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

by Pamela Morsi

  "That is what happened, isn't it?" she asked uncertainly.

  "No, that's not what happened at all," he said.

  Claire glanced over at her mother, who had raised her head from the confines of her handkerchief. Her eyes were red with tears, but she was not crying, she was looking at her husband.

  "George, we are not lying to the child anymore," Pru stated emphatically.

  "I don't intend to lie to her. I'm going to tell her the truth. The whole truth, once and for all," he said, rising to his feet. He walked over to the parlor window and stared out into the mid-morning sunshine. His voice was quiet, constrained, as he spoke. "Claire, I loved your mother the first minute I saw her," he said.

  The silence in the room was heavy, yielding.

  "I knew I wanted her with me forever. I knew that very first day." He made a low sound that could only be interpreted as a sad, sweet sigh. He stared out at the street beyond the Barkley house's front window and continued what he had started.

  "I went out to her daddy's farm on a hayride with a bunch of other boys. We were up to no good. Laughing, telling jokes, spending our daddies' money like there was no tomorrow."

  He hesitated a long moment as if lost in the remembrance.

  Then he turned back to face Claire. He did not even glance in the direction of his wife.

  "She was working in the field," he said. "We were just driving by and we saw her working in the field. She was chopping cotton, Claire," he said. "There is no work in the world harder than chopping cotton." He sighed heavily and shook his head. "It was hot that afternoon, real hot. I guess your mother was feeling the heat in that cotton field. She took off her bonnet and rubbed her hand across her brow." He shook his head and smiled. "That's all she did, Claire. She just took off her bonnet. And that hair of hers spilled out and down her back. It was just glimmering there in the afternoon sun and I thought to myself, my God in heaven, that is the most beautiful hair I've ever seen in my life."

  Claire shot a quick glance toward her mother, who was staring at her husband with an expression as bewildered as her own.

  "I had to meet her," George continued. "I had to call on her. I found out who she was and where she lived and I went to see her."

  George tucked his hands behind his back and began to pace the floor as he talked.

  "Her father didn't think much of me. I was a lazy good-for-nothing as far as he could see. Eighteen years old and hadn't worked a day in my life. But he knew that my family had money. And he knew that Pru fancied me, so he let us be together. He let us be together whenever we wanted."

  He laughed then. Her father, George Barkley, actually laughed. It wasn't a loud, boisterous laugh, but more a thoughtful chuckle.

  "We strolled the lanes together. We gathered wildflowers. I helped her pick berries and held her thread for her as she crocheted. But mostly, Claire, I just talked to her. She liked to talk to me in those days; she thought I knew everything in the world and that I loved her."

  He stopped his pacing long enough to offer a great sigh. "Only one of those things was true," he said.

  "I promised to marry her. I promised it a lot," he said. "I talked about what it would be like in this house and how much I wanted her here with me."

  He turned to look at Pru then, just for an instant.

  "None of that was a lie," he said. "I did love her. I did want to marry her. I did want to bring her to this house. But there was a problem. The problem, Claire, was that your father was a coward."

  George stopped and gritted his teeth together as if speaking the word had wounded him.

  "I am a coward, Claire," he said. "Though not your usual kind. I've faced my share of danger and disaster and frightening situations of all kinds. But when it came to facing my father and telling him that I wanted to marry a nobody—a farmer's daughter for the simple reason that I loved her. Well, I was simply too much a coward to do it."

  George seated himself in the chair and leaned forward with hands upon his knees as he looked at his daughter.

  "My father, Grover Barkley, ran my life from the day I was born until the day he died. I never did, said, wanted, or thought anything that he didn't suggest. That is until that day in that cotton field when I saw your mother's hair. Please try to understand, Claire. I loved your mother and I wanted her to be with me. But I couldn't face my father. I was too afraid to tell him what I wanted, what we wanted. I was too much of a coward."

  Claire saw her father's eyes welling with tears. Then her own vision seemed to be distorted with unwelcome moisture.

  "I was not sad or scared or even surprised when your mother told me that she was carrying you. It was what I had wanted. I knew then that my father would have to let us marry. It was the only decent thing for a man to do. And I knew that for all your grandfather's faults, he was a decent man."

  George shook his head in self-derision. "The really pathetic thing about it is that I didn't even understand my father. Like me, he loved Pru on sight. I think he would have let me marry her anyway."

  Her father fumbled for his handkerchief and covered his loss of emotional control with a feigned cough.

  "Your mother loved me and gave me everything that she had. I have given her nothing but shame and embarrassment."

  "You've given me two beautiful children," Pru spoke up. There was no sadness in her voice.

  Claire glanced at her to see her face glowing with joy.

  "You gave me two beautiful children and a good and happy life," she said. "All I ever felt that I lacked was your love."

  "My love!" George looked at his wife, stunned at her words. "My God, Pru, you've always known that I love you."

  "No," she said. "I never knew. I thought you married me because you had to and that you'd regretted it all your life."

  George reached for her hand. She placed it in his.

  "I have only regretted that I brought you to this house under a cloud. I was sure you had never forgiven me for taking from you the only thing that you had to offer, your honor."

  Pru's eyes were clear. She gazed at him lovingly. "My honor has always been mine and still is. My heart, however, has always belonged to you."

  "Prudence Barkley, I love you," he stated firmly. "I always have and I always will. That is all in this town, in this whole world, that has ever really mattered to me."

  Claire watched as her parents embraced. Tears were streaming down her face as they held each other close.

  Her father pulled back and opened his arms to include her in their embrace. "It's our Claire, Pru," he said. "Our darling, clever Claire. Our little daughter who brought us together."

  "Both times," her mother answered.

  Chapter Forty-One

  MIKOLAI WAS STANDING at the window of his study staring at the Barkley house, a stance he had taken quite often in the last few days. When he saw his son, Teddy, hobble up the steps of the front porch and head toward him, he left his post and hurried to meet the young man at the front door.

  "You're doing too much on that leg," he scolded. "The specialist said that you should take it easy."

  "He also said not to let the muscles get too lazy," Teddy pointed out. "Besides, I can't just sit here in the house all day."

  "No, I suppose not," his father agreed. "What's going on at the neighbors'?"

  Mikolai's uncharacteristic nosiness went with no apology for his curiosity.

  Teddy looked up and shrugged. "Claire's parents seem to be getting along a lot better now. And Mrs. Barkley has apparently finally had enough of Lester the Pester. She's not letting that scabby little scamp get away with anything these days."

  Teddy walked past his father and into the house. Mikolai thought the young man might actually not say anything more.

  "What about Miss Gertrude?" he asked.

  "I didn't see her," Teddy said.

  He wandered on back toward the kitchen, unconcerned. Mikolai followed.

  "What do you mean you didn't see her?"

  "I didn't see h
er," he said.

  "Has she gone somewhere?" Mikolai shook his head. "She couldn't have. I would have noticed."

  Teddy sorted through a bowl of apples sitting upon the counter. He looked up at his father and raised his eyebrow in a manner that was quite similar to the way in which his father often raised his brow at him.

  "You would have noticed? Surely you haven't been watching the Barkley house every day for the last week."

  Mikolai's mouth was set in a stern and unhappy line.

  Teddy selected the apple that he wanted and took a healthy chomp out of it.

  "You know, there is one thing about this whole scandal misunderstanding that I never could quite figure out," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean when Miss Gertrude burst into tears and you two came back from the porch saying that you'd decided to 'make things right and get married.'"

  The son looked at the father assessingly. The father could think of no reasonable reply.

  "There are some things, Teddy Stefanski, that are my business and none of your own," Mikolai told him sternly.

  Teddy nodded. 'That's what I told Claire, but she wanted me to ask you about it anyway."

  "Claire?"

  "Yeah, you know how she is. Now she's got it into her head that you and Miss Gertrude are in love. She's trying to come up with a scheme to get you two together."

  "Oh my."

  " 'Oh my' is right, Tatus," Teddy said. "When Claire decides to do something . . . well sometimes it's just easier to give in and let her have it. She's ultimately going to have it her way anyhow."

  Mikolai looked thoughtful and concerned.

  His son gave him a companionable pat on the back. "Don't worry too much about it today. Claire won't be coming up with any plans for at least a week," he said.

  "A week?"

  "Yeah, they say that Miss Gertrude will still be contagious that long. I'm sure Claire won't want you catching the chicken pox, too."

  "Chicken pox."

  "Yes. That's why I didn't see Miss Gertrude. I'm afraid she's up in her room suffering with the chicken pox."

  Mikolai turned from his son and walked back to his study. At the window he stopped once more to stare at the big, old house next door. It was pure white, glossy white. A giant expanse of white. The exact same color as the day that he had moved into town. He continued to stare at it for long moments. Then the words slipped from his lips.

  "Chicken pox."

  He smiled.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  "I have to see her. I simply have to see her."

  Gertrude heard Mikolai's voice outside her door and almost screamed. She wanted to dive for cover. She had been hiding, literally hiding, up in her room for days. From the top of her head to the souls of her feet, she was covered in itchy, scabby sores. And on top of those itchy, scabby sores was a thick layer of flaky white calamine. She was not a pretty sight.

  "You can't, you really can't." She heard Prudence attempting to guard her doorway.

  "I simply must" was his answer, and an instant later the door burst open.

  Gertrude had nothing to cover up with except the pages of her manuscript. She managed to pull one in front of her face and tightly close her eyes. As if, when she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her.

  "Gertrude?" He at least hesitated in the doorway.

  "Please, Mikolai," she said, "I really look awful."

  She hoped that her words would send him away, but they were immediately dashed as she heard him step into the room and close the door behind him.

  "I simply must speak to her privately," he told Pru by way of explanation.

  The silence of the room with just the two of them was momentarily uncomfortable.

  'Teddy told me you were sick," he said.

  "Not sick, really," she assured her. "Just itchy and miserable and . . . and I look terrible."

  When he didn't say anything further, she felt as if she should continue to make herself clear. "Chicken pox is not dangerous. So you needn't worry about me. I just have . . . well, I have spots all over me."

  "Yes, I know," he said. "That's why I came."

  His statement was so surprising that Gertrude dropped the paper she held in front of her and stared at him in disbelief.

  Getting his first real good look at her, Mikolai's eyes widened.

  "Oh my. Chicken pox certainly doesn't look very good, does it?" he said.

  She jerked another paper in front of her face, humiliated.

  To her surprise, Mikolai stepped forward and pulled it away. He bent down in front of her upon one knee and took her hand in his own. Nervously he cleared his throat.

  "After all that confusion with Claire, well, it left things rather unsettled for us. If I remember correctly, I had asked you to marry me and you said that you would."

  Gertrude blushed, but fortunately it was not visible beneath the calamine. "You thought ... I mean we thought that the children had found out. But now . . . well, now it's really not necessary."

  "Oh, it may be necessary," Mikolai assured her. 'Teddy is already asking questions about what we meant. And he told me today that Claire has it in her head to, how did he put it, to get the two of us together."

  "Oh dear," Gertrude said. "I do hope it doesn't come to that."

  Mikolai shook his head. "It might, Gertrude. Indeed it might. And with all the scrutiny of the children, it will be very hard for us to meet in secret anymore."

  Her expression was one of distress, but she nodded acceptance. "I'm sure you're right. It ... it was a bad idea from the beginning."

  "Do you regret it?"

  "No, I don't regret it exactly. I . . . You know the truth, Mikolai. You know I enjoyed it."

  He nodded. "Because you love me," he said.

  "Yes."

  "And because I love you."

  "Yes."

  "It seems a quite good reason to get married," he said. "Especially since the children may stir up a scandal if we do not."

  "Mikolai, I hate for you to have to marry me," she said.

  "And why do you hate that? I want to marry you. I asked you nearly a week ago of my own free will. And today I'm asking you again. I know that you've said you wanted to be a spinster. You said it was a decision that you made. You loved a man who didn't love you back. But now you love me. So any decision that you made when you were very young, well, as you mentioned to the children, the young can make mistakes."

  "Are you sure that you want to marry me?" she asked.

  "Of that I am very sure. I only want to be certain that you want to marry me."

  "I do," she said. The words were most appropriate.

  They were quiet together for a moment.

  Gertrude raised her eyes to look at her future husband. She forgot how terrible she looked and gazed at the man before her. He seemed to have forgotten how she looked also, as he gazed right back.

  "I do, too," he answered.

  They smiled together. He leaned forward to kiss her.

  "Be careful, there is a very sore one on my upper lip," she said.

  He barely touched her mouth to his own.

  "Well, at least we needn't run to Arkansas," he said. "We can have a fancy wedding with all the trimmings."

  "Do you want a fancy wedding? All of that bother?"

  "In America weddings are no bother. In Poland a wedding can go on for weeks."

  "Weeks!"

  He nodded. "And impoverish whole families in the process."

  She laughed. "Well, I don't suppose there is much chance of impoverishing you and George both."

  "But of course you and the ladies may try," he said.

  She laughed. "You are getting to have a very American sense of humor," she said.

  "It's because my new zona teaches me to laugh," he said.

  "Zona" she said the word lightly. "I'll miss being called that."

  "It is still what I will call you," he said.

  "You're going to call me your zona even af
ter we are married?" she asked.

  He nodded. "Yes, I think that I will."

  "What if we come upon someone who understands Polish? What will he think?"

  "He will think that you are my wife."

  She looked at him for a puzzled moment and then she smiled. "Zona means wife."

  He didn't bother to make any further comment.

  "Do you recall when you were explaining about the diary?" he asked. "You said that you were very attracted to me when I first came to town."

  She was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject and blushed, embarrassed.

  "I was," she admitted. "I was very attracted to you. I thought you were the most handsome, heroic man I had ever seen."

  "Surely not?"

  "Yes, oh, yes. All my characters, the male ones, they all are you in some way or another."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  He shook his head in disbelief and then noticed the pink glowing beneath her face-paint. "You are embarrassed," he said.

  "Yes, I never meant for you to know that. I never meant . . . You know when I told you that I spent my whole life loving a man who didn't love me back? You are that man, Mikolai."

  "You loved me all this time?" His tone was incredulous.

  "Yes," she answered quietly. "I've loved you, Mikolai, for seventeen years."

  He shook his head in disbelief and then laughed out loud.

  "You think that is funny?" she was almost indignant.

  He threw his arms around her and gave her a loving, playful kiss.

  "Well, yes, Miss Gertrude, I do."

  She feigned indignation. "I don't. I pour my heart out to you and you chuckle about it."

  His grin was wide and sappy. "Perhaps you will chuckle also, when I tell you that I was very attracted to you when I first came to town."

  "What?" She shook her head, disbelieving. "Mikolai, you don't have to say that."

  "But it's true. I found you very interesting. You were so different from any woman that I had ever known. I wanted to get to know you better. I even thought very seriously about calling upon you."

  "You thought about calling on me?"