That afternoon, Christy was sitting in the yard writing a letter to her parents when Ruby Mae emerged from the mission house. She was carrying a napkin full of oatmeal cookies.
“For you,” Ruby Mae said. “Miss Ida just made ’em.”
“Thank you, Ruby Mae. I could use a little pick-me-up. After that fight at the church, I didn’t have much appetite at noon.”
“I brung some for Mr. Halliday, too.”
“He’s in the storage shed,” Christy said. “We told him he could use it to develop his photographs.” She put down her pen and paper, then reached for a cookie. “Come on. I’ll walk over with you.”
“That was quite a commotion at church today,” Ruby Mae said as they started across the lawn. She paused. “You think the preacher was mad?”
“Mad? No. But I do think David’s worried about the effect this gold seems to be having on everyone.”
Ruby Mae took a bite of cookie. Christy could tell from the faraway expression on her face that something was bothering her.
“I noticed you had a long talk with your stepfather after church today,” Christy said gently.
“My step-pa asked if maybe I wanted to come back home to live.”
“Oh? What did you tell him?”
“I told him I was right happy livin’ here at the mission house. And if’n I moved back home, it’d be such a long ways to school I might hardly never go.”
“And what did he say?”
“Said that was all right with him. As long as I didn’t get uppity and forget to honor my pa and ma and give them what’s rightfully theirs.”
“The gold?”
Ruby Mae nodded. “I told him how I maybe wanted to save the gold. You know, for the future. Told him all kinds of crazy dreams I have.” She stopped walking. Her lower lip trembled. “Then he . . . he slapped me. Said I didn’t have no right to be dreamin’ dreams. He wanted to know where the gold was, so I told him you was holdin’ it till it could go in the bank and that was that. Then he got even madder and stormed off.”
Christy put her arm around Ruby Mae. “This has all gotten awfully complicated, hasn’t it?”
“Worser than those ’rithmetic problems you gave us to figure.”
Mr. Halliday was emerging from the shed as they approached. He was wearing a black apron. In his hand was a large photograph.
“We brung you some fresh cookies,” Ruby Mae said.
“Wonderful! I’ll trade you.” Mr. Halliday handed the photograph to Ruby Mae. She passed him the cookies.
“You’re just in time to see my latest effort,” he said. He bit into a cookie. “Wonderful cookie. My compliments to the chef.”
Ruby Mae squinted at the photo. “It’s a creek,” she said. “Looks like Dead Man’s.”
“So? What do you think?”
Ruby Mae shrugged. “I don’t mean to be hurtful, but it just kinda looks like a bunch of water to me.”
“I think it’s lovely, Mr. Halliday,” Christy said quickly.
Mr. Halliday stroked his beard. “Thank you, Christy. But I’ve already appointed Ruby Mae as my primary critic. She has a wonderful eye.”
“Two good eyes,” Ruby Mae said.
“I stand corrected.” Mr. Halliday took the photo and held it out at arm’s length, gazing at it critically. “What’s wrong with it, Ruby Mae?”
She leaned against the shed, lips pursed. “I don’t rightly know. I guess it’s just water. Your tree picture, that had the mountain and the sky, all wrapped up together.”
“So it’s the composition you have trouble with. Not the subject.”
“What do I know?” Ruby Mae said irritably. “I ain’t no expert.”
“Of course you are. You know the beauty of these mountains as well as anyone. And if I’m not getting it on film, well then, I’m not really doing my job, am I?” Mr. Halliday took the photo into the shed, then returned. “Ah well, I shall have to try again. It’s a hard task, capturing the riches of this place for posterity. Perhaps it can’t be done.”
“Ain’t no more riches,” Ruby Mae said. Christy was surprised at her angry tone. “I keep tellin’ everybody, we done found all the riches there was. It was just plumb lucky, is all.”
Mr. Halliday looked at her thoughtfully. “I wasn’t referring to those riches, actually.”
“What, then?”
“I was talking about the incredible beauty of the evergreen trees. The way the sun paints the garden with gold in the morning. The way the warblers argue in the woods.”
“Shucks,” Ruby Mae said. “That ain’t riches. That’s just the way the mountains is.”
“Exactly.” Mr. Halliday reached for another cookie. “There’s something else, too. The way the people here love the mountains. And each other. You can’t put a price on that.”
“You didn’t see too much of that at church today,” Christy said with a rueful smile.
“Sure I did. By the time everything settled down and the congregation got to singing hymns and clapping and carrying on. I saw it, all right. There was so much love in that room I thought the roof might just pop right off.” Mr. Halliday looked at Ruby Mae. “That’s all part of the composition, don’t you suppose?”
Ruby Mae rolled her eyes. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Halliday. But you talk in pure riddles sometimes.”
He laughed. “I like you, Ruby Mae Morrison. You speak your mind.”
“Well, my mind says I need to go help Miss Ida clean up. But before I go, I was wonderin’ . . .” Ruby Mae glanced at Christy nervously.
“Wondering?” Mr. Halliday repeated.
“Well, I know Miz Christy gave that catalog back to you and all . . . but I was wonderin’ if I could tear out one tiny little picture in it.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all. Let me go get the catalog. It’s in the shed.”
Ruby Mae gave Christy a sheepish smile. “I promise it ain’t for makin’ anybody feel bad, Miz Christy.”
“Just remember what we talked about, all right?”
Mr. Halliday returned with the catalog. “There you go.”
“Miss Ida has some sewing scissors,” Ruby Mae said. “I promise I’ll be right careful.”
“Bring it back when you’re done,” Christy called as Ruby Mae dashed off. She smiled at Mr. Halliday. “I think she’s a little preoccupied by all the commotion lately.”
“Indeed. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your work. But I wanted to ask you something first. David and I were wondering if you ever take photographs of people anymore.”
“Not really.” Mr. Halliday gave a wistful smile. “I suppose I’ve seen all I need to see of people. Through the lens of my camera, at least.”
“We were just thinking . . . well, that a photograph of the congregation—everybody, all together—might help the people here see themselves differently. As a whole, a group. Although I doubt we could even begin to afford such a thing.”
“That’s one photo I’d be happy to take.”
“How much . . .”
“I’ve been paid in shillings and pennies and moonshine and gold nuggets,” Mr. Halliday said. He stared past Christy at the green mountains surrounding the mission. “But you’ve already paid me more than I deserve with your hospitality. If anything, I owe you. I fear I’ve rather complicated lives here.”
“You? But how?”
“Oh, the catalog . . . and other things,” Mr. Halliday said vaguely. “You tell the reverend I’d be delighted to take a picture of the people of Cutter Gap. I only hope I can do them justice.” He gave a sad smile. “After all, I can’t even seem to photograph a simple creek.”