I Do, I Do, I Do

"I know Jean Jacques would send word if he could. Something must be terribly wrong." "What's wrong is Mr. Villette seduced you, stole your money, and then he abandoned you." Aunt Kibble lowered her embroidery hoop to her lap and reached for the palmetto fan to swat at a cloud of gnats. "Everyone in the county knows this except you. You refuse to admit the truth." Juliette folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the porch post, fixing her gaze on the dirt road that curved past Aunt Kibble's house. Nine long months ago, Jean Jacques had ridden away at one o'clock. Therefore, he would return at one o'clock, but only if she was waiting for him on the porch. And he would return only if she set a place for him at every meal. Only if she brushed her hair one hundred stokes. Jean Jacques would come back if she always wore the blue garter that she'd been wearing when they met. Heaven help her. Raising a hand, she rubbed her forehead. When had she started performing these silly rituals? What lunacy made her believe that standing on the porch at one o'clock possessed some kind of magic that would bring Jean Jacques back to her? "He's my husband, not a seducer. He didn't steal anything, I lent him money because he was temporarily embarrassed. And he didn't abandon me. He rode out of here with the intention of finding and buying us a home of our own." Aunt Kibble waved the fan so rapidly that the tendrils of brown and gray hair fluttered up from her forehead. "This is what comes from marrying in haste. I know you don't want to hear it, Juliette, but there are scheming men who marry women for their money." "So you've been telling me for years." Juliette held her gaze on the road. A wagon had passed, and two riders. But no Jean Jacques. He wasn't coming home today. "This time you lost your head." Setting aside the fan, Aunt Kibble frowned and ran her thumb along a line of embroidered rosebuds twining across the pillowcase hem. "Villette is a confidence man, and confidence men are smooth talkers. He talked you into such a fever that you wouldn't listen to reason." Each time they had this conversation (which was more and more frequently of late) Juliette felt like screaming and tearing her hair and hammering her fists against something breakable. But her mother had always said: If you can't be a beauty, you must strive to be an impeccable lady. Juliette's self-worth depended upon being a lady, so she didn't have tantrums. She didn't speak to strangers, didn't associate with the wrong sort of people. She didn't rush about or act in haste; her movements were restrained and graceful. She wouldn't dream of being loud or assertive or immodest. She was always kind to those less fortunate than herself; she put the wishes and comforts of others before her own needs. She considered herself a perfect lady, one whom other women in Linda Vista could seek to emulate. In the tradition of the gently bred, she had spent a lifetime doing what she ought and squelching any selfish impulse to do what she wanted. When a conflict arose between her personal desires and the proper course, she set her wishes aside and never failed to act in the proper manner. Only once had she closed her eyes to propriety and followed her heart. And she hadn't regretted her marriage. When Jean Jacques placed his hands on her waist and gazed into her eyes, the shoulds and oughts evaporated like fog in the rays of the sun. "Never in a month of Sundays would I have believed you'd fall prey to a man's sweet talk. Or that you'd agree to an impulsive marriage." Juliette waved her hand at the gnats that pestered her now. Usually a cooling ocean breeze flowed down the slopes of the Klamath Mountains and carried away the insects, but today the summer air hung still and shimmOsborne, Maggie is the author of 'I Do, I Do, I Do' with ISBN 9780449005170 and ISBN 0449005178.