The Secret Bliss of Calliope Ipswich (10 page)

“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 cup. “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 lea
f 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.

Calliope sighed with awed admiration as she gazed into the g
ristmill 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 wa
nt 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.

*

Rowdy wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “It ain’t even summer yet, and it’s already hotter than hell in here,” he said to Dex.

“Well, I imagine you are hot, Rowdy,” Dex responded. “You’re wearin’ long sleeves when the rest of us stripped our shirts off long ago.”

Rowdy frowned. “Well, the rest of you don’t seem to be the favorite target of them dang pigeons to try and crap on,” Rowdy pointed out.

Dex chuckled
, and so did Fox.

“What do you mean?” Tate asked. He paused in his work to look at Rowdy with curiosity.

Fox smiled and explained, “There’s a couple of pigeons up in the rafters that we ain’t been able to chase out or shoot, and both of them seem hell-bent on crappin’ on Rowdy every other day or so.” He laughed. “I swear, it’s like they wait up there ’til he ain’t lookin’ and then just let go.”

Tate smiled. “You’re kiddin’ me.”

“Nope,” Dex affirmed, shaking his head. “They get him a couple of times a week.”

“It’s
because he’s so purty under that mess of a beard,” Fox teased.

Rowdy sighed yet smiled with amusement. “It does seem that they’ve been bullyin’ me around and leavin’ everyone else alone
, though I can’t figure why. I sure ain’t the shiniest new penny in here.”

“How old are you, boss?” Tate asked.