1933

Ranchers Cafe sat on the main road heading into Floyd, Texas, offering easy access for anyone coming into town or leaving. Inside the cafe, it buzzed with the low murmur of conversation and the rattle of silverware against plates. The scent of frying bacon from the kitchen, along with brewed coffee mixed with the sweet aroma of homemade pie, wrapped around the few guests scattered throughout the dining area. It was 1933, and despite the cold weather of North Texas, the smells and warmth of the diner provided a cozy atmosphere. At a corner table under the soft glow of light from the overhead fixture, Jack and Ruth sat across from each other, hot cups of coffee in front of them. Six months shy of their first wedding anniversary, they were seizing the opportunity to enjoy their new life in Floyd and indulge in a Saturday morning breakfast in a town they were growing to love—Ruth, a schoolteacher, and Jack, a lawyer.

Both were animated as they discussed current events, their voices low but vibrant. “I still can't believe Roosevelt got elected,” Ruth said, shaking her head softly before taking a sip of her coffee. “Maybe we will finally turn a corner, and he can help pull us out of this mess.”

Jack nodded, more in acknowledgment of her than to the actual statement. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. “I don't know; Hoover and his cohorts made a big mess. We need someone in office who understands and can rebuild our economy. Like you, I hope we can turn a corner. The New Deal that FDR proposed sounds hopeful.”

She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the warmth as it spread through her. “But then there are so many other things happening—like Clyde and Bonnie and John Dillinger. They are causing quite a commotion.”

Jack chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting in amusement. “Yeah, I know, but at this point, most of what the papers are printing is hearsay. Who knows the real truth? The newspapers print anything and everything, and most of the time, they’re wrong. But they keep these outlaws’ tales growing. These criminals are genuinely robbing banks and stores; I believe that. But they’re blamed for almost every hold-up, robbery, or murder that happens.” He turned his palms up in a "what can I say" manner. “I have to admit, there’s something romantic about Clyde and Bonnie, living life on the edge. I can’t help but be fascinated by them. It’s like they’re living out one of those motion picture adventures or a story right out of the true crime book Startling Detective.”

Ruth leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she folded her arms across her chest. “But at what cost? They’re criminals, Jack. They’re putting innocent lives in danger. And then there’s Pretty Boy Floyd, who thinks he’s a modern-day Robin Hood. People are celebrating him like some hero. This country is turning into the Wild West again.” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

Jack leaned back with his coffee, took a sip, and began smiling. Ruth, curious about his smile, looked down, then around the cafe, and leaned forward. “What?” she whispered. “Are you making a spectacle of me?” 

He leaned toward her, setting his cup aside and taking her hands in his. “No, dear, you are no spectacle.” Gently caressing her fingers with his thumbs, he continued, “Not only are you the most beautiful woman in all of Texas, but you are also the most intelligent. I love listening to you speak your mind.” He gently squeezed her hands, and she returned the gesture, relishing the warmth of his large hands. She smiled warmly and whispered, “Oh, Jack.”

“I am also thankful for—” Just as Jack started, the waitress approached their table, a notepad in hand and an apologetic look on her face. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, tucking her notepad into the front pocket of her apron. Her voice cut through their conversation. They looked up, and she pointed out the window behind Jack. “Is that your black Ford sedan right there?” 

Jack turned in the direction she was pointing, and Ruth leaned to the side to see. They both spotted their 1933 Model 40 parked outside the diner, the new car's paint glistening in the morning sun. “Yes, ma’am. That’s ours,” he replied, making strong eye contact with the waitress, eyebrows raised. 

“Well, a brownish sedan, similar to yours, just pulled up. The man driving stepped out and limped over to your car.” She paused and leaned closer, as if breaking some serious news, her eyes squinting as she recalled all the details. “As the man got close, one of our regular customers pulled up, and they both left in a hurry.”

Jack wrinkled his forehead slightly, then looked over to Ruth. “That’s strange,” he muttered, his brow furrowing with concern. “What did they look like?”

The waitress shrugged, her brow furrowing as she recalled the scene. “I didn’t get a good look at the man. He was wearing a hat, and the way he walked… well, it looked like he might’ve been hurt. But the woman in the passenger seat kept leaning out, trying to get a better look at your car each time they passed it.”

Ruth leaned forward with intrigued curiosity. “You think they were looking for something or someone?” Jack’s expression grew serious as he contemplated the possibility. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. But it’s strange enough to raise some eyebrows.” He turned back to glance out the window, scanning the street for any sign of the brownish sedan. “It's probably nothing, but maybe we should keep an eye out.” 

As the waitress moved away, Jack turned again for one last look. That’s when the sedan pulled up again beside their car. The woman was driving this time, and the man slid out of the passenger side. With lightning speed, he started their car. The brownish sedan left first, followed by their sedan, sending gravel and rocks flying as they spun their tires.

Jack bolted out the door, and Ruth followed. They made it in time to watch both sedans disappear down the road. A moment later, the waitress appeared by their side. “I called the sheriff and told him what happened. He will be here later to speak with y’all.” She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to go back inside.

Still staring down the road, Jack placed his arm around Ruth, and she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Jack began laughing, and Ruth looked up at her husband, startled. “What are you laughing at?” she asked, pulling away slightly.

He turned to face her, placing his hands on her arms and rubbing them softly. “Well, nothing lasts forever in this crazy world, and the day we let things like this rule our lives without some laughter is a day lost to thugs like that. They will eventually meet their demise. I’m pretty sure that was Clyde and Bonnie.”

She tilted her head up with widened eyes. “Oh dear,” she gasped, her voice disbelieving.

He pulled her back to him, and she rested her head against his chest as he placed his chin on top of her head. He then spoke softly, “I have you, and right now, that is what I am truly grateful for.” After another moment, they started back toward the cafe.