The Secret Bliss of Calliope Ipswich

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “Anyway,” Calliope began, “the point of it all is…we have our little flower girls assured us.”

  Everyone smiled and nodded with satisfaction.

  “Now, Mrs. Ackerman,” Calliope began then, addressing Sallie’s mother, “what did Warren say when you explained the entire script to him? You simply must convince him to kiss the bride at the end of the ceremony!”

  Ellen Ackerman exchanged amused glances with her daughter, Sallie. “Oh, don’t you worry a bit, Calliope,” she said. “When I told Warren that he was expected to kiss Shay—to kiss the bride, so to speak—his response was, ‘Good! I can’t wait!’”

  Everyone burst into laughter once more, and Calliope and Evangeline clasped hands with excitement.

  “It’s going to be so wonderful, Evie!” Calliope sighed with glad anticipation.

  “Wonderful!” Evangeline agreed.

  *

  “And Evie really convinced Mr. Longfellow to let Mamie and Effie be in the play?” Shay asked as she and Calliope sat on the old fallen log that spanned the stream.

  “Yes!” Calliope confirmed. She shook her head in awed disbelief. “I don’t know how Evangeline managed it, but somehow she persuaded him.”

  Shay smiled. “It’s because Mr. Longfellow is sweet on Evangeline,” she stated.

  Calliope looked to Shay in astonishment. “Why do you say that, Shay Shay?”

  Shay shrugged. “Because I can see it. Mr. Longfellow stares at Evangeline anytime she’s around him…like every Sunday in church. I’m surprised no one else has noticed.”

  Calliope considered what Shay was saying. Was it true? Did Floyd Longfellow stare at Evangeline whenever he was in her presence? The truth was that at church Calliope was always too distracted trying to catch every glimpse she could of Rowdy Gates. Could it be that she’d been so preoccupied by Rowdy every Sunday that she’d never noticed Mr. Longfellow staring at her own sister?

  “Hmmm,” she sighed suddenly. “Maybe you’re right, Shay. Maybe Mr. Longfellow is sweet on Evangeline. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time a man had his eye on a woman quite a lot young than himself, now would it?” She giggled and nudged Shay with her arm.

  Shay laughed. “You mean like Daddy and Mama,” she noted.

  “That’s just what I mean,” Calliope said.

  Calliope and Shay sat quietly for a few moments, dangling their toes in the stream’s cool water babbling beneath the log on which they sat.

  They each heard a tiny splash, and Shay exclaimed, “There goes another one! Oh, I just love baby frogs.”

  “Me too,” Calliope agreed. “By the time you get married in a few weeks, all the baby frogs will be big, slimy toads. Let’s catch a few now, while they’re little. What do you say?”

  Shay nodded with enthusiasm. She paused for an instant, however, and then said, “You know that it’s just a pretend weddin’, right, Calliope? I’m not really marryin’ Warren Ackerman.”

  Calliope smiled. She understood that Shay needed reassurance that the Tom Thumb wedding was simply a play—that nothing at all about it was real or binding.

  “Of course, Shay,” she assured her little sister. She giggled, adding, “The only real thing about it is the kiss you’ll receive from Warren Ackerman!”

  Shay blushed and grinned. But her smile faded as she asked, “But what if Warren won’t kiss me at the weddin’? Oh, I’ll be so embarrassed if he won’t!”

  Calliope put her arm around Shay’s slight shoulders. “Don’t worry, my angel. He will kiss you. I happen to know for a fact that he can’t wait to kiss you!”

  Shay’s eyes widened. “How do you know that for a fact?”

  Calliope arched one eyebrow and answered, “I have my ways.” She giggled. “Now, let’s go catch some baby frogs before they turn into big, slimy ones, all right?”

  Again Shay nodded with emphatic agreement.

  Taking Shay’s hand, Calliope helped her to stand on the log and then followed suit. Carefully they walked across the log back to the bank of the stream.

  “I’ve seen so many jump into the water from just here,” Shay said, dashing to a spot on the bank near a grove of cattails.

  “Well, then that’s where we should start looking,” Calliope said, following her.

  Rowdy continued to observe Calliope as she hunted for frogs with her little sister. All day the reality had bounced around in his mind—the fact that Judge Ipswich had not granted his permission for Fox Montrose to court Calliope. Unlike Fox, who was still seething with indignation when he left the mill to ride around a bit and clear his head during the midday break for lunch, Rowdy had wandered to the meadow—to the hill that overlooked the stream.

  When he’d seen Calliope and her sister sitting on the fallen tree that spanned the stream, allowing their toes to skim across the water’s surface, he’d found himself a comfortable place to sit down in the grass. There he’d eaten his baked potato as he’d listened to their giggling and watched them talking to one another.

  Evangeline wasn’t with them this day, and they’d apparently traded their pretending at being ponies for hunting for frogs. It made Rowdy happy to think that the lovely, graceful Calliope Ipswich still enjoyed such things as dangling her toes in the stream and catching frogs.

  “So…Fox ain’t gonna be courtin’ Calliope, hmm?” Rowdy mumbled to himself. He remember what Fox had told Dex and Tate at the mill earlier in the day—that they better not think they could be throwing their hats in the ring for Calliope’s affections just because the judge had refused to let Fox court her. But Rowdy Gates had a hat too—didn’t he? And didn’t he also have the revelations of a cute little gypsy girl to guide him along as well? What if Calliope really had wanted him to kiss her when she’d kissed him the day before? What if there was even the smallest idea of a chance that she could care for him? Shouldn’t he pursue her as earnestly as he knew Dex and Tate no doubt planned to do?

  Before he could think to stop himself, Rowdy had stood and mounted Tucker and was riding down the hillside toward the place where Calliope Ipswich and her sister were hunting frogs.

  He was nearly upon them when his courage began to fail. In fact, he reined Tucker to a stop and planned to turn the horse around and ride toward the mill. But it was too late, for Shay Ipswich had spied him and was now waving her little arm and hand frantically in motioning that he should ride to meet her and her sister.

  What had he been thinking? As Rowdy reined in near Calliope and Shay, he wondered if he hadn’t momentarily lost his mind. But he was there now—right there with them. He couldn’t just ride away. What would Calliope think of him if he did?

  “We’re catchin’ baby frogs, Mr. Gates,” Shay announced. “Calliope says she’d rather catch them now when they’re cute little babies, instead of later in the summer when they’re big and slimy.”

  Calliope blushed all the way from her forehead to the tips of her toes when Rowdy Gates chuckled at what Shay had told him.

  She was surprised, however, when he said, “Well, that’s a good idea. ’Cause even if the slime don’t bother you, you can’t sail frogs when they get big.”

  “Sail them?” Calliope heard herself ask in unison with Shay.

  “What do you mean you can’t sail them when they get big?” Shay asked. The curiosity gleaming in her eyes was as bright as a summer sunrise.

  “Well,” Rowdy began as he dismounted his horse and secured the reins to a nearby tree trunk, “here. Let me show you.”

  Calliope watched as the ruggedly handsome man reached into one saddlebag, retrieving a small pad of paper. Next, he reached into one back pocket of his blue jeans and produced a small pocketknife. Tucking the pad of paper under one arm, Rowdy then used the knife to cut a few long strands of hair from his horse’s tail.

  “You hold onto these a minute,” he said, offering the hairs to Shay.

  Shay giggled, and Calliope smiled, curious as to what the man was up to.

  “Now then,” he said, closi
ng the pocketknife and returning it to his pocket, “give me just a minute or two here.”

  As Rowdy sat down in the grass on the bank of the stream, Calliope and Shay sat down as well.

  “When I was a boy,” Rowdy began, “we used to head down to the crick in the summers and do this all the time.”

  Calliope watched, entirely intrigued as Rowdy tore a page from the back of the small pad of paper and proceeded to fold it into the shape of a small boat. She glanced at his face a moment—his handsome, handsome face. She realized that she adored the cleft in his chin. She was glad Doctor Gregory had had to shave Rowdy. Of course, the still stitched and healing wound on his cheek caused her heart to plummet to the pit of her stomach with guilt. Yet as she continued to look at him—to stare at him in studying every detail of him—the smile returned to her face, for she did love him so thoroughly. Inexplicable as it was, she did love him!

  As Rowdy tore a second page from the pad, he nodded to Shay and then the bucket she’d brought along when she and Calliope had decided to walk to the stream. “Give them horsehairs to your sister here, and then take your bucket and see how many baby frogs you can catch real quick for me, will you, darlin’?”

  Again Shay’s eyes lit up with wild anticipation. “You bet, Mr. Gates!” she giggled, handing the horsetail hairs to Calliope. Hopping to her feet, Shay snatched up her bucket and headed to the grove of cattails nearby.

  “Do you have a hairpin I could borrow here for a minute, Miss Calliope?” Rowdy asked.

  “Of course,” Calliope answered. Quickly she removed one of her hairpins, careless of the long, flaxen curl it released to cascade down her back.

  She handed the hairpin to Rowdy. She watched him use it to poke a hole in the back of each of the three little boats he’d created by folding pieces of paper.

  As he handed the hairpin back to her, he instructed, “Now give me one of them horsehairs, Calliope.”

  Calliope’s heart leapt inside her at the sound of her name on his lips—the marvelous way his deep voice made it echo through her mind as if it were the most beautiful name in all the world. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach—and simply because he’d said her name without a “Miss” preceding it!

  Rowdy looked up to her, for she’d quite forgotten to hand him a horsehair, being that she was so mesmerized by the way he’d addressed her by her first name.

  “A horsehair, if you please,” he repeated, grinning at her.

  With a rather trembling hand, Calliope separated one of Rowdy’s horse’s tail hairs from the rest, holding it toward him.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She watched then as Rowdy carefully threaded one end of the horse’s long, black tail hair through the small hole he’d made in the back of the paper boat using Calliope’s hairpin. He then knotted the hair several times.

  “There we go,” he said, smiling as he studied the small paper boat with the length of horsehair tied to it. “Go on and give me another hair,” he said.

  Realization washed over Calliope as she handed him another hair and watched him repeat the same process of tying it to a small paper boat.

  “You’re gonna sail frogs down the stream!” she giggled with delight.

  Rowdy’s smile broadened. “We’re gonna sail frogs down the stream,” he playfully corrected. “The horsehairs will keep them from gettin’ away from us. Well, they’ll keep the boats from gettin’ away from us. I can’t make any promises about the frogs.”

  Calliope laughed and exclaimed, “How charming you are!”

  “Charmin’?” Rowdy asked, quirking one eyebrow.

  Calliope’s smile broadened. “Clever then…if charming offends you.”

  “Oh, charmin’ is fine. I’ve just never been called charmin’ before now,” he said, winking at her.

  As butterflies again caused her stomach to feel dizzy, she said, “Well, I can’t imagine why not. I find you very charming.” Blushing with a sudden bashfulness for having spoken so freely, Calliope hurried on. “And these little boats are just so adorable. Shay is going to love them!”

  “I’ve got six so far, Mr. Gates,” Shay announced as she plopped down beside Rowdy in the grass. “Is that enough?”

  “Are they tiny?” Rowdy asked.

  “Very tiny,” Shay responded.

  “Then they oughta give us a good start,” he assured her.

  Though she didn’t think it possible, Calliope fell even more in love with Rowdy Gates when he smiled and offered one of the small paper boats to Shay.

  “Mr. Gates!” Shay exclaimed. “It’s…it’s just the perfect size for a baby frog!” Her sweet, pretty brows furrowed into a frown then. “But won’t a frog hop out the moment we try to put him in the boat? And why is this horsetail hair tied to the boat?”

  Rowdy nodded. “Oh, the frogs will hop out eventually, but for some reason, it takes them a while. You’ll be surprised how long they’ll sit on a paper boat. And the horsehairs…well, that’s so we can hang onto the boats as long as we can.”

  Shay squealed and threw her arms around Rowdy’s neck in an affectionate hug. Calliope laughed, wishing all the while she could throw her arms around the man’s neck and hug him with appreciation as well. She remembered how wonderful he’d smelled the day before when she’d dared to kiss him on the cheek. Rowdy Gates smelled just as a man should—of grain and grass, ham, potatoes, and leather. She wondered if Shay would notice the way Rowdy smelled, and she wished again that she could hug him.

  “You are so smart, Mr. Gates!” Shay giggled as she released him and reached into her bucket to retrieve a baby frog. “Show me how. Show me how to sail him in this boat you made.”

  “All right,” Rowdy agreed. “Let’s go over by them cattails where the water is calmer.”

  Calliope gathered up the remaining paper boats as Rowdy took hold of the bucket handle. And before long, Shay was holding tight to the free end of the horsetail hair while a tiny frog sat perched on the bow of a small paper boat as it floated on the surface of the water.

  “Keep him movin’,” Rowdy explained. “If you let him sit still in one spot too long, he’ll jump out quicker.”

  Shay nodded and manipulated the horsetail hair so that the little sailboat bobbed back and forth and back and forth.

  Shay’s giggles were like the chimes of heaven, and Calliope could no longer remain a spectator.

  “May I try?” she asked Rowdy.

  “Of course,” Rowdy said. “Pick yourself a frog outta the bucket, and go to it.”

  Calliope reached into Shay’s bucket and retrieved a very small frog. “Oh, look how cute he is! Isn’t he just the cutest little thing?”

  Rowdy laughed. “Why do you girls keep referring to these frogs as hims? There’s girl frogs in there too, I’m sure.”

  Calliope smiled and explained, “Because I think we assume that all frogs are really handsome princes that have been turned into frogs by some wicked witch or fairy,” she explained. “Haven’t you been reading your fairy tales, Mr. Gates?”

  “I guess not,” Rowdy answered, smiling at her.

  Carefully Calliope placed her little frog in one of the tiny boats and cast it adrift. The excitement that traveled through her as the horsetail hair almost slipped through her fingers was startling, but she held tight and sailed her frog the way Rowdy had instructed Shay to do.

  “You’re gonna sail a frog too, aren’t you, Mr. Gates?” Shay asked.

  “You bet,” Rowdy assured her.

  Calliope watched as he reached into the bucket, retrieved a frog, and very adeptly set it to sailing.

  He chuckled. “Me and my brothers used to spend hours sailin’ frogs,” he remarked.

  “So you have brothers?” Calliope asked.

  But Rowdy’s smile faded. “I did…when I was boy,” came his rather unhappy sounding answer.

  “I don’t have any brothers,” Shay sighed. “At least yet. But maybe the baby Mama has in her tummy right now will turn out to be a
brother.”

  Calliope exchanged expressions of surprise with Rowdy.

  “What do you mean, Shay?” Calliope asked. “Did Kizzy tell you she’s going to have a baby?”

  Shay rolled her eyes with exasperation. “Goodness sakes, no, Calliope!” the little girl exclaimed. “She hasn’t even told Daddy yet. Why do you think she would’ve told me?”

  Rowdy Gates smiled a smile of amusement at understanding mischief. “You did know that your little sister here is a gypsy, didn’t you, Miss Calliope? The child claims to know things others don’t.”

  “I do know things other don’t,” Shay corrected Rowdy emphatically but kindly. “And I know my Mama is gonna have a baby. She’ll tell Daddy and the rest of us when she’s ready.” Turning to Calliope, she wagged a small, scolding index finger at her. “Now don’t you go tellin’ Mama that I told you, Calliope. There are some secrets sisters have to keep. Aren’t there?”

  Calliope blushed when Shay nodded toward Rowdy, implying that she knew Calliope’s secret concerning her feelings for him. It was an unspoken reminder that some secrets needed to be kept.

  “And don’t you tell nobody either, Mr. Gates,” Shay said, returning her attention to her sailing frog. “This is a family matter, so keep it to yourself.”

  Rowdy frowned with confusion for a second but eventually agreed, “Yes, ma’am, little miss.”

  There was the sound of a tiny splash, and then Calliope gasped, “Oh no! My frog jumped out!”

  Shay put a hand on her sister’s knee as a gesture of reassurance. “That’s all right, Calliope,” she soothed. “We have more in the bucket.”

  “Whoops…and there goes mine,” Rowdy chuckled.

  Shay smiled. “Mine is still on my boat! I’m a good frog sailer, ain’t I, Mr. Gates?”

  “The best I’ve seen in many a year, Miss Shay,” Rowdy assured her.

  Calliope sighed with contentment as she watched Rowdy take another frog out of the bucket and send it sailing. She watched as he laughed and talked with Shay—thinking of what a good father he would make to his own children.

  Naturally she started to inwardly scold herself for thinking of Rowdy Gates having children—of she and Rowdy having children together. But then Calliope glanced around her, noting the loveliness of the day, the warmth of it, and the matchlessness of the moment in which she was lingering. She figured it was almost expected to daydream ridiculous things on such a wonderful day.