Deep in the Heart of Trouble

by Deeanne Gist

  A deafening cheer rose, then the grandstands swelled with song as the crowd robustly sang along with the band.

  “Among the flags of nations,

  There is a place for thee,

  Flaunt up, thou bright young banner,

  Flaunt proudly o’er the free.”

  The racers’ bright silk sashes glistened in the late-afternoon sunlight. The man from Alamo lifted his hand and waved to the fans. But it was Tony who captured Essie’s attention. He looked like a giant among the other men. Tall, self-assured, and singing the well-known song with gusto.

  Her heart filled with pride and pleasure and excitement. These races had always been important to her, but this one was by far the most significant. Not only because Tony was Sullivan Oil’s man but because he was her man.

  The song ended and the crowd roared their approval. An official began to line the cyclists up. The anticipation in Essie slowly built with the sweetest suspense imaginable. What a week it had been. The frantic preparations. The Welcome Reception.

  The heart-tugging moment when Tony proposed. The bright, color-splashed parade. And now these last few precious, nervejangling moments.

  “For heaven’s sake, Essie,” Mrs. Lockhart said. “Wave to that Vandervoort boy before he falls.”

  Essie looked in the direction Mrs. Lockhart indicated and saw Harley several sections over, leaning across the barricade and madly waving his arms. She waved back and held up crossed fingers.

  He pointed to the track and shouted, but of course she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She assumed he was pointing to Tony, so she smiled and waved to the boy again. His face turned frantic. He began squeezing past people in an effort to get to her, but when he tried to push past Katherine Crook, she pulled him up short.

  Essie held her breath. Harley had a history with the Slap Out’s proprietress and did not always think before he acted where she was concerned. But there was nothing Essie could do about it from here.

  A quietness settled over the crowd, pulling her attention back to the track. Each man placed his right leg over the bicycle bar and rested his foot on the pedal. The official raised a gun toward the sky.

  “One!”

  Essie’s hands grew clammy.

  “Two!”

  Her heart thundered.

  “Three!”

  Bang.

  The sound reverberated through her. Spectators shouted and whistled. The riders shot forward and immediately converged on the inside line. Tony settled down over his handlebars and focused on the track ahead of him.

  The riders took turns leading and falling behind, but Tony did exactly what they’d decided on in advance. He moved forward early and pushed a moderate pace rather than stay amidst the pack and fight off attack after attack.

  Morgan and Alamo Oil would eventually bridge. When that happened, it would be survival of the fittest and she wanted Tony right up there with them.

  At the halfway mark, the riders for Morgan and Alamo Oil began to pull forward, then suddenly became embroiled in a shoving match. Essie couldn’t tell who pushed whom first, but their antics threatened to unseat Tony, who rode on their left.

  Mr. Duckworth, the Morgan man, grabbed Mr. Mudge by his sash and nearly jerked him off his machine.

  Mudge lost his balance and zigzagged, while Tony, Mr. Duckworth, and the three other competitors whizzed by him. The remaining group of five stayed fairly close until about three-quarters of the way around. Duckworth, in a green sash, began to push toward the front.

  Get ready, Tony, she thought. Get ready.

  In a burst of speed, Ethey Oil pushed ahead of both Tony and Duckworth, but neither of those men gave chase, knowing the man would never be able to sustain his lead.

  Sure enough, the Ethey man began to slow and pulled directly in front of Tony. Before Tony could go around him, however, Tyler Petroleum came up on Tony’s immediate right.

  No! Essie thought, as El Filon de Madre Oil rode up behind him, the three men pinning Tony in a box. Duckworth came around on the outside and took the lead.

  Utter pandemonium broke loose in the stands. Spectators screamed, banners waved, whistles pierced.

  “What’s happening?” Anna asked.

  “Tony’s been pocketed,” Essie shouted over the noise, frustration welling inside her. “The other riders are conceding the race to Morgan Oil and are trapping Tony to keep him from competing.”

  “But why? Why would they do such a thing?”

  “The usual reason,” Essie answered. “For a percentage of the purse.”

  Anna sucked in her breath. “Can’t the official do something?

  Surely he realizes what is happening.”

  “Yes, he knows. And though pocketing may be unethical, it isn’t illegal.”

  Essie rode the wave of her emotions along with the Sullivan Oil supporters around her as they alternately expressed shock, anger, and, finally, fury.

  “Is there anything Tony can do?” Anna shouted.

  “Yes,” Essie said helplessly, “but it’s very dangerous and we never trained for it. I just never expected such a thing to happen.”

  Grabbing the railing in front of her, she watched the racers continue to move in a clump. Never had she felt so impotent. And with a knot of concern in her throat, she turned to the one source she knew could do anything, no matter what the situation.

  Help him, Lord. Please. Won’t you please help him?

  chapter TWENTY-SIX

  OUTRAGED, TONY gripped his handlebars more tightly. He’d seen a jockey pocketed once in a horse race, but it hadn’t occurred to him it could be done in a bike race.

  He wasn’t about to concede defeat now, however. Breaking out of the pocket would require a cool head, and he was running out of time.

  Pushing his anger aside, he quickly assessed the men surrounding him, then began to shore up his nerves. If he was willing to gamble with his good health, he just might manage it. He had to. Essie had never won before and he wanted to be the first man to win it for her. Just like he’d be the first man—the only man—she’d ever know in the biblical sense.

  The Tyler man on his right eased off to the outside, presenting an enticing opening. But Tony checked his impulse to shoot through, realizing Tyler could close the pocket at any time and dump Tony in the dirt.

  Instead, with heart hammering, he inched forward until his front wheel just barely overlapped Ethey Oil’s rear wheel. Maintaining a constant rate of speed, Tony gave a quick twist on his handlebars, slapping Ethey’s wheel and knocking it toward the inside of the track.

  The Ethey man responded just as Tony anticipated, involuntarily overcompensating to the outside and momentarily swerving out of Tony’s path. Accelerating, Tony shot through on the inside and escaped.

  The crowd exploded with noise. Duckworth glanced over his shoulder, then hunkered down. Shutting out as much of the world as he could, Tony settled into a crouch, zeroed in on Duckworth’s rear wheel and concentrated on catching up to it.

  Help me catch him, Lord. Help me win this for Essie.

  The gap between them shortened, but his legs burned, his back ached, and he was running out of track. He pedaled harder, his feet flying, his wet shirt clinging to his back. The finish line came into view. Duckworth glanced back again, giving Tony an opportunity to gain a few more rotations of the wheel.

  His front tire pulled within inches of Duckworth’s. Tony veered to the outside. Faster. Faster. The only sound that came to him was the purr of tires.

  He passed Duckworth’s back tire, his pedals. Closer. Closer. Almost even with him. The finish line hurtled toward them. Tony curled up and pushed as hard as he could.

  They were so close, Tony didn’t know who’d won and was going too fast to stop. People poured over the barricade and onto the track, sprinting toward the two riders. Those left behind shouted, whistled, stomped their feet and rattled cowbells.

  No political rally, prayer revival, or holiday parade ever sounded so loud. The
wooden beams supporting the grandstand trembled. Tony finally managed to slow enough to stop. He jumped off the bike just as hordes of men bedecked with green ran past him and surrounded Duckworth, congratulating him, patting him on the back, hefting him up onto their shoulders.

  Disbelief, disappointment, and frustration crashed down around Tony, threatening to buckle his knees. He’d lost. He couldn’t believe it. He scanned the stands for Essie but, of course, couldn’t find her.

  Instead, he found Darius. On the track, not ten yards away, accepting handshakes and congratulations as if he’d earned the privilege.

  Tony should have known Darius wouldn’t leave the outcome to chance. Too much was at stake—for both of them. Darius wanted to demonstrate his supremacy over Sullivan Oil in general, and Tony in particular. Tony had wanted to win the thing for Essie and the town of Corsicana.

  Anger at being stripped—again—of something that rightfully belonged to him burst through the tight control Tony had heretofore been able to manage. Like a bull who’d been teased with a red cape one too many times, he charged, a war cry bursting from his throat.

  Darius’s startled expression before Tony slammed into his gut gave a momentary bit of satisfaction. But not nearly enough. Following his brother into the dirt, Tony made the most of his advantage and drove his fist into Darius’s jaw. Blood spurted from his brother’s mouth.

  Hands from countless strangers pulled Tony off of Darius and up onto his feet.

  He flung them off. “Get back!” he shouted. “This is between me and him. Back away, I said.”

  Whether no one wanted to be the first to persuade him otherwise or if the men had simply found something new to bet on, Tony didn’t know and didn’t care. All that mattered was that the crowd formed a circle around the two men, leaving Tony free to even the score with his brother.

  Pushing himself into a sitting position, Darius touched a hand to his mouth. “You knocked out one of my teeth!”

  “I’ve barely begun, big brother.”

  Darius removed a hanky from his coat pocket and pressed it against the place where his tooth used to be.

  Tony nudged Darius’s boot. “Get up. And for once in your life do your own dirty work instead of paying somebody else to.”

  Folding his feet underneath him, Darius began to rise. “Look, Tony. I’m not going to fight you just because you haven’t learned how to lose with grace.”

  Tony grabbed Darius’s lapels and snatched him close. “I didn’t lose. You cheated.”

  Darius grinned, the black gap in his teeth giving Tony great satisfaction.

  “I didn’t do anything illegal,” his brother said. “And let’s admit it, that’s not what has you so riled up. It’s that I, once again, have come out on top.”

  Tony shoved him. Hard. Pedaling his feet, Darius stumbled back and would have fallen if the crowd hadn’t been there to catch him.

  “There isn’t a person present,” Tony said, “who doesn’t know you won because you stooped to chicanery.”

  The crowd propped Darius back up. With great nonchalance, he dusted the dirt from his sleeves. “And there’s not a person present who doesn’t know the only reason you’re in a higher-up position with Sullivan Oil is because you got underneath Essie Spreckelmeyer’s skirts.”

  Tony exploded with fury. Leaping forward, he slammed another fist into Darius. Before he could follow him to the ground, though, strong hands grabbed Tony and jerked him back.

  “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” Sheriff Dunn roared. He gave Tony a hard shake. “You better get out of my sight, Tony Morgan, and stay out before I throw you in Howard’s wagon and keep you there until you rot.”

  Tony’s vision cleared. He stumbled back, taking stock of his surroundings. The once uproarious crowd stood in silence. Finch knelt beside Darius. Others made room for Dr. Gulick as he shoved his way to the front.

  Within the circle of gawking men stood Essie, hands covering her mouth, his grandmother’s ring winking in the sun.

  Turning, he walked away. Away from what he had done. Away from Darius. Away from her.

  Essie knocked on Room 314 of the Commercial Hotel, then wrapped her shawl and her composure about her. The door swung open.

  “Essie,” Anna said, widening the door. “Come in.”

  Crossing the threshold, Essie glanced around the sitting room. Tony’s mother, dressed in black, stood with her back to the room, holding open a panel of blue-and-gold damask drapes at the window. Darkness obscured any view she might have had, though, and instead reflected the woman’s frail image like a mirror.

  The golden striped settee was vacant. One of Mrs. Lockhart’s romance novels was open and flipped upside down on a side table. The wing chair beside it held an indention in its cushion.

  “Tony’s not here?” Essie asked.

  “We’ve not seen him since before the race,” Anna said, closing the door.

  “How’s Darius?”

  “Cut lip. Black eye. Nothing too serious. He was complaining more about some stomach ailment that’s been grieving him lately. He’s really angry about his missing tooth, though.”

  Essie nodded.

  “Do you mean to say you’ve not heard from Tony, either?” Mrs. Morgan turned away from the window, worry lines making deep creases between her brows.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh dear.” Anna glanced at her mother, then back at Essie. “Can I pour you something?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I need to find Tony.”

  Mrs. Morgan stiffened. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not that I know of, ma’am. I’m just worried because he didn’t come out to the house tonight. I …” She swallowed. “I thought he would.”

  The two women stared at her.

  “Well,” she said, backing toward the door, “if you hear from him, would you tell him I’m looking for him?”

  “Of course,” Anna said. “Where are you going now?”

  Essie opened her mouth to answer, but tears clogged her throat.

  She didn’t know where to go. They didn’t have any “special place” just the two of them went other than the bicycle club, and he certainly wasn’t there.

  She’d sent Jeremy to check in all the saloons. He’d insisted it was a waste of time, convinced that Tony didn’t drink, yet he still did as she bid. But with no luck.

  She’d been to his boardinghouse, Castle’s Drug Store, the Slap Out, and now here. Where on earth was he?

  Swallowing, she took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll try the jailhouse next.”

  “The jailhouse!” Mrs. Morgan exclaimed.

  “Only because my uncle is the sheriff,” Essie assured her. “It’s very likely that he’ll know where Tony is. I’m sure he’s fine, ma’am. I just, well …”

  “You’re upset,” Anna said. “And understandably so. Of course you want to find him.” She grabbed her hat and tied it on. “I’ll help you.”

  “No,” Essie said. “It isn’t necessary.”

  “Nonsense. We can cover twice the amount of territory if we work together. Just tell me where you planned to go after the jailhouse?” Anna grabbed her wrap and slung it over her shoulders. “Don’t wait up, Mother. I will very likely be quite late.”

  She followed Essie out the door and down the stairs into the hotel lobby.

  “I honestly don’t know where I’ll go, Anna. And I’d hate to—”

  “Well, ladies. This is a surprise.”

  “Ewing,” Essie breathed, whirling around at the sound of his voice. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  The preacher nodded politely at Anna, then turned to Essie.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t find Tony anywhere. Have you seen him?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  She listed the places she’d already searched. “I was just heading over to the jail to see if Uncle Melvin had seen him. Anna offered to help, but it’s so late a
nd she doesn’t know the town. I don’t want to send her off by herself.”

  “Not to worry,” he said. “I’ll be glad to assist. Have you tried your house?”

  “Not for the last hour or so.”

  “Okay. Miss Morgan and I will check there while you head to the sheriff’s. We can rendezvous at the Slap Out.”

  Essie leaned Peg against the railing in front of the sheriff’s office. Uncle Melvin would not be pleased to see her out this late, especially with the town full of so many strangers bent on extending the day’s festivities into the wee hours.

  But she was desperate to find Tony. To let him know she loved him and the race didn’t matter. She also needed to assure herself that he was safe and unhurt, for though Darius hadn’t struck Tony with his fists, he’d delivered blows just the same. He’d simply delivered them with words.

  She cringed again at Darius’s coarse accusation. And she was just human enough to confess she’d been every bit as outraged as Tony. All the same, she was glad Melvin had shown up when he had.

  Stepping into the office, she noted two of the cells held a handful of men sleeping off their inebriated states.

  Deputy Howard dropped his chair onto all fours and rose to his feet. “Well, well. Look who’s out past her bedtime.”

  “Where’s Uncle Melvin?”

  “Here and there. You need something?”

  “I’m looking for Tony. Have you seen him?”

  Howard circled around his desk. “What’s the matter? Worried yet another man’s gonna leave you high and dry?”

  She froze. What exactly was he intimating? That he knew something about Tony she didn’t? Or that he knew something about her past that he shouldn’t?

  “A simple yes or no will do, Deputy. Do you or do you not know where Tony is?”

  He leaned a hip against her uncle’s desk. “No, can’t say that I do.”

  “And Uncle Melvin? Do you know where he is?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to leave.

  “There is one thing before you go.” His hand brushed against the figurine she’d given her uncle years ago and set it to wobbling. Making a grab for it, he snatched it up before it could fall and break. Turning it over in his hands, he examined it, then slowly scratched underneath the figure’s raised arm with his dirty thumbnail. “Seems we have a mutual acquaintance.”