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medicine. How else are they going to get it?”
    â€œBut that’s not the only way!” Christy cried in frustration. “They could come to us—to the mission—for help.”
    The doctor shook his head. “Too proud. That’s not the way of these folks. They don’t want charity.”
    Silence fell. Christy looked over at David. He seemed as frustrated by the doctor’s words as she was.
    â€œWell, I need to get over to the church. I’ll see you there, Christy,” David said curtly. “Glad you’re doing better, Doctor.”
    â€œDavid?” the doctor said.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œBe careful what you say. Or you may live to regret it.” He paused. “As a friend, I’m warning you.”
    David’s eyes flashed. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think the better of it. He left briskly, slamming the door behind him.
    A moment later, there was a knock on the door. Ruby Mae poked her head inside. “Miz Christy?” she asked. “You about ready to head on to church?”
    â€œIn a minute, Ruby Mae.”
    Ruby Mae gave a little wave to the doctor. “How’d you like the oatmeal, Doctor? I helped Miss Ida do it up for you. Put my own special fixin’s in.”
    â€œIt had a . . . unique . . . flavor,” said Doctor MacNeill.
    Ruby Mae grinned at Christy. “Knew he’d like it,” she said.
    â€œRuby Mae, did you wash up the breakfast dishes, like Miss Ida reminded you to?” Christy asked.
    Ruby Mae pursed her lips. “No’m, I can’t rightly say that I did. I had to give this nice bran mash I made to Prince, on account of him winning the race and all. By the way, Doctor, your horse is doin’ fine, too, though I ’spect he misses you. I gave him a little bran mash, too.” Christy sighed. “Those dishes—”
    â€œWon’t wash themselves, yes’m, I know. Miss Ida tells me that all the time. I’ll do ’em as soon as church is over.”
    â€œAll right, then. Wait for me in the parlor. I’ll be right down.”
    As the door closed behind Ruby Mae, Christy stared at the doctor’s white bandage. It brought back vivid memories of the dark blood, the gaping hole, and the look of pain in the doctor’s eyes as she’d removed the bullet. A feeling of anger seared through her. “I don’t understand you,” she muttered.
    â€œMany women have tried,” the doctor joked, but Christy was not amused.
    â€œIt’s only by the grace of God that you’re alive, Neil,” Christy said in a hushed voice, barely controlling her anger. “How can you see the enemy and not want to fight back?”
    â€œThe enemy?”
    â€œMoonshine, of course. Illegal liquor and the drunkenness and the feuding that come with it.”
    The doctor gave her a weary smile. “I wish it were that simple, Christy. But the enemy is much bigger. It’s ignorance. And poverty.” He closed his eyes. “And that,” he added, “is an enemy you are not going to defeat with one sermon.”
    The service was well under way, and as far as Ruby Mae was concerned, the fun part—the singing and foot-tapping and clapping—was done. Now the preacher was speaking.
    Ruby Mae sat in one of the front pews. Miz Ida sat on one side, her hands folded primly in her lap. Miz Christy sat on the other. She had a far-off look in her eyes, as if she were figuring something complicated, like one of those math problems Rob Allen liked to work on so much.
    Of course, Miz Christy was big on thinking. Ruby Mae knew, because she’d taken a peek at Miz Christy’s diary a while back. It was full of big thoughts, deep as the well in the mission yard. Miz Christy had been mad as a plucked hen when she’d caught Ruby Mae reading it, but she’d forgiven her eventually.
    She’d even given Ruby Mae a diary of her own to write in. What she