Midnight Rescue / The Proposal / Christy's Choice Read online

  Christy® Juvenile Fiction Series

  VOLUME TWO

  Christy® Juvenile Fiction Series

  VOLUME ONE

  Book #1 – The Bridge to Cutter Gap

  Book #2 – Silent Superstitions

  Book #3 – The Angry Intruder

  VOLUME TWO

  Book #4 – Midnight Rescue

  Book #5 – The Proposal

  Book #6 – Christy’s Choice

  VOLUME THREE

  Book #7 – The Princess Club

  Book #8 – Family Secrets

  Book #9 – Mountain Madness

  VOLUME FOUR

  Book #10 – Stage Fright

  Book #11 – Goodbye, Sweet Prince

  Book #12 – Brotherly Love

  Christy® Juvenile Fiction Series

  VOLUME TWO

  Midnight Rescue

  The Proposal

  Christy’s Choice

  Catherine Marshall

  adapted by C. Archer

  VOLUME TWO

  Midnight Rescue

  The Proposal

  Christy’s Choice

  in the Christy® Juvenile Fiction Series

  Copyright © 1995, 1996 by the Estate of Catherine Marshall LeSourd

  The Christy® Juvenile Fiction Series is based on Christy® by Catherine Marshall LeSourd © 1967 by Catherine Marshall LeSourd © renewed 1995, 1996 by Marshall-LeSourd, L.L.C.

  The Christy® name and logo are officially registered trademarks of Marshall-LeSourd, L.L.C.

  All characters, themes, plots, and subplots portrayed in this book are the licensed property of Marshall-LeSourd, L.L.C.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher, except for brief excerpts in reviews.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Tommy Nelson®, a Division of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  ISBN 1-4003-0773-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  05 06 07 08 09 BANTA 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Midnight Rescue

  Contents

  The Characters

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  The Characters

  CHRISTY RUDD HUDDLESTON, a nineteen-year-old girl.

  CHRISTY’S STUDENTS:

  ROB ALLEN, age fourteen.

  CREED ALLEN, age nine.

  LITTLE BURL ALLEN, age six.

  BESSIE COBURN, age twelve.

  LIZETTE HOLCOMBE, age fifteen.

  WRAIGHT HOLT, age seventeen.

  MOUNTIE O’TEALE, age ten.

  RUBY MAE MORRISON, age thirteen.

  JOHN SPENCER, age fifteen.

  LUNDY TAYLOR, age seventeen.

  DAVID GRANTLAND, the young minister.

  IDA GRANTLAND, David’s sister.

  ALICE HENDERSON, a Quaker mission worker from Ardmore, Pennsylvania.

  DR. NEIL MACNEILL, the physician of the Cove.

  JEB SPENCER, a mountain man.

  FAIRLIGHT SPENCER, his wife. Creek.

  (Parents of Christy’s student John.)

  DUGGIN MORRISON, stepfather of Ruby Mae Morrison.

  MRS. MORRISON, Ruby Mae’s mother.

  TOM MCHONE, a mountain man.

  BIRD’S-EYE TAYLOR, feuder and moonshiner.

  (Father of Christy’s student Lundy.)

  BEN PENTLAND, the mailman.

  JAKE PENTLAND, Ben’s nephew.

  ELIAS TUTTLE, owner of the El Pano general store.

  BOB ALLEN, keeper of the mill by Blackberry

  Creek.

  (Father of Christy’s students Rob, Creed, and Little Burl.)

  GRANNY O’TEALE, great-grandmother of Christy’s student Mountie.

  JUBAL MCSWEEN, a moonshiner.

  JANEY COOK, a pregnant mountain woman.

  PRINCE, black stallion donated to the mission.

  GOLDIE, mare belonging to Miss Alice Henderson.

  LIGHTNING, dapple gray stallion belonging to Lundy Taylor.

  ROBERT E. LEE, chesnut mare belonging to Ben Pentland.

  POSSUM, bay gelding belonging to Elias Tuttle.

  PEGASUS (PEG), piebald mare belonging to Rob Allen’s father, Bob.

  OLD THEO, crippled mule owned by the mission.

  BILL, Dr. MacNeill’s horse.

  MABEL, one of the schoolhouse hogs.

  SCALAWAG, raccoon belonging to Creed Allen.

  One

  May I have this dance, Miss Huddleston?”

  Christy Huddleston grinned. “I have to warn you, David. I’m not a very good dancer.”

  “Then we’ll make the perfect couple.”

  Christy joined David Grantland on the wide lawn in front of the mission house where she lived. David, the young mission minister, looked especially charming today. He was wearing his best suit, and his dark hair was slicked back neatly. Christy was wearing her favorite dress, made of bright yellow linen with crisp white lace down the bodice. In her braided, sun-streaked hair she wore a matching yellow bow.

  Today, Saturday, April 6, 1912, everyone in Cutter Gap was wearing their Sunday-best clothes, which for most people here in this community were not much more than rags. Christy’s dress was by far the nicest. It was Miss Alice Henderson’s birthday, and Christy and David had arranged a party in her honor.

  Miss Alice had been a pillar in the community ever since she helped establish the mission school where Christy taught. She cared for the sick and ministered to the needy. And Miss Alice had often been a wise voice in times of trouble. Everyone from this mountain cove knew and respected her. People had even come from as far away as El Pano and Cataleechie, over rugged mountain trails, to attend her birthday party.

  It was turning out to be quite a celebration, too. On this early April afternoon, the air was warm and sweetly scented. The Great Smoky Mountains in this remote corner of Tennessee had finally begun to cast off the winter gloom. Children danced and twirled to the music of dulcimer and fiddle. The mountain women wore sprigs of flowers in their hair. Even Cutter Gap’s gruff Doctor Neil MacNeill wore a daffodil in his lapel.

  It was all so different from the fancy afternoon teas Christy used to attend back home in Asheville, North Carolina. She’d left her well-to-do family to come teach in Cutter Gap just four months ago. When she’d first arrived, these mountain people had seemed backward, poor, and uneducated. Sometimes Christy had even found them frightening.

  But many things had changed—herself included— in those few short months. And now when she looked around the lawn, she saw past the shabby clothes and the bare feet. Instead, among the crowd she saw some of her students and her friends. And the memories of Asheville seemed a little dull by comparison.

  David had just put his arm around Christy’s waist when, suddenly, three large hogs came racing across the lawn, squealing loudly. They were being chased by Creed Allen, an energetic nine-year-old. Two of the hogs, which lived under the school, had bright pink bows tied around their necks. Creed was carrying a third bow.

  Christy and David had to jump back to avoid being trampled. “’Scuse us, Miz Christy and Preacher,” Creed yelled as he ran.

  “Looks like Creed is dressing the school pigs for Miss Alice’s party,” David said.

  “I’m certain that Miss Alice will feel honored,” Christy said with a laugh. “Now, where were we?”

  Again David put his arm around Christy’s waist. Awkwardly, Christy placed her hand on David’s shoulder. He was t
aller than she was by several inches, with a lean build and wide-set brown eyes.

  “You look quite lovely this afternoon,” David said, a little nervously. “Like . . . like the prettiest flower in these mountains.” He looked at the ground and shrugged. “Sorry. Awfully corny, I know. I guess I speak a better sermon than I do a compliment.”

  “It was a wonderful compliment,” Christy said. “Not that I deserve it, mind you.”

  And the truth was, she didn’t. She knew that her face was a little too plain, her blue eyes a little too big, for her to ever be considered truly beautiful. Still, she almost felt beautiful, seeing the way David was looking at her with a mixture of hope and nervousness.

  On the front porch of the mission house, several of the mountain men were playing a sprightly tune. Jeb Spencer, the father of several of Christy’s students, was strumming his dulcimer, a box-like stringed instrument with a sweet tone. Duggin Morrison was tapping a pair of spoons on his knee, while Tom McHone sawed away on a worn-looking fiddle.

  The doors and the windows of the white, three-story mission house were wide open. From the living room came the sounds of the mission’s new grand piano, as Wraight Holt, one of Christy’s older students, played along.

  Before Christy and David could begin dancing, the song came to an end. “All right, then,” David said with a rueful laugh, “we’ll dance this next tune.”

  “How come you’re not playing your ukelele, David?” Christy asked.

  “There’s plenty of time for that,” David said. “I wanted to dance with you first. And as soon as Tom gets done tuning that fiddle of his . . .”

  Christy laughed. “You may regret it.”

  “I could never regret it,” David said, suddenly sounding very sincere. Then he laughed again. “Besides, you’re the one being brave, risking your feet this way.”

  “Not so brave,” came a male voice from nearby. “After all, she danced with me at the mission open house a while back. I doubt you can be any worse a dancer than I, David.”

  Christy grinned as Doctor MacNeill strode over. He was a big, ruggedly-handsome man. His tousled, red hair gave him a boyish look. He had a way of smiling at Christy with his hazel eyes that made her feel like he could read her mind.

  “Oh, you weren’t so bad,” Christy teased. The truth was, the doctor had turned out to be a surprisingly good dancer, but there was no point in telling David that. She had noticed there were times when the two men seemed to aggravate each other. Christy wasn’t sure if it was because they disagreed on many things, like religion. Or if it was—as some had told her—that they both had a romantic interest in Christy.

  “I was going to ask you for this dance,” the doctor said to Christy. He cast a wry grin at David. “But I can see I’m too late.”

  “Maybe the next dance,” Christy said, feeling her cheeks heat up, “that is—if I survive this one!”

  “Well, we’d better make it soon. I hear talk of a horse race starting soon over in the field,” the doctor cautioned.

  “Once that gets started, we’ll lose our musicians, I wager. They’ll all be wanting to watch.”

  “Sorry, Doc,” David said, with a tiny hint of a smug smile, “better luck next time.”

  “The lady’s got a mind of her own,” the doctor warned. “Watch yourself or she’ll try to lead!”

  The music started up again, a jaunty tune led by Tom McHone’s fiddle. David swung Christy around and they started across the yard. It was still a bit muddy, but fresh bright green grass was making an appearance, cushioning the mostly bare feet of the dancers.

  They had only gone just a few steps when a hand tapped on David’s right shoulder. He stopped and spun around. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to cut in, Doctor—” he began.

  But it wasn’t the doctor. Ruby Mae Morrison, a red-haired, freckled thirteen-year-old, was standing behind him. “Miz Christy,” she said breathlessly, “you just got to help me!”

  “What’s wrong, Ruby Mae?” Christy asked, speaking loudly to be heard over the music.

  “And can’t it wait?” David asked impatiently. “The dance is already half over. And I was finally getting the hang of that step—”

  Ruby Mae shook her head regretfully. “Truth to tell, Preacher,” she said, “you weren’t even close. When the good Lord was passin’ out feet, he musta given you two left ones.”

  “Don’t listen to her, David,” Christy said. “I still have all the feeling in most of my toes. Now, what is it, Ruby Mae?”

  “I was wantin’ to ask you private-like first,” Ruby Mae hesitated.

  “Whatever you have to say, you can say to Mr. Grantland, too.”

  Ruby Mae twirled a finger around a long lock of hair. “Actually, it do sort of involve Preacher. It’s just that I was a-hopin’ you could . . . well, my mama always says you can get a man to take the bitterest medicine, if’n you sweeten it first with honey.”

  David crossed his arms over his chest. “Come on, Ruby Mae. Miss Christy’s not going to sweeten me up. I can’t be sweetened.” “Oh, is that right?” Christy asked, fluttering her eyelashes at David.

  David ignored her. “Out with it,” he said to Ruby Mae.

  Ruby Mae took a deep breath, then let the words tumble out. “I want to race Prince ’cause I just know I can beat the pants off’n the rest of the men ’cause you know he’s plumb faster than the wind when I’m a-ridin’ him. But I can’t less’n you say so ’cause he belongs to the mission and please, please, please say it’s all right, Preacher.”

  She took another deep breath, smiled wide and batted her eyes. “So I reckon the answer’s yes?”

  David shook his head. “Assuming I understood you correctly, I’m afraid the answer’s no.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Too bad they’re not having a talking race. You’d be sure to win, Ruby Mae.”

  Ruby Mae groaned. “But, Preacher—”

  “No buts, Ruby Mae.”

  “But wouldn’t you just burst with pride if’n Prince won? Everybody in Cutter Gap would be a-sayin, ‘That preacher owns the finest horse in these here mountains!’”

  “To begin with, I don’t own Prince. He belongs to the mission.”

  “You may as well own him,” Ruby Mae said. “Everybody thinks of him as your horse. You’re always ridin’ Prince here and there when you minister to folks, sittin’ proud and lookin’ all fine and fancy.”

  “The answer is still no, Ruby Mae.”

  “But why?” she persisted, turning her pleading gaze on Christy.

  “Are you sure she can’t, David?” Christy asked. “After all, Ruby Mae’s been riding Prince every day since he was donated to the mission. And she is a wonderful rider.”

  Ruby Mae tugged on David’s arm. “Miz Christy’s right,” she said.

  David gave Christy a skeptical look. “What Miss Christy doesn’t realize is that when the mountain people throw a race, the prize is usually a bottle of illegal liquor.”

  “Moonshine?” Christy cried.

  Just then, the music came to a stop and the dancers parted, panting and laughing.

  “Now look,” David pouted. “We missed our dance.”

  “Next time,” Christy promised. “Now, Ruby Mae, tell me the truth—is David right? Is this a race for moonshine?”

  “I don’t care none about the prize,” Ruby Mae said. “It ain’t about that.”

  “I think maybe David’s right, Ruby Mae. Besides, it might be dangerous.”

  “Ain’t dangerous,” Ruby Mae said. “Just flat-out racin’ in the field over yonder. No jumpin’ or turnin’, Miz Christy. Easy as pie.”

  “Still, it’s Mr. Grantland’s decision. He’s the one who takes care of Prince.”

  “But like you say, Prince is the mission’s horse,” Ruby Mae argued. “And besides, I’m the one what’s been muckin’ out his stall and givin’ him baths and kissin’ him goodnight.”

  David grinned. “She has a point. I never kiss Prince goodnight.”

 
; “And it is true she’s been spending a lot of time with Prince,” Christy added. She rolled her eyes. “Some might even say too much time, judging from the way she’s been shirking some of her chores and schoolwork.”

  “I promise I’ll do better on my chores and homework, Miz Christy,” Ruby Mae said. “But you just gotta let me race. For all us gal-women in the Cove.”

  “What do you mean?” Christy asked.

  “I mean none of them smarty-pants men thinks a girl can win.”

  One of the musicians nearby laughed loudly. Christy looked over to see Duggin Morrison, Ruby Mae’s stepfather, spit out a brown stream of tobacco. He looked old enough to be her grandfather, with his long white beard and wrinkled skin. Ruby Mae and her stepfather had been having trouble getting along, so she was staying at the mission house with Christy and David’s sister, Miss Ida.

  “No gal-woman can beat the Taylors’ horse, Lightning,” Duggin said. “’Specially no spoiledrotten, trouble-makin’, no-good stepdaughter o’ mine.”

  “Hush up, Daddy,” Ruby Mae said. “I can so ride better than any man in Cutter Gap.”

  “You hear how she sasses me?” Duggin cried. “Talkin’ like that to her own step-pa!” Christy pulled Ruby Mae away from Duggin. There was no point in starting up a family feud, right in the middle of Miss Alice’s party.

  Christy and David led Ruby Mae over to the schoolhouse, which also served as the church on Sundays. Miss Alice was sitting on the porch steps, calmly watching the festivities with her deep gray, gentle gaze. She was wearing a long, green dress, and her slightly graying hair was swept up in a bun. Her right arm was in a sling. She’d sprained her wrist last week when she’d slipped on a muddy incline on her way to help deliver a baby in a remote cabin.