The children, again, noticed how distracted I was. In fact, I let them go fifteen minutes early. I did not think I could maintain my composure much longer. Once more, a confrontation with the doctor had left me angry and confused and hurt. I hated how the doctor could do this to me. Before, I had thought it was kind of amusing. Now that I felt he did not care about me as he had said, I found everything about him far less charming.
I tossed myself in my chair after the last pupil had gone. I was angry and incredibly hurt. I had risked my heart by saying that I loved him. But if he loved me then he would not be so unaffected by my presence. I had been extremely frazzled by his sudden appearance. But Neil had been as he always had been. Smooth and undaunted, untouched by emotion.
Reassured that I had made the right decision involving Neil MacNeill, I set to work on planning.
"Are you angry with me, Christy?"
I chastised myself for the leap of my heart at hearing Neil's voice. I was angry at him but I still loved him. I would always love him. For a moment, I felt sorrow that I was doomed to a piece of my heart always belonging to him.
My mild wrath and not-so-mild pain took over as I looked up to meet his eyes again. "What makes you think that, Dr. MacNeill?" I asked. I had purposely used his formal name. I was trying to put up the professional wall between us again. I did not want to be hurt further by this Scot.
"I told you before, Christy, these eyes are trained to see everything," Neil said, coming forward. "But I didn't have to look hard to see you are angry with me." I did not answer but continued looking--rather dumbly, I suppose--at him. He stopped at the front of my desk. The wood piece of furniture was the only thing between us now. "And your eyes reveal everything, Christy."
"Doctor, there is a first for everything, as I said before." His eyebrows raised slightly so I had to fight with myself to not find that cute. "Excuse me but I have work to do."
I looked down again and reached for a paper to grade. I had asked the students to write an essay, as I had last year, about what they wanted to do with their lives. I graded on grammar and spelling but put each of these away for later reference. I needed to know what they wanted to do after their scholastic career ended.
Of course, the doctor was distracting me so much that I could not really concentrate on anything that was said in the essay that I held. The words were a blur. I was acutely conscious of him. His physical presence made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on anything but him.
"Christy."
"I have work to do," I repeated, beginning to read Orter Ball O'Teale's essay.
"So you are not angry with me?"
"I didn't say that."
"Christy, please speak plainly to me," Neil said.
I looked up at him, drowning in his eyes. I was not ready to try and work out our relationship. Not right now. I was too hurt and too angry. "I have work to do, Doctor."
A moment later, I heard his horse leave. I wanted to cry.
I watched Miss Alice as we ate supper several evenings later. There had been a light in her serene eyes which I had never seen before. Margaret had that same light. I was happy for them. Truly, I was. It was obvious that years of separation and years of conflict before that was rapidly being resolved. Who could be credited but God? He had gently begun taking the anger from Margaret's heart, that much was clear to me.
Yet, in a bizarre twist I was a little jealous. My own mother and I had gingerly stepped on eggshells around each other for the past several years of my life. I suppose I had sort of adopted Miss Alice as my surrogate mother. It seemed she had turned around and done vice versa with me. Hers was the maternal care that I had probably needed to get through my first few months in Cutter Gap.
Now she had her real daughter back and I felt a little on the outside. I would not think of myself, though. No. What was important was that Margaret and Miss Alice had been reconciled through the wondrous grace of God. And I was happy about it. I honestly was.
After the dishes, Miss Alice came and found me on the front porch. It seemed that, once more, she knew exactly what I was thinking. She revealed her perception to me with the familiar, subtle phrase she used as a conversation opener.
"Thee seemed preoccupied at supper tonight, Miss Huddleston," Miss Alice said gently. I knew from the moment I met her that I would always remember that gentle voice when I was feeling troubled--like the soft smell of rose sachet gave me a mild sense of nostalgia. There were some things in my life that reminded me of people or events. Miss Alice's voice would remind me of the great comfort I had always gotten out of our talks. Or perhaps even our silences.
I turned to Miss Alice with a smile. The night was cooler than normal. I could tell that winter was on its way. "I was thinking," I told her what she already knew. "About you, in fact. And Margaret." I studied her eyes and saw the same light. "How there is a light in your eyes I have never seen before. The same light I see in Margaret's eyes." Miss Alice seemed a little surprised that I had noticed something so minute. "I'm happy for you, Miss Alice. And for Margaret. It seems that this relationship with Margaret is always what you wanted. I'm glad you are finally getting it."
"Yes," Miss Alice agreed quietly; thoughtfully. "Praise be to God. He works miracles. He gave me a second chance with my daughter." Miss Alice lightly touched her open palm to my chilled cheek. "And He gave me thee, Christy."
Her smile was soft. She had known that I had felt a bit left out. How she had known, I was not sure I would ever know. Miss Alice was naturally observant, I suppose. All at once, I felt an overwhelming compassion for this wise, caring woman. She had devoted her life to other people, yet remained kind and loving. She had taken a scared nineteen year old girl under her wing and turned that girl into who I now knew myself to be--a stronger, wiser, more considerate young woman. She had helped me in my walk with God and my struggling faith. She had been there for me even when I did not request her appearance.
Without a doubt, I knew I loved her dearly. She was a precious woman, one who's memory I would always cherish. I smiled, my eyes jerking with tears which threatened to spill over my eyes and onto my cheeks. "I love you, Miss Alice," I said.
The Quaker lady did not hesitate to embrace me. I readily accepted her hug. "I love thee as well, Miss Huddleston."