He didn’t mean to compare Christa with Adelaide, but the comparison lay in his thoughts. Adelaide wouldn’t walk with a man she didn’t know or hold his hand to cross a stream. He couldn’t image her stepping out onto those rocks or sitting down on the boulder in her fine dress. Adelaide would not travel alone on a train.
Christa had an entirely different lifestyle. She had no parents to whisk her off to Charleston. Even if she had, he doubted she would go anywhere with her parents instead of visiting the man she planned to marry.
Adelaide should be here with me.
Adelaide should be here with him, Christa thought.
But she wasn’t. And Christa was enjoying this male companionship. Her impression of Grant Gordon had changed. He was a capable man with an honorable profession. Yet he was vulnerable to hurt and uncertain about some things. She could identify with that.
She wondered if something like this had happened with Roland. Had he taken an innocent walk and noticed the attributes of another woman, just as she was doing with this man beside her?
She could imagine how easily one might find another appealing. Were Grant Gordon not engaged, she might entertain serious thoughts.
He led the way back through the forest and took her hand again as they stepped on the rocks to cross the creek. His hand felt warm and strong.
Twilight had come. Stars twinkled in the darkening sky, and a silvery moon appeared. The evening was pleasantly cool. The leaves in the maples and oaks whispered.
Upon passing the graveyard, Christa realized something. “Most of the graves are marked several years ago. Are there fewer deaths now?”
He looked down at her. “Yes. For several years the cove had no doctor.”
She liked the way the moonlight lay on his hair and on his rugged face. “So your being here has made a difference.”
He smiled. “Having a doctor nearby does that. Also, education helps. Parents are eager for their children to be educated. That’s why they jumped to the conclusion that you’re the teacher and why I was reluctant to disappoint them. Would you like to see the school?”
“Uncle John—”
“He knows I came looking for you. He said he’d had a long week and was going to turn in.”
“Oh. Then yes, I would like to see the school.”
The shadows lengthened as the moon brightened. They walked past the church and onto a dirt road. Faint light glowed from the windows of several cabins. “That one is mine,” Grant said. “The bigger one across from mine is the Carmichaels’. Teachers have always had a room in their cabin.”
“There were more than one?”
“Not at one time,” Grant said. “Sometimes the teacher borrowed a horse and rode to homes way back in the cove. Sometimes he stayed with a family for weeks and taught the children. But…” He drew in a deep breath. “Most teachers couldn’t handle that for any length of time. Teaching here takes a lot of time, and there’s very little pay.” His gaze met hers. “In terms of money, I mean.” He looked ahead toward the trees. “The pay comes in different ways.”
Christa could understand that. A doctor, a teacher, or a preacher could feel proud of making a difference in people’s lives. “Do any of them send their children away to school?”
“The closest is at Grey Eagle. That’s too far to take children in all kinds of weather, and it costs too much to board them there. And too, the children in Grey Eagle stay out of school when their parents need them to help with crops, cattle, pigs, chickens. They’re needed for that here in the cove, too, but these people will take what teaching they can get when they can get it.”
“That’s admirable,” she said.
“Wasn’t always like that, Christa. The railroad coming as close as Grey Eagle has brought an awareness of a world outside the cove.” He gestured ahead of them. “There’s the school.”
The land had been cleared. She could imagine children playing there. Moonlight bathed the small building on the rise of the hill. A couple of wooden swings hung on long ropes tied around the limbs of two tall oaks.
She followed Grant up the steps and onto the narrow porch across the front of the building.
“Just a minute,” he said when they reached the doorway.
He went inside, struck a match, and lit a wick. Light from a lamp on a table in front of the chalkboard brought the room into view. A narrow aisle separated the two sides. Several desks were reminiscent of ones Christa had used in the early grades. She suspected they were donated. Men of the cove likely had built the benches and narrow tables.
Two windows were on each side. She couldn’t find anything to comment about and felt no need to walk around. The impression lodged in her mind was “bleak.”
“There on your right,” he said, “is the bell that summons the children to school.”
A bell no larger than a good-sized pear sat on a narrow ledge. “I wouldn’t think the sound of that little bell would travel far.”
He smiled. “You could stand in this doorway, yell, and your voice would travel over these mountains and return to you. God knew what He was doing when He created echoes. He knew people back in these coves wouldn’t have the advantage of things city-folks have like timepieces and telephones.”
She should say something. “I–I see this is only one room.”
“The cove men built it several years ago. Before that, school was held in the church.” He turned down the wick, leaving the room in shadows created by moonlight filtering through the windows. Christa walked onto the porch. Grant joined her and braced his hands on the banister.
“After the last teacher left, Sadie taught until she became ill. Years ago, the Carmichaels sold their house in the city to come here as missionaries. They’re responsible for bringing your aunt and uncle here, as well as teachers. But age and illness have limited their activities. They are encouragers and have servant hearts. Their main income now is from raising chickens and selling them here and in Grey Eagle.”
What about this place made people like Uncle John, Aunt Sadie, the Carmichaels, and Grant want to spend their lives here? She looked out at the schoolyard with its two big oaks. “It’s certainly beautiful.”
His voice was soft as moonlight. “You’re a city girl, Christa, like Adelaide. I know this schoolhouse is backwoods compared with those in the city. Do you think she will like it here?”
Christa looked at the mountain vistas beyond. Would Adelaide like it? To be around people who put service to others ahead of themselves? To be in a place where so many anticipated her coming? To be loved by children eager to learn? To have an attractive man with an honorable profession love her? Would she like it?
Christa looked at the moonlight on his handsome face. “Yes,” she said softly. “I think she will love it.”
She walked down the steps and into the yard. She heard his voice behind her. “Christa.”
She turned to face him.
“We got off to a bad start. But I hope you have forgiven me. Do you suppose we could be friends?”
Chapter 7
The scene looked liked Saturday reversed. The forest that had swallowed up people and kept them overnight, now released them back onto the lush green lawn and into Sunday morning sunshine. The children looked freshly scrubbed—boys with their hair parted and plastered down, and girls in pigtails or curls. Most of the men wore coats despite the warm temperature.
They came quickly, eagerly, holding children’s hands. They nodded to each other or spoke with dignity and reverence. The women wore plain hats or scarves on their heads. Miz Dora, strolling beside Clem in a suit coat and top hat, wore a fancy hat that complimented her frilly blouse, cameo broach, and black skirt. Christa breathed easier at the sight of her, having feared she looked too fancy in her store-bought dress and hat with its colorful silk band and small flowers.
From her place inside the church at a window, she saw a couple wagons pulling up. Grant came riding across the clearing. Christa hastened to the bench where Uncle John said sh
e should sit—up front.
The church reminded her of the schoolhouse—small with one aisle down the middle. The differences were a pulpit instead of a teacher’s table and benches with high backs.
Uncle John stood at the doorway, greeting people. She had come early with him to ring the first bell, as he called it. When he rang the second bell, people had about five minutes until the service started.
Christa wanted to see the church in case she didn’t have another opportunity. Her gaze moved to the wooden cross on the wall behind the pulpit. She looked down to her gloved hands rather than think about what took place on that old rugged cross. She believed Jesus had died for her as He had for the entire world. But did He really work in one’s daily life? If so, what had she done to cause Him to withhold His blessings from her?
A tap on her shoulder brought her attention to her surroundings. “Oh, good morning, Miz Dora.”
“Good morning, Christa, dear. Your outfit is adorable.”
“Thank you. So is yours.”
Dora leaned forward and whispered, “I bought this in Asheville. I believe in wearing my finest to the Lord’s house.”
Christa smiled and glanced around, wondering if she’d be able to meet these people’s eyes after Grant made his announcement. She heard his voice along with Uncle John’s.
Soon, he sat beside her. She glanced over, and their eyes met. Her breath caught. Why did he sit beside her? She supposed it would look strange for him not to sit beside his supposed fiancée. And he had an announcement to make.
Besides that, they were friends.
Last night, when he’d asked, she had held out her hand in agreement. But friends…for how long?
After Roland told her about his change of plans, he had said, “We can still be friends, can’t we, Christa?”
“Of course,” she’d said and forced a smile. That had been followed by half a day in her room, drenching her pillow with tears. Bitterness had taken root in her heart. The feeling she had for Roland was not friendship.
And now, although she and Grant shared a songbook and she thrilled to the sound of his baritone voice, she wondered what kind of friends they could be after his fiancée arrived.
Adelaide would fill his time, heart, and mind.
Christa would go back to being a woman past marriageable age who had no purpose in life beyond taking a few highland crafts back to the city.
But for the moment, she sat beside a most appealing man. Everyone else other than Uncle John thought the two of them were in love, would be married. For the few minutes of this service, she would bask in that thought while being conscious of the warmth of his arm brushing against hers as they shared the songbook. She was this man’s fiancée.
She would be…until he made his announcement. She slowly turned her face toward Grant. His head turned toward her. Their eyes met. For an instant, he seemed startled, then an expression like that of a dear friend crossed his face, and she thought a trace of color tinged his bronzed cheeks.
She saw him swallow as he again faced the front. His shoulders rose slightly.
So what if he thought her brazen. He had allowed these people to think she was his fiancée. For however long Uncle John preached, that’s what she would be. When all one had was memories, she would savor this one. And for the first time, she hoped the sermon would be quite long.
Grant wondered what Adelaide would think of his taking Christa to his private place. To have held her bare hand, looked into her eyes, and asked for her friendship.
Adelaide had had a conniption fit when he’d commented that her cousin was quite attractive. She would never accept Christa being his friend. How could they be friends, anyway? She would be here a week. A few days. Until the train left tomorrow.
Could people be long-distance friends?
Sure.
Just as there could be long-distance fiancées. If someone was in the heart, it didn’t matter if one was in Charleston and the other in Bear Cove. Was Adelaide in church thinking of him?
He could tell John was winding down. Grant had planned a speech. There’d been a mistake, he would say. This woman whom you have taken to your hearts is not my fiancée and she’s not the teacher. No! That would never do—saying what Christa Walsh was not.
He would have to keep the attention focused on himself, not Christa.
Was that possible when during the entire service his eyes had been on Pastor John but his sensibilities had focused on the smartly dressed, lovely young woman beside him—his…friend?
Pastor John finished. He asked anyone who had anything to get right with the Lord to come and kneel at the front of the church.
Everybody stood. They were singing about when we all get to heaven what a day of rejoicing that will be.
Grant kinda wished he was there already.
John stared at him. Grant willed himself to stand.
“Pastor! Doctor!”
The singing stopped. A man with blood covering the front of his shirt ran down the aisle. Fear filled his eyes, and his breath was shallow. “Doc, it’s my son.” Both men ran up the aisle. The bloody man looked wild. “He nigh got his hand cut off down at the sawmill. He’s out in the wagon.”
Uncle John spoke loudly. “Let us bow before the Lord.”
He prayed for Birr Morgan and his son as Grant ran out to the injured boy.
At the amen, everyone rushed out. Grant jumped down from the wagon. “Take him to my cabin.” The boy looked deathly pale and rocked back and forth in the corner of the wagon, holding on to a bloody rag wrapped around his hand.
Birr Morgan jumped up onto the wagon, picked up the reins, and commanded the horse to go forward. Grant mounted his horse, calling out, “I could use some help.”
Dora turned to Christa. “I’m sure Grant would appreciate your help. You’ll be called on many times.”
Here they were, the two best-dressed women in the crowd, picking up their skirts and racing across the yard. Soon they reached the dirt road. Christa looked at the older woman, who might have been a track runner. “Nobody else seemed eager to help.”
Dora raised her eyebrows. “That’s Birr Morgan. He had a bad experience with a churchgoer who got lumber from him, then left town without paying. He’s had nothing to do with churchgoers since then. Makes them pay before he’ll load their wagons. They take that as an affront.”
“But surely they won’t hold that against the boy.”
“They’ll say if Birr had been in church, this wouldn’t have happened.”
The doctor’s cabin was spotless. He began telling the women what to do at the same time he calmed the boy and his dad.
After giving the boy something to dull the pain, Grant cleaned the wound.
“How bad is it, Doc?” Birr Morgan kept asking.
“I’m trying to determine that,” Grant said more than once.
The boy looked scared. “It’s gotta be all right, Doc.”
“Yeah,” Birr said, “I’ll need him at the sawmill.”
“Then I don’t want it well,” the boy said. “I told you, I’m no good at the sawmill.”
“You’ll learn, boy.”
Christa wondered about Birr Morgan’s stern look. Was he only concerned about work?
When Grant asked, Dora handed him the sterilized instruments. He talked while examining the wound. “Looks like it cut the flesh across the palm. The cut on the thumb is deeper but not into the bone. That will heal just fine.” He sutured the wound, then wrapped the hand in gauze. “Todd, we’ll have to keep close watch on this. You need to follow my instructions about keeping it clean.”
He addressed Birr. “You have him working at the sawmill before this is healed, and he could get an infection. Then there’s a real problem.” He paused. “Understand?”
Birr nodded.
Uncle John stood by the doorway.
“If you don’t need us anymore, we’ll leave, Grant,” Dora said.
“That’s fine. Thank you two, very much.”
Birr Morgan interrupted. “I want to say something, and it’s fine if you womenfolk hear it.” He glanced around. “You, too, preacher.”
He shifted uncomfortably, then stuck his thumbs behind his suspenders fastened to the waist of his worn pants. “I’d like to trade for your services, Doc.”
“Sure,” Grant replied without hesitation.
“Don’t have any extra money right now,” Birr said. “Need some supplies and repairs. I know you and Miz Dora here always wanted this boy in school. He learned a lot of foolishness that time I sent him. But he ain’t no good to me in the sawmill like this.”
Todd’s eyes lit up, and all traces of pain left his face.
His dad continued. “He’s got these highfalutin’ notions Miz Sadie put in his head a long time ago. I don’t need no education to run my mill. But things are changing, and my boy will have to deal with them townspeople. So, as a favor to you and your woman here, I’m gonna let my boy come to school.”
The quick nod of Birr Morgan’s head indicated he’d sacrificed his son as payment for his medical treatment. “His cutting his hand and all, pertnigh scart the daylights outta me. And I’m responsible. Just because I don’t attend church don’t mean I can’t say when I’m sorry.” He nodded at his son.
“Thank ya, Pa.”
Grant and Birr Morgan shook hands on the deal.
“I…need air.” Christa hurried from the cabin.
Dora followed. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I’ll be all right.” She would. As soon as she could get out of this place where she’d become a living lie.
Chapter 8
Christa stopped when Uncle John called her name. He caught up with her. When they were out of earshot of others, she could hold back no longer. “Uncle John, how could you and Grant let Mr. Morgan make that kind of deal? Have you forgotten? I am not the teacher, and I’m not…anybody’s woman.”
“It’s a breakthrough for Birr Morgan to allow his son to get some schooling. To turn down Birr’s offer would destroy that man’s pride. It was a favor to Grant, and to—”
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