Gold, Fire & Refinement

Chapter Eleven

"Our life is what our thoughts make it." ~Marcus Aurelius

A tiny squirrel scampering up a big oak tree in the front yard woke Bettina up. The same whiskey-laced tea that gave her the bravado she needed to coax graciousness out of hiding for the evening now had her feeling drowsy. It was just as well. She wouldn't be meeting the girl that night. The silly young thing had managed to cut her foot bad enough for Harvey to take her to the emergency room. Frown lines formed on Bettina's forehead as she thought twice about her grandson's impromptu hospital visit. Harvey doesn't know my doctor, she thought. Since they're going to the emergency room, maybe there won't be a problem. Her doctor didn't work in the ER. That meant didn't need to worry about them running into the man who had already performed her biopsy.

She hadn't been looking forward to meeting Harvey's girl that night, and now, she would just not look forward to the same thing the next morning. She couldn't believe how eager she was to see her eldest grandson again, and it was far too early for her to give up on him. She decided to keep hope alive in her heart, and in the days ahead, she would do what had to be done to help him come to his senses. Rising up from the swing, she paused to take in drifting fragrances from her flower gardens, aromas she usually found more intoxicating than the tea with Jack in it. After releasing a sigh of deep relief, she inhaled another spectacular Clarksdale night. She needed her grandson to be back in her life. Among the unchanging things in her world. Things in which she still took a great deal of pride. She needed all the people and things she cherished. Like Drake, her son, and like Clarence Edward, her great-nephew. Like her lakeside gazebo, one of the places where she and McKinley talked and courted in the evenings, and like her historic and grand home, her antebellum mansion and everything it represented.

Entering her residence through its massive double front doors, she stopped in the main floor front parlor. She needed to see McKinley before retiring. Visiting the portrait hanging over the fireplace mantle was a stop she made often. Holding her right hand inside her left one, she stared at him. She still adored him, and when he left, for years her soul felt like dust in the wind, and, unable to find herself, she was unwilling to go on with life. It was her grandsons' devotion that changed everything. Studying the portrait, in her husband's ruggedly handsome likeness she saw resemblances to both of Susan's boys. Although not rugged, Harvey and Tyler inherited some of her husband's strongest and most distinguished good looks, including his caring dark blue eyes and darkest of dark brown hair. The difference was, McKinley's hair was more wavy than curly, and both grandsons inherited their father's silken, curly locks. Luckily for them, they also inherited R. T.'s and McKinley's business sense, uncanny instincts that always led them straight to where the money was. Bettina laughed at the thought. McKinley was worth a billion dollars long before it became something people bragged about in public. He willed a third of his great fortune to their daughter, Susan, and she willed it to her boys. That meant without thinkingof their daddy's considerable fortune, Harvey and Tyler were multi-millionairesin their own right, before they were school age.

The finery surrounding her in the front parlor reminded her of days when her home was the epicenter of a vibrant social life. She loved it all—valuable antiques, mantels, and mirrors brought in from France and Spain, and a magnificent crystal chandelier McKinley had custom designed as her gift for the last wedding anniversary they shared. She updated her furniture at least once or twice in a decade, but still did her best to keep things close to the way they were when McKinley was alive. Looking at his portrait, she thanked God she insisted on having it done. They both had two portraits painted—one when they were first married, and the second just several years before McKinley's death. From where she was standing in the doorway, light from the hallway bathed his portrait. She hadn't switched on the parlor lights on purpose. She liked the way the hallway lighting cast the man of her dreams in a romantic glow. Standing proud and strong, he was still the most handsome man she ever laid eyes on. Looking at him still gave her goosebumps, and being close to his portrait made her feel young again and still deeply in love. Feeling his presence, she closed her eyes and hugged herself so she could feel his arms around her. He was holding her, telling her how he'd never leave, and would always be with her. When he was alive, they would sit for hours in the parlor enjoying each other's company. They courted just like two love-sick teenagers in heat who managed to sneak away from their parents. They shared a passionate kind of love, and she never denied McKinley any opportunity he wanted to express his love in the way he loved best. Still, God had blessed them with only two children and two grandchildren—two boys born to her one and only daughter.