The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness (12 page)

“The judges were swept away by my partner's beauty,” the doctor replied.

“Neil,” Christy said as they whirled, “you have to tell James the truth, you know.”

As suddenly as he'd swept her into his arms, the doctor let go of Christy. He went to the porch railing, staring out at the deep green woods.

“Tell James the truth? Tell him that I have to beg for medical supplies from old classmates? Tell him that I perform surgery in the most primitive conditions imaginable? Tell him that I spend my days sewing up the wounds caused by ignorance and hate and feuding?”

Gently Christy touched his shoulder. “Neil, what's wrong? Why all this self-doubt all of a sudden?”

“I don't know. Maybe it started when I sold that parcel of land to the Washingtons. They're good people, and I was happy to give them the chance to make a home here. But when I signed over that deed, I started wondering what's kept me attached to this particular place so long.”

“You were born here. You have roots here.”

“You were born in North Carolina. And
here you are, far from home, because you wanted to help change people's lives.”

“You've changed people's lives right here, too.”

“I wonder sometimes . . .” He sighed heavily. “I just wonder if my life has come to anything. If what I've done here matters.”

“Of course it—” Christy stopped short. She pointed toward the woods.

Two small figures were approaching fast.
“That's Creed Allen,” Christy said, waving, “and Della May.”

Creed, who was nine, was holding his pet raccoon Scalawag in his arms, wrapped in an old shirt. His eight-year-old sister followed close behind.

“What a surprise,” Christy said. “What brings the two of you here?”

“Hey, Miz Christy,” Creed said softly.

“Hey, Teacher,” Della May said.

“Is Scalawag all right?” Christy asked.

“He's feelin' a mite poorly is all,” Creed said. He glanced over his shoulder nervously.

“Well, I generally tend to humans, but if you bring Scalawag on in, I'll have a look at him,” Doctor MacNeill said cheerfully.

There was a noise in the woods. Della May gulped. “We'd best be headin' inside,” she whispered to Creed.

“Creed,” Christy said, “is there something worrying you?”

But before the boy could respond, Christy realized the answer.

A man burst from the thick trees. He was dressed in a worn black coat and was wearing a battered hat. In his right hand was a shotgun. The man was Bob Allen, the children's father. He was the keeper of the mill by Blackberry Creek.

“What do you young'uns mean, comin' here?” Bob cried. “I done told you not to go near this place no more!”

Christy had never seen Bob Allen so out of control.

“But Scalawag's sick, Pa,” Creed said. “I had to do something.”

“Bob?” Doctor MacNeill asked. “What's wrong?”

Bob strode up to the porch steps. A scowl was fixed on his grizzled face. He looked Doctor MacNeill in the eye and spat on the ground.

“I'll tell you what's wrong. What's wrong is you sold your land to them what don't belong here. Cutter Gap's a place for white folks, and white folks only. Now, I was goin' huntin' for squirrel, but these bullets will work just as well on a low-down skunk like you.”

Slowly, his hand trembling, Bob raised his shotgun and aimed it straight at Doctor MacNeill.

“Bob,” Christy whispered in horror, “please don't—”

“What the doc done was plain wrong, Miz Christy,” Bob muttered.

He cocked the gun. Christy jumped at the awful sound.

“And now,” Bob said, “he's a-goin' to pay for it.”

Three

N
o, Pa, no!” Creed cried.

Della May yanked on her father's arm, but Bob brushed her aside. He jerked his gun at the doctor. “You got no right mixin' up the races thataway.”

“The Washingtons paid me for that land, fair and square, Bob,” the doctor said. “They have as much right to be here as you and I do.”

“My family and yours, we've been neighbors long as memory serves. My granny and yours were friends, Doc. Now you've done gone and put them people in amongst us. It ain't fair and it ain't right, and it's a-goin' to cause more trouble than you ever saw in all your born days.”

“It was my land to sell,” the doctor said firmly. “The Washingtons came to me and made a fair offer, and I accepted it.”

Again Bob spat on the ground. The hate in his eyes made Christy shiver. She glanced at Creed and Della May. They seemed frozen in place, as frightened by their father's wrath as she was.

“My kin ain't never had nothin' to do with their kind. Never have. Never will.”

“What kind is that?” Christy asked pointedly.

“You blind, woman? Take a look at the color o' their skin!”

“If they're good neighbors, Bob,” Christy said, “does it really matter if they're black or brown or blue or purple?”

“It matters. It matters something awful. You oughta see Granny Allen. She's got herself all into a tizzy about this. Can't eat, can't sleep a wink for fear o' what could happen. I'm here today to stand up for her rights. And for all my kin.”

“Bob, I understand you're upset,” Doctor MacNeill said. “Why don't you put down that gun and come on inside? If we talk about this—”

“Too late for talkin'.” Bob paused, closing his eyes for a split second. When he opened them, he seemed confused. Then his gaze seemed to clear.

“Pa?” Creed whispered. “You all right?”

“I'll be right as rain when the doc here tells me he's a-goin' to kick them squatters off'n his land.”

“They aren't squatters, Bob,” Doctor MacNeill said. “They bought that land. It's theirs.”

Slowly, Bob climbed the porch steps. He jabbed the end of his shotgun hard against the doctor's chest. “I can't let this happen,” Bob said, almost pleading. “Your kin go back as far as mine, Doc. You got blood in this soil, same as me.” He looked into the doctor's eyes, his face full of pain. “Don't make me do this. I don't want to shoot you.”

Doctor MacNeill stood perfectly still, the picture of calm. Christy couldn't believe his composure. She was trembling like a leaf.

“You do what you have to do, Bob,” the doctor said. “But the Washingtons are staying.”

Bob took a deep breath. Again he closed his eyes, swaying slightly. Della May sobbed softly.

Christy watched Bob's finger on the trigger begin to move, slowly, slowly—

“No!” she cried. She locked her hand on the cold steel muzzle. “Doctor MacNeill saved your life, Bob. I was there that day he operated on you in the Spencers' cabin. You would have died without him, Bob. How can you do this?”

Bob's mouth moved, but he didn't speak. He slowly released the trigger. His eyelids dropped. His face went slack. Suddenly the shotgun slipped from his grasp. A moment later, Bob slumped to the porch.

“Pa!” Della May cried, rushing up the steps.

Doctor MacNeill knelt down. “He's passed out. Give me a hand, Christy. We'll take him into the cabin.”

With his arms around Bob's chest, the doctor lifted him off the porch. Christy took Bob's feet. They carried him to the doctor's bedroom and placed him on the bed. Creed and Della May stood at the end of the bed, watching solemnly.

“He's been havin' these spells some lately,” Creed said. “Ever since that tree done hit him on the head and you operated on him.”

“Why didn't he come see me?” the doctor asked irritably as he reached for his medical bag.

“He was afeared he couldn't pay—” Della May began, but Creed sent her a warning look.

“Hush, Della May,” he snapped.

Della May shot him a defiant look. “Teacher,” she asked, “is Pa going to be okay?”

“If anyone can help your father, Doctor MacNeill
can,” Christy said.

She stroked the little girl's hair. Della May was a dainty, fairylike child, with shimmering red-blond hair. Like her brother, she had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Creed, who had a mischievous streak, had always reminded Christy of Tom Sawyer. Della May was much quieter, but she had more than a little of her brother's stubbornness.

“He's coming to,” the doctor said.

Bob's lids fluttered. He sat up on his elbows, frowning. “What in tarnation am I doin' here?”

“You passed out,” Doctor MacNeill said, “and I gather this isn't the first time, either.”

Bob shrugged. “I get my spells now and again. 'Tain't nothin'.”

“It may be a result of your accident. Some lingering brain damage. If that's the case, I'm not sure there's much I can do for you, Bob. In a bigger city, with better facilities . . .”

Pushing the doctor aside, Bob climbed to his feet. “One thing and one thing only you can do for me. Get rid o' them Washingtons. If you don't do it, someone else will.”

Doctor MacNeill locked his hand on Bob's shoulder. “Let me make one thing clear. Leave the Washingtons alone, or you'll have me to contend with. Understand?”

“Ain't just me who wants 'em gone. Everyone in Cutter Gap feels the same as I do.”

“Not everyone,” Christy said.

Bob looked at her with contempt. “You'll be sorry for this, the both of you. Come on, Creed, Della May.”

Christy and the doctor followed the Allens onto the porch, where Bob retrieved his gun.

“Did you want me to take a look at Scalawag, Creed?” Doctor MacNeill asked.

“Creed!” Bob snapped. “Come on, boy!”

Creed stroked the raccoon's head. “He'll be
all right, I reckon, Doctor MacNeill. He's just goin' through a bad spell. It'll pass.”

Christy watched Creed and Della May race after their father. “Just a bad spell,” she repeated. “I wish we could say the same for Creed's father.”

Four

Y
ou really don't have to come with me,” Christy said as she and the doctor made their way along the path toward the Washingtons' property a short time later. “I'm sure Bob went straight home.”

“Maybe,” the doctor said darkly, “but you can be equally sure that's not the end of things. He's going to make trouble. And if he doesn't, someone else will.”

“The look on his face . . .” Christy shuddered. “Where do people learn that kind of hate? These mountains are so beautiful, it's hard to understand that kind of hate here.”

Doctor MacNeill held back a low-hanging oak branch so Christy could pass. “You've been in these mountains long enough to know the answer to that, Christy. They learn it from their families and their friends. Look at the feuds still burning in these hills. It's the same with prejudice like Bob's. It festers, like an old wound. Hate can grow in anyone's heart.”

“Unless God is allowed to remove it,” Christy added.

Up ahead, a sunny clearing came into view. In the center was a small, rundown cabin. The musical voices of children floated on the breeze. Two spotted hound dogs ran to greet Christy and the doctor, yelping happily.

“Pa!” a young girl in blue overalls cried. “Someone's comin'!”

A tall, thin man ran out from behind the house. In his hands was a shotgun.

“It's Neil MacNeill, Curtis!” the doctor called.

Instantly the man lowered his gun and broke into a smile. “Doctor! Thank goodness it's you. Good to see you again.” He ran down the path and shook the doctor's hand.

“This is Miss Christy Huddleston, Curtis,” Doctor MacNeill said. “She's the teacher over at the mission school.”

“Please, you must excuse my manners, Miz Huddleston,” Curtis apologized. “The gun, I mean. We're feelin' a little, well . . . nervous today.”

“Problems?” the doctor asked.

“You tell me. Come on, I'll show you.”

Curtis led them toward the house. “Children!” he called. “Come meet your new teacher. Margaret, we got ourselves some company!”

A pretty woman wearing a white apron emerged from the cabin. She smiled shyly.

“This is my wife, Margaret,” Curtis said. “Margaret, you remember Doctor MacNeill. And this here's Miz Christy Huddleston, the mission teacher.”

“It's an honor to have you visitin',” Margaret said. “I'm afraid we're just gettin' settled in. I wish I'd known you were comin'. I could have fixed up some o' my cornbread for you and the doctor.”

“Don't be silly,” Christy said. “We just wanted to say hello and meet the children.”

Three barefoot children gathered in front of Christy with nervous smiles. “This here's Louise,” Curtis said. “She's fifteen. John is ten. And Hannah just turned eight last week.”

“Etta's in the cradle inside,” Margaret added.

“And this here's Violet,” Hannah said, pulling a small brown field mouse from her pocket. “I rescued her from an owl. She lost one foot, but I fixed her up good as new.”

“Hannah's got a way with animals,” Margaret said.

“All the children's been to school some,” Curtis added proudly. “Louise could practically read better 'n her own teacher.”

“Wonderful!” Christy exclaimed. “Most of the children at the mission school haven't had much schooling. There are so many of them that I often ask the better students to help out. It'll be wonderful to have you there, Louise.”

“Do you have a library?” Louise asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately, no. Our school just manages to scrape by on donations. But we do the best we can.” Christy smiled. “And if you want more practice reading, we have a Bible reading every week at the mission. Maybe you and your mother would like to come.”

“We'd be right honored,” Margaret said.