CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A FULL-FLEDGED SEARCH for Bird's-Eye Taylor turned up nothing – the ex-moonshiner simply seemed to have vanished. Reverend Iverson was concerned that he had been abducted by the men who set the fire, but Neil believed that Bird's-Eye, who hated being beholden to anyone, had likely taken off as soon as he realized his presence had led to the disaster at the mission.

It was hard to think of Mr. Taylor being left to wander the hills alone, still recuperating from a variety of painful injuries, but Neil insisted that there was nothing we could do about it, and to pursue the man would be unkind. "Let him have his pride, Christy," he told me, when I asked Miss Alice if yet another search party would be sent out. "He's lost everything else he values."

Miss Alice regretted having to let him go when she believed he had been so close to a real change of heart, but there was little she could do either. We let him go with hopes that he would be safe and prayers that he could find some measure of peace for himself.

With that, the focus shifted from Bird's-Eye to the damaged mission house; the men of the Cove once again proved their resourcefulness and versatility by using slats from the bunkhouse to rebuild the burnt second floor. Even at the pace they were able to build, I had to stay in Miss Alice's cabin until the work was completed. Fortunately, the men worked with astonishing speed.

Rapid recovery seemed to be a prevailing theme in Cutter Gap: if something was broken, fix it quick. That was how life was here – no lingering over a problem. People grieved and then moved on, rebuilding to make things bigger and better than before.

There was something to learn from that mountain philosophy. My life had been a constant whirl of turmoil, joy, fury, pain, and hope since I had stepped off that train in El Pano two years past, and now it was time for me to rebuild and let everything settle. So much had changed since that day – I was older, presumably wiser, and more confident in myself and my place in the world. I had learned how to cope with love and loss, how to welcome a new love and say goodbye to a friend. Everything of my past life was rebar, burned away by experience, and now it was time to rebuild. At last, I was ready to move on.

SPRING MELTED AWAY into hot, lazy summer, and I was left with enough spare time to return my attention to past resolutions: namely, adult classes at the mission. The plan had been interrupted by the outbreak of typhoid, but my enthusiasm for the project was rekindled one day in late June by a chance conversation.

I had been walking out by Lonesome Pine Ridge, up past the Spencers' place, and I must have wandered all the way into Holcombe land, for I met Elizabeth Holcombe down by the riverbank, scrubbing her way through a heaping pile of shirts and overalls. I didn't know Mrs. Holcombe as well as I did some of the other mountain women, but when we did meet in church or at the ladies' sewing circle, she was always perfectly friendly. Why hadn't I made an effort to know her better before? I decided to cross over to talk and help, if she would let me.

She glanced up as I waded through the shallow water and smiled. "Mornin', Miz Christy."

"Good morning, Mrs. Holcombe. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Aye." She snapped a sodden shirt to fling the excess soap from it. "Mighty fine, but I reckon we'll have a spot of rain later today."

Mrs. Holcombe straightened and loaded the sopping clothes into a large weave basket. She was a tall woman, heavy with muscle, but her delicate, feminine features made an intriguing contrast to her sturdy figure. She had a nice, frank smile and large almond-brown eyes that seemed at once both shrewd and mild.

"May I help you?" I asked, seeing the size of the laundry pile.

She hesitated, looking me over as if taking my measure. "Shore." She pointed to a shack of shirts. "Thar's some soap."

I set to work, the familiar sting of lye pinching at my fingers. The passing of two months had healed the burns on my hand, but Neil had been right about the scar tissue – raised, shining pink flesh stood in ridges along my right palm. It was ugly, but privately I had come to accept it as a sign of sorts, physical proof of my change.

We worked in silence for a bit; the mountain people took their time with conversation, choosing their words leisurely until they had found just the right way to say what they wanted to say.

Mrs. Holcombe spoke first. "Miz Christy, I've been talkin' with Opal McHone some, and she tole me you've been teachin' her ter read and write an' sech."

"I have." I looked at her curiously, wondering where this was heading.

"I know it's a bit to ask, Miz Christy, but I was thinkin' that mebbe you mought be willin' ter teach me too. My young'uns love their schoolin', and it doesn't seem right that I don't know how ter read ter them from books." She laughed at herself. "Cain't let them get smarter than their ma."

"I'd be happy to teach you," I said, excited at the prospect of another pupil. "But your husband....do you think he'd agree?"

"John, waal, he'll jest have ter bend a bit," she said determinedly. "He had a bit o' schoolin' himself when he was a boy – he can read some and do figures right fine. That's where my Lizette gets it. As long as I still put plenty of good vittles on the table and kept the cabin neat, I don't think he'd fuss much 'bout me getting some learnin'." She turned those lovely brown eyes toward me, hopefully. "Would it be much trouble, Miz Christy? Ter teach me?"

"Of course not. I would love to teach you." A delightful thought struck me. Even better – Opal might be willing to help too. I could only imagine how much pleasure she would take in sharing her knowledge with the other ladies. My head was suddenly full of ideas...or schemes, as Neil would call them. I put aside the shirt and sat down, reeling with notion of adult classes. The women could all learn together...maybe we could make it a Bible study – they always liked to hear the Scriptures...or maybe a sewing circle, or something like that, where they could take turns reading, but have something else to work on as well so their workload wouldn't pile up. Or maybe cooking classes could be incorporated into it – the ladies could learn to write by copying recipes. I would have to ask Miss Alice if she had any cookbooks left....

I was startled when Mrs. Holcombe eased herself down next to me on the bank. "You look like yer a hundred miles away," she laughed. "Lizette says yer always brewin' ideas when ye get that look."

"Mrs. Holcombe, do you think many of the other ladies would like to learn to read?"

"Call me Elizabeth," she said cheerfully, straightening her apron as she settled back into the grass. "And yes, I reckon thar would be plenty what would like ter read. Course, it depends on whether or not their menfolk will let 'em. Lots of work ter do."

My enthusiasm deflated slightly at this reminder. "Oh. Do none of the women read?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "'Sides Opal, none." She paused. "Wait – Becca Thomas might. She went ter school in Lyleton afore she was wed."

"No one else at all?"

"Not many edoocated people come here," she said sensibly. "Not exactly a prime place fer bloomin' minds; only city folk we ever have are the preachers, Miz Alice, an' Doc. Missus MacNeill too, but she weren't here long."

My busy musings stilled at the mention of Neil's late wife. I hadn't thought of Margaret for many months, but a picture of the engraved mirror on Neil's bureau popped into my mind, and I felt an odd empty sensation in my stomach. I didn't know why the fact that Margaret's things were on his dresser should disturb me so much – I hadn't even remembered it until now – but suddenly I was feeling very uncomfortable indeed. "That surprises me, I guess. I believed Miss Alice would have set up some sort of program."

"Waal, she knows how the men can be here. I reckon she knew she stirred up enough talk with her bein' a preacher-woman. She's real careful 'bout how she does her business – a right smart gal."

"Yes." I shifted uneasily. "Or I thought maybe...um...Mrs. MacNeill might have offered to teach, considering that she was educated too...."

Elizabeth looked at me for a long moment. "You want ter talk about her, don't you?"

I was flustered at being found out so quickly. "I...well, yes."

Elizabeth plucked up a blade of sweetgrass and chewed thoughtfully on the stem. "I don't know whether it's my place or not, Miz Christy, but I suppose it can't hurt none. You see, I knew Missus MacNeill – or at least, I knew her as well as anyone did here."

"Did you really?" I leaned forward eagerly. "What was she like?"

"She was beautiful, she was. Loads of shiny hair like dark honey, and purty blue eyes jest the color of your'n." Shrugging, she bent and plucked another stem. "Don't rightly care ter speak ill of the dead, but she weren't so friendly – cold as Blackberry Creek in January, matter of fact. When she an' Doc first come back ter the Cove, I went ter visit..." She stopped and looked over at me. "Did you know that when I was a little Teague gal, I lived down by Big Spoon Creek, near the MacNeill place? Our homestead was a ways up the hill behind their cabin. It's naught but an empty shack now; after I left home to wed with John, my brother Rip moved the rest of the family up north."

"I didn't know that," I said. "I didn't think anyone ever left their homesteads."

"Ain't so uncommon. The water was better up thar, an' all those steep trails were awful hard fer Aunt Polly. It were time ter move on. Anyhow, me and my brothers spent all our child-days thar near Big Spoon, an' we knew the MacNeills awful well. Doc's ma and pa, they was good people, an' we young'uns all played together. Got into heaps of mischief too." Elizabeth's face softened with remembrance. "Neil ain't changed much these twenty years."

I smiled to think of that boy – quiet, probably, with a streak of stubbornness and an insatiable desire to read every book that came his way. I wondered whether his red hair had been as messy then as it was now.

"When he went away ter the city, we was all afeared he'd never come back. His ma cried fer nigh on a week, mournin' him, thinkin' he was gonna die out thar without her ever seein' him agin. We hardly knew where this Philadelphy was – jest that it were someplace far, far away. He was the first man-person in the Cove ter go outta Tennessee."

"As I was tellin' you, I went off ter see Neil again and meet his wife. Waal, Doc was right glad ter visit, but Missus MacNeill sat thar, hardly sayin' a word, starin' down her nose at me. She was dressed so fancy-fine, in the purtiest shining cloth, and she looked jest like a queen. I felt like a regular beggar-woman, even though I was wearin' one of my very best frocks – a store-boughten one that John gave me fer Christmas." She chuckled. "I wondered whether I oughta kneel down an' kiss her hand."

I laughed reflexively, but everything in me was focused on hearing more.

"I left awful quick an' I didn't come back none fer a while. Mebbe I should've, but she made me feel so low." Elizabeth shook her head. "Vain thoughts, them. You ever felt that way, Miz Christy?"

I thought of my conversation with Mr. Hale at the Havyvescroft's Christmas ball. "I have, plenty of times."

"Seems that she treated all the ladies that way, 'cause no one really wanted ter talk to her. Only Fairlight kept goin' over."

I thought that sounded very typical of Fairlight's gentle determination to reach out to others. "Did Fairlight befriend her, then?"

"She tried ter, an' kept a-tryin' till Miz Margaret up an' died. I reckon it weren't all Missus MacNeill's fault, though. She was a city-gal through and through. Nothin' here was good enough fer her – she liked all that excitement and noise and crowds in the city. Fairlight said she kept talkin' about Philadelphy, and all its art an' culture." She shrugged. "Reckon I don't know much 'bout art or culture, but whatever they are, she shorely missed them. She jest didn't like the mountains. That weren't our fault – or hers."

Bits and pieces of Miss Alice's explanation about her daughter and the MacNeills' marriage were coming back to me. "Did she tell Dr. MacNeill that she wanted to go back?"

"I suppose she did. They wasn't too happy together sometimes. Doc didn't say nothin', but ya could tell. I known him since he was a little squirt, an' I could see that he'd changed. Not only his fancy city-talk, either – he was real sad, I think, in his heart. His ma and pa was already dead, and folks didn't welcome him back like we oughta have."

"You didn't want him in the Cove?" I exclaimed in astonishment. "But why?"

"It wasn't that we didn't want him..." Elizabeth sighed. "Ya see, Miz Christy, other people saw the change in him too. He was a city-man now, with his suits and fine accent and doctor-learnin'. Folks didn't trust him straight off. He weren't Neil anymore – he were Doc. Course, it didn't help that most everybody in the Cove knew what his marriage was like. I heerd a lot about them. You know how folks talk."

"They had...problems?" Miss Alice had hinted at a darker side to Neil's marriage.

"Lots of problems. She were a strange one. Sometimes she loved him, sometimes she didn't. It were equal parts love an' hate, I think. She were real moody, from what I heerd – sunshine one minnit, thunder-an-lightnin' the next; she plumb wore Doc out with it. Seems like a right shame."

My throat suddenly felt tight. "Did he love her very much?"

"I reckon Neil loved her somethin' fierce," she said honestly. "It were a sorrowful thing ter see how he kept a-tryin' ter please her. Always a-tryin', but she wasn't happy.

"Then thar was the baby...." Elizabeth looked down at her hands. "After that things started ter change – she seemed happier, and a mought less restless. I think she an' Neil was on their way ter finding somethin' good together. But then..." She shook her head. "Then the typhoid come. Missus MacNeill jest up an' died an' took the wee babe with her. Near to broke Neil's heart. He woulda made a fine pa."

A reflective silence followed – I was too preoccupied to speak, and Elizabeth kindly let me have a few minutes to collect myself. Between the two of us, the wash was soon finished, and as she bundled the clothing into the baskets, she finally broke the silence. "I reckon I'll see you soon, Miz Christy. Swing by again so we can talk more 'bout the readin' lessons. Thanks fer helpin' with the laundry."

Tactfully, she left me to my thoughts; I waved goodbye and sat for another hour at the edge of the river, listening to the water and mulling over all that I had learned. I was glad that Elizabeth had told me. I ached at the thought of Neil losing so much, but it only strengthened my resolve to never take him for granted. If by some chance Neil became my husband, I wouldn't make the same mistakes Margaret had. I would embrace whatever role was there for me, whether it was friend, lover, wife, or mother, and by God, I would never regret it.

Never.

A/N: Hey, hey! We're almost to the end now -- just need to tie up some fairly large loose ends. *coughweddingcough* ;)

Thanks to everybody who has bothered to read and/or review this. I've received some very thoughtful feedback in the past weeks, and it is deeply appreciated. Thanks again!