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

by Pamela Morsi

  Alice waited for the verse to finish once again.

  "And lastly and in some way leastly we have the American woman of the next century."

  The crowd ohhed and ahhed as cute little Sassy Redfern took her place at center stage. The pretty five-year-old was bright and shining as a new penny. Her pale blond hair was tied in a half dozen little pink ribbons and her sweet chubby cheeks just begged to be pinched.

  Alice began again. "The woman of the next century will bring her family into a world of freedom and liberty. She will touch the progressive world, but keep in trust the tradition of values handed down for generations. She will face the future with courage and joy, hope and enthusiasm. She will be the embodiment of all that is great and good in America."

  A second trio of young ladies also in draped Grecian looking garb walked onto the stage and took their place next to the piano.

  Their voices blended in perfect harmony as they sang so beautifully the last verse of the beloved anthem.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, join us as we sing," Alice cajoled.

  The tune began again at the beginning. All around him voices were raised in song. Gidry joined in, his pleasant baritone, a nice foil for the high tones of the ladies standing around him.

  "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty

  Of thee I sing.

  Land where my fathers died.

  Land of the Pilgrims' pride.

  From every mountainside,

  Let freedom ring."

  It was at this moment that he saw Pru for the first time that evening. She was standing to the side of the stage. She was as white as a sheet, and she was staring right at him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Prudence couldn't believe that he was there. It was impossible, totally impossible. But it was true. And he was wearing new clothes. He had been unfairly handsome in his cowboy garb, he was patently irresistible in a well cut suit.

  He was smiling at her. Smiling at her. Was that his plan? To so unnerve her that she would be unable to give her presentation? She had to get ahold of herself. Her gardens, her community were counting upon her.

  The tableau had been a rousing success. As beautifully done as any Pru had seen in larger cultural centers. But now the women were filing off the stage, and it was going to be her turn to speak. For the first time she doubted herself, doubted her cause. Perhaps the lighting would have no ill effects. Maybe she should just leave the thinking to the men. Who was she to point out the dangers of progress unquestioned?

  She steeled herself deliberately. She was Prudence Belmont, a citizen of this town, this county, this state, country, and planet. If she did not use the knowledge and understanding that God gave to her, then it would be just as well had he not given it to her at all.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Alice began her introduction, "as you know the Chavistown Ladies' Rose and Garden Society has sponsored this dance for a high and honorable purpose. To speak with you about a topic of great import to ourselves and to all the people of Chavis County. May I introduce to you our president, Miss Prudence Belmont."

  Pru hardly heard the smattering of applause as she took her place upon the stage.

  Her hands trembled as she reached into her pocket for the crumpled speech and the small pamphlet bound in brown paper. She opened the latter to the first place she had marked.

  "I would like to read to you," she said, her voice not betraying a hint of her nervousness, "a passage, very pertinent to our current situation, from the treatise by Avis Atherton Lafoon entitled Observations Upon Progress as a Threat to the Natural World."

  Prudence cleared her throat and raised her voice.

  "The unconsidered, unthinking march toward progress takes no stock in the natural world or the needs of it," she began. "To design a machine that allows a man to complete a task in half the time as he is naturally capable is to tinker with the purpose of time. It is said that the machine has saved time. But one might rightly ask if time can indeed be stored for later use. When time is saved does man live longer or is eternity expanded? I say, resoundingly no. No, the man has merely completed his task before he should and now stands idle and his unoccupation likely to lead to dissonance, perhaps even moral ruin."

  Pru glanced up to see her audience. She noted with some concern that not all of them were able to follow her logic. Only a handful had the wit or education to comprehend Mr. Lafoon's philosophy.

  Pru found her place at the next bookmark.

  "When man attempts to improve upon the order of the universe, it is as if he boasts that he knows more than God. But he does not. He cannot. His meddling is as an unlearned child allowed to conduct the affairs of Church or State, strictly upon impulse and with acumen unsound. Perversely unraveling the laws of universe may result in unanticipated, detrimental outcomes. The reason of creation in the natural world is multitudinous and unfathomable. Man in his simple ignorance seeks to make enhancements upon it, only to unleash a plethora of incomprehensible consequences."

  Prudence looked up once more to see the reaction of the townspeople. Some looked confused, some bored.

  "I don't see where this has anything to do with electric street lighting." Stanley Honnebuzz voiced the question that many had on their minds. "Or with ridding ourselves of a nest of thieves."

  Pru was momentarily taken aback by the interruption, but she recovered quickly enough to answer his question.

  'The purpose of deterring is fine indeed," Pru answered him. "But turning night into day may be too big a price to pay for a solution."

  "What do you mean?" the judge asked. .”The Commercial Club has agreed to pay for the improvements."

  "I don't speak of that price, Judge Ramey," she said. "That price hardly bears mention at all. The price I speak of is much greater."

  Those around her seemed to be listening at last.

  "Our plants, our gardens exist within the bounds of two lives, daylight and dark. If one of those ceases to exist, we can't know what the effects might be."

  "Do you think it might do something to our crops?" Amos Wilburn asked, wariness creeping into his voice.

  "Some say yes," Pru answered him. “It's been suggested in many publications that exposure to constant light might have effects heretofore unanticipated or unknown. No one can say if that is true, sir, but I do know that morning glories open their petals at dawn. And four-o'clocks in the fullness of the afternoon. If night is turned into day, how will those flowers know when to reveal and conceal?"

  There were murmurs of question filtering through the crowd.

  "We know from the work of both Priestley and Ingenhousz that plant growth only occurs in radiant light. When the sun goes down, growth ceases. Can a plant work night and day with no rest? We know that man cannot. It would kill him."

  "Maybe the plants will just grow twice as big as they are now?"

  "Some have suggested that," she agreed. "There has been talk of our flowers growing tall as trees. But is bigger always better? What do we have to give up to have them so large? We know from the hybridization of roses that when we attempt to create a new color, for example, the resulting plant may be less supple limbed or more thorny than either of the families of its origin. Perhaps we will be giving up blossoms entirely in order to grow bushes taller than cottonwood trees."

  "Surely you don't think so."

  "I do not know what to think," Pru answered honestly. "I know that night was created for rest. And that if people do not rest, if they do not sleep, they become witless and often insane. The eventual outcome in plants not allowed to sleep is unknown."

  'There might be no effect at all."

  "I'm sure that is what the gentlemen of the Commercial Club believe," she said. "I know they are only trying to do what is right for this community. But we do not always know what is the right thing to do."

  Pru could feel the crowd moving to her side of the argument. She could feel her words reaching them.

  Stanley Honnebuzz made a dismissive sound and shook
his head at her.

  "Many of us have electric lamps in our houses now," he pointed out. "And we have seen nothing amiss. The gas lamps on the courthouse square have been lit every night for years. The trees and grass still grow there just fine."

  Pru made no attempt to dispute his word, just to explain away his meaning.

  "The gas lamps provide very little light, not nearly as much as is being proposed by the gentlemen of the Commercial Club. And the changes may not be immediate."

  Stanley Honnebuzz spoke up disdainfully. "For heaven's sake, what is the loss of a few roses when we are trying to safeguard ourselves from criminals."

  "My dear Mr. Honnebuzz," Pru replied testily, "although I value my roses highly, I am not suggesting that only the flowers in our gardens would be affected. Imagine, if you can, cornstalks tall as your house, with not an ear to feed man or beast. And if the cattle don't have corn, from whence will come our milk and butter?"

  "Are you prophesying doomsday?" the lawyer asked.

  "I am not prophesying at all," she said. "I am voicing concern for a new intrusion into the natural world that none of us knows enough about even to speculate upon the outcome."

  "I believe it was God, Miss Belmont, who said, 'Let there be light.' " Honnebuzz announced loudly.

  Pru's eyes narrowed as she focused in on him directly as she replied, her voice rising in anger. "And if you read on from there, sir, he 'divided the light from the darkness and saw that it was good.' "

  The lawyer looked ready to make another volley when suddenly Gidry Chavis stepped upon the stage.

  He held up his hands to get attention, and every sound on the grounds ceased abruptly as people strained to hear.

  "Miss Belmont, Mr. Honnebuzz, I don't think we should allow this wonderful discussion to dissolve into a shouting match."

  Pru opened her mouth to dispute his characterization, but she wasn't given a chance.

  "You have made a good point, Miss Belmont," he said. "You have made a very good point. I wish I had bothered to listen to it several weeks ago. I publicly apologize that I did not."

  Pru stared at the man, stunned speechless.

  “The Commercial Club," he continued, "has made some decisions concerning the residential street lighting project without fully understanding the implications that you have brought up. Mr. Sattlemore, the representative from Big Texas Electric, is not here tonight, but I shall wire him first thing Monday morning. We need to have another meeting to discuss this. And I would like to ask you, Miss Belmont, to be present to bring up these concerns at that time."

  "I... I "

  Prudence couldn't think of a thing to say.

  "Would you be willing to sit down with us and Mr. Sattlemore and see what the man has to say?" he asked.

  "Ah .. . yes," she managed to get out finally. "Yes, I would."

  Gidry's mouth curled into a broad, handsome grin.

  "Thank you, Miss Belmont," he said more quietly, as if his words were just for her. "Do you have something more to say? I don't believe you were allowed to finish your speech."

  She glanced down at the crumpled paper in her hand.

  "No, no, I don't have anything more to say," she told him.

  "Good." He turned to scan the crowd. "Where are our musicians?" he asked. "I don't know about the rest of you, but on a night like this, I really want to dance."

  The crowd erupted in laughter, and a few moments later, with the help of the musically inclined ladies, the dancing began once more.

  Gidry held out his hand, and Pru glanced down at it questioningly.

  "Would you care to dance, Miss Belmont?" he asked.

  "What? Why no, Mr. Chavis, I never dance," she answered.

  She expected him to walk away, but he did not.

  "Please dance with me, Pru," he said.

  She looked up into his eyes and knew that her heart was there on her sleeve once more.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  There is something about dancing in the arms of the man that you have loved all your life that is uniquely disconcerting. Beneath the mesmerizing rays of the harvest moon and gaily glowing Japanese lanterns, Pru placed her hand in Gidry's own and with him stepped out upon the dance floor.

  A smattering of applause broke out among those near, apparently believing that having the two share a dance was the same as having the differences between the Commercial Club and the Rose and Garden Society worked out and settled. Pru realized they were seeing the dance as symbolic, but she could not join them in their delight. To her the hand that clasped hers and the arm so casually around her waist were the touch of a lover. And Prudence Belmont had absolutely no business being in love.

  He was staring down into her eyes, his own bright and warm. He seemed so happy, so content and at ease, she wondered if he were secretly laughing at her.

  "Don't hold me so close," she whispered to him.

  Gidry raised an eyebrow and gazed at her questioningly.

  "I'm holding you at the same length that I would hold Mrs. Hathaway," he assured her, then added with a warm smile, "Don't worry, my sweetheart. I would never do anything to expose you to sly talk."

  Her eyes widened.

  It was undoubtedly true. There was nothing untoward in his embrace, except that he was the one doing the embracing.

  “Then do not call me sweetheart," she said, her voice clipped and cold. He was laughing at her, she was almost certain.

  "My apologies," he answered. "It was a slip of the tongue. I used to call you my sweetheart all the time. You never seemed to mind it."

  "That was when I was your sweetheart," she told him. "Now I am only your neighbor."

  "And the sweetest sweetheart of a neighbor a man could want," he said.

  She looked at him askance.

  He shrugged. "The words in my heart just come out of my mouth."

  Pru's brow furrowed worriedly. He was playing some kind of joke, some kind of cruel joke, and she was the butt of it.

  "What is it that you're up to?" she asked him.

  "I am up to nothing," he assured her. "I came here to dance tonight. And to be perfectly honest, there is no one with whom I'd rather dance than you."

  She was skeptical.

  "I don't know why you have decided to be so cooperative," Pru said. "But in case you were not listening to my speech, I can assure you that I am very serious about ensuring that the community does not perpetrate some drastic disservice to nature."

  “I did listen to your speech," he assured her. "You were eloquent and made a good deal of sense. That is why I suggested that you be with the Commercial Club when we talk to Mr. Sattlemore. I would not suggest that for any other reason. This has nothing to do with that."

  "This?"

  "This chance to hold you in my arms again," he said as warm and smoothly as a velvet glove.

  "Please do not think that I am so easily impressed by your manners that I will forget what I am about," she said.

  He grinned at her.

  "That is something I would truly like to see again," he told her. "I would like to see you, Pru, with your heart in your eyes forgetting about everything in the world but me."

  She huffed with disdain. "Would that give you some kind of perverse pleasure?" she asked.

  "Pleasure, yes," he answered. "But nothing perverse about it. Look at me, Pru. My heart is in my eyes right now. I have forgotten about everything in the world but you, sweetheart. There is nothing in my world but you."

  Pru was incredulous.

  "Do you expect me to believe that?" she asked him.

  His expression seemed almost hurt.

  "I suppose my opposition to giving you a platform to speak as well as my recent vilification all over town has turned you solidly against me."

  “I can't imagine why it would not," she said, "although I am certain that it was not you alone who was opposed to hearing us out. I know the gentlemen of this community all too well."

  "Yes, you're right," he agreed. "I to
ok on the role of scapegoat, not thinking how solidly I would be tied to playing the part."

  "So now you are trying to say that you were not opposed to the dance?"

  "No, I was against it," he admitted. "I believed that you and the other ladies had nothing important to contribute to the discussion," he admitted. "I was wrong about that. Over the years, I've been wrong about a good many things."

  "At least you admit that," she said.

  "I was never wrong about you, Pru," he said. "I knew you would love me and you would tame me. I was never wrong about that."

  "I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Chavis," she said with extreme formality, keeping her head high and refusing to look at him.

  He continued to twirl her around the dance floor, she begged in her heart for continued silence, but it was not to be.

  "I believe I did say that this was not going to be easy," he reminded himself aloud.

  "What is not going to be easy?" she asked.

  "Winning you back," he answered.

  "What!"

  She said the word so loudly and stopped in the middle of the dance floor so abruptly that all those around them stared curiously.

  "Keep dancing," Gidry cautioned with a whisper. "People will be thinking I've made you an indecent proposal."

  She resumed moving gracefully with him.

  "I don't know any romantic way to tell you what I need to say, Prudence," he began. "I was wrong, very wrong all those years ago. And I know now that my father was right. You would make a wonderful wife for me."

  Pru stared at him, shaking her head. A part of her was incredulous, disbelieving. Another part was trembling with hope.

  "Gid, this is some joke or hoax or..."

  "A joke?" He shook his head. "I have never been so sincere in my life. I was young and foolish, and I deliberately threw away my chance at happiness with you. Well, I want it back, Pru. I want you back."

  The song ended. Everyone around them applauded. Pru did as well, but it was as if her hands were numb and her ears muffled. All the real world seemed so very, very far away.