“Yes, ma’am, I truly can,” Billy said. “Aunt Emma, I appreciate this, I hope you don’t get into any trouble over it.”
“Don’t be silly,” Emma said. “I’m an old widow woman who lives alone. I have every right to have anyone I want as friends.”
Emma brushed her hands against her apron. There was about her the smell of flour and cinnamon, as she had been baking in the kitchen, and for a sudden, brief moment, he remembered the days he had spent with her when he was a little boy.
“Heavens, I didn’t even bother to take off my apron,” Emma said self-consciously. “I thought I would make some cookies for you and your friend. I must look a mess.”
“You look beautiful to me, Aunt Emma,” Billy said. “But you always have.”
Kathleen came outside then, and she smiled at Billy.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi,” Billy replied.
“Oh,” Emma said just before she went back inside the house. “I made a picnic lunch for you. Billy, I thought your friend might like to see the overlook.”
“The overlook?” Kathleen asked.
“It’s our secret place,” Emma said. “Billy’s and mine.”
“Oh, my, should I be jealous?” Kathleen teased.
“No. Aunt Emma, I mean, Mrs. McKenzie, she…” Billy said, attempting to explain.
Kathleen laughed. “You don’t have to explain,” she said. “I know Mrs. McKenzie raised you. She told me all about it this morning. I was just teasing. And I would love to see the overlook.”
With the picnic lunch loaded in Kathleen’s surrey, Billy drove along a trail until he reached a high escarpment. The trail climbed a large rock outcropping, then went beyond a group of aspen trees until Billy finally stopped near an overhang. He helped Kathleen down from the surrey.
“I call this my secret place,” Billy said, “but there are markings and signs here from who knows who or how long ago. See?”
“Pictographs,” Kathleen said.
“What?”
“They are called pictographs,” Kathleen explained. “Some think drawings and carvings on rocks like this may be over a thousand years old.”
Billy laughed.
“What is it?”
“I guess that means I wasn’t the first to discover this place then, huh?”
Kathleen laughed with him.
“I wish you could be up here at twilight sometime,” Billy said. “It’s very pretty when the clouds are lit from below by the setting sun so that they glow pink and gold against the purple sky. It’s especially beautiful in the spring, with the flower carpeting the valley floor in every hue. It’s even beautiful at night when the stars sparkle above like diamonds on velvet, and the owls talk quietly among themselves.”
Kathleen took Billy’s arm and held it. “Oh, Billy, it’s no wonder you are a poet,” she said. “I don’t have to be here in the spring, or at twilight, or at night. Your words have brought all that to me.”
Kathleen looked into Billy’s eyes, and he knew then that she wanted to be kissed. He moved her lips to hers, and she leaned against him. They kissed.
“Oh,” Kathleen said, pulling breathlessly away from him. “I think we had better not do that again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust myself as to where it might lead,” Kathleen said.
“Let it go where it goes.”
Kathleen shook her head. “No, Billy, not yet. Not while our families are—”
“You don’t have to go on,” Billy said. “I know what you mean.”
“Billy, do you think we will ever be able to be like everyone else? To love who we want to love?”
“I don’t know,” Billy said. “God help me, I don’t know.”
“We could run away,” she suggested.
“Run away where. And do what?”
“We could run away and get married,” Kathleen said. “That is—if you actually do want to marry me.”
“Kathleen, I want to marry you more than anything in the world,” Billy replied. “But I also want to be able to make a living for you. What would I do if we ran away?”
“We’d find something to do,” Kathleen said. “I know we would.”
“I need to think about that,” Billy said.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“No, no,” Billy said. “Kathleen, I can’t think of anything that would be more wonderful than to marry you. But let’s wait and see if we can’t do it on our own terms, without having to run away like thieves in the night. Besides, what would that do to your father?”
“You’re right,” Kathleen said, nodding her head. “I got carried away a bit there, but you’re right. I could never leave my father like that.”
“Are you hungry?”
“A little,” Kathleen admitted.
“One thing I know about Aunt Emma, she is one hell of a cook,” Billy said. “Let’s see what we have here.”
“We have cookies, of course,” she said, taking one out and biting into it.
“Hey, you aren’t supposed to eat the cookies until after we have our lunch,” Billy said, taking the cookie from her. As soon as he took it, he popped the whole cookie into his mouth.
“Oh, you!” Kathleen scolded, laughing as she did so. “You just did that so you could have the cookie.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Billy teased. “What else do we have?”
“We have sliced ham and freshly baked bread,” Kathleen said. “And potato salad, and some canned peaches. And, of course, a bottle of wine.”
“Sounds good,” Billy said, reaching for the loaf of bread.
“Just be patient. I’ll set it out for you,” Kathleen said. She spread a blanket, then put out the food. Billy made himself a big sandwich and took a healthy bite.
“Fantastic,” he said, smacking his lips in appreciation. “Absolutely fantastic.”
“Wine?” Kathleen asked, pouring some into a glass.
After they had eaten, they sat on the blanket enjoying their wine. They talked of inconsequential things for a while, then Kathleen laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Tomorrow night, at the dance,” Kathleen said, “you and I will have to pretend that we are practically strangers. Yet all the time, we will know about this wonderful day we have shared today.”
Chapter Fourteen
When Kathleen awakened the next morning, she lay in bed for a long moment, enjoying the gentle breeze that lifted the muslin curtains and brought on its breath the fragrance of roses that grew just outside her window.
She thought of the picnic yesterday and of the time she and Billy had been able to spend together, without having to look over their shoulders, without having to explain their relationship to anyone else.
What a bittersweet time that had been; sweet because she and Billy were together, bitter because they both knew that it was stolen time—it could not, and it would not, last.
Billy kissed her yesterday, and smiling, Kathleen touched her fingers to her lips. Because the kiss was so recent, and because Kathleen was blessed with a strong imagination, she was able to recreate that kiss, almost as if it were happening now.
Thinking about it, Kathleen reached under her mattress where she was hiding the poem Billy had written for her, and took it out. She reread it for what had to be the tenth time.
Billy had not wanted anyone to know about the poem because he was afraid of the ribbing he would take from his brothers.
His brothers, Kathleen thought. What evil and despicable men they were. How was it possible that Billy had been born into that family? So many people who didn’t know Billy the way she did thought of him in the same way they thought of Ray and Cletus. Even her own father thought of Billy in that way.
It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.
Out at La Soga Larga Ranch, the object of Kathleen’s mental meanderings was at the pump on the back porch washing up when he saw Sheriff Belmond riding into the front yard. Curious as to what might have brought the sheriff there, he walked around front, even as he was running the towel through his hair. Billy’s father and two brothers were standing on the front porch.