Eight

So, what do you think of our guest Mr. Halliday?” David asked that afternoon.

He sat beside Christy under a sprawling oak tree in front of the schoolhouse. It was the noon break—what the children called “the dinner spell.” As usual, the students had broken off into small groups to eat. Some sat on the schoolhouse steps, but most lay on the wide blanket of green grass, soaking up the hot sun. A knot of children surrounded Ruby Mae, Bessie, and Clara. They’d become quite the celebrities, it seemed.

Christy unwrapped the sandwich Miss Ida had prepared for her that morning. “I like Mr. Halliday. What a fascinating life he must have had.”

David gave a wistful nod. “Sometimes, when I hear talk of travels like his, I wonder if I’ll stay in Cutter Gap forever.”

“You’re needed here, David,” Christy said. “And being needed is a wonderful gift, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” He reached for Christy’s hand, then looked away shyly. “I guess we always want what we can’t have, hmm?”

Christy wondered if David was referring to his recent proposal. She’d told him she wasn’t ready to get married yet, and since then, things between them had been a little awkward. Perhaps it was because David thought Christy was really in love with Doctor MacNeill.

“Sometimes we don’t really know what it is we want,” she said softly.

David let go of her hand. He sighed, his dark eyes shining. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Are we talking about us?” Christy asked. “Or about Mr. Halliday?”

“Both. But let’s stick with Mr. Halliday. He’s a much safer topic.” David managed a grin. “It’s not his talk about knowing famous people that made me . . . well, a little envious. It was his freedom, I suppose. And the money he’d made. The things I could do for the mission, Christy, if only we had a little more money!”

“I know it sounds like Mr. Halliday’s well off, but did you see the way he looked at me when I mentioned the gold the girls had found?”

“It’s perfectly natural. Who wouldn’t be intrigued?” he said, accepting the half sandwich Christy offered him. “You know, it actually occurred to me that the gold might have belonged to him. I mean, somebody had to lose it. But I guess we may never know its true owner.”

Suddenly, the tranquil air was filled with the sound of sobbing. Christy scanned the area. Near the schoolhouse, she noticed George and Mountie O’Teale together. Mountie was crying uncontrollably. George, her nine-year-old brother, was patting Mountie on the back, trying to comfort her.

Christy dropped her sandwich. “I just hope this isn’t Lundy, up to his old tricks.” Mountie was one of Lundy’s favorite bullying targets.

Christy rushed to Mountie’s side. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Mountie rubbed her eyes. “The p-p-p-princesses say I c-c-can’t—” She stopped to take a gulp of air.

“Can’t what?” Christy asked. She glanced over her shoulder at Ruby Mae and her friends. They were huddled over the Sears Roebuck catalog that Ruby Mae had borrowed from Mr. Halliday.

“The princesses say Mountie can’t get herself a doll she set her sights on in that there book,” George explained. He stroked Mountie’s tangled hair. “Say she ain’t got no gold. Say she’s poor as a church mouse and they’s rich folks now and that’s that.”

Christy wrapped her arms around the children. “Don’t you listen to those girls. They aren’t princesses. They’re just Ruby Mae and Bessie and Clara, like they’ve always been.”

Mountie sniffled, her sobs subsiding. “I-I knew I couldn’t buy me the doll,” she whispered. “I just wanted to look at her, Teacher. So later I could pretend in my head she was mine.”

“You know what, Mountie?” Christy said, wiping the girl’s dirty, tear-stained cheeks. “You can pretend right now. You don’t need that picture. You can use your imagination to come up with the prettiest doll in the world. And when you’re done, she’ll be yours forever.”

Mountie considered. “Just make her up, right here on the spot?”

“George will help you. What color eyes should she have?”

Mountie pursed her lips. “Blue, like George’s. And sparkly.”

“Good. And what color hair?”

“Just like Mountie’s,” George pronounced.

“She’s got right purty hair, even if’n it do have some tangles in it.”

“There you go. Now you get the idea. I want you two to come up with the perfect doll for Mountie,” Christy instructed. “Meantime, I’m going to have a little chat with Ruby Mae and her friends.”