“Was you afeared, Teacher?” Zach asked hopefully.
“Not a whit,” Christy replied. “It takes more than that to scare me, Zach.”
“She’ll be scared soon enough,” Creed whispered loudly, “if’n we get any closer to Boggin Mountain.”
“Not that silly story again!” Christy exclaimed. “That’s an old superstition, Creed. Boggin Mountain is not inhabited by some strange, dangerous creature. He’s just a figment of everyone’s imagination.”
Creed did not look convinced, which came as no surprise to Christy. The people in this isolated mountain cove of Tennessee were full of superstitions. When she’d first started teaching, many of the residents of Cutter Gap had actually been convinced that Christy was cursed.
“Lots o’ folks has caught sight o’ the Boggin monster, Teacher,” Creed said. “He’s big and mean, with eyes like a bear’s, only a far sight nastier. He has hair down to his knees, and teeth as sharp as huntin’ knives.”
“And he’s a-covered with warts,” Zach added. “Big ’uns. And he has a big scar on his head, and only one ear.”
“Let’s concentrate on things that really do live in these beautiful woods,” Christy suggested. “Flowers and trees and all of God’s creatures.” She waved them off. “Now, run up ahead and tell the older students not to get too far ahead on the path. This is supposed to be a nature hike, not a race.”
With a fond smile, Christy watched the two boys dash off down the thin path carpeted with pine needles. On her very first day of teaching, Creed and Zach had played a trick on her. Creed had tied a string to Zach’s ear, jerking it whenever Zach told a lie. She could still hear Creed: “All them Holts, when they tell a whopper, their ears twitch. . . .”
Had that only been a few months ago? Yes, just last January. How frightened she’d been that first day! Sixty-seven students—she was up to seventy now—in a one-room school that also served as the church on Sundays. She’d had almost no supplies. And worse yet, no teaching experience.
Most of the children had never even seen a book before. And they’d all been so cold and hungry! Coaxing them to concentrate on arithmetic or spelling had been next to impossible.
Still, with the help of God, Christy had persevered. Trembling in front of the class that first day, she never would have believed that she’d have the courage to take seventy students on a walk deep into the Great Smoky Mountains. But here she was, surrounded by children like the Pied Piper.
Up ahead, she could hear the older children marching along, singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers” in measured tones. Behind her, a group of the smallest children was singing a silly mountain tune:
Call up your dog, O call up your dog!
Let’s a-go huntin’ to ketch a groundhog.
Rang tang a-whaddle linky day!
Truth was, her students were teaching Christy far more about the woods than she was teaching them. This lush, green forest belonged to these children. It was in their blood. They delighted in sharing its secrets with their teacher, the “city-gal” from Asheville, North Carolina.
“Miz Christy!” called Clara Spencer, a bright twelve-year-old. She was kneeling by a fallen tree. “Here it is! This here’s pyxie lichen.” She pointed to an odd-looking moss covering the rotting balsam log. “And that over there’s reindeer moss.”
Christy bent down to examine the delicate moss. “There are so many different kinds! It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
Clara nodded. “It’s like that Bible quote about the lilies Miz Alice likes so much.”
Alice Henderson had helped to found the mission at Cutter Gap where Christy taught. Miss Alice had become a good friend and advisor to Christy, and the children adored her.
“‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin,’” Christy said. “‘And yet I say unto you, That even—’”
“Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these,” Clara finished proudly.
“See that pretty little flower over there?” Christy said, pointing. “Isn’t that trillium?”
“You get yourself an A-plus, Miz Christy!” Clara cried.
“Your mother’s taught me a lot about flowers on our walks together.” Over the last few months, Fairlight Spencer had become one of Christy’s dearest friends.
“Ma knows purt-near everything about these woods,” Clara said. “Why, she—” A frantic shout interrupted Clara.
“Miz Christy! Come quick!”
Christy groaned. Creed and Zach were jumping up and down as if the path were on fire.
“What is it now, boys?”
“We found ourselves some monster tracks up ahead!” Creed cried.
“Don’t you think we’ve had enough of that for one day?”
“I swear, Miz Christy! This ain’t no pullin’ on your leg. This is plumb serious.”
“Could it be a bear?” Christy asked.
Zach shook his head. “Ain’t no bear like I’ve ever seen. As sure as the sun’s in the sky, Miz Christy. These is the tracks of a real live monster!”
“Creed, this joke is getting very old—”
“He’s not joking, Miz Christy.” John Spencer, Clara’s older brother, joined the boys. His face was grim. “You’d better come take a look.”
Two
Christy ran up the path to the spot where the children were gathered in a tight circle. She could tell from their discussion that these were no ordinary tracks:
“Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it!”
“It’s the Boggin, for sure and certain!”
“We oughta hightail it outa here before he comes to eat us!”
Several of the younger children were crying. Christy took Little Burl Allen’s tiny hand as he sniffled. “Teacher,” he sobbed, “I’m frightful scared.”
“Don’t listen to them, Little Burl,” Christy said as the children parted to let her through. “They’re just making up—”
Suddenly she paused. There, pressed deep into the wet dirt and pine needles, was the biggest, strangest footprint Christy had ever seen.
“Told ya it ain’t no bear,” Creed whispered.
Christy knelt down to feel the imprint. It was as long as her arm and half as wide. The four toeprints were the size of apples. Extending from those were sharp, deep claw marks. More footprints traveled back into the woods.
“What on earth is this?” Christy whispered.
“It’s fresh,” John said darkly. “That much is for sure.”
Christy met his gaze. John, age fifteen, was one of her best students. He was tall and slender, like all the Spencer children, and had curly blond hair. Christy could see real worry in his light brown eyes.
“What do you think it is, John?” Christy asked.
“Creed’s right. That ain’t no bear,” John said, scratching his head. “That ain’t like nothin’ I ever saw before.”
“Could it be human?”
“That’s not any human I want to run into,” John said with a slight smile. “A foot the size of Little Burl, more or less, with four toes, and claws as sharp as an axe? No sir. I don’t want to meet this fellow on a dark night.”
Vella Holt had eased up as close to Christy as she could get. “It’s the Boggin, ain’t it, Teacher?” she asked in a trembling voice.
Christy hugged the little girl. “The Boggin is just a story, Vella. Like the haunt tales you children like to tell each other about witches and ghosts and other such nonsense. He’s just superstitious silliness.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Miz Christy,” said Ruby Mae Morrison, “but why would they call that mountain over yonder Boggin Mountain, less’n he was real?”
Christy smiled. “Didn’t we just pass a stream called Cuckoo Jig Creek? Does that mean I can expect to find birds dancing the night away by the bank?”
Ruby Mae tossed her wild red hair. “Could be. Cuckoos is strange birds. Besides, this ain’t like Asheville. When we visited there ’cause Betsy needed her op
eration, I read all them road signs. They’re all borin’. First Street, Second Street, and on and on.” Ruby Mae jutted her chin. “Here, names got meanin’. Pinch Gut’s a squeezin’ place between two rocky spots. Stretch Yer Neck Ridge is a place where you gotta stand on tippy-toes to see the view. And Boggin Mountain is Boggin Mountain ’cause that’s where the Boggin lives. Plain and simple.”
Christy stood, brushing pine needles off her long brown skirt. “Tell me this. Has anyone ever seen this Boggin man?”
“Lots of people have,” Creed replied. The other students murmured their agreement. “My grannie saw him once, sneakin’ out by our woodpile. Had eyes as orange as a harvest moon.”
“Nope. His eyes are fiery red,” Zach reported. “My Aunt Biddie says so. She knows for sure, ’cause her horse got terrible spooked one day by the Boggin.”
“His eyes are yellow,” Ruby Mae corrected. “And big as plates.”
“So I take it you’ve seen him, Ruby Mae?” Christy asked with a doubtful smile.
“Well, not exactly. But I heard Ben Pentland talkin’ one day, about how he took a shortcut past Boggin Mountain to deliver mail to some folks on the far side. He was a-comin’ home—” Ruby Mae lowered her voice to a whisper, “and all of a sudden, he run smack dab into a nest the size of a cabin. Made outa sticks and mud and bloody bones. And what do you think he saw, pokin’ his powerful ugly head outa that nest?”
The children gasped. Christy groaned. “Let me guess. A very, very large robin?”
Ruby Mae rolled her eyes heavenward. “Miz Christy, for a teacher, you sure don’t listen up when I’m doin’ the lecturin’! It was the Boggin, of course. He had teeth as big and sharp as a bear. And a huge scar on his head. And his eyes, I’m tellin’ you, were yellow.”
“That’s why no one goes near Boggin Mountain,” Creed explained. “The Boggin can swallow you whole in one bite, faster than a snake can suck down an egg.”
Christy took a deep breath. How many times had she battled the children’s strange superstitions before? She had a feeling this particular story was going to be difficult to put to rest.
“Do all of you believe in this . . . this story?” she asked.
“Not me,” Clara said loudly.
“At last,” Christy cried, “a sensible voice! Clara’s right, children. The Boggin only exists in your minds. He’s not real.”
“I’m not sayin’ that exactly,” Clara added. She paused, looking a little uncomfortable. “I’m just sayin’ if there is a Boggin on the mountain, he’s probably just like any critter in the woods. Like a wildcat or a ’possum or an owl. You know. Just wantin’ to keep to himself—”
“Clara,” John said in a warning voice.
“I’m just sayin’ that’s what I think, is all,” Clara said, glaring at her brother.
Christy sighed. “Sometimes we’re just afraid of what we can’t understand,” she said. “Maybe next time we’ll take a trip up Boggin Mountain and see for ourselves that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Miz Christy,” John said quickly.
“Don’t tell me you believe in the Boggin, too, John—”
“It’s just . . . well, that mountain’s mighty sticky climbin’, ’specially in a long dress. That’s all I meant.”
“Please, Teacher, please don’t make me go up Boggin Mountain,” Vella pleaded.
“That ain’t a good idea, Miz Christy,” Creed said, his eyes wide with terror.
“All right, then,” Christy said gently. “It doesn’t sound like an easy climb, anyway. I promise I won’t make you go.”
“I got a question for you, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said. “You say there’s no Boggin. But how do you explain these tracks?”
Christy pursed her lips. It was a good question. “I can’t explain them, Ruby Mae. Perhaps two large animals crossed paths and we’re seeing a combination of tracks. Perhaps the imprint was much smaller, but the wet dirt allowed it to expand. It’s been awfully rainy lately. One way or another, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”
Christy could tell from her students’ expressions that they already thought they knew the explanation.
She started back up the path. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. We should really head back toward school. Remember, stay on the path and keep an eye on your friends. No dawdling, and no getting too far ahead.”
After a few yards, Christy glanced over her shoulder to check for stragglers. To her surprise, she noticed Clara heading deeper into the woods.
“Clara?” Christy called. “Come on. We’re heading back to school.”
“I’m just followin’ the tracks to see where they go,” she called back.
“You can do that another time,” Christy said, this time in her firmest teacher-voice. “Come on back now.”
Clara headed deeper into the underbrush. “Just another minute!”
“John,” Christy said, “would you go retrieve your sister?”
Suddenly, Clara let out a horrifying scream.
Frantically, Christy and the others plowed their way through the steep underbrush toward the frightened girl.
Clara pointed a trembling finger at a small clearing in the woods. Impaled on a sharp, tall stick was a shocking sight.
The skinned head of an animal—probably a bear—was stuck on the stick.
Beyond the awful sight, the tracks disappeared.
“Explain that,” Ruby Mae said in a hoarse whisper.
Christy had no answer. But little Vella did.
“The Boggin done it,” she sobbed softly. “It’s the Boggin for sure, and he’s sendin’ us a warnin.”
Three
I’m tellin’ you, Miz Christy, that was the Boggin’s doin’,” Ruby Mae said that afternoon.
School was over, and Ruby Mae and Christy were the last to leave the schoolhouse, which also served as the church on Sunday. The teacher and student were walking the short distance to the mission house. Ruby Mae was the only student who lived at the mission. She’d had some problems getting along with her stepfather, and Miss Alice had suggested she stay in one of the spare bedrooms at the mission house.
“I’m not sure who did it, Ruby Mae,” Christy said. “But I refuse to believe in some mythical creature who’s been haunting a mountain for years and years.”
They paused in front of the house, a large, wooden building set in a big yard. David Grantland, the mission’s young minister, was perched on a ladder, painting the frame around a second-floor window. His dark hair was splattered with white flecks of paint.
“It looks great, David,” Christy called.
David wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. “Yes, I’m quite the artist. I don’t suppose you two would like to help?”
“But Preacher,” Ruby Mae protested, “you’re doin’ such a fine job all by your lonesome. Me and Miz Christy, we’d just mess up your fine art work!”
David rolled his eyes. “Somehow I had the feeling that’s what you’d say. Toss up that rag, would you, Christy?”
Christy retrieved the rag, careful not to walk under the ladder, and threw it to David. “Ruby Mae was just kidding, David. Is there something we can do to help?”
“Actually, I’m just about done. Although there is one thing—”
“Just name it.”
“Promise me you’ll never, ever send out letters requesting donations to the mission again!” David cried.
Some time ago, Christy had written several companies about the mission’s desperate need for supplies. She’d asked for mattresses, paint, soap, window shades, cleaning supplies, food—anything she thought might make the lives of the mountain people a little easier.
To her surprise, she’d gotten plenty of responses. Week after week, Mr. Pentland had arrived at the mission with huge boxes brimming with supplies. Several months ago the Lyon and Healy Company had actually sent a grand piano. And the Bell Telephone Company had come through with wires and equipment for a t
elephone. That had been an especially exciting gift, since no one in the area owned a telephone. Most people had never even seen one before.
“So far,” David said, “I’ve had to learn how to tune a piano and paint a house on account of those donations. Pretty soon, I’m going to have to figure out how to string telephone wires across a mountain. When I came here to Cutter Gap, I thought I was going to be a minister.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Christy said, grinning.
As soon as she was inside the house, Ruby Mae ran straight to the kitchen and began jabbering at high speed about the strange sights the children had discovered that afternoon.
Miss Ida, David’s sister, was stirring a pot of soup. She was wearing a calico apron and her usual stern expression. Miss Ida was tall, almost gaunt, with sharp features and thin, graying hair. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was related to David, with his warm, brown eyes and friendly smile.
Miss Alice was also there sitting at the table, looking over the budget ledger, where she recorded every penny the mission spent. She was dressed in a simple blue skirt and a crisp white linen blouse. As always, she looked beautiful, with her clear, regal features and lovely gray eyes. Her hair was swept up in an elegant bun. Christy pulled a twig out of her own hair self-consciously. She probably looked a mess, after her adventure in the woods today.
“What are you babbling about, Ruby Mae?” Miss Ida said, clucking her tongue. “What’s this about a bobbin?”
Ruby Mae sneaked a piece of carrot off the cutting board. “Boggin, Miss Ida,” she corrected.
“Not that again,” Miss Alice said, sighing. “I’d really hoped we were done with him.”
“He left a footprint the size of a house,” Ruby Mae exclaimed. “And a big ol’ skinned animal head.”
“You’re exaggerating just a bit, Ruby Mae,” Christy said. “Besides, I’m sure it was just a prank.”
The screen door swung open and David stepped in. Paint splatters covered him like huge snowflakes. On the tip of his nose was a big white splotch.
The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness Page 16