her.
“You know, we could be family permanently,” Billy said cautiously oh the drive home from the prom, and glanced at her with a gentle smile, but Marie-Ange was frowning. She never liked it when he talked that way, and doggedly continued to think of them as brother and sister. “We could get married,” he said bravely.
“That’s stupid, Billy, and you know it,” she said bluntly. She never encouraged him in that direction, for his own sake, as well as her own. “Where would we live if we got married? Neither of us has a job, or any money,” she said matter-of-factly.
“We could live with my parents,” he said softly, wishing he could sway her. He had just turned nineteen, and she was turning eighteen shortly, old enough to be married, if she wanted, without her aunt’s permission.
“Or we could live with Aunt Carole. I’m sure she’d love that. You could work for her on the farm, as I do,” Marie-Ange said, and laughed then. “No, we can’t get married,” she said practically. She didn’t want to. “And I’m going to get a job, so I can go back to France next year.” The dream never died for her, and he still wished he could go with her. In Iowa, working on his father’s farm, his French was virtually useless, but he was happy she had taught him.
“I still want you to go to college in the fall. Let’s see what happens,” he said with a look of determination.
“Oh yes, an angel will fall on me from Heaven,” she laughed at him with good humor, as she had adjusted to not going, “and he will throw money at my feet, so I can go to the university, and Aunt Carole will pack my bags, and blow kisses at me when I leave. Right, Billy?” She had been resigned to her fate since she’d come here.
“Maybe,” he said, looking thoughtful. And the next day he began work on a special project. It took him all summer to do, and his brother helped him. His brother Jack worked in a garage in town in his spare time, and helped Billy find just what he needed. It was the first of August when he finally brought it to Marie-Ange, as he came chugging down the driveway in an old Chevy. It sounded terrible, but it drove well, and he had even painted it himself. It was bright red, and the interior was black leather.
He drove up in front of the house, and looked cautiously at Carole when he got out, it was only the third time in seven years that he had been there, and he had never forgotten the reception he’d gotten the first time.
“Wow! Where did you get the fancy car?” Marie-Ange asked with a broad grin, wiping her hands on a towel as she came out of the kitchen. “Whose is it?”
“I put it together myself. I started right after graduation. Want to drive it?”
She had learned to drive tractors and farm vehicles years before, and often drove her aunt’s pickup truck to town to do errands for her or chauffeur her, and she slipped behind the wheel with a broad grin. It was a fun-looking car, although it was old, and Billy had put it together with spit and baling wire, as he said proudly. She drove off the farm, and cruised down the highway for a while, with Billy next to her, and then she reluctantly turned back. She had to cook her aunt’s dinner.
“What are you going to do with it? Drive it to church on Sundays?” she asked, smiling at him. She didn’t know it, but despite her coloring, she had begun to look just like her mother.
“Nope. I’ve got better uses for it than that,” he said mysteriously, proud of himself, and filled with the love for her she would never allow him, except as her adopted brother.
“Like what?” she asked, curious and amused, as they pulled into her driveway.
“It’s a school bus.”
“A school bus? What does that mean?”
“It means you get your scholarship. All you need now is money for books. You can drive to school in it every day, Marie-Ange.” He had done it entirely for her, and tears filled her eyes as she looked at him in amazement, and he
“You know, we could be family permanently,” Billy said cautiously oh the drive home from the prom, and glanced at her with a gentle smile, but Marie-Ange was frowning. She never liked it when he talked that way, and doggedly continued to think of them as brother and sister. “We could get married,” he said bravely.
“That’s stupid, Billy, and you know it,” she said bluntly. She never encouraged him in that direction, for his own sake, as well as her own. “Where would we live if we got married? Neither of us has a job, or any money,” she said matter-of-factly.
“We could live with my parents,” he said softly, wishing he could sway her. He had just turned nineteen, and she was turning eighteen shortly, old enough to be married, if she wanted, without her aunt’s permission.
“Or we could live with Aunt Carole. I’m sure she’d love that. You could work for her on the farm, as I do,” Marie-Ange said, and laughed then. “No, we can’t get married,” she said practically. She didn’t want to. “And I’m going to get a job, so I can go back to France next year.” The dream never died for her, and he still wished he could go with her. In Iowa, working on his father’s farm, his French was virtually useless, but he was happy she had taught him.
“I still want you to go to college in the fall. Let’s see what happens,” he said with a look of determination.
“Oh yes, an angel will fall on me from Heaven,” she laughed at him with good humor, as she had adjusted to not going, “and he will throw money at my feet, so I can go to the university, and Aunt Carole will pack my bags, and blow kisses at me when I leave. Right, Billy?” She had been resigned to her fate since she’d come here.
“Maybe,” he said, looking thoughtful. And the next day he began work on a special project. It took him all summer to do, and his brother helped him. His brother Jack worked in a garage in town in his spare time, and helped Billy find just what he needed. It was the first of August when he finally brought it to Marie-Ange, as he came chugging down the driveway in an old Chevy. It sounded terrible, but it drove well, and he had even painted it himself. It was bright red, and the interior was black leather.
He drove up in front of the house, and looked cautiously at Carole when he got out, it was only the third time in seven years that he had been there, and he had never forgotten the reception he’d gotten the first time.
“Wow! Where did you get the fancy car?” Marie-Ange asked with a broad grin, wiping her hands on a towel as she came out of the kitchen. “Whose is it?”
“I put it together myself. I started right after graduation. Want to drive it?”
She had learned to drive tractors and farm vehicles years before, and often drove her aunt’s pickup truck to town to do errands for her or chauffeur her, and she slipped behind the wheel with a broad grin. It was a fun-looking car, although it was old, and Billy had put it together with spit and baling wire, as he said proudly. She drove off the farm, and cruised down the highway for a while, with Billy next to her, and then she reluctantly turned back. She had to cook her aunt’s dinner.
“What are you going to do with it? Drive it to church on Sundays?” she asked, smiling at him. She didn’t know it, but despite her coloring, she had begun to look just like her mother.
“Nope. I’ve got better uses for it than that,” he said mysteriously, proud of himself, and filled with the love for her she would never allow him, except as her adopted brother.
“Like what?” she asked, curious and amused, as they pulled into her driveway.
“It’s a school bus.”
“A school bus? What does that mean?”
“It means you get your scholarship. All you need now is money for books. You can drive to school in it every day, Marie-Ange.” He had done it entirely for her, and tears filled her eyes as she looked at him in amazement, and he
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