“Oh, how divine, Blanche,” Calliope giggled. “I’m so excited that you and your mother have agreed to do the cake. I can bake a good enough cake, but I’m all thumbs when it comes to icing and decorating one.”
“Well, no worries about that, Miss Ipswich,” Blanche assured her. “Mama and I will have it well in hand. And with roses from Mrs. Montrose’s rose garden, it’s bound to be the most beautiful and delicious cake anyone in Meadowlark Lake has ever eaten!” Blanche’s gaze fell to the letters Calliope was holding, and she inquired, “What are those? Letters? Is one from Amoretta? Has she agreed to write out the invitations?”
Still smiling, Calliope sighed. “I don’t know for certain,” she answered. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. But I’m sure she’s agreed to do the invitations.”
“Perfect!” Blanche pronounced. “Oh, it’s all comin’ together so marvelously, don’t you think?”
“I do,” Calliope agreed. “I really do.”
“By the way,” Blanche began, quirking one eyebrow, “what was goin’ on with Fox and Tate before?” she inquired. “As I was walkin’ up, I saw them both tuggin’ on you like…like…”
“Like two youngsters fighting over the turkey wishbone at Thanksgiving dinner?” she finished, echoing Rowdy Gates’s comparison.
Blanche laughed. “Exactly. You said it exactly!” She paused, her lovely dark brows puckering with curiosity. “But what was it all about?”
Calliope shook her head, however, wanting only to forget the incident. “Nothing. I-I stumbled coming out of the general store, and…and…it was nothing.” She linked arms with her friend, smiled, and said, “Let’s get back to my house and see what Amoretta has said in her letter. Evangeline will be very excited to see she’s got another letter from her friend, as well.”
Blanche grinned and nodded. “Yes. Let’s.” She exhaled a happy sigh. “Oh, Calliope, I’m so glad you thought of this Tom Thumb weddin’. I think we all need something as entertaining and untainted as it promises to be.”
“I think so too,” Calliope agreed. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could see Rowdy Gates had almost reached the turnoff leading to the mill. “I just hope everyone will enjoy it as much as I hope they will,” she sighed.
*
As expected, Amoretta had proven in her letter that she was more than willing to write out the invitations to the Tom Thumb wedding. Calliope had read the letter aloud to Evangeline, Blanche, Kizzy, and Shay once she and Blanche had arrived at the Ipswich house. After Amoretta’s letter had been read, the five of them lingered in the parlor discussing details of what the invitations should say.
Yet an hour or so later, Blanche had decided she should probably get home and help her mother with the laundering, Evangeline was wanting to answer Jennie’s letter, and Kizzy went about preparing a dessert for dinner that evening. Thus Calliope and Shay found themselves sitting in the parlor, still excited about the wedding plans but with no one about still willing to discuss them.
“I was plannin’ on havin’ tea with Molly out on the back porch if you’d like to join us, Calliope,” Shay offered.
Calliope smiled, her heart swelling with love and compassion as she saw the pleading hope bright in Shay’s eyes.
“I’d love to join you and Molly, Shay Shay,” she said. “It is a lovely afternoon, just perfect for cucumber canapés and butter cookies.”
Shay giggled. “And don’t forget the raspberry tarts, Calliope!”
“I could never forget the raspberry tarts, my darling,” Calliope assured her little sister. “Now, you gather the cucumber canapés and set up the tea on your table, and I’ll gather the butter cookies and raspberries, all right?”
“Yes!” Shay exclaimed, hopping to her feet. “And we can use the doilies Evangeline made for me today.”
“Oh yes, we must use those,” Calliope agreed. “Now off with you! Collect what you need, and I’ll meet you on the back porch as soon as I’ve gathered everything.”
Shay nodded with emphatic agreement and delight and hurried off in search of the things she needed to gather.
Calliope sighed with a feeling of mingled discontent and contentment. She so enjoyed playing with Shay. Furthermore, she knew that one way or the other, the moments with Shay would lessen, or at least slowly grow into something else. Shay would, after all, eventually stop playing ponies in the meadow, just the way Calliope had. Her pretended tea parties with Molly would give way to real tea parties with friends, or even sewing circles with the ladies of the town. This thought caused discontent in Calliope—a sadness that things would change. After all, things had changed when Amoretta married Brake and moved to Langtree. Things had changed when Calliope’s father had married Kizzy and brought Shay into their lives along with her. But those were good changes, whereas the idea of Shay grown up and no longer a little girl distressed Calliope.
Simultaneously, however, Rowdy Gates had championed her in town that day. Calliope knew that Rowdy probably had no intention of docking Fox’s or Tate’s pay if they were a bit tardy getting back to the mill. He’d just somehow sensed Calliope’s distress, or the impropriety of Fox and Tate taking hold of her the way they each had, and he’d diminished the situation instantly and without incident—and Calliope was much more flattered by the fact Rowdy had intervened on her behalf than with Tate and Fox pulling at her like taffy. The knowledge offered her quite a measure of contentment.
Thus, Calliope headed out to the grassy expanse behind the Ipswich home in search of butter cookies and raspberries with conflicting emotions jostling around in her mind and heart. Yet she smiled when she saw that, indeed, the space behind the house was simply speckled with buttercups and red poppies.
“Butter cookies and raspberries,” Calliope giggled to herself as she began to gather the colorful blooms to use as treats at Shay’s pretended tea party. She smiled as she held a buttercup to her nose, dusting off the pollen afterward. Her own mother had taught her to use different flowers to represent different sorts of foodstuffs when playing tea party—when she was just a bit younger than Shay was now. It was one of the most vivid memories Calliope owned of her mother, and it always made her a little melancholy to think on it.
When Calliope arrived at the back porch, she was delighted when she saw that Shay had already set up her tea set on the little round table their father had made for Shay at Christmas. Using round, short pieces of wood from the woodpile that hadn’t been split yet as seats, Shay had set three places at the little table. Molly the marmalade was already positioned on her wood seat. As usual, Molly looked dreary-eyed but patient.
“Here’s a plate for the butter cookies,” Shay said, pointing to a small plate in the center of the table. “And a little bowl for the raspberries,” she added, placing a small bowl next to the plate.
“I see you’ve already made the cucumber canapés,” Calliope noted as she studied the green lilac tree leaves Shay had collected and set on another small plate on the table.
“Yes,” Shay confirmed. “They took almost all afternoon to put together!”
“Oh dear,” Calliope sighed. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to have me to tea today.”
“Not at all, my dear,” Shay said, pretending to be grown up.
Quickly, Calliope placed the buttercups on the small plate meant for butter cookies and then carefully removed the petals from several poppies and put them in the raspberry bowl.
“Oh, thank you for contributing to our eats today, Miss Ipswich,” Shay said as she sat down on her wooden seat and began to pour water from her tiny teapot into the tiny teacup set at the seat meant for Calliope.
“Oh, thank you for allowing me to, Miss Ipswich,” Calliope graciously returned, taking her own wood seat.
“Miss Molly?” Shay inquired. “Shall I pour for you now?”
Molly slowly blinked as she watched Shay pour water into the cup before her.
“There,” Shay said, pouring water from her teapot into her own c
up. “Now we’re all ready.” She picked up her tiny teacup, crooking her pinky just so, and then took a sip of water. “And isn’t it just the loveliest day, ladies?”
“Oh, absolutely the loveliest!” Calliope agreed. And it was another lovely spring day in Meadowlark Lake. The warm sun shone overhead, and the gentle breeze whispered through the new grass behind the house.
“You know, Miss Ipswich,” Shay began, “I was thinking.”
“You were?” Calliope exclaimed, feigning astonishment.
“Why yes. I often do,” Shay answered.
“And what were you thinking about, Miss Ipswich?” Calliope inquired.
“I was thinkin’ that perhaps you should wave to Mr. Gates every evenin’ the way I do,” Shay responded, “as an offerin’ of thanks for all his hard work in tendin’ to the lamps and all.”
Calliope grinned. “Well, I think Mr. Gates enjoys your waving to him so much that, if I joined you, it might not seem so special as it does now.”
Shay’s smile faded. She inhaled a deep breath, appearing as if she were struggling to remain calm.
“Miss Ipswich,” Shay began again, “you do realize that I am a gypsy girl, my mother before me bein’ a gypsy herself, don’t you?”
Calliope smiled. Yet her brows puckered with puzzlement.
“Why yes, Miss Ipswich. I do know that you are a gypsy girl,” she acknowledged.
“Then you also know that I can see things others can’t…don’t you, Miss Ipswich?” Shay inquired.
“Such as?” Calliope prodded.
“Such as the fact that you don’t have eyes for Fox Montrose at all, Miss Ipswich,” Shay proceeded. “But you do look at Rowdy Gates every time you get the chance…and when you do, your eyes start to sparkle.”
Calliope forced an amused laugh. “Oh, Miss Ipswich!” she exclaimed. “Surely you can’t mean to imply—”
She was interrupted, however, as Shay reached out and took her hand. Gazing directly into Calliope’s eyes, Shay dropped her adult manner of speech and whispered, “Don’t worry, Calliope. I promise that I won’t tell a soul!”
“A-about what, Shay?” Calliope asked, nearly gasping in astonishment. Could it be that Calliope’s secret bliss was not so secret as she thought?
Shay winked at Calliope then, released her hand, and reached for a butter cookie. As she pretended to eat the buttercup, she slipped back into her adult manner and answered, “I think you should wait at the parlor window with me this evenin’, Miss Ipswich. And when the lamplighter comes to our street lamp, I think you should toss him a wave.”
Calliope was still bewildered. Somehow Shay knew! How could she know? Calliope had kept her attraction to Rowdy Gates—her strong, strong, strong feelings toward him—entirely to herself. Always! She’d never mentioned it to anyone—not Evangeline, not Amoretta, certainly not her father or Kizzy! Not Blanche or any of her other friends. Therefore, how was it that a six-year-old girl had discerned it?
A sense of something akin to panic began to wash over Calliope, and she couldn’t help but ask Shay, “Shay, how do you know that…how do you suspect that…”
“You mean how to I know that you’re sweeter than molasses candy on Rowdy Gates, Miss Ipswich?” Shay asked in return.
Desperate for her secret to be kept, Calliope reached out, taking Shay’s hands in her own. “Shay, you can’t tell a soul! Not one soul! Do you understand?”
Shay smiled a sweet, loving smile. “Dearest sister,” she began, “I’m a gypsy. And gypsies are the best secret-keepers in the whole wide world. I already told you I wouldn’t tell.”
Calliope breathed a little easier, but only a little. “I still don’t understand why you think—”
“I don’t think it, Miss Ipswich,” Shay interrupted. “I know it. And I’ve known it for a long time now. Your eyes light up like stars whenever he’s around, Miss Ipswich.” Shay paused, picked up the bowl of poppy petals, and offered it to Calliope. “Now, let’s just get back to our tea, all right? Raspberry, Miss Ipswich?”
Without another word, Calliope picked a poppy petal out of the raspberry bowl and pretended to eat it. She was stunned—entirely stunned. All the while she thought she’d been keeping her secret bliss to herself, thinking no one could possibly know she was in love with Rowdy Gates—a thing even she herself had trouble understanding. And yet her little sister—a child—knew her feelings.
“Thank you,” Calliope managed to whisper.
Shay smiled and set the raspberry bowl back on the table. “You’re welcome, Miss Ipswich. Now, do tell. This Tom Thumb weddin’ you’re plannin’, you say the bride and groom have to kiss at the end of the ceremony?”
“Uh…yes,” Calliope answered. And then she smiled, for she understood exactly how Shay had figured out everything concerning Calliope’s feelings toward Rowdy. For at the very mention of the Tom Thumb wedding, as she asked about the bride and groom kissing, Shay’s own eyes lit up like stars! It was very well that Calliope knew Shay was sweet on Warren Ackerman. It’s why she and Evangeline had decided on trying to coax Warren into being the groom in the first place. And there it was, in all its obviousness. Shay’s pinked-up cheeks and sparkling eyes told the entire story—revealed just how sweet Shay was on Warren. A body didn’t have to be a gypsy to see it either.
“Yes,” Calliope continued, taking another poppy leaf and pretending to eat it. “They do need to kiss at the end of the ceremony; otherwise it will ruin the entire event.”
“Hmm,” Shay hummed, feigning innocence. “I see your point.”
Calliope relaxed a bit more. Shay would keep her secret; she knew she would. No one else would ever know how madly Calliope loved Rowdy Gates. And as she thought more on it, she realized that, if it were meant to be that someone else on earth knew of her secret bliss, it was best that it was little Shay, for she would never think to question why Calliope felt the way she did about a man she’d hardly ever spoken to. To Shay, there needn’t be an explanation.
And so Calliope sipped her water from her tiny teacup and pretended to eat leaves that represented cucumber canapés and buttercups that proxied butter cookies. And when Shay had had her fill of playing tea party—when she’d looped her leash about poor Molly’s neck and headed off for an afternoon stroll—Calliope did what she often did when everyone else was busy and careless of where she was or what she was doing. Once Molly and Shay were well on their way down the main street of Meadowlark Lake—once she was certain everyone else in the house was occupied with their own doings—Calliope hurried to the much less traveled trail leading through the trees and brush to the gristmill.
CHAPTER FIVE
Calliope sighed with awed admiration as she gazed into the gristmill through the opening provided by a loose board on its outer wall. There he was—Rowdy Gates—in all his handsome, alluring glory! She never got tired of looking at him, of staring at him. Her thoughts quickly flittered back to the very first moment she’d ever laid eyes on the attractive man.
It seemed so long ago, though it had only been the previous autumn—the day Winnie Montrose had led Calliope, her sister Amoretta, and several other girls from town out to the mill. Calliope and Amoretta had assumed that Winnie and the others had intended to share the scenic beauty of the mill’s setting with them, for the old mill in its picturesque surroundings was indeed a sight to behold—a veritable haven of isolated, charming respite.
Yet Calliope and Amoretta both soon learned that it wasn’t just the gentle and rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of the paddle wheel in the water, or the lovely brown cattails alive with shiny-winged dragonflies that surrounded the millpond, that made the mill so beautiful. Rather it was what was inside!
Four men had been working inside the mill that day, and while Amoretta and the other girls had been delighted, near to swooning, at the sight of the brawny and handsome Brake McClendon, Calliope’s attention had instantly settled on the mysterious, intriguing, and guardedly handsome Rowdy Gates.
When Calliope
had exclaimed, “He’s magnificent!” that day, Amoretta, Winnie, Blanche, and the other young ladies had naturally assumed it was Brake Calliope was referring to. But it hadn’t been Brake who had instantaneously captured Calliope’s interest. It had been Rowdy.
Of course, Calliope quickly realized that every other young lady was fawning over Brake McClendon, and she’d happily allowed them to do so—and to think she found Brake to be the most attractive man working at the mill too. She was glad all the other girls were distracted by Brake, for it left Rowdy for her alone to admire.
And admire him she had! From that day forward, Calliope Ipswich had been smitten with none other than Rowdy Gates. Oh, certainly she was kind to the other young men in Meadowlark Lake, agreeing to their requests to dance with her at various town events and so on. But all the while, it was Rowdy Gates who made her heart leap in her bosom whenever he appeared—Rowdy Gates who lingered in her daydreams, as well as the dreams she owned at night.
Calliope watched Rowdy ever so closely, but in secret—very guardedly—for she didn’t want him, or anyone else in Meadowlark Lake, to know that she was so blissfully taken with him. And there were many reasons Calliope had chosen not to openly flirt with Rowdy—had chosen not to be obvious in her affections for him (and in desperately wanting his in return). First of all, it was obvious that Rowdy was a very private man. He didn’t talk very much, even at social gatherings (which he only sometimes attended). He was polite and gentlemanly, of course, but reserved and rather solitary. Calliope had often wondered if Rowdy’s reclusive manner was due to whatever accident had caused the injury to his leg. Still, his limp that had been so pronounced when first the Ipswich family had moved to Meadowlark Lake was nearly indiscernible now, and still Rowdy seemed to prefer detachment to socializing.
Of course, Rowdy’s tendency to withdrawal and manner of privacy actually appealed to Calliope. She’d decided long ago that, when she fell in love with the man she was meant to fall in love with, she would prefer to have him all to herself.
The Secret Bliss of Calliope Ipswich Page 7