The Princess Club / Family Secrets / Mountain Madness (24 page)

“Clara,” Christy said with a laugh, “sometimes I feel that way about life in general.”

John cleared his throat. “We'd best be gettin' on to the Washingtons', Clara,” he said, a little tersely.

“You
mean
to the mushrooms,” Clara corrected.

“Oh. Yep, that's what I meant, all right.” John started down the path at a brisk pace. “See you later, Miz Christy,” he called over his shoulder. “Tell Ma we'll be home soon.”

Christy waved.
That's odd, she thought as she resumed walking. Clara and John are both acting a bit strangely. But then everyone is lately, it seems.

She came to the deep gashes in the tree Jeb had told her about. Christy knew there was nothing to be afraid of. But she shivered just a little in spite of herself.

Since the weather was so damp, Christy and Fairlight spent the afternoon in the Spencers' tiny cabin, reading together from the Bible. When Christy had first come to Cutter Gap, she'd taught Fairlight how to read. Fairlight had caught on quickly, and now she read almost as well as Christy herself.

Fairlight was a beautiful woman, in a plain, simple way. She had a sweet, musical voice that reminded Christy of silver bells.

“Are you sure you can't stay a little longer?” Fairlight asked.

“I really should be going,” Christy said, gently closing Fairlight's worn family Bible. “Miss Ida's baking pies all afternoon, and I promised I would help.” She laughed. “Although my baking skills are so bad, she usually just shoos me away after a few minutes.”

“It is getting late,” Fairlight agreed. “Clara and John should be home by now.”

“When I ran into them, they said they were going to gather mushrooms, then visit the Washingtons. But now that I think of it, they didn't have anything to carry the mushrooms
in
.”

Fairlight tapped her fingers on the worn table. She looked as if she were about to say something, then seemed to reconsider.

“Fairlight? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothin' much. I s'pose these Boggin stories have everybody a mite on edge, is all.”

“Do you believe in the Boggin?”

“Nope. Them's just pranks, I figger.” Fairlight gave a gentle smile. “And if there
is
a Boggin, I like to think he's just one o' God's wild critters, tryin' to get by, like everyone else.” She shrugged. “Anyways, if you do run into Clara and John on the way back to the mission, tell them I need them to come home and chop me up some firewood and kindling. And I need it today, not tomorrow!”

Christy grinned. “Yes, Ma.”

“I do sound a bit cantankerous sometimes, don't I?” Fairlight said with a laugh. “Just you wait till you have young 'uns of your own, Christy Huddleston! You'll see.”

“But Fairlight, I already have seventy!” Christy joked.

Almost as soon as Christy set out for home, a light, cold rain began to fall. She hurried along the shadowed path, anxious to make it back to the mission before a real downpour began. The sun was hidden behind thick, gray clouds. Off in the distance, thunder rumbled, low and ominous.

On a day like today, the sweet peace of the forest seemed to vanish. It became a dark, frightening place, full of strange noises and leaf whispers. It was a place that made Christy long for the warm, cozy comfort of the mission house kitchen. She couldn't wait to get home, change out of her wet clothes, and warm herself in front of a crackling fire.

She passed the tree with the deep gashes cut into it. This time, she didn't let her gaze linger. Boggin Mountain loomed above her. Somewhere in the forest, a branch cracked. Trees rustled. Thunder grumbled, a little closer this time.

Christy forced a grim smile. It suddenly occurred to her that when Clara had asked what she was afraid of, maybe Christy had left something out. Perhaps she should have added hiking alone through a dark, rainy forest, full of unfamiliar, creepy noises.

Christy picked up her pace. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in a forest during a lightning storm.

Suddenly, her shoe caught on a tree root. Christy tripped, crying out in surprise. She landed on her knees in a puddle.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “My skirt!”

As she struggled to get up, she heard footsteps nearing. They were coming from the direction of Boggin Mountain.

“Who's there?” Christy called. Her voice was just a thin whisper in the vast forest.

No answer. Nothing.

Still, Christy was certain she could feel the presence of another living thing close at hand.

Her breath caught in her throat. She could hear someone else—or something—breathing low and steadily.

It was watching her, whatever it was that was hidden in the dark, endless forest.

Christy didn't move. She seemed to have forgotten how to move. She peered into the shadows. A branch cracked to her right.

She looked, and then she saw it.

It was hideous. Monstrous. Its eyes glowed like an animal of the night.

It was the Boggin.

Nine

S
omebody screamed.

A moment later, Christy realized it was her own voice echoing through the trees.

Then, as quickly as he'd appeared, the awful creature vanished into the dense forest.

Christy rubbed her eyes. Had she imagined him? Was she going crazy?

The creature she'd seen had been camouflaged by leaves and mist and trees. Christy
thought
she'd seen a man's face, buried in a mane of long, white hair. She
thought
she'd seen eyes, shining like tiny white moons. She
thought
she'd glimpsed a figure taller than any man she'd ever met.

She
thought
she'd seen it. But had she, really?

She tried in vain to brush the mud off her skirt. She peered into the woods one more time.

Nothing.

Just as she'd convinced herself she was a victim of her own imagination, Christy heard more footsteps.

But this time, she knew she wasn't
imagining things.

“Clara! John!” Christy cried. “What a surprise! Am I glad to see you!”

“Miz Christy!” John called. He rushed to her side, with Clara close on his heels. “We thought we heard someone screamin'. Was that you?”

“I saw . . . I mean, I thought I saw . . .”

Christy hesitated. After all her talk about the Boggin being a silly superstition, what could she say?
I saw the Boggin?

“You look like you seen a ghost, Miz Christy,” Clara said, taking her hand. “You sure you're all right?”

“I tripped and fell. Then something startled me,” Christy said. She could feel her cheeks burning. “I suppose it was just an animal, watching me from the trees. But still, it did unnerve me for a moment.”

“Was it the Boggin?” Clara whispered. She cast a nervous glance at John.

“I'm not sure what it was,” Christy said.

“This thing, whatever it was . . . it didn't try to hurt you, did it?” John asked gravely.

“No. It just seemed to be watching me. When I screamed, it vanished.” Christy tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “Chances are it was just some poor, wild animal. I probably scared him a whole lot more than he scared me. I'm sure he didn't mean me any harm.”

Clara stared off into the woods. “I hope so, Miz Christy,” she said softly. “I truly do.”

The next day after church, Christy retrieved her diary and pen and went outside. The day was overcast, but at least the rain had stopped for a time. All of the congregation had headed for home by now, and the mission yard was empty and still. David was in his bunkhouse, Miss Alice was in her cabin, and Ruby Mae and Miss Ida were in the main house. Christy had the yard to herself.

She went to the chair swing under an old oak by the school. David had installed it a few weeks ago. He'd looped two long ropes over a thick branch, then attached the comfortable wooden swing.

Swinging gently back and forth, Christy opened her diary. It was so peaceful here, so calm. Her panic in the woods yesterday seemed silly now. And yet the experience had disturbed her more than she liked to admit.

Christy paused to gaze at Boggin Mountain, a silent, looming presence on the horizon. Slowly, she began to write:

I haven't told anyone here at the mission about my experience yesterday in the woods.

I suppose I'm embarrassed to admit how afraid I was. Or maybe I'm embarrassed to admit how quickly I assumed that the Boggin—something I'd dismissed as a figment of Cutter Gap imaginations—was real.

Today, during his sermon, David talked a little about fear—about how, with God's love, we can overcome it. One verse in particular has stayed with me since this morning: “Perfect love casteth out fear.”

I know that he was directing his words to the people of Cutter Gap. I know he was trying to convince them not to let their own fears and superstitions overpower them.

But as I listened, I felt as if he were talking right to me. I, too, fear the unknown. I fear what I can't understand. I fear that I won't be as strong as I want to be—as strong as God needs me to be to do His work.

And now, as ridiculous as it sounds, I have a new fear to add to my list.

As much as I hate to admit it, I'm even afraid of a creature lurking in the mountains I've come to love so much. The creature everyone insists on calling “the Boggin.”

Ironic, isn't it?

Christy closed her diary. She smiled at the mountain she'd begun to fear.

She was going to have to go back, of course, just to prove to herself that the Boggin was nothing more than a superstition. It was an illusion—a trick of the eyesight and nothing more.

Ten

B
oggin or no Boggin, it looks like you're making some progress,” Christy said to David.

A few days had passed. David and his small group of volunteers had begun making telephone poles, cutting down trees, then stripping and smoothing them down. It was dirty, difficult, sweaty work. But slowly and steadily, they were making strides.

Most of the work was taking place in a clearing, not far from the base of Boggin Mountain. Christy had come to the site after school to deliver sandwiches Miss Ida had prepared for the men. At the last minute, Ruby Mae had decided to come along.

The truth was, Christy was glad for the company. It was the first time she'd been back to the area since her scare last Saturday. But just as she had promised herself, she
had
returned. Surrounded by the sweet scent of wildflowers and the merry discussions of warblers and tanagers, it was hard to believe she'd ever been so afraid.

“We've got a lot of the poles done, at least,” David said. He paused to wipe his brow. “Today we've got seven men. Yesterday, we had three.”

“Of course,” Christy pointed out, “this is the first day it hasn't rained in a while.”

“True. If the weather holds, I guess there's some hope we'll get this telephone of yours working before I'm old and gray.”

“What's this I see?” Doctor MacNeill strode up, an axe slung over his shoulder. “Refreshments?”

“Miss Ida made sandwiches,” Christy said.

“I helped a little,” Ruby Mae chimed in.

Christy grinned. “Eating one of them
doesn't really count, Ruby Mae.”

“Doctor, any sign of . . .” Ruby Mae lowered her voice, “you know who?”

“No you-know-whats, no you-know-whos, no nothing.” The doctor winked at Christy. “Sorry to disappoint you, Ruby Mae.”

“Oh, I ain't the least bit disappointed!” Ruby Mae exclaimed. She shook her finger at him. “And I'm bettin' you wouldn't be actin' so sassy if'n you'd seen the Boggin for your own self, like some have.” She gazed around the little clearing. “You ain't seen Clara Spencer, have you? I coulda sworn I caught a glimpse o' her on our way over here.”

“No Clara sightings, either,” the doctor said.

“I'm goin' to take a look around. You keep a sharp eye out for you-know-who.”

“Clara or the Boggin?” the doctor asked, but Ruby Mae was already halfway across the clearing.

“You shouldn't tease her so, Neil,” Christy said. “She really is frightened. And who knows?” She paused. “Maybe there's more to this Boggin thing than we realize.”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like Christy's been bitten by the Boggin bug,” said the doctor. “It's turning into an epidemic.”

Christy looked away. “I'm just saying we should respect people's fears.”

“No,” David said firmly. “We should help them fight their fears. After all, if Lundy Taylor can do it, anyone can.”

“Lundy's here?” Christy exclaimed.

“Two of your students just got here.” David pointed to two figures at
the far edge of the clearing. Sure enough, Lundy Taylor and Wraight Holt were sawing away at a tall pine.

“Amazing,” Christy said. “Especially after his run-in with the Boggin . . . or what he thought was the Boggin.”

“He said he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of anything,” David explained.

Christy smiled sympathetically. It was the same reason, she realized, that she was here.

“Perhaps your lesson on telephone etiquette inspired him,” Doctor MacNeill suggested.

“I doubt—” Christy stopped in mid sentence.

Something was flying through the air at high speed toward the middle of the clearing.

“What on earth is that?” David cried.

“Well, it's not a bird, that much is for sure,” said the doctor.

“It's a bag,” Christy said. “A burlap sack!”

The sack landed with a soft plop. It was loosely tied at the top with an old rope, leaving a small opening.

“It came from over yonder,” said Jeb. He pointed toward a stand of trees at the edge of the clearing.