“Well, I was just thinkin’ that since you and Daddy share a bed now,” Cricket carefully treaded, “that it only makes sense…bein’ that you’re so young and all…that a baby oughta be bakin’ in the oven about now. That is all that’s involved, isn’t it? Just the fact that you’re married and sharin’ a bed? Nothin’ else is required…unless I’m mistaken.”
Ada was still blushing, but she smiled, tossed her head with a pretty laugh, and said, “Oh, Cricket! You know there’s more to it than just sharin’ a bed.” But Ada paused, looking inquisitively to Cricket. “Don’t you?”
Cricket shrugged. “Well, that’s all Daddy told me. That when a man and a woman get married, they start sharin’ a bed, and then suddenly there’s a baby inside you.”
Ada put her hands on her hips, frowning. “Is that all Zeke told you? That’s it? Nothin’ more?”
“No…that’s it,” Cricket admitted—though she was one hundred percent sure now that Mrs. Maloney had certainly weaseled her way out of saying something important.
Ada puffed a breath of exasperation. “I swear, that man! He’s as dumb as an ox sometimes!”
“I’m guessin’ he left somethin’ out,” Cricket offered, more curious than ever.
“Yes, he left somethin’ out!” Ada exclaimed. “He left everything out! Why, if my mother hadn’t told me what she did before I married Zeke, I woulda probably passed out cold on my weddin’ night when…”
Ada stopped herself, but it was too late. She looked at Cricket, tears filling her eyes as she suddenly realized that Cricket had been very young when her own mother had passed away. There hadn’t been a woman around to tell Cricket the intimate details of…of intimacy. Ada knew that in marrying Zeke—a darling, charming man who was obviously uncomfortable when speaking to his daughter on certain subjects—the responsibility for such things as maternal advice and comfort had fallen to her. But she’d never imagined she’d have to explain to a girl nearly her own age exactly how the human race proliferated.
Still, Ada wasn’t at all sure that hanging out laundry was the proper time and place to explain things to Cricket. And besides, Ada had some time. Cricket wasn’t being courted by anyone—or even interested in anyone as far as Ada knew. Therefore, she’d think on it awhile—figure out just what to say to Cricket in explaining intimacy between husband and wife, and how and when to tell her.
“I’m guessin’ it’s somethin’ I should be hearin’ from my mama, Ada,” Cricket said, smiling with understanding. “So it’s not your fault. And we can talk about it later.”
Ada smiled, feeling somewhat relieved.
But then Cricket laughed. “After all, what more can there be to it than what Daddy already told me?”
Once more Ada tripped over the clothespin bucket, sending clothespins scattering through the grass beneath the clothesline.
“Not so much, I suppose,” Ada giggled nervously, blushing anew as she bent to gather up the clothespins.
Cricket’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She determined that maybe growing up in a tiny town like Pike’s Creek had kept her ignorant of certain details of life, and she wondered for a moment—was it a good thing or a bad thing?
Either way, she’d find out what she wanted to know. If her Daddy or Ada wouldn’t tell her, she’d eventually wiggle it out of Mrs. Maloney, one way or the other.
Sighing, Cricket looked up into the beautiful blue of the summer sky overhead. A few large clouds were sitting way up high—like big, puffy angels gazing down to guard folks below. A hummingbird zipped in and out of the clothesline, and Cricket and Ada exchanged delighted glances. It was simply a lovely day—a perfect day—and Cricket couldn’t wait to finish hanging out the laundry so she could race to the old Morgan house to meet the girls.
After all, she hadn’t told them about being chased by Heathro Thibodaux’s bull yet—about how Mr. Thibodaux applied medicinal spit to her injury and threatened to show her “something inappropriate.” Furthermore, the Olivers were packed up and ready to head down to San Antonio, so Cricket was certain Marie was a mess of tears and worry.
She wondered whether Ann had received any more winks and smiles from Mr. Keel and if Vilma were going to be in a jovial mood or one of her self-righteous, call-everyone-to-repentance moods.
All in all, there was so much to talk about with the girls. And so, too impatient to linger any longer, Cricket gave up gazing into the lovely sky and began to hurriedly pin up the rest of the clothes she and Ada had finished washing. Mischief was waiting for her at the old Morgan place, and it looked to be a fine day for swimming too!
❦
“And then he kissed me once more,” Marie sniffled. “One more long, lingerin’ kiss before he climbed up into the wagon seat and drove off into the mornin’ sun.”
“He’ll be back, darlin’,” Ann soothed, placing a comforting arm around Marie’s shoulders.
Cricket winced at the pain her own heart was feeling for Marie’s worry and sadness. Marie and Hudson had been nearly inseparable since the night they first kissed their loving confessions. She knew it was a horrid thing to anticipate ten days before Hudson returned—at least ten!
“He gave me these,” Marie said then. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she held up her left wrist and tugged at the sleeve of her shirtwaist to reveal the most beautifully crafted silver and turquoise bracelet Cricket had ever seen. Not that she’d seen many, but she’d seen similar jewelry on the wealthy woman who occasionally disembarked from the train for a short stretch of the legs before continuing on to Santa Fe.
Vilma gasped and studied the bracelet closely. “Marie, it’s beautiful! And so expensive!”
Marie smiled halfheartedly. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? There’s a turquoise pendant laid in silver hanging from a silver chain and matching earrings as well…but I left them at home. I was afraid to wear them all together—afraid I’d lose them or somethin’.”
Cricket took Marie’s hand and admired the bracelet. It was a thick cuff of silver, very intricately designed, with a large oval piece of turquoise inlayed in the center of the band. It truly was the most astonishing piece.
“Well, Hudson certainly has been observin’ you, Marie,” Cricket giggled. “That’s for certain. I wonder how many times he saw you standin’ over the jewelry case in the general store wishin’ after pretty things.”
And it was true! Just as Ann loved her black thoroughbred, Harley—just as Vilma loved pens and inkwells—Marie King loved jewelry. She nearly had bracelets coming out her ears, being that her parents gifted her one every Christmas. But even Cricket had never seen the like of Hudson’s gift up close. It was truly beautiful and unique—just like Marie King herself.
“I hope he’s safe…that he hurries home to me,” Marie sniffled.
“He’ll be safe,” Cricket assured her. “And he’ll be home soon and sparkin’ your stockin’s to catchin’ flame before you know it.”
Marie nodded and forced a smile. Unexpectedly then, as she stared at Cricket, she began to giggle. Almost instantly her giggle turned to laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Cricket asked, giggling herself simply because Marie’s laughter was so contagious.
“I’m sorry, Cricket,” Marie breathed, continuing to laugh with merriment. “But the vision of you sittin’ there on your fanny in the grass with Heathro Thibodaux spittin’ on your foot and rubbin’ it in…oh, I just wish I could’ve seen that!”
“Me too!” Ann exclaimed, breaking into her own trilling giggle. “And you didn’t even have time to think on the fact that he placed his bare hand on your fanny to push you over the fence!”
“On the seat of my skirt, Ann! Only on the seat of my skirt!” Cricket corrected, still giggling over her friends’ amusement.
Even Vilma was laughing. “I told you, Magnolia! I told you that runnin’ around without your stockin’s and shoes would find you in a predicament one day.”
“Yes, you did, Vilma Stanley,” Cricket happily admitted
. “But if it was meant to find me in a predicament, I’m so glad the predicament it found me in was with Heathro Thibodaux and his medicinal spit!”
The girls burst into laughter, tears rolling from their eyes. Even Marie’s tears had turned from those of sadness to those of mirth.
“Oh, you all do my very soul so much good!” Vilma panted. “I swear, no one on earth makes me laugh like you girls do.”
Cricket was only able to nod her agreement, still too overcome with a fit of giggles she thought would see her rolling on the floor in another minute.
“Well, well, well…looky what we have here, boys.”
All four girls looked to the doorless threshold of the old Morgan house, their laughter ceasing abruptly. There in the doorway stood no less than seven or eight scroungy-looking men—all with pistols drawn or rifles aimed directly at them.
“Someone’s helpin’ us along today,” the man who stood in front of the rest said as he stepped into the room. The other men followed him in, still keeping their guns leveled at Cricket, Ann, Marie, and Vilma.
“Who are you?” Vilma ventured.
“Why…we’re just men of business, darlin’,” he answered as he began to circle the girls as a group. “Just men out and about lookin’ for things to sell.”
Instantly a vision of the newspaper article hidden in the chest at the foot of Cricket’s bed flashed through her mind. Were these men white slavers? Were these the same men that had killed the eight girls for whom Heathro Thibodaux had nearly given his life in trying to save? Whether or not they were, it was obvious their intentions were neither friendly nor kind.
“Help! Help us!” Cricket managed to shriek a moment before the man’s dirty, rough hand covered her mouth from behind.
“You hush, girl!” the man growled in her ear. He held a pistol to her head. “You hush! And if any of you others have any ideas of runnin’ or hollerin’ out, I’ll put a bullet right through your pretty little friend’s head here.”
Another man stepped forward, leveling his rifle at Marie. “Now, you girls come on outside with us. You do just as we say, and we won’t kill ya.”
The man with his hand over Cricket’s mouth ordered, “And bring that thoroughbred with us. He’ll fetch a nice price.” Chuckling—his rancid breath hot against Cricket’s ear—he added, “But not as nice a price as you, darlin’. No, sirree. Not as nice a price as you.”
❦
“Of course I’ll come with you, Cooper,” Zeke Cranford assured his friend. He patted Cooper Keel twice on the back and added, “The more people that’s lookin’ for your niece, the faster we’ll find her and bring her home.”
“What’s goin’ on, Zeke?” Ada asked, drying her hands on her apron as she stepped out onto the front porch.
“It’s my niece,” Cooper Keel answered. “My brother’s daughter, up in Thistle…they can’t find her.”
“What?” Ada gasped.
“My brother don’t know if she run off with a boy she was sweet on, fell into a ravine, or if it’s somethin’ else,” Cooper explained. “But they can’t find her, and it’s been more than a day. I just got a telegram askin’ me to come up and help search for her.”
“Cooper’s asked me to go, honey,” Zeke explained to his pretty young wife. He hated to leave Ada and Cricket for any length of time—but he knew Cooper needed the help. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Oh yes, Zeke! You have to go. You must!” Ada exclaimed with sincerity. “You all have to find that girl!” Ada ran a hand over her head in nervously smoothing her hair. “Why…she could be layin’ out there in the wilderness hurt…or somethin’ the like.” Ada looked to Cooper. “Go now, Cooper. You and Zeke go. Don’t waste any more time.”
“Thank you, baby,” Zeke said, quickly kissing Ada on the mouth. He looked to Cooper. “Let me get saddled and get my rig, and I’ll meet you over at your place.”
“Thank you, Zeke,” Cooper said with nod. Looking to Ada, he smiled. “And thank you, Ada.”
“Of course, Cooper,” Ada said, forcing a smile. “No need to thank anybody for anything. You boys just be on your way. You find your niece, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cooper Keel touched the brim of his hat and nodded to Ada.
“You and Cricket…don’t be worryin’ the way the two of you do whenever I’m gone,” Zeke told Ada. He kissed her once more and then hurried down the porch.
“Oh, we will worry, Zeke,” Ada whispered as she watched him head toward the livery. “We will worry.”
Ada frowned. She was already anxious. She felt a shiver of unease travel through and hugged herself, rubbing her arms to dispel the unpleasant goose bumps erupting there.
Glancing around, she wondered where on earth Cricket had run off. But she quickly remembered Friday—the day Cricket visited old Maymee Maude Maloney and then ran off to who knows what mischief with Marie King, Ann Burroughs, and Vilma Stanley.
Ada sighed, feeling somewhat comforted in knowing that with Cricket either visiting Maymee Maloney or off wading in the creek with her friends, she wasn’t alone. And besides, Pike’s Creek was a nice town with nice people in it.
Having decided her prickly goose bumps and strange anxiety were caused by Zeke’s leaving and nothing else, Ada turned around and went back into the house. She did hope Cricket didn’t linger too long with her friends. It wasn’t that there was choring to do—just that Ada had begun to truly enjoy Cricket’s company. They were becoming friends—at last.
Chapter Nine
Heath slowed Archie to a slow walk when they reached the row of ancient willows lining the west side of the creek. He knew Archie enjoyed the cool, fresh caress of the green-leafed willow branches as they swept over his head and haunches as much as Heath did. There was something soothing about tree shade and the touch of a leaf to hot summer skin. Archie whinnied, and Heath smiled.
“All right, you lazy piece of horsehide,” he chuckled as he dismounted and allowed Archie to drink from the cool water of the stream. “And save some for the rest of us, boy.”
Heath hunkered by the creek bed, plunging one hand into the cool water and raising a cupped palm of refreshment to his mouth. “Ahhh!” he sighed. “It’s good, ain’t it?” He scooped a few more mouthfuls of fresh water to his lips and then removed his hat and ran wet fingers through his hair.
He was near the old Morgan place and could see the dilapidated roof rising above the tree line a ways upstream. He shook his head and frowned, wondering whether the four young ladies from Pike’s Creek who had pulled that little “welcome to Pike’s Creek” prank on him more than a week before were somewhere nearby, plotting their next do-gooding activities. Still, he couldn’t maintain his frown for long—not when the memory of that girl’s kiss was on his lips—not while he was still torn between the guilt he owned for so ruthlessly kissing her in return and the pleasure he’d relished while doing it.
Yep. That little blossom bottom had really rung his bell the week before. He’d had a hard time thinking on anything else since.
In an effort to divert the course of his thoughts, Heath looked downstream instead of upstream for a moment. It was a butterfly of a day—bright, fresh, warm, green, and colorful. Even the bank of the creek seemed calm and happy. At least up to the point where there’d been something to muddy it up.
“What done that, I wonder?” he said out loud as he stood and strode to the place where the grass and flowers had been disturbed.
Heath’s frown returned as he studied the ground—looked across the stream to see even more disturbance there. The disordered wet mud and grass on Heath’s side of the creek had been made by boots and shoes—many pair. As he looked behind him, he could identify at least six or seven different men’s boot prints on the bank of the creek—and what looked to be three or four different sets of women’s shoes. One shod horse as well.
A familiar and unwanted anxiety rose in him as his mind ran back a year to a similar scene he’d come across. Not wanting to
think about it, he sloshed his way across the creek to the other bank and followed the multiple sets of prints a ways. Not too far from the creek, nestled in a clearing located in the center of a group of trees, Heathro Thibodaux found what he’d hoped he wouldn’t—what he’d silently prayed he wouldn’t. There in the grass and dirt of the clearing, numerous hoofprints now joined all the boot and shoe prints. Furthermore, as he reached down and touched the horseshoe print of the horse that had crossed the creek with the group of people, he realized the horse was a thoroughbred.
There was only one thoroughbred in Pike’s Creek, and it belonged to Ralph Burroughs—or rather his daughter. Heath studied the ground only a moment more. Then he stood and ran back to the creek, across it, and to Archie.
Mounting in one smooth leap, Heath yelled, “Yah!” and sent Archie off on a mad gallop toward the old Morgan place.
He didn’t need to be told, and he didn’t need more evidence. Texas Ranger Heathro Thibodaux knew exactly what had gone on near the creek. But if he was going to convince the men of Pike’s Creek to raise a posse, then he knew he better damn well be certain they had enough evidence.
As he reached the Morgan place and dismounted, Heath was not surprised at what he saw. There’d been a scuffle all right. It was obvious by the prints in the dirt. And it looked like the outlaws had had to drag at least one girl out of the house; he could see the drag marks in the dirt leading away from the old threshold and out into the yard.
“Dammit!” he growled as he mounted Archie once more.
The Texas Rangers had hunted down and hanged all the outlaws who had killed the eight girls they’d stolen the summer before. But where one outlaw hanged, it seemed three more sprouted from the hanging tree on which his corpse was left to rot.
Heath knew exactly who had been taken too—the four silly but well-meaning girls who prowled around town in their black underwear every few Friday nights. Heath had often wondered how the citizens of Pike’s Creek could be so blind to exactly who the little do-gooders were. But then again, not everybody had the sharp eye or training he had. Furthermore, maybe some folks did know that it was the Cranford, King, Burroughs, and Stanley girls doing it all. Maybe they just chose to keep their mouths closed about it for the same reason Heath did—because they were sweet girls, doing sweet things in a world that needed a whole lot more sweet in it.
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