With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  "You must have been quite a swain with the ladies," Roe smiled, grateful that the talk was diverting his attention from his pain.

  Onery snorted. "I weren't nothing a'tal. I was fair enough to look at, I suppose, but I didn't have a mil in my pocket or a serious thought in my head."

  "But the women liked you anyway."

  "Ain't nothing gals is more interested in than some stranger that they mamas are busy warnin' them against."

  Roe's brow furrowed. "Yes, I suppose that's true," he answered, casting his own glance toward the pallet across the room.

  "It is for some, even for my Posie, Lord rest her soul, she was as stuck on me as a tick on a hound. But there was a difference, of course."

  "Of course."

  Onery stopped in the middle of the room and looked Roe straight in the eye. "The difference was that I was stuck on her, too."

  The old man's eyes glazed slightly as he spoke of his long-dead wife.

  "It were the strangest thing," he said. "When I was with her, I felt like I just belonged there. Right queer, ain't it?"

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  "She were a pretty thing, my Posie," he continued. "She had that cornsilk hair like Jesse's and those big blue eyes." He sighed. "Mind you, I'd seen better. But there was something about her. I never did truly understand it. It was almost as if we was meant for each other from the day that we met."

  "Perhaps you were."

  "Not according to her," Onery said. "She weren't gonna have me. Do you know that story?"

  "Jesse has told me some of it."

  "She thought I wouldn't make her a good husband," he said. "And I suspect she was right. At least she was then."

  "But you changed," Roe said.

  "Yep, I sure did. But I wouldn't have, not if I hadn't had to."

  They stopped to turn once more. Onery took a deep breath as if he were readying himself for a dive in deep water and then he began to walk again.

  "The truth is, if she'd married up with me easy, I probably wouldn't have changed at all," he said. "Oh, I would have still loved her, that's for certain. But I would have grown tired of all this hard work and before long I would have begun wishing I was back on the road."

  Roe listened thoughtfully.

  "But she didn't marry me easy. She didn't marry me a'tal. I come back here and she's got that little baby that don't seem quite right and all the folks treating her like she was the whore of the county. I offered to marry her like I was doing her a good deed." The old man chuckled at the memory. "That Posie, she looked at me like I was lower than the dirt."

  Onery turned slightly to look at Roe as he spoke. "She made me work to get her. It wasn't enough that we was spooning silly for each other and had a baby besides, I had to prove that I could be her man."

  Roe nodded thoughtfully.

  "It just made sense, I guess," Onery said. "Anything that's worth having is worth working for."

  Once more Roe glanced over toward Meggie. He wanted to ask Onery if maybe she was doing the same thing as her mother. But he wasn't ready to talk about Meggie yet. And certainly not to Meggie's father.

  Deliberately, he changed the subject.

  "I bet you learned a lot of songs while you were traveling."

  "Oh, that I did. I did indeed. I ain't sung you near nothing that I know."

  Roe smiled. "I'm going to have to get you to give me your English ballads for my collection."

  "I suspect I got a few ye ain't heard," Onery told him. "Course I have to bring 'em to memory. That ain't always easy. It takes a bit of time."

  Onery stopped near the end of the bed. "I think that's about enough, son. If I was to walk any farther, I'd be too tired to get into the bed."

  Roe helped him, gently easing his bad leg onto the feather tick without bending the knee. The old man's face was as white as a sheet by the time he got situated, but his words were still lighthearted.

  "I thank you, Roe Farley," Onery said. "You ain't a half bad feller for a Yankee son of a lawyer."

  Roe laughed at the old man's joke. It was easy to understand how Jesse was mostly such a happy, easygoing fellow. Roe thought he might have been less serious himself it he'd had a father like Onery Best.

  "Wish you was staying the winter here," Onery said. "Cabin gets close in the winter and we do a lot of singing and playing."

  "I bet you do."

  "It's mighty pretty up here in the wintertime. Snow covering the trees like sugar candy and tracking meat is easy as falling off a log," he said. "On the real cold days when we got no call to go outside, that Jesse he plays that fiddle from sunup to evening and Meggie and I bellow out tunes 'til our throats is sore."

  In his mind Roe could almost see the cold winter day that Onery described. The feeling it evoked in him was near envy. "I'm sure it must be nice."

  "Nice? It's downright terrible," the old man laughed. "Ain't nothing so bad as being holed up in a cabin with two younguns who's as ticklish about confined places as I am. And that gal of mine cooking up something she's like to burn and smellin' up the place something awful with scorched beans or taters."

  Laughing along with him, Roe shook his head. "You don't paint a very pretty picture of it."

  "Oh, it ain't much of a picture, for sure," Onery agreed.

  "But it does sound awfully good," Roe admitted.

  "You stay this winter, son, and you'd get yer ears and yer Listening Box full for sure."

  Roe was thoughtful for a long moment. It was amazing how tempting the invitation was. "Perhaps I could stay," he said.

  Onery nodded. "It's an idea. You could collect yourself a slew of songs and it'd give you a bit more time."

  "More time for what?"

  The old man grinned wisely. "Oh, I guess it'd give ye more time to see my Meggie."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF J. MONROE FARLEY

  July 14, 1902

  Marrying Stone, Arkansas

  The weather has become quite warm and somewhat uncomfortable. Completed the work on the new privy and I must admit it has turned out to be a better idea than even I had first thought. Mr. Best's leg continues to pain him considerably and on some days he just sits in his chair and stares out across the distant hills. This has left the entire work of the farm to Jesse and myself. Meggie helps when she can, although her work at the house and taking care of her father keeps her busy. Her garden has suffered some from bugs, but we continue to enjoy fresh vegetables now in addition to the usual pork, chicken, and occasional wild game.

  My collection of old English ballads and communal re-creations continues to grow and I have been forced to shave the wax on several less valuable cylinders in order to make room for the new songs that turn up on this doorstep nearly every day. Just last week Mr. Piggott Broody, an older and rather eccentric member of the community, sat in the yard and sang "The Lass of Roch Royal." The original story was in many senses changed, but still maintains Georgie Jeems, the Fair Annie, and the false lady.

  I am considering staying on here through the winter. It is possible that I might send for more wax cylinders through the drummers that serve Mr. Phillips's store. Winter seems an especially good time for singing and playing. And I am loath to leave with Mr. Best ailing.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The bright dawn and cloudless sky suggested that it would be a perfect day for a wedding. Dressed in Sunday best and carrying a new willow basket with the freshest and most perfect of the garden produce, the Best family, with Roe Farley along, headed for the Marrying Stone wedding of Paisley Winsloe and Althea McNees.

  Roe and Meggie were both concerned about Onery's health as his leg continued to bother him, and the trip was a long one and not wholly necessary to make. A drawn-out argument ensued over whether any or all of them should go. However, the old man declared that he was fine and neither of them had the audacity to dispute his word. Donning a fancy long-tailed frock coat, somewhat worse for wear and very much out-of-date, Onery insisted
that he would go.

  With Jesse's help they got him situated upon the old mule in a way that seemed unlikely to further pain his bad leg. The mule halter in his hand, Jesse led the way down the narrow path to the church. They were getting a late start, but Jesse kept a brisk pace through the ridge rows.

  Roe and Meggie walked together lingering some distance behind the mule. The pathway through the trees was narrow, but patches of sun shone through and dappled the shade. And the air was fragrant with new growth and withering forest duff.

  Meggie kept her eyes straight ahead and Roe tried to follow her lead, but he kept stealing glances at her. And the temptation to talk to her overwhelmed his better judgment. He missed the sound of her voice, laughing with pleasure or strident with complaint. More than once he'd been tempted to plant a worm beneath her coffee cup just to shake her out of her calm, quiet control.

  'That's a pretty dress." It was not merely a polite compliment, but a sincere comment. She looked especially lovely in the vibrant blue.

  "I've worn it several times before," Meggie answered evenly, still not deigning to look his way.

  "I know you have," Roe said. "But I've never told you how nice you look in it. That color is perfect with your eyes."

  Meggie shrugged. "Just luck about the color. I was dying it the night that—" She hesitated as a blush stained her cheeks. She cast him a quick glance and then answered in haste. "The night you and Jesse got drunk."

  Roe gave her a long look as they both remembered that night. "Then, it's even more beautiful than I thought."

  Meggie did look at him then, her eyes widening. It was there between them once more; the emotion, the desire, the knowledge. They had shared a secret, special rite of passage and forever the link forged between them would bind.

  He saw Meggie's lip tremble uncertainly, then deliberately she lengthened her stride to outpace him. Roe allowed her to go. He no longer knew what to wish for or what to hope. He didn't want to leave his life's work behind him to become a poor Arkansas farmer. Yet, he was loath to leave this woman and her family.

  Though darker thoughts plagued him he merely allowed himself to feel content as he watched the rhythmic sway of her from behind.

  Since the day in the woodshed, Meggie had spent a good deal of her time trying to avoid him. When she wasn't doing that, she merely pretended that nothing had happened between them. The only time she'd allowed anything else to peek through was when she and her father took their first tour of the new privy. Roe smiled as he recalled the memorable afternoon.

  It was a simple square building, with a less than grandiose purpose. Yet, Meggie had made him feel like he had erected a palace. Gazing in awe at the structure, she praised his carpentry work and marveled at the convenience. Her enthusiasm was highly contagious and even Onery grudgingly admitted that an outhouse might be a fair idea after all.

  When the old man returned to the house, Roe hadn't been able to resist reaching out to grab her arm.

  "I'm glad you like the privy," he said. He tried to keep his expression light and conversational, incapable of dredging up the deep feelings between them.

  She smiled at him, but there was a sense of poignant sadness behind it. "It's very fancy. We'd never have got one if you hadn't come here." She glanced back at the little building with near reverence in her eyes. "It will give me something to remember you by when you're gone."

  Meggie walked away then, leaving Roe to stare puzzled at the little square building that he'd created. He didn't want her memories of him to be only a privy.

  Now as he watched her walk in front of him, the wide skirt of the blue homespun dress swishing back and forth in an enticingly feminine fashion, he once more warred with himself.

  He would return to Massachusetts when the summer was over and forget that Miss Meggie Best had ever existed. She didn't want to marry him. She didn't want to go back east with him. And she would definitely be a liability among the better class of people in Cambridge. Marriage to her would mean a life in the wilds of these mountains, at least part of the time. A thing he was sure was contrary to his nature. Still, what he shared with her was more than just a memorable passing fancy. He wanted to leave her with something. He wanted to leave her his name.

  That was what he wanted, he realized. He couldn't bear the thought of her marriage to some other man and of her forgetting the moments that they had shared together. He wanted her to be his, and his alone, forever. She'd spurned his proposal of marriage as if he were no one of any consequence in her life. Perhaps she didn't want to live with him. But he was going to marry her. If it took staying here all winter to convince her of that, he was ready for it.

  They were still a mile from the church when they began to hear the tolling for the wedding. The huge bell had a deep, beautiful, full-bodied sound that echoed through the mountains in a way that made it seem a part of the sounds of nature. It was a wonderful noise, and, Roe thought, that forced to take a side, he'd have to agree with the McNeeses that the bell should stay and the bell tower made bigger. Roe smiled at the thought. Fortunately, he wasn't really family here, so he wouldn't have to make a choice.

  As they came within sight of the church, it was clear that virtually everyone on the mountain had turned out for the wedding. The hillside around the church was filled with young girls in their Sunday best homespun giggling behind their hands and flirting with red-faced swains, shaved and slicked up for the occasion. Women labored over plank tables that groaned with the weight of the food upon them and gossiped among themselves, hesitating in their conversation only occasionally to scold a rowdy child. Men gathered in small groups to chew half-green tobacco, complain about their crops, and brag about their fishing.

  Granny Piggott sat in a cane-bottom chair under a shade tree and smoked her pipe. They stopped for only a moment to greet the old woman. She held the pipe between her teeth and patted Roe playfully upon the stomach.

  "I believe you are putting on some weight, boy," she said with a cheery cackle. "Is marriage making this gal a better cook?"

  "I believe it is, Granny," Roe answered, glancing over at Meggie who stood somewhat unwillingly at his side. "She hasn't ruined a thing in the kitchen in a very long time."

  The old woman raised a curious eyebrow as she glanced over at Meggie. "It ain't the husband that's supposed to get fat, it's the wife," she said.

  "Meggie don't never eat much," Jesse piped in.

  "I ain't talking about eating," Granny answered with a pointed look toward Roe. "It's the other kind of belly growing a young couple oughter be workin' upon."

  Roe cleared his throat nervously. Fortunately he was saved from making any reply by the opportune interruption of Buell Phillips.

  "The wedding is about to start," he announced. "You'd better find yourself a good view. Nearly everyone on the mountain is here."

  Roe nodded and Phillips hurried away, circulating through the crowd as if he were permanently a candidate for some political office.

  "I'll just stay here by Granny," Onery told them. "I can lean against this tree and take the weight off my leg. You younguns go on and find you a place."

  Meggie looked as if she might protest, but Roe preempted her argument with a quick agreement.

  "You just rest here with Granny," he said. "Jesse and I will watch out for Meggie."

  Onery chuckled. "You do that, son," he answered.

  Nodding a rushed good-bye, the three left Onery and their family's pounding gift at the base of the tree where Granny sat, keeping watch over the plunder. They hurried into the crowd to find a likely site to watch the proceedings. As they moved across the clearing, again and again their attention was drawn by one acquaintance or another.

  They watched the Broody twins as the two gleefully stole Ada Trace's pink hair ribbon. This forced the young lady, in her first appearance in long skirts, to jerk her hem to her knees and chase the two scamps across the clearing, squalling with unladylike fury.

  Beulah Winsloe, standing with
in a circle of like-minded matrons, took her role as mother of the groom quite seriously. "Of course she's a perfectly fine young woman," Beulah told them. "But unfortunately she has no graces and hardly any raising at all."

  Althea McNees stood alone near the Marrying Stone, her brown eyes wide with nervousness and her cheeks pale. Her long, thin body seemed almost to tremble from the nonexistent chill of the afternoon. She looked very young and very frightened.

  Her closest male relative, her Great-uncle Nez Beath, cheerfully laughed and joked and swapped stories with Pigg Broody, clearly grateful to have Althea, who was well into her teens and an extra mouth to feed at his place, finally become the responsibility of somebody else.

  That somebody else, Paisley Winsloe, showed up at the very last moment on the edge of the crowd with his cousin Eben Baxley. The two, laughing heartily and stumbling together, were both a little worse for drink, but given the fact that a man didn't marry every day, folks graciously overlooked the social misstep.

  Jesse stopped slightly up and to the left of the Marrying Stone and gestured the others to join him. The spot afforded a great view of the entire area. Roe urged Meggie in front of him so that she could see, then turned his attention to the festivities.

  Pastor Jay captured all eyes as he stepped out onto the church steps and waited. A polite silence slowly settled across the crowd. The preacher's expression was disapproving and he gave a stern admonishment to the two young men as Paisley half stumbled his way to the front.

  When the young man was in place, his coat straight and his hair slicked back, the bride came forward. Althea, on her uncle's arm, was dressed in a pale pink calico gown that emphasized her slenderness. As she stood at Paisley's side, she was slightly taller than he was. Her very natural grace, along with his still obvious inebriation, made the two appear rather mismatched. But the quiet solemnity of their words belied the impression.

  "Who giveth this woman's hand in wedlock?" Pastor Jay bellowed out to the crowd.