The Light of the Lovers' Moon

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “I remember the first time I seen it,” Jimmy said. “I ’bout couldn’t sleep a wink for a month!”

  Stoney smiled, remembering his own experience the very first time he’d seen the light of the ghosts in the old Chisolm place.

  “I’m sure whoever’s trespassin’ will be gone by the time we get back there,” Jimmy mumbled. “I thought about goin’ in there after ’em myself…but I didn’t have my rifle.”

  Stoney stopped and placed a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder to stop him as well. “I don’t want ya gettin’ hurt, Jim,” he said. “I don’t want ya in the middle of all this.”

  Jimmy smiled and patted Stoney on the shoulder. “I’m already in the middle, Stoney. You know that.”

  Stoney smiled and nodded. Jimmy Ritter was the little brother Stoney Wrenn had never had, and Stoney worried about him.

  “I guess you are,” Stoney chuckled.

  “Then let’s go,” Jimmy said, heading out once again. “Who do ya think it is, Stoney? Who keeps messin’ around in that old house? And why?”

  “I don’t know who it is, Jim,” Stoney said. He didn’t know who; it was the truth. Still, he did know why, but that was information he couldn’t share—not even with Jimmy—not yet.

  ❦

  Violet sighed as she crawled into bed. Reaching over to the little table at her bedside, she turned the lamp down. She wanted to linger in the low light of the lamp for a moment longer, before she blew it out and went to sleep.

  It was so very late. Violet knew she wouldn’t feel rested when she left for the school in the morning. Yet she tried not to worry about being tired. The soothing music of the crickets outside calmed Violet’s rather tattered nerves, and as she lay back on her pillow, she thought of Stoney—thrilled at the memory of his kiss. She thought of seeing the light of the lovers’ moon too—happy in the knowledge she and Stoney hadn’t just imagined seeing it when they were children. It really did exist!

  “Stoney Wrenn,” she breathed, closing her eyes for a moment. Feelings of elation mingled in her bosom with feelings of despair.

  How wonderful it had been to learn he had not suffered so badly as she had feared in her absence. How wonderful to have felt his kiss, however final it had been. Yet to lose him now, to give up the friend she’d known as a child—it haunted her, made her feel alone and abandoned herself. Stoney’s memory had always brought hope to her, even for the guilt it carried. She’d always had hope in perhaps seeing him again. Yet now she had seen him, made her peace with him. Still, somehow she felt more frightened and alone than ever.

  Violet sat up, cupped a hand around the lamp chimney, and blew out the flame. Tomorrow. She would think about tomorrow—and the school. She would look forward to meeting with Jimmy after she’d taught the other children of Rattler Rock. She would look forward—try not to look back—only forward.

  “Impossible,” she whispered to herself. She’d never be able to forget her past with Stoney Wrenn—especially with him prancing around town with his girl every living day for the rest of her life.

  Turning onto her side, Violet fluffed her pillow and lay down once more.

  “At least the lovers in Mr. Chisolm’s old house are together,” she whispered. “They may be dead…but at least they’re together.”

  Something creaked in the darkness, and Violet closed her eyes tightly shut. All at once the memory of Ebenezer Scrooge lying in his bed awaiting the next ghost of Christmas to visit washed over her. In her mind she could see the light of the lovers’ moon, slowly wandering through the old Chisolm place.

  Wishing she wouldn’t have blown out the lamp, Violet pulled the covers up over her head. Determined to keep her wits about her, she thought of Stoney once more.

  “Viola,” she whispered to herself, smiling with sudden, renewed delight. “He called me Viola.”

  Chapter Six

  “My mama wants to know if you’ll join us for supper tomorrow evenin’, Miss Fynne,” Maya asked.

  Violet smiled—though the thought of sitting at the same table with Miss Layla Asbury churned her stomach. “I think that would be lovely, Maya,” she said all the same. “Please, tell your mother I accept her thoughtful invitation.”

  Maya nodded. “I will. It’ll be nice to have ya over to our house.”

  As the other children began to file past Maya into the schoolhouse, the girl paused. Violet waited, sensing the girl had something further to say.

  Maya smiled at Dayton Fisher as he moved past her with a flirtatious wink her way. Once he’d stepped well into the room beyond, Maya spoke again. “Are…are ya teachin’ Jimmy Ritter in the afternoons, Miss Fynne? I-I was wonderin’ why he was sittin’ with ya on yer front porch yesterday. Is he all right?”

  Violet smiled. She adored being correct in her suspicions—and once again, she had been. Maya Asbury wasn’t sweet on Dayton Fisher the way everybody else thought; she was sweet on Jimmy Ritter.

  “Oh, Jimmy’s just fine,” Violet said. She smiled and lowered her voice. “And he paid you a very nice compliment yesterday, after you and Beth passed by my house.”

  Maya’s cheeks pinked up like ripened cherries. “He did?” she asked, entirely delighted.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “What did he say? Do ya think he likes me…even just a little?”

  Violet was entirely amused. The girl seemed ready to burst. “Well, I wouldn’t want to repeat something he didn’t want me to,” Violet began, “but I can tell you this. Why don’t you give up pretending Dayton’s caught your eye, Maya? You never know who might muster up the courage to talk to you a bit more often if he knows you’re not Dayton Fisher’s girl.”

  Maya inhaled. A tiny squeal of delight escaped her throat as she nodded with excitement. “All right, Miss Fynne,” she said. “I won’t flirt with Dayton no more.”

  “Anymore,” Violet corrected. “Don’t flirt with Dayton anymore…especially in front of Jimmy Ritter,” she added in a whisper.

  “Yes, Miss Fynne,” Maya said. She hurried into the classroom and to her seat.

  Violet smiled—she couldn’t help herself! She liked Maya Asbury, and she liked Jimmy. Quickly, she thought about what Stoney had told her the night before, as they’d sat on the log near the old Chisolm place waiting for the light to appear. Katie Mill and Hagen Webster—sparking out under the stars? It was much more delightful to imagine Jimmy Ritter stealing a kiss from Maya Asbury.

  “How romantic!” Violet sighed as she started toward the front of the room.

  “What’s romantic, Miss Fynne?” Beth Deavers asked.

  “Hmm?” Violet asked, turning to face the smiling faces of her pupils.

  “I heard ya too, Miss Fynne,” Phelps Pierson said. “You said, ‘How romantic.’”

  “Oh!” Violet exclaimed, inwardly scolding herself for the dreadful habit she owned of muttering her thoughts aloud. “Um…how romantic?” she stammered. She glanced to Maya—saw the crimson blush of humiliation rising to her lovely face. “I…um…I was thinking of…of our literature lesson today. I…um…I thought I’d read to you a little bit from…um…the poetical works of Bryant Tisdale.” Quickly she turned to her desk and retrieved a copy of Tisdale’s Beautiful Is the Night.

  “Poems?” Dayton Fisher exclaimed. “Yer gonna make us listen to poems? Romantic poems?”

  As every boy in the room began to groan—as every girl in the room smiled—Violet said, “Yes. And if you’re wise, you’ll learn one or two lines by heart…for such an occasion—when you’re older, of course—for such an occasion as when you’d like to capture a girl’s attention…really capture her attention.”

  “Miss Fynne,” Hagen began, “you can’t really mean for us boys to listen to love poems!”

  “Oh, but there’s more to a love story than descriptions of beauty and affection,” Violet began as she opened the book.

  “Like what?” Phelps asked.

  “Murder, blood, battle…often a skeleton or two,” Violet said.

&nbs
p; “Really?” young Johnny Wethers asked.

  “Of course,” Violet said, flipping through pages. “Ah! Here is one of my very favorite poems from Tisdale’s Beautiful Is the Night. It’s called ‘The Maiden of Conkle Crypt.’”

  “You said this was a romantic poem, Miss Fynne,” Hester Gribbs whined. “We got enough ghost stories around Rattler Rock.”

  “This is a romantic poem, Hester,” Violet said. “It just happens that there is a musty, mysterious crypt in it.” Violet giggled as she looked out across the waves of rather pouting faces. “Literature is important, boys and girls,” she said. “So we will begin our day with a reading…a reading of Bryant Tisdale’s ‘The Maiden of Conkle Crypt.’” Clearing her throat to settle the groans emanating from the throats of her pupils, Violet began. “‘A murky, musty mist adorned the cavern walls…and bugs and blackened bones lay scattered in its halls.’” Violet smiled as she looked up to see the boys wide-eyed, the girls with noses wrinkled. She continued, “‘Yet streaming through a fracture—a fissure in the crypt, the sun betrayed the darkness and lit as lovers sipped.’”

  “As lovers sipped what? Buttermilk?” Phelps called out. The boys laughed; the girls frowned.

  “Phelps, hush now. Wait and see,” Violet said. She paused, looking to Maya, who now wore a very relieved expression.

  “Thank you,” Maya mouthed.

  Violet nodded in understanding. “Let me continue,” Violet said. “Beginning here again, so that we don’t lose the rhythm: ‘Yet streaming through a fracture—a fissure in the crypt, the sun betrayed the darkness and lit as lovers sipped…sipped kisses shared in secret—for kisses were forbad—’tween royal men of Conkle and maidens common clad.’”

  “They’re kissin’? In a boneyard?” Johnny Wethers interrupted.

  “In a cave, you ninny,” Hester Gribbs mumbled.

  “Very good, Johnny…and Hester!” Violet exclaimed. She was delighted that the children had somewhat understood the subjects of the poem to the extent that they did.

  “It’s a story of a prince and a poor girl,” Beth offered.

  “Then there’s bound to be blood somewheres along the way,” Phelps said, eyes wide with anticipation.

  Violet giggled, entirely certain in that moment that she was the worst teacher to ever receive a certificate. Still, it was her opinion that if reading were made an interesting, intriguing task, then children would read and she—as their teacher—would not have to fight so in teaching them.

  “Ya might as well go on, Miss Fynne,” Hagen said. “The little kids will never settle down if ya don’t finish it now.”

  “Of course,” Violet said, knowing full well it was Hagen whose curiosity would not be satisfied were she to stop the reading. Turning the page, she gasped slightly, having momentarily forgotten what was written there—not by the poet, but by the hand of boy long ago. She let her fingers trace the words. Stoney Wrenn vows never to kiss a girl while standing in a musty old crypt. You’re strange for liking this poem, Viola.

  Smiling, Violet continued to read the poem to the children—though once again her mind had been hurled into the past, hurled toward Stoney Wrenn.

  ❦

  “Stoney says you saw the light last night, Miss Fynne,” Jimmy said. He shoveled a bit of the cake Violet had baked the day before into his mouth.

  “He told you?” she asked. She was surprised Stoney would mention the incident to Jimmy. “Wh-what did he tell you about it?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “That you seen the light…that he did too. He followed ya home, ya know, to make sure ya got home all right. And I caught up to him, and he told me the two of you had seen the light.”

  “He followed me home?” Violet was delighted! Stoney had seen her home, just like he always had. Well, not just like he always had perhaps—but he had seen her home. She smiled, adoring the idea of Stoney Wrenn following her in the darkness.

  “Yep. Stoney says a feller always sees a woman home…whether she knows he’s seein’ her home or not,” Jimmy answered as he ate the last bite of his second piece of cake.

  Violet frowned a little. “What were you doing out and about so late? Were you watching for the light too?” Violet was suddenly a little unsettled. Stoney had told her about all the “goings-on” he’d seen while trying to keep trespassers away from the old Chisolm place. Had Jimmy seen the goings-on between her and Stoney?

  “No, ma’am. I was helpin’ watch for trespassers. I wasn’t watchin’ for the light last night,” he said.

  “Hello, Miss Fynne…Jimmy.”

  Violet looked up to see Maya on the road. It seemed she was returning to town from picking peaches, for she pulled a small wagon behind her very heavy-laden with the pretty, ripe fruit.

  “Hello, Miss Asbury,” Jimmy greeted.

  Violet smiled when she saw him gulp nervously.

  “Mama sent me over to the Wethers’s orchard for some peaches. They certainly are heavy,” Maya said.

  “Are we done here, Miss Fynne?” Jimmy asked, eyes bright with excitement.

  “We are, Jimmy,” Violet said. “Maya,” she called then, “I bet Jimmy would be more than happy to haul that wagon home for you.”

  Maya blushed. “Would ya mind, Jimmy?”

  “No, ma’am,” Jimmy said, fairly leaping to his feet.

  Violet giggled as she watched Jimmy saunter over to Maya, take the wagon handle from her hand, and offer her his other arm.

  Maya’s smile broadened as she placed her hand in the crook of Jimmy’s arm.

  “Bye-bye, Miss Fynne,” Maya called. “Mama says we’ll see you at five for supper tomorrow night.”

  “Thank you,” Violet said, tossing a wave and winking at Maya.

  Violet watched Jimmy and Maya walk up the road and around the corner into town. Though she was delighted in their young infatuation, she was again saddened. What if she had never had to leave Rattler Rock? Would she and Stoney have enjoyed such easy flirtations—arm-in-arm strolls in the warm light of evening?

  She glanced away from the young couple. She had to find a way to keep her mind from wandering to Stoney Wrenn every living minute of the day. Glancing toward town, she suddenly thought of the fact she had not been into the general store. Mr. Deavers still owned the general store; she’d seen him talking to Stoney and Miss Layla Asbury. Mr. Deavers. Yes! Surely there were a few supplies she could gather from Mr. Deavers. The minister’s wife had brought over a few necessities—several potatoes, a dozen eggs, a small sack of flour, sugar, some fresh milk—but if Violet were going to keep the hook baited with sweets for Jimmy Ritter, there were other things she needed. Furthermore, she wanted to get a look at Mrs. Wilson, the widow who seemed to be keeping Mr. Deavers company on occasion now that his dear wife had passed. Perhaps Mrs. Wilson would be there.

  Drawing a deep breath, Violet set out. The schoolhouse was just on the other side of the town of Rattler Rock. Violet walked the boardwalk of Rattler Rock every morning on her way to teach the children. Still, she realized as she walked it now how terribly unobservant she’d been. Stoney’s tale of Sam Capshaw, who worked at the livery with his father, sparking with Mary Pierson intrigued her. Thus, she paused before the livery, peering inside. A young man was grooming a horse. He smiled and waved, and Violet waved back.

  “Sam Capshaw,” she mumbled. She smiled and wondered what other goings-on Stoney had witnessed in the dead of night out near the old Chisolm place.

  “Hello, Mr. Deavers,” Violet greeted as she entered the general store. “Do you remember me?” she asked as the older man looked up from the columned pages of the book before him on the counter.

  Mr. Deavers frowned a moment, studying Violet from head to toe. Violet smiled as she saw a grin of recognition begin to spread across the man’s face.

  “Why, Violet Fynne!” the man chuckled, hurrying around the counter with one hand outstretched in welcome. “Little Violet! I wondered when you’d be in to see me. Whatcha been eatin’? Dirt?”

  Vio
let accepted Mr. Deavers’s hand, and he firmly shook hers. “Mrs. Abrams brought a welcoming basket to the house the day I arrived. I’ve been eating more than dirt.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Mr. Deavers chuckled. “My grandchildren sure do like you. You must be a wonderful teacher. Every night at supper it’s ‘Miss Fynne said this’ and ‘Miss Fynne said that.’ You sure have got the Deavers girls in your posse.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Violet said. “It’s nice to hear that. I’ve been a little nervous about it all.”

  “Well, don’t ya worry none anymore,” he said. “Rattler Rock is happy to have you back.”

  Violet glanced to the countertop, to the jar filled with amber-colored butterscotch pieces. Something pinched her heart, and she spoke her thoughts aloud. “I can’t believe ol’ Mr. Chisolm is gone.”

  Mr. Deavers shook his head. “Yep. We all felt that loss right through to our bones.”

  “But you still keep butterscotch in the store,” Violet said. “Mr. Chisolm always had butterscotch in his pockets. Many were the times Stoney and I ate ourselves nearly ill from Mr. Chisolm feeding us butterscotch from his pockets.” She giggled. “I remember how he had to sort them out from his pocket lint and coins sometimes.”

  Mr. Deavers smiled. “That’s probably why most of the butterscotch I do sell since ol’ Buddy passed is to Stoney Wrenn. I reckon he’s linin’ his pockets with it the way ol’ Buddy used to.”

  “Really?” Violet asked, entirely delighted.

  “Oh, yes. I seen him give my granddaughter Nina a piece from his pocket not half an hour ago.”

  “How sweet,” Violet whispered. She glanced over her shoulder to the boardwalk outside the store. Perhaps Stoney was still in town; perhaps she’d catch a glimpse of him if she were watchful.