CHAPTER SIX

MY JAUNT OUTDOORS hadn't had any adverse effects despite Miss Ida's predictions, and that small success made me impatient to test my strength even further. I felt like myself again: I could eat normally, I could bathe and dress and walk without assistance, and I was hungry for a return to my daily routines.

I had spent the majority of my time downstairs sewing, reading, or doing light chores around the mission house, and Dr. MacNeill said my recovery appeared to be complete, although some weakness still remained and my cropped hair was a blatant reminder of my fragile health.

In spite of frequent visits and constant companionship, I longed to go out and wander the trails and spend a little time alone in the fresh air. In fact, the continuous presence of others in the house, always covertly watching and listening, had begun to wear on me, and I badly wanted some time to myself.

"I think I'll go for a walk today," I announced one morning at the breakfast table.

David glanced up from his plate and grinned. "Is that a hint, Christy? You might have given me some warning – believe it or not, I do actually have some work to do today."

"Oh, no; I don't want you to come along." When Miss Ida's eyebrows shot up, I realized how rude I had sounded. "I didn't mean it like that – your company is always welcome, of course – but I'll be fine by myself today."

"By yourself? Are you crazy? You've only just gotten out of bed!"

"Dr. MacNeill gave me permission," I shot back.

"He gave you permission to return to your schedule slowly," David stressed. "I didn't hear him say anything about hiking all over the mountains."

"I wouldn't go far – maybe just to the Spencers' place. I've been wanting to see the children all week."

"The Spencer cabin is too far away, Christy. You'd never make it there." David twisted in his chair to face Miss Alice, who was sitting silently at the head of the table. "Alice, tell her."

She lowered her coffee cup deliberately. "Tell her what, David?"

He made an impatient gesture. "That she's insane to think she can tramp all the way over to Lonesome Pine Ridge by herself!"

"I am not insane," I said firmly. "I feel great, and I'm tired of being caged up in the house. I just want a little time to think. Is that so strange?"

"It is when you've just had typhoid! Alice, say something!"

Miss Alice studied me briefly. "Do be careful, Christy. We'll expect you back by noon."

I leapt up from my chair and gave her an impulsive hug before hurrying up the stairs to fetch my coat, leaving David behind to sputter and storm.

BUNDLED UP IN a woolen jacket and hat despite the warmth of the day, I beat a path to the Spencer cabin. I had a powerful desire to see the children again and ensure that Jeb was doing as well as he could. Fairlight's family would always be special to me – I couldn't take her place or soothe the pain that her death had caused, but perhaps in some small way, I could look after them for her.

The morning was crisp, and I soon discarded both the coat and hat, glorying in the feel of the sun on my face. Autumn had melted away into winter, but the frosts hadn't come yet, and the weather was unusually warm. Granny Barclay had predicted a mild winter, which had been a relief to the people of Cutter Gap. The typhoid had drained their strength and resources enough – a harsh winter might have been too much to bear even for them.

The resilience of these mountain families never failed to astound me. I had never known people who accepted hardship with such calm consent. Miss Alice had said it was because they believed in a harsh God – they viewed all problems as punishment for whatever perceived sins they had committed, or simply as the senselessly wrathful actions of an angry and impersonal Supreme Being – but I wondered if necessity hadn't just drained the lofty dreams right out of them.

They weren't soulless by any means, although I had heard them labeled so even by David, and neither were they spiritually ignorant. Fairlight had shown me the beauty that she and many of the others found in nature, in their mountains and rivers and flowers – things that I might have overlooked in the overwhelming deluge of dirt and poverty. To the highlanders, God was connected in every way to the natural wonder around them, majestic but forbidding.

And Opal: I had seen that same glimmer of beauty the day she had offered her hospitality to Bird's-Eye Taylor, a man who, for all she knew, had shot her husband in cold blood. There had been a strength and real glow of faith in her that put me to shame when I remembered how I had regarded her as simple and unaware.

I had been arrogant at first – earnest and eager to serve, yes, but arrogant all the same. I had been like David, wanting to clean up Cutter Gap, wanting to mold its people to my own tastes instead of just loving them as Miss Alice did. It had taken me several months to finally understand and appreciate her philosophy.

I remembered what Dr. MacNeill had said once about love being the most creative force in the universe, and I smiled at the irony. The Doctor, who was (no, I reminded myself, with a little thrill: he had been) the most determined skeptic about the presence of a loving God, had been the only one to agree with Miss Alice's methods. He had been speaking about human love, of course, but it was interesting that both of them understood that change could only come from patience, earned trust, and love.

Dr. MacNeill hadn't come back from medical school and immediately asserted the superiority of his knowledge over his neighbors – he had not demanded their confidence or forced his doctoring on them. No, he had gradually regained his place in the community through gentle persuasion and reassuring action, careful not to push but remaining staunch in his conviction of his skill, and it had resulted in success.

That was exactly what Miss Alice had done with her mission. Instead of preaching hellfire-and-damnation or doggedly arguing the validity of her beliefs over theirs, she built up a relationship with the people first, making the mission one of assistance and acceptance. God's love...that was what Miss Alice demonstrated, and it was the very best witness of all.

I paused halfway along the trail, surprised by how quickly I was tiring. My legs were a little unsteady, and my breathing was already labored. I slowed my pace – the last thing I wanted to do was turn back and give David the satisfaction of being right!

As I moved along, it seemed the moment of weakness passed, and I was able to push on with fresh determination. I distracted myself from the burning in my chest by searching the surrounding brush for familiar plants and flowers; I saw a few that I recognized from my 'berryin' trips with Fairlight.

Despite my attempts to occupy myself, I was shaky by the time I reached the Spencer cabin. The house was quiet, but a window was cracked open to let in the breeze, and Jeb's hounds began baying as soon as I set foot in the yard. I called out a greeting – the door opened and a woman's figure appeared in the threshold.

"Miz Christy? Land sakes, is that you? I didn't think you was outta bed yet."

"Opal?" I climbed the stairs, squinting into the shadow of the overhang curiously; Opal was holding a wooden spoon and bowl, and Little Guy was clinging to her skirt. "Are you visiting too?"

"Yep. Thought I oughta check in on the young'uns. Jeb went off ter hunt a spell, an' he swung round my place ter see if I could look in ter see if everythin' was in order." She absently ruffled the Least'un's pale blond hair. "I decided ter put on a pot of cabbage – Jeb probably won't be back fer a few days. Come in, Miz Christy, and stay awhile." She stepped back so I could enter.

Memories washed over me as I came inside. I hadn't been back to the Spencers' since the night Fairlight died. An eerie sensation crawled up my spine as I saw the patch of sunlight on the ground before the window, where Fairlight had fallen at my feet, begging me to save her from the 'shadder'.

"Miz Christy!" Toot and Vincent, who had obviously accompanied their mother, were soon at my side, and it didn't take long for the Spencer children to discover the source of the disturbance and scurry down from the loft to join us. I accepted their hugs and let Opal steer me to a seat at the table.

Toot squeezed into the chair next to me. "Yer lookin' awful peart now, Teacher."

"Exceptin' yer hair," Lulu piped up.

"Hesh up, Lulu," her brother scolded.

"I think yer hair looks right fine," Zady informed me, patting her own kerchief-covered scalp. "Do ya want a nice cloth like mine ter put on yer head, Teacher? This'un was my Granny Spencer's kerchief, and I have some more, iffen yer wantin' one."

Before I could say a word, she went over to the cornhusk mattress she shared with her sisters and pulled a checkered blue handkerchief out from beneath the pillow. She brought it back to me, her pixie face aglow with excitement. "Here, Miz Christy. This'un's a real nice color – all blue and purty."

I glanced over at Opal and then back at Zady. "It's very beautiful, Zady, but don't you want to wear it?"

"I have this'un already," Zady said. She paused, and her smile wavered. "Don't ya like it, Teacher?"

"I love it," I said sincerely, stroking the soft dyed linen. "Will you help me put it on?"

She became all animation and eagerness again as she helped me tie the cloth around my head to cover the worst of the bald spots. "Thar," she said at last, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "All done, Teacher."

"You done a good job, Zady," Opal commented from her post by the stew pot. "That blue suits Miz Christy jest fine."

I peered into the small cracked mirror that hung over the mantlepiece. "It looks wonderful, Zady. I don't know why I didn't think of covering my hair before."

The girl beamed.

With matters of grooming completed, the children pressed in around me to admire the kerchief and beg for a story. I was prepared, for before I had left the mission house I put a copy of Aesop's Fables in my coat pocket. I had quickly learned that the schoolchildren preferred folk stories and fairy tales to any other forms of literature; no quality was prized more highly in the mountains than the ability to spin a good yarn.

I settled myself more comfortably as the younger children crawled into my lap and the older ones sat down at the table. Even Opal listened in as she went about preparing dinner. I finished half the book before my voice began to grow hoarse; Opal, seeing my difficulty, left the cabbage to simmer over the fire and came to join us. "Might I try fer a spell, Miz Christy? I reckon this could be a readin' lesson, if ye'd like."

I handed over the book gratefully and accepted the glass of persimmon juice Clara brought me. I sipped it slowly and listened to Opal finish the tale of the tortoise and the hare, cuddling Lulu and Least'un close to me. For a moment I was transported to pleasant spring afternoons spent in this manner at the Spencer cabin with Fairlight and the children as she read to them. Only the fact that it was Opal's voice now and not Fairlight's reminded me that I would never enjoy those days again.

Soon Opal came to the end of the book, and I was brought back to the present. I had lost my recollection of time, and it was with some shock that I realized the sun was mid-sky. My brooch watch confirmed that it was twenty minutes past twelve – and I had promised Miss Alice I would be back by noon!

After bidding goodbye to everyone and thanking Zady once more for her gift, I shrugged on my coat and hurried out over the ridge toward the mission. I couldn't believe I had forgotten so easily. David and Miss Alice would be worried, and the last thing I wanted to do was give them more cause for concern.

I ran the distance of the field up past Lonesome Pine, slowing only as I forded the river. All I could think about were David's sharp remonstrances when I arrived back at the mission so late. Miss Alice would never let me go out without supervision again.

I waded through the achingly cold water without much difficulty, but to my surprise, when I reached the bank my knees buckled. Thankfully, I didn't fall hard, although my hands stung and I had to sit on the muddy ground for a minute. My breath was coming out in short gasps, and suddenly I felt very hot. I struggled out of my coat and splashed my face with river water, cursing myself for being so stupid, but my heartbeat gradually quieted and I was able to stand again.

I started to hike more slowly up the hill – still about a mile from mission property – and had nearly gained the top when that odd burning heat began to rise in my face again. I put my hands to my forehead, but it didn't feel hot to the touch. What was wrong with me?

A few steps more, and a strange vertigo took over. I stopped – the dizzying motion in my head didn't. Colors and shapes flashed before my eyes and I tried to cover them, but lights danced along my eyelids and pounded in my head.

My legs bent, and I lost my balance. I tried to grab hold of the nearest tree branch, but the earth tilted and whirled and suddenly I was lying down, the grass cool against my cheek. Shadows were creeping in around the edges of my eyes, my ears were ringing, and I felt oddly heavy.

I cried out for Miss Alice, for David, for Dr. MacNeill, but there was no answer. Blood throbbed in my temples. I closed my eyes, wanting it to stop, wanting to sleep. Something was moving over me, turning me, touching my shoulder, my arm, my head. I tried to reach up and the world exploded with blinding light and then faded into darkness.

A/N: Da, da, dummm...! Poor Christy is always getting sick or knocked out or injured in fanfiction. Maybe she's spent too much time around Bob Allen. :D

Seriously, did anyone else notice how unlucky that guy was? Let's see: in the series he got popped on the head by a tree, his youngest son fell off a cliff, his children all contracted scarlet fever, and his hand was crushed by a falling millstone. Oh, and in the movies he got shot by Ozias Holt, nearly drowned during a storm, and had his cabin swept away in a flood. Did I miss anything?

Thanks for the feedback, as always. Your reviews make me happy inside. ; )