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

by Pamela Morsi

  "Here comes the Interurban," she said. The window faced the front yard and had an unobstructed view of Main Street.

  "Must be twenty after," Teddy told her. "I've never needed a clock in my room, I wake up every morning to the buzz and rattle of the tracks."

  Claire shot him a quick grin as she secured the draperies in place with their gold braid sash. From the corner of her eye she could see the doctor making his way through the front gate.

  "Doc is leaving," she said. She giggled lightly. "He's running to make the trolley. He looks like a fool."

  "He is a fool," Teddy said with conviction. "He jerked my leg around like it wasn't even attached to me. And he told me not to worry about healing up. He said the bones of 'agrarian peons' always knit well." Teddy snorted in disgust. "I'd like to pee on him!"

  Claire giggled.

  "You're laughing," he accused. "You're laughing, and I thought that idiot was likely to kill me."

  His statement made Claire turn around abruptly. Her expression belligerent, she glared at the young man in the bed. "He'd better not, and you'd better not let him. I've invested a lot of time in you, Teddy Stefanski. First as a friend and now as a brother. I'm not about to let you just up and leave me here with everything still to be sorted out."

  "Oh, I see," he said. "You don't care about me, you just want to make sure that your latest scheme works."

  She stomped across the room to stand over his bed, hands on hips. Glaring down at him in an expression of feigned fury, she snarled, "You'd better hush your mouth, or I'm going to make what that Springfield tackler you ran into seem like nothing of any importance."

  Teddy grinned. "I can count on you, Claire. You never cajole when you can threaten."

  "Oh, you!" she snapped and then grinned back at him. Her tone softened. "You scared me, you idiot," she said. "What were you trying to do? Get yourself killed over a stupid football game?"

  "Not killed, never that," he answered with good humor. "Just crippled enough to garner sympathy from all the pretty girls."

  She raised a questioning eyebrow. "What about the sympathy of the ugly girls?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "I'll take that, too."

  "So you have my sympathy, for what it's worth," she said.

  "Well, it's worth a lot to me."

  She pulled a chair up to his bedside and seated herself beside him.

  "So we won, huh," he said.

  "We did. And if you weren't so full of yourself already, I'd tell you that it was your run that set up the score."

  "But I'm so full of myself that you're not going to tell me that."

  "No, I'm not saying a word about it."

  "Looks like we'll win state then."

  "Yes, we'll win state," she said. "But it won't be the same if you don't play."

  Teddy shrugged and screwed up his face thoughtfully. "It won't be the same for me, either."

  Claire's expression became grim. "Doc says you won't play football again."

  Teddy raised an eyebrow. "I think my father is supposed to give me that kind of bad news," he said.

  "He's probably waiting to hear from the specialist," she said. "But I thought you'd kind of want to know what's coming."

  Shrugging agreement, Teddy nodded thoughtfully at her words.

  "Are you very sad?" she asked.

  He didn't answer for a long minute. "Yes, I'm sad," he said. "But I'm a little bit excited, too."

  "Excited?"

  "Well, you know I had things sort of planned out. I'd go to Notre Dame and I'd play football for Coach Harper and I'd see the world."

  "Yes, that was always the plan," she agreed.

  "But now, the plan will have to change."

  "And that's exciting?" She was looking at him quizzically.

  "It can be. I thought up one whole life for myself. Now I get to think up another."

  "Do you want another?"

  He nodded. "Yes, maybe I do. I haven't ever really wanted to head back East. I've never really wanted to see the world that much."

  "But of course you have, Teddy," she said. "We've always talked about it."

  "I know we have," he admitted. "But the truth is that I'm really interested in my father's business and Venice is my home. I never really want to live anywhere else."

  Claire's eyes widened, her tone was shocked. "You don't want to leave Venice? I can hardly wait to get out of this town."

  "I know you can't, Claire," he said. "And I'm thrilled for you. I know that you'll have a terrific time in some big city somewhere."

  "I sure will," she said confidently. "There is a whole world out there and I want to see and be a part of every bit of it."

  He grinned at her. "I know you do," he said. "You've always been more interested in that sort of thing than I have. After all, it was you who really came up with the Notre Dame plan anyway."

  "I did?"

  "Of course you did," Teddy said, scoffing at her surprise. "You've come up with every idea I've ever taken up in my life."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I guess that's true. So now I get to come up with another one."

  "No," he said firmly. "This time I want the plan to be mine."

  She wrinkled her nose at him disapprovingly and then laughed. "Okay," she said. "So what's the plan?"

  "I think I'm going to go to the state university in Columbia and study architecture," he said. "I can get a good education there and won't be so far from home. I can come back and work at the brickyards whenever I'm needed. As soon as I graduate, we can expand the business. Brick is a building material whose time is passing quickly. The future is all concrete and steel and I want to be there."

  Claire looked at Teddy as if she'd never really seen him before. "This is really what you want, isn't it? You really just want to be a part of your father's business. It's what you've always wanted."

  "Yes, I think it is."

  "So you're glad this terrible thing has happened to you."

  "No," he said. "I'm not really glad. I love playing football. I'll miss it. But I have to see things as they are. I have to look at fate in terms of its opportunities. This is an opportunity for me to do something different."

  Claire was silent, thoughtful as she stared at him. Finally she nodded. "You know, I think I understand what you're saying. I've kind of been there, too, you know."

  "Have you?"

  "When I found out you were my brother, well, it really changed all the plans I'd ever had for myself. If you think I had your life lined up like a row of dominoes, I truly had mine in order. And when I discovered Aunt Gertrude's journal, well, it just turned everything topsy-turvy." She sighed heavily and shook her head. "But, like you, I'm looking for those opportunities."

  "Good girl," Teddy congratulated her. He paused for a moment reflecting on what she had said.

  "What kind of plans did the journal change?" he asked.

  "Well," she hesitated, laughing a little. "Honestly, Teddy, I planned to marry you."

  "Marry me!" He sat bolt upright in bed and then groaned out loud at the pain his sudden movement caused.

  "Don't upset yourself," she said. "Of course, I don't plan that anymore."

  "For heaven's sake, Claire," he said. "You didn't really ever think that we'd be married."

  "Well, of course I did. And we would have. I decided that I was going to marry you before we were even in grammar school."

  "You decided you were going to marry me before we even went to grammar school!"

  "I just said that, didn't I?"

  Teddy was shaking his head in disbelief. "We never would have gotten married," he insisted firmly.

  "Of course, we would have," she said. "We get along so well together, we were perfect for each other. Just two peas in a pod from the time we were babes, everybody said so. As soon as you'd finished college and were ready to see the world, I was going to be there to see it with you."

  "I wasn't going to get any say in this? You were just going to pick the pod and I was going
to have to live in it?"

  "Oh, Teddy, don't get snarly."

  "Why shouldn't I get snarly? You planned my whole life without ever thinking about what I might want."

  'Teddy, don't be silly," she scoffed. "You know that you always want what I want."

  "Claire, you really think you know everything about everybody, don't you?" he said.

  "Not everybody, just most everybody," she corrected. "I don't know why you're in such a snit. You're my brother now, so we can't marry."

  "What a narrow escape," he said snidely.

  "Don't be rude, Teddy. You're my brother and I love you. I only want what's best for you and now you can go to college here in Missouri and marry Olive Widmeyer. Everything has worked out perfectly."

  "Olive Widmeyer! I'd never marry Olive Widmeyer. She makes me nervous," he said. "I shouldn't have even gone to the dance with her. And I wouldn't have if you hadn't put me up to it. I could never marry her. We'd never be comfortable together."

  "Sure you will," she said, patting him reassuringly. "After you're married it will all work out fine."

  "Claire—"

  "We don't have to talk about that now. We've got more important things to consider."

  "Like what?"

  "Like getting the truth between us and our parents settled once and for all," she said. "I have a plan."

  "I don't think I'm going to like this."

  "I know. But you'll go along with it anyway."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  "I'M NOT LEAVING here," Claire stated obstinately. "I won't leave Teddy in his hour of need."

  Gertrude and Mikolai looked at each other in stunned disbelief. They stood in the center of Teddy's bedroom, brightly lit by the electric bracket lamps on each wall. Young Miss Barkley was seated in a chair at his bedside, looking extremely composed and sounding extremely confident. The young people had been allowed almost a full hour of time alone. Gertrude and Mikolai should never have permitted such a lengthy piece of privacy, but caught up in their own private drama, the minutes had slipped by.

  "Claire, darling," Gertrude began gently. "We all understand how upset you must be. You've had a nasty scare today, but you simply cannot stay here with Teddy."

  "He needs me, Aunt Gertrude," she said. "And I'm staying."

  "You needn't worry about my son," Mikolai told her, smiling kindly at her dutiful possessiveness. "He is not in any danger and I am here to watch over him. It's a job I've been glad to do for many years."

  "I have to be here myself," she said emphatically. 'Teddy's had a terrible blow today. I don't mean just breaking his kneecap. I've told him that he'll never play football again."

  Mikolai's expression grew weary. "I was going to tell you myself, son," he said quietly.

  "I know you were," Teddy answered. "But Claire has already told me, and truthfully, I think I understood that before I ever left the field today."

  "I am so very sorry," Mikolai said.

  "Please, Father," he said. "I'm okay. I don't mind, really, I—" Teddy glanced over at Claire and stuttered. "I . . . I ... I just need to have Claire with me."

  "But Teddy—"

  "Not in here" he said. "I don't mean she must be in this room. But I want her close by. Can't she just stay in the guest room?"

  "Of course I can, Teddy," Claire answered for Mikolai. "And that is exactly what I intend."

  "Claire, this just isn't done," Gertrude said.

  Her niece smiled up at her in that strange and curious way she had of late. "I must take after you, Aunt Gertrude," she said. "I do what I think I should do. I don't hold myself to the dictates of society."

  "That's all well and good, Claire," Gertrude replied. "And I think that you, that everyone, should stand up to convention when you think it is necessary. But at this moment, for this reason, Claire darling, it is not necessary."

  "But I want to stay," she said. "And Teddy wants me to, don't you?"

  "Yes, I definitely think that she should stay," he said, raising up slightly in bed. His color was much improved from earlier in the evening and the pain in his leg was either ebbing considerably or masked by the powders the doctor had given him.

  "Claire must stay with me," Teddy said decisively. "But we needn't throw good sense completely out the window."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You should stay, too, Miss Gertrude," he said. "You are Claire's chaperone, after all."

  "I couldn't stay here." She was clearly horrified. 'Two single women do not stay in a house with two single men."

  "Well, suit yourself, Aunt Gertrude," Claire said. "I can understand that you might want to safeguard your own reputation, so please don't worry about mine."

  "Claire, I—"

  "Please, Aunt Gertrude, Mr. Stefanski, I think we should let Teddy rest now. This has all been too much for him."

  She leaned forward to pat the young man consolingly upon the arm. Teddy smiled up at her as if she were his private guardian angel.

  "Why don't you two continue your conversation in the hallway," Claire suggested. "That way you can say everything that you wish, without disturbing our patient."

  "Yes, Claire's right," Teddy told them. "Claire's always right. I think we should all do as she suggests."

  Stunned into speechlessness, the two adults followed the young lady's dictates and moved into the hallway where they stood staring at each other.

  "This is unbelievable," Gertrude said finally, breaking the silence.

  Gertrude glanced around her uncomfortably. She had never been upstairs in the Stefanski house. It was dark, masculine, tasteful in a sparse and orderly sort of way. The ivory-and-claret Brussels carpet runner was eye-catching against the dark pine floors and made up for the lack of wallpaper adorning the walls. A large brass hall fixture that was obviously chosen for its utility rather than its attractiveness shed abundant light in the long, narrow hallway. She liked it, she decided. She liked the upstairs of the Stefanski house.

  At the instant she discerned her own thoughts she became wary. She didn't belong upstairs. This part of the house was for the family. She was not part of the family.

  A clawing ache seemed to settle in her chest. She closed her eyes tightly and repeated the thought to herself once more. She was not a part of the family. This was not the time away from the world that they had created at the little Second Street apartment. This was Mikolai's real life, his real world. And she was not now, nor ever would be, a part of it. Determinedly she repeated that litany to herself. She was not a part of his real life. In his real world, she was no one.

  Mikolai's brow was furrowed thoughtfully as he stared first at his son's door and then at Gertrude.

  "You did say that George didn't want the two of you in Barkley House now that Lester is ill."

  "What? Oh no, he doesn't," Gertrude said somewhat offhandedly. Then, realizing what Mikolai was saying, she immediately set out to dissuade him. "But I'm sure George would never suggest that we stay here."

  "No, I don't suppose that he would suggest it," Mikolai agreed. "But it's really not so terrible an idea."

  "It certainly is a terrible idea."

  Gertrude glanced up and down the hall at all the doorways now closed. She needed to keep them closed. She was no part of Mikolai's real life. She shouldn't know what was behind those doors.

  "I think perhaps that you both should stay," Mikolai said.

  Gertrude stared at him in near horror.

  "Oh, no, I ... I couldn't."

  Her passionate refusal raised his eyebrow and Gertrude felt obliged to explain. Except she wasn't really certain what explanation she had.

  She leaned closer to him, her voice lowering to a whisper. "People will hear of it, Mikolai, and what if someone begins to suspect ... to suspect us."

  "Why would anyone suspect us? It must look much more suspicious for both of us to be sneaking away from our lives every afternoon. Here, in front of the whole town, here with the children, we wouldn't do anything here with the chi
ldren. No one would think it."

  "Well, no, I don't suppose they would."

  "Not even the more scurrilous gossip would be low enough to suggest that."

  "No, certainly not."

  "And if you're worried, I ... I hope you know that I would never try to take advantage—"

  "Oh, no, Mikolai, I never thought that."

  "So why don't you just stay. You can watch over Claire and . . . and I can watch over you," he said.

  He made it sound so simple. As if it were merely a decision about a room to occupy for a night. She knew that it was more than that. It was much more.

  Gertrude managed to smile at him, but just barely. Her heart was heavy. She didn't want to be here, here in his house. It wasn't her place.

  A flood of feelings, strange sentimental feelings, filled her heart until she feared that she might drown in them. She didn't want to examine how she felt, but she could hardly avoid it. Being here, being within Mikolai's real life, it made her want it to be her real life, too.

  No, she could not stay here with Mikolai, not even for one night. It was far too dangerous. She could not stay, but she couldn't simply leave Claire either. That would be unthinkable. George and Prudence would never forgive her. And the girl seemed determined to stay.

  "I don't know what to do," she told him.

  She felt his hand against her cheek and she looked up into his eyes. His gaze was so penetrating, so knowing, she wanted to glance away, but she did not.

  "It's not merely the impropriety that bothers you," he said.

  "No, it's not just that," she admitted.

  "I know that you are not afraid of me. I know you're not simply worried about the children." He continued to gaze at her assessingly. "I cannot guess," he said. "So you must tell me."

  "I shouldn't stay here," she stated flatly.

  He nodded. "And are you going to tell me why?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "I suppose that I am."

  Mikolai took her hand and pressed it against his cheek. He waited.

  "A long time ago," she began, "a very long time ago, when I first began to write, I made up a story."