Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice (19 page)

“But I was so rude to Mrs. Grantland. I apologized this morning and she told me she understood, but I don't see how she could have. I wanted to lash out at someone, and she seemed like the perfect target. I was just mad because she was right about my trying to teach.”

“Come on,” the doctor said suddenly.

“What?”

“We're going for a walk, you and I. Fresh air will do you good. Doctor's orders.”

“I thought . . . I thought you were mad at me. About the engagement.”

“I am,” the doctor said flatly. “But you need a friend today. And it looks like I'm elected.”

Christy took the doctor's arm as they walked through the woods. The birds were in full chorus. The sun teased her shoulders. The smell of pine was as refreshing as a splash of icy water on her face.

“I've noticed one thing about not having my sight,” Christy said. “I do ‘see' things differently. The sounds, the smells—they're so much more intense. It's as if I'm experiencing the world in a whole new way.”

“I suppose you are.”

“Neil?”

“Hmm?”

“When can we take the bandages off?”

He stopped. “Another week, perhaps. When the swelling is down a bit more.”

“I almost took them off last night,” Christy admitted. “I just wanted to know for sure. To be done with it.”

“You need more time.”

The doctor resumed walking, and Christy fell into step beside him. “I wish . . .” he began. “I wish there were something more I could do about your eyes. I feel so inadequate.”

The anguish in his voice made her heart ache. “This is in God's hands, Neil. There's nothing more you can do.”

“There are other ways I feel inadequate,” the doctor continued. His voice was so soft she could barely hear it over the chattering of the birds. “I wish . . . I wish I could tell you—”

“Tell me what?”

“Remember that night? That night when Ruby Mae was lost and you went out to find her in the storm? I was so worried about you! And then when you came back safely, and we sat by the fire, and we . . . we danced together . . .”

“I remember,” Christy said softly. “You danced very well even with one arm in a sling.”

“I guess it
was
a bit awkward.” The doctor gave a rueful laugh. “But I just want you to know, Christy—that night will always be with me.”

“Me, too,” Christy said softly.

“If you aren't going to teach anymore, does that mean you're leaving Cutter Gap?”

“I don't know,” Christy said. “I suppose that depends on what David wants to do.”

At the mention of David's name, Christy felt the doctor stiffen. “You need to learn to listen to your own heart, Christy Huddleston,” he said. “I love the stubbornness in you, but sometimes it just plain gets in the way of your hearing what you need to hear.”

They walked in silence after that. Christy listened to the crackle of sticks beneath their feet, and the flutter of wings overhead. But mostly she listened as the doctor softly hummed an old Scottish folk song about lost love.

Somehow, the sweet, sad tune seemed to be coming from her very own heart.

Thirteen

O
n Monday morning, Christy did not bother getting dressed. She stood at the open window of her bedroom in her robe and listened to the shouts and laughter of her students floating on the breeze. Miss Alice and David were taking over her teaching duties until another teacher could be found.

It had all been decided at dinner last night. David felt it was for the best. Miss Alice had not expressed an opinion. Neither, for that matter, had Mrs. Grantland—much to Christy's surprise.

The knock on her door startled her. “Christy?”

“Miss Alice! Come in. I thought you were teaching this morning.”

“I've been called away. It seems Ben Pentland broke his ankle last night, and Neil's busy over at the Holcombes with their sick baby. David's in El Pano this morning, picking up that delivery of medicine, which leaves Mrs. Grantland.”

“Mrs. Grantland!”

“She'll have to do. She's all we've got.”

“But—” Christy stopped herself. It was not her classroom, not anymore. Whatever her faults, Mrs. Grantland would make a much better teacher than Christy.

“I must be off. Is there anything I can get you before I go?” Miss Alice asked.

“Nothing. I'm fine. Be careful,” Christy said. She returned to the window. The bell in the steeple was ringing. The children would be running to their desks. Creed, of course, would be showing up late, no doubt with some new wild animal in tow. Ruby Mae would be giggling with Bessie about their latest crushes. John Spencer would have his head buried in the book of poetry Christy had lent him.

Would Mrs. Grantland know to be gentle with Mountie? She embarrassed so easily. Would she know that Zach had trouble with his eyesight? Would she . . .

Stop it
, Christy told herself. They weren't her students anymore. She was not their teacher anymore. And it was a good thing, too.

She climbed back into bed. For a change, she could sleep in. She could sleep in every morning, from now on.

She closed her eyes. The laughter of the children traveled on the breeze like the chatter of birds. Try as she might, she could not seem to sleep.

It wasn't until afternoon that Christy finally bothered to get dressed. Miss Ida had already stopped by twice to make sure she was all right.

Christy was just lacing up her shoes when she heard a shy knock on the door. “I'm all right, Miss Ida,” Christy said. “I'm actually getting dressed, you'll be pleased to hear.”

“Teacher! It's me, Creed!”

“Creed!” Christy rushed to the door, fumbling for the knob. “Is something wrong at school?”

“You just gotta come quick-like, Teacher! It's plumb awful! Lundy Taylor's done tied up Miz Grantland to her chair. And Sam Houston let the hogs loose in the schoolroom. And Ruby Mae and them girls are havin' a square dance, a-singin' and carryin' on. I swear it's true! It's like the whole school's gone plumb crazy!”

Christy hesitated. What could she do? Maybe she should send Miss Ida instead. After last Friday, Christy knew better than to presume she could handle things alone. Still, if Mrs.

Grantland really
was
tied up, that called for quick action.

Christy allowed Creed to lead her by the hand across the yard to the schoolhouse. Strangely, as they got closer, she couldn't hear any noise coming from the school. As a matter of fact, the place was eerily quiet.

“I thought you said they were having a square dance.”

“Yes'm, they is.” Creed hesitated. “I mean, they was, and if they isn't, well, it's probably 'cause that Lundy's done somethin' powerful mean.”

“Creed.” Christy stopped and knelt down. “There's something I need to say to you. I am very, very sorry that I broke the cane you made me. Sometimes even adults get angry and have temper tantrums. I felt angry at myself because I wasn't able to protect you from Lundy. And I'm very sorry that I broke that beautiful cane. Can you forgive me?”

“Shucks, Teacher. It weren't nothin'. I have powerful good tantrums my own self.”

Christy laughed.

“Besides, we already made—”

“What?”

“Nothin'. Come on.” He tugged on her arm. “Miz Grantland's gotta be goin' plumb crazy by now.”

Slowly, Christy ascended the wooden schoolhouse steps with Creed's help. She thought she heard vague whisperings, but that was all.

“Mrs. Grantland?” Christy called from the doorway. “Is everything all right?”

Suddenly the entire room burst into song:

For she's a jolly good teacher,
For she's a jolly good teacher,
For she's a jolly good teacher,
Which nobody can deny!

Christy gasped. “What in the world?”

“Sorry, Teacher,” Creed said. “I kinda told a fib to get you here. Well, a bunch o' fibs. See, it's a 'speriment.”

“I don't understand.”

“You will, soon enough.” It was Mrs. Grantland's voice.

“Mrs. Grantland? Are you . . . are you by any chance tied to a chair?”

“Goodness, no. Although if I gave these hooligans half a chance, no doubt they'd try it. Creed, take Miss Christy to her seat.”

She started toward her desk, but Christy felt a tug on her arm. “Follow me, Teacher. We done made some changes.”

Christy followed Creed to her desk. No longer was it located on the raised platform she'd tripped on so often last week. Now it was on the lower level, where the students' desks were.

She sat down obediently. “Mrs. Grantland,” she began, “this is all very nice, but I really don't—”

“John Spencer, why don't you begin?” Mrs. Grantland interrupted.

Christy heard John clear his throat. “We got together and sort of come to the conclusion that we wasn't helpin' any with your experiment, Miz Christy,” he said. “We put together some ideas we kinda wanted to run by you.

To start with, we got ourselves some—what was they called, Miz Grantland?”

“Monitors.”

“Yeah. We got us some monitors. First off is Ruby Mae Morrison. She's the noise monitor, on account of she's usually the one making it.”

Everyone laughed.

“My job is to get the class to hush, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae announced. “And I aim to do it, too!”

“Next off is Sam Houston,” John said. “He's the hand monitor.”

“Hand monitor?” Christy repeated.

“I tell you who-all's waving their hands, Teacher. And if you want, I can pick who answers, too. Like as not, I can tell who's done homework and who's just a-fakin' it.”

“Lizette is board monitor,” John continued, “on account of she's got the best handwriting. 'Ceptin' for you, Miz Christy. And I'm map monitor. On account of I know where all the states is.”

Christy began to smile, in spite of herself. “Me! Don't forget me!” came a loud, boy's voice.

Christy recognized it as Wraight Holt's.

“What's your job, Wraight?” she asked.

“I'm the recess monitor,” Wraight explained. “Which is most likely the most important monitorin' goin' on. I round up all the little ones when you says it's time.
And
I break up all the fights.”

“'Less'n he started 'em,” Lundy Taylor said. “Actually,” Mrs. Grantland broke in, “I think Mountie O'Teale has the most important job.”

“And what might that be?” Christy asked.

“I'm the bell monitor,” Mountie proclaimed in her gentle voice. “If'n Lundy does some bullyin' or we all get too hard to handle, I get to pull the church bell so the preacher or Miss Alice can come a-runnin'.”

“What about me?” tiny five-year-old Vella Holt demanded.

“What is it you're monitoring, Vella?”

Christy asked.

“I'm the chair monitor!” Vella exclaimed proudly. “I check it for eggs or tacks or anything else that might be a-lurkin'.”

“There's more, too,” Mrs. Grantland continued. “We've done some rearranging to make things easier. Your desk is off the platform, for one thing. And the desks are arranged so that all the children are in a semi-circle. I thought it might be easier for you to address them that way. The children are seated alphabetically, too.”

“Boys and girls together?” Christy cried. She hadn't yet been able to convince the children to stop dividing up, with boys on one side and girls on the other.

“It's a mighty big favor to be askin',” Creed said, “seein' as I'm stuck next to Wanda Beck. But we did it for you, Teacher.”

“Creed!” Sam Houston urged. “The present!”

“I almost forgot!”

Christy felt something placed in her lap. Instantly she knew. It was a new cane, even smoother and larger than the last one.

“It's beautiful, children,” Christy whispered. “I don't know what to say.”

All this planning, for her! It was so thoughtful, and she knew the children meant well. But what kind of teacher would she be, relying on her own students for such help?

“Was this your doing, Mrs. Grantland?” Christy asked.

“Quite the contrary. The children came up with the idea last Friday after you left. I just added some pointers.”

“The thing is, Miz Christy,” John said, “we want to help make the experiment work. I mean, seein' as we're a part of it and all, it only seems right.”

They
were
a part of it, Christy realized. She'd been so busy thinking about her own need to prove herself, she hadn't thought about
their
need to be involved.

“I've never seen such goings-on for a teacher,” Mrs. Grantland said. “All I ever got was an apple or two. Of course . . . maybe I didn't give as much, either.”

“I don't know what to say,” Christy admitted. “Say you'll do the 'speriment, Teacher,” Creed pleaded.

Christy took a deep breath. This wasn't how she'd wanted it to be. But then, maybe it was even better, in a way.

“Get out your history books,” she announced, and the whole class cheered.

Fourteen

W
hen school was over Friday, Christy asked David to go for a walk with her around Big Spoon Pond.

“Hoping the engagement ring washed up on shore?” David teased as they walked past the water's edge.

“I wish I
could
find it,” Christy said. “Your mother would be so relieved. And it seems like the least I could do, after the way she helped me at school.”

“I think she enjoyed feeling useful,” David said.

“I still can't get over how smoothly teaching went this week, David!” Christy gave an embarrassed laugh. “If I hadn't let my stubborn pride keep me from asking for more help, I could have avoided a lot of pain.”