by Caryl McAdoo
More than likely, the devil taunted him, and the Good Book said to resist him, and he'd flee.
Still, he needed to talk with her. See if she truly loved him. Her lips told him she did, but he'd also overheard Charity whispering to Mam that it was Alicia's first kiss.
Would she even know her heart if that was so?
Little sisters were good for something.
After breakfast, he took himself a jaunt through the woods to check the snares with his little partners. Only caught two rabbits, but Aunt Esther said they'd be enough for a nice stew. Then he went to helping the men get the wagons greased and ready to haul the lint to town.
It'd be a mighty heavy load.
And then those wagons had a long journey ahead. Needed to be in tiptop shape.
Studying Laud work the heated iron fascinated him. He noted every bang and angle; still couldn't shape the metal like the blacksmith, but his craft kept coming along, according to his honorary uncle.
Being a smithy would mean a more regular income than fiddling, though getting paid for playing music . . . couldn't get much better than that.
Shame the lint had to go all the way to Charlotte with two gins closer, but Jenkins didn't want any misunderstandings on the weight.
After dinner, while everyone sat around being a bit lazy before getting back at it, he caught her father's eye, nodded toward the shed, and mouthed, a word.
Without preamble, the man stood and walked in that direction. Flynn cold trailed him.
Sweat trickled down his face, whether from the bright sun's heat or the unsettling inside, he couldn't tell. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. Wouldn't do for the man to think he was nervous over what he was about to say.
Once covered in shadows, he opened his practiced dialogue. “Sir, I’d like to ask your permission and get your blessing for Alicia and I to have the chance at private conversation. In full view of a chaperon, of course, sir.”
“Seems to me you had that opportunity the other day but chose to get physical instead.”
“Yes, sir. You're right, for sure, and I have no excuse. I swear to you that won't happen again. But I . . . well, guess you might say I wasn't sure of her heart until that day.
“Thought she may have decided she didn't like me much at all from the way she'd been acting since we all moved here together. Not that that's any good reason for doing what I did. I know it was wrong, sir, and have repented and God.”
“That's good.”
“And I want to ask you and Aunt Mallory to forgive me as well. But I'd like for there to be an understanding between me and Alicia.”
“What kind of understanding?”
“Sir, I realize I'm only nineteen and not yet established, but once I am, I'd like to marry your daughter. I want to ask you for her hand, and your and her mother's blessings.”
The man's head bobbed a bit. Not so much an affirmative nod, seemed to be more of a contemplative gesture. “And what's your notion of being established?”
“A roof over our heads and a way to feed us.”
More bobbing.
“Sir, if Texas is as they say, appears to me it won't take long for any of us to make a go of it.”
Another nod, but that one seemed a bit different. “This evening after supper, you two can sit your porch, with two lanterns lit well before dark.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No touching of any kind.”
“Yes, sir. I thank you, sir, for the opportunity, and I won't disappoint you again. You have my word.”
“Good. I'll have her ma tell her.”
“Yes, sir.” He couldn't help but grin. Hopefully, her father wouldn't take it the wrong way.
Alicia figured the O'Neals’ porch would work just fine; close enough for any and all to see that nothing but conversation took place, yet out of earshot from the cook-fire.
With all the preparations for supper completed, but before the supper bell rang, she pulled her little brother aside, and securely held his shoulders. “Listen to me, Aaron.”
“Let go of me!” He wiggled his shoulder, and she loosened her grip but held on.
“Flynn and I are going to excuse ourselves after we eat and have ourselves a nice visit on the O’Neals’ porch.”
“I know.” His eyes bore into hers, and he tried to waggle his shoulders free, but she held firm. “Pa done told me.”
“Good. You and Rich stay clear, do you understand? Or you can forget getting any bedtime songs or stories, and . . .” She scrunched her nose. “I might have to give you that swatting I've been owing you for years now.”
Giggling, he scrunched his own nose right back at her and leaned forward to touch nose to nose. “I know you want to kiss him again. Going to do it with everyone watching?”
“You best hush being a smarty, or . . .” She let his shoulder go and grabbed his ear. “I hear tell a good twist does wonders with young men. You want me to twist your ear off? I'm telling you to stay away and do not mess with us. And I mean it!”
His brows furrowed, and he swelled up. “I'm getting bigger every day.” A grin spread across his dirty little face. “Fine. I'll stay clean away, Lesha. But you got to promise to sing me two songs every night this whole week. That's seven nights!”
The little booger never could last through two ballads, so why not? If it would appease him. Besides, she liked him falling asleep on her arm. “You'll leave us alone?” She released his ear.
“Yep. I mean Yep, ma'am!”
Sticking her hand out toward him, she nodded. “All right then, deal.”
Her brother grabbed it and shook extra big. “Can I have your biscuit tonight, too?”
“Half. Unless someone breaks out a new jar of preserves, then only one bite.”
Though he nodded double time, he acted like he wanted to ask for more. The supper bell sounded and saved her. “Hey! Come on, Lesha! Time to eat!” He turned and ran off. “Rich! Hey, Rich! It's suppertime!”
The scalawag raced toward the cook-fire, Rich intercepting him at full speed about halfway, and both boys tumbled down in a rolling ball of arms and legs and laughter. She followed him at a much slower pace and took her place.
Any other night, the stew would hit the spot, but that night, she had too much on her mind with a million questions squirming there and as many butterflies fluttering around in her stomach.
All the critters certainly besmirched her appetite. She only wanted the meal to be over. She blew on it then sipped a spoonful.
As usual, simply delicious, but she kept picking at it, silently rehearsing every word she'd say, every topic she wanted to discuss. She gave Aaron all but a nibble of her biscuit.
The rock in her tummy grew to boulder size when Flynn grabbed two lanterns someone had hung on Uncle Laud's porch post then nodded her toward his cabin.
Handing her brother her bowl, she stood and fell in behind him. She wanted to take one of the lights but knew better. Her hand was liable to touch his in an exchange, and that would not do!
The letter of the law would be strictly adhered to because she wanted more such opportunities. At last, the chance to know his heart.
Though he hung the lanterns, he didn't strike a match. At the least, a good hour of sunlight remained. He set a cane-bottom chair across from what had to be his mother's cushioned rocker. In hushed tones, Ma had explained why Aunt Liberty needed the soft seat a long time ago.
Of course, he gave her the rocker.
Wow, how nice. She wiggled her bottom a smidgen. She sure could get used to sitting in the lap of luxury.
Flynn eased down. “I would like to take your hand and go down on one knee to ask my question, but your father and I have an understanding. I don't touch you. And he doesn't kill me.” Her love offered a sly grin.
So that's what her mother had been all over him about last night. “I'm sorry, Flynn. I don't know why he's so protective over me.”
“Well, I do! You are his treasure, and he doesn't want anyone, especially
the likes of me rummaging around in his chest.”
“You're sweet, Flynn. So, one knee and a question, huh? No never mind anything else. What would you be wanting to ask me?” She wanted to hear that question more than anything.
“And if you’re wondering, I'd love nothing better than to have you take my hand—with or without you taking a knee.” Her breath came hard.
Was he about to ask her to marry him?
“Well. That's a whole other agreement between your Pa and me. See, we're young now, but I'm a pretty good fiddler. Papa says I'm already second class and way better than he was at my age, so . . . And I uh . . . been learning from Uncle Laud. He's says I'm doing real good catching on to the trade.”
“That's wonderful. Two careers!”
“Well, I could be smithing pretty soon and with a few jobs playing . . .” He wiped his mouth then wet his lips with his tongue. “Thing is, I can't ask for your hand until I can put a roof over your head and food in your lauder. So—”
“So if you could, you would.” She wanted an end to all his excuses and for him to tell her what she wanted to hear—the important part! The question! “Get on with it! Uh, please. I mean the question you were thinking to ask.”
Would she be able to answer with cotton so thick in her mouth?
“Anyway, I told your Pa that I wanted to marry you, Alicia. If you’re a mind to, of course. But much as I want to, I can't ask you now.”
“What did he say?” Why hadn't he asked her what she wanted first?
“Nothing much. Just agreed. So . . . will you? Once I've built a cabin and have us some money coming in?”
Her lips spread wide, betraying any thoughts of playing hard to get. Her heart knew what it wanted. “Yes, sir, Reagan Flynn O'Neal, I will marry you. I'd marry you tonight if they could find a minister.”
He grinned.
“The cabin and all that wouldn't stop me one minute. Tell me.” She tilted her head two degrees off plumb and raised her chin a bit. “Tell me now and tell me true.”
Dumb struck, he didn't move a muscle. He stared until realization struck. “Oh, I love you, Alicia Van Zandt. Have for years.”
“That's it! That's what I longed to hear.” She grinned then nodded. “I love you more, and I've loved you longer.”
“So! Have you ever been to a dance?” He laughed.
“No, you?”
“A few with Papa, but I only played, didn't do any dancing.”
“Think Pa will let us?”
“I don't know. It'd definitely involve some touching. I couldn't do it without some. Maybe he would since the whole clan's invited. I don't know how though, so if we do, I'm sure I'll make a fool of myself.”
“Why's that?”
“If you don't step just right, it throws everyone off, and it isn't like riding a mule or something simple.”
She let him prattle on for a while about the shindig, figuring what came next. “So how many babies do you want?”
Her question took him back a bit. He recovered then shrugged. “Make it light on yourself, sweetheart. You birth them, I'll feed and love them. I guess as many as God will give us.”
She laughed. The Lord had blessed her beyond belief. “Boy or girl first?”
“Boy, of course. He can whip all the girls' beaus when they come calling. I plan on being a lot tougher than your father.”
“Oh, but Flynn!”
He burst out laughing. “Not really. I hope I'll be more understanding.”
“It's a good thing I don't have a big brother.”
He laughed. “Your Pa is plenty, believe me. I truly believe he'd really kill me if we were to shake hands now. How about you?”
She glanced toward the cook-fire. Seemed everyone but her father paid her and Flynn no never mind, but even in the last of the light, she could see he stared daggers right at her sweetheart.
“Best not test him. He puts a lot of store in keeping his word.”
Flynn nodded then pulled a match from his shirt pocket. “Best get the lanterns going.”
Never in all her born days had there been a better evening. Only thing wrong, it didn't last long enough. She still had so much to talk about. Never even got around to Texas. Too soon, her time alone with him ended.
That night, just as she'd figured, Aaron didn't make it past one song, but then upon her return from tucking him in, Arlee was piled up in her bed.
“Did he ask you? Are you two getting married?”
Alicia eased in beside her sister. “Yes, one day. Not anytime soon. Pa wants him to have a house and some way to make a living before he'll bless our union.”
“You could elope. I read about it once in a romance novel. So romantic. Just you and him and his fiddle.”
“Romantic indeed, but how are we going to live? Love doesn't fill your belly.”
Arlee hugged herself. “But it's enough and it never fails. That's what the Good Book says.”
“Get to bed or you'll be the one getting up to help Ma with breakfast.”
She got a quick kiss on her cheek then her sister was gone. She whispered, “Play like that was from Flynn.”
If only it had been from him.
But then would Pa be honor-bound to kill him?
Chapter Six
With the passing of each day, the stalks grew browner and crunchier, and the field grew whiter. 'Getting close' all the men would say, then all the ladies replied, 'any day now.' Alicia hated it.
She'd gladly take a whipping if that could get her out of picking the lint, but if she refused, then she'd surely suffer licks and still be expected to pull her weight after the beating!
If she ever got to choose . . . that needed to go on her list of things she wanted to remember to ask Flynn's intention about. Would he plan on being a farmer in Texas?
And if so, what crops might he plant? Because if cotton ruled there like it did in Tennessee . . . She hoped above hope the ground in the far away destination wouldn't be good for the nasty crop.
If she ever got another private confab with him!
'Timber a plenty' she'd heard folks quote, then laughed at herself before she finished the saying: 'with an Indian hiding behind every tree.'
All the signs pointed to the morrow that night around the cook-fire. All the men agreed. Then Pa broached a subject she'd not even considered. Her father leaned back, lifting the chair's front two legs off the ground. “We best sell the cow and her calf.”
“Why?” Had she blurted that out?
“We all love milk and butter.” Praise the Lord, her sister blurted out a second, affirming opinion that took some of the attention off Alicia.”
He rocked forward, the chair's legs landing with a thud. “Arlene, she can't do eighteen mile a day, sweetie.”
No one chided her for speaking up, so why not? “But we're going to ask the mules to pull our wagons. All she'd have to do is walk.”
Her pa smiled. “Darling, haven't you noticed? Twice a day she lays down and chews her cud. Mules and cows are different animals.”
Aaron stood with his thumbs in his suspenders. “We knowed that already, didn't we, Rich?” The scoundrel turned to her, wagging his head side-to-side as though she didn't have a brain in her head.
By example, Pa showed how to handle him and went right on with his thought, ignoring Mister Smarty-pants. “Plus, we need to buy some extra mules or a yoke of oxen. Maybe even both. She and her calf should bring enough to cover that.”
Though the three families had gone in on shares to buy the cow, her father definitely acted like whatever he decided was law. The way he thought amazed her; his mind so filled with wisdom, and overflowing logic, too.
The five other adults took turns voicing their opinions, but as with most times, no one could find fault or come up with any good arguments for his suggestions, so . . .
How long would she have to go without butter and milk?
Something else to go on her list.
Would Flynn want to keep a cow? Wou
ld she ever have a chance to find out? Her stubborn father explained he and her beau had come to an understanding and assured her there'd be time aplenty to talk once she married.
Right! Like that might happen any time soon. If she didn't love him so much she'd be mad at him for coming to any understanding without her input!
Of its own, her mouth refused to smile for him.
According to Charity, by way of Arlene, at least her love asked almost every day for another session on his porch.
That night she got another surprise.
Right before Aaron dozed off on her arm, he raised up and kissed her cheek. “If Flynn don't marry you, Lesha, I will.” He flopped back down then took to making his soft, little puffing sleep sounds. Had he been dreaming?
Finishing the lullaby, she waited a bit then rolled over and scooped him up in one smooth motion. Mercy! The little booger was getting so big! Not too many more biscuits before she'd have to stop lugging him to bed.
But then she'd been doing it for so long, loved him so much, the scalawag seemed more hers than Ma's.
Just as the men insisted, everyone beat the sun and rooster by a good mile . . . one more reason to hate cotton picking time. Would Flynn let her sleep late?
Would she even want to once she joined the O'Neal family?
Everyone scurried around getting chores done then scarfed down breakfast before taking off for the field's far end.
Snippets of muffled conversations and a few recurring laughs competed with the frogs in the creek and the crickets' songs against the early morning quietness.
Waiting for the first bit of dawn to break, the clan milled around her—everyone but Aunt Esther and Katie Kay. Forget the cotton, she loved these people—even the ones she often got crosswise with.
They were family.
Family. If she timed it right, she could be big and pregnant that time next year if only her hard-headed father would let her and Flynn go ahead and marry. She could be the one with a swollen belly, tending to the new baby and Katie Kay.
She'd have no trouble keeping the cook-fire going and could boil beans and bake biscuits good as anyone.
