by Pamela Morsi
"If we could just come up with some compelling reason for them to admit what happened," she said.
"After keeping a secret this long," Teddy said, shaking his head, "nothing would make my father tell."
"There is always something, Teddy, some way to bring the truth to light. We'll just have to figure out what it is."
"You've got a plan, I can tell," Teddy said.
Claire grinned up at him. "You know me too well," she said. "Actually I don't have a plan yet, but I'm working on it."
"And you can bet I'm going to be heavily involved." Teddy's tone was complaining, but Claire didn't take his lack of enthusiasm as anything for concern.
"You want them to be happy as much as I do," she said.
He could do nothing else but nod in agreement. "But how are we going to do that?"
"I don't know, but I'll think of something."
Claire was still thinking when they came around one darkened corner of the path to be confronted with the large and very excitable form of Principal Shue.
"What on earth is going on here?"
The two stopped stone-still, staring at him in surprise.
"When I heard that two young people had been seen stealing away among the trees, I was shocked. I could never have imagined it would have been you two."
Chapter Twenty
MIKOLAI WAS ANGRY. That was clear. He had spoken very little since their encounter with Principal Shue, but his face was set in a stern, forbidding mask.
That must, Gertrude thought, have the children trembling in their boots.
What Gertrude herself felt was more guilt than rage. Teddy and Claire had been caught coming out of the darkness of the park. But they had had to get in there to get out. Gertrude should have been watching when they headed that direction in the first place. But she hadn't been.
She had left them alone, so concerned with her own silly, hopeless feelings that she'd forgotten that her purpose for being at the dance was to safeguard her niece and the other young ladies and gentlemen present. Now Claire and Teddy had only barely escaped a scandal.
They had escaped. Thanks to Mr. Stefanski, who now sat, so sturdy and dependable, beside her. The front seat of the expensive automobile was heavily padded and luxurious. In Gertrude's current state, she wanted to lean back into the soft cushions and let her mind go blank with relief. That was not, however, possible.
Emotions were definitely fueling the driving as Mikolai turned the Stefanski Packard onto Main Street and continued traveling eastward at a very good clip, the engine firing powerfully on all twelve cylinders. He barely hesitated at the yellow caution lantern meant to remind drivers, if the bumpy tracks did not, that the Interurban passed this way every twenty minutes.
The dance at Monument Park was still continuing, hopefully with none, or at least few, the wiser. Principal Shue would be the one to escort Olive Widmeyer home. The story given out was that Claire had become suddenly ill and that Teddy and his father were hurrying her and her aunt home. It wasn't a perfect alibi, but it seemed likely to work.
Getting Teddy and Claire away from the dance and into the care of their chaperones as quickly as possible was the principal's main concern.
Gertrude could hear the young people in the backseat whispering to each other. There seemed to be an argument of some sort going on. So far their stories had been the same. They were simply admiring the night sky and accidentally wandered off into the darkness of the trees. It didn't seem too plausible a story, but the adults had all pretended to accept it.
Mostly Principal Shue accepted it because Mikolai had encouraged him to do so. He was the most powerful man in Venice, Missouri. No one could doubt that. Until tonight, Gertrude had not, to her knowledge, ever seen him use that power. It was indicative of the seriousness of the situation that he had been forced to do so tonight.
Glancing over at his somber visage behind the steering wheel, Gertrude felt somewhat like the rescued damsel in distress. This evening Mikolai Stefanski had been her brave and chivalrous Southern gentleman who had held her while she cried, dried her lonely tears, and then eagerly defended the sacred honor of her beloved niece. He was much like a character from one of her novels. But that should be of great surprise only to people other than herself.
He didn't look much like the gentlemen in her novels. Those men were made of words, words like honor and glory and greatness. The man beside her was flesh and blood; warm, living flesh and blood. The reality of that made gooseflesh tingle across her skin.
She could smell the alluring masculine scent that was his alone, only the faintest hint of the fragrant hair tonic obscured it. She could feel the warmth of his body so close. His shoulders were wide and strong and seemed able to bear burdens, both tangible and evanescent. His hands were smooth and sure as he guided them homeward. She could trust this man. He could soothe her in times of trouble. She had known that instinctively for years. Now she knew it from experience.
The whispers in the backseat stopped abruptly and a long, anticipatory silence followed. Teddy cleared his throat.
"Father, Miss Gertrude," he said in a deep resonant voice that belied his tender years, "Claire and I have decided to get married."
"What!"
Gertrude gasped the word in shock, but the sound of it was lost as Mikolai slammed his foot down full-force on the brake pedal. The shiny new yellow-and-brown four-door Packard skidded slightly on the brick pavement before coming to a complete stop next to the curb directly in front of the Barkley National Bank.
Gertrude was thrown forward and then rocked back into the plush navy seat cushions, her curls bouncing and her hat knocked askew.
Before she could gather her wits about her, Mikolai Stefanski had his door open and was stepping out onto the brick paved street.
He barked curtly over his shoulder. 'Teodor, may I speak with you privately for a moment."
His request sounded very much like an order and young Teddy scampered to comply.
Gertrude's eyes widened and her complexion paled. A heavy, frightened knot formed in her stomach as she watched the two step out of hearing distance of the ladies. In vivid detail her mind conjured the memory of her father raging at her brother George. Words had been said, angry words, hurtful words, words that would never be forgotten. She had wanted to stop those words from being said, but she had not been brave enough to do it.
Today she was no longer the hesitant, uncertain young woman she had been in those days. And for a moment she thought to follow them, to get between the father and son and this time prevent the schism that last time she had not understood. But the sight of the two talking calmly as they strolled down the clean brick sidewalk allayed her fears.
She sighed deeply with relief. Mikolai Stefanski was not Grover Barkley. And apparently he did not feel the need to bully Teddy as her father had bullied George.
More relaxed, she turned to Claire who was sitting silently, expectantly, in the backseat. She appeared totally unconcerned with the Stefanski family drama playing out upon the Main Street sidewalk. All of her attention was focused upon her aunt. She seemed to be waiting. Waiting to hear what her aunt might say.
Gertrude was in a quandary. She didn't really want to say anything. Should she speak with Claire? Should she ask questions? It wasn't really her place. She had no experience in raising children. And even less in youthful affairs of the heart. Counseling her niece was not at all what she wanted to be doing.
What Gertrude wanted right now was simply to go home to the solitude of her apartment, to drink a nice warm cup of tea and snuggle deeply beneath her bedcovers. She wanted to let her emotions run rampant until they were spilled and her heartache was spent. She wanted to recall once more, with anguish, the unkind words that hurt her. And be soothed again within the warm comforting feel of Mr. Stefanski's arms around her.
But her niece still sat staring at her expectantly. She had been selfish once tonight, she would allow herself no second indulgence. She had been a buff
er between Claire and her parents for years now. It was a job she'd taken on willingly, lovingly. It didn't seem that that would change.
"Claire, darling," she said with quiet calmness. "This is all very sudden."
"Yes," she admitted very quietly. "I suppose that it is."
She was looking at her aunt so expectantly that Gertrude became somewhat uncomfortable. She adored Teddy. She considered him a wonderful young man, but he surely wasn't old enough to be anyone's husband. And he certainly was not yet man enough to be a husband to Claire.
"I suppose this has something to do with our conversation about love the other evening," Gertrude said, attempting to mask her discomfort by a show of sophistication.
"Yes, I guess it does," Claire answered.
Gertrude was thoughtful for a moment. "Mr. Stefanski was saying that Teddy had spoken about that subject to him also."
A sudden unexpected excitement sparkled in the young woman's eyes. "So you have been talking about it," she said delightedly.
Puzzled by her words, Gertrude frowned. "Well, yes, I suppose we have, still we never expected—"
As her words trailed off she looked hopefully at her niece, thinking the young woman would speak up, shed some light upon this abrupt revelation. Claire continued to look at Gertrude as if it were she who should be doing the explaining. She was clearly excited, eager. Gertrude could imagine no cause for such behavior, but as the silence lingered once more, she became certain that her niece would be volunteering no information.
"Well," Gertrude began bravely as she shot a quick glance out the window to assure herself that the Stefanskis were still speaking civilly, "I suppose I can assume that you two are in love."
"What? Oh yes, Teddy and I. We're very much in love," Claire answered in a matter-of-fact fashion that was completely devoid of any passion or deep feeling.
"You, ah . . . you have thought this over carefully, haven't you?"
"Sure, sure," Claire replied. "That's what we were doing tonight. Talking it over. We want to get married. It seems like a pretty good idea, don't you think? It's really terrific."
"Well, I don't know, Claire," Gertrude answered cautiously. "Marriage is a very big step and you are both so very young."
"Age has nothing to do with it," Claire answered quickly. "I'm the same age as Mother was when she got married."
Her words sent a shaft of surprise and fear through her aunt's heart. It was, to Gertrude, as if her words were reverberating against the inside of the fancy, well-apportioned Packard. "I'm the same age as Mother" was a frightening statement to hear.
Gertrude leaned sideways in the seat so that she could look into Claire's eyes, and reached for the young woman's hand.
Her niece seemed calm and collected. It was Gertrude who trembled. She held the young, slim hand in her own for a long, frightful moment before asking the question that hesitated upon her lips.
"Claire, you must tell me the truth right now," she said. Gertrude bit her lip nervously as she chose her words. "Have you and Teddy . . . have you done anything . . . anything for which you should be ashamed?"
"Ashamed?" Claire's expression was puzzled. "What do you mean?"
The young girl had barely got the question out of her mouth when it became obvious by the widening of her eyes and the startled gasp that came out of her mouth that she knew exactly what her aunt meant.
"Of course we haven't!" Claire was clearly shocked by the question. "Aunt Gertrude, we wouldn't ... we couldn't . . . certainly not!"
"Thank heavens," Gertrude sighed.
"How could you even think that?" Claire asked.
"I apologize, truly, dear Claire, I am very sorry to have even suggested such a thing," Gertrude answered. "Please forgive me. My only excuse is that this has just been such a complete surprise to me. Why, Teddy has not even called upon you. What on earth is your father going to say?"
Claire, still reeling from her aunt's appalling suggestion, was flippant. "I don't care at all what he has to say. I want to hear what you have to say, Aunt Gertrude. I've been waiting to hear it for a very long time."
Chapter Twenty-One
STANDING VERY MUCH alone on the Main Street sidewalk, young Teddy watched a little nervously as Mikolai reined in his temper with iron control. He knew that his father would never strike him or scold him beyond what he deserved. But the elder Stefanski looked as if he were far from being pleased with his only son.
"I know that this is America," he said quietly as he began to pace the clean-swept brick walk in front of the bank. "Here, all the talk is of freedom. Still, even here there are rules to obey, traditions to be honored!"
Teddy swallowed tensely and nodded.
"In my heart," his father continued more quietly, "I do not believe that you have compromised this young woman who has been your friend since childhood. Please reassure me, Teodor, that this is correct."
Teddy stared into the face of his father's fury, not with fear but with anguish. He was humiliated beyond belief. He had not, to his knowledge, ever directly lied to his father. Tonight he had compounded deceit upon deceit and he no longer had any clue as to how to stop.
"Of course I haven't compromised her, Father," he said. "You know I would never do anything to hurt Claire."
The words he spoke were perfectly true, although at the moment he was thinking that it might be extremely pleasurable to wring Claire Barkley's neck.
"It'll be terrific," she had whispered to him in the quiet darkness of the backseat of the Packard. "I was trying to think of a plan and here one has just been dropped into our laps."
"This is not a plan, Claire, it's lunacy."
"It's not lunacy, it's brilliant!" she'd insisted. "We tell them that we want to get married. People get married all the time; there is no reason in the world why they shouldn't believe it."
"We can't tell them that, Claire," Teddy protested. "What will they think about tonight? What on earth will they say?"
"They'll think that it's high time to confess the truth. They can't allow a half brother and sister to marry. They will simply have to tell us everything."
"It won't work, Claire. It will just get us in more trouble."
"It will work. And I'm not at all afraid of trouble. Especially when I know that it is for a good cause."
Teddy had argued as long as he dared. But, as with every crazy idea that Claire Barkley had ever come up with, ultimately he had gone along. Now he had to face his father.
"Why is it, Teodor, that you would escort one young lady to a dance and then claim to want to marry another?" Mikolai asked, bringing Teddy's thoughts abruptly back to the present.
"Oh . . . ah . . ." Teddy vainly searched his brain for a reasonable answer. It would make no sense to do what he had just done. He knew that. But Claire was always leading into things that didn't make much sense.
"I didn't realize it at the time?" Teddy answered.
"Didn't realize what?" Mikolai asked.
"That . . . that I wanted to marry Claire," he said. "Yes, that's it." He nodded enthusiastically, approving of his own reasoning. "I didn't realize it until tonight."
His father was looking at him thoughtfully. The light from the big round bulb that hung from the light pole in front of the bank was not brilliant enough to reveal details, but still Mikolai searched his son's face.
"You want to marry this young woman, but you just thought of it tonight?"
Teddy's smile faded. Maybe his reasoning was not as good as he had thought.
"No, I had wanted to before," he assured his father. He continued lamely. "But then I thought that maybe I might rather have a wife like Olive, so I asked Olive to the dance, but now I know that she is not the one for me."
Mikolai raised one heavy brow skeptically as he eyed his son. "What brought you to this conclusion?"
Teddy swallowed. "Well," he began. "I ... I just wasn't comfortable with Olive. I want to be comfortable with the woman that I marry."
Mikolai continued t
o look at his son as if he couldn't quite understand him, but he finally nodded in tacit agreement. "Yes, I suppose that is a reasonable expectation."
"And Claire and I have been friends for years," Teddy pointed out hurriedly.
His father nodded. "Friendship could be a fine basis for a marriage, I imagine. Although I think that there should perhaps be more."
"Oh, there is more," Teddy assured him quickly.
But when his father gave him a questioning look, clearly waiting for Teddy to elaborate, he could think of nothing further to say. So he kept his silence.
"You simply want to get married?" his father finally continued.
"Ah . . . yes, that's what we want."
"The idea just came to you tonight?"
"Well, not totally," Teddy hedged. "But I was able to sort of make my mind up, so to speak, about it tonight."
Mikolai stopped his pacing and faced his son. His expression was stern. "I believe you to be a very bright young man, Teodor," he said. "I don't say that because you are my son, but because I believe it to be true."
"Thank you, Father." Teddy was almost cringing from the sting of his own guilt.
"When I was your age I was a married man on my way to America," he continued. "So I know that a man can make his own decisions without the wisdom of advanced years."
Teddy nodded.
"But this does not seem to be a plan that you have thought out too carefully," his father said. "You plan to marry in the middle of your last year at the high school?"
Teddy's eyes widened.
"I didn't mean to marry now," he said.
"You don't mean to marry now?"
"Ah ... no, not now, I guess. Later, yes, we mean to marry later." Teddy stumbled nervously over the words.
"You plan to marry and not go to college?" his father said.
"After college," Teddy answered. "We'll marry after college."
"After college?" Mikolai asked.
"Yeah, sure," Teddy said agreeably. "After college is fine with us. That'd be terrific."
