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“Can I ask you something?” Sy lay on his side, his head propped up in his palm, a piece of long grass in the corner of his mouth.
From where she sat crossed legged, leaning against the trunk of a maple tree, she glanced down at his shiny, copper hair. For some reason, she wanted to run her fingers through those curls. Would they bounce back or straighten out?
The creek bubbled alongside them. Several feet away, Les and Becky whispered to each other, close enough to act as chaperones, but far enough apart to keep their conversation to themselves.
Their fishing poles lay unused where they’d dropped them upon entering their fishing spot. With the Sunday afternoon temperature rising to the mid-nineties, fishing took too much energy. In heat like this, the fish didn’t bite anyway.
With Friday’s decision to not send her home, nothing could ruin her high feelings, not even the flies and mosquitoes swarming their sweaty bodies. It wouldn’t be long before the nuisance insects would finally drive them home.
“Sure. Fire away.”
“What’s it like living in a city as large as St. Paul?”
“Why do you want to know? I thought you’d lived in Madison. Isn’t it bigger than St. Paul?”
“I’ve never actually been to Madison.”
Oh, dear. Had he lied to her? Her heart skipped a beat. Did this make him a bad person? But, considering what her grandparents and she were doing to keep her on the farm, she wasn’t in any position to be upset about someone lying. “But I thought . . .”
“The place I’m from is so small, no one has ever heard of it, so I always say I’m from near Madison.”
His explanation sent relief through her. “You’re right, I probably would never have heard of it, but where are you from?”
“A small area called New Glarus.” He picked up a twig, broke it into small pieces, and tossed them into the creek. “It was settled by a group of people from Switzerland and has only about one hundred and fifty people.”
“Why did your family leave?”
“There was not enough farmland in the community for everyone. My father said if we stayed, there would be nothing for us boys to farm. He was able to buy enough land here in Minnesota for all of us to have our own farms if we wanted.” He frowned. “Also, the elders of the town kept coming up with rules and regulations on how we should farm. Pa wanted to do things his way.” He rolled onto his stomach, rested his chin on his folded arms, and glanced at her. “So, what’s it like in St. Paul?”
Bertha shrugged. How did one explain how she felt about it without making it sound like a horrible place to live? “Other than the farm, I’ve never lived or been anywhere else, so I have nothing to compare it to. It’s too large for me. My mother loves the parties and balls while I love the peace and quiet of the country. Except in the deep hours of the night, it’s always noisy.”
“From what?”
“Horses clomping down the cobblestone street. People hawking their wares. Fights. And in the summer, it smells.” She shuddered then swatted at a mosquito. “Even with these blasted things, I’d rather be out here where I can actually hear the birds and the wind.”
“You make it sound awful.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. My friends like it well enough. My mother loves it and wants me to be part of it.”
“What happens when you go back?”
“My mother wants me to marry a man she picked out for me.”
“Do you want to?”
“No. I’m only seventeen. I don’t want to marry anyone for a while yet.”
Sy smacked a mosquito and sat up. “We may have to leave soon. These things are getting bad.”
Les held a blanket over his arm. “We agree. Becky and I are going to head to her place.”
Bertha’s heart sank. She loved her time with Sy and didn’t want it to end. “I suppose I should go home, too. Mamaw won’t know where I am if I go to Becky’s without telling her, and if I go home now and ask, she’ll say it’s too late in the day.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Sy stood and picked up the fishing poles.
Holding back a disappointed sigh, Bertha gathered the blanket and the empty picnic basket. “That would be nice.”
Halfway to her grandparent’s farm, Becky and Les took a trail veering to the right to Becky’s homestead. The trail left went to Sy’s. She and Sy stayed straight on the trail. At the place where the woods thinned out and the top of Papaw’s barn roof became visible, Sy paused.
“Wait.” Sy leaned the fishing poles against the trunk of a maple tree.
“What’s wrong?”
Sy took the basket and blanket from her and set it on the ground. “Do you like me?”
What kind of questions was that? “Of course, I like you.” She may even more than like him. “Why?”
He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, shoved his hands in his pockets, and scuffed his bare feet on the ground. “Ah, heck. I’ll just say it.” His eyes were shiny and cheeks red when he looked at her.
“Say what?”
“I like you a lot. More than a lot.” He huffed a breath. “May I kiss you? I’ve been wanting to since the first time I met you.”
Oh, heavens. He wanted to kiss her? It was a dream come true. But now what? The questions she and Becky contemplated over and over ran through her mind.
“That’s all right.” He reached for the fishing poles. “I understand if you don’t want to.”
Had she waited too long to answer? “Wait. I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”
“Oh. Then why are you hesitating?”
“Um . . .” This time she scraped a toe through the dirt. Heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ve never been kissed before. I don’t know what to do.”
Sy chuckled. “I think all we do is press our lips together.”
“You think?” Hadn’t he kissed a girl before? “Don’t you know?”
“Um . . . No.”
Good heavens. “I thought all men knew how to kiss a girl.”
“Unless he tries it for the first time, how is he supposed to know what to do?” He raked his fingers through his hair again. “All I’ve been thinking about is if I should I keep my eyes closed. What if we bump noses? What if you don’t like it? Will you slap my face if you don’t?”
She stood before him and put a hand on his chest. “I didn’t know men worried about the same things women do, and I can’t imagine my not liking your kiss. So . . .” She stood on her tiptoes. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Sy’s smile made her heart skip so fast she was surprised the buttons on her blouse didn’t pop off. When he cupped her cheeks, a thrilling quiver spiked through her. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips met hers. Warm, soft, his kiss brought up sensations she had no idea she could feel. Could she wrap him in her blanket and take him home with her and never let go?
All too quickly he broke the kiss and huffed a breath. “Bertie.” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “That was . . . Wow.”
Even though she had no knowledge about kissing, she was fully aware that ‘wow’ wasn’t even close to how his lips felt against hers. Her heart beat rapidly, skipping a beat or two along the way. Her breath was stuck in her throat, making breathing difficult. If her cheeks were any warmer, her skin would melt off.
“Goodness, Sy. I’d better head home.” Where was home? In fact, where was she? In the distance, a rooster crowed. She refocused her eyes. Oh yeah. At the edge of the woods. Close to home.
Sy put a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”
“I’m . . . I’m not sure. Are you?”
He chuckled. “Fine enough to know I want to try it again.”
Bertha backed up a few steps. If he were to kiss her again, she’d melt in a puddle. “I think I’d better go home.” Why was her voice shaking?
“Can we go fishing again on Saturday?” Sy retrieved the fishing poles. “Maybe we’ll actually catch something.”
“I’ll have to ask Mamaw. I’m not sure if they have anything planned.” She needed to leave. Now. Or else she might grab him by his shirtfront and see if a second kiss would be as good as the first. “I’ll send word.” She spun on her heel and raced down the trail to the farm.
****
“Goodness, girl,” Mamaw said when Bertha stopped short in the kitchen doorway. “What’s the rush? I saw you racing past the barn as if a bear were on your tail.”
Bertha took a second to catch her breath then patted her hair into place and swiped at the sweat on her face. “Those blasted mosquitos were chasing me.”
Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t bring any in with you, did you?”
“No. The swallows and purple martens are getting them all.”
Mamaw poured herself a cup of coffee, filled a glass with lemonade, and put several cookies on a plate. “Good. I’d hate to have to close the windows and doors when it’s so hot. It’s bad enough we have to do that at night.” She sat down and pointed to Bertha’s chair. “Sit and tell me why you were really running down the trail, and why Sy didn’t walk you all the way home.” She scowled. “He didn’t do anything to hurt you, did he?”
How did Mamaw always know when something was wrong? “No, he didn’t do anything to hurt me. We simply both wanted to get away from those mosquitoes. He knew it was safe for me to come back alone.” She bit into a cookie, letting the sweet, sugary flavor fill her mouth, trying to keep from blushing. “After all, I do it all the time.” For someone who never lied, or at least tried not to, that was twice, or would be twice in one week. A record for her.
“I suppose. I’m still not happy with pretending we didn’t receive your mother’s letter.”
“It’s either that, or I go back to St. Paul, and I want to stay here until the end of summer.” Until then, hopefully there’d be more kisses between her and Sy. She took a swallow of lemonade and winced at the tart flavor coming on the heels of the sweet cookie. “Do we have any plans for Saturday afternoon? Sy wants to go fishing again. He’s hoping it’ll cool down and the fish will start biting again.”
Mamaw narrowed her eyes over the rim of her coffee cup. “Is that the only reason you want to go fishing? To catch fish?” She set her cup down rattling it against the saucer. “Is there something going on between you and Sy?”
How did she do it? “No, Mamaw.” Why couldn’t she look her grandmother in the eye?
“Bertie? You know you can’t lie to me. Now what did he do? If he hurt you in any way, Papaw will have a talk with Sy’s father.”
Bertha clenched her teeth. “He didn’t hurt me. Honest. He just . . .”
“Just what?” Mamaw took one of Bertha’s hands in hers and squeezed. “Tell me what he did.”
“He . . . He . . .” Oh, heck she might as well get it over with. “He kissed me.” Did Mamaw laugh? When Bertha glanced up from her glass of lemonade, Mamaw’s lips were twitching, but otherwise there was no sign of laughing.
Mamaw cleared her throat. “Did he ask permission?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did he do anything other than kiss you?”
Bertha shook her head. This was so embarrassing. “No, but he said he wanted to kiss me again.”
“And would you let him?”
She couldn’t answer. What if Mamaw thought she was a loose woman?
“Bertie? Answer me. Would you let him kiss you again?”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “Yes’m. I would.”
Mamaw leaned across the table and took Bertha’s chin. “Why are you crying? Didn’t you enjoy his kiss?”
“I don’t want you to think badly of me.” In spite of trying to hold them back, more tears streamed down her face.
“Now why would I ever do that?”
“Isn’t kissing supposed to be after marriage?”
This time Mamaw did laugh. “Oh, my dear. Wherever did you get such an idea? Why, how are couples supposed to know how they feel about each other if they don’t kiss?” She let go of Bertha’s hand and closed her eyes as if she was reliving something. “Why, before I married your grandfather, I kissed many a young man.”
“How did you know Papaw was the right one?”
A small smile graced Mamaw’s face. “Why, his kisses were the best of them all and made me feel like I could fly to the moon.”
This was so interesting, yet strange to be talking with her grandmother about kissing. “What about Papaw. How did he feel?”
Mamaw giggled like a schoolgirl, not the elderly woman she was. “He said my kisses made him feel like he could kill a grizzly with his bare hands.” She patted Bertha’s hands. “Besides, he married me, didn’t he?”
“So, a boy kissing you doesn’t mean you have to get married?”
“Good heavens. Is that what your mother told you?” Mamaw rolled her eyes. “She always had strange ideas. I doubt she and your father even held hands before saying ‘I do’.”
“Really?”
“Even as a young child she had these ideas of how people were supposed to behave. If I hadn’t been there at the time, I would have thought someone else had birthed her.” Mamaw shook a finger at Bertha. “Now, you just be careful. Nothing more than kissing. You hear me?”
“Yes’m.” Things were so confusing. Mamaw said it’s all right to kiss a boy before marriage, and Mother said it wasn’t. Who should she listen to? Recalling how she’d responded to Sy lips against hers, maybe it would be wise not to let him kiss her again. But how could she pass up a chance to have that excitement flow through her again? What if she never met another boy who made her stomach flutter and toes curl?
Mamaw stood. “Let’s get supper ready. Papaw will be done with chores soon.”
“What about fishing Saturday?” Bertha put her glass by the hand pump to be washed with supper dishes.
“Right now, there isn’t anything ripe enough to be put up for the winter, so I think I can spare you for the afternoon.”
Hiding her excitement at knowing she’d see Sy again in a few days, Bertha pulled out the cast-iron skillet and prepared to fry up left-over ham and potatoes from dinner.