CHAPTER NINETEEN

DAVID AND MISS Ida left the next day at dawn. Miss Alice and I stood on the porch, watching as David loaded Jeb's wagon with their trunks. I was numb, hardly able to understand how and why we had come to this. Leaving. David was leaving.

Everything was settled; a call had been issued for a new preacher to take David's vacated position, and Miss Alice had been unwilling to attempt to persuade the Grantlands to stay, despite my pleas.

"They must be allowed to make their own choices," she had said. "Do not interfere with something that is between David and God, Christy. He has never felt himself at peace here. Perhaps he was not meant to."

I had bitten back my protests, but there had been no sleep for me that night. I prayed for the burden to be taken away, and some of it had, but I still felt faintly ill. This was not how I had imagined the outcome. David and I had been in love once – and look how it had ended. We were strangers. Still, he was calmer this morning, resolute and unagitated, though he could not look me directly in the eye.

Neither of us had said a word about their departure during breakfast, the last meal that Miss Ida would ever cook for us. She outdid herself, apparently determined to go out in style, but the food had been like ash in my mouth, bitter and difficult to swallow.

Miss Alice had emerged from her silence only long enough to ask David once more to wait until he could bid his parishioners goodbye personally, but he refused. He was fixed on leaving without a proper send-off; we were the ones charged with the duty of explaining to the people of the Cove that their preacher was gone.

The door swung open and Miss Ida came out, carrying a valise and a brown fur muff. She paused on the porch, and David came around from the wagon, seeing that she was prepared to go.

"Well, I guess this is it," he said, leaping up the stairs to join us. "Ready, Ida?"

She nodded curtly, and he took the valise from her, tucking it under one arm. She hugged Miss Alice and looked at me for a moment before patting my shoulder awkwardly and stepping aside.

David's face was intent with his new purpose. "I think we've got everything, Alice."

"If you are certain...but Prince...surely you will take him along with you."

"Keep him," David said warmly. "Consider it a parting gift. I'll telephone when we get to Boston so you'll know that we arrived safely. Goodbye, Alice."

"Fare thee well, David." Miss Alice kissed his cheek with motherly affection, her eyes glistening suspiciously. "God bless and keep you. Don't forget Cutter Gap, or those you have left behind."

Some discomfort showed on his face at this tender plea, but he smiled and stepped back, letting his sister come forward to say her own goodbyes. His gaze turned to where I stood, shrinking back into the wall, quiet and thoroughly miserable.

"Goodbye, Christy." He held out his hand. I reached for it, and his warm fingers, roughened by months of hard labor, briefly squeezed mine before he pulled them away.

There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn't think how to begin. He had been avoiding me yesterday after his announcement, careful that we weren't alone in the same room for more than a minute.

I had to speak, to tell him how sorry I was, how much I would miss him, but the words lodged in my throat, and then he was gone, striding over to the wagon. Miss Ida followed, smoothing her skirts as her brother hiked her up onto the bench. He hoisted himself up next to her and lifted his hat, waving to us as he cracked the reins, sending the horses off.

I watched the wagon bite through the heavy snow drifts, trundling slowly down the road to El Pano, and a silent grief stole through my heart. Miss Alice's arms came about me, and I leaned back into her warm embrace as the tears finally came.

LIFE CONTINUED ON as it always had. The first Sunday after the Grantlands' departure was noticeably uncomfortable, as it fell to Miss Alice to inform everyone of David's choice to take a church in Boston. Everyone already knew that he and his sister had left the Cove, but all of them were impatient for an explanation – something which Miss Alice was hard pressed to provide.

Speculation had been rampant, and Miss Alice attempted to put a stop to it by simply detailing the facts: David had decided to return to Boston, and Dr. Ferrand would soon recruit another man to take his place in the Cove. The people had accepted what she could tell them with stolid composure, though I discovered that they had all interpreted David's desertion in very different ways.

"Did we'uns make Preacher mad?" Little Burl asked me one day at school, quite out of the blue. "Is that why he left us, Teacher?"

I bent to look into his wide blue eyes. "Of course not, Burl. Nothing you or anyone else did made Reverend Grantland leave. He loves you all very much, but he feels that he needs to be serving the people in Boston."

He stared back at me, incomprehension painted on his freckled cherub face. "Did God tell him to leave?"

"I...he..." I bit my lip. "I don't know. Only Reverend Grantland knows for certain."

"Did we make God mad? I suppose we did, iffen He saw fit ter take away Preacher."

"God isn't angry at any of us, Burl." I felt the sudden weary desire to sit down, lay my head on my desk, and block out the rest of the world. "Besides, there will be another preacher here to minister to us; if God was really angry, would He have Miss Alice stay with us? Miss Alice and I aren't going anywhere, and we will be able to make a new friend when Reverend Grantland's replacement comes. You would like to make a new friend, wouldn't you?"

Burl nodded, but his little brow was still furrowed.

Sam Houston, still hindered by his poulticed and plastered arm, piped up, "Reckon he'll have a good wind in the pulpit too? A preacher don't seem ter be a preacher iffen he doesn't."

I suppressed a sigh. "I suppose he will. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

The conversation ended there, for we had lessons to attend to, but Little Burl's innocent questions had stirred up more troubling feelings inside me. Had I deprived them of their mentor? The children loved David – no other preacher could possibly measure up to the standards of their 'Rev'rend.' And I suspected, though none of them said a word about it, that David's sudden departure had hurt them. I was suddenly angry at him. How could he leave without saying goodbye? He'd practically fled to Boston and left us to pick up the pieces.

That afternoon, as soon as school was dismissed, I set off for the McHone cabin. I wanted someone to talk to, and Opal was always such a good listener. She would be able to set me straight.

When I reached the cabin, I discovered my friend by herself – the boys were off with their grandfather on a hunt. She invited me in eagerly, and we sat by the fire to talk while she finished stitching up some of Vincent's stockings.

I had come with every intention of asking Opal for her advice, but I found out that the woman had far more pressing concerns.

"Reckon you ain't gonna believe who's been round these parts." Opal dug through her sewing box to find another length of brown thread.

"Who?"

She bent her head over her sewing, and a slight rush of color came to her cheeks. "Bird's-Eye."

"Bird's-Eye! Opal, he hasn't been causing trouble...?"

"Oh, no – nothin' like that. Since winter's here, well, things has been rough. Tom's gone, and Isaak's too young ter be huntin' much, so our pickins have been pretty slim; Bird's-Eye must of heered about it, 'cause he's been bringin' rabbits an' possums almost every day fer us. Why, he even brung a deer last week!"

I shook my head. "Amazing."

"A miracle, I think. We ain't gone hungry, thanks ter him. I didn't know what ter think at first, 'cause of Tom...but Bird's-Eye said he was troubling something fierce about Tom, and he wanted ter make sure we was taken care of. It were a real kind thing to do, weren't it, Miz Christy?"

"Very kind. And is he...do you think he wants your company too?"

A definite blush now took hold of her sallow complexion. "I didn't think so before, but I'm thinkin' that he still has a likin' fer me. I ain't seen him so gentle since we was courtin'. There's somethin' diff'rent about him – but sometimes, when I look in his eyes, I don't think he's changed at all. He's a puzzle."

"Bird's-Eye..." I shook my head wonderingly. "Really, Opal?"

She nodded shyly. "He's been comin' round regular now. You know, he's been real good ter my boys too. Toot and Vincent like him jest fine. Course, they's too young ter know much about the business with their pa and the 'shine..." Her expression clouded over for just a moment. "I don't know what Isaak thinks of it all. He don't say much one way 'er the other."

"Of course. It must be very hard for him...but Opal, he does know that Lundy...well, that Lundy was the one to...harm Tom?"

"Shorely does. That's the whole thing, Miz Christy. My Isaak, he don't blame Bird's-Eye none fer Tom's death, but he shore do blame Lundy fer it. That poor child's dead and gone. I tried ter tell Isaak that, but hate's gone and filled up my boy with all sorts of anger an' mischief. It pains my heart ter see it." Her brow furrowed. "Thought Preacher'd help, but now that he's left..."

The mention of David threw me off guard, and Opal saw it.

"Pardon me, Miz Christy, but I gotta ask jest this once: you ain't frettin' yerself about Preacher none, are ye?"

"Not really. Well, I'm trying not to, anyway. I think I've made peace with it."

She nodded, and satisfied that I wasn't pining away, she tactfully moved the conversation on. "Since Bird's-Eye's been around my place, I thought mebbe I could do like Miss Alice does an' share a bit of what I've learned. Do ye think it's a good idea? I don't want to push nothin' on him, but mebbe I can help him somehow. I told him that I prayed fer him, and he could hardly believe it – I think he liked it, though. Everyone needs ter know that someone cares fer em, don't ye think?"

"Absolutely. Don't be afraid to tell him what you believe, Opal; he might not change overnight, but at least it gives him something to ponder over."

She looked down at her sewing thoughtfully. "I know how good it made me feel ter know that you was prayin' fer me when Tom was on the run. It's a real fine feelin', and mebbe if Bird's-Eye can feel it too..." She shook her head slightly and smiled at me, getting up from her chair to fetch us something to drink. "Would ye mind keepin' this ter yerself, Miz Christy? Bird's-Eye has been careful to stay outta sight, since he knows that Uncle Bogg still ain't forgotten what happened ter Tom; I don't want no feud to a-start 'cause of me."

"Of course – I won't say a word to anyone." I smiled warmly at my friend, accepting a glass of persimmon juice. "I'm very happy for you, Opal; if anyone can help reform Bird's-Eye, I believe you can." I took a sip – the juice was sweet and warm, heated slowly over the fire like a hot grog.

"Bless ya, Miz Christy. I reckon some folks ain't gonna be so happy 'bout it iffen they find out." She peered at me narrowly from over the rim of her cup. "So...how 'bout you an' Doc MacNeill?"

I choked. "Pardon?"

"Word's all over that you an' Doc is courtin' now." Her expression was uncharacteristically sly.

"Where did you hear that?" I demanded, once I'd caught my breath.

"From lots of folks. You an' Doc has been takin' plenty of walks together after church-meetings. No doubt about that – we all seen it. You've been awful friendly-like lately."

"Yes, well..." I struggled for an explanation. "He has been giving me plenty of advice about the children, about my teaching, that sort of thing. He's nice to talk to. Really, it's nothing more than that."

She nodded, but I could see that little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth; I tried very hard to be indignant, but I couldn't quite manage it, and soon we were both laughing, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," I said at last, when we had regained some control over ourselves. "Gossip travels faster than light here."

"Oh, but it ain't old gossip."

"What?"

"We've been watchin' you an' Preacher an' Doc fer months."

I was shocked. "You're joking."

"Nope. Why, it was plain as day ter anybody with eyes."

The thought that my love life had been open for examination to every person in Cutter Gap made me feel very self-conscious. Why hadn't I suspected it? Everyone knew everything about everyone. David and I wouldn't be exempt from the rule simply because we were flatlanders – in fact, we had probably been especially scrutinized because of it.

"Don't worry yourself about it, Miz Christy," Opal said kindly. "Same thing happened ter me when I was choosin' between Tom and Bird's-Eye. Why, some fellers even set up a bettin' pool on who I was gonna wed." She gazed at me compassionately. "Preacher's a fine man, but he's a city-feller. Don't feel bad. It wasn't yer fault."

"How...?"

"I can see it," she said, matter-of-factly. "I ain't the smartest gal, but anyone with a lick of sense can read those eyes of yers. You've been a-frettin', and it ain't gonna do you any good ter keep on worryin'. Preacher can take care of hisself."

I can't explain it, but her words made me feel better. It made perfect sense, really. My refusal might have been the impetus for David's departure, but he had been considering leaving long before I knew him. He had never felt completely happy in Cutter Gap – he had always felt like an outsider.

I looked down at my reflection on the glass in my hand; I spent plenty of time worrying about my own life as it was. I had been drowning myself in self-pity long enough. "Thank you, Opal."

She smiled. "Don't mention it."

A/N: Sorry if things seem a little rushed; the plot must move on! ; )

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