About the Author Remembering Amanda is David Lee Kirkland's first work of fiction in Nuvein. To find out more about the author, please go to www.davidleekirkland.com

Temptation always knocks twice. That's what my momma said, pretty near every time I headed out at night, voicing her hopes that I'd resist the ways of the world. To my way of thinking, Reuben Jones proved Mom wrong. No need even to knock once for Reuben; anytime he reckoned temptation might be drawing near he'd fling the door open in anticipation. The clincher, though, had to be the November night his uncle Samuel got hitched--the night Reuben dropped a half stick of dynamite in Sheriff Riley's outhouse.

Sam, who at age twenty-two wasn't but four years older than us, married his sweetheart that afternoon, and it was only natural that we'd want to make their wedding night memorable. Kinfolk from both sides gathered for the chivaree, expecting whiskey and cigars for the fellows, and tubs of stick candy for the ladies. If they'd only run out, we'd have had an excuse to ride Samuel on a rail down to the creek for a dunking, but he'd laid in an ample supply of all three. Heck, they might yet have remnants of that candy mountain. I expect we made an appreciable dent, however, in the white lightening, and as the evening went on us fellows worked up a growing enthusiasm. After the last guest left, after the last light winked out, we took up stations with our poles, giant drumsticks you might say, and sounded out a lively march on the clapboards outside their second floor bedroom. It didn't take too much of that before Samuel flung open a window.

"Reuben," he hollered into the night. "I'm fixing to go get my shotgun downstairs and give all you sons a bitches a birdshot chaser."

Why, you'd have thought the man would've been embarrassed to use such language with a lady listening, and his bride couldn't help but hear every word. The other boys took him at his word, mounting and riding off.

Reuben and me weren't much discouraged, however, though we skedaddled when a downstairs light woke. Now, leaving and being gone aren't the same thing; Reuben and I just hunkered down out of sight behind the horse trough, trusting that Samuel wouldn't chase us. It seemed a safe bet when he stepped out onto the porch, clad only in britches, the moonlight revealing bare feet. We wouldn't chance the poles again, not knowing if he'd take the gun upstairs with him. Besides, we were ready to let loose the grand finale.

Dynamite is plumb handy when you're trying to clear stumps, but we'd figured another use. No point just lighting off firecrackers with their little pop--heck, Reuben wouldn't leave a marriage bed for that. Instead, we half-circled his house using binder twine to hang half strings of dynamite off tree branches, and then started back the other way lighting long fuses. The first went off before we got back, a magnificent window-rattler.

We had one stick left over, but it was past leaving time, just in case Reuben tried to cut us off. I dared Reuben to ride with me over to the Buford place. My buddy big Jim Buford had departed early, claiming not to feel well, and it hardly seemed right to have him miss all the fun. Then again, there was his little sister Amanda, who'd grown curves enough the past two years to make a man dizzy, and the chance of her appearing at her window played a part in my thinking. Reuben's grin seemed agreement until he spoke.

"Riley's place is closer."

He'd had more whiskey than me to suggest such a thing, or more nerve, or fewer brains. The sheriff hadn't shown much of a sense of humor about our Halloween pranks, though perhaps that talking-to he gave us still left Reuben feeling aggrieved. Then again, I didn't see any real risk. After all, what harm was there in waking the man? Not much he could do before daylight, and in my alcoholic fog it didn't occur that he'd connect us to the wee hours blast.

"I've got a better idea," Reuben whispered after we made our way there. "Not hanging it from a tree. We'll blow his half-moon house." That started him laughing, and nothing I said dissuaded him. "Just imagine," he chortled, "having to skivvy down outside."

For the easier function, no problem. Distance makes decency and a man has the whole outdoors if the ladies aren't too near. Not so easy for the womenfolk, however, and not easy when sitting is required, especially not with the weather having turned so cold.

"Can you imagine it?" he asked. "Britches down and the winter wind kissing his rosy cheeks?"

"His wife won't find it funny," I said.

"Even better," Reuben insisted, "especially if it rains."

"We oughtn't do this."

"You chicken?"

"Hell, no. Just not moonshine addled."

"Go on home, then. Never took you for a coward."

"That's not it, and you know it."

He proceeded to flap his arms, squawking like a hen that's just laid.

"I'm still not doing it, Reuben. It's all on your nickel."

"Wait here for me? Shame to miss the show."

That much I'd do. The outhouse straddled a ravine in the calf yard, three acres Riley'd fenced off to better keep an eye on cows that were springing heavy. If any were in it, they stayed bedded down, and Reuben got there and back without raising any ruckus.

"No problems?"

"Nah, not except for cow pies," he answered. "Pretty hard to see them in the dark, even with the moon." He paused, looking thoughtful.

Ka-boom!

Slivers of weathered oak whistled past. Reuben laughed. Lights appeared in Riley's place, suggesting to me that it was time for us to get on our horses and leave.

"Hold on," Reuben insisted. "No way he can tell where we are. Let's sit a spell. Might be right entertaining."

That thought vanished, though, when Riley slipped the chains off his hounds. Their frenzied barking changed tone, and in the still air we heard Riley encouraging them, yelling "hooie, hooie" and "sic em". Time to go for sure, it was, and we lathered our horses hightailing it out of there.

The sheriff came calling before noon the next day to haul me off to the hoosegow. It hadn't taken him long to figure that the boys setting off dynamite at the chivaree were likely culprits, or to find out that Reuben and I had been the last to leave. Except for swearing I'd not blown any dynamite at his place, I played dumb. Which got the pleasure of one night's free lodging, the opportunity to build him a new outhouse, and--boot for the inconvenience--the chance to split a cord of wood for the widow McCready.

Reuben skipped town. Word got to him before the law did, and he caught the next freight train, dodging railroad bulls all the way out west. That set off his habit of traveling each winter, and I think being gone allowed him to brag like he never could have before, about the high times he had, about chasing the girls from San Antonio to Los Angeles. Some of it might even have been true, though with Reuben there was no way to tell. A few fellows grew envious, though I figure a storyteller can always paint the grass greener than it is, and the obvious truth was that he came back every spring regular as dandelions each of the next three years.

Red-haired and freckled and sporting a ready smile, he always had charmed the ladies, and he played on natural allure of a traveler come home. So, what with the way the girls crowded round, it's hardly any wonder that jealousy bit some of the men.

That wasn't the case with Jim Buford, though. His sister Amanda, proper enough sober, earned a reputation for being wild if she was drinking, and Jim earned equal fame for busting the heads of the boys who tried to take advantage. Hardly seemed right to me for her to be alone, a gal like that, so ready and on those drinking occasions so willing. Oh, sure, we all figured shame and guilt might saddle her up the next day, and while that might have thinned the crowd still there'd have been takers aplenty except for the certainty that Jim would pay a visit.

Maybe Reuben hadn't heard. Or maybe he had, and didn't care. The whiskey he'd brought to our Friday night barn dance couldn't have been an accident, not with the way he encouraged Amanda. Jim talked to her, for all the good that'd do once the demon alcohol visited her, and then Jim took Reuben outside for a little talking to. Amanda's angry glare faded when she happened to spy me off to the side.

Lordy, but she moved fine, sashaying in like a bird dog getting set to point. Except she didn't stop, but grabbed hold of my shirt and pulled me her way.

"I bet you want to dance with me," she said.

Sure, I surrendered. The fiddler struck up a waltz, and I held her proper.

"I'm not your grandmother."

No truer words were ever spoken. Grandmom's idea of moving fast involved a rocker, and her hair smelled of soap instead of perfume. I cut the distance to Amanda by half, only to hear her laugh.

"Jim never beat anyone for dancing with me." She squeezed out the remaining air, fitting her body to mine. "You don't mind, do you?"

Hell, I minded a lot. The other gals would pretend to be scandalized, at least for the evening, and Amanda's warmth was stirring me up with no hopes of settling me down. Wasn't nothing left to do but enjoy it, I figured, and tucked her head into the curve above my shoulders. We danced that song, and the next. My hand slipped a little from her waist, so when she turned those lips of hers to me I wondered if she'd order a retreat. But she didn't.

"Jim says you fancy me. You ought to come calling, you know."

Maybe I should, I thought, though friendship with Jim complicated matters. "You sure that's a good idea? I'm older than you."

"Only three years, and I am seventeen now." Amanda shifted her shoulders to press her breasts against me, adding, "Don't I seem full grown to you?"

Yes, in that department, she surely was. Jim's return saved me from answering. We quit the dance, and waited for him to talk.

"Bobby Lee," he said, "I'm trusting you to take my sister home. Don't let me down, okay?"

"You never leave without me," Amanda said. "What happened?"

Jim grinned, flashed a roll of nickels from his pocket. "Reuben took more convincing than I expected. He got in a few licks, but I taught him the power of money. I better have Doc Pritchard check him out, just in case."

Amanda turned to me when he left. "What happened?"

I knew the answer. Brass knuckles aren't legal, but the law can't hardly arrest a man for carrying a roll of nickels, and holding that much metal inside a closed fist gives a similar result.

However, what I answered was, "I get to take you home."

"That wasn't what I meant."

"I know. But you don't mind me squiring you tonight, do you?"

She beamed. "Not at all. Maybe we'll even leave a little early, if you want."

Oh, I wanted, all right. And we did. She wanted a kiss in the moonlight, and I obliged her with kisses to her neck, her ears, her cheeks, her eyes, her lips. She pulled my hand to her still covered breast, and sent her own hand in search of my eagerness. Stopping was the hardest trip I ever
took, and one that made her furious.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"You're afraid of my brother."

"I'm his friend. He trusts me."

"I'm sick of being treated like a little girl."

"Amanda, you have no idea how hard this is. Let me take you home, and then call on you proper."

"Don't bother." That was the last word she spoke to me, and I had to hurry just to keep up with her the rest of the way.

Two days later I saw Jim before church services, and he put on a big grin. I moseyed over to see what amused him so.

"Amanda's not talking to me," he said. "So should I figure she's not speaking to you either?"

I nodded.

"Owe you one then," he continued.

"You can't protect her forever."

It was his turn to nod. "I know, and I wish our folks were still alive. Maybe they'd have more luck in talking to her. But every day that passes gives Amanda one more chance to discover common sense."

"How's Reuben?"

"Not so handsome today, but he'll heal fine. Got more temper than I remembered, and he's telling everyone who'll listen it's not over between us."

"You worried?"

He seemed surprised, or maybe thoughtful--and his answer wasn't what I expected.

"Maybe a little caution is called for. Think you could get Sheriff Riley to come out to my place this afternoon, maybe around three or so? We could have a little talk, see if he agrees that dealing with Reuben early on makes sense."

# # #

I suppose Jim saw us coming, since he waited out front when the sheriff and I rode up. We hadn't quite finished our hellos before an explosion spooked the horses. Sheriff Riley got pitched, landing hard on his shoulder. I managed to stay in the saddle, though the sorrel almost threw me. Jim got to the sheriff's side at once to help him up.

"You okay?"

"Been better. What the hell was that?"

"I'm wondering the same thing. Let's go see."

It was--or had been--the outhouse. The sheriff looked disgusted.

"Do you know," he asked, "why a snake sheds its skin?"

"Sure," I answered, "so it can grow."

"Nope. Back in the Garden the snake had legs, and it remembers. Sheds its skin hoping to have legs again, but it never will. That Reuben, he comes back every year, but he'll never change either." He turned to look at Jim. "I heard the talk, how he swears he'll get even. Lucky he didn't blow the house while you were in it."

It didn't seem like the time for me or Jim to answer. Before long, Riley spoke to me. "You've been fine since that little escapade at my place. But Reuben never did learn his lesson, and I'll take care of that this time. You boys just leave everything to me."

I stayed when the sheriff left, looking at the spot the outhouse had been. "I guess Amanda'll have to use a chamber pot?"

"Only until I rebuild," Jim answered. "Needed to dig a new pit anyway, so it won't be much more trouble this way."

"How come you're not angry?"

He started laughing. When he finally drew breath enough to talk, he explained. "I was expecting you, remember? Not hard from the roof to spot two riders a long ways off, giving me plenty of time to light a long fuse."

I shook my head. He'd set the blast off himself? No wonder then that he never once mentioned Reuben to the sheriff.

"No need," he cautioned, "for you to tell anyone, is there? Our little secret?"

"No need," I answered. "Especially not since I'd like to start courting Amanda."

He looked at me queer, then smiled. "Sure, why not. Assuming you can get her to talk to you ever again."

# # #

Reuben got lucky again, hearing that the sheriff was after him, and disappeared after telling folks he'd not return from California this time.

Momma was wrong about temptation knocking twice, not just for Reuben, but for me too. One night I'd held Amanda in my arms, and never again. She left a note for Jim to find, and every month or two she still sends him a letter--from San Diego.