The Bootlegger's Wife: A Love Story

by Terri Lee

  Frances read aloud, “You are embarking on a new adventure.” She looked to her companions and shrugged. “Swell.” She tucked her little fortune into her purse and secretly smiled. Is that what she was doing? Was she off on a new adventure? She hoped so.

  After a bit, the couples decided to separate with plans to meet up later at the skating rink. Frances was glad for the opportunity to get her Marine alone and have the chance for some real conversation. Frankie told her that he was currently on leave, still mustering out of the Marines, to be discharged in another week.

  “Oh, but I love your uniform. Can’t you wear it anyway?” She stuck out her lower lip.

  Frankie shook his head, “Not unless I want to be sent off somewhere else.”

  “Oh well.” She sighed, “I guess I’ll just have to find myself another Marine after next week.” She glanced sideways at her date to be sure he was aware of her teasing nature.

  “Here it is.” Frankie said as they stopped in front of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog stand. “I’ve been dying to try one of these. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all, I love a good hot dog.”

  “Really?” Frankie looked at her with disbelief. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a hot dog kind of girl.”

  “Well I most certainly am.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  The hungry pair sat down at one of the nearby picnic tables with their baskets of food and an ice cold Coke. Frances watched with delight as he took his first bite and then rolled his eyes to heaven.

  “This is what America tastes like.” He held his hot dog aloft as if it were a trophy.

  “Yes, I agree. America is a delicious hot dog.” Frances giggled.

  They sat quietly for a moment, drinking in the salty sea air. Frances was relieved to feel that even the stillness between them felt comfortable. There was no need to fill every moment with mindless chatter. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, letting the sun melt away any concerns.

  When she lowered her head, she found Frankie staring at her and she could tell he was debating whether or not to say something. Curiosity obviously won out, as he spoke up. “So tell me about yourself…Lizzie.”

  By the way he said her name, she knew that he had his doubts about her story. “Well…” she took a deep breath as she tossed a bit of her hot dog bun to the sea gulls hovering nearby. “Okay. You’re going to love this. My real name is Frances.”

  Frankie laughed out loud as he dabbed at a bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Go on.”

  “My full name is Frances Elizabeth Louise Durant.”

  “I’m glad you cleared that up. I wasn’t sure if you were on the lam or if you were suffering from amnesia.” He looked over at her with a sly grin, “But you were cute enough for me to forgive either one.”

  She could feel her cheeks grow warm. “Thank you.” That simple line was enough to cause her heart to skip a beat. She recovered quickly, not about to let him know. “It’s the former actually. I am on the run, but not from the law.”

  Frankie looked at her quizzically.

  “From my family,” she explained with her usual dry humor. “It’s just that I’ve always hated my name, or perhaps just the way it sounds when my mother says it.”

  “I see.”

  “So I had decided, just that night actually, that I was going to use a different name. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say until you asked me.”

  “That explains the confusion.”

  “And then when you said your name was Francis…” here they both shook their heads at the unexpected connection. She continued with a mischievous grin, “But now I’m having second thoughts. Perhaps the name, Frances, isn’t so bad after all.”

  “I’m partial to it, myself.” Frankie agreed. “So what shall I call you?”

  “I think I’ll go with…” She let the tension build. “Frances.”

  “Good choice.” Frankie continued with his interrogation, “So Lucy is your cousin, where is the rest of your family?”

  “At home in Vermont. But we have a house here in New York, as well.”

  “How long will you be staying with Lucy?”

  “Just a few weeks.” She realized that it wasn’t much time at all. “What about you? Are you from here?”

  “Nah. I was born and raised in Baltimore.”

  Frances tread softly as she remembered his brief statement from the previous evening. “You mentioned that you never knew your parents.”

  Frankie took a deep breath, prepared to deliver the short explanation he had recited many times over the years. “That’s right. My father was killed in an accident before I was born and my mother became very ill and died shortly after I was born. She was in a Catholic hospital. Knowing that my mother had no family, the sisters took me to an orphanage, where I lived for the next eighteen years.”

  “Oh, how horrible.” In spite of Frankie’s emotionless delivery of dry facts as if he were reading nothing more than a grocery list, Frances was moved by the thought of such loneliness. Images of Oliver Twist’s orphans in rags, holding out their empty bowls for a bit of gruel, sprang to mind.

  “No. Not at all. Don’t feel sorry for me. I was well-cared for.” Frankie waved his hand. “It was fine, really. The sisters were as good as they could be, considering the number of kids they had to look after.” He looked wistful for a moment, “Unfortunately they didn’t have much to tell me about my parents. There were only a few things my mother told them that they were able to pass on to me. She had a picture of my father, but I have no pictures of my mother.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Frances felt pity for the young man who in no way seemed to be seeking such a response for the cruel hand fate had dealt him.

  “It’s alright. Really. There’s no reason for a pity party. It’s all I’ve ever known. Anyway, back to the original point of this story: my father’s hair had turned completely white at twenty-one, so the nuns told me that it was hereditary and that I would probably have the same fate.” He shrugged.

  She looked at his bleached locks. “Well, I like it.” Frances was eager to move the topic away from anything that might be causing him discomfort. “Sometimes I wonder how I got into my family. I’m convinced I don’t belong to those people. I think I must have been snatched up by a roving band of gypsies and then sold to the highest bidder. So perhaps I’m an orphan too and my real parents are out there… somewhere.” Though she made a joke, she couldn’t really imagine what it would be like to be in his shoes. Completely alone in the world.

  Frankie leaned back and looked at her, “Hmm, sounds like you’ve got this all figured out.”

  She waved her hand nonchalantly. “Oh yeah. I’ve had years to work out this story.”

  “What about brothers and sisters? Any of them?”

  “An older brother, Charles, and a younger sister, Margaret. One’s probably going to be president of the United States one day and the other one is going to be a nun.”

  Frankie raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. “Hmmm. Which one is which?”

  Frances loved the idea that he had the same silly sense of humor she did. They took turns making one another laugh. He told her a few stories about his time overseas, wild and wonderful adventures and the camaraderie of the young men he served with. She noticed that whenever a narrative involved a tale of heroics, he always gave the glory to the other men, which told her the truth lay somewhere else. She liked that about him.

  He was a born storyteller and took delight in the details. He drew her in with words and she gladly went along with him and his friends on a midnight raid on a rural farmhouse in the French hillside. Laughing as the anecdote unfolded, she could clearly see the young soldiers concealed in a hay loft, desperately trying to keep the chicken they were stealing from squawking and giving away their hiding place.

  She could have listened to him for hours. Although when he mentioned with a quick change of subject that one young man didn’t make it h
ome, she knew instinctively, not all the stories were for telling.

  The conversation continued between them as they took turns asking questions, trying to illicit the bits of information that one needs to draw an accurate picture. And in that casual fact-finding mission were the first important essentials that each of them would take away, the fundamentals to go along with “his hair is blonde”, or “her eyes are brown.” Oh, the joy of those first moments of shy laughter, stolen glances, and hanging on every word. Every story heard for the first time, every minute detail tucked away in the heart, to be examined later. In the midst of all the laughter it was serious business, this getting to know someone. And before long, it was time to join Lucy and Richard at the skating rink.

  Frankie bent down to help Frances with the laces on her skates. Struck by his display of tenderness, she was reminded that he was a young man with no one in the world to call his own, and her heart went out to him.

  “Ready?” Frankie offered his hand and she stepped gingerly out onto the large wooden rink. She knew she was safe as she placed her hand in his and his strong fingers curled around hers.

  She moved with cautious steps at first. It had been several years since she’d been skating, but he skated as if he had been born to it. She held on for dear life gladly letting him take the lead as they went faster and faster with music from the old organ pounding in her ears.

  Lucy zipped by with Richard and the two girls waived at one another. Frances quickly turned her attention back to Frankie, not wanting to take her eyes off of him. She didn’t want to miss a minute and he was looking down at her with the same intensity. He skated backwards, facing her and they danced along the old wooden planks, where hundreds of other young couples had fallen in love. And she let herself go. She would go where she would, she would land wherever she landed, and she would not care.

  Was this what falling in love felt like, she wondered, or was she simply dizzy from spinning around and around the old oval rink?

  She had only known him for two days. How in the world could she be entertaining such a wild thought? Her heart spoke up and reminded her that questions about love where never rational. The real question was…was she brave enough to follow her heart?

  Falling in love. She ran the phrase over her tongue to taste it fully. Nobody walks carefully into love. To fall in love one has to let go, to be willing to fall. The delightful image of tumbling head over heels sprang to mind and she suddenly knew that she was willing. Willing to let go of the need to have all the answers. Willing to make a fool of herself. Willing to be wrong. What a frightening and exhilarating possibility.

  SIX

  Frances played tour guide as they explored her city and she was delighted to find everything was new with Frankie by her side. Even though it was a very touristy thing to do, they took in the Big Apple from the top of the Fifth Avenue Bus as they rode from Central Park to Grant’s Tomb.

  Of course Frankie had to see the Statue of Liberty, as no trip to New York would be complete without standing at the foot of the great lady. Although access for tourists to climb to the torch had been restricted since 1916, they could still climb up to the crown for a birds’ eye view. It was a sight worth seeing, especially for a young man just home from the battlefields.

  The two of them stood at the base of the statue and Frankie stared dreamily out over the harbor. A soft breeze ruffled his hair as he nodded quietly and said, “Just think, New York sits at the edge of the world and all of humanity flows to this harbor. Everyone wants to come here to make their mark.”

  “Is that what brought you to New York? You want to make your mark?”

  “Sure. It’s the same thing that brings everyone here. I guess I’m no different. I want to take advantage of the opportunities, the chance to do something big.”

  “I know what you mean.” Frances looked out over the bay. “I feel like the world is on the verge of something…big.”

  Frankie smiled down at her, “I think the world is always on the verge of something big. We’re always only a day away from the next invention or discovery that will change life as we know it.”

  “That’s true.” Frances nodded along, transfixed by his powerful speech.

  “Look, I don’t know if the city is all that magical. Maybe it’s just that poets and great writers have dressed her up with fancy words and over the years the fairy-tale lore became confused with fact. But at some point, the dreamers out there in the rest of the world are drawn to her bright lights like moths to a flame. We want the chance to burn bright even if it means burning up in the process.”

  Frances looked up admiringly into his face, “Now you sound like some sort of a poet.”

  “Me? Nah, just a guy who likes to talk too much.”

  He brushed her praise aside, but Frances loved his mind, the way that he saw the world, and the easy manner in which he wove words into captivating stories that ensnared her and led her on great expeditions. He was a dreamer for sure, but she sensed that he was more than that. He was going places, and she knew she wanted to go with him. She wondered, did her Gypsy fortune teller have Frankie in mind, when he predicted that “she was off on a new adventure?”

  ***

  Frankie had promised Frances that today he was going to take her to his favorite place in the world. She couldn’t imagine what he had in store for them. So when he stopped at Fifth Avenue and 42nd street, she looked up at him more than a little confused.

  “This is your favorite place in the whole world?”

  “Sure.”

  “The library?”

  “Of course. What could be better?”

  “Well…I could think of a lot of things.” Frances shrugged.

  “Oh come on, when was the last time you were here?” Frankie urged.

  “Let me think…um…never.” Frances shook her head. “Have you been here before?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how can it be your favorite place in the world?”

  “Because every library is my favorite place in the world.”

  Frankie grabbed her hand and pulled her up the steps. “You have no idea what you’re missing. The entire world is in here.” He waved his arm broadly. His enthusiasm was infectious.

  “Okay. But I have to admit this is one of the strangest dates I’ve ever been on.”

  The two of them entered the cool dimness of the building with its rows and rows of long wooden tables, amber-shaded lights, and hushed interior. Several of the tables were occupied by young men and women with books spread out before them, engrossed in their studies and oblivious to the giggling trespassers.

  Frankie looked like a kid in a candy store, as if the knowledge of the ages beckoned from every corner and he didn’t know which way to turn first. Shelves of carefully cataloged, leather-bound books enticed with hidden delights.

  He took her down aisle after aisle and directed her gaze to points of interest. There were countries to visit through ancient maps and photographs. There were historical figures just begging to tell their stories in their own words. There were great adventures to get lost in for hours upon hours. All could be done without leaving the confines of this room.

  Frankie looked down into Frances’s wide brown eyes, and she could tell he was desperate to have her comprehend this love affair. “I can come here anytime and pick up a book and say to myself, where shall I go today?”

  “I understand.” She was beginning to appreciate it. She knew romantic lines fell so easily from his lips because he was such a voracious reader. Schooled by the masters throughout all of history, it was second nature to him. Words had been absorbed over time, almost by osmosis.

  He told her how exciting it had been for him while he was in Europe, to be able to see many of the things he had only read about, even if the surrounding circumstances were less than ideal. It had been a thrill to actually see and touch the places that before had only been a mention on a well-worn page. She nodded, knowing intuitively that this man without a family
history of his own would become a lover of history and facts.

  “You’re lucky you’re able to go to college,” Frankie continued in his best library whisper. “That wasn’t in the cards for me. But at least I was smart enough to stay at the orphanage until I was eighteen and I had graduated from high school. So many of the boys couldn’t wait that long. They left school as soon as they were able to find a job. Somehow, I managed to do both and save my money. I knew I would have a much better chance with a high school education under my belt. For me, the next best thing to going to college is to bring college to me, by studying everything I can get my hands on.”

  “And so what did you do once you left the orphanage?” She wanted to know everything.

  “I had a job lined up in an accounting firm. I also love numbers.” He grinned. “Because the thing about numbers is…they are never subject to whims or feelings. Numbers always make sense.” He looked down at her as if he’d had a sudden realization. “But some of the best things in life don’t make any sense at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His answer was to grab her hand and lead her to the end of the empty aisle of ancient Greek literature. There, with the soft afternoon light filtering through the transom windows high above, he backed her up against the sturdy wooden shelves. With her hands behind her back, she pressed against the rows of neatly stacked books and looked up into his dark-fringed eyes as he leaned down over her. With one arm extended on the shelf above her, she was effectively caged in, not that she was harboring any thoughts of escape.

  He bit his lip mischievously and said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “Oh you are, are you?”

  He nodded wordlessly.

  “Well what if I don’t let you?”

  “Oh you’re going to let me.” His voice was low and though she tried to retain her sense of control his seductive whisper had mowed her down.

  “You’re right,” she whispered, prepared to give up without a fight.

  He bent closer and she could feel his warm breath on her face as her breath came faster. She tasted the sweetness that only comes once, as their lips touched for the first time. His lips barely brushed hers, playfully at first, before he kissed her full on her mouth. Then he kissed her again and again, as Aphrodite, Apollo, and Zeus looked on approvingly from their perches on the top shelf as if it were Mt. Olympus itself. It was just the kind of kiss she would have expected from him. Sensuous. Without the slightest bit of hesitancy. Afraid to break the spell, Frances hoped that if she just kept her eyes closed, she would remain lost there forever.