Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice (23 page)

She heard the sound of water. Drip . . . drip . . . drip. With a sigh, she threw back her covers and padded on bare feet across the cold wooden floor.

“Oww!” A nail had worked its way up from the planks. She hobbled over to her dresser and grabbed the pot she kept handy. Then she limped over to the corner, where the rain was dripping in a steady stream. She stuck the pot under the drip.

The noise it made was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“I'm far too awake now to fall asleep,” she muttered.

She struck a match and lit a smoky oil lamp. Then she pulled her diary out of her nightstand and opened it.

June 7, 1912

It's been four months since I came to the Cutter Gap mission to teach school. Today I learned that I will be returning to Asheville for a visit. It will only be for a few days. Doctor MacNeill says they will do Bessie Coburn's operation the day after we arrive there. Then, if all goes well (and I pray it will), we will spend a few days there while Bessie recovers before returning.

It will be good to see Mother and Father and George, if he isn't away at school. I have so much to tell them. We've written each other every week, but it's impossible to tell everything in a letter. There's so much to catch up on. I wonder what has been happening in Asheville. I wonder what my old friends have been up to. And I know they are all curious about me.

And yet, in some ways, this trip scares me. Just a little.

I've grown accustomed to life in the Cove. I've grown used to the hostility of so many of the mountain people because it has been balanced by the affection of so many others who have become my friends. And I've grown used to the simple, everyday hardships because I know that for most of the people here life is much harder than what I have experienced.

I suppose I have even grown accustomed to the fact that a little girl's life might be held hostage to superstition and suspicion and bootleg whiskey. Although it makes me angry beyond words.

Still, as I think of visiting my home again, all the old memories come rushing back . . .

What will it be like to be clean again? Clean, all of the time!

What will it be like to talk with people who can talk of world events and art and poetry? Most of the mountain people speak little, and then, only of the necessary things: of crops and hunting and mending broken plows. What will it be like to once again talk of Paris fashions and New York literature?

Will I seem backward and rustic to all my old friends? And what will they make of Ruby Mae or David or Neil?

I should be looking forward to this trip. And yet it makes me uneasy. It makes me think of all I have given up to be here.

When I left Asheville, my head was full of romantic notions. I knew nothing about blood feuds and moonshine; I understood nothing about the ignorance and fear that still live in these mountains. And I never thought about money—about whether this mission could even be kept alive!

Many of my romantic notions have been lost. I love my students, and I am devoted to the mission. But, knowing all the harsh realities, will I be able to leave my home and my family a second time? If I return to Asheville now, will I still have the devotion to come back to Cutter Gap?

Four

M
iz Christy, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae yelled. “Where are you, Miz Christy?”

“I'm right here, Ruby Mae,” Christy said. It was Saturday morning, and Christy was walking toward the school with her arms full of flowers in every color of the rainbow. Fairlight Spencer was with her. “I just got back. What's the matter?”

“Howdy, Miz Spencer,” Ruby Mae said. “What are all them flowers for?”

Fairlight was Christy's closest friend among the mountain people. Five of her children, including John and Zady, were in Christy's class. Fairlight was a simple woman, only now learning to read. But she had the bearing of a princess, and Christy admired her sense of wonder about life, as well as her common sense and decency.

“They're for the altar, for services tomorrow,” Fairlight explained. “Aren't they lovely, Ruby Mae?”

“Yes'm, I 'spect they'll give me something to admire in church when I start to fall asleep during the sermon.”

Fairlight and Christy exchanged an amused look. Fortunately, David was not around to hear Ruby Mae's opinion of his sermons.

“I got to talk to you, quick-like, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said, tugging on Christy's sleeve. “It's Bessie's pa. He got back all liqoured up and he and Mrs. Coburn, they got to argufyin' fit to wake the dead. And now he's got it all stuck in his head that Bessie can't be going to Asheville or having no operation, neither!”

Christy thought for a moment. She wished Miss Alice were there. But Miss Alice rode out regularly to check on the health needs of people in several small mountain communities, and she was away for the day. “Ruby Mae, go and saddle up Prince for me. I'm going for the doctor.”

“Yes'm,” Ruby Mae said. “Only how am I gonna keep up if you're on a horse?”

“I'm going alone. Just for once, don't argue, Ruby Mae.”

“I'll take care of the flowers,” Fairlight said. She put her hand on Christy's arm. “You be careful. Kyle Coburn is a decent man when he's sober. But if he's been at that jug, don't you be messin' with him.”

Doctor MacNeill was on the roof of his house, nailing new wooden shingles. He saw Christy riding up, threading the twisting trails, then galloping across the meadow.

He had a pretty good idea why she was coming. News traveled with amazing speed in the Cove. Sometimes he thought they would never need telephones in these hills, the way they could pass along gossip.

He took a moment to enjoy the sight before him—the mountains looming all around; the nearby brook that bubbled and leapt with new-melted snow; and the rather beautiful sight of Christy, her hair flying free in the wind as she galloped toward him on the mission's big black horse.

He climbed down from the roof and went inside for a shirt and his medical bag. When he came back out, Christy was just reining Prince to a halt.

“Well, good morning, Christy,” he said.

“Doctor,” she said, a little breathlessly. “It's Bessie. Her father—”

“Yes, I know all about it.”

“You do?”

“Yep. In fact, I was just on my way to see Granny Barclay. I thought she might offer me her professional opinion on the case.”

Neil paused, enjoying the look of confusion on Christy's face. “Prince is tired, by the look of him,” he said. “We'll go on foot.”

“But why on earth would we go to Granny Barclay?” Christy protested.

“Before I got here, Granny Barclay was the closest thing to a doctor this cove had seen. Would you prefer that I went stomping up to the Coburns' cabin to lecture Kyle Coburn on what he
should
do?” Neil asked. “That would just get his pride up, and then there will be no moving him.”

“Well, we certainly have to do something.”

“Yes. But not always the most direct thing,” Neil said. “You can come along, if you wish.”

With that, he set out at a brisk pace. He was not at all surprised that Christy followed him.

It was a mile to Granny Barclay's simple cabin. The old woman was sitting on her porch on a rocking chair made of bent sticks and wrapped with vines. Her face was deeply wrinkled. Most of her teeth were gone. But her green eyes were still bright, attentive, and shrewd. She showed no surprise at seeing Neil and Christy.

“Morning, Granny,” Neil said. “May we have a word with you?”

“I'd be right proud to have you sit a spell with an old woman,” Granny said.

“I find I have a little problem, of a medical nature,” Neil said. “It's Bessie Coburn. I was wondering if you might be so kind as to come with me to take a look at her.”

Neil could see the shocked look on Christy's face.

“I reckon I could,” Granny said. “I could do with a stretch.”

Without another word, Granny set off in the direction of the Coburn cabin.

“Doctor, it must be two miles from here to the Coburn place, most of it either straight up or straight down,” Christy whispered in Neil's ear as they followed the old woman. “Granny is eighty years old! She can't possibly walk that far.”

“I think you may be mistaken about that, Christy,” Neil replied. “First of all, she's closer to ninety. Now, let's hurry, or we won't be able to catch up with her.”

Granny Barclay set a pace that soon had Christy and Neil panting and sweating. A dozen yards from the Coburns' cabin, Granny finally stopped. She made a show of rubbing her shoulder. “I guess these old bones o' mine ain't got quite the life they used to. I don't 'spec I could walk more'n another two, three hours at this pace.”

Christy wiped the sweat from her brow and groaned. “Granny isn't quite as frail as she looks,” Neil said.

Christy laughed ruefully. “So I've noticed.”

Granny Barclay cackled happily.

Inside the Coburn cabin, they found Bessie still in her bed. Lety Coburn was wiping her brow. Kyle Coburn sat in a corner, looking angry and sullen.

Neil took a quick look around. There was no liquor jug in evidence. And Kyle appeared to be sober, if a bit hung over.

“Kyle, Lety,” Neil said, “I've asked Granny Barclay if she would be so kind as to consult with me on Bessie's case.”

Kyle stared hard. “
You
askin' for Granny's help?” he demanded suspiciously. “I was afixin' to ask Granny to come over myself. She midwifed at Bessie's birth. And she helped me that time I had the fever.”

“Let me see the child,” Granny said, bustling over to Bessie's bedside.

“I didn't think you city folk put no stock in Granny's medicine,” Kyle said doubtfully.

“Granny has delivered more babies than I've ever seen,” Neil said honestly. “And she has a great store of wisdom.”

Kyle nodded. “And Granny don't go around cuttin' folks open, neither. No good comes of cuttin' a body open. That just stands to reason.”

“Yes,” Neil agreed, “it is dangerous to perform surgery.”

Kyle sat forward suddenly. “So you admit right out it be dangerous! My little girl could die.”

This was the real reason Kyle was resisting the surgery, Neil knew. He was just worried about his daughter.

Neil looked Kyle straight in the eye. “Yes, she could die,” he said gently. “There could be complications.”

Granny patted Bessie on the head and stood. “There's a lump inside that girl where don't no lump belong,” she announced. “That's what's causing the pain and the fever.”

“Cain't you do nothin' to make it go away?” Kyle pleaded.

“I can help ease the pain, but only a little,” Granny said. “I can give her some bark tea and some other potions that will take the edge off'n the hurt. But that won't help for long. The pain will go right on getting worse till it overcomes all medicine.”

Kyle looked shattered. “There ain't nothing you can do, Granny?”

“There's something I can do,” Neil said. “I can take her to Asheville, to a real hospital. And I can get the best man in the area to help me do the operation.”

“Kyle, you got to let them try,” Lety urged, fighting back tears.

Kyle looked tortured. “I have to send my little girl off to some city and not even know whether she's livin' or dyin'? What am I supposed to do? I can't just sit here a-doin' nothing.”

“Kyle, you have to trust to modern medical science,” Neil said. But the man looked unmoved.

“There is something you can do,” Christy said, speaking for the first time. “You can pray that God will guide Doctor MacNeill's hand and keep Bessie well.”

When Neil and Christy went back outside several minutes later, they had received Kyle's permission to do the operation. Granny stayed behind to brew up her pain-fightin' bark tea.

“That was very clever of you, Doctor,” Christy said. “You knew Kyle was holding out hope that Granny could save Bessie from having to undergo surgery. So you brought Granny over.”

“It's something you should learn, Christy. The head-on approach isn't always the best. I could have argued myself blue, but by asking Granny's opinion, I made Kyle realize he had no choice.”

“It seemed to me that Mr. Coburn was still doubtful about the operation, even then,” Christy said. “He needed to feel he could be involved in some way.”

“You mean the thing about praying?” Neil nodded. “Yes, I suppose that did make him feel as if he were doing something to help his daughter.”

“But you don't believe it.”

“What? That God is guiding my hands when I'm performing surgery? No. I believe in medicine and science. When my knowledge and skill are sufficient, I am successful.”

“I see,” Christy said, arms crossed over her chest. “So your advice to Mr. Coburn would be to believe in Almighty Doctor MacNeill rather than Almighty God?”

Neil had to laugh. “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it does sound just a wee bit egotistical.”

Christy shook her head, giving him a grudging smile. “Yes,” she agreed, “just a wee bit.”

Five

T
he train whistle blew shrilly. It was so loud that even though she was sitting in the next-to-last car, Christy covered her ears. It was an exciting sound, full of promises of adventure. But the sound was also full of memories. It had been this very train—Old Buncombe, they called it—that had first carried Christy away from home last January.

It was Monday morning. Yesterday, after church, they had carried Bessie to El Pano, the nearest town on the railroad line. Miss Alice had arranged for them to stay overnight with a friend. Bessie had rested fairly well last night. Then, early this morning they had caught the train for Asheville.