Catching Moondrops (13 page)

We rounded the corner from the clearing just in time for Malachi to lean over and vomit.

Luke jumped away. “Dang it, Malachi! I ain't goin' around takin' care of you no more. You're a lousy drunk.”

Malachi ran the back of his arm across his mouth and rolled his eyes. “Don't act like no saint. You ain't no temperance woman.”

“I ain't had a drink in two years. And don't go usin' me to make yourself feel better. If you're a lousy drunk, you may as well admit you're a lousy drunk.”

“That's right; I forgot.” Malachi folded his hands in front of his face like he was ready to say prayers. “You came to Jesus, so maybe you
are
a saint.”

Luke grabbed Malachi's shirt with both hands. “You can talk all you want about me, but don't you make fun about what I believe in. You hear? It's the same as what your momma believes, too, and it'd kill her dead to hear you talk like that.”

Luke's face was so stern, Malachi squirmed under his stare. “My momma knows I don't see things the same way as her.”

“Don't mean it don't hurt her none.” Luke pushed Malachi back so that he stumbled and landed on the ground. “Just like it's gonna hurt her to see you like this.”

“I reckon she's used to it,” Gemma muttered. “Ain't no woman should have to get used to a son that does nothin' but waste his God-given life away.”

Drunk or sober, Malachi never could beat Gemma, and he didn't even try to now. He just groaned and slowly got back to his feet, and the four of us took off again for the uncomfortable walk to Malachi's house.

Lissa was pacing on the porch and ran down the steps when we got there. Her shoulders drooped when she caught sight of Malachi. “He been at the bottle?”

“More than one,” Gemma told her.

Luke dragged Malachi up to the house, where they were met by his momma. She looked wrung out, her eyes bloodshot and creased with worry.

“Ain't any momma should have to have so much worry as she does.” Lissa swiped at a tear that slipped from her eye. “He'll be the death of her yet.”

Gemma put an arm around Lissa and pulled her close. “By the looks of her, she can take care of herself.”

Malachi's mother gave Luke a kind nod and a word of thanks, but the second she finished, she turned on Malachi, grabbing the back of his neck like she would a puppy. Malachi howled, but that didn't keep her from yanking him inside like that, and I didn't figure I'd want to be around to see what happened next.

We were silent as we walked home that night. There was too much to think about. It hadn't been the night I'd always hoped for. Klan and drunken men weren't exactly parts of what I'd dreamed my first time out with Luke would be like.

But he was here next to me, and that was something. I turned to look at him, and even though he didn't turn his eyes from the road, I could see a smile creep up on his face. His bandaged right hand took my left and lifted it to his lips long enough to remind me that amid all the troubles in life, some good things still outdid the bad.

Chapter 9

The morning of my nineteenth birthday, I woke up in a panic, sweat dripping down my temples. I shot up so fast, I rammed my head on the sloping ceiling. Moaning in pain, I dropped back onto my pillow and threw an arm across my forehead to block out the sun that spilled in through the window behind me. I tipped my head to the side and peered at Gemma's bed, but I'd slept in late, and her bed was empty and made up neatly.

That was best, I figured, since she'd be bound to ask me what my trouble was, and I was no good at lying to Gemma. It was my birthday morning, and I didn't want to even
think
about those nightmares I'd had of Klan and burning houses and bad things happening to Gemma. I definitely didn't want to talk about them.

I got up and padded to my mirror, running the brush through my hair ten times to divert my attention from the horrors of that dream. It didn't help much. I could still see those images every time I blinked. Dreams were like that for me. They always stayed with me even after I woke, haunting my reality with figments of imagination.

I heard the clamor of Momma in the kitchen and knew she'd be working on my birthday cake. I shook my head in hopes of shaking out the bad feelings that had lodged there and leaned forward onto my elbows, staring in the mirror at my freckles, counting each one with my finger like they could tell me the story of every year I'd lived.

My mind drifted back to my thirteenth birthday, the day I met Luke when he dragged me sputtering and half-drowned from the swimming hole. I recalled his face as he knelt over me, his golden hair wet and tousled, blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight.

If ever a girl could fall in love lickety-split, I'd done it. There was never a day from that point onward that the mention of his name didn't make my toes tingle. But there was more than toe tingling to be had now. What I felt for him had settled into something deeper, something that couldn't be touched by time or tragedy . . . or freckles. What I felt for Luke Talley made me feel like I could do anything, like nothing and no one could steal away my life and meaning so long as Luke was by my side.

The very thought of all he meant to me sank into my skin, and my reflection looked back at me and smiled. What I saw in that mirror was no longer a girl but a woman whose mind knew all it needed to know about life and love.

And I was bound and determined that the love I had so firmly entrenched in Luke would get us through anything. I gave my reflection a firm nod. “It'll be fine, Jessilyn,” I murmured determinedly. “You wait and see.”

I heard the screen door slam, heard Daddy call, “Sadie! What's this here package on the porch?”

I ran downstairs. “What package?”

Daddy held up a small, carved wooden box wrapped in a ribbon. “I imagine it's for you, Jessilyn. Though I don't know where it came from. Figure maybe your momma wrapped it on the porch and left it there.”

I took it from him, examined it, and knew right off the bat where that wooden box came from. “Momma didn't wrap this, Daddy. This here ain't no Momma-tied bow.”

“Well then, who . . . ?” He stopped and looked at me, then took his hat off and wiped his forehead with his arm like a man nearing surrender. “Open the box, Jessilyn. That boy's obviously got somethin' up his sleeve.”

My fingers shook when I untied that cockeyed bow that could only have been tied by Luke Talley's calloused carpenter's hands. The box was so beautiful in detail, I handled it like glass, afraid to spoil any bit of Luke's handiwork. Daddy watched me without a word, but that didn't keep him from puffing out two long sighs before I managed to get the lid off.

All I found inside was a purple wildflower. I picked it up between two fingers and held it in front of my face.

Daddy narrowed his eyes at the flower and grunted. “Boy sure goes to a lot of trouble to give a girl a weed!”

I twirled it in front of my face twice before realization dawned on me. “It's from the patch beside the gazebo.”

“What's that got to do with anythin'?”

“It's got everythin' to do with everythin'!” I reached up to land a kiss on Daddy's cheek. “I'll be back soon. I promise!”

I ran outside and down the steps in a fashion that would have made Momma's hair stand on end, but I slowed up once I realized I'd make myself hot and sweaty, and I didn't want Luke to see me any way but ladylike today.

I tried to calm my excitement, but by the time I reached the gazebo, my heart was pounding out of my chest. I climbed the two steps inside and spotted another box lying alone on the bench seat my daddy had built twenty years ago for my momma. Picking the box up gently, I sat and untied yet another awkward ribbon.

Inside the box was one slightly ripe strawberry. I smiled and lit out again for the strawberry patch where I'd spent more than a few summer mornings with Gemma. I walked down the rows of strawberry plants before I finally spotted the box nestled on the ground.

This one held a single leaf, big and proud, and I knew without a second thought it was from the sprawling oak in Luke's backyard. I took a moment to compose myself, tucked a few stray hairs into place, and then set off for my journey across the creek to Luke's house.

When I arrived, he was nowhere in sight. I stood there at the outskirts of his property drinking in the sight of the house he'd built with his own two hands over the past few years. Little by little, he'd constructed a home that put his old cabin to shame. The shack he'd once called home now sat off to the side, serving as a shed, making the memory of his living there seem absurd.

The house was beautifully simple. Painted white with black shutters, a long porch trailing from front to back, it was the picture of peace. A porch swing rocked by itself in the breeze. Gemma and I had planted flowers around the house and filled the window boxes he'd made. Every time I looked at that house, I swelled with pride.

But now wasn't about the house. Now was about the huge oak off to the side of it that had been one of my favorite things for as long as I could remember. That tree was regal somehow, like the king of nature, spreading its branches out to cover its kingdom. I watched the leaves flicker in the breeze, creating that rustling that sounds like music on a beautiful summer day.

I walked to the trunk and started circling it, letting my fingertips run across the rough bark, my eyes on the ground below me in search of another box. I didn't notice Luke walk out onto the porch.

“You're lookin' in the wrong direction!”

My head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and I looked at him questioningly.

“Look in front of you, not down.”

I stepped away from the tree trunk and looked around me, wondering what could possibly be within this tree that would be from Luke to me.

If he'd made me a birdhouse, I was going to be sore.

But it was no birdhouse. It was no box, either. There, hanging from the most majestic branch of all, was my old wooden swing, the wind tilting it this way and that. He had prettied it up with a nice glossy stain and a scrolled design that bordered the edges. The ropes were new and sturdy. It was a sight that tugged at my heart so soundly, there was no hiding the tears that pricked my eyes, but I didn't so much care just then.

Luke took the porch steps in one leap and hurried toward me in an uneven lope. I turned and moved to the swing, running my hand down the rope and across the seat. I reached beneath to feel the bottom.

“It's still there.” Luke was only a few feet behind me now, his hands in his pockets, watching. “Turn it over.”

I used both hands to flip the seat. One of my tears slipped off my eyelashes and plopped down right in the center of my initials. I ran my thumb across to wipe it away and then flipped it back over.

When I twirled to look at him, I found his expression somber, his eyes glistening with something that wasn't tears but spoke of a sincerity I'd not seen from many people outside my family.

“Luke . . .”

He fidgeted a bit under my gaze. “Thought you might like to have it back up, is all. . . .”

“It's perfect.” My words came out quickly, cutting off any other nervous thing he might have tried to say. “Perfect.”

He blinked three times fast, like it would ward off his nerves, then pulled his hands from his pockets and strode toward me. “Here,” he said, taking hold of the swing to steady it, “try it out.”

I stared at him from the other side of the swing and took the ropes in my hands. We watched each other for several seconds before I stood on my toes to kiss his cheek in a way I'd never dared to before.

I lingered there for a moment, our faces so close, and watched him like he was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. I loved everything about this man. The way he moved, the way he smiled, the smell of his clean shirt, the rhythm of his breathing—which was quickening by the moment. Everything.

Before it happened, before my whole world got flipped upside down, I heard him whisper my name once. And then I felt his lips on my forehead, lightly, so that I instinctively tipped my head up in search of more. I felt his hand move up my back and circle lightly around my neck, his thumb tracing a path up my throat before his face drifted down to mine and our lips met.

His kiss went beyond anything I'd ever dreamed. Even the most overactive imaginations can't come up with anything to match what happened between us that day. No words can explain it, either. That moment was something only the two people sharing it can ever understand. The way he held me and kissed me was pure innocence, but it left no doubt about his feelings whatsoever. Each second his lips remained against mine popped my doubts like balloons until I was left with nothing but absolute certainty that Luke Talley wanted no one but me.

When he pulled away, my knees buckled. I gripped his shirt for support, but I didn't need to. His arms tightened around me, and I leaned against him, desperately wishing I could stay this way forever. Eventually, I lowered down off my toes and turned to slide into the swing, leaning back against his chest. He held the swing there for a short time and then gave me a gentle push.

I tipped my head back into the breeze and closed my eyes, filled with the peace of knowing everything would be all right. Luke Talley had brought part of my home to his, and that only made reality of what I'd always dreamed. Someday, maybe soon, his home would be mine.

We stayed there together for some time before he slowed me down and lowered his head to my ear. “It's gettin' toward noon. Best be gettin' home.”

He came around to face me and put his hands at my waist to help me down. Again we lingered longer than we had to, but for once I was in no rush. He pulled away reluctantly and held his hand out to lead me to the truck, but I nestled my hand between his arm and his side instead. “Let's walk.”