THIRTEEN FOR DINNER

thirty four

THIRTY-FOUR

       After I manage to break free from Emily’s tight hugs and continual gratitude for whatever I said to her daddy, I slip out of the room and head for the kitchen. My appetite is back and I am starving. I missed lunch because of the incident in town and then I ignored the dinner bell figuring eating wasn’t near as important as trying to convince James not to hang Lunar. Come to think of it I don’t think he has it in him to hang anyone, so I’m wondering who it was that actually hung Lunar. The legend says James did it and then feasted with his friends. Knowing him the way I do now, that is totally out of character for him.

            The house is dark now, the Faulkner’s have turned in and all is quiet except for the ticking of the ole grandfather clock. I tip toe down the massive staircase allowing my full skirt to fan out as I turn the corner. My spirit is giddy and I feel beautiful like a princess in a castle so I run back up the stairs and do it again. I’m running up the staircase to do it for a third time when I notice Quillan smiling at me from the top. My face turns as purple as the imported rug I’m standing on. I shrug my shoulders, “It’s fun.” I say.  Quillan smiles and bows, giving me his elbow so to escort me down. I take it and together we descend the staircase like a king and queen with me giggling the entire way.

            Pearl left me a nice plate of food, figuring I would get hungry later. Unfortunately microwaves have not been invented yet and since I really have no desire to feast on cold rice, pot roast, carrots and summer squash this late at night I take to the pantry to retrieve bread, goat cheese and blackberries.

            We take our little banquet to the veranda right off the kitchen, and sit in a big porch swing facing the east side of the property. The night air is a little brisk so Quillan wraps a beautifully crocheted blanket around my shoulders and then sits down very close to me. He pushes off and we sway gently back and forth, swinging and munching on blackberries.

            “You spent a lot of time in the garden this evening,” Quillan doesn’t disappoint me; seeing I was wondering just how long it would be before he brought the subject up.

            “Yep,” I try being nonchalant, as I pop another blackberry in my mouth. “It’s a good thinking spot.”

            “I couldn’t help notice you got pretty upset when Mike came in there with you, everything okay?”

            I shrug, “I don’t know, we didn’t really resolve anything. I walked out and then came upstairs.”

            “You were arguing?”

            “Not really,” I say. “Mike’s just looking out for me as usual; I can’t fault him for that.”

            Quillan nods and hands me a chunk of bread layered in goat cheese then places a large blackberry on top. “Here try this.”      

            I bite into his creation and the blackberry explodes sending it’s juice running down my chin. Quillan laughs and wipes my face with his hand. Again my belly warms with his touch, something that has never happened with Mike.

            He doesn’t take his hand off my face; instead he rubs his thumb across my bottom lip. We’re barely rocking in the swing but the way my stomach feels I’d swear we were pushing it to the limit. I close my eyes as he moves in replacing his thumb with his lips.

             My stomach tightens and caves in making it difficult to catch my breath and I feel as if my entire body is on fire. My hands tremble as I reach out and stroke the side of his jaw. He pulls always slowly and I open my eyes. He’s smiling at me but something behind him steals my grin and draws my attention away. I move my head to get a better look and can’t believe my eyes. Standing at the bottom of the porch steps, looking up at me with those big dark eyes, is little Hope. She’s filthy and a look of terror covers her small face.