CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I HAD ALWAYS loved taking walks in our garden – Father used to say that I would spend all my time in the hedgerow if Mother let me. Now, of course, I found the trees and flowers reassuring for another reason; the garden was a small slice of nature in a world crowded by people and buildings and paved streets. And today, especially, I craved that solitude.

A week had passed since the party at the Hayvescrofts', but my conversation with Mr. Hale was still very much in my mind. I couldn't help it – his words had stung, and my own reaction to them troubled me. Why did I feel such a need to defend Cutter Gap and my choice to live there? After much thought, I decided that perhaps my own indecision made me sensitive to criticism; the Cove had become something of a symbol of my personal accomplishments. Every negative remark directed toward the place I had come to love seemed more like an insult to me.

I had to do something. This indecision was tearing at me. Not for the first time, I wished for Miss Alice's wise counsel or Opal's quiet willingness to listen.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I turned around to find George on the other side of the garden fence, a bat and baseball glove slung over his shoulder. There was a smear of dirt on his cheek, and the knees of his trousers and his shoes were stained with mud.

"Been out on the baseball field?"

"Not today – there were some kids out there already, so we went down to the riverbank, as you can see." He gestured at his filthy clothes and grinned. "It'll probably be the last time we can play before it really starts to snow." He looked me over. "Are you thinking too much again?"

I sighed. "Of course."

George studied me for a moment and then vaulted easily over the fence. "Do you mind some company, then?"

"I'd like that."

We took the path down toward the hill behind the house; it was quiet and calm, with a cold, numbing wind that snapped at our faces and hands. We walked together in easy silence, keeping pace with each other and attending our own thoughts.

"I think it might snow soon," George commented, as we wound through the thick patch of apple trees at the bottom of the slope. He blew out his breath, and it hung in front of him in a silvery mist. "It's getting cold, finally. We haven't had much of a winter this year."

"You don't care a whit about the weather – neither do I, for that matter, and we both know it. Now what is it you want to say?"

He smiled. "I can't slip anything past you, can I? I just wanted to have a heart-to-heart with my darling sister, of course. No need to make that face, Christy; I mean it. I'm curious about a few things."

"Such as?"

"Such as whether you're leaving us next week."

I eyed him suspiciously. "And how did you find that out?"

"Sarah said you asked to have your trunks brought back down to your room."

"Sarah talks too much," I muttered.

"Unfortunately for you, she happens to like me," he said, a little smugly. "It's handy to have such good connections of gossip in the house."

Knowing that he wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than the truth, I said grudgingly, "I haven't decided what to do yet."

"Why?"

And so the entire story came spilling out. I told him about the schoolchildren, about Miss Alice and how I had come to love and depend on her, about David and Dr. MacNeill, and all the problems I had left unresolved back in Cutter Gap. I told him how much I wanted to go back, but how much I wanted to stay too. I talked about Mother and Father, how they would feel if I left again, back to a place that had nearly killed me – how I didn't want to tear our family apart because my dreams took me too far away.

I talked and talked while he listened patiently, only nodding now and then, not even smiling or interjecting a teasing word when I spoke about Neil and David. He was serious and silent, watching me without expression, and his impartial manner made me more at ease.

"I don't know what to do," I concluded. "I know what I should do, but how can I do it? Either way, I'll disappoint someone I love."

George hesitated, and then plowed ahead. "And this doctor fellow – Neil?" At my nod, he went on. "You say he loves you. How do you know? Has he said something?"

I paused. That experience was something I held close to my heart; I had never told anyone about it before, except Dr. MacNeill, but the Doctor had been intimately involved in the incident, and I wasn't sure that I was ready to tell my brother about something so private. George seemed to understand my reluctance.

"Never mind, Christy. It doesn't matter." He shrugged. "But how you feel does matter."

"That's the problem," I admitted, feeling a surprising lack of self-consciousness, considering the fact that I was discussing my love life with my little brother. "It's hard to see Dr. MacNeill as...as a suitor. George, I didn't even like him when we first met, but then I found things to respect and admire in him. I didn't even know he ever thought of me... romantically...until recently. I like him very much, better than I thought I would, but I don't know what to do. Sometimes, when I was around him, I was sure that I wanted him to court me, but lately, I've...I've..."

"You've been having doubts," he finished for me.

"Yes. Well, not about him, exactly – I like him as well as I ever did. I'm just not sure about a deeper relationship. I'm not sure I'm really ready to marry anyone, or if I would know whether I had made the right choice if I did."

George smiled for the first time since our conversation started. "And who said you had to get married right away? Do you expect the Doctor to propose to you the instant you set foot back in the Cove? Is he so sure of himself, or are you just that irresistible?"

I flushed, a little irritated. "Of course not. He is too confident, but I don't think he would ever do something that impulsive. And I'm not expecting anything from him."

"Look, Christy, people don't usually get married right away. If the Doc is really in love with you and wants to marry you, he's going to make sure he knows what you feel before he makes a move. No man wants to get thrown out on his ear by a girl."

"Speaking from personal experience, George?"

I had meant it as a joke, but to my surprise, George gave me a sharp look. "You'd be surprised," he said quietly.

This news alarmed me, and I wanted to question him about it – after all, he had only just turned fifteen the day after Christmas! – but his closed expression discouraged me from prying into his affairs. "I suppose you're right, and that's the problem. After his initial...uh, declaration, he hasn't said a word about us, or his intentions."

"Maybe he needs some encouragement. He's a widower, right? Well, he's been away from the hunt for awhile, then – you might have to be the one to court him." George laughed at my look of astonishment. "I mean it, Christy. If I know you at all, you haven't given him a single clue either. You have to meet him halfway, or you'll be mooning over each other until you're both too old to care anymore."

I shoved him. "Away from the hunt? Mother would wash your mouth out with soap for that kind of street talk."

"Speaking of which..."

I knew exactly what he was hinting at. "That hasn't had a bit of bearing on any of this, George Huddleston."

His eyebrows arched up. "Really?"

He was daring me to be honest, and I struggled with myself before letting out a sigh. "Oh, all right. I admit it, Mother's reaction has bothered me too. And Daddy's, for that matter. Dr. MacNeill isn't exactly their idea of a gentleman. He's intelligent and good, but he's not like the men here. He's not elegant or handsome or debonair – he can't turn a phrase or talk about the latest style of coats or the newest political scandal. I doubt he's worn a suit since he went to Philadelphia for medical school. He's more... elemental."

George snorted. "I'm sure he can handle himself in the city, Christy. You said he went to college."

"I didn't say he couldn't handle himself – he's just different, and Mother doesn't like anything that's different. She wouldn't welcome him."

"Give her a little credit, Sis. If you married the man, I doubt she would turn your husband out on the street. That would cause a scandal, after all." He winked.

Despite my annoyance, the phrase 'your husband' sent a little frisson coursing through me. "I don't think he would be comfortable with us, except with you – and maybe Daddy, once they were better acquainted. He's very proud of his heritage, George, and I know he would be able to tell that Mother disdained it. He's not phenomenally rich or from a good family; he would have nothing that would impress her. The only fine things he owns are an old mantle clock and a few pieces of furniture from Scotland. I don't know that he has very much money at all; his patients pay him with beans and chickens."

George started to laugh, but seeing that I was serious, he quieted. "If it doesn't matter to you, then it shouldn't matter to Mother. She might not like it, but she'd come around eventually. Besides you're not even sure if you want the Doctor to court you yet." He paused. "Do people really pay him with chickens?"

"Yes." I sighed. "You'd understand if you saw Cutter Gap. Mother would take one look at the filthy cabins and ragged clothes and run right back across the border – and she would probably drag me with her."

"Kicking and screaming all the way," George added. "I doubt she could drag you anywhere if you didn't want to go. And that's the problem, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You want her to make your decision for you, to say no or to say yes. You don't want to have to make the choice yourself, because then you'd have to be accountable for it."

He had spoken gently, without any sharpness, but his words bit deep, and I had to blink back sudden tears. "You're right." I looked up at him. "How did you know?"

"I'm not trying to overstep myself – but you're my sister and I think I can say that I've learned a lot about you in the past fifteen years. You have to do what's right. I don't know what's right, but you do. The sooner you figure that out the better. Decide who you really are, Christy."

My brother sounded so much like Miss Alice in that moment that I almost asked him when he had decided he was really a Quaker. Instead I said, "I don't know who I am."

"Then you should find out," George said simply, leading me toward the house. He paused at the gate and smiled back at me. "I'm sure the Doc would like to know too."

PRAYER IS A solution, not a suggestion – or so Miss Alice had once told me. I had always considered prayer a last recourse, an afterthought to ensure that I was provided for or protected. Not until recently had I come to see that conversations with God were a lifestyle, not something that could be called upon only in special circumstances.

Lately I seemed to have forgotten that. It was already the first week in January, within a few days of my planned departure, and I was in a terrible state of indecision. I felt torn between my family and the work that I still could do in Cutter Gap, even after my talk with George. Only after several anxious days and restless nights did it finally come to me that I had yet to go to God with my burden.

That neglect was instantly remedied, and I felt ashamed of how long it had taken me to turn to God for guidance. I spent that very afternoon in prayer, and when I emerged from my room that evening for supper, I knew what I needed to do.

The meal went by silently – I was too busy mentally preparing myself for the argument to come to provide much conversation; George glanced at me every so often, his expression full of sympathy and encouragement, and I tried to draw some comfort from it. Mother and Father didn't seem to see anything unusual in our reticence, and Mother had enough to say about the afternoon's Ladies' Society meeting to fill the gap nicely.

I didn't eat much, too nervous to attend to the food, and as soon as the dessert plates were cleared away by Sarah, I cleared my throat and suggested that we sit in the parlor together. Father seemed a little surprised, but Mother seconded my idea gladly, sending Sarah for some coffee. George excused himself, giving me a wink before he disappeared up the stairs.

My parents and I were soon closeted in the parlor, chatting lightly. I sank into my chair, gripping the cup of coffee desperately, and wondering how in the world I was to broach the subject. I had the loveliest walk this morning, Mother. The weather was so clear and warm for this time of year. Oh, and by the way, I'm leaving for Cutter Gap next Tuesday...

I shook my head and rose to my feet. The memory of the serenity I had found during my afternoon prayer session renewed what little faltering spirit was in me, and I faced them with all the courage I could find. "Mother, Daddy," I said, hating myself for the tremor in my voice, "I have something to tell you."

My parents' attention was fixed on me, and miraculously, now that the time was here, I felt a sudden wash of peace come over me. This was the right thing. This was what I was meant to do. "I've enjoyed being here at home so much," I began firmly, "but I've been considering the matter, and I believe it's time for me to go back to Cutter Gap. I told Miss Alice that I would return a week after the New Year, so she'll be expecting me soon. I have already booked a ticket for the train home, and Sarah brought my trunks in for me. I...I thought you should know."

There was a stunned silence; Father was staring down at his hands, his expression inscrutable, but Mother was plainly horrified. It took her several minutes to recover her voice. "How kind of you to inform us, Christy," she said in clipped tones. "At least you gave us some warning beforehand."

"I..."

"What are you thinking?" she cried, startling both Father and I. "Christy, how can you even speak of going back to that...that place?" Her voice rose in agitation. "I thought this was done, once and for all. I thought you had finally come to your senses and given up this reckless lark of yours and decided to settle down like you ought..."

Amazingly, I was not angry – just more determined than ever. "This isn't a game, Mother. I made a commitment to the mountain people and my children."

"Your children? I don't see any likelihood of you having children if you continue to waste your youth and beauty in this misguided quest for glory! You have — "

"Julia." Father's low voice cut suddenly into our argument, silencing us both.

We waited, in an agony of suspense; his face was still unreadable, clearly bent on giving away nothing. He appeared to be considering the matter, in that slow, deliberate way of his. For a moment I saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something of conflict, of an internal struggle – but then it was gone.

I couldn't bear it any longer. "Daddy?"

"I want you to be happy," he said at last.

"John..." Mother whispered.

"No, Julia. She's old enough to make her own choices and accept the consequences." Rising slowly from his chair, he walked over to where I stood by the fireplace. He opened his arms and I rushed into them gratefully. "Thank you, Daddy," I murmured, unable to find any other words to express what I felt.

I heard a rush of silk and peered over his shoulder to see Mother fleeing up the stairs; I started to pull back, to follow her, but my father's hands at my shoulders stopped me. "Leave her be, Christy." He waited until I was looking at him before saying, "I've been expecting this since the year turned; I knew you couldn't be put off so easily. You have the Huddleston stubbornness."

I smiled, but he remained grim-faced. "I can't pretend I'm pleased with your choice, but you have to do what you feel led to do. I let you go once, and I will do it again, but promise me that you'll remember you always have a home here with us."

"I know, Daddy. I know." Reaching up, I kissed his cheek, feeling a new freshness suffusing me, a new sense of purpose. Mother would come around; I knew that she loved me enough to trust me, even if she was angry now. I was at peace with myself, with God, with my choice. I was doing the right thing. I was meant for what lay ahead in the Cove.

I was finally coming home.

A/N: Whew. Okay, the sojourn in Asheville has officially ended. Cheers! Now it's back to business in good ol' Cutter Gap.

About Catherine Marshall's sequel, I thought I would just post about it here so anyone who was interested could get the info. I don't know that her actual complete synopsis is available, but "Christy: the Collector's Edition" had an insert with a page of Catherine's notes for her intended sequel to "Christy." In case you don't want to run out and buy the book for a page of photocopied notes, I'll lay out the main points (and I'm paraphrasing here):

1) Christy recovers from typhoid and eventually lets MacNeill know that she heard his confession.

2) Christy leads the Doctor to a deeper and more meaningful faith, and he recovers his relationship with Miss Alice.

3) Christy doesn't want her parents to see what Cutter Gap is like because she knows they will refuse to let her come back. Her father especially wants her to stay in Asheville for her own safety.

4) David realizes he doesn't belong in the Cove and steps gracefully out of the picture.

5) Christy marries the Doctor; they establish a medical clinic in Cutter Gap. One of the mountain boys (not specified) receives medical training and helps with the practice.

6) 5-10 years after the events of the novel, Neil receives an offer for research which he believes will benefit his people more in the long run. He and Christy leave the Cove.

A few of these points -- like the MacNeills leaving CG -- surprised me, but Catherine never said whether they would come back or not when the research grant was exhausted. I choose to think they did. ; ) It's just a shame that she didn't write the sequel after all. But then again, maybe "Christy" wouldn't be such an intriguing book if it had all been spelled out for us. The ending, although frustrating sometimes, gives us the opportunity to imagine our own outcomes.

And, as a side-note, the collector's edition of "Christy" actually is pretty interesting. It includes photographs of Leonora, John Wood, and Catherine; little tidbits about Catherine's progress and inspiration for the book; letters from friends and her mother; notes that Catherine wrote to herself about ideas for scenes in the book; and some pics of historical artifacts from Leonora's time. (Oh, and it has a picture of Stewart in it, too.) :D

Sorry for babbling, and thanks for your reviews as always!