Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice (9 page)

“Actually, it looks like the storm's going to pass us by,” Miz Christy said. “It may have stalled to the west, over that next ridge. I wonder if David and the doctor got caught in it. They should be back by now.”

“All the more reason I oughta put Prince in the shed for the night, don't you figure?”

Ruby Mae pressed. “When the preacher gets back, he'll be mighty tuckered out.”

“You've got some dinner dishes to take care of,” Miss Christy reminded her.

Ruby Mae felt her heart sink. What good was using her most polite tone of voice, if

Miz Christy wasn't even going to have the good sense to notice it?

“I can get to 'em when I get back,” Ruby Mae offered.

“All right, then,” Christy said. “But make it quick, Ruby Mae. I want you back in twenty minutes, understand? And if you see or hear anything unusual, you hightail it right back here.”

“I promise!” Ruby Mae cried with relief as she jumped from her chair. “Twenty minutes and not a lick more.”

“Oh, and Ruby Mae? Give these to Prince for me, would you?”

Miz Christy reached into the sugar bowl and passed Ruby Mae a handful of glistening white sugar cubes.

“Christy!” Miz Ida cried. “Do you realize how expensive that sugar is? And you're giving it to a
horse
?”

“He's not just
any
horse, Miss Ida,” Christy said, smiling at Ruby Mae.

Ruby Mae put the sugar in the pocket of her yellow skirt. “Thanks, Miz Christy,” she said gratefully, and for that moment, at least, she wasn't using a pretend voice anymore.

On her way to the pasture, Ruby Mae tried to figure out what was going on inside her. Her heart felt crowded with way too many feelings, and she didn't like it one bit. She felt the way she did when she tried to do division problems—there was one question, but way too many answers. Maybe her step-pa was right. Maybe she really did have chicken feathers for brains.

She started up the path to the pasture. It led through a thick stand of pines, then opened onto the small, cleared area where the mission horses grazed. Way off in the distance, thunder rumbled—a low groan that made it sound like the sky had a bellyache.

Miz Christy was probably right. It looked like the storm had moved on. Good thing. Prince hated storms. Always had.

It was hard, staying mad at her teacher. Truth was, Ruby Mae liked Miz Christy a whole heap, and the preacher, too. They were good people. A little big on
dos
and
don'ts
, maybe, but they meant well.

Today during the noon recess, Rob had gone with Ruby Mae to check on Prince. When he saw what had happened to the beautiful stallion, he'd been almost as upset as she'd been.

When Ruby Mae had told him how angry she was at the preacher and Miz Christy, Rob had listened very quietly until she'd said her piece. He'd thought for a good, long while before speaking.

“Maybe,” he'd said at last, all slow and careful-like, “you're even madder at your own self, Ruby Mae. You wanted to take care of Prince, and you couldn't. Maybe you feel kinda like you let him down.”

He was right, of course. That's why Rob was such a smart boy. He could look right at someone and see straight into their heart.

Rob had said something else, too. He'd told Ruby Mae she shouldn't let herself feel bad. That Prince was the luckiest horse in the world to have her for a friend.

She wasn't so sure Rob was right about that. But it had made her feel better, just the same.

As Ruby Mae neared the end of the path, she let out a whistle for Prince. It was a little game they had. He would hear her whistle and gallop over to greet her. By the time she emerged from the stand of pines, he'd be waiting by the fence, tossing his head and snorting and carrying on.

Of course, she wasn't sure he'd respond to her whistle. He hadn't been his usual playful self when she'd gone to visit him at recess. He'd seemed jittery, skittish, and afraid of the least little thing.

The path through the pines ended and the pasture came into view. Ruby Mae leapt onto the split-rail fence that the preacher had built to surround the small grassy area.

“Hey, boy—” she began, and then her heart turned cold as stone.

Prince was gone! Even in the twilight gloom, she could tell that he was nowhere in the pasture.

She scrambled over the fence, frantic with fear. “Prince!” she screamed, running through the grass. “Where are you, boy?”

Then she saw the spot. At the far end of the fence, a top rail had been knocked loose.

She knew what had happened. Prince had bolted over the fence. Maybe he'd been scared off by the thunder. Maybe he'd just been so upset over what had happened to him that he'd run away out of pure embarrassment.

Or maybe someone had chased Prince off, or even stolen him.

Ruby Mae checked the sky. It was nearly dark, but she had to find Prince. Ruby Mae figured she was going to be in a world of trouble when she got back to the mission house late.

The only thing that mattered was finding Prince.

“Where on earth is that girl?” Christy murmured as Miss Ida handed her a plate to dry. “It's been half an hour, and it's practically pitch-dark out there.”

“You know Ruby Mae,” Miss Ida said, scrubbing away at a pie tin. “She probably thinks five minutes have gone by. The girl has no sense of time.”

“Especially when she's with that horse.”

Christy set aside her dish towel. “I'd better go get her.”

Miss Ida frowned. “What was that? Did you hear something?”

“No, I didn't hear a thing.”

“On the front porch. I could have sworn I heard voices.”

Christy grinned. “David and the doctor, I'll bet. It's about time!” She grabbed a lamp off the counter and headed for the front door.

Miss Ida followed Christy into the parlor. “Fortunately, there's plenty of pot pie left. I'll just warm it up—”

She was interrupted by a loud, insistent pounding on the door.

“Open up in thar!” came a male voice. “We'uns aim to git in! How 'bout some sweetheartin', purty ladies?”

Wild, drunken laughter filled the air. Then the voices grew muffled. Christy could hear hoarse whispers. Instantly, she doused the light so the men couldn't see inside the house.

She grabbed Miss Ida's arm. “That sounds like Bird's-Eye Taylor,” she hissed. “And he's got others with him. Quick, run and be sure the back door is bolted.”

Miss Ida dashed back to the kitchen. Her pulse racing, Christy scanned the room. Fortunately, the front door was locked tight, but how long would that last? A strong shoulder could break down that flimsy door. She'd even heard of men shooting hinges right off a door. Could they really do that? And in any case, they could easily break one of the windows if they were determined to get in.

She watched as the brass doorknob slowly turned. “Come on out, little teacher-lady,” came a slurred voice Christy didn't recognize. “We ain't a-goin' to hurt you.”

Again, the horrible drunken laughter.

“Plumb feisty, that one is,” someone else said. “Citified as they come. Bet she smells mighty fine.”

Christy tried to count the different voices. It sounded like three men, but she couldn't be sure. However many there were, they were undoubtedly armed. There was no way that Christy and Miss Ida could fight. . . .

Suddenly, Christy gasped.

“What is it?” Miss Ida whispered as she rushed back into the parlor.

“Ruby Mae!” Christy cried. “What if she comes back?” She closed her eyes and said a quick, desperate prayer aloud. “Please, God, let Ruby Mae dawdle a little longer.”

“Amen to that,” Miss Ida whispered. “But Ruby Mae knows what happens when these men are drunk. If she does come back, she'll hear the ruckus and keep her distance.”

Someone pounded on the door with what sounded like the butt of a shotgun. “Come on, preacher ladies! We got enough moonshine for all of us to share. Git you likkered up, you'll like it just fine!”

The pounding grew louder. It sounded like all the men were beating on the door at once as they screeched with laughter.

Christy nudged Miss Ida. “The bookcase, quick!”

Together, they struggled to drag the bookcase toward the front door. When it was pulled to within a few inches, Christy paused to wipe her brow. Her mind was racing. How long could they fend off the intruders? If only David or the doctor were here!

“How about the dining room chairs and the piano bench?” Miss Ida hissed.

“Good idea. The bigger the barricade, the better.”

“But what if they break through a window?”

Christy paused. “Then we'll protect ourselves.”

“With what?” Miss Ida moaned. “Our bare hands?”

“You get the rest of the furniture. I'll worry about our weapons,” Christy said with determination.

The voices and pounding grew more insistent. “Come on, gals. We knows yer in thar.”

Another voice piped up, “And we knows that nosey preacher's not thar to protect you!”

Christy met Miss Ida's gaze. Even in the near-dark, she could see the fear in the older woman's eyes. “How do they know?” Christy asked under her breath.

“Probably saw David on the road,” Miss Ida said as she struggled to drag a stuffed chair closer to the door.

Christy ran to the kitchen. She grabbed a cast iron frying pan and a kitchen knife. Back in the parlor, she added two fire pokers to her collection and placed them near the door.

“Our weapons,” she whispered to Miss Ida. Miss Ida reached for one of the frying pans and waved it in the air. “Nothing like a swift whack to the head with one of these,” she said.

Christy couldn't help smiling at the prim figure of Miss Ida, thrashing the air ferociously. Christy gave a soft, nervous laugh, and Miss Ida joined in. It helped to break the tension just a little.

“What a pair we make,” Miss Ida whispered. “I do hope we live to tell the tale!”

Suddenly the men fell silent. Christy felt her whole body tense. What were they planning? Could they be heading to the back of the house?

“Maybe I should talk to them,” Christy whispered.

Miss Ida nodded. “It's worth a try. What have we got to lose?”

Christy cleared her throat. “Who are you, out there?” she called out in a firm, controlled voice.

“It's the purty one!” one of the men cried.

“I hear tell she's feisty as they come, Jubal,” another added.

So Jubal McSween was one of the prowlers, Christy thought. And she was sure she recognized Bird's-Eye's voice. But who was that third man?

“I want you to leave this property right now,” Christy said.

“Don't be nervish, now,” said Bird's-Eye. “We're not likkered up or nothin'.”

“You are too liquored up,” Miss Ida cried. “And we want you to leave this instant.”

“It's the old 'un!” the third man exclaimed. “Poppin' her teeth and carryin' on!”

“Why are you here?” Miss Ida called out. “What is it you men want?”

“Want to teach you'uns a lesson, 'bout tellin' us how to live,” Jubal said. “Want to give you a taste o' moonshine, change yer minds 'bout it.”

“Miss Henderson is going to hear this racket,” Christy called. “She'll be over here any minute. I'd advise you to leave quietly, before you get into real trouble. She's a fine shot, you know.”

“Aw, she's way over yonder, birthin' a babe,” Bird's-Eye said. “You cain't fool us, Teacher-gal!”

Christy rolled her eyes in frustration. She knew word traveled fast in these mountains, but never before had that fact been a threat to her very life.

“Open up and we'll have ourselves a real playparty!” Bird's-Eye called.

“A hullaballoo,” Jubal added with a cackle.

Christy glanced over at Miss Ida, who was sitting on the piano bench, her frying pan at the ready.

“There's one thing left to do,” Christy whispered.

“What's that? We've run out of furniture and frying pans.”

“Pray.”

Miss Ida nodded. Together they closed their eyes.

“Please, Lord,” Christy whispered, “give us the strength to deal with this crisis. And please, please, keep Ruby Mae out of harm's way—”

The sharp, horrifying clatter of glass breaking stopped Christy in mid-sentence. Her eyes flew open. On the parlor floor, she could just make out the outline of a large rock and shards of glass. Chill air blew in through the broken window.

An arm reached through the hole. “Howdy, ladies,” someone said.

“Oh, my Lord,” Miss Ida cried in terror. “They're breaking in!”

Nine

C
hristy raised her fire poker high as Jubal McSween kicked out the last pieces of glass in the broken window.

“Please, God,” Christy prayed, “give me strength.”

Suddenly, a white flash of lightning lit up the room. Christy could see the startled look on Jubal's face as he gazed up at the angry sky. A moment later, the whole house shook with the sound of thunder. Windowpanes rattled. The floor shook. It was like nothing Christy had ever heard before.

And then the rain came. It was not the usual spring storm, either. The rain came down in torrents, in buckets, in rivers. A strong wind came with it, driving the rain in horizontal sheets against the windowpanes. It flooded the porch, drenching the men instantly. Puddles formed on the parlor floor as the rain poured in through the broken window.

“Let's git us on inside!” Jubal cried, still standing by the broken window.

Lightening stabbed the sky again. “Dang!” came the voice of the third man. “The still on Blackberry Crik! Crik's a-goin' to flood somethin' fierce. If'n we don't get thar quick, we'll lose the still fer sure!”

A string of curse words followed. Between the blasts of thunder, Christy could hear the men shuffling and muttering on the wooden porch.