Untethered (16 page)

Cricket rolled her eyes with amusement. “Of course! Don’t be silly.”

But one of Maymee’s sparse, silvery eyebrows arched with doubt. “Did your mother ever explain those things to you, honey?”

“She didn’t have to,” Cricket said with a shrug. “Daddy did. When I was sixteen.”

“And what did your daddy tell you…about where babies come from and what goes on between a husband and wife?”

Cricket shrugged once more. “They sleep together…in the same bed. And when the time is right, a baby starts growin’ in a woman’s tummy. All us girls know about it…even Vilma Stanley.”

“Oh, I see,” Maymee mumbled.

Maymee was a bit unsettled in her stomach at the thought of Cricket’s mother having died when Cricket was so young—before she had the chance to talk to her daughter about the sorts of things that mothers should and need to talk to their daughters about. Maymee Maloney had married her husband when she was just fifteen and without any knowledge whatsoever about the intimate goings-on between husband and wife. If it hadn’t been for fact that she’d married such a kind, loving, patient, and understanding man as Butch Maloney, her wedding night—her entire intimate married life, for that matter—might have been thick with self-doubt and a constant feeling of embarrassment rather than the joy borne of true, loving passion. When the time came for Cricket to marry, Maymee wouldn’t let the risk of astonishment and lack of understanding drive even the smallest wedge between Cricket and whomever she chose to marry. Maymee would prepare her herself—just as she’d prepared her own daughters. After all, she loved Magnolia Cranford like her own child.

“But why are you askin’ me that?” Cricket asked, interrupting Maymee’s thoughts of maternal responsibility toward Zeke Cranford’s girl.

“Oh, nothin’ all that serious,” Mrs. Maloney answered—though Cricket was certain the old woman was once again weaseling out of telling her something. “Just that you oughta kiss him the way he needs to be kissed.”

Cricket’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re leavin’ somethin’ out, aren’t you?”

“Anyway, as I was sayin’, there it was…this teapot, just sittin’ on my front porch like it belonged right there all along,” Mrs. Maloney said.

“
Ada
,” Cricket began, “do you think you and Daddy are gonna have any babies?”

Cricket smiled, amused as
Ada
knocked over the bucket of clothespins at her feet.

“Well…well, I don’t really know,” she stammered, blushing so bright a pink it looked as if she’d been out in the sun too long without a bonnet or hat. “Why would you ask?”

Cricket shrugged. “I was just thinkin’ on it…how fun it would be to have a little brother or sister to dote over and cuddle.” And it was true. Cricket
had
been thinking on it—ever since her conversation with Mrs. Maloney the week before.

When she and Mrs. Maloney had been sitting at Mrs. Maloney’s kitchen table talking about the teapot and Mrs. Maloney had, once again, brought up the idea that Cricket should rope up Heathro Thibodaux and
convince
him she was the one for him—well, it had been plain obvious that Mrs. Maloney was leaving something out. Cricket knew darn well that the old gal had weaseled her way out telling Cricket
something
, but she didn’t quite know what—and it had been bothering her ever since.

“Well, I was just thinkin’ that since you and Daddy share a bed now,” Cricket carefully treaded, “that it only makes sense…bein’ that you’re so young and all…that a baby oughta be bakin’ in the oven about now. That is all that’s involved, isn’t it? Just the fact that you’re married and sharin’ a bed? Nothin’ else is required…unless I’m mistaken.”

Ada
was still blushing, but she smiled, tossed her head with a pretty laugh, and said, “Oh, Cricket! You know there’s more to it than just sharin’ a bed.” But
Ada
paused, looking inquisitively to Cricket. “Don’t you?”

Cricket shrugged. “Well, that’s all Daddy told me. That when a man and a woman get married, they start sharin’ a bed, and then suddenly there’s a baby inside you.”

Ada
put her hands on her hips, frowning. “Is that all Zeke told you? That’s it? Nothin’ more?”

“No…that’s it,” Cricket admitted—though she was one hundred percent sure now that Mrs. Maloney had certainly weaseled her way out of saying something important.

Ada
puffed a breath of exasperation. “I swear, that man! He’s as dumb as an ox sometimes!”

“I’m guessin’ he left somethin’ out,” Cricket offered, more curious than ever.

“Yes, he left somethin’ out!”
Ada
exclaimed. “He left everything out! Why, if my mother hadn’t told me what she did before I married Zeke, I woulda probably passed out cold on my weddin’ night when…”

Ada
stopped herself, but it was too late. She looked at Cricket, tears filling her eyes as she suddenly realized that Cricket had been very young when her own mother had passed away. There hadn’t been a woman around to tell Cricket the intimate details of…of intimacy. Ada knew that in marrying Zeke—a darling, charming man who was obviously uncomfortable when speaking to his daughter on certain subjects—the responsibility for such things as maternal advice and comfort had fallen to her. But she’d never imagined she’d have to explain to a girl nearly her own age exactly how the human race proliferated.

Still,
Ada
wasn’t at all sure that hanging out laundry was the proper time and place to explain things to Cricket. And besides,
Ada
had some time. Cricket wasn’t being courted by anyone—or even interested in anyone as far as
Ada
knew. Therefore, she’d think on it awhile—figure out just what to say to Cricket in explaining intimacy between husband and wife, and how and when to tell her.

“I’m guessin’ it’s somethin’ I should be hearin’ from my mama,
Ada
,” Cricket said, smiling with understanding. “So it’s not your fault. And we can talk about it later.”

Ada
smiled, feeling somewhat relieved.

But then Cricket laughed. “After all, what more can there be to it than what Daddy already told me?”

Once more
Ada
tripped over the clothespin bucket, sending clothespins scattering through the grass beneath the clothesline.

“Not so much, I suppose,”
Ada
giggled nervously, blushing anew as she bent to gather up the clothespins.

Cricket’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She determined that maybe growing up in a tiny town like Pike’s Creek had kept her ignorant of certain details of life, and she wondered for a moment—was it a good thing or a bad thing?

Either way, she’d find out what she wanted to know. If her Daddy or
Ada
wouldn’t tell her, she’d eventually wiggle it out of Mrs. Maloney, one way or the other.

Sighing, Cricket looked up into the beautiful blue of the summer sky overhead. A few large clouds were sitting way up high—like big, puffy angels gazing down to guard folks below. A hummingbird zipped in and out of the clothesline, and Cricket and
Ada
exchanged delighted glances. It was simply a lovely day—a perfect day—and Cricket couldn’t wait to finish hanging out the laundry so she could race to the old Morgan house to meet the girls.

After all, she hadn’t told them about being chased by Heathro Thibodaux’s bull yet—about how Mr. Thibodaux applied medicinal spit to her injury and threatened to show her “something inappropriate.” Furthermore, the Olivers were packed up and ready to head down to
San Antonio
, so Cricket was certain Marie was a mess of tears and worry.

She wondered whether Ann had received any more winks and smiles from Mr. Keel and if Vilma were going to be in a jovial mood or one of her self-righteous, call-everyone-to-repentance moods.

All in all, there was so much to talk about with the girls. And so, too impatient to linger any longer, Cricket gave up gazing into the lovely sky and began to hurriedly pin up the rest of the clothes she and
Ada
had finished washing. Mischief was waiting for her at the old Morgan place, and it looked to be a fine day for swimming too!

❦

“And then he kissed me once more,” Marie sniffled. “One more long, lingerin’ kiss before he climbed up into the wagon seat and drove off into the mornin’ sun.”

“He’ll be back, darlin’,” Ann soothed, placing a comforting arm around Marie’s shoulders.

Cric
ket winced at the pain her own heart was feeling for Marie’s worry and sadness. Marie and Hudson had been nearly inseparable since the night they first kissed their loving confessions. She knew it was a horrid thing to anticipate ten days before
Hudson
returned—at least ten!

“He gave me these,” Marie said then. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she held up her left wrist and tugged at the sleeve of her shirtwaist to reveal the most beautifully crafted silver and turquoise bracelet Cricket had ever seen. Not that she’d seen many, but she’d seen similar jewelry on the wealthy woman who occasionally disembarked from the train for a short stretch of the legs before continuing on to
Santa Fe
.

Vilma gasped and studied the bracelet closely. “Marie, it’s beautiful! And so expensive!”

Marie smiled halfheartedly. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? There’s a turquoise pendant laid in silver hanging from a silver chain and matching earrings as well…but I left them at home. I was afraid to wear them all together—afraid I’d lose them or somethin’.”

Cricket took Marie’s hand and admired the bracelet. It was a thick cuff of silver, very intricately designed, with a large oval piece of turquoise inlayed in the center of the band. It truly was the most astonishing piece.

“Well,
Hudson
certainly has been observin’ you, Marie,” Cricket giggled. “That’s for certain. I wonder how many times he saw you standin’ over the jewelry case in the general store wishin’ after pretty things.”

And it was true! Just as Ann loved her black thoroughbred, Harley—just as Vilma loved pens and inkwells—Marie King loved jewelry. She nearly had bracelets coming out her ears, being that her parents gifted her one every Christmas. But even Cricket had never seen the like of
Hudson
’s gift up close. It was truly beautiful and unique—just like Marie King herself.

“I hope he’s safe…that he hurries home to me,” Marie sniffled.

“He’ll be safe,” Cricket assured her. “And he’ll be home soon and sparkin’ your stockin’s to catchin’ flame before you know it.”

Marie nodded and forced a smile. Unexpectedly then, as she stared at Cricket, she began to giggle. Almost instantly her giggle turned to laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Cricket asked, giggling herself simply because Marie’s laughter was so contagious.

“I’m sorry, Cricket,” Marie breathed, continuing to laugh with merriment. “But the vision of you sittin’ there on your fanny in the grass with Heathro Thibodaux spittin’ on your foot and rubbin’ it in…oh, I just wish I could’ve seen that!”

“Me too!” Ann exclaimed, breaking into her own trilling giggle. “And you didn’t even have time to think on the fact that he placed his bare hand on your fanny to push you over the fence!”

“On the seat of my skirt, Ann! Only on the seat of my skirt!” Cricket corrected, still giggling over her friends’ amusement.

Even Vilma was laughing. “I told you, Magnolia! I told you that runnin’ around without your stockin’s and shoes would find you in a predicament one day.”

“Yes, you did, Vilma Stanley,” Cricket happily admitted. “But if it was meant to find me in a predicament, I’m so glad the predicament it found me in was with Heathro Thibodaux and his medicinal spit!”

The girls burst into laughter, tears rolling from their eyes. Even Marie’s tears had turned from those of sadness to those of mirth.

“Oh, you all do my very soul so much good!” Vilma panted. “I swear, no one on earth makes me laugh like you girls do.”

Cricket was only able to nod her agreement, still too overcome with a fit of giggles she thought would see her rolling on the floor in another minute.

“Well, well, well…looky what we have here, boys.”

All four girls looked to the doorless threshold of the old Morgan house, their laughter ceasing abruptly. There in the doorway stood no less than seven or eight scroungy-looking men—all with pistols drawn or rifles aimed directly at them.

“Someone’s helpin’ us along today,” the man who stood in front of the rest said as he stepped into the room. The other men followed him in, still keeping their guns leveled at Cricket, Ann, Marie, and Vilma.

“Who are you?” Vilma ventured.

“Why…we’re just men of business, darlin’,” he answered as he began to circle the girls as a group. “Just men out and about lookin’ for things to sell.”

Instantly a vision of the newspaper article hidden in the chest at the foot of Cricket’s bed flashed through her mind. Were these men white slavers? Were these the same men that had killed the eight girls for whom Heathro Thibodaux had nearly given his life in trying to save? Whether or not they were, it was obvious their intentions were neither friendly nor kind.