Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice (14 page)

“I know that.” Christy swallowed back a sob. “But I feel like I was just starting to develop a relationship with the children, to get them to trust an outsider. Now all that's ruined. There was so much I wanted to do here.”

“So do it.”

“But . . . but I can't! Not now. Not this way.”

“Why not?”

The question was so blunt, Christy paused.
Why not?
Wasn't it obvious? How could Miss Alice be so cruel?

“Because I'm blind!” Christy blurted. “Because I may be blind forever, Miss Alice!”

Her words echoed in the little room. Miss Alice sat calmly and quietly. Quakers were fond of silences. They were as much a part of Miss Alice's conversations as words.

“There are many teachers,” Miss Alice said at last, “who would look at the one-room schoolhouse in which you teach, and the sixty-seven children, and the poverty and superstition and ignorance, and they would say they could never teach with such handicaps. They would tell you it was impossible. You, of course, did not look at the situation that way. Some see a glass as half-empty. Others see it as half-full.”

“But to teach without being able to see . . .” Christy gave a shuddering sigh. “I can get by without paper or pencils. I can't get by without sight.”

“You may not be able to teach in the same way,” Miss Alice said. “And you most certainly will have to learn to rely on others for help. But then, we all must ask for help from time to time.”

“I can't do it,” Christy whispered. “I just know I'll never teach again.”

“Perhaps not right away. But you will teach again, when you are ready. The Lord does not give us more than we can handle, Christy.” With a gentle hug, Miss Alice left the room.

Christy ran her fingers over her Bible as Miss Alice's words lingered in her ears. Blind, she wasn't going to be the same person she'd been. Miss Alice was wrong. There was no way that Christy could ever teach again.

What would she do instead? She could go home. Back to safe, secure Asheville, where her parents would take care of her. But then what? What would she do with her life? She thought back to that day last summer at the church retreat where she'd first heard about the need for teachers in the Great Smoky Mountains. Something deep in her heart had told her that she'd found the place where she belonged. Teaching here in Cutter Gap, she'd felt certain, was her calling. But how could it be now?

Christy fumbled for her nightstand. She nearly knocked over her plate of untouched toast before her hand grazed her little diary. Her pen was tucked inside. It took several more minutes for her to find her inkpot and prepare to write. At last the diary was perched on her lap. She opened to the last page she'd written in, marked with a silk ribbon. At the top of the page, she began to write. Each letter she wrote with great care, slowly and evenly, imagining the lines and curves in her mind. She felt like one of her students practicing penmanship.

Saturday, May 4, 1912

The Lord does not give us more than

we can handle.

Christy paused, her head tilted down, her bandaged eyes aimed toward words she could not see. She tried to make them come alive on the page. She tried to hear Miss Alice's confident tone as she'd spoken them. But in her heart, Christy knew that they were smudged scribblings, and nothing more.

Six

M
iz Christy! What are you doing out of bed?” Christy was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed combing her hair.

“It's Sunday morning, Ruby Mae,” Christy said calmly. “I'm getting ready for church.”

Christy heard the clatter of dishes. The smoky scent of bacon filled the room. Ruby Mae must have brought up a breakfast tray.

Well, that was very thoughtful. But Christy intended to eat downstairs in the dining room, just like she always did. She could at least manage that much.

“Did I hear you right? Did you say church, Miz Christy?”

“Yes. Church. You remember—sermons, hymns, prayers?”

The bed bounced as Ruby Mae plopped down near Christy. “I don't see how you can go to church,” Ruby Mae said earnestly. “I mean, seein' as how you're in a cap that's dated.”

“I'm
what
?”

“In a cap that's dated. That's what Miz Ida says you are now. On account of not seein' nothin'.”

Christy thought for a moment. “Oh! You mean
incapacitated
.”

“Like I said.”

“Well, if it's all the same to Miss Ida, I'll decide what I can and cannot do. And I'm going to have breakfast downstairs, then go to church. After all, I got dressed all by myself this morning. It took nearly a half-hour, but I did it.” Christy stood. “As you can see, I'm ready.”

“Well . . .” Ruby Mae hesitated. “I don't mean to be a botheration, Miz Christy. But you ain't
exactly
ready.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

“Well, to begin with, your skirt's all turned which-a-ways. And your colors are kinda . . . colorful.”

“You mean they don't match?”

“I guess that all depends. I mean, the colors in a rainbow don't rightly match up, neither. But when you look at them together-like, it's a heap of purtiness just the same.”

Christy dropped onto the bed with a sigh. She'd awakened this morning feeling determined to make the best of things. But what could she possibly accomplish in this world if she couldn't even manage to get dressed by herself?

“Don't you worry yourself none, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said firmly. “I'll git you fixed up as purty as a spring rose.”

“Thanks, Ruby Mae. I guess I need more help than I thought.”

Ruby Mae bustled about the room. “Now, I ain't no fashionable city-gal, but I figger these look church-right.” She placed a pile of clothes in Christy's lap.

“Thanks,” Christy said quietly, wondering if she should trust Ruby Mae's fashion tastes. “When I've changed, will you help me down the stairs so I can have breakfast?”

“Yes'm.” A long silence followed. Somehow, Christy could feel Ruby Mae's intense dark gaze on her.

“Miz Christy?” Ruby Mae said at last. “Can I ask you somethin'? Somethin' personal-like?”

“Of course.”

“What's it like? Bein' blind, I mean?”

“I'm not blind, Ruby Mae,” Christy said sharply. She took a deep breath. “What I mean is, I'm not sure that this is permanent. Doctor MacNeill says that when the swelling goes down, I may be as good as new.”

Ruby Mae reached for Christy's hand and gave it a shy squeeze. “I hope so, Miz Christy. Truly I do. And I'm sorry I asked such a fool question.”

“It wasn't foolish, Ruby Mae. The truth is, it's hard to describe what it's like not to see. You know how it is when you look down the well in the mission yard? How the dark just seems to go on and on forever? It's like that, a little.”

“Lookin' down that well gives me the cold shivers.”

Christy sighed. “Me, too,” she said softly.

A few minutes later, Ruby Mae led Christy down the stairs. Even holding onto Ruby Mae's arm, every step felt like a gamble. It was like walking off a cliff while wearing a blindfold. Being so helpless was a strange and awful feeling. Christy was Ruby Mae's teacher. Yet here she was, being dressed and guided by her thirteen-year-old student.

At the bottom of the stairs, Christy heard the clink of silverware. The sharp smell of coffee wafted past.

“Christy!” Miss Alice exclaimed from the direction of the dining room. “How wonderful to see you, dear.” A moment later, she was at Christy's side, helping her to the table. “Do you feel up to this?”

“I'm fine, really I am,” Christy insisted as she sat down in her usual spot.

“She got dressed all by herself,” Ruby Mae announced.

Christy fumbled for her napkin. “Actually, I required a little fashion advice.”

“Are you sure you should be up so soon?” David asked.

“I fixed a fine breakfast tray,” Miss Ida said. “It doesn't seem right, you walking around like this.”

“Would you all stop fussing?” Christy demanded. “I'm having breakfast, that's all. It's not like I'm trying to climb Mount Everest, or—” she paused, “or teach school.”

“Christy's right,” Miss Alice said. “It's her decision.”

A chair scraped on the wooden floor. “I'll start another plate of eggs,” Miss Ida said.

“I'm sorry to be such a bother,” Christy apologized.

“Not at all,” Miss Ida said, putting a comforting hand on Christy's shoulder. “Anything I can do, you just ask.”

It was all Christy could do to keep from crying. Miss Ida was usually so gruff! The pity in her voice was almost more than Christy could bear. But perhaps she was going to have to get used to the pity of others.

Breakfast was an ordeal. Christy insisted on doing everything herself, which meant that half her scrambled eggs ended up in her lap. She was only slightly more successful with her toast.

She was almost done eating when Doctor MacNeill entered the mission house. “What on earth are you doing out of bed?” he demanded as he strode into the dining room.

“Making a huge mess of the breakfast table,” Christy replied.

“I want you to go straight back up to your room,” the doctor said, sounding furious. He knelt beside Christy and examined her bandages. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“I feel perfectly fine.”

“Pain?”

“My head still hurts some. But not much, I promise.” Christy crossed her arms over her chest. “And there's no use arguing with me, Neil. I am going to church.”

“I can't allow that,” the doctor said. “You've had too much trauma. You need to rest for several days.”

“You look like
you
need to rest, Neil,” Miss Alice said. “You may not have heard, but there's a new-fangled idea floating around these parts. We call it ‘sleep.'”

“I was up all night reading medical books.” Doctor MacNeill pulled up a chair. “I was hoping . . . well, I just wanted to be sure there wasn't anything I'd missed.”

“What did you find out?” Christy asked as she struggled to locate her glass of juice.

“There are cases of sight recovery after concussion. And then there are other cases . . .” The doctor's voice trailed off. “We'll just have to wait and see,” he said simply.

“And pray,” David added.

“Thank you, Neil,” Christy said. “Thank you for trying. Now go home and get some sleep.”

“That is, unless you'd care to join us in church, Doctor,” David said. “There's always room for one more.”

“Not for a wayward soul like me,” the doctor said. “I can't talk you out of this, Christy?”

“I need to go, Neil. I can't explain it. I just know I'll feel better there.”

“Well, I can see I'm outnumbered.” The doctor pushed back his chair. “I'll check on you again soon.”

“I'll keep an eye on her,” Miss Alice said.

“And tomorrow at school, I'll watch out for her like a mama hen with her chicks,” Ruby Mae vowed.

David cleared his throat. No one spoke. Someone—Miss Ida, probably—began clearing up the dishes, one by one.

Christy knew what they were thinking— there wasn't going to be school tomorrow, at least not with Christy teaching.

“Why's everybody so all-fired tongue-tied all of a sudden?” Ruby Mae demanded.

“We're going to have to wait and see about school, Ruby Mae,” David explained.

“Christy is in no condition to teach,” the doctor added.

Again, Christy felt the pity flowing around her, tugging at her like an ocean current. It was as if, in the space of one terrible moment, she'd lost the person she was. She wasn't Miss Christy Huddleston, teacher, anymore. She was just another helpless somebody to whisper about.

Who could blame them? The truth was, she felt sorry for herself, too.

She started to sob. Just as she pushed back her chair to leave, she heard someone knocking at the mission's front door. “Preacher?” someone called. “It's Ben Pentland.”

“Mr. Pentland!” David exclaimed. “Is this about the service today? Or have you taken to delivering mail on Sundays?”

“It ain't mail I be deliverin'. I done brought you a visitor—”

“And I must say it was the most uncomfortable buggy ride of my life!” came a high-pitched, woman's voice.

“Mother?” David cried.

“David, sweetie pie!”

Seven

C
hristy heard the swish of petticoats as Mrs. Grantland rushed to embrace David.

“
Sweetie
-pie?” Doctor MacNeill whispered loudly.

“But I thought you weren't coming until next week!” David said, sounding a little shocked.

“I changed plans. I knew you wouldn't mind,” Mrs. Grantland said briskly.

“Well, welcome to our humble abode,”
David said.

“Humble, indeed! I've seen outhouses with
more style.” Mrs. Grantland clapped her
hands. “Ida, dear girl, come here and give
your mother a kiss.”

“It's good to see you, Mother,” Miss Ida
said.

“What have you done to yourselves? You both look positively rural.” Mrs. Grantland clucked her tongue. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“I'm Alice Henderson, Mrs. Grantland. It's a great pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Oh, yes. The missionary woman from Pennsylvania,” Mrs. Grantland said. She did not sound altogether impressed.

“I'm Neil MacNeill, Mrs. Grantland,” said the doctor.

“And this—” Mrs. Grantland gasped. “Don't tell me this is Miss Huddleston, the one you've written me so much about?”

“Oh, no'm. I'm Ruby Mae Morrison.”

Mrs. Grantland gave a relieved sigh. “Ah, yes. David mentioned you in his letters.”