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

by Pamela Morsi

  Henrietta gave a long, heartfelt sigh as she stared at the ground before her.

  "I've lived almost fifty years in this little town," she continued. "I walked every inch of it a thousand times and know the sight and scent of every season by heart. I've had my own little house and felt snug and safe and warm. I've grown some of the most beautiful roses that eyes have ever beheld. And I've loved one man for my whole life long."

  She hesitated thoughtfully.

  "Peer, I hate rowing this boat without you, but I just have to see what comes up on the horizon."

  She paused to glance once more into the vivid blue sky, so calm and untroubled.

  "Your soul may be in heaven," she continued, "but your spirit... your spirit is here in my heart." She folded her arms across her chest as if she were holding it inside.

  "I will keep you there. And as long as I live, you live."

  Henrietta rose to her feet. She brushed the dust from her skirt and then from her hands before she picked up her basket and turned to go.

  Standing some distance away under the silvery yellow canopy of an autumn maple tree, Sharpy Kilroy stood watching her.

  She'd had no idea that she was not alone in the cemetery. He had made no attempt to make his presence known. But he ran up to her now, bright-eyed and eager.

  "Hello, Aunt Hen," he said tentatively, as if to test if he was still allowed to call her by that name.

  "Good morning, Sharpy," she answered. "I didn't realize that you were here."

  He nodded back in the direction from which she'd come.

  "I saw you talking to old Mr. Chavis," Sharpy said. "I didn't want to end-er-up you."

  Henrietta smiled at him.

  'Thank you, that was very kind," she said.

  The little boy blushed, pleased with her praise.

  "I come and talk to my mom sometimes," he admitted. "I always tell her who I am, 'cause I've grown so big, she probably don't even recognize me anymore."

  "Oh, I bet she would," Henrietta assured him.

  "You think so?"

  "Oh yes, any mother would know you," she said.

  Sharpy grinned.

  "So are you heading home now?" he asked.

  "No, actually I'm heading for the courthouse," she said. "I have to see Judge Ramey about the stolen goods in the milk shed."

  "What are you going to tell him?" Sharpy asked.

  "I'm not planning to tell him anything," Henrietta said. "Now my niece is planning to say that she was the one who stole those things."

  Sharpy's eyes widened in disbelief.

  "Why would she do that?"

  "She is trying to keep you from getting in trouble," Henrietta told him. "So she is making up a big lie."

  "No one would believe that about Miss Pru," Sharpy said with certainty.

  "I couldn't agree with you more," Henrietta told him. "I personally make it a policy to tell the truth about things, difficult things, myself, in my own way. I always think that is better than just letting things come out as they always do. Somehow the truth eventually always comes out."

  "You think I should go down to the courthouse and tell the judge the truth?" Sharpy asked.

  "Yes, I think that would be the smartest and best thing to do," Henrietta told him. "You knew you shouldn't steal, and you did anyway. When you make mistakes like that, if s best just to take your punishment and get it over with."

  The little boy was thoughtful for a long moment.

  "Do you think they will send me to prison?" he asked.

  Henrietta shrugged.

  "I couldn't say. I'm not the judge," she told him. "But the thing to do is go down there, tell the truth, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the court."

  Chapter Forty

  Judge Ramey's chambers were on the second floor of the newly finished courthouse. Paneled in dark mahogany wood, the accommodations were as sumptuous and fine as any in Texas. The furniture was huge in aspect and intricately carved, the judge insisting that no expense be spared in providing the very best for "the good people in Chavis County."

  Since most of those good people would, with any luck, never see the inside of the judge's chambers, their appreciation remained unexpressed.

  Prudence Belmont did not take note of her surroundings. She was as nervous and jittery as she had ever been in her life. She didn't know what to hope for.

  If she were to be believed, there was a chance she would be sent to jail. If, however, Gidry convinced the judge that she were protecting a lover, once again she would be the object of tremendous gossip and pity. Poor Prudence, love has ruined her twice in a lifetime.

  Either way a tremendous scandal was forthcoming, and she had no idea how to prevent it. Except... except perhaps the truth. Did she really believe that Gidry, knowing the child to be his own, would fail to acknowledge him or send the boy away forever? Even knowing him to be a man much flawed, Pru could not really believe that he would deny his son.

  She bit down upon her lip. She was worried that Aunt Hen might be right about Pru's motivation for keeping Sharpy's parentage a secret. It was true that she had never shown much interest in children. And if people realized that the boy was Gidry's son, she would probably feel uncomfortable about showing any interest in him.

  But was that enough reason for her to allow whatever calamity that was shortly to befall them as the result of this hearing? Pru was not certain that it was.

  Gidry arrived, wearing his dress suit. He looked urbane and quite handsome. Not at all her intimate cowboy lover. His glance found her immediately, although she was not difficult to locate among the cluster of businessmen. Their gazes locked for one brief moment before Pru lowered her eyes.

  Why did she. suddenly feel so guilty? She was the one who was trying to do the right thing. The right thing for Sharpy, so that he would not be sent away. The right thing for the town, so they would not thoughtlessly accept a modern convenience whose drawbacks were unresolved. And right for herself and Gidry.

  That last one gave her pause. She had allowed herself to revel in a long night of passion with a man she had loved so long. Ostensibly it had been to offer him comfort, but he had given as much as he had taken. And he had assumed that marriage was part of the bargain. She had refused him because of gossip. She didn't want people to think that she had continued to love him. Now, people were going to think ... heaven only knew what people were going to think.

  Eight years ago, he had hurt her. He had embarrassed her. He had humiliated her. She had forgiven him, she assured herself, but she could never forget.

  More and more people began to enter the room. There were no longer sufficient chairs and spectators now lined the walls and hovered around the doorway.

  Gidry was speaking firmly with the judge, apparently concerned about the growing audience to the day's business. Finally the judge nodded and rose to his feet.

  “Today's hearing will be closed to the public," he announced.

  Noises of complaint rose immediately from the bystanders.

  "This is a private matter at this time," Judge Ramey insisted. "We are merely asking questions. If it is determined that crimes have been committed, they will be tried in open court."

  "We have a right to know if it’s true that you've found the stolen goods," Ollie Larson proclaimed. "And we have a right to know who the thief is. Some of us had our own houses robbed."

  "The court clerk will be taking notes," the judge stated. 'Those who have actually been robbed, Reverend Hathaway, Tatum, Honnebuzz. You may stay. If the rest of you all will just move on out into the corridor."

  Murmurs of disappointment grumbled through the crowd.

  "Constable, you can stay, but stand by the door," Judge Ramey said. "We will be announcing the outcome of these hearings as soon as they are concluded."

  As the mass of onlookers receded reluctantly into the hallway, Pru glanced nervously at those left in the room. Enough people certainly to ensure that nothing said in this room would remain private for v
ery long.

  "Now, Miss Prudence," Judge Ramey began. "For the record please state your name."

  "Prudence Belmont," she said, her voice catching slightly with nervousness.

  The judge smiled at her, apparently sympathetic to her disconcerted demeanor.

  "This is not a formal court procedure of any kind," he assured her. "We are here upon a fact gathering mission, and you are free to tell us what you know about the stolen property that has been found in your possession."

  "It was not technically found in Miss Belmont's possession," Gidry clarified. "It was found in the milk shed behind her aunt's home."

  "Yes," the judge agreed rather vaguely, unwilling to belabor the point. "Just tell us what you know, Prudence. The truth, that is all we want."

  She had rehearsed her story a dozen times that morning. She would simply confess that she had taken up housebreaking as a hobby. In great detail, drawing upon her experience of sneaking into the gin, she would describe how she roamed the streets of Chavistown looking for doors left unlatched and windows open.

  That is what she had planned to say. But she had spent most of the last decade trying to recover from the public embarrassment caused by Gidry Chavis. She knew that she would find it far more difficult to overcome publicly embarrassing herself.

  "I...I..."

  She just could not do it.

  "I refuse to answer, so that I may not incriminate myself," she said.

  There were murmurs of question all around her.

  "Now, Miss Pru," the judge began.

  "I know my rights," Prudence insisted. "I cannot be compelled to say anything that might implicate me in anything."

  "No one is trying to implicate you in anything," the judge assured her. "You need not be afraid to tell us the truth."

  The man's overly patient and increasingly patronizing manner grated upon her. She raised her chin defiantly and gave him a long, assessing glance, cold enough to keep ice in midsummer.

  "I may not be a lawyer, sir, or a judge," Pru told him, "but I did complete a normal school education, where I learned a good deal about the U.S. Constitution as well as the fifteen amendments to it. The one I'm referring to at this juncture is the fifth, I believe."

  Gidry cleared his throat loudly.

  Pru glanced over at him. His expression was extremely solemn, but in his eyes she detected something recognizable only as pride. Somehow he was proud of her. She was flirting with public humiliation, and he was proud of her.

  Judge Ramey, however, seemed to be losing patience.

  "Indeed, Miss Belmont," he said, "I, too, am familiar with the amendments. You cannot be forced to testify against yourself. But it has come to the attention of this court that you may be protecting someone. Whom are you trying to protect, Miss Pru?"

  She had no idea how to answer that. Not for anything in the world would she point the finger at young Sharpy, but Gidry's conclusion, that she was protecting a man, would shortly be the conclusion of everyone. It was incalculably unfair. Pru had spent so many years restoring her reputation and avoiding romantic entanglements. Now all of that was to be undone in a few short moments. It was grossly unjust. But how could it be avoided?

  Inexplicably her eyes were drawn to Gidry. His brow was furrowed in concern.

  "Are you protecting a man?" Judge Ramey questioned.

  Pru was close to tears of frustration. She didn't want to be a laughingstock once more, but she couldn't imagine any other way.

  "Miss Belmont, if you do not speak," the judge insisted, "I can hold you in contempt and put you in jail."

  "She is not required to speak," Gidry said suddenly.

  Every eye turned to stare at him.

  Judge Ramey looked askance.

  "Why ever not?" he asked.

  Gidry's glance held her for a long moment before he replied. "A wife cannot be compelled to testify against her husband."

  "Husband!"

  The word was a gasp among the onlookers.

  Pru's jaw dropped open in shock.

  "Miss Belmont is a spinster," Judge Ramey stated flatly.

  "I have reason to know that she is not," Gidry told him. "She ... she has been secretly married for some time, and she believes that her husband is involved in this ongoing thievery."

  "A secret marriage?"

  Pru heard the words spoken incredulously by Reverend Hathaway behind her. What was Gidry doing? Why was he saying these things?

  "How do you claim to know this?" Judge Ramey asked him.

  Gidry was looking at her again as if trying to convey some message.

  "I know this..." he said, "because I am the man she is trying to protect. Prudence Belmont has been for . .. for over eight years, Mrs. Gidry Chavis."

  "What?"

  The sound of Pru's horrified exclamation was lost in the pandemonium that broke out all around her. Everybody was talking at once.

  "Order! Order!" Judge Ramey bellowed.

  "I am the thief, Judge," Gidry proclaimed. "I have been sneaking back into town for years to see my wife, and I, being often short of funds, I began a life of crime. Only when my father's health caused him to accept me back into my family was I able to stop stealing."

  Pru stared across the room at him in disbelief, her heart near to breaking. Gidry, her wonderful Gidry, had struggled all his life with the inability to live up to the sterling example set by his father. Finally, at long last, he was accepted in this town, admired in this town, and he was throwing it all away. He was throwing it all away for her.

  "He's lying," she said loudly. "He's lying about everything. We were never married. And he has never stolen anything. For heaven sake, he hasn't even been in town for years. I am the thief. I took all those things. He is trying to shield me from justice."

  The roar of questions, speculation, backbiting, and gossip had risen to such a crescendo that the judge, having no gavel in his chambers, began pounding furiously upon the fancy desk top with a paperweight.

  Pru and Gidry stared at each other as all around them the speculation swelled. Pru could not even cringe from that knowledge. She could only marvel at the man across the room who, after all that had and had not been between them, must in fact truly love her.

  "Stop this instant, or I will clear the room immediately!" Judge Ramey was shouting.

  His threats eventually began to take effect. The crowd had just began to quiet when the door to the hallway burst open.

  Judge Ramey rose to his feet.

  "No one else is allowed in here."

  Henrietta Pauling and Sharpy Kilroy stood on the threshold.

  "I think you'd better hear what we have to say," Aunt Hen told him.

  The little boy rushed forward, his eyes wide and his coattails flying.

  "I confess, Judge, I did it," he said. "I'm here to throw myself in the murky-oven-quart."

  "What?"

  "I believe he wishes to throw himself upon the mercy of the court," Aunt Hen interpreted.

  "Miss Pru didn't do nothing, it was me," Sharpy said.

  Judge Ramey looked at the boy. He looked at Pru. He looked at Gidry. And he gave a long suffering sigh.

  "You can't all be guilty," he said. "Somebody here is lying."

  "Judge, may we have a short recess," Gidry asked. "I think I need to talk to ... to my wife."

  The portly man leaned back in his chair and surveyed the entire room.

  "Yes, Mr. Chavis," he said finally, "I do believe a short recess would be in order. Maybe you can all manage to get your stories straight."

  Chapter Forty-One

  Gidry, Pru, Aunt Hen, and Sharpy were relegated to a small anteroom on the far north side of the building. There was a large dormer window with a small balcony that overlooked the square and the town and the cotton fields in the distance.

  In the hallway behind them, the incredulous chatter was nearly deafening. The gossips, the unkind and most feared gossips of Chavistown, would never have a morning so fine as this one.

&nbs
p; Gidry was as calm as he had ever been in his life.

  "So it was you who has been staying in the milk shed," he said to the boy.

  Sharpy nodded. "I took those things. Miss Pru wanted to take my punishment, but I can't let her," he said. "If somebody is going to jail, it's going to be me."

  "No, we can't..." Pru began, her voice near pleading.

  Gidry held up his hand.

  "Why don't you sit here with Aunt Hen," he said to Sharpy. "I think I will talk to Miss Pru out on the balcony."

  The two nodded, and Gidry took the arm of his supposed wife and let her into the warm sunshine of the morning. He shut the twelve light doors behind them. Finally alone, Gidry felt unaccountably shy and incredibly foolish. How on earth could he have ever believed that she was seeing a lover? His sweet, honest, and faithful Pru, who cared so much for her reputation. How could he have ever thought something like that of her? He recalled with dismay the blood on her underdrawers. She had been an innocent virgin, of course, and he had taken her with the delicacy and finesse of a drunken sailor.

  "Why on earth did you make up that story about us being married?" she asked him.

  Gidry shrugged.

  "I couldn't think of any other way to save you," he answered. "When you reminded us that you couldn't be forced to testify against yourself, it came to me that you also couldn't be compelled to testify against a husband. I've spent a good deal of time with my father these last weeks making up tall tales. If I was going to make up one about you having a husband, the man in question was certainly going to be me."

  Pru's expression was marked with concern.

  "Being accepted and respected by this community is so important to you," she said. "I couldn't believe that you would risk that."

  “Any more than I could believe that you would swallow that hard won pride that you have acquired," he said.

  Gidry hadn't thought a great deal about what he was giving up. He had acted on instinct, as if throwing himself in front of a bullet. He had to save her from the damage that she was intent upon doing to herself. Sacrificing everything for her lover. Except now, of course, there was no lover.