CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

IT DIDN'T TAKE very long for me to find Isaak, since he hadn't gone far. I hesitated on the path, looking down to the riverbank where he sat, his face buried against his drawn-up knees.

I took a moment for another heartfelt prayer. Isaak was a bright and inquisitive boy, full of fresh enthusiasm, clever and generous like his ma, yet introspective – there was so much potential in him, I knew there was. It angered me to think that all those qualities were being wasted because of senseless resentment. I did not want Isaak to be the next casualty of this pointless feud.

I approached slowly. If he heard my footsteps, he didn't acknowledge it – he continued to peer stoically at the river from between those knobby knees.

"Isaak?"

His shoulders jerked forward, and he lifted his head slightly to steal a glance at me. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer, but his ma had taught him too well to allow for any more deliberate rudeness. "I won't run nowhere, Miz Christy."

"I'm glad to hear that, because I want to apologize to you."

He turned his face until his cheek rested on his leg, looking at me with open surprise, his anger momentarily forgotten. "What fer?"

I stepped cautiously around the tangle of brambles around the bank, coming closer to his solitary perch. "I'm afraid I haven't been holding up my end of the deal. Do you remember what I said after...after your father's funeral?"

His brow puckered, and he shook his head.

"I told you I would always be here if you needed to talk, and I'm sorry to say that I haven't kept my promise. I haven't been listening, Isaak, and I hope you will forgive me."

"I will," he said, though he seemed confused – undoubtedly he had been expecting some sort of furious scolding for sassing me earlier.

"Thank you." I bent to pick up a smooth round stone from the bank and tossed it into the river; we both watched the water ripple and undulate around it. "Isaak?"

"Yes'm?"

"I'm listening now."

He ran his hands through his white-blond hair. "I don't wanna talk."

I didn't reply, throwing out another stone. It skipped twice as far as the other one, and I saw Isaak smile reluctantly at my triumphant exclamation.

"Why's he at the Mission, Miz Christy?" he asked softly, after a long stretch of silence. "It ain't right, him bein' thar."

"Why do you hate Mr. Taylor?" I countered.

"I have ter hate him," he said stoutly, his mouth set in a grim line that seemed absurdly out of place on such a round and childish face.

"And why do you have to?"

"Lundy done shot my pa like some sorta critter – weren't even brave enough to own up ter it! And Bird's-Eye let him do it."

"Is that so? What do you propose to do about it?"

He stared up at me with those disconcertingly solemn blue eyes. "I aim ter do what the Lord says: an eye fer an eye."

I shivered at the merest idea of this innocent boy taking up a rifle with the intent to kill. "Isaak, you know that's not right. Didn't Reverend Grantland teach you what that passage meant?" Despite my efforts to keep calm, my voice rose in agitation. "Do you think that hurting someone else will make things better?"

"Gran'pa says it'll make me a man," Isaak retorted, but his tone was more uncertain.

An instant rebuttal was my instinctive reaction, but I could hardly criticize Uncle Bogg in front of his own grandson. I paused and took a steadying breath, choosing my words with care. "I don't believe that's true. Fighting is never brave – any coward can pull a trigger. It takes a real man to have the strength not to strike back and take revenge." I crouched down, laying one hand tentatively on his thin shoulder. "There is nothing honorable or brave about hurting another person, Isaak, no matter what they've done to you."

I stayed quiet, letting him absorb that thought, watching as his stern facade slowly crumbled away until all that was left was a bewildered, weary-eyed boy.

"Forgiveness is the brave thing to do – it takes courage to forgive someone who's done you wrong."

"I don't know how," he mumbled.

"Isaak, why did you forgive me so easily, when I told you how I broke my promise?"

He shrugged. "Ya didn't mean ter break it."

"And if I had? Would you have taken 'an eye for an eye' too? Would you have started up a feud? Would you have hurt me?"

He flinched. "No, ma'am. I wouldn't never hurt you."

"I know that – just like I know that you could never hurt Mr. Taylor."

His face crumpled, and he turned away. I reached out to touch his cheek, bringing his chin up so he met my eyes. "That isn't a weakness, Isaak. It's a strength – you have the strength of character to forgive, even if you believe that what you really want is revenge."

He was quiet for a long moment, and when he looked back at me, I had to suppress a sigh. The rage was gone, and I could see that he was on the verge of understanding something new – what, I didn't know...but I did know that Opal's boy was going to be fine. Not today, perhaps, but he was listening, and that was a perfect beginning.

"Would you like a little time to yourself, Isaak?"

He nodded, offering me a small smile. I rose and shook the loose soil from my skirt. "I'll see you in school again tomorrow?"

"Yes'm."

I returned to the mission house in high spirits, knowing that one more desk would be filled come Tuesday. It would be good to have Isaak back. I wanted to run over to Opal's to tell her the news, but Isaak should have the opportunity to talk to his mother before I did. I would wait until tomorrow.

There was, however, someone else to tell. Reverend Iverson informed me that Miss Alice was at the bunkhouse with Bird's-Eye, and I went there post-haste, carrying some milk and bread that Mrs. Iverson had just made for the invalid.

I knocked and opened the door, and to my surprise, I found Miss Alice perched on a chair next to the bed, reading her worn old Bible aloud. Bird's-Eye immediately turned as I came inside, seemingly embarrassed to be caught listening to a woman preachin'. I hid my smile and set the tray down on the dresser, leaving Miss Alice to work her miracles.

Crossing the field back to the house, I heard a faint rustling in the brush, and I turned eagerly, expecting to see Neil's smiling face – he hadn't been over to visit in several days, as he had been off on his usual rounds.

Oddly enough, when I looked, there was no one there. No Neil, no Isaak...no one.

"Hello?" I took a step toward the edge of the clearing, thinking that one of my students was trying to prank me. "Creed Allen, come out of there now."

There was no answer, no crackling leaves or twigs. Perhaps I'd just imagined it.

To pass the time until Miss Alice came in, I helped Anne put on an early supper; my mentor arrived over an hour later, looking quietly pleased as she joined us at the dining table.

Mrs. Iverson, ever impatient, asked the question that we all wanted to answer to. "Well, did he listen, Alice?"

Miss Alice set aside her knife and fork, giving us a secretive smile. "He did. I believe Mr. Taylor may make his way home after all."

I almost choked on a mouthful of potatoes. "So you're saying he's....?"

"No, not yet – but he is very lonely, and without Lundy, he seems to believe that he has nothing left, especially after these recent difficulties. Sometimes we need to be desperate before we are willing to see the truth." She looked around the table soberly. "We must not press him now. He has to make his choices."

As we cleared the supper dishes away, I shared my own news with her. "Isaak McHone is coming back to school."

She put down her dishrag and bent to kiss my forehead. "Excellent work, Miss Huddleston."

Everyone went to bed early that evening – Miss Alice and Anne were both weary from tending to Bird's-Eye, and I wanted to finish some papers before school the next morning. After putting the sheets to order and changing into my nightclothes, I said a prayer, blew out the lamp, and fell into bed.

I DREAMT OF Isaak that night. He was at the riverbank, playing in the water with Little Burl and Creed; I saw his happy face and heard the ring of the boys' laughter over the ridge, and there had never been a sweeter sound. I watched their games, entranced by the simple pleasure of playing in the sunshine.

Caught up in their joy, I didn't notice the smoke until it was too late – before my eyes, the gently-lapping water burst into flame, spewing black filth high into the summer sky, setting leaves and flowers ablaze. I screamed, stumbling back from the bank, the flames licking at my skirt and shoes – the river was molten fire, flowing past me with terrifying speed, and it struck me then that the boys were gone.

I screamed again, the shrill noise reverberating in my head as the fire swept up the bank toward me. Creed...Isaak...Fire...Fire...Fire....

I sat up in bed with a gasp that was immediately choked off as fresh air failed to relieve it. I couldn't breathe! I flailed under the quilts, clawing frantically until it occurred to me that what was filling my lungs was smoke....real smoke.

"Oh, God!" Shooting out of bed, I lurched across the floor, and my sleep-blurred eyes instantly flew to the doorway, where thick black smoke crept under the door, lit with a faint orange glow. My bare feet were scalded with heat where they rested against the hot floorboards.

"FIRE!" I ran to the window, dazed and disoriented, gasping for breath. "Miss Alice! Reverend! Help — Fire!"

I couldn't hear anything at all except the wild throb of blood pounding in my ears; I staggered back toward the door, and without thinking I grasped the iron latch. I cried out and let go of the red-hot knob, clutching my burnt fingers in the other hand. It burned... It burned so badly that tears sprang into my eyes, and I bent over with a sob. Oh, Lord, it hurt!

Blinded by tears, I crawled back over the window and struggled to open the casement. It was jammed shut – I could only open it halfway. I tried to shout, but it came out as a hoarse croak; my throat felt thick.

I sank slowly to the floor, feeling weak and sluggish, my head muddled. Fire...fire...Neil.....

As if from far away, I heard the sound of shattering glass, and I stared at the glittering little shards as they fell against the floor next to my body. I watched, fascinated, as they reflected the pale red brilliance of the fire.

Hands slipped around my waist, lifting me up – someone was shouting in my ear, but I couldn't understand a word. I wished they would stop; I was so tired. I just wanted some sleep. I felt my body moving, but I wasn't doing anything...it was strange. I was flying....

The shock of cold air against my face cleared my head, and I blinked up at the dark sky, suddenly aware that I was lying on the ground, and someone was shaking me.

"Christy! Christy!"

I turned my head and saw a man looming over me, his face pale and frantic – it took me a moment to recognize him, and I reached out for him; he caught my grasping hand and held it gently.

I tried to talk, but the words erupted into a coughing fit, my lungs scrambling for oxygen. I wheezed and moaned as they filled, pushing out the smoke, and Neil's strong hands curved around my ribs, lifting me up into a sitting position, my head tucked against his chest.

"Easy now." I could hear his voice, soothing and calm. "Easy, love. Breathe in slowly. That's it."

I coughed until my throat was raw, and when I was done, I laid back against his comforting warmth and let the exhaustion take me.

A/N: I apologize for yet another month in between posts. I seem to have contracted some irritating writer's block, and the chapters I've been putting out lately have been pretty mediocre.

Anyway, I hope this chapter was exciting enough to make up for it. Tune in later for the next episode, in which we'll discover what just happened to our poor mission folk. :0

Thanks for all your lovely reviews! It's truly encouraging to know that people are enjoying this story.