Doctor Ferrand arrived the following week. So far things were going better than his previous visit – for starters, Miss Alice was not bedriden and there were no parcels of solicited donations flooding in, distracting everyone, and getting Christy in trouble for her methods.
Christy had taken in the children's essays, marked them, and handed most of them back, but she'd asked permission to hold onto a handful of the best. She was reading over them at the breakfast table, trying to decide what to do with them. This level of work was inspiring, and she wanted to share it – she could copy it out for the younger children, have the writers read it at the end-of-year recitation, maybe put together a book to go in their school library, with their own writing in it.
Doctor Ferrand joined her at breakfast. "Those look impressive."
"They are. But I can't take the credit. These were written in response to Doctor MacNeil's lesson last week." She handed over Rob Allen's essay.
"Doctor MacNeil has been teaching lessons at the school?"
"Yes, Science mostly, but last week he told a short history of Scotland – it was remarkable. The children love to hear their own history, of course, but Doctor MacNeil told it so well."
"Hm..."
Christy wondered if she'd done something wrong, but the thought was interrupted by the arrival of David and Miss Alice, closely followed by Ruby Mae.
The following day Christy remembered her promise to show Neil the children's essays. She hadn't yet decided what else to do with them, but this was a good place to start. The children would value the Doctor's good opinion more than most, and she couldn't help also being impatient to show him how his lesson had influenced them, inspired them.
She found him up to his knees in the river.
"Miss Huddleston, what a pleasant surprise."
"Doctor, I brought you some essays." She held the collection of papers. "I have never had them hand in work of this quality before. I think you'll enjoy them."
"I'm sure I will." He waded in to shore, taking in the line as he walked.
"Oh, you don't have to stop fishing. I'm not in a hurry. I can even leave them with you, if you like."
"Would you like to join me?"
She hesitated, "I would, but I don't think..."
"Here," He interrupted her and handed her his rod. "I'll get my other one from inside."
She took the rod, smiling, and watched him go. Putting the essays back in her satchel, she took the bag off, and put it on a dry tree root. She tried to remember what he'd taught her last time and had the line in the water by the time he returned.
"Good memory." He stepped up behind her as she lifted the rod and flicked the line out further. "Just let is happen, relax."
She did just the opposite, with him standing so close behind her.
He put his hands on her shoulders. "Relax, you just have to wait."
She willed her muscles to cooperate, putting her shoulders down and back, letting the water guide her line.
"Better."
She felt his breath on her neck and shivered. Fortunately he'd moved away, picking up his other rod from the stones, and casting out into the river.
"I hear Ferrand's back – checking up on you again."
"Neil," she scolded him half-heartedly, "he's staying at the mission, yes."
He nodded.
"He's not so bad as you think."
"He's a sanctimonious egomaniac. You forgive too easily."
"He forgave me, you know. His mission has done a lot of good here – you've said it yourself."
"You'd done nothing wrong, to begin with, and I thought it was God's mission."
She sighed.
"You've done a lot of good here, Alice too, even Grantland, but Ferrand wanted you gone because of some narrow-minded idea of how to do good."
"I was out of line – not in everything, but he wasn't entirely wrong – in fact you've accused me of the same thing – rushing in, trying to do too much, too soon. Sound familiar?"
"I was worried about your safety, and the people of the cove. He's worried about some high moral code that's entirely irrelevant to real life here."
It was sweet, his defence of her, but unnecessary. Still, arguing about it seemed silly. "Tell me, is it true that fishing is more effective when we're quiet?"
He looked at her, stunned, then cracked a smile and shook his head. "Yes."
"I appreciate your concern but everything is fine. If I need you to ride in and save me, I'll let you know." He laughed and she watched him, addicted to the sound.
"That'd be the most graceful way I've ever been told to stop yammerin."
She pretended a little bow, lost her footing and put her hands down in the stream to keep from falling in entirely.
He rushed over to her as she stood up. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine – just wet." She handed him her fishing rod and squeezed out the hem of her skirts. Next she unbuttoned her sleeves and rolled them up, squeezing the waterout as she went.
He watched her, "Come on, let's go inside. Don't want you getting cold."
She nodded, picked up her satchel and followed him up to the cabin.
Neil made coffee while she rotisseried herself infront of the hearth.
"I feel like such a goof." She rolled down a sodden sleeve and held it out to the heat of the fire.
"Don't worry, I wasn't watching."
She laughed. "Well, that's something."
"Will it dry like this? I mean, you could..." He didn't say it aloud but the unspoken offer of a dress that once belonged to Margaret hung in the air between them.
"It will dry. I might just have to stand here for a while."
"Lucky me." He held out a cup of coffee and she took it in both hands, holding it up to her face and inhaling its scent.
"It seems like such a long time ago, doesn't it?"
"What does? Oh – when you dried off here."
She nodded. "That was only the second time I'd met you. So strange."
"Thanks."
"No, I meant, it's strange thinking back – little did I know..."
"Little did you know what?"
"How important you'd be to me."
"Oh." He busied himself, stoking the fire, adding a log. "I still have it." He spoke again several minutes later. "The dress. I should have given it back to her. I don't know why I didn't."
"I was so surprised – you weren't who I'd I assumed you were. You called me on it too, challenged me – you have a knack for that."
"Glad to be of service." He sat back on a chair. "But I've been out of line on more than one occasion – I blamed you and lectured you, and you have borne it like no other woman would have borne it."1
She watched him, surprised at his forthright manner.
He must have been recalling their conversation that day, because he continued, "And as I heard it, young Mountie spoke to you first."
Christy smiled. "She said 'buttons' – I'd sewn them onto her coat."
"That's not all you'd done."
She turned to face the fire, the back of her skirts were now much drier than the front. Remembering that day, she spoke. "I'd been about to leave. I was all packed and ready to trudge on down to El Pano. I don't know what made me go back to the school for one last... and then I saw Mountie's coat and figured I could do that for her – if nothing else."
"I didn't know that. What made you stay?"
"Mountie."
He watched her, considering, then stood up. "You should tell her that – one day."
Christy thought, then nodded, turning to him. "I will."
Doctor MacNeil took her back to the mission on horseback. They didn't speak for almost the enitire trip. It was strange being so close to him. Somethink like a sense of honour kept her from leaning into him, relaxing against his back. Her hands were around his waist, and occasionally he covered them with one of his own.
The contact felt like an indulgence, harmless enough, but enjoyed so greatly is must be wrong. She'd had a dream about riding with him once. David had looked on but she'd ridden off with Neil, recklessly abandoning everything for...
She looked to the Mission – no David in sight. Only Ferrand, standing on the porch, looking out at them. He turned, went inside, slamming the door.
Neil turned to see if Christy had noticed their reception.
She looked worried.
Neil hopped down and helped Christy to the ground. Of course Ferrand, followed by Miss Alice, came out again, while Neil's hands were still around Christy's waist.
"This is a Christian mission." Ferrand bellowed. "I'll not stand for this. How can you allow this sort of thing to go on right under your nose."
"What's happened?" Christy walked up two steps before she got blasted.
"You've a non-believer teaching at the school – the Mission school! And then this."
Christy gripped the hand rail and stepped back down a step.
"This?" Alice stepped up, "This is a friendship, not so dissimilar from our own, I daresay."
"This is an abomination. Neither of us is married."
"Nothing improper has happened," Neil's voice sounded loaded, fury hidden behind a veil of disbelief, confusion and fear. "Ever."
"How can anyone be certain of that?"
Christy looked from Ferrand to Neil, and back to Ferrand, "You can't – but you can choose to trust me."
"And why should I trust you?"
"Because I do." Alice stepped forward, between Doctor Ferrand and Miss Huddleston. "Jacob, listen to me, Doctor MacNeil's involvement in this mission has never been a problem before. He has expertise and a willingness to help – not to mention influence and the respect of his people. He is on a journey – but so are we all."
"He is clearly not on the journey." Ferrand retorted.
Neil climbed back onto his horse and sped off. Christy watched him go, but tore her eyes away, summoning the strength to face the coming onslaught.
"Please," she begged, ascending the steps. "This is not Doctor MacNeil's fault – I saw an opportunity for the children's own history to be a part of their lessons. It was I who asked him to teach – and he did, as I could not have done. I don't understand why this is such a terrible thing – he did not speak about faith or God at all."
"I do not blame Doctor MacNeil." Doctor Ferrand turned and went inside.
Alice slowly turned to Christy. "Leave it – once he's calmed down I will try to explain." She sighed, "Your timing could have been better."
"I only went to show him the essays the children wrote. Miss Alice, I've never read such inspired, articulate... this is their best work. Surely God is in this."
"Tracing the hand of God is..." she sighed, "No, I believe God uses Neil MacNeil, despite his resistance. But there is a fine line to walk here."
Christy nodded and Alice left her there. She daren't go inside, fearing another confrontation with Doctor Ferrand – he was not the only one who needed to calm down. She took a deep breath and walked up to the school.
Lighting a lamp, she sat at her desk and looked over the books and papers there. She tried to refocus – what story could she tell that might impact the students, might help them to understand and accept difference? Neil had spoken with fervour and integrity, pride and honesty – because he felt it was his story. What was her story? She had lived a sheltered life, rarely confronted with difference, and certainly not different herself, till she arrived in Cutter Gap, that is.
Could she tell them that story? They had accepted her and she was different. Suddenly inspired she started writing down and rephrasing questions she hoped would spark an animated and informative class discussion.
She decided to try it the next day.
"Who remembers? Why was it that the English and the Scottish peoples didn't like eachother very much?"
Ruby Mae's hand shot up and Christy nodded at her, "Because the English stole their land and made bad laws."
"Okay, and why did the English do that?"
"They waz greedy." Creed Allen piped up without waiting for his turn.
"Hands up, thank you," Christy gracefully admonished. "Why else? Why the Scots?" This time she nodded to Creed.
"Cause they was different – they wore funny skirts like the Doc, and they talked funny, and stuff."
"Thank you Creed. That's exactly right. They didn't like eachother because they were different. Now is that a good reason to dislike someone? Now before you answer I want you to think back to when I first arrived in Cutter Gap. I was different." She waited, giving them time to consider. "Who remembers? How was I different?"
"You had right pretty clothes – still do though." Ruby Mae answered.
Christy raised her hand to model the behaviour she desired.
"Sorry Miz."
"Zady Spencer," Christy called on the next student to answer.
"You talked like no one I ever heard before. At first I could barely make sense of your words."
"Yes – and the way you speak sounded strange to me too. But I have learned to understand and now I barely even notice. Do you find it easier to understand me now, Zady?"
"Yes'm."
"And you know what else? I sometimes talk differently than I used to – I have assimilated." She wrote the word A-S-S-I-M-I-L-A-T-E-D on the blackboard. "That means I have changed and become more like the people here."
John Spencer put his hand up and she called on him. "We've assimilated too, Miz Christy. We sometimes use funny city words and say things different from how we used to – cause we hear how you say it."
"Exactly. Alright, this is excellent. Now I want you all to do a piece of writing for me – telling me about something that frightened or bothered you, or something you didn't like or understand about me when I first came here. And then I want you to tell me how it has changed."
"You mean like how we learned about the city so now we understand more of what you says."
"Yes, Little Burl. That's exaclty what I mean. This will be entitled 'How I came to accept someone different.' I want to know what it was that helped you accept me, because it means so much to me. I was so scared when I first came here – I was going to be the odd one out and I knew it."
"Then why'd you come, teacher?" Sam Houston asked.
"Because I knew it was what God wanted me to do. I was scared alright, but I asked God to make me brave so I could come anyway. I also prayed that he would help you all to accept me, and help me to understand why things were so different here." She smiled at their wide eyes and grubby faces – a captive audience. She hadn't got them reenacting anything, yet, but so far, so good.
This was no epic tale – but it was their shared story, and as they children put their heads down and started scratching out their essays she watched in awe and silently thanked God for their love and acceptance. "Please let Doctor Ferrand understand." She thought, adding that plea to her prayer before she turned to the youngest pupils, the front row, and instructed them to draw a picture of her when she first arrived in Cutter Gap. "You show me just how funny I looked that first day."
It was not the inspiring tale of epic proportions, a history worthy of books and art, but their essays warmed her heart and made her smile. It shook her, the realization, once again, of how much she loved these children.
The fear that she might have to leave them, that Doctor Ferrand's reproach was not just words, haunted her, but she shook it off and looked over the pictures. Lulu Spencer had given her a veritable halo of golden hair. She laughed and put the picture aside, beginning to read over the younger children's stilted but heartfelt paragraphs.
"You're faring this well." David stook at the doorway and stepped forward as she looked up at him.
"Faring what well?"
"Ferrand's... disapproval."
She shrugged, "Not really, but I have work to keep me busy and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it, so..."
"You should be careful. MacNeil isn't worth the risk. You're needed here."
"Thank you, David, but I've done nothing 'risky'. Doctor Ferrand has made assumptions about me, and about Doctor MacNeil, and he seems determined to hold onto those, regardless of the opinions of those who know both of us much better than he does."
David nodded. "I vouched for you. He insisted I visit MacNeil – I think he hopes I'll interrogate him, but we both know that's not the way to get an honest answer from the man. Anyway, I'll ride over first thing tomorrow."
"I'm sorry you have to be in the middle of all this."
"I don't mind. I still care for you Christy. I won't stand by and see you discharged for only doing the best you can for these children. Although, I suppose that's not all he's concerned about."
"David, you know MacNeil and I are just friends?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "I trust you, Christy, and strangely enough, I trust MacNeil as well. So, as his Reverend..." He grinned, "Well, maybe oneday, eh?"
Christy smiled, "Thank you David. This means a lot to me."
He nodded and left her, calling back as he descended the steps, "Supper is on the table."
1 From Emma, by Jane Austen. (Mr Knightly says this to Emma.)
