“But I don’t want you doing a story on him, Stuart. I don’t want his name ending up splashed across magazines and tabloids because a really good story can be made out of it. People don’t take kindly to others who are a little different. They poke fun, ridicule, take advantage. He’ll face enough of that as it is. Do you remember that girl you did the story on in Tennessee? Do you remember how her family was thrown out of the church, and then another church took hold of them, exploiting that child all over the place?”
He looked at her, his expression carefully guarded.
She considered asking him to promise her that he wouldn’t do a story. Would he tell her the truth? Could she believe him?
Then she said what she needed to say. “Stuart, he might be able to help you. I don’t know. But I don’t want him hurt in the process.”
Stuart’s eyes narrowed.
Just then the telephone near her shoulder rang. For long seconds she gazed at Stuart and debated about answering, irritated at the interruption. Yet she thought of Tate and finally picked up on the third ring.
“Marilee?”
“Anita?” She was surprised to hear her sister’s voice come across the line.
“Oh, Marilee, I’m so glad I got you. I heard the report just this mornin’. Just a blurb on the news. They said a tornado touched down in Valentine. I’ve been tryin’ to get you, but I couldn’t get through…. I don’t know, maybe I got the numbers mixed up. I’ve been dialing from memory, without my address book. I called Mama, but no one answered there. Is everyone all right?”
At this point she finally had to pause to get a breath, and Marilee took the opportunity to tell her sister to calm down. “We are all fine, Anita…. Corrine is fine. The tornado did some damage, but no one was hurt in Valentine.”
Seeing Stuart heading for the back door, Marilee had a bit of alarm. “I’ll have to call you back, Anita.”
“No! You can’t! Marilee!”
She heard her sister’s voice and caught the tears, and reluctantly put the receiver back to her ear. “I’m here. What is it?” Damn Anita, anyway.
“You can’t call me back.” Her sister was trying to control her soft sobs. “I’m…I’m in the hospital.”
“What? What’s happened?”
Her sister drew a trembling breath. “I’m in the hospital. In alcoholic rehab,” she added in a faint tone.
“Oh, Anita.” Marilee leaned back against the wall for support. She pictured her sister, whose ragged chuckles came over the line. Anita always tried to laugh things off. She used to say she would rather laugh than cry. Marilee had seen her after she had been beaten by a boyfriend, and she had quirked that bruised mouth into a grin. Marilee clutched the phone to her ear and listened as Anita told her that she had been given special permission to call Marilee, due to the circumstances, but she was not allowed phone calls for another month.
She had been committed, she said. An order signed by a judge, and Louis had seen to it.
“He must love you very much,” Marilee said, surprised at the man, who had admitted to already being married. She wondered how that was working out.
“Yes,” Anita said. “Maybe he does.” Her tone was filled with ripe doubt. Anita could not believe any man loved her; Marilee understood.
She was to stay in the hospital for at least eight weeks, and she could stay longer, if she chose. “I want to do this, Marilee. I want to give it a try.”
“You can do it, sister. You can.” Tears streamed down Marilee’s face.
“I’ll miss your wedding.”
Marilee decided not to mention that Anita had said she wasn’t coming anyway. “That’s okay. There’ll be other times.” Sober ones, she thought.
“I want to go ahead and give you and Tate temporary custody of Corrine. I’m having Louis draw up the papers. He knows some attorneys up in Oklahoma City, so it will all be handled. All you will have to do is sign the papers.”
Marilee was stunned. “Okay.” Then she thought to say, “Do you want to talk to her, Anita? I’ll call her….”
“No! Oh, no, Marilee, I can’t.”
“It’s okay, honey.”
Anita was crying softly again. “Will you tell her—about me being in rehab?”
“Yes, honey, I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her that her mother is very brave and wants to get well so that she can be with her and be a mother to her.”
“Oh, I do, Marilee…. I really do.”
When she hung up, Marilee continued leaning against the wall. Well, God, I don’t expect a miracle, but this is going in the right direction.
She wiped her eyes, and then, remembering about Stuart going out with the children, she raced across the kitchen, through the laundry room to the back door, where she stopped, her hand up to push open the screen door, which she didn’t push because of a loud whisper in her heart that said, Stop!
There, through the screen, she saw Willie Lee and Stuart sitting on the steps. Willie Lee hugged his father around the neck, his angel face in thick glasses pressed up against Stuart’s head, his eyes closed. The sun shone down through the budding tree limbs upon them. Was it healing? Or was it the miracle of love?
She watched for a long second, hardly daring to breathe.
Willie Lee opened his eyes and saw her through the screen. “Hello, Mo-ther.”
“Hello, sweetheart. Would you and Corrine like to come in for a proper breakfast, and bring your father?”
It was all she could think of to say.
The children, Franny and Stuart had just sat down at the kitchen table, and Marilee was serving up fried ham and eggs and biscuits and gravy, when Tate arrived through the back door, with a slight, blond-haired young man in tow, whom he introduced as Mike Owen, “From the paper up there in Lawton.”
“Mike heard some tales this mornin’ about our Willie Lee havin’ special powers and healing Leanne’s filly.”
She stared at Tate and the young man.
“I told him I didn’t know about special powers, but to come along and meet Willie Lee, and that Willie Lee would tell how he did it.”
She wanted to wring Tate’s neck. She only smiled.
Franny said, “Perhaps Mr. Owen would like to breakfast with us, and you could have a chance to speak not only with Willie Lee, but visit with our Stuart James, Willie Lee’s father. He’s a famous photojournalist. All you journalists can talk shop.”
More or less trapped, the young man sat and ate ham and eggs with gusto, and the three journalists talked about the tornado and things that had happened.
Finally Mike Owen asked Willie Lee, “What did you do to save that horse?”
Willie Lee blinked behind his thick glasses. “I hug-ged her,” he said, quite seriously.
Mike Owen regarded Willie Lee, then cut his gaze to the others at the table, as if judging that his leg was being pulled.
Tate said, “That filly knew Willie Lee and all the people standing around were pullin’ for it. It was just a lot of friendship and love that got that critter back up, right, Willie Lee?”
“Yes,” he answered; then he looked at Marilee, “I am go-ing to find my ant farm now, o-kay, Mama? They have mis-sed me.”
He was already down from his chair, and Corrine was following him. Marilee called after the two, “Corrine, you get his hands washed so there aren’t sticky prints everywhere.”
Tate patted the young man on the back. “This is small-town America, where neighbors still care about each other. You can quote me,” he added.
Thirty-One
From this day forward…
Days of early-evening sunlight shone golden on the church, and Marilee’s tears caused her to see glimmering halos on everything—the concrete walk, the heads of all the people, the long, white limousine that everyone at the Voice had chipped in to rent to take them all the way to DFW airport.
“Good luck!”
“God Bless!”
“Have a great time!”
“Hallelujah!”
The good wishes of friends and loved ones, as well as bird seed, rained down upon Marilee and Tate as they ran hand in hand down the church steps and along the walk to the waiting limousine. Uncle Perry was just then getting in. It had been decided that Aunt Vella and Uncle Perry would serve in place of a hired nanny. Uncle Perry was being assisted by Sandy Conroy. Sandy had seemed to take on an unusual commanding air with his formal attire. Throughout the wedding and festivities, he had been on the sidelines directing traffic, caterers and band members.
Along the sidewalk, hands applauded and reached out for handshakes and hugs. Her cousin Belinda astonished Marilee by grabbing her in an enthusiastic and teary embrace. Marilee, thoroughly caught up with emotion, hugged her back.
Sheriff Oakes took hold of Tate’s hand, pumping it like a pump handle, and then Tate hauled off and wrapped his arms around the big man.
“By golly, you got it done, Editor. You’re a brave man.”
Marilee wondered about that, and then there was Charlene MacCoy hugging her, followed by Reggie Pahdocony stepping in front of her, with a camera to her face, “Let me get a second shot here! Y’all get out of the way of the bride and groom.”
Then Charlotte was taking her hand. “Come on, honey. You and Tate have to get going if you’re goin’ to make your flight.”
“Oh, Charlotte. I love you, friend. Next time it will be your turn.”
“Yes, now you all get on. They won’t wait the plane,” Charlotte said briskly through her tears, tugging Marilee toward the car, where Sandy stood ready with his hand extended, intending to hand her through the wide door.
“Wait! Y’all wait!” It was Franny, hurrying forward with an immense bouquet of forsythia branches. “I promised your mother to get these fixed up so you could take them with you. Here, Tate, hold on to them for her. They’ll last till you get to the hotel. Oh, my, you two look beautiful!”
Franny hugged her, and then hugged Tate. Marilee watched them, watched how tenderly Tate held his mother against him, how his tanned face looked against Franny’s pale one.
“Miss Marilee?” Sandy beckoned to her.
She started to put her hand in his, to enter the limousine, but someone pulled her around. It was Parker, who said, “I’m not missin’ out on my kiss for the bride,” and in a grand, sweeping motion, he bent her over backward and planted one on her lips, while the crowd roared and applauded.
When straight up again, she said, “Oh, Parker,” and hugged him tight. Goodbye, into your wife’s hands I commit you.
And then her gaze fell on Stuart, who was standing behind Sandy, leaning a little on the car and taking a picture of her. She paused. He took the shot.
Dropping the camera, he smiled a small smile.
She went to him, going up on tiptoe and putting her arms around his neck. He bent awkwardly, wrapping one arm around her. He felt all bones, so slight, fading away. She pressed her cheek to his for a long moment in which she whispered, “Thank you for Willie Lee…. Thank you for coming, so that we got straight with you and me.” All is forgiven, we are free for the journey.
Pulling back, she looked long into his eyes. He looked back, as straight at her as he was capable of.
Then someone hollered, “Don’t forget to throw the bouquet!”
Taking Sandy’s hand, she stepped up on the running board of the limousine, braced herself on Tate’s shoulder, drew back and gave a great thrust of her arm, sending the bouquet of yellow roses and forsythia and blue cornflowers far up into the bright blue sky, where it seemed to hang in the air and then to float gracefully downward, into the hands of Belinda, who yelled, “Oh, not me!” and tossed it upward like a hot potato to the small cluster of stretching hands.
But Belinda had thrown it harder than anticipated, and it went over the stretching hands to come down right at Zona Porter, who had been standing behind the pack and a little to the side, in order to see. Instinctively Zona caught it, and then she stood there, blinking behind her Coke-bottle lenses.
“Goodbye! Thank you, all!” Marilee blew kisses. She felt, suddenly, like the image of Marilyn Monroe above Tate’s desk.
Then she was grabbed by the hips. It was Tate, who pulled her inside and down into his lap, as the doors were closed and the limousine began to roll out of the parking lot.
They were out in the street when Willie Lee and Corrine cried out, “Stop!
Ricky Dale was in the car, and Munro was not, because he had gotten out to do his business before the long drive.
The limousine stopped. Tate opened the doors for Ricky Dale to hop out, reluctantly, and for Munro to hop inside, eagerly.
Once more the doors closed and the limousine began to roll. Marilee and Tate turned to look out the rear window at their loved ones and friends, who flowed out into the middle of the street, an army of well-wishers sending them off, with Winston Valentine, in his capacity of town patriarch, leading the way.
Marilee’s gaze lingered on Winston. In his pale summer suit and with his shock of hair that had finally gone all white, he could be seen from several blocks up the street, until the limousine turned west on Main Street and headed out of town.
Good-night kisses and hugs were exchanged, and hand in hand, Marilee and Tate retired to their bedroom. As Tate was closing the door, there came the sound of the television coming on.
“Perry, you turn that television off and come on over with the children and me to our bedroom.”
“But John Wayne is fixin’…”
Tate paused, and he and Marilee cocked their ears.
“I don’t care what world John Wayne is fixin’ to save, shut it off. We are here to watch our great niece and nephew, and to have a wonderful time together. You just keep your eyes on me for a week. I’m sure, if you practice, you can make headway.”
“Well, I guess you are entertainment,” was Uncle Perry’s surprising comeback.
“You bet I am…and I’m going to prove it to you,” Aunt Vella said in a saucy voice.
If Uncle Perry had anything further to say to this, Tate did not hear it. The door to the bedroom on the other side of the suite closed. Tate closed the door to their own room, and he and Marilee regarded each other in what was for them a moment of surprise.
“Alone at last,” Marilee said, and a soft smile bloomed on her lips.
“By golly, we are,” said Tate, who had wondered if this night would ever come about. “Feels strange.”
Then he saw that the woman who had become his wife was removing her robe in a most seductive manner. She tossed it carelessly to a nearby chair, in a move that sent Tate’s adrenaline flowing with such strength as to compel him into the reckless act of sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to the widest expanse of bed he had ever encountered, where they both practically tore off their clothes and made love in an incredible, mindless fashion, all hot and hard, and fast and furious.
It was a manner Tate had not known himself capable of, and it was so furious for him that Tate thought he should apologize afterward.
He did so, in a whisper, while he held Marilee close against him.
Her response was to rise up and look at him with sex-filled eyes and say, “Oh, Tate…do it again.”
Tate, who at first wondered if it would be possible for him to do it again, found to his joy that it was. And he thanked God for the miracle of a man and a woman, together.
Two months later:
The Valentine Voice
View from the Editor’s Desk
by Tate Holloway
The City Council has designated the coming week Valentine Days, with the theme of Small Town on the Move. The question always becomes on the move to where, and after receiving a lot of suggestions in this matter, some not printable, it seems to me that just where this town and each one of us is going is a matter of personal opinion and is not relevant, anyway. Just come on and celebrate our fair town.
Beginning Monday, special prizes will be awarded to customers from various merchants, so
shop at home and support your town.
Also beginning Monday, on special display at City Hall will be original photographs by the late eminent photographer Stuart James, as well as historical ones on loan from our files and from a number of our longtime residents. Mr. Winston Valentine and Mrs. Minnie Oakes and some others of our senior citizens will be on hand at certain hours to provide commentary on the historical photographs. Call City Hall for the hours that you can enjoy this rare treat. Then on Saturday will be the great picnic, chili cook-off, dance and fireworks display from the high school grounds, so everyone come on out.
In what is perfect timing, we here at the Voice are also celebrating one full year of a new era. It hardly seems possible, but an entire year has passed since I became publisher of the Voice and took up residence here in Valentine. In celebration of this milestone, and in conjunction with Valentine Days, we will once again be presenting a series of special inserts each Sunday for the month, in which we give focus on life in our wonderful small town. Don’t miss a one! Now revised and updated with comments and memories from our citizenry and pictures by Mr. James, these special features are sure to be collectors’ items.
My wife and I would like to say thank you to all who have expressed condolences at our recent and substantial losses. I know the demolition of the great Porter-Holloway house meant the ending of an era for many of you. But I hope the new library to be built in its place will be a fitting substitute, and I’m appreciative to the people of this town for filling a longstanding need of a library for our residents. I am honored to accept the position as chairman of the library committee and promise my utmost effort in getting a facility that suits the tone of the neighborhood and the need.
We are also grateful for the condolences we have received at the passing of our son’s father and our friend, Stuart James. We can feel blessed that in the brief time he was among us, Mr. James showed us ourselves and revealed our wonderful gifts of neighborliness.
It seems to me that during our journey through life, it is inevitable that we each have to come often by the corner of love and heart-ache. I think that corner is a little easier to stand on, here in Valentine.
At the Corner of Love and Heartache Page 34