Bonita Faye

by Margaret Moseley

  “Actually this is the criminal investigation end of the bureau. Solving crimes through evidence has always appealed to me. There’s been many a time in LeFlore County when I wish I, or anybody for that matter, knew more about criminology. There’s a lot of crimes go unsolved, Claude, for lack of proper evidence. Why, I remember when I met Bonita Faye, when her no-good husband was killed? That case has always bothered me. I’ve always thought there was more to it than…but, no never mind. They pinned it on someone and he’s dead…was already dead when they found out he did it, so it’s a closed case. But, I’ve always wondered…”

  Great. Now I had to ponder not only on the Catholic church, but also on whatever it was that Harmon was up to and had seen fit to share with Claude and not with me.

  “And they really have gold angels around their mirrors and holdin’ up their clocks and all?” No matter how much I told Patsy about Claude and Didi’s home, she always wanted to hear more.

  “They call them cherubs. They’re baby angels. But they’re gold all right.” We were clearing away the remains of our stolen chocolate treat when all the kids came flyin’ in the kitchen. They started rummaging through the neatly stacked boxes, looking for a stray cookie.

  “Mama, can I have one?”

  “Me, too.”

  “And me. I want a cookie.”

  “Bonita Faye, je voudrais la confiserie, s’il vous plaît?”

  “Here. Here. I saved another box for y’all. You’ll get some, too, Michel, but I wish you’d ask for it in English. I know you can speak it.” Patsy took an unopened box of cookies from the cabinet and threw them up in the air. Sixteen tanned arms reached up at the same time and the box was tossed around the kitchen like a basketball. Finally Harry got a good hold on it and ran out of the kitchen with the others yelling and pushing behind him.

  I laughed. “You know he does most of the time, Patsy. And I thought Michel was teaching you French?”

  “He is.” She spread her legs apart in a solid stance, put her hands on her hips and said, “Parlez vous Francaise? Chevrolet coupe?”

  “Oh, you,” I laughed.

  THIRTY

  It was during their long talks over coffee in the Hotel Regina dining room that Simone and Harmon worked out our adopting Michel and bringing him home to Poteau. I knew what was going on, but stayed out of their way. They both knew how I felt and there was no sense in beating the issue to death.

  But all three of us were present when we asked Michel.

  He stared at his mother for a long time and then turned to face Harmon and me. “Oui, this will be a hard matter for the heart, but it will be the best for all of us.”

  After that unexpected adult reaction, he lapsed into being a little boy. At times he held on to his mother like a three-year-old and at others, he refused to acknowledge her presence.

  I was that proud of Simone, and I think I got a glimpse of the calm state of mind and action that she musta used during the war to get through her work with Michel’s father. Robert and Denis were supportive of her decision, had in fact, helped her to make it, but I felt that all three of them believed that they had failed in some way.

  Robert and I talked about it often during the four extra weeks I stayed in France to complete the necessary paperwork. Harmon had returned to America after his vacation time expired.

  “Bonita Faye, do you think the effects of this terrible war will ever end?” It wasn’t like Robert to be so down.

  I didn’t have any bright reassurances to offer him.

  After Harmon’s departure, I had moved into my old Van Gogh room; there was no sense in Simone losing the money the suite could bring in and, besides, I loved that room so much.

  As I lay alone on my soft, narrow bed, I wondered how we had all come to be where we were. How had an ignorant girl from Oklahoma come to be a part of the lives of a family in Paris, France? And where was that ignorant girl anyway?

  I could remember the hard years with Mama and the harder ones with Billy Roy, but it seemed to me that when Denis Denfert had first opened that taxi door for a visitor from America, it was for more than a ride in a taxi that I’d stepped into.

  Here I was married to an up-and-comer from Oklahoma who loved only me, and I also coulda been married to a man who was fixing to be one of the richest men in Europe. And who loved me. In fact, as I was thinking on all this, I could hear his footsteps in the hall, stopping at my door for a minute, before moving on.

  Mama used to tell me that the difference in lettin’ life happen to you or makin’ life happen for you was in the heart. “If it don’t feel good all the way to your heart, then do something to change it, Bonita Faye. Life’s too short to have to carry around a heavy heart full of regrets.” Mama had been better at preachin’ it than livin’ it.

  Well, I had sure changed my direction that night on Cavanal Hill when I pulled that trigger on Billy Roy, and while I don’t think murder was exactly what Mama had in mind, I hadn’t hesitated then or since to make a decision that didn’t feel right.

  My heart ached for Simone; letting her son go to America hurt her bad. But, her lack of making a judgment call between Denis and Robert was making more sense to me. I could only guess about what went on in their three bedrooms on the second floor, but it musta have felt right in all their hearts, ‘cause when they were together, I never saw any signs of resentment or jealousy. Robert was Denis’s best friend and Denis was his. And Simone fussed over them both. Maybe they were on a schedule like the Paris Metro and if they missed one train, they just patiently waited for the next.

  It was cool for a summer night in France and I slid under my eyelet-covered duvet and pondered some more on who we all were while I pulled the petals from the red rose I had found on my pillow. When I woke up the next morning I was surrounded by the sweet aroma of the dried petals.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Harmon had never been as happy being sheriff of LeFlore County as he thought he would be. “They never did want no honest sheriff,” he’d come home and tell me, “they just wanted a hero to show off.”

  He’d kept on trying though.

  “You know what Bennett, that newcomer from Fort Smith, told me today?” he asked. “You know, the man who bought the Fowler land east of Poteau for his retirement? He said that last Saturday when he visited his property that a man in a pickup drove up and welcomed him to the county and then asked him if he was a going to build on it. And did Bennett know that the Fowler land was part of the deer hunting area?

  “Then afore the dust from his truck had settled, another one pulled into the field and told him to be careful of how he built ‘cause there was lots of fires in this part of the state. And later on, another pickup with two men stopped by and asked Bennett if he was going to build a house there and disturb the deer. They said the last owner had been burned out and they warned Bennett to build out of stone or brick ‘cause it was an awful fire area.

  “Bennett came to see me, not ‘cause he thought I could do anything about it, but just to tell me why he had put the property back up for sale. Now, Bonita Faye, none of them men said anything wrong. No real threats or anything, but their message was loud and clear; leave the land alone or get burned out.

  “And, what’s worse, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Eastern Oklahomans have their own law and they want to keep it that way. Oh, we can ticket the speeders and clean up after a car crash and direct traffic, but when it comes to the gambling and the dirty deals, it’s Katy-bar-the-door on real law enforcement.

  “I want to do the job right, but when even the victims refuse to cooperate, it isn’t easy.”

  Harmon kept on trying for about six years after we brought Michel home, but he only got real satisfaction from the criminology end of the job. He attended every criminology school the FBI put on and his reputation for solving crimes with a microscope instead of a gun is why the governor appointed
him to be the head of the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation in 1963.

  That’s when we moved to Oklahoma City, or rather Harmon did. I stayed for Michel to finish his last year of high school before I joined Harmon. It took me that long to work up to moving away from Poteau.

  I didn’t ever feel like I was Michel’s mother and he didn’t either. He had a mother and we visited her every summer. I’d take him to Paris and after a good visit with the Vermeillons, I would travel around Europe, either on my own or with Robert or with whichever one of Patsy’s kids I’d taken with me that year. I couldn’t ever get Patsy to go.

  Harmon wasn’t Michel’s father figure either.

  Michel found his own father image and no one was more surprised than Jerry by the time we all realized that Michel had adopted him to be the one he most admired. Oh, Michel and Harmon loved and respected each other and Harmon certainly could make that boy mind, but it was Patsy’s husband that Michel followed around during his free time.

  The two of them would climb houses and nail shingles in the hottest weather and never even sweat. And they’d build fences and paint barns and never say three words the whole time it took for the job. I’d have to shake Michel to say more than “yep” or “nope” after he’d been with Jerry. “At least, you can say ‘yep, ma’am,’ to me,” I’d rave.

  “Yep, ma’am,” he’d say then and grin and duck when I’d throw the newspaper or something at him.

  He was a good boy and got along well with the other kids at school. Some made fun of his accent at first, but since everybody talks funny in Oklahoma anyway, it was soon overlooked and Michel was just one of the gang which is what he always wanted to be.

  The only time I ever saw someone being ugly to him was not too long after Michel arrived in Poteau. It happened when Michel and I were out shopping. It was a rainy afternoon and we were just about to head for home when I decided I had better go to the bathroom before we ran five blocks home through the cold, heavy drops. I headed toward the one at the bank. There wasn’t one inside. It was around the corner to the second door on the street. Only the bank workers and customers knew which door led to the restrooms inside and I was there in the Ladies when I heard an awful commotion outside.

  “Frenchy, Frenchy. Parly voo yourself. Come on. Say somethin’, frog.”

  I charged out of that restroom and found a spider-like boy on top of Michel. They were both wallering around in the mud. All I had with me was my umbrella so I poked the boy in the ribs and told him in no uncertain terms to get off Michel and a few other choice words. The boy flashed me a devilish grin, kicked Michel one more time below the knee and ran around the corner into the bank.

  “I coulda taken care of him, Bonita Faye. You didn’t have to do that,” Michel said.

  “Who was that boy? Has he ever bothered you before? Do any of the other kids act like that?” I may not have been Michel’s mother, but I sure knew how to act like one.

  “No, he’s the only one. But, don’t worry about him. He’s a little bully and doesn’t have any friends. No one pays any attention to him. For god’s sake, Bonita Faye, that boy is younger than I am. He just caught me by surprise and I slipped in the mud. You didn’t give me time to get at him.” Michel was embarrassed.

  I didn’t care. “Who is he?” I asked again.

  “Baron Falkenberry.”

  The Judge’s grandson. I shoulda known.

  Michel never mentioned him again, but I’d hear from time to time about how the Falkenberry boy would get in some kind of trouble. I told Harmon that one of these days he’d be dealing with that boy himself.

  But I’ll say this for Poteau, for the most part, Michel fit in just like any other kid, going to school, playing sports, kissing the girls and doing chores around the house.

  The chore Michel liked the most that he and Jerry did together was gardening and they’d work forever on someone’s lawn, getting it just perfect, not even knowing that it was suppertime or that the sun had set.

  I hired them both to work on my yard. Other than mowing, it hadn’t had a lick of work done on it since Billy Roy and I had moved into it.

  At first, Harmon had wanted to build us a new house, but you know how stubborn I can be. So we just fixed up the old one. We added another bath and modernized the kitchen. And built on a den and a fireplace. But to me it was the same old comfortable house. I could still sit on my front porch and swing while I read or just stare at the Oklahoma hills if I just wanted to think and sort out things.

  It embarrassed me some when I realized I hadn’t done much about the yard when Michel brought home a rose bush that Jerry had given him. No one loved flowers more than I did, but I guess I didn’t know I could have them for my own.

  “This is the kind of rose that you and Uncle Claude love so much,” he told me as he dug a hole by the front porch.

  “Wait a minute, Michel.” I ran inside the house and got the old hatbox Simone had given me to save my rose petals in. When the hole was ready, I poured the dried petals in the bottom where the roots of the new bush would rest. “Seems right,” was all I’d say in answer to Michel’s questioning look. “How about you and Jerry plantin’ me some more of those roses and, maybe, daisies, too?”

  When I turned those two loose in my yard, it was like rain in the desert. I had something blooming almost every day of the year and if it weren’t blooming, it looked pretty and smelled good.

  Why, Michel almost didn’t go with me to France the year after he graduated ‘cause some of his best flowers were coming up. He wanted to know why Simone couldn’t come to us again that year and, if I hadn’t taken Sary and Omega along, I don’t think I’d ever got him to go. Patsy and I knew that Michel would go anywhere that Sary went. When he wasn’t following Jerry around, we could always find him at Patsy’s daughter’s side.

  Simone and I didn’t let them get married in France. That wouldn’t have been fair to Patsy. So we all trooped back to Poteau and Sary and Michel were married in my garden with Sary holding a bouquet of Michel’s last blooms of the summer.

  I let them have the house when I moved to Oklahoma City.

  You can’t put a brick on their heads or anchors on their legs to keep kids from growing up and every year more of them shot up and sprouted wings.

  Harry and Cherry went to law school. Mary became a doctor and went to Viet Nam. Jerry, Jr., took over the Poteau bank after the Judge died and Carrie was principal at a high school in Texas. Michel and Sary had babies, and Omega followed his older brother and sister to law school and wound up being the youngest U.S. Senator ever elected in Oklahoma.

  Every one of those kids paid me back every cent I had loaned them for their education.

  And, oh, yes, Elly Ross married a geologist and moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico.

  THIRTY-TWO

  You don’t have to read this part if you don’t want to. There’s some boring stuff about how Harmon and me lived in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, and some bad things you might not like. I know I didn’t, but they happened all the same so they got to be wrote down. That Bible verse Patsy and me were so keen about says, “Write it down,” and I’ve tried to be true to it ever since, even when it hurts to tell.

  I get so caught up telling about how much Claude and I loved each other, that sometimes I don’t think I’ve rightly told about Harmon and me.

  Claude was easy to love. He was dark, handsome, romantic and French. And, true to his callin’ it, very riche-riche.

  Harmon was different, but at the same time, I can see now that both men shared some likeness. And not in just loving me either. They were both good men, honest to a fault, and had the git and go to get where they wanted to be. Claude darted back and forth like a blue-bottle fly over a pond, but Harmon pushed on like he was dancing the Oklahoma Shuffle; first on one foot and then on the other.

  Harmon was handsome, too, in a raw-boned, rangy
fashion that filled out to one impressive man as we got older. He wasn’t romantic in the French way, but in Harmon’s way. After telling me he loved me a few times, he just took it for granted that I knew it, so the subject didn’t come up all that often.

  And I could count on one hand the number of times he sent me flowers, but I remember him on his hands and knees many a time, gathering wildflowers for me on our walks in the country.

  Looking back, I see where I coulda been a better wife to him. Instead of high-tailing it back to Poteau every chance I got or over to France, I coulda shown up for more of those dinners and meetings and things where the wife was asked to come. I went to a lot of them though and even learned to sit through the worst without having to leave the head table to go to the bathroom more than once.

  One of the “Ladies Days” where I got to go with him stands out in my mind. Even if I hadn’t been allowed, I would have gone. Harmon and I drove down from Oklahoma City to Heavener where they were dedicating the Heavener Runestone State Park. Him talking about the Runestone and a future state park at a Poteau town meeting was where I had first seen Harmon, and it was a sentimental trip for both of us.

  It was in October of 1970 and the trees had already turned, had already pulled back their green chlorophyll to let nature’s real colors show through and it was like descending into a Thanksgiving basket as the official group of us wound our way down into the ravine that held the great stone.

  Harmon and I grinned and held on to each other on the steps. I had begun to suffer twinges of arthritis in my knees and he still had a slight limp left over from Korea. “Aren’t we a fine pair to be thinking we can go climbing down this mountain. It’d better be worth it, Harmon Adams, ‘cause I’m never going to do it again,” I told him.

  The symbols on the Runestone are supposed to be a Norse cryptopuzzle hiding the date of sometime in 1012, but as we stood there gazing up at it, securely protected by an ugly, twelve-foot steel cage, Harmon musta been feeling his oats, ‘cause he whispered in my ear during one of the speeches. “It really says ‘Harmon Adams Loves Bonita Faye and Don’t You Ever Forget It.’ ”