With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  She shook her head. "I can't really say. It was Ebner Pease singing 'Arkansas Taters.' It was kind of funny, but it made me kind of sad."

  Granny nodded. "Pick another one of them cylinders and let's hear it."

  Meggie hesitated. She didn't want to. "It's really late," she said. "And it might disturb Pa and Jesse."

  "Go on, girl," Granny insisted. "We need to see if that's the thing or no."

  Reluctantly Meggie got up from her chair and went to the table. There was a scattering of cylinders, each properly stowed in its own round strawpaper container. At random she picked up one of the cylinders and set it onto the play spindle. Once more that evening she cranked the machine and set the stylus to the wax. She stood there watching the wax roll turn round and round, blanking out her thoughts, deadening her soul. Then the song began.

  Almost immediately Meggie could hear the sweet sound of Jesse's fiddle in the background, but the familiar voice that filled the room was one she had heard raised in song only once before on a rainy afternoon out in the woodshed.

  "Well met, well met, my own true love,

  Well met, well met, said he.

  I have just returned from a journey long

  And 'twas all for the love of thee."

  The sound of his voice, as if he were there in the room, ripped through Meggie's heart like a knife. She cried out loud as if in pain, covered her face, and dropped to her knees.

  "What have I done!" she exclaimed.

  In an instant Granny was there beside her, holding her, comforting her.

  "There, child, there, I knew you needed a good cry. I know it hurts, but life hurts. It has to hurt sometimes, else we'd never be able to appreciate when we was happy."

  They knelt there together on the floor until the cylinder finished. Then wiping her eyes and with a grateful kiss to Granny's cheek, Meggie managed to make it back to her feet.

  "It's not like you think," she told the old woman guiltily. "I'm not worthy of your concern."

  "Piddle," was Granny's response as she led Meggie back to her chair.

  After they had taken up their positions by the fire once more, Meggie managed to get control of her emotions. She hated the lie she perpetrated, but she wanted to talk now, she wanted to grieve for the loss of the man she loved. It was far too late to even bother with the whole truth. So Meggie spoke only of her feelings, not of the facts.

  "I don't know why I miss him so much," she said.

  "Now that's as foolish a statement as I ever heard," Granny replied. "You miss him because you loved him."

  Meggie nodded sadly. "Yes, I did love him. I suppose it is time that I admit that." She stared sadly into the fire. "But it wasn't like we married for love. There really was a skunk up on the Marrying Stone that night."

  Granny nodded. "Yes, I imagine that there was. The Lord works in mysterious ways."

  Meggie felt uncomfortable about blaming heaven for the debacle.

  "We were just going to ignore it, let you folks think what you want and go on our way," she confessed. "But when you came by and were suddenly so eager to help him with his work, well, I suspect he decided that it might not be such a bad thing to be married to me."

  "And it wasn't a bad thing at all."

  "No, I guess it wasn't bad. But I wasn't at all the kind of woman that he wanted."

  The old woman shrugged. "It's not likely that a wife ever could be."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Women don't always want the right things in a man. And men don't have even an idea of what they want," she said. "Why, one minute their bodies tell them they want a wild woman that makes their blood rush. The next minute their good sense reminds them that they need a hard worker who is sturdy enough to help plow the field and birth the babies. They want a woman who'll mind their word and not be giving no jawing. But they also want a gal they can complain to when they are scared and unsure and who's smart enough to talk clear about the things goin' on."

  "So the wife has to be all those things?"

  "No, the wife is none of them," the old woman answered. "The wife is a wife and no further definition is necessary." Granny leaned forward in her chair to look more closely at Meggie. "Roe Farley married you and you were his wife. Nothing further even need to be said."

  Her face flushing with embarrassment, she glanced away. "But he doesn't ... he didn't love me."

  "And did you think he would?"

  Momentarily Meggie was taken aback. "Well, yes."

  "Lord Almighty, child," Granny said. "Love ain't something that heaven hands out like good teeth or keen eyesight. Love is something two people make together."

  Shaking her head, the old woman leaned back in her chair once more and tapped on her pipe. "Love, oh, my, it starts out simple and scary with all that heavy breathing and in the bed sharing," she said. "You a-trembling when he runs his hands acrost your skin, him screaming out your name when he gets in the short rows. That's the easy part, Meggie. Every day thereafter it gets harder. The more you know him, the more he knows you, the longer you are a part of each other, the stronger the love is and the tougher it is to have it."

  Meggie's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Pa says it's the differences in two people intertwining."

  Granny nodded. "And he's right about that. Your life becomes a part of someone else's and that can be hard, very hard. But, Meggie, it is so much worth the effort."

  Silently Meggie acknowledged that it was, but love couldn't be built by only one person.

  "If a man didn't really want to marry you, but he just feels like he ought to . . ." Meggie shrugged as if the conclusion was self-explanatory. "Well, that's no way to start out a marriage."

  "I've seen worse ways to start them out," Granny said. After a long moment the old woman offered a small sigh and chuckled. "I loved my man and he loved me, Meggie. So, I suspect you must think he come a-courting me with ribbons, geegaws, and pretty words."

  "Well, didn't he?"

  Granny took a long draw on her pipe before she answered. "Meggie, that man didn't come a-courting me a'tal. He come for my sister Asmine."

  "What?"

  "Asmine, my sister Asmine, she was a year younger than me and the prettiest gal in our part of the Caintuck," she said. "My Piggott was mighty keen on marrying her and come to set with her twiced a week without fail all that winter long."

  Granny tapped her pipe and took another long draw of tobacco. "I wanted that man from the first moment I saw him. Asmine always got whatever feller she wanted, but I was determined that she weren't gonna get this one."

  The old woman shook her head. "I was so green jealous of my sister I could taste the bitterness of it ever' time I swallowed. And that Asmine, she played Piggott like he was a fish on her line. Teasing him, then pouting up, starting spats, and flirting with other fellers."

  Granny looked down at the blue clay pipe and then glanced up at Meggie. "One night we was at a kitchen sweat dance across the river," she confessed. "Asmine was paying Piggott no mind that night and he started tipping some bald face field whiskey. After the dance I snuck away from the house and went to his place. Just like I figured, he was passed out cold on his shakedown cot. I crawled right in there beside that man."

  After a moment Granny laughed out loud. "Lord, when he waked up the next morning, he liked to have a conniption fit a-thinkin' he'd peeled a red onion without recalling it."

  The old woman shook her head as she remembered. "And my Pappy squalled near loud enough to raise the roost. He was fit to kill Piggott, had the Springfield loaded and pointed right at his gullet. He was sure the feller had been riding and tying with his own two girls."

  Granny hesitated in her speech for a moment as she allowed the memories to flow over her like warm molasses.

  "We was married up quick enough to smell the powder," she said. "That's why we come to this country in the first place. Piggott was sorrowing so about not getting Asmine that he couldn't even live in the same mountains with her. I felt prett
y bad about it myself, her moaning all the time like a sick hog about me stealing her chub. I begun to think that I'd done a real bad thing and made an awful mistake."

  She reared back in her chair. "That's when I took to calling him Piggott, rather than Mr. Piggott like he told me.

  I wasn't about to let him start a-running me like Asmine done him. I figured that he ought to shoulder some of the blame for the thing, him being stupid enough in the first place to fall for my silly sister instead of myself."

  Granny looked over at Meggie, the young woman was stunned to silence.

  "I figured we weren't never going to be happy," she said. "But the truth is, Meggie, that we was. And I believe he and Asmine coulda' never been that happy. We was meant to be together and that's why things happened like they did."

  Meggie nodded politely, still reeling slightly from the unexpected confession. "I'm so glad that it worked out for you, but for most people the love comes first not later."

  Granny disagreed. "I think you'd be surprised about that, child. Even those that think they are in love when they say ‘I do' find out later that they didn't have one inkling of what it's all about."

  “They must have some inkling or they wouldn't look so happy at their wedding," Meggie said. "Think about Althea and Paisley."

  "Althea and Paisley?" Granny looked at her in stunned disbelief for a long moment and then cackled with laughter. "You think those two married for love?"

  "Well, didn't they?"

  Granny tutted with disbelief. "Althea needed a place to go. Her Uncle Nez was plumb sick of keeping her. He'd been after her for a year or more to marry someone and get out of his house. And poor Paisley, he was more desperate to wed than she was. His mama's been running him like a clock since he was in knee britches. The only way that poor feller seen out of it was to get a woman of his own." Granny chuckled. "Then the fool wasted half a year trying to cozen you into it."

  Meggie's eyes widened in surprise.

  "Lord Almighty, Meggie," Granny continued. “The only love match we've had on this mountain for three harvests or more is you and your Mr. Farley."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "Gid! Gid Weston!"

  The man stringing for crawdad turned to see who had called his name. With shock his eyes widened, he clutched his chest and dropped to his knees.

  "Farley! Roe Farley. Lord Almighty, I ain't even had one little drink this morning, and I'm still seeing ghosts."

  His fine cloth coat splattered with mud and a fancy leather satchel clutched in his hand, the young man hurried over to him.

  "I'm not a ghost, Gid," Roe said. "Ghosts don't get their boots muddy in this mush. I'm as alive as you are, but I am lost. I've been wandering about this swampy bottom for half a day. I can't find the path up the mountain."

  "It's really you and ye ain't dead?" Gid asked, looking him over closely.

  Roe grinned and shook his head. "As far as I know I'm as alive as you are."

  Gid reached out to touch his shoulder and when he felt the flesh and bone his expression eased and he laughed out loud. "Roe Farley, you ain't dead at all. You want a drink?"

  Roe chuckled and shook his head. "No thanks. The last time I tried that donk of yours, it nearly killed me. I just need to find the path. I want to get to the cabin. My wi—my Meggie hasn't seen me for too long a time."

  Weston nodded vaguely. "And she's gonna be surprised," he said. "But she ain't at the cabin."

  "Oh?"

  "No, she's at the church, like the rest of the folks on this mountain, 'cepting me."

  "At the church? On Tuesday?"

  "For the funeral."

  "Funeral?" Roe's eyes darkened with concern. "Onery?"

  "Oh, Onery's there, too. It ain't his funeral. It's yourn."

  "Mine. Today. She waited this long?"

  "Waited?"

  Roe glanced up at the mountain hopefully and then back down at Weston. "I've got to get to the church right away, Gid. Which way is it?"

  "I'll take ye," he answered. "We can run over that near ridge and be there in two looks and a jump."

  Meggie sat on the front row of the church garbed in her black dress and bonnet. Her eyes were dry, but her heart was weeping copiously. To her right sat her father, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his anger and disappointment barely beneath the surface. Jesse was on her other side. His eyes still red-rimmed, he was biting his lip to keep from shedding tears in public.

  The congregation of the Marrying Stone church mournfully sang "Rock of Ages, cleft for me" and Meggie fought the chill that had settled in her soul.

  All the night long and through the morning she'd thought upon the things Granny Piggott had said. And upon her father's words, too. She thought about Roe. In her mind, she could see him smiling with Jesse, staring down at her from the hole in the roof, crying out her name. She could see his face as he pleaded with her to marry him. And it broke her heart.

  She'd set him free to go back to the Bay State to a life that had never made him happy and to a woman that he wasn't sure even existed. She'd told herself that it was a selfless thing that she did, something that was best for him. But in truth, it was her own childish stubbornness that had refused his offer. She had wanted a prince. A prince that was besotted with his feelings for her. A prince that would dote on her eternally. One to sweep her from her feet like in a fairy tale, and marry her for love.

  Roe Farley was no prince. He was a man.

  She had expected him to love her and he hadn't. But he'd hardly had time to know her. She'd thrown herself at his feet and then complained when he hadn't been grateful. Roe Farley, having never loved or been loved, had been supposed to take to it like tadpoles to pond scum, because Meggie Best wanted it that way.

  Silently she berated herself for her foolishness as she stared at the empty altar before her. Life had offered her a real man and a real chance for happiness and she'd deliberately thrown it away to nurture a fancy.

  Now that tale had ended, with no happily ever after, but the finality of death. And it was a story she'd plotted herself.

  She'd insisted, at least, that the funeral service be simple. And she refused a headstone in the boneyard. Roe Farley was dead to her, dead to these people, but forever more in her heart he would live. Not as a conquering prince or dashing lover, but as a good and gentle man who had held her close and had wanted to marry her.

  Meggie felt Jesse tremble beside her and she reached over to clasp his hand in her own. He looked strong and handsome in his Sunday suit with his hair slicked back. But since the bell had begun tolling at dawn that morning, his emotions had been raw and his tears close to the surface.

  "You go ahead and cry if you want," Meggie had told him at breakfast. But he'd shaken his head.

  "Pa ain't crying," he'd said. "And Roe wouldn't neither. I ain't no baby boy, Meggie. I'm a man just like them. Roe said so and he's my frien'. He never lies to me."

  The last strains of the old hymn faded and Pastor Jay stepped up to the pulpit. Meggie swallowed her trepidation and wadded her hankie in her hand.

  The old man looked ready and purposeful as he stepped before them. His white hair gleamed in the sunlight that streamed in from the window behind him. He was still very tall and straight for a man of his age. And his voice was still powerful enough to speak with the authority of heaven. His eyes scanned the crowd meaningfully, obviously noting who was there and who was not. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't. Faster than a turkey takes a worm, the old preacher's expression changed and he seemed puzzled, confused.

  "Is it Sunday already?" he asked his congregation.

  Several churchgoers cleared their throats and a couple of children giggled behind their hands. The preacher continued to look at them questioningly until Deacon Buell Phillips stepped up to the pulpit. Leaning closely he whispered into the old man's ear.

  "Funeral?" Pastor Jay asked loudly. "We're having a funeral? Where's the body?"

  Again the deacon conferr
ed with the pastor and the old man nodded his head. He looked over to the family mourners' bench and smiled sadly at Meggie.

  "I'm so sorry about your loss, sister," he said.

  Buell Phillips sighed with relief.

  The pastor continued, "I'm afraid I didn't know your late husband."

  "Of course you did," Phillips snapped impatiently under his breath.

  Again the pastor looked confused. "Oh, well maybe I did," he said lamely, scratching his head. "But I can't seem to bring the feller to mind right now."

  He looked over at Phillips who appeared momentarily nonplussed.

  "Maybe you ought to eulogize the feller, Buell," the pastor said. "You seemed to know him."

  "Me!" Phillips was aghast. "I don't know a thing about giving a funeral."

  "Ain't nothing to it," Pastor Jay told him. "You simply tell what you know about the man. And right now, I don't know a thing about him. Sorry about that, sister," he said to Meggie.

  "But I can't—" Phillips began.

  "I can."

  The words came from the family mourners' bench and Meggie and her father turned to stare at Jesse in disbelief.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, this is ridiculous," Phillips said, turning to the other men on the deacons' bench for guidance and agreement.

  Murmurs among the crowd were loud and spirited. Jesse gave no time for them to ponder; he rose to his feet and stepped in front of the congregation.

  He was clearly nervous. His blue eyes seemed big as plates and his upper lip trembled as if he might burst into tears any minute. But he didn't.

  He looked at his father and Meggie. Then he looked out over the congregation.

  "I don't speak in front of folks much," he said. "Mostly 'cause I'm kindy simple and folks don't never listen to me no how."

  He glanced back at Pastor Jay who was still standing at his place behind the pulpit. "But if the preacher don't remember Roe Farley, well... I do."

  Jesse cleared his throat and raised his chin bravely. "Roe Farley was my frien'," he announced. "He didn't have to be. Some folks probably wondered why he was. He was right smart, smarter than most of you here. He knew that when he come to this place, but he never let on like it."