Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice (18 page)

Eleven

I
t was awful,” Christy said at dinner that evening. “Just awful. I broke the blackboard. I tripped over the water bucket. I stepped on one of the hogs at recess. I gave a math quiz and couldn't grade it.” She shook her head. “I looked ridiculous.”

“To whom?” Miss Alice asked gently. “To the children? Or to yourself?”

Christy shrugged. “Both, I guess.”

“You didn't look foolish to none of us, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said. As usual, her mouth was full of food. “I mean, a couple kids snickered some when you sat on your sandwich at lunchtime. Mostly Lundy and them older boys. But it weren't so bad.”

Mrs. Grantland let out a long sigh. Christy had heard that sigh so many times today, she knew it like her own voice. Still, she had to admit that Mrs. Grantland
had
come to her rescue several times—not that Christy had wanted her to.

“Personally, I think it's insane for you to try to teach—sight or no sight,” Mrs. Grantland said. “That's the most awful excuse for a schoolroom I've ever seen! And the filthy children! No shoes, no clean clothes, no manners, no proper English, no respect for authority . . .”

“I ain't dirty,” Ruby Mae said proudly. “I wash behind my ears and everything. Wanna see?”

“I'll take your word for it, dear.”

“Are all city folks as prissy as you, Miz Grantland?” Ruby Mae asked.

“Prissy?”

“You shoulda seen her, Preacher,” Ruby Mae said. “Creed done brought a black snake to school. When he handed it to your mama, she musta jumped halfway to heaven.”

David laughed loudly.

“David!” Mrs. Grantland scolded.

“Sorry, Mother,” David said. “It's just that I was remembering that time when Ida and I brought home a toad. I couldn't have been more than eight. We named him Harold, remember, Ida?”

“Mother was none too happy about Harold,” Ida recalled.

Mrs. Grantland even laughed a little. “Well, you were generally very well-behaved children.

That was just . . . the exception that proves the rule. But these children are another story altogether.”

“I'm very sorry about the snake, Mrs. Grantland,” Christy said. “If I'd known . . .”

“No matter,” Mrs. Grantland said. “It's just an example of why you're taking on more than any person could possibly handle. When I was a teacher, the children knew their place. No talking back, no—what are they called?—salivaballs—”

“Spitballs, ma'am,” Ruby Mae interrupted politely.

“—and certainly no snakes. And the sheer number! Sixty-seven students, of all ages and abilities. Why, that's enough for three classrooms. It's madness.”

“Suppose we all take shifts, Christy?” David asked. “Ida and Miss Alice and I—and maybe Mother, too, while she's here? We could act as assistants, like Mother did today. Just help out till you get things under control.”

“I can't ask you to do that,” Christy said. “You've all got your own work to do. And I'll wager your mother has seen all she needs of my classroom.”

“Goodness me, yes!” Mrs. Grantland exclaimed.

“If I'm going to do this,” Christy vowed, “I'm going to do this myself.”

Mrs. Grantland leaned across the table and touched Christy's hand. “I'm just telling you the truth, my dear. It's impossible. You simply can't handle that group of hooligans all by yourself.”

“What's a hooligan, Miz Christy?” Ruby Mae asked.

“It's what you'll be if you don't help me clear these dishes,” Miss Ida said sternly. Then under her breath she explained, “It's a troublemaker.”

Christy leaned back in her chair while Ruby Mae cleared away her plate. “What do you think, Miss Alice?” she asked. “Is Mrs. Grantland right?”

“I believe she's right that you have set before you a very large task,” Miss Alice said, choosing her words in that slow, careful way she had. “But I also believe you can handle it,
if
you recognize your limitations. As I said, it's no sin to ask for help, Christy.”

The Lord does not give us more than we can handle.

Christy thought of the words she'd scribbled in her diary the night of her accident. No, she was not going to ask for help. She was going to prove that she was everything she ever was. She was going to do this alone.

Otherwise, it would mean admitting what she'd lost.

“No, thank you, Miss Alice,” Christy said firmly. “I have to try to do this by myself. You can understand that, can't you?”

Miss Alice didn't answer right away. “I came across a book among the many Mrs. Grantland brought us. It's called
The Story of My Life
, by a woman named Helen Keller.”

“I remember reading something about her in the newspaper back home in Asheville,” Christy said.

“She was left blind and deaf after an illness,” Miss Alice explained. “But with the help of a gifted teacher named Anne Sullivan, she was able to learn to communicate. Now she travels the country, giving speeches and raising money on behalf of the handicapped.”

“So you're saying if she can accomplish that, so can I?” Christy asked.

“Yes, I'm saying that. And I'm also saying she didn't get where she is today without the help of others.”

With a sigh, Christy reached for her new cane and pushed back her chair. “If you'll excuse me,” she said, “I'll be heading off to bed. I've got a busy day planned for tomorrow. We're having a spelling bee.”

“I'll say one thing for that girl,” Christy heard Mrs. Grantland comment as she walked away, “she's certainly as stubborn as they come!”

By Friday, Christy felt like the week had held a hundred days in it. She was exhausted and bruised. Her morale was shaken. She'd broken, bumped, or tripped over more things than she'd ever imagined possible. She'd never realized how full of obstacles the world was.

As she sat on the schoolhouse steps at recess, she tried to tell herself that things were improving. That she was getting the hang of being a blind teacher to sixty-seven difficult students. That she was just as good a teacher as she'd ever been.

But she knew it wasn't true.

This morning, when she'd sat down at her chair, she'd known it all over again. She'd heard the delicate crack of an egg, then felt the gooey insides soaking her skirt.

It was a harmless prank, no doubt Lundy Taylor's doing, but it was the kind of thing that never would have happened in the old days.

Worse than that sort of embarrassment was the feeling she couldn't reach her children as well. Without being able to see their beautiful faces, she couldn't know all the stories hidden there. Pain, hunger, and sometimes joy—their eyes revealed it all. But she couldn't see them anymore.

“I'll git you for that, you slimy little tree toad!”

Christy heard a shout, then a scream, then the sound of scuffling in the schoolyard. She grabbed her cane.

“Teacher! Teacher! Come quick! Lundy's a-beatin' on Creed somethin' fierce!”

Christy started toward the noise of the fight, but her skirt caught on a shrub and she tripped.

“Awwoww!” came a boy's scream. “Stop it, Lundy! I give, I give!”

“Lundy!” Christy cried as she struggled to her feet. “Lundy Taylor! You stop that this instant!”

“And what're you goin' to do, blind lady?” The voice was coming from her right, about twenty feet away. “Whop me with your cane?”

Christy heard the terrible sound of a fist meeting flesh. Creed howled with pain.

Frantically, Christy ran toward the crying boy. She hit a solid wall that turned out to be Lundy. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him with all her might, even though he stood several inches taller and weighed far more than she did.

“You ain't a-goin' to hurt me,” he sneered. “You're blind as a bat!” He took a step backward and she lost her grip on him. “What're you goin' to do now? Whop me with your cane? I can beat up on this whole school and there ain't no way you're a-goin' to stop me.”

Nearby, Creed was sobbing on the ground.

Christy heard what sounded like a sharp kick, and Creed cried out again.

“Lundy!” Christy screamed. “Stop it, now!”

“You don't scare me none,” Lundy said.

The sense of helplessness was more than she could bear. Filled with rage, Christy lifted the cane high into the air, ready to strike.

Then she heard a shout. “No! Don't do it!”

Twelve

P
lease, Miss Huddleston, stop!”

It was Mrs. Grantland. There was a busy rustling of skirts, and a moment later, the scent of roses filled the air.

“What on earth is going on here, young man?” Mrs. Grantland demanded. “Lundy, isn't that your name?”

“Teacher's a-beatin' on me with her cane,” Lundy whimpered in a pathetic voice. “You seen it.”

“I'll wager you did something quite abominable to warrant your teacher's wrath,” Mrs.

Grantland said. “Not that I'd blame her one whit for taking a switch to you.”

Christy lowered her arm. She felt horrified at her own actions and humiliated that Mrs. Grantland had seen her.

“Mrs. Grantland, I can handle this,” she said shakily.

But Mrs. Grantland wasn't listening. “Lundy, did you hit this little boy?” she demanded.

“He had it comin'—” Lundy began.

“I want you to apologize to him this instant,” said Mrs. Grantland.

“You ain't my teacher. And I ain't sayin' sorry to someone who's lower than a snake belly in a wagon rut—”

“Apologize,” Mrs. Grantland commanded. “Now.”

Christy could hear Lundy's breathing. She could hear Creed's sobs. Then, to her amazement, she heard Lundy mutter, “Get up, you twit-wit. I'm sorry, I reckon.”

Mrs. Grantland clapped her hands firmly. “The rest of you, back into the classroom. And I do not mean maybe.”

Christy listened to the whispers as the children filed sullenly back into class. “Creed?” she called. “Are you all right?”

The little boy ran up to her. “Right as rain, Miz Christy. I'll have a mighty fine bruise, though. Ain't bad. Lundy's done beat me up much worse.” With that, he ran off whistling, as if nothing were wrong.

But something was very wrong. Suddenly, the enormity of what had happened hit Christy.

It was bad enough that Mrs. Grantland, of all people, had stepped in to control Lundy.

It was far worse that Christy had raised her hand in anger at one of the children—even if it
was
Lundy Taylor, a vicious bully.

Worst of all was the fact that she hadn't been able to protect one of the children. Creed had been in danger, because of her.

“There now,” Mrs. Grantland said briskly. “All settled. Everyone's back inside. That Lundy creature is a torment, isn't he? How you handle him is beyond me.”

“I couldn't handle him, obviously. You did.”

“Oh, he was just startled by the sound of my disciplinarian voice.” Mrs. Grantland laughed. “Haven't used that in many years. I have to admit, I rather enjoyed it.”

“What were you doing here, anyway? Did David send you to check up on me again?”

“No, I was just going for a walk. These mountains are rather interesting. Richmond's so flat by comparison.” She hesitated. “If the truth be told, I've walked past the school every day this week, right around this time.”

“Spying on me,” Christy said bitterly.

“Not exactly. I just . . .” Mrs. Grantland's voice trailed off. “I suppose I was intrigued.”

“Intrigued by what?”

“By how you were managing. It's not that I
care
, one way or the other,” she added stiffly.

“It's just that, as a former teacher, I kept wondering how it was possible you could pull it off. Professional curiosity, you might call it.”

“And now you have your answer,” Christy snapped. “I can't! I was fooling myself, thinking I could do this. You knew and David knew and Doctor MacNeill knew. But no, I had to be The Great Christy, capable of magically pulling off the impossible.” Her throat tightened. “My own vanity put these children at risk. I've been dealing with Lundy for months, and I've never been that out of control. What if I had hit him?

What if he had really hurt Creed?”

Mrs. Grantland did not say anything.

“You know I'm right,” Christy said.

“The truth is, dear, I don't think anyone could do what you tried to do. If you must know, I'm not particularly pleased at being right.”

“Of course you're pleased,” Christy cried. “You don't want me to marry David. If I can't stay here and teach, then you think he'll return to Richmond with you.”

“I have hopes, certainly . . . but I'm starting to think it's not quite that simple,” Mrs. Grantland said softly. “He seems to really care about these people.”

“Well, if you won't say it, I will. I shouldn't be a teacher. I can't be a teacher.”

“I know we aren't exactly allies, Miss Huddleston. But whatever my feelings about your engagement to David, I'm very sorry about what's happened to you.”

Christy tossed her cane across the yard in disgust. She winced when she heard the sharp crack as it hit a tree.

“Tell them class is dismissed,” she told Mrs. Grantland. “I'm sure you'll enjoy that duty.”

“I was totally out of control,” Christy confessed the next day as Doctor MacNeill checked her bandages. “I've never been so angry.”

Why was she confiding in the doctor? When he'd checked on her throughout the week, they'd barely spoken. She knew he was still angry about her engagement to David. Still, he somehow seemed like the only person who would understand her anger.

“It's natural,” the doctor said. “You're upset about what's happened to you. You've been holding it all inside. It was bound to come out, sooner or later.”