The Million-Dollar Marriage

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“Yeah. More breathing space than the new ones like Frank’s.”

“Space enough for vegetable gardens than need tilling, huh?” Why not tell him? What difference would it make?

“Right. But it won’t take long. And it’s on the way to the farm.”

“Does Pedro have children?” That’s when she’d tell him. On the drive to the farm. It would be awkward, but... Oh, well, just a misunderstanding. Not worth mentioning. Didn’t seem important, forgot.

“He has three, and one on the way. You’ll meet them.”

She did meet them. All at once. They converged upon the truck as soon as it rolled around the house into the backyard. A boy and girl who jumped from a tree and came running. A dark-haired pregnant woman with a toddler squirming in her arms.

Tony jumped down and took the boy from her. “You shouldn’t be lifting him, Rosie.”

“I didn’t want him to run under your truck. He heard you turn into the drive and was off!” The woman spoke to Tony, but her wide speculative eyes were on Mel.

Uncomfortable under the inspection, she smiled. “I’m Mel,” she said, glancing at Tony. He was involved with the children who were climbing all over him. “I hope you don’t mind my tagging along.”

“I’m Rosalie, and I don’t mind at all. I’m delighted. You can keep me company while they work.”

The screen door slammed, and a man came out. Pedro, of course. A slightly heavier version of Tony, almost as good-looking. “Get off Tony,” he shouted. “He’s here to work, not to play with you.”

Tony, relieved of the children, made the introductions, including the kids. “Patsy, Jerry and Mike, better known as Buddy.”

As they were exchanging greetings, another man came across the lawn. A tall lean man.

“Charlie Hill, my neighbor,” Pedro said. “This is Melody Sands, Charlie, a friend of Tony’s.”

Mel’s heart jumped into her throat. She knew this man. She had met him at Jake’s just last week, when he and his wife came to bring a present for the new baby. Did he recognize her?

His look said he did. But evidently he had also caught the slight shake of her head, for he simply acknowledged the introduction as if he had never seen her before. She thanked him with her eyes, wanting to explain that it would be all right as soon as she told Tony who she was.

Tony was taking down a machine, and talking to Charlie about some plants he wanted. Mel, still a little shaken, found she was being addressed by the little girl.

“Tony’s got to work,” Patsy explained. “You want to play with us?”

Mel looked down, delighted by the wide, friendly, one-tooth-missing smile. “What are you playing?”

“We’re pirates. That’s our ship.” The boy pointed to a wooden platform that had been constructed along two limbs of the wide-spreading cedar tree.

“Can you climb a tree?” Patsy asked.

“Sure,” Mel answered. She had ridden horses, sailed boats, skied steep mountain slopes. But...she had never climbed a tree in her life. It seemed a good idea. “I’d enjoy it,” she assured the apprehensive Rosalie.

“Well, only for a few minutes. Then it’s my turn. Women talk,” Rosalie added, and winked at Mel before going into the house.

Mel was glad she had opted for the tree. She wasn’t ready for Rosalie’s “women talk.” Not until the coming talk with Tony.

Following Jerry’s instructions, she mounted the two-stair step boards that had been driven into the trunk of the tree and swung easily onto the first big limb. The platform was sturdy with ample space for the three of them, and, with a bit of pretend, was a ship tossing upon an ocean far below.

“I’m the captain, and Patsy’s first mate,” Jerry announced. “You can be the second mate,” he generously conceded.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Mel saluted, and following orders, climbed to the “masthead” to sight vessels within capturing distance. The weather had turned warm, but there was a gentle breeze stirring. The top of the tree swayed in the breeze, and Mel held on, viewing the vast ocean of fenceless backyards that stretched below her. There was Tony expertly handling the noisy rototiller that was uprooting the garden soil several yards from the house. There was Pedro directing Tony and making sure a scampering Buddy was kept safely away from the machine. There was a blue fenced-in unoccupied swimming pool in the yard next door. “Belongs to the Hills,” Jerry had said, “but we can swim in it anytime... that is, when Charlie’s there to watch us.”

Charlie, who knew who she was. For goodness’ sake, she was acting like being rich was a crime! And it wasn’t like she was trying to deceive Tony. She planned to tell him this afternoon, as soon as she got the chance!

She took a deep breath and continued to survey the neighborhood. Two houses away, three teenage boys tossed a basketball at a hoop mounted on the back of the garage. There was the sweet smell of cedar mingling with the fresh aroma of newly overturned earth.

There was a vague sad sense of something she had missed. A yard that blended into other people’s yards where other children played and shared swimming pools and basketball hoops. Hers had been a big yard that stretched for acres, and contained no child but herself. Plenty of trees, but not one to climb. Or was it she had not thought of climbing? Would it have been permitted? Visions of her childhood flashed before her. Coloring books, games, or puzzles with whichever nanny. Contact with other children was restricted to birthday parties or visits to the club under the careful supervision of several nannies. Less supervision when she graduated to horses and boats, of course.

But she envied these children who, even in their early years, had the freedom to imagine and pursue their own games. She enjoyed every precious minute with them. She was sorry when Rosalie called that breakfast was almost ready. Jerry was to tell the men and Patsy should come to set the table.

“We’ll do this another time,” she told the children. She would take them sailing on a real boat...Jake’s. They would like that.

After the ritual of hand-washing, Mel followed Patsy into a big kitchen which smelled delicious. “Can I help?” she asked.

“No, indeed. Everything’s about ready,” Rosalie declared. “You just sit over here and talk to me while Patsy sets the table.”

When I was Patsy’s age, Mel thought, I wasn’t even allowed in the kitchen, where a Swedish cook, at one time a French chef, presided. She watched in amazement as the little girl set out the plates, silver, coffee mugs, glasses, and paper napkins as efficiently as her mother turned over the hash browns.

“Is Wilmington your home?” Rosalie asked as she added slices of red onions to the potatoes.

“Yes.”

“Lived here all your life?”

“Mostly.” She was right. Rosalie was curious.

“Me, too. Lacey Elementary and Milton High. Did you go to Milton?”

Mel shook her head, visions of her Swiss finishing school dancing through it.

Rosalie laughed as she stirred the onion rings in with the potatoes. “Don’t know why I keep thinking I should have seen you somewhere. If you had gone to Milton, it would have been long after me. Good gracious, seems a hundred years since my high school days. Patsy, strap Buddy in his chair, and see if the men are getting washed up. Oh, here they are.”

Just in time, Mel thought, with a sigh of relief. She was glad Rosalie’s turn with her had been brief. Answering the inquisition would have been awkward. After she told Tony...

After a brief but solemn blessing by Pedro, the usual Sunday ritual began...a short Bible verse from each person at the table. Mel panicked. Her church excursions were skimpy. Her mind frantically searched. Please, she prayed as, beside her, Patsy’s child voice confidently crooned, “Honor thy father and thy mother...”

Her prayer was answered. Her mother’s funeral. She repeated the pastor’s words. “In my Father’s house are many mansions...” Thank you, she silently whispered to a God she hardly knew.

It was a good thing that everybody in this family was very active. Otherwise they would all be fat, Mel thought as the full platters were passed around. Potatoes browned to perfection and well seasoned by the crispy onions. Thick, juicy slices of ham. Hot biscuits with jam or honey, eggs to order, and strong, hot coffee. Rosalie was obviously in the last stages of pregnancy, but even she could not be called fat. Probably never would be, Mel thought, the way she kept jumping up and down to serve everyone. Every now and then Patsy was called upon for hot biscuits or to get more butter. But no man, not even little Jerry, budged. Meals were definitely women’s work.

It was a hilarious gathering, with everyone, even the children, talking at once. About everything, from the vegetables Pedro was going to plant to the “owie” on little Buddy’s skinned knee. Mel said nothing, but felt warm and happy, a part of the camaraderie. Happy listening to down-to-earth talk that had nothing to do with stock options or how the market was going. Happy just looking at Tony.

He was beautiful. Now that was stupid. Calling a man beautiful, especially one as masculine as Tony. Tall, and yes, almost too slender, but with strong rippling muscles that made him seem as sturdy as a tree trunk. She loved the way he used those muscles with graceful dispatch. Planting roses, or lifting her into his truck as if she was as light as a feather. She loved the tender caring way he had taken Buddy from Rosalie, the easy strength with which he had held the rototiller steady. How he was laughing at something Pedro had said, and that crooked tooth was showing. She loved that crooked tooth, loved the way he ate. With his fork in his left hand! Why? He wasn’t European. Funny, she had not noticed at the spaghetti house. Just that he had wound the spaghetti around his fork with the same ease and dispatch as he did everything else. She loved the way he moved.

She loved him.

This was ridiculous. She didn’t really know him. Hadn’t known he existed five days ago.

He had never even kissed her. None of those passionate, all-consuming, erotic sensations that had once rippled through her body on a Nevada mountaintop. A love she had lost and never hoped to find again.

This couldn’t be it, could it? Couldn’t love a man just because he held his fork in his left hand and handled a rototiller with ease, could she?

But there it was. A warm, sure knowing. A feeling that she had found someone wonderful, someone warm, caring and dependable. A feeling that she had come home to a man she would love forever.

Come home to...? Good heavens! What made her think he would have these same crazy mixed-up impossible sensations!

She tried to get back on track, and focused on the conversation at the table.

Pedro’s deep laugh bellowed out. “Married into money, did he?”

“Guess so. More’n he’d ever had, anyway,” Tony said. “She’s got some kind of catering business that’s beginning to pay off.”

“So you lost the only employee in your little posy business.”

Mel didn’t like the way Pedro said that. Like he was putting Tony’s business down.

Tony didn’t seem to mind. He answered readily enough. “Wasn’t much help anyway, the lazy slob.”

“What’s his wife like, Tony?” Rosalie wanted to know.

“Busty blonde. Kinda good-looking, but a bit bossy for my taste. Joe’ll be dancing to her tune the rest of his life.”

“But he’s pretty well set, ain’t he?” Pedro’s laugh rang out again. “Maybe you should follow Joe’s example, Tony. If you’re gonna stick with posies, you could use some support.”

“No thank you. I prefer to dance to my own tune.”

“Atta boy!” Pedro slapped his brother on the back. “You might be a posy peddler, but you’re a Costello all the way, right?”

“Right,” Tony agreed.

“Yep, we Costello men support our women. They don’t support us.” Pedro now addressed his remarks to Mel. “My little Rosalie hasn’t worked a day since she married me.”

Mel smiled and nodded an approval which she didn’t exactly feel. It looked as if Rosalie was working her head off right now.

But she had just learned something important. About somebody named Joe, and about Costello men.

Maybe she shouldn’t tell Tony she was rich. Not yet.

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU love the farm, don’t you?” Mel asked as Tony merged the truck onto the freeway.

“Yeah. It’s...well, kinda home base for all I plan to do.” His face brightened as he began to talk of his plans, how he would divide each plot, where he would set out the trees, which would be reserved for the greenhouses. “All that rich soil. It’s a perfect place for a nursery, and I’m itchy to get started. But I have to go slow. It’ll take quite a bit of capital to set it up right.”

“You could borrow.” Every venture her father went into was on somebody else’s money, not his.

“Can’t borrow without security.”

“The land...”

“Belongs to my grandparents, the only security they have. Grandpa was running into debts the last few years, but he never borrowed. I think they were sorry when the sale didn’t go through, but with the present zoning laws, they wouldn’t get enough to sustain them. They’re leasing it to me for peanuts, but I plan to make it up to them when I get going.” His voice rang with confidence and determination. She felt in her heart that it wouldn’t be long before he “got going.”

“Do you spend much time out there?” she asked.

“Not as much as I’d like to. Got a room in town near the school and more convenient for the jobs I pick up.”

“But you’d rather be at the farm?”

“Oh, sure. And I stay there as much as I can. Still have my old room.”

“Your old room? You spent a lot of time there as a kid?”

“Every summer.”

“Your brothers, too?”

“Only me. Frank and Pedro were into baseball and wouldn’t leave the city, and Marie was too little.”

“Marie?” This was the first she had heard of a sister.

“Baby of the family, and the only girl. She’s at City College now. Really into drama, which bugs the hell out of Pop.”

“Why? If she enjoys it...”

“Wrong crowd for his little girl.” Tony grinned. “Guess Pop must have read one or two of those wild stories about actresses in People magazine.”

“Oh.” Mel wondered if Tony’s family really lived in the twentieth century. His grandparents must be out of this world. And she was about to meet them. No wonder she had the jitters.

But the jitters began to dissipate as they left the city noise and traffic for the comparatively uncrowded countryside. There was something magically calming about the quiet, the smell of country air, the sight of rolling green pastures and acres of freshly tilled earth.

“Here we are,” Tony said as he turned the truck into a tree-shaded lane. The lane led to a two-story clapboard house that seemed small under three towering oaks. There was a banistered porch that wrapped around the house. There was a frisky dog that ran across the lawn to meet them.

There was the feeling that she had come home to something warm, solid and enduring. Strange. She tried to understand it as she jumped down to pet the dog that greeted them with excited barks.

Suddenly the peace was broken by a woman’s voice, frantic, cutting through the yelps of the dog. “Tony! Thank God. Come quick!”

Tony sprinted into the house, Mel following, somewhat impeded by the dog. By the time she entered the wide living room, Tony was kneeling beside a large man who was sprawled across the four steps of a landing which led to a steep stairway. A small woman also knelt beside him, and the dog was licking his face.

The man was cursing. “Damn it! I’m all right I tell you. Down, Cocoa down! Damn it, Tony, get this fool mongrel the hell off me!”

“Just keep still, Al. Is he hurt?” The woman anxiously questioned Tony who seemed to be checking for broken bones.