by Ken Casper
Chapter Thirty-Six
TWO DAYS LATER, Gwyn received a polite letter from her mother. Senator and Mrs. Miller had a prior commitment and, unfortunately, wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding. Claudia Miller wished her daughter the best of luck and happiness in her impending marriage and announced that a present would be forthcoming.
Gwyn tried to brush the matter aside, but the one person she couldn’t hide her feelings from was Jed. He came into the room as she was placing the expensive stationery back in its envelope and trying hard not to give in to the knot of anger and pain in her throat.
It shouldn’t matter, she told herself. She and her parents had never been close. Having them attend would only have made her uncomfortable, as well as everyone else, and would have broadcast that she was one of the Millers. It was just as well they’d declined. Uncertain didn’t need the disruption of a U.S. Senator showing up.
Though she had her back to him, Jed must have seen something in her posture or the clumsiness of her movements that prompted concern.
“What’s the matter?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “Oh, nothing. Mother wrote. She and Father won’t be able to make it. They send their good wishes.”
“May I see it?” He indicated the letter, but made no move to pick it up.
Gwyn knew if she said no he’d drop the matter. That, at least, was some consolation. In spite of the intimacy of their relationship, he respected her privacy. Whether he liked it or not, however, he was part of her family now, too. He might as well see firsthand the type of people he could one day have to deal with. Getting up from the small writing desk she’d appropriated by the window in the front parlor, she handed him the envelope and quietly left the room.
Jed watched her go through the doorway, head held high, then leaned against the table and opened the vellum letter. He scanned it once, then settled into the stiff Victorian chair and read it more closely. The senator and his wife, it turned out, had been invited that same weekend to Camp David, the presidential retreat in Maryland, and simply couldn’t get away. Gwyn’s father was apparently being considered for a cabinet post in the new administration, so declining such a prestigious invitation was out of the question. Nevertheless, Claudia Miller wrote, she hoped Gwyn’s nuptials would be a happy occasion and the newlyweds would be able to find an opportunity in the not-too-distant future to visit Washington.
Jed slouched against the back of the upholstered chair. For so many years he’d felt rejected—which he had been by his indifferent father and high-handed uncle—but he’d also been blessed with his mother’s and Frannie’s unconditional love, by the family that included Emmy Monday and Will McClain. Frannie was dead and his foster siblings were not to be found, but his memory of them was positive and rich. Holding the offensive letter in his hand, he realized that he, the illegitimate son of a naive young woman and an irresponsible gambler, had been more blessed than had the heir of a powerful dynasty.
Heavy-hearted, he found his fiancée in the library, making out yet another list, or going through an old one, he wasn’t sure which. He walked up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tense muscles he could feel cabled there. “I’m sorry.”
She tilted her head to brush her cheek against his fingers. “I guess I am, too,” she murmured. “They’re never going to know the joy of being grandparents, Jed. They’ll probably live to ripe old ages and die very, very rich. Their names will appear on many buildings and monuments, but they won’t be in anybody’s hearts.”
It was a sad epitaph, he thought, and one that was no doubt true.
CLARICE QUINCY arrived two days before the wedding. The flamboyant redhead had put on a few pounds over the years, but it was an improvement over the skinny kid she’d been when she and Gwyn were in college together. The pert, slightly irreverent candor hadn’t changed, though. Which may have had something to do with her having had three husbands and being on the prowl for a fourth. Gwyn often thought the first marriage might have succeeded if her friend had been able to have children, but she hadn’t, and the man she’d fallen in love with—and possibly still loved—insisted he needed a blood heir. Blood was thicker than love in his hierarchy of values.
It took about fifteen seconds for Gwyn to find out how Clarice and Jed would get along. They hit it off like long-lost pals. By the second sip of her usual dry martini, Clarice was making playfully snide comments about big men in small towns. He swallowed beer and returned a quip about society dames slumming it in the sticks.
THE CEREMONY was set for Saturday afternoon. To Gwyn’s and June’s immense relief, the weather turned out to be not only clear but still and cool. The Reverend Briggs, who’d been a good friend of Frannie’s and had known Jed all his life, officiated. Gwyn had met him the day before when he’d visited to go over the ceremony and rehearse the participants. Remembering her earlier suggestion that he might have misappropriated church funds now made her laugh. The diminutive clergyman with his rosy cheeks and liver-spotted hands was so sincere and kind that he couldn’t possibly have done that, much less killed anyone and buried the victim in an unmarked grave.
At the rehearsal the previous evening, Alanna had been giddy and hyper. Today she was quiet and shy, taking her role as flower girl very seriously.
Her father looked devilishly handsome in his tuxedo. He’d been offered the opportunity to bring a date but had chosen to come alone. Clarice was also unescorted, so the numbers worked out fine. For a very fleeting moment, Gwyn wondered if the divorcée and the widower might hit it off, but it didn’t take even that long for her to realize they had absolutely nothing in common. Riley was a laid-back small-town lawyer whose greatest ambition centered on his daughter’s welfare and happiness. Clarice was a born-and-bred big-city girl whose idea of living in the country was spending more than three days at a posh ski resort.
Ray Jennings and his wife, Catherine, were among the last to arrive. Their daughter, Amanda, had sent a present but regrets, claiming a previous engagement out of town. Neither Jed nor Gwyn was convinced it was true, but they didn’t care. If anything, they were relieved that she wouldn’t be attending.
Joleen, as Jed predicted, had likewise declined. Gwyn had visited the reclusive old woman to extend the invitation but, sensing the former nurse’s discomfort, hadn’t pressed. Joleen had sent a card and a modest but thoughtful present.
Because Gwyn’s parents had chosen not to come to Texas for their daughter’s wedding, she and Jed had asked Dexter Thorndyke if he would give away the bride. The renowned attorney showed rare humility in accepting the role and kissed Gwyn more fondly on her cheek than her father ever had.
June, eternally cool and calm, was uncharacteristically jumpy as she directed the small staff she’d assembled to deal with the final preparations. Her husband, Josiah, had festooned the veranda with ribbons and flowers that added still more to the vibrant colors of spring. Azaleas, camellias and roses contributed their tints and scents to the soft air.
Jed’s friends buzzed with snickering amusement as he circulated among them. No one had ever seen him nervous before, at least not this rattled. If it wasn’t for the smile he didn’t seem to be able to wipe off his face, people might have thought he dreaded the ceremony ahead.
At last the moment came. The chamber quartet they’d hired sounded the traditional chords of Mendelssohn’s “Here Comes the Bride,” and the assembled rose from their folding chairs. In a crinolined pink dress, Alanna walked an imaginary tightrope from the library, first too fast, then too slowly, strewing white rose petals in tiny clumps.
Clarice followed in a lavender above-the-knee dress, her radiant hair fanned out in a copper halo.
Finally, Gwyn appeared on Dexter Thorndyke’s arm. She wore an elegantly simple ankle-length gown of cream satin and seed pearls, without a veil or train. Her luxuriantly thick auburn hair was piled high a
nd dotted with larger pearls.
Jed looked about ready to pop his buttons as he took her hand and stood before the preacher.
The traditional questions were asked; the traditional responses were given. Yes, they took each other as lawfully wedded spouses to love and cherish till death do them part.
The dinner that followed was a combination of formal and country fare. Crayfish étouffé and prime rib of beef. French champagne and Texas wine. German cheesecake and mulberry compote. Jed and Gwyn smiled and clutched hands under the table when the chamber ensemble played an adaptation of Brahms’s “Double Concerto for Violin and Cello” during the leisurely meal.
Later, everyone retired to the high-ceilinged living room, which hadn’t been used in years. Most of the furniture had been removed to the garage and the Aubusson carpet taken up. Within a circle of smiling faces, Jed and Gwyn glided to the “Anniversary Waltz” over the glowingly polished hard cypress floor. Later when everyone was dancing to CDs of big band tunes and more contemporary arrangements, he led her out onto the veranda. In the distance, the moon sparkled silver on the placid lake.
“Like the beginning of time,” Gwyn murmured, remembering Jed’s description of it when she’d first glimpsed it from his morning-room window.
He raised his hand and caressed the back of her neck. “The beginning of our time,” he murmured in her ear.
She let him continue his expert massage for several minutes, luxuriating in the feel of his skillful, probing fingers. Finally, she crossed an arm over her breasts, placed a hand on his and turned to look up at him.
“I want to have children, Jed. Lots of them.”
Joy radiated on his face and brought a playful smile. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Exactly how many is lots?”
She draped her arms on his shoulders. “I want us to have a couple of our own, of course,” she said with a lightness that matched his, but then she grew serious. “But I want us to take in more. There are children who don’t have parents, Jed, or whose parents don’t want them, don’t love them. I know we can’t save them all, but I want to help those we can. Your foster mom devoted her life to kids that other people didn’t want. In her memory, Jed, can’t we do the same?”
He smiled broadly, clearly pleased with her dream. But she detected a lingering sadness in his clear blue eyes, and for a moment, he seemed to close up, retreat from her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said softly. “Frannie’s murder still hasn’t been solved.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to you or any children we might have if I’m convicted of killing her.”
“You didn’t kill her,” Gwyn declared quietly but with absolute conviction. “And we’re not going to let other people dictate who we are or what we do.” She raised her hand and stroked his cheek. “Remember? We’re going to get on with our lives.”
He curled his hands along both sides of her neck and peered into her eyes.
“I love you, Gwyn,” he whispered. “I love you more and more each day. I know Frannie would have loved you, too. She’d be very pleased and proud of what you want to do.”
He kissed her sweetly and held her in his arms. Their hearts beat softly against each other. Then he murmured seductively in her ear, “So you want to make babies, huh?”
(Continue reading for more information and an excerpt of Uncertain Past.)
Acknowledgements
Our special thanks to Jim McMillen and Lexie Palmore, riverboat pilots, who gave us a tour of Caddo Lake on the Graceful Ghost, an authentic wood-burning, steampowered paddle wheeler, and who generously filled us in on so much of the fascinating lore and legend of Uncertain, Texas.
Coming November 2012
Uncertain Past
Book Two: Return to Caddo Lake
Chapter One
EMMY MONDAY leafed through a three-week-old Shreveport newspaper in search of the classified ad section. Steam curled from her coffee mug, dampening the lower edges of the paper as she considered whether to stay in Louisiana or not. Fortunately, she was resilient. When it came to school, jobs, men, you name it—she had long ago developed the ability to shrug off disappointment and move on. And May, according to her horoscope, was a season of renewal.
Where were those ads? Depending on what jobs were available, she’d have to revise a résumé that was already eclectic by most employment standards. During her thirty-two years, she’d dabbled at a variety of jobs. She’d waited tables, cleaned houses, traveled with a circus, worked as a gardener, a camp counselor and most recently, dealt blackjack, a job she had a knack for and enjoyed while it lasted.
Letting the paper slip, Emmy scooped four heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her thick black coffee. As she stirred, she mulled over the past day’s events. Richard Parrish had knocked on her door at 2:00 a.m. Not late for him. He owned the casino where she worked, and for three years they’d dated at odd hours. The loose arrangement suited them both, she’d thought, even if Richard had broached the subject of marriage now and again. Emmy had never taken his proposals seriously.
Her mistake, he’d said. A point he made just before he announced his intention of marrying Melanie Fletcher, Emmy’s co-worker. A croupier. A woman Emmy had considered her friend.
Right!
Emmy could have—would have—accepted the marriage. She didn’t love Richard. In fact, she tended to scoff at love and happily-ever-after, which had been another of Richard’s observations. Last night he’d felt compelled to list what he deemed her shortcomings. She didn’t let anyone get close. She’d fenced off sections of her heart. She was afraid of commitment.
Finally, he said none too gently, “Emmy, you’ve gotta find out who the hell you are and exorcize all that nonsense about how there might be evil lurking in your genes. Because,” he’d added, “If you don’t lay those ghosts to rest, you’ll never find happiness. And it’s not fair to any man who really falls for you.”
Then he’d fired her! Oh, he couched the dismissal in sympathetic terms by handing over a severance check that was unprecedented in the field. Or so he’d said. Emmy saw right through him—the weasel. What it boiled down to was that his soon-to-be-wife viewed Emmy as a threat. Melanie had delivered an ultimatum. “Get rid of Emmy.” Which Richard had done, just like that. Emmy snapped her fingers.
The sweet coffee helped cover the bad taste lingering in her mouth. But it did nothing to silence Richard’s accusations. They ran rampant through her head. Who is Emerald Monday? Who is she, really?
The cup wobbled, sloshing sugary brew all over the paper. As she leaped up and tore a paper towel off the dispenser to blot up the spill, headlines on a wet article jumped out at her, putting a stranglehold on her heart.
Mystery Bones Discovered Near East Texas Lake
Below the headline a town was named. Uncertain, Texas. Emmy’s breath came out in short gasps. Her heart hammered erratically. Were her eyes playing tricks because Richard had probed deep into old wounds?
She dropped the soggy paper towel, grabbed the newspaper and quickly read the entire article. “Uncertain, Texas. The mystery of Frannie Granger’s disappearance may finally be solved. The forty-seven-year-old Harrison County woman vanished nineteen years ago this spring. Her remains were recently found close to an Indian burial ground near Caddo Lake. She is believed to have been murdered.”
A cry burst explosively from Emmy’s tightly compressed lips. She forced herself to continue reading, even though her hands shook so hard she had to lay the paper flat on the table to steady the print.
On March 28th of this year, upon the discovery of human remains obviously not those of a Caddo Indian of the early nineteenth century, archaeologist Tessa Lang turned the skeleton over to the authorities for identification. This week, comparison with local dental records proved the bones to be those of Frannie Granger, a widow who was a housek
eeper for various local residents and who provided foster care for unadoptable children in her own home in Uncertain. Granger was well-liked in the community, and her sudden disappearance caused quite a stir. Sheriff Logan Fielder could not be reached for comment. The question remains, who murdered Frannie Granger, and why?
Emmy reread the coffee-marked column, stopping to haul in a deep sob at the part about Frannie taking in unadoptable children. Emerald Monday had been one of those children. The first of three. It’d been a while since she’d allowed intrusive thoughts of her foster siblings, Jed and Will. Or of Mom Fran, for that matter. Emmy had, in fact, worked hard to wall off that portion of her life. Because recalling how it had once been—well, it was just too painful.
Until this moment, she’d never known for sure why Social Services had abruptly jerked her out of the only home she’d ever known to dump her with strangers in Houston. A family whose two natural daughters hated having a new kid in their lives even more than Emmy hated being there.
Mom Fran had left for work one day and didn’t come home. By noon the following day, a woman from the agency had collected Emmy from school. They hadn’t let her say goodbye to Jed Louis or Will McClain, her foster brothers. Until now, Emmy hadn’t known that Mom Fran had never returned home. After her bitter experience with the system, Emmy had judged Fran Granger just another copout. Now she felt guilty for those thoughts.
But good grief! She’d tried hard to learn the truth. Twice she’d run away and been caught hitchhiking back to Uncertain. Three times the state had shifted her into new homes, each a bigger disaster than the previous one. Finally they’d parked her in a group facility in Corpus Christi, and that was the last straw. The fight had gone out of her, leaving only underlying anger. She’d given up on Jed or Will or Frannie ever finding her. Assuming anyone had looked. That, she saw, was at the core of her restlessness.