The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness Read online

  Christy gulped. She’d already been through one proposal since coming to Cutter Gap. David Grantland, the mission’s young minister, had asked for her hand in marriage not long ago. In the end, despite her affection for David, Christy had told him no. She’d explained that she needed more time to be sure of her feelings. She cared for David. But she also cared deeply for Doctor MacNeill— perhaps more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

  “What do you mean, ‘confession’?” Christy asked, not sure she was ready to hear the answer. “What are you trying to say, Neil?”

  He took a deep breath. “Is it hot in here?”

  “Not really.”

  The doctor fanned his face with his hand.

  “It’s definitely hot. Why don’t we go out on the porch?”

  They settled into the old oak rockers on the cabin porch. Tulip trees and giant beeches formed a graceful canopy, shading out most of the hot late afternoon sun. “It’s so beautiful here,” Christy said, thinking it might be a good idea to change the subject.

  “Yes, it is,” the doctor replied. “I was born in this cabin, did you know that? So was my grandfather, and his grandfather before him. Sometimes I think these mountains are in my blood.” He looked over at Christy, a pained expression on his face. “A man could do much worse. Couldn’t he?”

  “Neil,” Christy said gently, “what is it you’re trying to tell me?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “It’s silly, really. Crazy, even.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, it’s like this.” He took a deep breath. “I have an old friend by the name of James Briley. We went to medical school together. We were roommates, best friends— and competitors, I suppose. James went on to establish a thriving practice in Knoxville. He invited me to join him, and I was sorely tempted. But I felt an obligation to come back to Cutter Gap and help the people here. There wasn’t a doctor within a hundred miles of this place. This was where I was needed.”

  “You did the right thing, Neil.”

  “I suppose.” The doctor shrugged. “The thing is, it seems James is getting married, and he’s invited me to the wedding.”

  “Oh!” Christy exclaimed. “So that’s what you meant!”

  “What did you think I meant?”

  “I thought . . .” It was Christy’s turn to blush. “I mean, I know it’s crazy, but I thought you—”

  “You thought I was going to propose to you?” The doctor threw back his head and laughed.

  “Well, it isn’t that funny,” Christy protested.

  “Isn’t one proposal a year enough for you?” Doctor MacNeill asked, still chuckling. “You can stop laughing now.”

  “I’m sorry. You’ll understand why it’s so funny when I explain my predicament. It’s really quite amusing, actually. You see, James’s letters are always full of automobiles and exotic trips and his beautiful house and his famous patients. My letters—well, let’s just say a successful possum hunt can’t quite measure up. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but it’s hard . . .”

  “No, you shouldn’t. You have a wonderful life here in Cutter Gap.”

  “Seems it’s even better now. A few letters ago, when I learned James was engaged, I sort of let it slip that I’d become engaged myself.” The doctor forced a laugh. “You’ll get a good laugh out of this when I tell you . . .”

  Christy tapped her foot on the wooden porch. “Try me.”

  “Well,” the doctor said uncomfortably, “I sort of casually mentioned to old James that you and I were sort of . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Sort of engaged.”

  Two

  You what?” Christy cried.

  “I know, I know.” The doctor held up his hands. “I can’t believe I did it, either. But if you knew James, Christy, you’d understand. We were rivals over everything. We always came in first and second on exams. One week it would be James, the next week, me. We were even rivals for the same girls.”

  “Oh?” Christy asked with a cool smile. “And who usually won that little competition?”

  The doctor jumped from his chair and began pacing the length of the wooden porch. “I don’t blame you for being annoyed. It was stupid. Not like me at all, actually.” He paused. “I love Cutter Gap. I chose to be here. I didn’t want the fancy practice and the other fancy things.”

  “Just the fancy wife,” Christy said.

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that, Christy. I was just . . . spinning a little fantasy on paper. I was going through a dark time awhile back. I was having some doubts about my choice to stay here. David had just proposed to you, and maybe that put the idea in my head. I don’t know. Obviously, I never thought it would come to anything.”

  “And now it has?”

  The doctor pulled an envelope from the pocket of his plaid hunting shirt. “Yes, in the form of that wedding invitation. James insists on meeting you. He can’t wait to see you dance with the waltz champion of Tennessee.”

  “And that would be—”

  “Uh, me.” Doctor MacNeill gave a sheepish grin. “What can I say? I exaggerated a little.”

  “Is there anything else you exaggerated about?”

  “Well, your father is a wealthy industrialist. Very well-off. And you speak four languages.”

  “Only four?”

  “I didn’t want to get carried away.”

  Christy stared at the doctor in disbelief. This was so unlike the down-to-earth, practical Neil MacNeill she knew! She was torn between teasing him, yelling at him, and feeling sorry for him.

  “I also told James,” he continued, “that you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever set eyes on. Not to mention the toughest and smartest.”

  “More lies . . .”

  “No,” the doctor said softly. “All that was the truth.”

  Christy felt her cheeks burn.

  “Well, I appreciate your telling me this, Neil. As long as you tell James the truth, I suppose there’s no harm done.”

  “That’s the thing, Christy,” the doctor said, then hesitated. “I was thinking maybe we could go.”

  “Go? And pretend to be engaged and all the rest?”

  “What could it hurt?”

  “Well, I can think of a few little problems with your plan. First, I speak one language, not four. Second, my father is not a wealthy industrialist. Third, I’m not much of a dancer—even if you are. And—oh yes. There’s that little matter of our imaginary engagement.” Christy folded her arms over her chest. “Besides, it would be lying, Neil. And that would be wrong.”

  “You wouldn’t have to lie.” The doctor winked. “I’ll present you as Miss Christy Rudd Huddleston of Asheville, North Carolina.”

  “Neil, you know very well that James will presume the rest. What if he speaks to me in Italian while we’re waltzing?”

  “You just bat your eyes and smile. I’ll say you’re very shy. Besides, your dance card will be full.” The doctor took her hand and gave an awkward bow. “You’ll be dancing with me all night. After all, whom do you think I won my imaginary waltz championship with, anyway?”

  “Let me guess—your imaginary fiancée?”

  “How’d you guess? Actually, I did win a local dance contest a few years back. So I’ve only partially stretched the truth.”

  Before she could object, the doctor pulled Christy from her chair and swept her into his arms. “May I have this dance, Miss Huddleston?”

  “Neil,” Christy said, groaning, “I am not going to go along with your plan—”

  “Just one dance.”

  She allowed herself a small smile. “Well, all right. I mean, oui, monsieur. Which, incidentally, is the sum total of the French I know.”

  Humming an old mountain tune, Doctor MacNeill swept Christy around the porch in dizzying circles. “That’s not exactly a waltz, you know,” she chided.

  “I know. But I’m better at this.”

  “How is it you managed to win that imaginary championship
, I wonder?” Christy teased.

  “The judges were swept away by my partner’s beauty,” the doctor replied.

  “Neil,” Christy said as they whirled, “you have to tell James the truth, you know.”

  As suddenly as he’d swept her into his arms, the doctor let go of Christy. He went to the porch railing, staring out at the deep green woods.

  “Tell James the truth? Tell him that I have to beg for medical supplies from old classmates? Tell him that I perform surgery in the most primitive conditions imaginable? Tell him that I spend my days sewing up the wounds caused by ignorance and hate and feuding?”

  Gently Christy touched his shoulder. “Neil, what’s wrong? Why all this self-doubt all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it started when I sold that parcel of land to the Washingtons. They’re good people, and I was happy to give them the chance to make a home here. But when I signed over that deed, I started wondering what’s kept me attached to this particular place so long.”

  “You were born here. You have roots here.”

  “You were born in North Carolina. And here you are, far from home, because you wanted to help change people’s lives.”

  “You’ve changed people’s lives right here, too.”

  “I wonder sometimes . . .” He sighed heavily. “I just wonder if my life has come to anything. If what I’ve done here matters.”

  “Of course it—” Christy stopped short. She pointed toward the woods.

  Two small figures were approaching fast. “That’s Creed Allen,” Christy said, waving, “and Della May.”

  Creed, who was nine, was holding his pet raccoon Scalawag in his arms, wrapped in an old shirt. His eight-year-old sister followed close behind.

  “What a surprise,” Christy said. “What brings the two of you here?”

  “Hey, Miz Christy,” Creed said softly.

  “Hey, Teacher,” Della May said.

  “Is Scalawag all right?” Christy asked.

  “He’s feelin’ a mite poorly is all,” Creed said. He glanced over his shoulder nervously.

  “Well, I generally tend to humans, but if you bring Scalawag on in, I’ll have a look at him,” Doctor MacNeill said cheerfully.

  There was a noise in the woods. Della May gulped. “We’d best be headin’ inside,” she whispered to Creed.

  “Creed,” Christy said, “is there something worrying you?”

  But before the boy could respond, Christy realized the answer.

  A man burst from the thick trees. He was dressed in a worn black coat and was wearing a battered hat. In his right hand was a shotgun. The man was Bob Allen, the children’s father. He was the keeper of the mill by Blackberry Creek.

  “What do you young’uns mean, comin’ here?” Bob cried. “I done told you not to go near this place no more!”

  Christy had never seen Bob Allen so out of control.

  “But Scalawag’s sick, Pa,” Creed said. “I had to do something.”

  “Bob?” Doctor MacNeill asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Bob strode up to the porch steps. A scowl was fixed on his grizzled face. He looked Doctor MacNeill in the eye and spat on the ground.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. What’s wrong is you sold your land to them what don’t belong here. Cutter Gap’s a place for white folks, and white folks only. Now, I was goin’ huntin’ for squirrel, but these bullets will work just as well on a low-down skunk like you.”

  Slowly, his hand trembling, Bob raised his shotgun and aimed it straight at Doctor MacNeill.

  “Bob,” Christy whispered in horror, “please don’t—”

  “What the doc done was plain wrong, Miz Christy,” Bob muttered.

  He cocked the gun. Christy jumped at the awful sound.

  “And now,” Bob said, “he’s a-goin’ to pay for it.”

  Three

  No, Pa, no!” Creed cried.

  Della May yanked on her father’s arm, but Bob brushed her aside. He jerked his gun at the doctor. “You got no right mixin’ up the races thataway.”

  “The Washingtons paid me for that land, fair and square, Bob,” the doctor said. “They have as much right to be here as you and I do.”

  “My family and yours, we’ve been neighbors long as memory serves. My granny and yours were friends, Doc. Now you’ve done gone and put them people in amongst us. It ain’t fair and it ain’t right, and it’s a-goin’ to cause more trouble than you ever saw in all your born days.”

  “It was my land to sell,” the doctor said firmly. “The Washingtons came to me and made a fair offer, and I accepted it.”

  Again Bob spat on the ground. The hate in his eyes made Christy shiver. She glanced at Creed and Della May. They seemed frozen in place, as frightened by their father’s wrath as she was.

  “My kin ain’t never had nothin’ to do with their kind. Never have. Never will.”

  “What kind is that?” Christy asked pointedly.

  “You blind, woman? Take a look at the color o’ their skin!”

  “If they’re good neighbors, Bob,” Christy said, “does it really matter if they’re black or brown or blue or purple?”

  “It matters. It matters something awful. You oughta see Granny Allen. She’s got herself all into a tizzy about this. Can’t eat, can’t sleep a wink for fear o’ what could happen. I’m here today to stand up for her rights. And for all my kin.”

  “Bob, I understand you’re upset,” Doctor MacNeill said. “Why don’t you put down that gun and come on inside? If we talk about this—”

  “Too late for talkin’.” Bob paused, closing his eyes for a split second. When he opened them, he seemed confused. Then his gaze seemed to clear.

  “Pa?” Creed whispered. “You all right?”

  “I’ll be right as rain when the doc here tells me he’s a-goin’ to kick them squatters off’n his land.”

  “They aren’t squatters, Bob,” Doctor MacNeill said. “They bought that land. It’s theirs.”

  Slowly, Bob climbed the porch steps. He jabbed the end of his shotgun hard against the doctor’s chest. “I can’t let this happen,” Bob said, almost pleading. “Your kin go back as far as mine, Doc. You got blood in this soil, same as me.” He looked into the doctor’s eyes, his face full of pain. “Don’t make me do this. I don’t want to shoot you.”

  Doctor MacNeill stood perfectly still, the picture of calm. Christy couldn’t believe his composure. She was trembling like a leaf.

  “You do what you have to do, Bob,” the doctor said. “But the Washingtons are staying.”

  Bob took a deep breath. Again he closed his eyes, swaying slightly. Della May sobbed softly.

  Christy watched Bob’s finger on the trigger begin to move, slowly, slowly—

  “No!” she cried. She locked her hand on the cold steel muzzle. “Doctor MacNeill saved your life, Bob. I was there that day he operated on you in the Spencers’ cabin. You would have died without him, Bob. How can you do this?”

  Bob’s mouth moved, but he didn’t speak. He slowly released the trigger. His eyelids dropped. His face went slack. Suddenly the shotgun slipped from his grasp. A moment later, Bob slumped to the porch.

  “Pa!” Della May cried, rushing up the steps.

  Doctor MacNeill knelt down. “He’s passed out. Give me a hand, Christy. We’ll take him into the cabin.”

  With his arms around Bob’s chest, the doctor lifted him off the porch. Christy took Bob’s feet. They carried him to the doctor’s bedroom and placed him on the bed. Creed and Della May stood at the end of the bed, watching solemnly.

  “He’s been havin’ these spells some lately,” Creed said. “Ever since that tree done hit him on the head and you operated on him.”

  “Why didn’t he come see me?” the doctor asked irritably as he reached for his medical bag.

  “He was afeared he couldn’t pay—” Della May began, but Creed sent her a warning look.

  “Hush, Della May,” he snapped.

  Del
la May shot him a defiant look. “Teacher,” she asked, “is Pa going to be okay?”

  “If anyone can help your father, Doctor MacNeill can,” Christy said.

  She stroked the little girl’s hair. Della May was a dainty, fairylike child, with shimmering red-blond hair. Like her brother, she had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Creed, who had a mischievous streak, had always reminded Christy of Tom Sawyer. Della May was much quieter, but she had more than a little of her brother’s stubbornness.

  “He’s coming to,” the doctor said.

  Bob’s lids fluttered. He sat up on his elbows, frowning. “What in tarnation am I doin’ here?”

  “You passed out,” Doctor MacNeill said, “and I gather this isn’t the first time, either.”

  Bob shrugged. “I get my spells now and again. ’Tain’t nothin’.”

  “It may be a result of your accident. Some lingering brain damage. If that’s the case, I’m not sure there’s much I can do for you, Bob. In a bigger city, with better facilities . . .”

  Pushing the doctor aside, Bob climbed to his feet. “One thing and one thing only you can do for me. Get rid o’ them Washingtons. If you don’t do it, someone else will.”

  Doctor MacNeill locked his hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Let me make one thing clear. Leave the Washingtons alone, or you’ll have me to contend with. Understand?”

  “Ain’t just me who wants ’em gone. Everyone in Cutter Gap feels the same as I do.”

  “Not everyone,” Christy said.

  Bob looked at her with contempt. “You’ll be sorry for this, the both of you. Come on, Creed, Della May.”

  Christy and the doctor followed the Allens onto the porch, where Bob retrieved his gun.

  “Did you want me to take a look at Scalawag, Creed?” Doctor MacNeill asked.

  “Creed!” Bob snapped. “Come on, boy!”

  Creed stroked the raccoon’s head. “He’ll be all right, I reckon, Doctor MacNeill. He’s just goin’ through a bad spell. It’ll pass.”

  Christy watched Creed and Della May race after their father. “Just a bad spell,” she repeated. “I wish we could say the same for Creed’s father.”