Sixteen

Cleo reeled back, her hand covering her mouth. Her first kiss, and it was awful.

Well, not exactly awful, but it was uninvited and unexpected, and it served to awaken something inside her. Never again could she wonder what her first kiss would be like.

Theo held her against him, her ear pressed against his chest such that she could hear his heart thumping wildly. Hers took up the pace until she felt it might burst.

So this was how love felt. She looked up into the eyes of the carpenter, expecting to find some sign that the kiss had changed him. That he felt the same.

Instead she saw a blank stare followed in quick succession by what looked like anger and then regret—none of the tender emotions she expected. Whatever the reason he might claim for kissing her, it certainly did not seem like love.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his voice husky and deep. “Please. . .just. . .go. . .now.”

She willed the tears not to fall as she pulled away from his grasp. Just wait, Cleo. You can’t cry in front of him.

Straightening her spine, she turned and walked away with what little pride she had left. As soon as she knew he could no longer see her, she picked up her skirts and broke into a run.

With tears staining her face, she knew she couldn’t go home. Instead, she headed for the only other place of solace she could think of on a Sunday afternoon besides the church—the schoolhouse. No one would look for her there.

Racing up the steps, she threw open the door, then stepped inside and slammed it shut. The place smelled like new wood and old paint, a strange but comfortable combination. Cleo leaned against the wall. Finally the emotions proved too much. She sank to the floor and cried like a baby.

Somewhere along the way, the door must have opened, for Cleo opened her eyes to see Theo standing there. Silhouetted by the brilliant sunshine behind him, he looked like a dark and ominous shadow. How fitting, she thought.

“I’m so sorry.”

Gone was the voice made deep and husky by emotion. In its place was the flat and cold sound of a man without feeling. Cleo could find no answer for his statement, so she remained silent.

He moved closer but only slightly so, edging to within reach of her. Setting the book beside her, he straightened and looked away.

“Arête. Please don’t cry.”

She didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to give in to what she knew came next—the forgiveness. Again, she said nothing, although she did swipe at her tear-stained cheeks with the hem of her apron.

He began to pace, then stopped short. “Cleo, I don’t know what happened.” Shaking his head, he pounded his fist against the door. “That’s not true. I do know what happened.”

Cleo watched him as he stood looking out the window. He grimaced, then turned his attention to her.

“I’m a fool, Cleo, and I know that,” he said as he crossed the distance to her and offered his hand to pull her into a standing position.

She accepted his help with caution, pulling away as soon as he released his grip. Standing so close brought the fresh memories back, first of the kiss and then of the regret she saw on his face immediately afterward.

He still wore that regret.

Cleo wrapped her hands around her waist and fixed her gaze on his eyes, fighting the urge to look away. “I’m going to give you the same advice you gave me, Theo,” she somehow managed to say. “Advice I should have taken.”

Regret shifted to confusion, and he shook his head. “What’s that?”

“Go home.”

She turned to walk away only to see that she had nowhere to go. A large desk that had been partially dismantled blocked the back door. Several long benches were stacked atop its expansive surface. The furnishings of her schoolroom, she realized.

Escaping with what little remained of her dignity seemed the only route to take. Cleo squared her shoulders and walked back into the main room, where Theo waited. He’d begun to pace again but halted when he caught sight of her.

“I’m leaving,” she said. “Do follow my advice and go home.” She reached down to snatch up the book and cradle it in her arm.

Theo stepped between her and freedom. “Just hear me out,” he said. “I’m real bad at this, but I’d like to try and make sense of things before you run off mad.”

“Mad?” She fought for control of her voice. “You think I’m mad?”

He shrugged. “Well, if I were in your place, I’d be mad as a hornet. I mean, a man takes liberties—”

“Who is taking liberties?”

Cleo looked past to see Uncle Joe and the pastor standing in the door. She pasted on a smile and sashayed past Theo to head toward the pair. When she reached her uncle, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, being careful to keep her red-rimmed eyes closed until she’d safely passed him.

“No one’s taking liberties, Uncle Joe,” she said over her shoulder. “Theo and I were just discussing a book.”

She stopped to turn and face the three men. Of the trio, the carpenter was the only one whose face wore no expression. The other two smiled as if they shared a secret.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking this book back home.” She gave Theo a direct look. “Wouldn’t want something so special to end up in the hands of someone who didn’t appreciate it.”

As her feet hit the dirt and pointed toward home, she wondered why she’d bothered to save Theophile Breaux’s hide. One word to Uncle Joe and the pastor about the kiss and the carpenter would have been in trouble up to his eyeballs.

She didn’t have to wonder long. The truth caught up with her before she reached the front porch of Uncle Joe’s place. She didn’t tell on Theo because she wanted him to kiss her again.

And again.

“Oh my,” she said as she climbed the porch steps. “Well, that will never do.”

“What will never do?”

Cleo looked up to see Tante Flo sitting in the parlor, her Bible open on the rosewood table before her. She leaned down to embrace her aunt, then slipped the tattered copy of Pilgrim’s Progress back into its place on the bookshelf beside the fireplace.

Tante Flo closed the Bible and gave Cleo a sideways look. “I asked you what would never do.”

She smiled. “Anything that interferes with me becoming a teacher will never do.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tante Flo said. “I’ve wondered a time or two what would have happened if I had put my teaching ahead of love.”

Surprised, Cleo feigned a casual attitude. “And what did you decide?”

Tante Flo smiled. “I decided that when the Lord puts the right man in your path, it doesn’t matter what you’re giving up. It’s always a better-than-even exchange.”

Cleo settled onto the settee and slipped off her shoes, tucking her feet beneath her. “How did you know that Uncle Joe was the right man?”

Her aunt leaned closer and shook her head. “I didn’t,” she said. “In fact, I thought he was the most exasperating man I had ever met.”

Now this was interesting. After two decades of marriage, Flo and her husband seemed to be more in love than ever. Cleo assumed they’d always felt this way.

“I don’t believe it,” she finally said. “I’ve never heard you say a cross word to Uncle Joe. How could you find him exasperating?”

“Well, to start, he ran off every other beau I had.”

Cleo giggled. “He did? How?”

“By planting himself in my kitchen every morning and sharing coffee with my papa. Before long, Papa didn’t want any other man around except your uncle Joe. Said they were all beneath me or some such nonsense, but I always knew Joe was giving my daddy an earful and turning him against anybody but himself.”

“That’s pretty underhanded, Tante Flo. I’m surprised at Uncle Joe.”

“Oh, Cleo, nothing should surprise you when it comes to love.” She paused to run her finger over the cracked spine of the Bible. “See, he made friends with the papa, but he was really there to see the daughter.” She paused and winked. “Much like our Monsieur Breaux, I believe.”

“What are you talking about? You and I both know he comes here to talk to Uncle Joe about the schoolhouse project. How else would he get the updates and the changes in plans? It’s much more convenient for him to come by on his way to the schoolhouse than for Uncle Joe to go all the way out there later in the day.”

As she protested, her mind reeled back to the kiss and its aftermath, the sound of his heart racing against her ear, and the feel of his arms around her. The color flooded her cheeks, and the room suddenly felt a bit too warm.

Tante Flo rose and brushed past Cleo to stand at the window. A moment later she settled beside her on the settee and took Cleo’s hand in hers.

“He’s kissed you, hasn’t he?”