Francesca of Lost Nation

by Crosby, Lucinda Sue

  Rachael was uncomfortable with the idea of a step-father a mere twelve years older than herself. Actually, I think she was attracted to Matt in some vague way. An attraction I could understand, as I felt it myself.

  I wondered if my mother was troubled by this feeling, as I had been once. I hoped not. She was a simple woman, unused to examining her heart too closely. And she’d always been right as rain about things that were appropriate for her. Now was not the moment to “go down the rabbit hole.”

  Daddyboys was still riding the crest of the biggest wave of his life. And he’d always maintained a strong tie to Francesca, totally outside his relationship with my mother. To Daddyboys, Francesca wasn’t just a mother-in-law; she was friend and confidante. But I could see how Daddyboys might envy Matt’s exotic nature and his carefree masculinity.

  I am aware that I am delineating emotions I couldn’t possibly have understood then. I was, after all, only ten years old. Still, whenever I remember the wedding day, these thoughts, and many others like them, always come flooding over me, a very real part of the sum total of the experience.

  I started climbing the stairs again and stopped in front of the door where Babe already awaited me. I could hear more conversation through the door.

  “Mother, you’re not wearing boots,” said Rachael to Francesca anxiously. “All right, all right. But couldn’t we clean them up a little?”

  Myra had offered to take us all to the field in her Nash station wagon. She’d donned the “only dress I’ve owned in twenty years”—a bold floral print that made her look even more sturdy, if possible. When Francesca came down the stairs, Myra’s eyes bugged.

  “That’s quite a get-up and no mistake,” she said with a grin. “Never had the legs for it myself. Well? Shall we go?”

  *

  We were the first to arrive. I’m not sure I was expecting anyone else, and yet, there was a whisper of expectation in the air. The second car on the scene contained the local justice of the peace.

  “Orton here. How do. Now, which is the bride and which is the groom?”

  Francesca and Matt stepped forward. Justice Orton’s eyebrows shot upward.

  “I see,” he said. “Well … why don’t we step aside here and talk a little about the ceremony.” He motioned at Francesca. “This your wedding attire?”

  Francesca nodded.

  Matt glowed. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?” he asked, rhetorically.

  “Well, it certainly is appropriate for this place. Now, then …”

  They moved off a little way, and the rest of us stood there, not knowing exactly what to do or say. As Babe was always interested in exploring, we began to walk together across the field. I could smell late-summer jasmine carried on a soft breeze and hear the lazy drone of honey bees. In the distance, I saw a truck driving in our direction. It was Farmer McFadden and his wife, Hattie, coming to join in the festivities.

  I lifted my face to the sky and drank in the day. Suddenly, it seemed the buzzing was getting louder, and I looked around for a hive. The awful thought came to me: could there be a hornet’s nest nearby? Yes, it was sure, that drone was getting louder.

  Matt suddenly began running toward Myra’s station wagon. From the back, he took a long pole. He ran with it to the center of the field and forced it into the loamy dirt. From his aviator jacket pocket, he lifted a long red scarf, which he proceeded to attach to the pole. It looked for all the world like a wind sock.

  I looked up into the sky. Planes, maybe twenty or thirty of them, circling, taking turns landing.

  One by one, those beautiful mechanical birds, awash in mid-day sun, waggled their wings and reduced their elevations. At sixty-second intervals, they began to land at Kitty Hawk. It was a grand sight, like a brace of bald eagles floating gently down on air currents.

  As the planes landed, their pilots taxied them to the south end of the field. I recognized the leader of the pack — it was The Lady Victoria. Ian had come for the wedding! They had all had come for the wedding!

  Babe and I ran to greet them.

  Francesca watched the spectacle, stunned but delighted.

  Maude and Harry were flabbergasted. “I’ll be damned,” cried Harry. “This is going to be a day to remember. Come on, Maudie.”

  Daddyboys and Rachael weren’t quite sure what to make of this friendly, though totally unexpected, invasion.

  “Are they … friends of Matt’s, then?” Mommy asked to no one in particular.

  “This’ll make one helluva column,” said Daddyboys. He clapped his hands together and whooped, “YeeHAAAWWW!” and started running down the field. Then, he stopped and walked back to Mommy. He took her hand and gave it a little shake. She laughed, and the two of them skipped across the sandy grass together hand-in-hand.

  Ian easily picked Matt up and swung him around. “Well, Yank, we made it.” Then he gave me a quick kiss on the head and patted Babe.

  As the other fliers began to gather around Matt, Babe and me, Francesca materialized in our midst, exuding grace. She touched their faces and took their hands in greeting and sipped from hip flasks. She was in her glory.

  It took some minutes to introduce everyone to everyone. When the tone of the afternoon had settled a bit, Justice Orton began to speak.

  “Quite a day. Some big kind of love out here in this field. A love of flying, that’s sure. The love of one friend for another. Love of a man and a woman.” He smiled at the happy couple. “Don’t ever remember presiding at a ceremony quite like this before, eh, Mother?” He nodded at Mrs. McFadden, who nodded back. “Expect we’ll never see one again. I’m not a preacher, but I think the first thing we ought to do is reflect for a moment on how very lucky we all are to have made it this far.”

  I watched the pilots and thought about how much some of them had been through. I looked at Francesca and thought about the long span of years, the heartaches and the disappointments and the joys and the troubles that had brought her to this moment. I thought about Matt and Maude and Uncle Harry. I looked for a long moment at my own parents. I knelt down in the grass and hugged Babe.

  “All right, then,” continued Justice Orton. He turned to Matt and asked, “Matthew Mosley. Do you take this woman, standing there by your side, as your wife for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness or health, for as long as you live?”

  “You bet I do.”

  “Well, that’s fine. Now, Frances, do you take this man here to be your husband for better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness or health, for as long as you live?”

  I started to cry like a baby. But that was okay. I watched as some of those brave pilots wiped tears from their eyes. Justice Orton turned to me. “Crying is a good thing,” he advised, patted me on the shoulder and continued. “Well, Frances, what do you say?”

  “I do.”

  “So far, so good.” He turned to Ian. “I believe you’re the best man, though not any better than the groom. Have you got a ring?”

  Ian looked downright puzzled. He shrugged his shoulders.

  Justice Orton looked at Matt. “Is there a ring, young man?”

  Matt’s jaw dropped to his kneecaps. “I didn’t think about it.” He turned to Francesca and gestured vaguely. “I don’t know how it could have slipped my mind.”

  Francesca began to giggle. She waved her left hand in the air. “Use this ring,” she sputtered.

  The giggles are terribly contagious, especially in my family. It was just awful. And those damned pilots didn’t behave any better than we did. Pretty soon, there were forty raving lunatics out there at Kitty Hawk, laughing their heads off. Every time Justice Orton began to speak, we all broke down again. He had a bray like a Jenny mule, which was a large part of the problem. My stomach ached terribly, so I threw myself on the grass and covered my ears to see if that would help.

  It didn’t.

  Eventually, after we’d all laughed ourselves hoarse, Justice Orton was able to get us safely back on track. He wiped his eyes with a white
bandanna.

  “Dear, dear.” He looked out at the assemblage sternly. “Now I’m going to ask about that ring again, and I don’t want to hear a peep from anybody.” He turned to Francesca. “Give Matt that ring, please. What an interesting stone. Now, Matt, you give it back to her and repeat after me: ‘With this ring, I thee wed …’ Good. We seem to be getting somewhere.”

  Justice Orton joined Matt’s and Francesca’s hands inside of his. “By the power vested in me by the great state of North Carolina, I now pronounce that you are husband and wife. Thank God. Where’s the beer?”

  The kiss that immediately followed those words was the most powerful and passionate expression of love I have ever witnessed. It was so intimate, so trusting, so full. The union of Francesca and Matt was finally complete.

  Chapter 38

  Saying Goodbye

  January 27, l986

  Buena Vista Convalescent Hospital, Pasadena, California

  I

  drove into the parking lot and parked under an ancient live oak. I turned off my headlights and windshield wipers and sat in my car listening to a Duke Ellington Band rendition of Billy Strayhorn’s composition, Blood Count.

  I looked through the rain toward the low adobe building, which sat back from the street behind an expanse of lawn and flower beds. I knew I should go in; she was waiting for me. But I didn’t want her to see me crying.

  We’d come a long, long way together, Francesca and I. I’d grown up, and she’d grown old. I was glad Matt hadn’t lived to see her in her present state, although she still had the prettiest legs in the county.

  I reset the rearview mirror and examined my face. I looked tired. I was tired. I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes and brushed a little blush across my cheeks to relieve the gray tinge of sadness that had recently settled there. Then, I stretched aching muscles, pulled my coat closer around me and got out of the car. It was an effort to move. The wind was cold. Or maybe it was my soul. I shivered as I ran through the downpour and into the welcoming warmth of the lobby.

  Mom and Daddyboys were waiting for me on the sofa by the fireplace. Two or three other families milled around, waiting. Waiting is something you get good at when someone you love is dying.

  Dad stood up to greet me. He wore his age well. In fact, I thought he was better-looking than ever. The boyish cast had finally left his features, which had settled into an attractive silver-haired maturity.

  Mom was crying. She had cried a lot of tears these past few weeks and looked small sitting there. I kissed them both.

  “How is she?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

  “Weaker,” Dad answered. “They say … maybe tonight.”

  Mom gulped back her grief. “Sit down a moment, Sarah, and give me a hug.”

  We held each other tightly, as if our embrace might hold off the night and what those dark hours would bring.

  I sat back. “Is she in pain?” I asked.

  Dad shook his head. “Yes,” he said, “and she’s very … tired. Ready, I think.”

  “Oh, Sarah, don’t hate me, please, but I can’t go back in there. I said my goodbyes. I … I just can’t.”

  “Mom, Mom, it’s okay. You think I don’t know … how hard it is?”

  “She wants to see you, I think,” said Dad. He sat down beside Mom and took her in his arms. “Alone.”

  “But I couldn’t …”

  “It’s all right, Sarah,” he soothed. “Your mother and I have always understood your relationship with Frances.” He kissed Mom’s hair. “You’d better go in. She’s been … waiting for you.”

  Please don’t let me cry, God.

  I walked down the silent hallway to Francesca’s room. It had a pretty view of the mountains during the day. As I peeked in, I saw that the only light came from a candle by the side of her bed. I’d made that candle for her many years before, when the only presents I could afford were works from my own hands. She looked almost like her old self, lying there so peacefully. She was still a beautiful woman, despite her illness and her 105 years.

  “Francesca?” I said softly.

  “Sarah? Is that you? Come in. I have missed you all night long.”

  I walked around the foot of her bed and sat in a chair nearby. She weakly patted the bed.

  “Sit here tonight.”

  I knew my grandmother was in pain. I was afraid I might hurt her. She read my mind.

  “Don’t be afraid. I need you next to me tonight.”

  I climbed carefully onto the bed and lay down beside her.

  “Better?” I asked.

  “Much.”

  Her breathing was regular but shallow. I stroked her hair softly.

  “How is the book coming?” she asked.

  “Well. I’m pleased with it.”

  “Good. I’m sorry I won’t get to read it.”

  I started to protest, “Don’t say that …”

  “Ssshhh. It’s time, Sweetchild. Past time. I’m ready.”

  “But I’m not,” I said and began to cry. “I was hoping I wouldn’t do this.”

  “Would you have wished to love me less in order to miss me less?”

  I shook my head, no. With tears streaming down my face, I breathed in the minty smell I have come to associate with impending death. Some people hate that smell, I know. They’re horrified of it, I guess. But it seemed almost pleasant to me as I lay there close to her like that. It was just another part of my grandmother and therefore held no terror for me. In some odd way, I was actually comforted by it.

  “I’m glad Matt never saw me this way,” she said. “He couldn’t have stood it. Most men don’t have the capacity to share moments like these. Though your father is holding up wonderfully well.”

  It was so like her to think of her family even in the waning moments of her life.

  “Sarah, Sweetchild. You must take great care with your mother. She’s feeling her own mortality rather brutally.”

  “I will.”

  “You know,” she said, shifting her body closer to mine, “death is the most powerful and intimate experience one person can share with another. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I love you so much,” I whispered.

  “I’ve had a lot of love in my life, haven’t I? Cox was a great man, in his wonderfully singular way. He tried to be … more than he was. For me. I sometimes wonder if he was happy with me.”

  She closed her eyes and dozed for some minutes.

  While she slept, I thought about her life and everything she had been … everything she had been to me.

  Her life with Matt was an adventure, pure and simple. Of course, he taught her to fly. Eventually, she gave up racing cars entirely and concentrated on setting age-bracket flight-distance and speed records. In 1948, they’d opened a small aviation school with Ian not far from Home Farm. People came from all over the United States to learn how to conquer the skies. She had been a marvelous instructor.

  In the late 50’s, they sold their half of the business to Ian and began to travel. Europe, Africa, the South Pacific. Sometimes Maude and Harry accompanied them, sometimes Mom and Dad. I went along too, as often as I could … between, during and after my love affairs.

  Francesca worried about me. She boosted my spirits when I was ready to be scraped off the floor. She was a steadying influence when I felt like a pinball in the machine of life. She welcomed, and charmed, all the men in my life. She never nagged about great-grandchildren, bless her. She never nagged about anything. Oh, she’d get mad sometimes and push or make suggestions. My God, she was a human being, after all. But I merited her concern the old-fashioned way … I earned it.

  She’s the reason I’m a writer. I wrote my first novel about her. Well, not about her exactly, but about a woman with her spirit and her grace. It was a best-seller. She helped to make my fortune. She was the best friend I ever had.

  I leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek. She opened her eyes and smiled.

  “You know how I felt about
Matt.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “How much I loved him. How he came to be a part of me in the best sense of the word. How we finished each other’s sentences and knew each other’s deepest secrets.”

  “Yes,” I said again.

  “I had a dream about you last night. The great love of your life is just around the corner. You’ll know him when you meet him. And you’ll think of me. Isn’t that lovely?”

  I started to cry again. “Yes.”

  “Sarah, undo the chain from around my neck, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  It was the gold chain on which she wore the sapphire ring Matt had given her.

  “I want you to have my second wedding ring. I want you to wear it.”

  I held it up to the candlelight. It glowed deep blue.

  “Take it now. Put it on now,” she said.

  “Are you sure? You don’t want it on when you … go?”

  “No. I want to see it on your finger.”

  I slipped the ring off its chain and onto my finger. It fit perfectly.

  She gave my arm a frail squeeze. “You see. I have loved much in my lifetime. I have been loved much. But no one ever loved me the way you do. And I never loved anyone else the way I love you. You’ve been a part of my eyes, my heart, my soul. I will … miss … you … Sweetchild.”

  She fell away from me then. Not gone. Not quite. I pushed the intercom by the side of her bed and asked the nurse to get my mother and father. They were with me in that little room within seconds.

  I got up off the bed and knelt down. I still had hold of Francesca’s hand; I couldn’t seem to let go. Mom and Daddyboys each kissed her on the cheek. Then, we all sat down to wait together.

  I’ll miss you, too, Francesca.

  Francesca of Lost Nation

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