The house barely looked livable. Smaller by half than the mission house, the log cabin sat back against the mountain so closely it appeared a part of the forest. Jonathan wouldn’t have noticed it at all, had it not been for Laurel’s gesture toward the nearly hidden structure. The woods even darkened around the entrance, obscuring the narrow doorway with shadows. Isom rushed ahead, not a care in the world, but Laurel reached down and scooped up a handful of some delicate purple flower. She crushed it in her hands then rubbed her palms together. With a quick sweep, she took up another handful and gave it to Jonathan.

“Purple aster.” As if that explained everything. “Crush it, so the scent’s strong on your hands.”

He took the flowers without question. The petals released a warm scent, like sage, as he rubbed them between his palms. Before he could question Laurel’s motives, she turned toward the cabin and shouted, “Hellooooo.”

A howl and bark gave warning as four dogs charged from somewhere near the house directly toward them. Isom opened his arms wide as one of the dogs, a hound, jumped into his chest and knocked him to the ground.

The other three forged ahead, not unfriendly, exactly, but not entirely welcoming either.

“Don’t you even think about it, dogs,” Laurel said, stepping in front of Jonathan, her voice firm.

“Down.” A low voice boomed from the direction of the house, a thunderclap of bass and power. The dogs’ tails dipped between their legs and they turned back toward the house with slower strides.

A shadow moved into the open doorway of the cabin, a man with shoulders thick from hard work and hard life. Darkness and distance obscured the man’s face, but Jonathan felt his gaze boring down on them from his height on the porch as they approached. He’d experienced intimidation back home in England, but it failed to compare to the untamed rawness of these mountain men.

Laurel held out her hand to stop Isom from running up the uncertain wooden steps and then covered her eyes from the cloud-cloaked sunlight. “Hidee there, Mr. Greer.” The man didn’t move. “It’s Laurel and Isom McAdams, and we’ve come by with the new schoolteacher, Mr. Taylor.”

“State yer business.”

Jonathan stepped forward, taking the conversation in hand. “Mr. Greer, I have missed your children in school the past few days and was anxious for their health. Are they well?”

As if in answer, Claude appeared at the man’s side.

“Good to see you are well, Claude.”

The boy gave no acknowledgment of Jonathan’s greeting.

“May we come up to speak to you, sir?” Jonathan continued, taking a few steps forward.

“I won’t have my young’uns going to no devil school.”

Jonathan released a long sigh. “Mr. Greer, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“We don’t abide our young’uns going to no devil school.” The man’s voice grew louder, echoing off the rock facing to the right of his cabin. “Don’t need religion myself, but I won’t have my young’uns taught witchcraft. I’s right not to trust the likes of you.”

Jonathan blinked and looked over at Laurel for interpretation. She shrugged and turned toward the house. “Mr. Greer, I can tell you true, our schoolteacher isn’t leading no devil school.”

The man moved from the shadows to the edge of the porch. Deep lines etched around his dark eyes, and his chiseled features disappeared behind a heavy beard. He stared down from his perch, an almost Zeus-like aura of command. Jonathan straightened his shoulders and refused to look away from the fierce expression.

“You callin’ my young’uns liars?” His attention focused solely on Jonathan.

Jonathan braced himself, somehow feeling that the strength in this confrontation held a much greater bearing than he fully understood. “No, sir, of course not. But I do believe there is some mistake. I’ve come to teach children in these mountains. Teach them good things, and if I’ve somehow spoken out of turn, I’d like to set things right.”

Silence passed between them, but Jonathan refused to break his eye contact with the man. After what seemed like a full minute, Ozaiah Greer narrowed his eyes and gestured toward the steps. “We’ll talk on the porch.”

He took the encouragement in Laurel’s small smile and climbed the rickety stairs, keeping his limp as steady as possible as he reached the top. Tucker Greer darted out the door and down the steps to greet Isom, leaving Ozaiah and Claude remaining on the porch—and a small, thin woman in the doorway. An odor, more potent and vile than any he’d come in contact with thus far—even the skunk—radiated from the house.

Jonathan looked to Laurel. She held his gaze and slowly rubbed her hand against her nose, as if giving it a light scratch. Recognition dawned. The flowers. A combatant to the smell! He followed Laurel’s example and breathed in the sage scent with a nod to the woman in the doorway.

He waited for an introduction, but none came.

Ozaiah wasn’t as tall as he’d appeared from below, meeting Jonathan eye to eye, but the strength in his arms doubled Jonathan’s. He wore the staple overalls with a dirty plaid shirt beneath, and his sturdy arms crossed an equally robust chest.

Jonathan offered his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Greer.”

Nothing moved on the man except his gaze, which measured Jonathan from head to foot. He turned his head to the right and let out a long spittle of tobacco juice, another staple of the mountain men…and many of the boys.

Laurel folded her own arms, her look of disapproval as evident as Mr. Greer’s. At least she was on his side. A little of the apprehension dissipated with that knowledge, and he lowered his hand. “What did you mean by the devil’s school?”

Whether Mr. Greer was trying to use silence as a weapon or it was the natural reticence of the mountaineers, Jonathan wasn’t certain, but he waited.

“My boy here, told me you was teachin’ black magic.”

Jonathan blinked and tilted his head closer. “Pardon?”

“That you was teachin’ magic with floatin’ circles in the air. Then you talked about a herd of folks flyin’ in the sky together in a box? And you said it wasn’t a tall tale but true?” His countenance darkened. “I ain’t no churchgoin’ man, but I won’t have you lyin’ to my young’uns then foolin’ them with your sinful ways. They be better off here learnin’ how to make their way instead of listenin’ to that fool talk anyhow.”

The bubbles! Jonathan sighed out his tension. “Mr. Greer, those floating circles were not magic at all. They were science—a simple combination of soap and a few other ingredients.” His gaze landed on Claude. “And if Claude had been paying attention to the lesson, he’d have understood how it was formed.”

“I ain’t never seen nothin’ like floating bubbles from any soap,” the man grumbled, the tension creasing his squint tightening.

“That’s because we use lye soap, Mr. Greer.” This from Laurel. “It don’t lather none. Mr. Taylor brought the store-bought kind.”

He sniffed. “Store-bought or witch-made?”

Jonathan drew from every ounce of self-control not to drop his mouth wide at the utter disconnect to the outside world and broader thinking. Laurel and her family were progressive compared to the likes of Ozaiah Greer. “I can show you in magazines in Mrs. Cappy’s store, if you’d like. In fact, Mrs. Cappy has a few bottles for sale and you could try it for yourself. There is no magic involved.” Jonathan drew in a breath. “And as far as people flying goes, men have been in single-occupant aeroplanes for over ten years now. I know you must have read about it in the newspaper at some point.”

“Don’t believe in hearin’ from lowlanders and their citified ways. I ain’t got no cause for it.”

“Well, sir, should you ever wish to confirm the truth of what I’m saying, Mrs. Cappy also has newspapers to support my claims. A passenger plane hasn’t taken off successfully yet, which is what I told the students during science.” He sent a look to Claude and then fixed his gaze back on Ozaiah. “But the likelihood of it is very close.”

Mr. Greer shook his head, frown deepening, if possible. “What is any of that gonna do to help my kin? They’re gonna be clearing out land and huntin’ for food and raisin’ young’uns. They ain’t got no need for floatin’ soap and aeroplanes.” He sliced a palm through the air, the most movement he’d made since he spat. “I ain’t liked folks comin’ in from outside the mountain to teach, and I still don’t like it.”

Well, how could you reason with such a mind-set? His mind went completely blank.

“You hear about the phone lines going up from Sparta this way, Mr. Greer?” Laurel said, her lips in an uncustomary firm line. “And them loggers felling trees on land some city worker bought not ten miles from the bottom of the mountain?”

The man ground his teeth but gave a nod.

“The outside is comin’ to us, whether we want it or not. Claude’s generation”—she pointed to the boy still standing, rather pale, behind his father—“and those younger need to be prepared for changes those outsiders are gonna bring.”

Mr. Greer reached around the corner of the doorframe and pulled out a rifle. “I know how to prepare.”

Laurel’s temper flared again before Jonathan had the chance to interrupt. “You want a fatherless family?” she continued. “’Cause there are a lot more flatlanders than there are of us, so you ought to think about that.”

His eyes widened and he flipped his gaze back to Jonathan, his grip on the gun firm. Jonathan eased his stance, hoping to convey appeal. “I have no intention to quell the traditions, beliefs, and beauties of your home, and I can only imagine you want to protect your children from harm, as any good parent wishes.”

The creases around the man’s face relaxed a little.

“I’m also certain you want to see them have as good a life as possible.” He drew in a deep breath, praying, hoping for a breach in the stone demeanor. “I’d love to be part of helping your children have a good life, whether it be here in the mountains or, if by their choosing, beyond. And if they choose that, don’t you want them to be as ready for such an—” Opportunity would not be the best word at this time. “Choice, as they can?”

The quiet stare from Ozaiah Greer lasted longer than the last before he turned and gave another spit off the porch. “I ain’t got no cause for flatlanders and their ways.” With those words, he gave Claude a shove in the door of the cabin and followed, without one look back.

Laurel glared at the closed door as if her gaze had the power to burn it down. “Thick-headed, brigity ol’ polecat,” she whispered, before turning and marching down the cabin steps.

When they were out of earshot, Isom trailing behind to say his goodbyes to Tucker Greer, the joyful Laurel released her fury. “It’s thinkin’ like that back yonder that makes the situation here in the mountains worse for the young’uns.” Her accent thickened with her anger, became edgier. She walked so fast, he almost jogged to keep up, sending uncomfortable tinges up his leg. “Can’t he see these young’uns need to be ready? Need more? It’s clear as…” She waved her hand toward the trees. “Scarlet on a black gum.”

“We can hope that once he considers things, he’ll change his mind.”

She stopped and faced him a moment, hands on her hips. “Mountain men don’t change their minds, Teacher. They got heads of rock, especially ones like Ozaiah Greer. It’s this mountain way. Don’t think ’bout tomorra until tomorra. Stuck in the way it’s always been.”

The motto made sense from what Jonathan had seen. Poverty. Isolation. Lack of vision beyond their small community.

“And you’re not living by that way?”

Laurel shook her head, resuming her race-paced walk. “No siree. Daddy and Mama are a mite bit different than some folks round here. They peek into the future and try to figure out how to prepare for it. Some other folks is like that too, but not enough.” She kicked a pile of leaves in the path, sending them floating around them, a few getting caught on the breeze. “That’s why we got to go out and learn about the world beyond then bring it back to our mountain folk. I gotta help the twins understand.” Her gaze focused forward, determined. “And it won’t be much longer now.”

“You’re leaving Maple Springs?”

She skidded to a stop, face forward, and her mouth dropped open. Ah, she hadn’t meant to speak of it. He rounded her to stand in front of her.

“Where are you going?”

She pinched her lips closed and stared up at him, her forehead wrinkling with some inward struggle. His smile grew. “You’re going to have to tell me now, you know? I overheard your confession. Do you have a job in town?”

She shook her head, eyes still wide, lips still pinched.

He tilted his head, studying her. “A…suitor?”

This unlocked her lips. “A suitor? With the likes of Isom and Daddy, the whole mountain would’ve already known whether I was sparkin’ somebody or not.” She sighed and looked over her shoulder. Isom hadn’t followed them down the path yet. Her gaze fastened back on his, alive with life and intelligence. “I’ve owed you the truth since last week in the barn. You didn’t get a fair trade.” She sighed out whatever fight paused her confession. “I got a full scholarship to Greensboro Women’s College.”

“What?”

Her index finger shot out. “But you can’t go talkin’ about it. Nobody but Mama, Daddy, and Mrs. Cappy knows.”

“That’s fantastic news, Laurel. Why would you hide it?”

She gestured with her chin back down the path. “For folks like Mr. Greer who won’t understand and will see it as a slight to our mountain ways. For the little’uns, who are still gettin’ used to Jeb not being home.” She shrugged and looked away. “And…well, I reckon I don’t want everybody to know, just in case…I can’t go. I don’t want to fail ’em.”

“Them?”

She looked back over her shoulder and then faced him, her expression so earnest, so pleading, he had the urge to take her in his arms. “Well, I went to figuring about it and here’s what I know. We’ve had teachers come to the mountains to teach for a while. None of them stay longer than a year, which means every year all the young’uns have to get used to a new teacher with new ways. Same for the teacher. I’m going to school to be a teacher, to come back here and teach. I know this life. I know these people. If anybody’s going to help them get ready for the changes ahead, maybe…maybe it’s somebody from inside. That’s why I work at Mrs. Cappy’s—to save money for room, board, and transportation, until I can get to Greensboro.”

“So, you’re trying to take my job.”

She laughed, enjoying his banter, judging by the glint in her eyes. “I don’t reckon it’s your plan to stay in Maple Springs forever, Teacher. You’re passin’ through like most other folks from outside the mountains, and there’s nothin’ wrong with that, but I see the need.”

“And you’re brave enough to fill that need.”

Color bloomed in her cheeks, drawing him a step closer. What a heart!

She took a step back and fiddled with the corner of her apron. “To most folks around here, college is a fool notion. And a girl besides?” She shook her head. “But…but I know it’s right. I can’t really explain it, but I’ve always had a hankerin’ to go over those mountains. These people, the people you’re teachin’, they don’t see beyond the mountains, beyond tomorrow. I want to help them, if I can. Have you ever felt that way?”

“I have. In fact, I’ll trade you one revelation for another. My heart is more into medicine than teaching. I’m here to learn and grow and make a difference, but my ultimate goal isn’t teaching.”

“You wanna be a doctor?”

“I’m halfway there, actually. The war changed things, but I still plan to do my training for it.” He placed his hands into his pockets. “But, in the meantime, what if I read some of your papers, your writings? Or give you assignments to prepare you for college?”

Her eyes brightened, tightening the bond between them. “For true? You’d help me?”

“Of course. Share some of your writing with me to start, and I’ll make suggestions, then we can move on from there. One…friend helping another.”

The word friend sounded so fitting paired with her.

She studied him, her smile finally winning over her doubt. “All right, Teacher.” She grinned. “But only if I can help you in return.”

“You’ve already helped me more than I can say.”

She began walking again, a slower pace, her gaze fixed to the sky in thought. “I know what we’re gonna do. I’ll teach you about mountain ways in return. Things like cooking, living, and thick-headed rascals.” She thumbed back over her shoulder toward the Greer cabin, before stopping and offering him her hand. “Sounds like a fair trade to me.”

He took her hand into his, the simple action inciting a deeper rush of connection he didn’t quite understand. Friends, indeed. “Agreed.”

“Good.” She said, slowly pulling her hand from his. “And I know just the way to start with your training. We’re gonna prove to these mountain men that even if you’re an English flatlander, you still have some worthy skills.”

They resumed their walk, their narrow path hemmed in on both sides by a delightful array of autumn rainbows. “I’m glad you think so.”

“But we have to show them you do. The mountain men measure skills different than city folk. As far as I can see, city folk appreciate book learnin’, ways a body might use their mind, and dressin’ high on the hog.” Her gaze slipped down him, but he still wasn’t quite certain what the hog had to do with dressing.

“But you played the fiddle like a house afire when you stayed at our place. There isn’t one man on the mountain who wouldn’t appreciate your good music.”

An idea sparked from a previous conversation he’d had with his uncle. “I’m a good shot too.”

She leaned her head back and gave him a steady look with those large, curious eyes. “Are you now?”

His face warmed under her playful perusal. “Indeed I am.”

“Well Teacher, you show off some of those skills tomorrow at the church get-together and you’ll start making the right impression. A good trade for sure.” She raised a golden brow. “If you’re talkin’ true.”

He placed his palm over his chest, almost in pledge. “Miss McAdams, you can trust that I always talk true.”