by Donis Casey
After they returned to the house, Alafair put Grace down for a nap. As soon as the girl was asleep, Alafair picked up the Mark Twain novel that Martha had pressed on her and walked down the hall to relieve Ruth Ann at Lester’s bedside.
She could tell by her sister’s face that Lester was having a bad day. Ruth Ann looked drawn and pale as she gave her report on Lester’s condition, Alafair thought. She determined to try and spend some time alone with Ruth Ann this very afternoon, if she could manage it. Sometimes just having someone to talk to honestly made it possible for one to bear the unbearable.
She sent Ruth Ann out with instructions to eat something and walk downtown to see the carnival preparations, then sat down next to Lester’s bed with the book in her hand.
Ike was on the bed, scrunched up very close to Lester’s frail form, and for a minute, Alafair and the cat regarded one another. She didn’t know what to think about this cat. On the farm, a cat was definitely not a house pet, and certainly not a member of the family, like this creature seemed to think he was.
She didn’t try to talk to Lester. His breathing was labored and his eyes were pinched closed. Ruth Ann told her that he had held out as long as he could before he allowed her to give him a dose of laudanum just a few minutes earlier. Alafair expected the narcotic would take effect shortly and allow Lester to sleep. She leaned forward to lift Ike off the bed, and was surprised, then, when Lester opened his eyes and said, “Leave him be, Alafair.”
She sat back. “I’ll swan, Lester, you gave me a start! Can I get something for you?”
“No, I don’t need anything,” he croaked.
“I brought that book by Mr. Mark Twain. Shall I read to you?”
“I was just hoping you’d talk to me a mite.”
She lowered the book into her lap and leaned back. “Well, me and my girls did some shopping today. Martha was in the mood to spend some money, I reckon. I never seen so much spent at one time in one place in my life. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how independent young ladies are these days. The more I protested, the more she insisted. I must say, though, that thanks to her foolishness, me and Grace have got ourselves some fine new duds.”
Lester made a huffing sound that could have been a chuckle, and Alafair drew a breath to continue. But Lester had another topic on his mind.
“Kenneth back yet?” he said. His hand crept out from under the covers and rested on Ike’s back. The cat’s eyes closed.
Alafair blinked at the unexpected question. “No. If Olivia has heard from him, she hasn’t said anything to me about it. I got the impression she thought he’d be back today, but she doesn’t seem worried. Is Ruth Ann fretted about it?”
“She mentioned it once or twice this morning.”
“Well, I reckon he’s making a pretty long trip. One day is neither here nor there. Besides, the day ain’t over yet.”
“That’s what I told her, but she’s given to worry, as I’m sure you know.”
Alafair smiled. “Well, don’t you be worrying, now. I’ll try to set Ruth Ann’s mind to rest about things later.”
Lester nodded and Alafair fell quiet, expecting the invalid to drift off now that he’d spoken his mind.
“I despair of that boy, sometimes.” Lester’s whispery voice barely disturbed the silence. Alafair looked up.
“You must be feeling a little better,” she observed. “Is the laudanum helping?”
His thin shoulders shifted against the pillow in a shrug. “Olivia tell you how the young’un appropriated some business funds that he figured was just laying around doing nothing, and bought himself some land?”
Alafair was surprised. “No.”
“He’s sinking himself a wildcat well. Went in partners with a driller from over Osage County. Name of Nickolls. Met him once. Kind of like him. But I was riled that Kenneth practically stole that money from the business.”
“I reckon!”
“I fixed it so he can’t have access to the Yeager funds without my or Mike Ed’s countersignature.”
Ike obviously didn’t care for the direction this conversation was taking. He jumped off the bed.
“Lester, you’re going to wear yourself out,” Alafair warned.
Lester ignored her. “He’s fell in with some bad company of late, too, this pathetic, worthless, do-nothing son of Buck Collins. Name of Ellery. The dad owns half the town and schemes to own the other half. Knows everybody’s business. I think he owns somebody, maybe two or three somebodies, at city hall, the courthouse.”
Alafair was becoming alarmed at Lester’s rant. His ashen cheeks sported hectic red spots, and his voice sounded husky and frantic. “Now, don’t get all excited, Lester. This can’t do you any good at all.”
“Naw, that dope is doing its business. Let me say my piece before it puts me out. I was scared that after I cut him off from the business money, Kenneth would borrow from Ellery—or worse, from old Buck. That Buck is a nasty creature. Got no conscience at all, Alafair. A killer. He preys on the weak, or folks in trouble. He’s like a snake. When a body is down he strikes fast, before the victim can think. Yes, I was scared Kenneth would go to that poisoned well after I cut off the spigot. I give Kenneth a tongue lashing to beat all. Said I never was so disappointed in anybody in my life. He promised to get shet of his unsavory friends. And now Ruth Ann says that Ellery left town last month, went back east.” He hesitated a moment to catch his breath, such as it was, then continued. “I was relieved to hear Ellery is gone. I think it’ll be all right now.”
Alafair didn’t know if she was expected to comment, but it didn’t matter. Lester fell asleep at the end of his sentence.
***
Alafair sat at the dining room table by herself in the quiet house, snapping and stringing beans for supper. Lu was upstairs, changing bed linens, and Ruth Ann was with Lester. Olivia had taken Grace and Ron to her house until suppertime. Martha had gone with them, but told her mother that she only intended to stay for a few minutes before she walked back to the Yeager house to help with the meal preparations.
Alafair usually appreciated whatever solitude she could get, but at the moment, she wasn’t enjoying the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about Lester’s unexpected tirade. What on earth made him confide such a thing in her? What did he think she could do about it?
He probably didn’t expect her to do anything, she thought. The problem had more than likely been preying on his mind, and he just needed to get it off his chest. And who else could he tell? Not Ruth Ann. He had spent half a lifetime protecting Ruth Ann from unpleasant realities, though Alafair was quite sure Ruth Ann was capable of dealing with whatever she had to. Lu? Now, there was an interesting thought. Probably not, though. No matter how much Lester might trust their shadowy housekeeper, she wasn’t family, and this kind of information could only be safely shared with family.
She couldn’t help but fume a little as she considered what that wool-brained Kenneth was putting his family through. She had just thought him inconsiderate. Now her opinion of him had slid quite a bit south of that.
She gave her head a tight shake, trying to derail the unpleasant train of thought.
“Wish I had something else to occupy me,” she murmured aloud.
As the words hung in the air, Alafair heard the front door slam and Streeter McCoy’s voice call Martha’s name. Before she could react, Martha’s blurred form appeared momentarily as she dashed across the foyer and ran upstairs. Alafair’s forehead wrinkled. Martha was not a woman given to dramatics, and in any other circumstance, Alafair would have been alarmed enough by this display to run after her. Over the last week she had become aware enough of Martha’s situation, though, that her concern was tempered with slightly amused pity.
She dropped a half-strung green bean back into the bowl and eyed the parlor entrance until McCoy slouched into view and stood gazing forlornly up the staircase with his hand on the newel.
“Streeter,” she called, and he tore his eyes away from the stairwe
ll to look at her. When he realized she had been watching, he looked chagrined.
“Mrs. Tucker.”
“What’s going on?”
“I happened to meet Martha on her way back from her cousin’s and she let me walk with her for a ways. We got to talking. I guess the conversation took a turn she didn’t like.”
Alafair’s eyebrows peaked. How had he “happened” to meet her walking back from Olivia’s place? His office and hotel were downtown. Neither the Crawford house nor the Yeager house was on any logical route of his.
She stood up and wiped her hands on her apron before walking back into the parlor and making herself comfortable on the settee. Ike the cat, curled up at the other end, briefly opened one eye to check her out before resuming his nap. She picked up a partially stitched quilt panel from the sewing basket she had left on the side table earlier.
“Come on in here and talk to me for a spell.”
He threw one more hopeful glance up the stairs before he hung his hat on the rack by the door and trod into the parlor. He sat down in a tufted armchair across the tea table from her.
Alafair didn’t speak for a minute. She added a stitch or two to her quilt panel, allowing McCoy to catch his breath and regain his equilibrium. He drew his handkerchief from his breast pocket and absently mopped his forehead, carefully refolded and replaced it, and flopped back into the chair. Alafair gave him a brief glance, trying hard to spare his dignity and not smile.
Finally, it was McCoy himself who engaged. “I just don’t understand, Mrs. Tucker.”
“What is it you don’t understand, Streeter?”
He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his chin on his hand. “Why, women, ma’am. And it surprises me some to admit it. I thought I had a better handle on the fair sex than it seems I actually do.”
“I think there’s one woman in particular that stumps you.”
He straightened a little and laughed, suddenly looking much more like himself. “Mrs. Tucker, you’ve got the truth of it, there. If there’s any advice you could give me concerning that particular woman, I’d be eternally grateful.”
“I don’t know what you think I could tell you, Streeter. Besides, if you want to know what Martha is thinking, you’d better ask her.”
“That’s the rub, ma’am. I’ve been asking until I’m blue in the face. It seems she doesn’t want me to go, yet she doesn’t want me to stay, either. She just wants to be friends, she says.”
“You don’t want to be ‘just friends’?”
“Oh, Mrs. Tucker, I’ve asked her to marry me half-a-dozen times.”
Alafair felt her cheeks flush and quickly looked down at her sewing, trying not to burst into tears of joy.
“But she’s turned me down every time,” McCoy was saying. “And now, if I even get near the subject…well, you’ve just seen the result.”
Alafair’s heart sank. “Well, then, I guess she’s given you her answer. You can’t make her love you.”
“But the way she… I mean, I swear she feels… I don’t presume to know what your daughter feels, ma’am, but I think she does love me. Am I wrong, Mrs. Tucker? Am I just fooling myself?”
His voice had taken on a plaintive quality. Alafair kept her eyes on her stitching. “I think maybe she cares for you, Streeter.”
He made an unintelligible noise that suggested joy, but when he spoke, he sounded calm and in control of himself. “Then can you tell me why she won’t marry me?”
Alafair looked up. McCoy was sitting right on the edge of his seat. “It’s not that simple, Streeter. Martha tells me that she doesn’t want to marry at all. And then you come along, and she’s fallen in love with you whether she likes it or not. She doesn’t know what to do.”
McCoy thought about this for a moment. “Any idea what she has against marriage, Mrs. Tucker?”
“Now, you’re telling me that y’all haven’t talked about this?”
“Like I said, I’ve tried to talk about it. If she’d tell me what the difficulty is, maybe between us we could do something about it.”
Alafair took a minute to consider how far she could go if she offered McCoy her opinion. The idea of meddling didn’t bother her, if it would help Martha, but she wouldn’t like to say anything that Martha might consider a betrayal of her trust. She couldn’t remember actually promising her daughter not to talk to McCoy about the problem, so she plunged ahead.
“I can only tell you what she’s mentioned to me, son. Whether or not it helps you understand her, well, I can’t guarantee that. She did tell me that she don’t want to give up her job at the bank, and Mr. Bushyhead has made it right clear to her that he thinks a married woman has no business working except in her own home.”
McCoy’s perplexed expression changed to one of understanding. “I see. Well, I never thought of that, and I feel like a perfect fool. I kind of expected she was maybe afraid of…marriage.” He flushed red.
But Alafair wasn’t bothered by the implication. “I don’t think so, Streeter.”
He emitted an uncomfortable laugh. “No, you’re right. I just couldn’t think of a more likely reason. But, knowing Martha, it makes sense. I just assumed every woman wanted her own home to run, and a family.”
Now Alafair did smile. “Where’d you get an idea like that, sugar?”
McCoy reddened a bit at her teasing tone. “From my mother, I guess, and my sisters. All the girls I know seem to be happy to marry, and I expected…”
“Not all girls are alike, any more than all fellows are. Where I grew up, you didn’t have no choice. If you were a girl, you either took your chances and married up with the best man you could get to ask you, or you stayed home all your life and took care of your ma and pa until they died. Then you hoped one of your relatives would take pity on their spinster aunt or sister and take you in as an unpaid nursemaid to their babies and sick folks. If you were like me or my sister Miz Yeager, you’d get lucky and find yourself a good man who’d treat you with respect and leave you alone to do your business your own way. If you weren’t, well, you were pretty much stuck.
“Now, Martha, she has choices. Besides, she’s proud and I think the idea of having to obey her husband rankles her some. She’d rather be her own boss.”
“Mrs. Tucker, I’ve never known a smart woman to obey her husband if it didn’t suit her.”
The comment made Alafair chuckle. “You’re a smart man.”
“Why, I’d never try to lord it over Martha, and if she wants to have a job, that’s up to her, even if it isn’t with Mr. Bushyhead.”
“Don’t be telling me, Streeter. Talk it over with Martha. Just don’t tell her you and me put our heads together over it, because I guarantee she’d take exception to that.”
“Mrs. Tucker, I can’t thank you enough for telling me all this.” He stood up. “I was feeling pretty stumped. I’ll leave now, and talk to Martha again later, when she’s cooled down some. If you’d please let her know that I’m sorry and that I’ll telephone her this evening to make plans for tomorrow morning, I’d be obliged.”
“I’ll be glad to.”
He walked across the parlor, then paused at the entryway and turned. “I sure appreciate it that you’re on my side, Mrs. Tucker.”
“Now, Streeter, I like you. You seem like a fine man, and if my girl sees fit to marry someday, I think she could do a lot worse than you. But don’t be fooled. I’m on Martha’s side, and nobody else’s.”
McCoy’s lip twitched in amusement. He retrieved his hat from the coat tree in the foyer and gave Alafair a little bow before he put it on. “Just as it should be, ma’am.”
After he left, Alafair went back to her appliqué, feeling vaguely troubled by the renewed hope in McCoy’s voice and stance. To tell the truth, she wasn’t at all sure that Martha’s reluctance to hear McCoy’s suit was entirely due to her desire for a career and independence. Alafair had seen no evidence, but she had a feeling that there was some other reason that Martha hadn�
��t told her. What it was, she couldn’t imagine. Perhaps Martha didn’t know herself, or was simply unable to put it into words. In any event, she feared that Streeter McCoy still had a way to go in his quest for Martha’s hand.
Her darling Martha, her eldest, the apple of her eye. Complicated, thoughtful, responsible to a fault. Her best friend. Yes, if she were forced at gunpoint, she might say that even though she’d die a thousand deaths for any of her children, Martha was her favorite.
She looked over at the cat, who was watching her expectantly from the other end of the couch.
“What do you think, Ike?”
He sat up, stretched, and yawned hugely.
“You’re a big help. Go make yourself useful. Catch a mouse.”
He sniffed his disdain and curled up to resume his beauty sleep.
Wednesday, September 15, 1915
McCoy called for them after breakfast. The rain was holding off for the moment, the sun trying to shine through the intermittent breaks in the cloud cover. Ruth Ann’s house was only a few blocks from the square, and almost as soon as they began walking, they could hear the sound of ragtime music in the air and smell the odors of chili and onions and popcorn. When they reached the square, the crush and smell and noise of thousands of people milling around energized Martha and Olivia, and Grace nearly pulled her mother over in her anxiety to rush into the crowd. But Ruth Ann seemed anxious, and Alafair was feeling claustrophobic within a minute of entering the melee.
“It’s beautiful! It’s beautiful!” Grace crowed.
“What on earth is that wild music?” Alafair raised her voice to be heard over the din of barkers’ spiels, laughing fairgoers, and the tinny piano music coming from one of the long carnival tents that lined one side of the courthouse square.
“That’s ragtime music, Ma,” Martha said into her mother’s ear.
McCoy leaned in to Alafair’s other ear. “I believe that tune is called ‘When I Was a Tulip and You Were a Red, Red Rose.’”
“What a noise!”
After McCoy insisted on buying them all bags of peanuts from a vendor, they resumed their walk down West Randolph on the north side of the square, past Parker’s Bookstore and Pfaeffle’s Jewelry Store, Owl Drug, and the Jackson Studio. All the storefronts were shaded by red-and-white striped awnings to protect shoppers from the sun and reduce the glare on the shop windows. The fact that every store was covered by the same type of awning gave the entire square a festive and inviting look, Alafair thought. If she mentioned how nice the awnings were to Shaw’s uncle, the mayor of Boynton, perhaps the council would consider subsidizing something of the sort for the shop owners on the main street of her little town.