Will woke early and finished milking, but when Thomas told him to clean the calf pens, Will snarled, “I stayed last night, but not today. I’m going to town.”
Thomas took a swig from his flask and said, “Will, I need you here. Those pens are filthy from the scours that hit the calves this week.”
“Sorry, Dad. Put that bottle down, buck up, and do it yourself.”
“But, Will — ”
Will pushed past Thomas and headed into the house to clean up. He found his best tan cotton trouser, pulled his buttoned-down plaid shirt--the one he’d gotten for Christmas but has never worn--from the closet, and polished his brown oxfords until his fingers hurt.
Mary wasn’t his first sweetheart. The girls liked Will, but there was never time to get serious. Friends began to call him “Batch.” But Mary was special. Many a fella chased after the young teacher from Hinton, so Will worried that his absence the night before might push him back in line. But today, he intended to reestablish his lead status. He worried most about Fred Schmidt. Fred was persistent, and he had money. He had a motor car, too. Will didn’t think Mary was interested in him, but he knew that Fred wouldn’t hesitate if he saw an opening, and money bought lots of things.
When Will led Fanny from her stall, he passed his dad. He looked so sad that Will wished he’d not been so harsh. “The gate between the barnyard and lane is sagging like an old cow’s milk-heavy udder,” Will said. “I’m going to buy some bolts so I can fix that old barnyard gate.” Calling the trip business made him feel better about running off like this.
“I need those calf pens cleaned.”
“Not today, Dad.” Again, he was about to tell Thomas to do it himself, but his father looked so miserable —“Later, Dad. I’ll do it after I get back from town.”
Will jumped into the buggy and shouted toward Fanny, “Giddyap, old girl.”
Where would Mary go? He thought about driving to her apartment at the west edge of Ashley Springs, but that was farther, and he knew she usually went shopping on Saturday morning. Most farmers took their families to town Saturday night, but she had told him, “I love those kiddies, but five days a week is enough.”
Sometimes Mary rented a horse and buggy and drove eight miles down the dirt road to her mother’s in Hinton. He hoped this wasn’t one of those weekends. If she was in town today, he’d find her — even if he had to check every store in the village. Ashley Springs’ main business district, High Street, ran uphill a half mile from Commerce Street at the lower end of town to the state road on the village’s northwest perimeter.
Samuels’ Department Store seemed as good a place as any to start his search. So he raced down High Street and entered the door underneath the cast-iron dog.
“Mr. Samuels, has the school teacher been in today?”
“Miss Tregonning? She’s been looking at a dress. Thought she might be in, but haven’t seen her. Not today.”
“If she stops, tell her I’m going to the library.”
Will dodged people as he dashed past sturdy rock buildings, some more than fifty years old, some with painted facades and signs that advertised their wares. Maybe she stopped at Sandby’s grocery. Will pushed through the front door. He looked up and down the aisles, but the store was empty. “Mr. Sandby, I thought I might find Mary Tregonning in here.”
“I haven’t seen her, Will. My daughter heard her say she was going to Hinton this weekend. Mirabelle’s in her third grade class, you know.” Sandby pointed toward a display case behind him. “I got some new corncob pipes yesterday. The salesman said they smoke real good.” He pulled one from the case and offered it to Will. “Interested?”
“Only if you have a Meerschaum. I always wanted a Meerschaum.” Will looked back as he pulled open the door. “Gotta go.”
“Maybe she went to Hinton last weekend,” Sandby said. “Memory’s not so good anymore.”
Will wasn’t sure where to try next, but he wasn’t about to quit now. He waited for two buggies to pass, then crossed the cobblestone street and looked in Silvia Antoine’s Beauty Salon, but it was empty.
He remembered that Mary said her pens were smearing ink, so he raced back up High Street to Andrews’ Stationary Store. That was a long shot, but he knew that Mary sometimes bought her pen nibs there. But she wasn’t there. He raced back down the street toward Warner’s Book Store, waved through the open door at Bennie as he passed the bar, but didn’t stop when Bennie hollered, “Come on in, Will. Have a cold one.”
Will turned the corner on Iowa Street and walked three blocks to Josh Whittington’s Music Emporium. Maybe she was in the market for some piano music. But she wasn’t there either. He began to think that Sandby’s memory wasn’t so bad after all.
Out of breath and his shirt soaked, Will slowed as he returned to High Street. Darn. How could he be so unlucky? Could Fanny make it to Hinton and back? He had never taken her that far before, and it was hot today; probably too hot to risk it. But he felt desperate. He looked into Mason’s Hardware. Might as well buy those bolts.
Will liked Bob Mason. He liked to shoot the breeze and talk village gossip with him. Everyone liked Bob. And if anyone knew who was out and about, it would be Bob Mason.
“Bob, I hear you’re going to run for mayor.”
“Mayor? Nah. Not interested.”
“You have lots of customers out there.”
“I couldn’t beat Tommy, you know that.”
“He doesn’t need the job. Municipal judge work keeps him busy.”
“I’ve got more than enough with the store and family.”
Will supposed eight kids would keep a man home — that and the loveliest wife in town.
“I saw your lady heading down the street a while ago,” Bob said.
“Mary?”
Will forgot the sagging gate as he rushed out the door and ran toward his favorite place in town, the library at the bottom of High Street, the last stop on his route down the hill. If Mary was there, he hoped she hadn’t already left. He glanced through store windows as he ran toward the library, but didn’t see Mary, and he didn’t stop to ask.
Will took the library’s steps two at a time to the little rock building’s door, but he stopped and removed his cap before entering. The library smell was distinct and fresh, but old, too. He supposed it was because of all the history stored there. He looked around the large room but didn’t see a familiar face.
Will loved this room. He would read the latest editions of The Breeder’s Gazette, Hoard’s Dairyman and Farm Journal, or catch up on world news. He would read the Wisconsin State Journal, and sometimes he’d pull The Chicago Tribune, or maybe the Sunday editions of The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal. So many choices that he couldn’t possibly read them all, but mostly they wrote about the same stuff anyway.
He glanced up the nearest rows of neatly stacked books, but he saw no one. She must not have come here. He pulled the Wisconsin State Journal from the newspaper rack and saw that Europe was aflame with hostilities. It wouldn’t take much to embroil the Old World in war.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a floral covered dress emerge from the far stacks. He looked up, and when he saw it was Mary, he felt a little light headed. The newspaper slipped from his fingers. “Why, Mary, I heard you went to Hinton. I never expected to see you today.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head and smiled.
Will was certain that she saw through his little white lie. “I’m so embarrassed that I missed the dance last night. We had a breakdown in the field, and — ”
“That Fred Schmidt, he pestered me all night long.”
Jealousy overcame Will. “I suppose Fred — ”
“Don’t you worry about Fred. The other boys kept me so busy, I only gave him one dance.”
Will tossed a shoulder and forced a smile. “You don’t know what you missed, what I had planned for you.”
“Oh, tell me, Will.”
“You’re so pretty in your new flowered dress.”
Mary lifted the dress to show her ankles, and then tiptoed a circle.
Will’s eyes followed her movement across the floor. “Mighty nice.”
“Will! You didn’t even look at the dress.”
He felt himself blush. “I did. I liked that, too!”
“You should be ashamed.” She wagged her finger. “I spent my hard-earned money and you didn’t even look at it.”
But Will knew that Mary was pleased. “Why, it’s prettier than the dress in Samuel’s front window. And he puts his finest out there.”
“Will! It’s the dress from Samuel’s front window. I bought it an hour ago.”
“How’d I not notice? It can’t be the dress then. Must be the girl wearing it. But I don’t miss everything, my dear. I’ve noticed that you’re a beautiful lass whatever you’re wearing.”
“You’re not Irish, are you, young man?”
“No indeed, ma’am.” Will tossed a shoulder and flashed a sly grin. “We O’Shaughnessys are as German as Kaiser Bill.”
“And I suppose you think the Tregonnings are English like that man Churchill.”
“You aren’t?” He stepped back in feigned shock.
Mary took a swipe at him. “You better be careful about calling me names.” She tossed her head and laughed--A soft deep throated laugh that made Will feel weak with pleasure.
Will scooped the newspaper off the floor, hung it on the rack, and took Mary’s hand. “Will you join me across the street at Shopley’s? I’ll buy you a root beer float.”
“Make it a cherry phosphate and you’ve got a date. First, let me check out this book. I’ve wanted to read Fielding ever since school started, but I couldn’t find the time. Too many papers, but I’m more organized now.”
They paused to let a wagon pass; then they walked hand-in-hand across the street to the soda fountain and candy store. Shopley’s had three light bulbs hanging over the counter and one above each aisle. And they left them lighted all day long. But Will mostly loved the smells that permeated the store — cinnamon, wintergreen, chocolate, peppermint — all blended into an amalgam that floated out the door and fanned in all directions. Shopley’s didn’t need a sign to tout their wares.
Will ordered one cherry phosphate and a root beer soda.
“Tell me, Will, what was the surprise?”
“I planned to play my fiddle, a tune just for you. I’ve been practicing ‘Listen to the Mockingbird’ every night for the last month.” Will believed he could charm the birds right out of the meadow with his sweet music. “And Uncle Billy said I could call a square, too. All for the most beautiful, most elegant, and smartest lass in Iowa County.”
Mary blushed. “And you say you’re German. Sounds like Irish blarney to me.”
“’Tis nothing but the unvarnished truth.”
Mary slapped Will’s hand ever so lightly, then rested her fingers on his for so long that he wanted to drop to his knees and proclaim his love, right there in Shopley’s.
“Mary, I — ” but only gravel came out. Excitement surged through his body, but he didn’t dare express his feelings, not yet anyhow. He cleared the huskiness from his throat. “Did you like Uncle Billy’s Hayseeds? About the best we’ve got ’round here, don’t you think?”
“I do wish you’d been there. Can you really call squares?”
Will stood, pretended to raise a fiddle to his shoulder and take a bow in hand; then he bowed low to his sweetheart.
He bowed right. “Honor your partner.” Bowed to his left. “Honor your corner.”
Then he fiddled away while he called:
Allemande right and allemande left
All hands round.
Ladies in the swill barrel
Upside down.
“Will O’Shaughnessy, that’s indecent!” She slapped at his arm and turned away, but coyly looked back. “You were really going to call that?”
But before he could answer, the attendant set the soda in front of Will and handed a cherry phosphate to Mary.
“I thought you favored ice cream sodas,” Will said.
“Yes, but I like anything cherry.” She averted her eyes. “I’m avoiding ice cream.”
“Avoiding ice cream? A dairy farmer’s wife can’t avoid — ” Will turned red.
Mary reached across the table and caressed his hand. “Is that a proposal?”
He clasped her soft hand between his two burly ones, regained his composure, and looked into Mary’s blue eyes. He thought they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, bluer than the cornflowers his mother grew alongside her house.
“I wish — but not yet, Mary. You deserve better, and I hope I can give it before long. I hope you’ll wait.”
Mary smiled the sweet smile that always tugged at his heartstrings as she set her empty glass down and placed her other hand on his.
Hand-in-hand. He wanted nothing more than to go through life hand-in-hand with Mary. They walked to the door together, and before she turned toward home, she reached out with a hug. Will was so happy over his realization that Mary really cared for him that he forgot about Fred.
That night, while he cleaned the calf pens, he couldn’t keep his mind off his lovely lady from Hinton.