“Oh, but a good man always thinks he should’ve done more…could’ve done more…even against impossible odds.”
There was quiet for a moment, and Cricket tried to divert her own thoughts from Heathro Thibodaux and his past—from Heathro Thibodaux at all!
But it seemed Maymee Maloney wasn’t about to let that happen. “Why don’t you lasso that man for yourself, Magnolia?”
Cricket rolled her eyes with humiliation and exasperation. “Oh! Of course!” she exclaimed with friendly sarcasm. “And then I’ll just become President of the United States and live forever too, while I’m at it!”
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Mrs. Maloney scolded. “Lassoin’ a man ain’t anything as difficult as becomin’ President of the United States.” She smiled and shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder what on earth goes on in that mind of yours.”
“Says who?” Cricket asked, perking up just a bit—for she could see the mischief in Mrs. Maloney’s smiling eyes, and it always cheered her.
“Says me,” Mrs. Maloney answered. “In fact, why don’t you just run on over to his house one night, rope him up good, tie him to a chair, and go about convincin’ him that you’re the woman he’s always wanted?”
Cricket laughed, shaking her head with amused disbelief. “You make the most scandalous suggestions sometimes, Mrs. Maloney!” she exclaimed. “And what do you mean, go about convincin’ him, anyway? What could I possibly do to convince him to want me…even if he was tied to a chair?”
But Mrs. Maloney only laughed, her gray eyes so radiant with misbehavior that Cricket thought surely stars had been plucked from the heavens and placed in her head where her eyes used to be. “Oh, let’s save that for another time,” she said. “For now, why don’t you tell me what all is goin’ on with your daddy and Ada. Did Ada finish puttin’ up all that strawberry jam she was workin’ on?”
Cricket smiled and nodded. She knew Mrs. Maloney had said all she was going to say on the subject of Heathro Thibodaux being tied to a chair and how Cricket could convince him to want her. She was a sneaky little thing—and Cricket loved her all the more for it.
❦
When Cricket, Marie, Ann, and Vilma had first decided to begin their do-gooding shenanigans, they decided that everything mysterious and secretive was easier to go about veiled in the concealing cloak of night. Thus, they had therefore decided they’d have to be literally cloaked as well. Going about their do-gooding with only the moon and starlight as their guides was certainly helpful at hiding their identity, but they had all agreed they would need something more—costumes of a sort.
It had been Cricket who had first offered the suggestion of rounding up old camisoles, shirtwaists, bloomers, and petticoats and dying them black. Vilma had been mortified at the suggestion, of course—or at least she’d pretended to be (though Cricket knew that the preacher’s daughter secretly relished the chance to run around town in a set of black underwear—it fulfilled her unspoken desire to rebel). Marie and Ann had heartily agreed at once, however, Marie explaining that the black would help them blend into their dark surroundings while do-gooding and Ann offering that it would put to good use their old, too-worn clothing.
And so, one rather dreary winter morning, Cricket, Marie, Ann, and Vilma set about dying old undergarments. By the next evening, they were dressed head to toe in their proper do-gooder apparel and flitting around Pike’s Creek scattering joy to others by means of leaving cookies on porches, dollies on little girls’ window sills, and even apple pies in barns for the widows and widowers in town.
For months and months the girls had enjoyed their shenanigans—and so had anyone and everyone who had been a lucky victim of them. And so, as Cricket pulled on her black stockings in preparation for the shenanigans they had planned for Mrs. Maloney, Mr. Keel, Heathro Thibodaux, and Hudson Oliver, she smiled at the memory of that very first night of mischief. She’d never known such excitement and pure gladness as she knew in making others smile and lightening their hearts—even if only for a moment.
Logically, however, as she pulled her black shirtwaist over her black camisole, her excitement turned to nervous anxiety as she thought again of her chosen task for the evening—Heathro Thibodaux. In truth, she was still silently wondering how in all the wide, wide world she would ever find the courage to do what she’d promised to do! Welcoming him to Pike’s Creek was easy enough—but to kiss him? If Cricket were to be honest with Ann, Vilma, and Marie, she would confess that she wouldn’t be sure whether she could muster the gumption to actually kiss the man until the very moment presented itself! Of course, she couldn’t confide the truth of it in her friends. After all, she was the strong one—the fighter.
Cricket knew, as did her friends, that every one of them was a fighter. There wasn’t one among them who would ever back down from doing right or from pushing on through whatever trial crossed their paths. But the fact remained that Cricket owned the greatest sense of responsibility—felt compelled to defend, protect, encourage, and help the others. And most of the time Cricket was willing. But each and every time she thought about kissing Heathro Thibodaux, not only did her arms and legs break into gooseflesh but her stomach also churned into such chaos that she thought she might vomit!
But there was no time to be fearful. Merry mischief was afoot, and as Cricket finished dressing and quietly crept out of her father’s house by way of her bedroom window, the cool night air and wonderful aroma of burning cedar in warm hearths sent an overwhelming exhilaration riveting through her! Four people would drift to sleep with smiles on their faces—or at least in their hearts—after Cricket and her friends were finished with their shenanigans that night. Well, Mrs. Maloney and Mr. Keel would feel lighter-hearted. Cricket wasn’t so sure about Heathro Thibodaux. Furthermore, she knew that Marie’s confession to Hudson Oliver, accompanied by her plead for him to remain in Pike’s Creek, would no doubt find Hudson Oliver unable to sleep or settle down for that matter. Still, in her soul Cricket knew Hudson would stay—that he already cared deeply for Marie. And so she soothed herself in knowing that at least three of the recipients of their do-gooding would benefit.
The stars were bright, twinkling overhead like tiny beacons, and the moon was beautiful in its brilliance, like a wafer of silver in the night sky, as Cricket made her way to meet Ann, Marie, and Vilma at the old lean-to just outside of town. The soothing aria of the crickets mingled with the gentle summer breeze in the trees seemed the music of heaven, and the fragrance of lilac and honeysuckle wandered on the air like a delicate, feathered perfume.
“There you are, Cricket. Finally!” Cricket heard Vilma whisper as she reached the old lean-to.
“I’m sorry, everyone,” Cricket apologized. “Daddy and Ada were up longer than usual tonight. I had to fib a headache to get away to my room.”
“It’s fine, Cricket,” Marie said. “We were just talkin’ about who we should do first…Mrs. Maloney or Mr. Keel.”
“Mrs. Maloney,” Ann and Vilma chimed in unison. They looked at one another and smiled.
“Ann is still nervous about the quilt for Mr. Keel, and I don’t want us to accidentally damage the teapot somehow,” Vilma explained. “So is that all right with you, Cricket? If we deliver Mrs. Maloney’s teapot first?”
“Of course,” Cricket affirmed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“We thought maybe you’d want to deliver Mr. Thibodaux’s gift first,” Ann explained, “so that you wouldn’t have wait to—”
“Oh! Oh, I’m fine with waitin’…truly,” Cricket interrupted. She was glad it was dark. Perhaps the other girls hadn’t noticed her radish-red blush or nervous agitation.
“Then we’ll do Mrs. Maloney first,” Marie confirmed. “Then Ann will give Mr. Keel his quilt and—”
“Then Ann will leave Mr. Keel’s quilt on his porch,” Ann interjected.
Everyone giggled, and Cricket felt sorry for Ann. She knew that leaving the quilt on Mr. Keel’s porch was nearly as frightening for Ann as the i
dea of stealing a kiss from Mr. Thibodaux was to her—even if they were apples and onions.
“Right,” Marie giggled. “Then Ann will leave Mr. Keel’s quilt on the porch, and then it will be Cricket’s turn…and last of all mine.” Marie moaned with anxiety, and Cricket felt the call to strength in her heart—as ever she did.
She placed her hands firmly on Marie’s shoulders. “This is the night, Marie,” Cricket whispered as the delicious anticipation of adventure mingled with her own anxiety in her bosom. “This is the night you will win Hudson Oliver for you own!”
“Yes, Marie,” Vilma said, taking Marie’s hand and offering a squeeze of encouragement. “After tonight, there will be no more wonderin’. After tonight, you’ll know how Hudson feels.”
Ann took Marie’s free hand then, grasping it between both of her own. “Hudson loves you, Marie. All of us know it. Even you know it! And now it’s time for the two of you to quit horsin’ around and get on with it.”
“That’s right, Marie,” Cricket said. But when she saw the doubt beginning to darken Marie’s sapphire eyes, she knew her friend needed more. “And just think…by the end of tonight, you’ll know just what it feels like to have Hudson Oliver kiss you!”
“Y-you mean, I’ll know what it feels like to kiss him,” Marie stammered. “What if he—”
“He won’t,” Cricket interrupted before Marie could swell her own doubt. “Once your lips touch his…I know Hudson Oliver will be like bread dough in your hands, Marie. There’s no way possible that boy won’t have you in his arms makin’ love to you right there for all the stars to see! I know it. I do.”
“It’s true, Marie,” Ann said. “I know it too.”
“And me,” Vilma added.
Cricket wondered for a moment why it was everyone assumed that Marie’s challenge for the evening required so much more encouragement than hers did. In truth, wasn’t it far and away different for Marie to confess her heart and offer a kiss to the young man she’d loved nearly all her life than it was for Cricket to walk up to a nearly complete stranger and steal a kiss? But naturally the moment passed as Cricket reminded herself that only her pride was at risk, while Marie’s entire future was what teetered on the edge.
“He loves you, Marie,” Cricket assured her friend once more. “I know he does.”
Marie grinned, sighed, and nodded. “All right. All right. Then let’s get to Mrs. Maloney’s and spread some sunshine, shall we?”
“Yes!” Cricket giggled, throwing her arms around Marie’s shoulders and hugging her tightly. Ann and Vilma joined the embrace, and the girls giggled with excitement.
As they made their way toward Mrs. Maloney’s house, Cricket again took a moment to admire the beauty of the stars and moon in the night sky. All would be well, she thought to herself. Mrs. Maloney would cherish her teapot, Mr. Keel would be warm in not only the comfort of a new quilt but the knowledge that someone was looking out for him, and Hudson Oliver would finally have the door to confessing his own feelings flung wide open by Marie’s courage.
As for Heathro Thibodaux and his welcome to Pike’s Creek—there was nothing to do but wait until the moment arrived and hope that the brooding ex-Texas Ranger wasn’t startled into shooting the girl who meant to welcome him to town by stealing a kiss.
Chapter Four
Cricket clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from squealing with amusement as she, Ann, and Marie watched Vilma quietly tiptoe up Mrs. Maloney’s front porch steps. Her delight was nearly euphoric. Oh, how thoroughly Mrs. Maloney would love the teapot! No teapot in the world had ever been or would ever be so treasured and cared for. Cricket felt a pinch in her happy heart—painful gratitude for Vilma and her sacrifice for Mrs. Maloney’s sake. Oh, certainly Vilma’s hair would grow back. But Cricket knew how vain Vilma Stanley was about her beautiful auburn hair. It was truly a heartfelt and humble forfeit.
“I’m so excited I think I’m gonna cry,” Ann whispered.
“Hush, Ann,” Marie gently scolded, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’ll have me bawlin’ like a calf if you start.”
Cricket blinked away the moisture in her own eyes as she watched Vilma carefully situate the teapot on Mrs. Maloney’s front porch. She bit her lip with impatience as Vilma took entirely too long in placing the accompanying note just so on its spout.
“Oh, she’s gonna get caught,” Marie groaned. “She always draws it out so dang long!”
“It’s part of her way of doin’ things,” Cricket whispered. “Remember when we were in school and her cat died?”
“How could we ever forget?” Ann sighed with mild exasperation. “Standin’ out in the rain in the dead of night…all four of us bawlin’ our eyes out over that silly cat.”
“Herman,” Marie offered quietly. “His name was Herman.”
“Oh, believe me, Marie,” Ann giggled. “I’ll never forget his name or the two hours of standin’ in the rain bawlin’ over him.”
“Shhh!” Cricket suddenly shushed. “She’s gettin’ ready to knock on the door.”
Simultaneously, Cricket, Marie, and Ann dropped to their bellies in the cool, sweet-scented grass across the street from Mrs. Maloney’s house. There was the echo of Vilma knocking on Mrs. Maloney’s front door on the air and then the comical sight of Vilma hightailing herself across the street to join the others.
Cricket couldn’t help but laugh as she watched Vilma—all dressed in black underthings, leapfrogging across the street like a bullfrog with a firebrand at his behind.
“Here she comes!” Ann giggled. “Look at her go!”
Marie laughed so hard she snorted a little and sent Ann and Cricket clamping their hands over their mouths to ensure Mrs. Maloney wouldn’t hear them sniggling with overpowering mirth.
“It’s done!” Vilma panted as she plopped down on her stomach in the grass next to Cricket. “Do you think I knocked loud enough? I think the ol’ gal has trouble hearin’ sometimes. Daddy said she slept clean through his sermon last Sunday.”
Cricket smiled when Marie leaned over, whispering in her ear, “Well, then half the congregation in Pike’s Creek must have trouble hearin’…’cause the snorin’ durin’ her daddy’s sermon last week was nearly deafenin’.”
“Shhh!” Ann whispered. “The door’s openin’!”
Sure enough. Cricket’s eyes widened with wild anticipatory excitement as Mrs. Maloney’s front door swung wide to reveal Mrs. Maloney standing just inside, dressed in a gingham nightgown and holding a lamp in one hand.
“Hello?” the elderly woman called into the darkness of night. “Who’s there?”
“Oh, look down, woman! Look down!” Vilma whispered with impatience.
Almost as if Mrs. Maloney had heard her, the lovely old woman glanced down, spying the teapot.
Mrs. Maloney gasped—placed a hand to her bosom. “What in tarnation?” the girls heard her exclaim. Mrs. Maloney set the lamp down on the porch and picked up the teapot. “Oh! Oh, it’s you!” she said to the teapot. “It’s you. It really is you! Oh, how I’ve watched you for so long…but…what’s this?”
Nobody breathed as they watched Mrs. Maloney unfold Vilma’s note. They could hear her sniffling as she read—saw her wipe tears from her eyes.
“Thank you!” Maymee Maude Maloney called from her front porch out into the night. “Thank you, whoever you are! It’s beautiful. So much more beautiful than it was when it was a prisoner at the general store! I promise to cherish it all my life. Thank you!”
Cricket wiped the tears from her cheeks as she watched Mrs. Maloney pick up the lamp and disappear into her house, closing the door behind her. She began to cry all the more savagely, however, when she saw Vilma collapse facedown in the cool summer grass and begin to sob.
Marie and Ann were as soppy as Cricket and Vilma, and it took several long minutes for any of the four black-shrouded do-gooders to recover their emotions.
Red-eyed and with tear-streaked cheeks, the four young ladies of Pike
’s Creek gathered themselves and started out for Mr. Keel’s home.
“She really will love it, won’t she?” Vilma asked, taking Cricket’s hand as they walked.
Cricket smiled, wiped a fresh tear from her cheek, and nodded. “More than anyone in all the world ever could,” she affirmed.
“I feel warmed and happier now,” Ann said, stepping in beside Cricket, tucking her quilt under one arm, and taking her other hand.
“Me too,” Marie added, clasping Vilma’s free hand.
“I don’t even miss my silly hair,” Vilma added.
Cricket squeezed Vilma’s hand with admiration and affection. “You’re very brave and givin’, Vilma,” she said. “One day you’re gonna burst out of whatever those invisible tethers are that keep you so wound up and be who God meant you to be.”
Vilma squeezed Cricket’s hand in return, but the new tears in her eyes kept her from speaking.
They walked silently for a time along the backside of the business buildings of Pike’s Creek, each lost in her own thoughts. Though she didn’t know what Marie or Ann or Vilma was thinking exactly, Cricket supposed their thoughts mirrored her own—that she wished she could spend more time doing lovely, kind things for folks in secret. It was what she felt she was meant to do, and she was glad for her companions in it.
“Just look at that moon,” Ann said as they strolled along toward Mr. Keel’s house and barn. “Just like a new silver coin hung high in the sky.”
Cricket smiled, touched by the way she and Ann often thought of things similarly.
“And the stars!” Marie whispered in awe. “No wonder folks cast wishes at them. They truly twinkle like they’re trying to speak to you…don’t they?”
“Well, I wish they’d speak to me,” Ann said then. “I wish they’d tell me whether or not Mr. Keel will think this quilt is the silliest thing or be glad he has it to keep him warm in the winter.”
Mr. Keel’s house was in view, and Cricket could see a lamp burning in the kitchen window. “Well, maybe when he opens the door and finds it tonight, you’ll know, and the stars won’t need to tell you,” Cricket whispered. “Now let’s quit talkin’ and creep over behind that big lilac tree there by the kitchen door. It should hide us pretty well, don’t you think?”
Untethered Page 6
