CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DAVID DIDN'T COME in for supper that evening, and I suspected that both Miss Alice and Ida knew why. I hadn't spoken loudly, but the walls of the house were thin – one could hardly help overhearing.

It was a very uncomfortable meal; Miss Ida was looking everywhere but at me and kept stonily silent. My mentor appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, so I sat quietly, eating without tasting anything, my stomach in a churn of guilt and regret.

Miss Ida soon left to wash the dishes, and I knew my help wouldn't be welcomed. I had started aimlessly out the door when Miss Alice finally spoke. "I believe David is down by the barn."

I turned to her, but her face revealed nothing – no sympathy or condemnation. I felt my chin tremble and clenched my teeth to stop it. One sign of compassion from her, and I might break down. "What do I do?"

Those solemn grey eyes never left mine. "You must not let your feelings get in the way of what you know to be right." Taking a delicate sip from the teacup in front of her, she added, "Go on now, Christy. You'll know what to do."

I walked outside blindly, moving without conscious direction toward the barn. I saw David by the fence, his elbows propped behind him on the posts, though he straightened up as soon as he noticed me.

It was dark enough that the first stars had come out, but I couldn't see him very clearly. I walked over to stand with him, both of us gazing at the moon, hanging full and bright in the night sky.

"I'm sorry, Christy," he said after a moment. "I had no right to lord over you like that."

"Your apology is accepted. I'm sorry for calling you insufferably rude."

I couldn't tell for certain, but I thought that he was smiling. "Apology accepted too." I felt his fingers close warmly around my hand. Heart pounding, I pulled gently away. "David...David, we need to talk."

"Christy." He cleared his throat. "It's awfully late. We can talk tomorrow."

"No we can't," I said softly. "We need to settle things now."

He sighed and hoisted himself to sit on the top rung of the fence, and I perched next to him. Moonlight spilled across us, and my resolution to continue was almost overpowered by the look on his face.

The right words – I prayed for the right words. David meant so much to me. He was a good man, and he deserved to be loved by someone who could touch that emotion he buried so deeply inside himself. I couldn't give him the answers – I didn't have the power to quench that desperate desire he had for an understanding of his place in the world. David struggled with his God, and I couldn't carry the burden of his demons for him.

In his eyes, it was straightforward business: I had come to Cutter Gap to do God's work, just as he had; he was as attracted to me as I was to him; and we were both young and shared many of the same philosophies and ideas. To David, nothing could be more logical or sensible than marriage.

Handsome, gentle-mannered, and upright, he would make an ideal husband for any woman; by all accounts, I should have been head-over-heels in love with him. There was no defect in him strong enough to put me off; circumstances seemed to have placed us together, and many times I had mulled over his declaration, wondering if he was right, if God had brought us together for a purpose. Yet, I could never bring myself to say 'yes.'

"David," I began, at a loss for how to start, "I think you know what I want to say."

He kept silent. My heart was in my throat, and a sudden panic overtook me. What could I say? How could I possibly explain my decision without completely alienating us from each other?

Oh, God, help me. "Can I speak frankly, David?"

"I don't think I could stop you from saying exactly what you want to say."

Be direct, Christy. Be direct, and tell him the truth. "David, I know we haven't talked about it in several months, but I don't think marriage is the right thing for us. In fact, I think a... a romantic relationship shouldn't be...that we shouldn't be thinking about that anymore. I can't marry you. I'm sorry."

He was quiet for a long time, and I moved restlessly, wishing I knew what he was thinking. "And I suppose you just decided this?"

"No," I said, unable to look him in the eye. "I've known it for a while now, and I should have told you right away."

"You should have," he said, with a peculiar calmness.

"You have to believe that I never wanted to hurt you."

He didn't appear to hear what I said. "Is it because of MacNeill?"

I remembered David's accusations at the bunkhouse all too well. His jealousy had been disturbing then – now, with all this considered, I wondered if his earlier resentment toward the Doctor had not been spurred on by an impending sense of this loss. With his past words still fresh in my mind, I answered carefully but honestly. "Even if Dr. MacNeill had never figured into this at all, my choice would have been the same, just as my reservations about our marriage would have been the same. I could not have accepted your ring, David. Please don't think that I rejected you in favor of another man."

"Small comfort." He thrust his hands in his pockets and turned his face away. Moonbeams slashed across his nose and brow; I watched his brown eyes glitter in the light.

I felt terrible. "I do love you, David – very much, but just not in that way. I value our friendship and I don't want to lose you because of this."

"You make it sound so insignificant. I was in love with you, Christy."

"Did you really want to marry me, David?"

He didn't answer.

"We probably would have been content together," I said. "We might have even been perfectly happy, but I think some part of us – of both of us – would have regretted it."

Something softened in his face, and I thought that I might have gotten through to him. "If you're worried about what people might say, that shouldn't be a problem. No one in Cutter Gap needs to know," I promised him. "If some gossip should come up, I'll let them think that you withdrew your proposal."

His jaw tightened, and the moment of harmony was gone. "Don't bother. You know how people here talk. You may as well tell them the truth."

"I wasn't going to lie." I tried not to let my frustration show. "Can't we let this go? I think we can work together just fine, once we get used to things."

"Yeah, sure." David gazed at me soberly, his eyes very dark. "I need to go now – I have to get up early tomorrow." He hopped down from the fence and started to walk away.

"David, don't be like this," I cried.

"Don't be like what?" For the first time, I heard anger in his voice. "What do you want me to say, Christy? Do you expect me to be happy for you? Do you want a blessing from me? Or maybe you'd like me to officiate at your wedding?"

"Don't keep dragging the Doctor into this. It's between you and me."

"Look, you said your piece, and now I've said mine. There really isn't anything else to discuss. Goodnight." Without looking back at me, he took off in the direction of his bunkhouse.

I slid off the fence post, and to my astonishment, my legs were shaking. I sat down right there on the ground, not bothering to worry about getting my new dress dirty. I'd told the truth and cleared my conscience – I'd done the right thing.

Then why, I wondered, did I feel like such a failure?

SCHOOL OPENED ON the first day of February. It was quite a production – some of the children arrived a full hour early, vying for the honor of cleaning the blackboard or stoking the fire in the old pot-bellied furnace. Almost everyone was neatly dressed, and most of my students were wearing shoes, however tattered or ill-fitting.

That small reminder of success kept me from becoming too nervous, if I had indeed felt any nervousness at all. I stood on the steps and rang the handbell, relishing the sight of a full classroom teeming with sixty-six excited children.

Roll call was the first order of business; with the help of Lizette Holcombe and Rob Allen, I moved along the rows, jotting down names and ages. There were some new faces in the crowd this year – Mary-Ellen Bradley was old enough to come with her brothers to the schoolhouse now, and there were a few other little ones who had older siblings in my class.

There were, unfortunately, also several empty seats. Lundy Taylor and Wraight Holt were conspicuously absent, buried up on Persimmon Hill; and Smith O'Teale had come to the mission the day before to inform me that he wouldn't be coming to school anymore. His family needed a man around the house to hunt and look after the land, and since Mr. O'Teale hadn't been seen in nearly a year, Smith supposed that he'd better take up the mantle of responsibility sooner rather than later. I was sorry to see him go, for he'd made considerable progress, but I didn't try to change his mind.

I had started down the third row when Creed Allen, looking as energetic and impish as ever, thrust his lunch-pail toward me. "Got a present fer ya, Teacher."

It was a trick as old as time, but I didn't want to spoil the prank for him or for the others eagerly waiting for my reaction. I would let it go just this once, I decided.

With an inward sigh of resignation, I pried open the lid and was confronted with the sight of a fat green toad sitting placidly inside. Perhaps thinking to make his escape, the poor creature leapt up at me; I dropped the pail with a shriek, sending it and its undoubtedly terrified cargo bouncing across the schoolroom floor. The children hooted with glee as the toad took off toward my desk, but Festus Allen bent and scooped it up.

"Want this outside, Teacher?"

I nodded gratefully as Festus went to deposit the toad in the yard, and after picking up the pail, I gave it to Creed. "No more toads, okay?"

His cherubic blue eyes peered up at me. "No toads, cross my heart."

"Or crickets."

"But, Teacher..."

"Or snakes. Or raccoons, or anything else that doesn't belong in here."

"Shucks, that ain't no fun."

"Isn't any fun," I corrected automatically. "Promise me you won't bring them in."

"Not even Scalawag? Cain't he come fer a visit?"

"Maybe," I conceded, "but Scalawag is a pet. No wild critters, Creed Allen. Got that?"

He spit on his palm and thrust it out toward me. "Got it. Put 'er thar."

I shook his hand, inwardly grimacing; with our pact sealed, Creed was content to sit down quietly – or at least relatively quietly – but it took nearly ten minutes to settle the rest of the class down. We started out with music, something that I knew the children would willingly focus on. After singing "America the Beautiful" and the endless verses of "Sourwood Mountain," I announced that we would have a reading lesson. To my surprise, not one voice rose up in protest, and I sent my junior teachers to help pass out the crisp new primers.

The children handled the books very cautiously, and I could see that Rob Allen was itching to look inside. "You may open your books," I instructed the class, "and please turn to the page marked 'Chapter One.' There is an introductory paragraph to read, and the next six pages contain two short stories. Your assignment is to read these stories and be prepared to tell the class whether you liked them or disliked them and why." I addressed the group of primary students, aged 5 through 7, who sat at the front of the room. "While the older students read silently to themselves, we'll read aloud out on the porch so we won't disturb them." Facing the entire class again, I added, "If any of you have a question about a word's meaning or its pronunciation, you may ask a neighbor or one of the junior teachers for help. Any questions?"

The children set to work, and I collected the little ones and went out on the porch. They circled around me, except for tiny Vella Holt, who waited until I sat down before plopping herself on my lap. I read the stories, having the students take turns pointing at the words as I said them.

After reading, we had an informal spelling test – I wanted to see how much my returning students remembered from last year. Mathematics class was next, and was met with greater enthusiasm than the spelling had been. Most of the children liked working figures, and the blackboard drills gave them an opportunity to win one of the coveted mission-barrel prizes. In fact, most of the mittens and scarves and almost all of the shoes my students were wearing had come from the barrel.

At one o'clock, I dismissed the class for the "dinner-spell" and sat on the steps to eat my lunch, watching the children romp in the snow. I felt a warm glow of contentment in spite of the chilly air – I had missed this so much.

During the break, I was approached by several of the older students; Rob shyly asked if there were any new books I had brought for the classroom bookshelf – he had already read every novel and volume of poetry that we had – and John Spencer and Lizette both wanted to know if there were any algebra texts.

Fortunately, Father had been generous enough to offer to buy some new supplies that I thought would benefit the class, and I had chosen a few of my own books to take along. I promised Lizette and John that I would have algebra and calculus books available for them by tomorrow, and I gave Rob one of my personal favorites, a beautifully-illustrated copy of Treasure Island. Rob was always very careful with the books he borrowed, so I had no hesitation in trusting him with it.

The children soon came in from lunch, and we had our science activity before David arrived at two-thirty to teach Bible class. I did my best to stay out of his way. Our relationship had been strained for the past two weeks; he went out of his way to avoid me, and I didn't try to force a confrontation.

Finally, reluctantly, I called an end to the day's study; we sang one more round of "Sourwood Mountain," and I bid the children goodbye. They spilled out of the door and down the steps, running and shouting, their laughter ringing high and sweet.

Many of them hung back to talk to me, and it was well after four o'clock when the classroom was finally empty and I could head back to the mission house for supper. As I passed Miss Alice's cabin, however, she stepped outside and welcomed me in for a cup of cocoa and a chat.

"So, how was your first day back?" she asked as we sat down in front of the blazing fireplace.

I talked and talked, giving her a minute-by-minute account of the day's activities. She laughed when I told her about Creed's "present" and nodded approvingly to hear that Lizette and John were interested in starting higher mathematics courses.

"That's exactly what our mission is all about," she mused, handing me a steaming cup of hot chocolate. "Our job is to provide the tools to finish the work – we can't force people to accept our help or believe what we believe, but we can lay the groundwork. You are giving these children the means to receive an education; whether they put it to use is entirely up to them." She hesitated deliberately and then said, "It is a relief to see thee smiling again, Christy."

I stared down at my murky reflection on the surface of the cocoa, rippling and distorting with every movement. "I haven't been myself lately. David and I...had words."

Miss Alice did not reply; instead she rose and fetched a half-knitted scarf, made of pale green yarn, from the table. She handed it to me, and I took it, smoothing my fingers across the soft wool.

"I started that scarf two weeks ago," she said. "I love to knit; I find there is something soothing about working with one's hands to make something useful. But you see that I have not finished. When my mind is occupied with other things, I cannot concentrate, and the yarn unravels and knots, destroying the pattern of the stitches – and when I try to undo the damage, it only becomes more hopelessly entangled." She reached over and gently removed the scarf from my hands. "What I must do is stop demanding perfection of my work, because I only make it worse. Do you see those uneven lines there? I have left them as they are, not because I wanted to, but because I have no choice but to move on if I want to finish the scarf. I have to accept that the completed project may not be perfectly beautiful – that there may be mistakes and weak stitches. Still, the scarf will serve the purpose it was meant for; it will keep someone warm this winter."

"But David..."

Miss Alice only shook her head. "Be patient, my dear. He is struggling with himself too." She paused, and a little spark of mischief lit in her calm eyes. "David is not much of a knitter either."

A/N: Ah, Miss Alice and her lovely metaphors. ; ) Forget the scarf – right now I'm guessing that most of you probably want to go after David with the knitting needles, am I right? Run, David, run! Flee the wrath of Neil-fangirls! :D

Thanks as always for your reviews!