Chapter Text
It had been uncommonly humid in Cutter Gap over the past two weeks. The mountains normally created cooler breezes that dissipated and moved the stifling summer air, but recently, the Great Smokies felt almost as muggy as the flatlands. Christy wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow as she hung up the wet sheets she had just finished laundering. The work was grueling in this heat, but there was nothing for it. With Ida off and married, Alice off to Cataleechee, and Fairlight nursing Least’Un back to health from a particularly bad bought of croup, she and Ruby Mae had more than their fair share of chores. David was also away for a couple days doing some carpentry work at the mission in Low Gap. He’d be back later that night in order to preach in the morning. Not that he would have been helping with the washing in any case.
She stooped to fish another sheet up from the steaming water with a large, wooden paddle, wringing it out as best she could without having to touch the hot cloth. It would take longer to dry that way, but her fingers had already been scalded twice because she had let the pot of water get too hot. Unfortunately, if she didn’t wring the sheets out properly, their weight made it hard to get on the line. After struggling to hoist the sheet out of the tub and wrap it around the end of the paddle several times, she fought to lift it up to the line. She managed to get the sheet partially draped over the sagging rope, and uncoil the rest of it from the end of the paddle. She attempted to use the paddle to spread the sheet out flat across the line, but her efforts weren’t producing very good results. To make matters worse, the sheets were dripping so much water from their edges that the ground beneath the clothes line had started to get muddy.
Exasperated by her lack of progress, she decided to brave the heat of the cloth and pull the sheet across with her fingers. Standing on tip-toe, she stretched up to the line and tried to quickly pull the sheet across before it burned her – and promptly lost her footing in the squishy mud. Her fingers instinctively grasped the line to catch herself, but the rope, already overtaxed by the weight of the waterlogged sheets, proved unequal to the task of bearing her as well. With a cry, Christy fell on her backside, the steaming laundry landing atop her.
In her frantic rush to get herself untangled from the scalding bedclothes, she had not heard her name being called. Her struggles with the sheet were compounded when another pair of arms and legs got tangled in the pile of blankets along with her. All at once, the sheet was ripped off her, and she was left lying in the dirt staring up into the face of Dr. Neil MacNeill. His features shifted from mirth to concern as he belatedly realized the temperature of the cloth in his hands. Tossing it aside with a muttered curse, he knelt down beside her and pulled her to sitting position.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, already conducting a visual check of all the exposed skin his eyes could find before she had a chance to respond.
Feeling oddly exposed despite being fully clothed, she blushed and hastily responded, “No, I’m fine.”
He reached for her wrists and turned her hands over, noting the redness on her palms and fingers. Cocking an eyebrow pointedly at her, he pressed, “No?”
“I…I did scald them a little bit earlier when I was trying to wring out the sheets, but it didn’t blister. Really, Doctor, I’m alright,” she insisted, gently tugging her hands away from his grasp.
He narrowed his eyes momentarily, then, taking a deep breath, he settled onto his haunches and gave their surroundings a cursory glance.
“Well, Miss Huddleston, I canna say that your laundering methods seem all that effective,” he stated flatly.
Christy surveyed the disaster she had made of the yard. Her white sheets were covered in mud and grass stains, the snapped line was lying in the dirt, and her vat of water continued to boil away. All that hard work, sweat, and burned fingers…all for nothing. She tossed her head and glared at him, but the angry retort died on her lips when she caught his sideling glance. Hazel eyes were twinkling at her mischievously, and his lower lip was caught in his teeth to keep from laughing out loud. Her mouth hung open for a few prolonged moments before she clamped it shut and fought the inexplicable urge to laugh herself, despite her frustration. Instead, she let out a rather indecorous snort, which prompted a low chuckle from her companion.
“C’mon, up we go,” he said, unfolding his long legs and gaining his feet, reaching a hand down to her.
When she placed her hand in his, he slid his grip down to her wrist and pulled her up, avoiding the tender flesh on her palm.
“I have some ointment in my bag that will help with that. Just a moment and I’ll go get it.”
“Thank you, but I’ll wait. Whatever I put on my hands now is just going to come off when I rewash these sheets.”
“Oh no, you’re finished with laundry today,” he countered, stooping to pick up the soiled bedclothes from the ground. “They might not have blistered already, but if you keep exposing your hands to that much heat, they certainly will.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I don’t really have a choice, anyway. These have to get cleaned before the stains set,” she argued, attempting to take the sheets from his arms.
To her chagrin, he turned away and lifted the wadded up bedclothes out of her reach. An absurd little voice in the back of her mind prompted her to play along and attempt to grab them back – but she knew she had no chance of besting him at this game, and she’d already embarrassed herself enough for one morning.
“And cleaned they will be,” he interrupted her thoughts. “Not to worry, I’ll finish them.”
She stared at him in surprise. She had not expected this offer from him, of all people.
“Neil, you are far too busy to be doing the mission’s laundry! Really, I can do it.”
“I have no calls to make, no one is sick except for the Spencer’s wee one, and I’ve just come from there. He’s fine, by the way. So I find myself with a free morning.”
“What about your lab?” Christy protested.
“As it turns out, I’m running an experiment that must be left to sit for twenty-four hours. I canna even go into the room until tomorrow.”
“But--”
“Are you that desperate to get rid of me, Christy?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.
“I didn’t say I was trying to get rid of you. It’s just that…that--” she struggled to find the words. In truth, she really didn’t want him to leave at all. She liked his company, and she had been rather starved for adult conversation over the last few days.
“That what?” he prompted, taking a step closer.
“Well, it’s women’s work,” she finished lamely.
He raised his eyebrows, “You’re objecting to me helping with the laundry because it’s not work fitting for a man? Of all the people in this cove, I would have expected you to be the last one to object to men and women sharing domestic duties. Besides, aren’t you forgetting something?”
She looked up at him, acutely aware of how close he was standing, “What?”
“I’m a bachelor, so I’m quite used to doing my own laundry. And with all the blood and gore I get on my clothes on a fairly regular basis, I’m probably more adept at removing tough stains than half the women in Cutter Gap. Now, are you done arguing with me?”
Christy sighed, “Alright, you win. Will you at least let me help, though?”
He flashed her a triumphant grin, “Of course. Grab that iron over there and spread out the logs under the cauldron. I’m going to fetch more water from the pump to cool it down.”
She complied, stooping down to spread out the logs and even pushing a few away from the pot. Neil made several trips to the pump and added another third to the water that was there. Meanwhile, Christy picked up the rope and untied it from the trees it was strung between. Unfortunately, it was so muddy that it couldn’t be used until it too had been cleaned.
“I’ll get another rope from the stable,” she offered, watching him pour the last bucket of water into the vat.
“That’s fine. Would you fetch my saddlebags off Charlie while you’re in there?”
“Yes, I’ll get them,” she replied, happy to be of assistance.
She returned shortly with the rope in hand and the saddlebags draped over her shoulder. Neil had filled another smaller basin with water and was soaking a portion of the sheet it in. As she drew near, she noticed that he had rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt and undone its top three buttons. The humidity had made his curls even more unruly, several strands falling across his forehead. Why her artistic eye always seemed to linger over such minute details was a mystery to her.
“Now, Miss Huddleston, allow me to offer you a rudimentary chemistry lesson,” he said, standing up to take the saddlebags and rope from her. “Sit, please,” he said, gesturing to a chair from the porch that he had brought into the yard while she had been gone.
She lowered herself into the chair and watched as he squatted down in front of her, deftly searching through his medical kit.
“A chemistry lesson, Doctor?” she questioned.
“Indeed. So tell me - what is the best method for removing stains from fabric?”
“Soaking them in hot water,” she replied quickly.
He produced a small container and unscrewed the lid, dipping his finger in the ointment. Taking her hand in his, he began to rub the greasy mixture into her palm. “For protein based stains, you’d be correct. Oils and fats are proteins. If this ointment were to get on your clothing, for instance, it would require hot water to get it out. Even mud, which is usually a combination of sand, silt, clay, and organic matter, is a protein based stain. But grass stains are a different matter. A good soak in cold water will help release the chlorophyll more effectively than hot water. That’s because the pigment…”
Christy was trying very hard to maintain interest in what he was saying. She usually found his lectures on all matters of science to be fascinating. At the moment, though, she found herself peculiarly distracted by the sensation of his fingers massaging the ointment into her palm. The botanicals in the balm gave off a soothing aroma, causing her skin to tingle pleasantly wherever he touched. He worked his way down the inside of each finger, and she couldn’t help but marvel at how small her hand looked in his. Her eyes once more became drawn in to the finer details as he continued his ministrations.
What intrigued her most was the inconsistency of his features. One would expect a physician’s hands to have slender, more delicate digits. Neil’s were large and robust, clearly accustomed to hard work, with calloused fingertips. His nails were trimmed flat and neat with short cuticles, and he kept them immaculately clean. In contrast, his knuckles looked as though he’d participated in his fair share of boxing matches. Several small, white scars crisscrossed his skin. Beyond his knuckles, bone and vein alike stood out sharply, but the hair that started there and crept up his forearms was fine and blonde, not overly abundant. Although his hands were obviously powerful, his touch was remarkably gentle. When he finished with her right hand, he took a strip of soft cloth from his saddlebag and bound it loosely around her palm.
“That’s just to give the ointment time to saturate the top layers of epidermal tissue,” he explained, releasing that hand to claim her left one.
One knee dropped to the ground as he reached down to retrieve the ointment, causing the outside of his thigh to come in contact with the inside of her calf. She fought the urge to spread her legs farther apart to sever the touch, but it struck her as prudish to do so. He wasn’t doing it to annoy her, after all; he was simply kneeling in front of her to administer a medical service, which required him to be in close proximity to her. The doctor never seemed to be bothered by intimate contact with his patients, which probably just came with the territory of being a physician. He had seen most of his friends in various state of undress, and had to touch and poke and prod all sorts of normally forbidden areas in order to apply his skills. It was only natural that being this close to her would have no effect on him at all. He probably didn’t even realize that his thigh was leaning against her leg…or that his right forearm, which was propped up on the arm of the chair, was also partially resting on her knee as he repeated the process of massaging the salve into her hand. She was sure he was oblivious to it.
However, she was suddenly very aware of every place his body was touching hers. For reasons she couldn’t fathom – or was it that she just didn’t want to? – her heart was picking up its pace. She drew in a shaky breath and noted that he wasn’t talking anymore about the care of her hands or removing stains from laundry. His head was bent over his work and he seemed entirely focused on his task. She took the opportunity to study the color of his tousled hair, darker at the roots and honey blonde at the tips of his curls. Her eyes swept over the expanse of his shoulders and down his arms, though she now avoided watching what he was doing with his hands for the effect it was having on her. She felt as though the temperature had risen a full ten degrees in the time they had been sitting here, though she knew it had been but a couple minutes.
Unable to look away from him, her attention was caught by a small bead of sweat that was making its way down the length of the doctor’s neck. Normally, she would find such an observation to be distasteful, but she was transfixed by the sight. The droplet of water that had once traversed the inside of his body now charted its course down the outside of it. When it reached his collarbone, it took a sharp turn to the left along a new path, ultimately coming to rest in the hollow at the base of his throat. Her eyes ventured further down. The lean of his body toward hers had caused the top of his unbuttoned shirt to gape open, revealing a narrow window to the expanse of his barreled chest. She inhaled slowly and shakily, her overly sensitive nose taking in the scent of salt, leather, horsehair, and something else that was uniquely his. Her habit was to distance herself when confronted with strong scents – and his certainly wasn’t entirely pleasant at the moment – but nor was it offensive. Rather, she found herself leaning closer to breathe him in more deeply. It was such a heady, masculine scent; she could almost taste it on her tongue…and quite unexpectedly, she realized she wanted to.
She whipped her head to the side abruptly, taken aback by the course her thoughts were taking. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, wondering what on earth had come over her.
“That bad, hmm?”
His deep, lilting voice startled her. She turned back to find him looking up at her with an uncharacteristically abashed expression.
“Pardon?” she replied in confusion, her voice sounding mousy in her own ears.
“I must smell pretty awful to your poor little nose to get that reaction,” he explained. “Usually, you just wrinkle it up and back away, but you sounded like you were trying to expel every last modicum of air from your lungs just now.”
Christy felt heat creeping up her neck all the way to the tips of her ears. How mortifying to be caught sniffing him, as if she were an old hound dog like Singer Lee! Fortunately, he had drawn a completely incorrect conclusion. Far from being repulsed by the scent of him, she was intoxicated by it. Not that she could tell him that. Though she did not want him to think she thought him rank either.
Struggling to find the right words to reply, she stammered, “No – that’s not what I…you’re not—”
He held up a hand to shush her, keeping his open palm inches from her nose and mouth, “It’s alright. You’ve not offended me. Inhale the ointment; it’ll clear your sinuses.”
She complied, breathing in the aromatic scent of the salve. He still had the wrong idea, but dispelling the scent of him from her nose – and thoughts – was beneficial at that moment.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling much more composed. “But I really didn’t turn away because I thought you smelled offensive,” she insisted.
“Why, then?” he asked, those all too attentive eyes trained on her.
“I should have just let him think what he assumed,” she groaned inwardly.
“Did I hurt you?” he prompted.
It wasn’t the truth, but her mind tried to find a way to seize the suggestion and make it work for her without outright lying.
“Not really. It was just more sensitive than I realized.”
The “it” in question not being her scalded palm, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be more gentle,” he promised.
Was that even possible? Apparently, it was, for he finished applying the salve and wrapping her hand with the barest of touches; yet she still felt each one with the intensity of one being clasped close.
“There now, all finished,” he said, his voice sounding thinner, as if he was a little breathless.
He put away the bandages and handed her the ointment container, “Keep that and reapply it tonight before you go to bed. You should be right as rain in the morning.”
She nodded as Neil scooped up the coiled rope beside him, rocked back on his heels, and rose to his full height. Though she had just been feeling nervous with their close proximity, now she felt strangely bereft without it. She stayed where she was as he busied himself restringing the clothesline, much too disturbed by what had just transpired to offer to help.
Why had she thought such a thing? She didn’t feel anything more than friendship for the doctor. Of course, she knew that there had been times when they had given others the wrong impression. Miss Alice had assumed that she had feelings for Neil too, but that had mostly stemmed from the fact that Christy reminded her in some ways of Margaret. Neil had confessed to the same – though in Christy’s brief encounter with Margaret, she had failed to note the similarities in their character. Then there had been the time that Bessie Coburn had accused her and the doctor of a tryst the night she had seen them at the river. Nothing had happened, though.
“Nothing much,” she silently amended.
That night, she had felt something akin to what she had felt just now. Something about the sound of the creek rushing past them, the chorus of night sounds, and the moonlight filtering down through the trees to kiss his nose and cheeks had stirred something up in her. She had impulsively reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. And he had stared back at her with the eyes of a man tormented by the circumstances he now found himself in. He had thought himself a widower, had begun to move past his grief and pain – only to find that his wife had tricked him into thinking she was dead. The wound had been torn open afresh, with no chance to properly heal. He was trapped. And oh, how she felt for him.
Not that she wanted to fill that place in his heart herself. It was David she cared for.
“Then why haven’t you accepted his proposal?” a traitorous voice inside questioned.
It was too soon. She had work she needed to complete at the mission. She needed to focus on the children. Miss Alice was right - she didn’t come here to find a husband. She came to Cutter Gap to serve the Lord and to teach. One day, she would be ready to accept David’s proposal, but the timing just wasn’t right yet. That was all that was holding her back. Not…her eyes wandered back to where Neil was applying his considerable strength to wringing out a sheet over the hot cauldron…not anything to do with him.
As if feeling her gaze on him, he looked up and grinned.
“See?” he snapped out the sheet and tossed it effortlessly over the line. “Not a mark on it.”
She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, “Very impressive, Doctor.”
“I spot treated this one with a little alcohol,” he explained, returning to the vat to draw out another sheet. “Works wonders on tougher stains. Peroxide is good too, but you can only use them on white clothing – they’ll bleach dyed fabric.”
Determined to set aside her confused thoughts for now and just enjoy her friend’s company, she stood up and joined him by the tub.
“You were right. You really do know more about stain removal than half the women in the cove – I daresay all of them. If you ever get tired of being a doctor, you could start a laundry service,” she teased.
“Oh aye, just go to four or five cabins a day with a cart, collect the clothing and bedding, wash it, dry it, and bring it home in time for supper,” he played along. “Of course, I’d need someplace else to hang it out; not enough open space at my place.”
“You could do it here,” she suggested. “We get a nice breeze on the hill by the school. You could put up rows of poles and put line between them. It would all be dry in no time. You might even have enough time to teach science lessons in the afternoons.”
He paused from his task, looking thoughtful, “You know, it actually sounds quite nice – a job that performs a simple service for people; normal hours; a mundane task with a noticeable positive outcome: clothes comes to you dirty and leave clean; no guilt hanging over you when things go wrong…” His eyes found hers, “…an excuse to come here and spend time with you every day.”
When he put it that way, it did sound rather nice. She smiled at him, “You don’t really need an excuse to come here and spend time with us, you know. We’re always happy to see you.”
“Who is this “we” you speak of?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, Alice and I get along fairly well now, but I’m quite sure the reverend would not be keen on seeing any more of me than he already does.”
“That’s not true,” she protested, knowing full well that it was indeed true – and she was the primary reason.
Although David and Neil were both set in their ways, neither one of them shied away from a healthy debate. Christy remembered when she had first come to Cutter Gap, her initial impression of Neil MacNeill had been a negative one. She had naively thought that he either didn’t care for the people here, or he was simply inept at his job. How little she had understood him back then! But David had assured her than Neil was a good man and very good doctor, who cared deeply for his people. In the months that followed, she came to realize just how right he had been. But in those same months, David’s good opinion of Neil had waned, and she found herself defending Neil to David more often lately. She knew that much of his behavior stemmed from jealousy. Despite the fact that Neil was married – however much he might wish otherwise – David treated him as a rival for her affections.
“Is he wrong?” that obnoxious little voice dared suggest.
“Christy,” Neil spoke over her thoughts, his tone patronizing. “If I packed up my things and moved to the other side of the country tomorrow, Grantland would be pleased as punch about it. You know that.”
His tone, his use of David’s last name, and the fact that he was absolutely right, grated on her. She wanted to defend David, to offer some sort of argument to refute what he was saying. But the words stuck in her throat. David would be pleased if Neil left forever, he had admitted as much when he had listened in on a private conversation of theirs. Neil had told her that he had been offered a position in Baltimore working on a cure for trachoma, and he had planned to accept. She remembered how upset she had been at the thought of him leaving. Ultimately, he decided to stay when his treatment of Becky O’Teale’s eyes had proved to be successful. David was less than thrilled at the change of events. Since then, he had only grown more jealous and hostile toward Neil, especially the more time she spent with the doctor. If she were honest with herself, she was glad that David wouldn’t be back until late, if only because she wouldn’t have to hear any snide remarks from him later about Neil choosing to spend the day with her on one of his rare, free Saturdays.
Her silence was answer enough for the doctor. Feeling no need to press the point, he resumed wringing out the sheet he had just drawn out of the cauldron. His demeanor seemed to have shifted though, and he wasn’t as careful to hold the bedding away from him as he had been. As a result, when he forcefully twisted the sheet, much of the water splashed back toward him, soaking the front of his shirt and tan pants. Now clearly irritated, he applied more pressure to the helpless fabric, looking as though he were attempting to strangle someone.
Christy stepped around the steaming pot and drew near him, gently gripping him above his wrist, “That’s enough. Wring it out any more and I’m not going to have a top sheet for my bed.”
He let out his breath in a huff, his broad shoulders slumping forward slightly, “I’m sorry.”
“What on earth for?” she asked, letting go of him and taking a mental note that he had apologized to her twice now in the span of twenty minutes.
“I know you care for him. I shouldn’t let my mouth run away from me like that, regardless of my own personal feelings for the man. It’s not fair to you.”
Christy tried to hide her surprise. Neil MacNeill didn’t hide his feelings from anyone. He always spoke exactly what was on his mind as soon as the thought entered. It was something she often admired him for – when he wasn’t vexing her with that particular trait, that is. She already knew he didn’t have a high opinion of David, but here he was apologizing for expressing that to her because of the position it put her in. What she found most remarkable was that he was showing more consideration toward David than David did for him, even if it was only for her sake.
“I do care for him,” she agreed.
And she did, despite his faults. Neil lowered his eyes to the ground, still holding the strangled sheet limply at his side.
“But I care for you too,” she admitted, daring to use the same word to describe her feelings for both of them, knowing full well that Neil had meant that she cared for David romantically. She wasn’t sure of what she felt for Neil in that moment, but she did have to admit – even if only to herself – that it wasn’t merely feelings of friendship.
He was looking at her directly now, and she resisted the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny. She was sure he was trying to figure out what she meant by her word choice.
“I wish the two of you could get along with each other. I know that I’m partially to blame for that,” she added softly.
“You’re not to blame for it whatsoever,” he stated firmly. “You’ve done nothing to cause strife between David and I. All you’ve ever done is mediate between us and point out when we’re both being pig-headed.”
She gathered her courage and held his gaze, “Nevertheless, I’m still part of the reason why you two are at odds…leastwise, in David’s eyes.”
Neil narrowed his eyes, “Has he said something to you about your relationship with me?”
“If you only knew,” she thought, but pushed aside those bitter emotions. She regretted voicing these thoughts to him, knowing that now she really was stoking the fires of animosity.
She shook her head to clear it, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to you to dislike each other. I wish you could see the ways in which you’re alike. You’re both so passionate about what you believe in. You have both made sacrifices to help the people here. You know, if you ever stopped squabbling with each other like a couple of roosters and put your heads together, I bet there is nothing that the two of you couldn’t accomplish.”
Neil smirked at her, “You know, it funny - I think the same thing about you and I. If we could ever stop being so irascible with one another, I’m sure we’d strike a good harmony.”
“But that’s just it – we already do strike a good harmony. Even when we are driving each other to distraction,” she laughed. “Don’t we?”
His smirk widened into a grin, “Aye. I suppose that we do.”
His hair was falling in his eyes again, and she was once more seized with the impetuous urge to brush a strand from his forehead. Her fingers were tangled in his curls almost before she realized she’d given in to the impulse. His eyes were twinkling, the corners of his mouth still pulled up as she tucked the strand back into place.
“Is Ruby Mae cooking supper tonight?” he asked.
Caught off guard by his sudden change of topic, she dropped her hand and nodded.
“Well then, I have a proposal for you,” he said, reaching up to rub his thumb against a small spot on her cheek, which she realized belatedly must have had a smudge of dirt on it. “What do you say we put our heads together and cook a decent meal that doesn’t include possum?”
She graced him with a wide smile, “Why, Doctor MacNeill, you’re going to help with the laundry and supper? How very thoughtful of you.”
“Oh, I’m downright domestic when I want to be,” he quipped, with a look in his eye that suggested he wasn’t only thinking of household duties.
"But, you know," she said, letting her eyes drift down the front of him, "Before we go inside, we're really going to have to do something about your shirt."