With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  A strange feeling welled up inside Meggie. It was almost as if the hairs on her back had raised like a mad cat and her fingernails had magically turned to claws. Involuntarily she recalled those first magic moments when she thought Roe to be the long-awaited prince from her fairy-tale book. She felt again the sweet warmth of his mouth on her own. And suffered once more the thrill, shock, and shame of embarrassment of Roe catching her at bath in her all togethers. J. Monroe Farley might not be her prince, but he wasn't going to be Eda's either!

  "You don't need my permission to make a fool of yourself, Eda Piggott," she said tartly. "Mr. Farley is a city man, a real honest-to-God city man. He's just here to study us and study our music. He's looking us Ozarkers over like we was some strange breed of critter he's never seen before. He's not nearly about to settle down and marry here."

  Meggie shrugged. "If you want to set your cap for him, you'd best be prepared to be taken for a fool. The whole mountain will be laughing at you when he leaves here before the first snow."

  Eda's face turned red but she was not about to be cowed so easily. Her bright brown eyes were sparkling with anger and she was primed and ready to give Meggie more than a little piece of her mind.

  Her response was interrupted by the ringing of the call to order bell. With their attention distracted, Mavis, Polly, and Alba quickly stepped in between the two angry young women and hurried them up to the area in front of the schoolhouse where the evening's entertainment was about to begin. Deliberately, Meggie forced her thoughts away from Eda Piggott's foolishness. She was not about to let her silly friend ruin the Friday Literary for her.

  Buell Phillips, attired in his snowy dress shirt and a pair of fancy-tooled leather suspenders, took his place at the top of the schoolhouse steps. He continued to toll the bell up and down until the group was appropriately hushed and closely assembled on the slope. He set the bell back in its box next to the door and looked across the crowd with paternal approval for one long moment before he spoke.

  "It's time, my dear friends and neighbors, for the Marrying Stone Mountain Literary Evening Debate," Phillips announced to the crowd. 'Tonight our topic is the following."

  Holding a piece of brown paper some distance from his face, he squinted almost painfully as he read, loud and carefully, the words written there.

  "Resolved: Fire is a better friend to the farmer than water."

  He looked up from the paper and waited with dramatic silence for the crowd to absorb the importance of the subject in question.

  Then, as he felt sufficient reverence for the argument had been established, he introduced the speakers.

  "The advocate for the resolution tonight is a young farmer that we all know." Phillips's tone lightened slightly as he cleared his throat. "I've always thought him a right smart fellow, but I hear that he's just declared his intent to become a married man, so he cain't be a whole lot smarter than the rest of us."

  The crowd chuckled good-naturedly. "Despite that, would you all please indicate your welcome and appreciation for our advocate speaker, the eldest son of Orv and Beulah, Mr. Paisley Winsloe."

  A small smattering of applause ensued as Paisley took his place on the first step of the schoolhouse porch and bowed politely to the crowd. He was cleanly shaved and had his hair slicked down. His Sunday-go-to-meeting coat was a little worn and short in the sleeves, but the red polka-dot choke rag done with such care at his throat was store-bought and as fancy as any on the mountain. Meggie's one-time gentleman caller had never looked better.

  "Speaking in opposition to the resolution tonight," Buell Phillips continued, "is a farmer that has enlightened and impressed us with his discourse on many occasions from this forum." Again Phillips grinned slightly in preparation for his small attempt at humor. "I asked him once about the development of his ideas and his philosophy and he told me that a man can do a heap of serious thinking when he spends nearly every day of his life staring at the back end of a mule."

  The crowd again laughed with admiration at Phillips's wit. Staring at the back end of a mule was what most of the men in the crowd did all day and not a one of them could fail to see the humor in it.

  "Allow me to present our opposition speaker for the evening," Phillips said. 'The husband of Grace and father of Labin, Tuck, Polly, and Shem. A man who raises the skinniest pigs and the fattest rocks on this mountain, Mr. Labin Trace."

  As the crowd chuckled, Trace stepped up to the school-house steps and gave a formal nod to the crowd that was acknowledged with polite applause. The upland farmer was not as prosperous as the Winsloes and Phillipses and others who plowed fields in the hollow, but his shabby overalls were very clean, pressed with neat, hot iron creases.

  Meggie glanced over at Polly, who was grinning proudly. She raised her crossed fingers in a gesture of luck.

  "As the advocate," Phillips said loudly, hushing the crowd once more with his words, "Mr. Winsloe will go first."

  Buell Phillips stepped down from the steps and left the two men alone on the platform to speak.

  As Paisley began to make his presentation on the positive qualities of fire for warmth, cooking, and the making of tools, Meggie's attention wandered.

  Her glance strayed across the crowd to where Roe Farley stood with her brother. Clearly, Jesse was delighted with his new friend. And Meggie was grateful that Farley's kindness to her brother extended to willingness to still talk and joke with him in public. A lot of the men on the mountain were leery of being seen conversing with Jesse, as if his simple- mindedness were catching. It was one of the things she had disliked about Paisley Winsloe. At the cabin Paisley had conversed with Jesse when he had to, but at church gatherings and Literaries, he had acted as if Jesse were a stranger.

  Roe Farley apparently had the confidence of a man who didn't have to prove his mental abilities.

  Meggie smiled approvingly as once more she allowed her gaze to stray to the two men in her thoughts.

  Jesse was listening to the debate with the awed expression of admiration and confusion that was so familiar. Her brother was very aware of his own limitations. She knew that he hated not being as smart as everybody else. But he was warmhearted and generous enough to feel admiration rather than jealousy for those more gifted.

  Jesse was clearly entranced by the big words and noble phrasing that emerged from the gap-toothed, tobacco- stained lips of Paisley Winsloe and Labin Trace.

  Roe Farley, on the other hand, appeared to be more than a little bit amused at the seriousness with which the speakers and the crowd took the debate on whether the benefits of warmth and water outweighed the disasters of fire and flood.

  Meggie's curiosity was sparked. What did a much learned city fellow think of the Ozarkers' attempts to educate themselves and bring culture and civilization to their lives? He might well have found the speakers and her friends and even herself quite comical. Perhaps he did. Somehow the thought didn't bother Meggie. She never had been, nor ever would be, ashamed of who she was and the way she lived. It might not be the way other people lived lives in other places, but it was the way life was lived in the Ozarks and she wouldn't have it any other way. She supposed that in some ways the mountain folk were rather comical. Unaccountably, the memory of the up-and-down plowed cornfield came to her mind and she chuckled out loud.

  Apparently it was not only Ozarkers who could provide a laugh with their foolishness. J. Monroe Farley, a Bay State scholar, was a lot smarter than most of the folks on this mountain. And he might well have cause to chuckle a time or two at their backwoods ways. But he had provided a laugh or two himself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Roe couldn’t remember when he'd had a better time. After the "debate" on the beneficial qualities of fire versus water, which Mr. Trace, the opposition speaker, won handily, the Broody twins, Ned and Jed, called a kangaroo court.

  At their direction Tom McNees "arrested" Granny Piggott.

  "What's the charge?" McNees asked as he escorted the old woman to the front
of the crowd.

  "Failure to bring any huckleberry pie to the feed," announced young Ned loudly.

  The feisty old woman who was related by either blood or marriage to nearly every soul on the mountain shook a bony finger at the scampish young teens.

  "I ain't got no sense of fun about this kindy nonsense," she warned the group testily. The plain clay pipe she held between her teeth was fired up with home-cured tobacco and the scent of it wafted through the crowd.

  "If you ain't done nothin', Granny," Jed assured her with a teasing grin, "then you got not a thing to worry about."

  Granny was skeptical. "I seen enough of these courts in my time to know that the victim has always got something to worry about."

  The twins laughed heartily and the crowd joined in. "You're not the victim, Granny," Ned told her. "You're the criminal."

  The old woman's eyes narrowed. "If I ain't 'acquitted' in one dang big hurry, you two scamps won't never taste another pie of mine ever."

  Not willing to be intimidated, the twins added bribery and threats to the charges and called their Uncle Pigg up to sit as judge.

  Pigg ambled up to the schoolhouse porch with no particular hurry and sat down on the top step gazing down at Granny Piggott, who was actually his aunt rather than his grandmother, as if he'd never seen her before.

  "This is a big lot of foolishness," she proclaimed loudly. "I'm an old woman. I can't be expected to stand here at one of these kangaroo courts like I was just another young fool!"

  Pigg nodded and spit a big wad of tobacco off to the side, expertly hitting the south pole on the hitching rail. "Bring yer granny a chair, boys," he ordered.

  Within minutes Granny Piggott, still fussing like a wet hen, was seated before her accusers and Pigg Broody was calling up a jury.

  He picked Pastor Jay to be the jury foreman. The confused cleric couldn't quite grasp what was happening, but went to stand at the left of the steps as the judge directed. He began frantically thumbing through his Bible as if he thought he was being called upon to read.

  Also selected for the jury was Sidney Pease, a sleepy toddler who was sucking his thumb. Sidney's mother didn't like the idea at all, but his father thought it a great joke and stood the little boy next to the preacher.

  Pigg's cranky mule Job was called next. The hoots and hollers of the crowd were enough to disturb the stubborn old son of a jackass who was very unwilling to take its place among the jury men. With a lot of prodding and pulling the stubborn animal was finally brought up to be tied to a sapling near the judge. Sidney Pease's mother warned the youngster nervously to keep his distance from the ill-tempered beast.

  Last, the judge called Jesse Best, who laughed delightedly at being included in the game. He hurried to the jury stand with an eagerness more reminiscent of a child's skip than a farmer's lumbering gait.

  Pigg ordered him to stand between the mule and young Sidney. "If that old mule were to go and kick Jesse in the head, it might do him some good," Pigg proclaimed.

  The crowd laughed heartily in agreement and Jesse grinned broadly at the joke he didn't quite understand.

  The trial, while quite stylized and pseudo-serious, didn't last long. The evidence that the Broody boys supplied was to have every man, woman, and child present open his mouth and stick out his tongue. When not one blue-stained tongue could be found, the Broodys rested their case.

  Granny huffed and puffed and complained, but didn't even bother to put up a defense. It took the jury only a couple of minutes to find her guilty.

  Pigg Broody cleared his throat loudly. "I'd like to thank these jurors," he said. "And commend them for their clear and clever thinking."

  The crowd hooted with laughter at the "clear thinking" of poor Pastor Jay, little Sidney, the cranky mule, and Simple Jess.

  When the noise subsided, Pigg formally addressed Granny. "Mistress Piggott, you have been found guilty by the kangaroo court. Do you have anything to say before I pronounce sentence upon you?"

  Granny huffed grandly. "You just better watch yourself, Piggott Dunderwaulf Broody," she said. "I won't be agreeing to any chicken house cleaning or outhouse liming!"

  Pigg flinched slightly at the use of his middle name, but heeded the old woman's warning.

  "I believe that the punishment should fit the crime," he proclaimed. "Granny, you are sentenced by this court to bringing two pies to next month's Literary. One for these boys here who've taken you to court and one, of course, for the judge."

  The crowd cheered loudly at the decision, but Jesse Best interrupted them. 'The jury should get pie, too!" he told Pigg.

  The judge looked toward Granny and she shrugged. Slapping his hand against his knee, Pigg added that to the sentence. "But that mule of mine ain't getting a bite," he said. "Huckleberries give that creature the runs so bad, I have to tie him in the creek all night long."

  Roe laughed with some embarrassment at that story and glanced around at the blushing young girls, many of which were looking his way.

  It was unusual that he felt so comfortable and at ease with these people. They were so very different from him. Strangely, they didn't even seem to notice.

  His attention was drawn back to the schoolhouse porch when Onery stepped up there. He took only a minute to pat his son on the back proudly and speak a private word with him before turning to the crowd and raising his hands to hush them for his announcement.

  "We've got us a stranger here with us tonight," the old man began.

  Roe felt a momentary surprise. He felt so comfortable it seemed curious to be considered a stranger. Smiling, what he hoped was companionably, he made his way to the schoolhouse porch. He was met by Jesse who was toting the Ediphone with infinite care. He smiled at Roe as he set the machine on the top step and gently removed the cover.

  "Now Farley here," Best began, "is a gentleman and a scholar, folks. He's a-staying up to my place. He says he's taking a liking to my Jesse." Onery grinned slyly. "Or maybe it's my little Meggie that he's taking a liking to."

  The crowd chuckled with delight and Roe stood a little straighter. It might be okay for Onery to tease him about his daughter around the cabin, but in front of all these people was more than awkward. Unwillingly Roe's eyes searched the crowd for Meggie; gratefully, he didn't see her.

  "Now Roe here," Onery continued. "He's got himself a real yearning for good old music."

  Roe watched the eyes of the crowd peruse him with speculation.

  "Now I ain't talking about the shaped notes and the do-re-mes we've all heard from them music professors passing through."

  A relieved silence settled upon the crowd.

  "Roe, he likes the kind of music that we all have sung and played on this mountain since our folks run the Injuns out."

  Roe looked hopefully at the group once more.

  'They don't have much music up where he's from," Onery explained. "And so they keep it on these little wax spindles so it don't never go away."

  As Onery held up one of the blue wax spindles for them to see, everyone laughed heartily. Keeping music on spindles like spun flax was a good joke.

  "I'm serious now," Onery insisted. He turned to the young man beside him. "Roe, show these folks how this here Listening Box of yours works. It listens to what you sing or play and it keeps it and plays it back to you."

  Roe's hands trembled; he was slightly ill at ease as he attached the horn to the Ediphone. For the very first time since receiving his fellowship, Roe worried whether he would succeed. He counted on his technology to mesmerize his crowd of backwoods Ozark farmers and convince them to help him with his mission. But perhaps the wonders of the modern world might not be enough. These plainspoken people were not easily impressed by the wonders of science or the prospects of progress. They had their own sense of what was important: Food, family, friends. Roe feared that his own rather limited scope of study might hold no appeal against such basics.

  He slipped the cylinder that contained Jesse's rendition of "Barbara Allen"
onto the roller. With three rhythmic turns of the crank the Ediphone picked up speed and he adjusted the pace. Carefully Roe set the round stylus gently against the grooves in the dark blue wax.

  The squeaky noise that came out of the machine was unrecognizable and Roe hastily adjusted the shiny metal lever that controlled the rotating speed. Jesse's perfect-pitched fiddle playing could suddenly be heard floating out from the shiny tin horn.

  There was a gasp of shock from the crowd, followed by a hushed, awed silence.

  "That's me," Jesse announced proudly. "That's me there playing. I know it sounds like the machine is playing but it's not, it just listens and that there fiddle playing is me. It's me."

  Onery quieted his son and the crowd listened in near reverence to the complete performance of the old familiar tune.

  When the last note faded away, there was complete stillness on the side of the mountain for one very long moment. Roe felt the sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

  Then Beulah Winsloe began to clap. When she did, her brother, Tom McNees, immediately joined in. Her husband and son followed suit and in another moment a rousing round of applause emerged from the crowd.

  Roe let out a long breath. He hadn't realized that he'd been holding it. They loved music. He knew it. Now all they had to do was trust him enough to share theirs with him.

  "What I'd like to do this summer," he said, "is to visit with each of you for a few evenings and record what songs that you remember how to sing or play. I'll write down the words that you remember to the old songs and the Ediphone will make recordings of you singing and playing them. I'd be happy to record any of your old songs, but I'm especially interested in the oldest. The ones that came across the sea with your ancestors."