Ernestine stopped, her head bowed. “I have let you take liberties. Liberties no one has ever taken with me.”
“Do you regret those liberties?” Jeeter asked, his voice much calmer than he felt. His happiness, his future, rested on her answer.
“I do.”
The room spun, and Jeeter reached behind him to brace himself. His throat had become so dry he had to swallow several times before he could say, “I am right sorry to hear that, Ernestine.”
“You can’t blame me. A woman has her reputation to think of. If our trysts were to become common knowledge, I would lose my job. The stigma would follow me wherever I went.”
“I am a stigma now?” Jeeter was not sure what that meant, but it did not sound flattering.
“You can’t help it,” Ernestine said. “Your past has caught up with you.”
“Oh,” was all Jeeter could think of to say.
“Please understand. A woman in my position must stay above reproach. The slightest suggestion of impropriety and my life is in shambles. I do not want that. I do not want that at all.”
“I wouldn’t want that for you, either,” Jeeter admitted. Invisible hands had hold of his chest and were squeezing, and the cozy schoolhouse with its comfortable glow had become cold and sterile.
“You can see what I am leading up to, can’t you?” Ernestine asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jeeter said, devastated. He had to get out of there before he made a spectacle of himself.
“Haven’t you something you would like to say?”
Jeeter had never suspected she could be so heartless. To cast him aside, and then want him to speak. She might as well bury a knife in him and be done with it. “Not especially, ma’am, no.”
“Nothing at all?”
“What is there to talk about?” Jeeter asked. “You have made up your mind. I don’t agree but I respect you too much to argue.”
Ernestine’s right hand rose to her throat. “This is not what I expected. This is not what I expected at all.”
“You and me both, ma’am.” Jeeter was fit to burst. “I reckon I’ll be going. Don’t fret none. I won’t grace your doorstep ever again.”
“Oh, Mr. Frost.”
Forcing his legs to work, Jeeter touched his hat brim. “I apologize for any inconvenience I caused you.”
“Inconvenience?” Ernestine repeated, and uttered a strange little laugh. “I would not have traded places with any woman in the world.”
Jeeter was only half listening. He moved past her, saying to himself, “I ain’t never been in love before.” A hand caught his sleeve, bringing him to a stop, and he was acutely conscious of the warmth she gave off as she stepped up close to him.
“What did you just stay?”
“I would rather not repeat it, Ernestine. It hurts too much.”
“No. Please. I am not sure I heard you correctly. What did you say?”
Jeeter could not look her in the eyes. His own were misting and he had to restrain himself from tearing them out of their sockets. “I said I ain’t never been in love before. That’s not good grammar, but since you are tossing me out I reckon grammar don’t mean much to me anymore.”
“Oh God,” Ernestine said.
“If there is one he is laughing himself silly at my expense for thinking a beautiful lady like you could care for me.”
“Oh, Jeeter.”
“That’s all right, ma’am. I made a fool of myself. I accept the blame. Just let me go now so I can suffer in peace.”
“You truly love me?”
Jeeter halfheartedly sought to tug his arm loose, but she would not let go. “It is cruel to rub it in like that. Laugh when I am gone.”
Suddenly Ernestine’s arms were around him and she was pressing a wet cheek to his. “Oh, you magnificent, wonderful fool, you.”
“Was that a compliment or an insult? It sort of sounded like both.” Jeeter was more confused than he could ever recall being. “And why are you crying, Ernestine? I am doing what you want. Let me reach the door and you will be shed of me.”
“But I do not want to be shed of you,” Ernestine said huskily. “I love you.”
Jeeter needed a pinch more than ever. Either that, or a kick to the head. “I don’t savvy any of this. A minute ago you were kicking me out. Now you are in love with me? I know females are supposed to be fickle, but you take it too far.”
“Oh, Jeeter, Jeeter, Jeeter,” Ernestine said, and pressing her face to his neck, she began to cry.
“Dear God. Not tears, too.” When she did not respond, Jeeter stood and let her weep herself dry. He had heard somewhere that was the best thing to do. She was a good while stopping, though.
Then Ernestine drew back, sniffled, and said, “Excuse me.” She went to her desk, opened the top drawer, and took out a handkerchief. Turning her back to him, she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “Sorry,” she said when she eventually turned around.
“Do I go or do I stay?” Jeeter asked.
“You stay if you want to and—”
“I want to more than anything,” Jeeter interrupted.
“You did not let me finish,” Ernestine said, but not unkindly. “You can stay if you want to and if you were telling the truth about being in love with me.”
“Do you want the plain of it, Ernestine?”
“I would like that very much.”
