Nine

When Christy and the doctor reached the Washingtons’ front porch, they found Margaret and Louise tending to John. His right arm was bleeding just above the elbow.

“Ain’t nothin’ but a scratch,” John said. His voice was calm, but Christy could see the terror in his eyes.

“Scratch!” Margaret said furiously. “A few more inches the wrong way and it coulda killed you!”

Doctor MacNeill and Christy climbed off Prince. She retrieved the medical bag while the doctor examined John’s arm.

“What happened, Hannah?” Christy asked.

“Ain’t sure.” Hannah’s lower lip trembled. “Me and John was in the yard. All of a sudden we heard someone in the woods out yonder. They started firin’, and we went runnin’. I fell in the dirt. Violet was in my pocket. Nearly crushed the poor ol’ thing.”

“You’ve just got a flesh wound, John,” Doctor MacNeill said. “You’re a lucky boy.”

“Lucky,” John repeated bitterly. “Yes, sir. I s’pose I’m lucky they didn’t kill me outright.”

“How could anyone do this?” Margaret demanded. “We haven’t bothered anyone. This is our land, right and proper.”

Hannah tugged on Christy’s arm. “Why would somebody go shootin’ at me and John, Teacher? I done tried to make friends at school today.”

“I know you did, Hannah.” Christy knelt beside the little girl. “Did you see who was shooting? Do you have any idea who did this?”

“Thought I seen a gray horse back in the woods,” Hannah said. “But it’s hard to say.”

Christy exchanged a glance with the doctor. Bob Allen owned a dapple gray mare.

“Where’s your father, Hannah?” the doctor asked as he cleaned John’s wound.

“Ran up the path lookin’ for the men.”

“With his gun,” Margaret added anxiously.

“That could mean trouble,” the doctor said. “Christy, would you finish bandaging John’s arm? I’m going to try to catch up with Curtis before there’s any more shooting.”

“I’m going with you,” Christy said firmly.

“There’s no point in you—”

“I’m going,” Christy repeated.

Doctor MacNeill sighed. “Fine. I know better than to argue with you. Margaret, there are bandages in my bag. Apply one to John’s wound with a little pressure. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Be careful,” Margaret said.

Christy and Doctor MacNeill climbed onto Prince. The doctor kept his shotgun at the ready, while Christy scanned the dense woods for any movement.

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you?” Christy said as they headed up the shady path.

“That you’re the most incredibly stubborn woman in Tennessee and I shouldn’t have let you ride along with me?”

“That Bob Allen’s behind this.”

Doctor MacNeill nodded. “Not that we’d ever be able to prove it. But yes. I’d bet my last dollar it was Bob. He could have been alone, but my guess is he brought along some help.” They heard a noise in the bushes. Christy stiffened. By now she recognized all too well the metallic click of a shotgun being cocked.

“Hold it right there!” a low voice cried from somewhere in the underbrush.

“Curtis?” the doctor called. He brought Prince to a stop. “Is that you? It’s me, Doctor MacNeill.”

Slowly Curtis emerged from the woods, his gun at the ready. “They shot my boy, Doc,” he said. “I gotta find the men who done it.”

“Curtis, I understand how you feel,” the doctor said. “But it’s not going to help your family one bit if you walk into an ambush up the path.”

“So you’re sayin’ just let it pass? Let the white folks shoot my boy and laugh about it?”

“No. I’m saying let Christy and me try to deal with these people. Calm them down, talk some sense into them.”

“They shot my boy, Doctor—”

“John’s fine. It was just a minor flesh wound.”

“So that makes it all right?” Curtis demanded, his voice choked with rage. “Why should I listen to you? How can you talk that way? Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Nobody’s more upset about this than Doctor MacNeill, Curtis,” Christy said gently. “And if anybody can talk some reason into these men, it’s the doctor.”

Curtis shook his head. “Ain’t no reasonin’ with hate.”

“The doctor sold you that land because he thought you could make a home here. He thought the people of Cutter Gap were ready for a change,” Christy said. “Give him a chance to make things right. You head on home and tend to John.”

Curtis exhaled slowly. He stared off into the trees, considering. “All right, then. I’ll do what you say, Miz Christy. But if anyone comes near my children again, they’ll be answerin’ to the barrel of a gun.”

“I’ll stop by later to check on John,” the doctor promised.

They rode on in silence for a few minutes. “You may be stubborn,” the doctor said, turning back to smile at Christy, “but you’re also persuasive.”

“That’s not all,” Christy said jokingly. “I speak four languages, too.”

“Impressive,” the doctor said as they approached the Allens’ cabin. He reined Prince to a halt. “You may need all four to get through to Bob. Why don’t you wait here till I check things out?”

“I know Bob and Mary Allen very well, Neil. And if Creed or Rob or Festus are mixed up in this, I’ll have as good a chance as you of calming things down.”

“All right, then. Stay a safe distance behind me, at least.”

They dismounted and stepped into the clearing. The cabin was quiet, and so was the little mill beyond. The only sound was the babble of Blackberry Creek as it rushed past.

Bob’s mare was in front of the cabin. There was foam on her mouth, as if she’d been running hard. Christy touched the mare’s flank as she passed. It was damp with sweat.

Suddenly, the cabin door flew open. Bob appeared, his shotgun in the crook of his arm. “Howdy, Doc. Miz Christy. What brings you to our neck o’ the woods?”

“John Washington’s been shot,” the doctor said. “But then, you already knew that, didn’t you, Bob?”