MATRICIDE

MATRICIDE
(The Story of the Ouida Keeton Murder Case)

 

1. New Orleans, February, 1935

 

What had she just said? He knew all at once, that an answer or some sort of comment was expected of him. He had been lost in a reverie, remembering the first time he had seen Helen. Then, out of the corner of his eye, so to speak, he heard his client, Mts. Rosenbaum, saying something like, "Do you suppose that's why I always hated me mother, Doctor Cramer?"

          Was that what she had said? He'd better go slowly. "What makes you think that, Mrs. Rosenbaum?"

          "But, I've just been telling you. It's almost a classic case of sexual-  transference.

          Oh, great. Now she'd begin psychoanalyzing him. "You may well have harbored some resentment towards your mother all these years, but to say that you hate her is rather strong, don't you think?"

          Mrs. Rosenbaum's ugly little bull-dog face screwed up with hatred, and not for her mother either. "Well really, Doctor," she stood up from her chair and adjusted her hat. "You haven't heard one word I have said; you have not been listening to me at all! I do not believe there is much point in continuing these sessions, do you?

          "Now. Mrs. Rosenbaum, try to remain calm."

          "I am perfectly calm, Do you see any real purpose in my continuing to pay my late husband's hard-earned money if you are not going to take even the slightest interest in my case at all?"

          "No Frankly I can't. Not if you do not feel you are getting what you're paying form: he agreed.

          "For the last several visits now, I have felt somehow that your mind was not concerned with my troubles, but with your own."

          Here it comes, he thought dourly. "I'm truly very sorry if I have given that impression." Lord knows, he could ill afford to lose still another patient. This had not been a good year.

          The little woman made no further comment. She simply opened the door for herself and walked out of the room

          He listened carefully, and as he heard her paying his receptionist, June, for today's visit, he knew they had seen the last of her, Still, she had not told June to cancel her next appointment. He simply had to get hold of himself. He was spending more and more time day dreaming about the past. With the Depression deepening and his income dwindling, something had to give!

 

2.     March 1927

 

"Hi! Anyone sitting at this table?"

She had looked up and smiled warmly, "Just me."

"Mind if I join you?" he had his cafeteria tray in his hands: Roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, green salad, and a slice of apple pie a la mode. He remembered it all as if it were yesterday.

He noticed that she was eating only a sandwich, and a banana.  There was also a glass of milk, which she would have had to purchase at the counter. At the edge of the table, she had placed a Rosary and a little purple prayer book. Looking more closely at her pretty face, he saw that her forehead was smudged wit ashes.

"Please. Be my guest."

"Ash Wednesday, isn't it?" he remarked as he arranged his several little dishes on the table, then set his glasses of iced-tea and water down. He tried to decide what kind of sandwich she was eating.

"Ummm," she nodded in answer to his question.

"That looks good," he commented.

"Oh. this old thing---" and she laughed, "I have to bring my own lunch to save money."

Just like that! He was rather taken aback by her frankness. Such candor was all too rare these days. "I probably should, too. But I don't make a very good sandwich."  Why was he going on so much about matters when he was so obviously attracted to this pert little brunette. She was likely to conclude that he was an awful jerk- or worse!

"Oh, neither do I! I'm not at all imaginative when it comes to cooking."

"Oh. really! What king of sandwich is that, then?"\

"Would you believe peanut butter and jelly?"

"That certainly has all the nutrients you need, plus the fact that it goes very well with your banana."

"Not to mention my glass of milk."

"Yeah, and all-American meal for an all-American girl."

"But I'm really not, you know."

"American, or girl?" he laughed at his own stupid joke.

She did, too. This was a very good sign, She seemed attracted to him, also.

"It's the all-American that's off base. I'm American by birth, all right; but both parents came over from France. I was born right here in New Orleans. And I still live at home."

He had found out more than he had bargained for. "Are you a student at Loyola?"

"Yeah- Art Lit," she said, "And I'll bet you're in medicine."

"Psychology. I take it you're very devout. Catholic, that is."

"Only up to a point. Mother always insists I go to Mass with her on certain days: Ash Wednesday just happens to be one of them."

"I was brought up Roman Catholic, too As a matter of fact, my mother had her heart set of my becoming a priest."

"Why didn't you?"

"Well, I suppose it was her own fault I didn't. She used to get me and my brother up at five O'Clock to go to five-thirty mass with her."

"Every morning?"

"Yes sir-ee! I did the altar boy bit and everything," he suddenly realized he was telling this girl things that he hadn't admitted to himself for a long time now.

"So, when did you stop going to mass?" she had understood.

"When I was able to leave home. That was when I came south to go to college." He took a bite of his roast beef. It had grown cold as he had talked.

Following suit, she took a dainty bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "We're not a church-going family either, Not at all. As I said, Mother likes for me to go with her Easter Sunday, Christmas and Ash Wednesday. Sometimes, if she's feeling especially holy, we go on Palm Sunday as well." She laughed. Her laughter had a silvery sound; like water running over those colorful pebbles in a mountain stream.

He looked at her carefully. She was certainly a pretty little creature, He liked the fact that her eyebrows were thick and apparently un-plucked. She was no flapper. A good look at her hands, when she handled her glass of milk and began to peel and eat her banana, proved that they were well shaped, strong and clean, without nail polish. You could always tell a lot by a young girl's hands; anybody's hands for that matter.

"You said you came south, Where was home originally?"

"Michigan. Little college town called Olivet, I doubt that you ever heard of it,"

She smiled wistfully. "Would you believe I used to date a boy who had been a music major there? Violin. He was quite good. He used to play the Bruch Concerto in G for me all the time. I love that work."

He was shaking his head all the time she was telling this, in disbelief and astonishment. "Well, as they say, it is a small world."

She gazed into his eyes. "Do you like classical music?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I was the only non-music major in the class when I took music appreciation: and I made an A plus!"

She grinned broadly at his enthusiasm. "I know I got that high mark solely because, as I said, all the rest of the class were music majors."

She laughed. It was like music when she laughed, he thought. "Do you know the Bruch  Concerto?"

"I'm afraid not. We studied only a few concertos, and they were all for the piano. Is it nice?"

"Oh, it's very romantic, It is literally the epitome of Romanticism, I guess that's why I love it so much. And the violin is the most romantic of all instruments."

She took another bite of her banana, and laid the rest aside.

"If you're not gonna eat that---"

She handed it across the table to him. "No, you want it?"

He nodded as he reached for it, He had an almost insatiable appetite, and this banana was just the way he liked them best: very ripe. The rest of his family liked them green and hard. He couldn't stand that:  he preferred them when they tasted like Friscatti magolia (or, Banana Buds) smelled. These delicious smelling buds were always in abundance back then in the Deep South.

 

3, 1935

 

When had their marriage begun to go sour? After a whirlwind  courtship, Ron and Helen had married in April, after having met the month before. At first they had been blissfully happy. They even began going to Mass together, swearing that if they were blessed with any children, they would do their best to bring them up as good Catholics; not by forcing them to go to Mass, but urging them gently through setting a good example. Their wedding had been in a Catholic church. They both felt they owed their respective parents that much. Now it was all academic; there had been no children, no matter how hard they tried. Helen went to several specialists, and both of them tried everything that was suggested to them. Nothing worked.

His once-so-promising career seemed lodged in Limbo or worse, thanks to the Depression. 1929 saw their marriage, in its second year, financially having to cut corners, instead of the affluence both of them had so rightly expected. Helen lamented the fact that she was no better off than she had been single and a student, bringing her own lunch every day.

She began to grow more and more bitter, the third year. Soon they were residing in the same house, avoiding each other as much as possible. Ron began to think of ways to get out of the marriage- away from Helen and her increasingly maddening whining! Finally he suggested divorce. She went almost insane.

"No, no, no, no! No divorce. Whatever else we have become, we are still Catholics."

"Helen, ask yourself, 'when was the last time either of us was in a church?'"

"That's not the point. We were both christened Catholics, and we'll die Catholics."

He realized that she was butting his head against a stone-wall. He gave up that idea. But soon another, more ominous idea began to replace it. He began having dreams about Helen's death-always in dreams. It was from natural causes. But his wife was disgustingly healthy. She was not about to die. Not unless she met with some kind of accident.

"The perfect accident"- one that would look like exactly that: an accident. Throughout the ages, unhappy people have tried to plot the murder of someone they felt it necessary to be rid of if they were to maintain their sanity.

Of course Ron had no way of knowing that in Laurel, Mississippi, a little more than a hundred miles north of him, a young woman and her boy friend, who just happened to be the girl's mother's boy friend, also, were plotting one of the most gruesome murders in the history of crime in Mississippi.

 

4.

          Ron came to and realized that he had again been day-dreaming. But at least he had not been with a client this time.

The phone rang again and then he became aware of the fact that this was what had brought him back to reality, He waited for his secretary to pick up the phone, and then remembered that he had let her go earlier to keep an appointment with her dentist. He reached for the phone.

"Ron, Jack Devours here."

          "Oh, hello, Mr. D.A."

          "We got a case here that we need some expert advice on, Do you know anything about the Ouida Keaton case?"

          "Isn't that the woman who cut up her mother?" He had almost missed seeing the article in yesterday's Times Picayune, so much attention had been given to Bruno Hauptman for the kidnapping and murder of the Lindbergh baby.

          "Yeah, that's the one. Now we need to find out if she's really loony or just putting on an act. Her lawyer wants her declared insane to get her off with life in an asylum, or an acquittal; the counsel for the state is asking for the death penalty."

"And you want me to examine her, is that it?"

"Right. Now the State of Mississippi will retain you as its authority on Keaton's mental condition. If you'll take the case, we want you to come up here right away so you can be briefed on all of the details of the case as we know them. Transcripts of the trial, interviews with family and friends, Ouida's own cock and bull story about what happened- the works."

"Well, I don't know, Jack. I got a mighty full schedule the next few weeks, myself—" he was hedging. He had already lost most of his clients over the past few months-not that there had ever been that many. New Orleans simply was not ready for psychiatrists in the early 30's.

"I'd see they make it well worth your time. I want you, Ron, because we went to Tulane together, and we have a lot in common, You're the right man for this job. I know it."

Ron wondered vaguely what he and Jack Deavours could possibly have in common, other than the fact that they had both happened to be students at the same school at the same time. But that was several years ago. He had heard that Jack went into politics, and had risen rapidly to the positions of authority, and ultimately to that of District Attorney, up in Laurel.

"Look, Jack. My secretary's not in at the moment, but as soon as she gets back, I'll have her check my schedule to see if I can swing this. How soon would you want me up there? That is, if  I can do it."

"Well, actually, I need you yesterday." He laughed at his own pathetic joke. :Don.t worry: I said I'd make it worth your while. You can't be making all that much money doin' what you're doin' down there."

"Hey! Give me your number, and I'll call you back within an hour.' Who did he think he was fooling? He was elated to be able to get such a fat, juicy case, The publicity alone would be worth almost any amount of hard work: not to mention the cash!

 

5, Ellisville, Missippi –1931

 

          Margaret Eppsworth picked up the receiver of the telephone in the downstairs hallway, and when Mrs. Horton, the town's operator, said, "Number. please ", Margaret said, "Edna, gimme Sam's store."

          She could hear the phone ringing on the other end of the line, and then Sam Imbragulio's voice came with his broken English accent.

          "Sam, this is Miz Eppsworth. Listen, I need fifty pounds of ice for a big party I'm throwin' tonight. How soon can you bring it out to me? I need it right away."

          "I get it up there right now," he answered.

          And he was as good as his word. He always was. It wasn't ten minutes until he was knocking at her door: her back door. She had trained him right. The very idea of his coming into her front hall and dripping melting ice all over her oriental carpets was enough to make her gasp for air! And it was a very  warm day for December. Margaret had brought out her scales. She was not paying for a single ounce of ice that she was not getting!

          Sam looked at the scales, which had become a sign of distrust, and shook his head sadly. "Miz Eppsworth, it's hot as August, but I always cut at least two extry pounds for you.'

          She really was pressed for time today, so she said magnanimously, "OK, Sam, I'll take your word for it. Here's your fifteen cents." He had to smile to himself as she slowly and deliberately counted out the fifteen copper pennies into his outstretched hand.

          "Honest t'God," he complained to his wife when he returned to the store, "That woman's more trouble than she's worth!"

          "Did you have to weigh it again?" his wife, Rose asked.

          "Not this time, for a wonder. But I thought she was goin' to!"

          "Lord, when I think about how she comes in here and knocks over the apples after I have them stacked so neatly. Just so she can find the biggest apple in the store. Always it's at the bottom of the whole pile. I could make sure I put the biggest one at the top, and that huzzy'd have t'knock the whole stack down anyway!"

          "Well now," Sam cooed as he always did when he was having to swallow a bitter pill, "What'cha gonna do?" It was always his contention that the customer was always right, no matter how badly it galled his feisty little wife.

 

Laurel; 28 September, 1937

 

          There used to be a dark and foreboding house on the corner of a street that we always had to pass along to get from Richton to Laurel, Mississippi back in the 1930's. Unlike most of the houses of that area, it was not white, but rather it was painted a darker color, either yellow or tan Since it was always called to my attention after dark, it seems, I was never sure just what color it was. I remember well that the very first time I became aware of this house as having any significance, was the first time I was taken to the South Mississippi Fair, near Laurel,

          We were all packed like so many sardines into our green 1936 Chevrolet, but we didn't mind this in the least. Not only were we used to it, but we were all looking forward to the fair, including Mama.

          "Mama, iddn' th' ole Keaton house somewhere around here?" George asked as Sammy drove under the railroad tracks that lead into Laurel.

          "Yes. I believe it is. Slow down, Sammy," to my oldest brother.

          "Mama." Sammy said peering into the darkening evening, "I think it's that house right up yonder on the left."

          "You mean that one, with that spooky orange on the porch?"  George asked.

          "By George, I think you're right, Sammy," Mama peered as she said this. :Seems to me that is where that ole she-devil lived," wheb Mama spoke, we all perked up our eats.

:What's th' ole Keaton house?" I asked, about to burst wit curiosity.

          "Oow," George intoned in a sepulchral voice, "that's where ol' Ouida Keaton killed her mother and cut her up in little pieces!"

          The long hair on the back of my neck fairly stood on end as I tried to digest this story. "Sure does look spooky!" my voice was trembling.

`        "And then, Si," Sammy added, not to be outdone, "they tried t'burn her in th' fireplace!"

          :I wanna hear about the murder, Tell me what happened in that ole Keaton House," I pleaded now.

          "Well, it's just like George says," Mama said softly. "She killed her mother an'  was sent to prison for life. But they tell me she played crazy and got off with being sent to Whitfield instead."

          I shuddered momentarily, but soon the lights of the fairground  were sparkling in the distance and Anna pointed them out to me. The rest of the family had all seen these lights several times, but I had never seen anything like it! Those brilliant multicolored and wonderful lights of the Midway erased all thought of Ouida Keaton from my mind for many yeats to come.

 

Ellisville,  December 1933

 

Margaret Eppsworth climbed the stairs and took one last look at the dance floor before going into her bedroom to change for her party. Her brand-new RCA Victrola had veen polished until it shone like diamonds, and the stack of the very latest recordings were on the table nearby. She had also remembered to get a brand new package of phonograph needles. There was going to be fifteen couples at the party, plus that odd Keaton girl with the weird name.  Only she had no dance partner.

She smiled at herself as she realized that she had thought of Ouida as not only female with no escort, but also as an eccentric individual. True, she was extremely pretty, but there was always something about her that bothered Margaret. Those eyes! They seemed to look right through one.

Now, as she stepped out of her shower and dried herself with one of the luxurious huge towels, she made a mental note to check  of everything to make certain all was in readiness when the guests began arriving. She wanted tonight to be truly a night that would always be remembered in Ellisville. And she had made sure that one of her guests was on the staff of Laurel's newspaper, The Laurel Leader Call.

Before going downstairs to reveive her guests, she showed the young colored man where to set up his bar, and told him to go easy with the booze. After all, Prohibition was in full swing, and had to pay Ike Harris,  the local bootlegger, an arm and a leg for those fifths of Bourbon and gin.

The maid had placed the food all on the tables, under Margaret's close supervision. There was "Welsh Rarebit", kept piping hot in a sterling chafing dish; tiny little marshmallow-nut sandwiches, as well as Chicken salad sandwiches;  Deviled Eggs' and "Butterfly" sandwiches on dainty crystal plates. For this delicacy, she had Roy (he was really a handyman at her husband's bank, but she kept him working in her beautiful gardens in a fenced-in back yard most of the time) crush a large chunk of ice and place the pretty little salads, on their plates, around in this. Margaret had taught her cook how to make these eye-pleasing salads by cutting slices of canned pineapple in two, and placing the two halves back-to-back at the smaller half, on a crisp lettuce leaf.  This formed a remarkably attractively approximation of the wings. A halved date was used as the body. Then she added slices of pimento, cut very fine, for the antennae, and sliced stuffed olives (three slices per wing) to decorate the butterfly/s wings. Margaret congratulated the girl for doing such beautiful work, and told her to be sure to make enough mayonnaise for all thirty-six of the salads. She simply would not used store-bought mayonnaise for her beautiful salads!

The dessert table held all manner of sweets; dozens of Christmas cookies, in shapes appropriate for the season; individual pecan pies; lemon and chocolate petit-fours. Here she also had them place her crystal punch bowl and ladle as well as the cups. This was basically for those who did not want anything alcoholic. She had tried three different tables before she was satisfied that this one was just the right size: nothing must look crowded, nor should there be large empty spaces.

Later, dressed in her new gold lame gown from Maison-Blanche, in New Orleans, she stood with her husband, whose bank was the only one still in business. The other one had gone out of business within a few weeks of the crash of twenty-nine. They were ready to receive their guests.

The first two couples arrived at the same time. Roy Carter, the handyman-gardener now stood in the regalia of a true butler, and he opened the door admitting Fred and Juanita Bigelow, the vice-president of the bank and his pretty wife; and at the same time, Jesse Maynard and his wife, Anne, affectionately known as "Bitsy".

"How's that  precious new baby girl?" Margaret asked Juanita.

Before his wife could make a response, Fred spoke up proudly, "Margaret, she has to be the prettiest baby in the entire world!"

"I can vouch for that," Eppsworth spoke up, "Fred brought a picture of her to the bank yesterday, and he has every right to be crowing: she is a real beauty!"

"And remind me again, what did you name her?" Margaret asked.

"Jean. You know we lost our first child-a boy. We had named him Gene, with a G. I was determined to have a child named Jean." Juanita smiled.

Jesse and "Bitsy" had stood smiling blandly throughout this exchange, and now they walked into the hallway, and at Margaret;s suggestion, proceeded up the stairs to the dance floor. The Bigelows followed them and when they were about halfway up the stairs, the doorbell rang again. Roy opened the door.

"Oh, Daisy! Y'all come on in."

Daisy Keaton entered the hallway, followed by her escort, Bill Carter, and her daughter, Ouida,

          "Ouida, I'll swannee I'goodness, you just get prettier every day!" Bill Eppensworth said effusively,

          "Why, thank you, Mr. Eppinsworth, Ouida said, blushing attractively.

          "Call me Bill, please."

          "My goodness, that makes two  handsome men who have asked me to call them 'Bill' already tonight!.

          :Not only is she beautiful, but she's the best danged secretary in Jones County, Bill Carter added, beaming at his employee.

          "Hi, Carter," Eppinsworth said belatedly.

          The phone and the doorbell now rang simultaneously. I'll get the phone- Roy, see who that is." And Margaret walked away.

          She picked up the receiver and put it to her ear, after removing the large jeweled earring from her right ear. It was Helen Kolb saying that she and her husband would not be able to come, after all, because he had a miserable cold. Margaret was livid. How dare she wait until the party was in progress to call in her "regrets"? She said something appropriately sympathetic (she hoped, but did not really care one way or another) and then gave all of her attention to the guests who had just been admitted. It was Robert Brownley and that pretty blonde Jernegan girl. Was her first name Elain, Elsie, or Eloise? She could not for the life of her remember. My goodness, though, that Bob Brownley was just about the most handsome man she had seen in eons! "Good evening, Bob," she greeted him, and looked expectantly towards his date.

          "Eve-nin, Miz Eppinsworth, "do you know Eloise Jernigan?" 

          "Why, certainly I do!" she lied, placing an arm across the young girl's shoulder. She propelled her to the base of the stairs, with Bob following them. "Y'all go on up. They're awready dancin'. If you care to join 'em. The bartender'll fix you a drink."

          Well, it didn't really matter that the Kolbs were not coming, the dance floor would be awfully crowded with over thirty people trying to dance at the same time. But it would be a cold day in hell when she invited them to anything at her house! She was the perfect small-town hostess.

          Upon reaching the second floor, Margaret was approached by Daisy Keaton, who seemed bent on talking with her.

          "Margaret," she began, "What do you think of him?"

          "Who? Carter?"

          Daisy nodded vigorously. Margaret instinctively felt that she might even be in love with him.

          "Why, Daisy, I've known Bill for years, and I've always thought him to be one of the finest men I ever met. Handsome, too."

          Daisy simpered like a schoolgirl. It was obvious that she was completely smitten with her escort. "He is wonderful, isn't he? You know, Margaret. I think we're going to get married soon."

          "No! Daisy, that's perfectly marvelous! Where is he now?"

          "He's dancing with Ouida right now."

          Margaret glanced at the two of them, dancing cheek to cheek, while seemingly lost in each other's company. "Well, I don't think I'd allow too much of that," she said, laughing and walking away to chat with some of her other guests.

          Ouida was whispering in Bill's ear, even as Margaret Eppsworth glanced at them. "Let's get out of here and take mother home."

"Dearest, we can't. We just got here."

Ouida pouted. But on her, it looked good.

 

Eloise Gordon thought she just might be in love with Bob Townsend. Her mother, Ora Gordon said she probably was just falling for a pretty face, and that she'd best find out what kind of Christian he was first of all. Ora, whose husband had died just a year ago, had given herself entirely over to church work and charity causes. She had become a Seventh Day Adventist, and was completely absorbed in the faith. Robert seemed to be in love with Eloise, too. But he had not yet proposed marriage, and she had refused to go "all the way", as he kept urging and begging her to do.

"We been goin' together for nearly two years now," he pleaded with her even now as they danced, If you loved me even the least little bit---"

"I do love you, Robert," she whispered in his ear, "but I am not going to do anything that we both will regret later on."

Bob suddenly broke into a grin that covered his face from ear to ear. "Well, I reckon if I'm ever gonna get you t'bed, I'll just have t'marry you!"

She almost swooned, but she managed to look calm, cool and collected, as she said softly, "Yes, I guess you will."

"OK, now let's get over and get some of that great looking food. I am suddenly as hungry as a bear!"

They had just filled their plates and were about to sample the refreshments when Margaret walked over to them.

"Are you young folks havin' a good time?"

"We sure are!" Eloise said joyfully. "Bob just asked me to marry him!"

"Why, Honey, that's marvelous. Let me announce it now!"

Robert blushed furiously. "No, m'am, Miz Eppsworth, I'd just as soon you didn't do that."

"But, why?"

" I don't know. I'd just rather you let us tell our folks first."

"Oh, all right, then," she said pleasantly, "But if I let a few people know on the sly, don't get mad at me."

"Oh, we won't. But, please let us tell Mama, first," Eloise implored her.

"It's a promise." Then she said, "Try the butterfly salad" to Claide Billings, who was walking past with his plate heaped high with food. But why did he have only fruit punch to drink? Oh, well, it was a lot cheaper than booze,

"I intend to," he said.

"It's a brand new recipe."

Someone had put "I'll see you in my dreams" on the phonograph and she looked around for her husband. It was "Their Song" and both of them loved to dance to it. She suddenly felt very romantic, Those young people! So much in  love and so happy! And Ouida and Carter! She felt herself pitying Daisy Keaton. But she was not going to let anything spoil her mood tonight.

Her husband was standing to one side of the huge room, engrossed in conversation with Bill Carter. She walked over to them and said gaily, "Which one of you handsome devils will dance with a poor old forlorn woman?"

Her husband said gallantly, "Nobody had better try to take you away from me!" and swept her into his arms. He looked back at Carter and signaled that they would continue their discussion later on.

As they seemed to float above the dance floor to the strains of their favorite tune, Margaret whispered in his ear, "You're still the best looking fellow here. Or anywhere else, for that matter."

"Why, thank you, Maggie," he said, smiling. "And you're quite a dish, too."

"What was Bill Carter asking you just now?"

"Oh, just the usual things—about the Depression, mainly. And did I think it would go on much longer."

'Is he all right? I mean, financially?"

'Oh, sure. Carter's as solid as a rock. But business is terrible everywhere, He says some days they do well to take in ten dollars."

"Well, he just may be able to marry into a great deal of money," Margaret said.

"You mean Daisy Keaton?" he leaned back and looked at his wife. She smiled as she nodded "Yes".

"No kidding! I never dreamed she'd marry again. Nor that Bill wound, either, for that matter. But Bill's a fine man. They'll make a splendid couple."

"There's just one hitch."

"What's that?"

"Ouida."

"You mean---?"

"You should have seen them dancing together. If ever I saw two people who are hot for each other, it's them."

"She's a mighty attractive girl," he said/

"Girl, my foot! She's thirty if she's a day!"

"Oh, I can't believe she's that old. She looks more like sixteen or seventeen at the most!"

"Let me remind you, she was out of college two or three years before she took that business course and became Carter's secretary: and how long has she been there?"

"Time does fly. It seems like only yesterday that I heard Daisy had another daughter."

They danced on in silence. The record came to an end and Margaret spied Celeste Beamer, with whom she had not spoken all evening. She pulled her husband along with her as she approached the Beamers.

"Celeste, how in the world are you doing?"she greeted the other socialite.  Celeste was dressed in a stunning red gown that was heavily encrusted with rhinestones. That must have set the good doctor, who was her husband back a few shekels, Margaret thought.

"Oh, Margaret, I tell you the truth, those two boys of mine just wear me to an absolute frazzle!:

"And what about you, Tom," Margaret asked. "Do they wear you out, too?"

Dr. Beamer laughed. "No. I could stand four or five more just like them."

"Well, Freddy and the twins are quite enough for me, thank you"  very much", Celeste said leaving little doubt in their minds exactly what she meant.

"You folks have a good time. If you want anything you don't see, just ask Roy. He'll get it for you." Margaret continued to circulate among her guests, spreading her own particular brand of Southern charm and elegance.

 

Laurel, Mississippi

Friday, January 11, 1930

 

Daisy got slowly out of her chair and walked slowly over to turn the radio off. She was getting so tired of hearing those same old phonograph records played over and over, every day- all day long. Her mood was one of almost complete depression. She had more or less resigned herself to the notion that Ouida was not going to come home to take her to the grocery store, and the sudden appearance of her unpredictable offspring filled her with dread until she saw that she was apparently in a wonderful humor. Her life lately had been full of mercurial mood shifts, usually very suddenly and over nothing in particular.

"Mother," she said breathlessly after almost running into the house. 'I've just met the man that I'm going to marry!"

Daisy blinked slowly, twice, "Really?---Where did you meet this man?---And who is he?

"His name is Bill Grace, and he was at the store when I got there this morning. He's a drummer out of Chicago,"

"You just met him and he's already proposed?"

"No. Of course not. He doesn't even know he's going to marry me, Not yet, at least. But we have a date tonight. I'm going to his hotel room."

"Ouida!"

"Now, Mother, you know Bill Carter and I have been carrying on for a long time, and you never seemed to object to that."

"I like Bill Carter. I've never even heard of this fellow you're talkingabout marrying."

"Well, dear heart, we both know that Carter is not going to divorce his wife and marry me. And she's not about to die of any thing. I'm just wasting my time there."

"But I thought you loved him so much."

"I do! But what's the use? I'm not getting any younger. I want my own home and children."

Daisy could read the warning signs. Her daughter was getting riled with her again.

"Well, Darling, you know your own heart. Doc whatever you think is the right thing to do."

"I fully intend to." Her voice had a cold edge to it. "Do you still want me to drive you to the A&P?"

"Yes, if you don't mind too much. Just let me grab a coat and hat."

If she didn't absolutely have to get groceries today, she would not trouble Ouida. Happily her daughter's mood had again brightened by the time Daisy got out at the store.

"Oh, Mother, he really is a terribly nice man! He's smart and has so much polish and style—and class!"

"Then, I am happy for you, if it works out."

 

          When she cane home from work, Ouida was carrying a dress box from Fine Brothers, Madison and a new pair of shoes from Eismann's. Daisy

looked up and smiled at her daughter.  "You got some new duds, I see."

          "That's right. I want to look sensational tonight."

          "You always do, dear."

          "Mother, I could be wrong, but I truly feel that this morning was providential. And I'm sorry that I flared up at you, but when Bill Grace was there, it just seemed so right. We had instant attraction for each other. I could feel it and I'm sure he felt it too."

"Ouida. At the risk of making you angry, I must say that attraction is often nothing more than lust. Marriages based on that never seem to work out. There has to be mutual love and respect."

"You don't make me angry, I'm way too happy to get mad. Just let me get him any way I can. The rest will come easily. I'd bet my life on it."

She whirled into the bathroom, where she had a lengthy shower. When she emerged, dressed in her new forest green dress and matching pumps, she looked so beautiful that Daisy could scarcely believe that she was her own daughter.

"Ouida, you look lovely!"

"Thanks, Mother. May I borrow your cameo tonight, The plain dress needs some little something just to set it off perfectly."

"Of course you  may, dear."

"We'll eat at the Pinehurst, so you want need to cook any supper for me tonight."

"Then, I'll just have something simple—a ham sandwich, most likely,"

"And if you don't mind, I want to use your car again. I'll come back here before going to work in the morning. Of course, I'll need to change my clothes, too."

"That will be fine, Ouida," Daisy said with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn't like the fact that Ouida was throwing Bill Carter over for a stranger about whom she knew absolutely nothing at all. And she didn't like the fact that she was trying to ensnare this poor unsuspecting victim. But what could she do about it?"

 

 

3.     Saturday, January 12, 1930

 

"Well, did he pop the question?" Daisy asked when Ouida came dancing into the living room, the next morning around six thirty.

"Not yet, But he's absolutely crazy about me. I can tell."

"Hmmmm-"

"Well, he's invited me to meet him in Hot Springs in two weeks for a little vacation, and then he wants me to come to Chicago and enroll in the school for hotel and restaurant management when the next term begins."

"And when will that be?"

"The first of May."

"Restaurant and Hotel Management!" Daisy didn't even pretend to disguise her amazement. "When did you become interested in running a hotel?"

"Not a hotel, Mother; the restaurant part of it. You know I'm a good cook, and with the course I can become a great one, qualified to work in the best hotels in the country, or abroad,"

"Boy, it sounds like he's really feeding you a line!"

"I just knew you'd take that attitude, Mother! I am not going to stay here in Laurel, Mississippi the rest of my life, working for a two-bit hardware company and the old married man who runs it!"

With that, Ouida flounced out of the room and into the bathroom, where she ran a tub of hot water, this time. She needed to relax for a few minutes before getting ready for work.

A half hour later, when she emerged dressed for work, she said, "I'll need to take the car again, because I'm already late. Will you need me to drive you anywhere this morning?"

"No thank you," Daisy intoned coolly.

"I'll be home for lunch today."

"All right."

"Mother, he left town this morning. I know you think I'm being hasty and acting unwisely, but I feel that I really know what is best for me this time."

"I pray to God that you do," her mother answered solemnly.

 

4.

     Bill Carter was devastated when Ouida informed him that she was quitting her job. He had some to depend on her for so many things; and he was absolutely mad about her. She had often asked him why he didn't divorce his wife and marry her, but he had tried to convince her that with his children and position in the town, it was just not practical. Also, he was very fond of his wife; not in the same way he was in love with Ouida. She was so young and vibrant. She made him feel he was a young man again, every time they were together.

     "You've really given this a lot of thought, then?" he asked her when she told him of the school in chicago.

     "I have, Bill. I've got to get away from Mothrt---she's becoming more and more dependent on me, and I have practically no life of my own any more. And—I need to get away from this---this situation---here—" she made a sweeping gesture with her right arm.

     "But I thought you were so happy here," Bill said miserably.

"I was. I could be. But, Bill, I just can't go on being your mistress any longer. Let's face facts; that's what I am. That's all I am. I feel as though everywhere I go and everybody I see knows what's going on. Even Mary."

"My wife suspects nothing."

"Then she's an even bigger fool than I've been. What makes you think that?"

He was silent.

"And your children, They must have heard gossip. After all, they're adults now."

"They'd have said something to me if they suspected anything. No, Ouida, they all love you and think of you almost like a member of our family."

"But, I never can be, can I? Not as long as Mary is alive."

He shook his head sadly. "I can see your point. I realize I've been selfish, But I do love you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Bill, I do know that. And you know how much I truly love you. But we're at am impasse. I'm not getting any younger. I want a home of my own and children of my own."

He was silent for a long interval.

"So, when will you go to Chicago?" he asked finally.

"The next term doesn't start until May."

"Then how about helping me out here until then?"

"No. I've made up my mind. This phase of my life is over. Besides, I need a little vacation. I thought I might go to Hot Springs for the baths."

"OK. Take a vacation. With pay, Take a week, Take two weeks."

She considered this proposition, but briefly. "No, Bill, I want to stop working as of Saturday night."

"You're not even going to let me have two weeks' notice?"

"Bill---please!"

"Oh, very well. But you're leaving me in a hell of a mess here."