Untethered (31 page)

❦

It was quiet in Pike’s Creek—even quieter than it had been the night before when Heath had allowed the girls to rest alongside the river for a time. There were the usual sounds to soo
the Cricket—the lowing of cattle and calves in the distance, the hum of the crickets in the grasses and cicadas in the tree branches. There was also the sound of
Ada
’s rocking chair creak-creaking on the front porch next to Cricket’s.

As always in summer, the air was fragrant—filled with a perfume blended of green and growing things like honeysuckle and wheat in the fields. The temperature was not too cool and not too warm. It was perfect—the temperature dreamed of when winter nights were cold and kitchen floors frigid in early spring mornings.

Everything was just as it had been only a week before. Nothing about Pike’s Creek seemed different to Cricket in the least—nothing except everything. Everything seemed different—changed. Or was it Cricket that had changed? As she began rocking in her own rocking chair, matching the slow, easy rhythm of
Ada
’s, Cricket knew that she had, indeed, changed. Terrible, terrifying experiences did change a person. Stories had always told her that; losing her mother had taught it to her firsthand. But now Cricket knew something else changed a person as well: love—the wild, impassioned, frenzied love of falling
in
love. And Cricket had been falling
in
love with Heathro Thibodaux for months.

As she’d sat on the porch for nearly the entire twelve hours since her father and Cooper Keel had ridden off in search of Heathro—since the good people of Pike’s Creek had retrieved Marie, Ann, Vilma, Pearl, and Jinny from east of town—Cricket had considered all she’d been through with the others. It had changed her somewhat. No doubt it had changed them all. As for Cricket, she wondered how long it would be before she wouldn’t be frightened each time she strayed too far from her father’s house. She wondered if sugar would taste as sweet in
Ada
’s cake frosting as it had before and if she’d still be able to outrun Heath’s ornery old bull if she ever happened on him running loose in the pasture again. She wondered if she’d still want to plan mischievous shenanigans to go about with her friends—wondered if she’d ever be able to think of any to plan again.

And in the darkness of night, as she waited for her father to return—as she waited to know the fate of the man who had saved her, cared for her, kissed her as only a dream could’ve kissed her—Cricket concluded that, yes, she had experience that had stripped away some of her innocence. But she’d survived it, and she knew that from there on, yes, she would be a bit more wary and easily startled for a while whenever venturing away from the house. But she also knew that
Ada
’s cake frosting would taste far sweeter than ever it had before, that she’d still be able to outrun Heath’s bull if the need ever arose. And she knew that more than ever before she would find profound joy in plotting mischievous plans of do
-
gooding shenanigans with her friends.

The only thing Cricket was uncertain of was whether she would drop dead of a broken heart if her father rode into town with Heathro Thibodaux’s body wrapped in a blanket and draped over the back of a horse. In that moment, she thought that, though she could endure most anything on earth that didn’t bleed her life from her, she was not sure she could endure Heath’s death.

“Someone saw to Archie, didn’t they,
Ada
?” Cricket asked, suddenly needing to distract her thoughts.

“Yes, Cricket,”
Ada
answered with a smile. “He’s been brushed, rubbed, watered, and well fed. Mr. Burroughs says that he’ll be fine.”

Cricket smiled a little. “Good. Good. He’s an amazin’ horse.”

“Yes,”
Ada
agreed softly.

Cricket thought of something then—though she didn’t quite know why the matter popped into her head at that moment. Still, it made her smile, and she thought she might be able to bring a smile to
Ada
’s lips as well.

“
Ada
?” Cricket began.

“Yes?”
Ada
’s eyes lit up like fireworks. Cricket knew it was for the sake that she hoped Cricket was feeling better. “Remember the day I asked you whether or not you and Daddy were gonna have any babies?”

Cricket almost giggled when she noticed that the tempo of
Ada
’s rocking was faster suddenly.

“Yes,”
Ada
admitted. “What of it?”

“Well, I just thought it might ease your mind to know that you don’t have to explain everything to me anymore,” Cricket answered. “I know all about it now.”

Ada
’s rocking came to an abrupt stop. Cricket looked to her to find her sitting perfectly still—eyes wide as supper plates, pale as a sheet, as if she’d only just seen a ghostly apparition.

“H-how do you know all about it, Cricket?”
Ada
ventured, her lower lip quivering as her eyes filled with tears. “Did those men…those outlaws…did they…”

Cricket gasped as realization of what
Ada
must be thinking thumped her. “Oh no! No, no, no,
Ada
! Nothin’ like that! Mr. Thibodaux made sure—”

“Mr. Thibodaux?”
Ada
exclaimed as a dainty hand leapt to her bosom. “Did Mr. Thibodaux…did he…did he show you—”

“Oh, heavens no!” Cricket desperately interrupted, blushing from the hairs on her head to the tips of her toes. “No! I just meant…I-I…” She’d meant to relieve
Ada
’s mind, not horrify and frighten her. “I just meant that you don’t have to worry about bein’ the one to explain to me all the parts Daddy left out when it comes to what
really
happens for babies to be born. Vilma told us while we were captive. Vilma and
Pearl
, anyway.”

Ada
brushed a stray tear from her cheek, smiling with relief and giggling a little. “Oh, good. You about gave me a fit of apoplexy, Cricket. There for a minute I thought you and Mr. Thibodaux had…” Cricket blushed as
Ada
sighed again and smiled. She patted Cricket lovingly on the knee. “Well, though I’m quite sure Vilma Stanley knows the particulars of it, I’m
very
sure that she does not know the most important details of…the reasons…the importance of…I’m sure she does not know, bein’ that she can’t possibly have the experience…I’m sure she does
not
know the emotional aspects of what goes on between a husband and wife who are truly, truly, and deeply in love when…when…”

“When what?” Cricket asked. She was astonished at how quickly
Ada
’s cheeks had gone from whitewash to roses.

But
Ada
’s attention was suddenly arrested by something else. “Cricket? Do you hear riders?”

Cricket held her breath. She did hear it—the sound of horses approaching from the darkness. Leaping to her feet, she dashed off the porch, surprising even herself with having the vitality left to dash anywhere.

Ada
was at her side in an instant, and Cricket reached for her hand, grasping it for support. In silence they stared together into the darkness—listened as the approaching clop
-
clop of horses and riders grew nearer.

“Daddy?” Cricket breathed as she began to discern the outline of a man astride his horse—a large man—a man who sat his saddle exactly as her father did.

She started to run to him, but
Ada
gripped her hand tight—grabbed her arm and stayed her. “Wait, Cricket. Only wait.”

Cricket’s eyes were so full of tears they burned like they were aflame. Her breath was so ragged she was more softly panting than breathing.

At last her father was near enough that when the sun suddenly broke the horizon in the east, she saw him clearly—saw Cooper Keel riding just behind him. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw then that her father and Cooper led eight other horses at their backs. Eight horses—and each saddled horse had an outlaw’s body draped over it.

Yet as a fresh, new ray of sunshine suddenly beamed across the heavens, Cricket collapsed to her knees when she saw that following the eight horses laden with eight corpses was one more horse—a horse with a rider sitting slumped in its saddle—a rider far more handsome than any other man to ever walk the earth! There, riding into Pike’s Creek—a white bandage at one shoulder, weary and dirt
y, but fully, beautifully, and miraculousl
y still alive—was Heathro Thibodaux.

“Well, of course I know who stitched this quilt, Cooper Keel,’ I told him,” Maymee Maloney said as she poured another cup of cherry and blueberry tea for Cricket. “I told Cooper, ‘There’s only one woman in town that stitches this perfectly…and that’s Ann Burroughs,’ I said.” Mrs. Maloney offered Cricket another pastry and continued, “And I’ll tell you one thing. I have never in all my years of knowin’ Cooper Keel seen a smile spread across his face the likes of what the mention of Ann Burroughs coaxed out. No, sirree. Never! And that’s countin’ the years his wife was alive and with him…God rest her soul.”

Cricket smiled, trying not to reveal how perfectly delighted she was that Cooper Keel had inquired of Mrs. Maloney concerning the quilt he’d had left on his doorstep weeks before—or how further delighted she was that Mrs. Maloney recognized Ann’s unusually beautiful quilt stitch and told Mr. Keel.

“Well,” Mrs. Maloney rambled on, “when I saw the size of that smile on his face and the twinkle that jumped right down from the stars above to land in his handsome eyes, I asked Cooper right then and there…just flat out asked him if he had any, you know,
aspirations
where Ann Burroughs was concerned.”

Cricket’s eyebrows sprung into hopeful arches. “And what did he say?”

Mrs. Maloney paused, grinning a purely mischievous smile. She picked up her cup of cherry and blueberry tea, took a long, slow sip, and set the cup down again.

“Well?” Cricket urged. “You have to tell me what he said!”

Maymee Maloney leaned closer to Cricket. “Well, when I asked Cooper Keel if he had any of those aspirin’-to-woo-a-woman thoughts where Ann Burroughs was concerned…do you know what he answered me?”

“What?” Cricket giggled, in agony with curiosity.

Mrs. Maloney smiled. “He said, ‘Hell yes, Maymee Maloney! I plan on marryin’ that girl one day!’ That’s what he said.” Mrs. Maloney’s made an expression of firm pointedness. “
 
‘Hell yes,’ he said. Right here in my house.” Mrs. Maloney was quick to add, “But don’t you go tellin’ Ann nothin’ about it now, Cricket. You let things unfold the way they’re meant to unfold, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cricket sighed. She picked up her teacup and inhaled the delicate aroma of Mrs. Maloney’s own blended cherry and blueberry tea. “I won’t say a word. Not one word.”

“You best not,” Maymee reiterated. “Love is a delicate thing. One false move or interference can really pop out a spoke.”

“Yes, it can,” Cricket mumbled, sipping her tea and trying not to think of the only thing that was ever on her mind—the only person that was ever on her mind—Heathro Thibodaux.

“And
Hudson
Oliver and Miss Marie King?” Mrs. Maloney began. “I hear the date is set for August…at long last.”

Cricket nodded. “Yep. August nineteenth! Oh, I’ll sleep better once those two are finally married.”

“
You’ll
sleep better?” Mrs. Maloney asked, giggling. “Why’s that?”

Cricket shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because it’s been so very long in comin’…or because I just know those two were meant for each other.” She shrugged again. “I don’t know. I just want them married, that’s all.”

“And what about yourself, sugar bean?” Mrs. Maloney ventured. The old woman placed her elbows on the table and leaned across it toward Cricket. “Why won’t you just tie that Heathro Thibodaux up in a chair and seduce the livin’ life out of him, darlin’?”

But Cricket shook her head—even as tears welled in her eyes. “I-I can’t. He…he…I-I think he remembers bad things when he looks at me now.”

“Oh, bull roar, girl!” Mrs. Maloney gruffed. “I’ve seen the two of you…walkin’ around each other like you think nobody notices that invisible attraction connectin’ you to one another.” She slapped the table with one hand. “I’m tellin’ you that boy is yours for the takin’, Magnolia.” She leaned back in her chair, the mischievous grin returning to her face. “What went on out there between you two, honey? Somethin’ did, I know it. Every one of you girls has told the story over and over. You all got taken by Heck Alford and his gang of outlaws. They was headin’ for
New Orleans
when along come Heathro Thibodaux. He tricks ol’ Heck into believin’ he’s workin’ for some brothel man, rides along with you all for a few days…and quick as a mouse, you all are on your way back to Pike’s Creek.” Mrs. Maloney’s eyes narrowed as she studied Cricket with suspicion. “Only thing is, there’s a few things I keep hearin’ repeated. ‘Cricket helped Mr. Thibodaux,’ for one. ‘While Cricket and Mr. Thibodaux were away from the group’ is another.”