by Donis Casey
“Well, Gee, each of us has to follow our conscience as best we can. I’d hate to think that we might lose the thing that makes America different than all the other countries—the right to say what we think.”
After a brief, awkward pause, Gee Dub said, “So you don’t have a good opinion of Army life?”
Rob’s expression when he looked back at Gee Dub was oddly compassionate. He knew the young man was anxious to hear something comforting. Rob wracked his brain for a moment. “Well, Army life ain’t so bad. They feed you pretty good, and you get as fond of your comrades as if they was your own brothers. And when you’re all decked out in your military finery, the ladies think you cut quite a dash.” Rob was glad to hear his nephew snort a laugh. He turned and began walking again. “You told your mama yet?”
“No. I figure I’ll tell Daddy first. Don’t look forward to telling Mama.”
Now it was Rob’s turn to laugh. “I reckon not.”
***
The beds in the toolshed bedroom were basic, but comfortable. In fact, Alafair had made Gee Dub’s “bachelor quarters” into a place that Rob wouldn’t mind calling home himself. The furniture was mostly recycled and threadbare, but serviceable and clean. Rob was glad to see that the two cots had iron bedsteads, which made it more difficult for bedbugs to get a foothold. He had spend many an itchy night in bunkhouses and two-bit hotels. Considering the number of animals around the Tucker farm, fleas were still a possibility. But the floor was scrubbed raw and the room smelled vaguely of lye water. If he knew his fastidious sister, vermin steered clear of her domain in fear of their lives. The handmade horsehair mattresses looked new, tufted to hold the filling in place and the edges hand-stitched together. A painted wooden table with two chairs graced the center of the room. A washstand with a pitcher and chipped basin, small chest of drawers, and a Franklin stove in one corner completed the furnishings. There was one window on the back wall, wide open because of the heat. For privacy Alafair had strung curtains made from two worn calico aprons on a leather strap.
“Your ma has fixed this place up nice,” he observed to Gee Dub.
Gee Dub cast a critical glance around. “It’s home, for the moment at least. Dad made this room up a few years ago so there’d be a place for hired hands to stay, if they needed to. Right now everybody who works for him has his own bunk somewhere else. Handy for me.” He gestured toward the table. “Fling your rucksack yonder, Uncle Robin. There are a couple of hooks on the wall there if you want to hang anything up.”
Rob made up the spare bed, stripped down to his skivvies, and slid between the quilt and the sheets that Alafair had given him. The pillow was filled with goose feathers and the pillowcase and sheet smelled of herbs. He nearly wept at the luxury of it all.
Chapter Eleven
“Food Gamblers Raise Price of Canned Goods”
—Chicago Tribune, April 1917
As soon as the men left for the fields after breakfast, Alafair hitched up her gragoy mare, Missy, to the buggy and sat Grace beside her for a trip into town to run errands. On the way she stopped by her daughter Mary’s house long enough tickle baby Judy and ask Mary to a family supper tonight. Alafair’s seven-year-old nephew Chase Kemp begged to come to town with them. Grace and Chase Kemp were a handful when they were together, but Grace whined for her adored older cousin to be allowed to come, so Alafair loaded him into the backseat and off they went.
Aram Khouri, the proprietor of Khouri’s Market, was a compact, dark-haired man of about forty, friendly and kind, with large, moist black eyes that reminded Alafair of her son-in-law John Lee’s. Mr. Khouri had an equally attractive wife named Ana and three young children, as well as a fat, garrulous, child-friendly father who lived with them. The Khouris were recent additions to Boynton’s fast-growing population, having only lived in town for a couple of years. Alafair had no idea where they were from originally, only that they had bought the market from Mr. Haddad when he retired. They resided in a large apartment above the store, and the whole family, from the seventy-year-old grandfather to the six-year-old baby of the family, pitched in at the market to clean, stock, and wait on customers.
It was Aram himself who was behind the counter today, and he broke into a beaming grin when he recognized Alafair Tucker, her pert little daughter Grace, and her nephew Chase Kemp.
“Hello, Miz Tucker, hello. Why, you’re looking pretty, Grace. And Chase! How you’ve grown since last week! What can I do for you today, Miz Tucker? Don’t get to see you so much since the food rules went into effect. I swear, even the townfolks are growing their own vegetables and meat these days.”
Chase tugged on his aunt’s skirt before she could reply. “Can I go outside?”
“All right, but don’t wander off. Stay where I can see you.”
Chase sped off and Grace tried to follow, but Alafair caught her by the collar and lifted the giggling little girl into her arms. Leaving Grace below eye-level was an invitation for her to get into mischief. “Have the new food rules hurt your business, Mr. Khouri?”
“It’s different, Miz Tucker. I buy folks’ extra that they grew too much of, and sell it to somebody that grew a bunch of something else. Better that way than when the war first started and all the housewives here in town were hoarding canned goods. Why, for a month or so there, I couldn’t keep anything on the shelves. I could have charged three times the price and they’d have paid. Never would do it, though. It’s evil to take advantage of people’s fear. Still, I have to charge an outlandish price just to break even!” He leaned over the counter and his voice dropped. “Sometimes I just trade one thing for another—a chicken for a peck of peas, that kind of thing. Don’t know if that’s a thing to be doing, but in these times I think we’ve got to help one another however we can.”
“Sounds like a patriotic way to do business, to my mind.” Alafair felt a small pang of guilt, since she was one of those who was growing her own and no longer buying extra. It seemed like you couldn’t do even the best-intentioned thing without affecting someone in a way you didn’t anticipate.
“What can I do for you, Miz Tucker?” Mr. Khouri repeated.
“I came into town to pick up mail and visit with my daughters and my grandbaby for a spell, but I figured that while I’m here, I may as well come by and see if you have some round steak for sale today. I’m fixing to cook up a special dinner today and I expect that a bit of beef would fill the bill. We don’t much partake of beef these days.”
“Well, you’re in luck! I just bought a whole beef from Mr. Eichelberger this very morning. He’s been raising calves to sell to the co-op but I talked him into selling one to me for the benefit of his hard-working neighbors.”
“I know beef isn’t that easy to come by these days. I hope it isn’t too expensive or I’ll have to revise my plans.”
“I can let you have some nice bottom round steak for twenty cents a pound.”
She sucked in a breath. “That’s dear.”
“Is this for a special occasion?”
She hesitated. As a union organizer, Rob was a divisive figure, but she knew that the longer Rob stayed with them the harder it was going to be to keep his presence a secret. She had too many gabby children to keep anything under wraps for long. But under the circumstances, there was no reason to go out of her way to advertise the fact that he was visiting. “We’ve been so austere lately that I reckon the family deserves a nice meal. Besides, we have a birthday coming up.” Not really a fib. With ten children, in-laws, and grandchildren, somebody’s birthday was always coming up.
Khouri smiled and lifted a shoulder. “Like you said, beef is hard to come by these days. But since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you have it for eighteen cents a pound. How’s that?”
“How about seventeen cents a pound and I’ll bring you a half-dozen quarts of peaches I canned last month next time I’m in town?”
“
Deal!” Khouri’s eyes lit up. He disappeared into the back room. Alafair heard the mechanical creak of the refrigerator door, the rustling of paper and a couple of thumps, before Mr. Khouri reappeared with the back end of a side of beef flung over his shoulder. He clunked it onto the marble cutting surface, pulled a cleaver from under the counter, and hacked the bottom round away from the bone. He picked up a long, wicked, carving knife. “How much you want, Miz Tucker?”
“I’m tempted to take the whole round, Mr. Khouri. You know what a herd of folks I have to feed. I’ll cut the steaks myself.”
He carved an enormous slab off the bone and wrapped the meat in a piece of butcher paper. “How’s the family, Mr. Khouri?” Alafair asked,
“Oh, doing very well, thank you, ma’am. We’re starting to feel right at home here. The children have made so many friends at school. Nathan will be starting fifth grade next year. I can hardly believe it! He’s been selling more Liberty Stamps to customers here in the store than I have! Oh, I love the West! So much more opportunity than back home!”
“Where did you move in from?”
“From Chicago. Such a big town, you wouldn’t believe. My wife misses her family, of course, but we wouldn’t go back to all that noise and crowds.”
“I’m glad you came out, Mr. Khouri. Thank you for the nice piece of meat.”
***
Old Nick treated himself to a sundae at Williams’ Drug Store downtown, then took a leisurely stroll up and down the main thoroughfare, looking into the shop windows and killing time until dark. He had big plans for the evening, for he figured that Rose’s place would be hopping at around midnight. And her customers were likely to be just the kind of men who could be tempted to avail themselves of Nick’s special talents.
But it was a long while until midnight, so Nick used the time to look around and see if any other opportunities presented themselves. The street was busy, and it wasn’t hard for him to lose himself in the crowd. Most of the housewives, businessmen, and overalls-clad farmers that he passed were plain, decent people who held no interest for him. After an hour or so he was ready to find someplace to hole up and wait for dark. Until a round, natty man in a black suit came out of a door marked “W.E. Clare Insurance Agency, Upstairs.” The face was pinched and anxious, sporting hectic red cheeks. He clutched a sheaf of papers in his hand. The round man kept his eyes on the sidewalk as he hurried up the street, thinking his own thoughts, until he came upon Khouri’s market and looked up sharply. He stood outside for a moment, carefully inspecting the signs Khouri had posted in his window. The price of a peck of green beans, a pound of butter, quart of sweet cream.
The round man’s mouth grew more pursed by the second as he scanned the window. Finally he drew himself up and marched inside, followed by a big-eyed, buck-toothed little boy who had been playing on the sidewalk.
Old Nick sucked in a satisfied breath and let it out. It looked like he would have plenty to keep himself amused this afternoon.
Chapter Twelve
“I am glad to join you in the service of food conservation for our Nation and I hereby accept membership in the United States Food Administration, pledging myself to carry out the directions and advice of the Food Administration in my home, in so far as my circumstances permit.”
—Housewife’s pledge card,
United States Food Administration, 1917
Mr. Khouri and Alafair turned to see who had entered the store. Alafair smiled, but Mr. Khouri drooped when he recognized the plump, well-dressed man steaming toward them. Chase Kemp had followed the man in, copying his hurried stride and determined expression with such verve that Alafair had some trouble keeping a straight face. Grace had no such compunction and shrieked out a laugh. Alafair put her down and gave her a shove toward the door before the girl could say something undiplomatic. “You children wait for me outside. And stay on the sidewalk.” Her tone dissuaded the two children from trying to argue. They were gone in a flash.
“Good day, Mr. Clover,” Khouri said. His greeting wasn’t as enthusiastic as it might have been.
Emmanuel Clover nodded a businesslike greeting. “Mr. Khouri, Mrs. Tucker.”
Khouri crossed his arms. “What can I do for you?”
Alafair sensed a frisson of ill-will between the two men, which surprised her. She had always found both Mr. Clover and Mr. Khouri to be pleasant men.
“I notice that you haven’t posted the Food Administration’s list of austerity days,” Clover said.
Khouri shot a thumb over his left shoulder. “There it is right there, Mr. Clover. Right behind the counter for anyone to see.”
Mr. Clover looked as if he’d just had a big gulp of vinegar, Alafair thought. And Mr. Khouri’s face had taken on a formidable cast.
“Well, it should be in the front window, as well,” Emmanuel Clover said.
Alafair had hoped that if she stood very still Clover would forget her and she could eavesdrop long enough to determine the cause of the unpleasantness between the two men. But her hopes were dashed when Clover turned toward her. His expression lightened and he smiled. “So nice to see you, Mrs. Tucker. Have you already signed your pledge card?”
“Long ago, Mr. Clover.”
“Have you heard? The results of the draft lottery will be posted at the Masonic Hall next Friday after the Liberty Sing. I hope you and your family come into town to join the festivities, Mrs. Tucker. Your sons can learn if their numbers have been called.”
A “Liberty Sing” was held in the Boynton Masonic Hall every other Saturday afternoon. But this one had been moved up to Friday evening to correspond with the draft lottery. Mr. Kirby, owner of the Index newspaper, was sending a reporter to Muskogee to wire the results of the drawing back to Boynton so no one would have to wait for his official draft notice in the mail. This would be the third Liberty Sing the town had held since war was declared, and was as necessary an event for the locals to attend as Sunday church service. The way feelings were running, no one could afford to be counted absent.
“We’ll be at the Liberty Sing, but my sons are both too young for the draft.” She felt her heart pick up a beat at the very thought of either of them being conscripted.
Clover’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed? I would have thought at least the older one—G.W., isn’t it?—had passed his twenty-first birthday.”
“Not yet…” she said. She didn’t add that Gee Dub’s twenty-first birthday was in less than six weeks.
“Well! He shouldn’t despair. I don’t doubt that there will be another draft within a few months. Besides, any young man over eighteen years of age can volunteer for service, with his parents’ permission. Your sons will no doubt do your clan proud.”
Alafair felt her cheeks grow warm. She cast a glance at Mr. Khouri before she answered. He looked as uncomfortable with the topic of conversation as she felt. “I’m already proud of them, Mr. Clover. How is that sweet girl of yours these days?”
Clover’s business-like demeanor melted away entirely at the mention of his daughter. “Forsythia Lily is fine as maple sugar, thank you for asking. Since I have taken on this important war work she has been residing with her grandmother. I do miss her dearly, but my duty to this great country must come first. I feel everyone should do his part. Our very lives are at stake, you know.” A flash of fear crossed his face, and Alafair thought, he really believes that. Clover turned back to Khouri and resumed his stern expression. “I’ll bring an extra poster by for you later today. Do you have plenty of pledge cards on hand?”
Khouri pointed them out on the edge of the counter. “I do.”
“You must be very diligent, Mr. Khouri. Those who are not native-born run the risk of being seen as insufficiently patriotic to their adopted country.”
Khouri drew a sharp breath and straightened, but before he could reply, Grace appeared at the open door of the shop. Since she had been instructed to
stay outside, she hollered at the top of her lungs. “Ma! Chase is sticking his toe in the street!”
Alafair clapped a hand to her heart. “Mercy! Grace, come here and quit that bellowing.”
Mr. Clover stifled a laugh. “I take that as a cue that I must be going. Good afternoon Mrs. Tucker. Mr. Khouri.”
After he had gone, Khouri snorted. “I’m quite native-born, thank you.”
Alafair grabbed Grace by the arm and brought the child to heel. “Why, Mr. Khouri, whatever has happened between you and Mr. Clover?” she asked, ignoring Grace’s protests. “I didn’t know there was bad feeling between you. Mr. Clover has always been a man of great goodwill, though I think that the death of his wife has affected him sorely.”
Khouri was not offended by her inquiry. “There didn’t used to be ill-will between us, Miz Tucker. But since he joined up with the Council of Defense it seems he’s made it his life’s work to keep an eye on my family. He bothers the other merchants, too, it’s true, but not like me.” He paused and sighed. “At least he’s not like the other agent, that Avey fellow. Now, he’s a bully if ever I saw one.”
Alafair was barely aware of Grace tugging to escape her mother’s grip or of Chase Kemp standing just outside the door, making faces at his cousin. “But why would they bother you in particular, Mr. Khouri?”
Khouri was surprised that she should ask. “I have a ‘foreign’ name and I talk different from you, Miz Tucker, and my father was born in the old country. It seems that is reason enough to suspect me and all my kin of sedition.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”
Khouri smiled at her innocence. “Fair doesn’t come into it, not in my experience.”
***
As soon as he saw the round man step out onto the street from Khouri’s Market, Old Nick caught his mood from all the way across the street. The round man had been determined when he went inside, and now he was determined, worried, and afraid. Nick didn’t know what the man was afraid of, but fear shimmered around him like heat rising from a fire. Something inside the market scared him, something he wished would go away. But was he afraid enough to want what Nick had to offer?