CHAPTER ELEVEN

"WELL, DARLING, WHAT do you think of this one?"

I looked up to see Mother examining one of my favorite gowns, a copper-brown taffeta that my grandmother had bought me on holiday last year. She held it up against me contemplatively. "This might do. You need more color in your face, though – darker shades make you look too pale."

"Isn't it a bit too – ouch!"

She had pinched my cheek. Stepping back to admire the effect, she nodded. "Yes, that will be fine. Slip it on, Christy, and see how it fits."

I sighed inwardly, rubbing my stinging cheek, and began to undress. An invitation had arrived early in the morning, bearing the letterhead of one of Father's colleagues, an attorney from Nova Scotia who had made a name – and fortune – for himself in the legal world and had further advanced his position through a fortuitous marriage to a daughter of one of Asheville's wealthiest and most prominent families.

After building an opulent mansion for his new bride, Mr. Hayvescroft had set up a successful law firm in town, dealing mainly with business claims; Father had great respect for him, declaring that, all expectations to the contrary, he was a capital fellow with a fine sense of honor.

And so Father's influential friendship with the master of Hayvescroft Hall had turned out to have its advantages. Chief among these, at least in Mother's opinion, was the regularly issued invitation to the Hayvescrofts' annual Yuletide Ball. The estate was remarkable, surrounded by a park three miles around – only Biltmore, the exquisite home of the Vanderbilts, was grander – and the prestige associated with visiting was very great.

I had been attending with my parents since I began wearing my hair up, and every year the celebration seemed to grow larger and more flamboyant. I hadn't attended last year due to my residence in Cutter Gap, but from Mother's letters, I gathered that the previous ball had been one of best yet – Mr. Hayvescroft had even brought in a London chamber orchestra to play for the evening.

Mother was certain that this year's performance wouldn't suffer in comparison, and she waited anxiously as the end of December approached for the invitation to arrive, as if Mr. Hayvescroft might suddenly forsake the established habit of a decade and slight us.

Father, aware of Mother's worries, hadn't teased her by concealing the arrival of the long-anticipated note. Along with the presentation of the coveted paper, Father had some further news from our family physician. A week ago, and in spite my objections, Father had arranged an appointment with Dr. Burke for the purpose of giving me a thorough examination; the soft-spoken, elderly gentleman had finished the inspection with as little possible humiliation for me and had seemed optimistic about the extent of my recovery. Father had gone in to speak with Dr. Burke just the other day, and the doctor had charted the information from my recent examination and determined that I was well enough to attend the Christmas party if I wished.

Immediately after Father made this announcement, Mother had begun her fussing over my clothes and hair, which was why I was presently trapped upstairs with her and a closet full of clothing.

"Raise your arms, Christy." Mother slid the brown dress over my head, but when I tried to pull the delicate puffed sleeves up on my shoulders, we discovered that the fabric was too tight. It seemed that despite my recent weight loss, I had built up some muscle in my months at the mission. Mother toyed with the notion of trying to force my arms though, but that idea was quickly abandoned in favor of preserving the expensive taffeta.

I wriggled back out of the gown, and Mother carefully folded it and laid it regretfully on the bedspread.

"I could wear something I used in Cutter Gap. This one still fits better than the others," I said, pulling out the dress of watered blue silk I had often worn to church in the Cove – it was the only formal apparel I had brought with me to the mountains, my one concession to my secret fondness for beautiful clothes.

"Wear that?" Mother was properly horrified. "Christy, look at it! Not only is it completely faded from washing, but it's two years out of style. No, we shall have to find you a new dress."

I knew it was useless to argue; that singular expression of mule-headedness had come over her face. So after leaving a note for George, who was off somewhere with his friends, we took a streetcar down to Main Street.

Mother was in her element, directing me from shop to shop, comparing prices and consulting with all the dressmakers. Everyone we happened upon welcomed me back cordially, but I was aware of their speculative eyes following me as I riffled through fabrics and cards of lace.

One or two of the ladies we met were bold enough to inquire directly about Cutter Gap and the typhoid epidemic. I hadn't realized that anyone in Asheville would be aware of the scourge, but with an illness as grave as the typhoid fever, news tended to travel fast and far. I wondered whether their interest was born of real concern for the afflicted people involved or whether it was merely curiosity.

Between fending off impertinent questions and walking halfway across the shopping district, I was soon weary. Mother, still fretful about my health, resolved to leave me at a nearby café to get a drink and rest while she went to purchase us new pairs of dancing gloves and slippers. Knowing that there was little else for me to do, I sat outside at a small round table under a candy-striped umbrella, watching the people and automobiles pass by. An older couple sat at a table on the other side of the café door, chatting quietly; the street was crowded, and a woman clutching the hand of a crying, towheaded little boy rushed past, struggling to hold a collection of large parcels and looking harried.

I sipped at a cool glass of lemonade the waiter brought me and waited for Mother. Knowing how she liked to take her time to select exactly the right thing, I suspected that I would be sitting here for some time.

"Why, Christy! Is that really you?"

I twisted around in my seat to find a young woman approaching from across the street. "Eileen!" I stood up just as she dodged the last honking car and stepped up onto the curb.

Tall and fair, Eileen Mayhew was my opposite in nearly every way. Besides the obvious differences between her shining gold hair and statuesque figure and my own narrow, dark features, Eileen was poised, cultured, and reserved. She never seemed to embarrass herself or say the wrong thing; she was perfectly composed and perfectly lovely.

It was strange, really, that we had ever become friends at all. I was forever governed by the impulse of the moment, while Eileen seemed immune to it. Still, somehow we had managed to find a balance between our personalities; we had been friends since our schoolgirl days, and Eileen was one of the few people to support my decision to teach in Cutter Gap. Her letters those first few months had given me some much-needed encouragement.

"It is such a treat to see you again," Eileen said. "Mother told me that you had arrived in town two weeks ago – I only just came back myself from Charleston – and I was going to call on you this very afternoon." She laughed. "How lucky it is that Mother sent me downtown today."

"Come and sit with me," I said, drawing her toward the table. "We can talk and...well, unless, of course, you're too busy today."

"Not at all. There were only a few errands, but they can wait." She sat down across from me and reached out to grasp my hands. "Oh, I am so very glad to see you again! We were all so frightened – you are better now, aren't you?"

"Much better...except for this." I smirked and patted the cap of very short, very uneven curls on my head. The hairdresser had done the best she could under the circumstances, and I was pleased with what she had been able to accomplish. The small amount of hair that wasn't curled was swept over artfully to cover the bare patches of scalp, and even George admitted that the glossy whorls looked very well, making my face appear somewhat fuller. It was still a great adjustment, however, and I hoped my hair would grow out quickly.

Eileen shook her head at me. "Nonsense. Cropped hair is becoming quite the thing on the coast, you know. Plenty of stylish women have started wearing their hair short."

I appreciated the thought, even if I suspected her of some exaggeration. "Tell me, how was Charleston? Were you visiting your uncle?"

We twittered on like a pair of birds, talking of anything and everything – Eileen ordered a drink for herself and a tray of pastries to share, and though the food between us rapidly dwindled, our conversation didn't. After exhausting her curiosity about all the latest news in Cutter Gap, Eileen finally found a moment to dispense some news of another sort.

"I have something to tell you, Christy," she said, "but I haven't been sure whether you will like it or not. I didn't write of it in my last letter because I thought it would be better shared in person." She set down her cup and leaned forward across the table. "I am engaged."

"Engaged! When? – how, who?"

At this, her smile faltered a little. "Charles Prescott."

Charles Prescott? Bookish, bashful, awkward Charlie Prescott? My expression must have shown my amazement and disbelief, for Eileen reproved me. "Christy, why should it be such a surprise? You know Charles's parents are great friends of Mother and Father. I've known him nearly all my life."

"But – marriage? Did your mother and father push you into it?" I stared at her. "Do you love him?"

My friend sighed. "Christy, for heaven's sake, it's not as if it's some sort of medieval arranged match. I like Charles very well, and I'm convinced our chance of happiness is just as good as anyone else's. I want to start a family."

"I'm sorry, Eileen." Once again I had managed to misspeak. "Of course you know what you want – Charles is a very kind man, and I'm sure he'll adore you to the end of your days."

Eileen blushed prettily. "And what about you, Christy? Any young men for you?" I thought that she was merely trying to turn the subject; she wasn't generally so bold. "What about that man, the preacher you talked about – Daniel."

"David."

"David. Well?"

I stared down at the checkered tablecloth, not knowing what to say. "No, we're not...well, it's not really anything, not now."

Eileen studied me intently. "I thought he wanted to marry you."

"I...he..." I was flustered. I hadn't remembered writing about David's proposal to her, but I must have. How many others had I let it slip to? "It didn't turn out."

"Oh. He must have been disappointed. Not that I blame you, of course," she added hastily. "If you didn't like him well enough, then of course you were right to put down his expectations."

I sat still, quiet, cut by her words. David...oh, what had I done? I hadn't said a word to him about his proposal – I hadn't told him anything about my feelings before I left! Was he expecting a reply when I came back? Did he consider us engaged? I hadn't done anything to prevent him from forming that conclusion...but then he had not renewed his offer when I had talked to him that night...

Eileen's soft voice again registered in my head as I realized she was still talking, and I forced myself to listen. "...no matter what anyone else says. I know you too well, Christy. You couldn't be content with that."

I swallowed past a sudden constriction in my throat. How could I possibly explain the current jumble of my feelings to her? The situation with David was so precarious; everything had been upended by the epidemic. Before that, I had been sure that I was in love with David, that our marriage was a dearest wish of mine. I had been prepared to accept him – Neil MacNeill had never even been a possibility then. He had been an enigma, a puzzling and confusing man, not a lover. But now...now everything had changed. David, dear familiar David, had become the stranger, while Dr. MacNeill...what was Dr. MacNeill to me?

I liked him, certainly; I respected his skills and compassionate heart. My opinion of him had only just lately become more positive as I was able to know him better, but so much of what he was remained a mystery. I knew he loved me – he had said so himself, and my romantic heart was touched by that declaration – but what did I feel? David's attentions had led me to believe that I was in love. How was I to know the difference when I finally did experience the genuine article?

"Are you feeling well?" Eileen was watching me with an air of consternation. "You look a little pale."

"I'm sorry – I was distracted."

"I could see that." She smiled and then became serious again. "Did I bring up something I shouldn't have? You and the Reverend didn't part on bad terms, I hope."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I...we...there were complications, but I'm not nursing a broken heart, if that's what you're thinking. You just reminded me that there are a few things I need to deal with when I go home."

"Home? You mean Cutter Gap."

I laughed. "I guess I do."

Eileen stirred her coffee. "You're going back, aren't you?"

I winced. "I don't know. I'm more than a little confused at the moment; I feel like I'm being pulled in a thousand directions all at once."

I had been so firmly resolved on returning to the Cove immediately after the holiday that I had forgotten how tempting the pull of my childhood home was. Here I could stay with my family, with my friends – I would never have to sweep floors or do laundry or walk all across the mountains to study with my students. There would be no more feuding, no more hunger, no more moonshine, no more poverty, no more filth and ignorance and hardship... I could take a teaching job in Asheville with good pay and clean classrooms, and no one would fault me for it.

My mother – and even, on occasion, Father – spoke of more local possibilities, of the nearby schoolhouse which was in great need of teachers, of opportunities available to me here. Why, I could attend college for another semester and broaden my knowledge, improve my teaching abilities. Didn't I owe it to my students to offer them the best possible education?

I found that I was far more tempted by these options than I had believed I would be. The appeal of another year of college and staying near my family was strong; I was quickly forgetting why I had gone to Cutter Gap in the first place.

I was still wondering how best to express this to Eileen when my mother arrived, burdened with several parcels and boxes. Seeing that Mother was fixed upon continuing the search for my dress, Eileen graciously excused herself, promising to call later so we could talk. I said goodbye and followed Mother dutifully into the next boutique. Her attention was immediately drawn to a display of shawls and gauzy wraps, but I stayed close to the door, unable to pay proper notice to the finery.

Finding nothing to her liking, Mother moved on to the next table and lifted up a beautiful spangled tippet. "What about this, darling? It might go well with your green muslin."

I didn't answer – my conversation with Eileen had struck me deeply, and I could think of nothing else. As if her questions had knocked something loose in my mind, it occurred to me for the first time what I had been doing to David.

I should have given him a definite answer from the start. His proposal to me had been an indecisive thing, and I had been no more aware of my own feelings than he was. I had meant to accept him – to commit to becoming Mrs. Christy Grantland – that evening at his bunkhouse, but again God seemed to have spared me from myself. I knew something was wrong, but I had ignored that truth because...well, because I was a starry-eyed girl who knew nothing about love. And in many ways, I realized, I was still that same girl.

But that did not excuse my recent behavior. I should have told David as soon as I had the opportunity how I felt about our relationship and my belief in the rightness of moving on. The truth might have stung him for a while, but at least the suspense and anticipation would have been over. My greatest fear was that our friendship would be permanently damaged now, and I had no one to blame for it but myself.

How unfair, how selfish I had been! There was time yet to remedy the situation, but I dreaded his reaction. Still, it must be done, for the good of everyone involved.

I leaned my head against the windowpane, deaf to Mother's inquiries and comments, blindly watching the scene of prosperity before me and praying that somehow I could say the right words when the time came. Resolved, I turned and went back to rejoin Mother, determined to mend the broken connections I had left behind me in Cutter Gap.

At last, due to the harmless interference of a friend, it was all decided, and I had never in my life felt such a strange combination of relief and sorrow.

A/N: This was a pretty long and action-free chapter, sorry; but it was due time that Christy got a bit of a clue. She's not exactly the most perceptive being on this planet. ; )

As far as the inclusion of minor characters like Eileen and the Hayvescrofts, I took some major-league liberties. Ms. Marshall tells us almost nothing about Christy's childhood – she doesn't mention any of Christy's friends or schoolmates except for a brief passage in which Christy wishes she were "beautiful like my friend Eileen back in Asheville." It's been tons of fun to characterize her family and friends, and I hope I'm not muddling it up too badly.

And on a different note: NoMoreTV, I'd never thought about the similarities between Rochester and Neil – you're absolutely right about those sinking-into-the-depths-of-angst moments in the series, plus the additional Undead Wife element! Perhaps if the series had gone on long enough, Mags would have set Neil's cabin on fire and jumped off the roof. :D

Thanks everyone for your attention and reviews!