John? Clara? Is that you?”
Christy paused on the forest path. She was halfway to the Spencers’ cabin and hadn’t seen a single person on the long walk until now.
The two children hesitated, whispering to each other. After a moment, they ran to greet her.
“I’m on my way to your cabin,” Christy said. “Your mother was going to give me another lesson about mountain herbs and wildflowers today. But the weather’s so miserable, I guess we’ll have to postpone it. Where are you off to?”
John and Clara exchanged a glance.
“To look for mushrooms,” John said.
“To visit Louise Washington,” Clara said at the same moment.
“Um, first we’re gathering mushrooms, then we’re going to the Washingtons’,” John corrected, “if there’s time.”
“I saw your father at the meeting about the telephone this morning. He said you and your little sisters came across some more odd signs on your way home yesterday.”
“Up ahead aways, on the right.” Clara nodded. “You can’t miss ’em.”
“Still, here you are. I’m pleased to see you weren’t frightened off by this Boggin superstition . . . unlike most of the men in Cutter Gap.” Christy shook her head. “Only a few people volunteered to help Reverend Grantland.”
“Are you at all scared, Miz Christy?” Clara asked.
“Of course not.”
“Not even a teensy bit?”
“Lots of things scare me, Clara. But the Boggin isn’t on the list.”
Clara chewed on her thumbnail, her thin, pale face tight with worry. “What are you afeared of, Miz Christy? If’n it’s all right to ask.”
“Well, that’s a good question.” Christy considered for a moment. “I suppose I’m afraid of not being as good a teacher as you all deserve, for one thing.”
“But that’s plumb crazy!” Clara exclaimed. “You’re the best teacher in the whole, wide world!”
Christy patted Clara’s shoulder. “Thank you, Clara. It makes me feel so good to hear you say that. Still and all, it’s something I worry about. I suppose in a bigger way, it’s a question we all face—are we strong enough to do God’s work? That’s something Miss Alice and I talked about when I first came to Cutter Gap. She said, ‘If we’re going to work on God’s side, we have to decide to open our hearts to the griefs and pain all around us.’”
“So you’re sayin’ you’re afeared of stuff inside you?” Clara asked, frowning.
“I suppose that is what I’m saying. Does that make any sense to you?”
“A little bit.” Clara shrugged. “It’s sorta like when we’re learnin’ arithmetic. I can see the numbers on the blackboard fine and dandy. But I can’t always see what they add up to.”
“Clara,” Christy said with a laugh, “sometimes I feel that way about life in general.”
John cleared his throat. “We’d best be gettin’ on to the Washingtons’, Clara,” he said, a little tersely.
“You mean to the mushrooms,” Clara corrected.
“Oh. Yep, that’s what I meant, all right.” John started down the path at a brisk pace. “See you later, Miz Christy,” he called over his shoulder. “Tell Ma we’ll be home soon.”
Christy waved. That’s odd, she thought as she resumed walking. Clara and John are both acting a bit strangely. But then everyone is lately, it seems.
She came to the deep gashes in the tree Jeb had told her about. Christy knew there was nothing to be afraid of. But she shivered just a little in spite of herself.
Since the weather was so damp, Christy and Fairlight spent the afternoon in the Spencers’ tiny cabin, reading together from the Bible. When Christy had first come to Cutter Gap, she’d taught Fairlight how to read. Fairlight had caught on quickly, and now she read almost as well as Christy herself.
Fairlight was a beautiful woman, in a plain, simple way. She had a sweet, musical voice that reminded Christy of silver bells.
“Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” Fairlight asked.
“I really should be going,” Christy said, gently closing Fairlight’s worn family Bible. “Miss Ida’s baking pies all afternoon, and I promised I would help.” She laughed. “Although my baking skills are so bad, she usually just shoos me away after a few minutes.”
“It is getting late,” Fairlight agreed. “Clara and John should be home by now.”
“When I ran into them, they said they were going to gather mushrooms, then visit the Washingtons. But now that I think of it, they didn’t have anything to carry the mushrooms in.”
Fairlight tapped her fingers on the worn table. She looked as if she were about to say something, then seemed to reconsider.
“Fairlight? Is anything wrong?”
“Nothin’ much. I s’pose these Boggin stories have everybody a mite on edge, is all.”
“Do you believe in the Boggin?”
“Nope. Them’s just pranks, I figger.” Fairlight gave a gentle smile. “And if there is a Boggin, I like to think he’s just one o’ God’s wild critters, tryin’ to get by, like everyone else.” She shrugged. “Anyways, if you do run into Clara and John on the way back to the mission, tell them I need them to come home and chop me up some firewood and kindling. And I need it today, not tomorrow!”
Christy grinned. “Yes, Ma.”
“I do sound a bit cantankerous sometimes, don’t I?” Fairlight said with a laugh. “Just you wait till you have young ’uns of your own, Christy Huddleston! You’ll see.”
“But Fairlight, I already have seventy!” Christy joked.
Almost as soon as Christy set out for home, a light, cold rain began to fall. She hurried along the shadowed path, anxious to make it back to the mission before a real downpour began. The sun was hidden behind thick, gray clouds. Off in the distance, thunder rumbled, low and ominous.
On a day like today, the sweet peace of the forest seemed to vanish. It became a dark, frightening place, full of strange noises and leaf whispers. It was a place that made Christy long for the warm, cozy comfort of the mission house kitchen. She couldn’t wait to get home, change out of her wet clothes, and warm herself in front of a crackling fire.
She passed the tree with the deep gashes cut into it. This time, she didn’t let her gaze linger. Boggin Mountain loomed above her. Somewhere in the forest, a branch cracked. Trees rustled. Thunder grumbled, a little closer this time.
Christy forced a grim smile. It suddenly occurred to her that when Clara had asked what she was afraid of, maybe Christy had left something out. Perhaps she should have added hiking alone through a dark, rainy forest, full of unfamiliar, creepy noises.
Christy picked up her pace. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in a forest during a lightning storm.
Suddenly, her shoe caught on a tree root. Christy tripped, crying out in surprise. She landed on her knees in a puddle.
“Oh, no,” she moaned. “My skirt!”
As she struggled to get up, she heard footsteps nearing. They were coming from the direction of Boggin Mountain.
“Who’s there?” Christy called. Her voice was just a thin whisper in the vast forest.
No answer. Nothing.
Still, Christy was certain she could feel the presence of another living thing close at hand.
Her breath caught in her throat. She could hear someone else—or something—breathing low and steadily.
It was watching her, whatever it was that was hidden in the dark, endless forest.
Christy didn’t move. She seemed to have forgotten how to move. She peered into the shadows. A branch cracked to her right.
She looked, and then she saw it.
It was hideous. Monstrous. Its eyes glowed like an animal of the night.
It was the Boggin.