I’d hoped to see a better turnout today,” Christy said on Saturday morning.
“So had I,” said Miss Alice.
“I’m sure the reverend did, too,” said Doctor MacNeill with a shake of his head.
“Don’t they know how important this telephone is?” Christy asked with a sigh. “I guess my telephone lesson with the children didn’t have much effect on their parents. And this rain didn’t help, either.”
She peered out the living room window. Half a dozen men sat on the mission house porch, waiting for David to start the meeting. The day was gloomy. An early morning downpour had been replaced by gray drizzle.
Jeb Spencer, Fairlight’s husband, poked his head in the doorway. “Howdy, Miz Christy, Miz Alice,” he said, removing his damp, broad-brimmed hat. “Howdy, Doc. If it ain’t no trouble, I was wonderin’ if I might have a glass of water. As wet a day as it is, you’d think water’d be the last thing on my mind!”
“Come on in,” Christy said.
“I’m glad you were able to come, Jeb,” Miss Alice said as they headed to the kitchen.
“Wish more coulda come,” Jeb said. “Puttin’ up them poles and wires is goin’ to be a heap o’ trouble, I’m afeared. Hope the preacher knows what he’s gettin’ hisself into.”
“It’s my fault,” Christy said as she poured Jeb a mug of water out of a white enamel pitcher. “I’m the one who asked for the telephone equipment. I guess I didn’t realize how much trouble it would cause. Of course, this Boggin nonsense isn’t helping.”
Jeb took a long sip of water. “My kids saw another warnin’ yesterday on the way home. Nothin’ much—just some marks on a tree and a shredded-up ol’ shirt. Still, little Lulu and Zady were mighty upset. Swore they’d take the long way to school from now on. Matter of fact—” Jeb shook a finger at Christy. “Weren’t you headin’ on out to my place today to see Fairlight? Maybe you should wait till I can walk you there, Miz Christy.”
Christy gave a wave of her hand. “Don’t tell me you believe in this nonsense, Jeb.”
“I believe someone’s tryin’ to get our attention,” Jeb said. “But that’s all I know for sure.”
“Jeb’s right,” said Doctor MacNeill. “These Boggin rumors come up from time to time, but nothing as persistent as this.”
“Have you ever seen him, Neil?” Christy asked with a grin. “Or should I say it?”
“No.” The doctor smiled back. “But I’m keeping my options open. I’ve certainly run into plenty of people in Cutter Gap who claim to have seen him . . . or it.”
They walked out onto the porch. David was dressed in his old work clothes. He’d just placed on the porch floor a rough map he’d drawn. “I guess we can get started,” he said, looking a little disappointed.
“There’s some more a-coming’,” said Jeb, pointing across the clearing past the church.
“That’s Bird’s-Eye Taylor and Lundy,” Christy said.
“You sound surprised,” said Jeb.
“I am. Lundy said his father isn’t exactly enthusiastic about the telephone.”
“And let’s face it,” the doctor added. “Bird’s-Eye is not the first person you’d expect to volunteer.”
“Unless you need help drinking down a jug o’ moonshine!” Jeb joked.
“We’ll take any able-bodied man we can get,” David said. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.” He pointed to the map. “We have to connect up to the nearest existing phone line. That’s way over in Centerport.”
“Three miles from the mission as the crow flies,” said Bob Allen.
“Now, we can’t fasten insulators and pins to live trees,” David continued. “That means we have to cut tall, straight trees. Then we have to skin them and smooth them, lug them into place, and plant them up and down the mountains along the route. We’ll have to hack off branches of any living trees that might swing against the wires, too.” He stroked his chin, staring doubtfully at the map. “It’s going to be slow-going, unless we recruit more men.”
“We’d have more help,” Bob said, “if it weren’t for goin’ over Boggin Mountain. Ain’t there another way, Preacher?”
“Not without going miles out of our way.” David shook his head. “Not to mention having to cross Dead Man’s Creek. No,” he sighed, “crossing Boggin Mountain is the only way.”
“Only a fool lookin’ for an early grave’ll take that way,” Bird’s-Eye said as he approached. He had a shotgun slung over his shoulder. A big felt hat shaded his eyes from view. Lundy hung behind him, arms crossed over his chest, his wet hair plastered to his forehead.
“It’s the only way, Bird’s-Eye,” Jeb said.
“Can I assume you’re here to volunteer, Mr. Taylor?” David asked.
Bird’s-Eye answered by spitting on the ground. “Not on your life, Preacher. You’re a-lookin’ for more trouble ’n you seen in all your born days, if’n you build that telephone contraption.”
“Why are you here, then?” David asked tersely.
“Come to tell you what my boy done saw this morning.” Bird’s-Eye poked at Lundy with the muzzle of his shotgun. “Tell ’em, boy.”
Lundy shrugged. “I was a-walkin’ along, payin’ no never mind, when all of a sud-den—”
“Tell ’em where you was, fool,” Bird’s-Eye interrupted.
“I was over yonder.” Lundy pointed toward Boggin Mountain. “With ol’ Killer, my coon dog. All o’ a sudden, Killer starts yelpin’ and carryin’ on like he’s treed the biggest coon in all o’ Tennessee. I look up, and hidin’ on a rocky ridge is the Boggin. Big as all get-out, with eyes on fire. He aimed a rock as wide as that piano in the mission house right at me. Tossed it like it was the size of a pea. I jumped out o’ the way, just in the nick o’ time. Then I run home fast as I could and told my pa.”
“And here we is to warn you, proper-like,” Bird’s-Eye added.
“Lundy,” Christy said, “couldn’t it have been your imagination? Maybe the fiery eyes belonged to an animal. Maybe the rock just broke loose. It’s been raining a lot lately. Mr. Pentland said he’s come across some rock slides between here and El Pano.”
“Nope,” Lundy said defiantly. “I saw him, clear as day.”
“Take my advice, Preacher,” said Bird’s-Eye. “You’d best be thinkin’ twice before you head up that mountain.”
“Thank you for the warning,” David said. “But the mission is going to have a phone, if it takes my whole life to get it done.”
“You keep this up,” Bob Allen said ominously as Bird’s-Eye and Lundy marched off, “you may not have a life.”
“You’re not scared, are you, Bob?” David asked.
“I ain’t scared o’ nothin’, Preacher,” Bob said. He reached for his hat and started down the stairs. “But I ain’t no fool, neither.”
They watched him leave. For a moment, nobody spoke.
“Well,” David said with a grim smile, “I guess that makes the rest of us fools.”
“What’s that saying?” said Doctor MacNeill. “‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread’?”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Christy said firmly, but she didn’t sound quite as convincing as she’d hoped.