#christy huddleston x neil macneill

[darsynia]

To bring you back to us:

Christy and Neil - pick one (i couldn't choose)?

10 ...desperately

12 ...in grief.

26 ...as an apology

Please and thank you!

Sneaky sneaky, I like it! I touched on all three, but the grief is wrapped up before the kiss. I'd been struggling feeling like my icky holidays had nuked my ability to write on my longfic of these two, and this did help me feel better about that!

TERMS OF SURRENDER

Pairing: Christy Huddleston/Neil MacNeil Length: 2,358 Rating: General audiences Summary: (set during 'Green Apples,' in a universe that mixes the book and the series)

Neil thinks about the loss of his wife and child as he listens to the harmonica's gently hopeful tune of healing. He decides it's finally time to let go of the past and fight for the kind of future his feelings for Christy promise.

Terms of Surrender

The sound of a harmonica was one of the things Neil had missed in Scotland. It hadn’t occurred to him to bring one, but even if he’d had the funds, there wasn’t anywhere to play it that didn’t feel awkward and out of place. Truthfully, he had felt awkward and out of place, but his time spent quietly observing and learning at home had been quite useful abroad. Neil had integrated well, so well that he’d come home more Scots than Cove.

That thought made him think of Christy. As an outsider, her approach had been wildly different from his; where he’d stepped back and sought a niche, she’d charged ahead to forge her own. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit. Neil had come home changed, but Christy had changed his home. Without permission and without vitriol she’d gently but firmly established herself in Cutter Gap as someone with a heart twice as big as her stature, cheerfully taking the good with the bad. If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have held himself back, been more… guarded around her.

As with so many of the important things in his life, Neil had realized this too late.

That realization was made all the more complicated on a day such as this, as they fought back a disease that threatened to take the lives of children he’d helped bring into the world. There was only so far a man could push away thoughts of the lives he couldn’t save, to say nothing of the apologies he’d held back until he was out of time.

That old familiar guilt struck a discordant chord with the mournful harmonica, enough to force a rueful chuckle from his lips. After all, he owed an apology to Christy, and this time he didn’t have the luxury of locking himself away until his reflection looked different enough to forget the needful.

Neil stood slowly, loath to disturb the delicate tableau of hopeful survival going on in the quarantine room. He remembered seeing Christy step out of the building looking distressed, but given his contribution to that expression, he’d focused intently on his notes in hopes that she’d avoid disturbing him.

Margaret would have called him a coward. “Apologize or don’t, Mac, but don’t pretend you’re taking the high road!”

His late wife’s admonition spurred Neil to walk around the schoolhouse, his steps curving him away from some hard truths and toward others. She’d hated the darkness of the mountains and loathed the quiet that seeped into a person’s bones to linger there. In a sense, loving him had dimmed Margaret’s fiercely fragile light until she’d run out of energy to fight off the disease that killed her. There was no making peace with that. 

He shut his eyes and tipped his head into the light breeze to clear his mind. When he opened them again, Neil saw the dim outline of a figure ahead of him, along the treeline where they’d been collecting firewood. It was Christy. The lanterns leading to the outhouse were just bright enough to see that her fists were clenched at her sides, and her head was tipped back, just as he’d just done.

“There’s solitary, and then there’s lonely. You can be lonely without being alone.”

Those words had haunted him since his wife had said them less than a month before her death. They’d sliced like a scalpel those first months, festered like a wound that refused to heal by a year’s time, before finally burrowing down to ache like a mended bone before a storm. Tonight was the first time he’d seen them as anything but hurtful; his wife had been many things (selfish, sensual, miserable, mesmerizing), but she had always been insightful. How had it taken him this long to realize what she’d really meant? That they could have been solitary together. That Margaret hadn’t needed to be lonely, if he’d been able to teach her how to share his solitude.

Neil stood in the silent shadow of the schoolhouse, his thoughts whipping around like a willow in a windstorm. There was a very clear reason why he was thinking of Margaret right now, and the truth of that scared him. It was the last clammy fear before the fever broke, the surge of adrenaline before closing a wound. He was letting her go, making space.

The thought was as presumptuous as it was intimidating.

“The apology, Mac. Don’t be an ass.”

Neil walked toward Christy slowly, shoring up his mental fortifications for the coming conflict.

“Battling it out with your god, are you?”

Christy shot him a look that he couldn’t discern in the half-light. “No need to poke fun, but yes. I don’t need to part the Red Sea, just pray hard enough for God to pass over this building without taking anyone.”

“Now who’s poking fun?” Neil said. He moved to stand beside her, both facing the fathomless expanse of forest. “I’ve always thought that story was particularly unfair; punishing the children for the sins of the fathers.”

“That’s not too different from feuding, don’t you think?” There was a tightness in her voice that was entirely his fault, top to bottom.

“Maybe I should walk away and start over,” he said, shoving at a small branch with his foot. “I’d come over here to apologize.”

Her silence lasted long enough for him to look over. Christy’s body language was armed for war, but her words were more shield than sword.

“You couldn’t have known about my sister. I’m a stranger, and it looked like I put your patients in danger.”

“You’re hardly a stranger, Christy. Despite my temper, I know you’ve only ever done your best to keep them safe, educated, and happy,” he countered. “I was wrong to shout at you.”

“You--” she broke off, arms dropping to her sides. 

“What? Did I just deprive you of a fight? I’m sure we can find something else,” Neil teased lightly. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but Christy jumped in to interrupt.

“Don’t! Let me savor the moment.”

The amusement in her voice cut straight through to the depths of his heart, as though his years of defenses and baggage were insubstantial in the face of her warmth. 

Christy turned to walk back toward the schoolhouse, and it was in the shock of those feelings that Neil caught her as she pitched sideways toward him, hissing in surprised pain. Immediately he set her hand on his shoulder and knelt down, finding her boot tangled in the ends of the branch he’d nudged earlier. That realization had him swearing under his breath.

“Is it bad? My ankle doesn’t feel--” Christy cut herself off, her voice pinched with fear.

“I was reacting to the culprit, not your injury. I’d tried to kick that branch out of the way. You’ll be fine after a few minutes, it’s just a wrong step.”

“So you swept me off my feet?” she whispered, finishing the sentence just as he straightened back up. The action slid her hand from his shoulder down to his chest-- and they stood with her words hovering between them like a heated breath in the deepest winter.

The lamplight lit her stress-mussed hair in soft gold, edging her features as if she were in an illuminated manuscript. Christy’s eyes were wide as she stared at her hand on his chest, perhaps as shocked as he was that she hadn’t pulled back. Just at that moment, a curl slipped free, and before he realized what he was doing, Neil tucked the soft lock behind her ear in an unmistakable caress.

The sound of her sucked-in breath shot adrenaline straight to his heart.

“I should--” she started, eyes still fixed on their point of contact. With the barest stroke of her thumb, she finally lifted her hand. “I should go. Will you promise to get some rest? I’ll take the first watch.”

The blood rushing in his ears spoke of the many things unresolved between them, and Neil reached out to stop her with a clumsy hand. “Wait--”

Christy pressed her eyes shut, her lip caught in her teeth. He longed to see the nuances of her expression-- was she annoyed but hiding it well? Blushing? Fearful?

“Hold still for a spell, let your ankle rest?” he offered. He didn’t move his hand, and she didn’t move away to dislodge it. For once, he didn’t hear the derisive tones of his conscience mocking those choices. Christy was hesitating, so he added, “I haven’t properly apologized.”

This prompted her to open her eyes and look at him. Whatever she saw there made her sway just slightly in his direction.

Maybe it was the stillness of the night, the hope of healing, the exhaustion from fighting so many things with so much of his strength, or perhaps it was the lightness of his finally untethered heart, but whatever the true reason was, Neil succumbed.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to see you for who you truly are, Christy. Your heart is bright enough to light the whole Cove, and I’m grateful to be touched by it.” He released her arm and turned his hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek, then moved to walk away before he ruined both of their reputations.

Christy stopped him, not with words, but with an action that meant so much more: with surprising strength, she caught his hand, pressing his palm to her cheek. Then she did speak, and he was lost.

“You’re the coal that keeps us burning, Neil.”

The distant sound of the harmonica faded in the space between her action and his stuttering heart. Would John Spencer tuck the instrument into his pocket and make his way to the outhouse? Had he been interrupted by one of the children crying out for their help?

Stepping close, Neil set his other hand on her cheek and said, “I owe you more than an apology, Christy, even more so for this.” Dipping his head, he kissed her, meaning for it to be brief, a promise, not an end unto itself. He was foolish, forgetting her determination to never yield when she could persuade instead. Her hand moved up into his hair, burning a surer path than any bullet meant to stop his brain from functioning.

Despite every passing second marking the time between now and disaster if he didn’t pull back, Neil deepened the kiss, his arm banding around her waist to lift her up, ever so slightly. Then, with the reluctance of a victor forced to leave the spoils of war behind, he stepped away. His whole body buzzed with anxiety and pleasure, but he knew he’d overstepped badly.

“Forgive me, I-- I’ve held that back for quite some time,” he admitted. “When you brought me dinner, I must confess--”

“Oh! Please believe me, I had no idea, or I would never have presumed to take advantage like that.” Christy interrupted, her voice thick with regret. “Fairlight suggested the way to persuade you was through good cooked food. I suppose I failed there, as well!”

Neil took her hand and clasped it with both of his. “Your campaign for Dan Scott had me at your feet. When I realized that was all you’d come for, I was ready to send him to the devil, and the Mission too. The truth is, I’ve fallen for you, Christy. Hopelessly so.”

She lifted their joined hands to her lips. “I’d barely let myself think of such things, but when I dream… you’re always there, smiling at me, quarreling with me, teaching me--”

“Reality is hardly ever that idyllic,” he cautioned. Neil dislodged his hand from hers out of propriety, but inwardly his defenses were being dismantled, one uncertainty at a time.

“Only you would consider arguing with me idyllic!”

“Any time spent with you is a dream, I’ll freely admit that.” He grinned, adding, “If ye wish to prove it’s real, we can go on until I win an argument. Shouldn’t take too long.”

“You are insufferable,” Christy grumbled.

“Would it make it worse if I told you how lovely you look when you’re cross with me? It was all I could do not to--

“If you say something about sweeping me off my feet, Neil MacNeil, I’ll--” She stopped short, clearly realizing that he’d prompted exactly the kind of cross reaction he enjoyed.

“Do I need to?” Neil started, but a bobbing lantern light near the schoolhouse caught his attention. Thinking quickly, he moved to pick up some of the cut wood and branches near where they’d been standing, nodding to Christy to do the same. By the time Fairlight made it around the corner, the two of them were almost to the outhouse.

“Doc find you screamin’ at the sky, then?”

“Bargaining, more like,” Neil said. “I think it ended on a truce?” He turned toward her, selfishly needing to see her indignation.

Once again, she bested him.

“Victory,” Christy asserted. “I had a talk with God, and he sent me a sign of healing.”

Neil angled his arms so that a small log fell off, allowing him to hide his expression as he picked it back up. Thankfully, the two women had resumed their walk back to the front of the schoolhouse by the time he stood up. Healing! Her innocent audacity took his breath away, as always. There was a lot of rebuilding to be done, all of it in the harsh light of day, but he was intensely grateful for that temporary bubble of solitude they’d been able to find in each other.

The thought had occurred before the significance dawned on him, and Neil stopped short, stunned.

Healing. It was something he’d fought to achieve for others his entire life yet somehow was gifted without warning or design, in the middle of the night during quarantine, no less! This new beginning was fitting, he supposed, and like all beginnings, there would be a lot of adjusting to be done for both of them. 

They’d be able to do it together.

#christy huddleston/neil macneill #christy huddleston #neil macneill #'christy' series (1994) #christy by catherine marshall #christy/neil #christy huddleston x neil macneill #christy x neil #romance #first kiss #darsy twirls the asks

[fandomsbyladymelodrama]

No pressure on this, but I wanted to ask if you'd like to tell me about one of/some of your favorite Christy scenes, and the things you like most about it/them? I can't singlehandedly revive the fandom on here, but it's such a joy to talk over this show with other fans!

I didn't realize until recently how thoroughly the Neil/Christy relationship informed my romantic preferences in all the media and writing I've done since watching it in my teens. Older, scholarly man/younger, determined woman, some kind of angst in the man's past, a need to change things for the better as an intrinsic part of the woman's character, a taboo element that stands in the way of the relationship... Even in the slash pairings I love so much, there's still so many elements of it!

Hey filmmakers, don't think we don't notice that you frame these two with Christy on a step/incline half the time to de-emphasize the height difference...

Oh my, oh my. Okay, first, let's be real. I've been waiting for an ask like this since 1994 (baby Tumblr wasn't even born yet 😂) so get ready for some major Neil/Christy feels that I've been suppressing but also diligently-tending-in-the-background for 30+/- years. THEY. ARE. PERFECT. Top-shelf OTP bottle, for sure. You understand, right? Of course, you do. We've discussed. But yeah, I feel the same way about this show/book/pairing influencing and informing both my writing style and romantic preferences in fiction over the years. Happy to admit it. Yes *raises hand* 1000 times yes. Hello, my name is ladymelodrama, and the fact that CBS so cruelly stole resolution for Neil/Christy from us forever (I'm not counting the PAX movies, I'm just not) is a crime against good television everywhere and will haunt my Christy-loving bones until I'm dead and buried in the ground deep enough so's the critter's can't find me, as Little Burl or Creed Allen would say. Anyway, you asked about Neil and Christy and favorite moments and since I can't just pick one...

I have a proposition to make :) Let's trade fave moments until we run out of them, maybe? No pressure, of course, but this is me mostly unwilling to commit to my Top 5 Scenes until I finish my rewatch, and even then I'll probably change my mind a couple times 😂 But here's one that I'll discuss in detail today and which I like to call the "Will This Do?" scene aka "and then they both smiled their little smiles at each other and lived happily ever after. The end." <3

(Credit to @heatherfield for this gif, and bless you, friend, for continuously shipping the same pairings as me - makes my gif-hunting so much easier haha <3)

So why do I love this scene so much? Oh, you know. Margret's dress. Objectively, it's gorgeous (the woman had style, even if she had no heart). And hey, it only coded Neil/Christy as endgame from the first episode, no big deal. Plus it was one of the softest moments in the whole show and THE WAY THEY SMILED AT EACH OTHER. Ugh. Soffffffft. I'm mean, you're seeing this too, right? ;) Meanwhile, I'm sure David is over here in the corner...doing what David does best XD Lurking. Always lurking.

(and, based on the pic I chose, maybe taking notes on how to have better chemistry with Christy? - "Dear Diary, Neil MacNeill is kinda the worst, have I mentioned?" 😂) But in all seriousness, what I love about that scene (and the exchange of smiles, in particular) is how there's an honest-to-goodness, my-spirit-just-spoke-to-your-spirit bit of humanity happening there. I die for those moments, little and quiet as they may be. It's just so...SOFT. They don't know each other yet. Not really. There's no romance at play (other than what I assume might be mutual physical attraction, even if Christy would never let herself go there. Not on her first days in the Cove) so it's more a budding friendship that we're seeing and friends-to-lovers is one of my favorite things? (Jorleesi, Jisbon, Siegfried/Audrey, Obidala, Red Cricket, Dickon/Mary much?). I also really enjoy when she comes down the stairs looking all pretty-in-lavender with her hair down (still lolling at your comment on that detail btw because...c'est vrai 😂) and "Oh no, David, it's so late...how will we ever get to Lufty Branch in time?" "Not we, Christy." (exactly, David, you're getting it). Too bad she has to spend all afternoon in this rustic cabin with a plaid-shirted, barrel-chested, brogue-speaking, moody mountain man with inside pain for dayssssss. Oh the everlasting horror XD

So yeah, so much to love about this scene (and the entire convo in the cabin afterwards and him plucking her from Theo prior to the whole dress thing - guy helps girl down from horse = I'm in love 😍). To witness the very beginning of their arc (okay, Part II of the beginning, but the doctor was busy with brain surgery during Part I, so you know what I mean) and to have the actors play it so, so beautifully and in an Appalachian setting that's just misty and magical and to die for all by itself... Mmmm *chef's kiss* Your turn, @darsynia <3

#christy #neil x christy #catherine marshall #christy huddleston #neil macneill #david grantland #forever favorites #OTP #why haven't i written neil/christy fic yet? #well because i'm still considering how to fix it #30 years later #XD #and because these two are with me for LYFE #but in the meantime #darsynia is writing a magical fix it #so you could just read hers #just saying #thanks for the ask! #<3

[kopykunoichi]

Summary: A stifling summer day gets a little warmer for Christy when she has a mishap with a pile of piping hot laundry. It feels like it gets even hotter when Doctor MacNeill tends to her scalded hands. What is it about him that distracts and confounds her every time they're close to each other?

#christy the series #christy (1994) #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #christy fanfiction

[darsynia]

The heart wants what it wants...

Gosh, so I've been writing for a nearly 30 year old fandom, the book/tv show Christy. I was a huge Kellie Martin fan from Life Goes On, and I'd liked the book (evangelical childhood go brrr)-- lemme tell you, Scottish-voiced older smart gruff man & idealistic kind resourceful opinionated young woman will ALWAYS get me. Add LeVar Burton and Tyne Daly and I'm HOOKED. OH I forgot to mention it's set in the Great Smokies and the vistas are magnificent (TWW reference says hi).

Well, the show itself has a religious scaffolding, and it's pretty wholesome, so though the series manages some truly intense unresolved sexual tension, I should refrain from getting too racy in this 'it was a crime to never show these two kissing' 'shipping Neil/Christy for 30 years does something to a person' story, right? RIGHT?

Me: I'll write a brief satisfying M encounter

Me now: he's soaked after checking for a fire in a thunderstorm and she's slowly unbuttoning him while he loses his mind OOPS

Anyway, I'm putting the finishing touches on Shipping chapter 3, but if you ever watched this show or might be interested in a period piece where two people with hidden feelings find themselves married and figuring out what fun that can be, feel free to check out that story! It's got a tiny online presence (under 200 fics on FFN, my fic was #7 on AO3) so I probably won't post again about it, but I'm very pleased by what I've written.

Breathing Fire

Summary: After an unexpected standoff puts Christy in a compromised position, she discovers what a marriage based on love and friendship is really like. With that firm basis, she seeks to heal the wounds that were caused before she even arrived in Cutter Gap.

For fun, here's an excerpt under the jump:

Note: Set the day after the wedding, but their 'wedding night' was interrupted; Neil is a doctor and he was called away for a medical emergency. He hasn't gotten much sleep as a result.

When she woke next it was thanks to the bright indirect sunlight from the window. She’d slept in.

Christy threw herself out of bed, spluttering her hair out of her face as she rushed over to the dresser to grab something to wear.

“Christy,” Neil rumbled from the bed. He had his arm draped over his eyes.

“I’m late for school!”

“You’re not.”

“No, I am! Miss Alice was supposed to take my place, but she was with you.” She supposed she could dress on the other side of the closet door, or at the top of the stairs with the bedroom door closed. When she turned around with a handful of underthings, meaning to race over to the closet and do just that, she ran right into Neil.

“Grantland got back yesterday evening, he’s teaching your students today,” he said, tugging the clothes from her hands to set them on top of the dresser. “Back to bed,” he said, guiding her back with an arm around her shoulders.

Sleepy Neil was a charming mix of impatience and determination.

“But David has no idea where the lesson plans are!”

“He’ll probably spend the whole day sermonizing at them,” he said once they got over to the bed. Neil then yawned so hard he stumbled sideways before shuffling around to the other side.

Christy sat, her sense of purpose deflated. “Is there anything you were supposed to do this morning that I can do instead? Dropping by a patient’s house, or picking up supplies?”

“No one will expect us for days,” he told her, rubbing at his eye with a knuckle. “We’re meant to spend them enjoying each other, which right now should mean you, sleeping next to me, in silence.” There was a daring sort of tease to his voice that sent a thrill through her. How was she meant to sleep after he said something like that? 

“I’m wide awake. How about I go downstairs and--”

“Don’t,” Neil blurted. He took in a breath to say something, then chuckled. “Not sure how well I’d sleep knowing you were down there rearranging everything.”

“Meaning you’d sleep better if I stayed up here?” Christy guessed.

His expression sobered, and he rolled onto his back. “I keep expecting to wake up and find all of this was a dream.”

If she were braver, she would have told him about her dreams of him, but instead, she said, “How about I go get a book to read, so I can sit up beside you, while you sleep? I can pull the curtains shut.” 

His nod was relieved, and Christy got up, thinking hard to remember where she’d packed her book. It wasn’t with the others, since she’d been reading it a little each night. A glance over at her husband told her he was still ruminating.

“Ask me what I’m reading,” Christy said, crouching down to rummage through the front pocket of one suitcase.

“What?”

“It’s part of distracting you while I look for my book,” she told him. Standing, she put her hands on her hips. Was it downstairs?

“Fine,” Neil said, his voice still sleepy, but more like his confident self. “What are you reading?”

“Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. It’s a story about four sisters, all very different, and how each of them handle the process of growing up. I loved it when I was younger, and now I’m rereading it to pick out parts to share with the children.” As she spoke, she found the book, drew the curtain, then came back to briskly set things up to sit comfortably beside him.

“You’re an excellent teacher, Christy.”

Praise from him really was worth a hundred kind words from anyone else.

#yes there is forced proximity in this story #christy huddleston #neil macneill #christy huddleston x neil macneill #my true loves are apparently all in 90s tv lol #darsy twirls all her favorite things in romance #thanks to the RP accounts from whom I have borrowed the gifs! #dixie carter is in it too! and a bunch of other amazing actors like WHAT #and the scenery is truly gorgeous!

[kopykunoichi]

This is the perfect song for them. Kudos to elainebelyeu for this one!

#christy (1994) #christy the series #neil x christy #MacChristy #neil macneill #christy huddleston #Youtube

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.6 - Eye of the Storm

#christy the series #christy (1994) #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #christy 1.6 eye of the storm #MacChristy Photocollage #omg...this episode #christy finding out that neil was married to alice's daughter #him comparing the two of them #sometimes i get the strangest feeling you're not talking to me #you're so like her #your wife? #she gave him the courage to try his treatment #and in doing so gave him another reason to stay

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.5 Judgment Day

#christy the series #christy (1994) #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #christy 1.5 judgment day #MacChristy Photocollage #don't you think it's time you called me “Neil”? #after all...you know my best kept secret #they'd think i was creating Frankenstein's monster #how do i know you're not? #there are so many good lines in this episode #how passionately he defended Christy to Ferrand #“you're worth ten of him”

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.4 - A Closer Walk

#christy the series #christy (1994) #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #christy 1.4 a closer walk #MacChristy Photocollage #only one scene with neil and christy in this episode #farewell polly teague #sorry for david's total inability to carry a tune in a bucket #i also would have chosen that moment to die if i had to listen to that #I'm kidding...it's the thought that counts #only four pictures...but damn does he look good in them

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.3 - Both Your Houses

#christy the series #christy (1994) #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #Christy 1.3 both our houses #MacChristy Photocollage #but if you flog yourself for it you're no good to anyone...take it from a man who knows #take the compliment. it was meant sincerely #they both have fiery tempers when their blood is up...but there's always a tender moment right on the heels of every spat

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.2 - Lost and Found

#christy the series #christy (1994) #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #christy 1.2 lost and found #MacChristy Photocollage #but that's what i want to talk about...babies #*grin* what about them?

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.1 - Pilot

#christy the series #christy (1994) #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #Christy 1.1 Pilot #MacChristy Photocollage #forgive me...it was the way your nose wrinkled when you remembered those smells #that was it - the moment he fell for her #i would just like to point out her making herself at home on his bed...soon to be *their* bed...in the FIRST episode 👀 #you wanna talk about foreshadowing?

[kopykunoichi]

Christy, by Catherine Marshall. Chapter 35 Excerpt (part 2)

Over the doctor’s shoulder I saw that Jeb Spencer had set the fiddle against his chest and was tuning up. Wraight Holt had joined him with a banjo. With twangy chords sliding into a fast jog and Jeb’s bow singing across the strings the music started. As in the past Uncle Bogg was in the middle of things ready to call the figures. I marveled that from all appearances the old man had recovered so quickly from his son’s murder. Or, I wondered, was this just another example of Uncle Bogg’s callousness? “Scrooch them settin’ chairs against the walls, boys. Gonna need a heap of room.” The old squire was clapping his hands. “Gyarner ’em in, folks. In—a—cir-cle. The Tenn’see Wag-on Wheel. Here—we—go!” The tune was the familiar “Skip to My Lou.” The music snaked across the floor, swirled around my ankles, set my toes to tapping. Dr. MacNeill saw. “Come on, Christy. Into the circle we go."

“Cir-cle left!” . . . Cir-cle right! . . . Swing your partner . . . Now . . .” The doctor was surprisingly nimble. I had never done much square dancing, so did not know all the intricate figures. But by whispered instruction and skillful leading, he was steering me with scarcely a step missed by either of us. The rhythm beat and surged around us. The man must have learned this dance in his cradle! “La-dies back . . . Gents to the cen-ter . . .” Close up, some of these men were a little pungent. Out behind the cabin or somewhere the jugs were being tilted. “With a Right Hand Wheel . . . And back the other way . . . With a Left Hand Wheel! . . . Pick up your partner!” The doctor’s strong arms lifted me off the floor as easily as if I had been a child. Whirl and twirl . . . bend and swing . . . round and round. The music was so delicious. It ached behind my eyes and pulled and titillated. “Swing your part-ner!”

I was spun through the air, blood racing with the music, aware of the doctor’s face close to mine, sometimes half-smiling, sometimes laughing, drawing me to him. “Right—left, Right—left . . . Right—left, Right—” “And now, once a-gain, swing your part-ner—Prom-e-nade!” We were making an arch with our raised arms and the couples were coming through. “Bend low! Through the tunnel. Follow the leader . . . Now for the Bas-ket . . . All to the center! . . . Ladies stay in and the gents come back!” This one was really ingenious. Soon I saw how “the basket” was made. Women in the inner circle joined hands raised; men in the outer circle ducking under. We were joining arms at waist level to circle the basket. As complicated and delightful as an old quilt pattern, I was thinking. The American frontier had its dangers and its hard work but it also had a rare talent for making its own fun. “Off the floor . . .” And the Tennessee Wagon Wheel ended.

I half collapsed against the wall. “You aren’t—breathless—a bit—” I chided Dr. MacNeill. “Used to it. Anyway that was only a middlin’ fast tune.” More music . . . Jeb had itchy fingers for his fiddle bow today. But no one was dancing this one, so I took it to be an in-between tune. In a rich baritone the doctor started singing the words:

Cheeks as red as a bloomin’ rose,

Eyes of the deepest brown,

You are the darlin’ of my heart,

Stay till the sun goes down.

All around us, voices picked up the song. Such an enigmatic look on the doctor’s face! What did that look mean?

Shady Grove, my little love,

Shady Grove, my dear,

Shady Grove, my little love,

I’m goin’ to leave you here.

Only a song, but why did he keep his eyes on my face? “I’m thirsty,” I said abruptly—and turned toward the one sawhorse table left pushed against the wall. There were pitchers of spring water and what looked like several kinds of fruit juice. I poured a little of one and gingerly tasted it. Raspberry juice, I thought. It was refreshing. So I poured a full glass.

#christy #catherine marshall #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #christy: chapter 35 #the doc can dance #christy is flummoxed by his endless enigmatic looks #one of these re-reads I'm going to track how many times she uses that word to describe the look on Neil's face when he's studying Christy #somehow i don't think that juice is just juice

[kopykunoichi]

Christy, by Catherine Marshall. Chapter 35 Excerpt (Part 3)

But Jeb, that natural-born fiddler, was tuning up again. Jeb must like fiddling better than he liked eating, and that was saying a lot. The fiddle whined and cried and sang. “We’re a-goin’ ‘Step Charlie,’ folks,” Uncle Bogg called, dancing a pigeon-wing all by himself in the middle of the floor.

Charlie’s neat and Charlie’s sweet,

And Charlie he’s a dan-dy—

“Circle up, folks . . . Circle up . . . Wimmin on the right.” Dr. MacNeill was instantly at my side, expertly propelling me to the center of the floor.

Over the river to feed my sheep

And over the river, Charlie,

Over the river to feed my sheep

And to measure up my barley.

“La-dies in!” The doctor sang as he swung me:

My pretty little pink,

I once did think I never could do without you . . .

“Gents in! . . . Grab, boys! Grab!” This was fun! I was feeling better and better, warm and tingly. My feet had wings. Overhead strange noises cut into my thoughts, girlish giggling, laughs and squeals. I had not noticed anyone leaving but now I saw that the circle of dancers was noticeably smaller. As if in answer to my unspoken question Dr. MacNeill jerked one thumb to point at the ceiling. “I told you. Ceremony’s beginning. Putting the bride to bed. “All to the cen-ter. Just go!”

Charlie’s neat, and Charlie’s sweet

And Charlie he’s a dan-dy—

Scrape, scrape, scrape over our heads. More giggling and shrieking.

Step . . . step . . . right and left . . . right and left. “You mean really putting the bride to bed—now—with all of us still here?” I asked. “Sure—now.” The girls were trouping down from the loft—without Ruby Mae—and the men made a dive for Will Beck. There was a lot of scuffling, several chairs turned over, while the music went right on. “Git him. Pound him. Sure’s the world, we’ll fix him proper.” “I’m batchin’ it, fellers,” Will yelled from where he had been flattened on the floor and was lying now between the legs of one of his friends. “Didn’t I tell ye? Con-found you—Un-unh!” Will never had a chance. Held roughly by the scruff of his neck, jerked and pummeled, he was already on his way to the loft, tightly wedged in the group of boys. The whole picture was absurd. And then somehow, what was happening to Will and the wedding night scene in the loft receded into the distance. I was caught up in the gleeful harmony beating at my temples, singing in my blood, pulling at my nerves, tinglingly delightful. The doctor danced as naturally as a bird flies or a fish swims. By now I knew that I didn’t even have to think; I could just give myself to his arm around me with assurance. The guiding arm was so sure and firm, the rhythm such a part of my body now that I could almost forget about my feet. It ended too soon. My partner spun me around with a final flourish. As I let my head fall back in a moment of joyous rapture, I met the doctor’s eyes. They glistened with approval—and something else. When I pulled my head back up, his lips brushed my forehead. For a moment his arm stayed firmly behind my back with my body pressed tightly against him. Then he loosened his arm around me and the room spun slightly. Was it the music and the twirling which made me feel this way? A panicky thought chased through my mind. What was happening to me? I was dizzy!

Dr. MacNeill was pulling out a chair for me, then he sat down backwards on one near me, propping his arms on the back of the chair. Fortunately, at that moment, there were new and bawdy noises overhead. The partitions of the cabin were so thin. Cornshuck mattresses were self-advertisers. Inwardly I was wincing and the doctor knew it. “Actually, Christy, you ought to consider something,” he said, never one to lead into a subject delicately. “The mountain attitude towards sex may be more nearly right than society’s attitude—in the warmed-over Victorian tradition. It sure is more realistic. It’s the way things are. Way they were meant to be too. Here in the mountains, folks see sex for pleasure and for procreation. They’re right. Leave out either one, and you’re in trouble.” Well, I was thinking, so maybe there is still a lot of prudery about sex even in the younger set back in Asheville—especially among the girls. But why a lecture on sex to me? I was having trouble meeting the doctor’s level gaze.

With relief I saw David approaching. “Excuse me, Doctor, for interrupting. I’m leaving,” David said to me. “Didn’t want to go without letting you know, Christy. May I take you home?” Suddenly I knew that I very much wanted to go with David. I tried not to sound as eager as I felt. “Yes, thanks. I am ready to go.”

#christy #catherine marshall #christy huddleston #neil x christy #MacChristy #neil macneill #a dance - a shivaree - and another sex talk...she really laid it on thick in this chapter #the tv series had this steady love triangle right from the get go #but in the book it sort of sneaks up on you #if you didn't know what to look for you'd miss it #one minute she's just thinking about david and her future in Cutter Gap amd her faith...and then suddenly Neil is more than just a friend #the part where his lips brush her forehead 👀 #poor girl...she's so surprised by this sudden onslaught of feelings all she can do is run as soon as she has an out

[kopykunoichi]

Christy, by Catherine Marshall. Excerpt from chapter 35 (part 1)

It was later on while we were eating that Dr. MacNeill made his way across the room to me. He was munching on a wedge of sweet-potato pie. “Still mad at me, Christy?” I looked at him in astonishment. “Why, hello, Dr. MacNeill. Of course not! Why should I be mad at you?” “For today I haven’t the least idea. Seems like the last time we were together you ran out on me.” He took another bite of the pie. “Could I get you some pie or cake or something?” “Thanks, no. I’ve finished.” My mind was not on food. Why, he must be referring to that conversation in my schoolroom. Here he is picking it up as if it had happened last week. Perhaps time does all but stand still back in these mountains. But our talk was so long ago. To me, it seems like years ago. And since then so much has happened. Tom’s murder. Miss Alice’s revelation. My trip home. The speech in Knoxville. Then with a start, I realized that I had not seen Dr. MacNeill since back in July.

“That day in your school,” Dr. MacNeill went on, “you know, you actually thought I knew something that would save Tom. Do you still think that, Christy? I’d hate to have you blaming me for Tom’s death.” Such a frontal approach caught me unprepared. I cast around for a quick way to change the subject. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to talk about it. Too many people to overhear, don’t you think? Opal, for instance.” “True.” “And not exactly wedding festivity talk.” “Point made. Another time then.” He rumpled the back of his hair with his restless fingers in that characteristic gesture of his. Banter came into his voice, “Are you prepared for the ceremonies?” “I thought we’d had the ceremony.”

“That’s right, you’ve never attended one of our mountain weddings before, have you?” He waved a hand in the direction of the fireplace where David had stood. “That now, David’s part, that was pure preliminary. Real ceremony’s coming up—if the scalawag boys can catch the bride and groom to shivaree them. Riding the rail’s another name for it. Then there’s belling the bride. And putting the bride to bed.” The last topic seemed like a good one to avoid, so I pounced on the first, “I’ve heard of riding the rail but I never quite saw the point. It always seemed like children playing horse.” Dr. MacNeill’s eyes crinkled. “Christy, you amaze me. Grown girl leaves home to be on her own.” He shook his head at me. “All right, Papa will explain. Bit more to it than children playing horse. Practical joke stuff, sure. Pretty crude. Let me think how I can put this so’s not to offend you. No riding the rail side-saddle for the bride allowed. Strictly astride.”

The doctor was enjoying the look on my face, making no effort to hide his raillery. Well, he was more right than he knew. For no reason at all, at that moment I thought of my mother and how little sex information she had given me. How could she, mother, who could scarcely even bring herself to say the word “sex”? On these rare occasions when she could not sidestep it, she had a way of half-swallowing the word so that it came out sounding like “sect.”

#christy #catherine marshall #neil macneill #christy huddleston #neil x christy #MacChristy #i love the way he teases her #christy: chapter 35 #the good doctor furthers christy's sex ed