As soon as Lucy returned to the town of Morehead today, she would have to explain to Cora that she simply couldn’t do this job. She faintly wondered if there was a train running back to Lexington tonight or if she’d need to wait until tomorrow.
The pony tripped, caught itself, stopped, until Finley James yelled at it to keep going, and thankfully, it started to move again.
This was too much. It was all too much. She wanted to collapse on her lumpy bed at Miss Maude’s boarding house and weep, but she could do no such thing. She had made a vow to herself to be brave in this new venture. But this? She hadn’t expected this.
What had ever possessed Father to agree to Cora’s request for Lucy to move to Morehead? And why hadn’t she been more forceful in her objections? Perhaps she hadn’t felt as if she had a place in Father and Hazel’s life, but at least she wasn’t in danger of tumbling right over a pony’s big ears and plunging to her death in a haunted creek!
Breathe, Lucy, breathe. In and out.
Now and then the pony would just stop short, but Finley James would make a clicking sound and urge it on. At long last they made it to the other side and Lucy thought she was safe. So wrong.
“Hang on tight,” Fin said. “We be going straight up this hill.”
“Wait! I’m going to slide right off the back of this beast.”
“Lift your bee-hind up and lean forward. But drop the reins a bit. Hold ’em loose so Jenny can stretch her neck.”
Lucy cringed, holding on to the saddle horn until her hands ached with tension. Hours passed, or possibly minutes, as they snaked up the steep hill. Finley James sat loose-limbed in the saddle, practically sashaying up the hill along with the horse. Lucy had been gripping the saddle with the inside of her knees so tightly that they burned from the constant rub. As they climbed higher and higher, plunging deeper and deeper into the woods, it grew dark. Tall trees crowded out the sun. Even the sound of the pony’s hooves was hushed, plodding on top of a carpet of pine needles. When the boy came to a level place where the path was wide enough that they could ride side by side, he reined his horse until Lucy caught up. He reached out to hold back a low-hanging branch so it didn’t hit her in the face.
“Finley James?”
“Call me Fin, Miss Lucy. I prefer it.”
“Yes, sorry. Fin, what kind of shrubs are these?”
“What. Them showy flowers? That’s red buckeye.”
She looked up. “What about that tree? The leaves look similar to the shrub.”
“Yellow buckeye. Pretty to look at but the wood ain’t no good. Too weak, real soft.There’s lots of trees up here.” He swung his arm, pointing at one tree, then another as he talked. “Birch and beech, sugar maples, lindens. And that one . . . that’s the loblolly pine. Best tree in the world. Finest lumber you’ll ever find. And the best turpentine from the pitch too. Them trees are wanted the world over.” He lifted his chin. “Hear that?” He pointed halfway up a pine tree. There was a persistent tap tap tap sound that Lucy followed until she saw a bird, about nine inches long, knocking its head against the tree. “That be a red-cockaded woodpecker. They peck little cavities in the loblollies for their nests. If you work in the timber, like my paw did, you shoot ’em.”
“Why?”
“Cuz they damage wood meant for lumber. But if you asked my opinion, I’d tolerate a few holes in the wood. I’m rather fond of ’em.”
“Your father works for the lumber company?”
A shadow passed over Fin’s face. “He passed on a while back. But Paw didn’t work for no one but hisself. Wouldn’t have it no other way.”
It took every effort for Lucy to not wince at his horrible grammar. Didn’t he pronounced as dint. Wouldn’t was pronounced as wooden. Fin didn’t speak again for a long while. Had she overstepped? She felt a bit concerned, wondering what she’d said that hit some kind of sore spot. From what her father had told her, the lumber companies in Morehead had tried to bring economic prosperity to this impoverished county. “Do you intend to work for the lumber company after you graduate from school?”
Fin gave her a sharp look. “I’d quit school now, if Maw would let me.” He fell quiet again, and Lucy sensed she shouldn’t ask more. She wanted to, though. She was grateful for his knowledge of the mountain. She couldn’t believe Cora thought she could handle this trip alone. Just what kind of a person did she think Lucy was? Because whatever it was, she wasn’t.
The trail forked off to a level area, though trees still surrounded them on all sides. And then, through the trees, there sat a little one-room schoolhouse with a bell tower topping its roof.
Fin stopped in front of it. “That’s Little Brushy School. That’s where I go, so long as the teacher ain’t ailin’ or moonin’ after the postman.”
“It looks new.” The simplicity, the beauty of the little roughly hewn building shone through.
“It shorely is. Old one burnt down. I built this one m’self.” He rocked his hand in the air. “Mighta had a little holp.”
A young girl wearing a large floppy calico sunbonnet came out of the schoolhouse carrying a bucket, and Lucy thought she heard Fin utter a mild profanity.
The girl’s face broke into a beaming smile when she saw Fin. “Hey there, Finley James.”
“Hey yourself, Angie.” He sounded much less enthusiastic than the girl.
Her smile dissolved as she sized up Lucy. She took in her face, then her eyes traveled slowly to her boots and lingered there. Lucy glanced down at the clothes she wore—traveling clothes. A well-tailored overcoat that covered a white shirtwaist, tucked into a charcoal-gray woolen split skirt borrowed from Cora. And her boots—something this young girl seemed particularly fascinated by—were new, a gift from Hazel and Father. She suddenly felt acutely aware of how finely dressed she was, and it almost shamed her. No wonder this barefoot country girl couldn’t stop staring at polished boots.
The girl seemed just as aware of her own plain appearance. With the palms of her hands, she tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her dirty pinafore. “Finley James, your horse wantin’ some o’ this here water?” She held up the bucket.
“Nope.”
“Did you come for your lessons? I could try and holp you with ’em. I noticed you made a dreadful mess of your ’rithmatic yesterday.”
He scowled. “Heck no.”
All this time, the girl continued to eye Lucy suspiciously. She was right on the cusp of leaving girlhood behind for good, with bright blue eyes, unruly blonde hair, and a turned-up nose. Not pretty, exactly. But she had presence. “Then,” she said, turning her gaze to Fin, “whatcha doing up here?”
“Angie Cooper, you keep your beak outta my business.”
Angie’s eyes narrowed, as if wounded by his curtness. “I’ll tell your maw I seen you gone off fishing this morning.”
His chin jerked up. “I’m doing a favor for Miss Cora,” he said defensively. “Escortin’ this fine lady here to meet some folks.”
“Who’s she?”
“I’m Lucy.” She lifted a hand in greeting. “Lucy Wilson.”
“She’s kin to Miss Cora. Came from the big city to holp with her work.”