The Bootlegger's Wife: A Love Story

by Terri Lee

  Frankie pretended to look shocked. “Why Mrs. Lee, I have no idea what you’re referring to. I was simply talking about the years of marriage that stretch out before us, and my pledge to take care of you.”

  “Oh of course. How silly of me to misconstrue your intention. And I’m going to take very good care of you.” Frances answered him with an equal amount of assurance.

  “Well then now that that’s settled, looks like everything should be smooth sailing from here on in.”

  Frances reached over and tugged on the cow lick that hung over his forehead. “What are we going to do today, my husband?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that too, while you were getting your beauty sleep.” He rose up on one elbow, “You know, couples from all over the country come to New York for their honeymoon. So we will pretend that we are just in from Potato Cake, Idaho and we’re here to see the sights.”

  “I love it,” she squealed.

  “Good. We’ll have the best honeymoon any two people ever had in a weekend.” He rolled over and scooped her into a bear hug, “But first…”

  ***

  Frankie was as good as his word. He showered Frances with attention as the two of them made their way around the city arm in arm. During the day, they were happy tourists, and at night, fearless explorers. Frances reveled in the quiet pillow talk that grew from the trust as they handed themselves over to one another. And when all was said and done, she couldn’t imagine that anyone had ever had a better honeymoon. But honeymoons were never meant to last forever.

  TWENTY FIVE

  “It’s fine, Frankie. I know it’s temporary.”

  Frankie’s apartment was really nothing more than a room. Frances watched, amused, as he ran around frantically shoving things into a tiny closet before turning to face his new bride.

  “The thing is, I really didn’t need any more than this, and because I needed so little I was able to save every penny for my future, and that would be you.” He looked down into her upturned face. “But we’ll find a place for us, you’ll see. You’ll be happy.”

  “I’m already happy.” She reminded him.

  “Of course it won’t be anything like what you’re used to.”

  She put her fingers to his lips, which was her standard reply. “Then I’m sure to love it.”

  They did find a charming little apartment and Frances clapped her hands excitedly when Frankie presented her with the key. Once he had carried her over the threshold and set her on her feet, she twirled around the living room like a royal ballerina, and Frankie smiled indulgently from the doorway.

  “Isn’t it darling?” she exclaimed as she ran to look out the large bay window overlooking the tree-lined street below. “It’s like a doll’s house.”

  “A doll’s house for my doll face.” Frankie walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

  Their new home was on a nondescript little avenue a world away from The Dakota. But the neighborhood was full of families with children laughing and playing and she couldn’t have asked for a happier beginning.

  The first task Frances set her hand to, however, was a chore that she had been dreading. It was time to write letters to Lucy and Charles, whom she had not seen since the famous exit scene over a week ago. She had put it off, not wanting to face the truth that her parents had truly abandoned her. However, as the days piled one on another, that truth was harder and harder to ignore.

  Lucy must be home from her honeymoon by now and was probably beside herself with worry over the situation. Charles, of course, would have been told immediately and was probably not surprised at all by the turn of events.

  Her letter to both contained the same refrain, although in Lucy’s letter she was freer to spill the contents of her heart. She scribbled away for days, trying to come up with the exact words she wanted to say, although she knew Lucy would find within her pages the words she didn’t have the strength to say.

  Dear Lucy, Mrs. Tanner Carlson;

  By now, I’m sure you’ve heard a couple of different versions of the infamous story, ‘The Flight of the Caged Bird’. I’m equally sure that each interpretation has me behaving badly and Lena and Father acting with the utmost civility. Believe me, this was not how I planned it at all. You alone know how I feel about Frankie. My heart would simply not abide by the restrictions placed on it by my parents.

  I tried over and over to get them to listen to me, but you can imagine how that went. I don’t know why I thought that this time would be different.

  They treated him abominably, Lucy, and my heart broke right there in the foyer. I’m sure the housekeepers swept up the pieces with the dust the next morning.

  I’m sorry I was not there to greet you when you returned from your honeymoon. I would have liked for us to be able to talk. But then again, if I had had you to run to, things might have turned out differently, and I would not change a thing.

  You should rest assured that I’m happier than I ever thought possible. My heart has found its home. I am loved.

  This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. I cannot see you or write to you because it is my decision that if my parents say that ‘I am dead’ to them…then dead I shall be. I know it may sound petty, and I’m certainly cutting off my nose to spite my face. But I have no qualms about my decision. I will not allow Lena and Father the option of even hearing through the grapevine that I’m alright. They will not have the comfort of knowing if I’m happy, or if I’m well taken care of. If I am dead to them, then they have no need of hearing of my existence. They must live with their choice. And if they ever wonder if I’m alive and well…then they will have to find out for themselves.

  It is my silent prayer that they come to their senses before long. Until then, my cousin, my darling friend, this will be the last you will hear from me. Pray that it’s soon. Be happy for me.

  Love,

  Frances Mrs. Frank Lee

  Lucy would surely see through the text and realize this was much more than Frances being stubborn. At least Frances hoped that she would. Along with her letter, Frances enclosed a clipping from a recent gossip column, which read: “…what American princess has upset the apple cart by running away from home in the dead of night to marry a handsome young thief who is barely a step above the hired help? We’ll never tell, but her initials are F.D.”

  Frances circled the small notice and then scribbled in the margin. Seems I’ve lost my tiara! It would be good to let Lucy know that she was still able to laugh about it.

  It was hard to let go of the small envelope as she prepared to drop it into the metal box that would send it on its way across town to Lucy’s new address. Holding it in her fingertips allowed her to hold on to Lucy for a moment longer. She stood there briefly with the lid open and the envelope clutched in her hands. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. But she knew there was no changing the facts. She let the letter slip from her fingers into the dark box, then turned, heading home, wondering when she’d see Lucy again.

  She wasn’t really having second thoughts. Her decision had been made with a cool head after she had had days to simmer down. Yes, she was stubborn to be sure, but it was her parents who refused to be reasonable. They were the ones who issued the death sentence.

  Eventually, she thought, her parents would have to realize that it was too late for their recriminations. She and Frankie were wed. And once her father had time to cool off, they would pick up the pieces of their already strained relationship and continue on. Until then, she and Frankie would live on their own little island.

  And on this little island for two, Frankie allowed her all the freedom she needed to feather their nest. Freedom tethered by one small thing: a budget. She was used to shopping without limits. Items were rung up on charge accounts all over the city which her father dutifully paid without a second thought. Price tags were never an issue for her. In fact Lucy would often gasp over some of her purchases, alerting Frances that not everyone had her resources. The idea of a we
ekly budget was a foreign concept to her. Although Frankie had his doubts, she assured him she would master it.

  If Frankie had his fears, she surely had hers. She was very worried that he would soon tire of her lack of homemaking skills. Eventually, she was certain, there would come a time when he would come home from a hard days’ work and prefer a hot cooked meal to the disasters that she presented nightly. Thankfully, love was new, and the lovemaking that followed the laughter that inevitably followed the tears over the nightly dinner mishaps was more than enough to sustain them.

  ***

  “I missed you terribly.” She said when she ran into his arms each evening, kissing his lips, eyes and the tip of his nose.” And everything was right with his world.

  Then she would scurry off to the kitchen as if on a secret mission. He adored everything about her and especially loved to hear her singing away like a little bird. Most evenings, though, the singing stopped as she carried her failures on a platter to the small dining table. She could never understand that he loved her all the more for her clumsy attempts.

  “What have we here?” he would ask, hoping for a clue.

  “Beef bourguignon,” she would say, or some other fancy dish that required competence far beyond her level of expertise. She carried home cookbooks from the library, full of hopes and every intention of producing culinary masterpieces, the likes of which she was used to seeing on her dining table at home. But she didn’t know the first thing about cooking. When a recipe called for braising or sautéing, it might as well have been written in a foreign language.

  Nightly she would present her charred and misshapen entrees and somehow Frankie always managed to find something to praise. She would sit with disappointed tears stinging her eyes as he choked down her burnt offerings. Like holocausts sacrificed to a God, he accepted each one with a full heart. He gladly ate them up, even asking for seconds. They would invariably end up laughing and she vowed to get it right the next night. Although some nights her attempts fell so short there was no salvaging them, and so she resorted to the one meal she had mastered in her young life: pancakes.

  One night, she attempted to make an apple pie for dinner, but without any of the proper utensils the odds were not in her favor. Needless to say, the crust was a thick and lumpy concoction. She wasn’t even going to show Frankie, but he had wandered into the kitchen and spied it hiding in shame on the corner of the counter under a kitchen towel.

  “Oh boy, apple pie,” he grinned.

  “No. It was supposed to be an apple pie, but I’m fairly positive that’s not an apple pie.”

  “Nonsense.” Frankie carried it to the dining table, “I love apple pie. Bring us some plates.”

  Frances shrugged her shoulders and returned with one plate.

  “You’re not having any?” Frankie frowned at her.

  “Not hungry.” Frances sat with her chin in her hand and watched with a worried glance as Frankie tried to slice through the tough layers of crust.

  She watched as Frankie chewed and chewed before finally being able to swallow.

  “It’s good,” he lied.

  “No, it’s not,” she choked back her tears.

  “Never doubt me, my young bride. Taste for yourself.” He waved the fork in front of her face temptingly.

  “No thanks,” she waved him away.

  “Come here,” he nodded his head toward her.

  She glumly rose from the table and plopped in his lap.

  “I’m sorry. I’m such a disaster,” she pouted.

  “What are you talking about? This is one of the best apple pies I’ve ever tasted. In my opinion the crust is always the best part of the pie, and this has …plenty of crust.”

  Frances smiled in spite of herself. “You’re a horrible liar.”

  Frankie scooped up another bite and attempted to force feed Frances, and the two laughed as they struggled over the fork. Frankie’s strength won out and Frances chewed the bite of mush.

  “See.” Frankie was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. “It’s the best apple pie ever. We’ll enter it in the County Fair. Blue ribbon material if I do say so myself.”

  “I lub you.” Frances mumbled with her mouth full. And Frankie kissed her full on her lips with apple pie clinging to the corners of her mouth, before carrying her off to the bedroom.

  ***

  And so it went for the first few months of marriage. Frances struggled. Frankie encouraged. They ate a lot of pancakes and they both laughed as they made their way.

  To say that Frances was an oddity among the other housewives would be an understatement. At first the women in her building gave her a wide berth as they sniffed out her wealthy background. As if the suspicious fact that she didn’t own a simple cotton dress wasn’t enough, her highly impractical and expensive shoes were glaring reminders that she was an alien in this new world.

  But since Frances never looked down her nose at them, they eventually opened their arms and let her into their circle. In fact several of the older women decided to take her under their wings and make her their special project, as she was obviously in need of tutelage. Once inside the tight-knit group she soaked up all the secrets of homemaking, and the women would laugh and shake their heads at her glee over mastering some mundane task on her own.

  Only Frankie knew what an accomplishment it was for her when she showed him the polished wood floors after hours of waxing, or pointing out the shining bathroom fixtures. All she needed was some personal instruction and there were more than enough women offering to be her mentor.

  Mrs. Antonini was her closest neighbor and each day, for weeks on end, she invited Frances over to instruct her in the art of Italian cooking. Soon Frances was making fresh pasta and red sauce while hordes of children where wailing in the background. She would never know how Mrs. Antonini managed to remain calm in the midst of such chaos. But for Frances it was a good lesson. If she could learn to cook in that wild atmosphere, she would be on easy street from then on.

  She need not attend The Cordon Bleu in Paris. She had the best hands on training right there in her apartment building. Frankie enjoyed all the benefits of this new cooking school and lapped up each day’s assignment with gusto. It was enough for him to be served an entree that came in a texture other than crispy.

  ***

  Like all newlyweds, the pair had to learn to make room for one another. This process more often than not involved a few ruffled feathers and bruised elbows as two people learned to occupy the same small space.

  Frankie learned soon enough that not everything about his bride was tiny. She came with a rather large temper and he could find himself in the center of a hurricane as invectives in French were hurled about the room. He didn’t need to speak the language to know what was being said. It made no sense to him, but he came to understand that Frances felt that as long as she was cursing up a storm in French, that it was somehow befitting of a lady. He had no idea where she would have picked up such a curious habit but in his interest to preserve the peace, he thought it best to leave her with her delusion.

  He managed to avoid most of the slings and arrows with his calm and easy manner. Mostly, her temper tantrums were aimed at herself, over some mishap or perceived failure, as she tried so hard to find her place in this new world and often lost her footing. Whenever a cloud of angry French words followed her down the hallway, he thought it sounded beautiful.

  There was still the elephant in the room, her family, which reared its ugly head from time to time. A casual mention in the society pages could send her into a dark place for a bit. A newspaper opened to the offending story left lying on the coffee table like a murderer leaving a clue would tip him off to the reason for her quiet withdrawal.

  Several months had passed without so much as a whisper from William and Lena Durant. Frances was valiant in response to their shunning. Yet Frankie lived with fear from both sides of the coin. On the one hand he was very worried about the toll this excommunication would take
on his wife, and in the end, the both of them. On the other hand he was just as worried that her parents would come looking for her and somehow talk her into returning home with them. In the first days he found himself holding his breath as he turned his key in the lock at night. Not sure what would be waiting for him on the other side.

  One night as the two of them sat in the living room, Frankie engrossed in a book and Frances reading the paper, she suddenly flung the newspaper across the room with a huff.

  “What’s the matter?” Frankie looked up.

  “It’s as if I never even existed.”

  “Where? What are you talking about?”

  “The newspaper story about Charles’s wedding. It’s like I’ve been completely written out of the picture. The article mentions Charles’s entire family and it didn’t even mention that he had a sister who did not attend. It’s like I truly am dead. How long do they intend to punish me?” She asked the impossible question.

  She tried not to look at the society pages. She didn’t want to look at them. But it was like a scab she couldn’t ignore. She had been waiting to see the article on Charles and Cassandra’s wedding and in fact had been toying with the idea of showing up unannounced. She had every right to go to her brother’s wedding if she chose. In the end, she chose not to. It would be seen by her parents as an obvious an attempt to garner forgiveness. And she had no need of forgiveness. She would not go hat in hand, begging to be allowed back into the fold.

  “Do you regret walking out as we did?” Frankie interrupted her thoughts. “Your family has no way of finding you.”

  “Believe me,” she corrected him in no uncertain terms, “if my father wanted to find me, I’d be found.” “Are you still hoping for that?” “Not anymore.” She shook her head. “At first I was sure they would come to their senses. But I gave that up soon enough. No one is going to come looking for me.” She stated the sad fact. She turned her frown upside down and grinned at Frankie. “But then I remembered that I’ve already been found.”