by Lynn Austin
Ike bowed and kissed my hand before releasing it. “Thank you, lovely lady,” he murmured in my ear. Then he jogged back to the bandstand and picked up his fiddle. I felt like I had forgotten how to walk as I made my way back to my seat. My cheeks felt oven-warmed. The tempo picked up as the band played more foot-tapping music, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Watching Ike play was exhilarating. He clearly loved what he did. I recognized the same joy on his face that I felt when I was in a library, inhaling the aroma of leather and paper and fresh ink, and surrounded by books—dearly loved favorites and brand-new stories waiting to be opened and explored.
I hated for the evening to end. By the time Ike and the other musicians packed up their instruments, I could see that he was tired. His straw-colored hair, dark with sweat, had finger trails from raking his hand through it. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar.
“I had a wonderful time, Ike. Thanks so much for inviting me.”
“Sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with you.”
“I know. But I wouldn’t have wanted to miss hearing you play, either.”
He held my hand as we walked to the truck. Once again, he opened the door for me and helped me climb in. Ike was more gallant than Gordon had been, and much more gallant than Mack had been when he’d heaved me onto the horse—and Mack was supposed to be the civilized one, college-educated no less.
Ike walked around the truck and slid behind the steering wheel. “We won’t be able to talk much on the way home,” he said, “so I want to tell you how nice it was to have you watching and listening to me tonight. You were the prettiest girl there, even prettier than the bride. I been hoping all night that you’d let me kiss you.”
My heart started going wild again. Back home, nice girls didn’t kiss on the first date. But since Ike and I had worked together on Lillie’s garden for an entire afternoon, this seemed like our second date. “You may kiss me,” I said. I sounded breathless.
Ike slid closer and took my face in his hands—I had always loved it in novels when the hero held the heroine’s face in his hands. I had watched Ike’s talented, sensitive fingers, chase up and down the fiddle strings all afternoon and they had seemed magical. Now those magical fingers were caressing my face. He leaned forward and kissed me.
Gordon’s kisses had always seemed polite, even after we’d dated for nearly a year, as if he was always aware that I was the minister’s daughter. Ike’s kiss was not polite in the least. It was as passionate and breathtaking as his music, yet he didn’t take advantage. The kiss lasted just long enough to be intriguing . . . and to leave me wanting more.
He leaned back and looked at me. “Thank you, Alice. I could let out a whoop right now, but I’d wake up the whole town.”
He started the truck—which probably did wake up the whole town—and drove me home. I knew we wouldn’t be able to talk to each other, so I moved closer to him on the seat. He smiled and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
Thirty minutes later we roared into Acorn. Ike left the motor idling as he walked me to the library door. “Better not kiss you again or everyone in town will be talking about it by sunup,” he said with a wink. “Can I see you again, Alice?”
“I would like that.”
“Thanks! Well . . . good night.”
“Good night, Ike.”
I floated into the house and up the stairs to my bedroom. I knew better than to think this could be love after such a short time. But whatever it was, it was wonderful.
I had left home to come to Kentucky nearly four weeks ago. Four weeks! It was the longest I had ever been away from home. In some ways I was homesick, but not as much as I had expected to be when I had waved good-bye to my parents in Blue Island. I missed the modern comforts of home, of course, and my mother’s home-cooked meals. And I missed my friend Freddy. I longed to talk to her about everything I had experienced, including my date with Ike Arnett and his breathtaking kiss. I wrote her a long letter Sunday night as I sat in bed, but then I realized how selfish it was to describe my adventures when Freddy was stuck in Blue Island, tied down to her teaching job and her ailing mother. If I had learned anything at all during my time here, it was how exhausting it was to run a household and take care of someone who wasn’t well—and on top of that, Freddy taught school all day, coping with the needs of dozens of children.
I didn’t mail the letter. In the past I had been selfish when it came to my friendship with Freddy, so I decided that when I did get home, I would help her take care of her mother once in a while so Freddy could go out and have a little fun.
Ike returned on Monday to finish planting the garden with me. To my surprise, several other townspeople joined us, including Marjorie and Alma, who helped us after work that afternoon. “Everybody loves Miss Lillie,” Alma said as she tucked another one of her tomato seedlings into the ground. “The least we can do is help her.”
It felt good to stand back and survey the finished garden. I felt a little sorry that I would be gone before the fall harvest came—but not sorry to miss the hard, sweaty labor of canning tomatoes and green beans.
I rode up to June Ann’s cabin on Tuesday to bring the two tonics that Lillie and I had made. That was what Miss Lillie called them—tonics. “Potion sounds like something that witches make,” she’d said, “and this here is just folk medicine, passed on from one generation to the next.”
As Belle and I rode into the clearing where June Ann’s cabin was, I saw her out in the field, hoeing a row of corn plants. She had the baby tied to her chest in a sling made from a crocheted shawl. June Ann waved to me in greeting when she heard the dog barking, but instead of coming to the house she continued working. I dismounted and walked out to the field to talk to her.
“You’re working awfully hard, June Ann,” I said when I reached her.
“Don’t I know it.” She continued to chop weeds with the hoe.
“We just put in Miss Lillie’s garden, and I know firsthand that tending a garden this size is too much work for one person.” Her plot was three times the size of Lillie’s, and June Ann had just given birth two weeks ago. I was furious with the Larkins and Arnetts for not helping her.
“Well, one person is all I got,” she said. I heard the weariness in her voice.
“When do you think Wayne will be back?”
“I dunno. Could be months.” She removed her hat to wipe her brow. Her red hair shone as bright as flames in the sun. “He said he’d be back by harvest time, though.” In the meantime, she would be forced to do all the work herself, along with spending sleepless nights with a new baby. No wonder she felt hopeless.
“Don’t you want to go back to the cabin and rest? I brought you a new book to read. And Miss Lillie finished making that tonic for Feather. She made something to help you with the baby blues, too. And I have a little present for you.” I thought she might cheer up when she saw the lamp oil I had brought.
“I need to finish this row first.” She bent to continue hoeing.
I could see the baby moving inside the sling, and I heard a few fitful whimpers. I pulled the hoe out of June Ann’s hands. “I’ll finish the row for you. I already have blisters the size of dimes. Sit down and rest for a while. It sounds like Feather is waking up.”
“I can’t ask you to do my work.”
“You aren’t asking, I’m insisting. Several people helped me with Miss Lillie’s garden, so I’m just returning the favor.”
“Well . . . I’m much obliged, Allie.” She untied the shawl and spread it on the ground, then sat down on it to nurse her baby. When I finished hoeing the row of corn, we walked back to the cabin and fed Feather a spoonful of Lillie’s tonic. June Ann took a dose of the other one.
“Phew-ee! That tastes awful! Did you try it, Allie?”
“No. But I did help Miss Lillie make it. And I brought you this, too.” I gave her the container of lamp oil. I had dumped it out of the lamp in Mack’s bedroom, since I was too weary to read in bed at night. “I
f Feather keeps you awake now, at least you’ll be able to read the book I brought you.”
June Ann laid her head on my shoulder and wept. “You’re the only friend I have in the whole world!”
I stayed as long as I dared before continuing on my route to the Sawyer farm and the school. When I walked into the classroom, it looked half empty. “Where is everyone?” I asked the teacher.
“We always lose students once spring arrives. Their parents need help with the planting. I hear that the measles are going around, too. Have you had them?”
“Oh, yes. A long time ago.” Freddy and I had been sick at the same time, and we had annoyed everyone on our party lines by talking to each other on the telephone all day.
Maggie Coots was waiting for me at her cabin with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits and jam. We sat and talked about all kinds of things, the way Freddy and I used to do. “Do you know Ike Arnett?” I asked as she poured me a second cup of tea. “He’s about my age and plays the fiddle?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“I went with him on Saturday to hear his band play at a wedding.”
“Ah! I can see by your smile that you had a good time.”
She was right. The memory of that day did make me smile. Had it been the music or Ike—or both?
“I did have fun. He’s very sweet, and he’s a very talented musician. Not only that, but he likes to read.”
“Look at you grinning!”
I was blushing, too. “There’s so much work to do every day that it was nice to get away for a change.”
“With a good-looking man?”
“Well, yes,” I laughed. “With a good-looking man.”
“People back home in Massachusetts were so surprised when I wrote and told them I had fallen in love with a Kentucky man. They have such ignorant ideas about the people in these hills. No one could understand how an educated woman like me could fall in love with a man who worked in a coal mine. But Hank was smart and sweet, just like your fellow. And he was handsome, too.”
“Oh, I’m not falling in love,” I said quickly. “Ike made it clear that he isn’t looking for a wife, and I’m certainly not looking for a husband. I like working in the Acorn library, but I don’t think I could ever live here all the time like you do.”
Maggie wagged her finger at me. “Never say never, Alice.”
My last stop was Mack’s cabin, where I dropped off more food. I also brought him a letter that had arrived at the library addressed to Mr. Leslie MacDougal. It had a Washington, D.C., return address. I was curious about its contents, of course, but Mack tucked it into his pocket without commenting on it.
“You have time to stay and talk a bit?” he asked. “I’m cooking some stew on the campfire, and I need to keep an eye on it.”
I dismounted and followed him back to the fire pit in the little glade. Belle followed us, too, sticking as close to Mack’s side as a lover. A small black pot sat bubbling on the coals, and whatever was cooking in it smelled delicious. Mack poked the fire and expertly added another piece of wood. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the ring of rocks. “No, sit on this side, Alice, or the wind will blow smoke in your face.”
I sat down and held my fingers out to the fire to warm them. Once the sun dipped behind the hills every afternoon, the woods grew chilly. Mack remained standing, giving Belle an enthusiastic brushing. I also relied on him to clean her hooves, like Cora had said to do.
“How was your date with Ike Arnett?” he asked without meeting my gaze.
“Fine . . . I’m surprised you remembered.”
“You asked me for a character reference, so I wanted to make sure Ike hadn’t done anything to make me regret granting my approval.” He sounded as stuffy as my father did when he questioned me about boys.
“Ike was a gentleman. He played his fiddle with the band, and I listened to him. I enjoyed myself.” I needed to change the subject before Mack caught me grinning or blushing the way Maggie had. “By the way, Ike told me that the reason he turned down your offer to go to Nashville was because your mother was a Larkin. Did you know that?”
“He never mentioned it.” I watched Belle’s antics in amusement while we talked. Every time Mack stopped brushing her, Belle nudged him with her muzzle as if coaxing him to continue. My grandmother’s cat used to do the same thing when she wanted to be petted.
“Ike also told me that you were trying to find this mysterious treasure map everyone is looking for. Is that true? Do you really think one exists?”
“I don’t know. All this talk about buried treasure could be just a legend. I tried searching for a while, hoping I could make peace and end the fighting. But I didn’t have any luck.”
“I don’t understand this feud. I don’t see how shunning June Ann and Wayne could possibly serve any purpose. It won’t change the fact that they’re married.”
“The families think it will discourage other young people from crossing feud lines when they see what happened to them.”
“That’s ridiculous. The only person who’s discouraged is poor June Ann. Why can’t people get along and help each other? When Ike and I started putting in a garden for Miss Lillie, a handful of folks from town all joined in—from both clans. Meanwhile, June Ann is all alone up there, hoeing corn with her baby tied to her chest.”
“That’s because you and Miss Lillie aren’t Larkins or Arnetts. Besides, the families will try to outdo each other to show which one of them is more caring and generous toward people outside the clan.”
“They all came to your funeral, too, even though you’re a Larkin.”
“That’s different. I was dead. The only good Larkin is a dead one—and the same goes for the Arnetts.” Mack gave the horse a gentle shove, pushing her away. “Go on, Belle. That’s enough. Go eat some grass or something.” He crouched to stir his stew, then sat down beside me. “Those clans have been fighting for sixty years. They’re not likely to make up anytime soon.”
“Meanwhile, June Ann suffers from loneliness.”
“Right. And the more people you tell about her, the more afraid the younger generation will be to cross family lines.”
“So I’m making it worse?”
Mack shrugged. “I doubt it could get any worse.” Belle sidled up behind him and nibbled his neck. He pushed her aside. “What’s gotten into you? Go away or I’ll tie you up!” I couldn’t help laughing.
“When I was helping Lillie make a tonic for June Ann and her baby, I found the notes you typed for Lillie—her remedies and folk cures. I offered to help her type up the rest of them.”
“You would really do that?”
“Sure. I’m a very good typist. Fast, too.”
“That would be a huge weight off my mind, Alice. They say that when an old person dies, it’s as though a library burns. I know someone at the state university who’s interested in publishing her compilation. It would be an important contribution to Kentucky’s history and folklore.”
“I’m happy to help. But do you know where Lillie’s family is? I’m worried about who will take care of her after I go home. I would like to help her contact someone.”
“I was looking into that before I got shot. It’s hard to get any personal information out of Lillie.”
“She has told me a few stories from her past.”
“Good. Maybe you can get her to tell you some more while you’re working on the book. I’d like to contact her family, too, but I hardly know where to begin.”
“Do you know someone in Washington?” I asked, remembering the letter he had received. He frowned at me as if I was being nosy, so I quickly added, “If so, we could ask them to check the U.S. Census records for information. We’d have to know which state and county her son lived in, but the census might lead us to an address.”
“As a matter of fact, I do have a friend who lives in that area. See if you can get Lillie to tell you more about her son, Buster. Maybe my friend can help us find him.”
“Do you know if Lillie ever had other children?”
“She never talks much about herself. And the only child I’ve ever heard her mention is Buster. He must be in his seventies or eighties by now, if he’s even alive.”
“Goodness. We’d better hurry, then.”
He poked the fire again and I caught a whiff of the stew.
“Mm. That smells good. What is it?”
“You want some? I think it’s nearly done. As soon as the potatoes get soft, we can eat it.”
I looked at him warily. “You didn’t answer my question. What’s in it?”
He picked up the spoon and stirred it, showing me the contents. “Potatoes and carrots . . . onions, some home-canned tomatoes . . .”
“And meat. I see chunks of meat in there. What kind is it?”
“You’re awfully suspicious!” Mack broke into a wide grin. He looked so different now that his beard was gone and I could see his face. And the dimple in his cheek. The wooly man I’d first met would have looked more at home here in the woods than this nicely groomed version—and this version would look more at home behind the librarian’s desk. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?” he asked.
“I have. But Lillie fed me squirrel the other night without telling me.”
“I’ll bet it tasted good. But this isn’t squirrel—it’s rabbit. I set a few snares.” I must have made a face, because he laughed and said, “Don’t look at me like that. Do you want me to starve to death up here?”
“Forget it,” I said, waving my hand. “I’m not hungry. But thanks just the same . . . So, tell me, how long have you known Lillie?”
“Since the day I was born. My mother died giving birth to me. Lillie was the midwife, so I guess she felt responsible. She said my mother made her swear that she would always take care of me and never let me work a single day in the mines. Lillie kept those promises—which is why I need to finish my work and get back home. I should be taking care of Lillie myself.”
