And You Will Find Love

Mrs. Markey wasn't finished talking about Jimmy O'Reilly yet. Barbara wondered why her mother was telling her more about her father's friend than about her father.

"They say 'What goes around, comes around.' As a Christian woman, I shouldn't gloat over his misfortune, but I read in the newspaper a few years later that James O'Reilly, 'often an unsuccessful candidate for public office,' was badly injured in an accident. Driving drunk, he was, and went head-first through the windshield of his car. That must have changed his notion about himself looking like a movie star."

She had never heard her mother say anything cruel about anyone. Had her father's friend been that terrible, for her mother to sound glad his face may have been hurt very bad?

"That's why I say be careful of men, and don't fill your head with them being like Ivanhoe or Prince Charming."

Men can't be that bad. Barbara thought some of them looked nice, and one man, their druggist, had given her candy.

In full anguish, Mrs. Markey said more than she intended. "You're going to be a beautiful woman, Barbara, and not too long off. Men are going to be after you. Be careful with men.

Above all, be very careful who you fall in love with. Don't fall too fast or too young. And don't fall for good looks or sweet words or charm. Oh, men can turn on the charm, my darling. But they can turn it off just as fast, and then turn it on to someone else."

Barbara could hardly believe her good fortune. She was getting an education about men in just ten minutes.

Her mother immediately became repentant. "I shouldn't be telling you all this; you're still too young. But you're filling your head with ideas about men that can hurt you later. You're building yourself up for a lot of heartaches, sure as little green apples grow on trees."

Barbara did not believe her mother. Some men might be like that, but not all. She would find one who was handsome and charming and who did not have "a roving eye." Someone who would be faithful and love, not hurt her. She would find her Ivanhoe, somehow, someday.

In the confessional one Saturday at St. Stanislaus, after collecting a fortune -- a quarter in pennies from Jewish bereaved at their chapel -- she asked the priest, "Father, do all men have a roving eye?"

The grandfatherly priest cleared his throat and thought for a moment. "How old are you, my child?"