And yet it wasn’t until an image of Heathro Thibodaux settled into her mind that she was able to stop more tears from trickling over her temples. At lease he’d lived. The girls—all eight of the Tuner Bend girls—had died. But at least the world hadn’t lost Heathro Thibodaux too.
Cricket thought of the plans she and her friends had made earlier in the day. She thought of how delighted Mrs. Maloney would be when she opened her door Friday night to see the beautiful teapot Vilma had sold her hair to purchase sitting on her front porch. She thought of Mr. Keel. Even a lonesome man would appreciate a new quilt—especially one so lovingly stitched as the one Ann had made for him was. She thought of Hudson Oliver and how, in one way or the other, his life would never be the same once Marie had confessed her feelings. And she thought of Heathro Thibodaux—thought that if anyone in Pike’s Creek deserved to be welcomed to town, deserved a kiss, then it was the heroic young Texas Ranger who had at least tried to save the abducted girls of Turner Bend.
Cricket pictured him then—the way he’d appeared earlier in the day as he’d stood on the bank of the swimming hole. A body would never know just by looking at him that he owned such a past. Muscular and strong, handsome, and alluring, he looked nothing like a man who had endured the horrors that he had.
The crickets congregated under the back porch abruptly stopped their song. Cricket knew her father must’ve gone out to close the barn doors for the night. Still, it wasn’t long before the musicians for which she was nicknamed began to play once more.
“Play on, my dear ones,” Cricket whispered. She smiled a moment as she thought of the day her father had explained that he and her mother had begun calling her Cricket when, at the age of four, they had begun to wonder if she would ever stop talking. As crickets played incessantly, it seemed Magnolia Cranford prattled and chirped with full the same vigor and consistency.
“Play on,” she whispered again. “Sing me to sleep. Drive away this sad feelin’ my heart is achin’ with.” She brushed one last tear from her temple as she turned on her side, fluffed her pillow, and sighed. “And play a pretty song for Mr. Thibodaux too please. He more than earned the right to be soothed by your gentle melody.”
Chapter Three
“You gonna drop in on Mrs. Maloney, Cricket?” Zeke Cranford asked his daughter.
“Beg your pardon, Daddy?” Cricket asked as the heat of guilt rose to her cheeks. Quickly she thought back over the past few days. Had she let something slip concerning the plans she, Marie, Ann, and Vilma had to gift Mrs. Maloney the teapot? The four girls liked to perform their acts of anonymous kindness…well, anonymously. And as far as Cricket knew, her father didn’t even suspect it was she and her friends who periodically scattered joy to others under the cloak of darkness. Yet she must’ve said something that indicated to her father she was involved. How else could he know about their plans where Mrs. Maloney and the teapot were concerned?
Zeke looked up from his plate of bacon and eggs, smiled at Cricket, and answered, “Well, it’s Friday. Don’t you usually drop in on the ol’ gal on Friday?” He looked back down to his plate, stabbed a bit of eggs with his fork, and added, “Fred Elmer says he seen her limping a bit yesterday, and I was just wonderin’ if all was well with her. So I thought since you usually visit with her on Fridays—”
“Oh! Oh yes!” Cricket exclaimed as understanding and reprieve washed over her. “Yes, of course I plan to visit her today.” She giggled a sigh of relief and said, “You about gave me a fit of apoplexy, Daddy. For a minute there I thought…”
Cricket closed her mouth tightly, but it was too late. As always, she’d said too much.
“You thought what?” Zeke asked.
“I thought…I thought you were gonna tell me some terrible sad news about Mrs. Maloney or somethin’,” she fibbed.
“Nope,” her father assured her. “But then again, limpin’ ain’t never a good thing. So you be sure you inquire about it today when you’re visitin’ her, all right?”
“I will, Daddy,” Cricket promised. “I surely will.”
“You’re still gonna help me with the washin’ this afternoon, aren’t you, Cricket?” Ada asked then.
Cricket was somewhat crestfallen by Ada’s already asking her to do chores before she’d even had a chance to finish her breakfast. Still, turning to Ada, she forced a happy countenance and answered, “Yes, Ada. I’ll be back to help with the wash by noon. Would that be soon enough?”
Ada grinned and sighed—almost as if she’d been expecting to be slapped across the face and hadn’t been. “That’ll be just fine, Cricket. Thank you.”
Cricket smiled sincerely then, for she felt sympathy for Ada’s struggles welling in her own bosom. How difficult it must be for Ada—trying to find the balance between being so young herself and yet nestled in the position of having a stepdaughter old enough to be her peer. The thought briefly crossed Cricket’s mind that perhaps she, Marie, Ann, and Vilma should let Ada join them for their shenanigans once in a while. After all, Ada was nothing if not kindhearted—and to the very core to boot.
Still, she quickly abandoned the idea. Their secret shenanigans were something that had to be kept secret. The incidents of spreading joy and happiness she and her friends organized would cease to have the enchanting effect they had if everyone in town were to find out who was doing them. And Cricket knew how completely Ada confided in Zeke. There wasn’t anything on the face of the earth or in the clouds of heaven above that Ada would keep from Cricket’s father—and it was as it should be.
Cricket turned her thoughts to executing the mischief planned for that night. The truth of it was Cricket had been jumping-jittery all week long! It seemed that not an hour ticked by that Cricket wasn’t going over the strategies of accomplishing her particular deeds in her mind—her plan to see Marie and Hudson Oliver in each other’s arms and her plan to properly welcome Heathro Thibodaux to Pike’s Creek. In fact, every time she thought of Heathro Thibodaux and her promise that she would kiss the handsome, heroic ex-Ranger, a wild sort of frightened excitement leapt in her stomach. For one thing, she honestly wondered if she really could successfully muster the courage she would need to kiss Mr. Thibodaux when the time came. And for another, she began to envision that he might shoot her where she stood when she did.
“Have you seen that ornery bull Heathro Thibodaux come by?” Zeke asked.
“What?” Cricket breathed, startled by the fact that her father would mention the name—the very subject of her worried thoughts.
“Yes, I have,” Ada answered. “It was out and about the other afternoon, and Mr. Thibodaux had quite a time gettin’ it on home.”
Zeke chuckled. “I can imagine he did.” Shoving another piece of bacon into his mouth, he added, “But a cattleman over in Thistle told me just how much he paid for Thibodaux’s bull’s services awhile back…and I’m guessin’ all the trouble that bull causes is well worth it where money’s concerned.”
“You know,” Cricket began, scooting her chair back from the table, “I think I’ll just run on over to Mrs. Maloney’s house right this minute. That way we can know for certain that she’s well enough…and I can be back long before noon to help with the wash, Ada.”
Zeke Cranford’s brow puckered a bit. Cricket seemed a bit more hoppy than usual. He was fairly certain some kind of tomfoolery was churning around in her mischievous little mind. Of course, it hadn’t escaped his attention that she was always a little less settled whenever Heathro Thibodaux’s name was mention.
Zeke grinned. Ah! The agony of young love! He sure was glad he was past it. He looked to Ada and smiled. She was a beauty, that was for certain; inside and out, Ada was a beauty. She was just what Zeke had needed, and he thanked the Almighty every night for putting her in his path.
Returning his attention to Cricket, he said, “Sounds like a good plan there, pumpkin. You tell Mrs. Maloney me and Ada say hello…and to let us know if she needs anything. Anything at all, all right?”
> “I will, Daddy,” Cricket said, rising from her chair and placing a quick kiss on Zeke’s face.
“I’ll be back as quick as I can, Ada,” Cricket offered with a smile.
“Thank you, Cricket,” Ada said, returning the smile.
Zeke grinned. The two women in his life were beginning to find a comfortable place with one another. It was another blessing he silently thanked the Almighty for.
Cricket was out the kitchen door and down the back porch steps quicker than a rabbit with a red fox on its heels. Once her daddy had made mention of Heathro Thibodaux, Cricket had been overcome with an urgency to escape. She’d been thinking so long and so hard about Pike’s Creek’s newest bachelor that she was afraid she’d burst at the seems and start spilling all her private thoughts about him to her daddy and Ada if she lingered any longer!
It was so very difficult to keep such things bottled up. It wasn’t healthy either, or so Mrs. Maloney claimed. And although Mrs. Maloney was right—it did feel better to confess secret feelings and worries to a friend—Cricket sometimes wondered if the old gal had simply used the fact to coax information out of Cricket in a weak moment or two. Yep, Maymee Maude Maloney was the one person on the face of the earth who could weasel just about anything out of Magnolia Cricket Cranford. As she walked toward Mrs. Maloney’s house, Cricket shook her head, giggling with amusement—because it was absolutely true! Once Mrs. Maloney got Cricket to talking, there was no stopping Cricket from saying just about anything or answering just about any question.
In fact, the only thing Cricket had managed to keep from Mrs. Maloney since the first day she’d rather accidentally ended up sitting on her front porch for a visit was the fact that Cricket knew exactly who the do-gooders of Pike’s Creek were—the fact that Cricket herself was the ringleader.
Maymee Maloney had been the very person (at last) who had helped Cricket to understand her father’s growing adoration for Ada. Mrs. Maloney had helped Cricket to accept Ada into the family—into her deceased mother’s role. It had been Mrs. Maloney who had counseled Cricket in times of frustration and despair. It had been Mrs. Maloney who had comforted her, laughed with her, teased with her, gossiped with her, and taught Cricket more than any one woman could ever imaginably teach another.
Cricket adored Maymee Maloney—simply adored her! And she liked the way Mrs. Maloney referred to her as Magnolia instead of Cricket. It made her feel grown up and refined somehow—even for the fact that she rarely kept her shoes on when she was at Mrs. Maloney’s house or that she rarely laughed quietly when in her company. Still, Cricket liked to be called Magnolia, even though no one else seemed to call her that—other than Vilma when she was scolding, that was.
“Good mornin’ there, sweet Magnolia!” Mrs. Maloney called as Cricket hurried up the front porch steps of the Maloney house.
“Good mornin’, Mrs. Maloney,” Cricket chirped as Mrs. Maloney reached up from her seat in her front porch rocker and gathered Cricket into a warm embrace.
“My, don’t you look chipper already today,” the elderly woman laughed. “Have you come for a visit already?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cricket assured her friend. Taking her designated seat on the old tree stump stool in front but to one side of Mrs. Maloney’s porch rocking chair, Cricket added, “I just couldn’t wait to get out of the house and come see you today. I hope you’ve had your breakfast already.”
“Oh, hours ago, darlin’! Hours ago,” Mrs. Maloney assured her with a smile.
Cricket’s smile broadened. She like the way Mrs. Maloney’s eyes smiled with her mouth—the way they looked like little half-moons of delight. The old gal’s blue eyes had faded to nearly gray with so many years of seeing so much life, but that didn’t make them sparkle with pure merriment in life any less.
“Daddy said he heard you were limpin’ a bit a few days back,” Cricket began. “Are you all right?”
Mrs. Maloney rolled her eyes with exasperation. “Land sakes! A body can’t get away with anything in this town,” she sighed. Her smile did not fade, however, and she continued, “I just twisted my ankle a bit, that’s all. It’s all healed up nice now. Even the bruisin’ is goin’.”
“Well, how did you do that?” Cricket asked. “You weren’t runnin’ a footrace with those Burroughs boys again, were you?”
Mrs. Maloney laughed and shook her head. “Oh, goodness no! I was just doin’ a little waltzin’ in my parlor and stepped wrong.”
Cricket’s eyebrows arched with curious delight. “Waltzin’? With whom, may I ask?”
“With none-of-your-nevermind, Miss Magnolia,” Mrs. Maloney teased.
“Mrs. Maloney!” Cricket playfully exclaimed. “Have you got a beau? Have you been entertainin’ a gentleman in your parlor of late?”
But Maymee Maloney simply tossed her head and laughed with pure glee. “Oh, don’t I wish it, Magnolia. Don’t I wish it.”
Cricket had grown wise to Maymee Maloney’s weaseling ways, however—and they were twofold. Not only could Mrs. Maloney weasel anything out of Cricket, she could also weasel her way out of not giving a straight answer to any question she chose not to answer.
“I’m not lettin’ you off this time, Mrs. Maloney,” Cricket giggled. “Who is this mysterious beau you were waltzin’ with in your parlor that found you with a turned ankle?”
Mrs. Maloney grinned—her eyes grinning too. “Oh, just Nobody,” she answered. “Nobody MacGee. That’s what I call him…Nobody MacGee. Nobody has been my waltzin’ partner since the day I lost my darlin’, sweet Mr. Maloney. Yep. Me and ol’ Nobody…we kick up our heels like nothin’ you’ve ever seen when the urge comes over us.”
Cricket’s heart pinched with sadness for Mrs. Maloney’s loneliness—for the loss of her husband, even though it had been long ago. She knew she couldn’t dwell on the subject or she’d be reduced to tears of sympathetic sorrow, loss, and loneliness.
“Well, you tell Mr. Nobody to watch his feet next time you all are sparkin’ in the parlor then,” she teased. “He’s got to be careful with a delicate, well-mannered lady like you.”
“We weren’t sparkin’, Magnolia,” Mrs. Maloney corrected with good humor. “We were only waltzin’.”
“Mm-hmm,” Cricket said, feigning suspicion. “Oh, I’m sure you were.”
Cricket and Mrs. Maloney both erupted into giggles for a moment. And when they each finally drew a breath, sighing with the contentment that comes of having been distracted by lightheartedness, Mrs. Maloney asked, “And how are things with Ada? Are the two of you gettin’ to know one another a little better?”
Cricket nodded. “Yes…I think so,” she answered. “And I see now that I was bein’ selfish and silly. I don’t know why it took me so long to start to understand.”
“Well, don’t spend any more time worryin’ about why it took so long. Just spend the time buildin’ your relationship with Ada from here forth,” the wise old woman counseled. “I think that someday you’ll find her to be one of your truest and most loyal friends.”
“Maybe so,” Cricket mumbled.
“Meanwhile, I saw that tall drink of water that ruffles your bloomers in at the general store yesterday,” Mrs. Maloney said, having lowered her voice to nearly a whisper.
“And who might that be?” Cricket asked, blushing and feigning ignorance.
Mrs. Maloney smiled and giggled a bit. “That Mr. Heathro handsome-as-the-day-is-long Thibodaux, that’s who.”
“Hmm,” Cricket said with a shrug. “I suppose that’s nice.”
“Well, he’s a lot more fun to look at than a hound’s hind end, I can tell you that.”
Cricket nodded and quietly mumbled, “Mmm-hmm.”
“That reminds me…Me and Mr. Maloney had us a hound dog once that had a little patch of white hair shaped exactly like a heart situated right under his tail on his hind end.” The old woman began to chuckle. “Mr. Maloney named him Valentine, and that ol’ hound slept at the foot of our bed for near to twelve years be
fore he died.” She sighed and shook her head. “Old Valentine. I hadn’t thought of him in so long.”
Cricket smiled. “A heart right under his tail?”
“Yep,” Mrs. Maloney said with a nod. “I was forever and always scoldin’ Mr. Maloney about liftin’ up that dog’s tail to show folks the heart. It just wasn’t proper.”
Cricket began to giggle again. Mrs. Maloney was more fun than anything! Suddenly Cricket’s excitement swelled so warm and enchanting in her bosom that she thought she might burst with delighted anticipation—knowing that, that very night, the elderly little darling would receive the pretty teapot from the general store window.
“Anyway, as I was sayin’, I saw your Mr. Thibodaux in the general store yesterday,” Mrs. Maloney continued, having remembered her previous train of thought. The woman was impossible to distract.
“He’s not my Mr. Thibodaux,” Cricket corrected. “In fact, I hear tell the Widow Rutherford has nearly got him roped in.” The thought of Anastasia Rutherford winning the affections of Heathro Thibodaux caused all the pleasure Cricket had known a moment before to dissipate entirely.
“Oh, she’s tryin’ all right. I’ll give her that,” Mrs. Maloney began. “But it’s gonna take more than a pretty lasso to tether that boy to any woman’s porch.”
“A pretty lasso can tether any man to a woman’s porch, Mrs. Maloney, and you know it.” Cricket felt somehow defeated—almost depressed.
Mrs. Maloney nodded. “Sometimes that’s true…and sometimes it ain’t,” she said. “And anyway, Anastasia was in the general store the same time as me and Mr. Thibodaux, and he didn’t do more than nod and mumble a greeting when she said hello to him.” Mrs. Maloney frowned and seemed thoughtful. “I think those goin’s-on last year just did that man too much damage.”
Cricket sighed and shook her head. “I don’t understand why he seems to bear the guilt of it all,” she said. “He was the one who was right when the rest of the posse was wrong. It wasn’t his fault he had no help.”
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