Christy paused, straining to hear. “No.”
“Bushes cracklin’.”
“No, I don’t hear anything.” Christy glanced over her shoulder. The trees cast long, black shadows. The edges of the sky were tinged with pink, but the sun had vanished.
“Hearin’ things, I guess. Sorry.”
“So, John, you were saying?” Christy asked as they started walking again.
“Oh. That. I guess I was just wonderin’ if there’s a way to get a girl to be sweet on you when maybe she ain’t.”
“That’s a good question. I suppose you should just be the person you really are, John. And if Liz—I mean, this girl—isn’t the right one for you, trust me, someone else will come along who sees how special you really are.”
John gave a small, hopeful smile. “You reckon?”
“I’m sure of it.”
After a few more minutes, they reached the last ridge before the mission. The first stars had begun to glimmer.
“You go on home, now, John,” Christy said. “If you head back now, you might not miss dinner.”
“No’m. I promised I’d take you all the way.”
“John,” Christy said firmly. “I insist. Otherwise I’ll have to worry about you.”
John hesitated. “I don’t mind, Miz Christy—”
“But I do. The mission is just over the next ridge, and I don’t want you going home in complete darkness.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now, go home. That’s an order. After all, you may be a Junior Teacher. But I’m the Senior Teacher.”
John laughed. “All right then. You take care to go straight over the ridge so you don’t get sidetracked. The path is hard to follow when it gets this dark.” He started to turn, then hesitated. “Miz Christy?”
“Yes, John?”
“Thanks for the . . . uh, the advice.”
“Anytime.”
Christy smiled as she started up the crude path. John was a nice boy. She wondered why Lizette was interested in Wraight—if she really was. Well, love was funny that way. Maybe Lizette saw something in Wraight that Christy couldn’t see.
She climbed up the path, taking careful steps because of the patches of snow and mud. After a while, the path seemed to disappear in the twilight gloom. Hadn’t it been better marked? The hill was steeper than she’d remembered it too.
She stopped. Had she lost the trail, just as John had warned her not to do? It had been here a minute ago—
Behind her, something cracked. It was the distinct, loud crunch of a dry stick breaking.
An animal, Christy told herself. She turned, straining her eyes to see if she could make out anything. John had long since vanished. She saw no animals. Nothing. In the near darkness, the trees blended into one another, forming a lacy black curtain. She gazed back toward the top of the ridge. Above her, a stand of pines lurked like a group of menacing giants.
Hoo-hoo-oo-hoo-hoo.
Christy started. It was an owl, that much she knew. She wasn’t such a “city gal” that she’d never heard an owl before. But it seemed to be coming from deep in the bushes, just a few yards to her left. Shouldn’t any self-respecting owl be up in a tree?
You’re almost home, Christy, she told herself. Relax.
It was just like Fairlight had said—her ears were playing tricks on her.
Christy quickened her pace, but the snow was hard and icy in spots. She’d only gained a few feet when she slipped and fell. She landed on the cold ground with a thud. As she struggled to untangle her long skirts, a deep, horrifying howling noise seemed to fill the whole woods. It was the cry of a wolf, so close it might have been just inches away.
Christy froze in place. Her heart galloped in her chest. If he saw her move, he might attack.
The howl came again, a long, sad wail. It was close, too close. She was sure she could hear the wild, dangerous animal breathing.
Whatever you do, she told herself, don’t move.
On the other hand, she couldn’t sit here all night in the cold, could she? They’d find her here tomorrow, stiff as a statue, with a look of terror permanently frozen on her face. No, that was too awful to think about. One way or another, she had to take her chances.
Christy stumbled slowly to her feet. There was no point in looking for the path now. She’d just aim for the top of the ridge, where the dark blue sky glistened with a dusting of stars. She couldn’t run up the steep, bramble-covered hill, even if she’d wanted to. Instead she grabbed at limbs and bushes wherever she could, pulling herself toward the top.
She held her breath as she made her way past the spot where she’d imagined the wolf—or whatever the source of that horrible howl—was hiding. She tried to be quiet, but every step meant the sound of cracking branches or crunching snow.
Nothing happened. No knife-toothed creature leapt from the darkness to tear at her throat. The only sound was the gentle creak and moan of an old tree nearby, fighting the wind.
See? Christy told herself. You let your imagination get the better of you. Now, relax. You’ve lost the path, but once you reach the top of the ridge, the mission will be in view. In a few more minutes, you’ll be sitting at the dinner table, laughing about your imaginary “wolf.”
Step, grab. Step, grab. It was slow going, but she was almost to the top. The trees had grown so thick that she had to squeeze between some of them. The smell of pines perfumed the night air. Their needles made a soft, swishing noise, like whispering voices. The bare branches of other trees clicked and cracked, but Christy told herself it was just the wind.
Near the top of the ridge, the trees thinned out a bit. Christy was panting. She paused to lean against a tall pine. “You’re almost there,” she said aloud. “Just a few more—”
Suddenly, she heard something falling from the tree. Christy screamed as it glanced off her shoulder before landing on the ground. Whatever it was, it was wet and soft and small. Swallowing back her fear, Christy knelt.
It was a rat, a dead one. Starlight shone in its glassy eyes. Christy shuddered and backed away. She stared up into the pine tree.
Just then, a shadowy figure leapt out from behind a nearby tree, and once again, with all her might, Christy screamed.
The figure moved closer and closer.
Christy backed against the pine. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her fists were clenched.
“Miz Christy, don’t be scared. It’s me.”
Christy blinked. She didn’t recognize the boy’s voice. But she did recognize the red cap.
“Zach Holt?” she asked in a trembling voice. “Is that you, Zach?”
The little boy came close and extended his hand. Even in near darkness, she could see that his forehead was beaded with sweat. Pine needles stuck to his ragged, patched coat. A small stick was caught on his cap.
“Zach, what are you doing here? You weren’t . . . following me, were you?”
“Me?” Zach cried. “No’m. Not me. I was just—” He hesitated. “I was just out huntin’ possum.”
“With your bare hands?”
Zach swallowed. “It’s a special trick my pa taught me,” he said quickly. “You corner ’em, and then when they play possum—you know, all curled up like they’s dead—you whomp ’em on the head with a stick.”
“I see.” Christy crossed her arms over her chest. Now that her fear was fading, she was left with far too many questions. “I heard noises before,” she said. “Branches cracking, that sort of thing. It sounded like somebody was following me.”
With great care, Zach examined some pine needles on his coat.
“And I heard a wolf. At least, I thought it was a wolf.”
“Coulda been.” Zach nodded. “There’s lots of wolves around these here parts. They get real mean this time of year. Hungry too.”
Christy nudged the dead rat on the ground with her toe. “Are there lots of tree rats in the area too?”
Zach gulped. “Tree rats? Ain’t never heard of no tree rats, ma’am.”
&n
bsp; “I haven’t, either. So how do you explain this one? It fell out of this pine tree. And nearly scared me to death, I might add.”
Zach glanced up quickly at the upper branches of the tree, then met Christy’s eyes. “Just can’t mortally explain it, Miz Christy.”
Christy stared up at the tree. She saw nothing but a blur of dark branches.
“Could be that’s not a ground rat, factually speaking,” Zach suggested. “Could be one of them there flyin’ rats.”
“Ah. Those must be very rare. I’ve never heard of them.”
“Well, you’re from the city. Ain’t no flyin’ rats in the city. They hate cars and such.”
“I see.”
“You heard of flyin’ squirrels?”
“Yes. Now that you mention it, I believe I have.” Christy tried not to smile. She was torn between her anger at having been scared and her amusement at Zach’s desperate attempt to explain the rat.
“Flyin’ rats is the same thing. Only instead of big fuzzy tails, they got scrawny ones.”
“Well, then. Thank you for clearing that up, Zach.”
He pointed to the top of the ridge. “If’n you like, I could walk you the rest of the way home.”
“Actually, I’m more worried about you getting home, safe and sound.”
“Oh, don’t fret about me none. I got company—” Zach swallowed hard. “What I mean to say is I got me the stars and the trees for company. I know these woods like the back of my own hand, anyways.”
“I’d be pleased to have you as an escort, then, Zach,” Christy said.
They climbed in silence. At last they reached the top of the ridge. Below them, the mission house was a welcome sight. Yellow light glowed in the windows, and Christy could just make out the figure of Miss Ida inside, bustling to and fro.
Christy brushed the snow off a fallen log and sat down. She motioned for Zach to join her there. “I’d like to rest up, Zach, before I go the rest of the way. Maybe you could keep me company for a moment.”
“Well . . .” Zach sat down, looking very uncomfortable. “My pa gets ornery if’n I’m out too long. I oughta be gettin’ on. That is, if’n you don’t need me to es-squirt you the rest of the way.”
“Escort.” Christy smiled. “Are you close to your pa, Zach?”
“Close?”
“You know. Do you two like to talk? Go hunting and fishing together, that sort of thing?”
“Not a whole heap. He talks some, I s’pose.” Zach kicked at a stone. “Pa’s got kind of a mean streak in him, when he gets to drinkin’ moonshine.”
Christy nodded. Miss Alice had told her that illegal liquor was a big problem here in the mountains.
“That must be hard for you when he gets like that,” she said gently.
“Ain’t so hard. I’m used to it. Wraight, he—” Zach stopped himself.
“What, Zach?”
“Nothin’. It’s just . . . now and again, he gets riled up somethin’ fierce about Pa. Wraight’s got a temper, see, and so does Pa.” He gave a little shrug. “’Course it’s not real feudin’, mind you. Not like the Taylors and the Allens or nothin’.”
“I’ve heard that the Taylor and Allen families have been fighting each other for a long, long time,” Christy said. “Why are they still fighting, do you think?”
Zach looked at her in confusion, as if he couldn’t understand why she’d even bother asking. “Way back when, the Taylors and Allens got to shootin’ each other, and they ain’t never stopped. Could be over moonshinin’.” He shrugged. “Could be over nothin’.”
Once again Christy felt a deep sadness for mountain children like Zach. They were so used to hate and fighting and killing. It wasn’t fair. They grew up far too fast.
“Zach,” she asked casually, “do you like Lundy?”
“He’s all right enough, I s’pose.”
“But you’re friends with him, aren’t you?”
“I’m too little. Wraight’s his friend more’n I am.”
Christy stared up at the starry sky. “I guess Lundy can be kind of a bully, can’t he?”
Zach answered with a small nod.
“I can see how it might be hard for someone—especially someone smaller—to say no to Lundy.”
“Right hard,” Zach agreed.
Christy sighed. This was tougher than she’d thought it would be. She was almost certain that Lundy was putting Zach up to these pranks. But could she ever get the little boy to admit it, as long as he was so afraid of Lundy?
She decided to try the direct approach. “Zach, did Lundy make you follow me this evening, to try to scare me?”
“No’m,” Zach said, leaping off the log. “Don’t be gettin’ Lundy all mixed up in this. It’ll just make things worse!”
“Zach, what are you talking about?”
“I got to go, Miz Christy. My pa and all. Will you be all right the rest of the way over to the mission?”
“Of course I will. And thank you, Zach, for taking me this far.”
With an awkward tip of his little red cap, Zach slipped into the trees and vanished.
1
The next day at school, Christy didn’t say anything to Zach about the incident in the woods. She noticed that he seemed even quieter than usual. Wraight and Lundy, on the other hand, were especially bad tempered and rude. Twice she’d had to scold them during reading lessons.
It had been a frustrating day, even with the help of her new Junior Teachers. When Lizette had tried to help Wraight with his spelling, he’d snapped at her so gruffly that she’d practically cried. Christy was glad when the school day finally ended. As she stood in the doorway, saying goodbye to the children, she was surprised to see Mr. Pentland appear at the top of the ridge.
“Back so soon?” Christy called.
“Not just me,” Mr. Pentland yelled back. He jerked his thumb back toward the woods. “Got some delivery folks a-comin’ too. Mighty big load.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Christy exclaimed. “Donations for the mission?”
“Yep. All of it’s for the mission, near as I can tell. Been piling up at the train station for a while now.”
Soon a big wagon, pulled by two pairs of strong oxen, lumbered into the schoolyard. It was piled high with crates and boxes. Some were covered with a large tarp. Christy ran to greet the procession. So her letter-writing campaign had worked, after all. What would David and Miss Alice say when they saw how well her plan had worked?
Most of the children, who’d been about to head home, stayed to watch as the two delivery men began unloading large boxes. Only Zach, Lundy, Wraight, and Smith hung back on the porch, as sullen and watchful as ever.
“My, it’s Christmas in March!” David exclaimed, rushing over to help the delivery men. “Are you sure they’re in the right place, Mr. Pentland?”
“Yep. Took two days to get here over those rutted roads. But they figured better now than when the spring thaw comes and the mud with it. It’s all for the mission. Oh, ’ceptin’ this package for you, Miz Christy.” Mr. Pentland reached into his bag and handed her a small package. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. “Mighty big week for deliveries.”
The careful handwriting on the package told Christy it was from her mother.
“Ain’t you goin’ to open it, Teacher?” Ruby Mae asked.
“I’ll save it for later,” Christy said. “We’ve got enough to open, don’t you think?”
David borrowed a hammer from one of the delivery men and began to open a large wooden crate. “This says ‘To Miss Christy Rudd Huddleston,’ ” David said. “ ‘From the Martin Textile Company in Charlotte, North Carolina.’ ” He grinned at her. “You have connections in Charlotte?”
“Well, not exactly,” Christy said. “It’s a long story.”
The top of the crate popped off.
“Blankets!” Ruby Mae cried. She and Bessie began pulling out the fresh wool blankets one by one.
David opened anothe
r crate from the same company, this one filled with pillows.
One by one, he revealed the contents of the other crates. Each time, the children gathered around, gasping in surprise at the bounty inside. Christy beamed as she watched the donations pile up. All of it was so desperately needed—sheets, towels, rugs, cleaning supplies, medicine. And all of it was the result of Christy’s letter-writing campaign. The exception was two barrels of secondhand clothing sent by her mother’s church. The Bell Company had even come through with a large donation of telephone wire and a telephone.
David stared at the wire, frowning in disbelief. “And how exactly am I going to hook up telephone lines?” he asked.
“Well, you built an entire schoolhouse, didn’t you?” Christy said with a wink. “How hard will it be to install one little telephone?”
“It has to be connected up, you know. Two ends, something to carry the voice.”
“A telephone,” Ruby Mae exclaimed. “Wouldn’t that just be the most all-fired amazin’ thing Cutter Gap ever seen? How long will it take you to hook it up, Preacher?”
David rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t hold your breath, Ruby Mae. It may be a very long wait, in spite of your teacher’s confidence in me.”
“But David—” Christy began, stinging a little from the sarcasm in his voice. After all, she’d gone to a lot of trouble to get the telephone equipment. Couldn’t he at least show a little gratitude?
“Well, well. This is quite a sight,” Miss Alice called from her cabin porch. But the look on her face was not exactly what Christy had hoped to see. She’d expected Miss Alice to be as thrilled as she was about the donations. Instead, her mentor looked almost annoyed.
“Looky here, Miss Alice,” Little Burl said, running to grab her hand as she approached. “There’s pillows in that there crate, soft as can be.”
“So I see.”
Miss Alice met Christy’s eyes. Now Christy was certain of it. Her heart sank a little. Miss Alice was not pleased.
David held up the wire. “Christy apparently thinks that with my magical skills, I’ll be able to string up a telephone wire. She seems to have forgotten that the wire has to go over two mountains, not to mention a river.”
The Angry Intruder Page 5