by Deeanne Gist
She sucked in her breath. “What do you mean? Are you saying he’s blind?”
“Yes, but we’re hoping it’s temporary. The doc has potatoes against his eyes and is keeping him in a dark room. As soon as Crackshot’s kin can get here, though, Doc wants them to take him down to Galveston where he can swim around in the ocean with his eyes open.”
“Will that cure him?”
“That’s what they say. Only time will tell, though.”
She covered her mouth. “I should have listened to you. If we’d had those cup masks, none of this would have happened.”
“No, it has nothing to do with the masks. If Crackshot had stayed back like the rest of ’em, he wouldn’t be laid out right now. My guess is, even if he had a mask, he would’ve been too cocky to wear it.” Tony shook his head. “He has nobody to blame but himself.”
She still couldn’t help but feel guilty. “Will you make sure any doctors settle up with me?”
“I will.” He stretched out his leg, then tapped her toe with his. “You sure were a long time coming home.”
“Last-minute details.”
He yawned.
“Goodness,” she said, rising to her feet. “You need to get to bed and get some rest. I need you in tip-top shape for tomorrow’s race.”
Standing, he brushed off his backside. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll be ready.” He joined her on the porch. “I have a ring for you, Essie.”
A ring? She clasped her hands together, still struggling to comprehend how she could go from organizing parade details to becoming betrothed in the span of an hour.
He fished inside his pocket, then removed a bit of cloth. Unfurling it in his palm, he cradled a diamond ring, barely distinguishable in the shadows of the porch.
“I don’t need a ring, Tony,” she said, her throat closing.
“Yes, you do. All the Morgan women wear a diamond.” He reached for her left hand. “This one was my grandmother’s.”
She frowned. “I thought you were disinherited?”
“It belonged to my mother’s mother and had nothing to do with my father.”
He tried to take her ring finger, but she closed her hand around his.
“Don’t you think we should wait?”
“For what?”
“Well, to, to talk with Papa. And the truth is, there are still some things we need to talk through. After the bicycle race is over and things calm down will be soon enough.”
He frowned. “I don’t want to wait until then. I want everyone in Texas to know you’re mine and I want them to know it while they’re all here in town.”
She hesitated. “I do, too, Tony. But not until we’ve talked.”
“About what?”
“Things.”
“Well, you sure don’t sound like a very excited bride-to-be. Are you sure you even want to do this at all?” His tone was sharp, wounded.
“I am excited. You can’t imagine how thrilled I am.”
He said nothing.
“Tony, it’s just that, well—”
“Are you gonna marry me or not?”
“I am.”
“Then give me your hand.”
Biting her lip, she slowly lifted her left hand. He slid the ring on, the metal smooth, his fingers rough.
“It fits perfectly,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” But his voice was clipped.
“I really am excited, Tony, and the ring is lovely.”
“You can’t even see it. It’s too dark.”
“I don’t need to see it. Just having you give it to me makes it everything I’d ever want.”
He stood stiffly for a moment. “Well, good night, then.”
She clasped his hand. “I love you.”
After a slight hesitation, he pulled her against him. “I love you, too. So much it scares me.”
He kissed her thoroughly, then rested his forehead against her hat’s brim.
“I didn’t mean to be so clumsy in the asking, Essie. The question just kind of popped out.”
“It was perfect.”
“A fella only has one chance to ask his woman to marry him.
He’s supposed to have flowers and poetry and stuff like that. The only reason I had the ring with me was because Mother gave it to me tonight at the reception.”
“She did?”
He nodded. “I asked her to bring it.”
Essie stilled. “When?”
“When I knew I wanted to marry you.”
“And when was that?”
“For a while now.”
She laid her hand against his chest. The diamond on her finger caught the moonlight. “I loved your proposal and I love the ring. I’ll cherish them both forever.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Good night, love.”
“Good night, Tony.”
The diamond was huge. And beautiful. And hers.
Essie knelt beside her bed in her nightdress, moving her finger this way and that, watching the facets of the stone capture the candlelight and reflect it back at her.
She wondered if it would make rainbows on the walls when the sun hit it just right. Her grandmother used to have crystal prisms hanging in her front window. As a girl, Essie would jiggle them just as the sun was beginning its descent, then stand as tiny rainbows danced across the walls and the floor and even herself.
Tony said his mother had given the ring to him. That pallid woman she’d met briefly at the reception and who had innocently asked if Tony were courting her had, all the time, knowingly carried an heirloom that she would, by evening’s end, relinquish forever to another woman. A woman she didn’t even know.
What had she thought when Essie brushed her off so easily on to the mayor’s wife? When Essie had been too busy filling a bathtub up with punch to sit down for a proper visit? Did she know Essie was thirty-four years old, ran a bicycle club, and was part owner of Morgan Oil’s biggest rival?
She worried over Tony’s earlier refusal to hear her confessions. At the same time, she wondered how critical it was for her to share those transgressions with him. She’d already confessed them to the Lord. He’d forgiven her and pronounced her clean.
Did that mean she wasn’t obligated to ask for pardon from her fiancé? Was the Lord’s forgiveness truly enough for her and Tony both? Maybe she wouldn’t tell Tony anything. Maybe she didn’t need to.
She folded her hands together.
Dear Lord, thank you for giving me Tony. I love him. I want him more than life itself. But I do not want him more than I want you. Give me wisdom. Guide me. Show me what you would have me do.
Opening her eyes, she admired her ring one more time before blowing out the light and crawling into bed.
chapter TWENTY-FOUR
THE MORNING of the parade dawned clear and beautiful with a smattering of clouds scattered like dandelion puffs in the sky. Essie fastened a cropped white jacket with large red buttons over her bicycle costume. She’d considered wearing her award-winning outfit but decided against it—not wanting to invite any questions about that unfortunate event.
Besides, there were still those who frowned upon the use of knickerbockers. Her shortened white skirt and matching gaiters were much more acceptable to the masses.
Lifting her latest purchase from its box, she settled the lacy white toque onto her head, then secured the hat with pearl-headed pins. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she fluffed the scarlet silk trim, the red ribbon roses, and the white ostrich tips spilling over the crown.
But it was her ring that again and again captured her attention as it flashed in the light. Lowering her hand, she held it out. With delicate craftsmanship, the platinum mounting displayed a rose-cut diamond encircled by eight tiny ones. She still couldn’t quite believe it was hers.
The grandfather clock chimed nine. She quickly pinched her cheeks, then skipped down the stairs. Tony was already waiting in the parlor.
He held a beret,
his brown hair mussed and windblown. The new racing outfit he wore hugged his tall, athletic form and left Essie short of breath.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Is that a new hat?”
She nodded.
“I like it.” He looked her up and down, his gaze snagging on her hands. “Somebody forgot her gloves.”
She clasped her hands behind her, hiding them from view. “I didn’t want to cover up my ring.”
His eyes grew warm. “I like seeing it on your finger.”
“So do I.”
“Has your father seen it?”
“This morning at breakfast.”
“What did he say?”
“He said it took you long enough.”
Tony let out a breath and smiled.
“Didn’t he mention anything about it when you arrived?” she asked.
“No. He just opened the door, told me ‘good luck’ and instructed me to wait for you in the parlor. I didn’t know if he meant good luck with the race or good luck with you.”
She laughed. “Probably both.”
“I’d told him I was going to ask you, about the same time I asked my mother about the ring. Yet now he seems upset. Did he change his mind, do you think?”
“No. Believe me, I’d know if he didn’t approve. I think his reticence is due to his just now realizing that once we marry I’ll belong to you and not him.”
They stared at each other across the parlor floor, thinking about her words and what they meant. Her heart began to hammer. It was really going to happen. She was really going to marry this man.
“The day’s going to be extremely long and hectic,” he said.
“Yes.”
“This will probably be the only opportunity we have to be alone until late tonight.”
“Probably.”
“Would you mind terribly if I kiss you, then?”
Her eyes darted to the clock.
“I know it’s early, Essie, but—”
She held up a finger, stopping his words, then closed the parlor door behind her and leaned against it. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
She waited, but he made no move to close the distance between them. Apparently, if they were going to share a kiss at the shocking hour of nine o’clock, he didn’t mind asking permission, but he wasn’t going to start it.
Pushing off the door, she walked across the Axminster rug and slid her hands up onto his shoulders. “Don’t mess up my hat.”
After a long kiss, he placed her at arm’s length. His face was flushed, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark.
She smiled. “Perhaps we’d better go?”
He nodded.
She let herself out of the parlor.
A bicycle built for two leaned against the white picket fence.
Squealing with delight, Essie ran down the porch steps.
“Tony, look! Is it yours? Where did it come from?”
Catching her by the hand, he hauled her back. “It’s not mine. It’s on loan from Flyers. They agreed to lend it to us for the parade as an advertisement. I thought it would be the perfect solution to your grand marshal dilemma. I’m just glad it arrived in time.”
“But there is no dilemma. The mayor is going to be the grand marshal. We’ve already decided.”
“It might have been decided, but there’s still dissension in the ranks. Those ladies of yours want a wheeler as the grand marshal and are only agreeing otherwise because you asked them to.”
He opened the gate.
“So what did you have in mind?”
“The mayor on one seat, his lovely wife—and prominent member of the Corsicana Velocipede Club—on the other.”
“Oh, Tony, that’s perfect,” she said, running her hand along the machine’s sleek red frame. “I’ve never ridden one. Have you?”
“I rode it over here and I have to tell you, it’s deuced embarrassing to ride without a partner.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”
He grasped the front handlebar and held out his hand. “Ma’am?”
She gazed longingly at the backseat. “You get to steer?”
“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Plus, it gives you the better view. I only hope I can see over your hat.”
She took his hand, then hesitated. “If I start, how will you mount? Plus, I can’t steer. How are we going to do this?”
“You’re the etiquette expert.”
She worried her lip. “I don’t see any way other than starting together.”
He glanced up and down the street, then gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Together’s my favorite way.”
Being in the back not only allowed Tony to steer, but it also gave him an opportunity to admire a view he didn’t get too often. He greedily took in Essie’s long neck, gently sloping shoulders, and trim waist. His inspection continued and though her skirts ruffled in the breeze, he was able to make out enough of an outline to be pleased with what he’d discovered.
As they drew closer to town, activity picked up and he was forced to focus on his surroundings so as not to hit any potholes or run anybody over. Friends hollered out greetings. Others stopped and pointed, admiring the unusual machine.
All along Jackson Avenue, from Thirteenth Street on down, the people of Corsicana congregated in anticipation, even though the parade was still a good hour away. Tony and Essie weaved through a sea of brown suits and white dresses. Flags hung from second-story windows, red-white-and-blue banners draped from building to building along the parade route. The oil companies had strung up signs endorsing their riders in the upcoming race. Tony smiled at the sight of the Morgan name on the hand-lettered Sullivan Oil sign.
By the time they reached the starting point, a majority of the parade entrants had already gathered. Tony slowed the bike but before he could stop, Essie jumped off and began to organize the event.
She sent the city council members and the Corsicana Commercial Club off to clear the streets and stand along the parade path. She corralled the assistant marshals and asked Mrs. McCabe to give them the white duck caps the Slap Out had donated, along with the blue-and-white sashes her club members had hemmed.
She asked the bugle corps to warm up their trumpets, then attempted to organize the rest of the club according to bicycle brands. Mr. Sharpley arrived in a cart pulled by a wheeler, his leg cast wrapped in red-white-and-blue bunting. Essie spent several moments visiting with him before being called back to her task.
She was positioning a “giraffe” tricycle with its rider nine feet above the street when a group of about twenty young men, led by Jeremy Gillespie, rode up wearing bloomers.
Essie propped her fists on her waist. “Just what do y’all think you’re doing?” she asked over the laughter of the crowd.
“Why, we’re joinin’ the parade,” Jeremy said. “And don’t you try and stop us, neither. We call ourselves the Bloomer Brigade and it’s our mission to make sure any anti-bloomer fellas out there will behave, or else!”
She was no match for Jeremy’s charm and after her experience in New York, she realized his mission might indeed be warranted. She sent him and the others on down the line, where the boys made a show of batting their eyes and calling out to the fans in falsetto voices.
She had most everyone where she wanted them and was arranging the women of the Corsicana Velocipede Club at the front of the line when Shirley Gillespie screamed, bringing silence to the immediate vicinity.
“Essie! What on earth is this?!” She grabbed Essie’s left hand and held it in front of her.
Essie, already flustered from the activity, turned a deeper shade of red and pulled her hand from Shirley’s grip. Shirley looked around her, locked eyes with Mrs. Lockhart and hoisted Essie’s hand up again.
“Look!”
Every man, woman, and child within fifty yards looked at the diamond on Essie’s finger. The women of her club swooped in around her, exclaiming, babbling, and vying for a better look. One by one they turn
ed to Tony, wide-eyed.
He stood grouped with the other five racers and tugged on his beret. Smiles replaced the women’s questioning expressions and they turned back to embrace their leader. She might never have broken free if the automobile hadn’t chosen that moment to drive up, blast its horn and scatter her entire parade to the edges of the street.
It took her another twenty-five minutes to reorganize everyone before finally approaching Tony’s band of racers.
“We’re ready to begin, gentlemen,” she said, careful to avoid his eyes, though her face again filled with color. “If you would fall in right behind the buglers, then you will be the first to reach the track and will have time to rest before this afternoon’s race. Are there any questions?”
There were none. She glanced at him briefly. He winked. She blushed again, turned to the trumpet players and gave the signal to start.
Mr. Mitton’s racetrack at the fairgrounds was one of the best mile tracks in Texas. It was run by the Navarro County Jockey Club and leased by the oil companies for the annual bicycle race.
Wandering through the pasture outside the gate, Tony perused the wide variety of exhibits. Bicycle manufacturers had every kind of bike on display: sociables, trikes and quadricycles, Warthogs, Spauldings, and Panthers.
He picked up a new racing bicycle to judge its weight, then spun the pedals to see if the wheels wobbled.
“A finer machine you’ll not find anywhere in the country,” the salesman assured him.
Tony tapped the steel tubing with his fingernail and listened.
“Mr. Tony!” Harley Vandervoort hollered, running up to him. “Howdy-do.”
The boy’s lips had turned blue from eating some kind of berry and he smelled like he’d been hanging around Mr. Mitton’s thoroughbreds.
“Howdy-do to you, too. You having a good time?”
“I surely am. You gonna win that race fer Miss Essie today?”
“I’m going to try.”
“I hear tell you’re mashed on her and done asked her to wed up.
That true?”