The Ramseys Boxed Set

by Altonya Washington

  Now, seated at the breakfast table with a platter of French toast and crunchy bacon before her, Daphne asked her mother if she was pleased.

  “Way more than that, baby. Way more.” Babydoll rested her plump arms across the table. “How’d you manage it?”

  “Well…Marc called,” Daphne didn’t want to appear overly confident. “He called and I accepted. Mama, did I do right?” She added for good measure.

  “Whoo!” Babydoll broke out the holler while leaping from her chair. “Honey! Honey, Honey, Honey!” She pranced and shimmied around the kitchen while twirling a dishcloth above her head. “Shit!” She cried in the most approving manner and flopped back into her chair. “Dammit girl, depending on Marc Ramsey to make a… honest woman out of you was a long shot but not impossible. Now his brother…I’ve never met but he’s not as…savvy as Marcus. Am I right?”

  Daphne replied with a tentative nod. She didn’t dare let on how wonderful it felt to have her mother seeking her opinion and about men no less. Keeping her wits about her; Daphne talked about Houston’s sweetness, and felt her value increase ten-fold when she told her mother she’d taken his virginity. Daphne continued to dine happily while Babydoll broke into another dance.

  ***

  Daphne Monfrey may have been Houston’s first, but his mind was still on Catrina Jeffries. Almost two weeks had passed since the romp at Babydoll’s and; in that time, Houston’s confidence blossomed. He hadn’t returned for another helping of Daphne but; instead, spent most of his free time at Jeffries’ hoping for a glimpse of Catrina. After three visits to the café, he’d learned she was out of town. Disappointed, but not discouraged, Houston decided he’d simply have to wait.

  Patience was definitely a thing one learned as Marc Ramsey’s younger brother. If one were coming after him, one would have to wait one’s turn.

  ~~~

  Waiting was not a thing Rosa Jeffries liked to do. When word reached her ears of the Ramsey asking about Catrina, the woman wasted no time phoning Atlanta to tell her daughter. Unfortunately, Catrina’s reaction to the news was far below Rosa’s preferred level of excitement.

  “I swear you are just like your father. Do you know how many girls would kill for the chance to be noticed by one of them boys?”

  “And he’s probably out with one of those girls right now, Mama.”

  “You just hush your lil’ smart mouth, say your goodbyes and get back home.”

  “But Mama! Shell and me were gonna see the Isleys-”

  “Forget the concerts and play time with your cousins. I want you back home now- I don’t know what your Daddy was thinkin’ letting you go off when we had that big wedding anyway.”

  “Baby?”

  Catrina and Rosa ceased their arguing when the baritone voice came through the line.

  “Daddy?” Catrina smiled.

  “King I was just telling-”

  “I know what you were tellin’ the child, Row. I’m tellin’ her to keep herself right where she is.”

  Rosa huffed. “Do you know one of the Ramseys has been asking-”

  “I know all about that boy snoopin’ around.” King Jeffries interrupted his wife once more. “I won’t have my baby girl jumpin’ through hoops for them uppity Negroes. One of ‘em wants her, he’ll damn sure have to work for her.”

  On the other end of the line, Catrina held the phone to her ear and thought she’d never loved her father more.

  ***

  Anything that cast even a shred of positive attention Josephine’s way was often cause for physical ridicule as far as Clea and Rosselle were concerned. When Josephine came across a letter written to her from Fernelle, however, even Ross’s and Clea’s minds were more absorbed by worry over their missing sister.

  Fernelle had been gone over a week and; while the Simons refused to speak it, they knew the worst was camped right outside their door. That morning, another visit from the Sheriff brought no new developments in the case. The fact was as much a relief as it was another frustration.

  The letter in Josephine’s room however only increased the Sheriff’s; as of yet, unspoken suspicions. It read like a goodbye, like a suicide note.

  “No!” Martha Simon cried, while holding onto Josephine.

  Daniel Simon moved closer to the Sheriff. “How long will you keep lookin’ for my baby, Paul?”

  “We’ve got no leads Danny,” Sheriff Paul Reginald kept his voice low, his expression clearly troubled. “None of the places we’ve searched have turned up….and with this letter…”

  “No…” Martha’s voice was more of a shuddering moan then. “Paul,” she sighed as though trying to gather strength. “You can’t stop looking for her. Y’all are trained lawmen. Surely you have ideas on where a young girl might go…”

  “Martha,” Sheriff Reginald had stepped over to squeeze the woman’s shoulder. “Did Fernelle have any friends? Any you haven’t told me about already?”

  “She had-has many friends.” Daniel shared proudly.

  The Sheriff smiled, realizing how the concerned father had misread his question. “Does she have a boyfriend, is what I meant Danny.” He smiled softly. “Is there anyone she may have run off with?”

  Ross and Clea exchanged stares then looked over at Josephine who quickly broke eye contact with her sisters.

  The suave, gorgeous Ramsey couldn’t have had anything to do with Fern’s disappearance, Josephine thought. Still; in light of the current situation and Marc Ramsey’s probable denial of Fernelle’s baby being his, it was most likely the girl had done just what she’d alluded to in her letter.

  The Sheriff took the silence in the room as his answer and decided he’d put enough on the worried family’s mind.

  “Let me know if anyone or anything comes to mind that might shed some light.” He walked over to shake Daniel’s hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

  R

  ~CHAPTER TWELVE~

  Westin didn’t hide the frustration from his face or voice when his younger brothers told him they were still conducting interviews to fill spots in the youth department.

  “I wanted this stuff set in motion before I leave for Seattle in two weeks.” He said.

  “But West, you of all people know how important it is to have good people working beneath you, right?” Marc reasoned.

  Westin bowed his head to make notes on his pad. He missed his younger brothers pass grins and winks to one another.

  “So how much longer will this take?” West asked, still working on the pad.

  “We’re conducting the last of the interviews this week.” Marc shrugged and studied something on the end of his tie. “I’m confident we’ll be ready to implement the proposed youth activities before you leave town.”

  “I want all this mapped out, so these folk can go forward the minute they’re hired.” West gestured with his pen. “There should be no confusion on what employees will handle which tasks.”

  West was giving his brothers tips on how best to handle the duty he’d charged them with, when a knock sounded on his office door. The knob turned and an older gentleman stuck his head inside the room. The younger men stood at once recognizing Justin Somes one of their father’s business associates and oldest friends.

  “Sorry guys, Westin I bullied Kollette into letting me interrupt.”

  “It’s no interruption at all.” West said as he and his brothers shook hands with the stout, gray-haired gentleman.

  “I only wanted a minute to congratulate you on the wedding and to apologize for not being there.” Justin said when West took his hand.

  “Thanks Mr. J. I think Pop said you and Miss Celia were on an extended trip?” West referred to Justin Somes’ wife.

  The man winked. “Always head off somewhere for our anniversary. Neither of us are party people so it takes the matter out of the hands of friends.”

  Male laughter rumbled in the room for several moments.

  “Anyway West, just wanted to congratulate you again.” Justin reached out f
or another handshake. “You’re on the right path and with all the right tools- name, job, work ethic, respect and now the wife.” He clapped West’s arm. “And she’s quite a beauty, but not only that. Briselle’s got a sweetness and a strength about her. She’ll make you a good wife in business and in pleasure.”

  Laughter rumbled again.

  “You two take notes from your brother on how to do it right.” Justin advised the younger Ramseys when he shook their hands again.

  The meeting eventually resumed yet Marcus studied Westin with renewed interest.

  ***

  Catrina returned from her fun-filled Atlanta trip to find her mother still harping on Houston Ramsey’s visits to the restaurant. She knew in time her mother’s ranting would blow over, but what unsettled her most was Carmen. Houston was her brother and Catrina only hoped her disinterest wouldn’t put a cloud over their friendship.

  She recalled meeting him at the Ramsey cotillion her family had catered. After all the descriptions from the waitresses about the cute Ramsey who’d been asking about her, it didn’t take much for her to remember him. He’d seemed nice enough. She smiled, thinking of the fit her mother would have to know she’d actually had a conversation with him.

  Still, the conversation and time spent with the Ramsey prince hadn’t sparked a smidge of the emotion that Damon had.

  Catrina cursed then and switched off the pink radio that played Brook Benton’s “Kiddio”. She kicked a pillow across her bedroom and stewed.

  It had been well over a year (actually two) and she had no idea who he was. Their encounters had been so few and so brief she was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t dreamed the entire thing. She shook her head then. She hadn’t been dreaming. If anything, she’d been pining-pining over a boy who didn’t even have the decency to tell her his name.

  Catrina smiled. As fine as he was, he probably had scores of girls pining after him. What made her different? He obviously came from money and she obviously didn’t. He’d kissed her once; but probably figured correctly that she wasn’t a girl who’d go any farther and decided to stop wasting his time while he was ahead.

  Meanwhile, she was wasting her time moping over their lack of time together and letting all sorts of opportunities pass her by. Lord, how many dates did she turn down in Atlanta? She fiddled with the lace hem of her yellow gown and drew her knees up to her chin.

  Now she was turning her back on another just because no ‘Damon spark’ emerged from a 5-10 minute conversation with Houston. Slowly, she left her bed and retrieved the pillow where it’d landed near the leg of her desk chair. Nodding, she made a silent decision.

  ***

  Rosselle and Clea almost knocked each other down to get to the door once they’d spotted the shiny black Cadillac convertible and Marcus Ramsey leaving the driver’s side. A slight shoving match ensued, which was called to a halt by Martha Simon.

  “Hush up and get in that sittin’ room. Both of you.” She scolded while wiping her hands on the apron protecting her gray checkered dress. Quickly, she removed her apron and stashed it in the hall closet before opening the front door.

  “Why Marcus Ramsey, what a surprise!”

  “Ms. Martha, how are you today?” Marc smiled, watching his charm turn the older woman to mush.

  Martha was already curling a hand around his arm. “Do come in and excuse the mess.” She urged, leading him into her pristine home. “Girls…?”

  Clea and Ross had already taken their places in the front room. They made a phony show of reading magazines and kept their expressions cool.

  “Girls? Look who’s here…”

  Eagerly, the girls popped out of the twin mauve armchairs. Wearing sun-bright smiles; and posting up and down on their toes they resembled rockets about to blast off.

  “Ms. Martha is Josephine here by any chance?” Marcus was asking before Ross or Clea could move forward or speak a word.

  Silence hung heavy for countless moments. The sisters passed slow looks between one another.

  “Uh…” Martha was even stunned but began a slow shuffle toward the foot of the stairway. “Yes she… Josephine?! Josephine!” She sang, and then patted a hand to her chest struggling to maintain her smile. “Oh dear, where are my manners? Are you thirsty, baby?”

  “Uh no, no ma’am.” Marc seemed just as flustered as the lady of the house. He seemed to give a start at the sound of footsteps on the stairway.

  Clea and Ross noticed and were making their move to inquire.

  “Yes Mama?” Josephine’s hazel eyes widened at the tall, darkly gorgeous guest standing near her mother. She frowned then, noticing her sisters in the distance.

  “Yes Mama?” She queried more carefully then. Her face was void of emotion as she took uncertain steps into the room.

  Martha laughed nervously. “Marcus Ramsey to see you, baby.”

  “Hey Josephine,” sweetness echoed in Marc’s voice and gaze when he moved past Martha. “How are you?”

  Josephine told herself to blink and break out of his spell. “Preparing for school in the fall.”

  “I see.” He gave a nod and glanced down at the shiny wingtips he wore. “Will that leave you time to be my wife?” He asked the second he looked up again.

  Josephine stood speechless while Clea and Ross screamed their agony. Martha clapped her hands and offered up a prayer. Ross’s and Clea’s agonizing moans continued as Marc got down on one knee and produced a ring.

  “You don’t know me.” Somehow Josephine was calm.

  “I know enough.” He offered the older Simon girls the benefit of a quick glance then. “From the few talks we’ve had, I know that you’re sweet and strong.”

  Josephine didn’t remind him that they’d only spoken once.

  “You’re the type of woman a man makes his wife.”

  Beneath the fabric of her rose blush mini dress, Josephine felt a fizzle of pride zip down her spine. She could almost feel her sisters bristling in the distance.

  “Please Josephine.” He squeezed her hands.

  She indulged a glance toward Ross and Clea then. Streams of memory filled her conscience as she thought of all the nastiness, meanness and the way they’d thrown themselves at Marcus Ramsey’s feet. He’d offered her the prize, though.

  A vision of Fernelle emerged then and her smugness faded. She wouldn’t- couldn’t let herself believe Marc had something to do with her sister’s disappearance. The Ramseys lived like royalty and she wanted a part of that. As Josephine Ramsey, she’d make sure her new husband never forgot the shabby way he’d treated her beloved sister.

  She extended her hand for his ring, giving into laughter when her mother clapped.

  Marc kissed Josephine’s hand and then her cheek when he stood. He turned to Martha Simon then.

  “I don’t want to be disrespectful, ma’am. I should talk with Mr. Simon about this.”

  “Well Daniel-” Martha was interrupted by a key scratching the front door lock. She practically tripped over herself getting to the door to greet her husband.

  Daniel Simon’s stoic expression merged into a grimace when he spotted Marcus Ramsey in the room.

  “Daniel,” Martha drew her husband toward their guest. “The boy wants to speak with you…about Josephine.” She nodded when Daniel flashed her a questioning look.

  “I’d like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, sir.”

  Daniel was as speechless as Josephine had been. Looking over at his youngest child, the man stunned everyone when he crumpled into a sob.

  “Oh, oh sweetheart,” Martha hugged her husband and whispered softer words to soothe. “It’s alright. Josephine seems very happy.”

  Before Daniel could speak, there was a knock at the front door. He squeezed his wife’s hands and rubbed at the moisture in his eyes.

  “Dan?” Martha’s expression had taken on an air of suspicion.

  Daniel was already on his way to the front door. He opened it to Sheriff Paul Reginald.

 
Martha was backing away as if the man brought with him a stench.

  Paul Reginald removed his hat. “Martha I’m sorry-”

  “Nooooo!”

  Clea and Ross held onto each other as their mother wailed. Josephine reached out blindly, blinking when Marcus caught her hand.

  “She was found along Tybee Island. The tide… brought her in…two days ago.” Paul waited for Daniel to pull his wife close. “The Sheriff’s office there saw our bulletin on Fernelle’s disappearance and contacted us this afternoon.”

  Martha was mewling then, hanging limp in her husband’s arms.

  “Sheriff?” Marcus stepped a tad closer with Josephine by his side. “Are you sure it’s her? Maybe-”

  “Her father already made the ID son.”

  Daniel Simon broke into another bout of sobs. Martha finally clutched the back of his shirt, melding her grief with his.

  Marcus pressed Josephine’s hand to his mouth and brushed away the tears streaking her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I- I shouldn’t be here-”

  “Damn right you shouldn’t!”

  “Clea!” Rosselle tried to shush her sister.

  “No! No Ross!” Clea jerked away. “It’s his fault! He got what he wanted and then the bastard turned his back on her. Now she’s dead!” Clea’s round dark face shined with tears and hate. “What now, Marc? Here to make it four for four?!” She sent a quick sneer toward Josephine.

  Marcus ignored Clea as though she hadn’t spoken. Instead, he closed the distance between himself and the elder Simons. “Sir, I am sorry,” he bowed toward Daniel. “I’ve been very disrespectful with your daughters and I can never make up for that. But sir, I promise you’ll not be sorry for giving me a chance with Josephine.” He smiled when she moved close to her parents. “I knew she was the one from the first time I saw her. I knew she was more than a quick…I wanted more from her. She’ll be treated like a queen, sir. You have my word on that.” Marc extended his hand. “You’ve just lost a daughter, sir. I would be honored if you’d accept me as a son.”