CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IT WAS STRANGE to wake up in my old bed at the mission house. For a moment, as the sunlight filtered into the austere little room, I was disoriented, expecting to open my eyes and see the luxurious furnishings of my bedchamber back in Asheville. Memory returned as quickly as it had gone as pictures flashed into my head and I remembered that I was in Cutter Gap again. Blinking sleepily, I got up, shuffled across the ice-cold floorboards, and threw open the doors to the small balcony. A bitter wind whipped into me, billowing my nightgown and hair, and I rushed to wrap myself in my robe before venturing back outside.

The sun had just risen and the mountains lay beyond the trees, washed with purple and the deepest, most vivid blue I had ever seen; I didn't think that such a color existed anywhere but here in these hills. The air was clean and crisp, and I stood for a few long minutes admiring the scene, oblivious to the chill of the snow under my bare feet.

There was a knock at the door, and Miss Ida's voice called impatiently for me to come downstairs for breakfast. I hurried to dress and fix my hair.

David hadn't come in from his bunkhouse yet, but Miss Ida loaded my plate anyway, unbending so far as to give me a wooden smile. I'd missed her too, I realized...but I'd missed her delectable corn muffins even more.

I was already on my third muffin when the porch door swung open and David wandered into the room, dressed in a plaid shirt and ragged overalls. Miss Ida shook her head over the sight, but I said, "Going to a working, David?"

He plopped down into his chair and reached for the platter stacked with toast. "Nope. It's about time I started on that chicken coop. The hens aren't very happy with the crowded conditions."

"They've put off their laying," Miss Ida informed me, passing the coffee pot to her brother, "so don't expect any eggs until the coop is finished."

"I'm not looking forward to it," David admitted. "It'll be the worst chicken coop anyone has ever built in Cutter Gap. I don't suppose you want to help out, Christy?"

I responded to his teasing with a laugh. "I'd be glad to help, but I'm not sure the chickens would appreciate it."

"You can hardly pound a nail in straight," was Miss Ida's tart remark.

I could only shrug. Artistry wasn't something that ran in our family.

We finished up breakfast quickly, since David wanted to get to work as soon as he could, and Ida and I saw no point in lingering at the table. Miss Alice had gone up to Raven Mountain for the day, so I decided to use my free time to visit the schoolhouse. Miss Ida sent me on my way with a warning not to touch the inside walls, for David had just put a fresh coat of varnish on them.

The room was arranged exactly as I had left it, except that someone had obviously been readying it for the new school year. The storage crates had been unpacked; the bookshelves were filled with textbooks and pamphlets, art supplies and paper were stacked neatly on the counter. The floors were spotless, and even my desk had been scrubbed down and waxed. I would have to think of something special to give the children for all their hard work.

There was really very little for me to do, so after checking that everything was in order, I left. I knew Miss Ida was busy canning preserves in the kitchen; I had volunteered for the task once before and ended up breaking two jars, and she had banned me from helping ever since.

The O'Teale cabin was nearby, almost the same distance from the mission as the Spencers', only it was located on the cusp of a hill on the opposite side of the field – I decided that I would pay a visit. I hoped Swannie wouldn't mind my coming without an invitation. Thrusting my stinging hands in my coat pockets, I forded the shallow trenches of the morning's snowfall, trying not to lose my balance.

The walk didn't take long. I went through the yard, carefully avoiding the half-skinned rabbit corpse that hung from a tree branch near the porch, and went to knock on the door.

Swannie opened it. "Waal, come in, Miz Christy." She moved aside, reaching up to futilely smooth the stringy strands of hair that fell across her brow. "The young'uns and I was jest settin' down ter dinner."

The moment I stepped across the threshold, the awful stench of boiling fat, grease and smoke, and other unmentionable smells assaulted my nose. I had never really become accustomed to the O'Teale cabin, but fortunately, my stomach had stopped lurching each time I visited.

The O'Teales were sitting around the lopsided table, bowls of some sort of porridge set in front of them. They abandoned their lunch, however, when Swannie and I came inside. Little Mary was the first to reach us, wrapping her arms around my legs and holding tight, and Mountie timidly came up to put her hand in mine. Orter Ball and Smith were considerably more reserved; Smith merely nodded to me, but Orter Ball smiled his shy, gap-toothed smile, scooting across the bench to make room for me.

The children were as full of questions as the Spencers had been, eager to hear about my trip to Asheville – to hear them speak of it, my hometown was apparently as far away from Cutter Gap as the moon was! Even Smith asked me more about the automobiles I mentioned, and when I finished my explanation, he looked disbelieving, as though a "horseless carriage" was quite beyond his imagination. And then again, I supposed, it was.

Swannie, as curious as her children, soon came to sit down with us, getting up once and awhile to bring a bit of oatmeal or bread to Wilmer, who still sat in his little enclosed pen; the rolling eyes and streamers of spittle running down his chin didn't disturb me nearly so much as they had the first time I had met the oldest O'Teale boy; at least I no longer jumped every time he hollered for his mother's attention.

Mountie crawled up onto my knee and sat tranquilly while I listened to Orter Ball and Mary talk about the Christmas jollification. She spoke up only once, to ask haltingly if school would start now that I was home.

I assured her that it would as soon as everything was arranged. A little cheer went up from the other children, and Mountie smiled at me, her pretty blue eyes bright and eager. I spent an enjoyable half-hour with the O'Teales until the strong odors started to give me a headache, so I said goodbye and headed back to the mission.

I was nearly as excited for school to start as the children were, and on the walk home, I resolved to ask David when the schoolroom would be ready. He had yet to install the new windows, and I certainly wasn't going to subject my students or myself to the freezing open-air drafts. I hoped he would hurry.

This year would be a good one, I decided. I was well-rested and impatient to get back to work; no longer was I a green, untried teacher, and I knew and loved my students well enough to know how to deal with most of the problems that would undoubtedly come up. Also, I had done a little research of my own during my stay in Asheville, and there were several new things I wanted to try with my class.

I thought back to the initial lesson plans that I had written for my first year of teaching, and I laughed at the ignorant girl I'd been, with my dreams of teaching the children proper table manners and how to speak French.

I hoped that this year my hopes would be at least a little more realistic.

EVERYONE AT THE mission rose early on Sunday mornings, and this week was no exception. In a month, I had already become unused to waking at the crack of dawn, and I stumbled out of bed and cleaned up, still only half-awake. The icy-cold water in the washbasin did the trick, however, and I was alert and shivering by the time breakfast was ready.

I had decided on a whim to wear one of the dresses I had brought from Asheville. My favorite was the blue ensemble Daddy had given me on Christmas morning; the shirt-waist was sapphire-colored silk with a silver sheen, wonderfully sleek and elegant, and it was matched with a darker skirt, crimped at the hem so that it swirled around my ankles.

It was too fancy even for church, but I loved it and the feeling of confidence it gave me, so I took my chances. After a hasty breakfast, David left to open up the church, and Miss Ida and I followed soon after as the first of the parishioners began to arrive.

Being a Quaker, Miss Alice never attended services, but I could see her faint figure on the porch of her cabin; she often sat out on the rocker in the mornings and read her Bible. The yard was filled with quiet laughter and talk as people poured into the little building; as the Allens passed by to take their places, Little Burl caught sight of me and waved.

I waved back and had just started up the stairs myself when someone tapped me lightly on the shoulder.

"Welcome home, Miss Huddleston."

I knew that voice. Whirling around, I found Dr. MacNeill standing on the step below, smiling up at me. I stared at him for a moment, my thoughts all in confusion – he met my eyes steadily, a hint of amusement playing about his mouth.

"Hello," I said stupidly.

He moved up to stand next to me, walking over to the far side of the railing to let the others pass on into the church. I turned to face him, and his physician's eyes gave me a quick, no-nonsense scan. He appeared to be satisfied with what he saw. "Feeling better?"

It took me a moment to get my thoughts and my tongue to cooperate. "I'm fine, thank you, Doctor." It sounded so stiff and formal that I winced.

"Good." He cleared his throat. "No headaches or dizziness? No nausea?"

"No." I could scarcely force the word past – my throat ached with disappointment. Was that all we could find to say? We hadn't seen each other in a month, and he was asking me whether I was nauseated?

Looking down at my feet, I fell silent, and there was an ungainly pause; I peeked at the Doctor, who was watching me closely, and for the first time, I took note of his appearance. He was neatly dressed in spotless buff trousers and a black coat – why, he was even wearing a necktie! His fiery hair was still as wild as ever, though; I doubted that any amount of combing could subdue it.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out.

Golden-red brows arched up. "I live here. I didn't think you'd been away that long."

The awful tension broke at once, and I laughed aloud. "I meant here at the church, Doctor." I remembered the last time he had arrived at the mission on a Sunday, when he pulled me away to help assist with Little Burl's surgery. "No one is hurt, are they? Do you need Miss Alice?"

For the first time, something like doubt flickered along his face. "No, no one's hurt. I'm just here like everyone else is."

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. "Here? At church – in the church? You're coming to church?"

He reached up to tug uncomfortably at his starched collar. "Yes."

I was stunned.

"I've been coming for a few weeks," he admitted, his voice so soft I could scarcely hear it. "I've been enjoying it, so I thought I might try to make it a habit." He smiled then, and that strange, boyish look of uncertainty was replaced by his usual air of confidence. "I think our friends have finally gotten over the shock of it." Glancing inside at the benches that were rapidly filling, he said slowly, "There's something...comforting...about this place."

I had the maddest urge to throw my arms around his neck and hug him tight, but luckily common sense kicked in and I took a prudent step backwards. "I'm very happy for you, Doctor," I managed to say. "Very happy."

"I thought you might approve. Not everyone has." He turned to look toward the doorway. "And you ought to set a better example for me, Miss Huddleston – we're already late for the service."

With a start, I realized that we were alone on the porch. The Doctor gestured for me to go in first, and as we passed through the doorway to join the rest of the congregation, I whispered, "I would like to talk to you – will you meet me by the pond after church?"

"I would be glad to." He deposited me next to Opal and crossed over to the men's side to sit with Jeb and John Spencer. He was easily visible from my position near the doors, and I admit that I was shamefully inattentive to the prayer that David opened the service with. I admired the gentle curl of the Doctor's hair over his white collar and the breadth of his shoulders in that striking black fabric.

After I had looked my fill, the significance of his presence here at the church began to sink in. Dr. MacNeill, a believer! I was glad for his own sake, but it would prove a great blessing to the mission as well. Only imagine what we could accomplish with the Doctor's cooperation and support. We could improve hygiene and housing conditions; perhaps he might even be willing to teach some of the adult classes we had once discussed. Dr. MacNeill would be a very valuable ally.

David, tall and dignified in his pastoral garb, was preaching about the mercy of the Lord and the importance of emulating that grace in our dealings with others, but I didn't catch much more than that. My eyes kept going involuntarily back to the man seated three rows ahead, and that irritated me. I hated not feeling in control of myself.

Before I knew it, the sermon was over and the hymns started. Jeb took out his dulcimer and led the congregation in the usual songs, and the sound of a hundred voices rose up into the mountain air. It was an awesome thing to hear – feet stomped and hands clapped as we sang loudly and without reserve. The almost boisterous level of noise would shock my parents' congregation back home, I knew; the lack of ceremony had seemed almost sacrilegious to me too at first. Now I found I preferred it to the serene hum of the pipe organ and the well-trained choir; this seemed more honest, somehow.

We finished through the hymns with enthusiasm, though I saw Opal flinch once or twice when I strayed too far off-key. Jeb sat back down, and David stepped forward to say the closing prayers and the benediction.

I made my escape quickly, sidestepping the crowd gathering to chat outside in the yard, and went directly to the small pond at the edge of the mission property to wait for the Doctor. I patted my skirt to make sure the letter was stowed safely inside. I had been carrying it with me lately on the off-chance that the Doctor would stop at the mission after his rounds.

It didn't take long for Dr. MacNeill to catch up with me. He came to stand by my side, and I fidgeted, all too aware of his imposing presence. "Shall we walk?"

"Sure."

We wound around behind the trees, close to the water's edge. The pond was coated with a layer of delicate ice from the night's chill, and the sunlight reflected painfully off of it. I turned my head toward the woods instead, but that meant that I had to face the Doctor.

The tension between us stretched out and became unbearable. "How have you been?" I asked finally. "I hope there haven't been any emergencies."

"No. Nothing serious, anyway. Did you have a good time with your parents?"

"I did. It was wonderful to be with them for Christmas." I paused. "You look nice today. I've never seen you in a suit."

My compliment obviously took him by surprise. "Thank you. You look very pretty yourself. Is that dress new? I don't think I've seen it before."

I blushed and smoothed down my skirt, absurdly pleased that he had noticed. "It was a gift from my parents." I suddenly remembered my purpose and reached into my pocket. "I wanted to give you this." I offered Dr. MacNeill the slightly crumpled envelope. "It's from my father."

He accepted it with some confusion and turned it over in his hands, as though he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. After some hesitation, he slit it open, and I saw his eyes widen as he read the certificate.

"It's a thank-you from him for taking such good care of me," I clarified. "We're all very grateful; there really isn't any way to repay you, but Daddy wanted to do something."

"You don't owe me anything," he said quietly.

"You saved my life," I protested. "If that isn't worth gratitude, I don't know what is."

His expression was grim. "I'm a doctor, Christy. That's what I'm trained to do."

I drew back in astonishment; he looked so disapproving. What had I said to make him angry? "I'm sorry if you don't like it," I said, a little coldly.

"Liking it has nothing to do with it." He waved the check in the air. "This is far too generous. I can't accept it."

"You had better accept it. Besides, it isn't for you," I retorted. "It's for your patients."

A hint of a smile finally surfaced. "Alright, Christy, you win. This will give me more than enough to replenish everything I'll need for the next year." He folded the paper up carefully and tucked it inside his coat. "I must thank your father for this."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and we walked on, wandering all the way around the pond back to where we had started.

"Will you be starting school again soon?" Dr. MacNeill asked, absently kicking a large stone out of our path. "I know the children have been eager to return."

"I hope to start as soon as possible. I have so many plans for the children this year. One of my mother's friends was a schoolteacher for many years, and I had the opportunity to talk with her over the holidays. She gave me so many clever ideas – I can't wait to try them."

"What sort of ideas?"

That was all the opening I needed. Since he looked genuinely interested, I went off on a tangent, babbling about all the teaching methods that Mrs. Price had deemed her most successful. The woman had been full of wisdom and humor, and her ideas had been so intriguing that I had cornered her for an entire afternoon to hear about her experiences in the classroom and record her advice.

To my surprise, Dr. MacNeill seemed to approve of most of the schemes; in particular, he liked the idea of setting up student-tutors. "It would take some of the workload off you, and it might be easier for the students to accept help from a classmate," he said. "The children want to please you, Christy, so they might be afraid to ask questions for fear of looking ignorant in front of you. They might learn better with these student-tutors – someone their own age could explain things in a way they can understand, and it shouldn't embarrass them as much to ask for extra help."

"That's exactly what I thought. Mrs. Price assured me that it worked perfectly well with all the classes she tried it in. She said being a tutor gave them confidence in their abilities. I'm sure the older students would consider it an honor; they were excited about the Junior Teacher program I put in last semester. I hope this will work just as well."

"I'm sure it will." He grinned at me. "You're too stubborn to let it fail."

We were so deep in conversation that I didn't realize we were no longer alone until Dr. MacNeill stopped mid-sentence to look over my shoulder. I twisted around to see David walking toward us, a scowl plastered on his face.

He stopped short of the trees, his eyes flickering back and forth between us. "Christy, I was wondering where you were."

"Dr. MacNeill was kind enough to take a walk with me. We were talking about school," I said.

David's eyes narrowed. "I wondered if you had a medical complaint – you looked kind of distracted during church, Christy. I thought maybe you didn't feel well."

I didn't reply, unwilling to admit that I had been too busy ogling the Doctor to pay attention to the sermon.

Dr. MacNeill cleared his throat. "It was a fine service, Grantland."

"Thanks." David smiled, but it was a humorless smile. He turned to me. "You'd better come in now, Christy. Ida will be in a temper for the rest of the day if we're late to dinner."

I looked over at Dr. MacNeill hopefully. "Would you like — "

"I'm sure the Doctor will excuse us," David interrupted. "He knows how much my sister dislikes any disruption in her schedule, and he certainly wouldn't want to keep us any longer."

"Of course not," Dr. MacNeill said tonelessly. "Goodbye, Reverend, Miss Huddleston."

I was infuriated by David's rudeness, but the look the Doctor gave me warned me not to make a fuss, so I kept silent. David's hand clutched my arm, steering me toward the mission house, but I looked back over my shoulder to watch Dr. MacNeill's retreating figure until he faded into the patchwork of trees.

As we entered the house, David's grip eased, but he still looked stern. "You shouldn't be wandering around without a coat, you know," he said suddenly, as we started into the kitchen where Miss Alice was already settled. "It's starting to get cold, and if you wanted to take a walk, you should have asked me to walk with you. It's only been a month since you got out of your sickbed. Tell me the next time you plan to go out."

This imperious order was the last straw. "You are insufferably rude, David Grantland," I snapped. Without another word, I turned heel and marched back up the stairs to my room. I closed the door and latched it firmly, still seething.

David and I were on a collision course for disaster. The ride back to the Cove would have been a perfect opportunity to tell him about my decision; we had been alone for a long stretch of time, where no one else could overhear or interrupt us. I could have told him right away that I was not interested in marriage, and it would have been over. Why hadn't I just told him?

I flopped back onto the bed and groaned. Lord help me, I was such a coward.

A/N: The Doc is now officially back in the picture...even if he did end up getting shoved aside once again. Poor guy. ; )

Sorry this chapter is a little late; I was totally uninspired this week. Thanks for your patience and reviews!