Christy turned back toward the school. A snowball fight had already started. If she didn’t get everyone back into the classroom soon, she’d lose what little control she had.
“All right, now,” Christy called loudly. “Back to John’s math problems.”
The children responded with loud groans. A few of her more willing students, like John and Lizette, rushed up the steps to the schoolhouse.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Christy thought, if all my students were so eager and quick to learn?
Unfortunately, most of them had never even handled a pencil or a piece of chalk or a real book. And without the necessary supplies, there were days when Christy wondered if she would ever make a difference in the lives of her young students.
Still, Prince’s unexpected arrival had filled her with hope. She couldn’t exactly take credit for the beautiful horse; he was a surprise gift, after all. But if some of the other donations she’d requested came through—to think of all the changes she could make to the mission school! She couldn’t wait to see what the next delivery would bring.
“Miz Christy! Come quick!” Lizette called from the doorway.
“What is it, Lizette?”
“Somebody’s done erased all of John’s figurin’. And there’s ink spilled all over your papers!”
Rounding up the last few stragglers, Christy hurried inside the school. A deep-blue puddle of ink covered her attendance book. It flowed to the edge of her desk, where it dripped like a tiny waterfall onto the rough, wood floor. John stood by the blackboard, staring in dismay at the smeared remains of his addition problems. The ghosts of a few numbers were still visible, but most of his work had been completely erased.
Christy wondered if Prince had somehow knocked over her inkwell. But no, the horse hadn’t been near her desk when he’d reared up. And he certainly hadn’t erased the board.
“Sit down, all of you,” Christy called. Reining in her anger, she lowered her voice. “Please go to your seats. I need to get to the bottom of this.”
She heard snickers outside. She leaned out the door to see a group of the older boys—Lundy Taylor, Smith O’Teale, Wraight Holt, and Wraight’s little brother Zach—hovering near the steps, whispering.
“Inside, now!” Christy ordered.
The boys sauntered in, taking their time. Zach, a thin boy with curly blond hair, cast a nervous glance in Christy’s direction, then slipped into his seat. Lundy chuckled as he walked to his desk.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing, Lundy,” Christy said. “But I’m afraid I do not. John worked very hard on those math problems. And as for my attendance book, it’s ruined. Do you realize how difficult it is for us to obtain supplies? Ink and paper and chalk cost money.”
Christy paced up and down the aisles of the small classroom. An uneasy quiet fell over the class. Some students hung their heads. Others looked out the windows. Lundy, Wraight, and Smith avoided her gaze.
“I want to know who did this,” Christy said. “And I want to know right now.”
She was not surprised when no one answered.
After a tense moment, John raised his hand. “Miz Christy, I can do the figurin’ again. It ain’t no problem.”
“That’s not the point, John. I need to find out who is responsible for this.”
Actually, Christy had a pretty good idea who the culprit was: Lundy Taylor. Although she’d never been able to prove it, she was certain that Lundy had thrown a rock at five-year-old Vella Holt on the first day of school. It was also likely that he’d tripped Mary O’Teale at the top of an icy slide, causing her to tumble down a steep slope and hurt her arm and head. But no one would ever directly accuse Lundy of anything. He was big and hulking and mean, and even Christy was a little afraid of him.
“Lundy, do you have anything to say?” Christy asked.
“I’d say you got yourself one big mess up yonder on that desk,” Lundy said with a smirk.
Christy clenched her hands. She took a deep breath. She was determined not to lose her temper.
“It’s just some spilled ink,” she said. “I’ll clean it up. John will redo his arithmetic. And that’s that. But if I ever catch one of you vandalizing the school again, I’ll—” She lowered her voice. “This is your school. It belongs to you. You should treat it with respect and love.”
Christy put a fresh column of numbers on the blackboard for John. But as she wrote, she couldn’t help glancing back at Lundy. He glared back with steely dark eyes. What else was Lundy capable of doing to the school?
It’s just a prank, nothing more, Christy told herself, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it.
When school was over, Lizette offered to stay behind and help clean up the classroom.
“I’d be glad for the help,” said Christy, “and the company.” Lizette couldn’t help beaming.
She loved the way Miz Christy talked, so nice and citified. And Miz Christy had a sweetness to her that Lizette admired. She often tried to picture herself as a teacher someday, just like Miz Christy, with fine clothes and pleasant manners and so much learning inside her head.
Lizette took the blackboard erasers outside to bang them together. The chalk dust exploded in big puffs and floated away on the breeze.
Just then, she spotted a scene that sent her heart leaping straight into her throat. Lundy, Smith, and Wraight were standing shoulder to shoulder by the edge of the woods. Wraight’s little brother, Zach, stood a few steps back, looking worried.
John Spencer stood alone, facing the three older boys.
Lizette strained to listen. She could hear angry voices—especially Lundy’s.
“I’ll knock you good, if’n you don’t keep your trap shut,” Lundy was saying.
John said something in response, but Lizette couldn’t tell what it was. She wondered if she should go back inside and get Miz Christy. It looked like things could turn ugly, right quick. No doubt Miz Christy could put an end to it all with a few words.
But Teacher wouldn’t always be around every time Lundy Taylor decided to act like a bully.
Lizette made up her mind. Trying to look as tough as Miz Christy did when she had words with Lundy, she strode over to the boys. Lundy saw her coming and gave a nasty laugh. “Look’a here, John. Lizette is a-comin’ to rescue you.”
John did not turn around. He just scowled and stood his ground. But Lizette could tell he was plenty scared. She tried to meet Wraight’s gaze. But Wraight was looking straight ahead, his eyes dark with anger.
Why does Wraight get so angry sometimes? Lizette wondered. Wraight wasn’t like Lundy. Not really, not deep down.
“John, Teacher was wonderin’ if’n you was still here, and if maybe you could go back and help her with somethin’,” Lizette lied in a shaky voice.
“Maybe you’d best run along and hide behind Teacher’s skirts, John,” Lundy sneered.
“I’m just warning you, Lundy,” John said. “You shouldn’t go messin’ up Teacher’s things.”
Lundy stepped closer, until his chest was right up against John’s. “You’re warnin’ me? I’ll do what I please with Teacher. If’n I want, I might just get rid of her, permanent-like. That city gal’s got no business here in the Cove. You hear me, boy?” He balled up his fist, ready to strike. “I believe it’s time you was taught a real lesson.”
“Lundy, don’t!” Lizette cried.
“ ‘Lundy, don’t! Lundy, don’t!’ ” Lundy mocked her.
Suddenly, the glint of anger in Wraight’s eyes flickered. He glanced at Lizette. “Let him go, Lundy,” he said in a low voice. Lizette sent him a grateful look.
“Let him go?” Lundy demanded. “Well, Wraight, it was you who was made a fool of by this little teacher’s pet, a-showin’ off in class. Him and all his figurin’.”
Now the black anger raged in Wraight’s eyes. He seemed to be fighting with it. “It weren’t John’s fault,” he said at last. He jerked his head back toward the schoolhouse. “It’s that
flatlander teacher who’s got everything all mixed up.”
Lundy looked annoyed. He shoved John away with both hands. “I reckon you get to live another day, teacher’s pet. Run on to Miz Christy, now. That’s where you belong.”
Lizette could tell how angry John was. But it was clear he saw no point in starting a fight he was sure to lose. Slowly, he turned away.
“You’d best go, too, Lizette,” Lundy said with a sneer. “Two of a kind, you and John. Two little teacher’s pets.” With a last snort, Lundy turned away, followed by Smith.
Wraight began to follow them, but Lizette grabbed his arm. He looked at her, surprised. Silently, so that only Wraight would know what she said, she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
For a second, the anger in Wraight’s eyes was truly gone. In its place was something gentler, a look Lizette had seen before.
“Lizette?” Miz Christy called.
Wraight looked past Lizette to the schoolhouse. Once more, the dark shadow settled over his face. He turned and followed Lundy and Smith into the woods, followed at a distance by his little brother.
1
Late that night, Christy awoke to the sound of pounding. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. Tap. Tap. Tap. No doubt about it. It was the steady, sharp sound of a hammer hitting a nail.
She ran to her window and pulled back the curtain. The wooden floor was icy. The light of a full moon spilled over the snow-covered mission yard.
Who could be hammering in the middle of the night? Was David doing some kind of emergency repair on the school?
Just beyond the school, Christy noticed a small figure dashing into the thick trees. It looked like a little boy. Christy couldn’t tell who it was, but she did catch a glimpse of the red cap the boy was wearing.
Zach Holt? What could he be doing here, in the middle of the night? Perhaps someone in the Holt family was sick or hurt. Christy had heard that Ozias Holt, Zach’s father, sometimes drank too much. Maybe it wasn’t hammering she’d heard. Maybe Zach had been pounding at the front door, trying to get Christy to wake up. But why had he given up and run away so quickly?
Christy put on her robe and slippers. She met Miss Ida, David’s older, no-nonsense sister, at the top of the stairs. Miss Ida was carrying a lamp and wearing a nightgown, with a knitted shawl draped over her shoulders. It seemed strange to see her gray hair hanging loose. Usually she wore it in a tight bun.
“What on earth was that banging?” Miss Ida asked, rubbing her eyes.
“I thought I saw one of my students by the schoolhouse,” Christy said. “Let’s go take a look.”
Miss Ida led the way down the stairs. The lamp cast long, dancing shadows on the walls. Walking side by side, Christy and Miss Ida crossed the main room.
The mission house was a white three-story frame building with a screened porch on either side. Miss Ida and Christy lived there along with Ruby Mae, who had been having problems at home and needed a temporary place to stay. Miss Alice had her own cabin, and David had a bunkhouse nearby. The house was primitive, with no electricity, telephone, or indoor plumbing, and only the barest of furnishings. Still, Christy had already begun to think of it as her real home.
“I thought maybe someone was knocking on the door,” Christy said. “Maybe Zach needed help, and when no one answered, he ran off.”
“No,” Miss Ida said firmly. “That was hammering I heard, I’m certain of it.”
“Maybe David was doing some repairs on the schoolhouse.”
“In the middle of the night? Nonsense.”
Christy opened the front door. Cold air slapped at her like an icy hand. It was March, but the mountain nights were nearly as bitter as they had been in January when Christy had first arrived at the mission.
She stepped out onto the porch. The yard was covered with muddy patches of snow. Up the hill stood the newly built schoolhouse, which also served as a church on Sundays. In the silvery moonlight, the freshly painted building practically glowed. A gust of wind set the tree branches chattering.
“I don’t see anything,” Miss Ida said.
“Or anyone,” Christy added in a whisper. She turned to Miss Ida. “You wait here. It’s awfully cold. I’ll go take a look.
“Take my shawl,” Miss Ida said. “And be careful.”
Slowly, Christy crossed the yard. The snow patches were crusty and packed. I wish I’d worn my boots, she thought. Instantly she felt guilty. The little footprints of her students filled the yard. Few of the children owned shoes. Even in the coldest weather, they walked to school barefoot.
The sight of an especially small set of footprints, glowing in the moonlight, filled Christy with a mixture of love and awe. The school meant so much to these children that they would walk for miles through snow-covered mountains just to spend a few hours here. It showed just how much they wanted to learn—
Christy froze in place as the front of the school came clearly into view. “No!” she cried in outrage.
The message was scrawled across the front of the school in huge, dripping brown letters:
GIT AWA TEECHR
Hugging Miss Ida’s shawl to herself, Christy stared in disbelief at the crude writing. “ ‘Get away, Teacher,’ ” she whispered, nearly choking on the words.
She stepped closer, touching her index finger to one of the letters. It wasn’t paint. But it was an oily, smelly goop that certainly wouldn’t wash off easily.
She heard steps behind her and spun around, her heart racing.
“Christy?” came a familiar voice. “What is it?”
Miss Alice walked across the yard. She was wearing a blue coat over her nightgown. Her long, thick hair, sprinkled with gray, hung down past her shoulders. Even now, awakened from sleep in the middle of the night, she walked like a magnificent queen, tall and dignified.
Miss Alice shook her head sadly as she draped her arm around Christy’s shoulders. “It’s terrible,” she murmured as she gazed at the words scrawled across the wood. “Just terrible.”
“Isn’t it?” Christy cried. “How could someone do such a thing?”
Miss Alice gave a wry smile. “No, I meant the spelling.”
“How can you make jokes?” Christy moaned.
“I find that laughter is almost always the best way to deal with a difficult problem,” Miss Alice said. She climbed the steps to the front door and pointed. “This explains the hammering.”
For the first time, Christy noticed the long piece of wood nailed across the doorframe. “But why would anyone do that?” she cried.
“To keep us out, I imagine,” Miss Alice said calmly. “It’s a simple enough thing to remove the nails, of course. Not a very well-planned prank.”
“Is that all you think it is?” Christy asked. “A prank?”
Miss Alice examined the nailed board. “Most likely.”
“Are you two all right?” a male voice called from the distance.
Christy craned her neck. It was David, dashing across the yard. He was wearing big boots and long johns. His black hair was a tangled mess. She couldn’t help grinning. He looked a little ridiculous.
“David to the rescue,” she teased.
David rushed up the stairs, panting. He combed a hand through his snarled hair, but one stubborn lock still poked into the air. “It’s a long way from the bunkhouse, you know,” he said sheepishly. “I came as fast as I could.”
“Nice outfit,” Christy said. “A little flashy for Cutter Gap.”
David started to respond, but just then he noticed the words scrawled over the schoolhouse. “What—” He rubbed his eyes. His mouth hung open.
“Miss Alice thinks it’s a prank,” Christy said.
David ran a finger over one of the letters. “What is this stuff?”
“A mixture of things, probably,” Miss Alice said. “Goodness knows no one around here can afford paint. I’d guess some lard, some mud, maybe some of the homemade dye the women use for coloring yarn. Could be any number of things.”
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“My beautiful paint job,” David moaned.
“They nailed the door shut too,” Christy said.
David rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s easy enough to remedy, at least.”
“Let’s get inside before we all end up with frostbite,” Miss Alice said. “We can take care of this mess before school starts in the morning.”
Christy shook her head. “I don’t want to clean it off.”
“But we have to,” David insisted.
“No. I want the children to see what someone has done to their school.”
“Come to think of it, that’s probably a good idea, Christy,” David agreed. “Maybe someone will even confess. I doubt it, though.”
“Let’s get over to the house and warm up with some tea,” Miss Alice urged.
“First I want to check on Prince,” David said. “It’s his first night here, and I want to make sure he’s doing all right.”
“I’ll go too,” Christy said.
Miss Alice grinned. “Might as well make a night of it.”
The little shed that served as a barn was dark and cozy. It smelled of leather and hay, a soothing, warm scent. Christy went over to Prince, who eyed her sleepily. She stroked his velvety muzzle.
“How do you like your new home, Prince?” she asked.
“Seems to like it fine,” David said. “He and Goldie are already good friends. Old Theo, I’m not so sure about.”
“Isn’t he beautiful, Miss Alice?” Christy asked.
“He is indeed,” Miss Alice said.
Christy rubbed her cheek against the stallion’s warm neck. What an unexpected gift he was! His arrival had made Christy all the more anxious to receive responses to her letters. Miss Alice was going to be so surprised. She didn’t know about the letters Christy had sent requesting donations from businesses.
It wasn’t that Christy wanted to keep them from Miss Alice. But there was no point in discussing her plan, she told herself, until she saw the results. Then it would be a real surprise.
Christy’s thoughts turned back to tonight’s disturbing incident.
The Angry Intruder Page 2