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

by Pamela Morsi

  Once he cleared the danger of the yard, he put the white picket fence behind him in a single leap. He could walk more quickly through the awakening town and think more clearly about his new wife and his unexpectedly fabulous wedding night.

  Tom was whistling happily. She'd been nervous, what bride was not? But her strong-minded nature helped her. She was willing to take charge and not be afraid of her sensual appetites.

  Tom shook his head almost disbelievingly at the strangeness of life and fate. Princess Calhoun was not favored in many ways to catch the attention of gentlemen. Except the one guaranteed to make her husband inordinately content.

  She was, of course, completely unaware of her talent. And clearly there was no way for him to tell her. No polite language existed for such attributes. And a husband couldn't even suggest that she was beyond the compare of his former bedmates, since a husband could never admit there had ever been former bedmates.

  Tom thought of all the foolish men who had passed over Cessy Calhoun, never giving the drill sergeant in skirts a second look.

  "Stupid fools," he said aloud. Though he was honest enough to number himself among that wayward number.

  He, like all the others, was more nearsighted than Cessy would ever be. Cessy Calhoun was not only totally lovely in heart and mind, she was more sexually satisfying to him than any innocent bride should be expected to be.

  He grinned broadly. And she was no longer Cessy Calhoun. Now her name was Walker, or rather it was Crane, he corrected his thoughts hurriedly. His Cessy had married Gerald Crane. His brow furrowing, Tom found that reality did not sit as well with him as he thought that it would.

  Still, she was his wife and after today he would forever more be Gerald Crane. Tom Walker was going to cease to exist altogether and completely.

  By the time he made it to Pusher's Camp, his good humor had returned and he was whistling once again. But his song abruptly faded when he saw Ma Pease standing outside her living quarters and got a glimpse of her concerned face.

  "Oh, thank God!" she called out when she saw him. "He's home, Winthrop!"

  Tom rushed forward with concern. The old woman hugged him as if he were the prodigal son.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  Ma wasn't given an opportunity to answer.

  "Where in the devil have you been all night?" Cedarleg demanded as he came charging out of the tent. The tool pusher's expression was livid. "Don't ye know you about scared poor Ma to death!"

  "I ... ah . . ." Tom was at a loss for an answer.

  The interior of the Pease tent was lit by the faint golden light of a kerosene lantern. Dawn was well upon them now, and Tom was certain that Cedarleg should be at the well already. But the old man showed no hint of preparing to go.

  "When we awakened and realized you hadn't come home," Ma began, "well . . . you must know what kind of thoughts went through my head."

  Tom honestly had no idea what kind of thoughts went through her head. Except for his boyhood with Reverend McAfee, no one had ever cared where he went or how long he stayed.

  "Why didn't you come home?" Cedarleg asked. "We pictured you lying crippled or killed on one of those hills out there."

  "No, I . . . I . . . well, I got married yesterday."

  "What!" two astonished voices exclaimed in unison.

  "The girl that I've been seeing, well, I told you I was thinking about asking her, and she said yes. So we eloped."

  "Just like that?" Ma sounded somewhat affronted. "Without even your family and kin to stand up with you?"

  "I haven't any family," Tom answered.

  "Well, by God, you got us, don't you?" Cedarleg said. "Did you think we wouldn't want to be there to wish you happy?"

  "And to get a look at your gal," Ma said. "Make sure she's healthy and fit enough for being a wife."

  "She's a fine wife, Ma," Tom assured her. "I'm sure that you would like her."

  "Well, we'll see if we do," she answered. "Where is she now?"

  "Why . . . she's at home," he said. "At her family's home. In Burford Corners."

  "Is she packing up her things?"

  "Ah, no," Tom answered. "We're going to live there."

  The momentary anger the two had obviously felt about his failure to return home faded as Ma and Cedarleg enthusiastically began to accept the news that Tom had gotten married.

  "So when she said yes, you just made a run for the preacher?" Cedarleg asked, chuckling at the image that created.

  "Poor girl," Ma said with sympathy. "Once you'd set your heart on her, she didn't have a chance."

  Tom didn't feel it necessary to respond to that, and only managed to escape by hurrying inside the tent to change into his work clothes.

  Ma had saved him a slab of ham and a half-dozen biscuits. He was very grateful and thanked her effusively.

  "I'm starving this morning," he admitted.

  "Worked up an appetite last night, did ye?" Cedarleg teased.

  Tom chuckled, not deigning to reply. Ma sharply scolded her husband for his teasing.

  "So you're going to set up housekeeping there with her family," Ma said as she poured him the last of the coffee.

  "Why, yes," Tom answered.

  Ma nodded thoughtfully at his words. "I'm not a believer much in young couples living with their kin, but I can see that it might be necessary for a while. Until you get some money saved up and get on your feet."

  "Her family has a nice house and plenty of room," Tom assured her.

  "Well, that is probably better than one of these tents," Ma said. "Especially for a new bride who is still trying to find her way around things."

  "Yes, I'm sure you're right," Tom agreed.

  "After your shift is finished you can bring her over," Ma said. "I'll fix the best supper the two of you ever ate and we'll all get to know each other better."

  Tom blanched at her words. "Oh, no, Ma, I can't," he said quickly.

  "Why ever not?" Cedarleg asked.

  "Because . . . because this is my last shift. I've come to quit my job."

  Cedarleg stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

  "Quit your job? What are you thinking of, son?" he asked. "Now that you've got a wife to support, you're going to need it more than ever."

  "I'll work today," Tom said. " 'Cause I know you can't get a replacement that quick. But then I'm done. I'm . . . I'm going into her family's business."

  "What kind of business is it?" Ma asked.

  Tom was momentarily struck dumb. Always he planned his lies and his excuses with great care. But he'd made no provisions for what to tell Ma and Cedarleg. He'd not thought he'd have to tell them anything. He had gotten to know them and actually begun to care about them. Still, he planned merely to walk out of their lives and never look back. Obviously that was not going to work.

  "Yeah, son? What kind of business is it?"

  He couldn't answer oil. The only family in the oil business in this part of the state was King Calhoun. It had to be something respectable. Something that paid good wages. Something that a man would give up the drilling rig for.

  The laughing face of Ambrose Dexter swirled into his memory unexpected.

  "Banking," Tom answered. "Her family is in banking."

  "Banking?" Cedarleg looked genuinely astonished. "In Burford Corners?"

  "Yes ... ah, yes, her family owns a bank there," he said.

  "Which one?"

  Tom stared at him mutely for a long moment, mentally trying to reconstruct the Main Street of Burford Corners and banks located there. He could not think of a single name.

  "Which one? Ah . . . Citizens Savings," he answered finally, grasping a name from thin air.

  Cedarleg shook his head. "Never heard of it," he admitted.

  Tom was grateful that he didn't dispute its existence.

  "Well, my, my, Tom," Ma teased. "You are really moving up in the world. They are really going to miss you out on the rig. I know Cedarleg would never tell you, but the men like and respec
t you and we've both been so proud of what a hard worker you've turned out to be."

  Tom was surprised and uncomfortable with her adulation. He'd worked hard, he'd enjoyed the work. But he'd never thought to win the praise of these two people.

  "I ... I can put in a shift and then I have to go," he said firmly. "Tomorrow I'll be a banker, not an oil man."

  Cedarleg offered his hand. "I don't know whether to wish you well or offer my sympathy. I ain't got much use for bankers, but I guess I'll make an exception for you."

  Tom smiled wanly.

  "Well, if you can't congratulate him for being a banker," Ma said, "at least congratulate him on his new bride."

  She threw her arms around Tom's neck and hugged him to her. "I am very proud and happy for you," she told him. "If you say that she's wonderful, then I know she must be. I can hardly wait to meet her."

  "Well I ... I don't know when you'll be able to meet her," Tom said. "We're going to be very busy and I don't know if . . ."

  "You certainly won't be too busy to stop by for supper one night," Ma insisted.

  "Well, we may be, Ma," he said. "We may be just so busy that we can't make any promises to come by at all."

  "Why, that's the most foolish thing I ever heard," Ma said. "Of course you can come by and see us."

  "No ... I just don't think . . ."

  Tom was stumbling along badly.

  "I don't think I can bring her over here."

  "What on earth ..." Ma began, and then gasped as understanding dawned upon her.

  Cedarleg simultaneously came to the same conclusion. His words spoke a volume of hurt.

  "So now you've flown so high, married up so well, that you can't associate with oil-patch trash like Ma and me."

  "I never said that," Tom insisted.

  "It's the truth, though, ain't it?" Cedarleg asked.

  "Well, no, it's not exactly," Tom began.

  The expression on Ma's face was as if he had slapped her. It was a perfect way to break it off. A perfect way to never have to see them again. Still, Tom couldn't bear the pain that he was causing these two people who had treated him so kindly.

  "I ... I don't think that you would have anything in common with her," he said.

  It was no explanation.

  "She is not familiar with oil people and . . .and . . ."

  Ma raised her hand as if to hush him.

  "Not another word need be said," she told him. She raised her chin bravely, determined not to take offense at the unkindness so obviously done to her.

  "You two better get to work, the evening tour is going to be hopping mad already at how late you are."

  Cedarleg nodded in agreement.

  "We'd best get out there," he said. "You put in a full day and then draw your pay at the end of it. Ma and I won't be bothering ye or intruding on yer life for one more moment."

  Cessy awakened slowly and with a smile on her face. She rolled to her side and reached out for Gerald, the man of her dreams, the love of her life, her husband whom she had reached out for several times during their long, lingering wedding night.

  He wasn't there. The sheets beside her were cold. That opened her eyes.

  "Gerald?" she called out, even though it was clear that she was alone in the room. It was a vague blur. Without her glasses, she could not distinguish objects at a distance.

  She could see that the window shade was pulled closed and the full sunlight of midday was slanting in through the edges. It was undoubtedly much later than she thought. Gerald, her husband, had probably already gone down to breakfast. In truth she was ravenously hungry herself.

  When she sat up in bed the sheet fell to her waist and she realized that she was naked. In broad daylight, Cessy Calhoun was naked!

  She blushed and giggled, embarrassed and also delighted. She was somebody's wife. But not just any somebody's wife. She was the wife of the most wonderful, romantic man in the universe. And he could do things with his hands and his mouth that she had never imagined possible.

  As she climbed out of bed she felt a little twinge. She was stretched and sore down there. But then, how could she not be? He had warned her after the first time that perhaps she needed to allow herself to grow accustomed to the new duty. Cessy had been unwilling to forego further activity. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the sheer pleasure of sex. And having once discovered it, she found her appetite for it insatiable.

  She also decided that she was in very great need of a bath. It was one of life's surprises that the marriage act, solemn and sacred, was also sticky.

  Cessy found her spectacles, donned her Mother Hubbard housedress, and sneaked down the stairs. She didn't see Gerald and was both disappointed and grateful. He was undoubtedly in one of the parlors, reading or thinking . . . or . . . whatever he did all day.

  She did encounter Howard, who greeted her politely. Cessy found it difficult to meet his gaze. Did he know what married people did? Did he have any idea how her night had been spent? It didn't bear thinking.

  "Are you ready for breakfast, ma'am?" he asked. "Or would you prefer to wait for Mr. Crane."

  "Mr. Crane has not yet eaten?"

  Howard's brow furrowed. "Mr. Crane has not come downstairs," he replied.

  "I believe you are mistaken," she told him. "He is undoubtedly in one of the parlors. Please find him for me, Howard, and tell him that I will have breakfast with him as soon as I complete my bath."

  Howard nodded. "Very well, ma'am," he said.

  Cessy slipped into the small room beside the kitchen and realized immediately, to her dismay, that it was Monday, washday. The housekeeper, Mrs. Marin, and the washerwoman, Daisy Pilgrim, were busily engaged in the scrubbing, rinsing, and wringing of the household laundry.

  "Good morning, Miss Princess," they said in unison.

  "Good morning," Cessy answered. "I was ... I was hoping to take a bath."

  "You won't bother us one bit," the housekeeper told her. "I just filled up that hot water contraption. Don't know if it's had time to get to boiling."

  Cessy tested the side of the galvanized oil-burning water heater. It was hot to the touch. She turned the valve to the direction of the bathtub and opened the spigot. As the water poured out, Cessy gathered up her soap, towel, and fleshbrush.

  The women were not paying her any attention, still it was a little disappointing not to be able to take a private bath. By necessity, the bathtub was located near the plumbing. So that meant either the kitchen or the washroom. Since laundry was done only twice a week, the washroom seemed the better idea. She chided herself that she should be grateful for the indoor plumbing and the luxury of automatic hot water. Not too many years ago she had to haul water from the well and heat it on the stove to stay clean.

  The spigot began to spit and sputter as the last of its twelve gallons emptied into the tub. Cessy turned off the spigot, reset the valve, and then began pumping the hot water tank full once more. The washerwoman came to her assistance.

  "Go on and have your bath before the water gets cold," she said. "I can do this for you."

  "Thank you, Daisy."

  Cessy walked over to the tub and checked the temperature of the water. Had it been hot enough, she could have added cold to it, filling the tub nicely. As it was only fairly warm, she chose to bathe in the three-inch depth that the small tank provided.

  With as much modesty as possible she discarded her outer clothing. She lowered herself into the tub still wearing her chemise. Soaping up her brush first, she relinquished her final sodden garment reluctantly and hurriedly covered her exposed flesh with a sudsy lather.

  "I hear that you married up with some fellow yesterday," Mrs. Pilgrim said.

  Cessy continued scrubbing, unwilling to even glance in the woman's direction until she was certain that the film of soap preserved her modesty.

  "Why, yes, I did," she said. "We were wed yesterday afternoon."

  "Eloped," Mrs. Marin said.

  The housekeeper made the word s
ound positively sinful.

  "Oh, no, not an elopement exactly," she assured them both hastily.

  "Did you have your daddy's permission?" Mrs. Marin asked.

  "Well, no, I . . ."

  "Then that's an elopement," the washerwoman stated.

  "Mrs. Pilgrim, I am of age," Cessy said with as much dignity as she could master.

  The two women shared wild-eyed looks, as if such a small point was lost upon them.

  They continued their washing. Cessy was grateful that at least they were turned away from her.

  "Who is this fellow anyway?" Mrs. Pilgrim asked.

  "Oh, he's a very wonderful man," Cessy told her. "I met him at the Fourth of July picnic, and he's charming and witty and very easy to talk to. He's a veteran of the Rough Riders. He's been so many places and done so many things."

  "What's his name?" she asked. "We can't continue to call you Miss Princess if you are a married woman."

  "Oh, it's Crane, Cessy Crane. I mean that's my name. He calls me Cessy, so I've decided to go by that. It's nice, don't you think?"

  The housekeeper nodded. Mrs. Pilgrim was noncommittal.

  "His name is Gerald," she told them. "Gerald Tarkington Crane."

  "Never heard of him," Mrs. Pilgrim announced.

  "He's not from here," Mrs. Marin told her.

  "A Topknot feller, I'm guessing," Mrs. Pilgrim said.

  "No, he's actually from New Jersey," Cessy explained. "Bedlington, New Jersey."

  "Never heard of it."

  "Well, there is probably a lot of the world that you've never heard of," Cessy pointed out with as much grace as possible.

  Mrs. Pilgrim shrugged. "That's why I wouldn't marry no man that I ain't knowed him and his kin all me life. Marriage is strange enough without trying it with a stranger."

  Cessy resisted the temptation to give sour old Mrs. Pilgrim a piece of her mind. She didn't want to waste the first day of her married life in a bad humor.

  "Gerald, Mr. Crane, and I are far from strangers," she said firmly.

  It was irritating that people would think merely because she had known Gerald only two weeks and that the introductions between families had not been made, that their marriage was impulsive or unconsidered. Certainly Cessy had not meant to elope with him yesterday. But she had meant to be his wife since the moment she'd laid eyes upon him.