Miss Alice fell silent for a moment. “I can tell you this. There's a healing power in love, Christy,” she said at last. “I've seen it work miracles.”

Miss Alice had such peace about her, such a sense of being at home no matter where she was. Christy wanted that feeling, but it seemed as far away as her family and her cozy bedroom back in Asheville.

“I just don't know,” Christy whispered at last.

“Know what?”

“If I should stay. If there's any point in it.”