Christy woke up and soughed. She looked out the window, still in a sleepy fog, then smiled. She *smiled*. She remembered reading the Bible for three hours the night before. It gave her peace. She had slept through the night without waking up for the first time in weeks. Ever since Margaret came. She was the main source of her stress. Christy had to acknowledge the source of her stress.
She knew she had to confront her, too.
Christy was in good cheer, though. Her faith had been renewed. Scripture after scripture jumped out at her, dimpling her cheeks or moistening her eyes. But the tears were not of anguish. They were of joy, of absolution. Christy finally understood herself. She understood her problem. The MacNeills. While it sorrowed her at the same time, at least she knew. Christy supposed that she always knew, just never wanted to acknowledge it.
Christy dressed, humming to herself. The sun was brightly shining. Christy was glad of that. It made it easier to be in such a wonderful mood. She went downstairs to see everyone eating breakfast. They all turned to her and the attention did not bother her this morning.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully.
Every eyebrow raised in curiosity. Christy leaned over George and picked up a plain bagel, kissing her brother's cheek. Miss Alice and William Huddleston managed to return her greeting. Christy kissed her father's cheek then picked up her shawl. "I'm going out," Christy said. "Bye."
David watched Christy, surprised. She had been so melancholy lately. He heard the front door shut down the hall. He wondered what put her in such a good mood. He looked at George, who was just as perplexed. David and George had become buddies. They found baseball an easy topic to talk about for hours. George, in truth, had not expected the reverend at the mission to be so young, nor so knowledgeable about, what he thought to be, the best thing to happen to the world. Baseball.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Christy walked down the street and peered in a shop window, the image inside fuzzed by her own reflection. She was nervous about seeing Margaret soon but she knew it was what she had to do. Miss Alice's heart was breaking, Christy could tell, and she had to make peace between her mentor and her daughter. She had told Margaret to fight for her husband. And she had. Christy should be happy, she knew. But she was not, which made her feel bad.
Christy looked up at the hospital. She held mountain laurel in her hand and could feel the anxiety building up in her. Christy went inside the hospital then went up to where she knew Margaret to be. She remembered the room she had stood outside and went there. Glancing at the chart, she saw it had Margaret's name on it. So it had been Neil who shut the door. Christy had already known that, though.
Christy rapped on the partially opened door then entered at Margaret's quiet bidding. Margaret looked at her and stiffened visibly. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
Christy was not encouraged by this. But she drew strength from a powerful Source and walked to Margaret's side. Margaret pulled herself up to a sitting position, not wanting to look pitiful to the young teacher. "I thought I'd come see how you were," Christy said quietly. She held up the small bouquet then set it on the night stand when Margaret made no move to accept it. "Miss Alice told me that you used to visit Laurel Mountain in Pennsylvania when you were a girl. She said you picked these flowers so I thought....." Christy felt extremely awkward.
"Why are you here?" Margaret asked, looking over 'Pollyanna' warily. She had no idea what Miss Huddleston would want there. To gloat, maybe.
"I should have come earlier," replied Christy.
"I know you live here," Margaret said, reaching for her cigarette pack. She realized Mac had taken it from her while she was sleeping the night before and snapped her fingers in frustration. Sometimes, he was overbearing and too much to tolerate.
"I did," Christy agreed. "I'm just here for a while."
"Pretty big coincidence Mac came to Asheville, don't you think, Pollyanna?" Margaret asked sarcastically.
Christy looked at her. "I came to see how you're doing," she said. "I don't want to fight with you. Your mother--"
"My *mother* disowned me," Margaret interrupted. "Didn't know that, did you? You can tell her to not send her little messengers."
"She doesn't know I'm here," Christy informed her. "You're hurting her. Don't you care about that?"
"Nothing she hasn't done to me," Margaret said nonchalantly.
"She loves you," Christy said.
"She tell you to tell me that?"
"I told you, she doesn't know I'm here," Christy said. "Why are you doing this to her?"
"To her?" Margaret repeated in surprise. "Let me tell you something, Pollyanna. That woman, my mother, left me when I was younger than your students just to take care of herself."
"And what have you been doing for the past ten years?" Christy asked her quietly.
"I didn't abandon my child," Margaret snapped.
"No, your husband and your mother," Christy corrected. "And at least she was honest with you."
Margaret looked at her. "I thought you said you didn't come to fight with me."
Christy sucked in an inaudible breath, remembering her resolution. "You're right," said the teacher. "I'm sorry."
Margaret had not expected her to apologize so quickly and nodded slowly, suspicious of her still. "Forget it."
Christy looked behind her, seeing a wooden chair in the corner. She turned back to Margaret. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
She gestured loosely to the chair. Christy slightly smiled then crossed the small room to pick up the chair and bring it over to the woman on the bed. She sat down and offered a small smile.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Margaret hugged the blankets to herself after 'Pollyanna' left. No, not Pollyanna, she decided. Christy, she had said to call her. Margaret knew what an effort it had taken for the teacher to come and try to befriend her. Margaret had even smiled several times, seeing the genuine caring and compassion in the younger woman's blue eyes. Margaret was seeing the young woman Mac did, the ambitious, somewhat spunky teacher who was fragile at times but strong and stubborn when she needed to be.
Margaret had even listened to Christy tell her about how she had first accepted Christ. Margaret had heard such stories many times but Christy made it sound like it was real, like it was useful. Not just denial. Margaret had just spent three hours with her, not wanting her to leave but Christy saying she should since her family would be worried, wondering where she was.
Margaret knew Christy was hurting. Even though she had been so friendly, so nice, Margaret still could not bring herself to tell Christy the reason why Asheville had been the specific place they came. It was where they had married, where the judge had married them. They needed the judge for the divorce. Margaret had even asked Christy to come back the next day. Christy had softly smiled and nodded. There was nothing triumphant about the smile, nothing to indicate Christy felt like she had overpowered Margaret by making her ask for her company again. It was more like a kind smile. And not a patronizing smile, either.
Margaret rolled on her side, remembered her lungs, then rolled on her back again. Christy confused her. Something about her was almost too good to be true. She seemed to at peace with herself. It amazed her.
Margaret wanted that.