CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The next two months passed by in a storm of wedding preparations. The Mission house became overcrowded with boxes of matrimonial paraphernalia sent from relatives and friends and my mother, who, after recovering from her shock and disappointment, leapt into the planning wholeheartedly.

Normally I would have welcomed the help, but Mother had apparently decided that since she had had no say in the selection of my bridegroom, the wedding itself was under her jurisdiction. Nothing could have been more frustrating, and days that should have been spent pleasurably with Neil were instead wasted away on telephone arguments with my very determined mother.

According to her, nothing was being done correctly. First, the wedding should be held in Asheville, where my old friends could come and share in the day. I repeatedly refused to change the location, though Neil assured me that he didn't care where we held the ceremony itself. When I wouldn't budge on that point, she harped about the reception or my trousseau or the wedding gown I had chosen – there was always something wrong, something that wasn't good enough for me.

I loved my mother, truly I did, but I often ended a long day of negotiations with the overwhelming desire to run away with Neil out of pure spite. Logically, I knew that was no way to start a marriage; I would forever regret hurting my parents, and Neil would never consent to elopement anyway, no matter the circumstances. He knew firsthand how it tarred a relationship.

Besides, I wanted to do this properly. I wanted to become Neil's wife and share my joy with family, friends, and my children. It was important to him too, so there was not any chance of me jeopardizing our day, even if Mother irritated me to no end. That didn't stop me from fantasizing about it, however.

Thankfully, I was given some unexpected support from my brother. When he happened to be home during one of Mother's telephone calls, he often talked with me afterward to cool me down.

"Christy, you only have to do this once," he said, after I had finished fuming about Mother's latest demand. "Just tolerate it for a few more weeks, and then you're free."

"That doesn't help, George. She's making me absolutely insane." I groaned and sank down into a chair by the telephone. "I don't know what to say to her anymore. Every time we talk, there's something else that I have to do: I need to call the seamstress and check on my gown, I need to invite Aunt Daisy or some other relative I haven't spent more than a few days with in my entire life, or I need to make certain that the ceremony is exactly half an hour long, since the food won't keep outside for longer than that, or..."

He laughed. "Sis, it's a good thing that you're marrying a doctor, because you're going to have a heart attack."

I was too tense to find his remark humorous. "This may seem hilarious to you, but I'm not laughing here. I can't do this anymore, George. I can't."

"Now stop it right there. I didn't know my sister was a coward."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. Look, you're Christy Huddleston, aren't you? The stubborn-as-heck girl who got on a train to teach school in the middle of nowhere after hearing one sermon from a traveling preacher? The girl who lived through fires and feuds and typhoid fever? Now you say you want to quit just because Mother won't stop hounding you about wedding decorations?"

I was struck with shame. "You're so right. I'm sorry, George."

"That's better. Stick with it, Prissy, and it'll be over before you know it."

He always made me feel better; I smiled, imagining his self-satisfied expression. "And what makes you so determined to keep this wedding on schedule? What interest do you have in weddings? I thought they were for girls."

"I want some of that cake," he laughed, "so you'd better follow through."

"I'll save you the biggest slice." A blur of movement caught my eye, and I reflexively turned to look behind me.

Bird's-Eye Taylor was standing in the threshold.

The telephone receiver slipped from my hands as I let out a muffled shriek, falling back against the wall.

"Christy?" I could hear George's voice shouting from the dangling receiver. "Christy, are you there?"

I kept my eyes trained on Bird's-Eye, and weak relief spread through me when I spotted his shotgun perched outside on the stoop. Seeing my frightened face, he took a few steps back, taking off his hat and wringing it in his dirty hands.

With shaking fingers, I groped beside me for the phone cord and put it back up to my ear. George was still talking on the other end, his voice sharp with concern. "Christy, what happened? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine. I have to go." Without waiting for a reply, I hung up the telephone and faced Mr. Taylor. "What can I do for you?" I was proud of how steady I sounded.

"Nuthin'," he said, staring down at the floorboards. "Dinnit mean ter scare you."

"It's quite alright. I'm not hurt." The rush of nerves slowly retreated as I took in his bedraggled appearance and ashy complexion. The scars from his impromptu surgery were limned in angry red along his cheek and forehead, and he seemed to lean his weight on his left leg.

"Would you like to sit down? There's some coffee on the stove."

"Nah. Is Miz Alice hereabouts?"

"I'm afraid she isn't."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Weel, can ye tell her I've been thinkin' bout what she said, and I'm..." He hesitated. "I'm sorry fer runnin' off like that, without a word to nobody. She done right by me, and I'm beholden."

"It was no trouble. We're always here to help."

Mr. Taylor cleared his throat. "Tell her...tell her that I've been down in Lyleton, in the jailhouse."

I wasn't quick enough to hide my astonishment. "The jailhouse?"

"Yup." He shifted uncomfortably. "Done turned myself in. Sheriff gave me five months, reckon 'cause I came forward, but he'll keep me fer five years iffen I do it again." I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. "Look, jest tell Miz Alice that, hear?"

"Of course I will. Are you sure you don't want to wait? You can tell her yourself."

"No. No, I'll head out. Ain't welcome hereabouts no more." Replacing his hat, he started to back out of the room. "Oh. I heerd you and Doc was fixin' to be wed. Best wishes, Miz Christy."

"Thank you."

He jerked his head in a stiff nod and limped out onto the porch. I watched him retreat back into the tangle of forest, and I wondered what had brought him back to the Cove. Five months in jail...I could hardly believe he had done that. And then something else occurred to me: Opal. Did Opal know he was back in the Cove?

Without a moment's hesitation, I took the coffee pot off the stove, scribbled a note for Mrs. Iverson, and hurried toward the McHone cabin.

I found Vincent and Sam Houston in the yard, playing with a makeshift bow and arrow. The string of dead rabbits Sam Houston had slung over his shoulder made me cringe, and I had to remind myself that developing hunting skills was essential for young boys out here.

"Howdy, Miz Christy!" Vincent scrambled over to wrap his arms around my legs. "You ain't been out here to see Ma fer a long time."

Actually, it had been about a week, but his words made me feel guilty; I was so preoccupied with my wedding plans that I hadn't been visiting as much as I usually did. "I know. Is your mother busy?"

"No, jest sittin' with Toot."

"Miz Christy, lookit here!" Sam Houston lifted up one of his prizes for me to admire; I tried not to look into those lifeless black eyes.

"That's...um...wonderful. It looks like you've had a good time hunting. I'll go in and see Opal, and you have fun, okay?"

"Okay," they chorused, taking off in pursuit of more prey. I shuddered once before heading up to the cabin.

Opal was in the rocking chair with a sleeping Toot, stroking the boy's white-blond hair back from his forehead; I could see droplets of sweat gathering at his forehead. She looked up as I came in and smiled.

"Is he feeling ill?" I whispered, coming to sit next to her.

"He's runnin' a fever. Doc says it's jest a summer cold." She kissed her son's cheek and rocked him back and forth.

"I'm sorry to hear that; I'll have to bring over some picture books for him to pass the time with. I know how dull lying in bed can be."

"He'd like that." She smiled over at me. "Yer looking fit to be tried, Miz Christy. Yer ma givin' you trouble?"

I sighed. "A little. Actually, I was talking to George today, but I had a visitor."

Her face softened. "You seen Bird's-Eye?"

"I did! Did he come to see you too?"

"Yup. He come this morning." She ducked her head. "Wanted ter tell me he'd done and served his time fer the moonshinin'. I'm real proud of him."

"Did Isaac see him too?" I asked delicately.

"Not this time, but I mean ter talk ter him if Bird's-Eye wants ter come around more often. Things cain't stay this way forever." She sighed. "It's good ter see you again too."

I took that as a sign that she was done with the subject of Mr. Taylor. "I'm sorry I've been away so long, Opal. I guess I've been easily distracted."

"Reckon I know what's been distractin' you. This mornin' Doc was sure happy. Never seen him smile so much." After a glance down at Toot, she leaned forward. "I've been meanin' ter talk with you 'bout somethin'."

Her tone confused me. She was serious, but there was a note of mischief there too. "What?" I asked cautiously.

"Weel, since yer ma won't be here until yer weddin' day, I thought I'd best give you a little advice, gal ter gal. Every bride ought ter know a bit about her weddin' night."

My cheeks were on fire. "Opal!"

"Now, there's no shame in that, Christy. You want to be ready fer Neil, don't you?"

"I can't believe you're talking about this," I moaned. "Really, I think I know quite enough."

She looked at me doubtfully, and I sighed. "Okay, maybe I don't know the exact logistics, but honestly, I think we'll manage..."

Opal clicked her tongue and patted my knee. "I jest won't feel right unless I make sure you're ready. Ye've got weddin' jitters already, I can tell." The wicked grin on her face told me that she was enjoying this too much. "Ye see, we give all brides a little teachin' here afore they get wed, so there's no shame in it."

Maybe there was no shame for her, but there certainly was plenty of it on my side. I'd grown somewhat accustomed to the earthier attitudes of the mountain people, but that didn't mean I personally was any more relaxed about sex. "I really appreciate the thought, Opal, but I think I know everything I need to know for now. I'm not a child." A memory of Neil telling me about 'riding the rail' popped into my head, and I felt my face grow hotter.

Opal laughed, but her expression was kind. "Christy, none of us want ye to be anythin' but happy on yer weddin' day, and that can only happen iffen yer prepared for every part of the day."

She was making sense, as well as tapping into one of my deepest insecurities. I hadn't been deliberately thinking about what would happen on my wedding night, but that didn't stop me from being curious...or apprehensive. Pleasing my husband was important to me, and although I trusted that he knew what he was doing, I didn't want to fumble around blindly in return.

I swallowed and looked up at Opal. "What...what did you have in mind?"

"Nuthin' terrible." She checked Toot's temperature and stood, laying him in the loft to sleep. After pouring us some persimmon juice, she sat me down at the table and rubbed my arm reassuringly. "You tell me iffen ye want me ter stop."

It wasn't so bad. Opal spoke very frankly about what to expect, and I found myself listening closely, grasping for any bits of information that would bolster my confidence for the night. She confirmed that there would be some pain and a little blood, but that would be countered with pleasure if Neil was gentle and patient with me. Those were two qualities that Neil always seemed to possess, so I wasn't too worried on that account. Mostly my concern was about my own performance: the spectre of Margaret was hanging over my head. She had been a beautiful, sensual, bohemian woman, and I was...what? Thin and plain? What if I couldn't please Neil like she had? What if I couldn't please him at all?

Opal seemed amused at the question, as if there was some private joke behind it. "Miz Christy, there ain't any doubt that he'll be pleased. Menfolk is always pleased – it don't take much. If anythin', he ought ter be worryin' about you pleasin' him too much."

"Why would that worry him?"

"Never you mind." She reached over to refill my cup, trying to hold back a grin. "Iffen you have more questions, you kin ask me any time."

"I'll do that." Strangely enough, I did feel more prepared, even if I doubted that my blush would ever fade.

"It's no trouble. Yer a good gal, and ye'll be givin' Neil the best kind of weddin' gift. Don't fret none about what he'll think. I bet he's frettin' plenty hisself."

Neil worrying about taking me to bed? That was something I couldn't imagine; he always seemed so calm and self-assured. "Why would he fret? He's not a...virgin." Even the word was difficult for me to say out loud. "He's done this before."

"Not fer several years, and never with someone like you. He's gonna worry about hurtin' you, or disappointin' you. He'll be jest as scared as you, I reckon, even if he don't show it."

That shouldn't have been comforting, but somehow it was. It put us on the same footing, in the same situation. Somehow we would work this out together. "Thank you, Opal."

"Anytime."

A/N: Hee! Poor Christy. This chapter is dedicated to anyone who's ever had to go through "the talk." Which means everyone, most likely. I thought Opal would be the best choice for a confidante here, although we may see a few awkward exchanges between Mrs. Huddleston and her daughter as the wedding approaches....

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