CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

"NO, CHRISTY – PUT the punch bowl next to the centerpiece. Someone could knock it off the table if you leave it there, and then what would you do?"

"Sorry, Mother." In truth, I didn't feel the least bit apologetic. I was frustrated, hanging onto my patience by the slimmest thread, and my parents had been in Cutter Gap for a mere week. Nevertheless, I moved the crystal bowl just as Mother had said, sliding it along the table until it sat under the shadow of the elaborate flower arrangement.

Mother looked up from the other end of the parlor, where she was unpacking the cutlery. "No, not that far. The petals will fall into the punch."

Gritting my teeth, I inched the bowl back again.

"Perfect," was Mother's assessment. "Now don't touch anything else. We don't want to ruin this setting before tomorrow afternoon."

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would be marrying Neil, and my parents still couldn't quite accept the idea of the marriage happening so quickly. The whole engagement business had been concluded in a short three months, a scandalous speed by Asheville standards. I was left a little overwhelmed with the rapidity myself, but I wasn't willing to stall. I had waited for Neil long enough.

"Don't stand there dawdling, Christy. Come help me with these plates, or we'll never get this done in time. If you would have waited for another fortnight . . . ."

I chose not to answer, feeling my temper flaring perilously close to the surface.

"I think everythin' looks fine," Ruby Mae ventured softly. She shifted a sleepy Esther in her arms and moved her chair closer to the table. Despite caring for her daughter twenty-four hours a day, somehow Ruby Mae still found time to come down to oversee my wedding preparations. "Yer weddin' will be the purtiest weddin' ever, Miz Christy. Ye've got so many fine things an' all." She bent to peer more closely at one of the lead crystal candlesticks.

At least someone appreciated all the finery that my parents had dragged along with them. "Thank you, Ruby Mae."

"It would be prettier if we'd had access to the rest of the wedding set," Mother added, removing linen napkins from the crate. "We had to leave plenty of our things back in Asheville. Those particularly lovely punch cups of Grandmother's would have been perfect, but of course they wouldn't have withstood the journey. It was very hard for me to leave them behind. Such a shame."

"I don't think I would have needed punch glasses, anyway. Or a punch bowl. Or our best silver." I heard the sharpness in my own voice.

Mother turned around to look at me, her eyes narrowing. "There's no need to take that tone with me, Christy. I'm attempting to give you the best wedding I can under these . . . difficult circumstances."

"I know," I sighed.

She huffed a little but said nothing more.

Restless, I walked over to sit with Ruby Mae. From her mother's arms, Esther stared up at me; it was impossible not to smile back at her and take hold of the tiny hand that was waving out of the swath of blankets. Almost as soon as I touched her, Esther's little red face crinkled up in consternation, and she began to cry.

"She's hungry. 'Scuse me." Ruby Mae gathered Esther up and hurried into the empty kitchen.

"Christy, come here. I have something I want to show you." Mother was opening another crate, and she leaned back on her heels, pulling out handfuls of lavender silk ribbons and bows. "I thought we could decorate the house with these. I bought them in Charleston; they're Japanese silk."

"They're lovely, but I told you that my children already asked to decorate the church and the mission."

"With what?" she cried indignantly. "Twigs and moss? And really, Christy, it isn't appropriate for you to call them 'your' children."

I wanted to run out of the room and never come back. "Mother, please. They are mine, in the broadest sense of the word, maybe, but I love them, and they want to decorate as a wedding present. Please don't interfere."

Mother made a dismissive gesture. "That's all well and good, but honestly it's very indiscreet of you. People may make assumptions. I certainly wouldn't want it spread about that you had children so soon after marriage – like that poor Ruby girl – and I would hardly allow you to raise them in this place."

Slowly, I lowered the crate back to the ground. "What do you mean, you 'wouldn't allow'?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Christy, don't throw a fit! I know you love your mountain people, but let's be practical. You aren't really planning to let my grandchildren grow up in dirt and poverty? I doubt Neil will stand for it either."

"Neil grew up in the Cove," I said quietly. "It's a part of who he is. Our friends are here, my students are here, our home is here. Why would we leave?"

"Do be serious. Raise a family in this place? I don't want to hear another word about this ridiculousness."

"Mother . . . ."

"Not another word, Christy!"

Angry tears burned at my eyes. I couldn't believe she had the nerve to tell me how I was going to raise my own children when I had yet to even marry. I had never been so furious at her, and if I didn't get out of the house right now, I was going to say something very unladylike.

Mother looked up as I rushed toward the door. "Where are you going? We have things to finish."

I ignored her, pushing through the hall and out into the yard. Fuming, I took off briskly down the field toward the river. A walk along the riverbank would do me some good, and perhaps I would be calm enough to go back into the house. At least in that my mother had a point. There was a great deal to accomplish before tomorrow afternoon.

Wandering down to the water, I spotted a very welcome sight: my father and George fishing with Neil. Father had asked Neil to show him around the Cove, a ploy that served both as the means to get to know his new son-in-law and an excuse to avoid Mother's wedding frenzy. George tagged along, having developed an amusing sort of hero-worship for my future husband; he was already talking about how he would like to spend a few years in the mountains, learning to live off that land. I doubted that possibility, as George tired of his hobbies easily, but it was nice that Neil had at least one ally.

I made a beeline for the three of them, smiling at the sound of their laughter. Neil could be very charming when he wanted to be, and I knew that a quick wit was something my father appreciated. The weave basket by Neil's feet was full of trout, and I suspected that the majority of the catch had been his doing.

George saw me first. "Hey, Christy, did you run away from Mother? C'mere and look at this fish I caught. It's huge!"

I made the appropriate noises of admiration when he hefted up the trout out to show off; Father and Neil wore almost identical expressions of patient indulgence.

"That's some catch," I said. "You're an expert angler now."

He blushed a little, dropping the fish back into the basket. "Stop teasing, Prissy."

Father was looking at me closely. "George, why don't we go downstream and see if we can't find something else? I haven't caught a blasted thing yet. You think I'll have better luck downstream, Neil?"

"You might, sir," Neil said politely. "Try down by the bend. Sometimes the trout gather there."

"Thank you. Look after Girlie for me." Slinging an arm over George's shoulder, Father led him down the bank, leaving Neil and I alone.

"Seems like you've had quite a successful day," I commented, as he picked up his fishing rod and the basket.

"I enjoyed myself. I like your father, Christy – he is a good man. Your brother is something else too."

I grinned. "He is, isn't he?"

Starting down the trail, he clasped my hand in his. "You don't look like you enjoyed yourself too much, though."

"I guess I didn't. Mother . . . ."

He sighed. "What happened this time?"

I looked up at him guiltily. "Have I complained that much?"

"That's not what I meant," he soothed. "I'm only sorry that you have to cope with so much. I know Mrs. Huddleston means well. She only wants you to be happy. Just remember that it's your wedding, not your mother's."

"It's your wedding too," I reminded him.

Neil chuckled. "Yes, but I'm not terribly interested in the tablecloths, or what country the lace trim for the napkins comes from, or that the plates are embedded with real silver edging. I could care less if we ate honeycomb and berries for our wedding supper."

I was a little put out at the notion that all our work would go unappreciated. "You don't care at all?"

He must have seen the hurt on my face. "It's not that I don't care. I'm just happy with whatever you choose to do."

Suddenly I didn't want to think about Mother and her ribbons anymore. I was inches away from Neil, and he was looking rumpled, happy, and perfectly delicious. Our wedding was tomorrow, after all. Shouldn't we be enjoying these last few hours of anticipation?

I swayed up onto my toes and wound my arms around his neck. "Very politic answer, Dr. MacNeill," I murmured. "I think you deserve a kiss for it."

He accepted my kiss and gave me one in return. Well, more than one. Maybe more than two. It was a bit difficult to keep count. I simply clung to his shoulders and enjoyed the process, a bit more than I probably should have.

I didn't know whether it was the knowledge that we were truly about to be married, or that both of us were feeling the pressure of impending change, but there was a new passion in the way he held me.

The kiss deepened, and I felt a change in Neil's manner – he had been relatively passive, gentle, but something of his restraint seemed to fall away. I was swept away by his urgency, the frantic press of his mouth, his warm hand at my throat . . . and then suddenly he was gone.

My eyes flew open to see Neil standing a few feet away, looking everywhere but at me. I stared back at him mutely, unable to catch my breath. After a moment he seemed to have recovered his composure; he came back to the embankment, red-faced. "I'm sorry, Christy. I shouldn't have done that."

"Did I...did I do something wrong?"

He blinked. "Wrong? Christy, you didn't do anything wrong. That's the problem."

"What?"

"It isn't a good idea to carry on like this."

"Oh, don't worry, Neil. Opal told me all about . . . ." I cut myself off, blushing.

One eyebrow tilted up, but other than that he graciously decided to ignore that remark. "My self-control is always suspect when you're in question, Christy. I don't want us to get into a situation that we might regret later."

"Neil, surely a few kisses won't hurt anything. We're getting married tomorrow."

"Maybe not, but you have no idea how much . . . " He coughed. "Uh . . . well, you have to believe me, Christy. I know my own limits." He bent forward and kissed my cheek. "I had better find your father and George."

"And I had better go back to Mother and finish unpacking all those crates." I hesitated. "Thank you for everything, Neil."

"Thank you," he said softly, with that gentle smile that was just for me.

I left him reluctantly, walking back up the slope to the mission house, but my heart felt a little lighter, though my stomach wasn't feeling quite so steady. I was nervous, yes, but also eager.

I was ready.

A/N: Ooh, Neil's gettin' a little fresh, huh? ; ) No, really, we're gearing up for the end, guys. Who's excited for the wedding?

Okay, I do have a question for you all, and I'd really like your feedback on this. Just leave me a note by review or PM. Would you like to see an epilogue for this story to give an overview of the MacNeills' lives after the wedding, or would that just bore you? Let me know!