Chapter Twenty

“With that dark auburn hair, green is definitely your color, Renee. The gray silk was very attractive, but this is much better.” Madalena Beck nodded her approval.

Renee checked herself in the mirror of the nurses’ lounge. A shade of blue-green the color of butterfly wings, the wedding dress wrapped around and under her breasts, then belled out slightly to her knees. Lace dyed the exact color extended the length of the gown to mid-calf in a many-pointed hem. The sleeves were extended from her elbows to her wrists with the same lace. The fabric had some body, unlike the gray silk which clung to her belly. They’d found it on a mother-of-the-bride rack where styles for heftier women prevailed. She had no intention of standing in front of a strange justice of the peace looking pregnant. Ellensburg proved to be thin on Catholic priests, at least of that variety who would perform a rather irregular marriage without banns being read for a divorced woman who had married again without obtaining an annulment from the Church. They’d had to go with a civil ceremony performed by a justice of the peace only too happy to oblige the famous Clinton O. Beck.

Her hair hung straight and silky to her shoulders now, and her complexion did glow so much she had used little makeup—just a touch of smoky eye shadow with a hint of green, a bit of liner and mascara, and a lush, dark coral lipstick. She was as ready as she ever would be to marry Clinton O. Beck.

“And you, Norma Jean, should always wear blue with those gorgeous eyes of yours,” Lena Beck told the cowgirl more used to jeans than dresses.

Norma Jean Scruggs, so relaxed on a barrel horse or in bed with a man, squirmed in discomfort, and Renee laughed. “You do look wonderful. Thank you for being my bridesmaid.”

Norma Jean tugged at the skirt of a dress with a tighter fit and total lack of embellishments that suited her long, lean frame. “I’m kinda old to be anyone’s maid, but thanks for not makin’ me wear lace. Never been in a weddin’ before. Women don’t seem to like me as much as men do.”

“I know that feeling,” Renee assured her.

“I’d only do this for Clint because he’s the best.” Norma Jean squirmed again.

“He is, he definitely is. Are we ready, then?” Renee asked eager to go to Clint’s side.

“Oh my, no! We haven’t put on the finishing touches yet.” Lena Beck opened a long, flat box and unfolded what Renee mistook for a tablecloth. She shook out the swath of creamy lace and draped it over Renee’s hair. “The Hidalgo wedding veil worn by my grandmother, my mother, myself, and both my daughters. Here, let me pin it into place. We have hand-tied bouquets of yellow roses for both of you, and an extra yellow rose for your hair, Renee.”

The bride didn’t have the heart to tell her future mother-in-law that she would rather be bareheaded. “Funny, the Niles family has some history with yellow roses. My cousin’s wife would be so thrilled.”

“Yellow roses for Texas, of course,” Lena Beck amended. “I know they should be red. I think of you more as a wild, red rose like the ones in my courtyard, but we are too far away to use them. Gunter suggested the yellow roses and they do blend better with the dresses. And now for the jewelry. Clinton wanted you to have this set.”

She held out a box containing the Zuni parure. “Evidently, he has been carrying this around with his bullfighting gear since you left the hacienda. I hope it hasn’t been damaged. Snuffy had to go over to the arena to retrieve it along with Clint’s other belongings.”

“I can’t believe Clint bought it for me. I saw this set at a stop we made our first week together, and he refused to buy it no matter how much I pouted. The only piece missing is the ring.”

“Snuffy has the ring since he’s acting as best man today. Let’s get you decked out in this. Then, I’ll go tell the men we are ready.” Lena fastened the gorgeous silver and green stone sunburst around the bride’s neck. Renee snapped on the bracelet—even though the lace of her sleeve hid it—and placed the earrings in her lobes.

Lena gave her a big, encouraging smile and scurried off in her festive red suit, her jewelry a-clanking. Norma Jean followed doing a fake bridesmaid’s walk down the hall, twitching her tail at the interns and orderlies she passed. Renee took a moment by herself. With the addition of the Zuni jewelry and veil, she now resembled a hybrid Hispanic-Indian pregnant bride, not her best look of the three weddings, but each item was filled with meaning and goodwill. So what, no photographers lingered around.

Clint had been out of the ICU for only a day. Fortunately, the clerk who handled marriage licenses, a big rodeo fan, came personally to the hospital for the groom’s signature and expedited the paperwork after getting a signed glossy from the Bull Bomber himself and a great tale to tell around town. Being at the hospital every day, they’d had no trouble getting blood tests. All that Renee Niles Bouchard Hayes had to do was sail smoothly down the hospital corridor and claim her happy ending.

The lounge door creaked open. Gunter Beck, Clint’s father, entered. He wore an expensively tailored gray business suit with the signature Texas yellow rose in the lapel.

Taken up in Lena’s whirlwind of preparations, Renee had met him only briefly. He’d been busy elsewhere and apologized very little for that. She saw where Clint got his chiseled good looks, though Gunter’s eyes were a lighter, colder blue, his lips thinner, and his blond hair long ago faded to white. At seventy-five, the man’s erect posture had not given an inch to the passage of time.

“Did you come to walk me down the aisle?” Renee asked with a smile on her lips.

“No. We have a small matter to discuss before the nuptials take place, some papers to sign. Please sit down, read over these documents, and put your signature here, here, and here.” He drew large X’s with an expensive pen.

“A prenuptial agreement?” So, Clint’s notation about paperwork concerned more than getting a marriage license. She recognized the form well from her first two marriages, which she’d left with nothing except a few luxurious gifts. Why should now be any different? Why had she believed it would be?

“Of course. Clinton’s brain may be addled by years of playing with bulls, and once Lena gets a message from her saint, she cannot be stopped, but I must look out for my son and my family business. Having been married twice before to wealthy men, I am sure you are familiar with the procedure. The first set states you will have no claim to the assets of the Beck Corporation, family lands, antiques, or heritage items should you divorce my son. Considering the circumstances I have added two riders. Please read over them carefully.”

Renee flipped to the first rider and read aloud the key phrase buried in legalese. “In case of divorce, the undersigned will relinquish full custody of any children produced by the marriage to Clinton O. Beck, who shall determine the amount of contact, visitation, and shared vacation to which any offspring will be exposed.”

The second rider appeared to be more of a chart spelling out how much the undersigned would receive in alimony according to a sliding scale adjusted by the cause of the divorce and the years of marriage. The lowest amount, still a comfortable living for most people, mentioned divorce for adultery within two years. Desertion came second. Mutual consent topped the chart with the biggest bucks, but this was subdivided by the years of marriage completed. Renee dropped the fine Mont Blanc pen Gunter presented to her onto the stained plastic table of the lounge.

“I wouldn’t balk at this point, Mrs. Hayes. Should you walk out the best you can hope for is child support—if you can prove the children belong to Clint. If they do, we shall certainly sue for custody based on your past lurid sexual behavior. My private investigator had no trouble gathering sworn testimony from the personal trainer mentioned in your first divorce. Your adult former stepchildren were quite helpful in pointing out men you associated with after their father’s death. Oh, your family closed ranks, and Bodey Landrum, whom I should have thought would want to help his friend, tossed my man out, but we have more than enough witnesses to your foul morals to win a custody battle.” Gunter Beck offered the pen again.

Numbly, Renee took it and signed her name three times.

“Shall we go? The justice is waiting.” Gunter offered his crooked arm.

“I’d rather walk alone, thank you.”

He nodded sharply, as if he had just concluded a hostile takeover of a sauerkraut company, and marched off to join the wedding party clustered in Clint’s hospital room. Renee stilled her shaking hands and wobbly knees. She could leave right now and count on several miserable years of ugly litigation, or she could go through with the wedding because that would be best for Clint and the babies. Afterwards, she would be alone once more with her miserable self, no happy endings for those who did not deserve one.

Despite her turmoil, Renee managed to smile when she set eyes on Clint dressed in the top half of a tuxedo, yellow rose in his lapel, and any number of tubes and wires poking out from under the sheet that covered his bottom half. Snuffy had managed to get a rented tuxedo and a clean shave. Norma Jean kept watching the clock as if gauging the amount of time left until she could put her jeans back on. Lena Beck cried happy tears into a hankie. Gunter Beck presented a face of stone to the others.

The justice of the peace was bald, fat, and genial. Clearly, he would enjoy relating this extraordinary story over a nice meal served with wine. He strove to make the service a happy occasion peppered with short analogies equating marriage to bullfighting: its give and take, its need for finesse and great care. Renee heard very little of what the justice said until the he came to the vows. She repeated hers softly, “I, Renee Marie Niles Hayes, do take you, Clinton…”

Clint said his vows with gusto, pausing for a brief moment before stating his full name. “I, Clinton Odulf Beck—”

“Odulf!” The ridiculous name lifted Renee from her depression for an instant. She pressed her lips together, but the giggle came out.

Gunter Beck bristled. “Odulf is a fine Teutonic name meaning ‘the rich and heroic’. Odulf Beck founded our company along with his brother Wilhelm in—”

“Ja, ja, Odie and Villie had no talent for raising cattle, but they sure could bake a bean, Renee,” Clint quipped.

Snuffy nearly gagged on his chaw, which so far, he had kept discreetly stuffed in his cheek. Norma Jean sing-songed, “I know Cinton’s middle name, I’m gonna tell-elle.”

Madalena Beck laid calming hands on her red-faced husband, and the officiator begged, “Please, we are in the middle of a solemn ceremony.”

The service continued. Snuffy found the ring at the right moment and a water glass to spit into in the nick of time. Norma Jean did her duty by holding the bouquet. Somehow, they finally reached, “You may kiss the bride.”

Clint smiled up from the bed. “You’ll have to do the honors, Tiger.”

Renee raised the hand she had been holding and brushed his fingertips with her lips. Bending over the bed, she took her husband’s face between her hands and kissed him with such tenderness and longing that even the hardened Norma Jean sighed.

Lena Beck began snapping pictures with a digital camera she had kept hidden in a perky, red leather handbag. She arranged and rearranged the wedding party: the bride and groom with and without attendants, with the justice, with her and her husband, Snuffy taking that last picture. Several nurses hovering in the doorway took their own souvenir snapshots. Renee managed to curve her lips for each pose. When the photo frenzy ceased, she asked, “Are we through now?”

“I’ve made arrangements for a wedding dinner at a wonderful restaurant. My dear son, I wish you could come with us, but you must stay here and get better. When that day comes, we can have your vows repeated within the Church and will have a big fiesta with all our friends and relatives at the hacienda. You do look tired. We should go.”

“No, I feel fine, Mama. Can’t eat much of anything for a while, anyhow. Come back later with Renee.”

Meanwhile, his bride took off the heirloom veil and folded it neatly. She placed it on the foot of the bed. Then, she removed the Zuni parure, all but the ring, and laid the jewelry on top of the veil.

Zeroing in on Gunter Beck, Renee said, “I wouldn’t want to be accused of making off with any family treasures. You may pick up the babies in six months. They will be in Rainbow, Lousiana. Oh, and put me down for the least amount of alimony. I am sure I can live up to your lowest expectations.”

Out she walked, directly to the elevators. Chaos and discord exploded behind her. That was what Renee Niles Bouchard Hayes Beck did best—create havoc and misery. She heard the shouts, recognized the various voices, following her down the hall.

Clint shouted, “Where the hell is my wife going!”

Lena Beck, who knew her husband well, said shrilly, “Gunter, what have you done?” She followed that up with a string of Spanish words, some of them not too nice.

“The patient’s blood pressure is spiking! Sedate him.” The nurses ordered everyone from the room. Renee stopped in her tracks. Should she return and explain, try to calm Clint with the icy logic of her decision? No, he remained in the best of hands with excellent medical care, family, and good friends by his side. She wasn’t part of all that. Never had been, never would be. Her past could not be erased by love, but perhaps by selfless acts, letting Clint raise the children who would not have a mother that shamed them. He’d find someone else, someone better to help raise them, someone he trusted enough to marry without a draconian prenup worse than any of her others.

Snuffy and Norma Jean and the justice started after her, calling her name, but by that time, the elevator doors were closing, shutting out the uproar. Renee stood in a void without sound thanking heaven no cheery elevator music played. If she could only maintain this same stillness for the next six months, she would survive yet another devastating crisis in her life. The wild red rose must spring from its roots after being chopped to the ground again.

****

Snuffy returned puffing. He’d taken the stairs down and come back in the elevator. Clint had already been stripped of his wedding finery by a nurse, the tubes he’d torn out trying to leave the bed put back into place, and wore a hospital gown once more. Whatever the staff had given the patient to calm him down went into effect. His eyelids fluttered. He stayed awake by sheer force of will.

“Where’s Renee?”

“Norma Jean caught up with her. She got those long legs, you know. She moved pretty fast considering the tight dress. They were talking it out when I started back. I figured it’s a woman thing, hormones or something. Your parents left?”

Clint nodded, sank farther into the pillows. “Arguing. Some mess.”

Norma Jean slunk in, two wilting bouquets still in her hands, and threw herself into a bedside chair.

“Renee?”

“Hell, Clint, when I heard what your father made her sign, I let her go. You’d better mend real fast, bullfighter, because you got one mean situation to handle.”