by Deeanne Gist
Dragging her hope chest into the center of the bedroom, Essie ran her hand across the ornate wooden trunk. She’d been ten when her mother began filling the box with family heirlooms that would be Essie’s when she married.
She slowly lifted the lid. Her grandmother’s white-on-white embroidered bedspread, some lace tablecloths, and curtains all lay folded and wrapped in tissue. From her great-grandmother, she had a full set of silver tableware with engraved handles. From Aunt Verdie, a cut-crystal punchbowl and cups.
Linens hemmed and embellished by Mother and by Essie’s own hands lay underneath handkerchiefs, tea towels, and hosiery. Chemises, corset covers, and dressing sacques.
And on the very top, her nightdress. Made especially for her wedding night. The tissue crackled as Essie folded it aside and lifted the gown from the chest. Tiny white rosettes were sprinkled among three rows of rice stitches decorating the neckline. Lace trim ran along the sleeveless straps. Only one delicate ribbon held the garment closed.
She slipped her hand beneath the bodice, disconcerted to find the gossamer fabric so sheer, so clingy. She swallowed. She’d only worn this gown once before. The night she’d decided to remain unmarried for the rest of her life. The night she’d decided to have her Lord and Savior as her one and only Groom.
And yet now He’d sent her a flesh-and-blood groom. One who would give her children. Who would grow old with her. Who would see her in this gown this very night.
I’m glad I wore it for you first, Lord. Because even though you’ve sent me a groom, you will always be first. In my heart. In my marriage.
In my life.
Four hours later, after the ceremony and wedding meal, Tony waited for his wife at the bottom of the stairs. Her bedroom door opened, but it was Mrs. Lockhart who came out. He smiled again at her bright purple gown with pink trim, then took the steps two at a time to assist her descent.
“I’m still unhappy with you, sir,” she said as he slipped his hand under her arm. “A bride should be taken on a train to Niagara Falls for her wedding trip.”
“Essie didn’t want to go to Niagara Falls,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the man. You’re the one who should be deciding these things.”
“And I did decide. I decided to take her to Enchanted Rock in Llano County.”
“On a bicycle!”
They reached the bottom of the steps, and Tony smiled at the woman who’d taken him under her wing the very first time she’d seen him.
“Not ever,” she continued, “not even in one of my novels, have the bride and groom traveled away on a bicycle.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Where on earth will you spend the night? You can’t think to be with your bride for the first time on nothing more than a bed of grass!”
He tweaked Mrs. Lockhart’s nose. “I shall not discuss such things with you, ma’am. For shame.”
“Well, someone needs to talk some sense into you. It’s not too late,” she said, squeezing the sleeves of his jacket. “You can send your friend with the bullwhip to the train station right quick to secure you some tickets.”
The bedroom door opened again. Anna, Shirley, and Mrs. Dunn came out of the room backwards, hovering in front of Essie. Finally she came into view and his heart sped up.
Her bicycle costume was the same blue as her eyes, her straw hat surprisingly simple, with a wide ribbon band that matched her outfit. He took an involuntary step toward her.
She placed her gloved hand on the balustrade.
“Wait,” he said, then patted the rail. “This way. I want you to come to me this way.”
Mrs. Dunn gasped.
Smiling, Essie hopped onto the banister and, with bloomers ruffling, slid straight into Tony’s waiting arms.
“Hello, Mrs. Morgan,” he said, pulling her against him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan.”
He kissed her firmly on the lips. “Are you ready?”
“I am.”
He lowered her to her feet. She hugged the women good-bye. The sheriff, judge, and preacher stepped into the foyer. Anna kissed Tony’s cheek, then moved next to Ewing while Essie’s uncle enfolded her into his arms.
“Be careful, Essie-girl,” he said. “Do you have your pistol?”
“Yes,” she said, pulling back. “We’ll be fine.”
Turning to her father, she stepped into his embrace.
“Ah, Squirt,” he said. “I wish your mother could have seen you today. You were the prettiest bride I ever did see.”
Lifting up on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “I’m the happiest bride you ever did see.”
He squeezed her tight, then let her go and held out his hand to Tony. “Take good care of her, son.”
“I will, sir. And we’ll come back through Corsicana on our return trip toward the end of the month.”
“I’d like that.” He sighed. “Well, you have a passel of folks out there waiting for you. Y’all’d best get going.”
Tony offered Essie his arm and opened the door.
They stepped out onto the porch. The yard and street were full of wedding guests. Friends of his. Friends of hers. Friends of their families. They cheered and whistled.
Clasping Essie’s hand, Tony looked at her. “Here we go.”
They ran down the steps and walkway under a shower of rice. Russ opened the gate and they rushed through.
“Oh, Tony!” she exclaimed. “It’s a side-by-side bicycle built for two!”
“That’s right,” he said, helping her mount. “I don’t want you in front of me or behind me. I want you right beside me. On our wedding trip and for the rest of our lives.”
He kissed her, amazed that if his father hadn’t disinherited him, he would never have come to Corsicana. Would never have met Essie.
At the time in his life when he thought he had nothing, when he thought his cup was empty, his heavenly Father was selecting the finest of wines to pour into Tony’s cup until it overflowed.
Essie pulled away slightly and flushed. The whistles and hoots of the crowd penetrated Tony’s consciousness as folks on the street parted for them, waving, calling out good wishes and throwing the last of the rice.
Winking at Essie, Tony took a quick glance behind them to be sure their clothing and supplies were still secured to the machine, then jumped onto his seat and pushed off.
EPILOGUE
BEAUMONT, TEXAS
JANUARY 10, 1901
TONY CROSSED the curving veranda of his three-story home and entered a side door with six-month-old Sullivan on his hip.
“Let’s go find Mama,” Tony said, hanging his hat on the hall tree before heading to the reception room.
Essie stood beside an easel that held a diagram of an automobile. Her new wide-brimmed hat trimmed in blue velvet slanted fashionably to one side. A number of ladies sat grouped around her.
“You’re back early,” she said, glancing at Tony.
The baby waved his pudgy arms and kicked his legs upon seeing his mother. Tony handed him to her, noting again Sullivan’s blond hair was the same color as Essie’s, though his nose was red and runny.
“How was your drive?” she asked Tony, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and swiping Sullivan’s nose.
“Exhilarating,” he answered, then turned to greet Essie’s guests. He recognized the senator’s wife, Mrs. Lockhart’s daughter, and Russ’s wife among the throng. “How do you do, ladies? What are y’all up to this fine afternoon?”
“We’re discussing the features of the new Locomobile,” Essie answered, loosening Sullivan’s coat and tickling him beneath the chin. She grinned as he squealed with laughter.
“Yes,” said Iva O’Berry, smiling at Tony mischievously. “Your wife has invited us to be part of her Beaumont Ladies Automobile Club and she’s going to teach us how to drive.”
He snapped his attention to Essie. “What?”
“That’s right,” continued Iva. “Today she’s explaining that the wooden body of the L
ocomobile rests on three full-elliptic springs.
The boiler and engine are below the seat of the body, and the feedwater tank is below the rear of the body.”
His lips parted.
A huge boom from somewhere outside rattled the windows of the house.
“What in the world?” Essie said, absently patting the baby’s back. Tony glanced out the tall windows facing east. “Sounded like a cannon or something.”
The women stirred.
“Essie?” he asked, returning his attention to the matter at hand. “May I see you in the library for a moment?”
“Certainly.” She looked at her ladies. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
With a calm he didn’t feel, he escorted her beneath the majolica glass light fixture and past the gingerbread spool design portals separating the hall from the stairwell.
“You’re back,” his mother said, stepping into the hall.
The baby opened his mouth in a huge yawn.
“Oh dear. You’ve worn the poor little thing out, Tony.” She held out her arms. “Come, my sweet, and let’s go to the nursery, where Grandmama can get you out of your coat, then rock you to sleep.”
Essie relinquished her son, and Tony marveled again at the delight his mother took in the baby. She’d regained much of her former glow and vigor since becoming a grandmother.
“Thank you, Mother,” Tony said, but she was already on her way up the stairs, singing softly to Sullivan.
Tony opened the heavy sliding doors to the library, inviting Essie to enter with the sweep of his hand. Stained-glass windows with the faces of Dickens and Longfellow welcomed them.
He slid the doors shut.
“I was going to tell you,” she said before he could even turn around.
“When?”
“When I knew I had enough ladies interested.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Essie, women are not supposed to drive. I only taught you because you are not like most women.”
“And I love it! It’s fabulous. I think it a crime to forbid other women to drive. So many of my friends want to learn. That’s what gave me the idea of forming a club.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No,” he repeated. “The men of this town will ride me out on a rail if I let you teach their wives to drive.”
She crossed her arms. “That’s what everyone in Corsicana said about the bicycle club, too.”
“Essie—”
“I’m forming the organization, Tony. I’ve all that money from the sale of the Velocipede Club and I want to invest it in an automobile club for women.”
“Using my car as its teaching tool?”
“Using our car.”
“They’ll wreck it.”
“No, they won’t. I’m an excellent teacher.”
He suppressed a groan. The menfolk were going to kill him. Russ, especially. He thought it a great joke that Essie was such a tomboy and took tremendous pride in ribbing Tony about it. But he would be furious if Iva took up driving.
“In Thrown on the World,” Essie said, “Miss Moffitt became a shoe cobbler when her father lost his eyesight—a craft supposedly suitable for men alone. Yet she helped many of her lady friends make a way for themselves.”
“Miss Moffitt also blew up the barn.”
Essie rolled her eyes. “She was a bit careless. I’m much more levelheaded.”
Someone hammered the front door’s knocker with excessive force. “Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan!”
Tony slid open the doors and stepped into the hallway just as Iva answered the door.
A teener in dungarees and covered with oil stood dripping on the front porch. “Mr. Morgan! Come quick. One of the rigs on Spindletop Hill is gushin’ clear up to the sky!”
Essie grabbed his hand, her eyes alive with excitement.
“I’ll send word back as soon as I can,” he said, pulling her to him and planting a kiss on her lips. “We’ll talk about the auto club later.”
“Be careful,” she said.
Grabbing his hat and coat, he rushed out the door and headed toward Spindletop, wondering how he was going to tell the men of Beaumont that before the year was out, their wives would very likely know more about automobiles than they would.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I had such plans for incorporating all the exciting developments of the oil industry’s early days—the building of the first oil refinery in Corsicana, the shipment of the first batch of refined oil in Texas, the clever marketing strategies the early oilmen used to promote their product. Yet Essie and her bicycle club simply took over the story and, before I knew it, the novel had ended and I didn’t get to include all that wonderful history I’d so thoroughly researched. At least we managed to go from being rope chokers to mud drinkers! (Cable-tool boys to rotary boys.) The oil companies I used were all fictional, but the Baker brothers did, in fact, introduce their rotary drill to Corsicana, thus revolutionizing the Texas oil industry.
Being the daughter of an oilman, the wife of an oilman, a Texan, and a former resident of Corsicana, it has been a delight to write these last two books. I shall always be particularly fond of my Trouble books and of all the friends I made while researching them.
Next, we’re off to Seattle in the mid-eighteen hundreds. So get ready to rewind back a few years and watch for a brand-new story in June 2009. Until then, come by and visit me on my Web site (www.IWantHerBook.com). I have a blog, a chat room, games, contests, email, and a lot of readers just like you, waiting with open arms. See you there!
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