Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Quest

“As long as I’m not imposing, Miss Huddleston,” Dan Scott said solicitously.

“Not at all! It’s been nice seeing more of you, and I don’t mind telling you we have more zucchini than we know what to do with,” Christy said, hefting the basket full of the vegetables up to her hip. Dan reached out to help her with it, but she headed past him toward the Mission. It had taken time to train folks to treat her as just another diligent worker in the Cove, and Dan would catch on, soon enough.

“Lordy, please don’t be telling me there’s more zucchini in that basket!” Ruby Mae burst out as soon as Christy stepped into the kitchen. “I don’t rightly know what to cook up, this time!” She leaned over to see Dan standing in the room beyond, hat in hand. “Especially with a guest again!”

“Ruby Mae!” Christy felt heat rise up her neck in embarrassment.

“No, she’s right. I’ve come by more than my share of evenings, last few weeks.”

“And we’ve been blessed by thy presence each time.” Miss Alice’s voice rang out confidently from behind him. “Please, stay.”

Christy gave Ruby Mae a chastising look and walked back into the main room, offering Dan a warm smile. “You are outnumbered, Mr. Scott.”

His gentle smile was still wary as he hung his hat on the coat rack, but when Dan turned back around, his body language relaxed. “That appears so. Anything I can help with, in the meantime?”

“There is. I’ve been meaning to ask thee about your efforts to learn doctoring from MacNeill,” Miss Alice said, leading Dan out the front door onto the porch.

“Truth be told, Miss Alice, I haven’t seen him in at least a fortnight, and it seems I’m not the only one,” he responded before they moved out of earshot.

The mere mention of Neil sent Christy’s thoughts back to the last time she’d seen him. Of all the people arrayed around the cabin she’d been held captive in, her eyes had met his first, as though compelled to. He’d looked tortured, his usual blustery demeanor tempered by what looked like true fear. She’d felt a great need to reassure him, despite the Cove’s best shooters arrayed around them, her kidnapper’s gun in her hand, and the man himself shuffling behind her, head down and contrite.

Christy had lifted her chin and let out a breath, summoning a smile as best she could. Only then had Neil’s jaw clenched, the only acknowledgment of their shared moment before he had wheeled around and stalked off without a word.

With a frustrated sigh, she went to her room to freshen her hair before dinner. What did it mean that her mind dwelled so much on that moment? She still had to push away the memories of Tatum’s gun pressed to her chest, of his furious, destructive anger as he’d thrown around furniture and screamed at her. Those came and went in flashes, though. In contrast, Neil’s expression hung like a painting in her mind, enough for her to recall the lack of wind to blow his hair from his worry-creased forehead.

If it had been anyone else, even David, she’d have gone to Miss Alice about it, but not this, not him. Her mentor had a brittle edge to her when they discussed the doctor, and Christy wasn’t prepared to examine why.

“It will pass,” she whispered. For some reason, it didn’t feel right to pray for such a thing, not in the way she’d asked God to lift her fears and chase away the bad memories of her kidnapping. Her conscience twinged at this, but she told herself it wasn’t because of his lack of faith. There was something… wrong about praying to stop seeing a friend’s pain, particularly when that pain had been linked to her own. 

The solution wasn’t to pray that feeling away. It was to confront the source of her concern and try to help fix it.

***

As if she’d sensed Christy was wrestling with something she hadn’t planned to mention, Miss Alice sought her out on the porch after their dinner guest left and all the chores were finished.

“Something troubles thee.”

Christy let out a little sigh of capitulation and turned toward the other woman, plastering on a bright smile in a last-ditch effort to deflect. “That’s normal, isn’t it? After…” She hugged herself, rubbing her hands on her upper arms against the chill that always came when she thought about Tatum. “Every day that passes, I see more light in Sam Houston’s eyes, and that should be enough to chase away the darkness in my dreams.”

“‘Should be?’” Miss Alice quoted back. Christy blinked, suddenly hearing her own words more clearly.

“Is that what I said?”

Her mentor walked over and looked out at the tranquil landscape in front of them. “It is. You blame thyself.”

Frustration welled up within her, and Christy blurted, “If I’d been better at sending Sam Houston away, if I’d known better what to say, I might not have so enraged Mr. Tatum--”

“Do not give voice to the devil’s doubts in thy head, Christy Huddleston. That is unkind to thyself and to those of us who sought your release.” Miss Alice’s voice was implacable. She turned her head, eyes glittering with purpose in the halflight. “Are you under the mistaken belief that any of those men with guns would have turned around and gone home if they’d known exactly what you said to Jarvis Tatum?”

Christy faltered. As usual, Miss Alice had reframed her doubts in a way that made them seem almost foolish in the face of Quaker logic. She squared her shoulders and said, “Maybe not. It’s hard not to second-guess myself.”

“I do not intend to make that process more difficult, Christy.” Miss Alice set a cool, comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing it across her back in a gesture that made her miss her mother’s physical affection keenly. “Our doubts multiply when we hoard them. Speaking them aloud helps our loved ones to refute. Take Neil-- when thee and David were missing, he blamed himself.”

Something in her chest leapt at the name, but was that guilt or something else? “What?”

Miss Alice pulled away gently to grip the railing, equal parts frustration and self-support. “It was his prescription for Laudanum that Ellie Tatum used to harm herself. He felt directly responsible for Jarvis’s fury, and I-- I could not get through to him.” She looked down.

“There’s no way to predict such a thing! How could he have known--”

In a tone Christy had hardly ever heard her use, Miss Alice said, “That is the sort of truth Neil MacNeill will never accept.”

“So David being shot, Sam Houston--” Christy caught her breath. “Miss Alice, I could not help but overhear Mr. Scott saying something about not seeing the doctor for a while. Do you think this is related?”

Miss Alice was looking at her most peculiarly. “Christy,” she started, sounding so skeptical that Christy interrupted, defensive.

“I’m not trying to question his work ethic, but if he’s upset, if he blames himself--”

“You think that is thy problem to solve?”

“What have I done to anger you?” Christy whispered.

Miss Alice rested a hand to her stomach, the way she did when she (oh, so rarely) overstepped. The thought occurred to Christy that she only ever saw the other woman do this when MacNeill was involved. Reaching out her other hand, Alice grasped Christy’s, on the railing.

“You haven’t angered me, you’ve exposed my weakness. Thy passion reminds me of my daughter’s, and she so often spoke in riddles and layers, meaning to force me to falter. Forgive me for accusing thee of such manipulation, if only in my own mind?”

“Of course!” Christy found herself enveloped in Miss Alice’s warm embrace, though confusing guilt lingered. “There’s no motive, only kinship in guilt, I promise. I just thought, if the doctor blames himself for something he couldn’t have predicted, maybe we can persuade each other we’re wrong.”

Miss Alice’s arms tightened around her for a second before she stepped back. The peculiar look had returned. “You intend to confront him?”

Christy was full of determination. The man was as stubborn as she was, and she wasn’t yet convinced her guilt wasn’t justified. That meant an argument, and despite herself, she did enjoy her spats with MacNeill. “Right after breakfast.”

“Be wary of seeing Neil as a dragon to be vanquished, Miss Huddleston. His armor is thick and his sword sharp, in defense.” With those words, her mentor turned and made her way back into the Mission, leaving Christy behind to wonder what parts of her behavior had once again reminded Miss Alice of Margaret.

***

That night, she dreamed of the kidnapping again, but this time, her kidnapper was Miss Alice. In the dream, Christy was lashed to a chair with leather covered in Bible verses as her beloved friend and mentor accused her harshly of sinning in her heart.

After multiple pleas, she couldn’t get this nightmare version of Miss Alice to clarify what she meant, but deep down, she knew. Over a year before, when she’d first come to the Mission, Miss Alice had likened her to Margaret, Neil’s wife. She’d accused Christy of stealing MacNeill’s heart away, coming just short of saying that Christy had designs on the man-- and at that time, Christy had been flabbergasted. Now, though…

The door of the dream-room she was confined in burst inward, and an imagined version of Neil strode in, shouting for her release. Just as he reached out to untie her, Christy woke with a start, her hands immediately going to her wrists to soothe the memory-ache of the tightened bonds.

"Were you scared the verses would burn him?" she whispered into the darkness of her bedroom. "What a situation!" Deep in her heart of hearts, something lingered, perhaps a longing to know what a heroic version of Neil would do, once he'd freed her.

When morning came, Christy couldn’t bear to face the real Miss Alice after a dream like that, so she slipped away to the schoolroom to collect her thoughts before heading to MacNeill’s. As luck would have it, David was already there. He seemed to be tightening the screws at each of the long desks the children sat on for class.

After greeting him, she was disconcerted that her private musing plans had been interrupted, and decided to focus on what he was doing. “I suppose I never really thought about all the little things that go into keeping things in good shape for the church and the school.”

“We bathe and brush our teeth for the health of our bodies, we pray and do good deeds for the health of our souls, it’s only right to do regular maintenance for the health of the buildings,” David said, straightening and giving the piece of furniture a good shake. It moved as a solid block, and as Christy watched, he moved to the next in line. This one rattled loudly, and he grinned at her.

“I’m truly glad you’ve recovered enough to do work like this, even if you can’t do anything more strenuous yet. I’ll leave you to it,” she said warmly. Christy  picked up a random book from her desk as though it had been her morning’s errand and started toward the doorway. To her surprise, David stepped into her path, halting her in her tracks. “Something I can help with?” she asked innocently.

He crossed his arms. “You can tell me why you’re being evasive.”

“What?”

“It’s not a school day. You missed breakfast. You seemed unhappy to see me, meaning whatever you’re up to, you’d hoped to slip out without seeing anyone.”

David really was too perceptive for his own good. Christy retreated to her desk and the safety of imagined authority. “I am always happy to see you, David.”

He reached out and set down his tools, giving her the distinct impression that his entire focus was on her. Given his spoken (and unspoken) intentions towards her, she decided to confess in the hopes that she could escape the full brunt of David Grantland’s powers of persuasion.

Crossing her own arms, Christy said, “If you must know, Dan said something about the doctor keeping to himself, and Miss Alice outright told me he feels like our ordeal was his fault.” Including David in the statement was a blatant attempt to soften the blow of where she was going.

It worked, almost.

“I’ve heard the same,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides and coming over to look down at her, concern etched on his face. “You might want to lead with something about my recovery instead of launching right into his mental state. He can be fairly rough when he’s wrestling with those demons of his. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Absolutely,” she said.

That assertion traveled on the breeze from the schoolhouse to swirl around Cutter Gap and whisper doubt into her ear as she approached MacNeill’s cabin. The first thing she noticed was how bare his porch looked, bereft of the stacks of supplies, draped laundry, and other evidence of a well-lived mountain life. Once she got up onto the porch, a sour smell wrinkled her nose, and Christy saw two filthy socks resting where they’d clearly been individually thrown from inside the house.

Drawing up all her courage, she knocked on the door. If Neil was as David said, he might not want to see anyone at all, much less her in particular.

There was no answer, and no sound from inside. Christy knocked again, using the side of her fist rather than her knuckles, this time.

Still nothing.

“Doctor MacNeill? Are you there?” With all her strength, she pounded on the door, feeling an instant ache in her hand.

“Go away!”

He couldn’t see her, which was just as well, because the smile on her face would make no sense to him at all. He’d spoken to her, and that meant she’d found a chink in his armor.

“We’re-- I’m worried about you, doctor. Will you open up, just for a little while?”

Would he see the symbolism in that statement?

It seemed he would not, as MacNeill fell silent again, prompting her to try two more rounds of knocking and calling out.

“Cease your racket, woman! I’m not fit for company!” he finally roared.

“I’m not company, Neil MacNeill!” she shouted right back. Her hand was probably bruised at this point, and she darn well wasn’t going anywhere till she’d at least seen him. “I’m your friend!”

Christy counted thirty seconds of silence before she lifted her fist to try again. It seemed foolish to swap and end up with two sore hands-- but just as she was about to slam her agonized fist back into the brick wall that was his desire for privacy, he opened the door.

Neil was a wreck.

He was barefoot, dirty, and his hair stuck out in all directions (she hoped it was because he’d pulled on it in frustration that she wouldn’t do as she was told and leave). The shirt he was wearing was unbuttoned all the way and hanging open, leaving her gaze skittering across the expanse of hair and muscles up to his face.

That was when she took a step backwards, not before.

His expression was thunderous, but he bowed sardonically and swept his arm out as though to welcome her inside. This was her chance to show him that his well-being was what mattered to her, so Christy walked in with her head held high, faltering only when he stood up and she caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath.

“What’s the matter, Miss Huddleston? Is the cabin not up to your Asheville sensibilities?”

Just for that, she continued further in, noting with as serene an expression as she could manage that he hadn’t kept up with his indoor chores either. Dirty dishes were stacked on multiple surfaces, and it seemed that many had been there for some time.

“I know you’re trying to get me to turn on my heel and leave, but you made a mistake, doctor,” she said, circling around to favor him with a smile.

“Did I, now?” Neil’s combative stance let his loose shirt gap oven even wider. It took her a few seconds to drag her startled gaze back up to his eyes, and the smug grin that formed on his face was infuriating.

Christy told herself she would not blush. This man was her friend, and he was clearly suffering, even if that suffering took a shape indistinguishable from a common scoundrel.

“You did. You didn’t say ‘the big city,’ you said Asheville, the place I’m from. That’s personalized. I’m not just any visitor, like I said.” He looked away from her for a second, and she pressed her advantage. “I’ve heard you’re keeping to yourself lately, that you’re…” Christy let out a breath and lifted her chin. “--dwelling on what happened.” It wasn’t how she’d wanted to phrase it, but standing there faced with the man, her thoughts had scrambled before she’d seen his disheveled state.

Neil pointed at her. “I’m not one of your charity cases, and I’ve not asked you for your opinion! I’ll handle the stress of my profession in the way I see fit--”

“But you aren’t handling it!” she interrupted, taking a distressed step forward. “You’ve retreated into yourself, like some kind of… of selfish punishment, denying the Cove the chance to see you, to ask your advice. When’s the last time you allowed yourself any self-care?”

His lip had curled up in derision when she’d started speaking, but when she emphasized the word ‘allowed,’ a ripple of something like respect crossed his face before it twisted again.

“That is none of your business.”

“Isn’t it? I was directly affected by what happened, doctor. So was David and Sam Houston. Do you think any one of us would want this for you?” To emphasize her point (and distract from the memories mentioning that awful day always engendered), Christy started for the nearest pile of plates, meaning to scrape off their rotting contents onto one, and stack the rest.

As she ought to have expected, a rough hand caught her upper arm before she’d gotten a chance to do more than pick up a single dish.

“Now you’re contradicting yourself. Which is it, Christy? Am I selfish or not?”

He was inches away, all exposed skin and booze-fueled aggression. Neil’s hand tightened on her arm, and she looked up at him, again losing her train of thought. Something about MacNeill always did this to her, but now there was nothing to obscure the raw masculinity he presented. Her heart pounded, and the dreaded blush suffused her face.

It wasn’t fair that he could so thoroughly derail her carefully-prepared attempt to make him feel better with nothing more than an unbuttoned shirt and a surly attitude.

Christy felt like an animal in a trap turning on its captor, which was maybe a little too apropos for this particular conversation. “You are selfish, but not for drinking or leaving your kitchen a mess,” she said, trying to tune her voice to the same one Miss Alice so effectively used to scold herself and David, when she was disappointed in them. “By hiding away, you’ve denied your friends the chance to help you, and you to help them.”

His eyes blazing with renewed fury, MacNeill released her arm with a sound of frustration and stalked over to the stove. “Fat lot of good my help has done anyone, on the balance of it!” he snapped, thrusting soiled dishes into consolidated, though unsteady piles. He shot a withering look over his shoulder. “I suppose this is really about Dan Scott, isn’t it?”

Christy’s jaw dropped. Despite the alcohol she’d smelled on his breath, the man was certainly finely focused on particular grievances. “It most certainly is not! What, I can’t want to show up at a friend’s house and find out they’re… that you’ve--” She broke off, as his shirt was caught on the handle of a soup pot, and if he moved any farther to the left, it would--

“Well, spit it out!” Neil thundered, snatching up the pot with a clumsy move that sloshed some of its rancid contents onto the stove. “Or get out, like I told ye from the first!”

“I’m trying, all right? It’s just a little overwhelming in here, and not just because of the mess. I’m here to help with your mind, not your housekeeping skills!” she cried out, setting her hands on her hips.

“Overwhelming? What in the blue blazes is so overwhelming?” Neil said, turning toward her so quickly his unbuttoned shirt flapped all the way open.

Christy had never expected to know so much about male nipples before marriage. Somehow, everything had gone sideways, and the thing she wanted above everything else was to prevent Neil MacNeill from knowing she felt out of her depth. So, with the tatters of her dignity fluttering metaphorically around her, she marched right up to where he stood in front of the stove and took hold of his shirt edges.

Then, she started to button it.

His silence was deafening. So was his stillness.

In their entire acquaintance, she’d never known him to quiet himself in an argument like this-- but something, an instinct perhaps, told her that if she looked up to see what was written across his face, she’d almost surely run right out the door.

So, Christy Huddleston worked on the third button, her fingers shaking. Though she could still smell alcohol, it wasn’t as potent as before, and the bad food smell had faded, probably because she was used to it. In their place was a warm, musky scent that was wholly unfamiliar to her. She had to stop herself from leaning closer and breathing deeply of the shirt between her fingers, because she felt lightheaded enough as it was, with his proximity.

Then, realization struck her. Her father had used a liniment that she’d come to associate with him, and she’d never truly been this close to any other man than David, who always smelled of soap. What she was smelling was Neil, not his shirt.

It was… intoxicating.

“Have you lost your nerve, then?” he whispered, his voice uncommonly gentle.

Christy shut her eyes tightly against the way his tone made her feel. It was like she was on fire but freezing cold, all at once. “No. Yes. Maybe,” she said, frustrated. The words crowding in her brain flowed from her lips without a chance to stop them. “I’ve assisted the students, you know, and I’ve helped in a medical setting, but I’ve never buttoned a man’s shirt like this, especially not when they’re so--”

She pressed her lips tight to stop herself, shooting a nervous glance up at him without realizing she’d resolved not to.

The burning chunk of ice churning in her gut shot icicles in all directions when Christy saw the look in his eyes. Neil was still angry, but there was the strangest undercurrent of tenderness to his expression.

“Finish the sentence, Christy,” he said, the gravel in his tone making her name sound different, more grown-up, somehow. “So angry? So drunk? It’s been an hour since I’ve had anything.”

Her lips twitched, trying to hold back her incredulity. “It is scarcely nine in the morning, Neil!”

He swayed toward her briefly at the sound of his name, which meant his chest came into contact with the hands she had left poised in position to continue buttoning him up. This was enough to coax out the thing she’d been too shy to say seconds earlier.

“It’s improper.”

Neil’s lips curved into a wicked smile, furthering the odd, burning path of excitement in her stomach. “If this is so improper, why don’t you run away-- or even better, finish what you’ve started?” His eyes burned with intensity, daring her to pick either one.

He was always a step ahead of her! Now if she did either thing, she’d be obeying him, in a sense. Her pique drew out the truth.

“I’m intimidated, that’s why!”

“Not nearly intimidated enough,” Neil growled, and suddenly one hand was cupping her face, the other sliding behind her to press at the small of her back. Then his lips were on hers, rough and hot. An aching, desperate feeling of joy tore through her. His chest under her hands was warm and solid, but his lips brushed fire with each confident movement. It had to be the worst possible sin to feel this good.

His fingers sank into her hair, tangling in it and keeping her steady as he angled his head, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. Now she could taste the alcohol that had pushed him to be so reckless-- but the not-unpleasant flavor heightened the danger of the moment in a confusing, exhilarating way. Christy felt her knees buckle, and that’s when he lifted his head, tucking his thumb underneath her chin so she couldn’t avoid his gaze. Then he said something that was every bit as dizzying as his outrageous kiss had been.

“If you don’t want to be mine, clear out of here.”

Christy stared at Neil in shock, barely feeling him let go of her and step back. It was just a few inches, but given how close they’d been just now, it might as well have been the whole distance of the train line.

Chapter Text

The First Battle

“Now that’s an achievement: Christy Huddleston, completely speechless! I thought sure I’d earn a lecture or scare ye away.” He paused as if giving her another chance to flee before raising his eyebrows in exaggerated fashion. “You’re still here. Did you think I wasn’t serious?” 

She shook her head, unable to believe what he’d done, what he’d said. There was no power in Heaven or Earth that would bring her to tell him that her feet felt frozen to the floor. The truth was, she knew him. MacNeill always fought with every weapon he had, and if he was battling her this hard, it was because she was getting through to him. She couldn’t give up now. 

"You're drunk."

“Tasted that, did you?”

Christy pressed her hands against her hot cheeks, mind racing to find a moral way out of this. Well, David had warned her. “You’re-- you’re obviously not quite yourself today.”

“I'm as much myself as the man you’ve stood next to in surgery. That’s the high, and this is the low.”

“The self-destructive healer,” she whispered. The evidence was everywhere as she looked around with fresh eyes-- but that led to a new conclusion, an ugly one. “You’re not satisfied just to mess up your cabin, are you? You want me to run to Miss Alice. Or David.”

“Do whatever you want,” he rumbled, turning his back on her to tend to the dishes on the counter beside him. His expression just before that had been more vulnerable than at any other point that day, and she just knew if she couldn’t say her piece now, she wouldn’t get the chance to. He’d tried almost everything to drive her away, but that didn’t mean he would stop.

Christy twisted her hands together, a twinge of pain reminding her that her right hand was probably bruised from pounding on the door. “What I wanted was to come here and tell you that you shouldn’t feel guilty. That with good intentions, you did everything you could, but sometimes that isn’t enough. I thought that if I could say it to you, maybe I’d… believe it for myself.” 

Neil was standing stock still with his back to her, one hand gripping a pot handle so tightly his knuckles were white. She took a step toward him.

“Nobody is perfect. It’s what we do in response to our mistakes that matters. Jarvis Tatum reached out to hurt others, and you’re reaching inside to hurt yourself.” Christy let out the breath it felt like she’d been holding since he’d first touched her. “And I’ve been running away, burying myself in chores, in teaching. Ignoring it.”

Neil shoved violently at the jumble of dishes in front of him and spun around. “Ignoring what? You’re blameless in all this!” He ripped a dishtowel off of the counter and dried his hands off with swift, jerky movements. “I’ve a mind to go find where they’ve stashed that man so I can drag him back here to swear it to you.”

It was one thing to ignore her own sense of culpability, but it was something else entirely for MacNeill to devalue it. Christy’s temper flared, propelling her a few more steps in his direction.

“I couldn't convince Sam Houston to leave before Tatum grabbed him. I constantly said the wrong thing, even when he told me to shut up--” At this, Neil started toward her, and Christy backed away, needing to get it all out, needing him to understand. She shut her eyes tightly and just focused on the catharsis of admitting her failures. “I, I kept trying to get away, to untie myself, and that made him very angry. I should have--”

Neil interrupted by grabbing her upper arms, almost shaking her, but not quite. “Stop this right now! Look at me.”

“No, I need to speak this out loud, so it stops having power over me,” she said. He’d let her go if he knew how much she relished the punishing strength of his grip. Over and over again, her feeble attempts to relate to Jarvis Tatum had ramped her captor up towards violence and anger, but she’d been so confident in her ability to persuade him. It had taken Miss Alice’s stalwart, commanding words to defuse the man, and Christy’s blunders had made that so much more difficult.

“Open your eyes and say them to me, then. If you cannot, they’re not true.”

Despite herself, she looked up at him, completely startled. The concern in his eyes set her heart racing, catching fire to her blood and spreading that heated feeling through her whole body. “What makes you say that?” 

“You are an inveterate truth-teller, to your friends most of all. Tell me, or forgive yourself, just as you’ve asked me to do.” Neil sounded almost resentful, and it was unexpectedly endearing. She had the fleeting thought that his state of intoxication had provided an artificial closeness she’d mourn the loss of, once he was sober again.

Christy shook her head and let out a huff of frustrated breath. He had once again sent her thoughts spinning, but she met his eyes and spoke.

“All right. I couldn’t say the right things to keep Sam Houston away from danger.”

Neil’s lips curved into an indulgent smile, his hold on her loosening just slightly. “No one can keep Sam Houston away from danger. Go on?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t just come here just for my own absolution, doctor. It’s your turn.”

Neil’s expression sharpened, and his gaze briefly dipped to her lips. “You never let up, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Christy said. She could smell the alcohol on his breath again, a scent that had a whole new association to her, now. Impulsively, maybe even to push away those dangerous thoughts, she reached out and started on his shirt again. Neil released her arms, an action so abrupt that she winced, shrugging her shoulder up to ease the need to rub at the place he’d been holding onto. 

“I hurt you,” he murmured.

“You’re not yourself,” she said, shrugging again. “Go on.”

“Christy--”

She looked up at him, channeling as much of her mother’s incisive, penetrating glare as she possibly could. Neil was staring down at her like it was the first time he’d truly seen her.

“Why didn’t ye slap me?” he asked, brows furrowing as though he’d surprised himself with his own question. “I deserved it.”

The first answer that sprang to Christy’s mind took her breath away. Because if I had reached my hand up, I’d have pulled you closer.

“Because this is more effective,” she said instead, refocusing her attention on his shirt. “Go on?”

One large hand came gently to rest on the two of hers, a perfect contrast to the bruising hold of minutes earlier. She nodded and released his shirt, and he moved back, letting his fingers trail across her hands as if loath to relinquish them.

“I should have come alone.”

Christy sucked in a shocked breath, the residual tingling from his touch forgotten. “But I told Sam Houston to ask you to bring--”

“He did, and they damn well almost got you killed!” Neil shouted. “If it wasn’t for Alice--”

“It wasn’t just that. I was stupid, I tried to tell him that I knew what it was like to lose a child,” Christy said, feeling the tears well up. “My sister. I took care of her, she was like my own--” She broke off, swiping at her eyes angrily. “Tatum was furious. Almost everything I did and said made it so much worse! I helped Sam Houston escape, and then almost got away myself… He threw things around, screaming about women always betraying him. That’s what had him shoving the gun in my chest. It wasn’t from you bringing help.”

The bleak look was back on his face, almost the same one he’d worn on that awful day. Footsteps outside broke the spell, and a burlap sack sailed through the doorway, landing on the floor just inside with an odd buzzing crunch. A stream of angry insects started pouring from the mouth of it. 

“Get back!” Neil shouted, ripping down a curtain from the window and rushing at the bag. There wasn’t a path to flee through the door. “The lab. Go!”

Christy ran, struggling with the latch for a few seconds, long enough to hear shouting outside and Neil swearing as he was stung. Once inside, she frantically swatted at herself, dislodging a few of the wasps and stomping on them in a frenzy. The sound of the door slamming and furniture knocking around in the cabin just beyond made her horribly scared that Neil was wrestling with whoever had thrown the hive. In his altered state, was he in any condition to fight off an intruder? Was this an awful prank or a real attack?

The door to the lab burst open, and Neil backed in, his shirt spotted with wasps. He was focused on something at the doorway. Rather than stand there watching, she searched for a broom or some kind of implement to swat the vicious things away without hurting him further. When she turned around with a small hand brush, he’d grabbed some bandages to stuff in the edges of the door to keep more wasps from coming in.

“I’ve moved a cabinet over to hide the door. Were you stung?” 

His question was quiet, an indication that whoever had initiated the attack might be around to hear them. With the lab hidden, were they safe now?

“Focus, Christy!”

“Never mind me, you’re still covered in them! Let me--” Christy swiped at his arm with the broom, but he shook his head, reaching back and pulling the shirt up and over his head before throwing it on the floor between them and stomping on it.

“That would have been easier if it were still unbuttoned all the way,” he joked, holding his arms out to examine them for insects.

She sank back against the wall, feeling the giddy unreality of fading adrenaline. “How could you poke fun at a time like this! What just happened? Is this some kind of prank? What--”

As if to answer her question, a loud voice outside started shouting.

“You’d best come out and answer for what you done to Ellie and Jarvis, Doc! Them’s my kin, and I ain’t leavin’ till ye face me!”

“Oh, no,” Christy murmured, her eyes still tightly shut.

“Not a prank, but it is a mountain remedy of sorts,” Neil said, his low voice weary and defeated. “The wasps are meant to chase me outside, and they would have, if not for this room.”

“Best do it soon! Won’t like what I’m fixin’ to set up instead!” the male voice called out again. Seconds later, there was a loud concussive sound, quite different from a bullet.

“That sounded like a blast charge,” Neil said with dread in his voice. She opened her eyes to see him slapping at a black spot on his leg.

“What does that mean?” she breathed. She could guess, but--

“Booby traps. He’s telling me if I don’t come out, anyone who visits me will be in danger.”

Fear thinned her voice to a shadow of itself. “How is that possibly better than what he’s angry about? More innocents could get hurt!”

“It makes perfect sense to him,” he answered, scrubbing a hand over his face. A wasp buzzed angrily over and landed on his chest, poised to sting, but Neil didn’t seem to notice or care. “It’s my property. My responsibility.” 

She wanted to rush over and dislodge the wasp, but any movement would cause it to strike. “Well, that’s a silver lining, right?” His brow furrowed, but she continued, “You kept to yourself for weeks. I imagine I’m hardly the first person you told to leave when they knocked. You’ve trained everyone to stay away; that will give us enough time to come up with a plan.”

His huff of surprised breath in response prompted the wasp to take off for a few seconds, but it landed again just as quickly. With a swift movement, Neil crushed it against his chest, wincing at the sting.

Christy grabbed one of the loose bandages he’d been using to stuff the door and came over as he brushed the dead insect away. “Do you always hurt yourself to make things better?” she asked pointedly, holding out the piece of cloth. A small spot of blood was forming where he’d been stung, a match to ten or more other such areas across his chest and arms. She imagined his back looked the same.

“If necessary. If she’d taken off, she could have stung us both multiple times. This was just the once,” he said, taking the cloth and dabbing it with exaggerated care on the tiny bit of blood. She twisted her lips to the side; he had a point. The countless other stings proved the uselessness of the gesture.

“Were you stung enough to be poisoned? At least we’re in your lab, where you can mix up a poultice,” she said briskly, falling back on her lifeline for moments of stress: trying to help as best she could.

“Dinna fret, I’ll be fine.”

“What good does being in untreated pain do you, doctor?”

“Some things are untreatable,” he said, pushing past her to a chest of drawers near where she was standing. Moving away felt like giving him the high ground, but standing so close reminded her of what had happened right before the attack. Christy couldn’t look away from the broad expanse of his back, but soon her heart was racing for a different reason. The bare skin was marked in so many places with red welts from the swelling stings.

The more she counted, the more worried she became.

“Neil, how long does it take for the venom to affect a person?”

He turned to face her, a jumble of blue fabric in his hands. “So it’s Neil again, is it?”

Deep down she sensed that he was employing his best bedside manner; when the situation could be dire, the best way to keep calm was to deflect away one’s fears and make jokes. Now was not the time, though, and she absolutely could not afford to think about what he’d done less than ten minutes ago.

“It might be ‘collapsed on the floor and at my inadequate medical mercy’ fairly soon if you don’t take this seriously!” Christy ripped the mass of cloth from his hands and shoved it at his face just as he opened his mouth to object. “You have at least twenty-five stings on your back. How much venom can you take?”

Instead of looking as worried as he ought to, Neil’s expression turned to amusement as he took the crumpled shirt out of his mouth. She threw her hands up and stalked away in deep frustration.

“I don’t know why you would think my concern for your welfare is amusing, Dr. MacNeill.” Her hands were shaking. Trying to stop up his mouth was an impulse, one she never would have thought to do if she weren't so aggravated by him. Everything about the man turned her upside down.

“It would take upwards of five hundred stings to cause concern, Christy. These just destroyed what remained of the good whiskey in my system.” After a pause, he added, “Thank you, all the same.”

“I was trying to go through a mental list of priorities, that’s all.”

“With my health at the top of them? I’m honored.”

He was mocking her! She turned, ready to scold him for not taking their situation seriously, but found he was standing only a foot away, still shirtless. Christy felt a tightness in her chest, as though her lungs had fractured and their pieces were fluttering down into her stomach.

To deflect him from noticing how disconcerted she was, she shot him a scandalized look and put a hand over her eyes.

“Shirt on, please, doctor?”

“I thought you didn’t want the stings to pain me?”

“Will you be serious? There’s a man outside maybe setting bombs out on your property, and you’re--” 

“Explosives are expensive and heavy,” Neil interrupted. “It’s unlikely that man has more than a barrel of black powder and a pile of matches. The chances he can create some kind of hazard that would actually hurt someone is very low.”

“But you looked so worried, before!” She dropped her hand and saw that he’d pulled on the blue shirt. 

“I still am,” Neil said, moving to sit at his work desk. He started to clear away some papers and vials as he continued, “The booby trap is the man himself. He’s been silent for a good while now, likely to draw me out.”

“Don’t go,” she said quickly.

He looked up, his expression inscrutable. “Don’t worry. I’ve no desire to risk my neck without more information.” Standing, he went to a shelf and examined a row of tall, thin books. Neil pulled one out and set it on the now-cleared area of his desk, opening it to reveal many columns of hand-written notes. She watched as he paged through them until he let out a sound of satisfaction and focused on one section in particular.

Christy knew she should look away, that her scrutiny might be unwelcome, but she couldn’t bring herself to. He was still unkempt, but his retributory neglect hadn’t extended to this most precious of spaces. She’d never known a non-believer as altruistic as he appeared to be, and it really challenged her perspective on the world. 

As she traced her eyes across his familiar features, she wondered how her deepening regard for him fit into God’s plan. At his core, Neil MacNeill seemed to greatly distrust the idea of hidden motives, of being obedient and receptive to the invisible hand of God. Surely the God of love wouldn’t bring her to care so deeply for someone who would feel betrayed by her prayers for his salvation?

“Do you mean to use that gaze of yours to bore through my skull and discover my secrets?”

Christy started in surprise. “I’m sorry, doctor. I was deep in thought.”

“I could tell.” He held up the ledger. “Patient records. Rudimentary, but I did note down that Jarvis Tatum has a brother that lives some fifty miles away. It’s my guess that a letter detailing Tatum’s grievances was delivered to the man outside not long ago.”

“So he came here for, what?” She couldn’t bring herself to vocalize any of the horrible thoughts that sprang to mind.

“Accountability. Vengeance. An apology, perhaps. No way to know but to ask.” He stood up, and she rushed over, snatching the ledger out of his hand.

“This is one of how many? All of these people are counting on you. That’s why so many of them showed up with their guns to confront his brother. We need you.”

Neil looked stern. “They showed up to rescue a headstrong and kind teacher who needed their help.” He pulled the book from her hand and pushed past her to replace it on its shelf.

“They could have told you to trade your life for mine, but they didn’t!” He turned around, his expression sparking her stubborn streak. “Not that I would have let you,” Christy said, crossing her arms. It was all false bravado. They both knew she wouldn’t have been able to do anything.

Instead of teasing her, though, Neil’s face darkened. He picked up his discarded pipe and felt for the remaining tobacco with a testing finger, choosing to walk around the workbench from the other side, rather than push past her again.

“There was no happy ending to that confrontation. Tatum would have seen my concern for you and used it to extract his revenge.”

“What do you mean?” she whispered, feeling a sudden chill cross the room, like it was twilight rather than midmorning.

“An eye for an eye may seem like a quaint parable in that book of yours, but for the people here, it’s very real.”

The room fell silent, leaving Christy with nothing to distract her from his stark, frightening statement. Jarvis Tatum’s wife had died. An eye for an eye in this context could only mean--

The sharp sound of metal against metal rang out just outside, rescuing her from one dilemma by reminding her of another.

“We mean to speak to ye, Doc, and we ain’t leaving till it’s so. Got yer porch wired up good, but just in case you think yer a good shot--” A few seconds passed, and then multiple guns fired all at once. It was at least four, a clear message that Tatum’s brother had brought a posse with him.

“I count five,” Neil said, swearing under his breath. He strode over to the window, craning his neck to look around.

“They won’t shoot in here, will they?” she asked, hating the fear that thinned her voice.

“No. Waste of a good cabin,” he answered absently, grabbing a spyglass from a shelf near the window and holding it up to his eye.

“Didn’t Jarvis Tatum burn his down?”

“That was symbolic.”

Christy started to ask something else, but he shushed her with such focused purpose that she fell silent and pressed herself up against the far wall. He had his ear against the window, a look of intense concentration on his face. After five minutes of this, he dropped the spyglass on the desk and let out a long sigh.

“They’re circling the house.”

“Is there a hidden way out, or something?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m sorry, but we’ve got some decisions to make.”

She immediately knew what he was going to say. “You don’t have to go out there. Both Miss Alice and David know where I was headed today. When I’m not back in a few hours, someone will come looking for me.” His expression didn’t change, and she ramped up her persuasive tone. “You implied there’s a code of ethics for these mountain men, yes? Does that include murdering a preacher or a woman of God in cold blood?”

Neil ran his hand through his hair, and turned back to face the window. He looked for all the world like he didn’t know how to tell someone their family member wasn’t going to make it.

“What is it?”

“By the time anyone shows up, you’ll have been here for many hours. Alone.”

Understanding struck her like a lightning bolt. It hadn’t been more than two months since Bessie Coburn’s lie had forced Neil to reveal the truth about their night-time talk by the river. Something wild and frantic started spinning around inside her, but Christy tried to tamp it down, tried to think of a solution.

“I was alone with Jarvis Tatum for hours, and no one--”

“That’s different.”

Neil sounded angry, and the knot in her gut spun up into a lump in her throat.

“Not that much different! I couldn’t leave then, and I can’t leave now.” Despite her best efforts, she still sounded like she was about to cry. “Surely the Cove can see the difference between us deliberately spending all that time together and being forced to? They’ll know we were hiding from these men!”

“That won’t matter.”

“How could it not matter?” she demanded, swallowing hard against the need to cry or scream or do something to alleviate the whirling tension that was building up inside her.

Neil was quiet for a long time, but unlike before, he didn’t seem to be looking for a solution to avoid the antagonists outside. 

Finally, in a voice that sounded somehow both hollow and kind, he said, “Because no one thought Jarvis Tatum had designs on you.”

Chapter Text

Escaping the Guards

Neil’s demeanor shifted to a more formal one after such a revealing statement, and he left the lab to monitor the men outside and remove any remaining wasps. He instructed her to stay out of sight, though she wondered if that wasn’t more about keeping her from cleaning up the cabin. The lab space was less messy than specifically controlled chaos, but after fifteen minutes of being lost in her own thoughts, Christy realized there was one thing she could do that wouldn’t disturb his work.

Using a small broom, she swept up the wasps she and Neil had stomped and crushed. The shirt he’d discarded was even dirtier now, and she shook it off and hung it on a nail near where she’d found the broom. Handling his clothing felt almost intimate, more so that she was doing it in his most private space, the place he did research that might save so many people from blindness.

That swirling almost-anxiety in her chest was back. If she were anywhere else, Christy would have gone for a walk to chase it away, but now just the thought reminded her of their unique predicament. Neil’s hinted confession wasn’t a surprise as much as a glorious but troublesome compliment. After all, he’d kissed her today, spent time shirtless around her, both things that would prompt a swift ‘shotgun’ wedding if the elders of the Cove caught wind of their behavior.

Except for the simple fact that Neil was already married.

Christy thought about how hard David had pushed for ‘an understanding.’ In many ways it was easy to picture a life as his wife, spreading the gospel, working hard for the benefit of others, and smoothing over his rough edges. 

At that thought, she stood up and started pacing around the lab. Understanding David Grantland was one thing, but she always felt at such a loss to bridge the gap between his passionately-held opinions and the way they came across to others. As a contrast, she didn’t always understand Neil MacNeill, but she felt attuned to his motivations, even if she didn’t agree with them. She shivered. Just thinking about an understanding with Neil made her feel as if she were standing a little too close to a dragon breathing fire, and not just because of Margaret.

Her chaotic feelings about him had started to coalesce, a process that had long been in motion, and that meant only one thing.

She was falling in love with a married man. Even though that marriage was clearly in shambles, Margaret MacNeill existed, and as long as she did, a compromising situation meant a ruined reputation. Christy wasn’t certain Margaret wanted Neil as much as she wanted to exert power over her husband and her mother. Their situation was proof that God did work in terrible, wonderful ways, bringing the good deeds of the Mission to soothe the pain of the past. There was no way to have met Neil without those events taking place.

Miss Alice was right; no person knew their true nature until they faced the chasm between what they most wanted and its cost. Her mentor had committed many sins on her path to redemption, and Christy had listened to her stories, even naively nodded along as though she’d understood. Christy had felt secure in her own righteousness, and why not? What could possibly cause her to stumble if she led a compassionate, faith-filled life of service to others?

Love, something as unexpected and impossible as the damsel in distress vanquishing that terrible, fire-breathing dragon.

Right now, her dragon was in the form of a blockade of grief, and their predicament grew more delicate as the minutes passed. At this point, she didn’t think even Miss Alice or David would believe she and Neil had behaved properly in the interim-- and they would be right.

Christy got up and walked over to the lab door. Neil had left it cracked and told her to keep an eye out for any wasps, but that had been a while ago, and she wondered where he was. Surely he wouldn’t leave to confront Tatum’s kin without telling her?

She called out his name in a hoarse whisper, listening hard for some indication he was moving around in the cabin, but she heard nothing. As quietly as possible, she crept out of the lab, grateful that the house was lifted from ground level, so it would be difficult to be seen from outside.

“Neil?” she called out a little louder. Nothing.

Her heart clenched in her chest. Christy was suddenly convinced that Neil had gone outside and snuck up on the men somehow, and they’d done something awful to him. She ran up the stairs, hoping against hope that he would be there. 

The room was empty. Repeating ‘no, please God, no’ in her head over and over, she raced over to the window, scanning for a cluster of men, terrified she’d see him in a crumpled heap on the ground. She didn’t see anything at first, but then a man with a rifle slung over his shoulder came into view. He looked to be patrolling the yard.

“Christy? What are you doing up here?”

Christy was so happy to see him she slumped back against the window. “I thought you were dead. I thought you’d gone outside and they’d--” Neil was looking at her like she’d gone crazy, and she bit her lip, feeling stupid and melodramatic.

“Hey, now,” he said, coming over and pulling her to his chest. “Shhh, shhh. I was looking for an old ladder of mine. Didn’t realize I’d been gone so long.” The warmth of Neil’s sturdy arms around her made Christy almost cry with relief. She sucked in a huge breath to calm herself, aided by Neil’s own comforting scent. At the same time, he moved his hand in a soothing gesture along her back, but as soon as his fingers brushed her neck, she shivered.

They both immediately stepped back, and she looked around, trying to orient herself. She was in his bedroom, and the way that brief touch had made her feel--

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have imposed,” she breathed, rushing out the door and down the stairs to the sound of him calling her name. Once downstairs, she fell back against the wall, closing her eyes. His slow-approaching footsteps had her wondering how she could possibly explain her reaction in a way that would retain some semblance of propriety.

“No need to apologize. It’s been quite a morning, and you didn’t have the benefit of starting it hung over.” Neil’s tone was light and gentle, and it was so disarming that Christy couldn’t help but look over at him and smile. 

“I’m not at my best either, hiding in here. I’m not used to situations that can’t be solved by negotiating or with kindness.” 

“Color me surprised, Miss Huddleston,” he smiled back. “They’ve quieted down out there, but not by much. You caught me upstairs searching for some kind of inducement for them to leave, but I’m afraid I’ve precious little that might be of value to such men.”

“You mean like a bribe?”

“I need to get you out of here. If it were just me, I’ve provisions for a few days, but that brings us back to the question of--”

“Reputation,” she finished carefully.

“Just so.”

Christy looked around. The cabin was still a terrible mess, and though Neil seemed to be right about the stings sobering him up, he still wasn’t fully himself. She doubted there was enough water to adequately cook and wash with, even if their shared solitude wasn’t a concern. Was there a middle ground between negotiation and a bribe that they hadn’t considered yet?

The answer was right at the tip of her tongue, but Neil interrupted her train of thought.

“Speaking of reputation, there’s something I should tell you.”

The gravity in his voice hinted at something serious. “All right.”

“I missed the signs that Ellie Tatum was in a bad way. That guilt is still fresh, but it’s not what led me to my stash of whiskey. I needed a distraction, a way to move past it. A few years ago I visited Laurel Grove and promised I’d return when I had time. I told Alice to keep my absence to herself, gathered up some supplies, and left about ten days ago.”

Neil looked over to her, and she nodded to continue, a gnawing sort of unease creeping up her spine. He was usually so direct, but this approach seemed designed to soften a blow.

“When I got back, there were two letters waiting for me.” He looked away. “One was from Margaret. She wanted money for treatment. Said it was urgent. By the date, it likely came the day I left.”

Instantly, Christy understood his unhappy tone. His trip sounded lengthy, and an urgent, missed letter from anyone would be cause for alarm, particularly so from someone as ill and volatile as Margaret.

“What about the second letter?” she forced herself to ask. A dozen awful options floated up like washing bubbles, popping before she could fully examine their implications.

“Before I answer ye, tell me: how soon were you planning to return to Asheville?” His question was ominous. Had his wife demanded Christy’s removal from the Cove?

“I-- I don’t know. My life is here.”

Neil’s gaze was strangely intense. “For how long?”

“The more you dance around the contents of that letter, the more ‘twisted up my insides get,’ as Creed Allen would say.”

“You might regret having all the answers.”

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “So she's coming back, then?” Christy held her breath as she waited for his response, her eyes caught on a broken button on the collar of his blue shirt.

“The second letter was to inform me of her death,” he said in a ragged voice. “It arrived two days ago. This morning was the most coherent I’ve been since.”

“Oh, Neil, I’m so sorry,” she gasped out, moving toward him in distress. “How far apart were the dates on the letters?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back, but Neil shook his head. “Mere days.”

“I can’t imagine any amount of money could have made a difference, but that has to feel so awful,” Christy whispered.

“When she came here, she told me that dying alone might be the only way a person like her could gain immortality,” Neil rasped out. His eyes captured Christy’s, glinting bleak with grief. “For the regret, you see. She… she planned this. I suspect they were both written on the same day.”

It only took a few seconds for her to cross the remaining distance between them to grip his hand wordlessly. As soon as she did so, he let out a long breath and his shoulders sagged.

“What can I do?” she asked, resisting a powerful urge to hug the man, or maybe herd him into a chair and make him something to eat (something not burned, this time).

“The clinic said she specifically requested that only I be notified.”

“But Miss Alice--”

“Why d’you think I drank myself into a stupor? Margaret never could resist pitting us against each other.” Neil pulled his hand back and stepped away from her to pick up his coat from the floor and hang it up properly. “I even considered riding into El Pano to see if I could come up with a version of the damned thing to send anonymously. I’m the only one who knows.”

Every second brought a new emotion. “Do… you want me to help you break it to Miss Alice?”

His voice was gruff and combative. “No! I want you to tell me to keep it to myself so you can go to Asheville if there’s a scandal.”

His full intent was clear. Disgrace over matrimony, facilitated by a lie.

Christy’s jaw dropped, but her instincts kicked in almost immediately. Neil still wasn’t himself, and this was an example-- sliding back into the kind of misery that had prompted him to imbibe. As his friend, it was her job to jar him out of it. She adopted the same tone she used with the older students, the ones who were so close to her own age that only demeanor and perceived authority made any difference.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, because I really don’t think you’d be asking me to lie to the whole Cove if you weren’t caught up in your grief. It won’t come to that anyway. We’ll figure something out.” He opened his mouth to object, and she held up a teacherly finger. A sudden connection struck her, linking her thoughts before the news about Neil’s wife and her reflex to care for him. “Ah ah! It’s probably been days since you’ve eaten properly, yes? Laurel Grove is how many days away?”

His brows were furrowed like he’d missed something important. “Two.”

Christy bustled over to the stove and started clearing dishes with purpose, sorting them into piles of abysmally filthy and easily salvageable. The second was a very small pile. “You mentioned a bribe. Well, you need to eat something, and those men outside probably do, too. What do we have to work with? It’s a shame I didn’t bring along some of the zucchini from the Mission. We’re practically swimming in them!”

There was a long stretch of silence, through which she kept working. Neil MacNeill was used to being the master of his personal fiefdom, and she’d rallied up like a knight with a particularly destructive lance. She needed to let him assess the lay of the land before she pushed any harder, not if she wanted her new idea to work. Busywork had the added benefit of occupying her mind, away from what she’d just learned.

“I, uh… They sent me with some provisions, as a thank you.”

“That’s perfect! Of course, I’m sure the Mission can compensate you for whatever extra we use to placate the men outside,” Christy said, risking a glance in his direction. 

She caught him looking at her with a sort of baffled wonderment, but what sizzled through her was the naked affection that was clearly displayed as well. Telling herself to set that aside for another less fraught day, she lifted her eyebrows. 

“Mind getting those for me while I straighten up?”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that mess,” he winced, jogging over to grab the stack of hopeless plates she’d started moving to the table.

“Neither should you,” Christy said softly; “--but I wouldn’t dream of rooting around in your bags. Go on?”

“I knew if I let you in here, you’d be ordering me around,” Neil teased, but he knelt down by a thick pack and started pulling out vegetables.

***

“I’m no one to encourage the phrase ‘I told you so,’ but you can say it just this once,” Neil said a while later, when the room was much cleaner and the air was filled with the scent of a fresh carrot and smoked rabbit stew.

Christy feigned ignorance, hiding her smile when he came up behind her and leaned over so she could let him taste from the spoon. “Hmm? Careful, it’s hot!”

“Your guess that I’m half-starved. Do you know, that is actually quite good! Given your previous attempt, I’m impressed.”

“I was distracted last time.”

“By what?”

Christy cleared her throat. “Never mind.” She frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “All your bowls are dirty.”

“I’ll bring out the pot and some ladles and to hell with them if that’s not enough.”

His smile was bright, and she busied herself with the last touches on the stew to hide her renewed worry that this long shot would put him in danger. 

“Now that’s a face,” Neil said, hefting the simmering pot to test its weight on a walk from the stove to the table. When she didn’t respond, he tapped the two ladles he’d found against the soup pot to get her attention. “It’s important that you stay out of sight. No grand plans to intervene this time, you hear me?”

Christy set down the towel she’d been using to tidy up near the stove and walked over. “What if they’re still too upset? What if this is a mistake?”

He looked down at her with a half-stern expression. “It’s a good plan, and it’ll work if you stop fretting and let it.” He nodded toward the half-open lab door. “Off with you, then.”

“Be careful?” she whispered.

“I will.” Neil reached out to run the backs of his fingers against her cheek, and Christy let her eyes fall closed from the sensation, even though that let him see more of how she felt than might be proper. Before she could stop herself, she reached up to grab his hand, squeezing it tight. Then she rushed off toward the lab, her emotions in complete turmoil. 

As soon as she heard the front door opening and Neil calling out to the men, she put her ear against the door so she could try to hear what was being said. No one sounded angry that she could discern, and as the time passed, her neck started to hurt from straining to listen.

She was just about to conclude that all was well when there was a small explosion that shook the house, followed by shouting.

Christy scrambled to get the lab door open and ran out. The front door stood wide, and visible through it was some smoke and a splintered piece of railing.

“Careful, man! Pull him free!” It was Neil’s voice, solid and strong. If someone was hurt, he would need her help, no matter what he’d ordered her to do-- so she ran back inside looking for supplies, the noise of frantic chaos carrying on in the background. She was about to rush back out the door when she remembered that sometimes Neil had to sterilize the tools he used. The time it took to fill a pot and set it to warm up on the stove felt like eternity.

Her heart pounded with the beat of hurry hurry hurry hurry , and a minute or so later, she stepped into the doorway, her hands full of bandages and his doctoring satchel.

The stairs down from the porch on her left were in ruins. There was an acrid smell of black powder, and through the smoke, she could see everyone clustered around a prone figure, with Neil on his knees beside. The words to call to him died in her throat when she saw blood. 

“Doc--” another man said, pointing towards her.

Neil’s eyes widened when he saw her, his expression obscured by the residual smoke. He reached out toward one of the men hovering nearby, pulling him down. It looked like the doctor was instructing him on how to put pressure on a wound Christy couldn’t see, and as soon as he was satisfied, he started toward her.

“You need these,” she said defensively, when he got close enough to take them.

“It’s a start. I’ll need to sew him up." Neil sorted through it all as he swiftly circled up to the second stairway, giving a satisfied grunt at what she’d chosen. “Set some water boiling,” he instructed as he led her into the house.

“It’s on.”

Almost the same time she said this, he looked over and saw that for himself, skidding to a surprised halt in the middle of the cabin. “So it is.” Instead of being pleased, though, he glared at her, grabbing an empty basket from the floor and thrusting it into her hands. “Hold that steady.”

“Is the damage very bad?” Christy whispered. She wanted to ask how the men responded to Neil, but he was so focused on his task of gathering medical supplies that she didn’t do more than hold the basket.

“He’ll live. Hotheaded without much sense, really-- set up a rudimentary explosive and hurt himself trying to dismantle it once he realized I’m a person and not a faceless adversary,” he said, washing his hands in a basin by the stove. Next, he loomed over the pot of water impatiently.

“I can tell you when it’s boiling, if you need to go back out.”

“What I need is for you to have obeyed me!” he said through gritted teeth.

Christy was taken aback. “But, you needed those things! Won’t you need my help when you go back--”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Neil interrupted, finally looking her in the eyes.

She drew in breath to respond hotly, but the words died in her throat. The men had surrounded the cabin when they arrived, so they had a good idea of how long she’d been inside-- and her immediate response after the explosion, while helpful, had been more the behavior of a wife than a visitor.

She and Neil had spent time cooking up a meal meant to persuade their ‘captors’ to leave in enough time to preserve Christy’s reputation, and she’d shown herself to them anyway.

“I need to go,” he said, taking the basket and lifting the boiling pot as carefully as he could, making his way to the front door.

The conversation felt unfinished, but she had no idea what to say. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?

Strictly speaking what she’d done was compromise herself in the foolish belief that her help was absolutely necessary in the crisis unfolding outside. There was no taking it back. Fiery realization washed through her: there was a very real chance that her actions these past minutes would likely lead to her returning home in disgrace… or getting married.

Neil swore under his breath, and she looked over to see that the door had wedged itself shut. With boiling water in one hand and a full basket of supplies in the other, he had no easy way to open it.

Christy lifted her chin and made her way over to the door. “I know what I’ve done,” she said, yanking the door with enough strength to get it open, then holding it that way so he could walk through. “Would you have expected anything different?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So, let me help you!”

“Let me carry that, doc. Yer woman should stay inside, he’s powerful hurt.”

She and Neil had been looking right at each other when the man spoke from behind him, and she was able to see the many emotions that crossed his face. That feeling that she’d just run most of the way from the train station to the Mission was back, and Christy nodded to him.

I trust you, her look said.

His returning nod sent her heart spinning.

“Christy’s trained as a nurse, she’s seen worse,” he told the man, handing over the basket. With a ‘come on’ head movement, Neil headed for the secondary stairs, and she followed, desperately schooling her face into as neutral an expression as she could.

He’d used her given name. He hadn’t objected to the other man’s terminology… and something about that made her feel more special than anything that David had told her during his clumsy courting.

The smoke smell was mixed with other ugly, familiar smells to do with injury and pain, but Christy kept from letting herself grimace, keenly aware of the way Appalachian folk tended to read into every expression. Neil was directing the others to back up and setting up his bag and the boiling water on a sturdy rock. He beckoned her to crouch nearby and started unwrapping the already-bloody bandages with gentle haste. The injury was gnarly but not life-threatening, and the man in question was moaning low in his throat, propped up against an older, burly comrade.

“Tell me what to do,” she said to Neil. Besides praying, Christy thought silently. She didn’t need his permission or approval for that.

“Guard the pot, I need to stitch this, but not before I clean it. He’ll fight me.”

He freed the last of the bandages and pushed them against her with a force that was unlike him. Given how bloody they were, she almost fell back trying to avoid staining her dress, but he whispered something she could barely hear.

“These’ll stain, but that might be just enough to distract from where you were beforehand.”

Christy nodded, equally impressed and horrified. Neil’s analytical mind was always working, always seeking the best route to avoid further damage, it seemed. He got to work, and though she was mostly focused on helping keep his workspace safe from his patient’s pained movements, she could tell that Neil was working a kind of healing magic on the man’s psyche, as well.

“No, I wasn’t here when Jarvis showed up,” he said, answering one question with a mixture of regret and pragmatism coloring his tone. “It would have been better if I had. He took my absence personally.”

“What’d he do?” the burly man asked.

Neil leaned close to the area he was stitching and remained silent for a moment. All three members of the ‘posse’ were just as quiet, waiting on his response.

Christy suddenly understood that he was trying to figure out a way to answer that didn’t reinforce her position as ‘his woman.’ Rather than making it worse by trying to explain, she bit her tongue and waited along with everyone else.

“He wasn’t the only one looking for me, including the Holcombe boy. Jarvis got in over his head, shot at the group, took the rest away in fears he’d killed someone.”

Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly respect Neil more, here he was calmly stitching up someone who’d threatened them, all while relating a story she knew haunted him.

“He didn’t hurt no kid, did he?”

Neil looked over at her, and with that tacit approval, Christy said, “No, just scared him very badly. Sam Houston got away and got help.” It was only then that she understood how far he’d distanced himself from what had happened, enough to avoid finding out what the child had gone through.

The rest of the story and her part in it were forgotten when the doctor reached an area that was more difficult to work on, and the man, who turned out to be Jarvis Tatum’s brother, needed to be held down by the remaining two men. Christy did her best to smooth the way for Neil’s work, and when they were all finished, she stepped away for a minute to catch her breath.

Behind her, the men were arguing about what to do with Umphrey Tatum, even considering asking Neil if they could make a lean-to on his property while he rested up.

“I’m sure he could stay at the Mission for a while,” she said, walking over. “I don’t know how far you have to get back home, but he’s in no condition for that.”

This prompted a chorus of questions she attempted to field, each more outlandish than the last, until Neil returned from putting his doctoring things away. He held up a hand and asked her to explain.

“--fastest if I go over there and get David and Miss Alice to bring some horses,” she finished, stepping back to start to head for the path to the Mission. He nodded in annoyed acquiescence, but the burly man who’d stated he was Jarvis Tatum’s uncle spoke up.

“Where the shot preacher lives? Won’t they send their own posse, seeing as you’re all bloodied up?”

It was a valid question. The blood on her dress made her sick to think about. It was tacky and stuck to her skin in a way Christy didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget-- but the alternative was to borrow Margaret’s clothing. Again. The implications of that--

She shoved aside those thoughts and channeled Neil’s stalwart demeanor.

“Only for the difficulty in cleaning it out,” she reassured the man. “They’ll be happy to help. Even David. He knows Jarvis was sick with grief.”

“Best get along, but be careful. Don’t rush,” Neil told her.

Implicit in his statement was not to worry about leaving him alone with a group of men who’d threatened him not two hours before. She nodded and started off, making sure not to run, no matter how strong the temptation. Just as she moved out of earshot, Christy heard Tatum’s uncle make a remark that epitomized the fine line she and Neil would have to walk in the aftermath of their bizarre morning.

“That woman’s mighty brave for how young ‘an pretty she is, doc. You picked a good’un.”

Chapter Text

Confronting Bugbears

Not long after she left, Christy started to worry that the exertion of rushing back to the Mission was going to set the bloodstains on her sleeve. She could sew something over the lighter streaks on her bodice, but the sleeve was soaked through. When she passed an old tin cup resting beside the water, she stopped long enough to scoop up some of the cold water and douse her arm a few times. Mostly, she just didn’t want it to dry and make it harder to remove.

That was the condition she was in when she came across Miss Alice saddling up her horse near the Mission.

“It isn’t my blood,” Christy shouted over to her mentor, who was holding a hand up to block the sun so she could see her properly. Christy broke into a run, watching Miss Alice tie her horse back up and holler for David.

“Tell me you aren’t hurt, child,” Miss Alice said, her voice rich with concern. “If not thee, then Neil--”

“He’s unhurt,” Christy said. “A group of Jarvis Tatum’s family came to confront him, and one of them was injured by his own weapon. They’ve calmed down and aren’t angry anymore. Neil stitched him up, and I helped.”

Miss Alice’s hands fluttered about, first to cup Christy’s face, then to press to her own breast in concern, and finally to test the wetness of the soiled sleeve. “You did well to hold your arm close. I might have called down an army of angels to MacNeill’s if I’d seen this first instead of thy face! Come, we will get thee into something clean and work at removing the stain.” She set a gentle hand at Christy’s back to lead her up to the house, but Christy resisted.

“Wait, I came to ask if the injured man can stay at the Mission a few days to recover? Umphrey Tatum--”

“Jarvis’s older brother,” Miss Alice said with some surprise. “He’s a long way from home. Jarvis moved closer to Cutter Gap when he married Ellie.” She closed her eyes for a minute, lips moving as she worked out the logistics. “Where is the injury?”

“His leg.”

“A horse, then?” At Christy’s nod, Miss Alice nodded decisively. “You head in and change. Remove everything, now. Once blood’s set for a spell, the fabric’s ruined. I’ll saddle up Theo and find David in the meantime.”

“Yes, Miss Alice,” Christy said-- but just as she turned to run up to the Mission house, she felt a hand on her non-stained arm. 

“I can send Ruby Mae to fetch more men, if there’s still danger?” Miss Alice’s expression brooked no prevarication.

“Not anymore, I don’t think,” she answered truthfully. “I was arguing with Neil when the group of them showed up. I suggested we make them some food in case they’d been traveling a long time, hungry and angry. Doctor MacNeill took it out to them and I stayed inside. I don’t know what he said, but after the explosion--”

“Explosion!”

“I think they brought black powder. Neil said after they spoke, Umphrey tried to take apart whatever he’d set up with the powder, and it blew up.”

Speaking it aloud and seeing Miss Alice’s expression of deep concern made Christy a little dizzy. She shut her eyes for a second only to find her hand tightly clasped in two shaking hands.

“Oh, Christy.”

“I was praying, Miss Alice,” she whispered. “I don’t think I thought about how scary it was until now.”

“Umphrey Tatum is well known as the most impulsive man in these mountains. Go on up. I’ll find David,” Miss Alice said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I am so very glad that--” She broke off.

Christy brought their joined hands up and kissed the back of Miss Alice’s. “Me too. Oh, and please don’t tell David about the blood? He’ll be angry at me for any number of imaginary reasons!”

***

David had been doing more work around the schoolhouse with John Spencer, so the two of them and Miss Alice all went to Neil’s to fetch the injured Umphrey. This left Christy with Ruby Mae and her many (damaging, inexplicable) ways to get blood out of fabric. After ten minutes, Christy realized it had been a mistake not to hide away while she worked on her dress, but by now, that couldn’t be helped.

At least if Ruby Mae was engrossed by the blood and Christy’s role in helping fix up a member of a murderous posse that had traveled fifty some miles to attack their beloved Cove doctor, that meant she wasn’t engrossed by something much more scandalous.

The sound of horses drew the redhead away, but Christy decided that Ruby Mae’s penchant for gossip meant there wasn’t much reason to hide what they’d been doing. She set her wet, less-stained dress aside for now, stripping off the apron she’d put on to protect her second outfit. By the time she was finished with this, David and Umphrey had arrived.

As soon as Christy walked out to greet them, she knew something was wrong. David’s expression was black as could be, though Umphrey himself seemed in very good spirits.

For some reason, he reminded her of the mailman, Pentland.

“There’s the angel!” Umphrey declared from his precarious position on Theo.

David swung down from the saddle. “Doc gave him something to help with the pain.”

“We set up a space for you upstairs, but it’ll be lunch soon, so I reckon you’d rather set up on the porch until then. I got a new zucchini recipe from Miss Hattie I think I’m brave enough to try!” Ruby Mae said brightly. 

“Go on up,” Christy told her, hoping Ruby Mae would be so busy working out that new recipe she wouldn’t hear whatever else a medication-enhanced Umphrey Tatum might have to say.

“I’m going to lead him as close to the house as I can,” David said. He sounded like he’d swallowed something particularly disgusting, and Christy followed behind them with no small amount of trepidation.

“I don’t need no lunch. Don’t want to be no bother, with’n you being so nice and all,” Umphrey said. “That soup you and the doc--”

“You did say you ate already. Multiple times,” David said curtly.

“Do you need help getting up the stairs?” Christy offered, hoping to refocus both men. They responded at the same time.

“That would be mighty sweet of ya.”

“I could use your help with the horses, actually. Head over there?”

“Lookin’ forward to hearin’ one of yer sermons before I head on home, Preacher. You’ve got a fine grip on the doom and hell of it all,” Umphrey remarked. If he’d been of sound mind it might have been incisive commentary on David’s current temper, but she got the impression it was just good-natured honesty.

David looked over at her and made a gesture for her to get out of there. She took hold of Theo’s lead and did as he asked, but with every step away from the pair of men, she worried more about what Tatum could have possibly said to get David in such a dark mood. She had a fairly good idea, unfortunately. 

Christy had mostly gotten Theo settled in the stable when David arrived.

“Before you say anything, please remember what Doctor MacNeill said about pain medicine and how it can scramble a person’s brains?” she said placatingly. 

It was a mistake to mention Neil.

David picked up the saddle she’d been unable to mount in its proper place and manhandled it away. “Scrambled or not, he thinks the two of you are married.”

“Plenty of people have made that very same mistake after seeing the two of us work together at the Mission,” Christy reminded him. In the back of her mind, two different selves were warring; one wanted to stop anything like that from ever being said, and the other wanted to know more.

“His reasoning sounded quite well founded, Christy.”

She marched out from where she’d been brushing Theo. “David! That man had just blown himself up after walking for days to yell at a stranger! Over something he was deeply mistaken about! If you did that and a woman came out of that stranger’s house with soup, you’d think the same thing.”

“What were you doing cooking at MacNeill’s anyway?”

“Trying not to get blown up,” she said wryly. She lifted the brush to continue grooming the horse.

“I need you to be serious.” David’s voice was very close, and Christy decided she wasn’t going to turn around. She knew by experience that might make her feel bad for upsetting him, and he was being unreasonable.

Of course, if he’d known exactly what had transpired at Neil’s, David would have every reason to be jealous and upset-- but he didn’t, and she had no intention of telling him.

“Please remember what today was like for me. I was quite frightened when those men showed up. It took the two of us a while to figure out something that wouldn’t antagonize them further,” she said quietly. “I got the impression that it would be best to focus on the man’s injury rather than correcting any… misconceptions.”

“He sang praises of the two of you as a couple for half the ride back to the Mission, Christy!”

Instead of getting more frustrated with him, Christy had a moment of clarity. David Grantland was a man of action, someone who planned to bend the world to his will or die trying. She wondered how often he’d ever truly failed at something, and hoped that failing to court her wasn’t going to be the first time. That thought brought another to mind.

“He was glad to be alive, David,” she said, sidestepping past Theo, so she was no longer crowded into the stall door by David’s bruised ego. “Glad to be alive and grateful to the two people he sees as part of saving him, not to mention a little tipsy, or whatever you’d call it, from the pain medication. That’s all.”

“You should be more worried,” David said, though his aggression seemed to have eased a little. “I’ll ask MacNeill to put him straight, but the damage may already be done, depending on who else was listening.”

She knew he meant Ruby Mae. “Some people just like to see the world in a romantic, idealized view. From what Miss Alice said, Mr. Tatum might be like that too. I’m not sure anyone else will take what he says all that seriously, not when they know the truth.”

David stood sideways for a long moment, as though wrestling with what he wanted to say. Finally he started for the door, tossing one last thing over his shoulder.

“You won’t be using such rosy words to describe either of them if you end up trapped here.”

Christy knew exactly why he was upset. She wished she could soothe him, but right now the David Grantland who was walking out of the stable wasn’t the dear friend she felt such a kinship to. He was the spurned suitor, and that version of David never had listened to her very well.

***

She avoided speaking to anyone else that afternoon by secreting herself away at the schoolhouse to scrub more at her dress, organize her lesson plans, and think. As the sun set, she found her plight darkly amusing. In her attempt to lift the creative and academic spirits of her students, and in the wake of their delight in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, she’d described a short list of other plays for the students to vote on.

They’d chosen Hamlet-- and here she was, hidden away scrubbing desperately at the bloody proof of her misdeeds.

“That’s a ridiculous comparison!” she said aloud. There was something satisfying about speaking such a refutation aloud, but this time it fell short of relief. After all, she had behaved with righteous indignation toward David, but if he’d known the true circumstances of her morning at the doctor’s cabin, that attitude would have been reversed, and with good reason.

Christy sighed. Over and over, that same series of thoughts showed themselves, just as Neil had implied they would… and it hadn’t even been a full twelve hours since she’d shown up to pound on his door.

“Now that is a weary sound.” 

She almost dropped the soaking wet dress onto her lap at the sound of Miss Alice’s voice. Christy looked up and saw her mentor standing at the doorway with a gentle smile.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“You mean, did I hear thee speaking to the wind?” Miss Alice asked, walking slowly into the room, looking around at the most recent of the students’ drawings tacked up along one side of the wall.

Christy looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t know who I was speaking to. Just realized I’m here scrubbing blood out of my dress during the same week we’re reading Macbeth.”

“Are you under the mistaken impression that every faithful servant of God should have no guilt to refute?”

“How do you do that?” Christy asked, standing up. It was time to give up on the dress for the night.

“Do what?”

“You have an amazing ability to cut down to the heart of everything I’m thinking. It’s unnerving sometimes,” Christy admitted. She snuck a look at Miss Alice and saw no particular condemnation, so she continued. “Sometimes I worry that God is tired of all the things I feel guilty for. When I was little, I used to spend so much time asking Him for forgiveness during my daily prayers that my mother thought I was making things up so I could delay my bedtime.”

Miss Alice clasped her hands in front of her and let out a little laugh of pleasure. “I can picture that so very clearly, thank you, Christy.”

“The older we get, the more complicated it all is, don’t you think?” She paused, unsure of how exactly to word her concerns. When she was ten, ‘sin’ seemed so easily spotted and avoided, but ten or so years later, she was realizing that the ease had shifted the other way. It seemed the perfect time to seek the counsel of someone she looked up to as much as Miss Alice, but after the day’s events…

“What is it?” Miss Alice set a gentle hand on her arm. With her eyes shut, Christy spoke, the words tumbling over each other to escape before she changed her mind.

“Tatum’s brother has made some assumptions about the food I cooked to persuade them not to harm the doctor.”

“That he surely has.”

Christy opened her eyes and looked over at Miss Alice in horror. The older woman’s tone was exactly the sort of exasperated frustration she’d heard in David before his jealousy had taken over.

“How many people has he spoken to about it?” she whispered.

“So far, anyone who will listen.”

“Miss Alice, I promise you--”

“I know. Shhh, dear one; If only I could reassure thee in the way you most wish,” Miss Alice said, lifting her hand to brush a lock of hair away from Christy’s face. “Just as I can see a tableau of the story you just told me of thy childhood, I can also see you and Neil planning out the best way to escape that dangerous situation.” Her hand fell to Christy’s shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly. “You did not do wrong in this. It is unfortunate that in his enthusiasm, Umphrey Tatum has concluded, wrongly, that you and Neil are wed.”

The weight of knowing about Margaret’s death was suffocating. Neil had been right. She did regret having that answer.

“What can we do?” she breathed.

Miss Alice released her shoulder gently, in increments, as she spoke. “I’ve come to induce thee to attend dinner. Neil is unable to, busy as he is with the reconstruction work on his property. If you are also missing, it would give the impression that the two of you--”

“I understand,” Christy interrupted.

“Good.”

Miss Alice was making her way slowly back toward the door, and something about her posture made Christy ask, “How bad is it?”

Her friend and mentor paused and looked up at the ceiling. “This may yet be repairable. You should know that David has already spoken to me. His solution…”

“He wants to propose,” Christy said, unable to keep her tone entirely neutral. Now Miss Alice turned to look at her, neither disappointed nor surprised.

“You’re not wrong. He was quite insistent. I’m afraid I had to be harsh with him, which he may take out on thee, or on Neil, more likely.”

Christy was wide-eyed. “What did you say to him?”

“I told David that pressure to make such an important decision after a traumatic experience is neither loving nor godly, no matter what kind of white knight he sees himself to be. You are, Christy Huddleston, the sort of young woman who seeks to rescue thyself, I think.”

“Thank you,” Christy said, taken aback. “I’m sorry about David. I think he--”

Miss Alice made a sharp noise to stop her. “Thou art reverting to childhood, now. That is not your guilt to bear.” 

“I just wish I knew how to be kind to David Grantland without him reading so much into it, and I wish I could explain to Umphrey Tatum that I was comfortable cooking a meal at Dr. MacNeill’s without him thinking there’s a closer relationship there!”

“Do you wish me to be honest with thee, Christy?”

“I don’t know,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know how everything got so complicated.”

“Whether by purpose or not, Christy, there is a closer relationship there. It is not fully in the eye of the beholder, no matter how much you wish it to be so.”

“I promise you, I had no intention of--” She broke off, words failing her.

“The ways of God are mysterious, and we do not always see His hand when it moves. That can lead us as His servants to question ourselves, sometimes in fear, when events move beyond our direct intention.”

Christy shook her head, lost, and Miss Alice looked down, her lips bending into a smile before it faded away.

“It seems the more troubled I am, the more I sink into philosophy.”

“I am everyday heartened by your words of wisdom, Miss Alice,” Christy said.

“And I am everyday delighted by your outlook on the world, Christy Huddleston. Come,” Miss Alice said, holding out her arm for her to take. “I’ll try again, just for thee,” Miss Alice said as they walked in tandem down the stairs of the schoolhouse. “I know you do not seek to replace my daughter in any sphere that may present itself to you.”

If she’d been in any other position, been standing anywhere else, Christy would have pulled back, but she was captured by affection and politeness, something Miss Alice had to know. All she could do was try to keep pace with her mentor.

“I’m glad you know that, because it’s true,” she whispered. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she asked herself: Is this what sinning feels like? A terrible knowledge tearing you apart every time you’re faced with the need to keep silent?

“I told you once that thou art ‘another gift,’ and that truth is renewed for me often, Christy.”

A powerful need to tell Miss Alice exactly how much she loved and respected her washed through Christy, but it wasn’t the time or place for that. The emotion was strong enough that she nearly stumbled when Miss Alice led them not to the steps leading up to the Mission, but instead to the footbridge nearby. After ensuring that her footing was sound, Miss Alice released her and turned away, gripping the railing as if needing it to remain upright.

“What is it?” Christy whispered.

“I received a letter a day or so ago. I recognized the handwriting--”

This was definitely what sinning felt like. There wasn’t a way to pretend she didn’t understand, so she whispered, “Your daughter?”

Miss Alice looked over then, and in her eyes was the kind of desolation that could only mean one thing. She smiled, but somehow it wasn’t out of place.

“A last message, written with her characteristic war between grace and fury. Buried in the hurtful words and empty anger was a desire to use me as a weapon against her husband. I refuse.”

It was clear that the letters were very, very different, with Neil’s a short, impersonal missive, prompted by Margaret but penned by the clinic itself upon her death-- but the letter sent to Miss Alice sounded, in a word, monstrous.

“That is so awful,” Christy whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I. She knew how important it was that the two of us come to an understanding, particularly after her illness. Her--” Miss Alice’s voice faltered, and Christy reached over to squeeze her hand on the railing. “Her letter made it very clear that I had failed, and there were no second chances.”

Christy had spent the time since Margaret MacNeill’s return trying very hard not to think badly of her-- in truth, trying not to hate her. After all, the Bible said it was like a kind of murder… but right now, hating her felt entirely appropriate.

“I can tell by the strength of thy grip that you are struggling with a response,” Miss Alice whispered. “So am I, Christy. So am I.”

“You both deserve better,” Christy spat.

“I don’t know about that. I do think it’s one of life’s great joys to be surrounded by people who believe as much.”

***

Dinner was a trial. David had come out to find the two of them quiet and contemplative, staring out at the deepening twilight. He’d insisted on Christy taking his arm on the short walk back to the Mission, but by his pointed comments on the way, David hadn’t been very pleased with her silence. There wasn’t a polite way to remind him that she’d had a frightening and eventful day, but that wasn’t the true reason.

“I’m going to ask thee a favor, but before I do, I’m asking that you keep your thoughts about it to yourself. I need to think on how best to tell Neil what happened. That means I’ll need thee to keep thy knowledge about Margaret close, and trust that I will share that news in due time.”

 Miss Alice’s decision was prudent, but it was a further complication on top of an already huge dilemma. Christy was used to being a go-between, a peacemaker, but this was as volatile as the black powder Umphrey Tatum had used to booby trap Neil’s porch stairs.

Once everyone was seated at dinner she had a whole other trap to disarm.

“--my eyes open, and what do I see? The prettiest nurse I ever beheld, and not afeared of the blood, besides!”

“That’s not true,” Christy said, embarrassed. “Ruby Mae, this recipe is…” A horrible burp bubbled up in her chest, and she knew if she opened her mouth, an equally horrible sound would be released.

“It is indeed, quite something,” David said quickly, lifting his brows in quiet concern beside her.

Christy pressed her napkin to her lips and nodded.

“And what a cook!” Tatum continued unabated. Out of the corner of her eye, Christy saw Ruby Mae’s face fall. 

It was time to change the subject.

“Mr. Tatum, I meant to ask earlier-- where are your other family members?”

“Fixin’ up the house, with yer doc! Should be good as new in a day or so.” Tatum’s smile was only slightly less bright than when he’d arrived.

“Dr. MacNeill is--” David started in a strident voice, but Christy set her hand on his, a calculated choice she hoped she wouldn’t come to regret. As she’d hoped, he stopped speaking in surprise, and she jumped in.

“--a friend, one I stopped by to visit this morning. I’d heard how much he’d been hiding away, after…” Christy stopped, taking a deep breath. She’d pitched her tone to one much too cheerful for her next words. “After the loss of your sister-in-law. He wasn’t eating.”

Umphrey Tatum’s hand was paused on the way to bringing a forkful of zucchini mash to his mouth, engrossed in her story. He nodded for her to continue, and the slight movement put paid to the forkful.

“Well, you and your family… arrived, and the doctor and I argued for a while about what to do.” Christy looked down to adjust the napkin on her lap, moving her hand from David’s in the process. What she was saying wasn’t a falsehood exactly, but it wasn’t the full truth, either. “In the end, we decided I ought to make more of the food I’d come by to force him to eat, and see if offering it to you would help you see the way to an understanding.”

“So you ain’t his?”

Christy shook her head, feeling a heat in her cheeks that she dearly wished would dissipate. Miss Alice took up the story, speaking warmly of Ellie Tatum, and Christy took the opportunity to drink half of her water glass, shutting her eyes and trying to calm her nerves.

The memory of Neil’s hand at her back and the way his fingers had gotten tangled in her hair struck her unexpectedly, followed right after by the ghost sensation of his lips on hers. Grabbing her napkin, she pressed it to her mouth, torn between stimulating the sensation further and distracting herself away from the private moment. Miss Alice was right. There was a connection there.

“Christy?”

It was David’s voice, pitched under the conversation going on at the other side of the table.

“I’m fine,” she lied. It was among the many untruths she’d told that day, and given the many secrets the day held, she didn’t see how to avoid telling more in the days to come.

Chapter Text

A Magical Ultimatum

Church was thankfully uneventful the next day. The ‘Tatum Three’ had headed over to the church more local to Jarvis’s homestead, and Umphrey himself was in too much pain to be moved. After the service, David hovered like a zealous older brother, treating questions about the Tatums like particularly offensive gossip. Even so, Christy sought to leave as soon as was socially acceptable. On her way out, she saw Fairlight Spencer making her way toward her through the various knots of people.

Fairlight would immediately be able to tell she was agonizing over something. It was childish, but Christy quickened her pace to look like she needed to get back to the Mission, leaving her friend standing at the edge of the socializing crowd with a concerned look on her face.

***

Monday was easier. She was able to focus on the children rather than the growing pressure of knowing something. It really wasn’t her place to do anything about Margaret’s death, but praying about it hadn’t alleviated the horrible feeling one bit. The best she could do was try not to think about it and hope Neil and Miss Alice were led to speak to each other soon. 

The weather was so nice that Christy decided to bring the whole group into the nearby woods for a long-planned, much-delayed botany lesson. She made sure everyone brought their things, so they could dismiss from their study spot.

After school was over and she'd made sure they hadn't left anything behind, the afternoon sunshine and light breeze beckoned. She headed off in the opposite direction of the Mission. Something about the familiar yet not-quite-home pastoral setting sank into her bones, resonating the kind of peace she’d been seeking for days.

For the first time since the kiss, the wasps, and the explosion, Christy let herself think about the concerned way Neil had asked her one question.

Do you have any idea what you’ve done?

What if he was right about the Cove's view of that day? How would she handle the consequences, now that she wasn't in the middle of an emergency?

Christy leaned up against a sturdy tree and thought about it, inviting the predictable swirl of anxiety. She didn’t want to leave. In fact, her mother would probably marry her off within three months, if this was why she went home.  Even if that didn’t happen, she hated the idea of integrating back into a society that wasted things the people of Cutter Gap would have traded their most valuable materials to use.

She wanted to marry someday, had even been compelled to think about it, thanks to David’s proposal. There were things a young woman should want and things she shouldn’t, and Christy had always chosen to follow the virtuous, rule-following path. Did that make things more simple? A predictable life of service with a dedicated man of God versus an adventurous life of service with a passionate--

The memory of that rough kiss in the cabin washed over her, touching up a flash of embarrassment and excitement.

“Oh, never mind!” she said, pushing the thoughts away in a rush of fear. Nothing was proper about those feelings, and she need to think clearly if she was going to figure anything out.

It was dinner time when Christy got back, but when she walked inside, only David was there.

“Ruby Mae is having dinner with some friends, and Alice went to speak to MacNeill. It’s just the two of us this evening.”

Christy blinked in surprise. “What about Umphrey?”

“Asleep,” David smiled. “He asked me to give him Sunday’s sermon after lunch, and afterwards he argued with me about theology for a good hour and a half before he tired himself out. Alice told me to let him rest.”

“Does he have an infection? He and the others walked a long ways to get here, I would have thought he’d be able to handle a--”

“Vigorous conversation?” David interrupted.

“Was it?” Christy settled into the chair he waved her into and held her plate steady as he gave her some bread, cheese, and salad greens. 

“I get the feeling that Mr. Tatum up there has a habit of using up every single ounce of his energy on whatever he’s interested in, and then sleeps it off until the next time,” David said, sounding impressed. “I was worried too, but Dr. MacNeill showed up a few hours after lunch to check up on him. Asked about you, too.”

There was a gentle push in his voice that Christy ignored. 

“Well, that’s good to hear. John Spencer says they’re almost done fixing the stairs, but it’s slower going because two of the men stayed in Low Gap asking around for a hired horse to get Umphrey back home.”

“Good,” David said, setting his water cup down with a thump. She raised her eyebrows and he elaborated, “I can see how he worked himself up to being convinced MacNeill killed his sister-in-law. Once that man’s got something in his mind, he doesn’t let go of it, and he doesn’t shut up about it, either.”

Christy focused on her plate. “Don’t tell me…”

“If you’re asking if he’s still convinced you and MacNeill are a couple, the answer is yes. Doc didn’t work all that hard to convince him, either,” he said, pointing at her with a chunk of bread. “We need to get Tatum out of here before he causes trouble for you.”

In a way, his prediction was encouraging. ‘Before he causes trouble’ meant the trouble didn’t yet exist, and perhaps it wouldn’t if Umphrey Tatum spent his remaining days at the Mission arguing about hellfire with David.

“Well, thank you for keeping him busy telling you those things, instead of anyone else,” Christy said, smiling over to him.

David’s sound of annoyance had the usual tinge of affection to it, and eventually he stopped sorting through the greens on his plate. “If it keeps you from being miserable for the rest of your life, it’s worth it.”

“David,” she whispered, half-scandalized. The dissonance in his words felt like the clanging of a sword against a shield she herself was holding up. It rang through her, demanding refutation. “I have a lot of work yet to do here in Cutter Gap, and so do you! And--” She broke off, hesitant to say the rest.

David put down his fork and folded his hands on the table in front of himself, a caricature of attentiveness. “And?”

“And…” She couldn’t look at him, but it needed to be said. “And, arranged marriages aren’t always terrible, especially not between people who already know each other, and are friendly. That’s the key. Respect and-- I’m trying to say, I think some couples are very happy, in the end.” Christy stood up to clear away the leftover dinner mess. It was suddenly very important that her hands were busy. 

“Arranged, maybe. Forced, no. You surprise me, Christy.”

She crossed her arms tightly and lifted her chin, feeling oddly secure in the enclosure of the doorway. “Just because something is a difficult subject doesn’t mean I shouldn’t correct you when you’re wrong.”

David laughed, but she tipped her head to the side and looked at him with as hard an expression as she could manage.

“You think you could be happy with MacNeill.” He said it as a statement, rather than a question.

“Not that it matters, but I do.” She sighed, and looked off to the side so she didn’t have to see the ugly, frankly possessive expression on David’s face. “I’m going to bed early.”

“Goodnight, I suppose,” he said. In her mind, the words translated to ‘you’re the one who is wrong,’ but though it plagued her for over an hour as she tried to sleep, Christy couldn’t shake her need to be defensive.

***

On Wednesday, the children once again deviated from their usual funeral playacting. Just as they had the day before, they clustered together and called out the roles for the planned charade, with Creed Allen playing the most important part, as usual.

“I’m the preacher!” he cried, climbing up on a small stump and putting his hands on his hips. “Becky, you’re teacher, if’n you think you can handle it?”

Becky nodded with a pleased expression on her face, and Christy quickly turned back to her sweeping, not wanting the children to know she was listening. Her goal of helping to integrate the O’Teales had been greatly helped by Becky’s eye condition and the special attention she’d been getting.

They’d played wedding the day before, but that time was historical, a story that, in retrospect, bridged the gap between their usual funerial fare and the current matrimonial one. That time, Creed had played Aunt Hattie’s husband, complete with a creaky voice better suited to a spouse of Hattie’s current age. Rob had been roped into officiating, and Creed had ‘married’ Zady Spencer, who had seemed utterly delighted to have been chosen for so key a role.

Her crying once her husband and three sons had died of Typhus had been moving and ridiculous, but Christy wasn’t sure she was going to approve of today’s choices. Not if she was one of the characters.

“Sam Houston, d’you reckon you kin speak like Doc?”

Christy stopped sweeping. “Creed, what in heaven’s name are you up to?”

Creed’s face split into an enormous grin. “We’s be actin’ out the future, teacher!”

All of her blood froze in place. “The future?”

Sam Houston walked over, his shoulders back and his expression grave. “I’ve got to marry ye.”

“All of you stop this right now!” Christy said, hearing the strain of fear in her voice. “Now, I don’t know where you got the idea in the first place, but you should know it’s not proper to act out things you think are going to happen, much less something as serious as, as--”

“Don’t you like the doc?” Mountie asked softly.

“Of course I do! Do you like Sam Houston or Rob Allen? They’re your classmates, right?” The children had all come to cluster around her, and Christy felt a little suffocated by the need to make them stop. “Just because you like somebody doesn’t mean you’re going to marry them.”

“It does if yer catched kissin’ all alone!” someone said from behind her.

Christy looked up at the sky and maybe kind of wished it would fall down. “Where did you get that idea?” Each of her precious, precocious students shrugged, all but one. Creed was looking her right in the eye, his confidence entirely unshakable.

“Ruby Mae came by fer dinner, and she said--”

“That is gossip, Creed Allen!”

“But teacher, I ain’t git to what she said!”

“If you decided to playact a wedding based off of what she told you, it’s gossip. Go inside, all of you. Lunch is over.”

She stayed outside to compose herself until every single student had made their way in. The news of Margaret’s death had filtered out across the Cove over the past two days; for the children to so immediately dismiss Neil’s possible grief over the chance to play wedding seemed casually cruel. In other circumstances, Christy would have highlighted the situation as a chance to demonstrate kindness and consideration. 

One thing in particular bothered her, but asking about it felt like it might be poking a wasp’s nest. The more she thought about it, though, the more it felt like exactly the right way to point out to at least one of her students that he was being unkind.

Crouching beside Creed to help him with a mathematics problem, Christy said quietly, “I appreciate that you didn't turn Dr. MacNeill’s recent loss into one of your re-enactments.”

“Don’t you be worryin’ about that, teacher. Ain’t nobody want to anyways. She done hurt the doc somethin’ fierce. I reckon she can stand not havin’ t’ be around us, even in the afterlife!”

“Creed!” she whispered, trying her best to be scandalized. Margaret Henderson MacNeill’s comment about teaching had been particularly cruel, but Christy didn’t realize the children knew of her distaste.

“I ain’t the only one, neither!” He leaned back from her, tipped his head back, and shouted, “Anyone else glad doc don’t got a--”

Christy covered his mouth with her hand, eyes wide. “That’s enough!”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Christy had a sick feeling in her stomach that wasn’t just about the Cove’s perspective on Margaret’s death, but also fear regarding the rumors of ‘indiscretions’ at Neil’s cabin. It was Bessie’s lie but more real, with real consequences.

At dismissal she stayed at her desk, allowing a designated group of students the opportunity to lower and put away the flag. It was a proud moment for them as well as a distraction that allowed her to gather her thoughts.

Movement in the doorway caught her attention. Instead of the students bringing her the triangular folded flag, it was Fairlight Spencer.

“Fairlight! Come in, what brings you to visit?”

“A lot’s happened since I seen you last. I wanted to see how you were getting on,” her friend said warmly.

“It’s been a strange week. I’ll be happy when everything dies down and Mr. Tatum is able to get home safely. He’s set to leave with the rest of his family in the morning.”

Fairlight nodded. “John’s been keeping me updated with the progress over at the doc’s.” She looked over her shoulder and back at Christy, a little smile creeping across her face. “Say, you want to walk me home? There’s something I’d been meaning to ask you about after church.”

“Of course,” Christy said. “I guess I have been keeping to myself.”

“It’s real easy to get caught up in our own heads after getting spooked,” her friend said sagely, leading the way down the stairs. Fairlight looked around at the landscape and sniffed contentedly. “Just remember, you’ve got a mountain full of people who care about you, and in between you an’ them is all this beauty. Ain’t nothing can replace that unless you let it.”

“That’s lovely, thank you, Fairlight.”

They talked about various things on the way from the school to the Spencers, most of it related to Fairlight’s hopes for her oldest children. Christy spoke very little, happy to offer support for her friend. The delicate balance of community and poverty was more complicated than she’d thought when she’d come here, and there was only so far her own advice could extend, sometimes.

When they got near the cabin, Christy saw that there was a horse tied outside. It was Neil’s, and she looked at Fairlight with alarm, worried he’d been called to the house in her absence. To her surprise, Fairlight’s expression was guarded, almost defensive.

“Now, don’t go holding a grudge against me, you hear? You’re my friend, and I mean you the best.”

Christy shook her head, confused. “Fairlight, what--”

“Hello ladies,” Neil said, picking his way down the hillside to them. He was wearing a fresh white shirt, his yellow vest, and a suit coat, clothing that seemed wildly out of place for an ordinary Wednesday afternoon.

Looking from one friend to the other, Christy understood that something significant must have happened, something related to the children’s play-acting at lunch. Forcing herself to smile through the wave of anxiety washing through her, she lifted her chin and met Neil’s eyes.

His expression was so gently apologetic that her heart pumped a hundred degrees hotter for the first seconds of their eye contact.

“It’s such a fine afternoon, would you like an escort back to the Mission?” he asked solicitously.

A part of her mind screamed at her to fight the idea of an inevitable tarnished reputation for nothing more than terrible timing. Yelling at him for that wasn’t very sensible, though, and it would certainly be rude, so she nodded, looking to Fairlight.

“Thank you for the walk. Maybe we can do it again without outside pressures cutting it short?”

Neil’s sharp bark of laughter had the accidental benefit of cutting some of the tension.

“I deserved it,” Fairlight allowed. “Another walk? I’d like that.” With that, she started up the hill, stopping to nod respectfully at Neil when she passed him. “Jeb and I, we’ll be holding onto that horse of yours for as long as it’ll take you to work things out, if you understand me.”

Neil looked to be speechless for a few seconds before he finally nodded. “I understand you.”

“Good,” Fairlight nodded. “That’ll square up your favor.” At that, she climbed up to where his horse was and settled onto a nearby stump like she planned to wait there until they got back.

“You asked her to come get me, didn’t you!” Christy asked. “Why did you have to involve Fairlight at all? Couldn’t you have come by the Mission to--”

“I did. Multiple times,” Neil said, crossing the remaining hillside to look down at her. “Stopped by the school as well.” It was possible she’d wasted a lot of his time, given his obvious annoyance. Employing an accomplice had probably been a last resort.

“I-- I stayed away from everyone, not just you. I thought that would help things die down.”

“It did not. Walk with me?” Neil started down the hill without waiting for a response. She followed, guilt gnawing on the parts of her insides that weren’t dedicated to anticipation and anxiety.

Five minutes of suspenseful silence passed before she realized she didn’t know where they were. Christy was just about to ask about it when he stepped through a gap of thick brush and out of sight. She followed and then stopped, taken by the beauty of the small area he’d led her to. They were standing a few feet from the edge of a small drop-off bordering a stream, but right past where they were standing, the elevation dipped, creating a cheerful waterfall. Across at the other bank was a patch of wildflowers, and right at their feet, the forest scrub thinned out, leaving a little stretch of mountain grass.

“This is just beautiful,” she said.

“'Tis.” 

Christy could see him out of the corner of her eye-- he was looking at her, not the view. It ought to have been intimidating, but what really threw her was the potential in his expression, the promise that it carried in context with Fairlight’s ‘trap’ and the children’s charade at lunch.

Whatever the Cove thought had happened between them, Neil must not be fighting it, she realized. The man who’d offered to keep his wife’s death a secret so she could run away to Asheville was wearing his very best clothes. He’d brought her to a lovely, wild place, somewhere they wouldn’t be overheard.

She was here to be persuaded.

“I wondered where you were taking me,” she teased lightly. Would Neil hear the tremble in her voice and conclude she was afraid of him? She wasn’t. Christy was afraid that no one from her previous life would ever understand how tempted she was to stay in these mountains forever.

“Far enough that you wouldn’t be able to dodge talking to me this time,” he said. It was half-teasing, half censure, and she supposed she deserved it.

Christy moved toward the waterfall and breathed in, remembering what Fairlight had said about natural beauty. “I needed to do some thinking,” she finally said. Neil came to stand beside her.

“And that was enough to completely change your daily routines?”

She looked up at him. Neil was watching the waterfall, one hand in his pants pocket, at ease-- but the very fact that he was standing so close still sent her pulse into cartwheels. His reason for bringing her here was plain as day, and it was time to acknowledge that.

“I find it hard to think clearly around you, sometimes.”

Because she was already looking at him, Christy got to see the little flicker of something that passed through Neil at her words. He pulled in a sharp breath, but when he spoke, there was a teasing familiarity in his voice.

“When one of my patients expresses a sensitivity or aversion to something, I often suggest they spend more time around it, so they can train themselves to become more comfortable.” 

He shot an assessing look in her direction before refocusing on the landscape, and Christy looked down at herself. She was standing with her arms tightly crossed, shoulders shrugged up in a defensive posture. Properly chastised, she drew in a long slow breath and let her arms fall to her sides, rolling her shoulders before letting the breath back out.

“Point taken.”

“It’s more than a prescription, Christy. I’ve been visited by the elders of the Cove. They’ve issued an edict, of sorts.”

Neil’s steady rumble was a direct contrast to the cascade of contradicting images from inside her head. Her bedroom at home, complete with the view onto the street full of carriages and well-dressed townsfolk. Neil’s bedroom, cozy and simple, with a view of the mountain and the sound of the stream. Her father, dressed in his Sunday best, head bent in prayer. Neil in a threadbare shirt rolled up past his elbows, head bent over the body of a child whose life he would save.

Christy bent down and picked a small purple flower, twirling it between her fingers. It seemed suddenly symbolic, plentiful here but too inconsequential to show up in the simplest of flower bouquets sold in Asheville.

Neil was waiting for her to say something; she lit on the same issue she’d brought up to Creed. “Aren’t you in mourning?”

“I did my mourning long ago.” Neil sighed. “That grief was wasted on someone who didn’t just hate me, she hated everything I love most. I still harbor regrets, but that’s all they are. Uncle Bogg knows that.”

“What did he say?” she forced herself to ask.

“We’re to report to the church on Sunday afternoon for the ceremony.”

She grabbed his arm to turn him toward her. “Neil, that's just three days away!”

“It was five when they came to tell me,” he pointed out.  “I spent the other two trying to speak to you discreetly.”

Christy had already crossed her arms again, partly to contain the headlong pounding of her heart. “No one came to me! Was it because they knew you’d obey them without question?” she asked in a tight voice. 

She mentally constructed her arguments. It wasn’t their fault they’d been locked in! It would be cruel for her to have spent hours threatened at gunpoint by Jarvis Tatum only to be threatened with guns and gunpowder by his brother, and then threatened by the Cove into marriage!  

At the same time, a wild, desperate voice in the very depths of her heart was screaming that she shouldn’t throw away this unexpected chance.

Neil was silent. When she glanced up at him, she saw the unhappy set of his jaw before he said, “There was no reasoning with them.”

“But you’re known to be… partial to me. You grew up listening to those men, but I didn’t,” Christy exclaimed. “I should get a chance to--”

“You think I was given a chance to object?” he interrupted incredulously.

“Would you object?”

Neil ran his hand roughly through his hair and stalked over to the farthest edge of their small little oasis. “I should not be allowed to tie another young woman to an overworked doctor in the middle of the mountains. You have a thousand dreams of making the world better, Christy. How many people live here versus the number of people you could help where you came from?” His voice was thick with emotion. “How do I say that to a group of men who have spent their whole lives in these mountains, same as me? Leaders who have seen family members starve in the lean times, who’ve been shot at by those who rejected their authority-- and who fixes them up when that happens?”

“You do.”

“I wish you could have seen the respect on their faces when they came to speak to me about this. When I was a boy I would have craved that. I was so proud of what I’d accomplished, the things I’d learned-- and when I came back from my schooling I was a stranger to them.” Neil bowed his head, and her heart broke for the young man he must have been. He’d thrown himself headfirst into another country, a whole new economic and social structure, and not only had he thrived, he’d learned enough to come back and make a significant difference in the lives of his people.

She walked half the distance between them. “That respect was more than earned, I hope you know that.”

“I had to start from scratch, but when they listen to me, it’s because they trust my judgment, not just my breeding.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Not that it helped much.”

Christy allowed herself a small smile. “I can’t picture you standing there obediently receiving orders.”

“I didn’t. I told them there was a good chance Ferrand will pull your funding. He’d be a fool not to; anyone who’s met ye knows you’d never stop teaching those children unless you’re physically incapable of it.” Neil shifted to face her, stress etched onto the lines of his face. “I told them there was a chance you’d leave anyway, and if you did, Cutter Gap would be without a teacher.”

“They wouldn’t send anyone else if they thought something like this might happen again,” Christy realized aloud.

“Aye.”

A thought occurred to her, and her laugh made him look at her like she’d grown a second head. “I just had the thought: I don’t think rabbit stew is going to get us out of this one,” she explained.

“No, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” he said. Neil looked at the ground, then came over, leaning down to pick something up. With a half smile, he handed it to her.

It was the tiny purple flower she’d dropped. The petals were scuffed a little, but it still smelled sweet. 

“You spoke about thinking clearly. I haven’t been able to do that around you for some time,” he confessed, sincerity gleaming in his eyes. She was captivated, fingers clutching the delicate flower to her chest. “I can’t offer you the life you would have had in Asheville or Baltimore, but picturing you in expensive silks attending parties so far away-- it makes my chest ache. I don’t think you’d find that life fulfilling, and neither would I. That’s why I came back here.” Neil took her hand, his large thumb swiping a caress over the top of it. “I’d be honored to make a life with you, Christy. The very thought has me as drunk as I was last Saturday. I’ll grant, this isn’t the way I would have liked to ask you, but as far as I’m concerned, Tatum just sped up the timeline.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she whispered, overcome.

Neil dropped the hand he was holding. “--but I’m a friend. A colleague. And not only is this very sudden, but it’s being forced on you,” he said stiffly, seeming to be quoting lines to an argument he’d had with an imaginary version of her. “I understand.”

“I didn’t-- that’s not what I--” 

Christy rushed to stop him from walking back through the brush, catching handfuls of his suit coat in each hand. She’d only just recognized her own feelings! That Neil felt anything even remotely similar was dizzying and wonderful… except the last thing she wanted to do was promise too much. Not after she’d spent so much time trying to prove she wasn’t Margaret.

If they obeyed the Cove’s edict, wouldn’t there be time to tell him how she felt? Wouldn’t that be more rewarding?

“Please, listen to me,” Christy begged, willing him to look at her instead of staring at the obscured path ahead with a resolute expression. “Neil,” she tried again.

He shut his eyes, then refocused them to meet hers. The vulnerability there almost made her change her mind and tell him the whole truth of her feelings, but would he even believe her, if she told him now?

“You’re right, it is sudden, and it is being forced on us. Both of us,” Christy emphasized. “But I don’t want to leave Cutter Gap. I want to continue making a difference here, and I want your work to continue. I want to stay. With you.”

Chapter Text

Traditions and Sacrifices

The next few days were difficult. David stopped acting like a friend and brother figure and fully embraced the role of jilted suitor, Miss Alice spent more time than usual in solitary prayer, and it seemed that everyone in the Cove knew the circumstances of my upcoming wedding. Through it all, I relied on frequent prayers for strength and the soul of my future husband-- and when that wasn’t quite enough to calm my nerves, I recalled the look on his face when I told him I wanted to stay with him in Cutter Gap.

He’d looked surprised at first, but as realization dawned, Neil’s expression was completely transformed by happiness. It was humbling to understand that I could have such an impact on another person’s life, especially someone as dear to me as he was. I told myself that I held the key to another moment like that, the day I had enough courage to tell him I loved him.

Christy Huddleston MacNeill,
Journals and recollections

“David did what?” Christy almost dropped the plate of food she’d been carrying to the table.

“I don’t believe he realized those objections would just make Bogg dig in deeper!” Miss Alice said, taking the platter from Christy’s nerveless fingers. “David does not understand that by pushing his opinions so vehemently, he often reinforces the traditions of the Cove, instead.”

“I don’t think he ever looks at a destination and thinks the long way is the best choice,” she agreed.

“That is an astute observation,” her mentor said. “David Grantland has many years ahead of him, as do you. Both of thee will learn better paths, in the course of that living.” Miss Alice traced her hand over one side of her hair to check it for loose pieces, a wry smile on her face. “It was fortunate that his standing invitation to preach at Lufty Branch was moved up a few weeks.”

“Very fortunate,” Christy agreed, laying out the last of the fourth table setting for dinner. She’d had to accept that the David she relied on was hurt in a way she specifically couldn’t fix, and it might be quite some time before things returned to normal, if ever. He’d been grateful to accept the offer from Lufty Branch, and in his absence, the morning’s service had been canceled in favor of the wedding at noon. There hadn’t been much time to think about that, not with finding an acceptable outfit among the clothes she’d brought, helping to organize the food for the reception, and packing her things in preparation to move out of the Mission. 

Most unexpected of all were the handful of people eager to lend her items for her special day, which was a touching surprise. Christy had carefully documented each one, keenly aware of how precious they were. They certainly helped her avoid dwelling on the unknowns of the life she was about to embark on.

Miss Alice interrupted her reverie. “In David’s absence, given his oft-stated opinion on this subject, I wish to ask thee one last time to reconsider using the telephone to inform thy parents of tomorrow’s event?”

“Excuse me, but the time. I need to keep these skills sharp,” Christy said, heading into the kitchen to pull the two pies from the oven instead of answering. One was for after dinner, the other was for the reception.

“Thy cooking is not at issue here,” Miss Alice said mildly from the doorway.

“I can’t do it,” Christy said. The reasons rose up in her throat, but she fought back their obstruction to elaborate, waving the hot mitt above that night’s pie to aid in cooling it. “Even if I’d called my parents right away, just knowing about this could put my father in a lot of stress. I’d never forgive myself if that increased his recovery time.” His stroke had been an inflection point for the family, and it was Neil’s skill and patience that had given them all hope. Even so, there was a big difference between being a person’s doctor and marrying into the family. “It’s not that they don’t like him,” she hurried to say.

“Any parent would be alarmed to be given so little warning.”

“Yes, exactly!” she said, feeling the extra energy that being defensive always infused her with. “I love my parents, but even if they could come in time, they’d spend every minute they had persuading me to come home with them. This ceremony isn’t just mine, Miss Alice. I can’t do that to him.”

Avoiding her future husband’s name at the last minute was an act of self preservation. Every reference to Neil was charged with emotional energy, churning her stomach, firing her blood, and scrambling her senses. Christy busied herself with the finishing touches on the pies to calm and distract herself. 

The silence that followed felt enough like condemnation that she added, “I’ll invite them up in a month or two, when I have proof that their fears are unfounded.”

Sliding the pie on a solid wooden serving tray, she picked it up and turned to walk it over to the table. In front of her, Miss Alice stood with the tips of her fingers pressed to her lips, eyes shining.

“You love him!”

Snow had been rare and precious in Christy’s childhood. One of her strongest memories of being frightened and pleased at the same time was standing outside in a freezing gale, watching giant snowflakes swirl into the footprints she’d made just by walking out her front door. This was a similar moment.

“Please don’t say anything to Neil,” she whispered. “He’ll think it’s out of obligation or a falsehood-- and it’s not, not that I’ve said it out loud, yet.”

Miss Alice shook her head in a way that looked like she was persuading herself as much as reassuring her. She stepped forward and took the serving tray, walking as though in a trance out to the table.

Christy followed her and found her mentor standing with her hands still positioned beside the tray she’d just set down, clearly shaken. “Miss Alice?”

“Joy,” Miss Alice said. She turned, clasping her hands in front of her lips for a moment. “Joy is in thy future. I am pleased for you both. I had feared-- but seeing you and Neil as a pair, as yourselves, separate and apart from what came before? Christy, it is a healing thing. A healing thing.”

Christy rushed into her arms. Every anxious moment related to Miss Alice’s possible reaction since the edict felt smudged and distant, with this affirmation. “I didn’t want to hurt you. If I could have stopped myself from--”

“Shhhh, shhh, I am glad thee did not. This is all as it should be, as life has always been: wondrous, confusing, and complicated.” 

A tapping at the front door interrupted the moment.

After taking a second to step away from their hug, Christy went to find Dan Scott waiting outside. Their planned dinner guest was holding a large rectangular wooden box that he lifted in greeting.

“Evening, Miss Christy. This here is a wedding loan from Miss Hattie, but she wants to make certain you know you’re not obligated to use it unless you want to.”

“Well that’s unexpected, come on in!” she said. Dan set the box on a chair a few steps from the door, and twisted the latch to open it.

Inside was a mass of delicate shell-blue and ivory fabric. At his encouraging nod, Christy started to lift what turned out to be an exquisite antique dress. The bodice was ivory with a curved vee of light blue ruched ribbon and a line of pearl-colored buttons from the neckline. As she pulled the rest of the dress out of its box, the cheerful smell of cedar accompanied the reveal of the skirt, which was ivory with a mirrored undulation of the shell-blue ribbon design coming up from the hem, and lines of the buttons leading down from the waist.

“I feel like I shouldn’t even touch this!” Christy gasped.

“I must say, Miss Huddleston, Miss Hattie showed me what was under the lid, but I’m as stunned as you to see the whole of it!” Dan said.

“Oh, Christy!” Miss Alice said from the doorway to the dining room. “Have you seen the back?”

She hadn’t, caught as she was by the clever way the dress had hung rich-looking lace from half-sleeves adorned by a rosette of ribbon. Lace was incredibly precious in the mountains, hand-made and fragile as it was. With Dan’s help, they turned the dress, its hem still safely in its box-- and that’s when Christy saw what Miss Alice had meant.

The dress was old enough to still have the remnants of a bustle, though this one seemed more to emphasize the wearer’s waist. The blue curls of ribbon that lined the waist-edge of the bodice turned into a frame for a matching blue panel. It draped down from the back where a bustle would have been, turning into a small train.

“I don’t know what to say,” Christy said.

“Well, go on, hold it up to you!” Miss Alice said, taking over as Dan stepped back respectfully. “Oh,” the older woman said, as they carefully turned the dress around again.

“What is it? I hope I didn’t damage it any on the walk over.”

“No, no, thou hast delivered a treasure, Dan. I was recalling; after the war, it wasn’t uncommon for southern scavengers to sell soot-damaged dresses and other articles, to reclaim the fabric,” Miss Alice said, kneeling at Christy’s feet to smooth her hand along the hem of the dress. “It takes a keen eye, but I can see where some of this had been sewn and then meticulously unpicked to be used again. What a masterpiece of tailoring if so, don’t you think, Christy?”

Christy was full of emotion. Gratitude, astonishment, guilt, and a million others were all clamoring for her attention like the children on a fresh school day. “I feel ashamed of my surprise,” she murmured. She never would have expected to see something so fancy in Cutter Gap.

Miss Alice stood and took the dress gently, holding it to Christy’s chest. “I think it would fit.”

“Dan, I--”

“You should have seen her. She knew right where it was in her closet. Each box had ribbon, fabric, or a, a marking on it that she could run her hands over-- all but that one. Miss Hattie knew that one by the box itself.” He looked from Christy’s stunned face to the dress. “Last thing she told me was what I said when I walked in here: ‘only use it if you want to. But if you want to, it’s no disrespect, and an honor besides.’ As for me, I’m happy I got to be here to see your reaction, so I can tell her about it.”

“I can hear something bubbling over in the kitchen,” Miss Alice said, quickly holding a hand when Christy started to fold the dress back into its box. “--no, Christy, let me handle it. Before I go: you should wear the dress. Miss Hattie is universally adored here in the Cove, and a close relative to Neil. This is quite a sign of approval!”

***

Christy woke with the sun on her wedding day. She got up and grabbed her robe, tying it around her and setting her braided hair on her shoulder as she walked out onto the balcony to appreciate the view.

At this time tomorrow, her life would be vastly different.

She shivered. It wasn’t the ‘cold feet’ she’d heard about from one of her acquaintances before leaving Asheville. This was more about the unknown, about nervous hope. When she’d contemplated marriage with David, there were fewer variables. They’d shared countless meals, long talks about God, and dreams of how to improve things for Cutter Gap. She knew his morning habits, some of his favorite foods… but she also knew his impatience, his selective selfishness, and his stubborn inability to bow to the knowledge of people with less material wealth but more life experience.

In contrast, she knew far less about what it might be like living with Neil. Did all his food come from fishing and bartering for medical care? Would she spend fully half the year worrying about his safety as he traveled across the mountains for emergencies? 

She already knew Neil was kind, despite his temper, and he was wonderful with children. Her friend Amity had acquiesced to a mostly arranged marriage after a good deal of praying and soul-searching. It was her experience that Christy had highlighted to David, as Amity was a mother now, and a happy one at that. Mostly a stranger at first, Amity’s husband had proven to be a good man, a gentle husband, and an amiable father. Amity had been given a lot of warning and advice before their wedding day, though.

How much would Neil expect Christy to know about being a wife?

About all aspects of being a wife?

She covered her suddenly hot cheeks with her hands and closed her eyes. Neil had said the children were ‘born knowing’ about lovemaking, given their close quarters… but she only had a vague idea, with no one to speak to about it. Miss Alice was already far too generous to Christy so soon after her daughter’s death, and it seemed almost disrespectful to bring up such intimate things to anyone else. As the Cove’s doctor, Neil’s privacy was important.

“Christy?” The voice belonged to Miss Alice.

Christy crossed the room to open the bedroom door, reaching her hand out to trace it across her loaned wedding dress on the way. “Good morning! You can come in, or I can get dressed first, if you like?” she asked, standing back to give the other woman space to walk in.

“No need,” Miss Alice said, stepping past her and walking over to admire the dress before turning to look at her. “I came to offer help, if thee should require, before the ceremony.”

Her voice was achingly vulnerable, enough to pull the beginnings of tears to Christy’s eyes.

“I have Fairlight coming. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“It was important to me to offer.”

“I love you, Miss Alice. I wish I could make all of this easier on you,” Christy said. “I’m still figuring out how to feel, myself. No matter what happens, I’ll be disappointing my parents-- and what little I know about marriage, I learned back in Asheville.” She reached up to play with the end of her braid nervously. “Most of the things in my Hope Chest would be useless here.”

“Do you think Neil would want the kind of wife you learned to be in Asheville?”

“No.”

“You’ve come upon the dilemma most women face at some point: whether to be a good daughter or a good wife. It is not always possible to be both at all times, a lesson that is painfully learned by both mother and daughter alike,” Miss Alice said. She reached back out to run her fingertips along the blue ribbon on Miss Hattie’s dress, then pulled a small, flat package from her apron. “I have brought you this. I’d bought it long ago, with multiple possible uses. This morning I realized that it would serve best as a veil for thee.”

Christy’s breath caught as she unwrapped the paper and found a delicate oval of intricate lace. Speechless, she turned to lay it out on the bedspread, blinking in further surprise when Miss Alice set two hairpins adorned with pearl buttons beside it.

“I saw the buttons on Hattie’s dress and thought of these. When I found them, I also found this,” she said, touching the lace gently. “It felt like I’d been led to.”

“Thank you so much. Everyone’s been so generous, I’m beside myself.” A thought occurred, and she said, “It’s Neil, isn’t it? This is a chance to show their gratitude!”

“Do not discount those women’s care for you, Christy. Every parent in the Cove can see thy positive influence.”

They spoke for a while longer before Miss Alice left to oversee the rest of the cooking for the reception later. 

As planned, Christy dressed in a more mundane outfit for the morning’s preparations. There was still time yet, so after smoothing out her bedspread, she laid out the various tokens that had been lent to her. There was a sturdy comb that would keep her hair in place for hours, a bar of beautiful-smelling soap to wash with before the ceremony, a little sachet of flower petals to pin under her clothes as a remembrance, and most poignantly, two pieces of quilted fabric meant to aid in painless shoe-wearing. It was a thoughtful gift, given by someone who had probably never been able to choose their shoes based on whether they fit.

Impulsively, she draped the dress next to the other items, then knelt beside it to pray for each of the women who’d sought to make her last-minute wedding more special. Christy then prayed for David, Miss Alice, and Neil, thanking the Lord for allowing each of them in her life, and for placing her in theirs. 

It seemed wrong on her wedding day to pray for her soon-to-be husband to change, to become a believer, so instead she prayed to prove worthy of the challenge of being a doctor’s wife. There would be ample time to soften his heart.

***

“Miss Christy, it’s like fate!” Ruby Mae cried out when Christy walked down the last few stairs in her borrowed dress. “That blue matches your eyes jes' perfectly!”

“Thank you! If I remember right, it matches Miss Hattie’s eyes too.”

"She looks like a painting," Fairlight said approvingly. She started to open the Mission door, and spoke to Ruby Mae. “Go on ‘n tell Miss Hattie it’s time to start singin’ in jes’ a bit.”

Ruby Mae nodded so vociferously that two different flowers fell out of her hair. Fairlight picked one up after the young woman had run off, handing it to Christy to tuck into the sweet little bouquet of wildflowers she was to hold during the wedding. Neil had picked them for her, and he had to have gone all over the place to get them, given the varieties. One had almost certainly come from the cove he had shown her a few days prior.

It wasn’t a long walk to the clearing they’d chosen for the event. Unexpectedly, the children had lined up to guide the way, all with grins on their faces and flowers to throw at her feet. As she passed, each fell in behind, so Christy had a whole entourage by the time she could see the rest of the Cove assembled in the clearing. Their display was just what she’d needed, especially the little whispered comments they made to each other about her dress, the wedding itself, how pretty she was, how nervous Neil looked, and so on.

Fairlight sent the children on ahead to stand with their families when they were just feet away from the ‘aisle’ she’d walk through. She showed Christy how to hook a loop of the lace around the comb in her hair to hold it back when it was time.

“Thank you so much,” Christy said to her, heart as full as it ever had been in her life. The song Miss Hattie had been singing ended, and when she started the next one, Christy made her way to the proper place and started walking slowly toward where Neil was waiting for her.

When she got to him, Neil lifted the veil, and he looked so pleased that her heart flipflopped in her chest. Christy helped him secure it to her hair, and then they stood looking at each other for a long moment. She felt his admiring gaze sizzle over her, tracing down her dress and up over her face, stopping to meet her eyes. She felt both starved for air and like she had the whole clearing’s worth of it trapped in her lungs.

They stood staring for so long that Uncle Bogg cleared his throat loudly, and many of the assembled crowd laughed. 

“Who brings this woman to present her to us?” Uncle Bogg said next.

Christy’s heart sank. She’d done so much work to prepare, but she hadn’t thought of this, and there wasn’t anyone to--

“I do,” Jeb Spencer said, stepping into the aisle.

“So do I,” Bob Allen declared, doing the same.

“Me!” “I do!” “The lot of us, ‘seems like!” the voices chorused.

She couldn’t resist turning around, and when she did, Christy almost stumbled back into Neil’s sturdy arm behind her. Almost all of the men of the Cove had stepped forward, even some of the older male students. She had her own personal army of father and brother figures to make up for her dear father’s absence.

“I reckon that counts,” Bogg said, a tiny glimpse of humor seeping into his ‘officiant’ voice.

That wasn’t the only surprise of the ceremony. When Bogg inquired about rings, Christy was expecting Neil to have rings made of straw as a stand-in, or some other such makeshift option, since they hadn’t much warning. 

Instead, he dipped his hand into the breast pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a small pouch. Neil dumped two rings of varied size out onto his hand, offering them to Uncle Bogg. All Christy could do was stare up at Neil in barely-concealed astonishment for a few seconds, before she was obligated to speak her actual vows. 

The look in his eyes as she did so was verging on mischievous, or at the very least, delighted at her surprise. Only the act of sliding the larger of the two rings onto his finger sobered his expression. She took some pride in that.

Then it was Neil’s turn for vows, and Christy fully understood his earlier tense body language. Her heart was soaring so high she was convinced if she didn’t curl her toes inside her shoes, she’d float away as she watched him say those powerful words. She had to drag her eyes away from being locked to his when he slipped the ring onto her finger…

…and then she saw the ring.

It was a thin, delicate gold band adorned with a small ice-blue gemstone. Along both sides, the band twisted in an intricate swirl that framed two iridescent milk-white stones. Just like Hattie’s dress, this antique, valuable item had likely been hiding away, waiting for its chance to shine at just the right moment.

Suddenly shy, Christy could only watch Bogg continue with the ceremony, weaving a pristine white length of thin cloth around their hands to symbolize their binding. Neil squeezed hers, and she squeezed back, genuinely afraid that he’d be able to guess her feelings if she met his eyes. Finally, the cloth was gently pulled free, and Bogg set a heavy hand on both of them, turning them to face the assembled crowd as he pronounced them man and wife.

Right afterwards, Uncle Bogg’s voice changed to a less solemn tone as he welcomed everyone to the feast set up closer to the Mission building.

“Ain’t no kiss yet!” someone called out in objection. A few other voices joined, and soon there was a collective outcry. “Not official till the kiss, Bogg!” one of the older Cove members yelled.

“Get on with it, then. I’m hungry!” Bogg told them, grinning.

Christy wanted to hide somehow. Everyone was watching.

“Christy?” Neil said softly. She nodded, pressing her lips together unconsciously as she turned toward him. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt,” he teased, stepping closer.

“Neil!” she gasped-- and that’s when he bent his head to kiss her, capturing her gasp and taking advantage of it. Christy heard cheering behind them, but she was busy grabbing onto his jacket to hold on as a thrill traveled through her from lips to toes and back again. Neil slid his hand to the back of her neck and leaned her backwards just slightly, resting his other hand at her back to brace her. It was a move obviously meant to show off for their audience, but it also angled their lips in a way that magnified the pleasure of it. She let out a little sound, and he pulled her to his chest, ending the kiss with a hug.

She was thrilled and embarrassed and confused and a hundred other unnamed emotions, but the one Christy hadn’t expected was the feeling of safety in his arms.

“Go on, ye’ve spooked her!” Neil yelled out. She felt as much as heard the words, letting out a breath that she knew he could sense, as he rubbed comfort over her back. “Are you all right?” he finally asked her.

Christy nodded, trusting he’d feel the movement. Now that the ceremony was over, their life together was about to begin. She could tell Neil was happy, and the respect inherent in that was very good for her confidence, despite the need for a public kiss. The same man who spent hours secretly trying to cure Trachoma had likely spent hours thinking about her, and now she was his wife! She suddenly felt light-headed.

“Woah, there, I’m losing you,” he said, sounding concerned. “Did you eat this morning?”

“I had breakfast,” Christy said in a small voice.

“Then what’s wrong?”

You’re strong and smart and you want to kiss me, and I don’t have any idea how to handle how much I like that! she couldn’t say. A breathless “I can't believe we’re married,” came out, instead.

Neil gently pulled back, steadying her with a hand at her shoulder and at her wrist. He looked down at her with an impish gleam in his eye that she hoped had a lot to do with his own happiness.

“It’ll pass,” he grinned.

Chapter Text

Companions

Neil’s outrageous teasing was exactly what was needed to break the tension. It reminded her that they were friends, that she got along with him as well as she did with anyone else, maybe even better.

“In twenty years, I’m still going to remember you said that,” she said, looking up at him with her best teacherly expression. As soon as she said it, she saw the impact of her words, of their meaning, on her new husband. 

Margaret certainly hadn’t stayed for twenty years.

Neil’s eyes searched her face as if memorizing her expression, and then he said, “Good.”

That feeling that her lungs were full to bursting was back, so Christy looked behind them to see that most of the attendees had headed up to lunch. The remaining wedding guests were bunched up in groups, clearly waiting to speak to them. 

“What now?” she whispered to Neil.

“Now, we starve.”

Christy whipped her head back to look at him. “What?”

“It’s tradition. Every single person who saw the ceremony will want a word. We won’t be able to get a bite in edgewise.” He nodded toward the Mission. “Don’t worry, I’ve sent Dan Scott to make himself useful by getting us some plates and taking them up to the cabin.”

“Neil, this was his chance to socialize!” she said, distressed. Dan was close to Miss Alice and Christy, but that didn’t mean as much as Neil’s approval. As a doctor he’d gotten a few chances to prove his mettle in tough situations, and speaking easily with Neil in a setting like this would be really useful.

“Don’t fret, he’ll be back later. By then, everyone will be in a friendlier mood. He’ll be your favorite wedding guest when we finally do get to eat, I promise you.” 

Christy looked out at the daunting task in front of her, and all she could think was, Mother would have warned me about this, if she were here. Julia Huddleston would have flitted from group to group, answering questions and smoothing the way for them. Instead, Christy had completely missed the ‘greeting everyone’ expectation, and was therefore unprepared. She was hungry, thirsty, and nervous, and all she wanted to do was hide in her bedroom for a few hours by herself.

You’ll be sharing a bedroom now, she remembered. That was one of the things she’d decided not to dwell on, in the past few days.

Neil moved back a step or two, frowning. “You look like you’re about to throw up all over my Aunt Hattie’s dress.”

“I’m nervous,” Christy admitted. “It turns out my confidence is tied to knowing --or thinking I know-- what I’m talking about, and I have no idea what I’m doing today.”

“Will this help?” With a gentle smile, Neil reached down and took her left hand, shaking it as if to show his grip was sturdy. “You’re supposed to be getting used to being near me, remember?”

Something wild and untamed flared up deep inside her at his touch. It was somehow both distracting and reassuring, especially because she could feel the unfamiliar pressure of that beautiful ring he’d placed on her finger. Christy nodded, her heart full with things to say and things to conceal.

“Good. Let's go speak with Aunt Hattie.”

As they approached, Hattie leaned her head to the side and smiled. “That’s the Allens’ special soap! Hello Christy, Neil. That was a mighty fine service.”

She never ceased to be amazed by just how attuned Neil’s aunt was to the world around her. “Thank you so much for the dress. I can hardly tell you how much it meant to have something special at such short notice.”

“She looks truly beautiful in it, I can tell you,” Neil added.

“Well now, I don’t have to have sight to know that! You sound a different kind of confident today, Christy. If lendin' you the dress helped with that, I'm well pleased.”

“Dan was honored to have the chance to deliver it to me.”

“He’s a good man,” Miss Hattie agreed. As she said this, she angled her head toward Neil, and Christy had to hold back a knowing smile.

“No campaigning at my wedding, I beg of you,” Neil said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ve already agreed to work with the man! Can we walk ye up to get some food?”

Miss Hattie’s expression was beatific. “Oh, Neil, you’ve got so many to talk to. No, I’m happy setting here until Dan comes back. He promised to find me the best spot.”

The sour look on Neil’s face was only there for a split second, but Christy was certain Aunt Hattie had known it would be there.

Fifteen minutes of greeting guests later, Neil said loudly, “Your veil is coming loose. Stand still, I’ll see if I can ham-hand it back in place.” Once they’d stepped aside, though, he positioned himself behind her, leaning his head down to say, “You can stop looking smug at any time.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sweetly.

“You and Hattie are going to be the death of me. I’ve agreed to sharing knowledge with the man, nothing more!” He sounded less vehement than normal, and as Christy formulated her response, he buried his nose in her hair and breathed in.

She swayed back against him unconsciously, taken aback by how much she liked the simple gesture. Neil set his hands on her upper arms to hold her still, then backed up.

“This will be a long afternoon,” he said under his breath.

***

When every guest had been greeted and fed, Christy went up to her former room and changed clothes with Miss Alice’s help. Her mentor promised she’d pack Miss Hattie’s lovely dress away after it aired out, and then told her of a surprise arrangement: her older students had offered to carry her things from the Mission to Neil’s cabin.

“I am every day stunned at the generosity of my neighbors, Miss Alice,” Christy said, setting her bouquet down on the dining room table for Ruby Mae to find later. “The truth is, the cityfolk I grew up beside have carelessly wasted more than these people will ever own. I’m not sure I could go back and live like that, even if I’d wanted to.”

“That is why God led thee here, Christy.”

Christy took a few minutes to visit each room to be sure she hadn’t left anything before she stepped out onto the porch. Most of the boys were already out of sight with their burdens, so it was just Neil and Miss Alice waiting for her, he on his horse, and she standing beside.

“Do ye mind riding with me? If not, we can walk together, and I can retrieve my horse another day.”

Christy took a second to think about whether the skirt she was wearing had enough fabric for that.

“It’s possible she did not expect thee to ask questions, but rather make demands, now that the two of you are wed,” Miss Alice said loudly.

“I highly doubt that,” he laughed.

“I’m glad I could give you two the chance to poke fun,” she grumbled, marching over to frown at both of them. “Skirts are not like trousers, doctor! The amount of loose fabric varies.”

“‘Neil,’” he corrected, reaching down to help haul her up behind him before she could come up with a retort. They rode off, passing the students with her luggage before he spoke again. “It’s not that hard to hear you behind me, but I thought you’d like some silence, after a morning of talking.”

“That’s thoughtful, thank you.”

She was relieved. Neil had paid lip service to the concept of ‘muddled thinking’ around each other, but this was something else entirely. Pressed up behind him, her arms tightly clasped around his waist, Christy was grateful he couldn’t see her reactions to their physical contact. She could feel his muscles move as he controlled the horse! It was a level of intimacy she hadn’t imagined was possible.

The closer they got to the house, the more she worried about managing a dignified, self-composed dismount-- but when they got there, all those thoughts were wiped away.

The porch was decorated with flowering garlands woven around the various posts and railings. Christy got down in a delighted trance, taken by noticing that the flowers directly mirrored those in her bouquet.

The door opened, and Fairlight stepped out, ushering a group of the older girls, including Zady and Ruby Mae.

“Do you like it, Teacher?” Zady asked in a hushed voice.

She tried to hold in her emotions, but there were already tears on her cheeks when she nodded. “It’s so beautiful, thank you, girls! And thank you Fairlight!”

Her friend shook her head proudly. “This was all their doing. All’s I did was share which flowers ye’d be holdin’.”

Soon, Christy was hugging each student in turn and listening to their stories of how they had ‘traipsed around’ looking for just the right flowers the day before, ‘so’s they’d be fresh.’ From behind her, she could hear Neil teasing Fairlight about flower allergies, followed by the first shouts of the boys with her luggage.

Nothing that day had gone as she’d expected, but all of it had been emotional, memorable, and exciting, which was more than some women had on their well-planned wedding days.

Christy saw Neil glancing over at her as Fairlight directed the boys to carry her things into the cabin. He lifted his eyebrows in a silent question, and she nodded without knowing exactly what he was asking.

She trusted him enough to know the answer was ‘yes.’

***

A half hour later, she and Neil had scarcely spoken, too focused on their delayed lunch. Christy felt like her cheeks were permanently flushed; every time she snuck a look across the table, Neil was already looking at her.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but again draw a contrast between him and David, who always took it upon himself to fill any silence that lasted more than a few minutes. It wasn’t that he didn’t speak about interesting or important things… but she had always respected her charismatic, sometimes volatile mother’s ability to recognize the value in silence. It was in many ways a deliberate, loving choice on behalf of her father, and that thought had often crossed her mind when sitting at a table wishing that David could recognize how much she longed for a quiet meal.

“There’s more pie,” Neil finally said, as she tried to subtly scrape up every last morsel of crust. 

“And here I thought I did a good job hiding my disappointment!” she said ruefully, handing over her empty plate. They’d made two more pies that morning, after their tasting success at dinner the night before.

“I’ll admit, I was confused when I saw Dan had left us three slices.” He leaned back and grabbed a third napkin-covered plate from the edge of the stove. “Split it with you?”

“All right,” she agreed. “He visited for dinner last night at the Mission. We had the same pie.” Her unspoken point about the aspiring doctor’s thoughtfulness hung in the air between them.

Neil nodded, his teasing expression sobering. “I take back what I said at the reception. Much as I hate to admit it, taking advice from the women in my life seems to be the best choice, when it comes to Scott.” He pointed to her with his fork. “Not that I approve of your methods.”

Christy used her napkin to hide the breadth of her smile, but it showed in her voice as she said, “I never told you how grateful I am that you chose to take him on despite my awful attempt at bribery.”

“I was a jealous bear, I’ll admit it.” He got up and scraped what little food scraps remained into a basket beside the sink, before holding it up. “In the evening, I like to walk a ways and spread these out for the critters, if I can’t use any of the bits for fish bait. Not too close to the house, mind. If the wildlife isn’t interested, the scraps can start to smell.”

It was a firm subject change, and she nodded, downing her final forkful and bringing her own plate over. “Thank you. There’s a lot to learn.”

Christy leaned her plate over the basket, about to scrape, when Neil snatched away a piece of hard-burnt crust, before it could fall in.

“That’s another household rule,” he said, around his crunching.

“You get first right of refusal?” she guessed, to his approving nod. Over the next minutes, the two of them tidied up their plates and set them out to dry. She went outside to admire the porch decorations as he finished up.

“Did you know they were going to do this?” Christy asked, hearing his footsteps behind her.

“Not what it would look like, but Fairlight warned me. She thought it might help make the cabin look different, to welcome you home.”

Home, she thought. It wasn’t as strange a concept as it might have felt a week ago.

“I’ve always felt safe here,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. Neil’s slow, surprised smile made her feel good to have put it there. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” He started walking slowly toward her, so Christy turned back to the flowers. “I suppose now’s a good time to speak on a few other things.”

Christy ran a hidden finger across the ring he'd given her; it was fast becoming a kind of talisman of this unexpected life: new and precious, but also delicate. “All right,” she said.

“The way this all came about, it was quick-- but no less real. I’d like a true marriage, Christy. I grew up in this house, and I intend to pass it along to my-- to our children.”

“I expected that,” she whispered, still faced away from him. Neil’s words were somehow both direct and gentle. Unbidden, the strength of his muscles in motion as she clung to him on the horse came to mind, and a blush started creeping up her neck.

“I have no desire to rush you within reason, but you should know I spent some time arguing against a particular tradition, to that end.”

She looked up to watch a bright blue bird dip and soar from one tree to another, grateful it gave her the excuse not to let him see her blush. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

Neil came to stand beside her at the railing. “Like many such things brought over from the Old Country, this one is as much for the glee of the participants as it ‘tis for the poor sods who just got married.”

He paused, and she just knew he was waiting for her to look over at him. He might be her husband now, but she still wasn’t going to let him see how his teasing affected her. Obstinately, Christy turned away from him to carefully examine the garland climbing the roof support beam beside her. “Oh?”

It was a strategic mistake. Neil seemed to remember her physical reaction when he’d smelled her hair, because he came up behind her, brushing a kiss against her hairline before straightening up again to whisper the rest of his story.

“They split up into groups of men and women, stripping the bride and groom into their bedclothes before locking them in a room together.”

A cascade of images and emotions roared through her, each more intense than the last. It suddenly felt incredibly foolish to have avoided any and all mental preparation for this aspect of marriage! Thankfully, his tone of voice shifted from secretive to amused.

“I’m not anxious for the Cove to see me in my skivvies. Not to mention, something tells me that Ferrand fellow might just show up and deconstruct the Mission plank by plank out of protest.”

“Thank you,” she said. The words came out breathless, much to her chagrin.

Neil cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes, well. I’m going to go change out of this suit.” He didn’t wait for a response, which was good, because Christy was still busy trying to put out multiple mental fires.

She went back inside and looked for the bag carrying the few household items she’d brought, including a tablecloth. As might be expected, the bag was nowhere to be found, meaning the boys had probably carried it upstairs. Putting her hands on her hips, she surveyed her new home, trying to think of where Neil might put a tablecloth, if he owned one. Would he be upset if she went around opening drawers and poking through shelves? Probably.

The kitchen seemed a safe bet, so she went to look in the bureau beside the window, and under the counter.

“Goodness’ sake, how does this man find anything?” she exclaimed aloud.

Twenty minutes of determined activity later, Christy felt satisfied with the organizational changes she’d made. If Neil got upset over it, that was too bad, because he undoubtedly would expect her to take over the task of cooking, and she could not live like that.

Thinking of him made her wonder where he was. It had been quite a while since he’d gone upstairs. 

“Neil?”

“I’m here,” his exasperated voice came, a few moments later. “I’ve knocked over one of your bags. I was trying to put it all back in, but--”

“Let me help!” she yelled up, lifting her skirts high to run up the steps. Christy skidded to a halt when she saw Neil on his knees in front of her spilled-sideways suitcase. Beside him were multiple half-crumpled piles of shirts and other articles of clothing. It looked like he was holding up one of her shifts trying to figure out how best to fold it, and she reached over and snatched it free, clutching it close, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“I thought if I could put it all back--” Neil stopped himself and looked around as if he’d only just now realized what a ridiculous prospect that was. “You’d just got here. I didn’t want to make more work for you.”

Christy braced herself with a hand on his shoulder and slid to her knees beside him. “You don’t have to worry about that. We’ll just thank God this didn’t happen when one of the boys carried it over the creek. Hand me that pile over there?” 

She was so busy with sorting what was already laid out nearby that it took a while to notice he hadn’t done as she asked. Christy turned to see what he was doing and found herself making eye contact with a man who looked to be in the middle of an emotional episode. He was staring at her with what could only be described as wounded gratitude.

“Neil?” she whispered gently.

He startled ‘awake,’ blinking quickly. “Right,” he said, turning to grab a pile of her stockings. The reverent way he handled them reminded her that he’d probably taken so long to do such little sorting because he hadn’t wanted to ruin anything.

“You could sit on the bed if you--”

“No, I want to help,” Neil asserted, scooping up a skirt and thrusting it in her direction. His shirt was unbuttoned just as it had been that fateful Saturday, meaning he’d probably been mid-clothing change when he’d tripped over her suitcase. “I made space in the closet.” She followed his gaze to see that a good half of the space was empty. There were even a few good quality hangers waiting there, hinting that he’d maybe folded some of his own things so she could hang hers.

She whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you,” feeling that burning sensation in her heart that meant she’d fallen even more in love with the man. Needing to distract herself, Christy adopted a matter-of-fact tone, grabbed the two sides of his unbuttoned shirt, and said, “You didn’t finish getting dressed! Here, let me.”

Even though she wasn’t looking up at him, she could feel Neil’s eyes on her. With each button, the movement of his chest as he breathed became more pronounced. There was something really attractive about that, about knowing you had an effect on someone who had a similar effect on you.

“The other time I did this, what I really wanted to do instead was shake some sense into you,” Christy said, nearing the last button.

“Go ahead,” Neil said. His voice was so deep it sounded like he’d had to pull it out of some far-away chasm to even speak. 

She wasn’t about to lose the opportunity, so Christy grabbed two handfuls of the loose front of his now-buttoned shirt. “Don’t you dare cut yourself off from the people who care about you again!” she ordered, tugging at him-- but Neil braced himself so well he didn’t move an inch! Despite her determination not to look him in the eyes when her heart was so full of dangerously obvious affection, she glared at him. “You did that on purpose!”

His grin was as warm as the rich orange of the late-afternoon sun coming through the window. “Did what?”

Christy huffed. “Got so strong I can’t budge you!”

“You can move me, I promise you that,” he said. 

There was her blush again. It was time to get up and hang some clothes before she ruined her grand plan to let him think he’d persuaded her to fall in love. 

“Maybe I should--”

“Wait,” Neil said, stopping her with a warm hand on top of hers, just as he had that Saturday. He swallowed hard, then said, “The other time I did this, what I really wanted was to kiss you senseless.”

Goosebumps chased the chills she felt at those words, and with them came a powerful sort of bravery. “Go ahead,” she whispered.

Neil lifted his hand slowly, sliding it along her neck to bury his fingertips in her hair, all the while holding her gaze. Everywhere he touched her caught fire, and he completed her conflagration when he bent his head to take her lips.  

Christy had expected him to be as rough as before, but she was wrong, wrong, wrong. This was tenderness, persuasion, desire. Grabbing at his shirt, she curled her fingers into it in a desperate need to ground herself. She could feel the wild beating of his heart under her hand, mirroring hers. When she arched up to get closer, Neil’s grip tightened and he made a low, desperate noise in his throat, stroking his tongue into her mouth in a brief caress.

It was unexpectedly heated, that touch, like he’d dumped a load of logs onto an already raging bonfire. Christy held still in a need to recognize and evaluate just how much joy there was to be felt in a single kiss, but Neil seemed to view this as a sign to stop. He gentled his movements, pulling back.

She wanted to reassure him. She wanted another kiss like that, but asking was entirely too daunting, especially today of all days. There was one thing she could say, though.

“Well, I am certainly senseless,” Christy breathed, uncurling her fingers and smoothing out the fabric of his shirt where she’d bunched it up.

“I am too,” Neil said, his accent thick and honeyed. “As for my knees, they’re not senseless, but they’re something,” he complained, prompting a shared laugh before they both got up.

Christy took the opportunity to pick up the clothes which were already on her own hangers, carrying them over to make use of the space he’d made for her. With her head hidden by the closet, she let the giddy smile she’d been repressing shine forth. Was that what it was like to kiss your husband? Perhaps the unknown wasn’t as fearful as she’d thought.

Chapter Text

Long Rest

It took well into the early evening to put her things away, but Neil seemed to really appreciate that she didn’t want to put off that task. 

When they were finished, he looked at his watch. “We should have eaten two hours ago, but I’m not hungry. You?” She shook her head. “Tea?”

“That would be nice. We could sit out on the porch and watch the fireflies?” 

He agreed, waving her out ahead of him. Christy wondered if he kept his tea and sugar somewhere he didn’t want her to tease him for, given the reaction he’d had to her ‘organizing’ some of the kitchen space. 

It was almost dark by the time he came out onto the lamp-lit porch with a book under his arm and a small tray with tea already poured into two cups. Neil held up the book and asked if she minded if he spent some of the time reading, and she shook her head. 

Christy had fond memories of her parents’ shared silence in the sitting room, her father reading, and her mother planning out some kind of event, complete with diagrams, guests lists, and decoration plans. Neil studying a medical text while she created lesson plans was near enough to that tableau.

After just under an hour Christy noticed that Neil had stopped yawning so often and had started to hunker down in his chair like he wanted to doze off. It looked very uncomfortable, but the strangest part was that she’d seen him peeking at her at least twice.

If it weren’t for it being their wedding night, she might have spoken up sooner, but her hand was forced when his book fell off of his lap with a loud thump, startling him awake.

“What time do you usually go to bed?” she asked in a carefully neutral voice.

Neil winced. “I’d thought I’d doze off here and let you head up on your own.” He scratched the back of his ear and frowned. “That’s not something you’d do.”

“Not my first night here, no.” Christy thought ‘disconcerted’ looked quite endearing on him.

“Why don’t you head to the outhouse first? I’ll get changed and wait on the porch until you’re ready for me to come up.” She must have looked dubious, because he added, “We’ll get it all worked out soon enough. One bit of luck is you’ll be well used to me by the time you need to deal with my icy cold feet!”

Neil headed into the house with the teacups and his book before she had a chance to react to that.

***

Christy was dressed for bed and brushing out her hair in the bedroom when she heard hoofbeats. Seconds later there was shouting outside, and she went to go look.

Miss Alice was already in the doorway with her traveling hat on. “I’m sorry, Christy.”

“Just past three weeks, I’d have to say,” Neil’s lips were moving like he was calculating something, so Christy looked to Miss Alice, alarm buzzing through her veins.

“Dawn Cox’s twins are coming sooner than expected. Paul rode for help, and the Mission’s on the way here. I sent him back and came for Neil.”

“I’ve got to go. It's almost full-term for twins, but still early,” Neil said. He looked sick, maybe even paralyzed with indecision, despite what he’d just said.

Before Christy could reassure him that she understood, Miss Alice spoke in a voice of command, to snap him out of it. “Go on and change, I’ll gather what you need so we can get moving.” He nodded, handing her his satchel before taking the stairs two at a time. Without another word, Miss Alice pulled the lock off of the lab door and went inside.

The speed of developing events was making her head spin. Christy followed her, feeling distinctly underdressed and vulnerable.

“Can I help?” she offered.

Miss Alice’s tone was harsh. “Yes. If you are unhappy about this night’s events, Mrs. MacNeill, you can help by keeping it to yourself.”

Christy was speechless. Miss Alice had sometimes been direct, even confrontational, but never cruel-- but in a flash of realization helped by the use of Christy’s new name, the answer came: Margaret. Neil said she’d hated being a doctor’s wife and eventually come to despise the patients that took him away from her so often.

After everything she’d accomplished here in Cutter Gap, Miss Alice was still comparing her to Margaret!

Righteous anger boiled in her chest, but Christy forced herself to turn and run for the stairs despite the hot tears in her eyes. If Miss Alice was this upset, Neil was certain to be miserable.

When she got up there, he was seated on the bed, pulling on his socks. His face fell when he saw her in the doorway. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, breathless more from her emotional upheaval than the race up the stairs. “This is the first night of many, for those twins as well as for us. It doesn’t have to be symbolic.”

Neil stood up, his suspenders hanging free at his hips. “You’re not angry?” She shook her head in answer, but his voice was thick with dread as he said, “Christy, you’ve been crying.”

There wasn’t a way to explain that didn’t make everything worse. “I’m not angry,” she said, coming over to help him slide up his suspender straps. “I’m pleased you can help.” Before she lost her nerve, Christy hooked her fingers in his suspenders and lifted up to kiss him unprompted for the first time.

She’d meant it to be brief, but Neil crushed her to his chest like his grip was all that stopped the two of them from falling off a cliff. His desperation had her straining closer, hand to his cheek, pouring all her fledgeling adoration into the embrace. She needed him to feel loved, even if she wasn’t brave enough to say it, yet.

Neil broke the kiss and immediately pressed his lips to her forehead. “Stay here tonight, please? Don’t go back to the Mission,” he whispered urgently.

“Of course!” she managed, but he’d barely stayed to hear her response. Neil’s heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and out the door, shutting it with a decisive thump.

Christy took a step back and lost her balance, landing half-seated on the bed. Her lips still buzzed from that kiss. Outside, the sound of two horses told her that he’d managed to saddle up without any difficulty. The night’s events had her dizzy, going from feeling self-conscious about her first night sharing a bed to Neil being called away by a seemingly angry Miss Alice. Her mentor’s grief was no doubt very fresh, but after everything Christy had learned about Margaret, it really hurt to be compared to her, especially unjustly. 

And then to come upstairs crying? When Neil’s first wife had turned hateful over emergencies just like this one? Guilt burned a ragged hole in her chest.

Was there something she could do to show him that she understood how important he was to the community, that she didn’t resent that his job meant long hours away sometimes? Something that would show Miss Alice she was wrong in her assumptions, as well?

She was suddenly very tired, bone weary, in fact. “First things first,” she said, dragging herself to her feet. This wasn’t just his house, it was hers too now, and there were multiple lamps lit throughout the cabin. All of them needed to be safely extinguished before she could sleep.

Alone.

An insidious little tendril of relief paired with the guilt as she made the house safe and secure for the night. Christy expected she’d struggle to sleep thanks to concern for Neil and his three precious patients, but would she have fared any better tonight, had nothing eventful happened at all? She’d thought being around Neil more would make it easier to deal with how painfully aware of him she was, not just of her own feelings, but his actual physical presence. It had been a naive assumption, to be sure.

Turning the lamp down to its lowest setting and climbing into bed didn’t do anything to calm her racing thoughts. There hadn’t been much time to dwell on so many of the day’s events, like the children’s escort, exchanging vows, and the well-wishes from even the respected Cove leaders who’d forced them into marriage in the first place.

“Go to sleep, Christy!” she said aloud. Instead of listening to herself, she rolled onto her side and began to pray for Dawn Cox, Paul Cox, their tiny babies, and the two dedicated people who’d raced their horses across a mountain on a special night to make sure they were safe.

***

Movement on the bed woke her up many hours later. Christy opened her eyes to see Neil sitting on the side of the bed putting on a nightshirt, illuminated by an oil lamp on low. He looked over his shoulder at her.

“Didn’t mean to wake you. Still an hour or so before sunrise.”

“The babies? That was really quick, wasn’t it?”

He stood, folding back his side of the blanket. “She’d labored for a while before realizing. They came fast once I got there. One was quite small, I’ll need to go back at least twice this week.” Neil leaned over to turn the flame back down, but Christy pushed up in bed to look at him.

“You’re still dressed!”

“I’m too tired to change, and I usually don’t wear much to sleep anyway. It’s fine for tonight.” This he said with at least two punctuating yawns. 

“Oh. Good night, then.” Christy rolled over to hide her sleep-fuzzed embarrassment, making sure that she didn’t take too much of the blanket with her. Neil climbed into bed, and judging by the drape of the blanket between them and the dip of the mattress, he was on his back, not far away. Feeling him nearby, sensing his body heat… was actually quite pleasant. Once the two of them were more used to each other, would she fall asleep with his arm around her, resting her head against his chest?

That potent thought woke her the rest of the way.

Christy lay still, trying to regulate her breathing as her heart rate increased. She’d dreamed before of moments between them, waking with her stomach full of twisting guilt, since he was a married man. Those had been heartfelt talks, a walk in the sunshine, Neil praising her for something she’d done-- all relatively innocent in comparison to this. Yet, sharing a bed with her husband was entirely proper, healthy even. The reversal was enough to make a person’s head spin.

“Breathe, Christy. I’m no threat to you like this,” Neil murmured.

“That’s not it, I’m-- That’s not it,” she whispered back.

“What is it, then?”

The truth hovered, and they were both so tired. She decided to respond using their established shorthand. “Proximity.”

Neil grunted in surprise and then shifted over so his shoulder was almost brushing against her back. Far from making it harder to relax, his warmth sent little shivers of happiness through her that melted into contentment, lulling her to sleep.

***

When she woke next it was thanks to the bright indirect sunlight from the window. She’d slept in.

Christy threw herself out of bed, spluttering her hair out of her face as she rushed over to the dresser to grab something to wear.

“Christy,” Neil rumbled from the bed. He had his arm draped over his eyes.

“I’m late for school!”

“You’re not.”

“No, I am! Miss Alice was supposed to take my place, but she was with you.” She supposed she could dress on the other side of the closet door, or at the top of the stairs with the bedroom door closed. When she turned around with a handful of underthings, meaning to race over to the closet and do just that, she ran right into Neil.

“Grantland got back yesterday evening, he’s teaching your students today,” he said, tugging the clothes from her hands to set them on top of the dresser. “Back to bed,” he said, guiding her back with an arm around her shoulders.

Sleepy Neil was a charming mix of impatience and determination.

“But David has no idea where the lesson plans are!”

“He’ll probably spend the whole day sermonizing at them,” he said once they got over to the bed. Neil then yawned so hard he stumbled sideways before shuffling around to the other side.

Christy sat, her sense of purpose deflated. “Is there anything you were supposed to do this morning that I can do instead? Dropping by a patient’s house, or picking up supplies?”

“No one will expect us for days,” he told her, rubbing at his eye with a knuckle. “We’re meant to spend them enjoying each other, which right now should mean you, sleeping next to me, in silence.” There was a daring sort of tease to his voice that sent a thrill through her. How was she meant to sleep after he said something like that?

“I’m wide awake. How about I go downstairs and--”

“Don’t,” Neil blurted. He took in a breath to say something, then chuckled. “Not sure how well I’d sleep knowing you were down there rearranging everything.”

“Meaning you’d sleep better if I stayed up here?” Christy guessed.

His expression sobered, and he rolled onto his back. “I keep expecting to wake up and find all of this was a dream.”

If she were braver, she would have told him about her dreams of him, but instead, she said, “How about I go get a book to read, so I can sit up beside you, while you sleep? I can pull the curtains shut.” 

His nod was relieved, and Christy got up, thinking hard to remember where she’d packed her book. It wasn’t with the others, since she’d been reading it a little each night. A glance over at her husband told her he was still ruminating. She told herself that Neil had found out his horrid wife had died and then he’d married someone else, all within two weeks. That probably did something to a man’s psyche.

“Ask me what I’m reading,” Christy said, crouching down to rummage through the front pocket of one suitcase.

“What?”

“It’s part of distracting you while I look for my book,” she told him. Standing, she put her hands on her hips. Was it downstairs?

“Fine,” Neil said, his voice still sleepy, but more like his confident self. “What are you reading?”

“Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. It’s a story about four sisters, all very different, and how each of them handle the process of growing up. I loved it when I was younger, and now I’m rereading it to pick out parts to share with the children.” As she spoke, she found the book, drew the curtain, then came back to briskly set things up to sit comfortably beside him.

“You’re an excellent teacher, Christy.”

Praise from him really was worth a hundred kind words from anyone else. 

“Thank you! Go ahead and sleep now, if you can.” She reached out to brush back some of his hair, and as she did so, Neil let out a long breath.

Christy opened the book, going back to a part she remembered vividly, so she could focus on that rather than his movements as he made himself comfortable. Soon he was asleep, and she relaxed too, finding the cadence of his breathing calming.

A few chapters later, her hand was starting to hurt in that position, but instead of propping her legs up, she set the book down in her lap for a while. The slight movement didn’t disturb Neil, which was lucky given how close to her he’d drifted. His brows were half-furrowed even in his sleep, and he had a fist-full of the quilt at her hip, large enough that she suspected some of her nightgown was caught up, too.

She hoped he wasn’t dreaming about her tears from the night before. There was no telling what his reaction would be if she explained what had really prompted them, whether that ranged from fury at Miss Alice (and a furtherance of Margaret’s posthumous plans of division) to maybe admitting he had the same thoughts.

That option didn’t bear contemplating.

Telling herself that Margaret and Miss Alice’s relationship was so fractured that the cracks extended beyond the grave didn’t soothe as much as it ought to have. Not when she was a living, breathing person who loved her work in the Cove, who had embraced the children and her role as their teacher…

Christy shoved those thoughts away. There wasn’t any reason to dwell on them, at least not right now. Her relationship with her own mother was nothing like that, though the two of them had their differences, especially once she’d decided to come to the Mission. In some ways, the distance between them had improved their relationship, allowing hurt feelings to soothe and tempers to calm in between letters. She was overdue to send another one, and wasn’t sure how much to include, but a phone call was even more stressful to imagine. The technology was incredibly useful for emergencies, but she didn’t want to call and tell her mother she was married and miss any facial expressions that might signal more than the vocal response carried over the wires.

That train of thought was too stressful to think about with an exhausted Neil trying to catch up on sleep beside her. If only there was a way she could prove to him that she understood his life as a doctor, just as her mother had proved she understood Christy’s life in Cutter Gap. Julia Huddleston had figured out the exact right way to communicate with Swannie--

Christy caught her breath. Communication. Neil had made an offhand remark months back about wishing there were more of him, so he could focus on his research and the most important visits. Good medical care was as much about keeping an eye on a person’s recovery and asking them how things were going as it was being available to deliver babies and treat traumatic injuries. How much of his time did he spend traveling to and fro just to check up on people who were almost always doing well?

If there was someone in each community that could visit those recovering patients and report back to Neil, wouldn’t that ease his workload?

She frowned. That would probably involve training, and she knew he’d been hesitant to offer that to Dan. Not all his reticence came from the possible stigma (and thus renewed mistrust from his patients) of associating with a colored man, but also the time that he’d have to invest.

“You stopped turning pages,” Neil said, his voice husky from sleep.

“I was thinking.”

“Sorry to ruin it for ye, then,” he teased, rolling onto his back to stretch before moving the pillow to sit up against the headboard like she was. Once he was settled, Neil glanced over, looking as content as she’d ever seen him. It made her feel like she’d done something right in choosing to stay upstairs. Christy smiled back at him, but her heart was so full she had to distract herself by looking for her bookmark.

“What was on your mind, just now?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen that look before, when you were talking to me. It was like your conscience had pricked you about something.” He was exactly right, but she didn’t know Neil had even noticed those moments where her inner voice had yelled at her to back off and look away.

Christy hesitated, then said, “You were married.”

Neil sat silent for a few seconds as the implications set in. Instead of responding with words, he reached between them to find her hand, sliding his fingers along her palm and between her fingers in a slow, warm caress. Christy closed her eyes, eager to let herself feel. He lifted her hand to his lips, shifting to sit closer as he kissed first the back of her hand, then her pulse point. Each brush of his lips singed her skin, sending heat through her veins to the very core of her, somehow-- but when he pressed a kiss to her palm, she gasped.

“Isn’t that amazing? Like a direct pathway to the most sensitive places,” he whispered. Just hearing Neil refer to those sensations had the same effect he was describing.

She didn’t know what to say, but didn’t want that to go unanswered, so she made a little sound of contentment and kissed his shoulder. He turned his head and looked at her lips, before meeting her eyes.

“Christy, I--” Neil broke off at the sudden growling of his stomach.

The complete reversal of the romantic moment mixed with the utter horror in his expression destroyed her composure. Christy covered her face with both hands and fell sideways onto his lap, giggling almost as hard as Neil’s choked guffaws.

They held each other and just laughed for a while, and finally Neil said, “It’s a wonder you didn’t kick me out of bed entirely!” He dropped an amused kiss on her hair and got up, leaving her laying on her back on the bed, arms across her stomach, worn out from laughing. 

“If you try to turn hunger growls into some sort of recurring joke, I will get ahold of the hottest peppers Birds-Eye Taylor has ever grown in that travesty of a garden, and I’ll put them in every single meal!” she threatened.

“Who do you think browbeat him into planting the things?”

“Oh no!” she gasped out before the giggles caught up with her again. This time, Christy curled up into the fetal position and groan-laughed through the muscle aches.

“Well, that gave me enough time to get dressed, at least,” Neil said, when she finally stopped. “D’you want me to see what I can get started? It’s almost lunch.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m not sure I can walk!”

Neil started for the stairs, and she dragged herself out of bed, twisting her mass of tangled hair in preparation to pull it back.

“Wait!”

She jumped in surprise. “What?”

“Keep your hair down?” He was wearing a boyish sort of hopeful face that really communicated how much he wanted her to agree.

“All right,” she said, shy again.

***

Christy chose a cornflower blue dress, and only pulled back enough of her hair that she could cook without issue. She made her way down the stairs smiling; she could smell something cooking already, and something told her Neil was taking the interruption of their moment in bed quite personally. That was a direct compliment to her, not that her own disappointment wasn’t substantial.

Neil was indeed sitting by the fire with a pair of tongs, tending to some sausage. On the table were a few eggs and a pair of plates with accompanying utensils, making her wonder whether his efficiency this morning was a function of habit or thwarted desire.

Also on the table were four medium-sized zucchini with little hearts carved into them.

“I thought I’d heard all of the myths and legends to be had in these mountains, but a fairy that leaves Wedding Zucchini is a new one for me,” Neil said, when he saw her.

“That fairy happens to be red-haired, enthusiastic, and not quite two decades old.”

Neil’s “Ah!” spoke volumes.

She walked over and picked one up. “I’d feel more like this was a gift if her scratched symbols didn’t mean we have to eat all of them soon. Or if I didn’t know for a fact they’re drowning in zucchini at the Mission!”

“Might be nice fried up in the grease left from the sausage?” he suggested. “Want me to save the eggs for later?”

“That takes care of one, what about the others?” Christy laughed, retrieving the knife to start slicing.

The rest of their impromptu honeymoon went similarly well, with the two of them enjoying each other’s company and learning how to live together. She spent time each afternoon sitting on a rock beside the river doing grading or school prep work while Neil fished, and they visited a few of their neighbors briefly, delighting her students with a gift of heart-etched zucchini.

Every night, they took turns changing for bed, then settled in on their respective sides awkwardly, only to release the tension with a comment or conversation that left Christy with an indulgent smile on her lips.

Neil always gravitated toward her in his sleep, solving the long-standing issue she had of waking up cold and reluctant to leave the bed for a warmer solution.

On the day she was to resume her teaching duties, Christy woke early to find Neil’s hand on her hip and his head resting on the edge of her pillow. She felt warm and wanted, giving her enough courage to roll over to face him. When he replaced his hand on her hip again, it felt like approval.

“Not late this time,” he smiled.

She was really feeling his proximity this morning. It wouldn’t take much movement on her part to steal a kiss. “Do you want me to make something to eat before I go?” 

“No need. We’ve got that dried rhubarb bread Hattie gave us yesterday, remember?”

She could barely remember anything right now. Was this why people were given time to themselves after their wedding? To help adjust to the intoxication of being so very close to the person you loved?

“Christy?”

“I’m sorry, I’m distracted this morning,” she said, turning her face half into her pillow in embarrassment. Neil slid his hand up from her hip to her arm, then gently brushed her hair out of her eyes, once she’d stopped hiding. It felt so good she wanted to return the favor, so Christy lifted her hand, meaning to run her fingertips over the tangle of his curls-- but Neil caught it, pressing a kiss on her wrist.

“Best get moving!” he said, rolling away from her to get up. He was almost dressed by the time she’d untangled herself from the blanket and got her robe on, and when she made her way downstairs after putting on her own clothes, Christy found an empty house and a plate with a generous slice of the rhubarb bread waiting for her.

It felt thoughtful, but it also felt a little bit like avoidance. As she walked to the schoolhouse, though, Christy thought back on the last few mornings, how indulgent they’d felt. She and Neil had slept in, had spoken at length while cooking (or almost burning) their breakfast. Hadn’t she been frantic that first morning, thinking she’d slept in? Her husband just didn’t want to make her late, that was all.

The word ‘husband’ still sent a forbidden sort of thrill through her, a feeling that persisted right up until she was within sight of the schoolhouse.

Chapter Text

Spellcasting

After her students’ play-acting about the wedding the week before and the wholehearted celebration after the ceremony, Christy had no idea what to expect for the return to school. She’d deliberately timed her arrival a little early, and when the children saw her, they raced over to escort her the rest of the way. Through the rush of questions and comments, a few caught her attention.

“You bein’ back, does that mean we still gots to ‘member our verses?”

“We thought you was gon’ take off fer the whole week, Miss Christy!”

“Dr. MacNeill still has patients to see, and I missed you!” she answered, turning to look at Creed (of course it was Creed). “What verses?”

“Preacher gave us a verse to read back next mornin’, but he ain’t here!”

“Well, it’s Thursday, do you think you can still remember that verse for Sunday?”

Creed frowned, but nodded. Then he lit up like a struck match. “So Teacher, turned out your weddin’ weren’t gossip after all!”

She’d worried about this. As Christy started to refute him, the rest of the students crowded around.

“That’s just not true, Creed Allen. What if someone was really sick and the message spread through the Cove that they’d died on a Monday, but they actually passed away on the Thursday instead? Just because they did end up dying doesn’t mean that they really died on Monday!”

Creed’s grin was indelible. “S’not gossip, that’s spreadin’ a prayer request!”

She was not, not going to tell Neil he might have been right about what David had been teaching in her absence.

The questions about the wedding continued, with comments about the two of them being sweet on each other, admiring her dress, and so forth. Christy was surprised that none of the questions hinged on the actual reason they’d been compelled to marry, but she wasn’t about to ‘look a gift horse in the saddlebags,’ as Ben Pentland would say.

“Miss Christy, is yer momma comin’ back?” This was from Mountie, and it was particularly touching, given the way Julia Huddleston had handled her visit to the O’Teales.

“I very much hope so! There wasn’t enough time for her to come on Sunday,” Christy said, keeping her tone light.

“Was yer weddin’ the first time you gots t’kiss the doc, Teacher?” a voice behind her asked. Christy spun around to see who it was, but all her students were looking around in surprise, just like she was.

“That’s an inappropriate question, and I’m surprised your teacher is even allowing this discussion!” David said from the doorway. His voice was stern, and she looked over with some worry to find him frowning, but not overly so. From her knowledge of him, Christy would have to say he was wearing his ‘social’ mask, the one that brooked no vulnerability.

He was carrying a familiar notebook in his hand, and when he got closer, he handed it over to her, flipping it up to where a thin piece of wood held his place. “I noted down what we talked about while you were gone,” he said. “I think we went through a lot more Hamlet than you planned, but I couldn’t find your math notes, and I didn’t want to disrupt your progression.”

She was touched, both by his earnest tone and the care he’d taken to use the notebook she kept in her desk. “Thank you! Children, take your seats and clap your thanks to Reverend Grantland!” Her students did as they were told, but as they did so, they still whispered and giggled amongst themselves about the wedding and its possible causes.

“The student who can recite the memory verse most perfectly this Sunday after church will win a piece of hard candy my sister sent me all the way from Anaheim, California!” David announced over the applause.

At this, the children started to beg and plead with the students who still had the written-down verse so they could study it, finally changing the subject.

Grateful, Christy walked slowly down the center aisle, looking over the two pages he’d written notes on. At the doorway, she looked over at David, almost stunned. “This is so thorough! You didn’t have to--”

“I did. You didn’t have any warning; I didn’t want you to lose any momentum, for the… adjustment period.” David sounded like he was being meticulously careful with his phrasing, and she could see that his left hand was moving restlessly at his side.

She wanted to tell him he was a good friend, but that would just make things worse. “I really appreciate your help. Talk later?” That last part came out without her meaning to say it, but it was out there now, and she couldn’t take it back. David looked both relieved and a little sick, but he nodded once, twice, and then a third time, before jogging down the stairs without a word.

***

On the way home from school, Christy really felt the weight of the changes in her life. She’d very deliberately restricted herself from thinking too much about Miss Alice’s words on her wedding night, conscious of how her unhappiness over them might look to Neil. Margaret would have loved the chaos she’d sown, not just between Miss Alice and Neil, but for Neil’s ability to move on. The result, though, was a temporary severing of her connection to her mentor, and she was starting to feel it quite keenly.

Then there was David. Despite the undercurrent of possessiveness she’d often sensed in his behavior, he really had been her rock ever since arriving in Cutter Gap. He was the person she went to with concerns that weren’t consequential enough for Miss Alice’s particular brand of spiritual realism, the person she’d joke with, the person she felt comfortable around. Her weekday meal, of sorts.

Neil had been the holiday dinner-- a challenge, sometimes a thrill, definitely more rare; meeting with him was an event she always looked forward to and sometimes left feeling confused by.

Now she felt uneasy after speaking to David and couldn’t wait to come home to Neil. She wanted to see the happiness in his eyes when he looked at her, wanted to learn more about his life and their future, wanted to hide her face in his chest and let him argue away her uncertainties (only to replace them with other, more exciting ones).

“Your metaphors are a mess,” she muttered to herself. Christy stopped under a warm ray of sun shining through the trees to breathe in the fresh scent of the forest for a minute before continuing. Minutes later, she wished she could carry those wholesome smells around her like a warm fur coat, because the air outside the cabin was fishy and foul.

“There you are!” Neil smiled.

Christy came to a halt, taking in the scene in front of her. Neil had brought down a table from the porch, and on it lay various knives, multiple fish… parts, and a frightful amount of blood. The only good thing about what she was seeing was the large leather apron he was wearing to protect his clothes.

He started to chuckle.

“What could possibly be funny?”

“That look on your face, you had the same one on your first visit to the cabin.” He cleared his throat and had the grace to look down at what he was doing with a newly-formed apologetic expression. “I did think I’d be finished by now, but the spine on that last--” Neil stopped himself, but it was too late. She was no longer looking forward to hiding her face in his chest, that was for certain.

“I’m going inside,” Christy said diplomatically. At the top of the newly-constructed porch stairs, she paused. “Have you ever gone on a patient visit after… that particular task?”

“You’re asking, ‘has anyone recoiled at my horrid smell?’ No, Christy, I know how to clean it up properly. I promise you won’t have to sleep with a fish-man.”

“Thank the Lord!” she said with probably too much vehemence, if the powerful laughter that chased her into the house was any indication.

***

Dinner was fish, prepared by Neil. She didn’t have much of an appetite.

***

Her husband disappeared for a while after their meal, and when he came back to find her on the porch darning his socks, his hair was wet again.

“You--” She blinked at him, stunned that he’d gone to bathe again. “You didn’t smell at dinner! Seeing what went into cleaning the food on the same day we ate it was just too real for comfort.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he shrugged. “I soaked the clothes, as well. In the past I’d put them with the others for the week, but that didn’t seem like a good idea.” He went inside to set some things down, then came back out and tipped his head sideways, looking more closely at the sock she was working on. “I already fixed that one!”

“I’m not trying to insult your sewing skills, doctor, but…” Christy tried to think of the best way to describe what she wanted to say.

“Out with it.”

“You kept pulling at the toes the last time you wore these. I thought maybe you folded in too much fabric before sewing it up, and that kept getting in the way.” She was finished with the one she’d been working on, so she turned it inside out and handed it over.

“Oh.”

“I’ll do you the professional courtesy of assuming you repair skin and socks differently,” she teased, picking up that sock’s mate to examine it. His silence pulled her gaze, and Christy found him regarding her with such affection that it flared heat in her chest.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Neil asked, somehow making the question sound genuine.

“Yes. I can’t soothe David Grantland’s rejected heart,” she sighed. “I recognize that his disappointment will take a while, but I miss my friend.”

“I imagine it will take a very long while,” he said quietly. “One can only hope he doesn’t quite understand what he’s lost.”

The words were both sincere and romantic, and Christy took a few seconds to recover before looking over to see that Neil was running his finger over the neat line of stitches in his sock. The two of them sat in companionable silence as the sun set and the porch grew too dim to see what she was doing. She’d meant to ask him about the visit he’d made to the Cox homestead that morning, but instead she decided to maintain the contemplative atmosphere and packed up her things.

When she walked past Neil on the way to go inside, she chose the path that led behind his chair, setting her hand on his shoulder and smoothing a caress across his back. He made a pleased noise and reached up just in time to stroke his fingertips along her hand before she fully passed by.

Once she was inside the house, Christy actually had to stand still and concentrate to remember where she’d planned to put away her sewing supplies. This delayed her evening routine, as did the various times she got derailed thinking about the moments they’d shared that evening.

She was upstairs slipping off her chemise when Neil walked into the bedroom without knocking. Christy snatched up her nightgown to cover her bare breasts, catching her undergarment from falling to reveal anything further.

He didn’t say anything, just stood completely still, eyes closed, his hand still on the doorknob. Neil looked like he was struggling with himself, and she genuinely didn’t know whether she wanted him to succeed or not. The moment lengthened, ramping up her anticipation, until finally he turned and left, pulling the door carefully shut behind him.

Christy let out her held breath and sank onto the bed to compose herself. She wasn’t scared of what might have happened, but she was disappointed. Her whole body burned from the missed opportunity.

She wondered what would happen if she just… did nothing until he came back.

The thought that he would be sleepy and frustrated with her prompted her to rush through the process of dressing and taking down her hair. She was huddled up on her side of the bed and almost asleep by the time Neil came back.

***

Christy woke to movement in bed the next morning, noting by the scant daylight visible through the window that it was very early.

“Is there an emergency?” she mumbled, loath to wake too far if she didn’t have to.

“Early lesson with Dan. I forgot to tell you,” Neil said, his voice getting nearer with each word. “Go back to sleep,” he told her, completely undermining his words by bending down to kiss her cheek while running his fingers along a curl that had draped itself on her shoulder.

Christy’s hand was too sleep-slowed to catch him before he walked away and shut the bedroom door.

***

School dragged all day, and Christy was in such a hurry to get home that she almost ran into Zady Spencer at the bottom of the schoolhouse stairs.

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry!” she said, sidestepping the young woman so she could continue to hurry home.

“Uh, Miss Christy?”

Christy felt a powerful stab of guilt, not just for missing a student wanting to ask her something, but for hoping the question would be brief. “Yes, Zady?”

“We was wonderin’ if you and the doc would like to come by for dinner sometime this week?”

“I’m sure we’d be delighted, but I’ll have to figure out which day based on his schedule,” Christy said warmly. It was nice of the Spencers to ask, and even nicer of them to let their oldest daughter extend the invitation. “Thank you. Can you tell your mother I’ll talk to her about it on Sunday?”

“Oh! Yes, yes’m, of course.” Zady ran off, leaving Christy a little curious as to her confusion.

On her hurried walk home, she contemplated what the reason might be and came up with something sobering, though probably not surprising. Christy usually spoke to Fairlight more often than she had for the past few weeks. She suspected her wise, gentle friend had set up the dinner as a way to gauge how much longer to wait before pushing to visit again.

Neil wasn’t home when she got there. She found a note on the porch telling her not to expect him that night, possibly not until the next afternoon, after a large fire in a community three hours away.

The note was terse, the handwriting sloppy, so she knew he’d been in a rush when he’d written it. After taking some time to pray for the lives of those affected by the fire (and the people there to help), Christy decided to make the most of the solitude. Besides her walks to and from school, she hadn’t had much time to herself lately.

She first set to work weeding the garden, avoiding any plants she didn’t recognize for fear of misidentifying something important. As she worked, she contemplated her idea about passing along health information. Creed’s comment regarding ‘prayer requests’ made her think about how sharing such things was already part of the community. How much time could she save Neil by having a designated messenger who could tell him little things like whether someone’s baby finally sleeps through the night, or another person’s teenager seemed to stop growing? She pictured another one of his patient records books filled with status information, gathered up by… who, though? And how would they know which information was valuable?

Christy stood up and surveyed the work she’d done before deeming herself finished. She went to wash her hands in the river, still contemplating her idea on the way. The last thing she wanted to do would be to get Neil too much information, or create some sort of expectation that he would do something with the data she was thinking of collecting.

She spent the rest of the day doing various tasks around the house, including putting away her suitcases in the back of the bedroom closet, despite the obvious signs that he’d been moving things around in there without having put them back. When she was finished, Christy found that she didn’t feel all that hungry, so she decided to go to bed early. It had been forever since she’d hiked up to watch the sunrise over the mountains, and if Neil wasn’t going to be home, she could just go without qualms.

The next morning was brisk and cool, a sign that autumn had begun. She got dressed in lamplight, making the bed and leaving a slice of rhubarb bread under a napkin for if he came home while she was out. Her rule for the walk was to empty her mind and just enjoy nature, to set aside her wounded feelings about Miss Alice in particular. Most of all, she told herself to lock away the exciting, confusing whirlwind of her new life with Neil-- no thinking about him at all.

It was one of the most beautiful sunrises she’d ever seen, and as soon as it started, Christy broke her rule.

She resolved that next Saturday, she was going to bring her husband.

***

As it turned out, Neil didn’t get home until she was nearly finished making herself dinner. She’d just carried her plate out onto the porch to eat when he rode up, utterly filthy with soot and other substances she didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Go eat, I’ll take care of the horse,” she said, rushing down the stairs to come over to him.

It was a measure of just how tired he was that he didn’t argue with her, just made his way to the table and sat down.

Neil hadn’t shown her the inside of his small stable yet, but she found everything necessary to care for his horse, including a trough for feed and water. She made a mental note to come back later and do a better wipe-down of the animal, but as soon as she’d found the food, Neil’s horse made it quite clear where her priorities ought to be.

Just outside, there was a large cauldron anchored over a firepit, and a quick peek back into the stable revealed some other supplies for washing up. Christy stood thinking for only a few seconds before she decided that yes, she was going to be the very best doctor’s wife she possibly could be. 

Her goal: Neil MacNeill was not going to scrub himself clean in the river tonight.

First she gathered up the double bucket that was clearly designed to bring water over from the river. After slowly dumping it into the cauldron (in a completely ridiculous attempt to keep her activities quiet enough that Neil didn’t hear her and drag himself over to investigate), she lit the fire from the lamp she’d brought over to the stable, making sure to clear away any drifted brush that might have accumulated since the last time he’d used the equipment.

She’d seen Fairlight do this once. As she understood it, you heated up the water in the cauldron, then you scooped up some of it to mix with riverwater, so you didn’t scald yourself when you scrubbed yourself or your clothes with it. Christy was pleased to see steam rising, but when she looked inside, she realized she’d made a tactical error.

The water level was so low she’d burn herself on the side of the metal container trying to scoop any of it out. It would take at least three more loads of water to get up to a level that would be safe to pull out. 

She got to work.

***

“Christy?”

She’d just finished dumping in the last of the water, so Christy made her way back to the porch to see what he needed.

“That was delicious and unexpected, thank you,” Neil said, rubbing a finger along his temple and leaving a soot streak. “I’ll just sleep for a spell out here; the weather should be warm enough.”

“You won’t have to.” She picked up one of the other chairs and headed for the area she’d set up by the stable. He’d be able to lean against the sturdy wall, with a table for the soap and washcloth.” When she turned around, though, he hadn’t followed her. That meant he really was exhausted, because his curiosity was only rivaled by his obstinacy. She hoped those two traits wouldn’t oppose each other tonight. Neil deserved to sleep in bed, not on a hard chair on the porch.

He had his head pillowed in his arms on the table when she got back. If he weren’t so filthy, she’d have woken him with a gentle touch. As it was, she stood close by and spoke softly.

“What clothes would you like to change into?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you want me to pick something out?”

“Dun’ worry, I’ll jus’ sleep out here,” he mumbled.

New plan, Christy said to herself. She gathered up his dinner dishes from where he’d pushed them out of the way to lay his head down. After taking them inside, she went up to grab his nightshirt, and a few other soft-looking things for him to wear to sleep. When she got back outside, she set them down on the far side of the table, then went to the back to put out the fire with dirt and water.

She was proud of the cheerfully warm bucket of water she brought onto the porch to set beside him. Bracing herself for the grime and smell, Christy leaned against his back to get her hands around him, so she could start unbuttoning his shirt. Neil caught her hands against his chest, moving faster than she’d have thought he could, in this state.

“What--”

“I have all this practice with your buttons,” she said lightly. “Sit up. There’s warm water, soap, a washcloth, and a change of clothes. You should get to sleep in a real bed tonight. With me.” Adding that last part was an act of defiance, and Neil recognized it as such, because his grip on her hands tightened when she said it.

“You don’t have to--”

“Two months ago, how would you have handled this?” she interrupted, tugging back on him and pulling her hands free when he sat up. Christy walked around and leaned over to unbutton him further, but he shot her a cross look and did it himself.

“I would have been perfectly fine sleeping out here for a few hours, if not all night. Just as I would today.” He scooted his chair back to give himself enough room to strip off the shirt, but instead of handing it to her, Neil tossed it over the side of the porch in his own act of defiance. By looks and smell, he’d worn that shirt the entire time he was gone; the soot line at his neck was remarkable.

She soaped up the washcloth after dunking it with the warm water and held it out.

“Christy,” he started, but she just leaned over and started on his neck. Swiftly, he stopped her with a hand at her wrist, gently pulling the wet cloth away and resuming the task. “All right, point made! You don’t have to--”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. This is your life now,” she said, bustling over to where his clean clothes were so he could see them. Her briskness had nothing whatsoever to do with seeing him with his shirt off again. Nothing whatsoever. “I’m going to grab some of the warm water for the dishes and give you some privacy.” Before he could see that she was getting emotional about the opportunity to show him care and attention, Christy hurried down the stairs and did as she’d said, getting a bucketful of still-warm water from the cauldron.

Neil was standing and scrubbing at his arms when she hauled the water into the house. After a time, she was just rinsing the last dish when she heard a splash of water outside. Christy dried her hands and walked outside to see Neil half-dressed on the chair with his feet sticking out and his hair dripping onto his bare back and shoulders. The bucket was tipped over, the last remnants of soapy water flooding over the side of the porch.

“Lost my balance,” he said ruefully. “More tired than I thought.”

“Let me help.” Christy picked up the towel from the table nearby. It was mostly dry, so she draped it over his head and started kneading the water from his hair.

“Dreaming,” Neil whispered.

Pulling the towel free from his damp hair, Christy set about drying off his shoulders with long gentle swipes. “Hmm?”

“I’ve dreamed you up,” he said, dragging the towel out of her hands and looking up at her with simple gratitude mixed with the kind of weariness that didn’t just come from what he’d seen at that fire. 

“You didn’t, and I can prove it,” Christy said. She wanted him to sleep, but not in that mood. Not morose and romantic and self-destructive. Neil had shown her his low, and he was nearing it again-- and what was a wife for if not to redirect away from such things?

“Can you?” he whispered, reaching up to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

Christy nodded, setting her hand on his at her cheek in a sort of reassuring hand clasp. “Your hair still smells absolutely terrible. Go on in to bed, I’ll come up in an hour or so.”

The frozen look of surprise on his face was so perfect she leaned over and pecked an impudent kiss on his lips before grabbing the washcloth and the bucket and dashing off to the stable to put them away.

Chapter Text

The Rocky Path

Christy got up early for church. Neil barely stirred, and she expected that was deliberate; there were probably many discussions about faith in their future, but not today. It was only when she walked into the church building that she realized there might be a question about where to sit. If she went to her usual place, would Miss Alice’s demeanor slice through her week-long mental armor? Yet, how much of a wound would Christy inflict if she didn’t sit there? 

Rather than going inside, she stood outside and endured the polite (but clearly prying) questions about how she and Neil were settling in. Everpresent was the unspoken expectation: that her influence might finally bring him back to the fold. Surely these people who had known her husband for many years longer than she had didn’t think his stubbornness could be broken by seven days of marriage? 

She almost preferred the dilemma about where to sit! 

In the end, the decision was made for her. As she stood hesitantly in the doorway, Miss Alice took her arm and walked up to the front with her in tow, patting her hand before letting go. Her mentor’s expression was carefully polite, but it seemed like every emotion was present in her eyes as they looked at each other. Not now, but soon, Miss Alice seemed to be conveying.

Christy nodded, but any other silent communication was interrupted by David as he began the service. She thought she was paying attention, but after it was over, she realized she’d be hard-pressed to recall what the sermon had been about. Given David’s propensity for topical Messages, that was probably lucky, not that he’d see it that way. It meant she ought to dodge him in case her mood wasn’t properly attuned to his teaching, so Christy made her way politely toward the treeline and freedom.

“Lookin’ forward to hearin’ an announcement from ye and the doc sometime soon!” Swannie O’Teale said as Christy sidled past. She was wearing a conspiratorial expression, but Christy was at a loss.

“I’m sorry, what kind of announcement?”

“Youngins, o’course! It’ll be lucky ye won’t have to send fer the doc, when yer time comes!”

A few of the people standing nearby made comments in support of this, and Christy coughed her way through extricating herself. She managed to walk confidently along the path that led to her new home until she was certain to be out of sight, then stopped and set a hand to her chest. Babies! Already! Already already, given that they hadn’t engaged in any activity that could make said babies.

“I’m not picturing that,” she said aloud, when the memory stirred of Neil catching her eye as she’d held the McHone’s adopted infant. Not picturing anything else either, Christy told herself, heading off thoughts of him walking in on her while changing, or seeing the strong muscles of his arms as he cleaned up on the porch the night before.

She hadn’t fully composed herself when she walked up onto their property and saw an oblong blue shape under a blue sheet. Neil was messing about with something underneath the porch not far from it, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Suddenly she didn’t want to hide how disconcerted she’d been by Swannie’s words. Neil would understand, and maybe she could gauge how he felt about baby MacNeills by his reaction.

“That had better not be a cradle, doctor, or you’ll make some of your neighbors very smug!” she said as she approached him.

“Has it started already?” he groaned. “Now there’s a tradition you won’t find in any history books. I suppose I could have warned you.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels a little bit, looking pleased. “No, this is a gift. Had it ma-- well, altered. Go on, take a look.”

Christy walked the rest of the way over to where he was standing beside his concealed gift. She smiled, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

“Proximity,” he teased, lifting his eyebrows. “Of a sort.”

The impulse to set her hands on his chest and ask for kisses as her gift instead struck her like a scorched lance. It happened that they were looking right at each other when she thought of this, and Neil’s expression sharpened, like he could read her mind. A blush rose up in her cheeks and Christy pulled in a steadying breath before lifting off the sheet to see what was underneath.

Her gift was a sturdy wooden chair, low-slung, with an open-top rectangular box fastened to one side. Along the back was a handmade cushion of deep blue, tied to the slats in multiple places.

“Neil, this is beautiful, but what--”

“If you’ll carry my fishing things over to the river, I’ll carry this, and then you can stop laying out your school papers on a rock to blow into the water,” he said. “I already had the chair, but Bob Allen helped me by adding the box. Mary offered the cushion.”

“I’m speechless,” she whispered. It was more romantic than a candlelit dinner or a bouquet of flowers. This was a man seeking to make spending time together as comfortable as he could.

“Well worth it, then,” Neil teased.

Christy gave him what he clearly wanted: an affectionate glare in his direction. Murmuring a ‘thank you,’ she stepped close for a hug, drinking in the solid, dear strength of him and relishing how quickly his arms came to envelop her. Neil kissed her temple, and she lifted her head to look up at him, blatantly hoping. The corner of his mouth lifted up, and he started to bend his head just as she lifted up to meet him.

The kiss turned heated immediately, and not just because she could taste a hint of the spice bread he’d had for breakfast. The sound of the stream, the early autumn birdsong, everything faded away in favor of the drumbeat of her racing heart and the joy of sensing that he wanted this as much as she did. Neil half-lifted her up against him, his other hand cupping the back of her head. Each movement of his lips released eddies of pleasure that magnified each other as it went on. If kissing was like this, could she even survive making babies?

Christy angled closer, and he took the invitation, tasting her as before. It was more intense than she remembered, drawing a sound she’d never heard herself make. In response, Neil broke the kiss long enough to pick her up as he’d done to rescue her from the river, stealing the surprise from her lips with deep, longing kisses. The character of the moment had changed into something more powerful, more serious, and she wasn’t afraid at all anymore.

They were up the stairs and into the house before she could comprehend it, but then Neil set her down, not by the staircase to the bedroom, but next to his lab.

He placed his palm flat on the doorjamb and looked down at her, breathing heavily. “I’ve got an experiment going in there.” Regret was thick in his voice, and by the thrilling way he was looking at her, she felt almost naked, despite being fully dressed.

“A villain to steal you away?”

“The specter of one,” he rasped. Neil looked down at her, blatant desire in his eyes, but he turned his head away and pushed off from the wall.

“How long do you need?” she asked, picturing herself sitting on the bed with a book, her hair down, waiting for him to come in after an annoyed hour of medical tinkering. There was an odd temptation to that, both of them waiting and wanting, separated by necessity.

“All afternoon,” was the dismayed reply. Neil paced away from her, then turned and paced half the way back. “You deserve my full attention, and I just can’t do that right now. I’m sorry, Christy. Your gratitude is welcome, just… unexpected.”

“It’s fine,” she whispered, face flaming. Gratitude? She was his wife! She’d made a joke about babies within a few minutes of seeing him today! 

Christy could feel her body language closing off, jaw clenched, chin raised, every muscle tense, but she refused to cross her arms. She wasn’t going to act like a thwarted child, not in a situation like this, not even though she felt as disappointed as she’d ever been in her life. At least his mixed messages had cooled her ardor, but she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that he’d planned that experiment of his on purpose.

“How about I take a walk over to Fairlight’s? She’s invited the two of us to dinner sometime this week. Is there a good day for that?” 

Neil nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Thursday, maybe? I’m to visit Dawn Cox and her babies tomorrow evening--”

“Evening?” Christy interrupted, dismayed. Couldn’t he have scheduled that while she was at school? Too late, she realized what her interjection could sound like, and rushed to add, “I was just planning out dinner. Please don’t think I--”

“No, no,” he said. “I’m still getting used to scheduling my life around having you here. That’s not anything bad, having-- I like you here, I--” Neil let his hands fall uselessly to his sides and let out an embarrassed sigh. “I’ve made a hash of this. Go for a walk, and think charitably of me, will you?”

For one glorious second, Christy thought about telling him she loved him right then and there. How important would his experiment be then? Given the chance his reaction could sink her further into disappointment or maybe even misery, she kept silent. Instead she nodded, walking over to him with the intention of squeezing his hand once before she left.

When she got close though, he stepped back, spinning around to go over to a cupboard as if that was what he’d meant to be doing. Neil turned back around and ‘toasted’ her with what he’d picked up, and she nodded, cut to the quick but determined not to show it.

“See you later, good luck with the results,” she said as brightly as she could, and left.

Christy waited till she was out of sight of the house and well on her way to the Spencers before she scrubbed her sleeve over her face to clear away the wetness of her tears. She started a series of deep breaths, counting in her head so she could focus on that rote task instead of everything else.  

Her inner voice pointed out that the mental trunk she shoved her worries into was becoming quite crowded.

Fairlight was outside when Christy got there, and after one look at her face, her friend was calling on her children to stay close to the house while she was gone on a walk with Teacher.

“Anythin’ I should bring with?” Fairlight asked when she walked over to her. Christy shook her head. In a quieter voice she said, “Don’t you worry, we’ll fix it.”

Christy choked out a tearful laugh and nodded. Neither of them said anything of consequence until they’d gotten up on their overlook rock. Already she was reframing what had happened in her mind, telling herself her instincts were juvenile, that Neil was a grown man with responsibilities, that he surely couldn’t be deliberately scheduling things to--

An acorn popped off of her shoulder.

“Fairlight!”

“I’ve got more of ‘em in my pockets. Go on, tell me what’s wrong. Too hard on yerself? You get an acorn.”

Christy’s heart was too full to do more than press her lips together and nod. She took in a long, slow breath, and let it out.

“Well, come on, you dragged me out here!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t--” Christy broke off when Fairlight’s eyebrows shot up and she gave her a look. It was suddenly very easy to understand how it was that the Spencer children were so well-behaved. “I-- I think Neil is avoiding… the rest of our wedding night.” She almost swallowed those last few words; it felt like a betrayal to mention the subject at all, but she desperately wanted advice.

“Well that ain’t it!” Fairlight declared. She almost sounded amused, scrambling for her ammunition.

Stung, Christy, pulled her knees up and hugged her arms around them. “You don’t have to laugh! I hope I’m wrong, but--”

Her reaction made Fairlight hang onto the acorns, choosing to strike with words instead.

“Oh, Christy, that man is more gone on you than near anyone I ever known. Give Doc a suit of armor and one of them big swords and he’d go to war for the chance to have you. It’s got to be somethin’ else.” Fairlight scooted closer and put her arm around her shoulder. “Tell me why you think so, an’ we’ll figure out what’s what.”

Christy explained about how at first she’d thought it was just a coincidence that their timing was always off, but now she wasn’t so sure. Neil had changed his behavior, closing himself off, stepping away, or choosing to simply not be around her. Fairlight looked dubious, but after Christy told her how he’d acted earlier that day, her friend started to chew on a piece of grass, a look of deep thought on her face.

“It was a jar of salt! He backed away from letting me touch him so he could pick up a jar of salt,” Christy said, more incredulous than hurt from the sheer absurdity of it. “Before that, when we were kissing, he was going to carry me upstairs, I just know it.”

Too late she realized just how much she was revealing. She shot a look over at Fairlight, whose eyebrows were up. Her friend tossed an acorn over the edge of the drop-off.

“If you was anyone else and he was anyone else, I’d be teachin’ you how to make him forget, but this don’t seem like that kind of thing,” Fairlight mused. “Whatever it is, it’s enough to make him put a cork in. Doc MacNeill’s impulsive, but he’s smart as anything. You’ll want to figure out what it is first.” 

Christy felt vindicated, but now she had a new problem. “Being right should feel better than this,” she sighed.

“I'm sure it ain't as bad as you think. Sometimes the waitin’ makes the havin’ real powerful.”

She felt a wave of embarrassed excitement, but thankfully, Fairlight had started throwing more of her acorns over the side and didn’t seem to notice. 

“It’ll be family, a death maybe. Anniversary or somesuch-- somethin’ bad. Doc, he don’t take stock with superstition much, but some things’ll bite ya whether you believe or not.”

“I never thought about that,” Christy whispered. “What if it’s a patient? How long has he served as the doctor here? How many people has he lost?” She’d never considered that. Neil certainly felt his ‘failures’ seriously, but what if he took them so badly he couldn’t let himself be… happy on the dates where he felt he’d fought God and lost?

Multiple acorns struck her, and Christy threw up her hands in desperate defense.

“All right, all right, you caught me!” she sighed. “I hope I’m wrong.”

“You’re good for that man. Once he stops bein’ a fool about this, you won’t ever have t’ worry about it again. You’ll be back here askin’ for a different kind of help!”

Christy blushed. Fairlight’s expression made her meaning quite clear, but then her friend sobered, looking her straight in the eye.

“All’s I know is, things don’t always look what you expect, ‘specially with that part of marriage. Jeb and me, we get along real well, an’ some of that is knowin’ when he’s mad at me and tryin’ not to take it out on me, or mad at somethin’ else and tryin’ not to take it out on me.” She tossed an acorn up in the air and caught it. “Worry if he takes it out on you, Christy. This ain’t that.”

***

On the walk back, Fairlight told her about what little she knew of Neil’s family. He’d been born late in his parents’ lives, an only child. The stigma of that had been slight, but still enough to keep the family to themselves. Christy wondered if the lack of siblings had been for a medical reason, if he’d wanted to become a doctor to figure it out.

It was nearly dinner time when she got back to the cabin to find Neil chopping up various ingredients for another stew. He hadn’t started the pot yet, and seemed visibly relieved to hand the task over to her. Everything about their dynamic seemed just as enjoyable and borderline romantic as it had since their wedding day. Surely that wouldn’t be the case if something was actually wrong, instead of there being some outside force acting on her husband?

Christy resolved to use his afternoon absence the next day to look through Neil’s medical records and see if she could find something that might explain what was going on. Just thinking about prying into his things made her uncomfortable, but something was wrong, and she was going to fix it. Even if her reasons weren’t entirely altruistic.

The guilt over those plans hung over her after dinner.

“I’m going to bed,” she said abruptly, standing and shutting the math textbook she’d been copying problems over from. “I’ve got some things to do early at the schoolhouse tomorrow.”

“All right,” Neil said, looking over to watch her head into the house. She saw his brow furrow slightly when she didn’t walk behind him. He’d even set his hand on his shoulder where he’d caught her hand as she passed last time. 

Fairlight was right. He wanted her to touch him. He wanted to touch her, too. Whatever was holding him back, it wasn’t a lack of desire.

***

It was barely light when Christy left for school the next morning, which was why it surprised her so much to see someone inside. As she approached, what she saw made her slow down and stop.

Miss Alice was kneeling in the center aisle, praying. As Christy watched, she saw her pull a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and bring it around, presumably to wipe her face.

Not wanting to interrupt a private moment, Christy backed away, then turned and headed for the Mission. Maybe she could tell Ruby Mae that her personalized zucchini gifts had outlived their usefulness?

“Christy! Good morning.” It was David. His carefully polite tone reminded her of the way he’d respond to someone he didn’t want to talk to. 

In big ways and small, she’d managed to distance herself from the other ‘outsiders’ of the Cove, people she’d been closest to until her marriage. Neil, David, Miss Alice, all three of them held themselves apart from the community, and now all three of them were holding some parts of themselves from her.

It wasn’t her most charitable observation, and David was perceptive enough to pick up on it.

“Are you all right?”

Christy smiled ruefully. “Mostly. I miss my friendship with you and Miss Alice.” Her weariness of the situation had drawn the unvarnished truth from her lips.

“We’re still here, you know,” he said, picking up the shovel at his feet to anchor it in the ground so he could rest his palm on it, almost like a crutch.

“It’s not the same,” she whispered. “I’ve hurt both of you, and that takes time to fix, and in the meantime a part of me feels guilty for being happy.”

It seemed that David was still a person she told truths to, even ones she hadn’t yet admitted to herself.

“Don’t,” David refuted. “I’ve done some soul-searching.” He looked up at a flock of birds as they flew overhead in their migratory formation, then over at the still-streaked sunrise to the east. “You could have used my proposal to get out of the marriage, you know. Uncle Bogg, the rest of the Cove, they would have seen that as a contract. It would have turned the time you spent in the cabin back to what it really was: one colleague visiting another. Nothing improper at all.”

Christy was stunned. He was right. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Was this what he’d been dwelling on since her wedding?

“David,” she started, her heart in her throat.

“You’re about to say you didn’t think about that. I know.” He refocused on her face and smiled, a fragile but genuine one. “I’m not upset, not anymore. If you’d been looking for a way out, you’d have remembered me and said something. That’s my point. You wanted him, he wanted you, and this was your chance.”

“You deserve someone who wants you,” Christy whispered. Someone who wants you more than anyone else, she didn’t add-- because she had wanted David at one time. A time when there were no other options. A time when the man she was subconsciously falling in love with wasn’t available to be wanted.

“At the risk of sounding like a cad, I know. At the risk of sounding worse--” He broke off, looking at the shovel. He sighed, then set his foot on the back lip of the scoop, digging it in further. “I care about you, Christy, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that part of my proposal was about finding the exact kind of wife I wanted. Someone devoted to God, passionate about helping people, who wants to live a life of service. I don’t think you understand how rare that is. Maybe finding you here was too easy. You know how much I like a challenge!” He cleared his throat and looked over at her. “I don’t want to lose your friendship, if you’re willing to continue that.”

“I’d love to,” she said, hearing the catch in her throat.

David grinned, grabbing up the shovel and toss-twirling it in the air to catch it again. “Good. I’ve gotta go, but I’m glad I ran into you. Don’t be such a stranger, okay?”

It was like his smile floated over and sank into her chest, repairing the little shattered parts of her heart devoted to their friendship. “Okay,” she promised. 

She watched him walk away for a time, then looked critically at the sky, trying to figure out how much time she had before school. Her conclusion was ‘not much,’ so Christy turned to walk back the way she came, almost stumbling over an overturned patch of dirt.

It was from David’s shovel.

The act of kicking the chunk back over and stomping it down safely felt symbolic, but unfinished. She’d need to metaphorically plant a flower for Miss Alice there if she wanted to truly feel better about the friendships she’d uprooted.

***

Since finding out about Neil’s secret laboratory I’d been inside at least a dozen times; I’d never felt like I was trespassing until now. I chose a ledger and tucked a silk scarf in the empty space, but as soon as I opened it, I realized my task was harder than I thought.

There were hundreds of entries, all chronological. Neil had performed all kinds of medical interventions, including appendectomies, amputations, countless births… and scattered among the varied entries was a thick-inked notation I didn’t recognize. At times it would cluster, often when there was a disease outbreak.

I’d turned eight pages before I recognized what it stood for. DEC was the notation for ‘deceased.’

I felt sick to my stomach. If the rest of the books were similar to this one, Neil had seen more death than my friend Trudy probably ever would, despite her work as a trauma nurse. The answer I was looking for wasn’t in his ledgers, but I did find the answer to a question I hadn’t let myself ask: how had Neil lost his faith? Everyone I’d ever met in the mountains had the kind of unshakeable belief in God that ‘flatlanders’ could only aspire to. Now I understood. 

He’d spent years battling against disease, hunger, feuding, and death, often alone. As a result he’d isolated himself; a compassionate, skilled, and ‘respected’ member of a community that found it difficult to trust him-- until they needed his skills. The one time he’d opened himself up, his wife had made his life a misery and then faked her own death to get away from him.

I knew he worried that our relationship was somehow only an interlude instead of forever, and I could hardly blame him for that fear. Not when there were ledgers full of other lives torn apart by one thing or another.

Now it was even more important to me that I figure out why he was holding back. Not just because I too wanted a ‘true marriage,’ but because I’d just seen the clear evidence of how precious and sometimes short life could be.

Christy Huddleston MacNeill,
Journals and recollections

***

It was impossible not to think about the fragility of life without being reminded of Aunt Hattie, and after speaking to Fairlight the day before about Neil’s family, Christy decided she should make a visit. Barring gathering up the courage to speak to Miss Alice about her former son-in-law, this was her last chance to figure Neil out without asking him directly.

Luckily (or unluckily) she still had two of Ruby Mae’s ‘wedding zucchini’ from the most recent delivery to bring with her. As she walked there, Christy gathered up the most fragrant of the blooms she passed, so she could offer those as well.

“Is that you, Christy?”

“It is,” she said, walking with confident, audible footsteps to stand beside the older woman’s rocking chair. “I’ve brought you some flowers, why don’t I hand them to you and you can tell me where to find something to put them in?”

“That’s thoughtful of you! Over there on the windasill should be a glass jar of some sort. Water’s low, you might have to go out for some.”

Christy found the jar exactly as described. “Would you like me to fill you up?”

“Sweet of you to offer, but Birds-Eye comes by to fill it tonight, if I’m rememberin’ right.”

She’d forgotten that Birds-Eye had a great affection for Hattie.

“Well, I brought you some zucchini from the Mission. Ruby Mae helpfully carved a little heart into them, so they’ll need to be eaten sooner than later.”

Hattie smiled, turning her body to face her. “Somethin’ tells me you’re not just here to offload zucchini. What’s troublin’ you? All’s well with Neil, I hope?”

“Oh, definitely,” Christy said quickly, immediately worrying that she’d said it too quickly. “I was actually talking with Fairlight the other day, and she told me a little bit about what she remembers of his family. I was wondering if you had a family Bible that might have some of the MacNeill records in it?”

“Don’t want to ask Neil if he’s got one, I imagine!” Hattie chuckled. “I do wish I could see what’s on your face right about now, Christy. C’mon here and help walk me upstairs, and we’ll take a look.”

Just like every other part of her house, Miss Hattie’s bedroom was cheerfully neat, and right beside the bed was a behemoth of a Bible.

“How is this not too heavy for you?” Christy exclaimed.

Hattie chuckled, having settled into the rocking chair over by the window without her help. Christy got the distinct impression that the escort upstairs was more about her own peace of mind than her host’s need for guidance.

“Go on and open it!”

Christy lifted the cover and sucked in an appreciative breath. This was a work of art, the kind of hand-crafted print and paper craft that she’d rarely seen even in Asheville. 

“You’ll want three pages in the front, if you're looking for Neil.”

She shut the book. “Miss Hattie, I need to be honest with you. I think something’s troubling my husband, and I came here as a last resort to see if there was something I could see in here-- a loss in the family, something. It feels deceptive not to tell you,” Christy said apologetically, the words tumbling over each other to escape the pervasive embarrassment that thickened her throat.

“Oh, Christy-- you think you're using me for that book? Think I wouldn’t show ye if you told me the truth?”

Christy smoothed her hand across the embossed cover. “Something like that.” A hand on her shoulder startled her; Hattie had made her way over, and was sitting on the other side of the narrow bed.

In a gentle voice that reminded Christy that this woman was still a mother despite the loss of her children, Hattie said, “Marriages are hard work even when you know they’re comin.’ You’re just tryin’ to keep up, but that’s the mark of a good woman. Don’t let yer mind tell you different.”  She patted the bed. “Set it on down, facing you, ’course.”

“Thank you,” Christy whispered, doing as she was asked.

This time when she opened the stately Bible, she felt a sense of discovery instead of disrespect. Turning to the page Neil’s aunt had indicated, she saw the filigreed page with the heading FAMILY RECORD with its columns for name, date of birth, date of marriage, and date of death. It seemed that the MacNeills and their kin dating far back tended to plan well for these entries, as each family member had a space beneath them for their spouse. Christy was almost able to visualize the slow fill-out of family members as she looked over the names. Just as Fairlight had indicated, Neil was the first-born and seeming only child of his parents. His line showed his birthday (a date she resolved to remember, as he’d managed to neatly dodge any notice of it for the two years she’d known him)-- and then her heart spasmed in her chest.

As she’d expected, her own name and the date of their recent marriage was missing from the book, but Margaret’s name was listed in the ‘marriage’ line. 

Their wedding anniversary had been Friday, the day of the fire.

“Your breathin’s changed.”

“Just a minute,” Christy gasped, blinking at the other date listed by Margaret’s name: her birthday.

It was just the day before, on Sunday.

Chapter Text

Following the Treasure Map

Aunt Hattie ordered Christy to do two things: officially call her ‘Aunt’ Hattie, and write her name in the Bible alongside Neil’s, marking the date of their marriage. The two of them had stepped aside to sign the certificate on the day, but this felt far more consequential. Knowing that her host couldn’t see what she was doing, Christy had run her finger across Neil’s name in the Bible, wondering whether it was his mother, father, or maybe Hattie herself who’d written the name there. The rest of the page was filled out, barring the spaces left for future marriages, and that felt consequential too.

These generous, loving people she’d come to live among were no stranger to losing children. Yet, for the McCabe and MacNeill families whose names were recorded in that book, hope was stronger than fear.

That sentiment came back to her as she walked past the stable and saw that Charlie was inside, meaning Neil was back from his house visit. Christy made her way into the house, noting that the door to his lab was slightly cracked. She tapped on it, getting an instant response from her husband.

“Is that you, Christy?”

When she went in, she saw he was wearing one of his vests and the blue shirt she’d seen before, the one with the cracked button. Neil was frowning down at a bottle of something, a second matching bottle over at his desk beside one of his patient ledgers. Her pulse jumped to see it, a classic case of what her father called the ticking of the Conscience Clock.

“I hope all is well with the Cox family?”

“‘Tis,” he said, sliding into his chair and setting down the bottle next to its twin. “Nathaniel is the smaller of the two. He’ll need some added nutrition to keep up with his brother Simon, but nothing we won’t be able to handle. I’ve got some vitamin solution I’m hoping I can stop by and give him periodically.” Neil started to look for something, picking up papers and bottles. He picked up the ledger to put it away, and when he moved to slide it in place, he stopped, running his hand along the line of them as if something was wrong.

This caused her Conscience Clock to strike the hour. 

“I went to see your aunt just now,” she said, coming over to stand near his desk. On the way, she saw a piece of paper that had drifted to the floor. On it was a hand-sketched calendar with certain dates marked. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

“Yes, thank you lass,” he said affectionately.

Her heart soared at the endearment, but at the same time, it made her feel guilty, given what she’d spent the afternoon doing. Christy bit her lip, which Neil glanced over and saw.

“If you don’t want me to use--”

“I do. I really do. I want everything, that’s the problem!” she blurted out.

Neil’s brows furrowed in confusion, but then he winced and let out a breath. “Christy, I must tell you, I haven’t been hone--”

“It was your anniversary this past week. And it was Marg-- it was her birthday. Aunt Hattie showed me her family Bible with the dates in it,” she interrupted again, feeling utterly miserable and unworthy of special names from him. “I snooped on you instead of saying something, and I feel awful about it. Please forgive me?”

Christy turned away, unable to bear seeing his reaction. He’d remarked before about how expressive she was, and she felt bad enough already without any further commentary. The very last thing she expected was for Neil to come up behind her and pull her back into his chest, his arms tucking around her like a warm, comforting blanket.

“You belong in that book. It’s reasonable to want to look at it. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“But--”

“I thought I was being clever,” Neil stopped her with a low, regretful tone. “I had no intention of giving that woman power over the first weeks of our marriage, but with how the timing worked out, I was looking at having those memories mixed up with new, very good ones.” With those last few words, he nestled tighter against her for a few seconds, for emphasis.

“So I was right. The fish, scheduling visits, those were on purpose?” Christy’s heart ached, for herself and for him. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Neil didn’t hide the way he buried his face in her hair and breathed in. “I couldn’t let even the mention of her come between us. Not this week.” He kissed her hairline and chuckled, a low, attractive sound. “It near killed me to stay away at all. I’m completely hopeless, you know. I haven’t caught a fish in over a week, and I don’t remember a damned word of that book I keep looking at in the evenings. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night just to watch you sleep.”

“Really?” she whispered, completely entranced. Christy tried to turn around, but he leaned his head in beside hers.

“I have more to say, but if you turn those beautiful blue eyes on me I’ll be completely lost.”

His accent had thickened, voice rough in ways she wanted to influence, in the same intoxicating way he was affecting her. “It’s lucky I can pay attention to anything; as soon as you touch me I’m just--” she broke off, overcome. “There are no words for this.”

“None fit to say aloud.”

She leaned her head back against him, breathless-- but there were words fit to say aloud. Words she suspected he would be very pleased to hear. As soon as she thought of this, though, Neil derailed her by taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, brushing them along the meat of her thumb in a mix of caress and kiss.

Her secret burned in her throat, but right as she was about to confess, he turned her in his arms, looking down at her with something akin to reverence.

“And there I go,” he murmured, rubbing his palm over his heart. “It’s a wonder this remembers to pump blood, it’s so devoted to the task of loving you.” 

A hundred joyful flowers burst into bloom in her own heart, and Christy set her hand on his chest, suddenly shy but still determined to tell him. “Neil,” she started, but his light, loving kiss stole the words she was about to bless him with.

He raised his head not long after, resting his forehead on hers. “You’re going to throttle me.”

“It’s too soon, isn’t it?” she guessed, thinking of their interruption the day before. Inwardly, she girded up for a fight. Margaret was dead, and she’d been gone for longer than that. Neil didn’t deserve to be ruled by those memories anymore.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” he said, stroking his fingers against her cheek and stepping back to his desk to show her one of the bottles from earlier; “--but I was only home to pick this up before heading back over. You’re welcome to come with me if you want. Dawn was beside herself when she found out what she’d interrupted.”

Heat rose in Christy’s cheeks. “You told her th--”

“No. Alice didn’t either. There’s a custom of bringing food and gossip to new mothers so they don't have to miss out on anything. I needed Paul to help convince her not to pass on some of the food in apology!” He picked up a pencil and scrawled something on the paper she’d found on the floor before tucking it under a book on his desk.

“Well, I’d be happy to come, as long as you don’t mind me turning red as a tomato if they say anything about it.” Christy didn’t admit she wanted to be near him so much right now it didn’t matter what he was doing, barring more gutted fish. She’d been just about to tell him she loved him when he’d changed the subject! Telling him right now would be distracting from his duties as a doctor, so she resolved to wait, but not long.

***

The visit was a bright spot on an anxiety-ridden day. Though a little remote, the Cox family’s cabin was tidy and clean, and as soon as she was invited inside, Christy understood the difference in outcomes for Dawn’s early labor. If all of their neighbors could see the advantages to that kind of cleanliness, their quality of life would surely improve.

She resolved to take some time to think on that some more in the coming weeks. There had to be a way to help, one that didn’t bring in the elements of charity or shame that would close people’s eyes and ears to her good intentions.

They only stayed long enough for Neil to show Dawn the exact treatment he planned to use for her son, even allowing her to taste the serum. Christy had never really gotten to see his rapport with patients not already in severe distress. He was reassuring and scholarly, using science and compassion to explain why what he planned to do would lead to the best outcome. She thought back to their argument over the death of Opal’s baby with new eyes; Neil had seemed distant and combative at the time, but in retrospect, he’d probably been hiding how upset he was. 

He’d had to go back up to his cabin to deal with those feelings alone-- but Neil didn’t have to do that anymore.

Paul Cox made them promise to come back for a ‘proper’ visit once everyone was more settled in both families, and the idea of being a ‘family’ struck her in an unexpected place. Jarvis and Ellie Tatum had lost their first baby. Not only was there a profound sadness to that, but how much of their identity as a couple had been tied into ‘becoming a family’ with that baby’s birth? It wasn’t her place to speculate, but one of her first tragic moments in Cutter Gap had been to help dress a baby for burial. Everyone here was aware of the potential for loss, and yet their hope was obvious from the Bible records she’d seen that day, the ones that left space for future husbands and wives.

Was the quiet joy she felt at being considered ‘family’ with Neil something he could draw on to comfort the next couple in the Tatums’ position?

“That’s quite an expression,” Neil said as he untied Charlie and checked that all was secure.

“I’m just woolgathering,” she told him. Fairlight was right. You didn’t have to believe in superstition to avoid certain things, and talking about losing a child at this place and time was one of them.

“Well, I’d like you to ride in front this time. It’s a steep trip back home, I’m sure you felt it on the way down.”

She had, but Christy looked down at her skirt. It would stretch, but without laying out behind her on the horse’s rump, it would pull higher on her legs than might be proper.

“Do you want me to promise not to look?” he teased.

“I’d rather you did,” she said without thinking. To avoid finding out what he thought of that, she mounted Charlie and scooted as far forward as she could, arranging her skirt so he wouldn’t have to sit on it. As expected, it did pull up, but not past the stockings she was wearing.

Neil got up behind her, his solid warmth at her back an immediate distraction. Christy could sense him having a similar reaction to their closeness, as he’d grabbed the reins with both hands on either side of her, then held still. His chin grazed her head as he let out a long breath, moving one of his hands to her stomach to brace her as the horse started moving.

“We may have traded one hazard for another,” he murmured, when she rested her hand on his.

“I could distract you by asking you to teach me about the herb and medicine garden? I weeded while you were gone, but I didn’t touch anything I didn’t recognize.”

“Hmm?” Neil asked, his nose in her hair.

“You like my soap that much?” Christy laughed.

“I like you that much. And, yes, your hair. In fact--” he handed her the reins and started to tug on her twisted updo. She tried to reach up to stop him (if for no other reason than she didn’t want to lose her hairpins), but his admonition to “Watch the path!” forced her to focus on the gentle hill they were climbing. With a sound of triumph, he pulled some pins free, causing most of her hair to tumble down in large curls. 

“I can’t believe you just did that!”

“Why? Didn’t you wear it down specifically to tempt me into taking on Dan Scott?” he asked in an infuriatingly smug voice.  

Christy groaned inwardly. That had been the day she’d realized her feelings weren’t minor, not something easily logicked away. From the second she’d greeted him on the porch, things had gone slowly awry, the worst of which had been catching the food she’d been making on fire inside the stove.

Awfully, there hadn’t been a way to avoid him in the following days, with the children coming down with Scarlet Fever. She’d been so very frightened, and Neil had blamed her. Deep down, she still wondered if he’d been right even after taking it back, but there wasn’t any reason to open old wounds.

One thing was sure: Neil hadn’t gotten over those days either, though it seemed that had more to do with jealousy than anything else. He’d been forced through grief and circumstance to quarantine his fears about losing those children, after seeing many such outbreaks.

Again she was thinking about losing children! Christy refocused on the dance they’d shared that day, the moments before he’d realized why she’d come to visit with her hair down and fresh food to make him a meal. She’d said he needed a helpmate, and he did-- but it wasn’t Dan Scott.

Her husband brought her out of her reverie by leaning his head close to hers to murmur, “Are you thinking back over the process of burning my dinner, so you can avoid doing the same in the future?”

“I know you’re trying to goad me,” she said, handing the reins back and pulling her hair over one shoulder to start braiding it as punishment for him; “--but I think you’d be shocked by the real reason that happened.”

Neil spurred the horse faster, now that they were on more even ground. “Oh?” he prompted with amused confidence. She’d meant to keep him in the dark, but the fact that he was teasing her about it was too perfect.

“I could see you washing naked in the river.”

After a second of surprise, he roared with laughter. It went on for far too long, almost echoing in the empty expanse of the forest around them. Once he finally stopped, Neil had to go and make it worse!

“Is that why you’ve been trying to button me up ever since?” he whispered in her ear.

“Let me down, I want to walk the rest of the way home,” she fumed, more annoyed by his amusement than actually angry.

“I have bad news for your display of temper-- we’ll be home in about ten paces. Do you still want--”

“No.”

Though she sounded petulant, she was already feeling better. Christy did enjoy verbally sparring with the man. It was just that she would never have predicted he would laugh about her confession! Then again, his ability to consistently baffle her was part of what made it so interesting to argue with him.

Neil reined Charlie in next to the stable, setting the leather in her hands before he dismounted, saying, “Maybe I shouldn’t have laughed, but you should have heard yourself! You wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a confessional. Good thing you lot aren’t Catholic, or Grantland would have challenged me to a duel.” She pursed her lips, trying not to react to how true that was, but when Neil made it to the horse’s head to steady it so she could get down, he blurted out, “I’m the one in the fairy tale. You’re so beautiful, Christy.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. He’d once again taken her by surprise.

Neil busied himself patting Charlie’s neck, clearly struggling with something he wanted to say. His ears turned pink as the seconds wore on, and finally he spoke, avoiding her eyes.

“I don’t know if ye meant it as encouragement, but it helps a great deal to think you may have felt something for me before. You’ve said you respect me as a doctor, that you consider me a friend. The way you’ve stepped into the role of-- I never expected--” Neil cleared his throat, straightening his posture as he looked at her. “You’ve been everything I could have possibly wanted. I have no right to want anything more, but the hope of it--” He let out a breath and looked up at the developing dark clouds that had crept over the mountain as they’d ridden home. “We should get inside.”

His heartfelt speech had made her melt, but as he continued and she realized how uncertain but hopeful he was, she refined her emotional response into iron resolve. It was time to tell him the truth. Neil was a captive audience, and she intended to captivate him.

“I think I’ve been unfair to you, keeping some important things to myself,” Christy said, taking the hand he’d offered to help her down but squeezing it instead of moving to dismount. “You should be encouraged. When we first met I used to daydream about beating you in an argument. I was so angry and confused… and then I started dreaming about having the kind of conversations we have had this past week.” With her free hand, she undid her ‘punishment braid’ and continued, hearing the tremble of passion in her own voice; “I fell in love with you in a dozen different ways: your gentle hand on Little Burl as you saved his life, the way you respect your aunt’s independence, your patience explaining things to the children, the infuriating way you never back down-- except when you realize you’re wrong and own up to it.”

She paused to catch her breath, her confidence bolstered by the look on Neil’s face. He seemed caught in a moment of delighted disbelief.

“You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever known, Neil MacNeill. I think it’ll take a lifetime for me to figure you out, and the very thought turns my heart over in my chest!” This earned her a smile, so she pulled her hand free of his gently, and held both out toward him. “Help me down?”

Neil nodded, obviously speechless, and as soon as her feet were on the ground, he pulled her into a kiss. There was something so much more powerful about it, a kind of trust and permanence that took her deliciously by surprise. They were interrupted by a scatter of raindrops from the looming weather pattern.

“We might need to run!” she said.

“I’ve got some things to do yet, but--” Neil broke off, looking down at her. “Say it again?”

“I love you. So much.”

“I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy,” he said, sliding a hand up from her shoulder into her hair as he kissed her again. Christy lifted on her toes to meet him, but almost as soon as their lips touched, Charlie made a worried noise as the wind picked up. “Yes, it’s about to storm,” he said, petting the horse’s neck and clucking at him soothingly. To her he added, “Go on, I’ll be along.”

“All right,” she said, caressing her hand across his upper back as she passed.

“I love that,” he called after her.

Christy turned and grinned at him through the scattered raindrops that were starting to fall. “I know.”

It was almost past dinner time, so she threw a shawl over her head and went out into the thickening rain to look for something special for dinner in Neil’s under-porch storeroom. By the time he came back inside half-soaked, Christy had her hands deep in a bowl of dough for cobbler and was trying to blow a lock of hair out of her eyes. The smell of roasting vegetables had just started to waft from above the fire she'd started in the hearth.

Neil grabbed the towel hung by the door and walked around the table to dry off, watching her desperately try to puff air in the right direction to move her hair away from tickling her nose.

“Neil!” She could tell he was chuckling at her from behind that towel.

“I was just enjoying watching you puzzle out what to do! Here.” He leaned across and lifted the hair chunk only to deposit it unnaturally on top of her head. With his rain-wet hand, he tried to slick it down to no avail. Christy glared at him, and Neil burst out laughing. “You said you like when I own up? Good. I did that for your expression, and I don’t regret a thing.”

She grumbled something about onion cobbler, but he came around the table holding something up so she could see. It was one of her hair pins.

“Do you trust me with this?”

“If you stab me with it, you’ll go hungry tonight, so yes,” Christy said pointedly. “Twist it around and tuck it into the knot in the back first?”

“Mmm. I think I’d rather just stand here and hold your hair back until you glare at me some more.”

She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head in playful annoyance. “Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable?”

Neil kissed her shoulder, tucking the lock of hair behind her ear, before stepping away to more vigorously dry himself. The action very conveniently hid his expression. “Quite often, actually.”

The dough was finally mixed, but Christy’s gut had separated into her own gooey manifestations of regret. It was obvious who had said those things, and that person had clearly not been affectionate at the time.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

He changed the subject, and the two of them constructed a delicious (unburnt) meal, eating it at the table while sitting next to each other instead of across. Christy’s chair didn’t have arms, and once they were done eating she turned so she could lean against him. Neil stroked her hair absently as they just sat there listening to the storm outside and enjoying their shared silence.

The only thing marring the moment was the lack of a firm resolution to their earlier conversation. She thought about taking some time to find the right phrasing, but wasn’t that what had stopped Neil from telling her what was going on in the first place?

“It hurt when I thought you were avoiding me,” she said quietly. “I hope you know you can tell me the truth, even if we don’t see eye to eye at first.” She felt the sway of his chest as he pulled in a long breath, then let it out. Seconds passed, and she tried not to hold her breath waiting for his response.

“It will take a while to find a balance,” he finally said. “Plenty of people see marriage as an ownership contract-- and I see the appeal, but I don’t think I’m ever going to be an open book.”

Christy hadn’t considered that angle. She slipped her hand under his, twining their fingers together. “I just meant I’d rather you choose to make me angry, than keep things from me.”

“I expect you’ll think I’m doing that anyway,” Neil said, amused. “Despite that, you’ve done so much to heal the misery of these early October days, and for that I’m very grateful.” He kissed her hair and moved back a little, prompting her to sit up. “Did I tell you Pentland brought us some mail today?” She accepted the subject change and shook her head. Neil got up, carrying some dishes over to the washbasin before picking up a messy-looking envelope. “He brought a letter from Umphrey, filled with the same kind of wild speculation as when he was here. It’s quite something!”

It was. Neil had her read it out loud while he cleaned up. She worked hard at deciphering the grammatical errors into the clearly intended sentences, prompting him to remark on the parts he hadn’t figured out the first time. Christy did feel a little guilty for what might be construed as poking fun, but Umphrey’s effusive speculation at their future happiness and amusing description of his trip back home was so earnest that she was just glad he had enough schooling to attempt the letter at all.

It was dark out as well as storming now, and she stifled a yawn with the hand holding the letter.

“Would you like to go up first, or shall I?” Neil asked.

Christy bit her lip. “Maybe we don’t need to take turns anymore?”

“You underestimate my self control, I think!” His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent there sent little sparks skittering through her veins. “I’ll be up in a few.”

She nodded, tucking the letter back into its envelope. When Fairlight was right, she was right.

Chapter Text

A True Tempest Cleric

Christy was standing in the doorway to Neil’s cabin with two iron bands around her chest that held her arms to her sides-- and she was screaming.

“You can’t! He was just trying to help her, don’t you understand? Please don’t do this!”

Tears streaked down her face as she struggled. Neil was on his knees in the grass, surrounded and held down by faceless, angry men. His hands were tied at his back, but he’d managed to spit out his gag. The look on his face was resolute.

“At least take her inside!” he roared up at his captors, but one of them struck him in the head with the butt of his gun.

“No! Please, think about this! I need him, the whole Cove does! How many more babies and mothers will die if he isn’t here to help them?”

Suddenly, their attackers crowded around Neil, blocking him from her sight, just as the man who was restraining her started to drag her backwards. Christy threw her weight sideways with all her might, and the arms restraining her were suddenly gone as she broke free, rolling to the ground.

She fell farther than she ought to have, and everything was dark as she landed on her side on the floor.

“Christy!” Neil called out, anguish in his voice.

“Hang on and fight!” she yelled back, getting her hands up to try to move whatever she was wrapped in. The fabric went on and on as she pulled, and she tried to take deep breaths and calm down. He needed her right now. She had to save him.

Fresh air surged into her lungs when she got free. Christy tried to orient herself as strong hands grasped her upper arms, and she bucked and wrenched herself loose.

“Christy, Christy, it’s just a dream!” 

It was Neil, just as frightened as before. Did they force him to say that? And why was it still so dark?

Her assailant caught her wrists into a brutal grip and dragged her to a stand-- but something was wrong. His touch gentled, and she caught Neil’s scent; the desperate shriek in her mind to hurry hurry hurry settled enough that she could hear a gentle, reassuring voice. She didn’t understand the words, but it was Neil speaking.

“You’re safe?” she asked, leaning against him. He was still holding her wrists.

“I’m safe. That must have been some nightmare.” His voice was gravel dragging across fear and regret, emotions she’d put there, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“It was the Tatum family. They all came back, angrier than before. They were going to kill--” She shook her head, guilt piercing through her. “None of them would do that, but in the dream, it was so real!”

“If I release your hands, love, will you flail about again?” Neil interrupted. “You almost knocked over the oil lamp.”

The steady way he called her attention to the logic of the situation finally released the stranglehold fear had on her mind, and the awful tension of terror left her body. He let go of her hands, but that severed their physical connection, and new tears welled up.

“I’m sorry,” Christy whispered. She was speaking to Neil, to the Tatum family, to herself, to everyone.

Outside, a crack of thunder rattled the windowpane.

“I can’t tame the storm, but I can shield you from more nightmares,” he said. 

Without waiting for her to collect herself enough for a response, Neil gathered her up and strode back to the bed. He laid her in the very middle and started feeling around in the dim light for the blanket. After a few seconds of looking, he took her hand, squeezed it, then dragged his knuckles down her body to her ankle, holding her loosely as he leaned over and grabbed it from the floor. That simple gesture was more reassuring than anything else, because it told her he truly understood how frightened she was, what being alone even for the seconds it took to find the blanket might feel like.

Seconds later he was propping himself up on her side of the bed, pulling her into his arms and draping the blanket around both of them.

“Thank you,” she sniffled into the warmth of his chest.

“It about broke my heart to hear the fear in your voice.” He pulled her closer for a few seconds as he said, “I promise you, we’re both quite safe.”

Christy nodded, but even as the truth of what he was saying hit her, she felt a second wave of tears threaten. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” she groaned, sitting up and burying her face into the blanket to sob.

“Oh, Christy-- as awful as it is, I’ve seen this happen. You’re being hit by what you set aside while you fought back.”

She could barely hear him, caught up in a whirlwind of fear and guilt. Neil started to speak to her about carrying gear for the doctors from Scotland who’d sponsored his education. Outside, the storm intensified, and each time thunder boomed, Christy shook with renewed fear. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite persuade herself it was just the storm and not black powder booby traps around the cabin. She sat next to Neil as she cried, and he rubbed circles of comfort along her back, his fingers sometimes straying up to snarl in her hair. The tug of those tangles and the sound of his voice both became her anchor to reality. 

Finally the flood of tears abated. A hitching sort of relieved sigh escaped her, and Christy lifted her head. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a long time. Every loud noise just reminded me of that explosion.”

“That’ll fade as time passes,” Neil told her, dragging his fingertips across her hair one last time before pulling his hand back. “I don’t think less of you for it.”

“I wish I could thank those doctors, the ones that helped you,” Christy blurted out. All of her fear seemed to coalesce into a kind of nervous rush of gratitude.

“They saw something in me I barely saw in myself.” 

Thanks to Miss Alice she understood what that felt like, but Christy kept that sentiment to herself for now. Instead, she said, “You’re a really good doctor, Neil, and with more than the hands-on part. You know just what to say.”

“Not sure that can be attributed to my training,” he said ruefully. “You saw it with Becky-- give the person a voice to listen to, a narrative to follow. It’s better than fussing about or demanding they stop being afraid.”

Christy tried to picture David calmly sitting beside her as she cried. Knowing him, he’d charge off like a headstrong knight-errant to vanquish whatever it was that had upset her. Of course, that would leave her alone and miserable. She wiped off her tears with the blanket, unwilling to explain the source of her sudden amusement.

“We needed to wash that blanket anyway,” he teased.

“You are a horrible man,” she said, allowing herself to glare at him affectionately. Christy laid her head on his chest and cuddled close, glad to feel the steady beat of his heart. It reminded her of what she’d pictured that first night. Before that, she hadn’t known how much she’d like sharing a bed, and now here she was, nestled up against Neil just as she’d thought. A yawn took her, and he brushed a light kiss on her forehead.

“Do you think you'll be able to sleep? We’re in swapped places, but I don’t mind.”

This felt very consequential for some reason, and she smiled a hidden smile against the fabric of his nightshirt. “I don’t mind either.”

Just then there was a blinding flash and a deafening crash of thunder, so loud that Christy was certain a tree had been destroyed right outside. Neil curled his body around hers as soon as it struck, but shortly after he sat up and slid his legs over the side in preparation to get up.

“I need to make sure nothing caught on fire. I’ll turn up the lamp, but you must stay right here. If something’s gone wrong I--” his voice faltered, and another flash of lightning illuminated the concern on his face as he turned to look out the window.

Along with that flash came understanding. He’d lost his first wife after an emotionally charged moment where he’d left her alone. That sense of loss and disaster was still real, even though at the time, her death hadn’t been.

“I’ll stay here, I promise,” she said.

“Thank you.” Neil searched out her hand on the bed and then squeezed it. He ripped off his nightshirt and pulled his arms through the first shirt he found, buttoning it as he headed for the stairs. After a few minutes of worry, she slipped out of bed to grab his sleep shirt to hold it close like a talisman.

She wanted to go stand by the window and see if she could see anything, but the worry that a tree branch might come through and harm her while Neil was out made her stay put. 

Christy started to pray. The sound of the wind racing through the trees outside kept pulling her attention. Certain that God knew she also wanted Him to safeguard her husband, she shifted to praying for the children of the Cove, starting with the youngest and proceeding by age. It was a way to trick her mind into focusing on something other than the danger and the storm.

She began to pray aloud in an attempt to block out her increasingly frantic thoughts, mostly centered around losing babies. One of her most vivid memories was being taught as a very small child that the devil took every opportunity to shake a person’s faith. Though she’d grown out of seeing Satan’s hand in every bad thing, it was very easy to picture an invisible demon standing behind her feeding all manner of horrible things into her vulnerable mind.

What if Neil were struck by a falling tree, like Bob Allen had? They hadn’t even consummated their marriage, so Christy wouldn’t even have the bittersweet chance of carrying his child in his absence.

“No. I rebuke you!” she gritted out. 

She was trying to channel an inner strength that came from faith, but horribly, it didn’t feel like enough tonight.

Christy hugged her arms to herself. The space between the lightning flashes and the peals of thunder had finally started to widen. What she wanted was to throw on her robe and go out onto the porch to call for him, but she knew that when he said ‘stay here,’ he meant here, in the bedroom, fully out of danger. It was an agreement between them-- he had to put himself in danger, so she needed to ensure her own safety. He trusted her faith in him would be enough to obey.

Kneeling beside the bed on Neil’s side, she resumed her prayers, but for the first time she allowed herself to pray the one that felt the most important right now. Christy prayed for her husband’s soul-- not so he could avoid the fire and brimstone of hell, but for him to feel the same comfort as she felt when she trusted God.

***

At the first sign that he had returned, Christy got up and turned up the lamp. Please God, let nothing be wrong, she prayed yet again. “Neil?”

“I’m here,” he called up. His footsteps on the stairs were slow and weary. 

“Oh, Neil, you’re completely soaked,” she realized aloud, when he came in. Somehow she’d been picturing him dry and warm, a comforting image but very far from reality.

“It didn’t let up the whole time I was out there,” he said, shutting the door and slumping back against it. “No fire, but Charlie was spooked. I took some time with him, then did another circuit of the property.” Neil tried to wipe his face off with his sleeve, but both face and sleeve were so wet it did no good.

There wasn’t anywhere for him to sit but the bed, and all their towels were filthy; tomorrow was washing day. He looked so worn out that it was the most natural thing in the world to set her hands at his buttons again. 

“Let me?” He just nodded. 

The mood of the room changed as she undid the first button. Neil’s chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, but he left his hands at his sides as he rested against the door. Instead of hurrying, Christy felt compelled to kiss each patch of exposed skin as she revealed it. After the third button, Neil dropped his head back against the door, and she paused.

“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered.

“No.”

Despite the strength of his response, she looked him over, uncertain. Neil’s fists were clenched, his breathing was elevated, and his eyes were closed. “I’ll trust you,” she said, prompting a low, pleased noise from his throat.

Resuming her task felt charged with the same energy shooting out of the clouds outside. She was suddenly very aware of how little she was dressed. What would it feel like if Neil were the one unbuttoning her and kissing what he found underneath? Christy felt the heat from that thought, and not just in her face and neck.

She kept peeling the sodden shirt away from his chest and kissing his wet, warm skin, but the lower down she went, the more he tensed up. Christy recognized that her question and his answer had turned into something else, something sexual. She glanced up and found he was looking down at her, eyes dark with intensity. She held his gaze as she undid the last button, her own breaths quickening with anticipation.

To brace herself for that last kiss near his waistband, she set her hand on the center of his chest. The crinkled hair there defied the rain it was soaked with, providing a rough surface that sent a static charge zipping along her veins. She started to lean over, but Neil burst into action, catching her hand and pulling her up into a fierce kiss.

Before she knew it, they’d swapped positions. He lifted her up, supported by his hips against the door-- and it felt so good she was the one struck by lightning and caught fire. Neil was kissing her desperately, lovingly, and she didn’t care about the rain, the thunder, or the timing anymore. He slid one hand along her clothed leg toward her hip, and with his other, he dragged his thumb down her cheek to open her mouth for another swipe of his tongue. Christy let out a sound, and he pulled back to look at her.

With a rough grin, he said, “Still breathing?”

“Barely,” she gasped. “Every time you do that I lose all rational thought. No wonder people are forced to marry!” He laughed, leaning his forehead against the door beside her. “Neil!”

“Don’t be angry, it’s just that your mix of curiosity and passion is a delight.” His voice lowered to a caress as he leaned close to her ear; “It’s better if you do it too.”

“I-- okay,” she blinked.

They stared at each other for a long moment, long enough for her to truly feel the strength of his body pressed against her. Neil’s eyes glinted, and he whispered, “Go on.”

Christy’s grip on his open, wet collar slipped in dismay, but then she tugged hard, pulling his head down to hers. His mouth was already open as their lips met, and the sizzle of that initial contact made her lose her nerve for a few seconds. Outside, thunder crashed, and in a burst of courage brought on by her frustration with the storm, she traced the inside of his lip, then mimicked his earlier action. Neil met every motion, sparking an intense longing deep in her gut. This was desire, wanton and glorious, and as his heart raced under her hand at his chest, she understood that he was as moved as she was.

A loud gust of wind rattled the window, and he gentled the kiss, easing her back to the floor so he could walk over and look out. It was Christy’s turn to lean back on the door and want. Her nightgown was wet from rain transfer, and she felt simultaneously overdressed and completely vulnerable. Most of all she trusted him. Everything Amity had told her about intimacy was starting to come into focus.

“We get gusts like that toward the end of most storms,” he said, turning her way. The light from the lamp edged him with gold as he slowly walked toward her, and Christy pushed off from the door when he got close.

“Let’s get you out of this shirt,” she said. Because it was so very wet, she knew she couldn’t pull at the cuffs, so she took hold of both sides of the front and pulled them over his shoulders. Neil stood still, obviously curious about what she was up to, but when she walked around behind him, he seemed confused.

“What--” he started, the words cutting off suddenly when she tugged the wet shirt down far enough for her to kiss the part of his upper back that was uncovered. “Christy…” His voice was raw, and he trailed off when she stroked her hand along the rest of his back, pulling down more of the wet shirt.

“I’m sure you can take your wet clothes off much faster than this, if you want me to stop,” she murmured.

He turned his head in her direction. “It’s not the clothes, it’s--”

“Proximity?” she offered. He chuckled, a deep, pleasant sound that pinged around inside her, sending shivers of pleasure as it went.

With a mighty effort, she dragged the rest of the shirt off of him and tossed it next to the door. Then she pressed herself against his back, sneaking her hands around to his chest.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered.

Neil rested his hands on hers. “You’re slowly driving me mad, is what you’re doing. It’s a wonder any blood’s left in my brain at all.” Her face flamed, as she understood that reference thanks to the health books she’d read. “You’re right, it’s time to be rid of these.”

He slid his hands down to his hips, and Christy backed up, knowing that the friction of his sodden clothes would mean he couldn’t just shove them down and let them drop. He stripped everything else off, and when he straightened up she couldn’t help but admire the tall, powerful figure he presented-- all of him.

“Aren’t you coming back?” Neil teased, raising his arms to give her the opportunity to snuggle up behind him again.

She did, if only because he’d gotten the front of her nightgown wet enough to provide a ‘punishment’ he’d have certainly forgotten about. He clearly had, as he laughed outright once she’d fitted herself up behind him and wrapped her arms around as before.

“I love you, little vixen!” Neil said, covering her hands with his. In a more serious tone, he added, “You said you trusted me before, will you trust me now?”

“Yes?” She spoke against his bare back, glad he couldn’t see the creases of worry she could feel in her own forehead. What was he--

Slowly, and with a hold on her hand that she could easily slip out of, Neil started to slide her hand down along his body. She caught her breath as her fingertips brushed against the coarse hair of his groin.

He stopped.

“Neil, you’re shaking,” she whispered. Inside, she ached for… something.

“If you thought those kisses felt good, you have no idea-- but I need--” He turned around, resting his hands on her cheeks to tip her head up toward him. “I wanted to take it slow, to show you have nothing to fear, but Christy, I need you, I don’t think I can--”

She was already nodding her assent when Neil dipped his head and took her mouth in a desperate, almost brutal kiss. At the same time, he pulled up her nightdress, swirling his tongue against hers with every new fistful he dragged up. Christy was exhilarated by his intensity; it seemed to stem from the same desperate desire that threatened to devour her, too.

Finally he slid his hand fully across her bare behind and pulled her legs up to straddle him, only then walking over to the bed. The heat of his stomach against that very private part of her was enough for her to break the kiss and bury her face in his shoulder.

“Oh, please,” she begged. The warm sound of agreement he made in response was gratifying, as was the gentle way he set her down beside the bed.

“Forgive me, but I’ll rip them if I try,” he said, nodding at the tiny buttons on her nightdress. Christy nodded and started on them, keeping her eyes on his instead of straying farther down. He added, “I promise to reciprocate sometime, but--”

Neil stopped talking when she turned around to pull her nightgown off, her own reciprocation of sorts. “I thought of that while I was undoing your buttons,” she confessed.

“Good,” he practically growled, kissing her shoulder. Neil stepped close, pressing himself flush against the back of her. She could feel every part of him, hot and vital and desperate. “Lay down? There’s more to show you, but--”

“I’m not sure I could stay conscious for more,” she teased, scrambling inelegantly onto the bed, her husband so close behind they almost didn’t break contact. He stretched out beside her, kissing her neck before coaxing her to look at him with his fingertips. His voice shook a little.

“I love you, and I’ll prove it another night when we’re not--”

“--on fire?” she interrupted.

“Yes.”

With that, he moved on top of her, his warm hand stroking down her leg to angle her the way he wanted. She was captured by his gaze the whole time, her heart racing. Something inside her yearned to be closer to him, and intellectually she knew what that meant. Neil thrust forward with a relieved groan, and she gasped, hands squeezing at his shoulders at the intrusion. There was pleasure there too, and she’d had warning for this-- but Neil held still and dipped his head down for a kiss.

“Are you--” he started, but even as he spoke, he moved his hips. He sounded like he was almost in pain, so she stroked her hand through his wet hair and leaned up for another kiss. The action changed the angle of her hips, and that was it for him. He moaned her name and started to move faster, and with that movement came a growing pleasure so intense she had to close her eyes and throw her head back.

The next minutes were a blur of sensual intensity, not enough and far too much. Christy pulled his head down to kiss him in the midst of it, but both of them were so caught up that they just breathed each other’s air for a while. Then something started building.

“Look at me,” Neil commanded. She had to force her eyes open, but that connection unlocked something wonderful.

With her husband as her anchor, Christy came apart.

***

A while later, when they’d cleaned themselves up (with Neil’s wet shirt, which meant neither of them had to leave the room. He’d claimed it was worth getting soaked for) and dressed in dry sleeping clothes, Christy snuggled up to her husband’s chest and sighed.

“That doesn’t sound like a good sigh,” he observed.

“It’s a school day tomorrow, and I’ve had almost no sleep,” she said instinctively, only realizing afterward that his remark was possibly one of wounded pride. “Oh! It wasn’t about-- Not about that.” Christy angled her head up to catch his eye. “I was really pleased to be that close to you.”

He caught her lips in a brief kiss. “Me too.” Neil rested his head back on the pillow. “We can always start earlier if you’re worried about enough sleep.”

His chuckle was deep and suggestive, and she pulled the blanket up over her face to hide just how much she blushed in response.

Chapter Text

Careful Diplomacy

If Christy’s hair wasn’t quite the neatest and her clothes weren’t put on with the most care that morning, no one noticed once she got to the school. David, Miss Alice, and a few of the men who lived closest were all standing around pointing and talking about a tree that had fallen on the right-hand side of the schoolhouse.

She ran closer, taking in the damage. Not much seemed to be structurally wrong, but the tree itself was large, and at a dangerous angle. David stepped away from the others he’d been conferring with to greet her.

“Thank God none of you were inside when it fell. There aren’t enough of us to get it down safely, so I’m glad you’re here. We’ll need you to keep the children far off, nowhere near the building,” he said seriously, nodding at the knot of students who had already arrived. “The whole thing looks to be supported by a branch caught on the point of the roof. If that gives way--”

She interrupted him to run after Sam Houston, whose wooden ball had started to roll toward the tree. “Sam Houston! I’ve got a job for you,” she said brightly. Her heart was still pounding at the idea that he could have gone as far as the ball did; Miss Alice stopped it with her foot quite near the tree in question. Christy put her hand on the boy’s shoulder to walk him back to the other children, saying as she went, “Can you run to the doctor’s cabin and get him to come help with the tree? He might still be asleep, so knock hard and then wait, all right?”

“Yes’m, right quick!” Sam Houston said, his chest bursting with pride as he raced into the woods to do as she’d asked. He just missed running into Miss Alice, who was bringing over his ball.

“What is he up to?” she asked, amused.

“I sent him to fetch Neil, so he can help with the tree,” Christy said, taking the proffered ball but holding it under her arm. “I’m afraid to give this back, but it’s not like I can stow it in the schoolhouse.”

“Miz Christy, it was my turn!” Ruby Mae cried out, interrupting whatever Miss Alice had been about to say.

Christy had been ready for this. “You’re right. The problem is, Dr. MacNeill was up late last night making sure nothing caught fire from the storm, and he’s still asleep. If someone comes pounding on the door, he’ll think it’s an emergency, and I think in that case it’s better if it’s a boy at the door, don’t you?”

Ruby Mae’s eyes went wide at the thought of seeing the Cove’s doctor in his nightclothes.

“I’m sure she’ll call on you for the very next errand,” Miss Alice said reassuringly. “Run along, now, and take the ball with you? It can be thy job to keep it safe so none of the other children get too close to the work being done.”

“Thank you, I wasn’t sure where to put it,” Christy said in thanks, once the redheaded student had run off with her new responsibility. “When I came up with the roster to send them on errands, I didn’t expect it to be so popular! It started so I could reward some of the students who couldn’t bring lunch. I figured they’d accept that as a barter, and then they’d have something for their hungry bellies.” She looked back toward the school, trying to think of what she could give Sam Houston. There was no way she wanted the children to catch on to what was essentially charity with extra steps.

“That is a wise endeavor, but I’m surprised thee did not think of sending the boy to someone closer,” Miss Alice’s voice carried a note of censure.

“Why? I know Neil doesn’t have anything scheduled for the morning. Some of the fathers can’t be spared from their work without hardship, and if someone gets hurt--”

“Are those reasons to call thy husband, or excuses to bring him here?”

“That’s unfair!” Christy burst out. “Just because I can think of multiple--”

A holler-call of danger from near the tree interrupted her and scattered everyone away from the schoolhouse.

“The tree crashed into a few weaker specimens on its journey. It looks like some of them are now giving way,” Miss Alice said, tightening her gloves on her hands in preparation to go help. Christy moved back to stand with the children, but she felt uneasy. Their unspoken communication on Sunday had left her feeling comforted, but that was before she’d known it was Margaret’s birthday. The reconciliation that had felt so close was once again retreating.

Instinct told Christy that her very presence was linked to a great loss, one magnified by the birthday Margaret didn’t live to see. There wasn’t anything she could do about it, if so.

Inaction never sat well with her.

She decided to circle her students up to lead them in prayer for the safety of everyone working to clear the obstruction. With their heads bowed and their eyes closed, they would be protected from any fearful sights as that work continued-- and they wouldn’t worry about the unhappiness in their teacher’s expression.

***

“I ducked in to get these.”

Christy looked up from her kneeling position to see that David was holding out her planner notebook and a hand chalkboard, complete with the bag of chalk. He looked over his shoulder before stretching out a hand to help her up, backing away a step before proffering the items again.

She kept her expression neutral, but assumed that meant her husband had arrived. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you! I was thinking of walking everyone a ways away so we could get something accomplished today.”

“I earned myself a stern talking-to, but we’re about to cut the largest part down the middle, and I don’t think the children should be watching,” David said quietly. With a respectful head dip, he offered her a thin smile and walked swiftly away.

She did as suggested, leading the children closer to the Mission and teaching about the seasons. It was a good time of the year to discuss the reason some trees changed colors in fall, and why others didn’t, but something about that transitory lesson resonated with her personal life, as well.

It seemed so odd that the two people she’d been closest to before marrying Neil were the two people who seemed most unhappy with her new life. Was it tradition that led so many of the Cove’s denizens to see their marriage as part of the natural course of things, while those that didn’t grow up there were far more scandalized? Or was she attributing too much to what was, in essence, an interpersonal web of connections, with David, Margaret, Miss Alice, and Neil all intersecting? There could hardly be a better example of how love and disappointment altered relationships, that was for certain.

Why couldn’t falling in love be more simple than this?

***

Almost an hour and multiple hunger pangs passed before their class had another visitor.

“I’ve come to send thy students to lunch,” Miss Alice called out as she approached. She looked a little worse for wear, but seemed pleased. “There’s a meal set up for the children and those who worked to clear out the danger. Go on, now!”

Christy got the distinct impression that she was sending the children off so they could talk alone, and was proven right, once the last straggler was out of view.

“I need to admit,” Miss Alice said, looking down at the ground with her lips pressed together for a second before meeting Christy’s eyes. “I was unfair, regarding Neil. I couldn’t bear the thought of so soon seeing how well you both fit into this community and with each other, in a way my daughter never could. Never would.” She came over and took Christy’s hand. “That is not thy fault.”

“Sunday was your daughter’s birthdate,” Christy said, reinforcing their clasp with her other hand. “Our timing couldn’t have been worse. I promise I understand that.”

“Neil told you?”

It was a whisper, and oh, so much stood behind it. Perhaps a wealth of knowledge about two people’s fractured marriage and the secrets they kept-- but that wasn’t Christy’s responsibility.

“No,” she said ruefully. “I went looking for a reason why he seemed distant this past week. The dates were in Aunt Hattie’s family Bible.”

Alluding to the way Neil had pulled back was not his former mother-in-law’s business, but for the first time since the wedding, Christy felt that she was making a joint decision. He would probably never admit to being affected by her loss, not to Miss Alice, but knowing it did in even a small way had a powerful effect.

They’d started walking back toward the schoolhouse in a shared contemplative silence. At about the halfway mark, Miss Alice gave a decisive nod, and looked over at her.

“That was a very special kind of forgiveness, and I treasure it, Christy.”

For some reason, this pulled up a lump in her throat. “I know it’s not the same as a feud, but knowing that I could hurt you with something I can’t change… It’s been an eye opening experience,” she whispered.

Miss Alice stopped, offering her a penetrating look. “Well, now. Here is where I challenge thee, for I have had experience with that in a way you can prevent, in thy own life.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’ve paused to make me think of all possible options?” she asked, touching her cuff to her eyes to catch the unfallen tears.

“Because thee knows me,” Miss Alice chuckled. “Ben Pentland came up with the mail a day or so ago, and he asked after thee. Said he’s used to getting a letter for thy parents like clockwork every two weeks.”

Her stomach clenched; it had been almost a month since she’d sat down to even try to write that first letter under her new name. “I know. I don’t know what to say, and the longer it’s been, the less articulate I feel looking at that blank page!”

“Are you not making decisions for thy parents, in neglecting to inform them of this marriage? I think you know I have painful experience in such matters.” Miss Alice slowed to a stop, and looked over at her. The sun shone against the fly-away hairs from her bun, making her look all the more fragile, almost breakable, despite the iron Christy knew she was forged from. “Be careful about predictions, Christy, especially when it comes to those you most love. I was reckless in my determination to prove to my daughter that her actions wouldn’t drive me away. Just because God saw fit to bless this place does not make those choices wise.”

The question ‘is your father strong enough to do the same?’ hovered, unspoken. She was hardly ever speechless, but these last twenty-four hours had brought many firsts.

“Pray on it, and take pity on your parents’ feelings, that’s all I ask.” With her head held high, Miss Alice walked alone up the last of the path to the schoolhouse, leaving Christy to watch her, chastened.

***

Neil had left not long after Christy was persuaded to take a plate of the provided lunch, as he wanted to be findable if there was another storm-related emergency. All they’d been able to do was nod at each other from many feet apart. Shortly after that, he’d spoken briefly to Miss Alice, but there was no way to know what it had been about.

She was keen to ask him about it when she got home that afternoon, but Dan was there. The two men were hunched over what Christy had taken to calling the Fish Table, and she could hear Neil giving… if not patient instruction, at least coherent instruction.

After going inside to set her things down, she got the laundry basket to haul it outside. It looked like whatever Dan was learning about required concentration, so she resolved herself to the task of hauling water to boil for the washing without asking for help. As it happened, though, the cauldron was quite high and already merrily boiling, and the tools were all laid out for her, along with a chair.

Christy got to work, her heart and hands a bit lighter thanks to Neil’s thoughtfulness.

It was a good half hour or more later when Neil walked over to dip out more water, trailed by Dan. The fire had mostly gone out, but the water was still warm.

“--almost have it down, but you must have more to do today,” Dan was saying. He took the pot her husband was carrying and filled it halfway.

“It takes practice, and you have more patience than most of my fellow students over the ocean,” Neil said, coming over to stand near her. He set his hand on her shoulder and swept his thumb across the back of her neck in a caress not visible by their visitor.

“I’ll take whatever compliment you’re willing to offer,” Dan smiled. He ducked his head in greeting to her, saying, “I was pleased to hear you and the children weren’t in the schoolhouse when that tree fell.”

“Thank you, I was too. Just the thought of trying to send one of them out to get help while fearing more might fall has me in shivers.” Christy stood up and felt along her palms, wincing at their soreness. “Back at it!”

“Could I help you for a spell? My own laundry takes so little time I feel as though I’ve got strength to spare, if you wouldn’t mind,” Dan offered.

“He’s trying to avoid a particularly tricky jab,” Neil said with amusement. “We’re practicing with hypodermics and a slab of meat.”

“Be nice,” Christy said, patting his chest maternally. Inwardly, she thought, at least it isn't fish! “Dan, I’ll take you up on that, if only because I’d love to see if your methods vary, given that you grew up elsewhere.”

To add amusement to injury, Dan handed Neil the pot before moving to show her his technique. Christy positioned herself carefully so she couldn’t see her husband’s expression, and after a minute or so, Neil retreated back to the Fish (and Meat) Table.

“I hope I didn’t upset him by agreein’?”

“Neil just knows there’s no chance he’ll get the last word,” she reassured him. “I was wondering, since the subject of passed-along messages came up: do you have a formal system to send and receive messages between communities back where you came from?”

The sound of the clothes swishing around increased, as Dan got more used to the feel of things. “In a manner of speaking, yes. It’s a long distance from one to the others, with not much in the way of safe harbor in between, if you catch my meaning.”

They shared a look before Dan focused more on what he was doing. Christy was glad she’d already started her question, because going back to it wouldn’t feel like she was avoiding hard truths.

“About the messages, I was just thinking of ways to help Neil. Good health is a struggle in the mountains, and I can’t help but wonder whether there’s a way to pass along little things, things he wouldn’t have to see to want to know about.” Warming to her subject, Christy checked on the garments that were already drying in the afternoon sun. “If there was a network, one where someone like the ‘town busybody’ type could keep notes and pass them along to him, don’t you think that would save him time?”

“Meddling already?” Neil boomed from behind, making her jump. The pair of trousers she’d been repinning ended up on her head.

“Neil!”

He came over to rescue her, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You didn’t speak to anyone else about this, did you?”

“No,” she said carefully. Was she somehow trampling on yet another mountain tradition?

“You look like I’ve just had to put down an animal,” he said. “It’s nothing so serious; I’ve just got a delicate balance going, and I can’t easily upset it without a good deal of trouble.”

“If you’d like to take over, Dr. MacNeill, I can leave the two of you to--”

“No need,” Neil interrupted. “Consider this part of your instruction.”

“I’ll take over,” Christy told Dan with an encouraging smile that was as much for herself as for him. Having a task would help her listen, or so she hoped.

Neil pulled his pipe out of his pocket, which was a kind of reassurance in and of itself. As he packed it, he said, “The truth is, you’re right. There’s a lot more to doctoring than the emergencies. Couple that with the low funds most have to contend with, and you’ve got the second big dilemma I had to solve when I first came back.”

“The first being getting them to trust you again?” Christy asked.

“Aye.” He leaned over to pick up a twig, then crouched to get it to light from the embers under the cauldron. “My solution to both was to see what each family was willing to offer and hope that it was something like corn that wouldn’t be ready until a few months in the future. Going back to retrieve it gives me the chance to check up on them without the suspicion that I am performing an additional service.”

“That’s a clever dance, to be sure,” Dan said.

“Took many years,” Neil said, straightening up to set the glowing twig to the bowl of his pipe. As he pulled air through it to light it, he added, “It’s rolling along nicely now, but a messenger system such as you describe would derail it, probably permanently.”

“I’m sorry,” Christy frowned. “It’s a shame most of your patients will never know just how much time and effort you put in to care for them.”

“The birth rate’s stabilized, and that’s worth it even if it does mean more patients,” he smiled, drawing in his first full puff. 

“D’you think I have any hope of makin' that kind of difference?” Dan asked somberly.

“It’d take twice as long, but yes. Not that I’d have answered the same more than two months ago. Men like Bogg have their own web of influence-- that’s why I asked you about who you’d spoken to, Christy. You’re not the only one in the Cove with an overinflated sense of helpfulness.” Their eyes met, and though there wasn’t a smile there, there was warmth, and that helped. “The word will get out about how much you’ve done, Dan. That’ll harm as well as hurt, but we take care of our own, and some of us already see you at least halfway there, if not more.”

“Aunt Hattie,” Christy murmured.

“Just so.”

As if on cue, the sound of an approaching horse caught their attention. It was news of another fallen tree, this time on a flimsy, new cabin, with trapped occupants. Christy watched as Dan and Neil conferred about whether he ought to come along, and the consensus was yes, because of the need for additional strength.

“We may need a group just to hold things up long enough to get the injured out,” Neil said. He sent the horseman along to recruit more men to that end and disappeared into the stable to ready Charlie.

As always, Christy was touched by Dan's determination to help those who clearly wished he wouldn’t. “You’re a good man,” she told him.

“All we can do is work toward a better world, ma’am,” he said, but the set of his jaw told her he was already preparing himself for what he was about to face.

“Please, call me Christy?”

With an amused glance toward the stable, he said, “I’ll take that under advisement.”

She wanted to say something like, ‘If David Grantland can call me Christy, you can,’ but a sense of decorum held her back. Instead, she called out to her husband. “Neil, is there something I can get for you? Can I finish up with Charlie?”

He came out rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Come with me, you can hold the bag steady.” 

His long strides were hard to keep up with, and she didn’t get a chance to stop Dan from picking up with the laundry again, but when she made it to the cabin, Neil was already gathering things. He didn’t look like he needed help at all.

“Something wrong?”

“Charlie won’t hold both of us, and I’ll not ride my horse with him following behind. That’ll set him back farther than if I hadn’t offered to teach the man in the first place,” Neil said quietly. “Can you make two sandwiches? It’ll be a late evening.”

She lifted up to kiss his cheek. “Absolutely.”

“Leave the table and supplies for me to clean up,” he called after her as she headed for the kitchen.

“Is there something I could mess up?” Christy responded, pulling free a few cloth napkins to fold their dinner into. His response to the negative was audible from the lab, so she asked, “What if you get back late or it rains?”

Neil came out and set the lock. “You’ll have enough to do with the washing anyway,” he said, stealing a kiss and her barely-completed sandwiches before jogging out the door.

***

In one way Neil was right: the washing took her far longer than she would have expected. After all, one would think that two people’s washing would be less work, but not when one of them was a doctor!

She got everything clean but the towels from the fire. There was a real chance they would be permanently stained, but while she knew some tricks for soot, she didn’t know how well those dovetailed with bloodstains. 

Miss Alice had always taken care of the bloody linens that resulted from Neil’s surgical work in the past, but Christy could not in good conscience ask her about these. She would know what day they’d originated from. On top of that, there was no way on land or firmament that Margaret Henderson MacNeill had ever consulted with someone about doing the washing. With her mentor’s confession that morning about Christy’s suitability to life in the Cove, it would be hurtful to flaunt that, she decided.

After dipping up cold river water to soak the towels in, she took the basin they’d been soaking in since that day with her to dump far from the cabin. Christy told herself that if she was already going to walk into the woods anyway, it just made sense to drop in on Fairlight. She might know how to handle the blood and soot dilemma.

When Fairlight caught sight of her, she kissed Least’un on his cheek and set him down, directing him to continue sorting dried beans. She wiped her hands off on her apron as she came over to greet Christy, a mischievous look forming on her face.

“That ‘jes might be the fastest my advice has ever worked out!”

Christy dearly wished she didn’t have a respectable, ‘teacherly’ reputation to protect in front of Fairlight’s children. If she hadn’t, she would have upended her clothesbasin and put it right on her head.

Chapter Text

Neither Duchess or Scullery Maid

As it turned out, Fairlight’s youngest was feeling poorly, so she stood back as they talked about the washing. Christy suggested that they could postpone the planned Thursday dinner, and her friend agreed gratefully. Armed with some suggestions on how best to tackle her problem, she took her leave and headed back home, resolving to stop by on Thursday with a basket of food to help.

Fairlight’s advice had been about drawing the stains out with a long soak at first, so she set that up and went to look at the mess Neil and Dan had left.

It already smelled awful.

She supposed it was smart to use such a… method to practice injections, but his insistence that she leave it for him to clean up felt driven by something other than logic. Was there a way she could help while still following the letter of his request? At the very least, she could cover the meat slab, so the early evening air wasn’t so unpleasant. He couldn’t begrudge her that, could he?

Once that was done, she decided to organize the rest of the supplies so that Neil wouldn’t have as much to do when he got back.

***

Christy had just drifted off on her nice clean bed linens when a thumping noise downstairs woke her up. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of the lab door shutting with a bang, and a few muffled noises.

Her first worry was that someone had passed away despite his best efforts. He’d taken losing Ellie Tatum badly, and she’d observed for herself how defensive and combative he’d been after Opal’s newborn had died-- but this felt… different. 

She didn’t have long to wait. The bedroom door slammed open, flooding the room with light from Neil’s lamp at full brightness. Christy was sitting up when he came in, and she saw immediately that grief wasn’t what drove him. It was anger.

“Did I not tell you to let me clean up?”

“Have I broken anythi--”

“That’s not the point! I need to trust you’ll leave my things alone when I ask you to.” He thrust the lamp down on his dresser and glared at her. 

However sternly presented, it was a reasonable concern. Christy chose a soothing tone to say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I figured if I got things as close to organized as I could, it would take less time to put them away. I was trying to help.”

“You don’t have to do that!” He disappeared into the closet, bumping his elbow against the door multiple times, which told her he was changing clothes for bed. It was a rolling-back of their fledgeling intimacy, and it hurt, even if he didn’t think of it that way.

She’d known he wouldn’t be happy with her, but this seemed disproportionate. What use was it to leave the meat to rot and his tools to collect dirt and leaves while he was gone? When it came down to it, Neil was angry over something done out of love and a desire to help. It seemed that his issue wasn’t her disobedience; he was angry that she’d done work he’d expected to take care of himself.

It didn’t make sense. They were married! Helping him was part of that, the same as when he’d set up extra water and the washing supplies to greet her when she got home from teaching.

“I wanted to help,” she said, needing him to know she’d chosen to do it. 

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to put everything right when I leave for an emergency!” he shouted from out of sight.

Christy got up and put on her robe. She didn’t like feeling diminished in words, height, and attire all at the same time. “But why?”

Neil stepped out of the closet wearing his nightshirt, a ratty terrycloth robe she’d never seen before, and a pair of pants she knew he found uncomfortable. The trousers were the warmest he owned, and it was a chilly night.

Was he expecting to sleep outside?

In a forbidding tone, Neil said, “When I'm with my patients, I don’t want to waste time worrying you’re cleaning up for me back at home. I did well enough before you came to live here, and you have plenty to do as it is.”

She crossed her arms, trying to keep her hurt, spasming heart inside her chest. “You don’t have to worry about that! I’m happy to--”

“You’re not meant to spend your life slaving away at making the cabin look--” Neil broke off mid-rant and stomped over to the window. 

His words reminded her of the night they’d discovered Becky O’Teale’s Trachoma. She’d challenged him and he’d reacted to her like he was talking to Margaret. This felt exactly the same-- but there was no storm raging outside as it had that night. The raging storm was inside of Neil. He no doubt wanted their marriage to go differently, but she had a horrible suspicion he expected to do all of the support labor himself.

Christy went to grab a more comfortable pair of pants for him, draping them on the bed before putting on a pair of thick stockings. Then she walked over to the dresser near the window where she kept her wedding ring while she slept. Conscious that he could see her, she picked it up and put it on, then turned to face him. Its lonely coldness burned on her finger, but the heat of her frustration warmed the metal soon enough.

“If you don’t want me to help you, that’s something we can talk about, but if you think I shouldn’t want to, that’s something else.” He didn’t move, but that was good, considering what she needed to say next. The words sliced at her throat as she spoke them, but they were worth the pain. “I’m your wife, not Margaret. I wish you and Miss Alice would stop comparing me to her.”

With that black powder booby trap laid behind her, Christy fled the room, grabbing a shawl and her thick coat on her way onto the porch. 

At least she’d thought to clean up the meat so it wouldn’t smell out there.

***

The sound of snoring woke her up.

Christy’s neck ached when she lifted her head from the bunched up shawl pillow she’d made. Neil was across from her, hunched over on the table, his cheek resting on one curled arm. On straightening in her chair, she felt something slide down her back and caught it before it fell to the porch floor.

It felt like the comforter from their bed, but it was so dark she could barely see anything.

“You stubborn, dear man,” she muttered. The point of sleeping on the porch had been to let him have his time alone to stew, ceding him the more comfortable place to sleep! His go-to response to anger had always been to lock himself away, alone.

“M’not, you are,” he rasped, sitting up.

“Go to bed, Neil.”

“Not without you.”

His face was in shadow, but the moonlight shone just enough that she could see his slumped shoulders and tousled hair. She sighed. “All right, but going inside doesn’t mean I agree with you,” she said.

“I’d never expect that,” Neil said through a yawn. He stood up and held out his hand for her.

“We can talk about it tomorrow? Fairlight had to postpone dinner.”

“Whatever answer means we’re both asleep under that blanket by ten minutes’ gone.”

Sleepiness warred with determination, but biology won. Christy pulled their comforter back up around her shoulders and took his hand.

***

For the third time in eight hours, a loud noise woke her up.

“Is that the door?”

“Stay here,” Neil told her as he got up. “I’d say go back to sleep, but you’re too curious for that.”

She was, but calling her out on it was rude first thing in the morning. Christy waited while she heard the sound of voices downstairs, and after a time, he came back.

“Back to bed, school is off for today. They’ve got to repair part of the wall and varnish it. There isn’t enough ventilation for it to clear before school time, I just confirmed that for Grantland.”

It was very strange to think that David had come to speak to Neil knowing she was asleep upstairs in their shared bed. Then again, would sending Miss Alice have been any better? Her husband was already sliding back under the covers, surprising her by snuggling up close, despite their unresolved argument.

Christy supposed every wife had to reckon with the same dilemma toward the beginning of a marriage: withhold affection due to an overhanging conflict on principle alone, or give in to the love between you and risk him assuming the issue is settled.

It wasn’t as tricky a decision as she would have thought. Neil was warm, he was already drifting back to sleep, and she’d probably made a big enough point by starting the night on the porch.

Besides, she was right, and he’d soon see that. No sense in hashing it out so early in the morning when there was extra sleep to be had.

***

It was probably fate that had her waking up to the sharp sound of nails being driven into wood.

Christy couldn’t see anything from the window, but Neil’s side of the bed was cold, which made sense, given the time. She supposed her body had taken the opportunity to make up for her sleep deficit, but it was still surprising to see the kitchen clock show nearly fifteen past nine in the morning. It hadn’t gotten much warmer since the night, so instead of putting her coat on over her nightgown, Christy went back upstairs to put on the thick green dress she’d found hanging on the closet door knob. It had been a similar sort of choice as the night before… but she could just picture Neil carefully gathering his clothes, trying not to wake her, only to find himself looking at her side of the closet and finding something he’d like to see her wear.

There was no way she could resist that, no matter what was left to resolve.

Once she was outside it wasn’t hard to find him. She just had to follow the sounds of hammering.

Neil looked up when she approached his little set up near the stable. His expression lit up when he saw the dress, so much so that Christy felt a little bit like a new wick being exposed to flame for the first time. The heat started slowly, but as she walked toward him, she grew more accustomed to it until she was burning fiercely. The thought occurred that this was quite inconvenient, given the argument that was surely brewing.

To set that aside for a few more (incandescent) minutes, she looked from his pile of small nails, the various rectangular pieces of wood, and the L shaped object he was currently holding.

“A compromise,” Neil said, bending down to pick something up. It was a wooden box about a foot and a half around. He handed it to her, then met her eyes. “The boxes will fit in the enclosure I have on the porch. If you don’t know where something goes and you can’t ask me, ye can put it in these.”

“I thought you’d be more upset,” Christy blurted out, looking down at the box, instead of at him. The burning sensation had turned into a smoldering warmth.

“I was. Woke up and came out here to pound nails instead, and ended up coming up with a few things to build.” He set down the hammer and came around the table, looking down at her with an earnest, open expression.  “Christy, I promise you, I wasn’t thinking of Margaret herself, but of her complaints. They weren’t all wrong; she didn’t marry me to cook and clean for a man who was never around. You’ve seen it for yourself that rarely a week goes by with me home for all seven days. When I am here, I’m locked away with my research half the time.”

She wanted to reassure him that she knew those things were important, but he’d already continued.

“I wasn’t established back then. Margaret missed me being around, but there wasn’t a way to fix that. I started to avoid her, worried I'd lose focus on the serum I was developing if every conversation ended in a fight.”

“That’s why you came outside?” she guessed softly. “You didn’t want to look like you were avoiding me too?”

“No. I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone. I’d sleep anywhere, as long as it’s near you.” 

He spoke forcefully, like he fully expected the situation to come around again, and for some reason this caused Christy’s banked flame to sear back to full strength. An impish retort came to her, and impulsively, she said it.

“What would a doctor say about neglecting your health like that?”

Neil came at her with a frustrated smile. He took her hands and put them around his neck, saying just before kissing her: “He’d advise me not to get married!”

***

That afternoon, after she’d started the long-simmer stew she’d planned for that evening, Christy tapped on the lab door.

“Come in, but give me a minute,” he called out. On entering, she hung back, as he was about to transfer a liquid from one beaker into another. Glancing around the room, she noticed there was something new hanging on the wall near the window. It was a drawing of a tall, wide-arching tree with multiple figures of varied heights gathered underneath. There were barely-detectable creases where the page had been folded-- and that was what jogged her memory. Becky O’Teale had given Neil that drawing after thanking him for saving her eyes. 

Christy hadn’t gotten to see it before-- there was artistry to her work, a testament to Becky’s talent and Neil’s courage to try his treatment on her. She wondered if he’d carried the page around with him all those months in between before finally framing it after the wedding. Had he built the frame that morning before she woke up? 

“That’s quite a smile,” Neil observed from across the room.

“I was looking at Becky’s drawing,” she said. “I can never thank you enough for making the choice to treat her. I know it was difficult, but I cannot even express how wonderful it is to see her thriving now.”

“You’ve made a world of difference for the O’Teales,” he said, sliding one of his scientific tomes back onto the shelf. “It’s thanks enough to know you’re nowhere near finished with your work in the Cove. I've known most of them my entire life, you know.” His expression was almost painfully sincere.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Christy said, walking over to run her fingertips along the thick spines of that particular line of books. “We’ll be contributing to the same book of personal history, now. I’m glad. It hurt to think of going home and leaving the Cove behind, even though it was to help my father.” She caught her breath in realization. “He’s in one of these, isn’t he?”

Neil nodded. “I’m pleased your mother was able to see her way to letting me treat him. I’ve never been happier to risk offering up excess gingerbread to a passel of children! Swannie’s made them give things back before, if I don’t wait long enough between.”

“It’s a constant struggle to balance helping with hurting pride,” she nodded. “That made me so angry when I first got here-- but I’ve come to realize that when you have so little, you have to value yourself more. It’s hard to do that when you can’t provide for your family with your own two hands.” Neil was looking at her with pride of his own, enough to make her feel uncomfortable with such approving scrutiny, so Christy said, “Did I ever tell you why they were in the herb garden?”

He came over to accept her subject-change by kissing her shoulder. “Tell me.”

Christy leaned her head back to look up at him. “She went to that cabin determined the O’Teales would take the food basket. Once Swannie started talking about the various herbs, Mother offered to trade that basket for all the knowledge Swannie could offer. I’d sorely misjudged her, I think.”

“You come by that stubbornness honestly.” She delighted in being able to feel his chuckle as well as hear it, but his words reminded her of the concept she’d been going over and over in her mind lately. 

Turning in his arms, she said, “That reminds me. I was talking with Miss Alice about my habit of using tasks around the schoolhouse to reward certain students with some of my lunch. After a while I just got to know which of them were likely to show up without anything, so I wanted to ask you--” Neil’s expression grew wary, which felt fair given the last scheme she’d asked him about. “You get a sense of which patients are in the most dire need, right?”

“Help me understand exactly what you’re picturing,” Neil said, stepping back. His tone had turned clinical, gathering data.

“I’m just asking for information, you wouldn't have to do anything,” Christy reassured him. She sensed the need to tread carefully, so she tried to temper her excitement for her plans as she said, “What if Umphrey had complications from his injury? If you’re the only doctor close enough to help, the distance between is many hours’ travel, right? Surely whoever he’d send for help would be exhausted by the time they found someone. What if you weren’t here, and they didn’t know where to find you?” She pushed back the memories of her encounter at Neil’s empty cabin with Jarvis Tatum. “What if we could combine the school lunch rewards with a messenger system, community to community? You know these people better than I do, so you could suggest people who are both reliable and in need. We could set up a system where the person seeking help could pass the message to someone rested! Ideally, they’d be able to trust the process because that second or third messenger would know they were earning something by their good deed.”

“There is something to that, but I must ask: what do you want to come of this?”

Her brows furrowed. “To cut down on the time it takes to get help in an emergency! People may not be as fast as the telephone, but--”

“I meant personally,” he interrupted. Christy shook her head, confused, and Neil avoided her gaze, instead straightening some of the materials he’d been using for his experiment earlier. “Do you want it to be known that you’re the reason for this new network?”

“Not if that’s a bad thing,” she whispered. After hours of contemplating this, had she missed something negative, something that could hurt instead of hinder?

“Good.” Neil let out a long breath. “You kept saying ‘we,’ Christy, but despite the merits of your idea, neither of us can be involved.” As though avoiding her eyes, his gaze lingered on his ledgers of patient records as he continued. “There’s a vulnerability these people offer in letting me treat them, and part of that is trust that I won’t use the non-medical things I learn. Not for good or ill.”

The wax of disappointment coated her throat, forcing her to take a few steadying breaths before responding-- because he was right. If she blundered ahead like this, many patients would feel like Neil had shared private financial matters with a stranger, a stranger who was offering them dressed-up charity. A betrayal like that would have long-term health consequences.

“I won’t pretend I wasn’t hoping for you to be able to tell your patients your wife is doing her best to help,” Christy admitted, “--but not if it wouldn’t actually help.” Ruefully, she sighed. “Back to the drawing board.”

“No, no,” he said with encouragement coloring his voice. “This could work, it just needs to be done slowly and carefully by someone like Alice. She’s spent years making connections all over the mountain--”

“--and most people think she knows everyone and everything already!” she gasped out. “I could go talk to her after we eat-- oh!” Christy had already started for the door, but when she turned back around mid-stride, her green skirt swirling around her. “I’d meant to ask you about dinner. Do we have enough food for me to take something over to Fairlight? She said her youngest was sick, and that might help keep her off her feet so she doesn’t tire herself out and catch it.”

“Slow down,” Neil cautioned, wincing.

“Now what?” she burst out.

“You need to think like a doctor’s wife,” he started, then held up his hands in surrender when her expression darkened. “Ask yourself if she told you because you’re her friend or my wife.”

Christy couldn’t keep the frustration from her tone. “She told me because they invited us over days ago! As friends.”

“I’m just saying that this is the calculation. Every day, in every conversation."

His words were a sobering glimpse into the reasons Neil kept himself apart from the rest of the Cove. Was it necessary that she follow the same strict course of action? She wasn’t a newcomer anymore! Surely everyone knew she was the kind of person to do generous things, no matter who she’d married. A (probably childish) desire to set him back on his heels just as he’d just set her back on hers prompted her next words. 

“I think it's equally likely that I’d take food over as a friend and as a doctor’s wife! That sounds more like something a preacher’s wife would be asking herself.”

“No need to attack below the belt, Mrs. MacNeill,” Neil murmured, emphasizing the title. “Particularly not when your shawl and my shoes were both still on the porch from last night when the right Reverend came by to ask about the varnish.” His expression was undeniably smug as he turned to leave the lab, gesturing for her to follow. “Come on, we’ll see what we can make for the Spencers. Fairlight’s a bad example anyway. She’s blunt enough to tell you if she thinks you’re trying to mother her from under my shadow.”

“Well that’s certainly true,” Christy laughed. 

***

It was late evening when she got back from her two errands, one successful, one not. Fairlight had graciously accepted the roasted chicken and vegetables she’d brought over, probably because Christy had come up with an ingenious idea to sidestep the ‘doctor’s wife’ conundrum: she’d quite obviously taken two small servings from each dish. Since a shared dinner at the same table would have been shared anyway, it would be hard for even someone with Fairlight’s level of self-sufficiency to argue charity over generosity.

Christy had promised that she’d retrieve the serving dishes sometime that weekend before heading off toward the Mission in the growing twilight to broach her idea about the messenger system to Miss Alice.

No one had been there. Unequal to the notion of stopping by David’s bunkhouse to ask after her mentor, she’d just turned around to go home. She found Neil cleaning his lab equipment on the Fish Table, with multiple lanterns set up to illuminate the space.

Setting her coat over the back of a chair on the porch, she went back down to greet him with a smile from the other side of the table, careful not to startle him, given all the glass he was handling.

When he finally looked over at her, she gestured to what he was doing and said, “Teach me?”

“You never let up, do you?” he grumbled good-naturedly. “I’ll admit I like the way your blue eyes flash at me in arguments, but perhaps not so often in one day!”

“I’ll graciously concede this one,” she said. “--but you can’t stop me from watching you. I promise I won’t touch until you tell me to.”

“Good to know.” His unexpectedly heated look sent Christy’s pulse racing. “What did Alice have to say?” Neil asked, coming around the table to pick up something nearby.

“No one was there. I will have to take that as God’s nudge to organize my thoughts before I try again,” she said.

His grunt was noncommittal, which wasn’t a surprise. “And Fairlight?”

“I think the portioning ruse worked. She offered Sunday evening for a reschedule.”

“I think I can be back from checking on the patients from that fire by then,” Neil said, walking a ways away to dump out his soiled rinse water. Nothing in his tone signaled recognition that his words might upset her.

“Will it be overnight?”

He stopped short, swearing under his breath. “I didn’t tell you.”

“We both have to learn new routines,” Christy offered softly.

“I’m sorry,” Neil said, setting down the pail and coming over to her. He brushed her wind-blown hair away from her eyes and leaned down, asking for but not taking a kiss.

“Keep an eye out for good candidates for my idea and I’ll call it even,” she whispered right before tipping her head up to make contact. Neil’s resulting kiss was startled. He let out a deep chuckle that translated into a burst of intensity, as though they’d taken their argument into the physical. His hand was rough on her hip, making her wonder if he liked the feel of the fabric he’d picked out. The thought sent sparks through her, and she arched closer, turning her head and ‘fighting back’ with increasingly brave caresses of hands and tongue.

After a few minutes Neil broke the kiss, walking away with a hand running through his hair. “I still need to put these things away,” he said, his voice thick and thrilling.

“It’s a shame there’s no one who can help with that,” Christy said, feeling like her blood had half-turned to illegal moonshine. Just as she hoped, he strode back to her, cupping her face with his large hands before kissing her very thoroughly.

When the kiss ended, Neil made a face and said, “That wasn’t a deterrent at all.”

Was it strange to think of these moments as important, as helpful when it came to being a doctor’s wife? He’d alluded to struggling with his research when he’d been unhappy, after all.

To that end, she said, “There’s a really good way to get me to stop joking about not being allowed to hel--” He stopped her with a kiss. When he lifted his head, she started again, bravado driven by desire.

“I wonder which one of us is more stubbor--”

His lips were on hers before she even finished the sentence. Christy pulled back with reluctance.

“Neil!”

“Before you break a beaker over my head, I must tell you: I’ve wanted to do that since our argument about religion, outside the school. The one where you mentioned babies and blushed red as a tomato.”

“Really?” she breathed. That had been a long time ago.

“I wanted you then, but my heart’s been yours since you helped with Little Burl’s surgery.”

“I wrote in my diary that I couldn’t stop staring at you, instead of what you were doing,” she confessed. Lifting her hand, Christy brushed an errant curl from his forehead, remembering when she’d done the same one moonlit night. “Your strength gave me strength.” 

Neil made a noise deep in his throat and took her hand, pressing his lips to the center of her palm. She shivered but kept going, needing him to hear what she had to say. 

“I didn’t come to Cutter Gap to avoid hard work, Neil. You asked me if I knew what I’d done, letting the Tatum men see me. I meant it when I said yes-- being with you means helping with surgery, learning how to fish, and darning your socks, but it also means washing soot and blood out of your clothes.”

“You’re not a maid, you don’t have t--”

Christy lifted up and interrupted him with a kiss. “I’m not royalty, either! Do you think I want to sit around while you do work I could help you with? You married a teacher. That means I’m up late making lesson plans, agonizing over how to keep the peace, cleaning up bloody noses from fights or sickness or malnutrition and every other kind of emotional and physical issue those children have-- and I might not love every minute of it, but it’s all worth it! It’s not as extreme as what you deal with, but everyone has to put up with their loved one’s work, don’t they?”

“You’ll have to do more work for me than I’ll ever have to do for you,” he grumbled.

Twilight had settled over them, but to Christy, Neil was as important and as bright in her world as the sun. “So… make it up to me?”

Chapter Text

Role Reversal

Neil didn’t need much persuading to reward her with the kiss she was angling for, but he lifted his head far too soon after it started. “Is this a bribe to get me to let you help?” His eyes glittered with stern affection.

“I didn’t think of it like that, but I kind of wish I had.”

“That shouldn’t make me love you more than I already do,” he grumbled. “All right, then.”

Over the next twenty minutes, his demeanor shifted into that of an instructor, all terse statements and tense body language. It wasn’t until she was finished repeating his strict rules about how to treat the precious glass tubes he used in experiments that she understood why. Neil was standing with his hand flat on his work table in the lab with Christy beside him, and she set her hand next to his and counted out the six edicts in order, tapping one for each one of her fingers. When she got to six, she counted it with a caress of his index finger-- leading to him lifting that hand to turn her face toward his for an unexpectedly deep, yearning kiss.

As it went on, he herded her backwards until she was against the wall by the lab door with Neil leaning over her, one hand on the wall near her head.

All she could do once he lifted his head was blink up at him in pleased shock. “What--”

“Turns out I very much enjoy teaching the teacher,” he rumbled, a flush crossing his cheeks that matched hers.

“Oh,” was all she could manage. His steady gaze gave her the impression that she’d missed something, so Christy cast back, trying to think of-- “Oh!” she breathed. He’d said there were things he wanted to teach her, the night of the storm.

“There it is,” Neil murmured. He leaned close, dragging a kiss along her collarbone and up to her ear to add, “I’d like to keep that promise of mine, unless you’re worried about getting enough sleep?”

Christy felt like the cauldron outside, slowly heating up in preparation for something important. “At this point, I’d just lie awake thinking about you!” She waited for him to back up so they could go upstairs, but Neil wasn’t moving, instead focused on the bodice of her shirt. With his free hand, he stroked his fingertips from her cheek across her lips, then down her neck. He made his purpose clear by dragging them along her high collar to flip back the fabric covering her shirt buttons.

Neil proceeded to take apart her sanity with each button he released, bending down to kiss what he exposed. Her thin white shift did nothing to shield her from the heat of his lips. By the time he’d pulled the fabric up from where it was tucked into her skirt, she felt oversensitized, like his lips had been everywhere.  

Instead of leaning all the way down for that last button, Neil knelt. Christy pressed her hands against the cool wood of the wall behind her, trying to keep from sliding into a heap on the floor. He hadn’t made eye contact, displaying the kind of intent concentration she’d seen as he performed experiments. There was something heady and intimidating about being the subject of that kind of scrutiny, and the thought sent a flood of awareness that pooled in the places he was kneeling near.

Was he teaching her that anything could be sensual? If so, she was a willing (if overwhelmed) pupil.

He pulled the button free and braced himself with a hand on each of her hips before pressing a smoldering kiss just beneath her waistband.

Christy threw her head back against the wall, wishing she had the courage to be as improper as she felt. “Are you teaching me how to fall at your feet? I’m seconds away.”

His chuckle was somehow both warm and naughty, but it was his command to look at him that made her toes curl. She did as he asked just in time to watch Neil slide his hands up to part her shirt as he stood, his fingertips grazing across her breasts. Christy’s knees would have buckled at the sensation if he hadn’t braced her up with his own hips-- but there was a glorious intimacy to that, too.

Neil took a long breath of her hair as his hands worked to free her arms from her blouse, and when he was done, he started kissing down her neck and over to the strap of her camisole. He once again placed his hand on the wall next to her, but when he brought up the other, it was trembling.

“When I walked in on you that day, it took everything in me to leave,” he whispered, his touch feather-light and reverent on her shoulder.

Christy reached up to his face. “I stood there hoping you didn’t.” 

Neil’s response was to reward her with a desperate kiss, crushing her against the wall with a fervor she absolutely returned. She drew her nails across the nape of his neck to encourage him, gasping into his mouth when he slipped her camisole from her shoulder, tugging it all the way down. They were pressed so close together that she didn’t feel exposed, but the texture difference of his clothing against that very sensitive skin made her dizzy with anticipation.

He drew her away from the wall to seek out the fastening for her skirt. To distract herself, she pressed kisses into his chest, earning herself a warm, pleased noise that she felt as much as heard. She’d thought it odd for him to initiate this in his lab of all places, but as Christy felt her husband pull her skirt down to pool at her feet, the very strangeness compelled her. There was less of a weight of expectation when they were standing, when they weren’t near a bed.

“You’ve gone quiet, even your breathing,” Neil said, his lips on her hair.

Her skirt had dragged both her undergarments and her ability to form words down with it, but she did her best. “Proximity.”

Neil pulled back with an indulgent smile, taking her hand to set it on his chest, right over his heart. He was holding her gaze, despite what he’d uncovered-- and his heart was racing. Overcome by the fact that his ardor was equal to his respect, she bit her swollen lip and nodded. Only then did he let his gaze move down to see her. It was like a physical touch, so powerful that she let her eyes drift shut.

“No, sweetheart, open your eyes, I want to see--” he said. 

Her eyes flew open, and that’s when he moved his hand up to caress her breast, sweeping his thumb across. That pleasure was lovely enough, but his restless hand started to circle lower. She found it hard to stand still, harder yet to keep his gaze, especially when he paused with his hand on her bare hip to steal a slow, languid kiss. 

She was still recovering when he started moving again, their faces barely a breath apart when she sucked in a delighted, shocked gasp. He’d turned his hand to cup her, light as a feather but as hot as molten stone.

“That’s just the beginning,” Neil promised her.

Besides what she’d tasted on him for their first kiss, Christy had only once had whiskey, at an evening gathering where she’d mistakenly taken the host’s drink. The burning sensation as the alcohol made its way through her veins was very similar to this. Instead of harsh fire, though, Neil’s words sent honeyed embers sizzling along to all the right places.

“If I didn’t know better I’d have thought you drugged me with something,” she whispered. He hadn’t even done more than touch her, and she was shaken.

“At the risk of sounding more scientist than lover, I’d say it’s our personal chemical reaction. It’s better in bed than in the lab, though.” With another deep, slow kiss, Neil stroked his hand back up to her hip. He dipped down to grab her discarded clothing, nuzzling against the curve of her breast as he stood back up.

His impish sensuality sparked the same in her, and she said, “You did forget to carry me over the threshold, I suppose we can count the bedroom doorway, for extra credit?”

Neil needed no further encouragement, handing her the clothing and lifting her up into his arms. Christy barely had the chance to drape her skirt over herself for modesty’s sake before he was mounting the stairs.

Neil paused in the bedroom doorway for a kiss, and only then walked through to set her down on the bed. Instead of joining her right away, he started to undress, holding her eye contact with each movement. Her body was heated by ten blazing hearths, magnified by the promise she could see in his eyes. It was entirely romantic, right up to when he grabbed the clothes she still had draped across her nudity, throwing them over his shoulder onto the floor.

“Neil! Doesn’t that violate rule number five? ‘ Always put things away in their proper place before moving on to other things?’”

“I’ll write an exception,” he told her, completely undaunted. Then, he lowered his head to taste her breast, and her outrage floated away on a cloud. The bedroom was colder than the lab had been, but the fire in her veins made up for it. “Now, should I pick up where we left off?” he asked,  but she was already arching her back in anticipation as his hand stroked farther down. “That’s a ‘yes,’ then,” he chuckled, practically drawing the words on her skin with his lips.

“Don’t laugh or I’ll figure out how to do this to you,” she threatened with incoherence borne of delight.

“I certainly hope so.”

Christy couldn’t gather enough of herself to respond. Neil had started to circle his fingers, gently at first, but on encouragement from her desperate grip on his arm and rocking hips, he sped up, varying his movements in a way that sent her keening every time.

“Neil,” she cried out, seeing stars with how tightly she’d shut her eyes. Her whole being was focused on the pleasure he was giving her, but the wave about to crash over her was intense.

“Let go, I’ve got you,” he said, sliding his free hand along her cheek to clasp her to his chest. The sensation of strength and love she got from his embrace combined with the confidence of his movements on her, and Christy let go, shaking and gasping in his arms for what felt like forever. He gentled his movements and grounded her with murmured endearments until her breathing settled, and she settled back into the bed, a contented, wrecked mess.

“I take it back; I have no idea how to do that to you,” Christy whispered, letting out a weak laugh.

“I have faith in you,” Neil said, brushing her sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes. “Though I may have set the bar a wee bit high.”

“You’re an overachiever,” she accused, leaning up to kiss him through their shared laughter. With her eyes closed, she was able to be brave enough to nudge him over on top of her, eager to give him even a fraction of the joy he’d just gifted her.

As they moved together, something shifted, halfway. It was like a magnification of sensation, a perfect, shared moment. Neil sensed it too, pausing to look down at her.

“I love you, Christy. I’m so full of gratitude to share this life with you, I barely know how to handle it,” he said, his voice breaking. “Thank you for staying, for being--”

“Yours,” she finished, a tear of happiness escaping from the corner of her eye. Neil let out a sound that could have been pained if it weren’t so joyful, and from that point on, they were ravenous for each other-- tracing love messages on skin with tongues and teeth, tugging on hair to demand kisses, thrusting and arching as close as close could be.

By the time the tumult finally spun to a climax, Christy’s last thought before falling into an exhausted sleep was that she’d reached the happiest anyone had ever been. Even better, she knew Neil felt the same way.

***

The sound of shouting woke them up. Christy lifted her head, feeling the chill immediately. They’d fallen asleep without cleaning up, without dressing, and it took a while to orient herself.

“It’s Hattie,” Neil said with thick dread. He rolled out of bed, grabbing at his robe to scrub at himself for a second or two before starting to dress.

“What?” Christy gasped, but even as she spoke, she heard the voice calling out for help outside. It was definitely Aunt Hattie. Hurriedly, she threw herself out of bed and fumbled with the lamp, her hand shaking with fear.

“Let me.” Neil grabbed the lamp, lighting it, then lighting the second one they’d brought up from the lab. He headed off in a rush toward the stairs.

“I’ll be right behind you,” she yelled after him, pulling with shaking hands at the clothes in her closet, looking for something easy to put on. Her camisole was cold from the floor, but she relished that, it helped wake her up for whatever calamity was happening outside. Christy didn’t bother with shoes or stockings, running out into the midnight cold as quickly as she could.

What she saw was almost incomprehensible.

Aunt Hattie was slumped in a chair not far from two horses, against which leaned Miss Alice, being ministered to by Neil. On the second horse there was a large, lumpy collection of supplies. Christy ran over and skidded to a kneel next to Aunt Hattie.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

Neil answered before his aunt could. “Get another chair, will you? And some water.”

Christy squeezed Hattie’s hand and raced to do as he asked, nearly tripping with the heavy chair as she navigated the newly constructed stairs of their porch. He was already striding over to take it from her, and even in the nearly pitch darkness she could see the worry on his face. There wasn’t time to ask, though, and she raced back up to fetch a jug of water and a handful of metal cups.

Her hand shook so much as she poured the first one, she ended up soaking her skirt.

“--concussion,” Miss Alice was saying weakly. “Knew I had to stay awake--” She lifted her hand to the bandage on her head, and for the first time Christy saw that she wasn’t wearing a shawl. The cascade of darker color about her shoulders was blood.

“Sit first,” Neil told her harshly.

“I need you to look at the--”

“Not before you tell me what happened!”

“Neil, there’s a man with a gunshot passed out on that other horse. I didn’t walk for four hours with a concussion to have him die on your property! See to him or I will.”

There was a long moment where everyone froze in place, Christy in the process of handing Aunt Hattie the water cup, Miss Alice with her hands in fists glaring up at Neil, and Neil himself, horror on his face, staring down at her. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and headed for the other horse, lantern held high.

“Shot?” Christy asked, stunned.

“By my hand,” Miss Alice stated in a hoarse voice. Hattie made a noise of agreement, spurring Christy to look over toward where a barely-discernible Neil examined the wounded man.

“Christy?” he called, followed immediately by, “Wait! Stay by Alice.”

“What do you--”

Neil interrupted her by coming over and grabbing her upper arms, looking her in the eyes with a nearly wild look of determination. “I’ve got to fetch Dan. Both need care as soon as possible, but most of all we’ve got to keep Alice awake. I’ll tend to her head wound while you get Hattie to sleep upstairs. After that, you must stay with Alice inside the house with the door barred until I return. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, almost falling over with how quickly he released her to turn toward Miss Alice. It took Christy a few seconds to realize that he wouldn’t leave until she’d gotten Aunt Hattie settled-- and they’d left the bed a disgraceful mess. “Would you like to borrow a nightgown?” she asked, setting a gentle hand on Hattie’s shoulder.

“Doubt I’ll even notice what I've got on,” Aunt Hattie said as Christy helped her up the porch stairs. "Jes' grateful we're somewhere safe. Promise me you'll keep her awake?"

"I promise." Her mind racing, she guided the older woman over to the stairs and said, “Can I ask you to slowly walk up these with the railing, while I prep the bed? Call me over when you get to the top.”

“G’won, I get what ye’ve in mind.”

***

Less than ten minutes later, Christy was seated beside Miss Alice at the table in the cabin, three lanterns lit to full blast. Outside, the sound of two horses galloping away prompted her to start praying aloud, bolstered by the strength of Miss Alice’s grip on her hand.

When she finished and opened her eyes, the full horror of what her mentor had gone through was evident. As she’d seen in the dim light outside, Miss Alice’s dress was stained with blood, as was the petticoat her head was trussed up with. There were rust-colored smudges on her face, but the most poignant part of the picture she presented were the tear tracks that cut their way through them.

“What happened?”

There was still fire in Miss Alice’s tired eyes, but her lips trembled as she attempted a wry smile. “Hattie asked me to accompany her on her yearly visit to family, out Highpond Gap way. We left at midday, intending to arrive at dinnertime. About ten minutes out from our destination, we were set on by a man with a gun.”

As she listened in mute shock, Christy saw a washrag on the other side of the table and grabbed it, tipping out some of the pitcher water to soak in, so Alice could wash up. After only a few cursory wipes at her cheek, though, Miss Alice winced and set it back down.

“I didn’t know it was a gun, ’course. Just knew someone struck me on the head with the force of a fallen tree, or so it felt.” She wasn’t looking at Christy, as if somehow she was ashamed of what had happened. “I didn’t fall off the horse, but Hattie heard me cry out.”

“Good heavens, she couldn’t see the attack or whether you were all right!”

“I cannot imagine how frightened-- I had to protect her, and that meant keeping some of that horror to myself. Head wounds bleed-- but thee knows. I couldn’t see out of the one eye, but I got my hand around the rifle, saw blurred movement toward me, and fired.” Her hand tightened around the washcloth, sending pink-tinged water up through her knuckles.

Christy wanted to ask how on Earth the two women ended up at her cabin with their attacker tied up on one of the horses, but she could tell Miss Alice was struggling with something, maybe a dizzy spell.

“Stay with me,” she said, reaching out to add her hand to the washcloth.

“I think if you added up every night from here clear back to my childhood, it wouldn’t reach how tired I am right now. Or how angry.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Christy whispered, “--but--”

Miss Alice looked over at her, eyes sharp. “‘But.’ Exactly. But someone heard the gunshot. But they came over and tended to me. To me, not to him.”

Suddenly, Christy could see the whole scene, constructed from Miss Alice’s fury, her description of her walk, and those five words. “You had to dress his wound, didn’t you?”

“Mountain ‘justice,’” Miss Alice said, her tone scathing. “Superficial wound on his arm, but the bullet was lodged. I didn’t have the tools or the faculties to get it out.”

“Was there no one who could run for help? Maybe not all the way to Neil, but--”

“No one willing.” Sucking air in through her teeth, Miss Alice raised her hand gingerly, hovering it over the bloody spot on her head dressing. “Forgive me, but I’m halfway to cursing thy husband’s verdict on this. I could really use some pain medicine.”

“Let me guess,” Christy said. “He said the pain--”

“--will keep me awake,” Alice finished with her. “Yes. The churl.”

“Churl?” she repeated, trying not to laugh.

Her friend sniffed. “An archaic term for a barbaric practice, keeping a woman in pain just to--”

“--save her life.”

“Of course thee would take his side.”

Christy decided to shift the conversation back toward understanding what happened. “No one wanted to help, no one would go for help-- but was there nowhere to go in between? And how did he end up on the horse?”

“Setting the arm knocked him out, but I couldn’t have lifted him that way, you’re right. No, I-- I browbeat the lot of them. Shamed those men into hauling him up and tying him secure. Told them if they wouldn’t do the Lord’s work, I’d do it myself. And then I did. Ohhh, it hurts!”

“Tell me what to do,” Christy begged.

“I can hardly say,” Miss Alice said, her voice alarmingly weak. She rested her chin on her clasped hands, not quite laying it down, but not quite holding herself up, either. “I was so, so angry. How dare they deem any man’s actions worth losing his life when his victim stands there telling them he’s worth saving?” She looked over, new tears forming in her eyes. “Hattie sang to me the whole walk. I didn’t tell her how bad it was, or she would have--”

From outside, there was a shout, and Christy stood up, almost knocking the chair out from behind her. She grabbed at Miss Alice’s hand. “I won’t go far, just to the door to see.” Mostly, she just wanted to see Neil, to know he was nearby, so she could feel less frightened. Alice was repeating herself, a sure sign that she was deteriorating.

“I imagine they’ll examine the young man first.”

Her hand was on the latch when she heard the voice again, this time accompanied by a thumping sound. There was an awful desperation to the sound, and immediately she understood why Neil had told her to lock the door.

He’d left the injured man behind.

“He didn’t!” Miss Alice gritted out, standing.

Christy held out a placating hand. “It was such a long slow journey here, if he's as hurt as you say, maybe Neil thought he could wait another half hour instead of being hauled even further, with him rushing to get Dan? With Hattie asleep and you needing to stay awak--”

“He knew I wouldn’t stand for it, the coward!” Alice snapped. She snatched up her empty water cup and held out her hand, wobbly though it was. “Grab the pitcher and lead me out there, Christy. I didn’t put myself through this misery to hide in Neil’s cabin and ignore a man in need.”

Chapter Text

One Half of a Whole

Christy did not feel very brave as she unlocked the cabin door and stepped out onto the porch. Miss Alice was in no condition to confront anyone, but given her temperament, trying to stop her wasn’t worth the risk. That meant disobeying Neil’s instructions to keep the door locked with the two of them on this side of it. The noises outside made it clear he hadn’t taken the injured man with him as she’d hoped, but… could he really have expected them to ignore these cries for help?

Her first steps out onto the porch prompted a groan of pain that strengthened her resolve, as did Miss Alice’s strong grip of her shoulder. The thought occurred: why was she more frightened of disappointing her husband than anything she was about to encounter?

Christy pulled in a breath and called out, “Hello?” 

A frantic set of thumping sounds followed, centered on the far end of the porch.

“Gagged, no doubt,” Miss Alice whispered. “I doubt Neil would have untied him. Thee must check for fever. Infec--” she broke off, slumping against the doorframe. Christy turned, concerned, but Miss Alice’s exhaustion sharpened into determination. “Infection… could set in.”

“Surely Neil wouldn’t have left if his life was that much in danger?” Christy asked. If the man died, would Miss Alice be blamed? Would there be a trial?

Miss Alice muttered something about stubbornness, proving herself right by taking a few unsteady steps across the porch to reach a chair. “He had much to balance with his choices, but there’s no sense worrying. Go on, now. I’ll sit at this table until thy return.”

Christy nodded, clutching the water pitcher to her chest and started forward. Her stomach reminded her of an experiment in Neil’s lab, two conflicting chemicals stirred up into a frenzied reaction. Instinctively, she started whispering under her breath, timing her steps and her breaths with the familiar cadence of prayer. 

Without the roar of regret in her ears, the injured man’s grunts were easier to hear. Grateful for the lantern that illuminated the area around the stairs, she hurried down.

He was on his face in the dirt. The rope knotted around each ankle was twisted around one of the stair supports before looping back to bind his legs together. At her approach, he thumped his boots on the stair, frantic enough that he rolled onto his side. His resulting holler of pain sent her dashing over to crouch beside him.

“Don’t hurt yourself!” 

He had a cloth bandage biting into his mouth, his entire body shaking from the effort of keeping weight off of his hurt arm. She wondered if Neil had been cruel (or pragmatic) enough to have deliberately positioned him that way to keep him busy. The gag had to go, Christy decided, so she reached toward it, initially recoiling at the fury in the man eyes.

It reminded her of the worst moments of her own kidnapping.

“I’m here to help you,” she said, hating how uncertain her voice sounded. The man’s expression didn’t change, but he held still as she worked. By the time she got the gag loosened, her fingers were stiff and sore.

“Untie me or I’ll kill you when I git free.”

She fell back, stunned. “You-- you need--”

“Do it!” 

Christy’s immediate thought was to start picking at the knots without fully untying them so he wouldn’t injure himself further. Faking help was probably a falsehood, but she didn’t want to give Miss Alice and Aunt Hattie more distress. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she set her fingers on the ankle knots, telling herself that even if she got them apart, the rope would still restrain his legs. With God’s grace, Neil would be back by then.

Prayer was too difficult with the man’s baleful glare drilling into her. Instead, she pictured her family standing like guardian angels arrayed around them. Her father had been in dangerous situations before; he’d told her the story of being struck in the face by a young man attempting to rob him. After arguing against the thief being charged for the assault, he’d been targeted again. William Huddleston had told her they should always seek to help people, but that protecting oneself is not a bad thing.

‘Sometimes a person can get twisted into a knot they can’t untie, and the friction wears away at them, makes them hateful.’  

“Hurry up!”

Christy startled out of her reverie. ‘Deflect,’ her father’s voice cautioned in her head. “How long has it been since you’ve had water?”

“Don’t need no water,” he rasped.

“You were unconscious for a long time,” she said, sitting up in preparation to stand. The water pitcher was just out of reach. “You could have an infection. My husband’s a doctor, he--”

“No yappin’!”

“Christy?” Miss Alice’s voice sounded weak and worried.

In that moment of distraction, the man lurched up to grab Christy’s arm. He gasped in agony as they both fell to the ground in a heap.

“Let ‘er go or ye won’t need no doctor!”

It was Birds-Eye Taylor. He was barely visible in the moonlight, his rifle lined up for the shot. Her captor’s grip tightened on her wrist, and the pain compressed her fear into intense regret.

“Shootin’ me shoots her!” the man snapped back, but she could hear him struggle to get enough breath to yell. With his legs bound and his wound leaking blood onto her dress, Christy knew she could get free-- but if she did, would Birds-Eye exact mountain justice? If Taylor killed this man, Miss Alice could be held accountable for shooting and kidnapping him in the first place. Without his father, Lundy would be in an even worse spot than he was now. Would she be forced to testify at the trial? Would the Cove end up blaming her for what would happen? Fears and regrets swirled in her mind, magnified by the smell of blood and sweat.

She should have stayed in the house. She should have stayed in the house.

The two men started to holler at each other. Each gurgling deep breath her captor took to scream made her more frightened. Everything was happening too quickly. How long had it been since she’d left the house? Was there a way to take it back?

Abruptly her captor’s arms were shoved away and she was pulled into a solid, familiar embrace. Neil’s beloved voice broke through her veil of confusion, not with comforting words to her, but recriminations for everyone else. Christy’s relief was nowhere near as total as she would have expected, not with Neil’s temper in play. He was squeezing her, his grip crushing to the point of pain.

“Neil,” she said, her heart stuttering again in her chest at a new realization: this was her mess to clean up. She pounded her fist on his chest to get his attention. “Neil!”

“What is it?” he asked, finally releasing her enough that she could breathe freely again. Before she could speak, though, he began another tirade. “I’ve no patience for the kind of men who would drag a woman out of her cabin at the dead of night to--”

“They didn’t! No one did!”

Neil’s face went blank for a horrible second as he comprehended what she’d just said. Then his expression turned thunderous.

“Do you mean to tell me--”

“This man is hurt, Neil. He’s lost so much blood, he was screaming against the gag you put on him, he…” She was crying, not out of fear for herself, not even out of fear for the man who’d just threatened her life, but because she knew how badly she’d hurt her husband through what she’d done.

Because she knew she’d always make the same choice, if faced with it again.

He was speechless, and she took advantage, hoping to distract him into medical action. “Where is Dan?”

“I’m right here with Miss Alice. I ought to focus on her for the next few, but after that I’ll be able to speak with you.”

At this, Christy’s conscience constricted her chest so much she could hardly breathe, and the worst of it was, she could see the same happening to her husband. He was wild-eyed, breathing heavily, but as he looked from her to Birds-Eye and then to the crumpled man at their feet, a kind of bleak understanding crossed his face. Everything needed his attention.

Christy forced herself to stand perfectly still. Ever since she’d arrived at the Cove, she’d been vocal, outspoken, even demanding when it came to helping people. It took a night of utter chaos for her to finally understand that sometimes the hardest task is to stand aside and trust in another person’s moral compass. 

Neil knelt down and started to peel away the man’s temporary dressing, aided by the additional lanterns he and Dan had brought back with them. Christy looked around for his doctoring bag and saw the shadow of it hanging from his saddle. Would moving toward it redirect Neil’s attention at a critical moment? 

She tipped her head up to the moonlit sky and counted the frantic beats of her heart, intending to slow them, to slow herself.  

“Thank you,” Neil said gruffly.

“More sportin’ to kill ‘im when ‘e can fight back,” Birds-Eye said. He’d gotten Neil’s bag for him.

The wry amusement on her husband’s face made her focus on his hands in a way she hadn’t since back when they’d first met. They moved swiftly but skillfully in the dim light, ripping fabric out of the way, probing the wound, pulling fresh bandages out of his bag without worrying about where they landed. He was murmuring something, but she could barely hear it. Christy held her breath, tuning out the frantic beating of her heart and the rustle of the late-night wind in the trees.

His litany wasn’t what she expected. Neil was berating the man, chastising him in an oddly gentle, yet exasperated tone.

“--ldn’t expect me to know your family! Your mother’s only just healed from her leg break and here you are putting the family in debt, and for what? You’re a damned fool, is what you are. A load of trouble, to boot!”

Her husband’s hand jerked to the side in a sudden movement that tore a yowl out of his patient, but she knew better than to say or do anything about it.

“Tryin’a kill me?!” the man grunted.

“He’s savin’ ya for yer gran or me, ain’t ya, Doc?”

“Don’t know which is worse,” Neil laughed.

He laughed.

Not only did he laugh, but that very laughter cut the tension. Instead of becoming more angry, the injured man seemed to relax, letting his head fall back onto the ground and releasing his clenched fists. She doubted he would have done as much if she’d moved to help her husband. Birds-Eye had threatened this man's life, but her husband had defused the situation well enough that the three men were practically joking with each other. Christy felt the solid wood that held up the porch behind her and reached back to anchor herself. The ground under her feet was as steady as always, but the world and possibly her place in it had tilted.

Was this what things were like when she wasn’t there? Was this how Neil worked when she wasn’t demanding he let her help? Regret poured into her veins, bringing a realization. One might even call it a home truth, something Neil had likely accepted as a matter of course (a hazard?) of his marriage to her.

She was helpful yes, but Neil didn’t need her help, most times.

For so long, she’d been impressed by and proud of Neil MacNeill’s skill as a doctor, and yet her estimation of how well he’d done in this beautiful, wild, remote place had always been tempered by its location. Its lack of resources.

She’d acted like her help elevated his actions to something more closely resembling the work done in fancier, more wealthy locations. Even when his Trachoma research had earned him a job offer he’d ultimately rejected.

Tonight, Neil had given her a glimpse of the (relaxed, smooth, even jovial) care he provided without her interference. Christy closed her eyes and pulled in several much-needed deep breaths, trying to calm her exhausted but racing mind. Instead, she was reminded of her brash words from earlier, when she’d begged her husband to see her as a partner, to see that helping him was a joy, not a burden. Though she was standing outside in the middle of the darkest part of the night with her eyes shut, she could still see his unspoken counterpoint clear as day: sometimes her help was appreciated but unnecessary. 

It was very likely Neil didn’t know how to tell her that.

What is the most loving thing I could do right now?

She opened her eyes just in time to see Neil lunge past her to grab a towel from a hook under the porch. He had a look of deep concentration on his face, and as she watched, he threw himself down beside his patient and removed his bag from the man’s shoulder, where presumably he’d been using it to put pressure on the wound. Birds-Eye was standing close by with his shotgun at the ready. The whole tableau was one of anxious danger, and Christy backed away slowly, conscious of the distraction any sudden movements from her might cause, especially now. Neil was holding a very specific pair of pliers, the ones he’d told her were for removing bullets. 

Her husband was going ahead with the procedure without boiled instruments or a clean, flat surface, with only a hostile ally to hold the man down. For him to make that choice, it must be of the highest necessity.

Had God sent her that message of caution and understanding just minutes ago for this purpose? Christy mounted the stairs to the porch with a prayer on her lips, calling on the Lord to bless Neil’s efforts. An idea was swirling in the back of her mind, something she hoped was a culmination of what she’d learned that night, rather than a rejection of it. 

Once Neil finished, there would still be an array of medical, emotional, and interpersonal conflicts that had to be solved. There were too many injured people for the number of beds in their cabin, and there wasn’t enough space for the horses either. On top of that, there were multiple pairs of people who ought to be kept apart-- Dan Scott and Birds-Eye, Miss Alice and her assailant… and Neil could use some time to calm down after she’d directly disobeyed him.

He might need even more time to calm down after this suggestion, but that was why she planned to ask Dan to broach it. For some reason that thought brought the weight of everything that had happened over the past two days crashing down on her, and Christy almost tripped on the top step. The last thing she wanted to do was add to Neil’s workload by hurting herself, so she took a moment to steady herself on the railing and count to ten.

“Are you all right, Miss Christy?” Dan’s voice was quiet and close.

“Thank you, yes,” she said, looking up at him gratefully. Behind him, Miss Alice was leaning over in her seat to see what was going on, her movements more animated and confident than they had been before the men had come back. “It’s been quite a day, that’s all.”

“Not near finished either, I’d reckon.”

“I have some thoughts about that,” she told him as the two of them walked back toward Miss Alice. Christy was conscious of the fact that her mentor would need to stay awake for a while yet, meaning someone would need to sit with her, whether it was at the table on the porch or somewhere indoors.

Dan pulled out a chair for her, and she fell into it. It seemed like almost every single part of her body hurt now that she wasn’t relying on it to keep herself standing. To give her hands something to do other than fidget in worry, she did her best to tame the wild mess of her hair.

Miss Alice pulled Dan’s focus away from the scene unfolding on the ground beside the cabin, saying, “Seems like tending to me must have been the easier of the two tasks!” Her last word was nearly completely swallowed up by a yawn. “Keeping me awake may yet be troublesome.”

“Well worth it, I’d say,” Dan told her. He shifted his gaze to Christy. “Was there something you wanted to speak on?”

She looked down, struggling with her mental exhaustion to search for the right words. “When he’s finished, we’ll need to decide who can stay where.” She tried to inject as much innocent curiosity into her quiet tone as she could, saying, “Is there a place for Neil’s patient to rest without putting Miss Alice in danger, either from being moved or…” She paused, unwilling to imply anything untoward about her mentor’s instincts for self preservation.

Miss Alice burst out in an unexpected chuckle, the loudness of which seemed to surprise even her. “Forgive me, but the expression on thy face, Christy!” She held up a finger for long enough to take a few deep breaths before starting again, more quietly this time. “Thy instincts do thee credit. I don’t want to bear thinking about what might happen if his condition got worse--”

“That doesn’t bear thinking about,” Dan cautioned. He stepped closer to the table and leaned over. “What about the Mission?”

Relieved, Christy nodded, thinking about the dimly lit ground where she knew Neil was still performing medical miracles. “There are multiple beds there--”

“Including one with restraints, though that knowledge is kept close, for obvious reasons,” Miss Alice murmured. “The presence of a man of God gives some pause when it comes to doing harm, as well.” She shifted her eyes to Christy’s, tipping her head to the side for a second before wincing and reaching up to trace the outline of her head injury. “Thy worry is evident, Chri--”

“Dan?” Neil called up from below.

“I’ll come down!” Dan responded. He leaned in toward them on his way to the stairs, saying, “I’ll ask about that if you want me to, Miss Christy. It may not land well, but keepin’ everyone here is worse.”

Christy watched him go with an anxious heart, jumping in surprise when Miss Alice gently touched her hand from across the table.

“Was Neil very angry with thee?”

“No more than would be expected,” Christy said quickly. It wasn’t the full truth, but exhaustion and stress had shallowed Miss Alice’s facial features, leaving her looking frail and wan. She looked down at herself for the first time since she’d left the cabin. “Oh,” she breathed in dismay. There was dirt and blood caked on her bodice, grass stains on her skirt, and more dirt caked under her fingernails. “I must be a sight!” The words felt trite and vain as soon as they left her lips, given what Miss Alice and Aunt Hattie had gone through.

“Don’t,” Miss Alice blurted out, interrupting her before she got a chance to apologize. “A crisis often doesn't feel real until we see our own part in it-- and it seems clear thy role is far from over,” she added at the sound of heavy footsteps on the porch stairs.

The footsteps were from Neil and Dan. They looked exasperated and resolute in turn.

“Your attacker is in a stupor, which seems to be going around,” Neil ground out, glaring over at Dan.

“Anyone coming here for help would want you rather than me,” Dan said. “Add Taylor’s care for Miss Hattie and you’ve got a whole mess. It’s got to be myself and Miss Christy.”

“Dan’s horse is the most sturdy of the lot, Neil,” Miss Alice said in a weak voice. She hissed, head dipping down to meet her hands, and Neil was at her side a second later. “Might need something stronger’n whiskey to keep me awake,” she whispered.

Christy saw her husband’s jaw clench as he went through the quick motions of checking Miss Alice’s pulse and eye response. She ached to make things better between them but knew that this was no time to hash anything out-- and Neil always did want some time to himself to process stronger emotions.

“Dr. MacNeill,” Dan pleaded, clearly pushing for an answer.

“Go, then. Wake up Grantland as soon as you get there, and use the restraints, do you hear me? No exceptions.” His voice was as harsh as Christy had ever heard it, and even the residuals of it made her shrink back in her chair when he turned to look at her. “Straight to bed, and bolt the door?” The lift at the end of his statement was for show. It was an order, one she fully intended to follow.

“I will,” she whispered, and he nodded curtly before wheeling around to leave the porch.

“I’ll help get him on the horse,” Dan said, half to them and half to Neil’s retreating back. She hoped they had enough rope; she doubted she’d be much help lifting the man back up onto Dan’s horse if not.

It was time to get moving. Christy stood up and immediately sat back down again, feeling dizzy. She let out a breath and gritted her teeth. Now was no time to be overwhelmed! Everything depended on this plan. 

Dan and Birds-Eye would surely clash, otherwise. 

Miss Alice would be under even more suspicion if her attacker’s condition turned for the worse in her proximity. 

Neil needed to keep Miss Alice awake. Christy certainly didn’t want to distract him from that-- and he’d likely never calm down if she was still wearing a bloodstained dress!

More reasons crowded her mind, but Christy shook her head, forcing herself to her feet again. 

“You’re pale as a ghost-- Christy, you don’t have t--”

“I do,” she interrupted. Squaring her shoulders, she reached out and grabbed Miss Alice’s hand with both of hers. “I love him so much, Miss Alice. I hope he can forgive me-- for this, and for earlier, but I need you to be safe. I want everyone to be safe. I can--” tears threatened to overwhelm her, and she swallowed hard. “I can help make that happen. Just… you don’t have to do or say anything to him, you’ve got enough going on, but-- I hurt him, and love him so much, Miss Alice! I--”

“Oh, dear heart. Love doesn’t stop anger, surely thee knows this by now?”

Dan prevented her tongue-tied response by calling her name, but when Christy rushed to the railing to promise she’d be right down, she saw him jogging over to take her place with Miss Alice. He probably saw it as a caring act, to give herself and Neil a chance to speak before she left. It was a caring act, but acting on it would be complicated.

“Go on, now,” Miss Alice pushed.

In the dim lamplight, Neil was barely visible as he secured the last of the rope around the unconscious man on Dan’s horse. Her thoughts weighed her down on the way down the stairs. After everything she’d realized about ‘helping’ Neil, wasn’t this the very worst option for his peace of mind? He was working on his horse now, adjusting the stirrups for her height and checking the fastenings, hands moving with the careful urgency she found so compelling in surgery.

“Ye’ll have to go first, with the lantern,” he said, setting it down to help her into the saddle. Christy nodded, pressing her lips together to prevent the cascade of words she knew they didn’t have time for. He didn’t look at her, and she wondered if he was exercising the same horrid discipline for the greater good. She desperately hoped so.

Her husband’s only concession to their strange, enforced distance was to squeeze her hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb at the very last minute before he walked away. The sting and sweetness of his gesture stayed with her as she rode away from him into the darkness of the forest.