The Bootlegger's Wife: A Love Story

by Terri Lee

  “I see.”

  “Hopefully these bags will stay right here in the closet. And you can help bring them to my room tomorrow.” She smiled with a confidence that was hard to feign.

  “I certainly hope that will be the case.” Foster looked down on this young woman whom he had watched grow from a spirited little tot galloping about the house to the fine young beauty that stood before him now. He had been privy to much over the years and his half hearted smile told Frances that he was well aware of what she would face on this evening’s contest of wills.

  “I hope so too,” Frances said. “But first, we have to get through tonight.” Tonight, she thought. Only a few short hours away. What would the evening hold?

  TWENTY TWO

  Frances opened her bedroom door and poked her head out listening for sounds of life downstairs. There were voices and the sound of her father’s commanding tone caused her heart to beat a little faster. She blew out a deep breath, feeling like a racehorse held in the starting gate. She was anxious to get the evening started.

  She skipped down the stairs with false bravado and swept into the living room where her parents were seated, enjoying their evening cocktails. Prohibition had not entered the Durant household, like many good Americans, they simply chose to ignore the unpopular law.

  “Hello Father-Dear.” She kissed her father on the top of his head as she entered the room. “How was your trip?” She sat down, smoothing the gauzy folds of her pale blue dress, while giving him her full attention. She would not let tonight get out of hand. She would remain calm, she would be persuasive and with an adept hand of diplomacy she would control the situation.

  “Fine,” came her father’s terse reply as he eyed her with suspicion. His stern glance landed on her hand and he said gruffly, “I see you’re still wearing that ring.”

  Frances looked down at her engagement ring and smiled in spite of herself. “Yes, but Father, if you’ll just hear me out, I’m sure you will understand my feelings.” She took a deep breath, “I’ve invited Frankie to dinner. It’s the only way we’re going to get past this stalemate. I’m sure once the two of you —”

  William set his cocktail glass down with force. “I think you have forgotten that this is my home and I extend the invitations to dinner.”

  “But, if you would just talk to him —”

  Again, she was interrupted by her father as he bolted from his chair and strode from the room as if he’d just received an urgent assignment. “I don’t appreciate being ambushed in my own home.”

  “You left me no choice.” Frances called after him.

  Lena raised her eyebrows as she stared smugly at Frances while lifting her drink to her pursed lips. Frances hung her head. She hadn’t planned on such an early defeat. But the night was young and she would not be the one to raise the white flag.

  Her father returned and it was obvious his anger had not subsided. “I cannot believe that you are behaving in such an obstinate manner.”

  “And I have never in my life seen you behave with such poor manners,” she responded, forgetting her plan to remain calm at all costs. All hopes of a quiet conversation had quickly gone up in smoke. She struggled to get the situation back on track. “This is very unlike you Father.” She tried to appeal to all that was proper in him. To no avail.

  “We know better.” Lena piped up. “If we were to allow you an inch, you’d take a mile.”

  Frances turned her disgust to the woman sitting primly on the edge of the sofa. Swathed in ropes of pearls and expensive silk she looked the epitome of grace, but Frances knew what the classy exterior hid from view. “What does that even mean? Do you hear yourself? I’m your daughter and you’re saying you can’t give me an inch?”

  Lena, who could never enter into the verbal combat in which Frances so excelled, chose to just roll her eyes. And Frances was very worried that her mother would not be able to keep her snobbishness in check during this evening’s all important dinner. It was at that moment that the doorbell rang out, the gong that sent the sparring partners to their respective corners. Frances ran to the front door, her heels clattering on the marble tiles.

  Foster was standing there silent and stoic as a guard at Buckingham palace. So this was what her father had run off to attend to in such a hurry. It was obvious to her that Foster had been instructed to stand guard. But what exactly was his mission? To keep people out or keep people in? She was sure that intimidation was part of the plan as Frankie entered through the palace doors. But she would not allow him to be cowed.

  “I’ve got this, Foster.” Frances brushed past him, releasing him of his official duties. She opened the door and was relieved to find Frankie standing there. A knight in shining armor with a cowlick. She took him by the hand and pulled him through the door. She saw the look cross his face as he took in the splendor of the entry hall and she knew then that she was very glad that Frankie never saw the house in Vermont. He might have never recovered.

  “Things are not going well,” she whispered. “I fear we’re in for a bit of a bumpy ride tonight.”

  He looked at her and winked, “Don’t give in to your worries just yet. We’ll have them eating out of our hands in no time.”

  She shook her head at the hopeless optimist, as she tried to gather strength from Frankie’s confidence and for that brief moment she believed. They joined hands prepared to enter into battle together. How she could have used her grandmother in her corner this evening. But there would be no ally for her. Tonight it would be just she and Frankie. They turned toward the living room and were abruptly met by her parents in the hallway.

  “Mr. Durant, it’s very nice to meet you sir.” Frankie spoke first but William only grunted as he was forced to offer a begrudging response to Frankie’s hand in friendship. “And it’s very nice to see you again, Mrs. Durant,” Frankie continued on as if his smile alone would turn the tide. “You have a lovely home.” The silence was deafening. Frankie cleared his throat. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

  William shook his head, taking no responsibility for the unfolding play. “You chose the circumstances.”

  “Well, shall we have a seat?” Frances started to usher Frankie into the living room.

  “That won’t be necessary.” William was firm. He turned his attention to Frankie. “I’m very sorry that my daughter extended an invitation for dinner that we cannot oblige. I’m sorry you made the trip here for nothing. Now if you’ll excuse us.”

  Frances was fuming that her parents would not even let Frankie in to discuss the matter. They had decided he didn’t deserve to be allowed past the foyer. As if he was some unwelcome vacuum cleaner salesman who had managed to push his way past the front door. The insult was more than Frances could take.

  “How dare you treat him with such disregard?” she said. “Frankie deserves every bit as much respect as Graydon Harris or any other walking stiff you would have me date who has the proper last name. In fact, he deserves more respect, because every single thing he has, he earned on his own. No one handed him anything on a silver platter.” But in her father’s world, money and power went hand in hand. Because Frankie had none of the first, he was allotted none of the second.

  “It’s all right, Frances,” Frankie said calmly.

  “No. It’s not alright.” Frances said. She was a little bit like a wild animal, which had just had a small taste of freedom and would not go meekly back into her cage. No. Not without a fight.

  Frankie sought to take the high ground, “Sir, if we could sit and have a friendly chat, I’m sure that —”

  William interrupted him with the authority he easily wielded, “Young man, this really has nothing to do with you. I have no need to enter into a ‘friendly chat’ as you say. This is a family matter.”

  Undaunted, Frankie spoke up. “I beg to differ sir, but if it has to do with Frances then it has everything to do with me.”

  Frances was so proud of him.

  “Sir,
it is our intention to have a nice long engagement so that you and I can get to know one another and I can prove to you that I intend to take very good care of your daughter.”

  “There’s not going to be a long engagement, a short engagement, or an engagement of any kind. I might add that this entire thing is a ridiculous charade.” William bullied.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Frankie spoke softly, but there was an unmistakable strength wrapped around his words.

  “Quite sure.”

  “Sir, we’d love to have your blessing, but if it’s all the same to you, we don’t need it.” Frankie could be just as firm without any of the bluster.

  “If Frankie leaves, I’m going with him.” Frances voiced the plans she was hoping she wouldn’t have to enact.

  Lena was the first to find her voice. “Don’t be absurd. Why must you always be so dramatic?”

  “Yes, Lena. I’m about to be very absurd. I’m about to walk out of this house with the man I love.” She turned her gaze back to her father. “I’m hoping that won’t be necessary.”

  She thought she saw her father falter for just a second. It was the hesitation she had hoped for. A small crack in the veneer that she could put her toe into and find her way back in. He blinked and she smiled nervously. A wisp of hope rose to tease her.

  Just then Lena stepped closer to William and placed her arm through his, as if propping him up. He snapped to attention, remembering his duty, and the tiny crack was sealed. They stood as a brick wall against her. Frances could feel the coldness emanating from the two of them and she knew the moment had been lost. The world she knew began to slip away.

  Frances bravely continued, “You need to know that if I walk out that door, I’m walking out because you’ve left me no choice. You’re backing me into a corner.”

  “Let me make one thing clear. You do not issue the orders around here. If you walk out that door, it will be your choice. I will not be blackmailed.” Her father was impenetrable.

  “Neither will I,” Frances retorted, as the pair stared at one another. “It appears we are at a stalemate.”

  “It appears you have a decision to make. Let me help you with that. If you walk out that door, you will never walk back in again. There will be no financial assistance for you whatsoever.”

  “I’m not interested in your money, sir.” Frances could read in Frankie’s tone that he was wounded, well aware of the root of the problem here. Money. It was always about money.

  “Good, because there won’t be any. And there won’t be a family for you, either.” He nodded to Frances.

  “We don’t need your money,” Frances echoed. “I just want to be with Frankie.”

  “Well if you’re with Frankie there will be no money, and no family.”

  “Are you saying you’ll disown me if I marry Frankie? Father, please don’t say things you don’t mean.” This was the worse-case scenario she had feared, yet refused to entertain in her darkest thoughts.

  “I think you know me well enough to know that I mean every word.”

  Was he bluffing? But there was something in the coldness of his countenance that caused a shiver to run down her spine. In the shadowy corner of her heart, she knew it was not a bluff. Her parents were more than willing to turn their backs on her if she chose this path. Something in her died at that moment and her decision was made. A decision made easier for it had been twenty years in the making.

  Frankie leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You don’t have to do this, Frances.”

  Her answer was to slip her small hand in his. She nodded quietly. “Let’s go.”

  She moved to the hall closet and retracted the luggage that had been stowed for her escape.

  “Well it seems as if you already had your mind made up,” Lena snapped. “Why bother with this whole act?”

  Frances shook her head. “I know you won’t believe me, but this is not how I wanted it to end.”

  Just then she noticed Margaret sitting on the stairs and moved toward her. Margaret, who was always observing, never entering into the family dramas, rarely more than an interested bystander. She was sitting there hugging her knees and chewing on her fingernails and Frances saw the tears on her cheeks. She seemed much younger than her sixteen years.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go, Frances,” she murmured.

  “Me too. But I do.”

  “I know.” Margaret hung her head.

  Frances lifted her sister’s chin in her hand and looked into her pale blue eyes, “You know what? At this very moment, we’re very much alike. We’re both following our hearts.”

  Margaret hugged her tightly, “I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray hard every day.”

  Frances stood back holding her little sister at arms’ length and managed a smile, “Well then how can I possibly lose?”

  Margaret watched her beautiful older sister descend the staircase, not at all sure when she would see her again. At the doorway, Frances turned to Foster, “I’m really going to miss you.” She patted his puffed out chest and reached up on her tiptoes to gather the giant teddy bear of a man into a hug. She whispered in his ear, “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” She noticed the water in the corner of his eyes, but he remained composed, ever the professional. She angrily wiped her own tear that had escaped her tight control and now ran for freedom down her cheek.

  “You will be greatly missed, Miss Frances.” His whisper caught in his throat as she and Frankie edged past him.

  “Don’t you dare think that you can come crawling home when this thing blows up in your face.” William shouted from the doorway, suddenly unconcerned with what the neighbors would think. Lost in his red-faced tirade, he didn’t realize that he had already lost.

  Frances squared her shoulders and once again slipped her hand in Frankie’s, prepared to walk away from everything. Her parents had no idea that in her mind, she had everything to gain.

  “If you walk out this door, you will be dead to us.” William continued.

  One would be wrong to assume words were inanimate things that simply disappeared on the breath with which they were expelled. For it is that very breath that carries a word into existence, where it then takes on a life of its own.

  “Dead to us,” were the words that chased Frances as she ran down the stone staircase. Try as she might, she couldn’t outrun them.

  PART TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  The drive was as quiet as a funeral procession. In a way, it was. Everything had come undone so quickly. Because she had her back to her parents, they couldn’t see the tears on her cheeks as she left, but Frankie saw them. Wordlessly, he stowed her luggage in the back seat of his borrowed car. As he started the engine he looked over at Frances, giving her one last opportunity to change her mind.

  “I’ll turn this car around right here and now, we can end this thing.” Frankie vowed.

  “No. Drive on.” She looked straight ahead as they pulled away. She refused to look back over her shoulder. But she kept her hands clasped tightly to disguise their trembling.

  She tried to smile at Frankie but it was a very weak attempt. She didn’t have the strength to pretend. He drove on and the only sound coming from the passenger seat was an occasional sigh, as she replayed the scene over and over.

  What must Frankie be thinking? Words had been flung like thoughtless ammunition. She was sure he had been hit by a stray bullet. Frances couldn’t have imagined her father behaving in such a manner. So all the contingency plans in the world couldn’t have prepared them for the scene this evening.

  The truth of the matter was that her parents were determined that she marry into the circle to which she was destined. There was no place in that circle for Frankie Lee. He would never be good enough. She had been foolish to think that she could change their minds, no matter what kind of job he had, no matter how much he tried to persuade them about his love for their daughter.
They would never see beyond the surface. They would only see the boy raised in an orphanage, a young man without credentials, without the proper education. What right did he have to whisk her away from the life they had planned for her?

  Frances reached over and squeezed Frankie’s hand, fearful that he might be drowning in self-doubt. An encounter with William Durant could do that to the best of men. Frankie’s smile in return did little to alleviate her concerns.

  Finally, they pulled up to Mrs. Gilmore’s Boarding House for Women. Frances was glad that she had insisted that Frankie make all the necessary plans ahead of time. After all, she knew what she was dealing with, despite Frankie’s optimism.

  Mrs. Gilmore greeted them on the front porch. “Good evening. Nice to see you again, Mr. Lee. Come in, come in.”

  Frances squeezed past the buxom older woman who smelled faintly of vanilla and into the welcoming front parlor filled with soft furniture and the warm glow of several table lamps. “It’s very pretty.” She murmured.

  Mrs. Gilmore smiled, “Thank you sweetie. Your room is upstairs, but why don’t you have a seat and settle in for a moment. I’ll get some refreshments.”

  Frances nodded, glad to be told what to do. She couldn’t think clearly. Sinking into a flowery, overstuffed sofa with her hands in her lap, she looked like a little girl lost.

  “Are you okay?” Frankie took her hand.

  “Sure,” she looked up at him and shrugged. “It’s what I expected.”

  “Not really.”

  “Mostly.” She looked down at her lap. “I got caught up in our love, and I let myself believe for a minute that our love would change who they are. I should have known better.”

  “Well, there is still time for everyone to come to their senses. Forever is a long time, and I can’t believe that they won’t come around eventually.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said without any conviction.

  Mrs. Gilmore returned with tea and set up the little tray on the coffee table before scurrying out of the room again. Frankie and Frances sat there with the wind knocked out of them, trying to make sense of a senseless situation. Frankie spent as much time as he dared under the watchful eye of Mrs. Gilmore before he was instructed that it was time to leave.