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

by Pamela Morsi

  "It is perfectly legal," Armand told him. "The law was made for situations exactly like this."

  The old man tutted disapprovingly.

  "I wanted you named as judge, Armand Sonnier, because I believed that you were honorable and principled."

  "And I believe that I am, Father," he said. "I believe that what I am doing is the best thing, the right thing, and the perfect solution to the problem at hand."

  The old priest's huff was skeptical.

  "Laron and Helga love each other. They have been living in sin, but they want to repent of that, to 'go and sin no more.' We can give them the opportunity to do that.'

  "It would compound sin upon sin to bless a marriage that is unlawful and bigamous."

  "I have issued the declaration of death. It is therefore neither unlawful nor bigamous," Armand said.

  Stubbornly the priest shook his head.

  "Helmut Shotz is dead, absolutely and incontrovertibly dead to the state of Louisiana."

  "What is truth for the state of Louisiana, young man," the priest answered, "is not the same as truth for the Holy Roman Catholic Church."

  Armand's expression turned shrewd. In life, as in the game of bourré, it was best to let one's opponents take the easy tricks, puff up their confidence, so that one might more easily overwhelm them at the last. Father Denis had already thrown in his best cards. Armand moved to play his own.

  "Father Denis, are you still praying very hard for your new school?"

  The old man raised an eyebrow and regarded Armand questioningly.

  "I know what it is you want," Armand said. "You want a school to teach our children about reading and writing and the world outside ours. But we are very leery of such teaching. We want our children to grow up just like us, farmers, cattle herders, fishermen. Most of us would not voluntarily send our children to school. But if it were the law, if the parish law required that all children attend school, no man or his family would go against it."

  "You are telling me nothing that I do not know," Father Denis said.

  "You need for me to make such a law, Father. You will never have your school unless I do. And I am loath to make it, because I worry about our children also."

  "What are you saying?"

  "If you will honor the death declaration and accept the marriage of Laron and Helga, I will decree that all parish children be given education."

  "That is blackmail," Father Denis accused.

  Armand grinned at him. "Father, the Lord works in mysterious ways."

  The old priest was thoughtful, pensive, considering. Armand knew he had found the chink in his armor.

  "Her husband is dead," Armand assured him.

  "Madame Landry believes it to be so, and so do I. The paper only officially declares what we believe already."

  He wasn't convinced.

  "What we believe or want to believe is not equal to what we know to be true. There is no grave, no body, not even word that the man has died."

  "But Madame Landry—"

  "The old woman is an herb healer not a soothsayer," Father Denis insisted. "She cannot know things beyond us."

  "She is the traiteur, Father. She talks to the voices," Armand said.

  The old priest scoffed. "She thinks she hears Joan of Arc on the river. That is superstition and none of the Church."

  "Who is to say what is real and is not?" Armand asked.

  "I am to say it," Father Denis replied. "I am to say it and I do say it. Helmut Shotz is not dead until he is proven dead. You may declare him dead a hundred times, but until I see that he is dead, his widow will not be married in my church."

  "They need not marry in your church, Father. They can marry elsewhere. You need only to accept their marriage, bless it, and regard it as true."

  "You think some other priest would marry them quicker?" Father Denis asked incredulously.

  "It need not be a priest, Father. Helmut Shotz was Lutheran, Helga's first marriage was in their church. She and Laron could wed there also."

  Father Denis scoffed. "Wedding in a Lutheran church is the same as no wedding at all."

  The two men stilled at the words. They stopped and stared at each other.

  "She was married to this Shotz by a Lutheran minister?" Father Denis asked. "No Catholic priest or prelate officiated?"

  Armand shook his head. "No, Father."

  The old priest smiled. "Then as far as I am concerned, the woman has never been married."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The wedding of Helga Shotz and Laron Boudreau was one of the happiest ever celebrated in Prairie l'Acadie. The couple was dazzlingly attractive. Laron, as always, was resplendent in knee-length culotte, formally donned with silk hose and leather boots. His indigo-blue jacket was buttoned high, just to the knot of his yellow silk tie.

  Helga looked startlingly different divested of her drab German clothes. With Aida's help, she had donned a striped skirt of pale green and purple and her corset vest was vivid red.

  Virtually every human being within fifty leagues of the parish had shown up. The Boudreau family alone was a monumental crowd.

  Father Denis officiated. After effecting Helga's conversion to Catholicism, he was eager to lead her out of sin and to bring her, much welcomed, into the fold.

  The wedding was quiet and solemn. The Mass was said, the wine was tasted. The vows were made. It was not Armand but Karl Shotz who stood as garcon d'honneur beside the bridegroom. His chin was held high with pride, and the young boy's bearing was already much that of a man.

  When Father Denis pronounced them husband and wife a cheer of joy went up from the crowd. Laron kissed his bride, lovingly, longingly, lingeringly, until young Karl tapped him on the shoulder and reminded his new father that the couple was not alone. The well-wishers laughed uproariously. The happy couple blushed with chagrin and happiness.

  Ony Guidry struck up the fiddle and the dancing began. Food for the feast had been brought from every household and the long planks that had been laid out were filled and weighted down with it.

  The Shotz children had been totally taken in by the Boudreau family and at the wedding Jakob and Elsa found themselves completely surrounded by their new relatives, tantes, oncles, and cousines, many many cousines.

  "How many cousins do I have?" Jakob had asked Father Denis, overwhelmed with his good fortune.

  The old priest considered for a long time.

  "That will be your first mathematics problem at the school, Jakob," he said. "When you can count high enough to get the number of all your cousins, I will award you a mark."

  The little boy was industriously working on it. But he continued to have trouble with the numbers that began with twenty.

  Aida danced with the new bridegroom, her brother-in-law, Marchand, Granger, Pierre Babin, and even old man Breaux. But mostly she danced with her husband, who twirled and twirled her on the floor, glorying in the pleasure of partnering her.

  Aida was laughing and happy and having a wonderful time. When she spied Ruby, she motioned the young woman over to her.

  "Ruby, you look lovely tonight," she said. "And so very very happy. What is it?"

  Her friend smiled back. "Oh, you are joking with me. You must have heard," she said.

  "Heard what?" Aida asked.

  "I am engaged."

  Aida's mouth dropped open in disbelief and then she squealed with delight and hugged her friend.

  "Who? Who is it?" she asked.

  "Surely you know?"

  "No, I haven't any idea."

  "But you must," Ruby insisted. "You invited me Sunday after Sunday to sit upon your porch. Why else would you have done that? Surely you planned for me to marry him."

  "Who? Placide? Ignace?"

  Ruby wrinkled her nose and giggled with disbelief. "Of course not, silly. I'm to wed Monsieur Gaudet."

  "Who?

  "Monsieur Gaudet, your father."

  "My father?"

  "Yes, as soon as he heard you had wed Arm
and, he came over to ask me. He said that he had waited so long because he wanted you safely wed and didn't think it fair to bring another woman into the house while you still lived there."

  "That's why he is so anxious for us to move," Aida said to herself.

  "You do not mind, do you? I thought you would be happy for us. That you had planned it for us. But if you—"

  Aida hushed her with a kiss.

  "I could not be more happy. You and Poppa, I ... I am delighted."

  "He is so handsome, do you not think so?" Ruby gushed. "And such a gentleman. He makes me feel so pretty. He says that I am the most beautiful woman in his heart. Is that not lovely? And Maman is so thrilled because he is such a great catch for me. He is wealthy, the wealthiest man in the parish, you know. Of course he is much older than I," Ruby admitted, but then leaned closer to speak more privately. "But when I agreed to wed him, Aida, he kissed me. And then he did not seem old at all."

  It was after much dancing and laughter and celebration that Laron and Helga boarded their wedding pirogue. The little boat sported a fresh coat of pine tar and was festooned with ribbons and berries and prettied up in a manner befitting a bride.

  Once the bride was seated and they pulled away from shore, the rowdy young men waded into the water, teasingly threatening to tip them into the river.

  As Helga squealed Laron kept them at bay with his pole until they were out into the river far enough to be safe.

  Aida felt a hand enjoin with hers and glanced back to find her husband at her side. He gave her a wink and surreptitiously pulled her away from the crowd. Hand in hand they ran away from the rollick along the river and into the privacy of the wooded glade beyond the church.

  Alone at last, Armand backed her against a sturdy cottonwood and kissed her passionately.

  "I love you, Aida Sonnier," he said. "I love you more than anything or anyone in the world."

  "Mmm, and I love you, my Armand, my wonderful, wonderful Armand," she answered.

  Their mouths and bodies fit together perfectly.

  Both because they were made that way, and because of much recent practice. Their kiss was hot and urgent with pent-up longing.

  "I want you, Aida," he whispered. "I don't think I can wait until we get home."

  She giggled against his neck. "Well, it is almost full dark," she said. "Surely if we are quiet, no one will find us out."

  "I don't know if I can be quiet," he said as his hands began to roam the geography that he had already learned so well.

  Aida moaned aloud. "I'm not sure I can be quiet myself," she admitted.

  "What the devil do you have on?" Armand asked suddenly, the timber of his voice rising as he was startled out of his revelry.

  "They are called drawers," Aida answered. "Helga gave them to me. All the German women wear them and they have become quite the fashion among the Creoles and the Americaines, she assures me."

  "I don't like them," he said bluntly.

  "They are a wonderful invention," Aida said. "They are warm and pretty and a woman need not live in mortal fear of every gust of wind that comes her way."

  "But Aida, I can't get to you through these," he complained.

  "Then, Monsieur Sonnier, you will just have to learn how to take them off."

  Jakob watched and waved at the departing pirogue long after the music and dancing had resumed. His oncle was now his poppa, which was how he had always dreamed it would be.

  Tonight they would spend in the cabin on Bayou Tortue by themselves. Tomorrow Monsieur Hebert, or rather Oncle Ozeme, would take him and Elsa and Karl home and they would live forever with Mama and Poppa. And Jakob's name would not be Shotz anymore. It would be Boudreau, just like Mama's and Poppa's and like so many of his cousins.

  He squinted to catch the last glimpse of the prettily festooned boat in the distance, the happy couple within it so very much in love. He closed his eyes to try to press the sight upon his memory forever. He succeeded admirably.

  Twenty years later he was to recall it with perfect clarity as he decorated his own pirogue with blooming hyacinth and real satin ribbons brought all the way from New Orleans by steam packet. It was right to have it done up so pretty as his bride, Mademoiselle Sonnier, was extremely so. In fact people said of his lovely Jeanette that she was the most beautiful woman on the Vermilion River.

  Also by Pamela Morsi

  Territory Trysts

  Wild Oats

  Runabout

  Tales from Marrying Stone

  Marrying Stone

  Simple Jess

  The Lovesick Cure

  A Marrying Stone Christmas (coming soon)

  Small-Town Swains

  Heaven Sent

  Something Shady

  No Ordinary Princess

  Sealed With a Kiss

  Garters

  The Love Charm

  Women’s Fiction

  Doing Good/Social Climber of Davenport Heights

  Letting Go

  Suburban Renewal

  By Summer’s End

  The Cotton Queen

  Bitsy’s Bait & BBQ

  Last Dance at Jitterbug Lounge

  Red’s Hot Honky-Tonk Bar

  Contemporary Romance

  The Bikini Car Wash

  The Bentley’s Buy at Buick

  Love Overdue

  Mr. Right Goes Wrong

  Single Title Historicals

  Courting Miss Hattie

  Sweetwood Bride

  Here Comes the Bride

  Novellas

  With Marriage In Mind in the collection Matters of the Heart

  The Pantry Raid in the collection The Night We Met

  Daffodils In Spring in the collection More Than Words: Where Dreams Begin

  Making Hay

  About the Author

  National bestseller and two-time RITA Award winner, Pamela Morsi was duly warned. “Lots of people mistakenly think they are writers,” her mother told her. She’d be smart to give it up before she embarrassed herself. Fortunately, she rarely took her mother’s advice. With 30 published titles and millions of copies in print, she loves to hear from readers.

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