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

by Pamela Morsi

"I was thinking about Pru," he told his father with deliberate good humor. "The ladies in town are all mad at me. And Pru is the maddest of all."

  He was thoughtful for a long moment.

  "But I wasn't thinking about how she feels now," he admitted. "I was thinking about when she used to love me." His voice quieted almost reverently. "That woman had a powerful love for me. No other woman has ever thought that much of me since."

  Gidry shook his head ruefully.

  "What was that you said to me that night I left?" he wondered aloud. "You said that foolish men have been throwing away paradise ever since the garden of Eden."

  He sighed heavily and gazed out the window once more.

  "You were right," Gidry told him. "That night I threw away paradise."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was going to be the most glorious community event ever held in Chavistown. That was a certainty to anyone even remotely involved in the planning of the Harvest Moon Dance. But it was not without its setbacks and problems. Those fell heavily at the feet of Prudence Belmont.

  The dance was originally planned for the courthouse square, but Alice got word to Prudence that Judge Ramey said it was impossible to hold it there without permission and that a permit would take as least six weeks to acquire.

  Considering the impromptu meeting held at the same location by the Commercial Club, Pru was extremely doubtful of the judge's words. So much so that she donned her gray silk suit and went to accost the man in his courthouse chambers.

  If she caught him by surprise, he didn't show it. And he readily admitted that the permit requirement was a sneaky, underhanded trick.

  "But there is nothing I can do," the judge insisted in an opened palm entreaty. "Gidry Chavis insisted upon it, and I can't go against him. He is a very powerful man, Pru. I'm a humble public servant."

  She was skeptical. Humbleness was not a quality that Pru associated with the judge. And as for being a public servant, well, Ramey was a fair and honorable man. He was especially so when it best suited his personal interests.

  "You will not stop us," Pru assured him firmly. "Not being allowed to utilize our own public property will only make us more determined."

  The judge's expression was all feigned sympathy.

  "Perhaps some farmer at the edge of town will allow you to utilize a field near town."

  Having the dance out of the city would definitely lower attendance, if an appropriate place could even be found. With the cotton just in, hay meadows had yet to be mowed. Waist-high prairie grass was not conducive to dancing. And no farmer in his right mind would allow his field to be trampled even for a good cause.

  "You will not stop us!" Pru vowed once more as she angrily took her leave.

  "I am so sorry," the judge claimed. "It’s all Gidry Chavis, you know. I would be on your side."

  Pru had her doubts. There was something just too pat about it.

  Her suspicions were further heightened when she approached Reverend Hathaway. The church grounds were not as large as the courthouse square, but they were in the middle of town.

  "I couldn't go against Gidry Chavis," the reverend told her nervously. "He is completely in opposition to it, and I can't go against him."

  "Sir, you are not dependent upon Mr. Chavis for the security of your position," she told him. "And do not try to tell me that Gidry now has the ear of the bishop."

  "Well no, of course not, but..."

  "Mr. Chavis can in no way endanger you or your livelihood," she said. "If you choose to do his bidding, it must be from personal preference."

  "Oh no indeed, ma'am," he said hurriedly. "I assure you that I am in your support. But Gidry Chavis is... well he is a member of my congregation and..."

  Pru's eyes narrowed as she leveled the minister a long look.

  "Correct me if I am wrong, Reverend Hathaway," she said. "But Gidry Chavis has not darkened the door to this church since the day he set foot back in town."

  The man was clearly flustered.

  "Well no, he has not."

  "The ladies of the Rose and Garden Society rarely miss your sermons."

  "Yes, that’s certainly true," he admitted. "But Mr. Chavis' father is ill, Miss Belmont," he answered. "Perhaps he does not attend church because he cannot leave the old man's bedside."

  "He leaves it every day to work at the gin," she pointed out. "And if what I saw of the old man this week is any indication, prayer is probably the most that he can do for him."

  "Miss Belmont..."

  Pru interrupted him firmly.

  "Reverend Hathaway, would you like to see the women of your congregation turn away from you in droves?" she said. 'Then refuse to allow us to hold our event on these grounds."

  The Reverend sputtered uncertainly.

  "But a dance, surely a dance should not be held here."

  "We are not Baptists, sir," she reminded him. "We can dance the night away with no fear of our salvation."

  "Well, I... ah ..."

  "Perhaps I could speak to Mrs. Hathaway about it."

  For Prudence that was her hole card. Her guaranteed win. Reverend Hathaway might not fear death, hell, or the wrath of God, but he was very much afraid of his wife.

  Unfortunately, Albert Fenton was not afraid of his.

  "Sir, everyone in town is aware that you have in storage decorations left over from the Fourth of July picnic," Pru told him. "We are offering to take them off your hands."

  "It's like I told Mrs. Corsen," he said to Pru calmly. "I just can't sell you any decorations for your little sociable."

  "It is not a little sociable, Mr. Fenton," Pru told him. "It's a Harvest Moon Dance. It is going to be the community event of the year."

  "Then these decorations are entirely unsuitable," he said. "They are patriotic—red, white, and blue. Not at all the thing for a Harvest Moon Dance."

  "Your wife and children will be there, Mr. Fenton," she told him. "In fact I believe that the whole town will be there."

  He shrugged. "I have no objection to my family enjoying whatever harmless pursuits might be available."

  "But you won't sell me the leftover decorations from the Fourth of July?"

  "I cannot," he insisted.

  "You don't have to tell me why," Pru answered.

  "The answer would simply be Gidry Chavis. Gidry Chavis is your biggest account. You won't risk your business with Gidry Chavis."

  Fenton looked at her blank-faced, revealing nothing.

  "I ask you, Mr. Fenton, how on earth can selling a few frothy decorations to the Ladies' Rose and Garden Society be a risk to your business?"

  He didn't bother to answer.

  "The Chavis account may be your biggest, Mr. Fenton," she admitted, "but the purse strings of most of the households in this town are held by women. Women who want this dance. Women who want their say."

  Fenton's words were calm as he spoke. "And those women will understand perfectly that I can't sell stock that I do not own," he replied.

  Pru was momentarily struck speechless.

  "What do you mean?" she asked finally.

  "I sold all of those decorations this afternoon," he said.

  "This afternoon? You sold everything?"

  "Everything."

  "To whom, may I ask, did you sell them?"

  "Why to Mr. Gidry Chavis," Fenton answered.

  Pru's jaw tightened. She was mad enough to spit.

  "How much did he pay you?"

  "That is none of your business, Miss Prudence," Fenton replied. "Business transactions in this store always remain confidential."

  "All we really need are the Japanese lanterns," Pru told him. "I will give you twice whatever he paid just for the Japanese lanterns."

  "I am sorry," he said. "I don't own them."

  "Mr. Fenton, we have got to have them," she said.

  "Even with a perfectly clear night and a bright harvest moon, a dance requires light."

  "Light? It requires light?" The man chuckled and shook h
is head. "If you would just leave well enough alone, Miss Prudence, this time next year this town will have all the light that it needs."

  Prudence repeated those words verbatim to the small group of committee leaders meeting in her kitchen that evening.

  "I declare I could strangle the man," Pru said.

  "I hope you are speaking of Mr. Chavis," Mrs. Fenton said defensively. "My husband clearly could not sell what he did not own."

  "Mr. Chavis would not have owned the decorations if your husband had not told him we wanted them," Bertha Mae said pointedly.

  "Well, we simply can't let this stop us," Pru said.

  "We can make the decorations," Leda Peterson said.

  "Make them out of what?" Cloris Tatum asked. "With no bunting or crepe paper, how do we even begin?"

  "I say that we should begin in our gardens," Bertha Mae said. "If every woman in the club donated the last blooms of the year and the first leaves of fall, we will have enough color to decorate for a hundred dances."

  "Of course you are right," Pru agreed. "And using our community's own natural beauty will make our point much better than any store-bought decorations."

  "We've almost got our costumes complete for the tableau," Alice reported. "So we can certainly lend a hand in putting things together. Why Leda's fingers are so nimble she could stitch up dirt till you'd think it was a pie."

  There was a flutter of congratulatory giggles. Leda blushed prettily.

  "Of course, it doesn't matter how well everything looks," Bertha Mae pointed out. "If we can't figure out a way to light the place appropriately, nobody will even be able to see how it’s decorated."

  The truth of her words put a temporary damper on enthusiasm.

  "Maybe it will be very clear and the moon very bright," Alice suggested optimistically.

  "Still, we must plan some sort of lighting," Mavis Hathaway said. "A dance in the darkness would be scandalous."

  "Maybe we could all bring our lamps from home," Alice said.

  Edith Champion shook her head.

  "No, that would never work."

  The back door burst open banging loudly against the wall.

  "Good heavens!" Mrs. Hathaway exclaimed.

  "It’s that Sharpy Kilroy," Mrs. Johnson said. "What is he doing here?"

  The little boy stood frozen in place in the doorway, clearly unsure of what to do in such a roomful of ladies.

  "You need to knock before you enter, Milton," Pru said quietly. "Do come on in, now that you're here."

  " 'Cuse me, ma'ams," the little boy said. "I done got us a stage for Miss Alice's tablow."

  "You did what?" Cloris Tatum looked at the boy askance.

  Sharpy nodded enthusiastically.

  "I heard Miss Alice saying to you yesterday, Miss Pru, that folks wouldn't be able to see it all too well without a stage," he explained. "And you said that it would make your speech better, too, but there was just no help for it."

  "And there doesn't seem to be," Pru said. “There is not a carpenter, woodworker, or even a man with a hammer in this town that would take on the job."

  Sharpy nodded.

  "But I done it," he said. "I got it for you, Miss Pru. Come and see."

  The little fellow flew back out the door. Pru followed him and, rife with curiosity, the rest of the ladies did as well. In the yard sat a worn wooden platform about eight feet wide and four feet long. Clearly it had once been a part of something else, but what Pru had no idea. The worn wooden planks were nailed together and braced with sturdy timbers and showed evidence of having once been painted slate gray.

  "Milton what is this?" Pru asked. "Where on earth did you get it?"

  "It's a stage for your speech and Miss Alice's tablow," he said. "And it's mine, Miss Pru. I didn't steal it."

  "Of course you didn't," she said. "I would never have thought such a thing."

  "Where on earth did it come from?" Mavis asked.

  "My house," Sharpy answered. "Or what was my mama's house. That old shack down near the creek off Santa Fe."

  "Befuddle's old place?"

  Sharpy nodded. "It's mine I'm thinking," he told the ladies. "But it ain't much. The roof's done caved in and can't nothing live there but old cats and spiders. But the porch here is in good shape. A couple of boards here to brace it in the back and a little paint, it’ll make a dandy stage for us."

  The women stood staring at the unattached porch in silent disbelief. The little boy's eyes were so excited, so thrilled with his achievement, Pru couldn't help but laugh out loud.

  "You are wonderful!" she told him, leaning down to plant a kiss solidly upon his grimy little cheek.

  He drew back from her in obvious embarrassment and wiped the kiss away thoroughly. But Pru could tell that he was totally pleased.

  The women inspected their stage with good humor and enthusiasm. The talk recommenced upon the decorations, and by dusk all were on their way, determined to see this course to the end.

  Bertha Mae was the last to leave.

  "It’s too bad your young friend doesn't have some Japanese lanterns stashed away somewhere," she said, laughing.

  Pru chuckled as well as she bade her farewell. She stood at the front gate for a long moment. Turning she stared at the house next door. The brightly lit garden of stained glass shone as beautifully tonight as ever. A light was burning in Mr. Chavis’ room. The noise from the cotton gin had stopped a half hour earlier. Gidry was probably taking his dinner with his father. Aunt Hen said that he often did that.

  Her anger at him was fading. It was clear to Pru, if to no one else, that one man, especially one just back in town after eight long years, couldn't possibly cause the Rose and Garden Society as much trouble as had been caused. All the men were in on it, every last one of them, she was sure. Gidry was just taking the blame. He was good at that.

  He'd taken the blame eight years ago for the failure of their romance. And in her heart of hearts, Pru realized that she was just as much to blame. Yes, he had rejected her. Yes, he had been the one to leave town. But she had been the one to push him in that direction. She had believed that everything was perfect, when it obviously was not. If she had not been so naive, she would never have risked so much. And without risking, nothing was ever lost.

  She had wanted him so much, dreamed of him so much, that her whole life revolved around him. Nothing, no one else mattered to her. Not her aunt, not her friends, not her community, not her church. She was so wholly enraptured by him that she had ceased to exist as anyone except the person who loved Gidry Chavis.

  That kind of love was not love at all. It was an abdication of her own self, her own life. Rather than be a person on her own she attempted to fill the world only with him. She couldn't have expected him to love her. There was no person inside her to love.

  She sighed heavily.

  His faithless jilting had hurt her deeply, it was true. But at least it had forced her at last to look around her and see, for the first time as an adult person, what life was and where its meaning lay.

  Pru reached up to caress one tightly closed blossom on her morning glory vine. The flower was still as beautiful tonight as it had been at daybreak. She couldn't see it to know that, but she knew it just the same.

  "Miss Pru."

  A little voice interrupted her revelry.

  "Oh, hello, Milton," she said. "It’s getting dark; you should probably draw some water and wash up a bit before bedtime."

  "What did she mean about the Jack-a-knees lanterns?" he asked.

  "What?" Pru looked at him momentarily puzzled, then chuckled lightly. "Oh, the Japanese lanterns. Mrs. Corsen was only making a joke."

  "I don't get it," he said.

  "We were all just so pleased that you got us the stage," she told him. "But we still need to find some lighting. We had hoped to purchase some Japanese lanterns from Mr. Fenton. But Mr. Chavis heard that we were planning to buy them and he bought them himself."

  "What’s Mr. Chavis going to use
them for?" he asked.

  "Why nothing," she replied. "He just bought them so we couldn't."

  Sharpy listened thoughtfully and nodded.

  "What do these Jack-a-knees lanterns look like?" he asked. "Are they some kind of paper?"

  "Yes, they are made of paper," Pru told him. 'They are made to hold a candle inside."

  "I know where they are," he said.

  "You know where what are?"

  "The Jack-a-knees lanterns," he said. "I saw Mr. Chavis bring them to the gin this afternoon. He put them in the little wooden cabinet in the office."

  "At least he did actually go buy them," Pru said. "I'm glad to hear that."

  "I could get them, Miss Pru."

  "What?"

  "I don't work for Mr. Chavis no more," he said. "He ain't got nobody watching the place at all. I could get into the gin and get them for you,"

  "Don't be silly, Milton," she said. "I'm sure the gin is locked up very securely."

  "Oh locks don't bother me much, Miss Pru," he said. "I can pretty much get in wherever I like. Besides, there is still that hole in the wall where the belt flew off the platens and I tacked the tin back over it myself."

  "You think you could get into the gin and get the Japanese lanterns," she said.

  The little boy snapped his fingers confidently. "It’d be easy."

  Pru considered it for a long moment.

  "But it would be stealing," she said finally.

  "No, ma'am," Sharpy insisted. "We wouldn't steal nothing. Mr. Chavis ain't using the Jack-a-knees lanterns, so we could just borrow them. When we're finished with them, we put 'em right back where we got them."

  Pru looked into the mischievous eyes of the little boy. A grin tugged at the corner of her own mouth, getting broader and broader until she laughed out loud.

  "It would be a very good joke on Mr. Chavis," she said.

  He nodded.

  "And he was very underhanded about buying them out from under us."

  The little boy nodded again.

  "But I absolutely can't let you go alone," she said. "If someone were to catch you, you'd be in terrible trouble. We'll go together."

  “Tonight?" he asked.

  Pru glanced up at the lighted window of the house next door.

  "Yes, I think tonight will be perfect," she said.