CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I HAD BEEN in Dr. MacNeill's cabin before – several times, in fact – but it had long held a fascination for me. In many ways it resembled its owner: sturdily-built and weathered, yet proud and harboring plenty of surprises.

The Doctor's painstaking arrangement of his laboratory was perfectly in keeping with the rest of the house; there were no dirty dishes in the pan or any unswept floors. Considering it was the residence of a bachelor, everything was amazingly clean and in order.

I moved closer to the fire, pushing up the sleeves of the flannel shirt. My hair had begun to dry in tangled strands, and the heat was making me drowsy. Dr. MacNeill appeared to be in a similar state – I could see his eyelids drooping, and he had let our conversation dwindle and fade away. I had no objections to it. What I most wanted was sleep, and I dreaded the thought of venturing back out into the snow to the mission.

I needn't have worried; the journey, much to my relief, turned out to be impossible anyway. After an hour or so spent in warming up and sitting in quiet comfort, Dr. MacNeill rose to fix some sort of dinner for us.

Being a far more capable cook than I, he had a piping hot meal set on the table without any fuss. We ate quickly, without saying much: the shrieking of the wind outside was enough to occupy our thoughts. As soon as he was done, the Doctor ventured out onto the porch, coming back inside barely a second or two later.

"It's even worse out there than it was this afternoon," he said, brushing snow off his shoulders, "and it doesn't show any sign of stopping."

I froze, not quite sure where to look, when he added, "You'll have to stay the night."

Walks down by the pond in full view of the mission house were one thing; spending the night alone with an unmarried man was quite another. Reputations were as important here as in Asheville – perhaps even more so, for the codes of conduct for men and women, although surprisingly lax in some matters, were in general very stern.

"Are...are you sure there isn't any way to get back? Some sheltered path or something?"

He looked at me solemnly, his expression once more wary and closed. "We'd be lost and frozen before the hour was out. There really isn't any other choice."

"I wish there was some way to get word to Miss Alice." I turned to the frosted window, peering out into the blinding swirl of white. "She'll worry about me."

"I'm afraid it can't be helped." He stayed where he was, watching me. "I'm sorry, Christy. I didn't think this out as well I should have."

"Like you said, there wasn't any choice. You had no idea the weather would turn on us. Really, it's not so bad." I forced a note of cheerfulness into my voice. "After all, a bit of gossip always makes things interesting, right?"

He wasn't fooled. "I promise I'll get you home tomorrow as quickly and quietly as I can. With any luck, no one but Alice will ever know about this. You don't need to worry about what people will say about you."

I lowered my head, a little ashamed. "It's not that I'm afraid of them...uh...talking about me...about us..but you...uh..."

He smiled. "I don't think my reputation is in danger – unless, of course, you have designs on my virtue, Miss Huddleston."

I drew back, unsure of whether to laugh or blush, and as an uneasy silence stretched between us, I could see him mentally slapping himself for a comment that had come off a bit too strong. At last, he cleared his throat, tugging absentmindedly on the curls at his nape. "It's late – I'll show you upstairs to your room."

I followed him dutifully up the creaking steps into his bedroom. I had been up here once before, after I had fallen into the creek, and everything looked familiar. The big four-poster bed and the cherrywood bureau were unchanged, though I thought the spindle-backed chair might have been moved from its original position by the window.

The awkwardness came back in a rush as we stood in the dark room together – the Doctor lit the large oil-lamp on the bureau, but the gentle illumination seemed only to heighten the sense of intimacy. Sitting down on the bed, I felt strange stirrings of guilt, as though I were doing something wrong, though I knew very well that neither of us had done anything at all untoward.

Dr. MacNeill didn't linger. After changing the bed-sheets and handing me another over-sized shirt to use as a nightgown, he told me where to wash up and attend to personal business, wished me pleasant dreams, and left.

I followed him out into the hall. "Where are you going to sleep?"

He paused on the stairwell. "In the lab. There's a cot in there that I keep for patients who have to stay overnight. Knock on the door if you need something. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I echoed, waiting until the glow of the candle he held disappeared before shutting the door. Changing into the shirt, which dropped down past my knees, I readied myself for bed and sat by the window to comb my hair with the hairbrush the Doctor had thoughtfully laid out for me. The short curls tangled too easily, and it took me the better part of a quarter-hour to straighten them.

I set the brush back on the bureau and noticed a small round mirror was placed atop it. I picked it up; the back was plated in polished silver, etched in the fanciful design of a thorny-stemmed rose. On closer inspection, I realized that the brush was similarly decorated, part of a woman's vanity set.

It must have belonged to Margaret. Why had he kept the mirror and brush in plain sight when all other mementos of his wife had been locked away in the trunk in his laboratory? I traced the curling petals of the rose and wondered whether he thought of her very often.

Putting the mirror carefully back in its place, I wandered around the room, unable to contain my curiosity. This was Dr. MacNeill's private domain, and I found the opportunity to explore it too much to resist.

Everything was equally neat up here; the chest at the foot of the bed was stacked with medical journals and folders, each one lined up perfectly with the others. It was amazing to me that he could dress so carelessly, be so very indifferent to his physical appearance, and yet keep his every possession in seamless order.

The bookshelf contained the expected medical tomes, with a few surprises – a bulky volume of Shakespeare caught my eye, and I bent down to examine the others, discovering several collections of poetry by Robert Burns and, even more surprising, The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, a book which my father had often mentioned but which I had never read myself.

I wasn't impertinent enough to poke around to any further degree, and so I folded down the covers and crawled into bed. The sheets were cold, but they warmed after a few minutes. I blew out the lamp as there was plenty of light from the moon, which had surfaced as the snowfall lessened.

It was natural, given my surroundings, that my thoughts should continue much in the same vein as before. As life had returned to its normal course, I had found my attention turning frequently to more personal matters – and more frequently to the Doctor himself.

His behavior was still entirely bewildering. The months since my return to the Cove hadn't given me much more insight into his intentions. He was always willing to talk, seemingly pleased to spend an afternoon in my company...but that was it. He never pushed, never hinted, never expressed the slightest wish for anything but a platonic friendship. I was closer to him than I had been before, but he would let me come no closer.

There had been a barrier there since our first meeting – he was warm and sociable, and over time I had learned to respond to the explanation and logic he demanded from me – but the subtle distance was there between us. Was it our ages? He had to be at least thirty-four, and in Cutter Gap, a 14-year difference made him old enough to be my father.

But no...age didn't seem to be a concern. David was eight years older than me, and my own father was Mother's senior by nearly a decade. Sometimes the difference in our experience had vexed me when it became apparent how much more world-wise Dr. MacNeill was, but the age itself didn't trouble me, at least.

Religion had been a divisive element as well, but eventually I had stopped feeling threatened by his questioning and his doubt. Besides, that dispute seemed to have been swept away, for he continued to come to church regularly, and he often talked with Miss Alice and I about passages he had read, showing his genuine interest in developing his newfound faith.

Perhaps it was our relative positions in society – my family was well-to-do, and Dr. MacNeill, though comfortably situated by Cove standards, was positively poor by Asheville's. Again, I wondered what Mother would say to learn that her only daughter was considering marrying into a country family and going to live up in the mountains in a cabin. She would be ashamed to speak of the union to her friends.

I shivered at the thought and curled into the blankets. Teaching in Cutter Gap was one thing – living there was quite another. Mother's feelings aside, could I do it? Could I raise my children in this sort of environment, where hunger and poverty and feuding were a way of life?

I decided not to think about it; marriage wasn't a concern right now...was it? Opal's teasing had to have some truth to it, didn't it? The entire Cove apparently believed we were sweethearts....I gripped the covers, suddenly struck with the notion that maybe we were. We spent enough time together to qualify, surely – and what about today's outing? Why would he take the trouble to bring me out in the snow to see his special place otherwise? As pretty as it was, what pleasure would a mere friend have in seeing the waterfall if it didn't have some significance to him as well?

Maybe he was courting me, and I hadn't even been aware of it. My heart beat a little faster, and I pulled the sheets up over my head, hating myself for the giddiness that swept over me. Well, it would certainly be much easier if he actually said something to the point....

But maybe he had, and I hadn't realized it either! How many times had he thought to broach the subject, only to be brushed away? For the first time, I realized that it was equally my fault. I did little to encourage him beyond extending common friendship – I took no pains to tell him that I was interested romantically in him.

Why was I so afraid to become seriously involved with him? David's romancing had never made me lose sleep – though he was the one to reach out to me, in some way I had always felt in control of the situation. With Dr. MacNeill, such a thing was not possible. He confused me and irritated me, made me laugh, brought me to tears, and filled me with shame. He was as bewildering as a suitor as he had been as a stranger.

Perhaps that was why I was so fascinated by him. Only recently I had begun to learn more of him – more of the real person he was – and with each meeting, I felt an insatiable desire to know still more; his character had always been a faintly troubling puzzle, but now it seemed essential that I solve its mysteries.

I wanted him to court me, I realized. I wanted the chance to learn more about him – and maybe learn to love him. Blushing despite the fact that no one else was there to witness my foolishness, I burrowed back under the covers, my mind spinning with all these new ideas.

Still, it was a matter of delicacy; the notion that it was the man's duty to court the woman was ingrained in me. I certainly couldn't say anything to him about it, but perhaps I could be a little more encouraging, a little more teasing. I wasn't sure that I wouldn't just make a fool out of myself if I tried to flirt, so that sort of tactic was out of the question. Tomorrow, I decided. I would start the campaign tomorrow. If he wasn't going to pursue me, then I would take up the chase for him.

I nestled against the pillow – his scent pervaded the sheets, though I knew they had just been washed, and I breathed deeply; it was comforting, somehow, and it didn't take me long at all to fall into a dreamless sleep.

A/N: Our girl's got it bad! ; ) Seriously, I thought it was about time that she made up her mind. Twenty-one chapters is a long enough span for dancing around the issue. :D

I know this chapter was awfully short, considering that it took me a week to write it; the next one will be a bit more substantial. I hope, anyway.

Thanks for your feedback!