CHAPTER FOUR

ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, I went downstairs for the first time, an achievement that was celebrated by my friends as if I had discovered a way to turn dirt into gold. Dr. MacNeill and David assisted me down the staircase, each one holding onto an arm, but even so, when I finally made it to the bottom I was breathless.

David led me to the head of the table. A bouquet of lovely wildflowers was arranged in one of Miss Alice's crystal vases, and my chair was gaily decorated with ribbon and plenty of cushions – the handiwork of Ruby Mae, who was standing in the doorway, beaming at us.

She reached out to hug me, teary-eyed. "Lordy, it's good ter see ye up an' about agin, Miz Christy," she said brightly. "When Miz Alice said they was gonna hold ye a little jollification, Will and me wanted ter do somethin' nice fer ye." She gestured a little shyly behind her, and I noticed her husband standing back next to Miss Ida, smiling sheepishly. He was holding a folded quilt, and at Ruby Mae's words, he thrust it eagerly into her hands.

Ruby Mae quickly unfolded it, revealing a deep blue background, studded with yellow stars and a big silver moon nestled high in the corner, and topped off with a border of dainty lavender and snowdrops. "Missus Spencer learned me ter sew," she explained. "This here was one she gave me as a 'zample, and I reckoned ye'd like ter have it ter remind ye of her." Gently she pressed it into my hands.

I fingered the soft cloth and felt my throat tighten with emotion. The quilt bore Fairlight's perfectly neat, straight stitches, and I could almost see my friend out on the porch, laboring patiently over her sewing to make something beautiful out of something ordinary. "Ruby Mae," I said hoarsely, "I couldn't take something that Fairlight gave you."

"Nah," the girl said quietly, "I reckon she woulda wanted ye ter have it. Anyways, I have another one that me and Missus Spencer was workin' on together afore she got sick. Ye oughta have somethin' purty ter remember her by."

I clutched the precious quilt to my chest, my eyes filling with tears. "Ruby Mae, I don't know what to say. No one has ever given me such a lovely gift. Thank you."

Ruby Mae was delighted by my pleasure. "Ooh, that's right fine of ye ter say, but it tweren't no trouble at all, were it, Will?"

Will shook his head.

I was at a loss for words, and I felt Miss Alice's hand on my shoulder, steadying and comforting. Taking a deep breath, I brushed away my tears. "I'll treasure this, Ruby Mae, Will. Thank you so much."

Never one to allow too much sentimentality in her domain, Miss Ida presently announced that dinner was served, and we all sat together around the table to enjoy her famous fried chicken, potatoes, cornbread, applesauce, and a glazed cherry pie for dessert. Miss Alice portioned my own plate herself, careful to choose items which wouldn't send my stomach into a revolt. Even so, the solid food tasted marvelous, and the platters between us rapidly emptied. Will especially ate with a delight to satisfy Ida's well-deserved vanity – he was already on his third helping, which Ruby Mae noticed with some chagrin.

"Oh, bother, Will, ye look like ye ain't ate nuthin' in a month," she said, sounding a little petulant. "I know I ain't much of a cook, but ye ain't starved neither."

"Ruby Mae, that ain't it a'tall," he said soothingly, with the practice of a man used to his wife's frets and temper. "The long walk here just 'bout did me in, ye see – I'm awful hungry, 'tis all."

She smiled, placated, and turned her attention back to her own plate. Will caught my eye and winked, and I lifted my napkin to hide a grin. Ruby Mae's husband was a raw-boned, lanky boy, with long arms and legs and a lean build – if one was judging by appearance alone, it did indeed seem as though the poor fellow wasn't able to stomach his wife's cooking.

The meal continued pleasantly, the conversation lively and full of laughter. My spirits rose, and I listened contentedly to Ruby Mae's latest store of Cove news. Much to my surprise, David had a little gossip of his own to share.

"Bird's-Eye is staying in the Cove," he informed me quietly, as we finished our pie.

I looked at him in astonishment. "Bird's-Eye Taylor?"

David laughed. "How many other Bird's-Eyes do you know?"

"I thought Gentry Long had taken him in for Tom's murder."

He looked at me queerly. "No, Christy – Lundy shot Tom, remember? Miss Alice knew."

I didn't remember; that long-ago conversation was a fog in my mind. "Oh, of course."

David eyed me cautiously for a moment, and then his expression eased. "It's not surprising that you don't remember, Christy. You collapsed a moment after Miss Alice told us, after all."

"Did I?"

He smiled crookedly. "It was a bit of a shock. One minute you were standing there, talking with us, and the next you were laid out on the floor. You took Ida's cut-crystal lamp with you too."

"I did?"

"Yup. We were still finding shards in the rug for a week afterwards. You have impeccable aim, Christy."

I elbowed him in the side. "I'll have to replace it. I know how much Miss Ida loved that lamp."

David made a careless gesture. "Let it be. That old thing was useless." He scooped up a last forkful of pie. "Why are we talking about my sister's heirlooms anyway? Don't you want to hear about Bird's-Eye?"

"Since I suspect you want badly to tell me, sure."

He grinned. "He came back again to the mission while you were sick; you'll never guess what he did."

"What?"

"I could hardly believe it myself."

"What?"

"Guess."

"David!"

"Oh, alright, keep your wig on. Mr. Taylor came to the mission after he heard that you'd fallen ill; he offered to help with whatever else we needed done. I mean, it was shocking enough that he'd volunteered to help before Lundy died, but to do it again? I thought maybe he was just trying to get out of the grip of the Revs, but he proved me wrong, Christy.

"The man helped with all the chores around the mission and even took to keeping watch over the sickrooms, since Dr. MacNeill..." David cleared his throat. "...since he was so occupied in looking after you. Bird's-Eye stayed all through the week, working as hard as any person there, until Dr. MacNeill sent the other typhoid patients home, and then he disappeared back into the mountains without a word of explanation."

I digested this startling information. "You're sure this is Bird's-Eye Taylor we're talking about?"

"Positive." David paused to swallow a mouthful of coffee. "He's changed, Christy. After Lundy died...well...the fight seemed to go out of him. I think he cared more than he let on."

"Of course he cared." Despite his belief in harsh discipline and his conviction that Lundy was 'addlepated and twitter-witted,' Bird's-Eye was still a father. The death of his son would naturally hit him hard, and it didn't surprise me to hear that he had lost some of his fervor for stirring up trouble. The thing that did astonish me was his continued presence at the mission once Lundy was gone. Bird's-Eye Taylor hated the church and its work.

"Do you think he might...Did you ask if he would come? To services, I mean."

"Now that would be a miracle." He shook his head. "I offered, but he refused. I didn't expect anything drastic from him, Christy – for now, it's enough that he made peace with us. I don't think any stills will be up and running for awhile."

"Good." I hesitated. "David, I've been wondering...you have decided to drop the charges, haven't you? I mean, since Miss Alice knows that Lundy shot Tom, you won't let the Revs put Bird's-Eye in jail, will you? I know you wanted to, but...but all things considered, don't you think he deserves a fair chance? Please say you'll think about it."

David didn't question my insistence, but the sideways glance he gave me was quizzical. "I already have, Christy. I won't insist on punishment. He's paid the price for his actions twice over."

I pondered this thought, and amazingly, realized I felt pity for the grizzled old mountain man. He may have attempted to terrorize us, to intimidate our parishioners, and to ship illegal liquor all over the Cove, but I remembered what Opal had told me about him, about the quiet Taylor boy he had once been.

Time had certainly thrown plenty of things in his way to harden him; I knew his wife had left him and died in the city, and that she had taken two of their children with her, children who had simply disappeared into the indifferent bustle of the Nashville crowds. It was no secret either that his own father had been an abusive man with an impossible temper, or that his mother had died young from childbed fevers.

But then, in these mountains, so beautiful but so cruel, his story was not all that remarkable. I had seen death and sickness and violence erode away many a family, touching even my students with their taint of hopelessness. The seemingly futile efforts of the mission versus hundreds of years of tradition had discouraged me, but after nearly a year and with a better comprehension of the mountain lifestyle, I understood that these hardships, which might seem so unfair to me, were simply another struggle that the highlanders used to survive. Without anything to strengthen the bonds between families and neighbors, they could not preserve their ways; the outside world would overcome them, and, although improving their lives was a part of the mission's aim, their unique culture, their character, their courage and perseverance, would all be destroyed in the name of progress.

"Are you feeling unwell, Miss Huddleston?" I looked up, startled, to find Dr. MacNeill watching me intently. "Perhaps this was too much at once."

"I'm fine," I assured him, "just a little tired from all the excitement."

He smiled. "I hate to spoil your fun, but if you are a bit worn out, you'd best be off to bed again. There's no purpose in ruining all this progress by overdoing it."

I gave a token protest, but my heart wasn't much in it. I was tired and more than ready to return to the comfort of my room. I bid goodbye to the Becks, David and Ida, and the Doctor, thanking them for a lovely afternoon. Miss Alice escorted me upstairs and helped me change and spread Fairlight's starry quilt over my bed.

"You have had an eventful day," my companion remarked, sitting behind me on the mattress to braid what was left of my hair. "I hope you will rest well tonight, and perhaps tomorrow you may come down again to break your fast with us."

"I hope so too. I can't wait to return to school. I miss the children so."

"One thing at a time," Miss Alice reminded me, echoing Dr. MacNeill's words. "The children will wait for you to return to health; there is no hurry."

I swung my legs under the covers and burrowed back against the pillows with a sigh of pure pleasure. "I know that I'm in no condition to teach all day yet, but I'm an impatient person, Miss Alice. Pay no mind to me."

"Dear child," she said warmly, "I believe you will soon be back at the schoolhouse. Your impatience may not serve you well by itself, but it may provide you with the determination to recover with more haste. Say what thee will – I shall not judge."

I looked up into the Quaker woman's face, marveling not for the first time how a person could look so mild and yet so confident at the same time. "I know you won't, but you may quickly tire of my whining."

"Not whining – you merely voice your opinions."

We smiled at each other, and she reached out to tuck the covers around me. "Good night, Miss Huddleston." She paused. "Tomorrow, perhaps we can give your parents a call."

"That would be lovely." I snuggled under the quilts as Miss Alice blew out the lamp. "Goodnight," I said sleepily.

She stopped in the doorway to look back at me. "Sleep well, Christy."

A/N: Thanks for the reviews; and Christyfiction, I LOVE the TV series! I only wish it could have run for more than two seasons, but I did think that the movie-Neil was different from the novel-Neil. Don't get me wrong – Stewart did a fabulous job, and his acting turned me into a squealing Neil fangirl – but in the series Dr. MacNeill was angsty, aggressive, and short-tempered (although some of that may have been due to Mags coming back from the dead. :O). In the novel, MacNeill is quieter, has a great sense of humor, is confident to the point of conceit, and has an endless supply of patience, which irritates the dickens out of the impulsive Christy. :D As far as I can remember, the only time Christy ever gets a view of his temper is when he explodes at David over the moonshine fiasco.

I think that's partly why Neil and Christy are so compatible. He has extra years of experience and is realistic to a fault, a nice counterbalance to Christy's wide-eyed, naive idealism. His maturity offsets her recklessness, whereas David – who's as immature as she is – muddles into stupid things and drags Christy down with him. At the same time, Christy's innocence and fresh eagerness for life balance out Neil's tendency to be cynical – she deflates his oversized ego quite well, IMHO, at least.

Okay, I'm getting off my soapbox now. ; ) Any thoughts on Novel-Neil vs. Series-Neil?