Regret Not a Moment

by Nicole McGehee

  “Please!” John said in mock horror. Then his face melted with tenderness. He leaned forward and, ever so gently, gave her a lingering kiss. “Please, Devon. Let’s not waste any more time. Marry me!”

  “Well…” Devon felt as breathless and flushed as a young girl. She looked into the eyes she had never really stopped loving, and for a moment her misgivings vanished. “I don’t think I have the strength to say no,” Devon whispered.

  John’s face filled with joy. “That’s wonderful!” He pulled Devon as close as the interior of the car allowed and gave her a long, spine-tingling kiss. “Let’s forget about Belmont and elope!”

  “We can’t,” Devon objected, “we don’t have a marriage license!”

  “We’ll drive down to Maryland!”

  “But everyone’s waiting for us at Belmont!” Devon felt flustered and rushed, but at the same time exultant.

  “I refuse to give you time to change your mind. We’ll telephone Belmont. Leave word for Francesca. Oh,” he said with a sweeping hand gesture that connoted exasperation, “these are all petty details. We’ve got bigger things at stake here! Our entire futures. Come on, let’s go to Maryland,” he pulled her to him and whispered persuasively.

  “Well…”

  “Come on,” he wheedled.

  “As long as we’re back for the Stakes race the day after tomorrow,” said Devon, heady with excitement but trying to maintain a grasp on practicality.

  “I’ll promise anything for tomorrow if it will persuade you to go to Maryland today!” John said. And with that, he leaned over and turned the key in the ignition. “Drive on!” he commanded, and the little green car pulled out of the parking lot, its passengers giggling like teenagers.

  Devon was amused to learn that almost everyone who knew her had expected that she and John would remarry.

  “Like they say, the wife is always the last to know,” she remarked to her husband as they dressed for the Belmont Stakes, the third race of the Triple Crown series.

  John—chin lifted as he knotted his tie in front of the mirror-faced armoire—said with a smile, “Francesca was as pleased as I hoped she’d he.”

  John finished his task and turned to face his wife just as she disappeared into the small adjoining room that served as her dressing area. Devon had allowed John to look at her scars and to touch them on their wedding night, but she was still uncomfortable with him watching her dress, particularly when she donned the prosthetic device that regularized her silhouette. John had resolved not to rush her. It had been a major step for her to allow him to see her nude.

  Devon emerged from her boudoir a few moments later. They had decided to return to her home until after the Belmont Stakes because he did not want to dislodge her when she was preparing for the most important race of her career. Afterward they would move to John’s house, just a few blocks away, while Francesca would return to Willowbrook. This had been a suggestion of Laurel, who had insisted that the newlyweds needed privacy.

  “But, Mother, were not exactly newlyweds. And we’re not exactly youngsters either. Besides, we want Francesca to live with us.”

  Laurel had looked at Devon wisely, with a commanding expression that allowed no room for contradiction. “Don’t be foolish, dear. She’s nineteen years old and can manage very well without you for a couple of months. You’ll be back at Willowbrook by Christmas anyhow, and you can resume family life then. But everyone needs a honeymoon. And from the way John looks at you I can see that your sexual interest in each other has not abated one iota!”

  “Mother!” cried Devon, truly shocked at her mother’s uncharacteristic bluntness. Laurel was usually the most diplomatic of people, employing delicate euphemisms that revealed her upbringing as a Southern gentlewoman.

  “What? You thought perhaps I was unaware of sex?”

  “It’s not that…” Devon sputtered.

  “Well, then, let’s agree that you and John need time to yourselves and that the rest of us will get along fine on our own. We have plenty of help. People to take care of us. And we’ll all be reunited when you return to Virginia, although I should mention that Alice and I have decided we would like to travel to London this fall.”

  London! Why, the two old ladies were approaching ninety years of age! She accused her mother of a ruse to grant her and John a more prolonged period of privacy, but Laurel had flatly denied it.

  “Certainly not! How like a child to assume that a parent’s plans revolve around them!”

  “Mother, I’m far from a child. I’m fifty-seven years old.”

  “Nevertheless, you are still my child. And, as such, you have very little to say about my travel plans. I’m not senile yet!”

  “I’m only concerned that you’ll tire yourself.”

  “Don’t you worry, my dear, Alice and I intend to pamper ourselves to an absolutely scandalous extent. A nice, leisurely cruise is what we’ve decided on. With orchestras and good food and all the other amenities.”

  With outward reluctance, but secret joy, Devon had endorsed the plan. She did want to be alone with John.

  CHAPTER 69

  PEOPLE turned to stare at the handsome couple as they made their way to the Belmont paddocks. People looked not because of the man’s well-molded, determined features, and not because of the woman’s petite delicacy and elegant dress, but because they were so clearly moneyed, so clearly accustomed to privilege, and because, without any doubt, they were Negroes. Negroes, they were called in 1963 by those who wished to show respect to the race.

  But most of the Negroes that the crowd at Belmont had been exposed to were not as relatively fortunate as Celine and Jesse. The whites at the track didn’t really pay attention to the hawkers and stable hands that were black. They were all part of the workings of the racetrack—hired labor with no identity. But these two young people challenged the crowd’s stereotypical views.

  It was early in the day but already approaching eighty-five degrees. Celine was wearing a white linen dress of such perfect simplicity, and so well-cut, that the women who understood such things immediately labeled it a Paris original. Jesse was also dressed in white linen, increasing exponentially the drama of their appearance. Under his suit, he wore a shirt of rich sky blue and a striped tie of slightly darker blue and soft beige.

  Jeremiah’s heart filled with pride when he turned to see the couple approaching. They were holding hands, their white teeth flashing as they smiled at each other. They were destined for great things, Jeremiah was certain. He could see it in their faces. He wondered if they knew it themselves.

  “Look, Frankie,” said the trainer (he was one of the few people who still called Francesca by her childhood nickname), “here’s Jesse and Celine.”

  Francesca wanted to bolt, but she was rooted to the spot. She felt as though a stone were sinking to the bottom of her stomach as Jesse and his new wife came inexorably toward her. She had avoided an encounter with Jesse for years, and she did not know what she would feel when she saw him. But branded in her memory was the knowledge that she had pursued him—foolishly, dangerously. It made her cringe with embarrassment to think of it.

  As Jesse approached, he looked from his father to her, and there his eyes lingered. For Francesca was a beautiful sight wearing the bold crimson and black of Willowbrook Farm. The colors seemed to emphasize her bohemian good looks, even though her mass of wavy hair was confined in a single aerodynamic braid that hung almost to her waist.

  Several seconds prematurely, Francesca thrust her hand out in front of her, crying in a voice of false enthusiasm, “You must be Celine, how nice to meet you!”

  “Francesca, it’s a pleasure,” said the young woman with a gracious smile. Celine hurried to take the proffered hand and shook it.

  “Hello, Francesca,” Jesse’s deep voice resounded. Francesca dared not meet his eyes. She did not know whether it was more appropriate to give him a peck on the cheek, take his hand, or avoid contact altogether.

  Jesse smoothed ov
er the awkwardness by giving his father a lingering hug. By the time the two men had exchanged a few words of greeting, Celine had already engaged Francesca in conversation.

  “Are you racing today?” the black woman asked.

  “I’m sort of an understudy. We’ve got four races today, including the Belmont Stakes, of course. If anyone is ill or injured, then I’ll ride. But as of yesterday afternoon, everyone was in good health,” Francesca added gloomily.

  Celine chuckled at Francesca’s downcast air. “From what Jesse says, you’ll get your chance soon enough. Kelly Majors will be riding in the big race, right?” asked Celine.

  “That’s right,” said Francesca, a little sulkily. She had not expected to be allowed to ride King of Hearts today, of course, but not racing made her feel left out.

  “You’ll be doing something a lot more important,” Jeremiah had assured her during a conversation the week before. “You’ll be the pinch hitter if anyone is injured or sick. That means you’ve got to know all the horses and the conditions for each of the races.”

  “But the likelihood of my riding is almost nil!” Francesca had protested. “Stakes Day is a great day for jockeys. I could get far more exposure than on a normal day. Why doesn’t anyone ever give me that chance?”

  “Why? You looking for a job?” Jeremiah had teased.

  “I might be if I don’t get a chance to show what I can do!” Francesca had stomped off then, knowing that she had to obey Willowbrook’s trainer, even if she was the future owner of the farm.

  Now, faced with Jesse and his wife, Francesca decided to pull herself together and adopt a more cheerful facade. She did not want Jesse to believe that he was the cause of her mood.

  Francesca looked from Celine to Jesse. They were well matched. Handsome, committed, and clearly in love with each other. Then why did Francesca still feel a bond with Jesse? She wondered if he felt the same toward her but didn’t dare search his eyes for the answer.

  Celine studied her husband’s old playmate, puzzled by something in the younger woman’s expression. Francesca seemed to studiously avoid meeting Jesse’s eyes, as though she disliked him or had wronged him in some way. And yet, the two of them were involved in an animated discussion of the colt that was King of Hearts’ main competitor in the Belmont Stakes.

  “Do you remember how Frankie sized up that French colt in Saratoga, Jesse?” Jeremiah was saying. “None of the rest of us thought he was much of a threat, but Frankie knew.”

  Celine saw Jesse fix his gaze on Francesca, as though he were trying to force her to focus on him instead of casting her eyes about nervously. “I remember that. Francesca always had good instincts when it came to things like that.”

  Francesca smiled briefly in acknowledgment, a glimmer of regular white teeth, a dimple at her cheek, then it was gone.

  “Boy oh boy, that Roll the Dice turned out to be a big disappointment as a runner.”

  “Had good bloodlines, though,” Jesse remarked.

  “What year was that? Fifty-eight? Fifty-nine?” Jeremiah wondered aloud.

  “It was just before Jesse went to college,” Francesca said sharply. All the emotion of that heady summer evening came flooding back to her.

  Francesca saw Celine’s eyes fix on her. She pretended not to see, focusing her green eyes on a distant horse. Now Celine turned her gaze to her husband. He looked at his watch, a solid-gold Piaget that had been her wedding present to him.

  “I guess you need to be getting back to work.” Jesse addressed his father.

  “I’ve got time for a Coke. Why don’t you let me show Celine around here. You and Frankie probably have lots of catching up to do.”

  “Oh, not me!” Francesca said, almost before the words were out of Jeremiah’s mouth. She blushed as she realized her rudeness. “I mean… I’ve got something I have to do.” She looked from Celine to Jesse to Jeremiah with an expression like a trapped animal’s. “I… I’d love to visit with you and Celine later, Jesse, but I’ve got to go now,” Francesca fairly stammered, taking a few steps backward.

  Jeremiah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Celine looked at her husband and saw an expression of hurt, then relief, cross his face before he carefully composed his features. And suddenly she understood with the sure instinct of a woman in love. There had been something between the two.

  “Well, then, Francesca, good-bye.” Jesse held out his hand to the young woman.

  Francesca slowly stretched her hand out to him. Their fingers met for the briefest of moments and their eyes locked. For a split second, Celine thought that her happy world was about to shatter. But before the thought was even complete, Francesca did a rapid about-face and walked away without a backward glance. Jesse watched her retreating figure for only a second, then turned back to his father.

  He had loved Francesca! Celine thought. She felt confused, hurt. Celine wondered if she had been Jesse’s second choice. What had happened between her husband and Francesca? Questions deluged her mind. So lost in thought was she that she paid almost no attention when Jesse put his arm around her and drew her to him.

  Then, suddenly, she realized, He’s mine. I have him. Whatever went before, I have him now. And with a wisdom beyond her years, she decided to leave her questions unasked.

  Celine laced her arm around her husband’s waist and, despite the heat of the day, snuggled close to him.

  “You newlyweds!” Jeremiah teased. “I guess Celine’s not interested in a private viewing of the stables.”

  Jesse grinned. “We’ll see you later, Dad. We want to watch the big one with you.”

  “We’ve been invited to watch from Devon’s box, you know,” said Jeremiah.

  Jesse raised an eyebrow. “How do you think her friends are going to like that?”

  “Aw, they’re used to me by now. You haven’t been around for such a long time, I guess you didn’t know that I’ve got a regular spot beside her. He shook his head. “Change sure is slow coming, but it is coming, isn’t it?”

  Jesse looked skeptically at his father, but the expression of hope on the older man’s face gentled him. “I hope so, Dad.” For a fleeting moment, his mind traveled back to the night Francesca had tried to convince him of almost the same thing. Then he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. And there, with the crowd milling about them and spirited horses prancing past, Jesse turned toward his wife and bent his head to hers. Oblivious to the stares of passersby, he kissed her, just as he had on their wedding day. This time his pledge to her was silent, but there was no misreading it. Celine knew it was a pledge for life.

  CHAPTER 70

  DEVON shifted restlessly in her chair. She held a glass of lemonade from which she took nervous little sips, like a bird aware of a nearby cat as it drank from a pool of water.

  Soon their friends would be joining John and her, but it was early yet; only the most committed of spectators (or those without guaranteed seats) had arrived at Belmont Park.

  “I think I’d better get down to the paddock,” she told John with a glance at her wristwatch.

  He leaned over and took her hand in his. “You were just down there a few minutes ago,” he teased gently.

  She shot him a pleading look, knowing she was being overly anxious. “I know, but it bothers me that Kelly hasn’t shown up.”

  John threw back his head and laughed. “Now you know Majors would rather die than miss this race. It’s the most important one of his career. He was probably just held up in traffic.” Majors had for the past year resisted using the Spartan quarters reserved for workers, preferring, as his income and importance grew, to lodge in nearby hotels. At Belmont Park, that meant one of New York City’s many fine establishments. His favorite was the Waldorf Towers, adjacent to the Waldorf-Astoria, where he could strut down the long corridor and assess the charms of the well-heeled female passersby. Majors was still a bachelor and to him New York was a fantasy world of beautiful, willing women.

  “I shouldn’t expect someone who earn
s as much as Kelly to be content to stay in one of those awful shed rows out back, but it does annoy me that he cuts it so close before a big race.” Devon sighed.

  “The day of the one-owner jockey is almost gone, Devon. Most of the new ones want to free-lance, going wherever the prize money and prestige is best. There are perks in being associated with Willowbrook, but there are also a few drawbacks. You’re probably not in a position to dictate what he does,” John remarked.

  “Not unless I can find someone as good who wants to sign an exclusive deal with me,” said Devon pragmatically.

  “I can think of only one person who fits that description.”

  “Who?” Devon asked, puzzled.

  “Your own daughter, my dear. Or haven’t you noticed how good she is?”

  “Don’t be silly!” Devon exclaimed. “She’s much too young to replace Majors. Jeremiah agrees with me, too, or he wouldn’t be so careful about when he uses her.”

  “Majors came to work for you when he was Francesca’s age,” John pointed out, raising his binoculars.

  “Not as my lead man!” argued Devon. “Besides, if she’s so ready for this, why doesn’t Jeremiah tell me so?”

  “Isn’t that obvious to you?” John asked, lowering his binoculars to meet Devon’s annoyed glare. “She’s a woman!”

  “Are you accusing Jeremiah, of all people, of prejudice?” asked Devon, outraged by the suggestion.

  “I’m not accusing him of anything. But he has spent his entire career in a world dominated by men. How many woman jockeys do you know?”

  “But Jeremiah has spent his entire career working for me! A woman!”

  John chuckled and kissed Devon’s hand. “That I know.” Then he continued on a more serious note. “But even though he works for a woman, he probably has a few ideas about the capability of a woman jockey versus a man.”

  “He’s always very complimentary of Francesca,” Devon said.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that he thinks Francesca is good. Or that one day he’ll give her a chance to test her mettle. I just think it seems to be coming slower for her than for a few less capable riders. Take that Luccioni fellow. He’s not as good as Francesca, but you’ve got him riding today.”