Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers
Chapter 6 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter One
"You sure you want to do this without Bret here?" Bart had to ask; Pappy had been so adamant about only telling the tale once.
"I'm sure, son. Sit down. This is gonna take some time."
Pappy had two big, comfortable chairs in his room and Bart settled into one of them. He assumed this was going to be quite the tale, as Pappy was already wearing a hole in the floor.
It was the summer of 1829, and Beauregard Maverick was already forty-two years old. He'd been wandering Louisiana and the rest of the South for too many years to remember, plying his trade as a gambler and general rapscallion in whichever town he'd landed in. Baton Rouge was hot and sticky, a good place to be 'from' during the summer months, but some unknown force had kept him there far longer than even he could understand. One more week, he promised himself, and he would head for cooler confines. Maybe New Orleans, where at least the gulf breezes would cool a man down and allow him to sleep in comfort. Maybe even Natchez or Vicksburg, where the heat of the day gave way to more pleasant nights.
For some reason that he could later only attribute to the whim of the gods, he wandered into 'The Red Palace' and started playing poker against a man named Jeremiah Grayson, who proved to be a worthy opponent. So worthy that they continued the relationship past the poker table through three or four other bars and finally a dive café named 'The Dirty Lady.'
There they drank coffee and ate poorly cooked eggs, which would come back to haunt them. Grayson invited Maverick home with him, professing to have a spare room that Beau could 'sleep it off' in. When they arrived at the little house, it became evident that there was no spare room, only a bedroom that belonged to Grayson's two daughters, Isabelle and Grace. Isabelle was seventeen and Grace sixteen, and they were hustled out of their bedroom by their father before his gambling partner could change his mind and go elsewhere. Within several hours of arrival the bad eggs had come back to haunt both men, and the girls were pressed into reluctant service as nurses.
It was almost twenty-four hours before Beau could even open his eyes without getting nauseous. And the first thing he saw when he did open them was the most gorgeous creature God had ever seen fit to create. Isabelle was tall and dark, with smoldering brown eyes and almost black hair, and an absolutely perfect mouth. Beauregard was instantly smitten, and through the next few days as his health improved his heart crashed and burned, lost in those eyes and the perfect curvature of that mouth. Once or twice Grace came in to minister to him instead of Isabelle, and the older girls absence was like a knife to his heart. Beauregard Maverick, at the ripe old age of forty-two, was madly and passionately in love.
"Forty-two, huh, Pappy?" Bart questioned.
"Yes, Bartley, forty-two. I had a misspent youth, alright?"
He was in no hurry to feel better, as long as the bewitchingly beautiful Isabelle remained to take care of him. They talked about everything under the sun and quickly became friends, despite the age difference. From there it was only a short step to more than friends, and despite professing that she'd never kissed a boy before, Isabelle could drive him wild with just one taste of those perfect lips. Jeremiah was not thrilled with the idea of his beautiful daughter and the jaded gambler at first but accepted the fact that Isabelle was a full-grown woman and wanted what she wanted. Grace was enamored of the older man who was her father's friend, too, but he only had eyes for her sister.
Once his insides had healed from the Tango with the eggs, Beauregard moved back to his hotel room and courted Isabelle as hard as he could. Every spare minute that he wasn't playing poker was spent in her company, and even Jeremiah had to admit that the gentleman gambler was funny and smart and attentive. And lavish with gifts. When he was flush with poker winnings the presents were never-ending, when he was borderline broke he still found a way to bring her flowers and chocolates. There were fancy dinners and expensive restaurants and simple meals cooked at Jeremiah's house. Knowing that this couldn't go on much longer before he lost what little reason he had left, Beauregard finally asked her father for his just-turned eighteen-year-old daughter's hand in marriage.
This was not a state entered into lightly. Beau had long ago determined that marriage was not for him; he couldn't see the point in pledging to remain faithful to one woman for the rest of his life. His brother Bentley had married a sweet girl named Abigail and seemed quite content, but he wasn't Bentley. There were too many beautifully glorious women out there, blonde and brunette and redhead, short and tall and in-between, with all colored eyes and all-shaped mouths. And his intentions were to love as many of them as he possibly could.
Until he met Isabelle Grayson. Once he'd opened his eyes and her fiery orbs stared back at him, there was absolutely no hope and no further thought of any other woman in the world. He'd been struck by 'the thunderbolt' as the Italian immigrants tended to call it, and he had no need of ever looking further.
Jeremiah gave his blessing to the mismatched union of a southern lady and a gentleman gambler, and Beauregard picked the night that he would propose to the young beauty. Crawfish gumbo was her favorite dish, and Landy's served the best around. As usual, Beauregard picked Isabelle up in a buggy at seven in the evening and they were at Landy's in no time. This was a special night and Beau ordered champagne, the best he could buy, and toasted every part of Isabelle that he could see and some he could only imagine. They ate until they were about to burst and finished the meal with the perfect dessert, Creole pecan pie.
Beau took a detour on the way home, driving down a beautifully secluded lane that he knew well. Isabelle knew something special was happening but trusted Beau to get her home without being kidnaped. The buggy finally came to a stop under a cypress tree covered with Spanish moss, and Beauregard wrapped the reins around the dash rail.
He'd practiced for days, wanting to get the proposal exactly right, but when he turned to face Isabelle all the words exited his head post haste. "Isabelle, I think you know what you've come to mean to me over the last few weeks." He shook his head. "That's not right."
"Why isn't it right, Beauregard?" Isabelle asked innocently.
"That's not the way I meant to say it," Beau explained. "Oh, dang. Belle, you know I'm not some fancy gentleman. I'm a gambler, born and bred, and I'm always gonna be one. But I love you like nobody in your life is ever gonna love you, and I can't go on without making you mine permanently. Would you marry me, Belle Grayson, and spend the rest of your life trying to make something decent out of me?"
Belle gave a little laugh and looked at the man sitting nervously next to her in the buggy. He was too old for her; too jaded and used; too mercurial; too irresponsible; and she loved him with every fiber of her being. "What if I can't?"
"Can't what?" he asked, panic stricken that she meant she couldn't marry him.
"Can't make something decent out of you?"
"Could you spend forty or fifty years trying before you give up?"
"I don't believe it will take me that long," she finally told him.
"Does that mean yes?"
"Yes, Beauregard Maverick, I will marry you. Does my daddy know?"
"I asked him first," Beau told her.
"He said yes?"
"He did indeed."
She smiled for real, pleased that her father understood her heart. "When do you want to get married?"
"Is tomorrow too soon?"
That sent her into fits of laughter. "Tomorrow? Are you serious?"
"The day after?"
"Beauregard, if we're going to have a proper wedding I need some time to plan it."
"Will I still be alive by that time?" He was kidding with her, but he wanted this wedding sooner rather than needed her in his arms for more than five minutes at a time, and that wasn't going to happen until they were married.
"I need at least a week," came her reply.
He sighed. "I can wait a week."
"And I want it in church."
Another sigh. "Yes, ma'am. Promise me nothing will come crashing down on my head if I walk into a church?" He hadn't been in a church of any kind since he was ten years old. Not even for Bentley's wedding. He'd waited out front for that one to be over. Bentley was not happy.
"I'm not making any promises that I can't keep."
'Enough of the banter,' Beauregard thought. He put his hands on Belle's shoulders and kissed her, a long, slow, tender kiss, and pulled her close until he could whisper in her ear, "I love you, Belle Grayson. I will until the day I die."
Bart sat and listened to the emotion in his father's voice. One thing he had NEVER doubted, the love that Pappy had for his mother. Now that he was old enough to understand that emotion he realized how difficult these memories must be for Pappy. "Wanna take a break?" he offered, real concern in his voice.
