The Christy of Cutter Gap Series
The Bridge to Cutter Gap
Silent Superstitions
The Angry Intruder
The Midnight Rescue
The Proposal
Christy’s Choice
The Princess Club
Family Secrets
Mountain Madness
Stage Fright
Goodbye Sweet Prince
Brotherly Love
The Angry Intruder: The Christy® of Cutter Gap series
Adapted by C. Archer
Copyright © 1995 by Marshall-LeSourd, LLC
Published by Evergreen Farm, an imprint of Gilead Publishing, LLC,
Wheaton, Illinois, USA.
www.gileadpublishing.com/evergreenfarm
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, digitally stored, or transmitted in any form without written permission from Gilead Publishing, LLC/Evergreen Farm.
Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, King James Version.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-68370-161-3 (printed softcover)
ISBN: 978-1-68370-162-0 (ebook)
Cover design by Larry Taylor
Cover illustrations © Larry Taylor. All rights reserved.
Interior design by Beth Shagene
Ebook production by Book Genesis, Inc.
Christy Rudd Huddleston, a nineteen-year-old girl
Christy’s students:
Rob Allen, fourteen
Creed Allen, nine
Little Burl Allen, six
Bessie Coburn, twelve
Lizette Holcombe, fifteen
Wraight Holt, seventeen
Zacharias Holt, nine
Vella Holt, five
Smith O’Teale, fifteen
Mountie O’Teale, ten
Mary O’Teale, eight
Ruby May Morrison, thirteen
John Spencer, fifteen
Clara Spencer, twelve
Zady Spencer, ten
Lulu Spencer, six
Lundy Taylor, seventeen
Ben Pentland, the mailman
Prince, black stallion donated to the mission
Goldie, mare belonging to Miss Alice Henderson
Old Theo, crippled mule owned by the mission
Lucy Mae Furnam, Prince’s former owner
Charles Furnam, her husband
Ozias Holt, a mountain man
(Father of Christy’s students, Wraight, Zacharias,
and Vella)
Georgie Holt, Ozias’s sister
Alice Henderson, a Quaker mission worker from Ardmore, Pennsylvania
David Grantland, the young minister
Ida Grantland, David’s sister
Dr. Neil MacNeill, the physician of the Cove
Fairlight Spencer, a mountain woman
Jeb Spencer, her husband
(Parents of Little Guy and Christy’s students, John, Clara, Zady, and Lulu.)
Bob Allen, a mountain man
Granny O’Teale, a superstitious mountain woman
(Great-grandmother of Christy’s students, Smith, Mountie, and Mary)
“Special delivery from the U-nited States Postal Service for Miss Christy Rudd Huddleston!” Ben Pentland, the mailman, waved from the doorway of the one-room schoolhouse where Christy taught.
Her students—all sixty-seven of them—whispered excitedly. The arrival of the mail was always a big event in this remote section of the Great Smoky Mountains.
“Thank you, Mr. Pentland,” Christy called. “Why don’t you just leave it by the door?”
“Well, Miz Christy, I don’t mean to be ornery—” Mr. Pentland stroked his whiskered chin— “but I reckon that’s not such a good idea.”
“As you can see, we’re in the middle of an arithmetic lesson, Mr. Pentland,” Christy explained. She pointed to the blackboard, where fifteen-year-old John Spencer was carefully adding a long column of numbers.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your learnin’,” Mr. Pentland said, shifting his mail bag from one shoulder to the other, “but this is what you might call a mighty big special delivery.”
The students murmured excitedly. “Go on and get it, why don’t you, Teacher?” urged Ruby Mae Morrison, a red-haired thirteen-year-old who was the school’s biggest gossip.
“We have more important matters to attend to, Ruby Mae,” Christy said in a professional tone.
But the truth was she couldn’t help wondering what Mr. Pentland had brought. Could it be a package from her parents, back in North Carolina? In her letters home, she had urged them to help her locate much-needed supplies for the mission school. Christy’s mother had promised to talk to the women’s group at their church about gathering clothing and shoes for the poor mountain children.
Christy had even written several companies about the mission’s desperate need for supplies, requesting donations of mattresses, soap, food, window shades, and cleaning supplies. She’d contacted the Bell Telephone Company, asking them to donate wires and equipment for a telephone, since nobody in the area owned one. And although she knew they probably wouldn’t answer, she’d even written the Lyon & Healy Company in the hope of obtaining a piano for the mission. Although weeks had passed, none of the companies had responded.
Perhaps, Christy thought excitedly, this delivery today is the first answer to my letters!
“I have to admit I’m curious about the delivery, Mr. Pentland,” Christy said, “but it would be wrong to interrupt John in the middle of his arithmetic work.” John was a gifted student who was especially strong in mathematics. Even before the school had opened, he’d managed to do all the problems in a worn, old geometry textbook by himself.
“Miz Christy,” John said, “I could hold off on my figurin’, if’n you want to see about the special delivery.”
“No, John,” Christy replied, “you go ahead and add that last column. By the way, you’ve done a great job so far. I’m proud of you.” She turned to Mr. Pentland. “I’ll deal with the mail during the noon recess, Mr. Pentland.”
“Truth to tell,” Mr. Pentland said, his deep-set eyes gleaming, “I’m not rightly sure the mail will wait that long.”
“Is it a big package?” Christy asked.
Mr. Pentland nodded slowly. “Biggest I ever did deliver.”
“Where is it now?”
“Over to the back side of the school.”
“I wonder if it’s from one of the businesses I wrote,” Christy said.
“Looks like a donation for the mission, near as I can figure.”
“It’s not a mattress, is it?”
“No’m.” Mr. Pentland grinned. “Although like as not you could sit on it, if’n it were willin’.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Come on, Teacher,” cried Creed Allen, a freckled nine-year-old. “I’m like to burst wide open if’n I don’t see what it is!”
“All right, then. Let’s just finish up these problems first. John, let me know when you’re done. Meanwhile, have the rest of you come up with an answer to the arithmetic problem I assigned? When we add two and four together, we get . . .”
She pointed to Lundy Taylor, a burly seventeen-year-old who was the class bully. “Lundy, if I add two apples and four apples together, how many apples do I have?”
Lundy shrugged. “Enough for a good-sized pie, I reckon.”
The class broke into laughter.
Mr. Pentland rubbed his mouth, not quite hiding a smile.
“Well, to tell you the truth,
Lundy, I’m not much of a cook myself,” Christy said, “so I’ll have to take your word for it. But what I’m looking for now is a number.”
Lundy stared at the floor.
“Lordamercy!” Creed cried. “Even I know this one, Teacher!”
“Wraight?” Christy asked. Wraight Holt, also seventeen, was one of Lundy’s best friends. “How about you?”
Wraight shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Count it out on your fingers. Two plus four. It won’t hurt to try. Nobody will laugh at you if you’re wrong. Can you at least give me a guess?”
Wraight just rolled his eyes. He had always been sullen and stubborn, but lately he’d been acting even more difficult than usual. About the only time Christy had ever seen Wraight smile was when he was playing his battered old dulcimer, a stringed musical instrument. He’d brought it to school with him for a while, but she hadn’t seen him with it lately.
“Teacher, I’m done with my figurin’,” John announced.
“Just a second, John,” Christy said. “Wraight? Imagine the four strings on your dulcimer. What if you added two more? How many would you have then?”
“Ain’t never had no extra strings on my dulcimer.”
“Pretend, then.”
Wraight’s nine-year-old brother, Zach, leaned over. Holding his dirty red cap in front of his mouth, he whispered something to Wraight.
Wraight glared at Christy. “I reckon there’d be six.”
“That’s right, Wraight,” Christy said with a tolerant smile. “Or perhaps I should say Zach. Don’t worry, those of you who are still having trouble with numbers. Soon you’ll be adding just as fast as John does.”
As she turned back to her desk, Christy sighed. Usually David Grantland, the mission’s young minister, handled math and Bible study classes. But he was busy today with church matters, so Christy had agreed to teach all the classes. It was going to be a very long day.
Christy found teaching students in so many different grades very difficult. When she’d volunteered to teach here at the mission in Cutter Gap, Tennessee, she hadn’t realized that her classroom would be filled with over five dozen children ranging in age from five to seventeen. She had a few gifted students who had already been exposed to some schooling—students like John Spencer and Lizette Holcombe, a tall, dark-haired girl of fifteen with intelligent brown eyes. But she also had many students like Lundy Taylor and Wraight Holt, who had never set foot in a classroom before. Christy didn’t want to bore the more advanced students. On the other hand, she didn’t want to discourage the ones who’d never been to school before.
“John, let’s go over those figures in a moment,” Christy said. She smiled at Mr. Pentland. “I suppose our curiosity is getting the better of us. Why don’t you bring the package in here so we can all take a look at it?”
“You’re sure about wantin’ it in here?”
“If it’s a donation for the mission, why not? The children will enjoy seeing what you’ve brought.”
“Oh, I reckon they’ll enjoy it, all right.” Chuckling softly to himself, Mr. Pentland set down his bag and headed off.
Christy couldn’t help feeling proud of herself. After only two months of teaching, she’d managed to obtain much-needed supplies for the mission school—and all on her own. Even Miss Alice Henderson, who’d helped found the school, hadn’t thought of writing to companies for donations. Miss Alice was going to be very impressed when she saw the results of Christy’s efforts.
It would be nice, Christy thought, if this first package contained donated books. Won’t it be wonderful for each child to have a fresh, new book to hold—
She gasped.
Mr. Pentland stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. “Like I said, biggest delivery I ever did make. Hungriest too. Ate half my lunch on the way here.”
Slowly Mr. Pentland entered the room. He was pulling on a rope. Attached to the rope was a huge black stallion with a white star on his forehead. The horse had a silky mane and a long, flowing tail. On his back sat a beautiful leather saddle.
The horse had to lower his proud head to come in through the door. His hooves pounded on the wooden floor. When he tossed his tail, it whipped back and forth across the faces of the students on the last row. Gazing curiously at the class, he snorted twice. His ears twitched. Then he leaned down to nuzzle Ruby Mae’s hair.
“Her hair’s so red, he most likely figures it’s carrots,” Mr. Pentland joked.
“Mr. Pentland,” Christy said when she finally managed to recover her voice, “there must be some mistake. This is . . . this is a horse!”
Mr. Pentland grinned. “For a city gal, you sure do pick things up quick-like. Bet you can even tell which end of the horse is which.”
“Well, I am a city gal,” Christy said with a laugh, “but I’m pretty sure you feed the end without a tail.” She shook her head. “But I still say there’s got to be some mistake. When I requested donations, I didn’t ask for a horse. Did he come with a note, or any kind of explanation?”
“Just that tag on his saddle with your name on it.”
“But Teacher,” said Zach, “the mission needs a horse bad. All you got is that half-crippled mule, Old Theo.”
It was true. Miss Alice owned a horse, but she was often gone on long trips. Without any transportation, it was very difficult for David to visit families living in remote areas.
“You’re right, Zach,” Christy agreed. “But we still can’t keep this horse.”
The entire class moaned in disappointment. As if he understood what was going on, the horse stepped closer to Christy’s desk, his hooves clopping loudly on the floor. He nudged Christy’s shoulder.
“I reckon he likes you, Teacher,” said Mary O’Teale, a gentle eight-year-old with wide green eyes. The horse’s tail swished over her face as he tossed it to and fro.
“I’m sure you’re a very nice horse,” Christy said to the stallion, “but we can’t keep you without knowing where you came from.”
“I plumb forgot,” Mr. Pentland exclaimed. “You’ve got a couple letters too. Had a monstrous big pile of mail this week. Eight whole letters.” He stroked the horse’s neck. “Nine, if’n you count this big, hairy one.”
Christy smiled. She still couldn’t get over living in a world where eight letters meant a “big pile of mail.”
Mr. Pentland handed Christy the letters. One was from her mother. The other had a North Carolina postmark, too, but Christy didn’t recognize the name on the envelope.
She opened it and read:
February 8, 1912
Dear Miss Huddleston:
I hope that you will forgive a stranger writing to you. Let me explain that I have just returned from Asheville, where I was visiting my sister.
At a tea she gave in my honor, I met your mother. She spoke most charmingly about the contents of some of your recent letters, your fascinating pupils, and their needs.
When she mentioned the mission’s need for a good horse, my heart soared, for I knew of the perfect animal. My husband, Charles, having developed rheumatism this past year, has been unable to give our fine stallion, Prince, the exercise and attention he properly deserves. I trust that the mission will find him the loving friend and companion that we have.
Sincerely,
Lucy Mae Furnam
Christy stroked the horse’s glossy mane. “Well, Prince,” she said, “it looks like you have a new home.”
“You’re a-keepin’ him for sure and certain?” Ruby Mae cried.
“It seems he is a gift,” Christy explained, “from some people back in my home state. His name is Prince.”
“And he looks like one, don’t he, Teacher?” asked Little Burl Allen, a sweet, red-haired six-year-old.
“Yes, he does, Little Burl,” Christy agreed. “Very majestic. All he needs is a crown.”
“Can Ruby Mae and me ride him double-like?” asked Bessie Coburn. Twelve-year-old Bessie was Ruby Mae’s best friend.
&
nbsp; “I think what Prince needs right now is a little rest after his long journey,” Christy said.
But just then Prince reared up on his hind legs.
“Look out!” Ruby Mae yelled.
The horse’s black head nearly touched the rafters as he pawed the air with his forelegs.
“Whoa, there, boy,” Mr. Pentland soothed, pulling on the lead rope. At last Prince lowered his legs. He stood calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened.
“No, ma’am,” Little Burl said, shaking his head. “I don’t reckon he is tired.”
Christy laughed, a little flustered by the sudden display. “Well, we’d better take Prince outside.”
Ruby Mae and Bessie jumped up to grab the lead rope. Prince, with his head still high, allowed himself to be led through the door. Christy, Mr. Pentland, and the rest of the children followed behind.
As soon as he was out on the snow-covered grass, the horse yanked free of the girls’ grasp and took off at a gallop. He ran in a great, wide circle, tossing his head back and forth and kicking up sprays of snow. Finally, after several minutes, he meekly returned to the children.
“Thank you, Mr. Pentland, for bringing him all this way,” Christy said. “He really is a beauty.”
“All part of bein’ a U-nited States mailman,” Mr. Pentland said with a tip of his worn hat. “Anyways, kind of liked having a critter around for company. By the way, I ’spect there’s more surprises a-comin’. Big delivery come into El Pano yesterday. Should be here soon.”
Ruby Mae tugged on Mr. Pentland’s sleeve. “Another horse?”
“Nope,” he said with a sly grin.
“We’ll let it be a surprise,” Christy said. “Just tell me this, so I can prepare myself: does it breathe?”
“Nope. Don’t breathe,” said Mr. Pentland. “’Course it do make noise . . .” With a mysterious smile, he was on his way.
As Christy watched him leave, she realized she felt a real fondness for the gentle mailman. Mr. Pentland had escorted Christy on her seven-mile journey through the mountains when she came to Cutter Gap two months ago. It had been a rough trip, ending with Christy’s fall into a dangerous, icy river. Through it all, Mr. Pentland had been a kind friend when she’d needed one.
“Ruby Mae,” Christy said, “why don’t you and Bessie take Prince over to the mission house? I believe I saw Mr. Grantland over there. He’ll take care of our new friend.”
The Angry Intruder Page 1