May 30, 1965

Black as crude oil under Oklahoma soil was the sky that day as I waited for the 7:10 train from Kansas City. Winds gusted to forty miles an hour, and lightening danced almost continuously among the heavy clouds. Wouldn't be long before the storm dumped buckets of water upon those of us waiting in the train yard.

I stepped out onto the dirt, already sloppy from an earlier rain. Wished I'd brought a coat of some sort for protection against the oncoming storm. But I hadn't. Was dressed as usual in a black suit tailored to fit me perfectly, white silk shirt, black Italian leather shoes. Leaning against the limo I'd arrived in, I settled my shoulders for a moderate wait.

Brian Roberts--- You'd bettter be on that 7:10 train!

Brian was both my best friend and my boss. The Roberts' owned the successful Roberts' Oil and Mining Co. of Oklahoma. His enterprising grandfather had staked his first claim here in Bartlesville in the early 1900's, and after a few false starts, had hit gushers for him ever since. Almost anything Dewey Roberts, Sr.'d had a hand in had turned to gold for him. He'd been mighty good to his workers too, to the point they'd all referred to him as Uncle Dewey Roberts. Just don't cross him!

Brian liked to carry on that tradition---the generosity part, particularly. Liked to be liked by everyone who knew him.

And everyone who did knew that I was his right hand man. Nothing I wouldn't do for him. This fact hadn't much to do with the fat paycheck I drew, although that was certainly a bonus! We'd been friends ever since we could roll over in the playpen to reach out and grab a fistful of hair and butt noses. Hadn't any secrets from each other that I knew of. We knew each other inside and out. We were together when we caught our first colds, our first trout, our first girls . . .when we first got caught sneaking out of the bushes with those girls . . .!

Always trying something on the other! Wrestling on narrow logs set over the river at its narrowest spots, trading insults, snakes in the bed---boy stuff! Still liked to pull a prank or two when the opportunity came along! One of the most memorable things we did, was once we snuck some liquor from Dad's well stocked cellar, partied till one or two---I really don't remember---and crashed the car into old Mr. McHenry's garage just barely out of town. We had the idea we were going to joy ride to Tulsa or some such thing . . .

All that was bad enough, but then we'd gotten out, and played with McHenry's welding torches . . . I vaguely remember that. Yep . . . Pretended we were superheroes fighting crime with our fiery weapons . . . Boy stuff, too. But decidedly dangerous!

I vividly recalled considerable trepidation at being left to languish in a jail cell overnight. Next morning, however, all that concerned me was the hangover I suffered from . . . Both our fathers felt it'd be a lesson to us to spend the night in jail. Guess it worked. Never happened again!

While we both have been termed "go getters" by various members of our family and friends, it was Brian's father's side that had all the money to make big dreams come true, thanks to his grandfather. My dad naturally worked for the company as well. In fact, following tradition, he and Brian's dad were as thick as their fathers before them, and as their sons after them. Yep, true friends of the family!

So yes, I was willing to go the extra mile for my best buddy. Whatever it was he asked me to do. Including occasionally acting as courier for him, delivering "donations" to some VIP in exchange for some favor or other.

This week, Brian's mission in New York had been to meet with investors, concerning drilling in the Persian Gulf. We already had rigs out there, but potential for many more existed. New investors would mean we could proceed with those plans.

A young woman, two small girls at her side, walked by me, making me lose track of my thoughts. Of my name! Yes, sir, she was that gorgeous! Every sense of the word gorgeous! Body of a goddess, face to match! Oh-oh, brother-- drop dead gorgeous! Long, thick, silky, blonde hair . . . Was all I could do not to reach out and run my fingers through it! Had to keep my arms folded as she went by, for I would've done it without thinking twice!

Not terribly tall, really, just over five feet in her pretty heeled kidskin boots-- that led me to believe there were slim perfect feet in them. Dressed to the nines, she was, in a tailored grey suit and hat to match. A well tailored outfit that let a guy take in tempting curves in all those very right places . . .

In her left hand, she clasped a perfect dark red rose along with the hand of her youngest. The girl, about three, clutched a doll to her chest with her free hand. Would sometimes rest her fair head upon the doll's dark one. Both children were outfitted in the same elegant style as was their mother. The younger in a suit of midnight blue, and the elder, about six, matching her mom in silver grey.

Even the smaller girl's doll was snazzily dressed in a wine colored outfit trimmed with white lace, a matching bonnet on her dark brown locks. I even glimpsed a tiny leather purse strap slung over its shoulder.

Both girls had the long, silky, blonde hair their mother possessed, and the same deep sapphire blue eyes. One day they'd for sure be breaking hearts, but for now, they were two pretty children, under their mother's protection.

As handlers began getting carts ready to receive baggage from the train, the woman motivated her daughters to hurry more quickly toward the tracks. The doll slipped out of the small girl's grasp, falling face first into the dirt.

"Mama! Mama! My baby!" wailed the child, digging in her heels, and hanging back.

"Oh, Lily . . .!"

Well, I couldn't let this opportunity get by me! Quickly I stepped forward to whisk it up from the sodden ground. Brushing the doll off carefully, I offered it to the child. She half hid her face behind her beloved toy, smiling shyly up at me..

"Thank you," said her mother with a smile, her voice low and sweet. Just what I'd imagined would go with her looks. "She can't live without Patsy!"

"No problem! Happy to be of service!"

Her smile lit her sapphire blue eyes for just that instant, and then she forgot me, her attention all for the arriving train. Others, waiting either to get on or to pick up someone, hurried ahead as well, and I could only catch but fleeting glimpses of her.

In the distance, the train's headlight pierced the gloom. Not able to see the woman at all now, I turned back toward the company's limo, and climbed in.

"Go ahead, and pull up to the tracks, Bill!" I instructed the driver as I settled myself in back. Maybe I could catch another glance of the fair haired woman with the rose from that vantage point.

In a few minutes, the train pulled in. People poured off it, waving to those meeting them or rushing to hug and kiss them, some with tears of joy. I searched the mob for Brian Roberts.

He filed off the train toward the end of the line. I could see his 6'4" frame towering above everyone else, and he ran a hand through his ash-blonde hair as he checked around for the limousine. Catching sight of it, he lengthened his stride toward us, some of the weariness leaving his bearing.

Everyone else had met their contacts, and were moving off toward their vehicles. The Rose---I'd mentally begun to call her that because of the rose she carried---stood alone with her children, the rose bud drooping a little in her hand. Thought probably some handsome (and lucky) guy would be in her arms by now. Looked like she'd been waiting for nothing.

Brian couldn't help giving her a long appraising look as he strode by her, the light of appreciation in his sea green eyes. She didn't notice. She'd cornered the conductor to ask whether anyone else was left aboard.

Brian climbed into the limo, setting his briefcase on the seat beside him. "Whoever stood that lady up ought to be shot!" he declared, seeing my gaze fixed on the Rose. "Don't think I've seen any finer than she! How about you, Chief?" He poked me, a sly smile on his face. "Find a chance to introduce yourself, did you, Dean?"

"Not exactly," I responded. "Picked her daughter's doll up out of the dirt for her! She was pretty impatient to go meet whoever it is she's waiting for!"

"There's romance for you!" He poked me again, chuckling. "Wonder what's happened to whomever she's waiting for?"

"I don't know, but your call last night made me wonder whether I ought to be here to pick you up tonight! What? Did your new fling turn out to be a dog after all?"

"No, turns out she had a husband! Not terribly understanding either, I might add! I had to send a decoy to the station ahead of me. Decided to fly partway, in the end, and finish by train! No telling what contacts he might possess! But you know that---told you so last night, didn't I?"

"You only told me to be here to pick you up, that's it! Knew something was up! You're going to get yours someday, you know it?"

He wasn't listening. Was staring out at the Rose. "Still looks pretty anxious to me! What do you think? Think something serious has happened! Wonder if she needs a strong shoulder to cry on!" He turned his head to give me a grin. "Mine are that, at all events! You? You've still got a ways to go, boy!"

"You wish!" I countered, not particularly bothered by his insinuation. I'd been likened to Clark Gable a time or two, (without the big ears), so I'm sure my shoulders would suffice any woman's whim for a place to lay her head. "Back off! I saw her first!"

"You saw Donna first, but I was the one she married," he reminded me, still in that tone meant to provoke. "Not sure why, she did admire your Cherokee heritage, Chief!"

"Did she?" I returned, unimpressed. "Well, I had admired more than that in her. Doesn't matter now, though. Neither of us has her!"

"Yut," he agreed, leaving off his mocking manner. "Blew it in the end, didn't I?" And said no more about it.

The Rose's little girls, at last, became impatient with the waiting and were apparently demanding an explanation of why they were still waiting. She answered them, her expression distracted. Almost fearful. In the worst way, I wanted to go on out there and see what I could do to help. I'd about formed the courage to do it when a dark sedan drove up and parked just ahead of us. Two men got out from it, and walked toward the Rose who had her hands full with the girls.

One of the men touched her, and she spun around, startled, yet with joyful hope in her face. But as he spoke with her, the hopeful light drained out of her eyes, replaced by shock and anguish, and then she burst into tears. Her youngest daughter yanked at her jacket, demanding information she wasn't then able to give her. The older, apparently able to grasp the seriousness of the news, gazed up at her mother, as shocked as she was. And not in the least inclined to accept it.

"No, Mama, no! It isn't true! They're lying! Not Papa, too!"

The Rose bent at that emphatic outburst. "Ah, Iris . . .!" and she hugged both girls to her for a long moment, her tears unchecked. Then with them on either side of her as before, she followed the men to the sedan.

"Humph . . .wonder what that was all about?" Brian mused. The thump of luggage being tossed into the trunk announced Bill's return with Brian's suitcases. "Kind of kills me we'll never know! And she definitely needs a strong shoulder by the sounds of it! Although, it's not going to be either of ours!" he noted dryly, peering out at her male companions.

"Not this time!"

"Oh? You know something I don't?"

I only smiled, and shrugged. "Hey, you never know, you know?"

"Sure Chief, one of your famous hunches, no doubt!" He shook his head, and called up some directions to Bill, then he began to talk business to me.

I'm afraid I lent him only half an ear . . .

Such a scenario as we'd just witnessed, just presented me with all sorts of speculations on all the maybes and what ifs of the case. What if the Rose had been hoping to meet her husband tonight. Maybe she hadn't seen him in quite some time. Could be that her husband had been stationed in Vietnam. Maybe he'd been killed, or captured. Badly wounded, maybe. Yeah, guys came home from there all the time . . . wounded . . . depressed and disillusioned. But a lot of them came home dead.

This possibility got my brain off on that tangent. Vietnam was a bad war whatever anyone wanted to say. But they liked to say it wasn't a war. Was a police action. Yeah, right . . .what a joke. And a cruel one at that!

Put in my two year Army stint, sure enough . . . fighting in that so called police action. Saw plenty of my buddies die over there, too. Yeah, we gave our lives for our country. God bless America! Freedom for the Red, White and Blue!

So then, we veterans come home from that mess. To what? Parades? People thanking us for putting our life on the line? For defending what our nation stands for?

Nope.

Came home to hippies burning their draft cards and the American flag. To people spilling out into the street yelling, "Baby killer!" with hate in their hearts for those of us who'd taken up the cry for freedom for every man---whoever those men might be.

Mentally, I shook off the unpleasant memories, the sadness of it all. Really, I hated thinking about it. Just sometimes, like now, it snuck up on me.

Could be I was all wet about this as far as the Rose was concerned. Maybe her husband just called it quits with her. Didn't have the guts to tell her himself. That happened.

But the killed in action thing stuck with me. The military usually sent someone to inform a wife her husband had been killed in action.

"Dean, curse you, you listening to me, or are you all wrapped up with cozy thoughts of that blonde?" He peered at me. "Suppose she might find your dark good looks fascinating!" Then he backhanded my arm. "Listen, will you! Asked you if you were all set to fly out to 9950, tomorrow?"

Oh yeah . . . the oil platforms in the Middle East. I was in charge of those . . . Reluctantly shoving the Rose out of my mind, I put on a face of serious interest.

"I don't know what you're going to find when you get there! Nothing but trouble from the time we started! First it's the weather and then it's the help! What else can go wrong?"

"Nothing, I hope," I answered, not sure he actually wanted one. "But we could find some one of our competitors would like to see us fail at something! Happened before, right? You dug any deeper into that diary you found? Old Willie Brown tell you anymore about that?"

"He takes his time about it! It's a diary, for God sakes! You'd think he'd tell about the whole sordid tale all at once---but no! He's got to keep us in suspense like he's writing a damned mystery novel!"

"Maybe," I pointed out gently, "He doesn't know himself at this point in his time!"

"Oh, that's right, Chief! Be logical about it! I'm going to stay up and see if I can get through some more of it. Planned to do that while I was in New York, but---" he smiled, waggling his brows, "got a little sidetracked once or twice!"

"Ah-huh!" But my mock disapproval was belied by my answering smile and tolerant glance.

The black limo rolled between the brick gate columns topped with driveway lanterns. Impressively tall for the three foot brick wall that surrounded the property. Up the long drive to Brian's big old red brick home we continued. Mini mansion, really. Boasted many rooms not in use anymore as Brian lived alone in it. Well, alone with his servants, that is! The place had been built years ago by his grandfather, and handed down from father to son---the place, and those who worked there in it.

My place was of brick as well, and while large enough by most standards, four bedrooms being nothing to sneeze at here, it didn't boast quite the impressive size of the Roberts' estate, nor those magnificent white columns on three of its sides. My walls were a couple feet higher, my driveway shorter, and I did all the work myself---except the lawn. Got someone else to worry about that hassle for me! Generally I wasn't home long enough to want to worry about it myself! And even if I was, mowing lawn and caring for bushes and shrubs wasn't the way I wanted to spend my time!

As the limousine halted in the upper half of the circle drive, Brian grunted. "Always something with that rig! Always! Take care of it for me, Chief! I'm putting my faith in you!"

"So I should think! And what should I do if I find we do have an enemy amongst us? Call the proper authorities? Toss the guy off from as high up as I can manage? Let our men have their revenge on them? Wait for you to come and pass judgement?"

"Call me, and I'll come pass judgement. Or decide to delegate it to you, as my fickle whim dictates!"

I laughed and offered a mock salute. "As you wish, sir!"

He cuffed my arm, much as he had as a boy. "My loyal lieutenant!" And with that, he went off into the house, hurrying through the rain that'd been pouring down for half the drive now.

My mind had been so long on the Rose, I guess I hadn't noticed that, anymore than I'd noticed Brian had been talking to me.

Bill dropped me off at the company's garage, where my car'd been left much earlier. Almost I wanted to leave it there and just have Bill bring me back to my place. Wasn't all that far from Brian's . . . just around the corner. But I'd rather have it home in its cozy garage while I was out of the country. So hopping into it, I headed back home.

The rain sheeted down over the windshield, making it almost impossible to see two inches in front of me. Wanting to hear something besides rain pelting my roof, I switched on the radio. Just in time to get the announcement that there'd been a tornado spotted 60 miles west in Ponca City.

Winds had picked up here significantly, and limbs and other debris littered the roads. Some I managed to dodge and some others I hit. Fortunately, none that did any damage to my car. That one blocking my driveway, sure enough could have! Big sucker! Nothing like having to get out, and get soaking wet moving it. But by then, I was ready for a nice hot shower anyhow.

Wonder what was happening with the Rose . . .

Dark night . . . dark news . . . Poor thing!