The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness (21 page)

Christy stood, brushing pine needles off her long brown skirt. “Tell me this. Has anyone ever seen this Boggin man?”

“Lots of people have,” Creed replied. The other students murmured their agreement. “My grannie saw him once, sneakin' out by our woodpile. Had eyes as orange as a harvest moon.”

“Nope. His eyes are fiery red,” Zach reported. “My Aunt Biddie says so. She knows for sure, 'cause her horse got terrible spooked one day by the Boggin.”

“His eyes are yellow,” Ruby Mae corrected. “And big as plates.”

“So I take it you've seen him, Ruby Mae?” Christy asked with a doubtful smile.

“Well, not exactly. But I heard Ben Pentland
talkin' one day, about how he took a shortcut past Boggin Mountain to deliver mail to some folks on the far side. He was a-comin' home—” Ruby Mae lowered her voice to a whisper, “and all of a sudden, he run smack dab into a nest the size of a cabin. Made outa sticks and mud and bloody bones. And what do you think he saw, pokin' his powerful ugly head outa that nest?”

The children gasped. Christy groaned. “Let me guess. A very, very large robin?”

Ruby Mae rolled her eyes heavenward. “Miz Christy, for a teacher, you sure don't listen up when I'm doin' the lecturin'! It was the Boggin, of course. He had teeth as big and sharp as a bear. And a huge scar on his head. And his eyes, I'm tellin' you, were
yellow.”

“That's why no one goes near Boggin Mountain,” Creed explained. “The Boggin can swallow you whole in one bite, faster than a snake can suck down an egg.”

Christy took a deep breath. How many times had she battled the children's strange superstitions before? She had a feeling this particular story was going to be difficult to put to rest.

“Do all of you believe in this . . . this story?” she asked.

“Not me,” Clara said loudly.

“At last,” Christy cried, “a sensible voice! Clara's right, children. The Boggin only exists in your minds. He's not real.”

“I'm not sayin'
that
exactly,” Clara added. She paused, looking a little uncomfortable. “I'm just sayin' if there is a Boggin on the mountain, he's probably just like any critter in the woods. Like a wildcat or a 'possum or an owl. You know. Just wantin' to keep to himself—”

“Clara,” John said in a warning voice.

“I'm just sayin' that's what I think, is all,” Clara said, glaring at her brother.

Christy sighed. “Sometimes we're just afraid of what we can't understand,” she said. “Maybe next time we'll take a trip up Boggin Mountain and see for ourselves that there's nothing to be afraid of.”

“I wouldn't do that, Miz Christy,” John said quickly.

“Don't tell me you believe in the Boggin, too, John—”

“It's just . . . well, that mountain's mighty sticky climbin', 'specially in a long dress. That's all I meant.”

“Please, Teacher, please don't make me go up Boggin Mountain,” Vella pleaded.

“That ain't a good idea, Miz Christy,” Creed said, his eyes wide with terror.

“All right, then,” Christy said gently. “It doesn't sound like an easy climb, anyway. I promise I won't make you go.”

“I got a question for you, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said. “You say there's no Boggin. But how do you explain these tracks?”

Christy pursed her lips. It was a good question. “I can't explain them, Ruby Mae. Perhaps two large animals crossed paths and we're seeing a combination of tracks. Perhaps the imprint was much smaller, but the wet dirt allowed it to expand. It's been awfully rainy lately. One way or another, I'm sure there's a logical explanation.”

Christy could tell from her students' expressions that they already thought they knew the explanation.

She started back up the path. “I think we've had enough excitement for one day. We should really head back toward school. Remember, stay on the path and keep an eye on your friends. No dawdling, and no getting too far ahead.”

After a few yards, Christy glanced over her shoulder to check for stragglers. To her surprise, she noticed Clara heading deeper into the woods.

“Clara?” Christy called. “Come on. We're heading back to school.”

“I'm just followin' the tracks to see where they go,” she called back.

“You can do that another time,” Christy said, this time in her firmest teacher-voice. “Come on back now.”

Clara headed deeper into the underbrush. “Just another minute!”

“John,” Christy said, “would you go retrieve your sister?”

Suddenly, Clara let out a horrifying scream.

Frantically, Christy and the others plowed
their way through the steep underbrush toward the frightened girl.

Clara pointed a trembling finger at a small clearing in the woods. Impaled on a sharp, tall stick was a shocking sight.

The skinned head of an animal—probably a bear—was stuck on the stick.

Beyond the awful sight, the tracks disappeared.

“Explain that,” Ruby Mae said in a hoarse whisper.

Christy had no answer. But little Vella did.

“The Boggin done it,” she sobbed softly. “It's the Boggin for sure, and he's sendin' us a warnin.”

Three

I
'm tellin' you, Miz Christy, that was the Boggin's doin',” Ruby Mae said that afternoon.

School was over, and Ruby Mae and Christy were the last to leave the schoolhouse, which also served as the church on Sunday. The teacher and student were walking the short distance to the mission house. Ruby Mae was the only student who lived at the mission. She'd had some problems getting along with her stepfather, and Miss Alice had suggested she stay in one of the spare bedrooms at the mission house.

“I'm not sure who did it, Ruby Mae,” Christy said. “But I refuse to believe in some mythical creature who's been haunting a mountain for years and years.”

They paused in front of the house, a large, wooden building set in a big yard. David Grantland, the mission's young minister, was perched on a ladder, painting the frame around a second-floor window. His dark hair was splattered with white flecks of paint.

“It looks great, David,” Christy called.

David wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. “Yes, I'm quite the artist. I don't suppose you two would like to help?”

“But Preacher,” Ruby Mae protested, “you're doin' such a fine job all by your lonesome. Me and Miz Christy, we'd just mess up your fine art work!”

David rolled his eyes. “Somehow I had the feeling that's what you'd say. Toss up that rag, would you, Christy?”

Christy retrieved the rag, careful not to walk under the ladder, and threw it to David. “Ruby Mae was just kidding, David. Is there something we can do to help?”

“Actually, I'm just about done. Although there is one thing—”

“Just name it.”

“Promise me you'll never, ever send out letters requesting donations to the mission again!” David cried.

Some time ago, Christy had written several companies about the mission's desperate need for supplies. She'd asked for mattresses, paint, soap, window shades, cleaning supplies, food—anything she thought might make the lives of the mountain people a little easier.

To her surprise, she'd gotten plenty of responses. Week after week, Mr. Pentland had arrived at the mission with huge
boxes brimming with supplies. Several months ago the Lyon and Healy Company had actually sent a grand piano. And the Bell Telephone Company had come through with wires and equipment for a telephone. That had been an especially exciting gift, since no one in the area owned a telephone. Most people had never even seen one before.

“So far,” David said, “I've had to learn how to tune a piano and paint a house on account of those donations. Pretty soon, I'm going to have to figure out how to string telephone wires across a mountain. When I came here to Cutter Gap, I
thought
I was going to be a minister.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Christy said, grinning.

As soon as she was inside the house, Ruby Mae ran straight to the kitchen and began jabbering at high speed about the strange sights the children had discovered that afternoon.

Miss Ida, David's sister, was stirring a pot of soup. She was wearing a calico apron and her usual stern expression. Miss Ida was tall, almost gaunt, with sharp features and thin, graying hair. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was related to David, with his warm, brown eyes and friendly smile.

Miss Alice was also there sitting at the table, looking over the budget ledger, where she recorded every penny the mission spent. She was dressed in a simple blue skirt and a crisp white linen blouse. As always, she looked beautiful, with her clear, regal features and lovely gray eyes. Her hair was swept up in an elegant bun. Christy pulled a twig out of her own hair self-consciously. She probably looked a mess, after her adventure in the woods today.

“What
are
you babbling about, Ruby Mae?” Miss Ida said, clucking her tongue. “What's this about a bobbin?”

Ruby Mae sneaked a piece of carrot off the cutting board. “
Boggin
, Miss Ida,” she corrected.

“Not that again,” Miss Alice said, sighing. “I'd really hoped we were done with him.”

“He left a footprint the size of a house,” Ruby Mae exclaimed. “And a big ol' skinned animal head.”

“You're exaggerating just a bit, Ruby Mae,” Christy said. “Besides, I'm sure it was just a prank.”

The screen door swung open and David stepped in. Paint splatters covered him like huge snowflakes. On the tip of his nose was a big white splotch.

“Looks like you painted more than the house, Preacher,” Ruby Mae teased.

“David!” Miss Ida scolded. “I just washed this floor. Look at those boots! They're covered with paint!”

“Do any of you remember the story about the Little Red Hen?” David asked.

Ruby Mae frowned. “Is that in the Bible, Preacher?”

David bent down to unlace his boots. “No, Ruby Mae. It's the story of a hen who asks for help while she's baking bread. Nobody's willing to help her.” He grunted as he yanked off one boot. “But everybody's willing to eat the bread after it's made.”

“So you're sayin' you're the hen?” Ruby Mae asked.

“Exactly.”

“But that don't make a lick o' sense. If you had feathers, Preacher, like as not you'd be a rooster, I'm a-guessin'.”

David sighed. “Never mind. I can see my story is going to be wasted on you chickens.” With one boot still on, he started toward the table.

“Preacher, stop where you are!” Ruby Mae screeched. She plowed into him, nearly knocking him down.

“What's wrong now, Ruby Mae?” David asked.

“Your boot!” Ruby Mae cried. “Don't you know nothin' about nothin'? It's bad luck to step around with one shoe off and one shoe on! Every step is a day o' bad luck for you, sure as can be.”

“That's nonsense, Ruby Mae.” David gently moved her aside and proceeded to the table.

Ruby Mae watched in disgust. “I declare, you sure can be ornery, Preacher.”

David took a chair across from Miss Alice and yanked off his other boot. “Where on earth do you get these notions, Ruby Mae?”

“Same place she learned to leave her old, tattered socks in the yard,” Miss Ida said. “I was all set to throw them into that pile of rubbish you were burning the other day. But Ruby Mae would have none of that.”

“Everyone knows if'n you burn a piece o' clothing, your body'll burn where the clothing was coverin' it. You didn't want me runnin' around with blisters on my feet, now, did you, Miss Ida?”

“Who tells you these things, Ruby Mae?” Christy asked. “I mean, things like the shoes and the socks and the Boggin stories?”

“They're just there, plain as the nose on your face.” Ruby Mae glanced at David and giggled. “Or I guess I should say plain as the nose on
most
people's faces.”

“Stories like these are passed from one generation to another,” Miss Alice said. “I've heard the legend of the Boggin from dozens of different people. Many actually claim to have seen him.”

“Where did they get that name, I wonder? It's not as if they've ever met him,” Christy said. She rolled her eyes. “Listen to me! I'm starting to talk like this creature really exists!”

“But he does exist. You saw the signs yourself, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae protested.

“The name comes from the mountain people's Scottish background,” Miss Alice said. “It refers to a ghost or goblin—a scary creature of some kind.”

“And is he ever scary!” Ruby Mae let out a low growl, like a hungry wildcat. “That's how he sounds. Granny O'Teale done told me.”

Christy laughed. “I can see I'm not going to get this superstition out of your head any time soon.”

“You shouldn't act so high and mighty, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said. “You've got your own superstitious side, after all.”

“Me?” Christy cried.

David winked at Ruby Mae. “She has a point, Christy. Didn't I see you go out of your way to avoid walking under my ladder?”

“That . . . that's different,” Christy said to David. “For one thing, I was just trying to avoid the possibility of your spilling paint all over me.” She winked at Ruby Mae, turned back to David, and added, “I didn't want to end up looking like you!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” David demanded.

“Go look in the mirror, Preacher,” Ruby Mae said. “You look almost as scary as the Boggin.”

Four

T
he mountains are so peaceful at night,” Christy said that evening.

Christy and David were sitting in old wooden rockers on the front porch of the mission house. Crickets chirped noisily, while off in the distance, frogs carried on busy conversations. The damp air was sweet with pine. The Great Smoky Mountains towered around them, black silhouettes against the deep blue twilight sky.