CHAPTER TWENTY
MY DEAREST DADDY,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and that Mother and George are also well. I am sorry for taking so long to reply to your last note; these last weeks have been very busy. I hope court has been progressing as you thought, and that the verdict for poor Mr. Pederson has turned out for his advantage.
I have been kept on my toes by the schoolchildren, who have been occupying every spare minute. It's amazing to me that I never regret having my time so filled – there is never a dull moment here in the Cove.
Reverend Grantland has been gone for almost three weeks now, and so far, no one has come to replace him. Dr. Ferrand informed Miss Alice that there is a great deal of red-tape to go through before Mr. Grantland's transfer can be put in the records and a new seminary student can be sent here. So far, Miss Alice has had no choice but to conduct the Sunday services herself. She does the job admirably, but I know it quite goes against Quaker teachings, and she will be glad when a proper minister arrives.
I have been teaching about the Constitution for our history lesson; as you can imagine, the 18th stirred up quite a bit of controversy! Actually, our moonshine problems seemed to have disappeared after the epidemic – Miss Alice says it will not be long before the stills are up and running again, but we are enjoying the respite for now.
Mrs. McHone wishes me to pass along her gratitude to Mother for the cloth she sent; she was able to make a lovely dress for Liz Ann Robertson's baby girl; she is to stand as little Carrie's godmother at the christening and wanted so badly to have a gift for the occasion. Mrs. McHone has given me a jar of her best apple butter for Mother as a thank-you – I'll send it along with this letter.
Give my love to everyone at home, and I will write again soon.
Your loving daughter,
Christy
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THE MISSION HOUSE had become a lonesome place. Miss Alice, knowing that I was uncomfortable staying in the big house alone at night, had moved into Miss Ida's old room, but still it seemed oddly empty, bereft of David's booming voice and the scurry and bustle of his sister in the kitchen.
The weather had taken a nasty turn; the first of March brought in a storm that buried us all under nearly four feet of snow, and for several days we were trapped in our homes, increasing the sense of isolation. By the end of that gloomy week, I was desperate for exercise and companionship, and Dr. MacNeill provided the perfect remedy.
Immediately after the Grantlands' departure, the Doctor had stayed away, whether to stave away the swelling gossip, or out of simple respect for the unsettled state of my feelings. We met at first only on Sundays for our customary walk, but as time passed, he began to come around the mission more and more often, joining us for a meal several days out of the week and occasionally sprawling out on the sofa when he came back from a call too late to ride the full distance back home.
With this routine firmly settled, I wasn't taken aback in the least when the front door swung open, sending snow spraying everywhere as a familiar shape, bulky in a heavy coat, cap, and scarf, lumbered into the hall, wiping its boots absently on the doormat before venturing into the kitchen where I sat peeling potatoes.
"Good morning, Miss Huddleston."
"Doctor." Concentrating on the task at hand, I didn't look up. "You can hang your coat to dry over the fire, and there's coffee on the stove." My words ended on a gasp as the paring knife was plucked from my fingers. "Dr. MacNeill...!"
"Christy," he said, setting the knife over by the bowl of denuded potatoes, just out of my reach, "can't this wait for a few hours? Come with me."
I eyed him suspiciously – his cheeks were flushed from the cold, but there was a strange brightness in his face that surely couldn't be the fault of the weather. "Why?"
"Why? Is there ever a reason for a walk? Come with me, Christy – there's something I would like to show you."
My curiosity was aroused, and he knew it, turning my weakness to his advantage. "It may not last for much longer, and if you're willing to brave the snow, I think you'll find it worth your while."
It took little more to convince me, and I abandoned the potatoes without a pang of regret, hurrying upstairs to tell Miss Alice and change into suitable clothes.
"Dress warmly," Dr. MacNeill called after me, sounding more like himself. "I won't have you catching cold."
Picking through my closet, I threw on a thick sweater and my warmest coat, along with a pair of George's old boots and the goose-down gloves Mother had sent to me. Thumping across the hall, I knocked on the door and looked in.
Miss Alice was at her prayers this morning, and I made my speech as short as possible. "Dr. MacNeill and I are going for a walk – I promise I'll finish dinner later."
She glanced at me from over her spectacles and smiled. "Go on, but be careful, dear."
I thanked her and waddled down the stairs – it was difficult to move with so many layers on. The Doctor was at the door, waiting patiently.
"Ready," I said. "Will you tell me our destination, sir?"
To my surprise, he shook his head. "You'll have to wait and see."
Before I could protest, he added, "Do you have a scarf?"
It took me a minute to remember. "Not at the moment. Ruby Mae borrowed it."
He unwound his grey scarf and looped it around my neck, tying off the ends with surgical precision. "There. Shall we go?"
I nodded, and we ventured into the swirling powdered snow. There was a chill to the wind, but I could hardly feel it – I touched the baby-soft wool and smiled to myself. Was there any other man half so considerate?
We walked side-by-side for a spell, wandering past the Spencers' cabin, but soon he turned off on an unfamiliar trail, a thin ribbon between the trees that meandered to the south. With all the snow, I wondered how the Doctor was able to keep his bearings, but it was apparent from his confident stride that this was a path he had taken many times before.
The stinging wind picked up as we crossed a frozen stream, and I turned my head to the side, eyes watering.
He paused at the top of a hill. "Hold on to my coat," he shouted, over the insistent hiss of the wind, "and keep your face down."
I did as he said, grasping handfuls of his leather jacket and following him slowly down the ridge. We went quite a distance; I lost track of time, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The fearsome wind finally died down as the land leveled out, and a dark formation began to take shape in the endless stretch of snow. As we neared, I saw that it was the opening of a hollow, a small cavern of some sort.
"Here," the Doctor said, taking my hand and leading me down into the hollow. I followed gladly, for it seemed warmer in the shelter of the rock. It was a shallow cave, barely a few yards in length, but as my eyes adjusted to the dark, he gestured for me to come back even further.
He drew me to the side and pointed. "Look."
I looked, and the aches and misgivings all melted away. Set back in the hollow was a miniature waterfall, a trickle of river-runoff which had frozen solid. A shaft of speckled light cut into it, highlighting the glittering spectacle. It was frozen in time, as though a chill had swept through and trapped it mid-motion – it was like looking at a photograph.
Dr. MacNeill was watching me. "Do you like it?"
"It's beautiful!" I said, finding my voice. "I've never seen anything like it. How did you find it?"
"I come here sometimes, for a moment of solitude, or just to think. It must have formed a day or so ago, since I was here earlier in the week and it wasn't like this then."
I couldn't say how long we stood there, admiring the view; something about the sight had caught my fancy, and I wished with sudden passion that I was an artist, so that I might capture the scene on paper.
"Is there a way to get closer?" I asked.
"There's an outcropping there." He gestured to the left. "Be careful, though; stay close to the wall. The ground is uneven. It may look level, but there are snowdrifts, and you might fall through."
I was already half-way across the cave, eager for a closer look. Inching across, my hands pressed to the cold, damp stone, I had almost made it to the plateau when I misjudged a step and stumbled out from the wall. My world abruptly inverted and turned white as I fell head-first into a snowdrift.
Faintly, I could hear Dr. MacNeill calling my name – I spit out a mouthful of snow and kicked my feet helplessly. A moment later, big hands grasped my waist and lifted me off the ground, setting me back on my feet. Brushing flakes out of my eyes, I caught sight of his worried face and laughed until my side ached.
The Doctor, however, was not amused. "Are you hurt? Did you hit yourself on the rock?"
"No," I sputtered, trying to stifle the giggles that seemed to force themselves out of me. "I'm fine, really – just feeling a bit stupid."
He insisted on our leaving at once; and though I was disappointed, I guessed correctly that he wouldn't take kindly to an argument. My coat was soaked through, and snow had wormed its way into my boots, and I realized how cold I was the instant we stepped back out of the hollow and into the open air.
"We'll cut through the hill back to the mission," he said. "Can you make it?"
"Of course."
My cocksure overconfidence came back to mock me – as we started up the hill, I began to shiver. It was slight at first, but as the air began to whip against my saturated coat, the shivers seemed to move into my very bones and settle there, chilling me from the inside out.
The wind stung everywhere, and it hurt to walk, to even move. My face felt raw, and my hands and feet were completely numb. I had never felt so cold in my life – it was past the point of cold.
I lifted my head, looking up at the Doctor, who was moving with long, vigorous steps that were beginning to become too difficult to keep pace with. The distance between us began to lengthen, and I wanted to call out to him, but the instant I opened my mouth, icy air burst inside, sending me into a coughing fit. I stopped and stood there for a moment in the knee-deep snow trying to catch my breath, the wind slapping at me from all sides, frustrated tears coming to my eyes.
And then my feet were no longer on the ground – I felt myself being swung into the air by a pair of capable arms. Dr. MacNeill had picked me up, wet coat and all, and turned around, heading back down the path we had come from.
"I'm sorry, Christy," he murmured, his breath feathering against my ear. "It's too far, and the wind is picking up. We'll go to my cabin – it's just over the next hill – and you'll be toasty warm in front of the fire in no time at all."
I buried my face against his neck and curled more tightly against the wonderful heat he exuded. He held me so firmly that I was hardly jostled at all, though he faltered once or twice in the deepening drifts. I began to feel sleepy, and even the sight of his cabin looming up in the distance wasn't enough to rouse me. It was comfortable, here in his arms, and I didn't want to move.
"Christy?" I could hear the concern in his voice. "Are you still with me?"
I mumbled something and burrowed closer; I heard him utter a soft curse, but I was too tired to scold him for it. His boots pounded on the cabin's wooden steps, and a moment later I was enveloped in a rush of warm air.
I was plopped firmly down on a quilt in front of the fireplace, which the Doctor quickly stoked before hanging a kettle of water over it to heat. I knew I ought to be doing something, but I couldn't seem to concentrate enough. I must have dozed off, for I was startled awake a few moments later as the Doctor took off my coat, gloves, and boots; he quickly toweled my hair and pressed a flannel shirt into my hands. "Take your sweater off, Christy – dry yourself and put this on. I'll be back in a minute."
The heat from the fire seemed to stir me enough to struggle out of my sodden blouse and tug on the shirt. It was far too big – the sleeves drooped at least five inches past my own hands – but it was dry; I began to shiver again and moved closer to the fire.
Dr. MacNeill came back into the room with two more blankets and began to pile them over me. My clothes were hung by the fire to dry, and as soon as the water had warmed, he poured some to make tea and used the remainder to bathe my hands and feet.
The feeling came back into my limbs and face fairly soon, prickling painfully, and the hot tea helped thaw out my insides. Assured that I was warming up, the Doctor had seen to his own comfort, changing into dry clothes and joining me at the fireside.
"What it is?" I asked, seeing his grave expression.
"The snow is falling harder – you may have to stay here for a few hours. I am sorry, Christy; I shouldn't have brought you out in this weather."
"It isn't your fault. After all, you didn't push me into that snowbank, Doctor – did you?"
He chuckled. "No."
"We'll be fine; I'm sure the weather will clear up soon."
"I suppose so. Until then, I guess you're marooned here."
I smiled against the rim of my cup. There were certainly less pleasant places to be stranded in.
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A/N: Hi! I'm sorry this post is so late; I split it into the two parts -- Ch. 21 will continue where this left off.
Thanks for your comments and patience! ; )
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