“Of course you do!” Christy exclaimed. “I’m sure they prefer to hire someone who’s been to college.”
“I used to know a guy named Jack O’Dell who wrote for the New York Times,” Doctor MacNeill said. “His brother and I went to medical school together. Jack started out as a paperboy for the Times. Hung around the place so much they let him start writing obituaries. Before you know it, he had bylines on the front page nearly every day.”
George seemed to brighten. “That’s what I’m saying. I could do the same thing, if I wanted to. Start at the bottom, work myself up the ladder.”
“George,” Christy asked, eyeing her brother, “you’re not thinking of quitting school—”
“No, no. Of course not. Can’t you just see Mother’s face if I did something that stupid?”
“Not to mention Father’s,” Christy added.
“Anyway, if all else fails and I can’t be a writer, I’ll always have a promising career as a magician,” George joked.
“Better that than a chef,” the doctor said, grabbing the spoon from George as the stew threatened to boil over.
Before long, Christy and George were sitting down at the table while the doctor ladled out large portions of his stew into bowls. When he sat down, he asked George to give thanks.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” the doctor asked expectantly after the prayer. “Dig in!”
“Ladies first,” George said with mock politeness then grinned at his sister.
“No, no,” Christy replied. “I insist you have the honor, George. After all, you’re our guest. And I’m anxious to see what you think of a real, live mountain recipe. Granny O’Teale is known for her, uh . . . original approach to dining.”
The doctor scowled. He sat down and scooped up a heaping spoonful of stew from his own bowl.
“Mmm,” he murmured as he swallowed down the stew. A look of pure delight crossed his face. “Ambrosia. A meal fit for a king, if I do say so myself.”
George took a deep breath. He dipped his spoon timidly into the rich, strange-smelling broth. “Oh, well,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could die a slow and agonizing death,” Christy replied with a straight face. “Fortunately, there’s a doctor on hand.”
Together, Christy and George each took a tiny bite of stew. Their eyes met in surprise.
“It . . . it’s actually good!” Christy cried.
“Wonderful,” George agreed.
Doctor MacNeill leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he chided. “And what exactly did you expect?”
Christy just smiled in reply. “Pass the salt,” she said, winking at George.
“Don’t worry about cleaning up, George,” Doctor MacNeill said again. “I’ll take care of things after you leave. Just sit out here on the porch with Christy and me. It’s a beautiful night. The stars are putting on quite a show.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” George said as he headed back into the cabin. “It’s the least I can do after such a gourmet feast.”
“Was that a hint of sarcasm I heard?” the doctor inquired.
“Not a bit,” George said. “I loved the stew. As a matter of fact, the rabbit I use in my magic tricks may not be long for this world!”
“George, would you mind getting my sweater?” Christy asked. “It’s getting a little chilly out here.”
“Not at all.”
As George retrieved Christy’s sweater, he pulled out the letter from their Mother that was in the pocket. Would he have time to read it? And what if Christy noticed it was missing?
What does it matter now? he silently asked himself. Getting caught reading a letter is the least of my worries.
He slipped the letter into his shirt pocket and returned to the porch. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, George,” Christy said as she put on the sweater. She smiled at the doctor. “He didn’t used to be so well-behaved.”
“It’s just an act for the doc’s benefit,” George said. “Now, you two sit tight. I’ll be out in a minute after I get everything cleaned up.”
Back in the cabin, George made a show of clearing off the kitchen table. Out on the porch, Christy and the doctor were deep in conversation.
If he wanted to know what was in that note, now was his chance.
George placed the doctor’s teakettle back on the fire. When it started to steam, he held the envelope over the hot mist, just long enough for the wax seal on the back to loosen. He slipped a knife under the seal and it opened without cracking.
Carefully, he removed the sheets inside. My dearest Christy, the letter began. I’m afraid I have some terrible news.
Eight
George took a deep breath. He glanced over his shoulder. Out on the porch, the doctor was whispering something in Christy’s ear.
He turned back to the letter and read on:
We have just received very disturbing news from George’s school. I will recount the story to you as briefly as I can, and then you will see why your father and I are worried so about your brother.
It seems that recently a large sum of money was stolen from the headmaster’s office. Two students saw George and his roommate, Richard, in the vicinity of the office the evening that the money disappeared. When confronted about this, George instantly confessed to stealing the money.
As awful as that is, there is more. The next morning, George was summoned to the headmaster’s office. But instead of appearing, he simply vanished without a trace! His suitcase is gone, along with a few clothes and belongings. He has not been sighted since—and this was several days ago.
“George?” Christy called. “Are you ever coming out to join us?”
“In a minute. I’m almost done in here. You two just relax. I may be slow but I’m extremely thorough. It’s been so long since I’ve cleaned up, I’ve almost forgotten how.”
“All right. But we should be getting home before too much longer.”
George turned to the next page. His mother’s careful handwriting had grown more frantic. And some of the words were blurred, by tears no doubt:
In his letter, the headmaster expressed his sorrow and anger about this incident. He had intended to expel George. After all, in this situation, what choice did he really have? But he did say that although he had often found your brother to be “a tad exuberant,” he would be sorely missed. He seemed genuinely shocked at this turn of events—no more so, of course, than are your father and I.
Dear, have you had any word at all from your brother? I know how much he looks up to you. Perhaps he’s contacted you by now.
I’ve tried to call you at the mission, but the operator tells me the new phone line is down for repairs. So I am sending this letter off in the hopes that you will write or call with news.
As you can imagine, we are beside ourselves with worry. We’ve even tried contacting your Aunt Lucy and Grandmother and Grandfather Huddleston. We didn’t want to worry them, so we tried to give them as few details as possible.
I lie awake nights wondering how this could possibly have happened, Christy. George is such a good boy. What would possess him to steal money? Could it have been a dare, or some kind of pressure from the other boys? Could he need money and have been afraid to ask us?
Somehow, I think not. I know George has been accused of theft, but somehow I can’t believe he is actually guilty. I know my son. He may have high spirits, but he is honest. And if he didn’t take the money, he couldn't have had much spending money. How far could he have gotten? And what if he’s distraught?
Your father is deeply worried, but as I do, he also believes in George.
I must end this now, as the postman will be coming soon. As soon as you receive this, please call or write us without delay.
Love,
Mother
George wiped away a tear. Carefully, he refolded the letter and placed it in its envelope.
Again he held the wax seal ove
r the doctor’s teakettle. It softened enough for him to reseal the envelope, although the “H” imprint his mother had made with her wax stamp was gone. Hopefully, Christy wouldn’t notice. And if she did, what would it really matter?
As George finished cleaning up, he cemented his plans. He would leave early in the morning before anyone else was up. He had enough money for a one-way ticket to New York City. Of course, when he arrived, he’d be flat broke.
But he was a quick thinker. He’d get a job selling papers, like that friend of the doctor’s. Or he’d perform magic tricks on the street for spare change. He’d find a way to get by. He’d have to.
Now his main concern was how to sneak the letter back into Christy’s pocket. He feared she would miss it soon. He considered a dozen different options before finally deciding the simplest solution could be the best.
George returned to the porch. “Hey, Sis,” he said, “I found this on the floor. Must’ve dropped out when I got your sweater.”
“Mother’s letter! I completely forgot about it. I’m glad you found it. I’d have had to ride all the way back here to retrieve it.”
“I would have brought it to you,” the doctor said. “It would have provided an excellent excuse to see you.”
“Neil, you know you don’t need an excuse to visit.”
“I’m happy to report that I’ve also finished cleaning up,” George interrupted. “At least, as clean as I’m capable of making it, which is probably not saying much. Thanks, Doc, for a great meal.” He made a show of yawning.
“We really should be going.” Christy stood. “It’s a long way back, and it’s slow going if we wait till it gets dark.”
The doctor shook George’s hand. “I’ll be passing by the mission in a couple of days, George. You’ll still be around, won’t you?”
“I . . . yes, I suppose so.”
“Well, I’ll see you then.”
“If I don’t see you for some reason,” George said, “I just want to say . . . well, I just want to say I think you and Christy make a great pair.”
“As it happens, so do I,” said the doctor. He gave Christy a gentle kiss on her forehead. “And thanks for the vote of confidence. But I’m sure I’ll see you. Maybe you can even teach me one of those magic tricks of yours.”
“Maybe so,” George said softly. But don’t count on it, he added silently in his thoughts.
Nine
I’m heading straight to bed,” Christy said as she and George entered the mission house.
“Me, too. It’s been a long day.”
At the top of the stairs, George paused. “I just want you to know . . . well, I just want you to know that it’s been great seeing you, Sis. I’m really proud of what you’re doing here.”
“That means a lot to me. I’m proud of you, too.”
George scowled. “What have I ever done? Pulled a rabbit out of a hat? Told a few old jokes? You’re doing important work here. You were wrong when you said I had the makings of a teacher today.”
“But you do.” Christy hesitated. “The truth is, I think the children would prefer you to me, given the choice. I have to admit, I’ve been a little jealous.”
“Jealous? Of me?” George scoffed. “That’s a laugh. Besides, teaching isn’t about being entertaining for an afternoon. It’s about having patience, day after day after day. And it’s about trusting your students . . .” George’s voice seemed to catch, “about having faith in them. That’s what you do that’s so important.”
“Thanks, George.” Christy gave her brother a long hug. “But this doesn’t mean you’re getting out of helping with the children’s arithmetic class tomorrow.”
“’Night, Sis.”
“Goodnight.”
Christy closed her bedroom door. She felt better, having admitted her feelings to George. And he’d said just the right things to help.
He really was getting more mature, she reflected. He was turning into quite a wonderful young man.
She took off her sweater and noticed the letter from her mother. She was so tired. Maybe she should save the letter for tomorrow, when she could enjoy it. Perhaps she’d read it out loud to George at breakfast.
In the meantime, her bed was looking extremely inviting.
It only took a few minutes for George to pack his bag—after all, there wasn’t much to pack. He was relieved when he found some paper and a pencil in the top drawer of his dresser. But when he started to write a note to Christy, he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say.
What could he possibly write? That he was sorry? That he hoped Christy would understand he was really a good person, despite everything? That he hoped she and his parents would someday find it in their hearts to forgive him?
It all sounded so lame when he considered the torment of his mother’s letter—the tears, the heartbreak. Were there any words in the English language to make pain like that go away?
George chewed on the end of the pencil. He could almost hear his English teacher, Mr. Drake, chiding him for the hundredth time, “Pencils are for writing one’s most profound thoughts, Master Huddleston. They are not food for human consumption.”
Old Mr. Drake. George would never see him again.
Now that he was leaving school behind for good, George had begun to realize just how much he’d enjoyed it. He might not have been the best student, but he liked learning. He liked his friends. In his own way, he even liked old Mr. Drake.
The blank page stared up at him. What could he write?
Well, at least he could try to write the truth:
Dear Christy:
All I can say is that I love you.
And that I’m sorry.
George
It wasn’t the best letter in the world. But it was the best he could do.
He tried to sleep, but of course, he couldn’t. He was dressed and ready to leave by the time the first pale pink tendrils of dawn made their appearance.
Carrying his suitcase, George slipped into the hallway and tiptoed down the stairs. Halfway down, he thought he heard someone in the hallway.
He paused, holding his breath. Nothing.
George ran the rest of the way down the stairs. He’d just grabbed the front door handle when he heard a voice.
“George? Where are you a-runnin’ off to?”
George spun around. There stood Ruby Mae in the pale light. She was wearing a threadbare robe and an exasperated expression on her face.
“Ruby Mae! What on earth are you doing up at this hour?”
“I heard you a-sneakin’ around.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So, where are you goin’?”
“Me? I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re not goin’ anywhere with your suitcase? Looks mighty strange to me.”
“This? Oh, this just . . . uh, this has my magic tricks in it. Christy asked me if I’d do a little demonstration at school today. I was just taking my things over to get it all set up.”
“You’re a-goin’ to do more magic for us?”
“Yep,” George replied. Seeing Ruby Mae’s thrilled expression, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. But he was in this deep. And he had to escape without her waking Christy.
“I’ll come with you,” Ruby Mae said.
“Oh, no. You can’t do that.”
“But why? I could be your . . . what’s that word? Your assister?”
“Assistant. That would be great. But I can’t have anyone actually see how I set up my tricks. Then it wouldn’t be magic anymore, don’t you see?”
“You showed Creed how to make paper flowers. And you done showed everyone how to pull things outa ears.”
“But a magician can’t give away all his tricks. What fun would that be?”
Ruby Mae grimaced. “Can I at least be your assistant today at school?”
“I’d be delighted,” George said. “Now, you go back to sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
He watched as Ruby Mae, grinning happily at her new assistant a
ssignment, rushed back up the stairs. Quietly, George closed the front door behind him.
He hated lying like this. He hated leaving like this.
He’d thought he couldn’t feel any worse about himself. But he was wrong.
Ten
I get to be George’s assistant today,” Ruby Mae announced when Christy came downstairs that morning.
Christy joined Ruby Mae, Miss Ida, and Miss Alice at the dining room table. “His assistant?” she repeated as she ladled oatmeal into a bowl.
“For when he does the magic tricks.”
Christy frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ruby Mae. Where is George, anyway? Is he up yet?”
“He was up at the crack o’ dawn,” Ruby Mae said. “I guess he had a lot of gettin’ ready to do for the magic show.”
“You saw him this morning?”
“He was just headin’ out the door with his suitcase. That’s when he told me I could be his assistant. I hope I get to wear a costume.”
Christy glanced at Miss Alice. “Did you say suitcase?”
“He puts all his tricks in there. He was takin’ ’em over to the school.”
“I think I’d better check on this.” Christy pushed back her chair. She had an icy lump in the pit of her stomach. George had been so quiet yesterday evening. And now, here was this story about him sneaking out the door at dawn, carrying a suitcase. She had a bad feeling.
With Ruby Mae at her heels, Christy ran across the dewy yard to the schoolhouse. Nervously, she pushed open the door.
“B—but there ain’t nobody here!” Ruby Mae cried.
Ruby Mae ran to the front of the room, checking everywhere for a sign of George or his magic tricks. But after a few minutes, she turned to Christy, defeated.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I’m afraid I don’t, either, Ruby Mae,” Christy said.
Stage Fright / Goodbye, Sweet Prince / Brotherly Love Page 17