Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder (23 page)

Wraight glared at Christy. “I reckon there'd be six.”

“That's right, Wraight,” Christy said with a tolerant smile. “Or perhaps I should say Zach. Don't worry, those of you who are still having trouble with numbers. Soon you'll be adding just as fast as John does.”

As she turned back to her desk, Christy sighed. Usually David Grantland, the mission's young minister, handled math and Bible study classes. But he was busy today with church matters, so Christy had agreed to teach all the classes. It was going to be a very long day.

Christy found teaching students in so many different grades very difficult. When she'd volunteered to teach here at the mission in Cutter Gap, Tennessee, she hadn't realized that her classroom would be filled with over five dozen children, ranging in age from five to seventeen. She had a few gifted students, who had already been exposed to some schooling—students like John Spencer and Lizette Holcombe, a tall, dark-haired girl of fifteen with intelligent brown eyes.

But she also had many students like Lundy Taylor and Wraight Holt, who had never set foot in a classroom before. Christy didn't want to bore the more advanced students. On the other hand, she didn't want to discourage the ones who'd never been to school before.

“John, let's go over those figures in a moment,” Christy said. She smiled at Mr. Pentland. “I suppose our curiosity is getting the better of us. Why don't you bring the package in here so we can all take a look at it?”

“You're sure about wantin' it in here?”

“If it's a donation for the mission, why not? The children will enjoy seeing what you've brought.”

“Oh, I reckon they'll enjoy it, all right.” Chuckling softly to himself, Mr. Pentland set down his bag and headed off.

Christy couldn't help feeling proud of herself. After only two months of teaching, she'd managed to obtain much-needed supplies for the mission school—and all on her own! Even Miss Alice Henderson, who'd helped found the school, hadn't thought of writing to companies for donations. Miss Alice was going to be very impressed when she saw the results of Christy's efforts.

It would be nice
, Christy thought,
if this first package contained donated books. Won't it be wonderful for each child to have a fresh, new book to hold. . . .
Suddenly, she gasped.

Mr. Pentland stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. “Like I said, biggest delivery I ever did make. Hungriest, too. Ate half my lunch on the way here.”

Slowly Mr. Pentland entered the room. He was pulling on a rope. Attached to the rope was a huge black stallion with a white star on his brow. The horse had a silky mane and a long, flowing tail. On his back was a beautiful leather saddle.

The horse had to lower his proud head to come in through the door. His hooves pounded on the wooden floor. When he tossed his tail, it whipped back and forth across the faces of the students on the last row. Gazing curiously at the class, he snorted twice. His ears twitched. Then he leaned down to nuzzle Ruby Mae's hair.

“Her hair's so red, he most likely figures it's carrots,” Mr. Pentland joked.

“Mr. Pentland,” Christy said when she finally managed to recover her voice, “there must be some mistake. This is . . . this is a
horse!”

Mr. Pentland grinned. “For a city-gal, you sure do pick things up quick-like. Bet you can even tell which end of the horse is which.”

“Well, I
am
a city-gal,” Christy said with a laugh, “but I'm pretty sure you feed the end without a tail.” She shook her head. “But I still say there's got to be some mistake. When I requested donations, I didn't ask for a horse. Did he come with a note, or any kind of explanation?”

“Just that tag on his saddle with your name on it.”

“But Teacher,” said Zach, “the mission needs a horse bad. All you got is that half-crippled mule, Old Theo.”

It was true. Miss Alice owned a horse, but she was often gone on long trips. Without any transportation, it was very difficult for David to visit families living in remote areas.

“You're right, Zach,” Christy agreed. “But we still can't keep this horse.”

The entire class moaned in disappointment. As if he understood what was going on, the horse stepped closer to Christy's desk, his horseshoes clopping loudly on the floor. He nudged Christy's shoulder.

“I reckon he likes you, Teacher,” said Mary O'Teale, a gentle eight-year-old with wide, green eyes. The horse's tail swished over her face as he tossed it to and fro.

“I'm sure you're a very nice horse,” Christy said to the stallion, “but we can't keep you without knowing where you came from.”

“I plumb forgot!” Mr. Pentland exclaimed. “You've got a couple letters, too. Had a monstrous big pile of mail this week. Eight whole letters!” He stroked the horse's neck. “Nine, if'n you count this big, hairy one.”

Christy smiled. She still couldn't get over living in a world where eight letters meant a “big pile of mail!”

Mr. Pentland handed Christy the letters. One was from her mother. The other had a North Carolina postmark, too, but Christy didn't recognize the name on the envelope.

She opened it and read:

February 8, 1912

Dear Miss Huddleston:

I hope that you will forgive a stranger writing to you. Let me explain that I have just returned from Asheville, where I was visiting my sister.

At a tea she gave in my honor, I met your mother. She spoke most charmingly about the contents of some of your recent letters, your fascinating pupils, and their needs.

When she mentioned the mission's need for a good horse, my heart soared, for I knew of the perfect animal. My husband, Charles, having developed rheumatism this past year, has been unable to give our fine stallion, Prince, the exercise and attention he properly deserves. I trust that the mission will find him the loving friend and companion that we have.

Sincerely,
Lucy Mae Furnam

Christy stroked the horse's glossy mane. “Well, Prince,” she said, “it looks like you have a new home.”

“You're a-keepin' him for sure and certain?” Ruby Mae cried.

“It seems he is a gift,” Christy explained, “from some people back in my home state. His name is Prince.”

“And he looks like one, don't he, Teacher?” asked Little Burl Allen, a sweet, red-haired six-year-old.

“Yes, he does, Little Burl,” Christy agreed. “Very majestic. All he needs is a crown.”

“Can Ruby Mae and me ride him double-like?” asked Bessie Coburn. Twelve-year-old Bessie was Ruby Mae's best friend.

“I think what Prince needs right now is a little rest after his long journey,” Christy said.

But just then, Prince reared up on his hind legs.

“Look out!” Ruby Mae yelled.

The horse's black head nearly touched the rafters as he pawed the air with his forelegs.

“Whoa, there, boy,” Mr. Pentland soothed, pulling on the lead rope.

At last Prince lowered his legs. He stood calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened.

“No, ma'am,” Little Burl said, shaking his head. “I don't reckon he is tired.”

Christy laughed, a little flustered by the sudden display. “Well, we'd better take Prince outside.”

Ruby Mae and Bessie jumped up to grab the lead rope. Prince, with his head still high, allowed himself to be led through the door. Christy, Mr. Pentland, and the rest of the children followed behind.

As soon as he was out on the snow-covered grass, the horse yanked free of the girls' grasp and took off at a gallop. He ran in a great, wide circle, tossing his head back and forth and kicking up sprays of snow. Finally, after several minutes, he meekly returned to the children.

“Thank you, Mr. Pentland, for bringing him all this way,” Christy said. “He really is a beauty.”

“All part of bein' a U-nited States mailman,” Mr. Pentland said with a tip of his worn hat. “Anyways, kind of liked having a critter around for company. By the way, I 'spect there's more surprises a-comin'. Big delivery come into El Pano yesterday. Should be here soon.”

Ruby Mae tugged on Mr. Pentland's sleeve. “Another horse?”

“Nope,” he said with a sly grin.

“We'll let it be a surprise,” Christy said. “Just tell me this, so I can prepare myself— does it breathe?”

“Nope. Don't breathe,” said Mr. Pentland. “Course it do make noise. . . .” With a mysterious smile, he was on his way.

As Christy watched him go, she realized she felt a real fondness for the gentle mailman. Mr. Pentland had escorted Christy on her seven-mile journey through the mountains when she came to Cutter Gap two months ago. It had been a rough trip, ending with Christy's fall into a dangerous, icy river. Through it all, Mr. Pentland had been a kind friend when she'd needed one.

“Ruby Mae,” Christy said, “why don't you and Bessie take Prince over to the mission house? I believe I saw Mr. Grantland over there. He'll take care of our new friend.”

Christy turned back toward the school. A snowball fight had already started. If she didn't get everyone back into the classroom soon, she'd lose what little control she had.

“All right, now,” Christy called loudly. “Back to John's math problems.”

The children responded with loud groans. A few of her more willing students, like John and Lizette, rushed up the steps to the schoolhouse. Wouldn't it be wonderful, Christy thought, if all her students were so eager and quick to learn? Unfortunately, most of them had never even handled a pencil or a piece of chalk or a real book. And without the necessary supplies, there were days when Christy wondered if she would ever make a difference in the lives of her young students.

Still, Prince's unexpected arrival had filled her with hope. She couldn't exactly take credit for the beautiful horse—he was a surprise gift, after all. But if some of the other donations she'd requested came through, think of all the changes she could make to the mission school! She couldn't wait to see what the next delivery would bring.

“Miz Christy! Come quick!” Lizette called from the doorway.

“What is it, Lizette?”

“Somebody's done erased all of John's figurin'. And there's ink spilled all over your papers!”

Rounding up the last few stragglers, Christy hurried inside the school. A deep blue puddle of ink covered her attendance book. Ink flowed to the edge of her desk, where it dripped like a tiny waterfall onto the rough, wood floor. John stood by the blackboard, staring in dismay at the smeared remains of his addition problems. The ghosts of a few numbers were still visible, but most of his work had been completely erased.

Christy wondered if Prince had somehow knocked over her inkwell. But no, the horse hadn't been near her desk when he'd reared up. And he certainly hadn't erased the board.

“Sit down, all of you!” Christy cried. Reining in her anger, she lowered her voice. “Please, go to your seats. I need to get to the bottom of this.”

She heard snickers outside. She leaned out the door to see a group of the older boys— Lundy Taylor, Smith O'Teale, Wraight Holt, and Wraight's little brother, Zach—hovering near the steps, whispering.

“Inside, now!” Christy ordered.

The boys sauntered in, taking their time. Zach, a thin boy with curly blond hair, cast a nervous glance in Christy's direction, then slipped into his seat. Lundy chuckled as he walked to his desk.

“I'm glad you find this so amusing, Lundy,” Christy said. “But I'm afraid I do not. John worked very hard on those math problems. And as for my attendance book, it's ruined. Do you realize how difficult it is for us to obtain supplies? Ink and paper and chalk cost money.”

Christy paced up and down the aisles of the small classroom. An uneasy quiet fell over the class. Some students hung their heads. Others looked out the windows. Lundy, Wraight, and Smith avoided her gaze.

“I want to know who did this,” Christy said. “And I want to know right now.”

She was not surprised when no one answered.

After a tense moment, John raised his hand. “Miz Christy, I can do the figurin' again. It ain't no problem.”

“That's not the point, John. I need to find out who is responsible for this.”

Actually, Christy had a pretty good idea who the culprit was—Lundy Taylor. Although she'd never been able to prove it, she was certain that Lundy had thrown a rock at five-year-old Vella Holt on the first day of school. It was also likely that he'd tripped Mary O'Teale at the top of an icy slide, causing her to tumble down a steep slope and hurt her arm and head. But no one would ever directly accuse Lundy of anything. He was big and hulking and mean, and even Christy was a little afraid of him.

“Lundy, do you have anything to say?” Christy asked.

“I'd say you got yourself one big mess up yonder on that desk,” Lundy said with a smirk.

Christy clenched her hands. She took a deep breath. She was determined not to lose her temper.

“It's just some spilled ink,” she said. “I'll clean it up. John will redo his arithmetic. And that's that. But if I ever catch one of you vandalizing the school again, I'll . . .” She lowered her voice. “This is
your
school. It belongs to you. You should treat it with respect and love.”

Christy put a fresh column of numbers on the blackboard for John. But as she wrote, she couldn't help glancing back at Lundy. He glared back with steely dark eyes. What else was Lundy capable of doing to the school?

It's just a prank, nothing more
, Christy told herself, but she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it.

Two

W
hen school was over, Lizette offered to stay behind and help clean up the classroom. “I'd be glad for the help,” said Christy, “and the company.” Lizette couldn't help beaming.