Disclaimer: This story uses themes and characters from Catherine Marshall’s book, Christy, which is the property of the Marshall-LeSourd Family. I am in no way seeking profit or credit from her story. This fiction is written for the writer’s and reader’s pleasure only.

 

Forward

The novel, Christy, by Catherine Marshall is told from the point of view of the heroine for whom the book is entitled. Everything we know is either seen and experienced by Christy herself or as it is told to her by another character. How would the events of the story have played out in another character’s perspective? My short story attempts to answer that question by starting in chapter forty of Christy at the beginning of the Typhoid epidemic in Cutter Gap.

 

“The Key”

by ChrisAnn G.

 

The wind funneling down the mountain side lashed the rain into slanting sheets. Flashes of lightning revealed the branch gushing in its banks. It was late afternoon, but storm clouds shrouded the remains of daylight.

 

Returning from my visit to the O’Teale cabin, I had just made it into the mission house minutes before the latest cloudburst. Watching for certain symptoms of illness meant systematically checking each cove habitation, family by family. We were hoping to avoid an epidemic. It had been just over a month since Fairlight Spencer had died and we prayed that no more lives would be lost to the highly contagious disease. With only isolated cases thus far, the disease was primarily keeping to the Raven Gap area.

 

Another gust pelted rain against the west windows of the kitchen. Suddenly the door flew open and in burst our young teacher. Her head was wrapped in a shawl and her long macintosh was streaming with water. Leather saddle bags were over her arm.

 

“Christy! What are you doing out in this weather? Child, you’re soaked,” I exclaimed.

 

“Miss Alice, you’re back,” she said pulling the shawl from her head, “Thank goodness.”

 

“I just walked in the door myself,” I said moving toward her, “Let me help you with your coat.”

 

“Have you spoken with Miss Ida?” she gasped. Without waiting for my answer she continued, “Lundy collapsed today. Dr. MacNeill believes it’s Typhoid.

 

I halted in my tracks, speechless. Our eyes met acknowledging the latest development--sixes cases in Cutter Gap. Christy’s eyes, full of distress, glanced upwards in the direction of the second floor. One of our student boarders contracting the disease had serious implications, too. We were all at greater risk, but I knew Christy was thinking of the children--Isaak McHone; Little Guy, the youngest Spencer child who we had been caring for since his mother’s death; and Wanda Beck, whose eyes the doctor was treating for Trachoma.

I tried to pull my thoughts together. “Miss Ida is with Lundy?” I asked.

 

“Yes. Dr. MacNeill sent me for medicine and disinfectant,” Christy said as she stepped forward and gingerly placed the saddle bags on the kitchen table.

 

“To his cabin?”

 

“Yes,” she said candidly as if there wasn’t a thing odd about her journeying to the cabin on Green Mountain.

 

She opened the bags and, one by one, began removing the vials of various liquids and pills. “With Lundy sick with Typhoid, we needed more supplies, but Dr. MacNeill had calls to make. You and David were away from the house so there was no one else to go for these.”

 

She noticed that I was not looking at the bottles, but at her. “He made me a list,” she explained, searching for her coat pocket and pulling out a folded sheet of paper. I realized my scrutiny of the situation had made her ill at ease.

 

“Very good, Christy,” I said, trying to reel in my curiosity. I read the list written in the doctor’s scratchy handwriting, “Yes, we are low on all of these and we’ll need them now. Thank you for going. Now please, let’s get you out of those wet things.” I hung her coat and shawl on a chair near the cook stove. “Have a seat and take off your shoes. I’ll make you something hot to drink.”

 

Obediently she moved to a chair next to the cook stove. As she sat down slowly, I couldn’t help but notice her expression of sudden preoccupation. I busied myself preparing hot tea. Another gust shook the house and lightning flashed at the windows. When I turned from the cupboard with a cup and saucer, Christy was tentatively pulling something from the coat pocket that had held the list. It was a large old-fashioned key. As it lay in her palm, she ran her finger tips along its length. Her brow was knotted as if the key held a befuddling mystery.

 

“You better let your hair down, so it can dry,” I suggested, interrupting her pondering.

 

My words startled her, “Yes, of course,” she said quickly slipping the key back into the pocket.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The storm had passed. The logs in the fireplace crackled and hissed. The evening pressed in upon the cabin walls, yet the light of the lamp and the warmth of the fire provided refuge from the events of the day. The Bible on my lap lay open to the Psalms.

 

Time for prayer and meditation was becoming harder to find, but that much more necessary. One by one, I remembered those who needed prayer and as usual, I prayed for the staff of the mission: David, our minister; Miss Ida, David’s sister and devoted mission housekeeper; and Christy our young, enthusiastic teacher from Asheville, North Carolina. Of course, I also included Neil MacNeill. Though not an official member of the mission, his service to the mountain people often overlapped with our work. I prayed for each cove family and those in the nearby hills and hollows, especially those effected by the Typhoid fever. I prayed for strength and wisdom for myself as I sought to lead the work of the mountain mission.

 

I opened my eyes and breathed deep. I felt the weariness of the busy day give way to a peaceful calm, allowing the presence of the Spirit to fill my being. A good night’s sleep was imperative now that we had a patient at the big house. Typhoid patients needed round the clock care and although Lundy’s case did not seem serious thus far, other patients might soon need our care. God’s presence would help me keep my focus and faith, should circumstances worsen.

 

I rose from my comfortable wing back chair and pushed the logs of the fire together, banking them for the night. I checked the latch on the door, though there was not much need for concern in these mountains. The highlanders were known for leaving their cabin doors wide open except during the coldest parts of the year.

 

Locked door--that key, why of course, the key Christy was puzzling over--Neil had given it to Christy. She needed it in order to have access to the room where he kept his medicines. The room was also his laboratory--the place where he did his precious research on the eye disease, Trachoma. What else might have been in that room? I wondered if Margaret’s things were there. The death of my daughter had been so tragic and unsettling that I never had the heart to ask Neil what he had done with her clothes and other personal items.

 

My relationship with Neil was less strained than it had been when I first took up mission work in these mountains. My daughter had married him hastily and moved to this faraway, unheard of place called Cutter Gap, Tennessee. I had followed them, unwilling to allow ties to be severed, fully aware that Margaret was rejecting the family and faith in which she had been raised. For her, Neil, who had pledged himself to the science of medicine learned outside his mountain home, seemed the perfect mate in her rebellion. But eventually Margaret became unhappy. She missed the excitement of city life in Philadelphia where they had met. She begrudged the many hours required of his profession which left her to a lonely, secluded cabin.

 

Eventually Neil seemed to accept that my attempts to reach out to the married couple had been sincere and together we tried to save her from the melancholy. A glimmer of hope arose with the baby they were expecting, but that too was doused when Margaret contracted Typhoid that fall. She died after giving birth to a son who followed her the next day.

 

Neil held his loss close to the chest choosing not to share the intimate nature of his grief with his highland neighbors. Actual facts became twisted and exaggerated over the years producing great fodder for quiet gossip and fanciful retellings. In this way Dr. MacNeill was revered both for his medical know-how and his tantalizing past. Oddly, five years later he and I remained in Cutter Gap, brought together by Margaret, yet continuing in our service to our respective vocations without her.

 

I believed that the doctor, so committed to serving his people, kept himself preoccupied with his work as to drown out painful memories of an ill fated marriage and the untimely deaths of his wife and child. Clues to their life together were hidden behind that locked door which that day had been opened to Christy. Christy had the key. Neil had freely given it to her.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

I saw the key the next day upon Neil’s return from Raven Gap, but only briefly. Christy offered it to him as they stood just inside the front door. Neil took it quickly and it disappeared into the pocket of his waistcoat. There was a brief and quiet verbal exchange between them before Neil mounted the stairs to Lundy’s sickroom. His footsteps reverberated on the wooden treads.

 

When Christy turned away she saw me standing in the back hall just outside the kitchen. “Miss Alice, I didn’t see you. Doctor MacNeill just arrived. He’s gone to see about Lundy.”

 

“Yes, I thought I heard his arrival.”

 

“I told him about Lundy’s condition--about his fever rising again and the constant fussing.”

 

“Thank you. I’m sure there is something he can do to help.”

 

Christy was silent but pensive as though trying to put her thoughts into words. An irregular plunking from the piano in the living room spilled into the hallway suddenly demanding her attention. “Well, its about time for the children to head for bed,” she said, “I’ll go see to that.”

 

“Christy, you should head that way, too.”

 

She opened her mouth to protest, but I interjected, “I’ll take care of Lundy tonight. Thee has done enough already.” Hearing my Quaker dialect emerging, I added, “Thee needs thy rest.”

 

Her blue eyes softened as she regarded me tenderly, “I’ll say good night, then, Miss Alice,” she smiled.

 

“Good night and sweet dreams.”

*  *  *  *  *

 

Neil looked up as I entered the bedroom and nodded to me in greeting. Lundy’s head lay quietly to one side on the pillow. The burly young man appeared to have finally fallen asleep. Neil was observing him as he sat near the head of the bed.

 

“He should sleep through the night, “ he said in a hushed voice.

 

“I’ll sit with him just in case,” I offered.

 

“If he wakes, check his temperature and get as much fluid down as possible,” he said rising from the chair.

 

“I think I can manage that. Now run along and get some sleep, Neil. “

 

“You’ll stay the night?”

 

“Ida can back me up, if need be. David’s off to his bunkhouse, but wanted me to tell you that you are welcome to use the cot he set up.

 

Neil nodded thoughtfully. I wondered if his thoughts were troubled by the growing number of cases and the possibility of an epidemic, but he was silent.

 

I spoke up, “I sent Christy off to bed--she was exhausted. I’m a little worried about her.”

 

At the mention of her name his face registered concern but again he made no comment.

 

“So--your secret is out,” I nudged gently.

 

“Secret?”

 

“The locked room--I was here when Christy came back with the medicines. I couldn’t help notice--you gave her the key to the room.”

 

My comment obviously made him uncomfortable, but he tried to explain. “I had an urgent call. With Lundy going down, we needed the supplies,” he said packing his medical bag.

 

“It was the right thing to do, of course,” I said, “Christy is a very capable and reliable young lady.”

 

Taking a firm grasp on his medical bag and moving across the room to make a hasty retreat, he paused at the doorway. “I wouldn’t have asked her to go, if I didn’t think so.”

 

“Your secret is safe, Neil. “ I waited and then continued, “But need I tell you that Christy is trying to piece it all together? “

 

Neil remained at the doorway with his back to me, teetering between escaping and hearing what I had to say. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but his broad back seemed to block my access to some secret space. I needed to know--does he see in Christy the same spirit, the same fervor for life that was in Margaret? The memory of her face flashed across my mind and my heart ached. I was seeing again that charmingly, beautiful smile that hid a restless spirit. I tried to control my wavering voice, “Are her things there--in the room? “ I asked.

 

Neil turned his head so I was seeing the rugged features of his profile. His square jaw was rigid. I waited for his answer, hoping I wasn’t asking too much.

 

“Yes--yes, they are. “

 

So no wonder Christy had reacted so strongly to the visit.

 

“I was wrong about her, Alice. “

 

Wrong? Wrong about Margaret? Or wrong about Christy?

 

“She is an amazing young lady, “ he continued. “At first I thought her too naive, too fragile, to stand up to the harshness of life here. I couldn’t imagine what Ferrand was thinking when he recruited her. “ The corner of his mouth relaxed into a smile. “Christy has nerve and persistence. “ As he turned to face me I saw the glimmer in his hazel eyes. I was reminded of the remarkable expression I had seen on his face as he danced with Christy at Ruby Mae’s wedding. As he twirled her nimbly in his arms, he was so delightfully carefree. It was a Neil MacNeill that I hadn’t seen for a long time. “She is curious, too. “ Neil continued more seriously. He ran his fingers through his sandy red curls and straightened himself up to his full height. “She dragged it out of me on her first visit to my cabin. She knows that I was once married. “

 

“And she knows that your wife--that Margaret--was my daughter. “

 

His face registered surprise and then slight irritation. Perhaps it never occurred to him that Christy and I might be having conversations that pertained to Margaret--and to him. Or perhaps he was annoyed that he had not thought of it himself.

 

He made no reply, so I added, “Yes, Neil, it was I who told her. “

 

“I see, “ he said averting his eyes.

 

The room was quiet except for Lundy’s soft breathing as I studied Neil’s pained expression.

 

Then suddenly composed again, he said, “I’ll take up David’s offer so I can check on Lundy first thing in the morning. I think it would be best to send the Spencer lad back home. Wanda and Isaak should be safe for now. “

 

I marveled at how quickly the doctor changed the subject. “We can discuss it in the morning, Neil, “ I assured him.

 

“Good night, then. “

 

“Good night, “ I said as my son-in-law left the room.

 

I settled back into the upholstered high back chair that someone had brought up from the parlor. Lundy was breathing slowly and deeply. I would sit and rest for a while. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer. Fatigue rushed in and I felt waves of drowsiness beginning to cloud my consciousness. Was it a dream in which I saw Christy dancing--swaying to the pulsing rhythm of banjo and fiddle? With her face aglow, she paused and stretched out her hands beckoning for a partner. The hands that reached out and took hold of hers were Neil McNeill’s.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

A few days later, news arrived at the mission that young Ruby Mae Beck was ailing badly. Neil was away again in Raven Gap so I needed to go to her until his return. Upon Christy’s insistence I agreed that she could accompany me. Miss Ida would tend to Lundy.

 

It was late afternoon when we arrived at the Beck cabin on the other side of English Mountain. After examining Ruby Mae, I concluded that her case was of a serious nature. Her fever was high and her breathing was short and raspy. I couldn’t be sure, with what nurses training I had if it was Typhoid, though I felt certain she had a severe case of pneumonia. She had not been coughing, her young husband reported upon my inquiry, which was not a good sign. Ruby Mae would be slowly asphyxiated if the consolidation in her lungs was not relieved. Without Dr. MacNeill, we needed to act quickly to save her life. What she needed was veratrum, but that was not something I normally carried in my medical bag. I lifted a silent prayer and it was quickly followed by an answer.

I asked Will if they had any onions. The tall sinewy lad returned from the cabin loft with a wash tub full. Without delay I put him to work along with Christy peeling and slicing them. We would make hot poultices by cooking the onion slices in skillets over the fire and then layering them between squares of muslin. It would take all three of us working hard, but it was my only hope.

 

One after another we applied the poultices first to Ruby Mae’s chest, then to her back in an effort to loosen the thickening fluid in her lungs. We repeated this strange ritual as the evening turned into night. Will and Christy peeled and sliced and I cooked more and more of the strong smelling onions. Finally at about four o’clock in the morning, Ruby Mae suddenly sat up and coughed--a deep, rattling cough. Praise God! It worked. A thick stream of phlegm stained with blood poured from her mouth. I had been right about the pneumonia. Her lungs were packed full of infection and the blood indicated the presence of an abscess as well.

 

“Get it all up, child. That’s it. Just what we’ve been working for. Good! “ I said. As Christy held Ruby Mae’s head, I held a basin under her chin until the last hacking cough purged her lungs. Then we quickly changed the soiled and damp bed linens. Ruby Mae only moaned, barely opening her eyes, as we put her into a fresh nightgown and tucked her under another quilt. Rest was what she needed.

 

I beamed at my medical crew, “You have succeeded.”  Will appeared haggard, but relieved. Christy, with wisps of hair clinging to her perspiring face, smiled and sighed. I imagined I was a sight myself, yet Christy’s expressive eyes showed only pleasure and wonder as she regarded me fondly. Suddenly, I felt again that odd, yet wonderful sensation that I experienced upon seeing her for the first time--that she was the answer to my heart’s deep longings. Christy was indeed filling that space long empty since the death of my child.

 

At first I had resisted the idea of bringing Christy along to nurse Ruby Mae, but she had insisted. Christy had told me she had felt it her duty to help--but I knew she wanted to help. I could see that it was love for Ruby Mae that brought her to that cabin. She understood--understood what so many, even years her senior, had yet to grasp--that life is about giving and loving and opening oneself up to the abundant blessings from heaven. Christy Huddleston belonged here. She belonged here in Cutter Gap--teaching and serving both the physical and spiritual needs of the highlanders. How I wanted to share that with her, to watch her learn and mature into the woman of God she was meant to be.

*  *  *  *  *

 

In the morning just after dawn, Will returned to the cabin after fetching fresh water and reported that he had seen the doctor riding up the trail. Relief poured over me. With a sudden burst of energy Christy jumped from her chair and dashed out the door, her face lit with expectation.

 

Neil MacNeill--how we all had come to rely on him. The complexities of this contagious disease required his invaluable medical insight and skills. Yet the doctor was truly a contradiction of a man. He had rejected religion and anything to do with a supreme being--totally and with finality upon Margaret’s death. He viewed my faith and the efforts of the mission with unreserved skepticism choosing rather to put his faith in medicine. Yet his most notable trait was his love for the highlanders--he truly desired to care for them. The same desire I had been watching grow in Christy for the last nine months.

 

The genuine ripple of her laughter brought me out of my musings. Christy was outside on the porch talking to Neil as he tethered his horse. I heard his spontaneous chuckle from the yard as I came to the doorway. Two sets of eyes, bright from their brief exchange, met mine.

 

Neil was eager to know more about Ruby Mae’s condition and together Christy and I explained the events of the night. He was surprised and amused by the description of the onion poultice remedy, but nodding his head reassuringly he said, “Under the circumstances, I think you did just right. There may not be a thing for me to do.”

 

Without delay he moved quickly to Ruby Mae’s bedside. As he began a thorough examination, Christy stood close by, watching him carefully, enthralled by his skill and gentle bedside manner. Christy’s increasing admiration for him was unmistakable. How often I watched her admiration for David practically eclipsing her own sense of worth.

 

What about David? The young minister was obviously encouraging a courtship with Christy. And at times she seemed starry-eyed by his masculine attention. As summer turned to autumn they had looked for opportunities to enjoy each other’s company--often taking rides through the mountains to enjoy the glorious colors of wooded highlands. David Grantland--handsome, genteel and delightfully jocular--what more could a young lady want in a partner?

 

Yet it was this man, Neil MacNeill, regardless of his years her senior, whose life was on a collision course with Christy’s. The unexplainable depths within him and his passion for humanity--God or no God, science or no science--were drawing him to her. And, oh yes, the doctor was being drawn to those same virtues in Christy, though Christy appeared to be as naive to the tell tale signs as she was of her own feelings.

 

Neil moved from the bedside and announced, “I wouldn’t dare make a final diagnosis quite yet. Looks like Typhoid--and pneumonia both,” He smiled at me with approval. “The onions did their work. Of course, there are those who think the odor of the cure is worse than the disease!” he bantered playfully. Then he continued more seriously prescribing total rest and liquids for Ruby Mae. He assured himself that Will understood that she should have plenty of liquids, but nothing else. Then he turned toward Christy.

“You were up the entire night?” he asked.

 

She nodded. “But I’m all right,” she said lightly. Now that the crisis of the night was behind us, I noticed how weary Christy appeared. Neil was noticing as well.

 

Neil looked back at me and said, “And you were up too. You both need rest.” He tried to convince me that Christy and I should return to the mission and that he would stay with Ruby Mae. I was tired, but the hollows beneath his blood shot eyes made me believe he needed the sleep more than me. When I suggested that he take Christy back to the mission and that Will and I would take care of things for a while, he agreed.

 

Outside as they were mounting their horses to leave, Christy was struggling to pull herself up into Button’s saddle. Her determination was showing, despite her alarmingly weakened state, when Neil saw her try again.

 

“You’re going to ride with me,” he ordered.

 

To my amusement, Neil ignored her resistance to the idea and asked Will for some sacking. This he arranged in pillow fashion behind Charlie’s saddle. After he mounted again, he asked for Christy’s hand which she then offered willingly. Without much effort he lifted her up to her seat. “Comfortable? he asked. She responded with a nod. “Hang on to me,” he added.

 

Enlivened by his current task, he addressed me over his shoulder as I watched from the porch, “I’ll look in on Ruby Mae again tomorrow. Get some sleep. Will can keep watch. I’ll send someone to pick up Buttons.”

 

I nodded and waved as he tapped Charlie’s sides. They were off down the trail and soon lost amongst the trees--Charlie’s hoof beats softly fading.

 

How the spirit works in mysterious ways --I rejoiced. I felt myself smiling as my thoughts flowed freely--Could it be that Christy holds the key to Neil navigating his way back from that desolate place to find God? Could Christy help Neil relinquish his pain and loss? Suddenly I was brought short by a pang of doubt. Was it self-serving to want Christy to fill the void created by Margaret’s death? Was what I thought Neil needed really what I needed? Perhaps my mind was wandering in territory in which it had no business. I admonished myself. “Father forgive me if it be so,” I prayed. I turned and went back inside where Will was sitting beside his sleeping wife. I would stay until Neil returned the next day.

*  *  *  *  *

 

Neil’s final diagnosis of Ruby Mae’s illness turned out to be Typhoid. After it was arranged that a few neighbor women would assist with her care, I returned to the mission house. I determined that I was needed in Cutter Gap and canceled my scheduled week at Big Lick Spring School. Lundy was requiring much nursing, so I took over that job in order that Christy could attend to her teaching duties. We were hopeful that the start of the new school year would not be delayed.

 

Dry leaves swirled around my feet in the playful breeze, as I approached the frame building on its grassy knoll. It was a warm day, especially for October. But my thoughts were on the inner urging that I had committed to God in prayer.

 

I opened the door to the church-school house and stuck in my head. Christy looked up from her desk at the front of the classroom. “Ida said I’d find you here. Am I interrupting something important?” I asked.

 

“No, not at all. Please come in,” she said standing up.

 

I walked down the length of the aisle toward her. She was such the picture of femininity with her neatly fitted shirtwaist and skirt and shiny brown hair gathered attractively in a chignon. I was struck by how at home she was in this setting--and in her role as teacher to the mountain children. I realized that perhaps this visit was not a chore but rather a wonderful opportunity to share with Christy.

 

She pulled out her desk chair for me, then slipped into the nearest pupil’s desk . I studied her cheerful expression for a moment, feeling affirmation in my heart. In my earnestness I suddenly asked, “You’ve been wondering about Margaret, haven’t you? About Margaret and her marriage to Neil.”

 

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then curiosity filled her blue eyes, “Yes, but--.”

 

“But how did I know?” I offered. “Christy! How much do you think stays out of those big eyes of yours? Ever since you were in Neil’s laboratory--where Margaret’s things are--you’ve been aching to ask questions. Would you like to hear it from me?”

 

Her eyes became even bigger, if that was possible. Then trying to contain herself she said, “Yes. Yes, please.”

 

God’s nudging would not go unheeded. I would tell her everything--everything about Margaret and the kind of woman she had been. I would tell her about raising her in the Quaker community of Ardmore, Pennsylvania and about her marriage to the young doctor. I would try to express to her how deeply Margaret had affected those around her, much the same way as she was. I would leave it in God’s hands. In so doing I would find the light I had been seeking. Only God knew His plans for Christy Huddleston and her future in Cutter Gap. Yet in His graciousness, I believe God indulged my premonition that those plans were somehow tied to certain mountain doctor.

 

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