“Preacher Perkins?”
I push up on my knees to stand upright, conscious my face is flushed from exertion and strands of limp hair have fallen to my forehead. This must be Kathleen Shaw, who stands tall, ten paces away. Short salt-and-pepper hair, freckles across her nose, glasses, tan trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a lovely smile. The picture of health and intellect in an oversized body.
She offers her hand and I wipe mine on a rag before I extend it. Her shake is firm. Her gaze solid behind round, wire-rimmed glasses. She is formidable in so many ways, and unlike any woman I’ve ever seen. For starters, she has me by seven or eight inches. Her stance says confident. Her clothes say polished.
“Miss Kathleen Shaw, at last we meet.” My voice is extra cheerful.
“Please call me Kate. I hoped I’d find you here today.” She laughs easily. “Is this a good time to catch up?”
“Yes, it is, Kate. Yes, indeed.”
Miss Shaw follows me into church and down the aisle as I unroll my cuffs, button them, and slip on my coat to recover some dignity. There are ten pews on each side, and we sit in front. Other than the cross on the wall and the pine lectern built by my granddaddy, there are no trimmings here. I turn toward her, rest an arm on the back of the bench, and notice a dribble of soup stain on my tie. I cover it with my hand, surprised at my vanity.
“Are you adjusting to mountain life?”
“I’m making progress.” She runs fingers through her short hair, then adjusts her eyeglasses.
“Is your cabin adequate?” I intentionally don’t talk about the teacher’s cottage that burned down. I am embarrassed when I see the remains every time I come to church. It burned in the night two months back. Thank goodness it was empty. Nobody’s talking about the culprit, but I suspect the reason for the fire: they hoped to stop outside teachers from coming to Baines Creek. I had to scramble to find an alternate place to house the new teacher. Pickings were slim and it is almost a mile walk up the mountain to her cabin.
“It’ll do fine. I’m staying mostly warm and dry.”
“Well, those are the basics, aren’t they? It must pale in comparison to your last post at Ravenscroft. I’ve never ventured that far east in the state, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“It’s different there. Flat as a tabletop.”
“And here is…breathtaking?”
Her laugh is part giggle and grin, a young girl’s laugh in a mature woman’s frame. Delightful. And she catches my inference to thin mountain air!
“Ravenscroft has a different kind of beauty. Up here, I’m challenged in a good way. I confess at this early stage I prefer to walk down the mountainside, but that won’t get me where I need to go, will it?”
“You’re right there,” and we chuckle together. This kind of easy exchange bodes well.
“Did you like teaching at Ravenscroft?”
“I brought good memories with me.”
Because I am incessantly curious, I wade smack-dab into the deep end. “Why’d you leave your last post…if you don’t mind me asking?” I work to sound natural, although I’m being nosy and know it.
Kate Shaw pauses slightly and looks down at her hands in her lap. “I was dismissed.”
“Oh my…”
She adds, “It was personal. Unrelated to classroom skills. It won’t affect my teaching.”
I want to know more, but I’m at a crossroad and must decide to trust or doubt. “Well, Miss Kate Shaw, I take you at your word. I can’t speak for everybody in these parts, but I believe we’re lucky to have you with us. Thank you for answering my plea. Our children need structure, empathy, and, above all, hope. I want them to know they can have a more promising future.”
“I want the same thing.”
I’m so relieved at first meeting to see that Kate Shaw is all we need her to be. I add, “Can you join us on Sundays? Service starts at eleven.”
Miss Shaw shakes her head. “I’m not a Christian. I don’t believe or disbelieve in your god or your devil. I simply have little use for church dogma and man-made rituals that stifle people through fear and superstition. I’ve never seen any proof to support the teachings of your Bible.” She looks me in the eye. “Nature makes a pretty strong case for its own evolution.”
I’m taken aback. It is apparent Miss Shaw never met the likes of Pharrell Moody, nor has she seen the likes of her closest neighbor, Birdie Rocas. Miss Shaw’s world hasn’t been complicated by raw truths that defy science or logic, and can only be understood by faith. Few have put their lack of belief as succinctly as Kate Shaw just did, but she needs to attend church to satisfy the curious. I drop a different line to reel in my fish.
“Well, you might consider church a social vehicle up here, a place where your neighbors come together as a family to touch base and to offer help. They’re all curious about you. In truth, it won’t make you popular if you keep to yourself. I want you to work out, Miss Shaw.”
“Kate.”
“Kate.” I say, and grin. “I want you to feel welcome here, Kate. You need to get to know these folks, and they need you and don’t even know it yet. Could you do that for us? Come to church to get to know us?” For effect, my head tilts to the right in a plea.
She nods at my logic. “I’ll come a time or two. For now, I’ve taken up enough of your day.”
Kate Shaw stands, looks down on me, and ends our conversation before it got started. I follow her out and note her polished boots with the rim of mud on the bottom and the confident strike of her heel. She is not of this place and a moment of truth crosses my mind as I realize there are dangers up here that could harm her if she became too curious.
“Kate, I don’t want to be a naysayer, but please tread cautiously on the mountain. Don’t stray off the path. Don’t be too curious.”
She turns, standing on the second step down. I continue gently. “You’re an outsider in an insulated community that has ways vastly different than the valley. There are moonshine stills in more places than I can count. Those men are edgy and skittish with revenuers and set traps to catch people as well as animals. And this is ginseng hunting season, too.”
She looks puzzled, and I say, “You haven’t heard of ginseng? It’s an herb that grows in specific places on the steep, shadowy sides of these mountains. To tell the truth, I’ve never seen a patch, but people off the mountain pay a lot of money for that fleshy root.”
“What good does it do?”
“Some people believe it holds the key to well-being. It relieves stress and headaches.”
“Headaches, you say?”