In light of Dan Scott's residence in the cove, Christy was becoming more and more aware of the inequalities that were accepted, even reinforced, in the children's minds. In attempt to challenge this thinking she began a unit on slavery. She told the story of John Newton, and the children gathered around the globe as she traced her finger across the Atlantic. They sang Amazing Grace before she let them go for the day.

"This is a bold theme." David spoke from the door as the last child leapt from the bottom step, leaving them alone.

"Grace? I suppose it's the boldest theme of all."

"Perhaps I could borrow your angle for a sermon."

She smiled, hoping this easy conversation boded well for the restoration and continuation of their friendship. "By all means."

"Let me get this straight – you want them to see that grace is available even to the worst sinner."

"Actually, that wasn't my point."

"What was?"

"That we are all equal in God's eyes."

"And all in need of grace."

"I suppose. And that as recipients of that grace, should extend the same grace to others – even those entirely different from ourselves."

"You're turning Dan Scott into an object lesson?"

"Not at all – though he may have motivated me to embark on this subject, I don't plan to mention him at all."

"You won't need to. The children will raise the subject."

She smiled.

He nodded once, "I'll see you at dinner."

"Yes." She sat down at her desk and looked out over the messy classroom. This was going to work fine. If David was struggling, he hid it well, and avoiding Neil seemed like an easy out – and it was easily done while he seemed to be avoiding her. Wise, perhaps. Not sustainable, but for a while a little distance couldn't hurt.


That Saturday there was a working at Dan Scott's, to rebuild his cabin. Christy was not surprised, when she arrived, to find only the Spencers, McHone's and Mission folk had turned up. Then she saw Neil was there too, further down the hill, hacking away at a tree. She watched him for an indulgent moment, remembering how David's hands had been torn up and raw after a day of such work.

She forced herself to turn away. Fairlight approached her, hands outstretched to take the baskets of food Christy held. The food was an easy and natural topic of conversation, then recipes and tips, chased by where to get the ingredients – garden wisdom and where in the cove to gather everything from berries to mushrooms. The morning passed easily for Christy, Alice, Opal and Fairlight – kindred spirits by any standard. Taking turns holding Iris McHone was a charming highlight and when it wasn't their turn, there was a quilt to work on – one they meant for Dan, at Alice's suggestion; a welcome gift, and an apology for the poor welcome, perhaps.

They served the men lunch. Christy looked at their hands. This was different – none were doing themselves damage today. They were working hard, but carefully. Christy admonished herself for worrying over nothing. She slid a slice of pie onto Doctor MacNeil's plate and looked up at him with a smile.

"Thank you." It was heartfelt, loaded.

She shook her head – thanks was unnecessary.

In the evening Neil and Dan returned to the Mission, on Miss Alice's invitation to dinner.

David and Neil may not have been full of good-humour toward oneanother, but it was not noticable among such a merry party. They'd made good progress, collecting a significant amount of lumber, and building the most part of two walls, all in one day. At this rate, Dan's cabin could be finished before winter set in.

Alice told Daniel a story about his childhood, one that he did not remember. They talked and laughed, and Christy escaped. It was quiet outside. The moon was bright and comforting. She stood on the porch and looked at it for a moment. Hearing someone approach from inside, she descended the steps and walked away from the Mission house.

She wondered how things would ever change – modelling acceptance and equity could need years to take effect. She sought an idea, something that might make her lessons more influencial, that might make the children see that equality was important, that is was fair and right and good. Nothing came to her and she sighed.

"It can't be that bad."

She turned to see Neil sitting on the steps, in the shadows. "It's not."

"Very convincing." He teased. "You were very quiet tonight."

"Was I?" She walked back towards him. "I didn't mean to be. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Relax, you're not in trouble."

She smiled and sat down beside him. "I was just thinking about Dan – how it might be a while before he's really accepted here, if ever."

He nodded. "I'd say things are going better than expected."

"Really?"

"Perhaps my expectations were lower than yours."

"I suppose I can be a little overly-optimistic. Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Maybe you're just overly pessimistic."

"Entirely possible." His tone was dark, sombre.

"I was teasing – you're a realist." She watched him, "I didn't mean it, Neil."

"Don't trouble yourself."

She struggled to make out his expression in the dim light.

"I hear you're teaching the children about the evils of slavery."

She hesitated, "That's not entirely the point of the lesson, but yes."

"Ever the optimist."

"I have to do what I can. If it fails to help it won't be because I didn't try."

"Aye."

"But you think it will fail?"

"Does it matter what I think?"

"To me, it does."

"Once upon a time I'd have tried to stop you."

"You'd have told me off for interferring, warned me not to try and change things."

"Exactly."

"And now?"

"I know better than to try and stand in your way."

She smiled. "I suppose I want to show them that as soon as we start thinking of one group of people as lesser, as inferior, we start on a path that ultimately ends in tragedy. Freedom depends on equality, on tolerance of difference, on grace, really."

"It's in their heritage too, you know. The Scots. You want a story of oppression and inequality, one that's guaranteed to resonate, that might be the place to start."

"A little easier to identify with, I suppose, than the africans."

He nodded.

"And less likely to get children kept home from school."

"Aye."

She thought for a minute, "Would you help me?"

"With what?"

"Telling them the story – would you tell them about the Scots? I know a little of the history, and I'm sure I have it in a book, but you tell stories so well, and it's your story too."

She was taken aback by the look in his eyes – in part surprise, and perhaps heartfelt thanks. He nodded, nervously looking down at his hands.

"What is it?"

He shook his head and stood up. "When shall I come?"

"Tuesday? First thing?"

"That's fine."

She got up, put her hand on his arm, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

She looked up at him confused, concerned.

"Leave it, Christy."

She pulled back her hand from his arm, suddenly concious of her close proximity. Turning, she ascended the stairs, feeling his eyes on her all the way.

He didn't go back inside. She assumed he'd gone home and didn't know if relief or frustration were the stronger emotion she wrestled with in response.


The children gathered around the globe to see where Scotland was. Christy traced a line with her finger between Cutter Gap and Glasgow. She asked them what they knew about Scotland and got kilts and bagpipes and tartans in reply.

Doctor MacNeil arrived at the door in full regalia – hat and sash and skirt, socks up to his knees and a silly smirk on his face.

The children saw their teacher's wide-eyed amusement and turned to find the cause.

Christy stepped into the background as Neil wove a tale, beginning with why he was wearing a skirt and working his way back through history to the brutal oppression of their ancestors. The children were enchanted, enthralled. To explain a battle he dubbed half the class english, half scots, and rearranged them and the furniture to show formations.

She watched him, and she watched the children. She nudged the shy, younger children forward, encouraging their involvement.

They had played out one particular battle, a good twist making it a good tale, and were going to try again, this time without stopping for instructions. Neil stood back and cried, 'Go!' then laughed, shamelessly at the chaos ensuing. He looked up and caught Christy watching him. The laugh froze on his lips. Time seemed to stop; the children's cacophony, unheard.

"I'm dying teacher!" A small child collided with Christy, snapping her attention from the doctor.

She laughed and went to her knees, taking the small child in her arms. She looked up again. He was still watching her. Then he looked away, returned to the task at hand, untangled Zach from Sam Houston, and then yelled over the din, "Last one back in their seat will be tidying up this room at dinner break."

More noise, this time chairs and desks scraping, accompanied the children's rush to comply. She watched, but it wasn't clear who was last sitting.

"It's Miz Christy." Creed piped up.

She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"You're absolutely right." The doctor replied. "And so, the battle was won, but not the war." He went on with his tale, right up to present day. When the tale was finished he looked to Christy.

"Thank you, Doctor MacNeil, that was... enchanting."

"Thanks Doc," a handful of kids added.

"You're welcome."

"It's time for dinner break," Christy moved herself to the front of the class, "so off you go."

They clamoured from the room, watched by both the adults.

"Thank you." She said again.

"It was fun."

"It was." She grinned as he turned to her. "You're a wonderful teacher."

"I don't know about that."

"Well, I do. But don't just take my word on it. I'm going to have them write essays on this, the older ones that is, and the younger ones will be drawing pictures. You'll see – they were soaking that up like sponges. I've rarely seen them so enthralled."

"It's their history. They forget there's so much to be proud of."

She nodded, wondering if he was brushing of her thanks and praise because he didn't believe it. "Having them act it out was inspired. I never could follow those battle diagrams in history at school." She started straightening the desks and chairs into their rows.

He helped her. "I just thought they were getting restless. I was a boy in school myself once."

"Well, it worked perfectly."

He passed her a chair. "I think you're right to take on this topic, brave as always."

"I'm not always brave, Neil." She looked down the rows, checking they were even.

"Is that right?"

"I get scared of all sorts of things – silly things and not."

"Like what?"

She laughed, "The dark, for instance."

"You wouldn't know it."

"Well, sometimes I just have to pretend like I'm not scared and get on with things."

"A better definition of courage I've never heard."

"How about coming to school dressed like that? That's pretty brave."

"Figured I'd get their attention, keep it a minute longer maybe."

"Would many of the families still have their ancestor's tartans?"

"Probably not. I don't see much of it around."

"It's a shame."

He nodded.

The desks were in order and they stood in the doorway, looking out over the yard, the children playing and eating and talking in twos and threes.

"I better be going." He stepped out the door and hesitated.

"Alright, thank you – again, I know – but I mean it."

He turned, took her hand, "Don't."

She looked at him, confused.

"You're the one who should be thanked. You don't know the difference you've made." He dropped her hand as if just realizing that he was holding it. "I don't mean today, or even recently," he shook his head as if he couldn't find the words and the ones he'd tried weren't good enough. "You've brought such light, I sound like Alice, I mean hope."

She smiled at his bumbling, at what he had said.

He sighed, "Keep doing what you're doing, is all I mean to say."

She nodded and he stepped back away from her, reluctant to leave, but on his way nonetheless.