Circle of Love(51)

“Frances!”

Johnny spoke again from the shadows at the east side of the building. “Frances!”

She ran into his arms and, heedless of the undisguised interest of other passengers, threw her arms around his neck.

“I brought you flowers,” he said without loosening his hold. “I’m afraid the midday sun was hard on them, but they’re from my heart.”

“I love them,” Frances said. “Oh, Johnny, I love you!”

“And I love you.”

She was reluctant to leave his embrace, but people were watching and smiling.

“The wagon’s over here,” Johnny said. He hoisted her carpetbag into the back and helped Frances climb to the wagon seat.

They were silent as they rode through town, but when they reached the open road toward the schoolhouse, Frances said, “There’s so much bottled up inside me. There’s so much I need to say. To begin with, I’m sorry.”

Johnny looked at her, surprised. “Sorry? For what?”

“For my temper, for not understanding,” Frances said. She placed a hand on his arm. “I can understand much better now how you feel.”

She launched into the story of the train trip, and meeting Seth, and how Eddie knew about the telegraph equipment so that the Connally brothers could be stopped from robbing the bank.

“You’re almost as bitter about what happened to you with the Confederates as Seth is about his treatment at the hands of the union   Army—” Frances said.

Johnny interrupted. “You talked about the bitterness before you left. At first your words made me angry, but I’ve given them a lot of thought and finally came to admit that you were right. But I still have moments of physical weakness … nightmares … sweats.…” His chin stiffened with stubbornness and embarrassment.

“A good wife can also be a good nurse,” Frances said.

Johnny took her hand. “While you were gone I found out one very important thing,” he said. “I can’t live without you, Frances. We’ll work together as partners, just like you said, but until we have children old enough to share the chores, I’ll hire help.”

Frances laughed aloud as the idea hit her. Ma had said, “I thought you would have figured out the answer.” Even Katherine had seen how much she cared for Eddie. Why had they been able to see what she felt for Eddie when she herself hadn’t?

Frances looked up at Johnny and grinned. “How would you like an eleven-year-old son?”

Johnny nearly dropped the reins. “A what?”

“He’s an orphan train rider named Eddie Marsh,” Frances explained. “No one chose him, but he quickly became my favorite. I’d like to adopt him and give him a home as our son. When he’s not in school, he can help with the family chores, as any son would.” She paused. “You’ll love Eddie, too. He’s a tough little kid. He’ll remind you of Mike when he was eleven. He needs you to be his father. I need you to be my husband.”

For a moment Johnny just shook his head in wonder. Then he grinned at Frances, pulled the horses to a stop, and dropped the reins. “I think, judging from all we’ve been talking about, it’s time that I formally proposed marriage. Will you consent to be my wife, Frances Mary Kelly?”

“Yes, I will,” Frances said.

“And you’ll bring, as your dowry, an eleven-year-old son?”

Frances laughed with delight and threw her arms around Johnny. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Johnny took a soft cloth from his pocket, unfolded it, and brought out a narrow gold ring. “This was my grandmother’s,” he said. “My parents and I want you to have it.” His eyes twinkled. “I told my parents what I was going to ask you. My mother said she’d pray you’d say yes.”

“You have wonderful parents,” Frances said, “and they have a wonderful son.” Heedless of what might be considered proper, ladylike behavior, she wrapped her arms around Johnny’s neck and kissed him soundly.





18





GRANDMA CLOSED THE journal and laid it on the wicker table.

“Oh, Grandma,” Jennifer said. “Please don’t tell us you’ve come to the end. There have to be more stories about the Kelly family.”

“In any life there are always more stories,” Grandma said. “In your own lives you yourselves will keep creating stories. And you will tell your stories to future generations.”

Jeff shrugged and shook his head. “Stories about my life. I don’t think so. What kind of stories could those be?”

Grandma pulled Jeff to his feet and hugged him. “That’s entirely up to you,” she said.