Lunch had given the children time to socialize, the older children choosing to sit near the creek and converse, the younger children running and playing nearby. Violet had eaten her meal on the schoolhouse steps, where she could watch the goings-on with clarity—clarity of vision, perhaps, but not of mind. Her mind was too alive with pondering what the children had told her of Stoney Wrenn. Had he indeed become a philanderer? A crank, as Hagen had termed it? The thought literally sickened Violet, and she vowed not to believe it. She chose to believe the girls’ point of view—that Stoney Wrenn was a gentleman, that Dayton and Hagen were only envious of Maya’s sister being “sweet” on Stoney. She wondered then if perhaps Stoney was “sweet” on Maya’s sister as well. This thought also sickened her, and she tossed the remains of her muffin to the ground where several ducks were waddling.
Violet opened the watch locket hanging at her bosom. It was time to begin lessons again. Standing, she took the handbell from its place in the small nook next to the schoolhouse door and rang it. Instantly, the children flocked to her—rosy-cheeked with refreshment.
“Should we head back to the crick, Miss Fynne?” Dayton asked.
Violet giggled. “You aren’t about to let me get away without telling the story, are you, Dayton?”
“No, ma’am,” he chuckled.
“Very well then,” she said. “Everyone gather at the creek. But let’s hope I don’t have any angry parents arriving on my doorstep to scold me tonight.”
“Scold you for what, Miss Fynne?” Susan Gribbs asked, taking hold of Violet’s hand.
“For telling ghost stories instead of reading Dickens,” Violet said.
“Who’s Dickens?” Hagen asked.
“What?” Violet gasped with exaggerated dramatics. “Who is Dickens?” Violet smiled. “Oh, Sir Hagen, you have only just heightened my excitement for our studies. Especially when Christmas is near!”
When the children had settled—some on a fallen log that spanned the creek, others on the bank surrounding Violet—Violet began.
“I was eleven when I saw the light, the light of the lovers’ moon as it seems you call it now,” she began. She removed her shoes and stockings, letting her toes sink into the cool grass on the bank.
“I’m eleven!” Helen Little exclaimed.
“Me too,” Nate McGrath added.
“So I was just the age Helen and Nate are now,” Violet continued. “I had heard of the light in the old Chisolm house—many people in Rattler Rock had seen it—but I never had, probably because I was so young…and not in the habit of wandering about during a full moon.”
The children giggled, and Violet leaned back. She loved the feel of the grass beneath her palms, of the fresh summer air and warm sunlight on her face.
“Well, Sto—my friend had sworn to me, sworn that he had seen the light in the old house on Buddy Chisolm’s property,” she said. “He swore to me he’d seen it more than once, but I didn’t believe him. So, one night, when the moon was full, I heard a tapping at my window…a quiet, slow tapping—”
“Like a boney finger?” Phelps asked.
“Like a fleshy one,” Violet said. She sighed as Susan and Nina snuggled in closer to her. She knew someone’s parents would raise Cain over her telling ghost stories during school. Yet it was far too late to reconsider now. She couldn’t disappoint the children, not on her first day as their teacher.
“Who was it?” Beth asked.
“My friend, the one who had seen the light,” Violet said. “He’d come to sneak me out of the house, to take me to the old Chisolm place to watch for it.”
Dayton and Hagen both wore broad smiles, and Violet knew they liked her all the more for her admitted rebellion.
“Now, children. Do understand you should never sneak out of your safe homes at night,” Violet said. “You should never do that. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Fynne,” the children said.
Maya, Dayton, and Hagen yet wore knowing smiles—and Violet winked at them.
“So, where were we? Ah, yes—the tap, tap, tap of a finger on my window. A fleshy finger, not a boney one,” she explained to Susan and Nina. “I went to my window to find Sto—my friend there. He said if we went to the old Chisolm place, he knew we would see the light…the light of the ghosts who haunted it.”
“I like this story!” Nate exclaimed.
Violet smiled. “I remember I cut my leg climbing out my window, on the rose trellis, but I didn’t care…for I was anxious to see the light. We hurried through the darkness, my friend and me. He’d brought a lantern, but because the moon was full, we didn’t light it. We didn’t want to be seen—didn’t want the ghosts to know we were watching for them. The trees stood black and ominous against the starry sky. The moon hung with a sort of misty, gossamer shroud around it. All was quiet. Only the crickets and frogs were quietly conversing as on we trod on through the night, past the old oak on the border of Buddy Chisolm’s property.”
Violet paused, delighted by the widened eyes of the children. Even the older children had changed skeptic expressions for those of intrigued interest.
“Suddenly, there it was, looming up before us—the old Chisolm house, looming there, like something that had died and had its eyes poked out.”
She heard Nina Deavers gulp and placed a reassuring arm around the child’s shoulders.
“Sto—my friend led me to a place he said was best for waiting. He said the ghosts couldn’t see us there but that we would still be able to see their light when they came. It was warm that night—a summer night, very like the one we knew last evening. All was quiet…and then all was silent…for the crickets suddenly stopped chirping…the frogs held their croaks in their throats…and I thought I saw something. There…” Violet said, pointing toward a space beyond the creek. “There…on the bottom floor, in one of the windows, the furthest window to the right. There I saw it—a faint light at first, like a candle. It was small, and I thought perhaps it was a firefly. But my friend reminded me then…” Violet lowered her voice to a near whisper and continued, “We don’t have fireflies in Rattler Rock, now do we?” All the children shook their heads yet made no sound.
“We watched—silent and still from our watching place—and I saw the light again, brighter this time, as if someone had indeed lit a candle and the wick loved the flame. It was in that lower window, for only a few moments, just long enough for me to breathe and count ten nervous breaths…and then it was gone.” Violet paused—to let the goose bumps on the children’s arms settle.
“I was scared—I remember being so scared—but my friend was with me, and I knew I was safe. I looked to him. His eyes seemed to hold the moonlight. They were bright with adventure and excitement, and he pointed to the house once more. ‘Look!’ he whispered. ‘There…in the upper window.’ I looked, and there it was again…the light of the lovers’ moon, brighter this time, like an oil lamp turned down in the evening before bed. It moved from one room to the next…seeming to pause before each window…as if someone stood there, looking out into the night, looking out toward where we sat hidden in the darkness. We watched the light roaming about the house for several minutes…watched it appear in one of the downstairs windows once more…watched it flicker, dim, and go out…as if it had never been there at all.”
The children were quiet—silent for long moments.
“Did you hear the moanin’? Or the laughter?” Hagen asked at last. “Sometimes they say there’s laughter, but I ain’t ever heard it.”
Violet smiled. “But you’ve seen the light, haven’t you?”
Hagen nodded. “It’s just like ya said, just like that. I seen it the same as you. More’n once. Me and Dayton, we both seen it. But we never heard the noises.”
“I heard them once, just before my family moved,” Violet said. “A low, breathy sound, like loud breathing, and then a quiet moaning followed by something akin to laughter. I heard it only once, but I did hear it.”
“You all are t
ellin’ tales! Surely, Miss Fynne,” Maya exclaimed. “Ain’t ya?”
“I can’t speak for Dayton and Hagen, but I told you the truth of my own experience. Of course, that was many years ago.”
“Well, I want to see it for myself,” Maya said.
“Me too!” Phelps added.
“You all can’t go there,” Dayton said. “Stoney Wrenn would as soon shoot ya as look at ya if he caught ya out there. He guards his property like nobody I ever seen…just like a snarlin’ ol’ dog! You’d think he was hidin’ a gold mine out there or somethin’. You best stay away, Maya…at least unless Hagen or me is with ya.”
Violet smiled, noting the delighted blush rising to Maya’s cheeks. Maya Asbury was sweet on Dayton Fisher; that’s why she argued with him so.
“Someone’s comin’, Miss Fynne! We better hide!” Nate exclaimed in a whisper.
It wasn’t until Violet was hunkered down on the creekbank—the other children hidden behind trees, rocks, and logs—that she even wondered why she had instantly taken the advice of a child.
“Why are we hiding, Nate?” she asked.
The boy was right next to her, eyes wide as he watched the road that passed by the schoolhouse. “Because we’re supposed to be inside learnin’ our letters and such, and we’re out here tellin’ ghost stories,” he explained. “Don’t ya see, Miss Fynne?”
“I do,” Violet said, nodding. “I really do.”
“Hush up!” Hagen called in a whisper. “There’s a rider on the road.”
“It’s him!” Susan whispered.
“Who?” Violet asked.
“Stoney Wrenn!” Susan said. “That’s his big bay! My pa says he wonders where Stoney Wrenn got so much money as to buy a horse like that.”
“Stoney Wrenn,” Violet breathed as she watched the rider approach.
The man riding the big bay horse sat tall in the saddle. His legs were long, weathered boots shoved in the stirrups. Violet strained to see him better, but the sun was too bright. Still, the weathered hat, pulled far down on his forehead—it was the same man that had thrown her off Buddy Chisolm’s property the day before. Violet shook her head—felt her eyes fill with tears. Where was the body of the boy she’d love so much? This man couldn’t possibly be Stoney Wrenn! Stoney Wrenn was thirteen years old and ran around half-naked most of the time, careless of his shirt and shoes most any day.
“He’s so big!” Violet breathed.
“Yeah, he is,” Nate said. “I hope he runs that bay,” the boy added, smiling with pure exhilaration. “Boy! It’s somethin’ to see.”
“You think he’ll run that bay?” Dayton asked, startling Violet as he and Hagen suddenly appeared beside her.
“I love to see that horse run,” Hagen whispered. “He’s reinin’ in. I think he’s gonna let him run.”
Violet watched, breathless, as the man on the big bay horse reined the animal in. The horse stomped the ground several times, and the rider leaned forward, patting the bay on the neck.
Violet jumped as Stoney Wrenn hollered, “Ya!”
Dayton and Hagen leapt from their hiding places, whooping and hollering as the bay and its rider raced down the road at a speed that left Violet’s mouth gaping open.
“Did you see that, Miss Fynne?” Dayton laughed when the horse and rider were no longer in sight. “Did you see that ol’ boy race that pony?” Violet nodded, and Dayton said, “He may be a womanizin’ bast…a womanizin’ ol’ crank…but that man can ride, and that bay can run!”
“Can we come out now?” Nina asked.
Violet smiled at the child still hiding on the creekbank next to her.
“Well, of course we can, Nina, you ninny,” Susan scolded. “Them older boys made more noise than fryin’ a flock of geese!”
“Should we wander on back to the schoolhouse, Miss Fynne?” Maya asked.
“Yes, Maya,” Violet said, standing and smoothing her skirt. “We better get to our lessons.”
Violet smiled as the grumbling began. As she retrieved her stockings and shoes, she watched the children head back to the schoolhouse.
“This is the best day I ever had at school, Miss Fynne,” Hagen said, smiling and offering a hand to help her climb up the side of the creekbank.
Violet accepted his gallant assistance. “I’m glad, Hagen,” she giggled. “But you do realize they can’t all be this way.”
“I know,” he said. “But I’m hopin’ they sometimes are.”
“Sometimes they will be. I promise,” Violet said.
The children filed into the schoolhouse, and Violet began to follow. She paused however. Turning back to look down the road, she wondered—had Stoney Wrenn forgiven her? Had he? After she’d abandoned him ten years ago—had she lingered in his mind the way he’d lingered in her heart? Or had her unwilling betrayal cast her from his mind forever?
She could hear Dayton and Maya arguing once more inside the schoolhouse. Exhaling a heavy sigh, she turned and followed Phelps into the building.
“Now, settle down in here, boys and girls,” she said. “Settle down. Let’s see where everyone is in their readers, shall we?”
Violet glanced once more down the road—the road leading to Buddy Chisolm’s place. The horse and rider were gone—even the dust was gone—just like old Buddy Chisolm was gone—and the past.
Chapter Three
Violet continued to frown as she braided her hair into a long, loose braid. Gazing into the looking glass, she did not see her reflection, for her mind wandered to other venues. She’d overslept—overslept for having endured a very fitful night of reminiscing. The day before—meeting the children, their innocent revelations concerning Stoney Wrenn—all of it had taxed Violet’s mind and heart far worse than she had at first understood.
First, there was the fact Buddy Chisolm had willed everything to Stoney—the fact it had been Stoney himself who had threatened Violet when she’d been found beneath the old cottonwood tree. Hadn’t he recognized her? Of course he hadn’t! She hadn’t recognized him; how could she expect he would recognize her? How could she expect he would even remember her?
Then there was seeing him on the road after she’d told the children the story of seeing the light in the old house. He’d been right there before her—tall and rather frightening and mounted on the finest bay she’d ever seen. She could not force the vision of him from her mind, and it haunted her, only adding to the ghosts of memory already mixing about in her soul.
Yet, most of all—most disturbing—were Dayton and Hagen’s accusations that Stoney Wrenn was a philanderer! “A womanizing ol’ crank,” Hagen had called him. This piece of information caused great anxiety to boil in Violet’s bosom. Surely it could not be true! Surely Maya was correct—that Dayton Fisher was sweet on Maya’s sister and only jealous that Maya’s sister was sweet on Stoney Wrenn. Surely the sweet boy Violet had known had not become so hardened and heartless as to have taken to toying with women.
All this plagued Violet’s mind during the dark hours of night. She lay in her bed wondering if she were in fact insane! What kind of young woman obsessively advertised to gain the position of a schoolteacher in such a remote town as Rattler Rock, especially when so many far more favorable positions had been offered her in Albany? Still, for three years she’d advertised—written to the county school board every month inquiring—for Violet was desperate to sort out the pain she’d known, and caused, in the past—to keep a promise she’d made as a child—to return to Stoney Wrenn.
Indeed, Violet’s family had wondered if she truly had her wits about her. Because for all their assurances that the past was the past, that nothing could be done, that she should let go of the memory of the boy in Rattler Rock and move forward with her life, Violet Fynne could not.
Thus, all the night long she’d tossed—slept little—and when she did sleep, she’d dreamt of a womanizing man on a bay horse, or of the past. The past is where her dreams lingered most. She’d dreamt of days spent on the banks of the creek
when she was a child. She’d dreamt of catching frogs, picking flowers, and tossing rocks into the old abandoned well on Buddy Chisolm’s place. She’d dreamt of running, climbing cottonwood trees, and hunting for treasure in the old caves near Rattler Rock. All these things—all these memories—were made of Stoney Wrenn too, and Violet awoke with a nearly sickening sense of melancholy.
In truth, it had been the last dream she’d had—the one that had awakened her—that caused her to cry out with tears streaming down her face. As if it had happened all over again, as if some devil of torture intended Violet Fynne should live the worst moment of her life over and over as penance for her cruelty, Violet had dreamed the memory of abandoning Stoney.
Now, as she sat before the looking glass, blind to her own reflection as the past continued to haunt her in the bright light of morning, she could not stop the memory from torturing her once more. It would never cease in torturing her: this she knew with all the certainty of her being.
“Yer pa’s gonna get furious if ya don’t get back,” Stoney said.
“I can’t leave you, Stoney,” Violet sobbed.
“Ya have to. And I…I understand. Yer just a kid, Violet. Yer just a kid.”
Violet brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I-I can’t leave you, Stoney! I’ll just die without you…a-and your daddy will beat you somethin’ awful with me gone.”
Violet watched as Stoney’s eyes welled with tears. “He beats me somethin’ awful when yer here. That won’t be no worse with you gone.” He forced a smile. “Besides…ol’ Bud will look after me.”
Violet buried her face in her hands and sobbed a moment more. Why did her daddy have to move the family back east? Weren’t they all happy in Rattler Rock? Couldn’t he just continue to be the schoolmaster in the small town Violet loved so much? Why did he have to go to a bigger school to teach? Why? She couldn’t leave Stoney. She couldn’t! Violet felt certain she’d die without him. What joy would life in New York hold without Stoney there to be with—to love?
The Light of the Lovers' Moon Page 4