If Wishes Were Kisses: Six Beloved Americana Romances, a Collection (Small Town Swains)

by Pamela Morsi

  "I know," Claire answered with a long-suffering sigh. "But I wanted you here."

  "I can't imagine why."

  Claire was momentarily speechless, then with a strange flash of expression she answered quickly, "Father is such an old fuddy-duddy. He gets mad at every boy who wants to dance with me."

  "Really?" Gertrude was surprised. She had no idea what a "fuddy-duddy" might be, but she wouldn't be surprised if her brother was one. However, George rarely seemed to even notice Claire or her adolescent angst. Gertrude had always thought him to be much like their father, as unconcerned about Claire's personal life as Grover Barkley had been about her own.

  "Claire, if you'd like for me to talk to him," she suggested.

  "Oh no!" Claire answered hurriedly. "Really, it's nothing. I ... I ... I just wanted to talk to you, actually."

  "About what?"

  "I think you are just terrific for speaking with Mr. Stefanski at the game," she said.

  Gertrude looked embarrassed and slightly shocked. "Whatever do you mean?" She asked, thinking guiltily about the warm, glowing feeling that a tete-tete with Mr. Stefanski always brought her and, even more regrettable, about the fretful moment when she found herself holding his hand.

  "Just that you are always very nice to him," Claire said. "And a lot of people aren't. I mean they are, 'cause he is, I guess, the richest man in town. But they don't speak to him because they like him. I could see that you actually like him."

  Gertrude felt her face glow guiltily. Had Claire turned to see them? Had the clasped hands not escaped her notice? Had she witnessed the touch of his lips upon her aunt's glove?

  "Being polite to a neighbor is no more than my duty,"

  Gertrude answered. Inwardly she winced at her own words. She sounded as pompous as her brother George.

  Claire picked at her nail nervously and glanced about as if looking for someone. 'Teddy says his father is so lonely," she told Gertrude. "I'm just glad that you seem to enjoy talking to him."

  Her brow furrowing, Gertrude eyed her niece questioningly. "Mr. Stefanski, lonely? I don't think so."

  To Gertrude's mind the idea of such a man as Mikolai Stefanski feeling loneliness was absurd. Of course, she realized, Claire was far too young to understand that men, with their social clubs, their saloons and beer gardens, their billiard parlors and their houses of ill fame, hardly had to time to even be alone. It was the long-suffering women in their lives who begged heaven for children to alleviate the emptiness of their days.

  "Mr. Stefanski is a very busy man. I doubt seriously if he has time to be lonely."

  "Everyone has time to be lonely, Aunt Gertrude," Claire said. "Why, with your writing and gardening and helping out in the house, you must be one of the busiest women in town."

  She stared at her niece, puzzled. "But surely, Claire, you don't think I'm lonely."

  The young girl blushed sheepishly. Apparently she did.

  Gertrude was affronted. "Why, I have you and Lester and your parents," she said. "I'm sure that I could never be lonely."

  "No, of course . . ." Claire began, but it was too late to backtrack. She had suggested that her aunt was a lonely woman. And quite suddenly Gertrude felt exactly that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Good evening Miss Dudley, Principal Shue." Mikolai Stefanski greeted the two politely as he made his way to the gaily decorated dance pavilion. He was still dressed in the gray suit he'd worn to the game, but he'd straightened his tie and

  combed his hair in deference to the higher degree of formality the occasion demanded.

  He had never chaperoned a dance in his life and he wouldn't be doing it now if he could have thought of any way out of it.

  "All the other parents have already done their part," Teddy had assured him. "It's really your turn. Father. Just think of it as another civic duty."

  Mikolai had civic duties aplenty and would have gratefully been willing to forgo this one. He was a single man from a foreign culture. He was to chaperone here, to watch these young people for social misstep. He was not entirely sure if he would recognize a misstep if he saw one. And he was certain he wouldn't know how to correct it even if he did.

  Wandering over to the far side of the pavilion, he found an out-of-the-way place where he hoped that he could go unnoticed. He stared at the cavorting dancers out on the floor. He knew little of ragtime but its name and its sound. He was not much of a dancer himself. And he was certain as he watched the young people that while he might manage a polka or a waltz, he would never be able to sweep the floor with this exciting new American dance.

  His Lida had been such a dancer. She would have loved this music, this evening. In his mind's eye he could see her, young and full of life once more, dancing in a shorn field in the cool, crisp Polish autumn. She was strong and lithe and sensual. When she moved, the gentle sway of her body enticed the watcher. An occasional spin or gust of breeze would gently stir the hem of her skirt giving a tantalizing glimpse of her long, shapely, yes, wonderful legs. He himself had first felt the stirrings of lust for her as she moved so gracefully upon another man's arm.

  Ah, lust. He almost smiled. Lust and youth, two things little valued when you have them, much treasured when long gone. His infrequent couplings were no longer inspired by lust. When the stirrings of the flesh plagued him, he sought release where he could. If a suitable female could not be found, he merely waited for the desire to pass. The mind-numbing, heart- pounding, blood-rushing craving of lust was a thing of memory to Mikolai Stefanski. Lida had inspired his lust. Other women had honed it and celebrated it. Time and age had dulled the edge and replaced its grinding ecstasy with pleasant satisfaction. He might not miss youth, but he did miss lust. Inexplicably the image of Gertrude Barkley, dressed smartly in pink and staring up into his eyes, assailed him.

  Mikolai cleared his throat unnecessarily and adjusted his tie. He was here to do his civic duty, he reminded himself. To rekindle old feelings for women long gone or relive private memories too intimate to come to light was a foolish pastime.

  At that moment Teddy and young Miss Widmeyer passed immediately in front of him. Teddy didn't even notice his father, his attention held completely by the dance and his partner.

  Mikolai eyed the two young people warily. Their bodies were very close together. Her arms were around his neck and his hands rested firm but unmoving upon her hipbones. Olive shimmied very discreetly in step, still her bosom bounced lively against Teddy's chest and the sashay of her skirt revealed more than just a little of her stocking-covered calf.

  His brow furrowing, Mikolai watched his son with the attractive young woman in his arms. He was a father. And he worried. Remembering his own youthful lust for Lida, Mikolai could well imagine what his son, still glowing from the thrill of his proud football victory, must be experiencing so close to the soft, yielding flesh of an innocent young girl.

  It was Teodor's time for lust and love. Mikolai would not try to deny him that. Still, a father worried. A father couldn't help that. Mikolai wanted so much for his son. He had created a business for him. He wanted to hand it to him like a gift. But

  it was a gift that Teodor did not appear to yearn for. He yearned, it seemed, for other things. Excitement. College. Travel. If that was what Teodor wanted, he would try to see that his dreams came true.

  Sometimes Mikolai wondered why the offspring should seek such different things than the sire. He shook his head. That was just the way of things. And a good father didn't try to hinder his son's nature. Mikolai wanted for Teddy everything that he himself had not had. Plus more—things he did not even know. He wanted that for him, also.

  As the young couple twirled upon the dance floor, Mikolai saw his son's body pressed so closely to the warm, young flesh of Miss Olive Widmeyer. Love. Lust. Mikolai wanted those things for his son also.

  The dance ended and the young people clapped politely. Mikolai joined in the applause. He made a point to nod respectfully to the bandleader, Abe Hulbert. A
be worked as a brick mason at the Stefanski yards. Acknowledging his talent was the same as voicing personal approval. Hulbert accepted the unspoken praise offered by his boss with proud good grace and began bouncing off another jaunty tune.

  Mikolai turned his attention once more to the dance floor. To his surprise he saw young Miss Widmeyer being led into the next two-step by quarterback Parks. His own son, Teddy, was partnerless and headed toward him.

  "What on earth could cause a healthy young man to leave the beautiful Miss Widmeyer in the arms of Mr. Parks?" he asked his son as Teddy stepped up beside him.

  His son shrugged and smiled. "Thought I'd better check on my balding gray-haired father, make sure that you are on the job and know what you are doing," he said.

  Mikolai gave a huff that would have sounded disgruntled to the ears of anyone other than his son. "My hair may be getting gray, Teodor Stefanski, but it is not falling out And I am on the job as you've requested. As for knowing what I am to do," he said, "I thought that fathers were not meant to understand the youth of these days."

  Teddy nodded with a teasing grin. "That's exactly right. What you don't know won't hurt us."

  Another couple passed directly in front of them. The young man was hunched down and holding his partner way too close for acceptable propriety. The woman in his arms, seemingly unaware of the risqué positioning, continued to wiggle and trot in perfect time with the loud music blaring across the dance floor.

  "They are dancing very close," Mikolai pointed out.

  "That's the way it's done," Teddy answered. "It's all the rage, snuggle up and spoon."

  "I do suppose it is pretty safe to get close to a girl when everyone is watching," Mikolai said.

  "It's the music that makes it all right," Teddy said. “Trying moves like that without the ragtime ringing is a good way for a fellow to get his face slapped."

  "I would imagine so," his father replied.

  "Guess that's why we thank God for the music."

  The two men, father and son, laughed together in a private understanding.

  "How on earth do they learn to dance like that?" Mikolai asked him.

  "It's syncopated motion, Father," Teddy answered. "You just let yourself go with the music."

  "In my day if we had 'let ourselves go with the music' in such a way, the fathers of these young women would have been after us with a sharpened scythe."

  Teddy chuckled. "Then it's really not so different than in our day," he said. "All the fellows joke about outraged papas with shotguns."

  Mikolai nodded, but his tone was serious. "Then it is best to keep your wits about you, Teodor. An unexpected bride could mean big changes in your future."

  Blushing, Teddy shook his head. "It's only dancing, Father," he said. "Olive and I—I mean, gee, she's so pretty she scares me to death."

  Mikolai heard the honesty in his son's voice and deftly maneuvered a change of subject. 'Tell me more about this syncopated motion. I know that it is dancing, but of such a variety I have never seen. Truthfully, even as a young fellow I had trouble mastering the simple steps of country dances," he admitted. "I don't believe I could ever have managed to learn such a complicated series of motions."

  Teddy turned to observe his fellow dancers more assessingly. "The motions just come rather natural," he said. "When the rhythm gets onto the floor, the dance just takes over the dancers."

  "It does seem somewhat a dance to come natural to the young," Mikolai said, observing without envy the athletic grace of youth. "But an old fellow like me, no I don't think anything is so natural anymore."

  "With a woman in your arms," Teddy said. "I wouldn't be surprised if you feel young again."

  Mikolai shot Teddy a quick look. His son was gazing at him with round-eyed speculation.

  "A woman?" His gaze shifted back to the dancers once more. He was horrified at what he thought his son had suggested. Camaraderie with one's offspring was all well and good, but a decent man would never seek female companion¬ship among the lady friends of his son.

  "These are merely young girls, Teodor," he said in a whisper meant to convey his shock. "If I were to ask one to dance, I would expect her father to come for me with the shotgun you mentioned."

  "I didn't mean . . . I didn't mean one of those girls, Father. I meant a woman, a woman your own age."

  "A woman my own age?"

  "Sure, there are older women here, too. Why don't you find one of them to take a turn upon the floor with?"

  Mikolai shook his head conclusively. "Dancing, like love, Teodor, is for the young."

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE LATE AFTERNOON sun was riding low on the horizon when Mikolai helped Principal Shue light the Japanese lanterns. The young people had hardly taken a break from the dancing and it was only when the band declared a hiatus that they gathered in large noisy groups around the refreshment tables.

  It was from behind one of those tables that Mikolai spotted Gertrude Barkley. She was still wearing her bright pink dress with the silly little hat. The costume made her look fashionable and lively. The strange faraway look in her eyes made her interesting. It was interesting more than fashionable or lively that attracted Mikolai's attention.

  "You are enjoying yourself, Miss Gertrude?" he asked as the music began once more and the young people rushed away from the platters of ladyfingers and shortbreads.

  She startled at the words spoken beside her.

  "Oh, Mr. Stefanski," she said. "I'm afraid you caught me napping. Well, not napping. I was thinking about my book," she told him.

  "Ah—" He drew the syllable out to great length giving it infinite meaning. "Then please do continue, as I, as well as your other readers, anxiously await the final chapter of the DuPree saga."

  Gertrude's eyes widened. "You read my books, Mr. Stefanski?"

  "I'm afraid no," he answered with a wistful shake of his head. "I have taught myself to read some English, but not enough for a book."

  She was looking at him so closely. She always seemed to look at him that way. It was puzzling.

  "Then why are you anxious for my new book?" she asked with a surprising intentness.

  His expression was serious, but he kept his voice light. "There is very little excitement in this town, Miss Gertrude. It is only the discussion of your books that gets the community to talk about something other than sports."

  She smiled at him then. The big, broad, genuine smile that he would always associate with Miss Gertrude Barkley. "But you are a great fan of sports, Mr. Stefanski."

  "Yes, but a prince who eats pheasant every day soon becomes unmoved by its flavor."

  She laughed out loud at that and it pleased him.

  "So what brings you to the dance tonight?" she asked him in that charming manner she had that made his most inconsequential conversation seem important. "Do you often attend these high school soirees?"

  "Me?" He looked surprised. "Why no, Miss Gertrude, I do not. This is my very first. And I am here because your niece and my son would not take no for an answer."

  Gertrude chuckled. "I found that to be true, also. I really felt that Claire should invite her parents to chaperone instead of her aunt, but she claims her father is a fuddy-duddy and she didn't want him here."

  "What on earth is a fuddy-duddy?"

  "I have no idea." She shook her head, causing her soft shorn curls to flutter about her face attractively.

  "I assume that it is not something terrific", Mikolai said solemnly.

  She giggled. "I think not."

  "Well, whatever it is," he noted wryly, hoping to make her laugh again, "if George Barkley is one, I find myself assured that it is not something I would want to be."

  She did laugh then, wholeheartedly. So much so that heads turned. He saw her sheepishly cover her smile as she cleared her throat.

  "Is that why you haven't joined the Mystic Circle? Because George is praying fervently to be chosen Sublime Kalifa."

  Mikolai said nothing for a moment and wa
tched Gertrude's cheeks color up as realization dawned upon her. He answered lightly. "I have little time for boys' clubs, and the Crusading Knights of the Mystic Circle have little tolerance for immigrants."

  Gertrude's smile had disappeared completely, replaced by an expression of hapless guilt. It was well known that many of the men's lodges and societies had secret rules that were designed to keep out other races and religions. In her banter, Gertrude had forgotten that Mikolai, though very much a part of the town of Venice, Missouri would in some ways forever be an outsider.

  It was something that did not cause Mikolai Stefanski any grave concern. The unspoken rules that shut him out from the upper levels of the small-town society would always be there for him. But Teddy would not be shut out. His Teodor was as American as any of them. And that was really the only thing that mattered.

  Gertrude was obviously horrified at what she had said. He saw her discomfort and quickly sought to alleviate it. In her own way, choosing to be a spinster and a writer, she was as much an outcast as he was himself. He refused to allow her to suffer one moment's anguish over the rigidity of a community that suffered her presence only with great complaint.

  "Would you care to dance, Miss Gertrude?"

  He was surprised to hear his own words. He had never intended to dance that evening. He'd certainly never intended to partner Miss Gertrude. But the band was playing a schottische, a dance from Scotland that was a slower version of the polkas of his youth. They certainly could dance it, although he didn't want to.

  "Oh no, I couldn't, Mr. Stefanski," she said, her cheeks bright pink and glowing. "We are, we are chaperones."

  He had wanted her to refuse. He had hoped that she would. But he was disappointed that she did. Suddenly he wanted to dance with her very much.

  "Oh, please, Miss Gertrude," he said. "Just once around the floor to show these youths how it is really done. We can consider it merely another service to our community."