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

by Pamela Morsi

  He shrugged and shook his head. It was a child's prank, and he briefly wondered if young Sharpy was the culprit.

  He reached for the door, only to notice that a piece of paper had been wedged in the handle. Gidry picked it up and saw that it was actually a postcard. He stepped back inside and walked into the parlor, where he lit a lamp.

  There in his hands was a photograph of a short, buxom female lying naked upon a chaise, a diaphanous drape between her thighs and a rose between her teeth.

  He quickly turned it over to read the words penned upon the other side.

  My only lover,

  You will find me tonight in our secret place dressed in just the manner as the lady pictured here. I am ready to fulfill your every desire, if you will agree to grant my dearest wish, to love, honor, and obey you as long as we both shall live.

  Yours soon to be,

  the notorious Mrs. C.

  Gidry's stunned expression slowly blossomed into a full-fledged grin. He turned the postcard back to the picture and with a sigh of pure pleasure, he planted a kiss upon the bared bosom of the anonymous female.

  Then, with postcard in hand, whistling a bawdy tune, he walked through his house and out the back door. Not bothering to collect his hat or coat, or even a shirt, he made his way to that oh-so-secret rendezvous of lovers. What man needed pornography, he thought to himself, when he had a milk shed next door?

  Epilogue

  May 12, 1899

  The whole of Chavistown was on hand for the illumination. A dais sporting yards of red, white, and blue bunting was erected at the foot of the 150 foot tower in the middle of Main Avenue right in the front of the home of the city's first family. It was nearing dusk, and the street was blocked off to make room for the crowd who vied for a good spot close to the stage beneath the great tower. Refreshment tables stretched across the front lawn of the Chavis home. The ladies were serving punch and root beer along with their fresh-baked cookies and slices of pie. Warm taffy was being pulled by enthusiastic children who ran wild, as children will, not aware that this auspicious occasion in the town's history would live in memory all of their lives.

  The entire Chavis family was not all present for the festivities. Mr. Henry Pauling Chavis, only two days old and already known by the nickname SugarPaul, was not yet fit company for crowds. Therefore, both he and his mother, Prudence, had chosen not to attend.

  The young man's sister, however, tagged along after her papa as quickly as her chubby little legs would carry her. Her thumb was tucked firmly into her rosebud mouth and her thick black curls bounced upon her head with every step. The little girl was completely undeterred by her father's sometimes booming voice and occasional stern demeanor. Bright and pretty, Peerlene Chavis was, so gossips said, the luckiest little girl in Texas.

  Upon the advice of his wife, Gidry Chavis had invested his own money quite heavily to create a brand new industry in Chavistown. Chavis Cottonseed was already producing as much cottonseed oil and oil products as their nearest competitors, and the plant would not be fully operational for another year.

  The Chavis family, always affluent, was quickly becoming wealthy. That was at least part of the purpose of today's presentation, to share personal good fortune with an entire community.

  On his way to the stage, Chavis stopped beside a strapping boy who, if arms and legs were any indication, was destined to be a very tall young man. Surrounded by fellows his own age, clearly he was the leader of any group were he was present.

  "Can you watch this little dumpling, while I take care of business," Gidry asked, indicating the wide-eyed two-year-old behind him.

  "Sure I can," the youngster replied easily. "Come here, darling, you want me to teach you a card trick?"

  The boy squatted and opened his arms. The little girl rushed into them eagerly, hugging the boy's neck with a ferocity that had those around him chuckling.

  'Thanks, Sharpy," Chavis said.

  "It's no trouble," the boy told him. "You know how she likes to follow me around."

  "Aunt Hen is here, but I didn't want to ask her. I worry that she's going to get more than her share of nursery duty now that we have two of these sticky little people to contend with."

  "Sticky? Did you say sticky?" Sharpy feigned surprise. "Well, let's get this girl some of that taffy they're making across the street. We'll make her so sticky I won't need to carry her, I'll just attach her to my shirt."

  Gidry laughed and waved them on as he marched up the dais and took his place in front of the podium.

  "Good evening, folks," he called out to those gathered.

  He had the relaxed and certain demeanor of a man who knew his place in the world. And understood that those gathered around him, friend or foe, newcomer or longtime resident, realized that he was simply trying to do what he thought best for his community.

  The crowd quieted and began to gather more closely around the makeshift stage.

  "I suspect it's time to get this started," Gidry said. "If we wait much longer, we won't be able to see what we're doing." He hesitated momentarily, then gave a boyish grin. "I guess this is the last night that will happen."

  The crowd laughed along with him.

  "You all expect me to give a speech, tonight" he said. "I pretty much leave the speech making to Judge Ramey. But my wife has written a couple of pages here of things she wants me to say. And since she's probably listening from that second floor window over there, I guess I'd better read them."

  There were knowing chuckles from the crowd. Gidry glanced toward the window as if to assure himself that she was there for him. Then he unfolded the paper he carried and began to read.

  "We are here tonight to dedicate the first of seven planned towers to be erected throughout our city for the purpose of providing modern illumination to neighborhoods and businesses."

  He paused to take a long breath.

  "Each tower, equipped with six carbon arc lighting units, generates light equal to two thousand candle power and was specifically designed to mimic natural moonlight."

  Gidry paused to glance upward at the huge wrought iron tower erected behind him, the likes of which had never been seen in this part of Texas.

  "Once these artificial moons are illuminated they should provide sufficient light on the darkest night to read the time on an ordinary pocket watch within a circle three thousand feet in diameter."

  There was murmur of disbelief among the crowd.

  "Moonlight towers have been extensively tested through much of the United States, including our state capital, Austin City. The conclusion of these scientists and engineers is that the only effect of the lighting upon local vegetation is that it makes it look prettier at night."

  Gidry glanced up hopefully at the crowd.

  “The moonlight towers project is a gift from Chavis Cottonseed to the city and the people of Chavistown provided at a cost of $26,000."

  Astonished whistles were heard among the crowd at the enormity of the price.

  Gidry folded his paper and stuffed it in his coat pocket.

  "I would now like to ask Mr. Albert Fenton of the Commercial Club and Mrs. Bertha Mae Corsen, president of the Ladies' Rose and Garden Society, to please come forward."

  The two were standing at the bottom of the steps and quickly took their places near the huge switch that greatly resembled a railroad brake. It had been designed especially for the occasion.

  "Mr. Fenton, Mrs. Corsen," Gidry said. "Please light up our town."

  They grasped the handle in unison and a moment later the area was bathed in the soft silver glow of artificial moonlight.

  At first there was wondrous amazement among the onlookers. It was not like turning night into day at all. It was turning night into ... into night you could see. Astonishment was followed by cheers and shouts, whistles and applause.

  Upon the dais, Fenton, Mrs. Corsen, and Gidry Chavis were lauding the innovation as well. Chavis turned toward his house and waved. Certainly his wife could see him
as clearly as day.

  As the noise died down, Gidry returned to the podium.

  "Now that we can see what we doing," he said. "Let's celebrate!"

  More cheering ensued as the local Chavistown Band, resplendent in their new blue-and-gold uniforms, took to the stage.

  Within minutes the music had begun and beneath the bright light of an artificial moon the local citizens paired up and began to dance. Old Plug Whitstone had Eula on his arm. Conrad and Ethel Peterson soon joined them. Elmer Corsen stepped out with his mother. And Amos Wilburn escorted Mrs. Butts, who, according to the record keeping of the gossips, had attended Sunday service with him four times in the last two months.

  Henrietta Pauling watched from the sidelines, genuinely enjoying the crisp rhythm of the tune and the swirling dancers in the middle of the street. Since Prudence couldn't be here, she'd insisted her aunt have a new dress for the occasion. Henrietta felt positively fashionable in the dark Copenhagen silk. She wore an Amazone rose at the throat, the first bloom of the season.

  On the edge of the crowd she spied her young charge. Sharpy was ignoring the hopeful, adoring glances leveled in his direction by the younger of the young ladies, those pigtailed misses not yet allowed to pin their hair up. He seemed content to entertain little Peerlene, who was busy getting taffy all over herself.

  A gentleman stepped up beside her.

  "Good evening, Henrietta," he said.

  She smiled at him and nodded.

  "Good evening to you, Judge. It's a wonderful night for a party."

  He nodded agreement.

  "We missed you at the wedding," he said.

  "Peerlene was very croupy, and I didn't want Prudence to have to stay at home," she said. "Alice was always so dear to her."

  Judge Ramey smiled, understanding.

  "I heard it was a beautiful ceremony," Henrietta told him.

  He shrugged. "I don't know a thing about ceremonies, but I do know my little Alice looked pretty as a picture that day."

  "All brides are beautiful, that's what they say."

  He grunted, but he looked proud.

  "Are they still on their trip?" she asked.

  "Ought to be back next week," he replied. "I've never been to Europe myself. But Alice tells me it is absolutely the only place to go for a honeymoon."

  "Well, it was certainly a fateful day when you hired Mr. Chester," Henrietta said.

  "And I have you and that Sharpy to thank for it," Judge Ramey answered. "When you told me what a head that boy has for botany, well, I just had to find him a worthy tutor."

  "The man has been a godsend," she admitted. "The boy had become so bored at school I began to worry that we'd have trouble with him again."

  "It is still going to be difficult to keep him occupied," the judge agreed. "Chester tells me he's nearly as bright in math as science and that he could pass the high school examinations today."

  Henrietta smiled proudly. "Yes, our Sharpy is quite an achievement for this town."

  The tune ended, and the two of them joined the dancers in offering applause. When the music commenced once more it was a slow, sweet waltz. One that Henrietta recognized immediately.

  'The renovations are almost done on the house," Judge Ramey continued, making conversation. "I swear, it's a misery living amid all that sawdust. Carpenters and painters making themselves at home every hour of the day."

  Henrietta said nothing.

  "It's going to be as fine and modern a place as any in Chavistown," he went on. "Alice wanted every convenience, and she has surely got it. Electric lights in every room, and the wires are actually hidden within the walls. Isn't that something?"

  "Yes, I'd say it certainly is," Henrietta replied politely.

  She was listening to the music. Listening and remembering.

  "When they get back, I'm thinking to move out. I loved that old house, but I think a newly married couple ought to have the privacy of living on their own," the judge said.

  "I'm sure they will miss you."

  Henrietta was examining her feelings. Attempting to locate an ache in her heart. To her amazement, there no longer seemed to be one.

  "Actually, I'm more than ready," Judge Ramey told her. "I've been wanting to sort of get on with my own life for a while now. But I just had to see that girl settled. I owed that to her mother."

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  There was no pain, no sadness. Henrietta could only recall sweetness to memory, only the sweetness.

  "I'm thinking about getting a smaller place," Judge Ramey continued. "A man by himself really doesn't need anything all that big."

  "No I would imagine not," she said, distracted.

  She couldn't quite believe it, but somewhere, sometime, somehow her heart had healed.

  "Of course, if I were to marry again, I suppose a new wife would want some say in what kind of house she's to live in."

  "Probably so," Henrietta agreed absently.

  The judge was silent beside her so long, she eventually noticed it and turned to him. He was looking all around.

  "This lighting is really pretty, isn't it?" he said. "I don't think I expected that."

  Henrietta agreed. It was in fact very pretty indeed.

  Slowly the judge's expression softened as if recalling something sweet and pleasant. "Do you remember ... no you wouldn't. It was such a long time ago."

  "What?" she asked him.

  "That fall when we had the pumpkins made into jack-o'-lanterns all over town," he said. "Do you remember that?"

  Henrietta smiled. "Yes, yes, I remember it very well."

  The old judge chuckled and shook his head. "It was so pretty and so romantic. That's when I fell in love for the very first time."

  "Me too," she answered quietly.

  The judge grinned broadly at her, but when he spoke his tone was soft and respectful.

  "Miss Henrietta," he asked, "would you care to dance?"

  She stared at him for a long moment. He had kind eyes, she decided. She had never noticed it before, but he had very kind eyes.

  "Yes Judge Ramey, I would like that very much."

  "Call me Nathaniel," he said.

  "All right, Nathaniel."

  He led her out among the dancers and took her into his arms. He was a tall, rather portly man, and being in his embrace gave her the unfamiliar but somehow pleasant sensation of being small and delicate, feminine and sheltered. They moved together so well and so naturally, it was hard to believe they had never waltzed before.

  "You are a wonderful dancer," she told him, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  "Not usually," he replied. "But you're so graceful, ma'am, what fellow could help but be in perfect step."

  Upon the brightly lit street, on a fine spring night, amid friends and family, they laughed together and swirled to the music as the band played.

  Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low, And the flick' ring shadows softly come and go. Tho' the heart be weary, sad the day and long. Still to us at twilight, comes love's old song. Comes love's old sweet song.

  Garters

  Chapter One

  Tennessee, 1888

  Winter was still enough of a memory to whip a distinct chill into the morning breeze, and the smoky-gray haze had not been burned off by the sun. Yet on this inhospitable morning Esme Crabb made her way down the mountain, her threadbare coat pulled tightly about her. Her thoughts, however, were not on the weather.

  In the valley below her, through the dark barren trees of winter, she spied her destination, Vader. The tiny little crossroads on the Nolichucky River was the nearest thing to a town that Esme had ever known. Four houses, a church, a livery stable, and the tiny "graded school" that Esme had attended only a half-dozen times were in sight, as was the building that was her destination.

  A false front made it appear two stories high, but from Esme's perspective it was clearly only one floor, built long and narrow. Though she was still too far away to see it, she
knew the sign emblazoned on the front read: "M. Cleavis Rhy, Jr. General Merchandise."

  When she reached the foot of the mountain, Esme made a quick stop to right herself. Hiking up her skirt, she pulled at the much-mended black wool stockings that now clung precariously at her knee. After first carefully smoothing the material up her thigh, she rolled it down about two inches. Grabbing one edge of the roll, she twisted it until the material tightened, painfully digging into her flesh. The near-knotted twist was carefully tucked underneath the roll. It was a makeshift solution, not as good as garters, but such trifling matters didn't concern Esme.

  Stockings straight and skirt brushed, Esme raised her chin, proud. She was wearing her Sunday best and bravely assured herself that if she did as good as she looked, she'd do all right. With a determined stride she headed for the store.

  Her sisters had really gotten her into this, she supposed. The twins were now seventeen and, to Esme's thinking, the prettiest girls in the county. Most considered them to be identical—even Pa couldn't tell them apart—but Esme found that difficult to understand. To her they were as different and distinct as any two persons, though they sure to graces had the same shortcomings!

  Presently, both of them were calf-eyed and mooning over Armon Hightower, and a more worthless piece of Tennessee manhood never existed, except maybe for Esme's own pa.

  Ma had been just like the twins, all starry-eyed over a handsome face and broad shoulders. Well, Ma had won her handsome face and broad shoulders, and then she'd worked herself to death for them. Esme was determined that her sisters wouldn't meet the same fate. That's why she was here.

  "Mornin', Mr. Tyree, Mr. Denny," Esme said as she stepped onto the porch of the store. The two men sat on the long bench in front of the store swapping stories and spitting tobacco.