by Pamela Morsi
Her exuberance was not shared by the other members of the wedding party. Muna stood beside her, still and vaguely disapproving. Maloof, at Gerald's right, seemed to be as puzzled with her mood as he was curious about the occasion. Reverend McAfee was positively morose, she thought. His words about the responsibilities of wedlock and the sanctity of marriage were stern enough to sound almost angry and threatening.
And Gerald, her beloved Gerald, looked so pale and shaken, it seemed questionable whether he would make it through the vows without fainting.
Perhaps she should not have pushed to have the wedding today. Could she not, even on her wedding day, stop trying to manage everything? Clearly, despite what he'd said, Gerald had second thoughts about his offer. Of course he was afraid. What man would not be? Giving up his freedom to take on the responsibility of a wife and, hopefully soon, a family.
And Princess was quite sure that she was not at all what his family would have expected for him. Undoubtedly they had in mind an attractive and fashionable young woman from a family they knew well and approved of. They would find the plain, brusque, and domineering daughter of a brash oil baron quite a dismay. But she was not going to worry about that. Gerald was hers. And clearly Gerald was never the type of man to be happy in the very closed, rigid life of the five hundred. It was almost as if he were as much a part of the world of the west as she was herself.
Gerald turned to face her. He was making his vows to her. Promising to love and cherish her, to guard and keep her, to give himself only to her for the rest of his life.
"I do," he said.
Her heart fluttered inside like a bird taking flight.
Reverend McAfee addressed her next.
"Do you, Princess Calhoun, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband? To honor and obey him. To keep yourself unto him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, 'til death do you part?"
"I do," she answered, a bit too loudly, and then blushed at her unseemly enthusiasm.
Brides were supposed to be shy and scared. Princess felt only elated and eager.
Gerald was holding her hand now and placing a wide gold band upon it. She was momentarily surprised at the ring. It was fashionable enough and very traditional, but it was a strange color gold. Perhaps it was mixed with some worthy alloy, something very modern and up-to-the-minute. It was not at all what she would have picked out herself. But Gerald apparently liked it. If it made him happy, then just having it made her happy.
He was speaking to her again now, but gazing up into his dark, handsome eyes had turned her momentarily deaf to his voice. She caught only the last words of his utterance.
"... and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."
Reverend McAfee pronounced them man and wife. Princess raised her chin, eager for the kiss of the man that she loved.
Gerald appeared momentarily embarrassed and only pressed his lips against hers for the slightest moment.
Princess was puzzled at his strange behavior and looked at him curiously. He leaned close as if to whisper another vow for her ears alone.
"I will do everything in my power to see that you are never sorry about this day," he said.
She almost laughed aloud as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Nothing, nothing in the world, could ever make me sorry about becoming your wife."
Then she kissed him. Not the prim little peck that he'd offered, but a kiss of real passion and ardor. She kissed him until the sounds of snickering by youngsters in the pews penetrated her thoughts and caused her to pull away from the embrace with embarrassment.
There was enthusiastic applause from the boys. The congratulations of Muna and Maloof were more subdued. And Reverend McAfee quietly encouraged her to come to him with any troubles or difficulties that she might have to face.
Determinedly, Princess refused to allow the long faces to cast a shadow of gloom upon her wedding day. She laughed and hugged her friends and gently tossed her bouquet for Muna to catch.
Maloof brewed his Turkish coffee and they served it, along with Mrs. Nafee's pastries and Mrs. Marin's pies for the wedding party. There was much laughter and well wishes from the boys. The youngsters, as always, were well-scrubbed, genuine, and unfailingly polite.
It was only a short time later when, seated upon the front seat of the awning-striped surrey, she wrapped her arm around her husband's and leaned her head upon his shoulder.
"Mrs. Gerald Tarkington Crane," she said, trying it out. "What do you think?"
Gerald smiled wanly.
"What do you think, Muna?" she asked.
"It ... it sounds fine, Prin," Muna answered.
"Princess Crane?" the new bride suggested and then wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like too much, don't you think? I'll just be Cessy Crane, just plain Cessy Crane. That will be positively perfect for me."
"You don't want to be a princess anymore?" Gerald asked.
She shook her head. "When I was the daughter of the king, I didn't mind it. But now I am a simple wife, first and foremost."
It was true. It was really, finally true. She had found the man of her dreams and she had married him. It was wonderful, magical, even a little frightening.
She glanced over at the strong arm entwined in her own, the big, brown hands that held the reins with such certainty and control and the sturdy, muscular thigh that were part of the man that was now her husband, for better or worse, hers only forever.
In her mind she could taste once more his passionate kisses, feel the touch of his hands on her body, and tremble with the desire to join her flesh with his own.
Tonight. Tonight. Tonight all the mysteries of married life would be revealed. Tonight all the stoked fires of their formerly forbidden passions would be allowed to blaze at last. Tonight he'd see her with her hair down. He'd see her in her nightgown! Would he wear a plaid nightshirt like Papa's?
She snickered a little at the thought of Gerald dressed that way. When he glanced over at her questioningly, she laughed out loud.
"What is so funny to my new bride?" he asked her.
She shrugged, unwilling to answer.
"I'm just happy," she said. "I'm just very, very happy."
Gerald's answering tone was much more serious.
"I'm happy, too, Cessy," he said. "Happier than I'd ever imagined."
His words warmed her, thrilled her, charmed her. She was delighted with herself and all the world. It was perfect, all of it was just so perfect.
"I am positively giddy," she announced. "I swear if I could carry a tune in a bucket, I'd just start singing."
Gerald looked down at her warmly.
"I'm sure you sing beautifully," he told her.
Still giggling, she glanced back at Muna.
"Remember that song leader at the church in Jackson? We were standing right behind him when he said to the pastor, 'Miss Calhoun doesn't sing any sweeter than she talks.'"
Princess shook her head, laughing at the memory. "Daddy was so angry, I thought he was going to punch that fellow in the face right there on the church steps."
"Well, I should think so!" Gerald's jaw was set with such angry affront that Princess couldn't help but smile.
"What a lucky woman I am," she stated. "The men in my life stand ready to defend me at any moment from the absolute truth."
She grasped his hand, lacing her fingers through his own. "I am not and cannot be offended by the truth," she said.
Her words caused his brow to furrow once more. They had already reached the edge of town and it was all she could do not to hug him right in public.
"I never wanted too much for myself," she told him, quietly. "Only to be loved."
It was nearing sunset as they dropped Muna and Maloof at the Emporium. Princess exacted a promise from her friend not to tell Mr. and Mrs. Nafee until after her father had heard the news.
"Be happy for me, Muna," she whispered to her friend as she said goodbye.
"I am," Muna insisted. "I am, it's just...
oh, it's just something strange. I'm too suspicious, I suppose."
"There is nothing to be suspicious about," Princess assured her. "I love him, he loves me, we're married now and plan on living happily ever after."
"Of course you will," Muna said with almost too much conviction. "I ... I am very happy for you, Prin. Maybe I'm just jealous that you got to marry first."
They laughed together at that and then kissed each other on the cheek.
Gerald helped her back into the surrey and they headed for home.
"I don't want you to worry about meeting my father," she told him. "Believe me, his bark is much worse than his bite."
"Is he going to bark at me?" Gerald asked.
"Probably," she admitted. "He's probably going to bark at both of us. But we're just not going to pay any attention."
"It's a good plan," he agreed.
To her disappointment, Princess realized as they pulled into the porte cochere, her father's Packard, and therefore her father, was not at home.
"Oh, dear," she complained. "I hadn't thought about that and I should have. He ... he stays out many nights, on business, of course."
"Of course."
Howard hurried out to take charge of the horses. Gerald leapt down from the seat and raised his arms to her. He didn't help her down in the genteel fashion of a courtier, but rather grabbed her waist like a loving husband and lifted her to the ground. She loved it and smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes.
"Well, perhaps it's better that Papa isn't here," she said. "I'm not sure what to do. Do you think that we should send for him? I'm not sure exactly where he goes. But somehow Howard always seems able to find him."
Gerald looked down in her eyes and smiled as he shook his head. "I think tomorrow will be soon enough for him to know."
"Do you think we can ... we can stay in the house together before we tell him?" she asked.
"We are man and wife," Gerald answered. "Didn't Reverend McAfee say that what God has joined together let not man put asunder."
Cessy nodded. "Then you think that it's all right," she said.
Gerald smiled, leaned closer, and whispered softly to her. "I think that we'll have this whole big house to ourselves this evening."
Cessy blushed, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.
"I'm sure Mrs. Marin has prepared a wonderful meal, and there is always more than enough for two. We—"
"We will certainly need to eat a hearty supper," he agreed, his voice sultry and teasing. "Something to keep up our strength."
Then he slipped his arm under her knees and lifted her up into her arms.
"Oh dear! You needn't carry me," she exclaimed. "I can walk."
He raised an eyebrow. "I will try to make that as easy to say tomorrow as tonight."
"What?"
"Never mind," he answered and carried her across the threshold of the porte cochere doorway.
Chapter Eleven
Queenie's Palace was quiet since Sundays were typically slow. There were a couple of games still running in the back room. A few patrons sat at the bar. The bartender had strict orders to cut them off at three drinks. Queenie didn't believe in appearing to have too a good time on the day the townspeople would find it most objectionable. In the legal vacuum between the dissolution of the territory and the brand new state, the laws regulating drink and vice had become murky and unenforceable. But community groups were already beginning to petition the legislature to come down hard on businesses like the Palace. The wild, free-for-all territory days were quickly becoming a thing of the past. The good people of the future Oklahoma now wanted churches and schools and the quiet pleasures of home.
Home. Queenie sat in the silence of the upstairs room that was her home, staring out the back window at the sunset just beyond the alley.
In the distance she saw a well-sprung buggy driving slowly through the streets of town on a late Sunday drive. What was that like, she wondered. What was it like to be a Sunday-drive kind of person? What was it like to be a decent person with an ordinary life? To be a wife, a mother, an accepted member of a community.
King always said that he didn't believe in regretting. She'd always agreed with him. Nothing could change the past. And given the same set of circumstances, Queenie believed that most folks, certainly she herself, would make exactly the same choices a second time.
No, she didn't believe in ruing the past. But she did believe in planning for the future.
Queenie laid a hand upon her stomach. She felt nothing there, no life, no mystery, no anticipation. There was a new beginning there, but all it brought to her life was an intermittent nausea.
She could never change the past. She could never again be a young girl, green and foolish, picking cotton and listening to a sweet-talking man's lies. She didn't even want to.
The road she'd traveled had taught her a lot. She wouldn't give up what she'd learned about life and about people. And she wouldn't have wanted to miss King. If she'd married some hardworking, respectable farmer, if she'd worked his land and raised his children, she would never have found King, the love of her life. That alone was worth all the dues that she'd paid.
She continued to silently watch the sunset from her window. It was amazing that as it got closer to the earth, closer to the end of the day, it seemed to grow larger and brighter as if daring the land to try to extinguish it. All day it had shone yellow against a pale-blue sky. But now, after all of that, it was vivid orange against an horizon of pink and magenta.
Was life like that? Could people live one way, easily recognizable and familiar, and then dramatically change to an entirely different life?
What had the young tool dresser said? It helps a bit if you can just throw away your old past and start out with a brand-new one, cut exactly to fit.
Queenie closed her eyes and a yearning welled up in her. A yearning so strong and sweet and powerful it choked her throat and became an ache in her breast.
Unexpectedly the door burst open and King Calhoun entered the room.
"What you doing sitting here in the dark, darlin'?"
"Don't you ever knock?" Queenie snapped, hurriedly drying the dampness at the corners of her eyes.
King gave her a long look. "Didn't know I needed to," he replied. "You want me to light the lamp?"
"I'm watching the sunset," she told him, still waspish in her tone. "I don't need a lamp for that."
"No, I suspect not," King agreed.
He came up to stand behind her, following her gaze through the back-alley window. He lay his hands on her tired shoulders and began to gently knead the tightness in her neck and rub out all the pain and cares of her day.
"It is kinda pretty, ain't it?" he said finally. "That sunset, I mean. A fellow like me don't get too many chances to just sit and watch the world turn around. Seems like I'm always busy trying to get it to spin in my direction."
Queenie sighed under the machinations of his hands and regained her good humor.
"Is it spinning your way today?" she asked him.
"Nope," he said. "Not yet. I don't have so much as a trail to follow on a lending banker. We're hitting oil up there on the hill, any minute now, I can almost smell it. Without a pipeline or a refinery, we might as well let the buffalo grass soak it up and put a match to it."
"I'm sorry, King," she said. "The offer of a loan is still open."
"It wouldn't be enough, not even if I sold the house I gave Princess and stole the money I put for her in trust. It takes bank money to build a refinery. A man can't do it on his own fortune alone."
There was nothing more that Queenie could say.
"I just wish I'd made some provisions for you," King told her. "I'm real sorry about that, Queenie. I truly am."
"What do you mean provisions for me?"
"If the field goes belly-up there'll be nothing here but the stinking little Burford Corners that we started with," he said. "It'll be no place for a fine Palace like this."
"It's just a building
," Queenie said with a shrug. "It's the people that make a business, we can always do as well one place as another."
King shook his head. "Still, darlin', I regret getting you messed up in this."
"I thought you didn't believe in regrets, King," she pointed out.
The big man shrugged thoughtfully. "Maybe I've been wrong," he said.
He pulled up a chair and took her hand in his own. He chose his words carefully as if for once he was hesitant to speak his mind.
"Queenie, this is a real nice place you've got here," he said. "It's a clean and honest business. There ain't nothing here that a person would have to be ashamed of."
"Thank you," she answered.
"It ain't . . . well ... it ain't bad like ... I mean, Queenie, I've seen worse."
Queenie couldn't imagine what he was getting at and snorted, shaking her head.
"I imagine you have," she said. "There's worse up and down both sides of the street outside."
"Queenie, I mean I've seen a lot worse."
Beads of sweat popped out on King's forehead, yet the evening breeze through the back-alley window was cool. He looked over at her, his expression weary, worried, torn. He cleared his throat as if steeling his determination before he spoke.
"My mama was a whore, Queenie," he stated bluntly. "She was more than a whore. She was a gin-crawler with her hands out and her legs open."
"Oh, King," Queenie whispered.
"It's true, too true. This joint is a palace compared to the way we lived."
Queenie watched him, waiting.
"We never had no place," he continued. "From time to time she'd have a crib, but mostly we lived on the streets. She hardly knew and never cared. Why would she? She was never sober. Philadelphia looks mighty fine from the avenues, but it's an ugly view from the street."
"King, you don't have to—"
"Queenie, I want to tell you," he interrupted. "I've been keeping it inside me for a lifetime now, hiding it, running away from it. It's time I said it out loud and heard it myself."
The pain in his heart was reflected upon his face.
"I learned to steal and lie and cheat. I learned to do things for money that most men wouldn't have done to save their life."