By the time they reached the clearing where the Washingtons’ cabin was located, the fire had quieted. It was more smoke than flame, but the damage was already done.
Doctor MacNeill was there, tossing buckets of dirt on the dying embers. His face and hands were darkened by soot. Curtis and John were still fighting the fire, too. They’d saved a few things—a chair, an iron pot, a photograph. But the cabin itself was nothing but charred logs, glowing an eerie red in the night. Christy ran to the spot where Margaret and the girls stood huddled together. Margaret was clutching their worn Bible.
“Margaret, I’m so sorry,” Christy said, hugging the trembling woman. “Are you all right? Was anyone hurt?”
“We’re fine. Curtis, he got some burns on his hands. Doc, too.” She let out a soft sob. “The children’s all right. That’s all that matters.”
Doctor MacNeill came over. His brow was damp with perspiration. “Neil,” Christy asked, “are you hurt?”
“A few burns. Nothing much.” He shook his head at the dying embers where the little cabin had stood. “Do you see now why I want to leave this place? Tell me this, Christy. Can you look at this and still tell me there’s good in the people of Cutter Gap?”
“You can’t blame everyone, Doctor,” David said. “This isn’t the work of the whole Cove.”
“No,” the doctor said bitterly. “It’s the work of Bob Allen. But there’s plenty more where he came from.”
Hannah tugged on the doctor’s shirt. “Truth to tell, Doctor MacNeill,” she said in a teary voice, “it weren’t Bob.”
“Hannah?” Margaret asked. “Did you see who done this, child?”
“I heard a noise, Ma, right before it started. Saw three men outa the window. All of ’em on horses, dark ones. Not gray like Bob’s.”
“She’s right. With Bob’s arm in such sorry shape, he’d be in no condition to ride,” the doctor said wearily. “I shouldn’t have assumed as much. But it doesn’t help to hear there are others like him out there. Not that it’s exactly a surprise.”
Curtis came over, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Well, I guess they’re gettin’ their way,” he said grimly. “I can fight words, maybe even bullets. But I can’t fight fire.”
“Yes, you can, Bob,” Christy said firmly. “You fight fire with fire. When someone burns down your house, you build it up again. That way you don’t let them win.”
“It’s too late for that, Miz Christy. I gotta think o’ my children.”
“Pa?” Hannah said softly. “What if we move on and they just burn us down all over again?”
“What if we stay,” Curtis said, “and they do it again right here?” He knelt beside Hannah and held her close. “Sweetie, ol’ Grandpa William was wrong about Cutter Gap. He said he felt closer to God here. But the truth is, I ain’t never felt Him further away.”
“Granny?” Della May said after school the next day. “I got me a question for you.”
She sat next to her great-grandmother on the dusty wooden porch outside the Allens’ cabin.
“What is it, girl?”
Della May checked over her shoulder to be sure her pa and ma weren’t around. “Where’s Pa?” she asked.
“Out to the mill, the old coot. He ain’t got a lick o’ sense. His arm bandaged up and his head a-swimmin’.”
“Well, it’s like this. You know how the Washingtons’ cabin done got burned down last night?”
“Could see those flames for miles.”
“Well, Hannah weren’t in school today. Her brother and sister, neither.”
Granny looked up from her knitting. Her old fingers always moved very slowly, but now they stopped.
“Teacher said they was stayin’ at the mission house. Said they might be a-movin’ on soon, and it were all our faults for not bein’ more friendly.”
“Miz Christy’s full of notions,” Granny said softly.
“Granny, I have a confession to make. It’s a-burning up my soul somethin’ fierce.”
“Speak your mind, then.”
Della May took a deep breath. “Hannah Washington . . . well, she’s the best friend I ever had, ’sides Creed. I don’t want her to go, Granny. Is that wrong?”
Very slowly, Granny set her knitting aside. She reached for Della May’s hand and grasped it tightly. “You’re a fine girl, Della May. And it’s a fine thing to have a friend, no matter what color she is.”
“Is it true, Granny?” Della May asked. “What Miz Christy said about you savin’ that slave way back when?”
Granny rocked back and forth. “What if it was? What would you think o’ your ol’ granny then?”
Della May thought for a while. “I know how hard it’s been to be Hannah’s friend. Us always dodgin’ from people and sneakin’ in the woods and all. So I guess if’n you really was Birdy, I’d have to say I’d be powerful proud. Considerin’ how brave she musta been.”
For a long time, Granny didn’t reply. She had thinking spells like that a lot, and Della May knew better than to bother her. She sat quietly on the porch by her great-grandmother, waiting and wondering and feeling sad. She felt like someone had torn a hole right out of her middle. She felt empty and smaller and very lonely.
“Child,” Granny said suddenly. “I want you to go fetch your pa.”
“He don’t like it when I trouble him at the mill, Granny. What if he asks how come?”
Granny took a long breath. “Just tell him Birdy wants to see him.”