Violet smiled at him. “Just like the stories he used to tell to us,” she said. “Remember the one about the boy who meets up with the pirate and the pirate tells him where the treasure is…asks him to keep it safe? In end, the boy opens the treasure chest to find only a letter—a letter telling him that the pirate’s greatest treasure was his son—that the boy was his son.” Violet sighed. “You’re Buddy Chisolm’s treasure, aren’t you, Stoney? He loved you like a son, even when we were children. I remember how his eyes would light up when you’d come around.”
“He did love me like a son,” Stoney said. “He told me that more’n once. But as far as the treasure we’re talkin’ about here…it ain’t what Coby Fisher thinks.”
Violet frowned—watched Stoney as he strode to the chest of drawers and lifted one of the framed photographs. She followed him and took the photograph when he offered it to her.
“It’s the rich young man from New York City,” he said. “And the pretty girl from Rattler Rock.”
Violet gazed at the photograph—a wedding photograph. The young woman was beautiful! Her light hair and wide eyes gave her the look of one who lived life wholeheartedly. The young man next to her was handsome—dark-haired, strong-jawed.
“He was handsome, the rich young man from New York City,” Violet whispered.
“He was Buddy Chisolm,” Stoney said.
“What?” Violet gasped in disbelief.
“That there’s Buddy,” Stoney said, pointing to the man in the photograph. “On his weddin’ day—the day he married Sanora Lester, the pretty girl from Rattler Rock.”
Violet looked at the photograph more closely. She could see it then, the resemblance the young man in the photograph owned to the weathered old man she’d known as a child—to Buddy Chisolm.
“He’s buried right next to her, out in the old graveyard south of town,” Stoney said. He chuckled. “And you and me thought we were so smart. It never once occurred to me to go readin’ headstones out there.”
“We roamed that graveyard for hours on end,” Violet giggled. “She was there all the time?”
“Yep. ‘Sanora Chisolm. Loving wife, loving mother.’ Their children are out there too. Don’t know how we missed four headstones with the name Chisolm carved on them. If we were smarter, we woulda put ol’ Bud’s story together long before he had to tell me the truth. He musta had a real good laugh or two over our not havin’ the sense of a toad.”
Violet smiled. Suddenly she understood, and she gasped as the full weight of understanding washed through her mind.
“It’s this house!” Violet exclaimed. “This house is Buddy Chisolm’s treasure! Not because it’s worth so much as money goes, but because it’s where he was happiest, where he held his wife in his arms at night, watched his children play. This house is the treasure. This house is what he asked you to protect and keep safe. Isn’t it?”
Stoney laughed. “You always were just as smart as ya looked, Viola Fynne,” he said.
Violet laughed and spun around with delight. “Oh, I love it all the more now!” She sighed, looking around the room again. “I used to always imagine the sad, heartbroken man from New York City, the one who built this house, lost his wife and family. I used to imagine him wandering the world, weeping and moaning in despair, returning to the house with every full moon to carry the light in and out of the rooms in searching for his lost lover. It made me so sad. But not anymore,” she said. “Because Buddy Chisolm—and broken as his heart must’ve been—he was happy when we knew him. Wasn’t he? He wasn’t dead and wandering the house in misery. He was alive, and we used to make him laugh like I’ve never seen anybody else laugh in my life. The rich young man from New York City who built this house—Buddy Chisolm. I can’t believe it.”
Violet gasped as another thought came to her. “How do you find the time, Stoney?” she asked. “There’s not a speck of dust anywhere in this house! And with only you and Jimmy to care for it—”
“Well, yer here now, ain’t ya?” he chuckled. “I figure you can pitch in. And I’ll admit it’s a job. It only looks so good right now ’cause I had Jimmy spend the whole of yesterday gettin’ it ready for you to visit.”
Violet giggled and took hold of Stoney’s hand. “May I be the light sometimes?” she asked. “Oh, please say I can, Stoney! On the next full moon, may I come with you to carry the lamp through the house? I want to carry the light of the lovers’ moon. Please, Stoney!”
Stoney laughed, charmed by the excitement on Violet’s pretty face. In that moment, she reminded him so much of the little girl he’d once known that he felt he could almost touch the past—almost feel the joy he’d known in her company before her father had taken her away. Still, the joy he’d begun to know since her return—he knew if she would just stay with him, if she’d promise never to leave again, he’d know more happiness than he could ever before have imagined.
Yet he doubted himself—of course he did. She seemed so glad to be in his company—seemed to enjoy kissing him as much as he bathed in the wonder of kissing her. He could imagine then—as he had many times before—imagine the pain Buddy had endured at losing his wife. Stoney mused he would die himself if anything ever happened to Violet. He loved her—and if he wanted to keep her, it was time for him to trust her once more. After all, she had promised to return to him, and she had. She’d kept the promise she’d made as a young girl. Even though it had taken her ten years to find a way to return, she had returned—and he was beginning to believe she loved him enough to stay.
“Of course you can carry the light, Viola,” he said. “When did I ever refuse you anything?”
“You didn’t let me poke the stick into the dead cow over in the pasture that time,” she giggled.
“That’s ’cause I didn’t want you to get sprayed with guts,” he said. “You know that.”
“But you will let me carry the light?” she asked.
He smiled, and Violet’s body trembled with delight at the smoldering mischief in his eyes, at the dimples in his strong cheeks.
“On one condition,” he said, moving closer to her.
“What condition?” she asked.
“That you come on back to my house with me and…” He paused, taking her chin in one hand as his head descended toward hers.
“Come back to your house with you…and…and what?” Violet breathed. Her mouth was watering for want of his kiss, her body aching to be held in his arms.
“Come back to my house with me…come with me into my bedroom and let me…” he mumbled.
Violet was breathless! What was he implying? Surely not what her mind was imagining.
“Come into my bedroom and let me…” he repeated as Violet began to tremble, “get the letter out of my chest of drawers that Buddy Chisolm left for you.”
“What?” Violet exclaimed, shoving his chest hard. “You are a scoundrel, Stoney Wrenn!” she scolded as he released her chin and began to laugh. “A scoundrel! I thought you meant to…to…”
“Are you gonna stand there hollerin’ at me, or do you wanna know what Buddy Chisolm had to tell you just before he died?” he asked, still smiling, still chuckling.
“To tell me?” she whispered. “H-he had something to tell me before he died? He wrote a letter to me?”
“Yes,” Stoney said. “The last thing Buddy said to me was, ‘When Violet Fynne comes back to ya, boy, you give her this here letter. Tell her to read it to you where and when I say.’ Then he told me he loved me like a son, that some big lawyer from Texas would be comin’ to talk to me, and he passed.”
“He left me a letter?” Violet asked, still stunned by Stoney’s revelation. “He knew I’d come back to you?”
“He did,” Stoney said. “Sometimes…sometimes I stopped hopin’, thought there was no way you coulda remembered me all these years. I was too afraid to come lookin’ for you, afraid I’d find you all settled in nice and snug up there in Albany. So I stayed here…hopin’. Ol’ Buddy, he kept tellin’ me
you’d come back, and somehow I kept believin’ it. It’s why I never left Rattler Rock again, no matter what folks said about me, no matter what went on. You promised me you’d come back. And you did.”
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“I missed you so much, Stoney Wrenn,” she whispered. Violet reached out, pulling his hat from his head with one hand, running the fingers of her other hand through the soft brown of his hair. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”
She was in his arms at once, pulled tight against his powerful body as his mouth crushed to hers. He was holding her at last! At last, she knew the bliss of being in his arms—the pure rapture of knowing his touch.
How lovingly and thoroughly he kissed her! She could not satisfy her thirst for his kiss. She marveled at the blissful sense of his mouth coaxing her own to a perfect melding. She would never stop kissing him. She couldn’t! How could she possibly stop? Every thread of her mind and body—heart and soul—every grain of her being wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms forever, know the flavor of his demanding kiss. As her mouth mingled with his in shared passionate affection, she knew she could know no greater pleasure than the moist, heated flavor of his kiss.
Violet sighed—let her hands travel over Stoney’s shoulders to the back of his neck—upward—weaving her fingers through the softness of his hair once more. Oh, how she loved him! With every shred of her soul, every thread of her being, she loved him.
Slowly he broke the seal of their mouths. He placed his cheek against hers—whispered, “I love you, Viola. Promise me you’ll stay with me.”
Violet kissed his neck, smiled, and said, “Promise me you won’t ask Mr. Asbury if you can court his daughter tomorrow at supper.”
He chuckled as he stared down at her. Violet felt goose bumps rippling over her body as she stared into the fiery green-blue opalescence of his gaze.
“Come on back to my house with me,” he mumbled, cupping her chin in one hand. “We’ll go in my bedroom…” He smiled a mischievous, playful smile. “And I’ll have my way with you.” He tipped his head to one side, frowned slightly, and said, “Or we can just get the letter out of the drawer where I’ve kept it all this time…along with my underwear.”
“I’m glad you kept it in such a safe place,” she giggled, caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers. He took hold of her hand, pressing her palm to his lips.
“Come on,” he said. He ended their embrace yet held her hand as he led her out of the room. “I’ve been waitin’ four years to see what ol’ Buddy might have to say to you.”
“If I were you, I’d be hoping you’d have to wait ten years to see what Layla Asbury might have to say to you,” Violet teased.
❦
Violet swallowed the lump in her throat—brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Don’t worry, Viola,” Stoney said. “I’m sure it says somethin’ real sweet. He thought you were about the best thing since them butterscotch candies he used carry around.”
Violet smiled and held her hand out to Stoney.
He cleared his throat, reached into his pocket, and handed her a piece of butterscotch. Removing the paper the candy was wrapped in, she popped the confection into her mouth and considered the envelope in her hand.
Violet Fynne was written on the envelope in just about the worst penmanship she had ever seen. Drawing a courageous breath, Violet opened the envelope. Inside was not just a letter but a letter sealed within another envelope.
“To Violet Fynne,” Violet read aloud. “This is Bud. I wrote this letter for nobody but you. So take it and Stoney to the old place. There’s a room there that I like…it’s my favorite. Stoney knows which one. Open this letter in my favorite room just before sunset.”
“I don’t understand,” Violet mumbled.
She looked to see a deep frown furrowing Stoney’s brow.
“He’s up to somethin’,” he said.
“Maybe he just wanted to make sure you let me see inside the house,” Violet said. “He knew how badly I wanted to see inside.”
“Maybe,” Stoney said. He glanced up. “We got about an hour before sunset,” he said. “I say we go back today. I want to know what that ol’ coot wrote to you. It’s been eatin’ at me for years!”
Violet smiled and laughed.
“What’s got you so tickled?”
Violet wrapped her arms around one of Stoney’s strong ones. “I was just wondering if Layla Asbury has noticed that you’re missing from the picnic.”
“I wonder if she’s noticed yer missing,” he chuckled, drawing a moist, heated kiss from her lips as they walked.
The sun hung low in the sky as Violet climbed the front porch steps of the old Chisolm place with Stoney. She felt a little melancholy, a little disappointed in that moment to think that the old house was just an old house—that no ghostly lovers truly roamed about in it by the light of the full moon.
“I love Mr. Chisolm more than I ever did,” Violet said as Stoney drew the iron key from his pocket and pushed it into the keyhole.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because of his treasure…of what it truly was.”
“And just what might that be, Miss Fynne?”
Violet gasped as she turned to find herself facing the long barrel of a rifle. In truth, the rifle was leveled at Stoney, yet it may as well have been leveled at her own heart.
Tears sprang to Violet’s eyes as she stared into the face of the man holding the gun.
“Well,” Stoney began, “I guess I owe Coby Fisher an apology.”
“I guess you do,” Mr. Deavers said. “As much as I owe him my thanks on lettin’ me in on ol’ Bud Chisolm’s secret.”
Chapter Eleven
“Now, Alex,” Stoney began, “you don’t need that rifle. Buddy Chisolm didn’t really own any treasure.”
Violet stood motionless—paralyzed by fear and by the shock of understanding it was Mr. Deavers who had been trespassing on Stoney’s property.
Slowly Stoney stepped in front of Violet as Mr. Deavers said, “You just want it for yerself, Stoney, and I understand that. But my business ain’t been too good, and since my wife passed—well, the Widow Wilson would sure rather keep company with a rich man than a poor one.”
“There’s no treasure, Alex,” Stoney said. “I mean it. It’s just the memories kept in this old house that Buddy held dear.”
“Yer lyin’, Stoney,” Mr. Deavers said. “Coby Fisher told me different.”
“Alex,” Stoney argued, “I promise I ain’t—”
“Remember that day in town, ’bout six months back?” Mr. Deavers interrupted. “Actually, it was night—the night Tony Asbury told ol’ Coby he couldn’t date that prissy little Layla of his. Tony, bein’ the idiot that he is, he told Coby he and Layla was expectin’ ol’ Stoney Wrenn to come courtin’. He told Coby Layla preferred you to him. You remember that night, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Stoney said, “I do remember it, but—”
“Well, Coby was mad as an old rabid badger, and he come after you. Remember?”
Violet swallowed and moved closer to Stoney, taking hold of his arm.
“Stay behind me, Viola,” Stoney said, pulling his arm from her grasp and gently pushing her to his back again.
“You and Coby, you went around a bit,” Mr. Deavers said, “throwing fists and knees and what have you. The whole town saw it all. Still, it didn’t take long for you to beat poor Coby down, now did it?”
“Alex, I—” Stoney began.
“Anyhow, ol’ Coby, he headed straight for the saloon,” Mr. Deavers said. “Of course, you probably knew that. Everyone in Rattler Rock knew he was in there drinkin’. What they didn’t know was it was well past midnight ’fore he quit pourin’ liquor down his gullet.”
Violet held her breath as Stoney took a step toward Mr. Deavers.
Mr. Deavers shook his head, stared down the barrel of the rifle to take better aim, and said, “H
old on there, Stoney. I’m explainin’ things to you.”
“All right, Alex. All right,” Stoney said.
“So there I was, workin’ late in the store, when I heard somebody come stumblin’ down the boardwalk,” Mr. Deavers continued. “I looked out, and there was a beaten, bloodied Sheriff Coby Fisher, drunk as a happy huntin’ hound and staggerin’ off toward the jailhouse.”
Violet was frightened. Tears were streaming down her face as she stared at the rifle Mr. Deavers had leveled at Stoney. What if he accidentally pulled the trigger? Alex Deavers didn’t seem the sort to be too handy with a gun. What if he shot Stoney, accidentally or on purpose?
“Now you stop that weepin’, Violet,” Mr. Deavers said, glancing to Violet for a moment. “Everything will be just fine.”
“Coby was mad at me about Layla?” Stoney asked, drawing Mr. Deavers’s attention back to himself and away from Violet. “He was angry, so he told you about Buddy’s treasure? All this time I thought it was Coby tryin’ find it.”
Alex shook his head. “Naw. He’s a good boy, that Coby. He was just drunk and humiliated that night—and, yes, angry too. He told me he’d been with ol’ Buddy shortly before he died, that ol’ Bud had told him he had treasure hid out at this old place. Coby said he had half a mind to come out and burn the place to the ground. He said burnin’ it would save himself a heap of trouble too. Said folks wouldn’t be out here roamin’ around lookin’ for the light of the lovers’ moon if there weren’t no house for them damn ghosts to haunt.”
“Believe me, Alex,” Stoney began, “there really ain’t no treasure out here. I suppose the house itself is worth something, and the furniture and all, but there really ain’t no treasure.”
The Light of the Lovers' Moon Page 19
