“Boys,” Christy said. “I thought you might know something—”
“You know we don’t know nothin’,” Wraight shot back. His words burned with angry sarcasm. “Nothin’. Can’t add, can’t spell. Can’t do nothin’, ain’t worth nothin’.”
“Course,” Lundy said with a dark smile, “we can shoot the eye out of a deer half a mile aways, quicker than you can spit and holler howdy.”
“True enough,” Smith agreed.
“What do you think of that, Teacher?” Lundy demanded.
“I think,” Christy said with all the quiet force she could muster, “that it’s time for you boys to go inside.”
As they slowly entered the school, big and sullen and full of anger, Christy suddenly felt very small and afraid. She shivered, but she knew it wasn’t because of the cold.
Lizette just couldn’t understand it. If she were the teacher, she would have been angry with the person who’d ruined the front of the school that way. But Miz Christy was sitting at her desk like always, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She was reading from a book about a boy named Huckleberry Finn. It was a mighty funny book, and Lizette loved listening to the pretty words. Miz Christy spun them out like pure music.
But Lizette had other things on her mind today. She glanced down at her little blackboard. She’d carefully drawn a heart, with fancy frills along the outside. It was a little lopsided, but still, it wasn’t a bad-looking heart, not at all.
John Spencer had carved a heart just like it, on the big spruce near the bridge over Big Spoon Creek. He’d worked on it for two afternoons to get it just so. At least, that’s what he’d told Lizette. Inside the heart he’d put big letters—J. S. + L. H. It had taken her a minute to realize that the L. H. stood for her—Lizette Holcombe.
John had been so proud of his work that Lizette hadn’t known what to say. She hated to hurt anyone’s feelings, least of all John’s. He was probably the nicest boy this side of the Mississippi. But it had taken her by surprise to learn he was sweet on her.
After all, she and John had known each other all their lives. They’d always been friends—just friends. Always liked the same sorts of things, too—dreaming about the future, or staring up at the night sky when the stars were just starting to peek out at you.
Both of them loved learning, too. Since school had started, they’d spent long hours talking about how exciting it all was, the arith- metic and history and English Miz Christy was going to teach them.
And it wasn’t that John wasn’t a fine-looking boy. He had that curly blond hair, and light brown eyes that smiled a lot. Still, he wasn’t the one she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.
Lizette fingered her chalk, considering. In the center of the heart, she wrote L. H. + W. H.
Ruby Mae leaned over. “What’s that you’re writin’?” she whispered.
“Nothin’,” Lizette said quickly. She wiped away the initials with her palm.
When John had showed her the heart in the spruce tree, his face had turned as red as an apple. “I guess you can tell I’m sweet on you, Lizette,” he’d said, all shy and soft.
What could she say? After a while, she’d said, “I like you, too, I reckon, John,” because they’d seemed like words that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. But on the way home, when he’d tried to hold her hand, she’d stuffed it in her skirt pocket as fast as lightning. He hadn’t tried again, after that.
She couldn’t have said the real truth of it, that she had her eyes on another boy. To begin with, John probably wouldn’t have believed her. Wraight Holt was as different from Lizette as night was from day—on the outside, anyway. Where she liked to talk, he was gruff and shy. Where she loved to learn, he didn’t much seem to like school at all. And though it pained her to say it, he wasn’t very quick at picking up things, not the way she and John were.
Of course, she’d spent a little bit of time last year at the school way over in Low Gap. The school year only lasted four months there, but that was something, anyway. Wraight hadn’t gone to the Low Gap school. His pa wasn’t much for learning, from what Lizette could figure. He’d only let the Holt children go to school this year because Wraight’s ma had talked him into it.
But Lizette knew that Wraight was smart. Maybe he wasn’t the quickest study when it came to letters and numbers and such. Many times, she’d seen how angry he got when he looked foolish in class. But Wraight was special in other ways.
He’d long been famous around these parts for his hunting. He’d shot a deer at two hundred yards. And once he’d even brought down a bear that was charging straight at him. Other children had looked up to him after that. Even the men would nod their heads and say, “That Wraight’s a tough one, he is, and a mighty fine shot.”
But that wasn’t all. When Wraight played his dulcimer and sang in a voice so pure it could melt a frozen river, that’s when Lizette knew for sure how different he was from all the other boys. And when he smiled at her in a way that made her toes curl up just so, she was even more certain.
Lizette looked up and was surprised to see Miz Christy had finished her reading. When she got to thinking about Wraight like that, Lizette often lost track of time.
Miz Christy was so beautiful. Lizette would give anything to have eyes that blue and a smile that bright. She had a feeling the preacher thought Miz Christy was special, too. When he came in the afternoon to teach math and Bible studies, he always had an extra-wide grin for Miz Christy. Anybody with a lick of romance in them could see it there, plain as day.
Ruby Mae had told Lizette that she thought Dr. MacNeill was sweet on Miz Christy, too. Of course, Ruby Mae was full of crazy gossip half the time, but she might just be right about the doctor. She’d sounded pretty sure of herself.
“I have a special announcement to make,” Miz Christy said. “I am going to appoint three Junior Teachers today. This is a very special honor. Junior Teachers will help me work with the other students.” She held up a small piece of cloth in the shape of a shield. It was trimmed with fancy golden braids and beads. “This is a special badge I made. Each of the Junior Teachers will wear one.”
Lizette sat up a little straighter and crossed her fingers.
She had never seen anything as beautiful as that badge. Oh, how she wanted to be a Junior Teacher! It was all she could do to keep from waving her hand in the air and begging Miz Christy for the honor.
“John Spencer,” Miz Christy announced. John looked over at Lizette and smiled. “Rob Allen.”
Lizette closed her eyes. Please, please, let it be me, she whispered.
“And Lizette Holcombe,” Miz Christy finished. “Come on up and accept your badges.”
Lizette gasped. Had Miz Christy really called her name?
“Go on up,” Ruby Mae said to Lizette.
Her cheeks flushed, Lizette joined John and Rob at the front of the room. Miz Christy pinned a badge on each of them. John winked at Lizette and nudged her with his elbow. She smiled back, but most of her attention was on her new badge. Miz Christy had made them herself, she’d said. The beads and spangles were as pretty as real diamonds, and worth much more to Lizette.
As the Junior Teachers returned to their seats, the class applauded. Lizette glanced toward the back of the room, where she knew Wraight was sitting. Her heart jumped when she realized he was looking right at her. But he didn’t return her smile, and he and Lundy and the other boys at the back were not applauding.
Lizette sat down with a sigh. Maybe she was crazy to think Wraight could ever like her. All he’d ever done was throw snowballs at her, or tease her a little now and then. But there was that one time he’d sung to her at recess. It had been a song about love and broken hearts and sweet pain, and she’d been almost sure he’d felt something then.
Of course, that was a while back. Wraight hadn’t brought his dulcimer to school in quite a spell. For that matter, he hadn’t even thrown a snowball at her lately. There’d been a dark cloud over Wraight, it
seemed, these last few weeks. He’d been spending more and more time with Lundy and Smith and they were not the best kind of friends to have. Those boys were trouble.
She wondered if maybe Lundy wasn’t the one who’d written that awful message on the school wall. Of course, Lizette hadn’t said anything to Miz Christy. She didn’t exactly have any proof. And Lundy wasn’t the kind of boy you wanted to tangle with, that was for sure.
Slowly Lizette turned around again. Wraight was still staring at her. She smiled, and this time, she thought maybe—just maybe—she saw him smile back. But when Lundy whispered something to Wraight, his smile vanished.
Lizette picked up her chalk and made another heart. L.H. +, she wrote.
She left the rest of the heart empty.
Four
That afternoon, Christy walked to the Spencers’ cabin. The Spencer children— John, Zady, Clara, and Lulu—went with her. Lizette Holcombe came along, too. As official Junior Teachers, John and Lizette were anxious to talk about ways they could help the younger students. As she listened to their discussion, Christy felt very pleased. Her Junior Teacher idea was obviously going to be a big success.
As they walked through the sun-dappled woods, filled with the clean scent of pine and balsam, Christy could almost forget the ugly message on the schoolhouse. Even with the help of her students, it had taken most of the noon recess to scrub off the messy letters.
The Spencers’ cabin came into view at the top of a ridge. Christy thought back to the first time she’d met the Spencer family. When no one had been at the train station to greet her, Christy had decided to set off on the seven-mile journey to the mission with Mr. Pentland as he delivered the mail. They’d stopped at the Spencers’ cabin to warm themselves. But almost as soon as they’d sat down before the fire, a man named Bob Allen had been carried into the cabin on a homemade stretcher. Mr. Allen had been on his way to meet Christy at the station when a tree had fallen on his head. He was very badly hurt.
Before long, the local doctor, Neil MacNeill, had arrived to perform risky brain surgery right there in the Spencers’ simple cabin. Christy had actually assisted the doctor during the operation. He was a big handsome man, if a little gruff. Christy had been amazed at his skill, not to mention his ability to remain calm under tremendous pressure.
Fortunately, Bob had survived. But she had felt terribly guilty about his accident—after all, he’d been on his way to meet her when it had happened.
During the anxious moments before and after the operation, Fairlight Spencer had offered Christy a gentle voice and a kind smile. She was graceful woman, with delicate features and lovely eyes. Somehow she hadn’t seemed to belong in that primitive cabin, tucked far away in the woods. Christy had liked Fairlight instantly, and she had the feeling they would grow to be good friends.
Jeb Spencer, Fairlight’s husband, was in the yard, chopping wood. When he heard the children coming, he set his axe down and opened his arms to hug Lulu, his six-year-old daughter, who was running to greet him. Two of the dogs raced over to John, yapping eagerly.
“And how was school today, you rascal?” Jeb asked Lulu. Jeb had deep-set blue eyes and a red beard. The front of his hat was pinned up with a long thorn. A sprig of balsam stuck out from the hat band like a feather. In spite of his ragged clothing, there was something dashing about him.
“Pa, we brought Teacher home with us!” Lulu cried proudly.
“So I see,” Jeb said. He removed his hat and gave Christy a little bow. “Howdy-do, Miz Christy. Fairlight’s been so excited about your comin’, she ain’t sat still all day long.”
Fairlight was waiting at the door of the cabin. Little Guy, a chubby-faced toddler, clutched at her worn calico skirt. “I’m so glad you come, Miz Christy,” Fairlight said, her face glowing. “I was half-afraid you wouldn’t. Jeb’s right. I’ve been so all-fired excited, I’ve been buzzin’ around this cabin like a hungry bee a-huntin’ for honey.”
Christy laughed. “Of course I came, Fairlight. I’ve been looking forward to starting our lessons. I’m just sorry we couldn’t start sooner. It’s taken me a while to get settled in.”
“With all those young’uns to teach, I should say so!” Fairlight exclaimed. “Come on in. You children, too, but mind your manners. There’s gingerbread I made fresh, but don’t be eatin’ it all. We have company.”
The Spencer cabin was just two rooms: a kitchen area, and a main room that served as dining room, living room, and bedroom. A narrow ladder led to a hole in the ceiling, where a sleeping loft was located. The floor was bare. Clothes and a worn saddle hung off pegs on the wall. Across an elk-horn rack rested a long-barreled rifle.
The first time Christy had seen this cabin, she’d been shocked at the primitive conditions. The Spencers had no running water, no phone, and no electricity. Stepping into their home was almost like stepping into another century, back to the days of the American frontier.
But since then, Christy had visited some of the other cabins in the area. Now she saw how much Fairlight had done to make this simple home special. She’d made the cabin warm and inviting by adding little touches of beauty. The rickety table by the fire, for example, was covered by a worn piece of delicately embroidered fabric. A chipped ceramic bowl sat on top of the table. Fairlight had carefully arranged sprigs of pine and balsam in it, then added the first delicate crocuses of the spring for a bit of color. Next to the bowl was a plate piled high with gingerbread, still warm.
Christy sat down at the table. On the floor beside her, she placed the box of teaching materials she’d brought along. Little Guy climbed into her lap. He seemed to be fascinated, like all the children, with her soft red sweater. She accepted a piece of gingerbread from Fairlight and gave half of it to Little Guy.
Christy took a bite of the spicy bread. “Fairlight, this is wonderful!” she exclaimed.
John grabbed two pieces of gingerbread. When Fairlight sent him a warning look, he quickly said, “One’s for Lizette.”
“What are those fancy things you two are wearing?” Fairlight asked, pointing to John’s badge.
“We’re Junior Teachers,” John said proudly. “Me and Lizette and Rob Allen. We get to help Miz Christy with the young’uns.”
“Well, that’s mighty impressive,” Fairlight said, winking at Christy. “I’m proud of you, John. And just to give you a little extra practice, you can keep an eye on Lulu and Little Guy while Miz Christy and me are a-studyin’.”
John groaned. “We don’t mind,” Lizette said with a grin. “Come on, Little Guy.” She reached for the toddler and lifted him off Christy’s lap.
As she passed the fireplace, Lizette’s gaze fell on the dulcimer that belonged to Jeb. “John,” she said thoughtfully, “did you ever think of learnin’ to play the dulcimer like your pa does?”
John shrugged. “Naw. Pa plays enough for all of us. You know how he loves his ballad-singin’.”
“Wraight plays,” Lizette said.
“So?” John asked.
“So . . . nothin’. Have you ever heard him?” Her eyes had a faraway look in them.
“Nope. Don’t want to, neither. I ’spect Wraight Holt has a voice like a bullfrog with the sniffles.”
Lizette smiled wistfully. “You’d ’spect so. But when that boy takes a notion to sing, he’s got more music in him than a treeful of birds.”
“What are we talking about Wraight for, anyways?” John demanded. “He’s trouble.”
“No, he ain’t,” Lizette said.
“Well, he and Lundy and Smith are friends. And those other two ain’t exactly angels. Look at what happened today at school. And yesterday.”
“That don’t mean Wraight had anything to—”
“Come on,” John said gruffly. “We’ve got work to do.”
Fairlight watched John and Lizette head over to the far corner of the room. She leaned close to Christy. “Near as I can figure, John’s got a real hankerin’ for Lizette. Lately, he’s been walkin’ around a
ll moony-eyed.” She lowered her voice. “But I have a feelin’ Lizette don’t feel the same way about John. I’m just guessin’, mind you, but I think she’s got her heart set on Wraight Holt.”
Christy nodded. “It does sound that way, doesn’t it?”
“What was John talkin’ about?” Fairlight asked, reaching for a piece of gingerbread. “Did somethin’ happen at the school?”
“Someone wrote Get away, Teacher on the side of the schoolhouse,” Christy said with a sigh. “Not only that, they nailed the front door shut.”
Fairlight blinked in disbelief. “Who done it, do you figure?”
“I wish I knew. Naturally, I suspect Lundy Taylor. But I don’t have any proof. And I thought I saw Zach Holt running from the school. . . .”
“Zach’s such a good boy,” Fairlight said. “I reckon it wasn’t him, unless one of the big boys put him up to it.”
“Well, whoever it was, he wasn’t a good speller.” Christy smiled. “And speaking of spelling, we have more important things to be talking about! Shall we start?”
“I can’t wait,” Fairlight said. Her eyes were wide with excitement.
Christy opened the box she’d brought. Inside was a copy of the alphabet printed in large, clear letters; a Bible; a fresh, ruled pad; and some pictures Christy had cut out from old magazines. Some were of landscapes. Others were figures of men, women, and children, pasted onto cardboard bases so they could be stood upright, the way Christy used to do with paper dolls when she was a little girl. She was hoping to find a new and interesting way to teach Fairlight. She didn’t want to use the same simple books she used for children beginning to read—the ones that began with sentences like “The rat ran from the cat.”
Christy picked up the Bible. “There are lots and lots of words in this book.”
“How soon will I be able to read it, Miz Christy?”
“In no time! And I’ll tell you why. All the words in this book use only twenty-six English letters.” She pointed to the alphabet. “After you’ve learned how to put the letters together, then, with some practice, you’ll be able to read.”
Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder Page 20