“But I was just—”
“You’re nothin’ but trouble, and that’s for sure and certain,” Granny said, releasing her grip. “We don’t need no brought-on teachers comin’ from clear across state lines to learn our children all kinds of cityfied notions. Flatlanders don’t belong around here. Who asked you, anyways?”
“Granny,” Miss Alice said firmly, “Christy is a wonderful teacher. She only meant to—”
“If’n she’s so all-fired wonderful, how come my little Mary’s lyin’ here all black and blue?”
“It was an accident,” Christy said. “It was recess, and I was watching the younger children playing in front of the school. I told them that only the biggest boys could slide down that hill—”
Granny pointed a long, yellowed fingernail at Christy. Granny’s eyes had a wild brightness in them. “An accident, heh? And how about Bob Allen? Were he an accident, too?”
“Granny,” Miss Alice soothed as she gently examined Mary’s arm. “You know what happened. A tree fell on Bob Allen on his way to pick up Christy at the train station.”
“And how come is that, I’m askin’ you?”
“Probably because the branches were weighed down by snow. That was a very big storm we had, you remember.”
Christy shuddered, remembering Mr. Allen’s pale, nearly lifeless form. She’d felt so guilty, knowing he’d been hurt while trying to reach her. After Mr. Allen had been found, she’d helped the local doctor operate on him to relieve the bleeding inside his head. On her very first day in Cutter Gap, she’d ended up playing nurse in the most primitive conditions imaginable. It was truly a miracle that Mr. Allen had survived.
“Maybe it were the snow, and maybe not.” Granny narrowed her eyes. “Maybe this girl brought a heap o’ trouble with her. Maybe she nearly killed Bob Allen with her comin’, and now my little Mary.”
“I’m right as rain, Granny, really I am,” Mary protested. She cast Christy an apologetic look.
“Bob Allen is fine, Granny,” Miss Alice said. “And Mary’s going to be, too, from what I can tell.”
“She’s trouble, I’m tellin’ you,” Granny said, her voice trembling. She pushed her way past Christy. For a tiny old woman, she was surprisingly strong. “I can tell from a mile off when a person’s cursed. And you, my girl, have the touch of it on you. The signs are all there.”
“Cursed?” Christy repeated, half angry, half amazed.
“More’n likely ain’t even your fault,” Granny said. “Folks get cursed for all kinda reasons. Old Marthy coulda done it.”
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?”
Christy asked.
“Seen it happen with my own eyes a hundred times. But mind you this, once you’re cursed, you pass it on to everyone you’re near. You best be headin’ on back to where you came from, before you do any more damage.”
“Granny, I wish you’d give me a chance,” Christy pleaded.
“Maybe you should be getting back to the other children,” Miss Alice advised, sending Christy a look that clearly meant there was no point in arguing with Granny.
Christy sighed. “You take care, Mary,” she said. As she turned to leave, she met Granny’s eyes. “Nice meeting you, Granny. Maybe sometime we can get together and talk some more.”
The old woman glared back at her with such a frightful look that it was all Christy could do to keep from running from the cabin.
Later that afternoon, Mary returned to class. Christy was relieved to see that the little girl was all right, but the accident on the hill had left Christy feeling unsettled. First of all, she had to decide what to do about Lundy. No one would directly accuse him of anything, and Christy knew she couldn’t punish the boy without proof. She finally decided that her only option was to keep a close watch on Lundy and his friends.
And then there was Granny O’Teale. Christy couldn’t seem to forget the frightful look on the old woman’s face. Of course, Christy didn’t believe in curses. But it was hard to ignore the fact that, for whatever reason, Granny had decided that Christy did not belong here in Cutter Gap.
Christy tried to shake off her nagging thoughts. She had other things to worry about this afternoon, like completing her first official week of school.
“As you are all aware,” Christy said, leaning against her battered desk, “today marks the end of our first week of school.” She was not surprised when a couple of the older boys— the troublemakers—began to whistle and clap.
“Thank you for that show of support, Smith and Wraight and Lundy,” she said crisply. “Now, since it is Friday afternoon, I thought this might be a nice time, instead of working on our arithmetic, to hear from some of the older students. You’ll remember that on Wednesday I assigned a theme on ‘What I Want to Do When I Grow Up.’ Clara, why don’t you start us off?”
Clara Spencer blushed, clearly flattered at the chance to go first. She was the daughter of Fairlight Spencer, a kind and gentle woman Christy had met on her journey through the mountains to Cutter Gap.
Clara straightened her patched cotton dress and cleared her throat. “When I grow up,” she began, “I want to have lots of shoes—two, maybe three pairs, even. And I want a fine house with enough pans to cook in and a rug on the floor to sink my toes in.” She looked over at Christy. “That’s all, Teacher.”
“Well, that was a fine job, Clara,” Christy said. “An effort to be proud of.” She pointed to Rob Allen, one of the older boys. “How about you—”
A deep, snuffling noise, like a grunt coming from deep within the earth, cut her off in mid-sentence. Christy put her hands on her hips. “Wraight Holt, was that you?”
Wraight glared at Christy. “Weren’t me. I ain’t no pig.”
“Now, that there’s a lie if’n I ever heard one,” said Smith O’Teale, Mary and Mountie’s big brother. “I’ve done seen you at the supper table, Wraight Holt, and it ain’t a pretty sight to behold!”
Laughter filled the room. “All right,” Christy said. “That’s enough.” By now, she’d learned that she had to be firm, even when she wasn’t feeling sure of herself. “As I was saying, Rob, why don’t—”
Again, the grunting noise interrupted Christy. “What is that awful noise?” she demanded.
Creed Allen, a nine-year-old boy with tousled hair and two missing front teeth, waved his hand frantically. “Teacher, I know what that there noise is. It’s them hogs,” Creed said. He tapped a bare foot on the wooden floor. “The ones underneath the school.”
Christy sighed. In the Cove, as the area was often called, most hogs weren’t penned. They wandered wherever they pleased, fattening themselves on beechnuts, acorns, and chestnuts. Some of them had even taken to sleeping under the schoolhouse, grunting with what had to be, Christy felt certain, the most repulsive sound in the world. It was hard enough, teaching sixty-seven children, without being interrupted by pigs.
“Are you sure it’s the hogs?” Christy asked. “They aren’t usually so . . . so vocal.”
“Well, the thing of it is,” Creed said, “it’s a-goin’ to storm.”
“What does that have to do with the hogs?”
“They grunt extra loud afore the wind picks up,” Creed said.
“I’m sure that’s just an old wives’ tale, Creed.”
“No’m,” Clara broke in. “It’s the truth, I promise you. They jerk their heads and grunt and carry on, sure as can be.”
“I see,” Christy said. These children were full of the strangest superstitions and mountain lore! She suspected that most of it was pure nonsense, but there was probably a grain of truth to some of the superstitions.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Creed volunteered, leaping out of his chair. He went to the center of the room, where a trap door had been cut into the floor. A rope was attached to the door.
“Creed, I don’t think—” Christy began, but Creed had already pulled the door open to reveal the crawl space beneath the school floor. There, grunting and grumbl
ing, were several hogs.
“See?” Creed said. “See how they jerk their heads? Weather’s changin’ for sure.”
Christy walked over to the edge of the trap door. “Yes, they certainly are noisy little fellows,” she agreed. “Now, close that up, Creed.”
“Want to pet one, Ma’am?” Creed asked. “They’re all whiskery and funny-feeling.”
Christy couldn’t help making a face. “I’m not a big fan of hogs, to tell you the truth. Actually, I like dogs better.”
“But hogs is the cleanest, smartest pets you ever did see, ’cept maybe for raccoons,” Creed said.
“It’s true,” said Clara. “Our pet hog, Belinda, sleeps with me sometimes.”
“Yes, I remember meeting Belinda when I visited your cabin, Clara,” Christy said politely. “She was very, uh . . . very outgoing, for a hog.”
“Course she snores somethin’ terrible,” Clara admitted. “I drew a picture of her. Want to see?” Clara fumbled in her desk until she located a small piece of paper. Christy leaned down to examine the picture. A carefully drawn hog grinned up at her.
“Very nice, Clara,” Christy said. “You’d almost think Belinda was smiling.”
“Oh, but she is, Miz Christy! She smiles all the time, ’specially after supper. Pa says that’s just her indigestion, like when babies get gas and they smile all funny-like.” She lowered her voice. “Truth to tell, Belinda does get some mighty bad gas. ’Course, I love her, anyway—”
Behind her, Christy heard giggling. She spun around. Apparently, while she’d been talking to Clara, Creed had jumped through the trap door into the crawl space below the floor. The hogs looked quite happy to have some company.
“Creed, get out of there, this minute!” Christy cried.
“I just figured you might want to meet one of the hogs,” Creed said. He positioned a crate near the edge of the hole and herded one of the hogs toward it.
“Creed, I really don’t need to meet any of the hogs,” Christy said. “Now, come out of there, right now—”
But instead of Creed, a fat, grunting hog lumbered up onto the crate and out of the hole.
“I call that ’un George, on account of he looks like my Uncle George over in Cataleechie,” Creed announced from the hole.
The hog sniffed the air curiously. The children leapt from their seats and surrounded him, screeching with laughter.
“Go ahead and pet him, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae urged. “He’s a nice enough hog, truly he is.”
“I want that hog out of this classroom this instant,” Christy said, but she couldn’t help grinning as she said it. He looked so ridiculous, waddling around the classroom, snuffling and snorting like he owned the place. None of her teacher training had ever prepared her for this!
“Here’s another one,” Creed called. “I call this ’un Mabel, after my great-aunt, on account of he looks like my Great-aunt Mabel over in Big Gap. ’Cept for the tail, of course.”
Mabel eyed Christy doubtfully. She did not seem very happy to have joined the class. Clara reached out to pat the hog, and Mabel decided to run for cover. Unfortunately, she made a beeline for Christy. She didn’t stop until she was hiding directly under Christy’s long skirt.
“Help!” Christy cried. “Stop her!”
At the sound of Christy screaming, Mabel started to run again, pulling Christy’s skirt— and Christy—along with her. Christy tumbled back onto the floor. Mabel peered out from under Christy’s skirt and ran free, squealing in terror.
While Christy caught her breath, some of the children tried to round up Mabel. Unfortunately, Creed had released two more of the hogs in the meantime. Christy sat on the floor, watching with a mixture of amusement and horror as four hogs ran in crazy circles through the schoolroom. Students stood on desks and hid under desks, hoping to catch the animals. Screams and laughter filled the air.
Christy stood and brushed off her skirt. She had to get control of the situation, and fast.
First things first. She crossed the room and opened the door. “Mabel, George, and the rest of you hogs,” she called, “school’s over for you.”
The hogs kept running wildly, ignoring Christy—and the door—entirely. They seemed to be in no hurry at all to leave.
“All right, now,” Christy said with determination. “We’ve got to think like a team. I want all of you to get on the far side of the room. We’re going to make a long line and herd these hogs right out of the door!”
“Can’t herd hogs, Miz Christy,” Creed informed her as he finally climbed out of the trap door. “You can herd sheep and such. And cows, maybe. But hogs, they ain’t much for bein’ herded.”
“Well, these hogs don’t have a choice,” Christy said.
She pushed some of the desks to the side of the room, leaving the four hogs milling in the center. The children gathered in two long rows at the end of the room. Slowly they walked forward, arm and arm. Mabel ran straight into Clara Spencer’s legs, then bounced off with an outraged squeal.
When the line of students was halfway across the room, George finally seemed to get the message. He scooted out the door with a last goodbye grunt. Soon two of his companions followed. Only Mabel remained. She didn’t seem to want to go outside.
“Sorry, Mabel, you’re being expelled,” Christy said.
Mabel stopped. She stared at Christy and blinked. With a defiant squeal, she made a mad dash for the coat rack. It toppled with a crash, landing right on top of Mabel.
For a moment, silence fell.
“Oh, Mabel, are you hurt?” Christy cried.
The hog scrabbled beneath the pile of old coats and worn sweaters. Suddenly she emerged. A green, well-patched sweater was draped over her shoulders, and somehow a battered felt hat had landed directly on her head.
She turned to look at Christy one last time, her snout high in the air, her hat at a jaunty angle. Then, with a queenly snort, she strode out into the yard.
Seconds later, David Grantland, the mission’s young minister, appeared in the doorway.
“Am I crazy,” he said, scratching his head, “or did I just see a hog wearing a hat and coat come out of here?”
“Actually,” Christy said with a smile, “It was a sweater.”
“Ah,” David said. “That explains everything.”
Christy nudged Clara. “I know this sounds crazy,” she said, “but I could have sworn Mabel was smiling when she left.”
When they finally retrieved the sweater and hat Mabel had borrowed, Christy managed to get the class to settle down. Once again, she turned to Rob Allen. “Rob, why don’t you read us your theme? And this time, if any hogs interrupt, just ignore them.”
Rob headed to the front of the class. He was a tall, slender fourteen-year-old who had already proved to be a gifted student. “Sometimes,” Rob read, “I get to feeling lonesome. I want to tell my thoughts, my good thoughts on the inside, to somebody without being laughed at. It would pleasure me to know the right way to put things like that on paper for other people, too.”
With a little nod at Christy, Rob returned to his seat. “Thank you, Rob,” Christy said warmly. “I’m absolutely sure that someday you will make a fine writer.”
The boy sent her a shy smile. Students like Rob gave Christy hope, but she knew it was just as important—maybe even more important—to encourage the difficult ones. Some, like Lundy, came to school with a chip on their shoulder and an angry word for anyone who got in their way. Others, like the strange, silent Mountie O’Teale, seemed completely unreachable.
Out in the yard, one of the hogs offered another ferocious grunt. The class erupted into laughter. Christy returned to the window. Outside, the wind blew stronger.
“It seems the hogs may be better predictors of the weather than I gave them credit for,” she said with a laugh.
She noticed a group of women streaming out of Miss Alice’s cabin. Apparently, the prayer meeting was breaking up. Christy watched as Granny O’Teale, leaning on her wooden
stick, slowly made her way toward the school.
Just then, the wind gave a sudden piercing howl, like a frightened animal. It was followed by a noise that sounded like rapid, muffled clapping.
The children fell silent. Christy gazed toward the ceiling. “Does anyone know where that sound is coming from?” she asked. Before anyone could respond, she had her answer. A sleek, black bird soared through the air above the children.
“A raven!” Mary cried. The big bird swooped in a large circle, as if he were surveying the room. Several of the students ducked. A few covered their heads.
“Just what we need,” Christy said as she sat down at her desk. “Another uninvited guest. How on earth did he get in here? And don’t tell me Creed let him in through the trap door!”
“Through the steeple up top, I’ll wager,” Creed said in a trembling voice. “It ain’t all the way finished yet. I reckon that bird just sneaked his way on in.”
“Nasty birds, ravens is,” Ruby Mae said, eyeing the bird warily. “Like nothin’ better than to pick out the eye of a lamb or a fawn.”
The awful image made Christy shiver. “You mean when they find a dead one?” she asked.
“Naw. It’s the eyes of livin’ animals they like.”
Christy watched the bird swoop and circle once again. It slowed as it neared her, then landed gracefully on her desk.
“Well,” she tried to joke, “it’s always nice to have another student. Mr. Raven, have you met Mabel and George? Perhaps our new arrival would like to share what he wants to be when he grows up.”
A glance at the class told her they did not appreciate her joke. All eyes were locked on the shiny, strutting bird. Creed’s hands were clenched in tight balls. Vella looked as if she were on the verge of tears. Ruby Mae was biting her lip nervously.
“Come on, now,” Christy chided. “It’s just a raven.” The bird cocked his head to one side, gazing at her with an eye like a black bead. Christy eased her chair back a few inches. She loved birds, but something about this one made her uneasy. He was too sure of himself, swaggering across her desk as if he were on some special mission.
Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder Page 10