The mountains are so peaceful at night,” Christy said that evening.
Christy and David were sitting in old wooden rockers on the front porch of the mission house. Crickets chirped noisily, while off in the distance, frogs carried on busy conversations. The damp air was sweet with pine. The Great Smoky Mountains towered around them, black silhouettes against the deep blue twilight sky.
“I always feel so calm when I take in this view,” Christy said. “It’s like a wonderful painting that constantly changes.”
“God’s canvas,” David said, nodding.
Christy turned her gaze in the direction of Boggin Mountain. “I hate to think of the children fearing that mountain,” she said. “It’s such a beautiful place, really.”
“Someone had to put those tracks there,” David said. “And the skinned animal head.”
“Don’t tell me you believe—”
“Of course not. I agree with you that it sounds like a prank. Still, you were right near the base of Boggin Mountain. And having these stories start up again is troublesome.”
“What do you mean?” Christy asked.
“I’d hoped to get together some volunteers to help me string the telephone wires—now that I’m almost done with my painting project. We’re having a meeting here at the mission house on Saturday.”
“Will stringing the wire be difficult?”
“Difficult? That’s an understatement. We’ll have to cross Boggin Mountain, then go over Bent Creek.” He shook his head. “If the men are worried about the Boggin, they may refuse to help me string that wire. And it’s not exactly something I can do solo.”
“I’m sorry,” Christy apologized. “I guess when I asked for a telephone donation, I didn’t really think about the complications.”
David gave a rueful laugh. “How could you have foreseen that one of the complications would be a mythical creature with huge feet?”
“I’m sure this will pass,” Christy said. “By tomorrow, the children will be telling some new ghost story.”
“Maybe,” David said doubtfully.
“If not, I’ll try to distract them with a nice, exciting grammar lesson.”
“You’re a fine teacher, Christy Huddleston,” David said with an affectionate smile. “But even you aren’t that good.”
As she got ready for bed, Christy mulled over her lesson plans for the next day. With so many students in one classroom, it was always a challenge to keep their interest.
She stared into her mirror as she unpinned her hair. She looked so different from the Christy who’d come here a few months ago. Her skin was bronzed, her hair streaked by the sun. She was stronger, too. Her arms and legs were hardened by the physical demands of work here at the mission.
Still, she loved Cutter Gap—even this tiny, simple room, so different from her lace-trimmed, lovely bedroom back in Asheville. Her room here was not luxurious, to say the least—a washstand with a white china pitcher and bowl, an old dresser topped by a cracked mirror, two straight chairs, the plainest white curtains, and two cotton rag rugs on the floor.
But the furnishings didn’t matter. It was the view outside her window that made this room so special. Eleven mountain ranges, folding one into another, the summits reaching up as if to touch heaven.
Christy retrieved her diary and pen. She’d been keeping a journal about her adventures ever since coming here to Cutter Gap. By now her pen was almost worn flat. Soon she’d have to switch to a pencil—that is, if she could spare one. Even with the recent donations, supplies were hard to come by at the mission school.
She climbed into her bed and began to write.
I’ve got to find a way to get the children past this Boggin nonsense. I’ve seen the way rumors and superstitions can take hold among these people. It’s no different, I suppose, from the rumors that old Mrs. Dottsweiler back in Asheville used to spread about the neighbors while she hung out her laundry to dry.
And as Ruby Mae pointed out, I’m not exactly perfect when it comes to superstitions. After all, everyone “knows” it’s a bad idea to break a mirror— that means seven years’ bad luck. Or how about going out of your way not to walk under a ladder? The truth is, I have my share of silly superstitions.
But this Boggin nonsense—that seems so much worse, if it gets in the way of something important, like the new telephone. I would hate for Cutter Gap to lose such an important connection to the outside world. Especially if it’s because of some ignorant superstition.
When I think of little Vella’s scared expression today, I just know I have to find a way to make the children forget about their fears. But they’ve learned those fears from their parents and grandparents, and I’m not sure if they’ll be willing to “unlearn” them.
Suddenly Christy had a brilliant idea. If the children could learn from their parents, maybe the parents could learn from the children. If she got her students excited about the new telephone David wanted to install, maybe the children could get their parents excited.
And if their parents were excited, maybe they’d be willing to help out installing the wires—even if it did mean going near Boggin Mountain.
Now, if she could just find a way to sneak that grammar lesson in, too. . . .