“My Natalie could do that! She has a lovely voice,” Ellen Ackerman exclaimed.
“Oh, she does,” Sallie added. “And she’s only nine—young enough to be in the play, right, Calliope?”
“Perfectly young enough,” Calliope giggled with delight.
“We should be writing this down,” Evangeline noted. She reached into her sewing basket, retrieved a paper and pencil, and began scribbling.
“Well then,” Calliope said as she began to pace back and forth across Dora Montrose’s parlor, “Evie and I worked out colors, fabrics, flowers, cakes, and refreshments. We cast Shay as the bride, of course. And, Mrs. Ackerman, you’re certain you can coax Warren into being the groom?”
“He’ll be the groom, Calliope. I promise,” Ellen answered with a smile and twinkling eyes.
“Wonderful!” Calliope exclaimed, clasping her hands together with one loud clap. “Then we’ve got Natalie singing, Eva and her violin for music, Willis and Albert as ushers, Lena as a bridesmaid.” She frowned a moment and then said, “We need a maid of honor, perhaps one more bridesmaid, a groomsman, a boy of about twelve to be the clergyman.” She turned to look at Blanche and her mother. “Do you think Nigel would be willing to be the clergyman, Mrs. Gardener?”
Judith Gardener smiled, nodded, and said, “Yes. I think once Ellen has convinced Warren to be the groom, Nigel will want to be front and center to witness it!”
Everyone giggled, amused by the notion of the boys in Meadowlark Lake being put through the pomp and circumstance of a Tom Thumb wedding.
“What about flower girls?” Dora asked. “We simply must have flower girls.”
“Maybe Mr. Longfellow will allow Mamie and Effie to be flower girls,” Evangeline suggested. “They’ve just turned three years old, and wouldn’t they be perfect? Little twins as they are?”
Everyone was quiet for a moment, exchanging worried glances.
Calliope doubted for a moment, as well—doubted that Mr. Longfellow would let Mamie and Effie out of his sight long enough to be prepared to be flower girls. She sighed, thinking how sad it all was. Floyd Longfellow, Dex Longfellow’s father, had lost Dex’s mother when Dex was just a toddler. Years and years later, when Dex was already in adolescence, Mr. Longfellow had found love again with a beautiful young woman from the next county. They’d married, and for a time Mr. Longfellow’s heart was healed. But his young bride died in childbirth, leaving him alone once more, this time with twin daughters to care for.
As an understandable result, Floyd Longfellow kept watch over his twin girls, Mamie and Effie, like no one Calliope had ever seen. Oh, the girls played and attended church and things, but only when Floyd or Dex was present. Naturally, the girls were very young—far too young to be on their own. But the entire citizenship of Meadowlark Lake knew Floyd’s fear for his daughters’ well-being was so obsessive it was perhaps unhealthy for the girls at times.
“I know what everyone’s thinking,” Evangeline said, proceeding carefully. “But I’m sure Calliope and I can convince Mr. Longfellow into allowing the girls to participate. We can assure him that he or Dex can come with them to rehearsals. And of course, we’ll make their dresses. He won’t have to worry about that at all.”
Dora was the first to speak up in support of the idea. “I think we should at least try. It would be so lovely, two little twin girls as flower girls. And perhaps it would help Floyd as well—to see that his friends in Meadowlark care for his children and want to include them in all the town events.”
Judith Gardener said, “I agree. Perhaps if we feed the idea to him slowly, with lots of reassurance…well, I’m certain we can convince him to allow it, especially if he or Dex is with them.”
Winnie giggled. “I’m not so sure Fox will like the idea of Dex being at every rehearsal—if Calliope’s there, as well.”
Calliope blushed, but not with delight. Why on earth did everyone assume that she and Fox Montrose someday being a couple was already a forgone conclusion?
Once again, Calliope was thankful for her older sister’s uncanny ability to redirect the cumulative attention of the sewing group from one thing to another, as Evie said, “And there we have it! Our Tom Thumb wedding is nearly cast. Naturally, it’s a small affair, being that we are a small community, but in truth, I think it will be far preferable to that large cast Tom Thumb wedding we saw in Boston when we were little. Remember, Calliope? Weren’t there something like forty to fifty children in that one?”
“Oh, at least!” Calliope agreed. “And it wasn’t at all very intimate, the way ours will be.” Calliope sighed with pure joy in anticipation of the affair. “Ours will be so quaint and lovely—yellow and lavender everywhere, music, singing, flowers!”
“Indeed,” Josephine Chesterfield agreed. “In fact, I’ve quite forgotten my sewin’ for today.” Calliope smiled as she watched Mrs. Chesterfield discard her sewing into the basket at her feet, lean forward, and with pure resplendence of delight ask, “What else can I do to help?”
“Me too,” Dora Montrose said, abandoning her stitching as well.
Calliope laughed as soon every woman in Dora’s parlor had put away her stitching in favor of discussing the details of the wedding.
She looked to Evangeline, who smiled at her with understanding. Yes! Calliope thought. A Tom Thumb wedding was just what Meadowlark Lake needed to begin looking forward to happiness, instead of lingering on a dark past.
As Blanche asked, “What is the refreshment menu? Other than cake, of course?” Calliope thought of Rowdy Gates—wondered whether he would find entertainment in attending the Tom Thumb wedding. Everyone else had family with whom to attend, but he didn’t. She wondered if he’d be willing to join the Ipswich family at the wedding, just so that he wouldn’t have to arrive alone.
Calliope quickly began to compile a mental list of the citizens of Meadowlark Lake. She wanted to make certain she wasn’t forgetting anyone. She also wanted to reassure herself that Rowdy Gates was the only person in town without family nearby. Everyone needed to feel comfortable in being included in the guest list.
“We’ve got to get the guest list together right away,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. “I’m sure Amoretta will agree to write out the invitations. We’ve written and asked her already, and I want to be sure we don’t forget anyone.”
“Excellent point, Calliope dear,” Dora said, nodding. “Everyone must be included, and hopefully in attendance. We must make certain the invitations are given out in plenty of time for folks to include the weddin’ in their plans.”
“Definitely,” Judith Gardener confirmed.
“Oh, I’m near tremblin’ with excitement!” Josephine Chesterfield exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything like a Tom Thumb weddin’, not in all my life. And to actually have a hand in it…I’m so delighted!”
Calliope exchanged satisfied smiles with Evangeline, for the Tom Thumb wedding was already turning out to be exactly what she’d hoped for—a gift that everyone could look forward to with happy anticipation. She sighed with contentment in knowing that already the ladies of Meadowlark Lake seemed cheerier—and the wedding hadn’t even happened yet!
*
“But Warren Ackerman?” Shay whined. “How could you girls do this to me? My own sisters even!” Shay’s dark curls bounced as she shook her head, feigning irritation.
Calliope giggled when Evangeline looked at her and winked with understanding. Oh, Shay was certainly putting on an act of being horrified that Warren Ackerman was going to be her groom at the Tom Thumb wedding. But both Calliope and Evangeline could tell that their baby sister couldn’t have been happier about the fact. If nothing else, it was obvious in the sudden sparkle that had leapt to Shay’s eyes when they’d informed her that Warren would play the groom—not to mention the manner in which she’d begun twirling around like some merry fairy.
“I’m sorry, Shay Shay,” Calliope began, “but it just worked out that way. And Warren will be such a handsome groom. D
on’t you think?”
Shay quirked half a smile, shrugging. “Well, he’s not as ugly as some bugs I’ve squashed, I suppose,” she answered. “Still, will you and Evie play with me now—you know, to ease my bein’ upset about marrin’ Warren and all?”
Evangeline laughed. “Of course we will, darling. But we’ll play with you because we want to, not to bribe you into letting Warren kiss you as part of the ceremony, all right?”
“Kiss me?” Shay exclaimed. “You mean we have to kiss as part of it all?”
Calliope was amused by the blush of pure delight that rose to Shay’s young cheeks. “Well, of course, angel,” she answered. “It’s all part of the wedding. The bride and groom always, always kiss.”
Shay exhaled a heavy sigh, again feigning unwilling resignation. “Well, I guess if it has to be part of the play, I’ll just have to go along with it.”
“We appreciate your willingness to make such a grand sacrifice, Shay Shay,” Calliope told her.
Evangeline let a giggle slip, and Shay scowled at her.
“But let’s just have some fun together now,” Calliope suggested. “I could use something to distract me from all the sewing I’m behind on, now that we spent the sewing circle time planning the Tom Thumb wedding.”
“Me too,” Evangeline agreed. “What do you want to play first, Shay?”
Shay smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischievous triumph. “Ponies,” she answered flatly.
Again, Calliope exchanged glances of shared emotion with Evangeline. Though they each smiled, Calliope knew that deep inside, Evangeline felt like moaning as much as she did.
Shay loved to play “ponies,” as she called it, and the little girl that was still part of Calliope did too. Yet it was a fairly difficult pretense for grown-up young ladies. Playing ponies with Shay required a lot of running around (sometimes on all fours), neighing, and oft-times imagining one was a beautiful white horse performing in a circus.
Therefore, young as Calliope and Evangeline still were, early on they’d discovered that playing ponies with Shay found them both collapsing into bed afterward, having fallen asleep nearly before their heads hit the pillow.
Still, it was a fun game, and Shay enjoyed it so thoroughly. Furthermore, Calliope knew she could never, ever verbalize even one mild complaint, for she had been the one to teach Shay the thing in the first place (having adored playing ponies herself as a child).
And so half an hour later, Calliope and Evangeline found themselves out in the meadow near the stream, long pieces of satin tucked in their skirt waistbands at their backs to mimic a horse’s tail, prancing around in pretending to be equines.
As was almost always the case, the moment Calliope was parading around in the meadow with her sister fillies, she found she enjoyed the frolic more than she’d expected.
It was a beautiful spring day, bold with warm sunshine. Birds filled the trees and bushes that lined the meadow opposite the stream. They warbled and twittered with excitement as they gathered different materials hither and yon that nature provided for them to use in building new nests. Great puffy white clouds billowed overhead and in the distance—not the sort of clouds to threaten the coming of a storm but rather the kind that were perfect fodder for the imagination.
Why, on the way to the meadow, in fact, it was Evangeline who pointed to one large, globular cloud and exclaimed, “Shay! Doesn’t that cloud look just like a big bullfrog with bulging eyes?”
Shay had giggled and squealed with delight, “It does, Evie! Oh, you’re so good at finding shapes and things in clouds.”
Yes! The air was fresh with springtime, the grass cool beneath their feet, and the sun warm on their pretty faces, as Calliope, Evangeline, and Shay Ipswich pranced about, whinnying with lengths of satin cascading over their dainty posteriors.
Rowdy smiled as he watched the goings-on in the meadow from the small hilltop near the stream. Worn out from work at the mill (and the company of the men he labored with), he’d decided to lunch near the meadow, in hopes that the soft, tranquil babbling of the brook might soothe and rejuvenate him a bit.
But in a million years he never would’ve expected to find the distraction he’d happened upon. As he’d settled himself on the hilltop near a large laurel bush and began to eat the baked potato he’d brought along for his midday meal, he was startled to hear laughter. Yet when he’d looked down to see Judge Ipswich’s three daughters dash into the meadow, whinnying like horses, long strips of fabric tucked into their skirt waistbands at the back, he smiled with amusement—glad he’d decided to leave the mill for a midday break.
It was an enchanting, almost surreal event to witness—two beautiful young women and an adorable little girl frolicking about in the meadow pretending to be horses. Rowdy marveled at how different the two eldest Ipswich sisters looked from a distance. Evangeline’s hair was raven black, and Rowdy knew that if most of the men in town could see her now—hair unpinned and blowing in the breeze, laughing and playing with her sisters—they might not be as intimidated by her as they all were. And they were intimidated by her beauty and graceful carriage. As he looked to Shay Ipswich, Rowdy fancied that it would be easy for a stranger to mistake Evangeline and Shay as full-blood sisters, both having dark hair as they did—easier to think they were blood sisters and Calliope the added-in one.
Rowdy inhaled a deep breath, exhaling a low, slow sigh of admiration as he watched Calliope then. Calliope Ipswich—with her sky-blue eyes that pierced a man’s heart clean through to his soul. Calliope Ipswich—with hair the color of sunshine and a smile even brighter. Calliope Ipswich—with a laughter that was the music of heaven and with the countenance of an angel.
It was no secret that every eligible man in Meadowlark Lake—though mesmerized and intimidated by the dark, graceful beauty of Evangeline—was immeasurably drawn to the bright, spirited beauty of Calliope. And no one was more drawn to Calliope Ipswich and the radiance of her heart and soul than Rowdy Gates himself.
Rowdy had never known such a young woman as Calliope—not in all his life. From the day she and her family had first arrived in Meadowlark Lake, it felt to Rowdy as if Calliope had somehow reached into his chest and with her soft, dainty little hands clasped his heart and withdrawn it to keep as her own.
Naturally, this was something he would hardly ever allow himself to admit—even silently to himself, let alone imply during conversations among the other bachelors in town. Even when his fellow mill workers lingered in verbal admiration of the Ipswich girls—how dark and beautiful Evangeline was, how bright and beautiful Calliope was—Rowdy Gates kept his thoughts mostly to himself. And whenever he was asked an opinion about the Ipswich girls and chose to answer, he never let on which was his favorite.
He’d simply say something like, “Well, I wouldn’t deny either one of them Ipswich girls, if she wanted herself a little sparkin’ time with Rowdy Gates.”
Most times the other men would nod and laugh—chuckle their agreements—and go back to discussing their own fancies about either Evangeline or Calliope—or both.
But the truth was that if Rowdy Gates could have one thing in all the world to call his own, it would be Calliope Ipswich. Still, he wasn’t stupid. He knew Calliope deserved a whole lot better then his banged-up hide and secret past. He wasn’t sure Fox Montrose deserved her either, but Rowdy sure didn’t.
After all, what did he have to offer a young woman like Calliope? Any young woman for that matter? A stiff leg? A past that still caused him to wake up shouting in panic some nights?
He’d be a good provider—there was no questioning that. Even if he hadn’t bought the mill from Sam Mulholland, Rowdy had plenty of money. But physical comfort wasn’t everything. Calliope had such a lively, bright spirit, and Rowdy was afraid a man like him might unintentionally squelch it somehow—simply because of the burden of truth he carried around inside him, the knowledge of who he was and where he’d come from.
Furthermore, even if Rowdy proved to Calliop
e he was a good man, her father was a judge. A judge! No judge would ever agree to allow a man with a history like Rowdy’s to come courting his daughter—especially with serious intention.
Exhaling another heavy sigh of disappointment and regret, Rowdy retrieved the small pad of paper and small piece of charcoal he carried in his back pocket and began to sketch. He learned a long time ago that making sketches of the things he could not have seemed to soothe him a little. He’d never be able to know Calliope Ipswich as anything more than a casual acquaintance, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sketch her and keep her portrait to himself.
Rowdy sketched for a few moments and then looked up when he heard the Ipswich girls squeal with delight. Calliope and Evangeline were playing ring-around-the-rosy with Shay. Squealing with amusement, the girls twirled faster and faster, holding tight to one another’s hands. Suddenly, however, one of them seemed to lose her grip, and all three girls were flung back by the force of their spinning, to land on their fannies, feet and legs flying up in the air for a moment.
Rowdy laughed but quickly quieted himself for fear of being found spying. Fortunately, the Ipswich girls were giggling so loudly as they lay on their backs in the meadow grass that they hadn’t heard him.
He smiled as he continued to watch Calliope and her sisters. They continued to lie on their backs in the grass for quite some time, pointing up to clouds here and there, giggling and talking. As he watched them, he sketched, until he had a fairly good likeness of Calliope to keep with him.
At last Rowdy Gates shoved his sketchbook and charcoal back into his pocket and left. As he walked away, he heard the Ipswich girls’ laughter again and smiled, glad he’d abandoned the mill in favor of the hilltop as a venue to have his midday meal—for heaven itself would have to agree that watching Calliope Ipswich prance around like a pony in the meadow was far favorable to sitting in the mill, listening while the other men discussed women, work, and worry.
The Secret Bliss of Calliope Ipswich Page 5
