“I haven’t done anything, Jimmy,” Violet sighed, discouraged. “I’ve done nothing but remind him of how miserable his childhood was. When he looks at me, he sees the past…and everything bad that he finally managed to put behind him.”
Jimmy shook his head. “Nope. No, he don’t. I think he sees the only thing that ever made him happy.”
Violet shook her head. “I caused him pain,” she whispered. “Maybe we were happy together as children. But for ten long years, I’ve only caused him pain.”
Violet gasped as Jimmy reached out and took hold of her shoulders.
“Ain’t you been listenin’ to a word I’ve been sayin’, girl?” he growled. “The dream of you comin’ back…that’s the only thing that saved that man!”
Violet sat astonished—awed into silence at the way Jimmy Ritter suddenly seemed her equal instead of her student.
“So keep savin’ him,” Jimmy said. “You want him, Miss Fynne. I seen the way yer eyes sparkle when anybody even mentions his name. Maya says you was plum agitated the other night when you was over at her house for supper. She says the attraction ’tween you and Stoney was thicker than pea soup. Layla knew it too and went on and on and on to her daddy about it after you and Stoney left.” He paused and brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. “Stoney told me yer plannin’ on enterin’ the footrace tomorrow…so’s you can whip that weasel Hagen Webster.” He studied Violet from head to toe for a moment. “You gonna sit there and tell me you woulda agreed to enter a footrace if anybody else in the world besides Stoney Wrenn woulda asked ya to?”
Violet straightened her posture and tried to regain the feeling of teacher and pupil she’d owned where Jimmy was concerned before. Such feelings had vanished however. She saw Jimmy Ritter as a man in that moment—an equal—and one who had a frightening insight.
“You’re sweet on Maya Asbury, aren’t you, Jimmy?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said. “But that don’t have nothin’ to do—”
“What do you think of Layla? She’s beautiful, refined…”
“Oh, I ain’t even gonna listen to ya if yer gonna start in on how she’d be better for Stoney,” he grumbled. “Yer just yeller, and you know it. Layla Asbury would make Stoney’s life a hangin’ of misery. Yer scared—scared he don’t feel the same as you. But he does. I know he does. You just gotta find the strength to save him. Ain’t that what you always planned on anyway? All these years you’ve been thinkin’ on Stoney Wrenn, thinkin’ you had to keep yer promise and come back for him. I know that, else you wouldn’t be sittin’ here with me right now. So what did you plan on doin’ when you come back?”
“I-I just wanted to make sure he was all right…that he’d been happy,” Violet stammered.
“Like hell you did,” Jimmy said. “You wanted to come back and find him just the way ya did find him—strong, a man who survived a harsh upbringing, a man who weren’t married yet.”
Violet leapt to her feet. She shook her head emphatically, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and said, “You’re wrong. You’re wrong. We were just children when I was taken away. Stoney and I…we were friends…children who were friends.”
“I was only fourteen when I first laid eyes on Maya Asbury,” Jimmy said, rising as well. “I weren’t much older than Stoney was when you left Rattler Rock. But I’ve been in love with her ever since. I’d marry her tomorrow if I thought she’d have me and her pa would allow it. It’s why I agreed to learn to read when Stoney asked me to meet with you. I finally wised up—figured I need to be the best man I can be if I ever hope to have her. So don’t tell me true love can’t grow from a seed that’s planted in a child’s heart.”
Violet shook her head. “You don’t understand, Jimmy,” she said. “Men are different than women. They—”
“Hey,” he interrupted. His eyes narrowed. “Say what you want; I’ll say what I think. In the end, it’s up to you. I can only tell ya what I know…what I see in my friend, Stoney Wrenn. He’s yer friend too, Violet. So what do you see?”
Jimmy reached down and picked up the reader Violet had asked him to study at home. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Miss Fynne,” he said. He forced an understanding smile. “I sure hope you whip that Webster boy.”
Violet watched him go. She brushed the tears from her cheeks, but more simply escaped her eyes. He’d lied to her! Stoney had lied to her. He’d told her his daddy had quit beating him, that he’d been just fine. Why had he lied to her? They never lied to each other as children—never! Still, they weren’t children anymore—and Violet had been gone for ten years.
Such a turmoil rose within her, a turmoil she hadn’t known since her family had left Rattler Rock and moved to New York. Violet was sure she would burst apart from the feelings fighting within her.
Without thinking, she left the porch of her little house and started down the road to Buddy Chisolm’s old place. She had to walk—needed to find peace. She angrily wiped at the tears still streaming down her face. Who was Jimmy Ritter to tell her anything anyway? He didn’t know her. What gave him the right to talk to her about her feelings for Stoney?
Violet began to run—run as fast as she could. It was harder to run in her boots. She told herself she would have to remove her boots before the footrace at the picnic if she were to have any hope of winning.
She was standing beneath the old cottonwood tree, even before she realized where her mind had led her. She looked up into the gnarly limbs blanketed with green leaves. Dropping to her knees, Violet let her fingers trace the weathered carved heart—Stoney’s and her own initials marked in its center.
She’d been a child when she’d known Stoney Wrenn, when she’d left him. She couldn’t have fallen in love with him over the course of ten years—while she was in Albany and he was in Rattler Rock! It was impossible.
Still, her heart cried out, silently confessing it wanted nothing but to belong to Stoney Wrenn, no matter what her sensible mind professed.
Desperate for respite, for some sort of tranquility of mind, Violet sat down in the grass and unlaced her boots. Pulling her boots off and tossing them into the taller grasses nearby, she stripped off her stockings and discarded them as well. Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her hair, combed her long, auburn locks with her fingers, and looked up into the tree once more.
Violet took hold of a lower limb, braced one foot against the tree’s trunk, and began to climb. Her mother hadn’t let her climb trees once the family had left Rattler Rock for the more sophisticated life of Albany. Violet had resented the fact most vigorously. She loved climbing trees. She thought about the way she and Stoney would climb into the branches of the old cottonwood and talk for hours. Sometimes they wouldn’t talk—simply eavesdrop on other folks who might happen by and pause beneath the old tree either to talk or to engage in other “goings-on.” Whatever presented itself beneath the old cottonwood, Violet had adored lingering in its branches. She wondered now if she might find a trace of the same respite she knew then.
Settling herself in the crook of a large branch, she sighed. She looked down, realizing she’d climbed up much farther than she realized. Yet she didn’t care, for she suddenly felt freer than she’d felt in years. This was a place meant for finding peace, for deep contemplation—a place where worries could be put to rest and solutions to problems presented.
But Violet’s respite was brief, for she’d been resting in the tree branches for only a short time when she heard voices. Her heart began to hammer with brutal force in her bosom as she heard Stoney’s voice wafting to her on the breeze—Stoney’s voice and that of a woman.
“You didn’t have to walk all the way out here, Layla,” Stoney said.
Violet held her breath as she looked down through the branches to see Stoney Wrenn and Layla Asbury stop beneath the tree. She was instantly furious. The tree was her and Stoney’s secret place! He had no right to bring another girl to it.
“You coulda asked me tomorrow at the picnic
,” he said.
“I know that,” Layla said. “But there’s something else I wanted to talk to ya about.”
“It ain’t proper for you to be out here with me…without somebody else here too, Layla. Yer pa would be mighty disappointed knowin’ you’d come out here. I don’t exactly have the best reputation where women are concerned.”
“I know that,” Layla said. “And that’s one reason I wanted to talk to you privately.”
Violet frowned, careless of the impropriety of eavesdropping. She was far too intrigued, curious, and jealous to worry about good manners.
“Are you ever gonna ask my daddy permission to court me proper, Stoney Wrenn?” Layla asked. “I-I thought you would. For weeks I’ve been waitin’. I even told Daddy to refuse Coby Fisher permission to court me…’cause I thought you were gonna ask.”
“I know,” Stoney said. “Believe me, I know you tossed Coby’s heart in the crick…and I didn’t mind gettin’ blamed for it ’cause I thought you just didn’t like him. But, Layla, I—”
“I know yer used to havin’ yer way with women, Stoney,” the young woman said. “I know it must be difficult for you to see me, be in my company, want me the way you do, and know you can’t have me like ya have other women. But I wanted to assure ya that you can have me anytime ya want, Stoney Wrenn. You can kiss me right now, while nobody’s near to see. That way, I keep my good reputation…and yer bad one doesn’t matter.”
Violet was seething. From her perch in the arms of the old cottonwood, she considered swooping down like a crow, burying her hands in Layla Asbury’s ebony hair, and yanking it out by the roots. Furthermore, she swore to herself that if Stoney Wrenn did kiss Layla she’d peck his eyes out.
“Well, that’s real sweet, Layla,” Stoney said. “I feel really honored that you would consider lettin’ me have my way with you. But there’s two things yer either forgettin’…or that ya don’t already know.”
“And what are those two things, Stoney Wrenn?” Layla cooed, moving closer to Stoney, reaching up, and caressing his cheek with the back of her hand.
“Well, first off, I hate to disappoint, but I ain’t the womanizer folks make me out to be,” Stoney said. “And second—”
“You are gonna ask Daddy, aren’t you?” Layla interrupted. “You are gonna ask him to come courtin’…aren’t ya?”
“You need to get on home, Layla,” Stoney said. “If anyone finds you out here alone with me, it won’t matter what I’m fixin’ to do…’cause yer daddy will skin me alive.”
“Just kiss me once, Stoney,” Layla said.
Violet held her breath as Layla moved closer to Stoney and pressed her body against his.
“Kiss me once, and I promise you…you’ll be beggin’ my daddy to court me.”
“No, no, no, no, no!” Violet whispered. She clamped one hand over her mouth when she saw Stoney glance behind him, as if he’d heard something.
“You need to run on home, Layla,” Stoney said. “This ain’t proper. You wouldn’t want us to make a mistake that kept us apart for sure, would ya?”
Violet heard Layla’s delighted giggle. “I guess yer right, Stoney. We don’t want my daddy havin’ any reason to refuse you when ya ask him for permission to court me after supper on Sunday.” Violet watched as Layla stepped back from Stoney. “You are a gentleman, Stoney Wrenn,” Layla said.
“Are ya so surprised?” Stoney asked.
“Not at all,” Layla said. “Just disappointed.”
Violet watched as Layla turned and walked away. Stoney exhaled a heavy sigh. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Violet watched as he strode from beneath the tree.
He was gone; she was certain he was. Still, she looked at the locket clock she wore about her neck, waiting ten more minutes before deciding it was safe for her to climb down from her perch in the tree.
As she began to climb, Violet mumbled to herself. “Who does she think she is? I could just tear her hair out!”
So focused on her anger and jealousy, Violet wasn’t careful in her descent. Her foot missed a branch, and she tried to wrap her arms around the tree’s trunk to keep herself from falling. Instead, she landed with a painful thud on her bottom in the grass beneath the tree. Looking down to the front of her shirtwaist, she winced. The bark of the old cottonwood had torn the delicate lace and cotton of the shirtwaist—shredded it. The entire front of the shirtwaist was gone, and both sleeves fell away from her arms, too. Her camisole was completely exposed. How would she ever get back to her house without being seen?
“I seem to remember you bein’ just a bit more graceful when climbin’ down from a tree, Miss Fynne.”
Violet closed her eyes and held her breath. It was Stoney Wrenn’s voice.
“Shame on you!” he scolded.
Violet opened her eyes to see him standing before her, one hand outstretched in an offering of assistance.
“You oughta be ashamed of yerself, eavesdroppin’ on folks’ private conversations like that.”
“I had a good teacher,” she said, accepting his hand. He helped her to her feet, his opaline eyes shimmering with amusement.
“And you can’t go back to town with yer skin showin’ either,” he said. Violet watched as Stoney began to unbutton his shirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he stripped the shirt from his body—revealing a chiseled torso, muscular and bronzed from hours in the sun.
“Keepin’ you a reputable woman,” he said, offering the shirt to her. Violet glanced down as Stoney pointed at her stomach. Violet gasped—blushed pure crimson when she looked down to see her camisole was torn as well. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the tree bark had left several large tears in her camisole, leaving most of her stomach fully revealed.
Snatching the shirt from Stoney, she quickly put it on over her shredded shirtwaist and camisole. Irritated, she brushed her long hair back from her face as she fumbled with the buttons of the shirt.
“Now,” Stoney began, “what were you doin’ sittin’ up there spyin’ on me?”
“I wasn’t spying on you,” she said, combing one hand through her hair to brush it back. “I was out for walk and decided to climb the old tree.”
Stoney just stared at her, obviously expectant of further explanation.
“What was I supposed to do when you two came along? Just swing down and say hello?”
Stoney struggled to keep from reaching out and pulling Violet into his arms. As she began to twist a long strand of auburn hair, he nearly weakened—nearly reached out, determined to have her, no matter the consequences. She was so adorable, even more adorable than she had been as a child. Furthermore, except for the fact she was a beautiful woman instead of a beautiful little girl, little else had changed in Violet Fynne since she’d been taken from Rattler Rock so many years before.
He studied her quickly from head to toe. What a sight she’d be to the folks in Rattler Rock just now. He almost laughed as she stood before him, hair wild and free, barefoot, wearing his shirt. She looked about as far from being Rattler Rock’s prim little schoolteacher as she could, and he allowed himself to delight in it.
When he didn’t say anything, Violet began to fume. How could he flirt so with Layla Asbury? How could he be alone with Layla beneath the old cottonwood—beneath their tree, hers and Stoney’s?
“I’m just glad you knew I was up there somehow,” she said. “For a moment I was afraid I’d have to be witness to you…to you—how did you say it?—having your way with Layla Asbury.”
“I wasn’t gonna have my way with her,” he growled. “And besides, I didn’t know you were there. I just heard somethin’ while we were talkin’, and when I started to leave, I saw yer boots over there in the grass. Yer boots and these,” he said. Reaching around to his back pocket, he produced Violet’s stockings. “You sure do wear fancy stockin’s for a schoolteacher.”
“Give me those!” Violet exclaimed, feeling the heated blush on her cheeks. She reached
out to grab the stockings, but Stoney chuckled and moved them out of her reach. “Stoney Wrenn! You give those stockings to me this instant!”
“If the parents of the children at the Rattler Rock schoolhouse could see you now, Miss Fynne!” he laughed.
Violet was angry, embarrassed, and absolutely out of countenance. Furious, frustrated, and somehow brokenhearted, her educated woman’s mind could think of nothing in response to his teasing. Therefore, she’d done what she’d often done when Stoney Wrenn had teased her as a child: she stuck her tongue out at him.
Instantly after doing so, however, she remembered the usual consequences. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she felt her eyes widen as Stoney’s eyebrows arched over his green-blue eyes.
“Really, Viola?” he said. “We’re back to you stickin’ yer tongue out at me?”
Violet shook her head as Stoney threw her stockings to the ground and began to advance upon her. Pure indignation flamed in his eyes—mischievous indignation.
“I didn’t mean it!” Violet exclaimed as he strode toward her. “I swear I didn’t mean it! I-it just…I-I couldn’t help it!”
She squealed as she stumbled on a fallen branch and landed hard on her rump. She looked up to see Stoney had not slowed his advance, and in the next moment she squealed again as she found herself flat on her back with Stoney Wrenn straddling her and sitting down hard on her legs as he held her hands at the side of her head.
“You remember what Bud used to say stickin’ yer tongue out meant?” he asked.
His eyes were smoldering with mischief; any anger or irritation was gone. Still, Violet’s heart hammered so hard within her bosom she thought it might burst right out of her chest.
“Y-you provoked me, Stoney,” she panted.
“I provoked you?” he asked, smiling a deliciously alluring smile. “You were the one eavesdroppin’ on me, Viola. Remember?”
The Light of the Lovers' Moon Page 15