Arrival of the Prophecy (36 page)

Well, that was that and life went on as usual: me helping with the
little ones, while my mother went to the field with my father. She’d usually
work up at the house, leaving the harvesting to the boys and
I
,
but when it came to picking beans, she always wanted to pick her own, claiming
she could get the best ones. I knew she did it just so I didn’t have to go out
all the time. I enjoyed staying with the kids, even though at times they were
more than a handful. The youngest, Johnny, was the worst. That boy could walk
outside, and before he could get off the front porch, he was crying about one
thing or another. The reason could range from falling and hurting his knee, to
getting upset simply because one of the other kids wouldn’t play with him. No
matter what the situation, he was always my hard one, but still one of my
favorites. I guess he kind of had to be, since according to my mother, “He’s so
much like you, Renee, if I didn’t go through thirteen hours of labor to get ‘
im
here, I’d bet my hide he was yours!”
All
in all
, I didn’t mind the trouble, because I was always the one he ran
to, to make it all better. To me, that was worth it.

I swear, sometimes I was convinced that both the youngest ones thought I
was their ma. My little sister, Edna, who was six, only two years older than
Johnny, followed me everywhere—even to the outhouse on most days. Her hair was
as golden as the sunset and her little face was as sweet as they come, but that
child had a temper that would not stop. If one of the boys picked on her, she
just tore into them. On more than one occasion, I saw her grab a stick and run
after them, yelling, “Come back,
ya
sissies!” She
wasn’t what you’d call a girly-girl. There was no doubt about it, when Edna
wanted to play, it was more tree-climbing than tea parties, and being quite the
tomboy myself, I was more than okay with it.

That day was no different, as I spent most of my time refereeing,
roughhousing, and consoling. By the time my folks got home with the three
oldest boys, Sam Jr., James, and Thomas, I was ready for a break, even if it
meant starting supper or unloading the pickup. The old pickup was my father's
pride and joy. He had an old Ford Model T that he’d converted into a truck so
that we could use it for hauling and such. We didn’t use it often, because with
the depression and all, we couldn’t really afford it. We just didn’t have that
many stamps for gas. We mostly walked, rode the horse, or hooked up the
buckboard wherever we needed to go, regardless if it was miles to town or just
down the road to church. But for days like today, we
got
to take advantage of the truck, and my father loved every minute.

I hadn’t thought much about the stranger that day. I figured he was
another one that was just passing through—just a much better looking passerby
than usual. We had already finished our supper, and the young ones were fast
asleep, when once again a knock came at our door. My heart jumped so hard, I
tasted it in my mouth. My mother opened the door, and there he stood.
Apparently, he and my father had made an arrangement for him to stop by for the
next few nights. That kind of business was my father’s concern, and that was
the one thing we didn’t talk about. In those days, a woman did what she was
told by her husband without question. My mother was one of the lucky ones who
didn’t get beat by her husband. My father was a very good man, but I always
wanted to know things that I shouldn’t ask, just like at breakfast that day. My
overwhelming urge to know things that were not my business may have been the
very reason that I’d never married. My father shook his hand and invited him in
to sit for a spell.

“Myrtle,” my father said, looking back at my mother. “I’d like you to
meet Martin
Vigée
Lebrun. Did I say that right?” My
father’s face contorted a bit as he struggled to articulate
Mar-teen
Vee-zhay
Leh-broon
.

“Pronounced very well, sir,” he replied, grinning slightly at my father.

“How
d’ya
do
?” my mother asked, with a delicate nod of her head.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Mr. Lebrun tenderly lifted her hand
and lightly kissed the back of it. That was the only time I had seen my mother
blush, when my father wasn’t concerned.

Then, as Martin began stepping toward me, I felt myself start to shake.
My body was reacting as if it were twenty below outside. My mouth must have
been hanging open, because Pa glanced at me and leaned my direction.

“Girl, you're just about to drip on that dress you’re making,” he smirked,
putting his fingers under my chin and gently pushed my mouth closed.

I was so embarrassed that I must have looked as if someone had just
slapped me. I closed my mouth a bit tighter and stood to greet the
most perfect
being that I had ever laid eyes on. He took my
hand, just like I was a true lady and bent down, staring me straight in the eye
as he lightly brushed the back of my hand with his lips.

“How is my fair lady this fine evening?” he asked, still not breaking
his gaze.

“I…I'm fine, thank you,” I said, feeling the blood once again rush to my
cheeks.

I wanted to giggle like a stupid little schoolgirl, but the alluring
little half-smile gracing his face made me think about matters of a much more
mature nature.

“Would you like some honey?” my mother asked, handing him a hot cup of
tea.

“No thank you, ma’am,” he said, politely accepting the cup.

“How ‘bout some supper? We got some left over, if you’re hungry,” she
offered.

“I have had my meal this night,” he replied, looking back at me. “But I
thank you for the cup of tea. You are most kind.” Then he politely excused
himself as he walked over to visit with my father, where the two took the
chairs in front of the fireplace.

Just hearing him talk brought questions to my mind: what does he do for
a living, where does he come from, but most importantly, how long he would be
staying. I found it hard to keep my eyes
off of
him. I
sat watching as he and my father talked about things that men do, well aware
that my mother, who was sewing in her rocker, was watching me. I did notice a
time or two that when he would turn to speak to my mother, he would glance my
way with a little smile—that perfect little smile. I would turn my head, as if
I
were
shy, just to try to play lady-like, but as soon
as I felt that it was safe to turn back, I would.

The night was getting on when he stood, said his thanks to my mother for
the tea, which I swear he never took a drink of, and thanked my father for his
company. I watched intently as he headed out the door on his way to the bunkhouse.
As he turned to close the door, I noticed that he was staring right at me, only
this time there was no smile on his face. Martin’s face had
changed,
the expression no longer friendly. It was almost frightening—almost. Just
watching him walk gave me goose bumps of a fearful manner, because I had no
idea that the mere appearance of a person could churn my stomach into knots.
The fear from the look he gave me was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, and
it left me wondering what our next encounter would hold. I said goodnight to my
parents and headed up to bed, in hopes that he would still be there in the
morning.

Chapter 2

I could hardly fall asleep that night. All that I could think about were
his eyes, and how they seemed to be so different from any other person that I
knew. As a farmer's daughter, I didn’t meet many people out of our county,
except during the time of our church revival. Folks came from all over to
attend the Church of Christ’s three day long revivals. For the most part, they
consisted of a bunch of older women with a few older men, but there were always
a few young men around in hopes of finding a wife, and believe
me,
I was always ready to run if I saw one coming my way.
That was one of the main reasons that I always hated to go. That and being
bored out of my mind.

I had already gotten comfortable in my bed and was close to falling
asleep when the strangest thing came into my mind. I could have sworn that I
heard Martin calling my name, but I wasn’t sure because it felt too much like a
dream.
Go to sleep, Renee,
I told
myself.
You are just thinking about him
too hard
. Right about then, I heard it again, but it was different this
time, much more profound in its clarity.

“Come to the barn,” he said. "I wish to speak with you.”

I sat up in my bed to see if anybody else had heard what I had, but no
one moved. Even Edna, who was mere inches from me, didn’t stir. I wanted to go
so badly, but I was afraid I was just daydreaming; perhaps even wishing it was
something I would hear him say.

"Renee.” I heard again, as plain as if he were sitting right next
to me. “Come to me. Please.” That was all it took.

I knew somehow that Martin was really talking to me in my mind, where no
one else could hear, but how I didn’t know. It just didn’t make sense. I put on
my housecoat and slipped past my folk's room. I knew my parents would kill me
if they knew what I was about to do. I could hear it now.
We taught you better than this, young lady!
Regardless, I couldn’t
make myself stop. I just couldn’t. I closed the door as softly as I dared, then
rushed across the yard to the bunkhouse. There must have been a candle burning
inside, because I saw a dim light escaping under the large wooden door. I stood
there for what seemed like a lifetime, too afraid of what was waiting for me on
the other side.

"Come in, Renee," I heard from inside.

This time, I was actually hearing the words with my ears. I came to the
conclusion that I must not have been daydreaming after all. I opened the door
and walked in, trying to pretend that the fine tremble that had just taken over
my body was from the cool night air and not from laying eyes on him.

“How’d you do that?” I whispered. “Call me the way you did?”

He stood from the bench and began walking closer. Instinctively, I started
walking backwards, but all of a sudden he was there holding my arm. I didn’t
even see him move.

“What is your hurry? I just wish to speak with you for a while,” he
said, somewhat eerily.

“Who are you?” I asked, with a hint of panic in my voice.

He proceeded to gently pull me toward the bench that he had been sitting
on, and once there, then pulled my down to sit. I was going with him and why I
couldn’t say, but strangely enough, there I was.

“I find you most interesting,” he said as soon as we sat down. “Please,
do not fear me… just relax."

No sooner than the words left his mouth, I began to relax some, but my
heart was still close to bursting. He brought up his hand and began to touch my
face. When I pulled back, he said softly, "I would like to feel your skin,
to see if you are as soft as I believe you to be."

At this point, I knew I was blushing, wanting him to touch me at the
same time. Despite my fear and everything that I had been taught about being a
lady when in the company of a man, I leaned back into him. His touch was
strong, yet tender as he ran his fingers down the side of my face. All I wanted
at that moment was for him to kiss me. As if reading my mind, he did just that.
The kiss was light, just a small brush of his lips against mine. My breath came
out a little fast, and more audible than I had hoped, which was a little
embarrassing.

"Do you like my touch, my lady?" he asked.

I answered with a smile, and bashfully put my head down. He reached up,
placing his hand under my chin, and raised it so that I was looking into his
eyes.

"
Do not shy from me, Renee. You are far
too beautiful
." What was he doing to me? I had never once in all my
days let a man touch me this way. Yet all I craved was more.

“Where did you come from?” I asked him. “Why did you come here?”

“I have come a long way in search of something to take back to my home,”
he said, moving a single lock of hair away from my cheek. “And I believe I have
found what I was looking for.”

“So, does that mean you’ll be
leavin
’ soon?” I
asked in my usual naive manner.

“It is time for you to go back inside,” he replied after staring at me
for a long moment. “Dawn approaches, and you need your rest.”

As soon as the words left his lips, blackness fell over me, and the next
thing I knew, I was in my bed, the sun shining brightly through the window.
Could I have just dreamed about last night?
I asked myself. It seemed so real. I was lying there trying to make sense of it
when I heard my mother calling me from the kitchen.

“Renee, you best be
gettin
’ up ‘fore your Pa
comes back in,” she hollered. When I didn’t come down, she came to my room.
“Child, what's wrong?
You
feelin
’
under the weather today?”

“No, Ma. I’m just tired,” I said as I attempted to get out of bed.

I tried to stand with all of my might, but just toppled back onto the
old mattress. My mother screamed for my father, and he came running.