Free Bridge to Cutter Gap / Silent Superstitions / The Angry Intruder by Catherine Marshall Page B

that,” Christy said, grinning at the image. “And did you have a happy childhood?”
    â€œThe happiest imaginable.” Her voice trailed off. “I would like a little of that for these children. They have such hard lives.”
    â€œI’m afraid the hardness is all I’ve seen so far.”
    Miss Alice nodded with understanding. “At first I couldn’t see anything but the dirt and the poverty either. But as I got to know the people better, flashes of something else began to come through. It’s like looking through a peephole into the past. The old ballads, the words from another century. You’ll see. These are tough people, proud and self-reliant, with an intense love of freedom. They’ve got iron wills that could bring major achievements.” She sighed. “Of course, now their wills are used mainly to keep feuds alive.”
    Christy shifted uneasily, remembering the warnings of the train conductor and Mrs. Tatum. “You mean real shooting feuds?”
    â€œReal shooting and killing feuds.” For the first time, Miss Alice’s face was grim.
    â€œWhat do you and Mr. Grantland do about it?”
    â€œWell, the first thing I did was buy a gun and learn to shoot.”
    Christy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You did! But I thought the Quakers—”
    â€œBelieve in non-violence. You’re right. I’ve had my dear ancestors spinning in their graves ever since. Now that I’ve seen violence close up, I believe in non-violence more than ever. But I had to meet these men on their own ground. So now I’m a better shot than a lot of them, and they all know it and respect it. I tell them, ‘I like your fierce pride and your loyalty to your family. That’s why I long to keep you from doing anything that will shame your sons and your sons’ sons.’”
    The room was very quiet, as Christy considered the Quaker lady’s words. I can learn much from this woman , Christy thought, if only she will teach me.
    When at last Christy rose to go, Miss Alice held out her hand. “Christy Huddleston,” she said, “I think you will do.”
    The warmth of her voice brought unexpected tears to Christy’s eyes. She hoped Miss Alice was right.
    That night, Christy sat in her bed, her diary propped on her knees. During dinner, she’d discussed lesson plans with Mr. Grantland and Miss Alice. They’d seemed a little amused at her ambitious ideas.
    â€œDon’t bite off more than you can chew,” Mr. Grantland had warned. “We’re talking about a lot of students, a lot of ages. You’ll be lucky to get them all to sit still for an hour.”
    Christy chewed on the top of her pen, considering. At the top of a fresh page, she wrote:
    Goals for School Year:
    (1) Establish basic reading and
arithmetic skills
    (2) Penmanship exercises
    (3) Calculus?
    (4) French lessons?
    (5) Latin?
    (6) Music lessons?
    (7) Hygiene and etiquette?
    She scanned her list. Well, maybe etiquette was too much. It didn’t much matter if you knew which fork to use if you didn’t own any forks. Still, she had to set standards, didn’t she? She had to aim high.
    And what was the goal that Miss Alice had mentioned? To show folks a God who wants to give them joy .
    Now, that was a tall order. How could she, Christy, begin to show these poor people what joy meant?
    She thought about the question Miss Alice had asked her today. Again she began to write:
    Miss Alice asked me why I’ve come here to Cutter Gap. It’s a good question. It made me think back to my life in Asheville, full of parties and pretty things. Of course, there was nothing wrong with that life—in fact, now I see how very blessed I have been. But I can’t help wondering what it all meant. Where was it leading?
    There must be more to life than that. Or is there—for a woman?
    What was I born for, after all? I have to know. If