The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness

by Catherine Marshall

  “But Clara and John and Fairlight are your friends,” Christy pointed out.

  “They’re different,” Edward said. “They’re the exception that proves the rule.”

  Christy frowned. “Is that why you’ve been terrorizing everyone in Cutter Gap?” she demanded.

  “I got nothin’ to do with that,” Edward said angrily. “The children told me about those goings-on last time they came to visit.”

  “But who else could be doing it, Edward?” Clara asked softly. “I mean, we’ve kinda plumb run out o’ answers. That’s why John and me and Ma come back today, to ask . . .”

  “Ask what?” Edward crossed his arms over his chest.

  “We were just thinkin’ maybe with the telephone comin’ and all . . .” John said gently. “I mean, it’d be natural as could be if you were mad about everybody pokin’ their noses around. And we figgered maybe . . .” His voice faded away.

  “You’re my friends,” Edward said sadly, “but you don’t believe me when I tell you the plain truth. That’s a sorry pickle, ain’t it?”

  “How come you went out today with your gun, then?” Clara challenged. “You told us you’d never ever use that gun again as long as you lived.”

  “Sometimes a man’s gotta change his mind.” Edward shook his head. “And I didn’t count on Bird’s-Eye Taylor.”

  “What do you mean, Edward?” Christy asked.

  “Let’s get that ankle o’ yours wrapped up,” Edward said.

  “And on your way down the mountain, I’ll show you just what I mean.”

  Fifteen

  We’re almost there now,” Edward said.

  They were halfway down the mountain. It had been slow going for Christy. But hobbling along with John and Edward for support, she felt certain she could make it all the way down.

  After a few more minutes, Edward led them through thick underbrush to a spot by a tiny stream. “There,” he said, pointing. “That’s why I was packin’ my ol’ Colt forty-five.”

  “A still?” Christy cried.

  “And there’s plenty of moonshine to go with it,” Edward added. “It’s hidden under those bushes, mostly.”

  “How long has this been here?”

  “Couldn’t have been here long, I reckon. I know this mountain like the back o’ my hand.” Edward stroked his long beard. “First time I seen Bird’s-Eye was a few days ago. Sneakin’ ’round here like a low-bellied snake, he was.”

  “How can you know for certain it was Bird’s-Eye?” Christy asked.

  “Edward knows just about everybody,” Clara explained. “On account o’ we described ’em all.”

  Edward chuckled. “I’ll bet I’ve heard more tales about the folks in Cutter Gap than they’ve heard about me.”

  “So you were out with your gun today lookin’ for Bird’s-Eye?” Fairlight asked.

  “He comes just around nightfall mostly, near as I can tell. I was goin’ to stake out a hidin’ place, maybe shoot a couple rounds into the air to scare him off. I only want just to scare him,” Edward said, his face suddenly grave. “You know how I feel about usin’ my gun anymore.”

  “Edward was an Indian fighter, way back in the eighteen-seventies, Miz Christy,” Clara said. “That’s how he lost his ear and got all scarred up. He fought with—”

  “That’s enough, Clara,” Edward interrupted sternly.

  Clara bit her lip. “Sorry, Edward. I sorta forgot you don’t like talkin’ about it.”

  Christy considered pressing him for more information, but she could tell from Edward’s icy tone that now was not the time.

  “Well, I guess when I get home, I’ll have to tell David and the others about this still,” she said. “Then they can confront Bird’s-Eye. There’s no point in trying to scare Bird’s-Eye off with some gunshots into the air, Edward. It would just start up a little war on this mountain. Bird’s-Eye Taylor’s spent his whole life feuding.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the mission folks can fix things better than I can. But you won’t go tellin’ ’em about me,” Edward said softly. It was more of a question than a demand.

  “I suppose not, Edward. Not if you don’t want me to. But I don’t see—”

  “Look, I just want my mountain back,” Edward said. “I just want my peace. I’ve been here so many years . . .”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “So long, to tell you truthful, I can’t remember.”

  “That must be how the rumors started so many years ago,” Christy said. “People would catch a glimpse of you now and then, and one thing led to another. . . . Of course, that doesn’t explain all the recent incidents.”

  “That still tells you all you need to know about the culprit.”

  “Bird’s-Eye? Yes, that thought crossed my mind, too,” Christy said. “But then I remembered that Bird’s-Eye’s son—”

  “Lundy,” Edward interrupted. “He’s the meanest bully in Tennessee.” He winked at Clara and John. “Am I right?”

  “You’re right as rain,” Clara said. “See, Miz Christy? He knows everybody.”

  Christy smiled. “Yes, he certainly does. Anyway, Lundy was helping the men work on telephone poles when somebody threw a hornet’s nest at them. If Bird’s-Eye were the one doing the pranks, I’m sure Lundy would have been in on it. So why would he have put himself in harm’s way like that?”

  “He was one o’ the first to run, Miz Christy,” Clara pointed out. “Maybe he was just tryin’ to make him and his pa look innocent.”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “That’s awfully smart for ol’ Lundy.”

  “Wait a minute,” Christy said. “How come you knew Lundy was the first to run away?”

  “We was watchin’,” Clara admitted. “Pokin’ around, tryin’ to figger out who was causin’ all the Boggin trouble.”

  John met Edward’s gaze. “Truth is, Edward, we was afeared it was you. But we was always a-hopin’ we was wrong.”

  Edward nodded. “I s’pose that’s all I could ask for from a friend. And then some.” He gave a little smile. “I just want you to know I don’t mind the telephone wires comin’ over the mountain. Wires don’t scare me. People do. I don’t want no Bird’s-Eye Taylors and their like disturbin’ my peace. But the preacher and his telephone-makin’ . . . well, that don’t matter to me, I s’pose. That’ll come and go, soon enough.”

  As they neared the main path at the foot of the mountain, Edward hung back. “Can you all make it the rest o’ the way?” he asked. “This is as far as I should go.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Christy said.

  “You’re welcome to come a-visitin’ again. As long as you don’t bring nobody with you but John and Clara and their ma.”

  “I just might take you up on that offer. And thank you, Edward, for all your help.”

  “I didn’t mind so much,” Edward said. “I ain’t helped nobody but the birds in so long . . . it was kinda nice.”

  Christy and the others watched him weave back through the trees. Funny, Christy mused, the way Edward thought of Boggin Mountain as his own. Just the way she felt the soothing sight of it was somehow “hers.” Peculiar as he was, he clearly loved this quiet place.

  “I wonder if he’s right about Bird’s-Eye,” Christy said.

  “I figger Edward’s a good man, Christy,” Fairlight said thoughtfully. “He’s a gentle soul. I don’t think he’d ever try to scare anyone.”

  “No, that’s the kind of behavior you’d expect to see from Bird’s-Eye Taylor,” Christy agreed.

  “And Lundy,” Clara added.

  “You know,” Christy said, “if it really has been Bird’s-Eye behind these incidents, what he needs is a dose of his own medicine.”

  “I’d give anything to see him and ol’ Lundy scared silly!” Clara exclaimed.

  Suddenly, Christy had a very clever, very interesting, very amusing thought.

  “John,” she said, “run on back and get Edward. Tell him I have an idea that just
might interest him.”

  Sixteen

  Look at all of you!” Miss Ida scolded. “You look like something the cat dragged in!”

  Christy, Fairlight, Clara, and John were gathered in the mission house parlor. Miss Ida had made them hot tea, and David was putting the finishing touches on a fire in the hearth. Miss Alice had found cozy quilts for each of the rain-drenched mountain climbers.

  “I’m so sorry about your coat, Miss Ida,” Christy said. “I feel just terrible—”

  “Nonsense. A coat’s a coat, a person’s a person. The important thing is that you’re all right,” Miss Ida said, in a rare moment of sentiment. “Still,” she added brusquely, returning to her old self, “I can’t imagine why you chose today to go for a walk in the mountains!”

  “It just felt like something I had to do,” Christy explained.

  She hadn’t told anyone that the mountain she’d been climbing was Boggin Mountain, and fortunately, nobody had asked. Like Fairlight, she felt obligated to protect Edward’s privacy. Still, in her heart, it made her sad to think of him all alone in that little, silent hut.

  “Well, we should be heading on home,” Fairlight said, getting to her feet. “Jeb’s goin’ to be wonderin’ what’s happened to us. You take care of that ankle now, Christy.”

  “I will. Don’t forget we’re getting together tomorrow evening for another walk in the woods.”

  “Christy!” Miss Alice exclaimed. “Don’t you think you should stay off that foot for a few days?”

  “I’ll be fine, Miss Alice.” Christy winked at Fairlight and the children. “Tomorrow, then?”

  “Tomorrow,” Fairlight said, waving. “We’ll be there.” John and Clara exchanged knowing looks and grinned from ear to ear as they followed their mother out the door.

  “They’re in a mighty fine mood,” David said as he closed the door behind them. He sighed. “At least somebody is.”

  “David,” Miss Alice said kindly. “Please stop thinking about that telephone. Perhaps down the road in a few months, when things have calmed down, you can try again.”

  “Or even sooner,” Christy said with a secret smile. “Who knows?”

  “I feel like a real, live spy!” Clara whispered the next evening.

  “Hush!” John chided. “Real, live spies know how to keep their mouths shut.”

  Christy, Fairlight, Edward, and the two oldest Spencer children were crouched behind bushes, near the little stream where Bird’s-Eye had put his still. It was twilight, and the woods were shrouded in shadows.

  “You’d make a fine spy, Clara,” Edward said, his eyes glued on the still.

  Christy thought back to her history lessons for a moment. The Seventh Cavalry? Why did that ring a bell?

  She started to ask, but just then, the sound of rustling nearby silenced her.

  Crouching low, they all waited, holding their breath.

  “False alarm,” Edward announced after a moment. He pointed toward a blur of movement in the trees. “It’s just a curious doe.”

  “Maybe we should go over our plan again,” Fairlight said. “Does everybody know what they need to be doin’?”

  “We done went over it a hundred times already, Ma,” Clara complained.

  “You did some scoutin’ when you were in the Seventh Cavalry, Edward,” Clara said. “I could be a spy, couldn’t I?”

  Fairlight laughed. “All right. I’m sorry. Guess I’m not used to bein’ so sneaky.” She nudged Christy. “How’s that ankle o’ yours holdin’ up?”

  “The swelling’s down. It’s practically back to normal,” Christy replied. “Edward, do you think it’s about time to take your place?”

  He nodded. “I got my kerosene lamp and my sheet.”

  “You be careful not to catch yourself on fire,” Christy warned. “John, have you got your paper cone?”

  “Just like the one you made for the telephones, Miz Christy. Only bigger.”

  “And Fairlight and Clara and I have plenty of Miss Ida’s kitchen utensils. All right, then. I think we’re all set. You sure you can make it up into the tree all right, Edward?”

  “John’ll give me a hand. ’Sides, I may be old, but I’m spry as they come.” Edward stood. “Well, here we go. You really think this’ll work?”

  “Just remember,” Christy said. “Tonight, you’re not Edward Hinton. You’re the Boggin.”

  Edward laughed. “I might as well be him. Everybody figgers I am, anyways!”

  Edward climbed into position. John stationed himself nearby, behind a tree. Christy, Fairlight, and the children made certain they were well-hidden by bushes.

  The sky was darkening fast. Already a few stray stars blinked through the trees. The leaves whispered softly.

  Before long, the sound of footsteps and loud voices floated on the air.

  “Here they come,” John whispered. “Keep low—” he glared at Clara, “and no more talkin’!”

  “What I needs,” came a gravelly voice Christy recognized as Bird’s-Eye’s, “is to find myself a hundred o’ them hornets’ nests. Better ’n cannonballs, they is!”

  The next voice was Lundy’s. “Funniest thing I ever did see, all them folks a-runnin’ like scared rabbits!”

  Bird’s-Eye and Lundy reached the still. “Think I’ll have a swig or two o’ brew before we get to work,” Bird’s-Eye said. He jerked an elbow at Lundy. “What’re you lookin’ for, boy? Ain’t nobody comes to this mountain but us.”

  “Us and . . . and the Boggin,” Lundy said nervously.

  Bird’s-Eye spat on the ground. “Fool! You and me is the Boggin!”

  “Still and all, Pa, there’s folks who say they’ve seen him, lurkin’ around these parts.”

  Bird’s-Eye gave a sharp laugh. “My uncle once swore he saw a three-headed mule. You think I believed him?”

  Suddenly, an eerie light appeared, high up in the branches of an oak tree. Above the white glow, a face scowled.

  “Believe this, Bird’s-Eye Taylor!” came a deep voice.

  “There is only one Boggin! And here I am!”

  Seventeen

  Pa?” Lundy whispered, grabbing Bird’s-Eye's arm. “That there is the Boggin, for sure and certain! And he’s every bit as ugly as they say!”

  Christy and Fairlight smiled at each other. Edward had draped the white sheet around his neck. With the kerosene lamp glowing beneath the sheet, his body seemed to glow. The effect was terrifying.

  “Let go o’ my arm, boy! I’ll shoot him right outa that tree!”

  Christy looked at Fairlight in terror. She’d been so sure of her plan to scare Bird’s-Eye. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might actually try to shoot Edward.

  “Shoot me if you will,” John called through his paper cone. “But every shot you take, I’ll spin that bullet clear around to take aim right at you!”

  “Good job, John,” Christy whispered.

  Bird’s-Eye hesitated. In the dim light, the fear on his face was obvious. He took a step back.

  “He’s talkin’,” he said in a hoarse voice to Lundy, “but his lips ain’t movin’ none. How in tarnation can he do that?”

  “He’s the Boggin, Pa,” Lundy squeaked. “He can do anything he wants!”

  “Destroy your still now!” John boomed from his hiding place behind the tree. “And pour out your moonshine!”

  “I . . . I can’t do that,” Bird’s-Eye pleaded. “It’s fine moonshine, the finest in Tennessee, uh . . . Mr. Boggin, sir. How about I just split it with you, nice and fair?”

  “Destroy it now! Or I’ll give you a taste o’ my Boggin powers!”

  Bird’s-Eye shook his head. “How do you do that, if’n you don’t mind my askin’? Talk without openin’ your mouth, I mean?”

  “Pour out the moonshine! Now!”

  Christy nudged Fairlight and Clara. They began pounding pots and pans together, clanging and clattering like crazy. At the same time, they howled like wolves baying at the moon. It was such a horrible racket,
Christy wished she’d brought ear plugs. But the effect was just what she’d hoped.

  “All right! I—I’ll do it!” Bird’s-Eye cried in terror. Lundy clamped his hands to his ears. “J—just stop all that carryin’-on!”

  Christy gave a nod and the commotion ceased instantly.

  After that, the only noise was a steady glug-glug-glug, as Bird’s-Eye and Lundy poured out bottle after bottle of their precious moonshine. Christy watched in delight as they dismantled the still, tossing pieces into the dark woods.

  “There,” Bird’s-Eye said at last. “I hope you’re satisfied, Mr. Boggin.”

  “I am satisfied,” John said, “but there is one thing more.”

  “Confound it all,” Bird’s-Eye muttered. “You sure do know how to ruin a fella’s evening.”

  “You must go to the people of Cutter Gap. You must tell them if they help with the telephone they will not be harmed. And you must confess that you’re the one who’s been scarin’ ’em so.”

  “Aw, come on, Mr. Boggin. Ain’t I done enough already?”

  “Pa,” Lundy pleaded. “Don’t make him any madder ’n he already is!”

  Bird’s-Eye scowled. “All right, then. If’n you say so.” With a sigh, he turned to go. “I never did like this mountain, anyways.”

  They were almost out of sight when John added, “By the way, Lundy—you really oughta stop pickin’ on the little children at school.”

  “Nosy ol’ Boggin,” Lundy muttered. “Fella can’t have a lick o’ fun with him around.”

  Eighteen

  The next week, when her ankle had fully healed, Christy returned to Boggin Mountain.

  She found Edward near his hut, carving another birdhouse. Little curlicues of wood carpeted the ground, and the fresh smell of cut wood filled the air. He seemed surprised, and perhaps even a little pleased, to see her.

  “I hope you don’t mind my coming back, Edward,” she said, taking a seat on a log.