Christy and the Boggin made their way to the top of the mountain, step by slow step. She leaned on the tall old man for support, amazed at his strength. Twice Christy tried to start a conversation, but her questions were met with silence.
She had so many questions, too. Was he a hermit? How did he know her name? Was he the one who’d been frightening the people of Cutter Gap? And if so, why?
As they neared the summit, Christy thought she heard voices.
“Did you hear that?” she asked the Boggin.
He nodded. “My friends,” was all he said.
The Boggin had friends? Christy thought in disbelief. As far as she knew, everyone in Cutter Gap feared him. How could he have any friends?
Up ahead, a tiny hut in a clearing came into view. And then Christy saw who the Boggin’s friends were.
“Edward! Christy!” Fairlight said. “Are you hurt?”
John and Clara ran to help Christy the rest of the way. “There was a rock slide,” Christy explained. “A pine tree practically fell right on top of me. The Bog—” she stopped herself, “Edward saved me.”
The old man shrugged. “I guess I might as well introduce myself formal-like, after all. My name’s Edward Hinton.”
“Edward Hinton,” Christy repeated. “I like that much better than ‘the Boggin.’”
“Me, too, I reckon.”
“What on earth are you three doing here?” Christy asked.
Fairlight glanced at Edward. “That’s a long story, I reckon. First things first. It sure looks to me like you need to set down and let me tend to that foot.”
Clara retrieved a chair from the hut and Christy sat down gratefully. The hut, Christy noticed, was very small and crudely made. But surrounding it, dangling off of every tree limb, it seemed, were the most beautiful birdhouses Christy had ever seen.
Some looked like the elaborate Victorian homes back in Asheville. Some looked like the brick row houses in Boston Christy had seen pictures of in books. One even looked like the White House. And all of them seemed to be occupied by very happy birds.
“Those birdhouses,” Christy said, shaking her head in wonder. “They’re so beautiful!”
“Ain’t they the purtiest things you ever did set eyes on, Miz Christy?” Clara exclaimed. “Edward made ’em all.”
“They’re amazing,” Christy replied. “Just amazing.”
“I whittle to while away the time,” the old man said. “Tain’t nothin’ too special. I used to make ’em more fancy-like. But the eyes are goin’ now. I have to go by feel more ’n sight when I’m whittlin’ the little things.”
Quiet fell for a moment, broken only by the happy chattering of the birds in their custom-made homes. Edward cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll be gettin’ you somethin’ to wrap up that ankle with.” He knocked his head with his hand. “Listen to me! I plumb forgot my manners, I ain’t had company in so long—’ceptin’ of course for Clara and John and their ma. Can I fetch you somethin’ to drink? Or maybe to eat? I got some fresh fish I was goin’ to fry up.”
“No, thank you, Edward. But I do have some questions I’d like you to answer, if you’d be so kind.”
Edward sighed. “Now I remember why I don’t much like company,” he said wryly, and with that, he disappeared into his tiny hut.
Christy looked at Fairlight and the children expectantly. “Well? Are you three going to explain to me why you just happen to be on the top of Boggin Mountain? What’s this all about, anyway?”
Clara sighed. “Like Ma said, it’s kind of a long story, Miz Christy.”
“I have plenty of time.”
“See, Edward’s our friend,” Clara said softly. “We met him one day pickin’ flowers with Ma. Usually we never came up on Boggin Mountain, ’cause of all the stories and all.”
“But that day, we kinda got carried away, lookin’ for jack-in-the-pulpits,” Fairlight said.
“Anyways, I found this baby wren on the ground, sickly as could be,” Clara continued. “No ma, no nest in sight. And just as I knelt down to get her, I saw Edward. I like to nearly jumped outa my skin—” she lowered her voice, “’cause o’ the way he looks and all. But he picked up that baby wren, gentle as could be, and took her back to his place, and fixed her up as good as new.” She smiled. “And that’s how we got to be friends with Edward.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Christy asked, leaning down to rub her tender ankle. “All those stories about the Boggin. They could have been put to rest for good.”
“Ma and Clara and me promised we wouldn’t tell anyone we’d met him. Edward just wants to be left alone, Miz Christy,” John said quietly.
“But why?”
The old man appeared in the doorway of the hut. He was holding a strip of white cloth. “Because he doesn’t much like people,” he explained. His voice was bitter. “Because when you keep to yourself, no harm can come to you.”
“But Clara and John and Fairlight are your friends,” Christy pointed out.
“They’re different,” Edward said. “They’re the exception that proves the rule.”
Christy frowned. “Is that why you’ve been terrorizing everyone in Cutter Gap?” she demanded.
“I got nothin’ to do with that,” Edward said angrily. “The children told me about those goings-on last time they came to visit.”
“But who else could be doing it, Edward?” Clara asked softly. “I mean, we’ve kinda plumb run out o’ answers. That’s why John and me and Ma come back today, to ask . . .”
“Ask what?” Edward crossed his arms over his chest.
“We were just thinkin’ maybe with the telephone comin’ and all . . .” John said gently. “I mean, it’d be natural as could be if you were mad about everybody pokin’ their noses around. And we figgered maybe . . .” His voice faded away.
“You’re my friends,” Edward said sadly, “but you don’t believe me when I tell you the plain truth. That’s a sorry pickle, ain’t it?”
“How come you went out today with your gun, then?” Clara challenged. “You told us you’d never ever use that gun again as long as you lived.”
“Sometimes a man’s gotta change his mind.” Edward shook his head. “And I didn’t count on Bird’s-Eye Taylor.”
“What do you mean, Edward?” Christy asked.
“Let’s get that ankle o’ yours wrapped up,” Edward said.
“And on your way down the mountain, I’ll show you just what I mean.”