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

with.”
    â€œCharacters? You mean some of the children I’ll be teaching?”
    â€œActually, I was referring to the adults there.” The doctor chuckled. “There’s David Grantland, the new minister. His sister, Ida, is as crotchety as they come. And then there’s Miss Alice, of course.” He shook his head. “Now that’s one interesting woman. Tough as can be.”
    â€œYou didn’t say anything about Mr. Grantland,” Christy pointed out.
    â€œDidn’t I?” the doctor said, a glimmer in his eye. “David’s a good man. Just new to these parts and still learning. He’s more than a little stubborn. In any case, I have a hunch you’ll manage just fine.”
    â€œI hope you’re right.” Christy touched Bob Allen’s fingers with her own. “He’ll be all right?”
    â€œHe’s not out of the woods yet. The next few hours will tell the tale.”
    â€œI feel . . . so responsible. It’s my fault he’s here.”
    â€œNonsense,” the doctor said. “Don’t you go worrying about things like that. You’ll have plenty to keep you busy without taking responsibility for falling trees.”
    Christy turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Will I see you again?” She saw his smile and quickly changed her words.
    â€œI mean, how will I know if Mr. Allen is all right?”
    â€œOh, you’ll hear soon enough,” said Dr. MacNeill. “Word travels fast.”
    Christy was halfway out the door when he added, “And yes.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œYes, we’ll see each other again. I’ve no doubt of that.” He gave a fleeting smile, then turned all his attention back to his patient.
    Christy found Mr. Pentland waiting outside. She said goodbye to the Spencers, then fell into step behind the mailman. She’d had all the walking she wanted for one day—for one month, come to think of it—but she had no choice but to follow him and hope that when he said “not far” he really meant it.
    As they headed from the cabin, she could hear Mr. Spencer begin to sing again. It was such a sad melody, the kind of song that seemed to belong here in this lonely and forbidding place.
    They walked in silence. It was just as well, since Christy was far too tired for conversation. Questions swirled around in her head like the snowflakes blown loose from the tall trees swaying overhead.
    She didn’t believe in omens. She wasn’t the least bit superstitious (although she had been known to avoid walking under ladders). But she couldn’t help wondering if Mr. Allen’s accident was some sort of signpost, trying to tell her she had made a mistake, pointing her back to the world where she belonged.
    â€œNot much farther now,” Mr. Pentland called back to her.
    â€œWe’ve just got the bridge to cross, and then the mission is right over the next ridge.”
    â€œBridge?” Christy asked. Her throat tightened as she remembered waking up from her terrible dream that morning at Mrs. Tatum’s— had it just been this morning?
    Christy quickened her pace. “This bridge . . . is it a big one?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
    Mr. Pentland considered. “Not too big. Big enough, I s’pose. Gets real slippery-like, when it ices up.” He glanced at Christy’s face. “Don’t worry none, though.”
    They trudged along the snowy trail for two hundred more yards. The sound of rushing water met Christy’s ears. Around a bend, the swirling waters of a half-frozen creek came into view. A creek, Mr. Pentland had called it, but it moved, even choked with ice, with the speed of a raging river.
    Christy’s gaze moved upward. Then she saw it. “ That . . . that’s the bridge?”
    â€œYep.”
    But it was not a bridge at all, just two huge, uneven logs with a few thin boards nailed across here and there.