The Light of the Lovers' Moon

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “We better get on with it if ya wanna look around before the sun starts settin’,” he said.

  “All right,” Violet said, brushing the grass off the seat of her skirt. She was confused—couldn’t figure why he’d broken from her so instantly. Surely it couldn’t have been because she touched him. Yet she wondered if it was. She thought of the other times he’d kissed her—the way he’d held her face in his hand, as if intentionally directing his attention to only her mouth. Even yesterday under the cottonwood, he’d trapped her by sitting firmly on her legs and holding her wrists. It was as if he was making certain she couldn’t touch him in response. Why didn’t he want her to touch him?

  “There’s somethin’ else, Viola,” he said as he picked up his hat and placed it back on his head. Violet felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “There’s somethin’ else I need to tell you…a truth I’ve been keepin’ from ya since ya come back.”

  Violet felt tears well in her eyes. Her heart began to hammer brutally within her bosom. “Wh-what is it?” she asked.

  He looked at her, his beautiful eyes filled with guilt and some deep sort of sorrow. “I’ll tell ya when we’re there…when I’m sure I’m ready,” he said.

  She felt ill, as if she might vomit. What did he mean to tell her? Was he truly in love with Layla Asbury? Is that why he had refused the raven-haired beauty when she’d offered herself to him under the old cottonwood—because he loved and respected her? Was he truly a womanizer, quenching his thirst for passion with Violet because he couldn’t yet quench it with the woman he loved?

  “You still comin’?” he asked as he started down the creekbed toward the old Chisolm place.

  “Y-yes,” she stammered. She would follow him—no matter where he led her, no matter what heartache waited for her at Buddy Chisolm’s old place.

  Chapter Ten

  The old Chisolm place never appeared quite as ominous in the light of day. Even as a child, Violet had always thought the old house looked lonesome and harmless when the sun was shining. As she stood before it now—gazing at the white columns, the empty windows, the long porch where perhaps folks once sat sipping buttermilk and listening to the cicada song—she thought it looked more sad than frightening.

  “It’s not nearly as menacing in the sunshine as it is at midnight during a full moon,” Violet mumbled.

  “Nope,” Stoney said. He pulled an iron key from his pocket and slid it into the keyhole of the looming door before him.

  Violet tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry. She trembled—not from fear of the house or the ghosts who might be lurking within but from the knowledge Stoney Wrenn had something to tell her, something she feared would break her heart. She couldn’t wait! She had to know. What was the “truth” he’d kept from her?

  “How many others have you let inside the house since Mr. Chisolm left it to you?” she asked. She thought, Have you taken Layla inside?

  “Just one other person,” he said. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  Violet swallowed the lump in her throat and choked back the tears gathering in her eyes. She watched as Stoney turned the massive door’s latch, pushed the door of the old Chisolm house open, and motioned that she should step over the threshold before him.

  She gulped as goose bumps sprouted over her arms, as the hair at the back of her neck stood near on end. Cautiously she stepped into the house—stepped into the old Chisolm house, the place that had so captivated her imagination for as long as she could remember.

  The air was heavy and old. Violet shivered as the scent of age filled her lungs. Yet it did not smell bad—just closed up, as if the house had not breathed fresh air for a long, long time. She startled as the door closed behind her.

  “Wait!” she said, whirling around to face Stoney. “I’m a bigger coward than I thought,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I can—”

  She heard it then—a low murmur, a quiet howl, whispering.

  “Stoney!” she cried in a whisper. “I hear them! I can’t stay here!”

  But Stoney smiled. Reaching out, he clasped her hand in his and said, “Come with me. There’s somethin’ I need to show you.”

  “Oh, no! No, no, no!” Violet breathed. “I can’t. I don’t want to see anything…anyone that might be dead and wandering.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “Come on.”

  Violet nodded—tried to keep her legs from disobeying Stoney and running for the door.

  “Come on,” he said again, tugging on her hand. “Up to the attic.”

  “What?” Violet exclaimed. The sound of her own voice echoing through the old house startled her, and she jumped. Placing one hand at her bosom to try and settle the mad beating of her heart, she took one step with him, then another.

  “Look around,” Stoney said. “Ain’t it somethin’?”

  “Look around?” Violet breathed. “I can hardly stand, and you want me to look around?”

  Yet she did glance about the room as Stoney led her toward a large staircase. There were paintings on the wall. Some were lovely landscapes; some were portraits. A large fireplace stood on one wall. On its mantle stood several small, framed photographs surrounding a line of old books. There were chairs and a sofa, lamp tables, and even a tea table set with china. A grand piano stood in one corner and in an opposing corner a desk, an inkwell, and an open ledger on its surface, as if someone had been working figures and just stepped out of the room. Drapery still adorned the windows—blue velvet draperies. Most astonishing of all was the neat condition of the room. There were no cobwebs—no dust. The house was perfectly clean, as if some sort of ghost maid had been forever going about her duties.

  “It’s as if—” Violet whispered.

  “As if someone still lives here?” Stoney asked.

  Another shiver traveled down Violet’s spine, and she could not help but move closer to Stoney, wrapping her arms around one of his strong ones. He chuckled, and she said, “It’s not funny, Stoney Wrenn.”

  “I know,” he said.

  They reached the foot of the staircase, and Stoney stepped onto the first stair.

  “I-I don’t want to go to the attic…do I?” she asked. She was trembling—afraid of who or what might be waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

  “Come on,” he said. “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of. I promise.”

  Violet swallowed, nodded, and followed, clinging to him as they ascended. The flight of stairs led to the second story, and again Violet was struck with the fine furnishings there. Yet they did not linger long, for Stoney led her to a second staircase. This set of stairs was hidden in an alcove, narrow and perhaps only ten steps high. At the top of the staircase was a small door—a closed door.

  “Stoney Wrenn,” she began in a whisper, “if you’re thinking I’m going in there—”

  “You are,” he said as he began to climb the stairs.

  “I can’t!” she breathed, pausing. She’d heard the whispering again—the quiet mumbling. The terrifying noise was coming from beyond the little door at the top of the stairs.

  “I’m here,” he said. “And there’s nothin’ to be afraid of. I promise, Viola,” he said.

  Violet trembled—fairly shook as she watched Stoney’s hand reach out and turn the latch.

  “Stoney?” she breathed.

  “Shh,” he said. “Listen.”

  A quiet squeak of terror escaped Violet’s throat as he pushed the door open. Instantly the whispering grew louder, exactly as if ghosts were sitting in the attic simply conversing among themselves.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “It’s only the breeze,” he said as he pulled her into the room. “It’s the breeze whistling through the fireplace flue and a hole in the chimney.”

  “What?” Violet asked, frowning.

  “Come and see,” he said.

  Violet glanced about the attic. It was filled with trunks, old paintings, empty wooden crates, and several chairs. A bed
stood in one corner, a night table with a washbasin and pitcher nearby.

  Violet squealed and startled as the whispering sound suddenly grew louder, as if someone were scolding them for intruding. “Stoney Wrenn! I’m going to die of fright!” she whispered.

  Stoney chuckled. “No, you ain’t. Here…listen.” He led her to the fireplace.

  Violet frowned as she drew nearer to it, for the whispering sound—the sound of mumbled voices echoing through the room—grew louder. As she drew nearer and nearer to the fireplace, she realized the voices were indeed coming from the hearth.

  “I can feel the breeze coming in,” she whispered.

  “Yep,” he said. “It’s only the wind…though there was a family of bats living in the rafters when I first moved in. They made quite a noise comin’ in and out, and they were devils to get rid of.”

  “So…so that’s what was making the noises all these years?” Violet asked. “The wind through the flue and bats?”

  Stoney nodded. “That’s what I want to tell ya, Viola,” he began. “I know I shoulda told you right off. I don’t even know why I didn’t…but I shoulda.” He smiled at her—chuckled a little. “There ain’t no ghosts,” he said. “Not two ghosts…not even one.”

  “What?” she asked. “But what about the light? This explains the noises,” she said, pointing to the fireplace. “But what about the light?”

  “Come back downstairs with me,” he said, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Violet nodded and followed Stoney. As they descended the small attic staircase to the second floor, she was surprised by the sense of disappointment her heart and mind were experiencing. How odd that she should be disappointed to learn that there were no lingering spirits haunting the old Chisolm place.

  Stoney led her to a large bedroom. She gasped as she entered, awed by the beautiful high-posted bed, the richly varnished floors, the intricately woven rugs that embellished them. There was a lovely chest of drawers, and again Violet noticed the framed photographs adorning its dustless surface.

  “This was their room,” Stoney said. “This is where they slept…together.”

  “Who?” Violet asked.

  “The rich young man from New York and the wife he loved so much—the pretty girl from Rattler Rock.”

  Violet again felt goose bumps racing over her limbs. She glanced around the room. Her heart knew an odd sort of melancholy, for there she stood, in the very house the rich young man from New York City had built, in the very room where he’d held his pretty wife through the dark nights.

  She shook her head, confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. “How can there be a light in the windows yet no ghosts?”

  “It was Buddy,” he said. “The light was just Buddy’s way of keepin’ folks away from the house.”

  Violet frowned. “Buddy Chisolm? He used to come out here every full moon and run around inside this house with a candle? Just so folks would think the house was haunted and stay away?”

  “A small lamp,” Stoney said. “The candles always blew out, so he took to using a small lamp.”

  Violet sighed—nodded as full understanding washed over her. “And when he passed away, you came. You wandered about in the house during a full moon…so the story of the light of the lovers’ moon would continue to keep everyone away.”

  Stoney nodded. “Buddy asked me to,” he said.

  Violet frowned. “But…but I was with you…that night we saw the light together. You couldn’t have carried the lamp.”

  Stoney shrugged. “It was Jimmy,” he said. “When I started findin’ signs of trespassin’…well, one of us needed to watch the outside of the house. So I had Jimmy start carryin’ the light. He’s the only other person I’ve ever let in this house…or told the truth to.”

  “Jimmy?” Violet breathed, aware of the smile of relief and joy spreading across her face. “Jimmy…not Layla Asbury?”

  “Layla Asbury?” Stoney exclaimed. “I wouldn’t tell Layla Asbury the name of a dog I didn’t like, let alone the truth about the light of the lovers’ moon!” He smiled, and Violet’s stomach fluttered at the sight of his handsome dimples.

  “So…so you’re not going to ask her father if you can court her when you go to the Asbury’s house for supper tomorrow night?” Violet asked.

  “Oh, hell no!” he grumbled, scowling. “I only give that family any attention at all ’cause I feel guilty about the whole mess with Coby Fisher, even though it wasn’t my fault. I never did anything to encourage Layla Asbury to think I was gonna ask to court her—at least not when Coby was so sweet on her. I suppose…I suppose I ain’t handled it all too well since then. I just felt so guilty I figured I better make good on whatever she had in mind. That is, I figured on doin’ that ’til you came back and knocked some sense into me.”

  Violet smiled. “So it was Layla Asbury that had you and the sheriff swapping fists?”

  Stoney nodded. “Tony Asbury’s a horse’s hind end…in case ya haven’t noticed,” he began, “and he was fool enough to believe Layla when she told him she thought I wanted to court her. So she tells her daddy to refuse Coby’s offer, and bein’ that Tony Asbury’s a horse’s hind end, he went on and told Coby that I was wantin’ to court Layla and that Layla preferred me. Naturally, Coby blamed me instead of that ignorant girl and her father. He comes up to me after Mr. Asbury turned him down, throws a fist at my jaw, and—well, I’m sorry, Viola—but he tickled my temper, and I laid it back to him. We were both purty bloodied up.” He paused, smiled, and added, “But I wiped up the street with him.”

  “Then you felt guilty and…” she prodded.

  Stoney shrugged. “I did feel guilty. Folks already had me named as a womanizer. I figured if I didn’t start acceptin’ Mrs. Asbury’s supper invitations, it would only get worse. I couldn’t leave Rattler Rock, not after the promises I made to ol’ Buddy.” He paused and added, “And not ’til I was sure…not ’til I was sure…”

  “Not ’til you were sure of what?” she asked. He was still hiding something from her; she sensed it with every thread of her being.

  “Not ’til I was sure Jimmy was ready to leave…to set out on his own life,” he said.

  “So you soothed Layla by having supper with her family,” Violet said.

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “I thought she’d get tired of me after a while and settle her affections back on Coby. But that was over six months ago, and she ain’t got sick of me yet.”

  “I’m sure she never will,” Violet said. “You’re not the kind of man a girl gets over.”

  He didn’t say anything—only stared at her, green-blue opaline eyes smoldering.

  “So when you started suspecting trespassers, Jimmy became the guardian of the light,” Violet said. She caressed one beautifully carved bedpost. It felt warm, solid, and somehow safe.

  “At first I thought it was just Coby,” he said. “He was angry. He knew I didn’t want nobody around this house. But now I’m not so certain.”

  “Why not?” Violet asked. After all, it did make sense—that Coby would try to make Stoney’s life difficult.

  “Someone got in, the night I got bullet-grazed,” he explained. “Me and Jimmy heard ’em inside the house…saw a light. They got into the ground floor. We scared ’em off, and whoever it was took a shot at me. But…but when I seen that all the cupboard doors were open in the kitchen—they’d rummaged through an old trunk in the downstairs storage room. They were lookin’ for somethin’, and now I think I know what they were lookin’ for…though I can’t figure how they’d come by knowin’ about it.”

  “What?” Violet asked. “What do you think they were looking for?”

  “Treasure,” Stoney said. “Buddy Chisolm’s treasure.”

  Violet’s mind whirled. Treasure? Old Buddy Chisolm had treasure?

  “Treasure?” she asked. “What kind of treasure?”

  “Well, that’s just it,” Stoney said. “Buddy called it his treasure, but as far as I ever
knew, I was the only one he told about it. I got to rememberin’ later though—just recently, when Buddy was ailin’, just before he died, he’d get in these fits of fever. Whenever he was like that, he’d start rattlin’ things off, goin’ on about his treasure, how I had to keep it safe. Well, I knew all about it. He’d told me about it many times ’fore he took ill. Still, if someone woulda heard him goin’ on during one of his fits, they might well have come lookin’ for it.”

  “But you were the only one who was with him,” Violet said.

  “That’s right—except for once, once right before Buddy passed, just a day or two before he went. I come home from fixin’ a fence, and Coby Fisher was in the house with Buddy. Buddy was still livin’ in that same ol’ shack he lived in when we were kids, and I walked in, and Coby Fisher was talkin’ to him. Buddy was upset—goin’ on about the past, lippin’ off things he woulda never wanted to tell nobody—and Coby Fisher was listenin’.”

  “You think it’s Sheriff Fisher out here trespassing, looking for Buddy Chisolm’s treasure,” she said.

  “He’s angry with me, jealous about Layla, even though there ain’t nothin’ to be jealous about. Maybe he thinks wealth would win her over. Maybe he thinks if he could find Buddy’s treasure, he’d win Layla back.”

  “But who wants to be loved for their money?” Violet asked.

  “Not me,” Stoney said.

  Violet looked around the room, even still amazed at how clean and perfect it looked. “You say Buddy told you where the treasure was?” Violet asked.

  “More like he told me what it was—asked me to keep it safe,” he said.