Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice (17 page)

“I'm ready to teach, Neil. I have to teach.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you're not ready to marry. At least . . . at least not him.”

Christy tapped a pencil against the desk, trying to control her anger. “Who are you to tell me what I'm ready to do? Who are you to tell me whom I should marry?”

The doctor grabbed her by the shoulders. “I know you, Christy,” he said, with such intensity she could practically see the pain in his eyes. “I know you want to prove you can take on the world. But this is not the way to do it.”

“Why does everyone doubt me?” Christy cried. “Miss Alice just got done telling me I can't teach without help. Now here you are, marching up to tell me that I can't marry David because you think I don't love him.”

“I didn't say that,” the doctor pointed out. “You did.”

“Of
course
I love him. I feel safe with David. And I admire him. And I know he loves me.”

“And me?” the doctor asked softly. “What about me?”

“Neil, you make me feel happy, and I like talking to you. But you can also make me angrier than anyone I know. David is predictable. But you, Neil, just make me feel . . . too many things all at once. And at the moment you're making me very angry.”

The doctor took a step backwards. “I hope you'll be very happy,” he snapped.

“You're invited to the wedding, of course,” Christy said, trying to sound happier than she felt.

The doctor gave a harsh laugh. “I plan to be busy that day,” he said, and with that, he was gone.

Ten

W
hen the doctor had left, the only sound was the soft whoosh of the pine trees swaying outside the window. Christy stood, trying to rein in her anger.

She could picture the schoolhouse perfectly in her mind. To her right sat the girls; to her left, the boys. She imagined the first row of girls. Ruby Mae, Bessie, Lizette, Clara. Or was it Clara, then Lizette? They changed places so often, it was hard to know.

Carefully Christy paced off the distance to the blackboard. One, two, three, four, five. Five steps, and if she reached out her arm, there was the board. Would she be able to write on the board legibly? Yes, if she really concentrated. She'd always had excellent penmanship. She'd just have to imagine the letters, one by one.

You're making a mistake.
She heard the doctor's voice in her head as if he were still there in the room. Never had he sounded so angry. Well, he had no right to tell her what to do. This was her life, after all.

“There she is!”

“David?” Christy turned toward the voice. “Is that you?”

“I've brought you a visitor.”

Christy caught a whiff of the rose perfume. “Mrs. Grantland! What a . . . surprise.”

“How did you—”

“Your perfume.” Christy took five careful steps back to her desk. She bumped her chair with her knee, then sat down. “David, I really don't think today is a good day for visitors . . .”

David perched on her desk. “I was going to stay and help you myself,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “but Ida just informed me that the pump's not working, and unless I fix it, we're going to be mighty thirsty come evening. I thought Mother could stick around and help you out, just in case things get hectic.”

“David!” Christy said. “I just don't—”

“I want you two to get to know each other,” David insisted under his breath. “If she knows you better, she'll understand why I love you so much. Besides, I'll feel a lot better knowing there's someone here in case you need help.”

“I want to do this myself, David.” Christy sighed deeply.

“I know. She'll stay out of your way, I promise.”

“If she annoys me, I'm going to ask her to leave.”

“Fair enough.” David took her hand. “Are you sure you're up to this?”

“Absolutely.”

“All right, then. Oh. I almost forgot.” Christy felt him slip something onto the ring finger of her left hand.

“What's this?”

“A makeshift engagement ring. It's just a piece of red ribbon from Ida's sewing box. The best I could do on short notice.”

“It'll do very nicely till we find the ring.”

David kissed her cheek. “
If
we find it. Now, if you need anything, you just yell, all right? And don't hesitate to ask Mother for help. She was a teacher, after all.”

When David left, the room was silent. If it hadn't been for the perfume, Christy would have been sure his mother had left with him.

“Mrs. Grantland?”

“Yes. I'm still here.”

“I know David meant well, asking you to stay. But I really don't need any help. I intend to do this myself.”

“Young lady, I don't want to be here any more than you want me. But my son insists that you two are going through with this betrothal. Moreover, he insists I spend time with you. And since I do not know anything about repairing pumps, and since my daughter is busy tending to chickens, of all the disgusting things, this is the only recreation left to me. You would think after I came all the way from Richmond, my children would at least have the decency to entertain their poor mother.”

“Well, you're welcome to take a seat and observe,” Christy said coolly. She had enough to worry about without taking care of David's mother. She knew he meant well, but having an audience was just going to make Christy
more
nervous.

“Miz Christy! You really
are
here!”

Christy recognized the voice instantly as Lulu Spencer's, a sweet six-year-old who was one of Fairlight's daughters. An instant later, Lulu was in Christy's lap, offering her a warm hug. “I was afeared you weren't comin', on account of your eyes not working.”

“I'm here, all right,” Christy said. “I can still teach even if my eyes aren't working, don't you think?”

Lulu thought for a moment. “I reckon so.”

Within minutes, the schoolroom was buzzing with children. Each one came over to greet Christy. They seemed fascinated by her bandages. Christy tried to keep a mental count of the students as they arrived, but she lost count after thirty.

Although she couldn't see, it amazed her what she could hear. It was as if her ears were working harder, to compensate for her lack of sight. She heard marbles on the floor in the southeast corner. She heard sniffles coming from the second row on the boys' side. Was that Little Burl Allen, with yet another cold? She heard whispers coming from the back of the room—no doubt Lundy Taylor and Smith O'Teale, the class bullies. She heard an argument brewing in the back of the room—two of the younger children, fighting over a rag doll. She heard two other children playing tic-tac-toe on the blackboard.

It was so much information! She didn't know what to do with it all. With her eyes, she could make sense of the classroom. She could tell where a real fight was starting, and when it was just a silly squabble she could ignore. She could tell who had dark circles under their eyes from staying up late doing chores, and who was gaunt from hunger. Those were students who wouldn't be able to concentrate, and she would know to take it easy on them.

But she couldn't know any of those things. Not anymore.

The noise in the room swelled. A paper airplane hit her in the shoulder. The children knew that was against the rules, since they couldn't afford to waste a single piece of paper. She felt a wave of panic. This was insane! She couldn't handle all these children! No one could!

Calm down
, she told herself. Hadn't she thought exactly the same thing on her first day of teaching? Her knees had been shaking so hard that even the children had noticed.

“All right, children,” Christy said in her best stern-teacher voice. “Settle down.” She gripped the edge of the desk for support. “I want you all to take your seats.”

She heard the shuffle of bare feet on the wooden floor. Shouts turned to whispers.

All right, that was a good sign. At least they were still willing to obey her.

“Now, today is a special day for two reasons,” Christy began. “First of all, we have a visitor. The Reverend Grantland's mother is here, all the way from Richmond, Virginia. So I want you to all be on your best behavior.”

“She smells like roses, Teacher,” Creed said.

“Yes, Creed. That's called perfume. It's made from flowers.”

“Well, do I got to sit next to her all day? It's like sittin' next to a rosebush in full bloom. My nose will like to burst!”

“Creed, that is very rude,” Christy chided. “Don't you think you should apologize to Mrs. Grantland?”

“Gee whiz, Miz Grantland, I didn't mean no offense—”

“Apology accepted. Perhaps, Miss Huddleston, if you taught these children some basic hygiene skills, they wouldn't object to the scent of perfume.”

“Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Grantland.” Christy turned to the left, where the map of the United States was tacked to the wall.

“I wonder if someone can find Richmond on a map of the United States?” she asked.

“Me, Teacher!”

“Pick me, Teacher!”

“I knows it for sure!”

When the children all spoke at once, it was very hard to tell their voices apart. And although she'd taught them to raise their hands, that wouldn't help her now.

“Sam Houston? Did you want to point out Richmond?”

“No'm. I ain't got my hand a-raised. Try Wraight.”

“Wraight?”

“He knows I ain't got my hand up no ways,” Wraight cried. “Sam Houston Holcombe, I'm a-goin' to whop you good at recess for that!”

“Boys, that's quite enough,” Christy said sternly. If she wasn't careful, she was going to lose control of the class. “John Spencer, why don't you show all of us where Richmond is located?”

John, one of her best students, was a safe choice. She heard him walk over to the map. Suddenly she realized there was no way to know whether he was correct. It was likely, since he was a good student. But how could she be sure?

The questions multiplied in her head. How was she going to grade papers? How was she going to write up tests?

How was she going to discipline students at recess? How was she going to bandage a scraped knee?

How was she going to know if John had just pointed out Richmond or not?

Panic surged through her like lightening. In her heart, she'd known these problems were waiting for her. She just hadn't wanted to admit it.
This is crazy,
a voice in her head cried.
You can't do this. Not in a million years.

“I . . . I, uh . . .” Christy stammered.

“Correct,” came a shrill voice from the back of the room. “What was your name again? John?”

“Yes'm, Mrs. Grantland.”

Christy sighed with relief. She'd gotten through that minor crisis, but not without some unwelcome assistance.

“Very good, John,” she said. “You may go back to your seat.”

“Miz Christy?”

“Yes? Is that Creed?”

“You done said there were two reasons this day was special.”

“So I did. The other reason is that this is the start of an experiment. An experiment is a sort of test, to see if something is true or false.

And what I am trying to find out is whether or not I can teach without my sight. I think I can—at least, I
hope
I can. So you see, in a way, you are part of the experiment.”

“Miz Christy?”

“Yes, Creed.”

“We done brought you something for the 'speriment.”

A moment later, Christy felt something pressed into her hands.

“It's a cane,” Creed explained. “Zach and Sam Houston and I made it outa oak.”

“Like my granny's!” Mountie exclaimed.

Christy felt the carefully smoothed wood. “Boys, I can tell it's beautiful. Thank you very much. I needed one. And I will be proud to use it.”

In truth, Christy had talked herself into believing she could get by without a cane. But she had to admit that was silly. Even if she memorized every square foot of the mission property, how was she going to navigate through the yard when it rained or snowed, unless she had a cane?

“Miz Christy?”

“Who was that?”

“Me, Lizette. Is it true about you and the preacher gettin' hitched?”

Mrs. Grantland let out a loud sigh.

“Yes,” Christy said, “it is true. And you're all invited to the wedding.”

Mrs. Grantland let out a much louder sigh.

“Miz Christy?”

“Yes, Creed?”

“Is there somethin' wrong with the preacher's mama? She's breathin' awful funny.”

“There's nothing wrong with me that a little dose of reality couldn't cure,” Mrs. Grantland muttered.

Christy cleared her throat.
Penmanship
, she told herself.
That's a good idea. Don't think about all the things that could go wrong. Don't think about the doctor yelling. Or David's mother sighing. Or the fact that Lundy Taylor is undoubtedly tossing spitballs from the back of the room by now.

“I think we'll start today by working on our penmanship,” Christy said. Carefully she headed to the blackboard. One, two, three, four—

With a thud, she hit the board, nose-first. The pain was horrible. The board teetered back and forth on its wobbly wooden legs.

“Look out!” someone yelled.

Christy tried to grab it, but it was too late. The board went crashing to the ground. Slate shattered into pieces that skittered across the floor.

The children were silent. Even Mrs. Grantland kept quiet.

“Miz Christy?” Creed whispered.

Christy rubbed her head. “Yes, Creed?”

“Does this mean the 'speriment's over?”

“No, Creed,” Christy said wearily. “It just means it's going to be a
very
long experiment.”