by Pamela Morsi
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was a riot of a party. The perfect send-off. Every loose-living oil man in Topknot was there. The other saloons had closed their doors. Only the Palace was open for Miss Queenie's good-bye.
The chaos of the evacuation and then the headache of moving back in had delayed her departure considerably. She couldn't leave Frenchie and Mathis without trying to insure that they made a go of it. After all, it was their payments that she was counting on to live.
They were not about to change the name. Oil field people knew Queenie's Palace. She had a reputation for fair dealing and unwatered alcohol. With her name upon the sign they would continue to flock to the place.
Since Queenie herself would not be there, Mathis had taken it upon himself to paint a huge mural of her on the wall behind the bar.
The likeness was a fairly good one. He'd given her more hair than she could actually ever grow. And the feminine silhouette he portrayed was so generously curvaceous that it must have been in the eye of the beholder.
But all in all Queenie was proud of it. It did look like her and perhaps when King came in here, he would see it and remember her. Maybe he'd remember her as she truly was and maybe he'd remember that he'd once loved her.
"Where are you going to go?" one of her longtime customers asked her.
"Someplace where they ain't heard of me, I guess," she answered, causing a general outpouring of laughter.
"It's just time for me to retire," she explained. "I'll go to some little farming or ranching town where they've never heard of the oil business, let alone Queenie McCurtain."
"Lord almighty, Miss Queenie," a bright-eyed rig builder with a southern accent commented. "Them farmers get a look at you they'll be leaving their wives faster than hot sugar turns to syrup."
Queenie smiled at him, knowing he meant his words to be a compliment, but hoping full well that they would not come true.
She was going out into a new world, but she wanted to hide from it, not be a part of it.
The nausea that had plagued her early on was much improved. But the crying got worse and worse. She had thought that she could make King marry her. That he loved her enough that she could demand that he do it. Apparently he was determined to prove her wrong.
This is what she was determined to do. She refused to feel sorry about it. Still the thought of never seeing him again, never holding him, never having him in her life, reduced her to tears at unexpected times.
He hadn't darkened her door. And if the rumors were accurate, he wasn't even in town. Maybe that was for the best. Perhaps it would be easier to leave knowing he wasn't around than knowing he was there but didn't care enough to even say good-bye.
Of course, King would probably say that she had made her feelings on that subject perfectly clear. Marry me or don't come back. He had simply chosen the latter course.
Tommy shouted for quiet until he had everyone's attention and offered up a toast.
"To Miss Queenie," he said. "A woman who has stirred lots of whiskey, served lots of beer, and put smiles on a lot of men's faces."
Hoots of laughter came from all over the room.
"You tell it, Tommy!" one fellow encouraged.
He turned to face her. "May you find happiness where you will and smile to yourself in secret when you think of your old friends."
"I will," she promised.
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
"Wahoo!" someone shouted.
The piano player picked up the tune again and within a half minute the room was loud and noisy and boisterous once more.
Frenchie was leading a young fellow to the stairway. Mathis hurried over to get his money in advance.
Queenie sat down at the bar and plastered a smile upon her face. She smiled and smiled and smiled interminably. She was drinking spring water with a touch of mint and learning a fact that many before her had discovered. A party of drinkers is pretty boring unless one is suitably drunk.
She wondered how much longer she would have to stay. It was her good-bye party. How quickly could she go upstairs, lay down in her sleepless bed, and wait for the morning train.
It was then that she noticed a sudden strange change in the volume of noise in the place. People were quieting and hushing others to do the same. There was an expectation that was growing and
Queenie looked around to see that everyone was silent and watching her. As the crowd parted between herself and the doorway, she saw him.
Her heart began to pound. It was all she could do not to run toward him and throw herself in his arms.
King Calhoun stood there. Still dressed in his traveling clothes, a candy box tucked under his arm.
Smiling and nodding to those around him, he stepped forward.
'"Evening Queenie," he said. "Is this a party going on?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice cracking. "Yes, it's my good-bye party. I'm leaving on the morning train."
"Just come in on a train myself," he said. "Been back East all week."
She nodded noncommittally.
"If you're leaving in the morning, then it's a good thing I came by here tonight," he said. "I brought you a present."
He set the box down beside her on the bar.
"It's those chocolates that you like," he said. "Brought them all the way from Pennsylvania."
"Thank you, King," she said. "It was very nice of you to come and say good-bye."
"Aren't you going to open them?" he said.
"I'm not really hungry right now."
"Open them up anyway," he said. "There's a surprise inside."
She looked at him askance. "You mean like in the Cracker Jacks."
King smiled. "Yes, ma'am, just like in the Cracker Jacks."
Carefully she untied the ribbons and opened the box. There among the sweet cremes and nougats was a small paper box that said on the top of it: TIFFANY'S NEW YORK-CHICAGO.
Queenie's hands were trembling as she picked it up. She removed the top to find a slim, single gold band lying in a puff of tissue.
She raised her eyes to the man beside her. Her voice was soft as a whisper. "It's a wedding ring."
For fifty years thereafter old timers in the oil field would still laugh and wonder and shake their heads as they told the tale. The day big, proud, King Calhoun dropped to one knee in the middle of a Topknot saloon to ask Queenie McCurtain to marry him.
He had not come. She had waited at their special place near Shemmy Creek for over an hour, until darkness was almost upon her and then she'd returned to the surrey and asked Howard to drive her home.
She had to bite back the tears of hurt and disappointment. He had not met her at the appointed hour.
"Have you heard anything of Tom Walker?" she asked finally.
She heard the hesitation in Howard's voice. "They say he took a train on Thursday, Miss Princess," he answered.
Thursday. He'd been out of her life since Thursday and she hadn't even known it.
She did cry then. She made no attempt to hold back the tears. And she didn't even care if Howard heard them. Her pride was gone. Her man was gone. Her heart was broken.
Howard wordlessly handed her his handkerchief and she cried into it copiously. She could not recall ever allowing herself to lose such control. It was important always to stay in command of oneself and of everything else around.
Only Tom had the power to take that control from her. He took it from her in his arms through tenderness and passion. And he took it from her now as he broke her heart.
Her shaking sobs had lessened to a grim sadness by the time Howard pulled the surrey into the porte cochere. He helped her alight. And she walked into the house with leaden steps.
Mrs. Marin hurried up the hall to meet her. She didn't want supper. She didn't want sympathy. She just wanted to be alone and silent and miserably unhappy.
"Visitor in the sun parlor, Miss Princess."
"I don't want to see anyone," she said. "Send whoever it is away."
"It's M
r. Walker."
"Who?"
"Mr. Walker."
"Mr. Walker, my husband Mr. Walker?"
"Yes ma'am, he's . . ."
Cessy didn't wait to hear more. She raced to the sun parlor.
"You're here!" she said.
"I am so sorry I was late. The train was delayed in Kansas City and I swear I would have stepped outside to push if I'd thought it would get me here any faster."
"I waited for you at the picnic place."
"I should have gone out there, but it was so late, I was certain that you'd returned home already."
"No I ... I waited a very long time."
"I'm sorry," he said. "Here, I've brought you some candy." He handed her the fancy box, tied prettily with ribbons.
"Thank you."
"Cessy, I've been thinking about what you said last week," he said. "I know that I was wrong to do the things that I did. I was wrong to marry you for such a reason as mine was. I want you to know that I do care about you. Indeed, I honestly love you and I believe I have told you many times. I don't deserve to be your husband. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I am prepared to make it up to you."
"To make it up to me?"
"I have a job now, Cessy, a good job, I think. I can and will support you. Nothing need be supplied by your father. I will provide for you and any offspring that we might have."
"You have a new job?"
"Yes," he answered. "And we can live here, in your house, if you are so inclined. Can you forgive me, Cessy? Can you take me back?"
She raised her chin haughtily. "I don't know if I can forgive you. But it seems that I must take you back."
"You must?"
"It is not certain yet, of course," she said. "But it seems that perhaps I am with child. For that consequence, of course I must give you one more chance."
"Thank you, Cessy, thank you," he said. "I promise you that you will not be sorry."
"Well, I certainly hope not," she said. "I suppose most women, however, would consider it quite a comedown to believe that one is marrying into a wealthy family only to discover oneself married to a tool dresser."
"Oh, I'm not a tool dresser anymore," he said.
From inside his breast pocket he pulled out the silver card box that he always carried. He removed a card and handed it to her.
Cessy glanced down and read the words written in raised gold lettering, ROYAL-WALKER REFINING COMPANY, TOM T. WALKER, PRESIDENT.
"What is this?"
"Construction begins tomorrow," he said. "Your father has made me a partner and the head of this part of the operation."
"How can this be? Where did you get the money?"
"Not everything you know about me is lies, Cessy," he said. "I did go to Cuba. And I do have banking friends among the fine families of Bedlington in the New Jersey."
Her mind was awhirl.
"Then . . . then . . . then I'm not poor anymore. I'm rich again and you knew it before I did! You're marrying me again for my money."
"The partnership in the refinery is my own," he said firmly. "I earned it by getting the financing. You are a rich woman again. And you can thank me for that any time."
Cessy didn't feel like thanking him.
"You . . . you . . . you're not going to suffer at all. You are getting everything that you want!" she complained.
"And you are, too. You love me and want me and you are going to have me."
"I . . . no, I told you that I could not forgive you," she said.
"Yes, I know, you're only letting me stay because we have a child on the way."
"Yes, yes, that is the only reason."
"Now I find that really interesting, because that is not at all what I heard."
"What did you hear?"
"Well, you know how Ma can't resist repeating a joke a dozen times," he said. "Poor Moses. The Red Sea, indeed."
Tom walked over and lifted her up into his arms.
"I do hope that when we eventually do have children, lying will not be the only family trait they inherit from us."
He kissed her then. Sweet and long and languidly.
"I love you, Cessy," he whispered to her. "And you'll just have to trust me that I am telling the truth to you when I say that."
She looked up into his eyes and she believed him.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked as he began carrying her across the room.
"Up to bed, of course," he answered. "It's been a whole week since I've made love to my wife. And I've developed a voracious appetite for things married and sexual. Grab that candy box."
"The candy box? Married and sexual includes chocolate these days?"
"I wasn't thinking of the chocolate," he told her. "I was admiring those pretty ribbons. I believe tonight it's your turn to wear them."
Epilogue
Methodist Agricultural & Mechanical College at Burford Corners, November 18, 1929
She looked as beautiful as she had ever looked and he couldn't have been more proud of her. Her dress was a delicate confection of ivory silk, beaded and adorned with lace. The long frothy veil enhanced her dark hair and her handsome eyes. She was obviously nervous and kept picking at her fingernails.
He stopped to peek through the doorway into the sanctuary of the McAfee Memorial Chapel. It was crowded with people dressed in their best finery, all looking back toward the doors expectantly. "They've seated your mother," he said. "Thank God," the bride complained. "I think if I had to hear one more word out of her I would have started screaming. She always knows exactly what should be done and spends her every waking minute telling everybody what to do."
Her father smiled. "That's just the way your mother is, Sina. She was born bossy and nothing short of the grave is going to change that. In fact, I wouldn't put it past her to have an earful of advice for Saint Peter when she arrives."
The young woman nodded in agreement.
He peeked through the doorway once more. "Your groom has come into the room," he said. "And I see Phillip has made it."
"Hail the conquering Cornell Law student," she complained. "Why did Joe have to choose him as best man?"
"They are the closest of friends."
"It's just not fair that anyone should have an uncle who is only a year older than she is," Sina complained. "If he starts calling me T.T. in public again, I think I will plant my fist right in his face."
"Oh Sina, you are more like your mother than you think," he said. "And if she were here I'm sure she'd tell you that starting a fistfight at your own wedding is not quite de rigueur for brides these days."
The young woman sighed heavily and put her hands together in front of her in a prayerful clasp.
"Oh, Daddy, should we really be doing this?" she asked.
Her father stilled, looking worried. "Are you having second thoughts about getting married? I like the young man, you know that. And his parents are old friends. But I'll go out there right now and tell everyone to go home if you're not sure."
"Oh, I'm sure about Joe," she said. "I'm just not sure about having this big wedding. With the stock market going bad like it has and you and Grandpa losing so much . . ."
"Now, Sina, neither your grandfather or me is likely to take a jump out of a window. The oil business has always been boom and bust. Filthy rich one day, dirt poor the next. If there is one thing that I have learned in this world is that money doesn't matter all that much. As long as I have your mother beside me, I've got good reason to be grateful."
"That's just how I feel about Joe," she said.
He smiled at her. "Then let's go inside there and get you married, shall we?"
They walked down the aisle together. He was proud to walk beside her, but she only had eyes for the young man waiting at the altar.
He stood in his place and spoke his part.
"Who gives this woman to be married?"
"Her mother and I do," he answered.
Then he stepped away from the young couple and took his plac
e beside his wife and grasped her hand, squeezing it lovingly. They shared a hasty look and felt their own love swell up inside them with a tenderness that was forever new.
He glanced past his wife to his in-laws. King and Queenie, such a perfectly matched pair. They'd spent the last several years traveling in Europe, but he was glad they were here to see their eldest granddaughter get married.
Across the aisle, he heard the groom's mother sniffling quietly. He knew that they were as happy about this wedding as he was.
In a booming voice, the minister had come to the vows.
"Do you Thomasina Topknot Walker take this man, Joseph Maloof Bashara to be your lawfully wedded husband? For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do you part?"
"I do," she answered.
Sealed With a Kiss
Chapter One
Chapter Two
All women have moments of blissful success: the social triumph of being belle of the ball, the magic and majesty of a grand wedding ceremony, or the birth of a sturdy child. For Prudence Belmont, sitting serenely in the front parlor of the charmingly cluttered church parsonage, at age twenty seven this was her moment of triumph. Her own splendid success. At long last, all her dreams and efforts and ambitions had been realized. For Prudence, the taste of victory was very sweet.
"Ladies," meeting hostess Mavis Hathaway boomed out in a voice that would have been an asset to her husband, the reverend. "The ballots in our special election have been tabulated. It is my duty to present to you the new president of the Chavistown Ladies' Rose and Garden Society, our dear Miss Belmont."
Two dozen pairs of white gloved hands broke into muted applause.
Pru kept herself absolutely and purposely still as she allowed the announcement to wash over her like a warm, lavender scented bath. Not one eyebrow twitch or lip bite betrayed her pent up anxiety or grateful relief, though her long, gangly legs trembled slightly beneath the frothy layers of her silk skirts. She had won. She had won.
Prudence had wanted this so badly, worked so hard for it, and now it was hers. Her achievement. Hers alone.
