Behaving Herself

by Yvonne Jocks

  And she turned to face her father's disappointment... except that Papa did not look particularly upset. Intrigued, yes. But nowhere near as disapproving as she'd feared.

  “Your sisters are lookin' fer you,” he told her after a long moment of consideration, and offered an arm. She took it gratefully, somewhat light-headed from her uncommon rebel ion. Papa thumbed his hat politely toward the others. “Hedda. Folks.”

  And they left together. Papa did not say anything at al after that, which made Audra increasingly nervous. How much had he heard? What was he thinking about her?

  A strange calm settled over her as she thought that at least he was thinking it about the real Audra, not just the careful mask she'd hidden behind, even from herself, for so very long. Still, it was largely to avoid his disappointment that she'd worn that mask at all. She hadn't wanted to hurt him as her older sisters had. She'd never wanted the blame for familial discord.

  “I'm sorry if I shamed you,” she said finally.

  “Didn't hear nothin' mat weren't deserved,” drawled her father, so unexpectedly that she dared look up at him. “You've not shamed me yet, Audra Sue.”

  “Not even by quitting?”

  “You finish the job?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  'Then you're no quitter.“ He sighed. ”More like your mother than I'd figured, though."

  Which made her smile proudly and lean against his arm. “That's not so bad a thing, is it?”

  Papa wisely stayed silent on the matter. He loved his wife to distraction—Audra had never doubted that. But Mama did keep him on his cowboy-booted toes.

  “I mean to eat lunch with Mr. Harwood,” Audra told him now, in the interest of honesty.

  “I gathered,” he said noncommittal y.

  “He's my friend.” But Papa chose silence again. “You don't approve of him, do you?”

  Papa said, “Nope.” And she knew better than to argue that he didn't know Jack. Not just now. “But you're comin' home. Don't reckon one picnic lunch—in plain sight—will ruin you.”

  But he said it reluctantly—except for the plain sight part, which came out as a dire warning.

  Someone had been coaching him on open-mindedness.

  Audra said, “Mama's been talking to you, hasn't she?”

  Papa said, “Yup.”

  Audra turned and stood on her toes to give her father a kiss. “I love you, Papa.”

  He looked away again when he said, “Much obliged.”

  And I love Jack Harwood, too. But she was going home. So why bring it up now?

  They joined Mama, Kitty, and Elise on a quilt for the box social, and Audra's basket remained on the table, complete with its playing card decoration.

  Before the auction, Mr. Calloway stood and made some general announcements about pride in their young folk and the future of the town. "And, thanks in part to Mr. Hamilton of the mercantile,“ he said, ”the town council has come upon a way to all but guarantee a depot for the town of Candon, Tarrant County.“ Several folks laughed when he spoke the town's longer name. ”It has been suggested that we rename our city Tarrant."

  “Well, that makes sense,” said Mama, while Audra savored the pleased clamor. Mr. Hamilton could use the boost to his reputation as much as Candon could use the depot.

  “Why, Mama?” asked Elise. “Why does it make sense?”

  “It's easier to remember,” Mama explained, “And it's a more important-sounding name.”

  “And it won't be as hard to address letters when we write to Aunt Heddy,” added Kitty with a shy smile, which made Audra laugh.

  By the time the auction began, however, Audra's nerves had too tight a rein on her to allow laughter. What if Jack didn't notice his card on her basket, didn't know to bid on it? What if he didn't want to? What if someone outbid him? What if he'd already left?

  Early Rogers bid on Melissa's tin. He won lunch with her for six bits, and didn't even seem to mind that her three brothers intended to dine with them. Claudine's father spent two dollars to outbid old Mr. Putnam, to Claudine's too-obvious relief.

  finally Mr. Parker, the auctioneer, held up Audra's basket. He resented it, she could tel . He did not smell it and announce to the crowd that he detected chicken or peach pie. He did not wonder out loud what pretty girl might go with it—not, she suspected, that anyone had not already heard. He only asked, “And what do I have bid for—”

  And the wrong voice announced, “One dollar.”

  Audra felt ill. Jerome Newton? Bad enough that, when most bidding began with a nickel or a dime, he'd started so high. But for him to bid at all... !

  Kitty whispered, “Isn't he one of your pupils?”

  Audra couldn't even nod. Not Jerome. He could have the basket to himself, if he won it.

  Then, coming to her rescue, Jack's familiar drawl announced, “Two dollars.”

  Audra spotted him then, and relaxed. Jack could handle Jerome.

  “Two dollars and . . .” Jerome paused. 'Two dollars and twenty-five cents."

  Their audience watched in fascination.

  Jack managed a perfect mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Three dollars.”

  “Wait a minute,” called Jerome, and began to confer with several of his friends.

  Jack looked toward Audra, an eyebrow raised. She widened both eyes at him. Help me.

  Before Jerome could gather more funds, Jack called, “I raise my bid to twenty dollars.”

  Kitty gasped. Or maybe that was Audra herself. Jerome's shoulders slumped.

  Mr. Parker said, “Did you mean to say twenty dollars, Mr. Harwood?”

  Jack grinned and said, “I rarely make mistakes about money, Nate.”

  Several of the menfolk laughed, earning various degrees of disapproval from their wives.

  “Sold,” announced Mr. Parker, and Jack stepped forward to collect his lunch.

  Audra gathered up the spare blanket she'd brought, suddenly very nervous. She and Jack had not spoken in private since ...

  Remembering that last time thrilled her, but did little to calm her nerves.

  Papa warned, “Plain view,” in a tone that brooked no argument. Audra nodded. Some couples headed farther out than others, but she took shy comfort in not being one of them. There was a certain safety to fol owing some rules, at that. And when Jack arrived beside her, tall and handsome as ever, publicly offering his arm, she knew she needed all the safety she could get.

  So this was what it felt like to court a gal in public.

  No wonder Jack had never done it before.

  First came the challenge of collecting Audra from her family. Her father, staring at Jack from the shadow of his black hat's brim, reminded him of a cougar—certain that it could take him, merely deciding when. But her mother and sisters somehow worried him even more, especially the skinny sister with brown braids, eyes big behind thick spectacle lenses. Kitty, was it?

  If Jack somehow hurt this family, her father, at least, could take care of himself and Jack—and not in any way Jack wanted to test. But the thought of somehow hurting little girls raised the stakes to even more uncomfortable heights.

  Still, he'd anted up, so he might as well play the game through. He exchanged polite greetings. The way Kitty's already big, blue eyes widened when he smiled at her made Audra appear downright forward in comparison. But the little blond princess, Elise, balanced the trio out when she boldly met his gaze and asked, “Are you going to kiss my sister?”

  “Not just now,” hedged Jack, grinning at her brass, and the imp grinned back.

  Then Jack caught Mr. Garrison's murderous gaze and stopped grinning. Only once he'd drawn Audra far enough away not to be overheard did he feel safe enough to start breathing again.

  “Sorry,” he said, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He hadn't wanted to embarrass her.

  “No, I'm sorry,” Audra insisted. “Elise is somewhat... outspoken.”

  Jack carried the basket. Audra, arm on his, carried a blanket. The blanket gave him
the kind of ideas that could get a man kill ed, especially with everyone in town watching them.

  “I don't suppose ...” he suggested, looking toward a wooded path.

  “I promised to stay in plain sight,” admitted Audra, apologetic but not disappointed.

  Probably just as well. “A little insurance?” challenged Jack.

  “Not against you! Against...” When he slid his gaze down to her, her blush had deepened adorably.

  He could stare at her all day and not tire of it, he thought.

  “Well. . . maybe a little bit against you,” she murmured, smiling.

  He smiled back, and that felt better. An unexpected upside to everyone watching was that, for once, everyone saw her with him. Folks could wonder what Jack had that they didn't, never knowing that the most important answer was—Audra.

  At the very least, he had her for the afternoon. For the first time, people knew it.

  “Well, if we're to stay in plain view, we've reached the end of the available pasturage,” he decided now, looking around them. When the breeze blew, snowlike bits of fine white fluff drifted down from a grove of nearby cottonwoods. “Does this meet with your approval, ma'am?”

  Audra seemed startled, as if she hadn't been noticing. “Oh. Certainly.”

  Unless he'd chosen a fire-ant hill or a dung heap, she'd likely have accepted any of his choices. That made him nervous. Considering what he meant to propose, he didn't want her simply agreeing with him today. It gave him too much responsibility, too much culpability if things went wrong. He wanted her to decide for herself... even if her decision was no.

  They spread the blanket-— Don't think about blankets! —near some black-eyed Susans and sank onto it with the basket careful y between them. When Audra set about unpacking their lunch it occurred to Jack that, on top of everything else, he got a homemade meal out of the deal.

  “I made fried chicken,” Audra announced, her voice high. "Actual y Mama made it, but I helped.

  Instead of plucking chickens, Mama prefers that Papa skin them, so I hope you don't like too much fat on your poultry. We made hard-cooked eggs; my sisters collected them fresh this morning. My father's particularly fond of eggs, so I hoped you would be too."

  Jack watched her, admiring the uncertain brightness of her eyes, the modest flush across her china-doll cheeks, the way her sorrel curls caught the tree-dappled afternoon sunlight. "I'm fond of eggs," he assured her. He was. But he would eat dirt if she served it to him.

  “There's tomato relish, with basil and wild onion,” she continued as she fussed with plates, her voice rising in pitch if dropping in volume. “And pie. Everyone probably made pie.”

  “I don't care what everyone made,” Jack assured her, and she finally faced him directly.

  “You paid twenty dollars,” she said.

  “I was ready to pay two hundred.”

  “Oh . . .” She looked at the food. 'Twenty was scandalous enough," she chided gently.

  Which made him smile. “Speaking of scandal, I believe I have something of yours.” He extended the jack of hearts he'd once left at the school for her. "Now, what kind of a lady would attach an honest-to-dog playing card to her lunch basket?"

  When she took it, their fingers brushed. That brief, innocent touch weakened him. "It did create a scandal,“ she admitted shyly. ”But I wanted you to know which one was yours."

  Filling his gaze with her, he did know which one was his. But did she?

  “Even at the cost of your fine reputation?” he teased instead, awkwardly, but when she bit her lip, he wished he hadn't. “Audra—”

  “No, you ought to know something, Jack. I didn't have a fine reputation at home, and that's why I came here. I had one original y, but I went out riding with a beau one day—”

  “And the horses ran off and he kept you out after dark and you wouldn't marry him,” Jack finished.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Melissa told me,” he explained. “Without mentioning your name, mind you, but I figured that part out.”

  Audra said, “Oh.”

  “Why wouldn't you marry him, Audra?”

  She handed him a plate heaped with food. "I didn't love him. I turned him down even before the horses ran away, and I certainly wouldn't marry him after he al but abducted me."

  Which was wonderful to know. “Not even to save your reputation,” he insisted.

  “A reputation is a good thing,” she said. “But some things are more important.”

  “Audra?”

  She busied herself pouring lemonade from a clay jug and handed him a glass. But it was her attention he wanted, so he touched her hand gently. She paused like a rabbit caught in the open.

  He didn't want to be the predator anymore, damn it!

  “I never meant to scare you,” he said, reluctantly moving his hand lest even that threaten her. “I've thought about that night . .. when I left... I can hardly forget it. That was . ..” He had her blushing now; he suspected he might just be blushing himself, as unbalanced as he felt when he recalled that night. “I've never known anything so fine,” he confessed. “But I reckon I owe you an apology for letting it go so far. I know you're not that kind of a gal.”

  “But I am” she whispered, not meeting his eyes, and her blush deepened. “I... I sometimes think about that, too, Jack. You did not force me to do anything I didn't want to.” Which relieved but did not exonerate him. “You need not apologize.”

  “As the man, and the one with more ...” He swallowed, hating to remind her. “More experience, I think I do.”

  “For mercy's sake, you proposed marriage! How much more honorable could you be?”

  Then she looked up at him, her eyes big. He could see she hadn't meant to mention marriage. Now that she had, she couldn't take it back—but she could try to divert him.

  “Eat your chicken,” she said softly, giving them both an escape route. “People will begin to wonder what we're talking about.”

  He obediently took a bite of fried chicken, never lowering his gaze from hers until, halfway through chewing that first bite, he actual y tasted it. Then he looked at the chicken leg in his hand, wide-eyed. “This is good!” he exclaimed.

  “You thought my mother and I couldn't cook?”

  “Not like this. This is . . .” He took another bite, savoring it. Only after he'd swallowed did it occur to him that he'd digressed. But Audra was smiling again, at least.

  “I meant it,” he said, more seriously.

  “Liking the chicken?” she asked, purposeful y obtuse.

  So he put the chicken down. "Marrying you. I ought not have asked the way I did. As if it were only a way to get into your— that is, to ease your inhibitions about . . ." He picked up the chicken and took another bite after all, keeping his attention on the food until Audra uncovered her face and he felt safe to speak again. This time he meant to do it right.

  “Audra Garrison,” he said now—then thought to wipe his hands on his napkin. "Darlin', you are the finest woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Not just the prettiest, nor the smartest, though you are that, too. You are kinder, more honest, more . . . more understanding than I ever knew a respectable woman could be."

  “Jack—” she whispered in pained protest.

  He knew then that she still meant to say no. So much for his appetite. But she at least deserved to hear his whole pitch. She oughtn't ever have to wonder.

  “Hear me out,” he insisted. "The world is a finer place for you being in it, darlin'. My world is better for you being part of it. I realize that I'm not the sort of man a girl like you would general y yoke herself to, but being as you have indicated a certain return of—passion? desire?—“fondness,” he hedged, "I would be five kinds of fool if I did not at least ask you again to make me a better man by becoming my wife."

  There. He'd said it, and properly this time.

  He wasn't sure if the fact that Audra began to cry meant he'd done it well or not.

  Would she never st
op crying in front of this man? Audra hated herself for it, especially when Jack began to glance nervously in the direction of her family. He shifted as if to reach for her, then stopped awkwardly. He swore under his breath, then apologized for the language.

  “What in blazes do respectable men do to comfort a crying woman?” he demanded finally, clearly as frustrated as he was panicked. That made her giggle, even through the misery of having to reject him again after that beautiful, beautiful proposal. She did love him so much.

  “They hold her hand?” she suggested, sniffing.

  He took her hand right away—and with his left, he dug into a pocket and then proffered a store-bought handkerchief. She tried to be surreptitious in wiping her eyes, so as not to attract her father's attention. Jack's concern, after all , was not just paranoia.

  “You're carrying handkerchiefs now?” she asked, her voice uneven.

  “It's a small step toward respectability, but one whose time has come,” he assured her.

  “I love you, Jack,” she said, and watched his eyes close—he was either savoring her confession, or girding himself against what they both knew, from precedent, must fol ow. "If I were to marry any man, it would be you."

  He opened his eyes, and the lack of anger in them relieved her considerably.

  “So you don't plan on marrying at all?” he challenged—and with good cause. Distracted by his question, she even stopped crying. What real future was there for a respectable woman besides marriage and children? Audra's mother advocated her daughters' learning to support themselves, insisted that a career could be just rewarding as a home and family . . . but, coming from a woman so obviously happy in her marriage, the argument did not carry as much weight as it otherwise might. Lady teachers could not marry ... but, for that very reason, most lady teachers retired after only a few years.

  Did Audra truly want to grow up alone? No.

  And could she bear to marry anyone but Jack Harwood? No.

  But... could she marry Jack?

  If she risked only her own happiness, she would accept him in a heartbeat—even as fast as her heart was, in fact, beating. But how could she gamble with the children they would have? How could she gamble with her family's concerns?