"Oh, Harold, you're going to ask me to marry you!" she said, almost shouting. Then she grabbed the box and removed the ring. "Harold, it is lovely. Then she slipped the ring on her finger.
"Uh...I had a speech. I would like to ask..."
"Yes, let's do it!" she said with vigour. "Let's do it right away."
"But...but you are..."
"A lesbian. Yes, I'm aware of that," she said with that giggle-laugh that I loved so much.
"If...I mean, if you feel you want a female companion, I am willing to..."
"Oh Harold. Don't be silly." She leaned forward and kissed me on the nose. On the nose? I don't recall her doing that before.
"Please, Sally, I need you to be my wife. I don't care if you are...you are..."
"Lesbian? Homosexual? Gay? What word are you after?" she giggled. She caressed my cheek and I felt weak in the knees.
We had a small wedding ceremony. Three of my closest male friends attended the small Catholic church near the cottage. Sally invited about a dozen girls who, I thought, may have been past lovers. Everyone descended on my cottage and there was an afternoon of great cheer, much laughter and many good wishes...then they all left and we were alone, at last.
"Are you happy?" Sally whispered, grinning. "I said I'd work on your becoming a Catholic, didn't I? This morning we married in a catholic church." She paused, then: "You were to attempt my conversion from homosexuality. Now look what you've done. We're married!"
She jumped up and began to dance. I was so happy it hurt. I loved this girl more than I could say. Over the next few months we sold her cottage. We kept mine because it was larger and more comfortable. I sold my townhouse and moved into her condo. It was larger and more comfortable than mine. The years that followed were filled with joy. We talk for hours after dinner, telling each other the events of the day. We went out for dinner each Wednesday: Chinese, Thai, German, Indian, whatever. We spent summer weekends at the cottage and almost always had grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. She never once indicated that she lusted for a female companion. As far as I could tell, our marriage was perfectly normal. In fact, it was, I felt, better than normal.
Sally got pregnant the year after we got married and again the year after that. Two delightful boys. We never had any more children. Two was enough. We took them camping, to Disney World, they loved the cottage, we bought a power boat and they learned to water ski. Both were good students and finished a bachelor's degree at McMaster University in Hamilton. When the boys were in their early twenties, they both moved to the United States. We keep in touch at Christmas and the occasional Thanksgiving. Other than that, we rarely hear from them. I understand that girls are better at staying in touch. I wouldn't know.
Now Sally and I are retired and spend happy days planning vacations: in a motorhome we would rent, cruises to the Mediterranean or Caribbean, all inclusive holidays in Cuba or the Bahamas or Antigua or Barbados or just pleasant weeks at the cottage. We live in the very same condo overlooking Lake Ontario that we had many years ago. We've also taken an interest in cooking special meals, things we have never tried before. These days the grocery stores are filled with exotic foodstuff.
I was in the living room with a glass of white wine. I was watching my beautiful wife prepare dinner. She was stirring some sort of stew.
"Sally, my dear," I said. "Could you come here for a minute?"
She turned the heat down and came with her glass of wine to sit by my side.
"I have always wondered," I said. "Have you ever, at any time over the years, wished you had married a woman? I mean, have you ever..."
"Oh Harold," she giggled. "You still think I'm a lesbian, don't you?"
"Yes, of course," I said. "Perhaps you have changed, but you were, at one time..."
"No, no my sweet. I was never a lesbian." She leaned forward and kissed my nose. I spilled wine on my pants.
"When I was a young woman I felt that I must have a man who could ignore my frailties, my faults, idiosyncrasies. If you still wanted to marry me, after I told you that I was a lesbian, then surely our marriage would last and be happy and successful." She paused. "And it has lasted, hasn't it? And we are happy, are we not?"
"Yes, my dear," I whispered. "We have been very happy."
"Okay then," she said, jumping to her feet and returning to stir the pot.
I could see she was smiling.
So was I.
We lived in the basement apartment of a rundown building. It was all we could afford. My wife did maid work for a rich guy upstairs. Well, they ain't no rich guys in this building, but he was sure as hell richer than we was. Actually, according to Maggie, she just did his laundry. Me? I have sometime work packing oranges at a local grocery outfit. The fruits would come from some place South and me and some other guys would put 'em in crates for shipping to grocery stores. When nobody was lookin I'd stick a few in my jeans. Maggie n me was gettin' sick o oranges. I needed to get us a better situation, a better life than this miserable place with no window and the sound of the furnace startin and stoppin every few minutes when it was cold. But I had a plan. Me and Harry would rob a bank.
I almost didn't have to tell Harry nothin. He was so enthused about the idea before I even got to the good part. He startin right off talkin about millions of dollars which must be at the First Community Bank, but I had to slow him down cause we was gonna rob the small bank at the corner of Main and Decoy street. The Community musta have a thousand guards with guns. The Burlington Dominion didn't have no guards, just Clem who came in for jest a few hours each day, all dressed in a neat outfit with gold buttons all down the front. I reckon we'd get a few hundred thousand and that'd be good enough for me and Harry. In fact, we might get Clem in on it, too. He could call in sick that day so we'd have clear sailin.
Course, we didn't have no guns or anythin like that, but we didn't need none. If'n I waved a plastic pistol about fast, nobody would know the difference. So Harry and I talked for mebbe an hour, plannin our strategy, who would do what and who would say what and who would be standin where and in particular, when. I didn't tell Maggie cause she'd shit her panties. Harry n I did tell most of the guys in Tilly's cause they was good friends and they'd be quiet about it and wouldn't tell a soul. Harry n I promised them all a round of beer when we was rich. Sure as shootn, they wished us luck. I says luck ain't got nothin to do with it. We got it all planned out. It was solid as a rock, like the Big Wall o China.
It was early Saturday mornin when we decided it was best. It'd be soon after the bank opened cause nobody hardly went there so early. Harry complained he didn't have no gun, so I let him hold my plastic pistol until we got to the front door. Then we put on our masks. They wasn't no real masks but I saw it in a movie once. They was Maggie's silk stockings. Maggie would shit her panties if'n she knew we was wearin em, but when we was rich I'd buy her a dozen. Harry complained of the smell but I said it'd be worth it. Ya gotta suffer a bit to be rich, I says.
Then I took my pistol and barged in, waving the gun so fast back and forth that nobody could tell it was plastic. Harry lets out a yell and I sees that the swingin door hit him full in the face. Harry ain't so swift in the head, but he's a good friend and was poor as Maggie n me. He came in, rubbed his nose and started swingin has arms about. He had no gun, but he swung em anyways. The bank shushed up pretty quick. Harry and I was the only customers there so I went to the nearest gal and say I want fill this here bag with money. I asked Harry for the bag, but he forgot it at home. Did I mention that harry aint' so swift in the head? Okay, I says to the gal, git a bag and git it quick and fill it with lotsa money. She looked mighty scared and ran to the back of the bank and through a door. I waited. Everybody in the bank was quiet as a mouse. Some guy all dressed to kill asked us if we'd like a coffee. That was nice of him, but before I get to him we was too busy, Harry says yes, black with lots of sugar if you please.
I hear some buzzing in the back, then the gal comes out with a sack big enough to
hold a pile o money. I ask if'n it's filled with money and she says yes and hands it to me. The buzzin is still there, in the back o the bank and I figure mebbe this gal pressed some button and the cops was comin. I ask her if the cops is comin and she says no, but we should leave right away before they come. So I hand the bag to Harry and we head out the door.
Now in the movies they got a getaway car, but Harry n I ain't got nothin like that, so we run down Decoy street and around the corner along Martha Street. I figure if we run fast we could git home before we git caught. I was wrong. The cop car was comin down Martha. Now they is a creek that runs across Martha and I says to Harry to dump the money bag. I figure if we ain't got no money then we ain't done nothin wrong. Harry stops runnin and starts in huggin the bag o money. I grabs it and tosses it over the wee bridge into the water. I sees that the bag opens and all the money comes floatin out. It don't look like no hundred of thousands of dollars, but as the bills float down the creek I reckon somebody is gonna be mighty happy to find it.
Harry n I cut across Martha into somebody's back yard. Harry is cryin cause he ain't got the money bag, but I knows we done the right thing. Our crummy apartment is better'n jail time.
We get home pretty quick and I asked Harry for his mask, but he dumped it back on Martha. He ain't that swift, this fella. I put my mask in Maggie's drawers and Harry and I set for a while. I got one beer in the fridge and we split it. When Maggie comes home she's mad as hell. You'd think she knew we took her stockings.
"Did ya hear?" she says. "They robbed Dominion Bank. All our savings is gone."
Chapter One
Clifford Eldridge Urquhart was a banker, a rich banker. He was sitting in the library admiring the walnut cabinets, the mahogany table, the plush sofa, the crystal chandelier. Life was very comfortable...but boring, predictable, stifling. He hadn't had an ounce of excitement since he first came to Canada in 1846 on the Lady Seaton, from London. Then, he had little money, worked hard, managed to gain the headship of a banking conglomerate and now sat relaxed–but unhappy with his tedious life. Clifford had never married, though he did have several romantic engagements. He never traveled once he arrived in Toronto. He had lived in his current mansion for almost fifteen years. He had a butler, a maid, a gardener and an excellent cook. He wanted for nothing...except a modicum of excitement.
He set down the pamphlet issued by the Canadian Government: The last Best West. It was a marketing ploy to encourage Canadians to move West, to settle the huge tracts of land which would become the provinces of Manitoba and Saskatchewan, created from the enormous North-West Territories. Clifford had no desire to settle in the West, but a visit would be exhilarating. The Canadian Pacific Railway, completed to British Columbia just ten years earlier, would take him to some small settlement, he would book a nice hotel suite and watch the local happenings. He would partake of the local foods, drink the local wines and meet the settlers who had accepted the government's offer of land in the West. His butler could arrange everything. Clifford's banking empire could survive without him for a few months.
It was early in June when Clifford entered his luxury compartment on the CPR train leaving Toronto for the West. He had packed several bags with clothes and money. It was a delightful journey and when he learned that the train passed through a town called Pile of Bones, he decided that was such a remarkable name that he'd disembark there. Information provided by the railway indicated that the name was due to the large number of buffalo bones along the banks of the Wascana Creek, Wascana being a name given by the Assiniboin Indians. Clifford was eager to wander about the town. Pile of Bones: that was absolutely delightful.
When he did detrain, he was surprised to find that there were no carriages to hire. He looked about and saw that the station was some distance from town. He was not eager to walk. There was a man sleeping on the deck, quite dark in colour, with a feather in his long, braided hair. He asked the man if there were some method of transportation into town. The man opened his eyes, looked up, pointed and went back to sleep. Clifford walked in the direction indicated and found a stable with horses. Was he expected to ride into town? Surely not. He went inside the small shed attached to the stable and asked the old gent there.
"How would I get into town?" Clifford asked.
"Horse," the gent said, spitting a black liquid into a nearby spittoon.
"Must I ride a horse? My name is Clifford Eldridge Urquhart and I would be grateful if you could arrange for transportation into town, or failing that, indicate how I could get there."
"Horse," the old gent said. "I sell horses."
"But...but I've never ridden a horse. Perhaps that man sleeping outside could help. Does he have transportation into town?"
"Bad Eye, the Indian? He ain't got no transportation. He lives here, with me, in back. Ya wanns buy a horse? I got two good ones."
It seemed hopeless, so Clifford Eldridge Urquhart bought a horse and a bag of grain, was helped onto the animal and began his journey into Pile of Bones. The horse was quite content to eat from the bag of grain while he sauntered along the road.
On the way he came upon another Indian riding what looked like a jackass. The Indian dismounted and pulled on the reins of Clifford's horse.
"I say old man," Clifford said. "Do let go. I am on my way into town."
The Indian muttered some words, incomprehensible, and pulled poor Clifford Eldridge Urquhart off his horse. The Indian hopped on and rode off. Clifford was left with his bag of clothes and money...and a jackass. The Indian had taken the bag of grain and Clifford had no idea how he would feed the ass. He was surprised to find that the animal actually ate the weeds by the side of the road.
It was late afternoon when Clifford rode into town. It was an unsanitary town with dirt roads, many dilapidated buildings and an unsavoury smell that he could not place. There were many piles of horse droppings on the streets and he correctly identified the origin of the odour. He looked quite a sight, tall, well dressed on a rather small jackass. People on the side of the road stopped, stared and snickered. Clifford stopped, slid off his ass and fell unceremoniously on his ass. He quickly jumped to his feet, dusted his trousers and asked a man for the best hotel in town. The man grinned and point just up the road. Clifford lead his donkey to a rather large building, tied the animal to a post and carried his bags inside.
"I would like a penthouse room, if you please," he said to the gentleman at the desk.
"Penthouse, eh? All our rooms is the same. Want one?"
"Yes, please...and do you have someone to carry my bags. They have become quite heavy."
"Nope. You got room 207. Here's the key. I need fifty cents up front. The bathroom is just down the hall. Want water? That's down the hall, too. Toilet paper is another penny for a whole roll."
"Are you saying that I do not have a bathroom?"
"Your bathroom is down the hall, like I said. They is four other on that floor that need to shit, too. You from the big city, eh? You'll get used to Pile o' Bones. Nice people, friendly, honest as the day is long. Oh, and I might say that eats if just across the street at Annie's. Try the buffalo stew. Annie does it up real good."
And so Clifford Eldridge Urquhart, the rich banker from Toronto, carried his bags to room 207, exhaled and tried not to breath too deeply, then collapsed on the cot and fell fast asleep. When he awoke it was dark, but there was a kerosene light in the hall, so he walked down the corridor to find the bathroom in order to relieve himself. He entered and found a urinal and a toilet and a terrible smell. There was someone on the toilet.
"Hey mister," she said. "I got here first. Wait outside till I'm finished."
Clifford immediately left the room and waited. The woman left and gave him a caustic stare. He held his breath and went in, quickly completed the task and returned to his room. His back was sore. The bed was rather less than he had hoped, but he managed to sleep until dawn.
Chapter Two
It was stifling hot when he left the hotel
and he found that his donkey was gone. People here are honest as the day is long? He didn't think so.
He walked across to Annie's and sat at a wood table that was covered in carved images, mostly obscene. A rather large woman approached him, bent down and whispered in his face.
"What you want?" she said. "Buffalo stew?"
Her blouse was quite loose and he could see her breasts, plump, colossal, massive.
"Uh...could I have a small salad with fried eggs and black coffee and a glass of orange juice, please."
"Okay mister. Stew it is." The she rose to her full height and left. Her posterior was imposing.
Clifford placed his bag on the other chair. It held clothes and money. He really must find a bank to hold the money. If his donkey was stolen, then his money would be stolen...eventually. When Annie returned with a bowl of buffalo stew, he asked her for the location of a bank.
"Clem got hisself a bank," she said. "Clem's a good man, honest and good. His bank is at the end of town."
The stew was actually delicious and he wolfed it down at an alarming rate, then he left after paying Annie the ten cents she required. He also left he a sizable tip.