Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder (2 page)

“Father!” Christy exclaimed. “For me?”

“It's nothing, really,” he said, clearing his throat. “From your mother and me.”

Christy fumbled with the wrapping. Inside was a black velvet-covered box. She opened it to discover a heart-shaped silver locket.

“Great-grandmother's necklace!” Christy cried.

“Go ahead,” her father said. “Open it.”

With trembling fingers, Christy opened the tiny engraved heart. Inside were two pictures. One was a carefully posed photograph of her parents: her mother with a gentle smile, her father gazing sternly at the camera, with just a hint of a smile in the creases of his eyes. On the other side was a picture of Christy and her brother, taken last summer at their church retreat.

“That's so you won't forget us,” her father said with a wink.

“Oh, Father,” Christy said, wiping away a tear, “as if I ever could!”

Her father helped her put on the necklace, then led her to the steps of the train. She climbed aboard and gazed with interest at the brass spittoons, at the potbellied stove in the rear, at the faces of the other passengers. It was only a few hours to El Pano, the stop nearest to Christy's new job, but it felt as if she were about to embark on a journey around the world. She had taken train trips before, of course, but never alone. This time everything seemed new, perhaps because she was going away without knowing when she would return.

Christy sank down onto a scratchy red plush seat and smiled up at her father, who had followed her on board. He placed her suitcase on the floor beside her. The whistle blew shrilly.

“Don't forget now,” her father said. “Soon as you get there, write us.” He gave her an awkward hug, and then he was gone.

Out on the platform, Christy saw her father talking to the old conductor. Mr. Huddleston pointed in her direction, and Christy sighed. She knew what he was saying—
take good care of my girl
. It was so embarrassing! After all, if she was old enough to go off on this adventure, she was old enough to take care of herself on the train. And the train was going to be the easy part of this trip.

“All a-boarrd!” the conductor called. The engine wheezed. Chuff . . . chuff . . . chuff. The train jerked forward, and a moment later, the telephone poles outside were sliding past.

Before long, the conductor was making his way down the aisle, gathering tickets.
Please
, Christy thought desperately,
don't humiliate me in front of the other passengers. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.

“Ticket, please,” came the old man's voice. “You're Christy Huddleston, aren't you?”

Christy nodded, trying her best to seem like a dignified adult.

“I'm Javis MacDonald. I've known your father a long time,” the conductor said as he punched her ticket. “So you're bound for El Pano, young lady. I understand you'll be teaching school there?”

“No, actually I'll be teaching in Cutter Gap,” Christy corrected. “It's a few miles out of El Pano.”

Mr. MacDonald rubbed his whiskers. His expression grew troubled. “That Cutter Gap is rough country,” he said. “Last week during a turkey shooting match, one man got tired of shooting turkeys. Shot another man in the back instead.”

Christy felt a shiver skate down her spine, but she kept the same even smile on her face.
Is Cutter Gap really such a dangerous place?

The conductor gazed at Christy with the same worried look she'd seen on her parents' faces this morning. “I suppose I shouldn't be telling you that sort of thing. But you'll be seeing it for yourself, soon enough. It's a hard place, Cutter Gap.”

“I'm sure I'll be fine,” Christy said.

“If you were my daughter, I'd send you home on the first train back. That's no place for a girl like you.”

A girl like me
, Christy thought, her cheeks blazing. What did that mean, anyway? What kind of girl was she? Maybe that was why she'd started on this trip, to find out who she was and where her place was in the world.

As the conductor moved on, she opened her locket. The sight of her parents brought tears to her eyes. George gazed back at her with his usual I'm-about-to-cause-trouble grin. But it was her own picture that caught her attention. The slender, almost girlish figure, the blue eyes beneath piled-up dark hair.

What was it in her eyes? A question? A glimmer of understanding? Of hope? Of searching?

That picture had been taken at the end of the church retreat last summer. By then, she'd decided that she had to go to Cutter Gap. The answers to her questions lay somewhere in the Great Smoky Mountains.

It seemed strange that she'd found a clue about where her life might go from a perfect stranger, rather than from her own family or her church back in Asheville. But the little, elderly man who'd spoken to the retreat group with such passion had reached her in a way no one else ever had.

Dr. Ferrand was a medical doctor doing mission work in the Great Smokies. He'd spoken of the need for volunteers to help teach and care for the mountain people, or highlanders, as he'd called them. He'd talked of desperate poverty and ignorance. He'd told the story of a boy, Rob Allen, who wanted book learning so much that he walked to school barefoot through six-foot snow.

Listening to his moving words, Christy glanced down at her pointed, buttoned shoes with their black, patent-leather tops, the shoes she'd bought just the week before. Thinking of the barefoot boy, she felt a shudder of guilt. She'd known there was poverty in places like Africa and China, but was it possible that such awful conditions existed a train's ride away from her home town?

Dr. Ferrand went on to talk about someone who shared his passion to help the mountain people—Miss Alice Henderson, a Quaker from Ardmore, Pennsylvania, a new breed of woman who had braved hardship and danger to serve where she saw need.

I would like to know that woman
, Christy thought.
I would like to live my life that way.

By the time they sang the closing hymn, “Just As I Am,” Christy felt herself coming to a very important decision. Her heart welled up so full she could hardly sing the words.

When the benediction was over, she made her way down the aisle to Dr. Ferrand. “You asked for volunteers,” Christy said. “You're looking at one. I can teach anywhere you want to use me.” She was not the most well-educated girl in the world, but she knew she could teach children to read.

A long silence fell. The little man gazed at her doubtfully. “Are you sure, my child?”

“Quite sure.”

And so it was done. There had been plenty of arguments with her doubtful parents. But for the first time in her life, Christy Rudd Huddleston felt certain she was about to take the world by storm. Even her parents' disapproval couldn't change her mind.

After all,
she'd told herself,
throughout history, the men and women who have accomplished great things must have had to shrug off other people's opinions, too.

Suddenly the train screeched to a halt. The conductor's gruff voice broke into Christy's thoughts. “A snowdrift has flung two big rocks onto the roadbed, folks,” he said. “There's a train crew comin' to clear the tracks. Shouldn't take long.”

At the rear of the coach, the potbellied stove was smoking. Across the aisle, a woman was changing the diaper of her red-faced, squalling baby.

A little fresh air couldn't hurt
, Christy thought. She buttoned her coat, reached for her muff and headed outside. Snowflakes as big as goose feathers were still falling. As far as she looked, Christy could see nothing but mountain peak piled on mountain peak. It was a lonely landscape, lonelier still when the wind rose suddenly, making a sad, sobbing sound. It was a wind with pain in it.

Christy shivered. Was she going to be homesick, even before she reached her destination?

She returned to the coach. A long time passed before the train once again chugged slowly toward its destination. Outside, as the sun sank, the world glittered with ice, turning every bush and withered blade of grass to jewels—sapphires and turquoise, emeralds and rubies and diamonds.

Darkness came suddenly. For what seemed like the thousandth time, Christy imagined her welcome at the train station.

Someone would, of course, be sent to meet her—a welcoming committee of some kind.

“Miss Huddleston?” they would ask. “Are you the new teacher for the mission?” They would look her over, and their eyes would say, “We were expecting a young girl, but you're a grown woman!”

At last the train began to slow. Mr. MacDonald announced that they were coming into El Pano.

As he lit the railroad lanterns on the floor in front of the coach, the engine's wheels ground to a stop. Christy reached for her muff and suitcase and started down the aisle. She was certain she could hear the nervous beating of her own heart.

“Let me help you with that suitcase,” the conductor said. “Easy on those steps. They may be slippery.”

Christy stepped down to the ground. Her eyes searched the dark. There wasn't much to see— just the tiny station and four or five houses.

Where was the welcoming committee she'd imagined? A few men came out of the little station and began to unload boxes from a baggage cart. Now and then they paused to stare at Christy, muttering and laughing under their breath.

“You're a mighty pert young woman, Miss Huddleston,” said the conductor. “But land sakes—watch yourself out there at Cutter Gap.”

“Thank you,” Christy said, trying to sound confident despite the fear rising in her. She spun around, searching again for some sign that she was not about to be left completely alone. But no one was coming. The snowy landscape was deserted.

“It's not too late to change your mind,” Mr. MacDonald said as he climbed the train steps.

Christy just gave him a smile and a wave. Slowly the train began to move. The smaller it grew, the greater the lump in Christy's throat. Far away, the engine whistle blew. Her heart clutched at the sound, and then there was nothing but emptiness. She was alone, all alone.

The men finished unloading the baggage cart. She could feel their eyes on her, and she could hear their whispers.

With a firm grip on her suitcase, Christy strode toward the little station. Whatever happened, from this moment on, this was
her
adventure.

She was not about to let anyone see how afraid she really was.

Three

I
nside the little station, a group of men stood near the stove. They fell silent as Christy headed toward the grilled window where the ticket agent stood.

“Sir?” Christy said to the old man. He did not look up. “Could you tell me if there's somewhere in town where I could spend the night?”

There was no answer.

“Sir,” Christy repeated loudly. “Could you tell me—”

“Young woman, you'll have to speak up.”

This time Christy practically shouted her question. The men near the stove laughed loudly.

“Well, now,” said the ticket agent. “Let's see. Maybe Miz Tatum's.”

“Where is that?”

“Oh, close. You just—guess it's easier to show you.”

Christy followed the man into the stinging cold. He pointed across the tracks. “Can't quite make it out, but it's that big house, second one down. You'll find it.”

Christy nodded, peering into the velvety darkness.

“Just tell Miz Tatum that I sent you. You'll get plenty to eat and a clean bed.” He chuckled. “Mind you, Miz Tatum can talk the hind legs off a donkey.”

Christy soon discovered that carrying a heavy suitcase wasn't easy, not while holding up long skirts at the same time. Halfway to the boarding house, she slipped and fell. The snow churning up over her shoe tops was bad enough, but the laughter coming from the old ticket agent was even worse.

Mustering as much dignity as she could, Christy struggled to her feet and made her way toward the Victorian frame house the agent had pointed out. Yellow lamplight glowed from several windows, and smoke poured out of both chimneys. The cozy sight filled her with a sudden, desperate longing for her own home back in Asheville. Her parents and George would be sitting down to supper right about now. She could almost hear her father's soft voice saying grace.

Christy set her suitcase on the porch, shook out her snowy skirts, and twirled the bell. Once more she glanced around her, hoping for a sight of the welcoming committee she'd imagined in such detail. But the street was empty and perfectly silent. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath.

A tall, big-boned woman opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Tatum?” Christy asked.

The woman nodded, arms crossed over her chest.

“I'm Christy Huddleston from Asheville. The station man told me you take in roomers. Could I rent a room?”

“Sure could. Come on in out of the cold. Bad night, ain't it?”

“Yes, it is,” Christy agreed, filled with relief.

For tonight, at least, she would have a place to stay.

As Christy stepped inside, the woman looked her over carefully. “You come from Asheville-way?” she said, taking Christy's suitcase. “Not many women come through here on the train. Where you bound?”

“I—” Christy began.

“Oh, but listen to me!” Mrs. Tatum interrupted. “There's time enough for questions. Let me show you to your room, child.” She pointed to a lamp. “Bring that lamp over there.”

The room upstairs was plain and clean. A shiny brass bed sat in the center. “Now, you make yourself to home,” Mrs. Tatum instructed, setting down Christy's suitcase. Once again she gazed at her, eyes full of questions. “I'll build up the fire downstairs, and you can eat by the stove.”

Before Christy could respond, Mrs. Tatum was bustling out the door. Christy changed clothes quickly, shivering in the unheated room. A nice, hot fire would be a welcome relief. Her toes were practically numb.