The sight of the bridge swinging in the air over the river unnerved Fran. Bridges were supposed to have sturdy pilings down deep into the ground. Those bridges didn’t sway and tremble in the breeze.
When she’d ridden the horse named Pinafore to Wendover, they went a different way and rode right through the river. Part of the test, Fran thought at the time, since the horses had to swim through the deep middle. The young courier had lifted her feet out of the stirrups to balance precariously in the saddle with her boots out of the water. She had grinned back at Fran as though daring her to do the same. Instead, Fran leaned forward in the saddle with her feet high behind her. She had to look something like a frog ready to hop, but she hadn’t fallen off and her boots stayed dry.
The swinging bridge was different. Down below was the river. Fran wasn’t afraid of the river. She could wade through it and swim if it got too deep. But she would have to backtrack a ways to go down to the river. The bridge was right in front of her. People walked across it all the time. All the time.
“One step, then another,” she whispered. But to her nervous eyes, the bridge looked a mile long. That was a lot of steps.
She gingerly put one foot on the bridge and then forced the other foot to follow. The bridge felt even less substantial than she’d imagined. Fran clutched the rope side and tried not to look down. But she couldn’t help herself. Several men paused in their fishing to peer up at her. One of them yelled something, but she couldn’t make it out. Probably something about being a brought-in coward.
Fran pulled in a deep breath and took two more quick steps. The bridge bounced to life with seemingly one aim. To shake her off. She grabbed the rope side with a death’s grip, afraid to move either direction.
A laugh behind her startled Fran. When she jerked around to see who was there, the bridge wobbled under her feet again. An old woman stood at the edge of the bridge with a basket looped over her arm.
“First time on a bridge like this’n?” the woman asked.
Fran dared a slight nod. “It doesn’t seem all that sturdy.”
“That bridge has held up plenty of bigger folks than the slip of a girl you are.”
“I’m not all that little,” Fran said.
“But some smaller than an elephant.”
“An elephant has been across here?” Fran couldn’t imagine such a feat.
“Not that I’ve heard tell of, but ’twouldn’t surprise me if Mary Breckinridge brung one in. She takes a fancy to all sorts of unusual things.” The woman eyed Fran. Her bonnet shaded her face, but it was easy to see the deep wrinkles creasing her cheeks. Her eyes were an odd coppery color that made Fran think of lion pictures she’d seen.
But her eyes were striking for more than their color. While the old woman’s shoulders were humped over a bit and her knuckles were thick with arthritis, her eyes looked like those of a young woman. Bright and glaring as she watched Fran, hardly blinking at all.
Fran had the feeling the old woman thought she was one of Mary Breckinridge’s odd things. She decided to go along with her. “Like me.”
A smile lifted one corner of the old woman’s lips. “Like you. But I’m thinking you ain’t as unusual as some of them others. ’Cepting for being scared of high places. These here hills ain’t a very friendly place for a body fearful of being high.”
“I’m not afraid of heights.”
“Are ye sure of that?” The old woman clucked her tongue, then set her basket down and moved onto the bridge. She grabbed the rope handhold and jumped on the bridge with both feet.
Fran clamped her lips together to keep from shrieking. When the swaying slowed, she admitted, “Well, except those heights that wobble and sway.”
The old woman twisted her thin lips to the side and gave Fran a considering look. “I like a body who tells the truth even if it has to be shook out of ’em. So I’ll cure you of the fear you’re having.”
“How’s that?” Fran thought she might just have to stay on the bridge until somebody pried her hands loose from the rope rails and carried her off.
“The bridge ain’t shaking. It’s dancing. You gotta dance with it, girl. Let your feet find the rhythm. If you pay some mind, there’s rhythm nigh on to ev’rything.”
“Dance, huh?” Fran kept her eyes on the old woman. “But I’ve never been much of a dancer.”
“Ain’t nobody what can’t dance if’n they turn their feet loose. The good Lord built tappin’ to music right in our toes.”
Fran swallowed and gripped the side tighter.
“Don’t be afeared. Give it a try.” The woman took a couple of steps toward Fran. She moved with the ease of a child and the bridge barely shivered.
Fran followed her example and forced her foot forward. The bridge dropped down a bit but then seemed to lift up to meet her next step. The swaying did have a certain cadence that might make one think of dancing. She looked back toward the old woman, who had moved off the bridge. “I see what you mean.”
“Good to know you kin take advising.”
“Yes, thank you.” She took another step or two, but then thought she should say who she was. “I’m Nurse Howard, by the way.”
“I knowed who you were.”
“But I don’t know you.”
“If that ain’t the truth.” The old woman picked up her basket and walked away from the bridge.
Fran watched her disappear into the trees without looking back. Maybe it was rude to ask a mountain person her name. And if the woman didn’t want to tell her, that was her right. Fran wasn’t treating her. She was being advised by her. Advice was something Fran needed if she was going to figure out these mountain people.
Down below, the fishermen, no longer worried about their lines in the water, stared up at Fran as though she were the best show they’d seen for a while. Either that or they were hoping the bridge would win and pitch her off in the river.
That wasn’t going to happen. She shut her eyes a moment and let the sway of the bridge soak up into her feet. And then she danced across, barely skimming the railing with her hand.
The men down below yelled something. Fran wasn’t sure what, but it sounded like a cheer of some sort. Maybe they hadn’t wanted her to fall after all. Maybe the people here wanted to help her as much as she hoped to help them.
She stepped off the bridge, relieved to feel solid ground under her boots. The mountain granny’s idea of dancing had gotten her over the bridge, but now she needed to do some fast walking. Willie said Mrs. Breckinridge had no use for those who were late. When Mrs. B wanted something done, she wanted it done yesterday.
Fran kept a wary eye out for those geese Abigail had warned her about as she rushed up the hill past the cluster of buildings toward the Big House. Again she was struck by how well the house fit there on the mountain.
“You’re on time.” Mrs. Breckinridge stepped away from a tree beside the path. “I like that in my nurses.”
“Oh.” Fran put her hand over her heart. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mrs. B moved down on the path beside Fran. She wore a blue-striped dress with a full white apron. She swept back a few wisps of gray hair that had escaped the bun at the nape of her neck and looked back up the hillside. “I was just out here communing with Brother Lawrence while the girls get the tea ready.”
Fran peered up the hill too, but she didn’t see anyone. Not even a goose or a chicken.
Mrs. B stepped back off the path and laid her hand on the trunk of a huge beech tree. “Meet Brother Lawrence. He’s stood guard in this spot for a very long time. Well before I came here to disturb his solitude.”
“The tree?” Fran couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
That made Mrs. B chuckle. “I like naming my friends, don’t you?” She pointed toward a cow grazing on the hill below them. “See, down there. That’s Gretchen. A fine milk cow. Something every house needs around here. I seem to recall you’re a city girl. Have you ever milked a cow?”
“No. I used to watch my grandmother milk on her farm, but she never let me try.”
“She should have, but learning to milk is no problem. It’s all in how you squeeze.” She held up her hands and demonstrated. “You’re not the first nurse to come to us without knowing the basics of mountain life.”
She stepped down on the path and started toward the house. She wasn’t very tall and a bit thick around the waist, but in spite of being in her sixties and having once suffered a broken back from a fall off a horse, she moved with only a minor limp.
She looked back at Fran. “I hear you had trouble on the bridge.” When Fran couldn’t hide her surprise, the woman went on. “News can come up the mountain fast as lightning. Best you remember that when you’re out on district. Eyes and ears are all around. I expect all my nurses to uphold a strict standard of proper behavior and gentle care of these dear people here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When they reached the house, Mrs. B turned to give Fran another curious look. “How did you overcome your fear?”
“An old woman gave me some advice.”
“And what was that?”
“She said I should dance across the bridge.” That sounded a little silly when she said it, but Mrs. B only nodded her head as if it was what she expected to hear.
“And since you’re here and not clinging to the side of the bridge, you must have done what she said.”
“I did.”
Mrs. B laughed out loud. “Granny Em is far afield today. She’s not often on this mountain. She must have been looking for some rare herbs.”
“She didn’t tell me her name.”
“Didn’t or wouldn’t?”
“Well, wouldn’t, I suppose.”
“That’s Granny Em. But if she took the time to help you, feel favored. She doesn’t take to all the nurses.”
“Is she a healer?”
“She knows some good ways with herbs and delivered her share of babies as a granny midwife before I brought in you nurse-midwives. There have been times when she didn’t favor me so much, even though I rode up every trail and where there weren’t any trails, talking with all the granny midwives before I picked this spot for the Frontier Nursing Service. Most of them are fine with us here, but it’s the smart nurse who listens to advice when it’s given, whether that’s from a mountain granny or from somebody like me who knows the better ways.”
“I want to be a good nurse-midwife,” Fran said.
Mrs. B leveled her gaze on Fran for a long moment. “Yes, I can see you do. I think it’s time you moved out into one of the districts. Maybe Beech Fork. Betty tells me a number of mothers are ready to deliver in the next few weeks there. You can get your quota of births and then take the exam to get your midwifery certification.”
“Thank you. I look forward to getting to know the people here.”
Mrs. B’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Yes, I think Betty Dawson will be the perfect teacher for you. Have you met her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“No matter. You will. But come.” Mrs. B reached for the doorknob. “The tea will get cold. I’ve instructed the girls time and again to use the cozies, but some of them can’t remember.”