The Light of the Lovers' Moon

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Stoney’s a nice feller,” Mr. Deavers said. “Oh, he’s got hisself a little reputation of bein’ somewhat of a womanizer…but it ain’t his fault Layla Asbury prefers Stoney to Sheriff Fisher.”

  “What do you mean?” Violet instantly looked back to Mr. Deavers. Her curiosity had been triggered.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t go on about such things,” Mr. Deavers said. He wore an expression of guilt, as if he’d accidentally revealed secret information. “Don’t want folks thinkin’ I’m an old gossip like them ladies over at the quiltin’ society.”

  Violet smiled. She wouldn’t press him. He was a kind man, and she wouldn’t give him cause to be eaten up with guilt.

  “Have ya run into Stoney yet?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Violet admitted. “We’ve spoken.”

  Mr. Deavers laughed; his eyes filled with the mirth of amusing memory. “I remember the mischief the two of you used to get into,” he said. “Seems Stoney Wrenn and Violet Fynne were always causin’ some kind of commotion.”

  “I guess so,” Violet said. “But that was so long ago. I’m sure folks hardly remember it.”

  “Well, I remember it,” Mr. Deavers said. “Now…what can I get for ya?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Violet was ambling back toward her little house. She’d found a dime book in Mr. Deavers’s store and had purchased a sweet potato and five pieces of wrapped butterscotch from the butterscotch jar too.

  “Well, hello, Miss Fynne,” Sheriff Fisher said as she approached the jailhouse. She’d seen him sitting on a chair outside the jailhouse as she’d walked along the boardwalk.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” she greeted.

  “Coby,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile.

  “Coby, then,” Violet said, giggling a little at his flirtation.

  “I see you’ve been in to talk with Alex Deavers. What’d he talk ya into buyin’ today?” Coby asked. He rose from his chair to stand tall and handsome before Violet.

  “Just a few things,” Violet said. “How’s your business going today?” She teasingly glanced past him into the empty jailhouse.

  “Quiet…just the way I like it,” Coby said.

  “Would you like a piece of butterscotch?” Violet asked. She opened her hand, offering a piece of the candy.

  “Why thank you, Miss Fynne. Don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking a butterscotch from her palm.

  “Violet,” Violet said.

  Coby Fisher smiled and winked at Violet as he unwrapped the candy and put it in his mouth. “Why thank ya, Violet.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see there’s no fuss in Rattler Rock where the law is concerned,” Violet said.

  “Oh, there’s fuss enough,” he said. “Stoney Wrenn was in here not more’n an hour ago, hollerin’ at me about trespassers out at the ol’ Chisolm place.”

  “Trespassers?” Violet asked. She swallowed the strange guilt rising in her throat.

  “Oh, he’s in here at least once a week goin’ on and on about his property and how he don’t want nobody ’round that old house.”

  “Did he…did he tell you who it was?” Perhaps Stoney was angry with her for trespassing. Surely they’d spoken in a friendly enough manner. He’d even kissed her. But maybe he’d considered on it more thoroughly and was angry at her now.

  Coby Fisher shrugged broad shoulders. “He never gets close enough to see who it is. Just knows someone’s tryin’ to mess with that ol’ house…and it gets Stoney’s temper to sizzlin’.”

  “I see,” Violet said, nervously removing the paper from a piece of the butterscotch candy and placing it in her mouth.

  Coby frowned a moment and then smiled. “Stoney Wrenn’s always got butterscotch in his pockets too. Is that somethin’ that went on in Rattler Rock before I was here?”

  Violet nodded. “Mr. Chisolm used to give us…used to give children pieces of butterscotch all the time. I remember he’d reach into his pocket and offer you a piece. It always tasted a little bit like leather.”

  “Did you ride over to the house, Coby?”

  It was Stoney’s voice. Violet gasped at hearing it so unexpectedly as he suddenly stepped up to stand beside her, and in gasping, the hard piece of butterscotch lodged in the back of her throat. She tried to cough—but couldn’t. She couldn’t even draw breath.

  “Are ya all right, Violet?” Coby asked.

  Stoney Wrenn’s strong hand brutally pounded her back, forcing the piece of candy out of her throat. Violet watched as the amber-colored confection leapt from her mouth and rolled across the boardwalk.

  “You all right?” Stoney asked.

  She turned to look up to see him frowning—his green-blue eyes narrow with irritation. “Yes. I’m sorry. Thank you,” she mumbled. She felt the hot blush of humiliation rise to her cheeks. Choking on the butterscotch in front of the two men? How embarrassing!

  “Are ya sure yer all right?” Coby asked, taking her hand.

  “Yes. I’m fine,” Violet said.

  “Did ya ride over to the house?” Stoney asked. It was obvious he was angry—about something.

  Violet watched as Stoney, still glaring at Sheriff Fisher, reached into his front trouser pocket and pulled out a wrapped piece of butterscotch like the one Violet had just spit out onto the boardwalk.

  “I haven’t gotten over there yet, Stoney,” Coby said. His voice held irritation now too. “I’m waitin’ for Sam Capshaw. My horse threw a shoe this mornin’. I told you that.”

  Stoney inhaled a deep breath. Violet watched as he fumbled with the piece of wrapped candy in his hand. He shook his head and said, “It won’t do no good if ya wait on it, Coby. It’ll be dark soon and—”

  “I’ll get over there when I can, Stoney,” Coby interrupted firmly. “I said I would, and I will.”

  Stoney finished removing the paper from the piece of candy. “Open up,” he said to Violet.

  For some reason, Violet did what he commanded—opened her mouth slightly. Stoney Wrenn then placed the piece of butterscotch in Violet’s mouth, shoving the candy paper in his pocket as he looked back to Coby Fisher and said, “You gotta help me out with this, Coby. I know ya don’t think much of me, but yer the sheriff in this town, and I got a problem with trespassers.”

  “Why do you even worry about it, Stoney?” Coby asked then. “It’s just an empty ol’ shell of a house. Nobody’s lived in it for years. You don’t look much like yer ever plannin’ to. Why not clean it out and let the raccoons and the trespassers have their way?”

  Violet had glanced at Sheriff Fisher, but now she looked back to Stoney. His eyes narrowed; his jaw clinched.

  “Because I made a promise to Buddy Chisolm, Coby…and some of us in Rattler Rock keep our promises,” Stoney said.

  Violet lowered her head and sucked on the butterscotch candy lying on her tongue. Somehow the piece Stoney had put in her mouth tasted sweeter than the one she’d spit out.

  The two men stood firm, broad chests rising and falling with the labored breathing of anger.

  “Well, I guess I better get back to the house and fix myself some supper,” Violet said.

  “I’ll walk a ways with ya,” Stoney grumbled. He glared at the sheriff. “Do you want somebody to get shot, Coby?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” Coby said.

  “Then help me find out who’s messin’ around in Buddy’s ol’ house,” Stoney growled. Stoney shook his head and took hold of Violet’s arm. “Let’s go. I’ll see ya on home.”

  “You have a good evening, Coby,” Violet said to Sheriff Fisher as Stoney led her away.

  “Thank ya, Violet,” Coby said, touching the brim of his hat as he watched her follow Stoney down the boardwalk.

  “He don’t understand, Viola,” Stoney said as they walked. “I promised Buddy I wouldn’t let nobody set foot in that house.”

  “Why didn’t he want anyone inside?” she asked. He’d let go of her arm, and she wished he hadn’t. She liked for him to touch her. “Why didn’t he let som
ebody live in it or—”

  “He did,” he interrupted. “He let me live in it for a time.”

  Violet felt her eyes widen. “You? You lived in Buddy Chisolm’s old haunted house?”

  He chuckled. The sight of his smile caused a mad fluttering to rise in Violet’s stomach. “I did,” he said.

  “With the ghosts and everything?”

  “I didn’t never see the ghosts,” he said. “But the light was there.”

  Violet stopped cold and shook her head. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me this!” She turned to face him. She poked his chest with an index finger and said, “You lived in Buddy Chisolm’s old haunted house and you didn’t tell me?”

  Stoney frowned. “You been back for less than a week, Viola,” he said. “I’ve only seen ya a few times…and only one of those times was in private.”

  Violet settled her indignation. She felt her eyes widen, and a smile spread across her face as she asked, “What’s it like inside? Is it all cobwebby and dusty? Does it smell funny? Is it empty, or are there things in there? Things other than ghosts, I mean.”

  His smile broadened. “I swear, you haven’t changed a lick.”

  Violet frowned. “You’re not going to tell me about it?”

  Stoney looked past Violet for a moment, smiled, and tugged on the brim of his hat. “Evenin’, Mrs. Wilson,” he said.

  Violet turned to see an older woman approaching.

  “Evenin’, Stoney,” the woman said.

  “This is Violet Fynne, Mrs. Wilson,” Stoney said, “the new schoolteacher.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s eyes suddenly filled with merriment. “How do?” the woman said, offering a hand to Violet. “I’m Velma Wilson, and it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  Violet accepted her hand and smiled. So this was the Widow Wilson. Violet smiled, delighted at imagining this woman and Mr. Deavers out sparking near the old Chisolm place.

  “And it’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilson,” Violet chirped. “My! What a lovely hat!” The truth was Violet had nearly giggled out loud when she’d glanced up to Mrs. Wilson’s hat—so large and entirely covered in blue and yellow feathers.

  “Why thank you, Miss Fynne,” Mrs. Wilson said. The woman looked to Stoney—studied him from head to toe. “I see you’ve already met our local sugar-darlin’, Stoney Wrenn.”

  “Actually, I knew Stoney when I lived here as a child,” Violet said. She was irritated, angry that the woman had instantly assumed Stoney was trying to woo the new schoolteacher.

  “Oh, really?” Mrs. Wilson said. Violet fancied the woman seemed somewhat relieved. “Well, ain’t that nice.”

  “You have a lovely evenin’, Mrs. Wilson,” Stoney said, tugging at the brim of his hat as he took hold of Violet’s arm and began leading her away once more.

  “It was so nice to meet you,” Violet called as Stoney pulled her along.

  “Sugar-darling?” Violet asked as they walked.

  “I won’t tell you a thing about that ol’ house if you start into teasin’ me about her callin’ me that,” he growled.

  “All right,” Violet said. “But do tell me about the old house, Stoney. You know how badly I always wanted to go in there. You lived in it?”

  Stoney let go of her arm as they continued to walk. Violet looked up, disappointed to see they were almost to her little house.

  “Only in the summers,” he said. “Buddy had me live in it to try and keep trespassers out. But I swear I never seen one soul try to get in ’til about six months ago.” He shook his head. “Now…now it’s near three or four times a week that I’m chasin’ somebody away.”

  “Well, what changed?” she asked. “Did anyone new move to town that might be curious?”

  He shook his head. “No. And even though I keep thinkin’ that somehow somebody’s lookin’ for—” He paused, his brow deeply furrowed in a frown. “But that can’t be.”

  “Looking for what?” she asked. “The ghosts?”

  He was keeping something from her, she knew he was. Yet she wondered what. She wouldn’t press him however. She wouldn’t. There were times he would’ve told her everything on his mind—even things she maybe didn’t want to know. But that was the past. He owned secrets now; she could see that. Secrets he wasn’t willing to share—at least, not with her.

  “This is a nice little house,” he said as they stopped before Violet’s house.

  Violet frowned. She wanted to know more about the old Chisolm house, not this one. Still, she couldn’t expect him to trust her, not after she’d abandoned him for ten long years.

  She followed his gaze and said, “Yes. It’s perfect.” She smiled, for she did like the little house. “It sits just far back enough off the road that it’s private….but close enough to town that I don’t feel too isolated.”

  “Did they ever get that piece of the roof fixed?” he said.

  Violet followed him as he strode around one side of the house to the back.

  He frowned and looked up to the roof. “We had a terrible wind last November. It took part of the roof right off the Gribbs’s place. Damaged this one back here. Just there. See?” He pointed to a place on the roof where Violet could now see it had been repaired.

  “Must’ve been some wind,” she said.

  “Oh, it was,” he mumbled.

  “You’re avoiding telling me about the old house,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

  Stoney looked to her then, sighed, and shook his head. “You ain’t gonna let this go…are ya?” he asked.

  “All I want to know is what it’s like in there,” she giggled. “I always dreamed of being able to go in. Remember how we used to peek through the windows…hoping to see the ghosts?” She sighed and looked down the road that led to Buddy Chisolm’s old place. “It still had furniture in it then. I remember paintings still hanging on the walls, as if somebody still lived there and had just stepped out to go to town for a while.”

  “It looks the same as it did when we were pressin’ our noses up against the windows,” he said.

  “And you never saw one ghost while you were living there?” she asked.

  “I hate to break yer heart, Miss Fynne…but I truthfully never did see one ghost in that ol’ Chisolm place.”

  As Violet sighed with disappointment, Stoney laughed. “It don’t mean they’re not there, Viola,” he began, “just that I didn’t see ’em.” He inhaled quickly, as if he had planned to say something and then changed his mind.

  “What?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “You know,” he began, “that old house…it’s ain’t exactly…” He paused, and Violet could tell he’d changed his mind about telling her whatever he’d begun to.

  “Thanks for seeing me home,” she said. She could see the restlessness in him.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “And besides…if I woulda lingered one more minute with that lazy Coby Fisher…well, me and him have swapped fists before.”

  “You have?” Violet said. She felt her eyebrows arch in surprise.

  “I’ll bid you good evenin’, Miss Fynne,” he said, smiling and tugging at the brim of his hat.

  Violet smiled and gazed into the mesmerizing green-blue light of his eyes. Something whispered to her mind then—a secret she’d only just become aware of.

  “You knew the roof had been patched,” she said. “You just didn’t want anyone seeing you with me.”

  His smile faded. “We ain’t kids anymore, Miss Fynne,” he said. “And if you hadn’t of told Mrs. Wilson that we knew each other as children…by tomorrow mornin’ she woulda had this town buzzin’ like you can’t imagine.”

  “And your Miss Layla Asbury would’ve wondered—”

  “It ain’t that,” he said, shaking his head. “For reasons I can’t understand, I’ve got myself a reputation as a womanizer…and I can’t change that. Sometimes folks think what they want, no matter what the truth is. But you…yer the new teacher. Folks gotta trust you, and they won’t if they think yer fool
in’ with me.”

  “Are you a womanizer?” she asked. Part of her feared he might answer truthfully with a yes. Still, most of her doubted the fact.

  He grinned. “Well…you’ve been alone with me exactly once since you’ve been back. And that one time you were alone with me, I kissed you. So what do you think?”

  Violet smiled. “I think you’re better at it now than you were when we were kids.”

  Stoney Wrenn laughed—the honest, heartfelt laughter of pure amusement. Violet giggled too, pleased that she had caused him to be happy.

  “Well, thank you for the compliment, Miss Fynne,” he said. Then, frowning a bit, he added, “Anyway, I think it was a compliment.”

  “It was,” Violet said.

  “Well then, you have a nice night,” he said, tugging at the brim of his hat once more.

  “You too.”

  Violet sighed as she watched him walk away. He didn’t return to the road; rather, he walked down the small incline behind her house following the creekbank back toward town.

  Violet went into the little house. Thoughts and visions of Stoney Wrenn dominated every corner and every pathway of her mind. She smiled as she went about fixing her supper—smiled when she thought of the way he’d knocked the piece of butterscotch out of her mouth. She marveled at the way he’d unwrapped a new piece of candy from his own pocket and popped it right into her mouth, in just the manner he often had so many years ago. In that one moment, it had seemed as if they’d never been apart.