Category: Romance Stories

The Plumber's Daughter Ch. 03

by beagle9690©

"Dad, I....."

"Your father went storming out to the garage, dear," Mom said, coming back on the telephone, "don't worry, he'll get over it. I'm looking forward to your visit and meeting your young man. I have a feeling that Patrick will be quite a challenge for my Dominick..."

After I finished talking with my mother I went looking for Patrick. I found him in his workshop repairing the cracked stock of a musket one of his reenacting friends dropped during a skirmish. When I walked into the shop Patrick was still grinning from ear to ear.

"You must be exhausted from talking all night on the telephone," Patrick said, putting the stock on the workbench and then wiping his hands on a shop towel, "Why don't you get some sleep. I can make my own breakfast."

"No you won't. I will be making you pancakes and that's final," I said, poking him playfully in the chest with my finger.

"Yes, my Queen," Patrick said, smiling, and putting his arms up in the air in surrender.

"And you didn't hug me yet this morning," I added, continuing to poke him.

"Can I put my arms down now, pokey?" Patrick asked, as he grabbed me suddenly, pulling me close to hug me and to kiss my lips.

"Do you think it is wise talking to my father the way you did? Are you trying to force a confrontation with him?"

"I only spoke the truth, Marie. In the end your Dad will respect me for it."

"Then you are trying to force a confrontation with him?"

"It was going to happen sooner or later, right? Why not get it out of the way?"

"What if my father never likes you?"

"Then he doesn't. I will not allow your father to lay his hands on me."

"But what if Dad does?"

"He won't, Marie."

"You don't know my father, humor me, and say that he does."

"I will do my best not to hurt him. Most likely we will verbally spar back-and-forth, too feel each other out. Worst case scenario is that we will grudgingly get along. You can respect someone without liking them. What the heck. Your Dad might grow to like me in time."

"How can you be so sure, Patrick? You don't know my Dad."

"Just call it a gut feeling. You will have to trust me on this one, Marie. Grudging respect is better than polite disdain," and I did trust him, "I'm really looking forward to the pancakes though. Let's hope that there are no unwanted interruptions."

"Not so fast with the pancakes. I'm not done kissing you yet."


I can't seem to get enough hugs and kisses from my Blue Knight. I hope Patrick is right, but I have to prepare him. I grew up observing the interaction of my father with his close male friends; Dad was totally different with my ex-husband.

Dad and his friends would laugh and joke over a glass of wine or a bottle of beer. Sometimes they would argue loudly in heated debates, going back and forth good-naturedly insulting one another. Father Joe, Uncle Joe was in my circle of Dad's two close friends. Michael McMahon was the other. The three were friends since grade school.

Uncle Joe could argue and shout with the best of them, particularly when he was into his cups. In most cases, he acted as a moderator to prevent things from getting out of hand; Uncle Joe was a Roman Catholic Priest. Dad held the Jerk in contempt, but during the holidays was reasonably polite to him. It was contemptuous politeness at best. There was no good-natured arguing or insults tossed back and forth.

Dad's full contempt and rage came out when he picked the Jerk up and shook him like a rag doll. It took all three of those private policemen to make Dad let go.

While I was mixing the batter, I was thinking about Susan. I wondered if we will ever like each other. Susan lives two miles up the road. Being neighbors, we would eventually have to get along.

Patrick pointed Susan's house to me on the way to get ice cream. But I was tired that morning and could barely keep from yawning. The thought of sleeping until late afternoon was so inviting.

Patrick didn't fail to notice how tired I was, he insisted that I go to bed, now. Initially I protested, but Patrick kissed my hands and said, "Please, I'll be fine," and that was followed by the look. I gratefully went to bed while Patrick made himself pancakes from the batter.


It did my heart good to see Marie talking with her parents after almost a year. What is more important than family? I thought about going to see Susan, but then decided it best to wait until I talked to Sam.

These last few days were like a small tornado for me with my thoughts spinning around in my head, despite my outward calm. Marie was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open.

Fortunately Marie listened to reason and went to bed with some gentle coaxing, but only when I promised to wake her up by three to go grocery shopping.

After Marie settled down to sleep, I telephoned Sam and he came over alone. We spent much of the day just shooting the bull over coffee in my shop while I finished the musket stock and then started making another project from a well paying customer.

Sam explained things to Susan. He also said that Susan seemed to take things better than he expected. Sam then apologized for putting me in a pickle. He still couldn't get over White Cloud's almost colt like behavior with Marie. Sam was a man who forgot more about horses that I ever could hope to know.


I awoke to find Patrick sitting next to me on the bed, gently rubbing my back.

"I hope you slept well, Marie. It is time to get up. Sam is here to see you."

"I can't let Sam see me like this. What does he want, Patrick?"

"Sam wants to apologize."

"But Sam didn't do anything wrong. He did know about me then."

"Humor him then. We will be waiting in the shop until you get ready. I'm looking forward to tasting your sauce."

"What sauce are you talking about?" I asked, feigning obtuse, while sitting up to touch Patrick's face.

"Silly sauce of course," Patrick said, smiling, and tousling my hair.

"What is silly sauce.....? No Patrick, don't, Stop!" I shrieked, catching on, but not meaning it.

My love pushed me back down on the bed and started ticking me. Soon I was squirming happily and laughing as he was kissing my face all over.

"I won't stop until you kiss me....good, keep it up....kiss me again, and now, again....don't you just love silly sauce?"


It was chilly that afternoon, but I found the most darling sleeveless red corduroy jumper in the closet. It was very feminine, but modest, coming almost to my ankles. It was very pretty with a pin-tuck bodice and a front button placket and adjustable tie back.

I wore a soft, cream color silk mock turtle neck blouse underneath. I was also wearing tan stockings with black pumps. I could tell Patrick approved of my dress when I walked into his workshop to talk to Sam.

Sam stood up and took his ball cap off when I walked in to the workshop. Sam also did this when he walked into our kitchen with Susan and saw me for the first time. Being a man of few words, it was a simple apology, but most sincere. He and Patrick both have such nice, old fashion manners.


We had a one hour drive to get to one of the larger cities with a Macy's. Patrick waited patiently while the girl at the makeup counter demonstrated different eye shadows, eyeliners and lipsticks on me.

When we left the makeup counter, I had the basic necessities we girls need to look beautiful for our guys. I also received a free makeup makeover. It was fun. Particularly since Patrick helped me make some the selections.

I am going back to my conservative look for most occasions, which we both prefer. I also purchased some of the more sultry shades of eye shadow, shall we say for the more adventurous occasions. This included red lipstick which Patrick insisted I buy.

Yum, I'm going to paint his cock with my red lipstick lips when we get home. Up until that day, Patrick never used aftershave or wore cologne in his entire life. Surprised, I asked him why on the drive to the city. Patrick shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Of all the colognes for men on the market, my favorite is Old Spice. That is what my Dad wears. I took Patrick over to the counter selling colognes and asked the young woman behind the counter for a bottle, offering it to buy it for him.

"No thanks, Marie. Women are supposed to smell pretty, not men," Patrick then quickly walked away like the devil avoiding holy water.

I grabbed the back of Patrick's jean jacket and pulled really hard, stopping him; Patrick wasn't expecting that. I then got in front of him of him, grabbed Patrick's shirt and leaned forward to whisper, "When we get home I'm going to put on my red lipstick and suck on your cock...your big cock."

"Marie!" he whispered back, looking around, "for God's sake, do you want someone to hear you?"

"Do you want me to talk louder, Patrick?" I whispered.

"No, of course not, but...." I kissed his lips, interrupting-sticking my tongue into his mouth and watching his eyes get big.

I then raised my voice, "When we get home I'm..," Patrick put his hand over my mouth, and he was smiling.

"You really are something, Marie. You really would do it," said, Patrick, removing his hand.

"It is such a small thing, Sweetheart. It would please me so very much if you would wear it for me."

"If I refused?" Patrick asked?

"You can't keep your hand over my mouth forever."

"Well, I suppose cologne won't kill me."

"Then you will?" I asked, kissing Patrick again, less naughtily."

"I don't have a choice, do I, my Queen?" he sighed, "You would make me a dandy of your court."

"No choice at all, Blue Knight" and I kissed him again, and then I turned to look the young woman. I noticed that she was all smiles watching us and nodded her approval as our eyes met.

I handed the young woman my credit card for the purchase, picked up the cologne, removed the stopper and put a few drops in my hand. I rubbed it on the sides of Patrick's face, behind his ears, on the back of his neck, and into his hair."

"You smell just dandy, lover," I whispered, putting my face close to his, "Let's go get our groceries."


I forgot how much I enjoyed such a simple thing, grocery shopping, and planning the next week's meals together. There are so many advantages having your own business and being your own boss.

I was absolutely overwhelmed and delighted with Marie's enthusiasm. We were in search of the best ingredients. Marie took her sauce seriously...her tomato sauce.

Marie had to touch or kiss me for every item that we put in the cart. We bought cans of whole tomatoes, cans of crushed tomatoes, cans of tomato paste and cans of tomato puree.

We bought two bottles of first cold pressed extra virgin olive oil, fresh garlic; lots of that, and fresh basil and fresh oregano. Marie made me promise to put in a garden near the house for tomatoes, basil, and oregano. My promise got me a big hug and more kisses. I was thinking, 'What a damn fool Marie's ex-husband is.'

We bought a few small red onions, a few hot peppers and a sopressata cured sausage. We bought fresh sweet carrots? Marie explained that the carrots would dissolve to thicken and sweeten the sauce.

Don't forget the eggs, the Italian bread for the breadcrumbs; Marie makes her own breadcrumbs. Marie always puts a piece of mozzarella cheese in the center of her meatballs. Mozzarella was just one of the cheeses we bought, and I learned how to pronounce it properly in Italian. I'll get to the other cheese shortly.

Then there was the sea salt. I always figured salt was salt, but Marie insisted on sea salt for everything.

Now for the meat to go into the meatballs; we bought veal and chuck steak; luckily I have a meat grinder. Marie wasn't happy with the Italian Sausage in that supermarket.

We bought the rest of our groceries, minus the sausage and then went to a coffee shop known for their pies. We placed our order and requested to see their telephone book.

I received an education on Italian sausage while sharing our pie; one slice of blue berry and one slice of sour cherry. We helped each other to a bit of each while Marie explained.

"The best sausage is always homemade because you control what goes into it, only the best ingredients. My Dad's sausage is outstanding. Dad gets together with his two best friends every December 23rd. It's a tradition with them.

They make enough sausage for the year, taking close to fifty pounds each. They drink wine. There is bread and cheese and olives and plenty of sopressata for sandwiches.

Christmas Eve is meatless with us and we hold with the tradition of the feast of the seven fishes. After Midnight Mass, it is officially Christmas," Marie said, smiling, "Mom will fry one piece and Dad would cut it in three pieces for us to share before bedtime."

"That is a lovely tradition, my love," I said squeezing Marie's hand.

"When I was little I would help turn the handle on the meat grinder until bedtime. Dad still grinds the meat by hand. Keep in mind, good sausage must always be coarse ground. It must have plenty of fresh cracked fennel. As much my Dad likes his hot peppers, Dad always makes his sausage mild for Mom.

Just before they mix the ground meat and spices together, the men pour four glasses of wine for a toast, and then our priest says a small prayer. "

"Your priest makes sausage with your father?"

"Yes, Father Joseph Sebastian; Uncle Joe is a good friend of Dad's."

"Why four glasses of wine, Marie? You said that there were three men. Did your Dad let you drink wine when you were you grinding sausage?

"One glass of wine was poured into the sausage mix as part of the recipe. When I was little girl, I got a few drops of wine in glass full of water. Just to give the water a little color. As I got older, and for special occasions, I could have half a glass of undiluted wine if I wanted it. What were your holiday traditions growing up?

"We always had creamed cod over mashed potatoes that were swimming in butter on Christmas Eve. We always had leg of lamb for Christmas Day. Easter was always ham, but Mom would cook lamb chops for my Dad. Dad always insisted on lamb for these two holidays.

When I turned nine and started working on the farm, I was allowed half a glass of beer or half a glass of cider. I saved most of my money that year to buy Christmas presents. I bought a very special one for my Mom. I hitched a ride into town, and..." Marie interrupted.

"You were hitchhiking rides at nine years old?"

"Yea, but I wasn't supposed too. Mom didn't drive and Dad was always working. The milk truck driver dropped me off in town, and Mrs. Clark and Susan picked me up on the way back. Boy, did I get an ear full from Mrs. Clark until I showed her the Christmas present I bought for my Mom with my own money."

"Was that Susan you-know- who?"

"Yes it was. Susan had my back. She convinced her mother not to say anything to my parents. I had to promise Mrs. Clark to stop hitchhiking though."

"Did you promise?"

"Yes, but it didn't count. I had my fingers crossed."

"Did Susan know that you broke your promise?"

"Yes she did, Susan was the one that told me to cross my fingers."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because Susan wanted something from me."

"What did Susan want?" I asked, thinking, 'as if I didn't know.'

"I can't tell you, it is a secret and I didn't cross my fingers. Susan made sure of that."

"You won't tell me even after all this time, Patrick, you were children?" I asked wondering what it was he promised Susan.

"Even after all this time, Marie, and I haven't broken a promise and have kept my word ever since.

"You were a naughty boy."

"And, I'm going to be a naughty boy when we get home."

"What did you buy your Mom?"

"White Shoulders Dusty Powder."


Looking through the telephone book, we found some numbers to call and found a small Italian Market that made their own sausage almost identical to Marie's father's exacting specifications. Just add the wine and it was there. While we were in that wonderful little market, Marie bought our grating cheese: Pecorino Romano, Asiago, and Parmigianino Reggiano. We would grate the chunks by hand.

Marie also bought three big wood spoons, and warned me that they were for sauce and pasta only. Marie talked about the all the appetizers she was going to make for me, stuffed hot peppers and such. I said, 'Wow, and I thought celery with cream cheese on it was a big deal," I got hit on the ass with one of her big spoons for that smart ass remark. My big purchase for the day was two quarts of chocolate milk.


When we arrived home, I went upstairs to change into a house dress while Patrick took off his boots and socks before he put the groceries away. He loves going barefoot whenever possible.

While I was up there Patrick called from the bottom of the stairs, "Marie, would you bring down another shirt from my dresser? I spilled chocolate milk all over this one."

I had no idea in what drawer to look in, so I opened the second from the top. Most people have socks or under garments in the top drawer. I put my hand over my mouth when I saw it. It was so sad, and so sweet, how I loved him. I could have cried.

Patrick told me that his Mother died when he was nine, and I still have my Mom and Dad. Oh, my dear brave man, my Blue Knight. Patrick loved his mother so much that he hitchhiked into town to buy her this Christmas gift with the money he earned working on the farm. His mother was a healthy vital woman then, but she died suddenly January 2nd from a brain aneurysm.

I lifted it from the drawer and took the cover from the pink box. Almost all of the dusting power was there. I closed my eyes and smelled; this was how Patrick's mother smelled. How Patrick remembered her that Christmas, and the short time they spent together after.


Marie had the strangest look on her face. Marie smelled it and hugged me, before handing it to me, saying, "I love you Blue Knight."

"It's OK, it's just a shirt, and the stain will wash out. I already rinsed it with cold water and put pre-wash stain remover on it."

"I love you because you are brave and kind, and sweet and thoughtful."

"Well thank you, my Queen. I thought it was because of the cologne," I said, stroking her hair, "I'm thankful to have found you, or perhaps it should be said we found each other, my love. I never imagined that I would have fallen so passionately in love a second time in my life."

"You seem to always know the right thing to say," Marie said, hugging me tighter, "and you are far more complicated then you let on. You play the part of average so well. Will you make love to me now?"


"Of course, my beautiful Queen," and then Patrick took my hands and kissed them. We then walked upstairs to our bedroom where Patrick closed the door. We stood in front of the full length mirror with the stained glass and black iron frame hanging on the back of the closed door. Patrick made the frame for his wife as a gift on their first wedding anniversary.

"I have something for you," Patrick said quietly, putting his face near mine as we looked at our reflections in the mirror, "As was meant to be, they will finally caress a woman, my woman. Face the mirror and undress while I get them."

I quickly undressed and watched Patrick slide the large wood chest on the throw rug to one side on the old and worn wide board floor. The chest was at the foot of our bed. It was very old and was used to hold linens and blankets.

Patrick pulled a thin piece of metal, a shim with a notch cut into out of the chest, and pushed it down between the floorboards. He then slid the shim to one side catching a hidden nail underneath, lifting the board on the hidden hinge until it was straight up. This allowed Patrick to lift the hinged board next to it with his hand.

Category: Romance Stories