The Widows of Wichita County

by Jodi Thomas

  She was living her dream. The big city. The big time.d. Tomorrow she would be one day closer to being discovered.

  Settlers watched from a dugout as the oil teams moved in. One young daughter stared in wonder at the endless line of supply trucks and wagons rolling by.

  "Who are they, Mother?" she asked.

  "Not anyone you'd want to know," the mother answered. "They're just oilmen."

  November 3

  County Memorial Hospital

  Crystal Howard stood beside her husband's bed and watched the line of suits file into the hospital room. The first man in line was in his late twenties and carried a colorful plant in full bloom. But the others looked as if they were coming to a funeral.

  The nurse took the plant from him before he could step past her. "No live plants allowed," she said simply.

  The young man smiled. "I'll bring dead ones next time."

  She didn't acknowledge the joke, but Crystal had to glance at Shelby to keep from laughing.

  Her husband looked more like a mummy in an old movie than Shelby Howard. Parts of his skin were beginning to heal in patches, parts were covered in thick cream. Though his head was bandaged, the swelling had gone down, leaving only blisters and charred deposits where his hairline had once been. He'd mumbled few words since the accident, but she could feel his pain when she touched his hand.

  Trent Howard was the last to step through the door, and he closed it behind him. He was convinced Shelby had suffered brain damage from breathing in too much smoke, and today would mark the showdown at the OK Corral as far as he was concerned.

  Crystal had tried to tell Trent that morphine made Shelby's mind fuzzy. Trent paid her no mind. She guessed Shelby's only son saw her as filler packed around the üi portant people in life. She was no more valued than th:ü curly foam that fills a packing box. People like her: the waitresses, clerks, construction workers, doorman and hundreds others were no more important to him than a machine.

  The men crowding into Shelby's room might wear business clothes instead of western gear, but Crystal knew they would be shooting from the hip today. All the power Shelby had, so carefully guarded was about to shift from father to son, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  She smoothed the linen of her dress that almost passed as a businesslike suit, knowing she couldn't protect Shelby or herself from what was happening. How could she even talk to this group? She'd dropped out in the tenth grade and gone to work when her stepdad kicked her out of the house. Half the time she didn't know what Trent was talking about and, today, he'd brought his lawyers. She was so unimportant, Trent didn't even bother to introduce her to the group.

  Crystal slipped her fingers onto Shelby's, wishing she could reassure him. Since the accident she sensed fear, as well as anger in his slight grip. She felt both now.

  "Gentlemen, thank you for coming so late in the day. I felt we could delay no longer on what must be done. I'd like you to say hello to my father." Trent made a grand sweep of his hand as if he were a barker showing off the newest freak in the circus. "His condition and the hospital reports will confirm the urgency in taking action today to transfer the reins of Howard Drilling to me."

  One man opened his briefcase over the tray-table and asked, "Does your father concur?"

  "My father hasn't said a word in almost a month. He's awake, but he can't communicate. One ear was burned completely off, the other damaged. The nurses tell me he can see light and dark, but we're not sure how much else. The damage from the fire and the tubes thrust down his throat would make it hard, if not impossible, for him to speak."

  Trent moved impatiently. "We can't wait any longer. I'm sure he would want me to take charge. After all, I'm only following the orders laid out in his will, nothing more."

  A gray-haired man migrated closer to the bed. "But as long as he's alive, the will doesn't take effect."

  Frustrated, Trent added, "I understand. But the company can't run itself. There have been questions about the cause of the fire on the Montano Rig. Someone needs to be there to answer them before investors on other rigs get nervous. As his only son, I have to take the reins. At least until he recovers."

  Three of the men appeared uncomfortable. The oldest advanced another step. He glanced at Crystal, nodding a silent greeting, then looked at the bed where she held Shelby's hand.

  "May I touch his hand?" he asked politely. "I promise not to shake it too hard."

  "The doctor said that his left hand wasn't burned so badly." Crystal tried to press against the wall as he moved beside the bed. She couldn't remember ever seeing the man, so he wasn't one of Shelby's drinking friends. He had kind eyes and a soberness about him that made her think most folks probably trusted him more than the other suits.

  "Shelby?" The man touched the lightly bandaged hand, sliding his fingers into a handshake. "It's Elliot Morris. I don't know how much you can hear or understand, but I'd like you to know how sorry I am about all the suffering that has found you."

  "He won't respond," Trent snapped. "I've tried to talk to him every day since the accident. Nothing. My father may be little more than a vegetable, gentlemen. I am forced to take charge to see that his company stays intact."

  "Shelby? It's Elliot. Can you hear me?" The old man wasn't listening to the younger Howard. "I've been doing legal work for you for thirty years. I'm dreading like hell to draw up the papers your son wants."

  Crystal swore she saw a tiny tear fight its way down thc old man's face.

  "Shelby?" he whispered. "Shelby, is the wildcatter who walked into my office all those years ago beneath those bandages and burns?"

  Crystal stared as the old friends touched. Slowly, Shelby's fingers closed around Elliot's hand.

  No one in the room breathed.

  Elliot straightened. "Shelby, can you hear me?"

  The bandaged hand closed slightly again.

  "Can you understand?"

  Shelby's head rose an inch and nodded once.

  Crystal broke into tears. She didn't care that makeup streamed down her face and paddled onto her good clothes_ She hadn't been imagining that Shelby was somewhere be neath all the pain. Sometimes, late at night, she thought maybe she was just wanting him to know she was there, to need her when he really was too close to death to care. But now she knew. Everyone knew.

  Elliot chuckled. "Well, wildcatter, you sure had everyone worried. Appears it takes more than a little explosion to slow down Shelby Howard."

  Everyone except Trent laughed as Elliot continued. "Since I'm here, do you want to turn over the power of attorney to your fine son? That way, you can recover without worrying about the company."

  Crystal read the lie in the honest man's face as easily as she used to spot an undercover cop at the bars.

  When Shelby shook his head slightly, she saw Elliot's grin. The old man tested Shelby, and her husband just proved his sanity.

  "This is insane." Trent finally recovered enough to attack. "He can't run a business from this bed. I'll bring lawyers from Dallas if I have to. The man is too far gone to do anything. In a few weeks, he'll be looking at months of surgeries. For his sake, I have to take charge." He moved to the end of the bed, a gambler covering his bet. "I'm doing this for your sake, Dad. When you do get better, I'll step down from the helm."

  It was obvious that no one in the room believed him.

  "I'm sure the company ran just fine when Shelby took a few days off." Elliot's voice was calm, almost as if he were going over facts to himself. "I remember he and Crystal went to Vegas for a month last year. The payroll still got made. The bills got paid."

  "That's because of my cousin, Jimmy Howard. Some say Jimmy knew more about Howard Drilling than my father did. He ran it most of the time even when Dad was in town," Trent offered. "He's the only one who could write checks on the business account besides Dad. He was killed in the accident."

  "Can't you sign?" Elliot looked directly at the son.

  "No. Dad never got around to aut
horizing anything but an annual salary for me. I'm rarely at the office. I have a great many other responsibilities."

  Elliot's forehead worried into a hundred tiny lines. "Someone must be able to sign on the account. It doesn't make sense that a man would have so many holdings and not trust more than one person."

  Crystal didn't miss the slight emphasis on trust.

  "I can sign checks," she whispered.

  "We're not talking about the household account," Trent grumbled.

  His reaction came fast, like an invisible slap. She braced herself, expecting to hear him tell her to keep her mouth shut.

  Elliot ignored Trent. "Is that true…Mrs. Howard? You can sign checks on Howard Drilling?"

  She smiled at the way he called her Mrs. Howard. No one ever called her that, though everyone in town knew she was rightfully married to Shelby. Mrs. Howard was Shelby's first wife, the mother of his children. She was just Crystal, the tramp he'd married one weekend in Dallas.

  "After we got married, Shelby would always bring his work home. To finish his work faster he had me write the checks out." She saw no need to tell them that Shelby's eyes were weakening, and he'd been too vain to wear glasses. "He said he'd learned a long time ago never to let a bookkeeper sign checks. `A man handles his own money,' he'd say, then he'd tell me what to write and I would."

  Elliot nodded toward one of the younger men. The silent soldier pulled out a cellular phone and stepped to the door.

  "Dad never mentioned such a practice to me." Trent glanced at her as if she were bothering them by talking. "You would've cleaned out the liquid assets and been long gone if you could sign on the corporate accounts."

  Crystal shook her head. "I didn't need any money. He gave me plenty for spending. All I ever wanted was to have a home with Shelby. I don't care about the business or how much he's got."

  Trent huffed in disbelief. Silence grew in the room like bindweed.

  The young man stepped back inside. A nurse's warning about using cell phones drifted through the open doorway, but the man answered directly to Elliot. "It appears, Mr. Morris, there are two names on the signature card for Howard Drilling other than Shelby Howard. James Howard and Crystal Howard. The bookkeeper told me most of the business checks that come through each month were signed by one Crystal Howard."

  Trent paled.

  "Well." Elliot grinned. "It seems we have no problem after all. While your husband is recovering, you'll be able to keep the cash flowing."

  He looked directly at Trent. "I assume you'll be taking over the running of the company while your father's ill."

  "I guess I'll have to."

  "Good." Elliot motioned for the others to leave. "I'd like to offer my assistance, Mrs. Howard. I'll be happy to look over the accounts each month, answer any questions you have about expenses." He handed her his card. "Call me any time."

  "Thank you, but I don't know if I can-"

  "Of course you can. Howard Drilling has a bookkeeper and a few secretaries that I'm sure will be made available to you." No uncertainty echoed in Elliot's voice. "Shelby really needs your help now. I know you won't let him down."

  Crystal wiped mascara from her cheek. "I'll do my best."

  Trent left after Elliot Morris without saying a word. Crystal lowered her face to Shelby's hand. "I'll try real hard, Shelby. I'll do the very best I can. I won't let you down. Mr. Morris will look over everything I do, just to make sure. He can explain things to me, and as you get better, I'll be able to talk with you."

  Nurse Landry came in to close the curtains and tell Crystal she could use the whirlpool tub at the end of the hall if she wanted. Visiting hours were over. Since that day Helena had first visited the hospital, a folding bed with clean sheets had been delivered every night at nine for Crystal.

  During her bath, Crystal thought about how she was a real wife now, not just some bracelet on a rich man's arm. She'd be helping, working with Shelby, not just signing checks. She could feel a good wind blowing in her direction. A wind that would give her a chance to prove she could be somebody important. Somebody worth loving.

  By the time she dressed for bed, she decided she would call Anna and Helena. Maybe one of them could go shopping with her for proper clothes. She'd have to go to the bank now, and Mr. Morris's office. She had responsibilities.

  Sitting gingerly on the side of Shelby's bed, she whispered, "I'll do the right thing, darling. You can count on me."

  Shelby's bandaged arms had been taken from the splints. He lifted his hand to her face.

  "I'll go to your office and find out all I need to do. I can type. I took a semester before I dropped out. Maybe I could get someone to teach me how to use your computer to check on stocks, like you always do."

  Bandaged fingers lowered to the V of her nightgown.

  "Oh, no." She giggled and gently pushed him away, still lost in her thoughts of becoming a businesswoman. "I could find a book at the library on the stock market so I could talk to you about it, too. You always said it was the biggest poker game around, but I never understood what you meant."

  He reached again, hooking the material with curled fingers.

  "Shelby?" Crystal tried to pull his hand away. "I don't want to do that. Not here. Not now."

  He tugged again.

  "But Shelby, I want to think about all I got to do. Surely you don't want me to-"

  "Yes!"

  His voice was so low and hoarse she didn't recognize it. Any joy over his first word vanished as she realized what he wanted.

  Slowly, Crystal unbuttoned her gown and bared her breasts. Big, beautiful, perfectly formed breasts he'd bought for her the second month they'd been married.

  Tears floated in her eyes, but she knew he wouldn't notice. She'd played this game for years. When he was drunk, he'd say, "I got my own peep show." He wanted her to sit still as he touched her. Since the day she came back from Dallas and the surgery, he'd bragged about her breasts to any man who would listen. Demanding his feel of them even before the bruises healed.

  As he brushed a bandaged hand over her bare flesh, she remembered how one night he got drunk and bet a feel of her breasts in a poker game. He'd lost, and she'd had to unbutton her blouse and kneel down beside the winner's chair while the stranger fondled her.

  Shelby touched her nipple. A tear bubbled over and rolled down Crystal's face, but she didn't move. She knew he saw, not only her breasts, but her whole body as his. He had since the night he'd taken her from the bar to his hotel room and left five hundred-dollar bills on the nightstand. She'd never gone back to work. From the morning she'd picked up the money, she'd been Shelby's. When he married her, she'd thought things would change between them, but it hadn't.

  He lowered his hand. When she moved to close her robe, he stopped her with a wave. Crystal straightened, knowing she'd have to wait untill he had his fill of viewing.

  It didn't matter that she could sign checks or that Mr. Morris had called her Mrs. Howard. Crystal knew who and what she was. Shelby had just reminded her.

  She closed her eyes and waited. She had learned there was no use trying to make him hurry. Once he'd told Jimmy over breakfast that he was tired because he'd had her strip and stand in front of him until after midnight. Claiming he never got tired of staring at perfection, he continued with the details. Jimmy had looked uncomfortable and she'd been too embarrassed to say a word.

  A moment later, the feel of his bandaged fingers brushing her tears away startled her. She leaned away and buttoned her top, watching him carefully. He'd never noticed her crying before. He'd never cared.

  The legend goes that God ran out of plans for landscaping when he got to Texas, so he thought it easier to just make a people who liked the barrenness.

  November 4

  Pigeon Run

  Helena Whitworth lived in a big, rambling two-story house in what everyone referred to as "the historical district," though no one quite knew why. As a joke, the first day he saw the place, J.D. called her home "Pi
geon Run." The name stuck, at least in hers and J.D.'s minds. No one else dared to call the Whitworth House, bought and paid for by Helena herself, anything so crazy.

  Her favorite room was the master's quarters she'd had enlarged after she married J.D. She had taken in the bedrooms on either side and made small studies for each of them. Between the studies was an open area with floor-toceiling glass where they spent endless hours reading and watching the birds in the backyard.

  Every morning, Helena started her day with coffee at her desk. Today was no exception.

  "Well, I'll be," she whispered as she replaced the receiver. "You'll never guess who that was."

  "Who?" J.D. sat in his favorite chair by the windows. She could only see his profile in shadows, but she knew he was there. She might have attended his funeral, but he was still very much alive to her.

  "Crystal Howard." Helena stood and poured herself another cup from the coffeemaker behind her desk. "She wants my advice."

  "She needs it," J.D. answered. "I always felt sorry for her. Shelby treated her like a hunting dog, paying all kinds of attention when he needed her and ignoring her when he didn't. She must be lost now, poor thing."

  "But she stays with him. No matter what Shelby does, or how bad off he is, she stays. There's glue in that girl's blood."

  "My guess is she doesn't have anywhere else to go." J.D. shrugged. "Plus, I think she really loves the bastard. Hell, we all do. There's something about Shelby."

  "Plain ornery," Helena decided. "Pure and simple. From his school days, Shelby was the most ornery person I ever met. That kind of trait endears him to men, but drives women crazy."

  J.D. laughed, and Helena thought of how dearly she loved the sound. He had a contagious laugh, always luring others to join him. When he had been in the service he barely let himself smile, but once he retired and married her, she watched him learn to laugh all over again. The boy she had played with and the gray-haired man were the same to her. The changes in their bodies were like changes of clothes. Inside, loving was the only thing that altered through the years. And it grew and grew.