Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder

by Catherine Marshall

  “It don’t bother me none, Miss Alice,” Mary said. She took a nervous step backward. “You ain’t a-goin’ to tell Granny I told on her, are you?”

  “Are you afraid she’ll hurt you, Mary?” Christy asked.

  “No’m. Mostly I’m afraid she’d be a-thinkin’ I didn’t believe.”

  “Believe?” Christy echoed.

  “In her powers. Her second sight and such.”

  “Your secret is safe with us, Mary,” the doctor assured the little girl.

  “Why don’t you two run on out to the schoolyard?” Miss Alice suggested. “The doctor and I will be by with some medicine to make that itching stop.”

  As soon as Miss Alice opened the door, Creed ran outside. But Mary paused in the doorway.

  “Teacher?” she said softly.

  “Yes, Mary?”

  “I’m purty sure that Mountie misses you, too. She can’t exactly say it just so, but I can tell.”

  Christy nodded. “Thank you, Mary.”

  Miss Alice closed the door and Christy sank into a chair. “Where on earth did that old woman come up with such a notion?” she demanded.

  “Superstitions grow like weeds around these parts,” the doctor said. Carefully he placed some fresh tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about the mountain people. Granny is known in the Cove as a fine herbalist. Some of her knowledge is sound enough, and some of it is nonsense. But her word is still gospel.”

  “But what made her turn on me? Why me?”

  Miss Alice touched Christy’s shoulder. “There’s no use looking for a logical reason, Christy. Perhaps it was Bob’s accident, or Mary’s fall. Perhaps Granny just feels threatened by all the changes going on here in the Cove.”

  Christy jumped from her chair. “I need to reason with her. Maybe I can explain to her why she has nothing to fear from me.”

  The doctor laughed. “No use trying to use logic with someone like Granny. You can’t fight mountain superstition. Remember right before Bob Allen’s operation? His wife ran into the cabin where we were operating and swung an axe into the floor. Then she tied a string around Bob’s wrist.”

  Christy nodded. She remembered all too well.

  “Well, I could have argued with his wife till spring, telling her that a string won’t keep disease away, and an axe won’t keep a person from hemorrhaging. But meantime, Bob would have died.” The doctor shook his pipe at Christy. “And if you try to argue these people out of their superstitions about you, your dreams for the school will die, too.”

  “But if I don’t fight back somehow, there won’t be a school,” Christy cried. “I’ve lost most of my students already, Doctor. Pretty soon I’ll be teaching a roomful of empty desks!”

  Miss Alice added a log to the fire. “Christy,” she said, rising, “our job here at the mission is to demonstrate that there’s a better way than fear and superstition. We want to create an atmosphere where hearts can be changed. If we preach to the hearts of men and women, the fruits will follow. But it’s no good tying apples onto a tree. Soon they’ll be rotting apples.”

  Christy clenched her fists angrily. “But that could take forever, Miss Alice! The doctor’s been here for years, and the mountain people still don’t understand even the most basic principals of hygiene.”

  The doctor stiffened. “And you, Miss Huddleston, have been here two weeks, and you think you can change the world?” He gave a dark laugh. “I wish you luck.”

  “Time,” Miss Alice said, “is a great healer, Christy. Give Granny and the others time. They will come to trust you.”

  Christy took a deep breath. Maybe Miss Alice and the doctor were right. Or maybe they were just tired of fighting back. And in any case, they weren’t “cursed.” She was.

  “Miss Alice,” Christy said firmly, “I understand what you’re saying, but I have to try to save my reputation. I’m going to the O’Teales’. I’ll ask David to watch the class for the rest of the day.”

  “Miss Huddleston, I wouldn’t—” the doctor began, but Christy shot him a determined look, and he held up his hands.

  “Will you give me directions to the O’Teales’ cabin?” Christy asked. “If not, I’ll ask Mary to tell me the way.”

  “Of course I will,” said Miss Alice. “I’d advise against this, but if you insist on going, I want you to remember one thing. For all her ignorance and superstitions, there’s a good heart inside Granny O’Teale. There’s a good heart inside all God’s children. Look hard enough and you will find it.”

  “I’ve just one question,” said Doctor MacNeill. “What are you going to say when you get there?”

  Christy headed for the door. “Good question, Doctor. Guess I’ll figure that out on the way.”

  Eight

  As Christy trudged along the muddy path, she took in deep lungfuls of the mountain air, trying to let go of her anger. Again and again, Mary’s fearful face came back to her. She thought of the way Creed had cringed at her touch, the way Vella had jumped when Christy touched her shoulder, the way Ruby Mae had glared at her so coldly.

  Granny had done this. Granny O’Teale had, in the space of a few short days, managed to undo Christy’s first halting attempts at befriending these children. And how? By playing on their fears and superstitions and ignorance.

  Suddenly, just ahead of her down the path, Christy saw some dark blobs scattered over the snow for several yards. As she got closer, she realized the blobs were blood stains and bits of torn fur—some black, some reddish brown. She gasped. Some poor little rabbit had been caught by another animal and torn to bits.

  Quickly Christy carved a wide path around the dead animal’s remains. She wished her mind were a blackboard, so she could wipe away what she had just seen. Why did nature have to be so vicious?

  Why, she wondered, did people have to be so vicious?

  The O’Teales’ tobacco barn was just up ahead, so she knew their cabin wasn’t far. Soon it came into view beyond a stand of pines. In the yard, the trampled-down, muddy snow was littered with rags and papers and junk. Pigs and chickens wandered at will. A big black pot was turned on its side, rusting. No effort had been made to stack the firewood. The logs lay in disarray where they had been tossed.

  Christy paused at the edge of the yard. Suddenly she realized that the debris was even worse than it had looked from a distance. The yard was covered with filth—both human and animal filth. The chickens were pecking at it. The pigs were rolling in it and grunting. Christy lifted her skirts, picking her way across the yard. Wasn’t there an outhouse in the backyard? Weren’t they teaching the children anything?

  Swannie O’Teale appeared on the crude porch. She was a tall, slender woman with stringy, dirty-looking blond hair. Her eyes looked dull and tired and sad. But there was something else there, too. Fear—that was it. It was the same look Christy had seen in her students’ eyes.

  “Mrs. O’Teale,” Christy called. “I’m Christy Huddleston, the new teacher.”

  “I know who you are,” Swannie O’Teale hissed. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get. Granny’s out gatherin’ bark for her potions, and if’n she sees you . . .”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Mrs. O’Teale. I want to help. You’ve got to trust me.”

  “Can’t trust the likes of you. You be cursed. Granny said so,” Mrs. O’Teale said, backing into the open doorway. “Get now.” She clutched the yarn necklace around her neck. “Get now, I’m a-tellin’ you!”

  Christy took another step. Even from several feet away, the stench coming from the cabin was horrible. A low half-growl, half-screech met her ears. In the dim light beyond the door, she could make out a boy in his teens wearing a tattered sweater. Saliva drooled from the corners of his mouth and trickled through the grime on his chin.

  “Ah . . . hello,” Christy said.

  “That be Wilmer, my first-born.”

  Christy remembered hearing that one of the O’Teale children was retarded and had e
pileptic seizures, or “fits,” as the mountain people called them.

  The boy pointed to a tin plate of cornbread on a table. “Unh-Um-humh. Ah-hmm.”

  “Hungry, Wilmer?” Mrs. O’Teale said wearily. “Don’t go squawking.”

  What must it be like, to have to care for Wilmer and the other children in these awful surroundings? Christy wondered. Such poverty. Such misery. Staring into Mrs. O’Teale’s weary, fearful eyes, Christy felt her anger drain away.

  “Mrs. O’Teale,” Christy said. “Where are the other children?”

  “Out with Granny, ’cept for Smith. He’s helpin’ his daddy. And Mary, she done run off over to the Spencers’ this mornin’. That girl can be a heap of trouble—” She caught herself. “I can’t be a-talkin’ to the likes of you.”

  “Mary’s a sweet girl,” Christy offered. “And the boys—”

  Mrs. O’Teale scoffed. “Smith! You’re plumb crazy if’n you think he’s a sweet’un!”

  “Well, he does get a little rambunctious,” Christy conceded. She had the feeling that if she just kept talking about the children, she might get somewhere with Mrs. O’Teale. Despite her warnings to Christy, the woman seemed anxious to talk. “But I think more rowdy when he and Lundy Taylor get together. They sort of provoke each other.”

  “Those boys stick together like sap and bark,” Mrs. O’Teale said. “I don’t know how you manage with all those young’uns in one place.”

  “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

  At 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.”