Read Online Untethered by Marcia Lynn McClure - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
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Thibodaux, and he didn’t do more than nod and mumble a greeting when she said hello to him.” Mrs. Maloney frowned and seemed thoughtful. “I think those goin’s-on last year just did that man too much damage.”
Cricket sighed and shook her head. “I don’t understand why he seems to bear the guilt of it all,” she said. “He was the one who was right when the rest of the posse was wrong. It wasn’t his fault he had no help.”
“Oh, but a good man always thinks he should’ve done more…could’ve done more…even against impossible odds.”
There was quiet for a moment, and Cricket tried to divert her own thoughts from Heathro Thibodaux and his past—from Heathro Thibodaux at all!
But it seemed Maymee Maloney wasn’t about to let that happen. “Why don’t you lasso that man for yourself, Magnolia?”
Cricket rolled her eyes with humiliation and exasperation. “Oh! Of course!” she exclaimed with friendly sarcasm. “And then I’ll just become President of the United States and live forever too, while I’m at it!”
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Mrs. Maloney scolded. “Lassoin’ a man ain’t anything as difficult as becomin’ President of the United States .” She smiled and shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder what on earth goes on in that mind of yours.”
“Says who?” Cricket asked, perking up just a bit—for she could see the mischief in Mrs. Maloney’s smiling eyes, and it always cheered her.
“Says me,” Mrs. Maloney answered. “In fact, why don’t you just run on over to his house one night, rope him up good, tie him to a chair, and go about convincin’ him that you’re the woman he’s always wanted?”
Cricket laughed, shaking her head with amused disbelief. “You make the most scandalous suggestions sometimes, Mrs. Maloney!” she exclaimed. “And what do you mean, go about convincin’ him, anyway? What could I possibly do to convince him to want me …even if he was tied to a chair?”
But Mrs. Maloney only laughed, her gray eyes so radiant with misbehavior that Cricket thought surely stars had been plucked from the heavens and placed in her head where her eyes used to be. “Oh, let’s save that for another time,” she said. “For now, why don’t you tell me what all is goin’ on with your daddy and Ada . Did Ada finish puttin’ up all that strawberry jam she was workin’ on?”
Cricket smiled and nodded. She knew Mrs. Maloney had said all s he was going to say on the subject of Heathro Thibodaux being tied to a chair and how Cricket could convince him to want her. She was a sneaky little thing—and Cricket loved her all the more for it.
❦
When Cricket, Marie, Ann, and Vilma had first decided t o begin their do-gooding shenanigans, they decided that everything mysterious and secretive was easier to go about veiled in the concealing cloak of night. Thus, they had therefore decided they’d have to be literally cloaked as well. Going about their do-gooding with only the moon and starlight as their guides was certainly helpful at hiding their identity, but they had all agreed they would need something more—costumes of a sort.
It had been Cricket who had first offered the suggestion of rounding up old camisoles, shirtwaists, bloomers, and petticoats and dying them black. Vilma had been mortified at the suggestion, of course—or at least she’d pretended to be (though Cricket knew that the preacher’s daughter secretly relished the chance to run around town in a set of black underwear—it fulfilled her unspoken desire to rebel). Marie and Ann had heartily agreed at once, however, Marie explaining that the black would help them blend into their dark surroundings while do-gooding and Ann offering that it would put to good use their old, too-worn clothing.
And so, one rather dreary winter morning, Cricket, Marie, Ann, and Vilma set about dying old undergarments. By the next evening, they were dressed head to toe in their proper do-gooder apparel and
Cricket sighed and shook her head. “I don’t understand why he seems to bear the guilt of it all,” she said. “He was the one who was right when the rest of the posse was wrong. It wasn’t his fault he had no help.”
“Oh, but a good man always thinks he should’ve done more…could’ve done more…even against impossible odds.”
There was quiet for a moment, and Cricket tried to divert her own thoughts from Heathro Thibodaux and his past—from Heathro Thibodaux at all!
But it seemed Maymee Maloney wasn’t about to let that happen. “Why don’t you lasso that man for yourself, Magnolia?”
Cricket rolled her eyes with humiliation and exasperation. “Oh! Of course!” she exclaimed with friendly sarcasm. “And then I’ll just become President of the United States and live forever too, while I’m at it!”
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Mrs. Maloney scolded. “Lassoin’ a man ain’t anything as difficult as becomin’ President of the United States .” She smiled and shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder what on earth goes on in that mind of yours.”
“Says who?” Cricket asked, perking up just a bit—for she could see the mischief in Mrs. Maloney’s smiling eyes, and it always cheered her.
“Says me,” Mrs. Maloney answered. “In fact, why don’t you just run on over to his house one night, rope him up good, tie him to a chair, and go about convincin’ him that you’re the woman he’s always wanted?”
Cricket laughed, shaking her head with amused disbelief. “You make the most scandalous suggestions sometimes, Mrs. Maloney!” she exclaimed. “And what do you mean, go about convincin’ him, anyway? What could I possibly do to convince him to want me …even if he was tied to a chair?”
But Mrs. Maloney only laughed, her gray eyes so radiant with misbehavior that Cricket thought surely stars had been plucked from the heavens and placed in her head where her eyes used to be. “Oh, let’s save that for another time,” she said. “For now, why don’t you tell me what all is goin’ on with your daddy and Ada . Did Ada finish puttin’ up all that strawberry jam she was workin’ on?”
Cricket smiled and nodded. She knew Mrs. Maloney had said all s he was going to say on the subject of Heathro Thibodaux being tied to a chair and how Cricket could convince him to want her. She was a sneaky little thing—and Cricket loved her all the more for it.
❦
When Cricket, Marie, Ann, and Vilma had first decided t o begin their do-gooding shenanigans, they decided that everything mysterious and secretive was easier to go about veiled in the concealing cloak of night. Thus, they had therefore decided they’d have to be literally cloaked as well. Going about their do-gooding with only the moon and starlight as their guides was certainly helpful at hiding their identity, but they had all agreed they would need something more—costumes of a sort.
It had been Cricket who had first offered the suggestion of rounding up old camisoles, shirtwaists, bloomers, and petticoats and dying them black. Vilma had been mortified at the suggestion, of course—or at least she’d pretended to be (though Cricket knew that the preacher’s daughter secretly relished the chance to run around town in a set of black underwear—it fulfilled her unspoken desire to rebel). Marie and Ann had heartily agreed at once, however, Marie explaining that the black would help them blend into their dark surroundings while do-gooding and Ann offering that it would put to good use their old, too-worn clothing.
And so, one rather dreary winter morning, Cricket, Marie, Ann, and Vilma set about dying old undergarments. By the next evening, they were dressed head to toe in their proper do-gooder apparel and
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