My Heart Belongs in the Blue Ridge, page 2
Dismissed as too broken to even defend his country.
Jonathan shook off the melancholy and made quick use of the hot ashes to scramble an egg, drawing his wool blanket around his shoulders as he cooked. His uncle had written to him that the house hadn’t been occupied for a few years, since the female teachers usually boarded at Mrs. Cappy’s. The memory of Jonathan’s four-poster bed in his family’s electric-heated London town house taunted every aching bone in his body.
Perchance he’d gone to exaggerated lengths for an opportunity to prove he wasn’t the useless invalid his father thought, but his uncle’s faith in him to teach in the rural Blue Ridge Mountains had dangled hope.
Hope that Jonathan could offer service in a world where “whole” men proved themselves in battle and broken men carved their purpose by other means—even those that pitched them into a foreign world, in the middle of the wilderness, with an absentee uncle.
His younger brother had called him mad when Jonathan shared his plans.
His mother had wept for him as if his death was imminent, before accepting her son’s fate.
He could imagine his elder brother’s skeptic reaction all the way from the front lines of war-torn Europe.
His sister, in all her youthfulness, had laughed and asked him to write letters of his many adventures.
But his father, stoic and distant as always, bore a silent verdict Jonathan felt to his core. Failure.
Despite the optimism lacing his uncle’s letters, Jonathan felt another failure creep over his skin like the chill in the air. He didn’t belong here, did he?
With stiff movements, he retrieved his bags and stepped onto the front porch of the house, breathing in the pine-laced air. Birdsong brightened his mood and drew him further onto the porch, without much shift in the temperature.
He cast a look down the hill. Through a light veil of trees, Mrs. Cappy’s two-story white clapboard store stood, an odd structure in the middle of these woods. Another cabin or two scattered along the road in what appeared to be a random toss of wood or stone, making up the town center, if such a place could even be referred to as a town. Was one of those homes his uncle’s? Where was his uncle?
His gaze traveled back to Mrs. Cappy’s store, settling on the second floor where the boarders stayed…one of them Miss Danette Simms.
Within two minutes of their meeting last evening, with Jonathan at gunpoint, he understood two terrifying things about the buxom brunette. One, she was in search of romance, and two, she’d chosen Jonathan as her prey. Thankfully, this younger-grades teacher hinted at her whereabouts by the strong scent of her lilac perfume and the unnerving high pitch of her laughter.
A steeple rose up the hillside away from the store, drawing him toward the place of his new occupation.
The whitewashed schoolhouse stood on a small grassy knoll, and as Jonathan crested the hill, morning dew misting his face, the forest fell away to reveal an endless horizon.
Stretching as far as the eye could see, layer upon layer of misty blue mountains extended into a golden splash of orange-hued sunrise. He pressed his palm to a nearby oak, the magnificence of the scene grasping at his breath. After a night of staring in the darkness at a broken ceiling and cracked floor, this view upended his perspective…or perhaps set it straight. God was here too. In the sunrise, the morning mist, even the mission house.
And God had brought Jonathan to this very place.
He stood a few moments, bathing in the revelation with some internal thanksgiving, and reminding himself that God knew what He was doing, despite Jonathan’s current misgivings. With purpose in his stride, he finished his walk to the schoolhouse, taking in the subtle changes of the waxing sunrise as the orange swelled and spilled over the horizon like molten gold. Warmth covered his chilled skin with a fresh wave of energy and he took the school steps two at a time, breathing in the scent of fresh pine and woodfire.
A simple entry greeted him with a whitewashed wall and two doors. The room to the right carried the faint hint of gardenias and featured a large chalkboard with the alphabet on display at the front of the room. Miss Simms’s room.
He reflexively shuddered and turned to the room on the left. Small, but clean. The pine floors led up to a large wooden desk with a chalkboard taking up space on the wall behind it. Desks stood on either side of the aisle, and three large windows covered the left wall, revealing more of the breathtaking mountain range.
His shoes clipped against the floor as sunrays beamed through the windows lighting his way to the front of the room. Jonathan placed his bag on the desk, claiming his position among the stack of red primers, and uncertain wilderness.
Were those the only tools he had? A set of primers and a chalkboard?
He studied the barren-walled room, his attention settling on an alcove in the back wall where three tall bookshelves waited, filled to almost overflowing. Books! He approached the shelves, his grin peaking as if someone had thrown him a lifeline. This small mountain school had an impressive collection of classics as well as fiction published as recently as 1915. He uncovered a few encyclopedias and geography books, two texts on vegetation of the United States, and even one flower book with color pictures. He pored over the choices, his thoughts rushing into how to use these small treasures in his lessons. Some teacher before him had left a precious gift for these people. Did they realize the cost? The wealth of information behind each page? Did they even read?
Jonathan set to work, making two lists—one of his current supplies and another of items he needed. Later in the morning, when his three large trunks arrived from the depot, much to the complaints of Mr. Mundy, a man he’d hired for the job, Jonathan began adding some color to the barren walls and shelves of the schoolhouse. A globe. A framed bug collection. A massive map of North Carolina that he’d purchased when he’d passed through the last town. He placed a few of his personal favorite books on a shelf near his desk and finished his unpacking with a blown-glass apple paperweight his mother had bought for him as a going-away gift.
With each hand-chosen addition to the room, Jonathan accepted his new position, pushing the doubts away. He worked the entire day, ignoring the occasional pangs in his weak leg incited by the long walk from the day before and his refusal to sit down for very long. He couldn’t allow his weaknesses to impact this opportunity.
But it was no use. The weariness from his long travel and lack of sleep finally weakened him to his desk and he collapsed, pressing his face into his hands with a groan. Dear Lord, please give me strength to help make a difference.
A resounding thud from across the room woke him from an unexpected but much-needed rest. A girl, probably no more than fifteen, stood in the doorway, afternoon sunlight framing her silhouette. Jonathan blinked his bleary eyes. Had God answered his unvoiced prayer for help with an angel straight from heaven?
She stepped forward, closer. No, her simple green dress and freckled face suggested an earthlier abode than the twinkle in her eyes attempted to contradict. An angel? Ridiculous.
The stranger’s expression held none of the suspicion he’d experienced yesterday from the women in Mrs. Cappy’s store. She approached, confidence in each step and a welcome smile drawing him in, as if they’d already been acquainted and she stopped in for a friendly visit.
How unusual.
He stood so abruptly his chair tipped backward and slammed against the floor, sending a slight cloud of dust dancing into the sunbeams between them.
“You’re a might bit skittish, ain’tcha?”
“Excuse me.” He turned to set the chair upright, making a fumbling mess of it. “May I help you?”
Her gaze roamed before she whistled low. “Mmhmm, somebody’s been sprucin’ up this place for sure.” She stepped to the side and glided an appreciative hand over the globe. “What a wonder!”
“The world is a fascinating place.”
Her gaze flipped to his, direct, almost unnervingly so, and then looked back at the globe. “Well, I ain’t seen a whole lot of it, but I sure like visiting through books.”
“One of the best ways to travel.”
She looked back up at him, her face lighting with another smile that nearly unfurled his own.
“Sure is.” She studied him in silence, fidgeting with the end of her golden braid. “Would you happen to know where I can find the new schoolteacher?”
He took a step forward, keeping his gait as steady as possible. Her attention flitted to his uneven step and then back to his face. He hated the recognition of his weakness.
“I’m the new teacher.” He closed the gap between them and held out his hand, drawing her focus away from his leg. “Jonathan Taylor.”
She tilted her head ever so slightly, golden brow angled high and pale blue eyes reexamining him from shoe to head. Maybe she wasn’t as young as he’d thought. Those eyes held more years than her face.
“You’re the new teacher?” She peeked around his shoulder and scanned the room, then turned her gaze back to him with a crooked grin attached. “Are you joshin’ me?”
“I assure you, miss, I’m the new upper-grades schoolteacher.”
She took his hand and shook it with the firmness of a man. “Ain’t you a bit young for a city schoolteacher?”
His brows rose as he stepped back, her directness throwing him off his guard once again. Did all the mountain folks speak with such candor? “I’m old enough to have a degree in education as well as having completed some training in medicine.” And medic training until they dismissed him when they uncovered the limitations in his mobility.
“A degree?” Those pale eyes sparkled afresh. “How many years is that in school?”
“I completed mine in four years, and am well qualified despite my age to teach chil—”
“Four years?” she murmured to herself. “Ain’t too long, is it?” She glanced back up at him and shook her head as if to console him. “Now Mr. Taylor, don’t get your back up. Round here our teacher history has been a mix of young women and old men. That’s all.” Her crooked grin resurrected, along with another appraisal of his person. “I reckon you’ll cause a stir for sure with your good looks and all.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond to her comment, even if he’d wanted to. Her smile faded and concern creased her brow. “Did you sleep in that ol’ mission house last night?”
He was still trying to come up with a rebuttal to her “good looks” comment and only managed a nod.
“Shucks, it’s a good thing the coons didn’t join you for the night. From the size of them holes in the walls, they could’ve crawled right in your bed.”
Jonathan’s stomach dropped. Perfect. Her comment assured him of another sleepless night. “What grade are you in, Miss…?”
“Laurel McAdams, and no sir, I ain’t…pardon me, I’m not one of your students. I graduated last spring, but I’ve offered to help Miss Simms with tutorin’ some of the young’uns when I have a chance. She pays a nickel a week.”
“You’ve graduated?”
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? I’m thinkin’ you’re older and you thinkin’ I’m younger. You can’t blame me, though. The last male teacher who came from the big city wasn’t near as green as you.” She leaned forward, adding a whisper to the conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “In fact, some of us thought he came over on the Mayflower.”
He couldn’t hide his grin this time, and a feeling as warm as the sunlight through the windows pressed against his chest. He hadn’t expected the mountain people to be charming. Rude, ignorant, filthy, poor, maybe even dangerous, but charming? She stared up at him, offering raw friendliness.
“Kindness is always a right choice.” His mother’s phrase peeled through his fuzzy thoughts and attached to Laurel McAdams like a missing puzzle piece.
“Do you have plans beyond graduation, Miss McAdams?”
“Laurel.” She corrected and then looked out the window with a shrug. “My plans right now are to invite you up to my home for supper and a better place to sleep. Mama sent me straightaway. She said your uncle’s gone over the mountain to hold service for a dear saint who died in the night, and Mama figured you could do with a hot meal too.”
“That’s very kind of your mother.” He paused to consider what supper might consist of at her home, or what sort of environment awaited him, but then the unnatural trill of high-pitched laughter drifted from outside.
“Yoo-hoo! Mr. Taylor. Are you in that schoolhouse all alone?”
Jonathan met Laurel’s wide-eyed expression with one of his own and quickly snatched up his jacket from the desk chair. “I’d be happy to come.”
“Mr. Taylor?” Danette Simms’s voice called from the other side of the school.
He lifted his hat from the rack by the back door and gestured toward the exit. “Let’s hurry, shall we? I’d hate to keep your mother waiting.”
Laurel’s periwinkle gaze filled with mischief enough to sparkle. “How ’bout we take the back way up the mountain to avoid any…um…unwanted company?”
He almost ran to keep up with her pace, his leg hitching his steps. “Brilliant notion. Lead the way.”
“She get her hooks in you already?”
Jonathan pushed a hand through his hair before smashing his hat down on top of his head. “It’s safe to say I’ve been sufficiently introduced to Miss Danette Simms.”
“I don’t blame you for bein’ scared of her. She’s a whole lot worse than a hungry bear in March. I ain’t never seen a woman hankerin’ for a husband so bad.” She shook her head and chuckled, a sound as at home along the path as the cool breeze.
He liked the sound. Gentle. Genuine. It inspired some sort of peaceful response in his chest. Somehow having an ally in this desolate place didn’t make it seem quite as lonely, especially with his uncle’s absence. Laurel McAdams was certainly an unexpected ally, though. Her shock of golden waves danced in the breeze like the leaves across the autumn ground, and though her grammar was questionable at best, she held herself with more kind confidence—a natural assurance—than most women he’d met in his parents’ social circles.
They walked in silence for a while, birdsong and rustling leaves their only companions. The path took a narrow and steep twist up the mountainside. His leg gave its gentle protests as the trail became more rigorous, but he pushed forward, refusing to comply to its complaints.
Afternoon glow faded by slow degrees, lengthening the trees’ shadows across their way and causing the forest to close in around him. Laurel didn’t seem to notice.
What did people do this far from the world? The silence itched at his comfort. “What does your father do?”
Laurel kept her eyes forward. “He works at a furniture shop in town.”
“Town?”
“Yeah, I reckon you’re wonderin’ where a town might be. Ain’t nothin’ but trees and sky around here, is there?” She grinned. “Wilkesboro is ’bout an hour east of here. He works there.”
“He travels there every day?”
Laurel’s brow furrowed in confusion and she came to a stop in the path, head tilted. “He goes where the work is. Can’t be too picky when there are mouths to feed.”
Jonathan surveyed the winding trail as it disappeared farther up into the mountain forest. “And how many mouths?”
“I got you scared now, don’t I?” She smiled and resumed her walk. “Well, I ain’t sayin’ you shouldn’t be a little scared. We got a whole passel of crazy young’uns in my house, the twins bein’ the biggest handful, but they ain’t got all their teeth yet, so I reckon you’re safe.”
His laugh burst out before he could catch it. “That’s a relief. I’d wondered how to manage the natives but had no idea they’d come with teeth bared.”
It was her turn to laugh, a light, airy introduction into the fading light. “Well, there’s some who might, and that’s the truth. Our family’s a bit different than other folks in the mountains on account of Mama’s daddy running the campground for folks traveling through from Wilkesboro over the mountain. Strangers would stop in and sit a spell to tell their stories, so she grew accustomed to welcomin’ folks with curiosity. That ain’t…isn’t true for some round here.”
Her admission matched his uncle’s letters, which was probably the reason Laurel’s ready friendliness surprised him so much. When his uncle had arrived in the Blue Ridge years ago, it had taken him months to even make it into someone’s home, let alone earn their trust.
“And as far as mouths to feed, let me see…” Laurel tilted her head to the side in thought. “There’s Daddy and Mama of course, and then nine.” She hesitated, smile fading for a second. “I mean the eight of us young’uns, but two don’t live at home no more. My older sister’s married and expectin’ her first baby come December. And my brother’s off fightin’ in the war, so there’s really only six young’uns at home.”
Only six? He watched her profile as they walked. “My brothers are fighting in the war too.”
Understanding lit her eyes. A comradery. “France is a long way off, but so is England.”
A question slid in between her words.
“No place is too far to bring the gift of education.”
She took his answer with a nod. “And there’s all types of education, ain’t…isn’t there?”
He turned to reply, but the view up ahead stilled his movements. Sunrise had been beautiful, but the benediction of the day, purplish-blue hues spliced with fading amber, stole his breath. A sea of mountains reached to touch the tawny sky, the peaks veiled in intermittent clouds in an unearthly and mesmerizing beauty.
“It’s pretty, ai…isn’t it?”
Laurel’s attempts to correct her speech somehow made her more endearing, and in this quietness, cloaked in sunset, Jonathan felt more comfortable in a woman’s presence than he ever had. Perhaps it was her easy friendliness or her simple charm, but as he stared over at her, her skin alight with the golden hues from the horizon, a curious sensation tightened his chest.
