The Light of the Lovers' Moon

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “You are gonna get yerself killed over that stupid house, Stoney Wrenn!” Layla scolded.

  Stoney glanced to Violet. Her heart was hammering so hard with fear for Stoney’s safety she could hardly breathe! Still, the smoldering green-blue of his eyes told her he did not want to talk about it anymore. “Do ya like that little house the school board set up for ya, Miss Fynne?” Stoney asked.

  “Um…yes,” Violet stammered. “It’s perfect.” For a moment, she wondered why he asked her a question he already knew the answer to. Then she realized—he was trying to take the Asbury’s attention off his wound. “I-it’s just right for me…so close to town and the school.”

  Mrs. Asbury laughed. “Well, Miss Fynne, I’m sure Stoney’s mighty glad to hear you call that little house ‘perfect’…bein’ that he built it himself.”

  “What?” Violet breathed.

  “Mr. Wrenn built that house you live in, Miss Fynne,” Maya said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Wrenn?”

  “Ol’ Buddy thought I had too much time on my hands and too many worries on my mind a few years back,” Stoney said. “So he put me to work buildin’ that little house. Took me near to a year to finish it.”

  Violet was stunned into silence. Stoney had built the house she lived in? Suddenly she loved the little house more than she already did!

  “Well…well, it’s lovely,” Violet stammered. “I was so grateful the school board offered it as part of my wages. I was afraid I’d have to take a room at the inn. The house is much, much nicer. Did Buddy sell it to the board or something?”

  Layla giggled. “Oh, Miss Fynne! I swear, sometimes I wonder at how you ever got a teaching certificate.”

  Violet blushed under Layla’s masked insult.

  “Stoney owns that house himself. Mr. Chisolm left it to him in his will.” Layla frowned a little. “You are aware that Stoney is quite a wealthy property owner around these parts, aren’t ya? I guess ya could say Stoney Wrenn’s yer landlord. Isn’t that right, Stoney?”

  “I guess so,” Stoney said. The opalescence of his eyes smoldered as he looked at Violet.

  Violet wanted to scream. She hated Layla Asbury—purely hated her in that moment! What was Stoney doing courting a girl with such arrogant vanity?

  “Is the ham all right, Miss Fynne?” Maya asked.

  “Y-yes, Maya,” Violet stammered. “It’s delicious.”

  Maya smiled. “Mama let me bake it…even though I know she was scared I’d burn it and ruin supper.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Violet said.

  “Did ya hear Sam Capshaw asked Mr. Pierson for permission to start courtin’ Mary, Daddy?” Layla said.

  “No. I didn’t hear that,” Mr. Asbury said.

  “Sam just now asked Mary’s pa if he could court her?” Stoney asked.

  “Yes. Why?” Layla answered.

  Stoney looked at Violet, a knowing twinkle lighting his eyes. Violet bit her lip to keep from smiling. Stoney had seen Sam Capshaw and Mary Pierson involved in goings-on out by the old Chisolm place. Violet all too well understood his amusement at the secret he owned—that Sam Capshaw and Mary Pierson were already far beyond the simple beginnings of courting.

  “No reason,” Stoney said. He winked at Violet. “No reason at all.”

  ❦

  “It’s one of my favorite days of the year!” Maya exclaimed as the Asbury family and their supper guests sat in the parlor. “Didn’t they have the Founders’ Day picnic when ya lived in Rattler Rock before, Miss Fynne?”

  Violet nodded. “Yes. They did. It was always great fun.”

  “Well, it’s next Saturday,” Mrs. Asbury said. “I can’t believe the children haven’t already told you about it.”

  “Mama wins the pie contest every year,” Maya said.

  “And Stoney wins every contest he enters,” Layla chirped.

  “Will you enter any contests, Miss Fynne?” Maya asked. “There’s still plenty of time to enter things. The judgin’ don’t start ’til that mornin’.”

  “Well, I…I don’t really—” Violet stammered.

  “Miss Fynne used to be able to outrun any boy in school,” Stoney said.

  Maya giggled. “Really, Miss Fynne?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Violet said.

  “Do ya still run fast, Miss Fynne?” Mr. Asbury asked.

  “Well I…I…” Violet stammered.

  “I’d give anything to see somebody beat Hagen Webster this year,” Maya said. “He’s the fastest runner in school, and nobody’s beat him at the Founders’ Day footrace in three years.”

  “Well, I’m certain that even if it would be proper for me to enter the footrace…I’m sure Hagen is much faster than I am,” Violet said. Yet something deep in her rather wanted to try the race. She’d always liked to run—still did. Nothing invigorated her mind and body like running barefoot as fast as she could. She glanced to Stoney—thought of the kiss he’d given her out under the full moon. Almost nothing invigorated her like running did.

  “He ain’t that fast,” Stoney said. “Everybody else who enters is just slow as an old turtle.”

  “Anybody can enter the footrace, Miss Fynne,” Maya said. “I’m entered in it. So is Beth Deavers. Katie Mill too.”

  “I can’t believe yer lettin’ her run in that race, Daddy,” Layla said. “It’s so unladylike.”

  Mr. Asbury smiled. “Oh, all the girls do it, Layla. And besides, Maya’s different than you are. She don’t care so awful much about how she looks and such.”

  Violet glanced to Maya—saw the hurt on her face. “How old are you, Maya?” Violet asked.

  “I’ll…I’ll be seventeen at Christmas,” Maya answered—red-faced and ashamed.

  “Don’t feel badly, Miss Fynne. Maya looks much younger,” Layla said. “Maya was sickly last year. She missed a spell of school, and Daddy wants to make sure she gets as much learnin’ in as she can. Rattler Rock’s last teacher didn’t know Maya was too old to be in school either.”

  “She’s not too old to be in school,” Violet said. “Nobody’s ever too old to be in school. And anyway, I’m sure Maya is one of the only reasons those older boys are still willing to come to school and learn. And anything, or anyone, that keeps children coming to school…well, they’ll find themselves at the top of my list of favorite things.”

  Maya smiled at Violet—a grateful smile. Still, Violet could no longer tolerate Mr. Asbury or his favorite daughter, Layla. As desperately as she wished to linger in Stoney’s presence, she couldn’t watch Layla flirting with him any longer either.

  Turning to Mrs. Asbury, she said, “Emeline, that was a wonderful meal! Thank you so much for inviting me to supper. It was a delight.”

  “Are ya leavin’ so soon, Miss Fynne?” Maya asked.

  Violet looked at Maya—studied her for a moment. Now she understood why she’d felt so drawn to Maya all along. Maya was nearly seventeen, only three years younger than Violet. What Violet had sensed in Maya was the potential of friendship. She determined then and there that she would begin treating Maya Asbury as an equal instead of as just a student.

  “I think you need to call me Violet, Maya,” Violet said. “At least when we’re not in school.”

  Maya smiled. “All right, Violet. Do ya have to leave? It’s still early.”

  Violet smiled as well. “I need to get home before it gets too dark.”

  “Tony can see ya home, Miss Fynne,” Emeline suggested.

  “Oh, no! No…I enjoy the walk,” Violet said. She had no desire to spend any time at all with Tony Asbury—especially alone in his company.

  “I best be on my own way,” Stoney said, rising to his feet.

  “Oh, Stoney! No!” Layla whined. “You never stay past six.”

  “Don’t want to wear out my welcome,” Stoney said.

  Mr. Asbury stood and shook Stoney’s hand. “You come back as often as ya want, son,” he said.

  Violet felt angry—furious with the way Mr. Asbur
y referred to Stoney as “son.”

  “It was such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fynne,” Mrs. Asbury said. “Thank you for comin’.”

  “Thank you again for having me,” Violet said.

  “Are ya sure ya don’t want Daddy to see ya home, Miss Fynne?” Layla asked.

  “I’ll see her on home,” Stoney answered. “I’m goin’ that way. I wanna stop in at the jailhouse and talk to Coby.”

  Violet tried not to smile at the indignant expression that owned Layla’s face then. The black-haired beauty didn’t want her beau walking another woman home. Sinful though it was, Violet let herself bathe in knowing Layla would most likely seethe for the rest of the evening over Stoney seeing the schoolteacher home.

  “I left my horse tied out back, Miss Fynne,” Stoney said. “I’ll meet ya ’round the front.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wrenn,” Violet said.

  “Good night, Stoney,” Layla rather spat. Turning, Layla stormed from the room.

  Violet glanced to Maya, who seemed unable to keep a smile of delight from spreading across her face.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Asbury,” Stoney said. “It was a fine meal.”

  “You’re welcome, Stoney. You have a good evenin’,” Emeline Asbury said.

  “I’ll see Violet out, Mama,” Maya said. Taking hold of Violet’s hand, Maya led her to the front door and out onto the porch.

  “I’m meeting Jimmy Ritter again after school tomorrow,” she whispered. “Oh, I’ve liked him so much for so very, very long. I thought he didn’t even know who I was…but he does!”

  Violet giggled. “I’m so glad. I think Jimmy’s wonderful!”

  “Oh, he is! He really is!”

  “Miss Fynne?” Stoney said, appearing from one side of the house. The beautiful bay horse Dayton and Hagen admired slowly followed behind him. “You ready to get home?” Stoney stood holding the bridle reins in one hand and raked his other hand through his hair.

  “Yes, of course,” Violet said. “Thank you, Maya.”

  “Thank you, Violet,” Maya said.

  Violet fell into step beside Stoney. She loved the sound of the horse slowly plodding along behind them, the cricket noise of early evening. A warm breeze caressed her face.

  “Who shot you?” she asked. Ever since the incident at supper—ever since she’d become aware that Stoney had been injured—she’d been unable to really think of anything else.

  “Nobody,” he said. “Somebody shot at me. There’s a difference, Viola.”

  Violet felt goose bumps race over her arms. Simply because he had called her Viola, she was now covered in goose bumps.

  “Another inch or two and there wouldn’t have been a difference,” she told him.

  Stoney chuckled. “You were always so dramatic.”

  “It’s true!” she argued. “There’s more going on out at that old house than you’re telling me.”

  He frowned. “Maybe.”

  They walked in silence for long minutes, past the schoolhouse and into town. Violet determined not to press him about what was really going on at the old Chisolm place, but it was difficult. Why was Stoney so upset about trespassers? Why was a trespasser so determined to trespass that he would go up against the likes of Stoney Wrenn?

  Finally the silence grew too uncomfortable.

  “She’s very beautiful,” she said.

  “Who?” Stoney asked.

  Violet looked to him. Was he in earnest? He truly appeared as if he had no idea who she was referring to. “Your girl…Layla Asbury,” she said.

  “She is pretty,” Stoney said. “I’ll give her that. Layla Asbury ain’t my girl.” He chuckled and added, “That there’s just another consequence of gossip.”

  “What do you mean?” Violet asked, a strange, unfamiliar hope leaping to her bosom.

  “I won’t say I ain’t been thinkin’ about it. Been thinkin’ maybe I oughta do like Sam Capshaw and talk to her daddy about courtin’ her official.” Violet frowned as a painful ache began in her heart. “But I ain’t talked to him yet. Folks just assume that I’m courtin’ her…’cause her folks have me over to supper so often.”

  “But…but you want to court her?” Violet asked.

  “That mess with Coby Fisher don’t help none either.”

  “What mess with Coby Fisher?” Violet remembered Stoney telling her he and Coby had swapped fists before. What did Stoney’s involvement with Layla have to do with the sheriff?

  “I’ve been thinkin’,” he began, “’bout what you said about always wantin’ to see inside Buddy’s old house.”

  “You’re changing the subject,” Violet said.

  He smiled. “What if I were to let ya in there?”

  “You’re just trying to keep from asking about—”

  “I’m serious, Viola,” he said, stopping in the middle of the street. “Do you still want to go into that old house?”

  He was distracting her; she knew he was. Yet the bait of the possibility of going into the old Chisolm place was too delicious for Violet to resist.

  “Of course I do. You know I’ve wanted to go in there,” she said. “You’re just teasing me. And I don’t want you shooting me for trespassing anyway.”

  He smiled, and Violet couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her at the sight of it.

  “I’ll make ya a deal,” he began.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” she exclaimed, walking on. “I know what your deals are like, Mr. Stoney Wrenn!”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, catching up to her.

  “The last time you said to me, ‘I’ll make you a deal,’ I ended up runnin’ for my life!”

  “I didn’t know that ol’ bull of Bud’s was in that pasture, Viola,” Stoney said. “You know that! You know I woulda never asked ya to see if my pa was home yet if I’d known that bull was there.”

  When Violet kept walking, Stoney reached out and took hold of her arm, stopping her. “You do know that, right?” he asked.

  Violet could see he was truly worried that she didn’t believe him. She couldn’t let him worry any longer. “I know,” she said. “But even so…any time you start a sentence with ‘I’ll make you a deal,’ there’s always some mischief involved.”

  “Don’t ya think I’ve changed a bit since you left?” he asked. “In ten years, don’t you think I—”

  “No,” Violet interrupted. “I don’t.”

  He smiled, displaying charismatic dimples. He laughed and started walking once more. “All right, all right,” he said. “But ain’t you just a little bit curious about the deal I was gonna make? After all, it did involve you finally gettin’ a peek inside that old house.”

  Violet glanced over as they passed the livery. She wondered if Sam Capshaw and Mary Pierson were out sparking somewhere. “What then?” she asked. “What’s the deal?”

  Stoney chuckled. “You enter that footrace next Saturday. You enter that race, and I’ll take ya through Bud’s old house out there. Day or night, full moon or none—you choose. You beat that Hagen boy and I’ll let ya wander around in there as long as yer curious little mind wants to.”

  “You won’t let me go in just because we used to be friends and you know how badly I’ve always wanted to see inside?” she asked.

  “Oh, probably,” he grumbled. “But this would be more fun…for me anyway.”

  “What if I can’t run fast anymore?” she said.

  Stoney’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “I remember how much you liked to run. I figure you still do. I figure you more than just like it. I figure you run whenever you get the chance and that yer just as fast as you ever was.”

  “That’s a lot of figuring,” Violet said as they rounded the corner and her little house came into view. She gasped as she saw the house, for something struck her memory just then.

  “You knew that roof had been fixed when you asked me,” she said. “You probably fixed it yourself.”

  Stoney shrugged. “Maybe. Now will you enter that race?”


  Violet kept walking—instinctively walked around to the back of her little house—even though she knew it was unlikely that anyone would pass by and see her talking to the womanizing Stoney Wrenn at that time of evening. Somehow, she just wanted to be secluded with him—alone, without the Asbury family, Sheriff Fisher, the Widow Wilson, or anyone else.

  Violet paused, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned back against the house. Stoney dropped his horse’s reins as the animal lowered its head and began to graze on the grass.

  “So if I enter this race…do I have to win to go into Mr. Chisolm’s old house?” she asked.

  Stoney smiled. “No. You just have to enter…and run it, of course.”

  “Why?” she asked, frowning. “Why can’t you just let me go in? Why are you making me earn it?”

  Stoney’s smile softened; his beautiful green-blue opal eyes narrowed. “You know I’ll let you go in that house no matter what you do, Viola,” he said. His voice was low, laced with some sort of sentimental emotion. The intonation of it had a rather hypnotic effect on Violet. She felt as if he’d cast some sort of spell over her, a spell that would cause her to agree to anything he asked in that moment. “But it would be fun to see you whip that Hagen boy at the Founders’ Day picnic. I could beat him myself—I know I could. And yer a might faster than me.”