Deep in the Heart of Trouble (26 page)

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 turned 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?”

“Sure is,” he said, chuckling, then looked around. “Where’s your folks?”

“Ma’s over there selling husk rugs with them other women, and Pa’s whittling up stuff for the Men’s Bible Group. What’re you doing with that there bicycle?”

“Listening to its ring.” He tapped it again with his fingernail.

“Hear that? That flat sound means the tubing’s not seamless but has been made from a strip of steel rolled and brazed along the seam.”

The salesman sputtered.

Tony tipped his hat and guided Harley away. “You don’t want a wheel with brazed tubing.”

Brianna ran up with a saucer of ice cream piled on top of a waffle. “Howdy, Mr. Bryant.”

“It’s Mr. Morgan,” Harley corrected.

“Oh yeah. I keep forgettin’. ”

“Mr. Tony will be fine,” Tony said. “You all recovered from your snakebite?”

“Oh yes, sir. I got me some fang marks on my ankle, though.” She looked around, then leaned in close. “I charge the fellers at school a nickel to see ’em. I done saved up sixty-five cents already.”

Tony frowned. “I don’t know that you need to be showing off your ankles like that, Miss Brianna. That’s not exactly proper.”

“Shoot,” Harley said. “It ain’t like she’s wearin’ her hair up yet. Besides, she don’t let just anybody have a peek. I got to give ’em the nod first.”

Another youngster called out Harley’s name, and the two took off before Tony could think of a response. He recalled Brianna didn’t have a mother and made a note to himself to ask Essie to have a talk with her.

The League of American Wheelmen motioned Tony over to their booth and persuaded him to sign a petition demanding better roads, as well as laws protecting cyclists from teamsters and cab drivers who waged an unrelenting war against the machines.

Local citizens and merchants had set up tents to sell garden vegetables, fruits, breads and honey, floor rockers, agricultural implements, hops, boots, shoes, harnesses, and leather.

He was surprised to find Mrs. Zimpelman inside a booth filled with sterling vest chains, watch fobs, and buckles. He’d never met her husband and therefore didn’t realize she was married to the silversmith. Before he could offer a greeting, however, a customer approached asking to see her selection of cuff pins.