The Secret Bliss of Calliope Ipswich by Marcia Lynn McClure Page B

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,