The blue taffeta curtains shifting in Adele’s window let in a whisper of moonlight, and Adele squeezed her eyes together to clear the sleepy blur from her vision. She had no idea how long she’d been sleeping, but as she flung her feet over the bedside and to the floor, she imagined it couldn’t have been long; the night was still pitch and deep out the window, the house still as silent as the fields surrounding. Adele slid her feet into her wool-lined night slippers and shuffled to the hall. She pulled her robe close around her, supremely self-conscious as the knowledge of the Yankee’s presence set in anew. She cast a glance toward Buddy’s bedroom and saw the door was closed, no light issuing from the crack at the floor. She imagined Buddy curled into a tight ball, as he did when he was a little boy, blanket wrapped in his fist and jammed under his chin. She imagined Matthew lying back-flat on their cot, arms bare and folded behind his head. She imagined those soft, still eyes closed and dreaming. They were probably sleeping like logs, after the long bus ride yesterday. There would be no chance Matthew would catch her looking her worst. Adele padded to the bathroom to relieve herself, rinsed her face and hands, then made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The light was insufficient, but Adele knew her way by instinct after twenty-four years in that house. She found the cabinet by memory and drew a glass from the shelf. Just as she turned the faucet, laughter filtered in from outside. Adele gasped, fearful of what might be out there. The Cavanaugh property never saw a stranger, never an intruder, especially at night. An occasional whine or howl of a dog, maybe a baying mule or cow, but never a person. Then Adele remembered Buddy and Matthew. Why the men would be up at this hour was a mystery, but she was not one to pass up a chance to speak to the Northerner, even if she was in her night clothes. Adele crossed the parlor and stood at the threshold, keeping to the shadows. She listened intently as Matthew spoke under his breath and Buddy erupted into peals of laughter. She tried her best to interpret what was being said. “He didn’t recognize you?” “Not the least.” “Well, surely he’d remember the face of the cad who asked his daughters hand in marriage?” “You’d think so, wouldn’t ya! Naw. Didn’t remember at all. Just went right on tellin’ me the preferable ones, ya know?” “My Lord. Let Mrs. Moore get wind o’ that an’ we'll all be rottin’ in the can.” Adele had no inkling who Mrs. Moore was or what in the world was “preferable,” but she listened anyway, and when she saw Buddy toss back a bottle of whiskey, she decided it was high time she ask. “Buddy Cavanaugh, what’re you doin’ drinkin’ whiskey out here on Mother’s porch?” Her voice was stern, but her eyes were clear she teased. “Matthew whisked the bottle out of sight and turned red-faced to the shadows. Buddy teetered on the porch steps, catching a rail in the palm of his hand before he could slip over the edge. “Aw, Dellie. Don’t make a fuss ‘bout this. No need to tell Mother, she’ll just get upset for nothin’. No sense in gettin’ her mad at me when we got such little time.” “Don’t worry, Buddy. I won’t tell Mother a thing, but you best mind yourself and don’t go cuttin’ up too loud—Mother hears you, she’s likely to call Helen’s father over here with a shotgun. Then what’ll you do?” “Sneak back in the window, just like I always did.” “Naturally,” Adele laughed, remembering Buddy’s younger days and how little he’d changed in that department. “Thank you, Dellie,” he belched. “Thank you, Adele,” Matthew echoed. “No need to thank me,” Adele said, pleased Matthew thought such a small act of confidence deserved some verbal gratitude. “If anyone spoils your fun, it won’t be me.” She eased open the screen door as quietly as she could and squeezed beside Buddy on the steps. Matthew was close enough she could reach out her hand and capture a thread of his hair in her fingertips. The thought thrilled her. “Either of you got a cigarette?” she asked. Buddy flinched. “Since when did you smoke, Adele?” She took a cigarette from Buddy’s tiny silver cigarette case and winked at him. “Want a swallow?” Matthew asked, bringing out the bottle again. Adele didn’t answer, but instead tipped the bottle into the air and gulped. The tepid brown liquid seared down her throat. Her nostrils stung, and Adele sputtered and choked. Buddy slapped her back. “Well, well, baby sister! You drink like a man, too, don’tcha! Wee-hoo!” Adele dragged on her cigarette and passed it to Matthew. His fingers briefly grazed hers, and she relished the warmth at her fingertips and in her stomach. “So how’d you link up with my brother, Matthew?” she asked. Both men guffawed and slapped their thighs. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a story I should tell, Adele. You might not respect me anymore if I do that.” “Spill it,” she said, taking another swig of whiskey and managing not to cough. “Go on, tell her, Matt,” Buddy urged. “We met in jail,” he said. “Jail?” Adele’s eyebrows shot up, and she turned to Buddy in disbelief. “You were in jail?” “Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” Buddy soothed. “Not as bad--Buddy, jail is jail--and you were in jail? What on Earth for?” Buddy dropped his head to his chest and mumbled, “Gamblin’.” “Not gambling,” Matthew said, poking the air with the cigarette with emphasis. “For cheating.” “Yeah, for cheatin’ at gamblin’.” “You see,” Matthew began. “It’s one thing to gamble. It’s another to gamble with a lawman. And it’s an entirely different thing to gamble with a lawman and try to swindle him out of his cash.” “He didn’t have to haul us off to jail,” Buddy whined. “No, he didn’t have to haul us off to jail, Buddy; he should’ve done worse. But that’s beside the point. I shouldn’t have been tangled up in that mess anyway. I wasn’t cheating.” “But he thought you were.” “Yes, he thought I was, and he dragged me by my trousers all the way to the jailhouse--same cell as your brother.” “And that’s how me met,” Buddy ended. “That’s how we met,” Matthew added. “And I beat the pants off of ‘im.” Buddy and Matthew fell all over themselves, drunk with whiskey and the hilarity of a rotten night. Adele laughed, too, but with only half the conviction. She knew she’d never understand the man her brother had become, nor the man he’d brought with him, the man she was quickly endearing. By the time the three of them settled into the ease of fatigue, the first stains of dawn had already bled their way up over the prickly Baskin horizon. The smell of morning tickled away the fuzz and tart of sleep and liquor, and they all ached for the comfort of their beds. They creaked to their feet, stretching their arms and cracking their backs. “I gotta go,” Buddy said as he yanked open the screen door and rushed through the house to the bathroom. Matthew stepped ahead of Adele and propped the door open for her to slide past. Only a few inches to the left, and her shoulder would’ve brushed firmly against his chest. She would’ve been able to feel the weight of him against her arm, and she could carry with her the memory of that texture as she dropped off to sleep. Adele was never that brazen, though. Never that adventurous. Chances were good she’d probably never even dance with him if Buddy did take them to Shreveport after all. Sure, Adele was mature, conscientious, and Christian. But more, she adored Buddy Cavanaugh, and she would never do a thing to make him doubt her. Not a thing under Heaven. Adele stepped into the house and glanced at the grandfather clock in the parlor corner. 6:13. She heard Matthew secure the door, and he followed her down the hall, stopping with her at her bedroom. He stood at a polite distance, peering down at her with his hands in his pockets. “Can I get you anything?” Adele asked. “Water? Do you have enough blankets?” Matthew smiled and nodded, but he didn’t speak. As exhausted as Adele was, she would’ve stayed awake with Matthew for as long as he liked, if he’d asked. She looked into his eyes for a long time, relishing the exquisite sensation in her ribcage, prolonging the overwhelming urge to go to him and kiss him full on the mouth. In the bathroom, the toilet flushed, and both Adele and Matthew moved to their rooms. “Goodnight, Matthew,” Adele said clearly. “Goodnight, Adele.”