by Pamela Morsi
"Couple of weeks, I guess," Cedarleg answered. "It seemed like more 'cause he was such a quick study."
"And do you think that he knows that there's oil down there?" King asked.
"He knows, all right," Cedarleg said. "And he was as antsy and eager about it as the rest of us."
"So," King said, nodding slowly. "We know a banker that got a little bit of oil in his blood. If I don't get the money for that refinery, we might as well just plug those wells and let the oil lie there another million years."
"That's so."
"What do you think, Cedarleg," he asked. "Will this Tom of yours loan me the money to build a refinery?"
"I couldn't tell you," the old man answered. "I suspect that he'd want to, but he just got married on Sunday. I doubt if he's going to have a whole lot of pull at that bank."
"But if the bank belongs to his father-in-law, maybe he could talk him into it," King said.
"Maybe," Cedarleg agreed. "Course you can't count on that. You got a new son-in-law yourself, and I doubt very much that you'd let him talk you into anything."
King waved away the comparison. "That's talking apples and oranges," he said.
"Well, it sure wouldn't hurt to try," Cedarleg agreed.
"Not one bit," King said. "I've done asked half the bankers in this part of the country. Now what is this fellow's name again?"
"It's Tom Walker," Cedarleg answered. "He a tall, good looking man, part Indian, raised right around here."
King Calhoun smiled broadly.
"Look at him," Queenie said, shaking her head. "He looks happier than he's been all day."
"I'm going out and find this Tom Walker," he told her. "And I'm going to get him to loan me a refinery."
* * *
Cessy discovered that she rather liked married life. She had made such a strong independent life for herself, she worried that perhaps she would bridle under the demands of a husband. And the idea that one must, of necessity, consider the schedule and inclination of another person in deciding everything, from when to go to the market to what to buy there, was a little unsettling. But the first days of her marriage were such total bliss that Cessy could not imagine that it could ever be anything but wonderful.
Gerald was attentive and sweet. And he was most always right there beside her. He did not again leave the house early or without telling her where he was to go. In fact he rarely left the house at all, telling her that he preferred her company to that of anyone else in town.
They worked together in the garden. Gerald appeared to have a real aptitude for growing things and Cessy gratefully let him carry forward with it. He even teased her that he was going to grow the wildflower garden that he had threatened.
They spent long hours in the quiet of the sun parlor together. Gerald was not, it seemed, much of a lover of books. But he enjoyed hearing Cessy read aloud. And amazingly, he had apparently missed many of the classics during his education.
They played lawn tennis. Cessy had never much enjoyed games that required great athletic prowess, being a bit clumsy on the best of occasions. But Gerald was an enthusiastic player and experienced from his days at Yale. He generously sent the volleys deliberately in her direction. Her favorite aspect, however, was when it was necessary to wrap his arms around her in the interest of improving her backhand.
But what they mostly did in those first few days of wedded bliss was to talk together, laugh together, and make love.
It was, Cessy thought to herself, perfect Or rather, it was nearly so. They had not as yet heard from the Cranes of Bedlington, New Jersey. Cessy looked for a telegram constantly and became very concerned that it never arrived.
"They are aghast that you have married me,” she told him finally. They were sitting in the quiet coolness of the porch at evening. Gerald had removed his coat and had wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
"Don't be foolish," he said. "They probably didn't get my wire."
She had not considered that at all. "Do you think that maybe they didn't get it?"
"Cessy, it happens all the time," he said.
"But everyone says that Western Union is so reliable," she told him. In her whole life she had never heard anyone complain that telegrams were not being delivered.
Gerald shook his head. "If you only knew how many important messages were lost, you'd not be surprised at this one being mislaid at all," he said.
Cessy nodded hopefully. Thinking the wire mislaid was better than thinking that his family was furious. But they still had to be notified, and as far as she was concerned, the sooner the better.
"Well, if it's mislaid, then don't you think you should send another one?"
"Ah ... ah, absolutely," he replied. "I'll do it the next time I am in town."
"Perhaps we should make a special trip," Cessy suggested. "I can go with you."
"Oh, no, it's far too much trouble," he said. "I . . . I was going to go out and . . . and consult with my banker this afternoon anyway. I'll send the wire on my way."
Cessy nodded, mollified. Still she couldn't quite understand Gerald's cavalier attitude about it. Perhaps he had simply gotten accustomed to living his life as he saw fit without the advice and interference of relatives. But a man only married once. It was an occasion of consequence and his family must be duly informed.
Cessy fully expected a certain degree of disapproval from the Cranes. Even her own father had been less than pleased that they had eloped. Once they were notified and were able to voice their disfavor, then the acceptance could begin.
Cessy was determined to win them over. She had learned over the last few days that family meant so much to Gerald. He spoke of it all the time. He wanted a house full of children and all the noise and hectic activity that went with it.
Strangely, however, he was not interested in the children at Reverend McAfee's school.
"I think the boys would really be thrilled to get to know you," she told him. "You could tell them about all the places you've been and the things that you've seen. Most of them have never been farther than Burford Corners. And I don't know a boy who ever lived that wouldn't be enthralled to hear about your adventures with Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders."
Gerald shook his head. "No, Cessy, I don't really want to get too involved in your charity work. It's yours, something you can rightfully claim as your own, and I think it best if a husband keep his distance."
His logic seemed flawed, but Cessy didn't press him. When she was at Miss Thorogate's school, she'd seen plenty of uninterested young misses forced to perform charitable service that rather went against their nature. It was clear to Cessy that the recipients of such grudging largess were no more happy about it than the givers.
Many people believed that poverty was as repulsive to fine society as sin and that orphans were somehow to blame for their own condition. Talking with Gerald, it did not appear that he was one of that number, but he certainly had an aversion to the Methodist Indian Home.
He had a similiar aversion to the oil business. The Topknot was coming closer and closer to fruition and the excitement was building, but Gerald didn't want to hear a word, or make a comment, about it. Even when her father talked over dinner, it was almost as if Gerald tried deliberately not to listen.
He was also not very keen on meeting Cessy's friends.
"Remember the couple who are like second parents to me?" she asked.
Gerald's reply was vague.
"Well, Daddy talked to Cedarleg," she told him. "And he and Ma would like to come to dinner and meet you. The end of the week seems perfectly timed to me. Which would be best for you, Friday or Saturday?"
He seemed startled by the question. The gentle movement of the swing had stopped abruptly as he put his foot down. Clearly he was struggling for an answer.
"Neither," he answered finally.
"Neither?"
"I . . . we have other plans, I believe," he said.
"Other plans? I don't know of any other plans,
" Cessy said.
"Well, I . . . well, if we don't have some we should definitely make some. Saturday night we should go out together, don't you think? We should make it'a tradition in our marriage to go out together for some entertainment on Saturdays."
"Out?" Cessy looked at him, puzzled. "Where? This is Burford Corners, not Kansas City. Except for the occasional traveling circus or medicine show, there is no entertainment."
"I ... ah ... I saw a bill that indicated a lecture at the Chautauqua House this Saturday," he said. "We could attend that."
Cessy's brow furrowed. "You want to hear Maizie Prinzwhite speak on Demon Rum the Destroyer of Families? I had no idea that you held temperance views."
Gerald flushed slightly. "Well, actually I don't but . . . it's a lecture, Cessy, a person should always be willing to listen and learn."
"All right, then," she agreed. "Then we'll invite Cedarleg and Ma for Friday."
"No!"
"Friday is not convenient either?"
"No, no, I don't believe that Friday will do at all," he said. "I . . . ah . . . just as I think that Saturdays should be an evening of outside entertainment, I think Fridays should be kept specifically for the two of us at home. It will be a night for our family. You and me and our children when we have them. We will spend time together. Do you play five hundred? Or perhaps seven-up?"
"Well, certainly, but . . ."
"And maybe we can ... we can sing," he suggested. "That beautiful piano in the music room should not be allowed to go to waste."
"I told you that I don't sing very well," she said.
"Then it's perfect that it will be just us only, every Friday." He punctuated his statement with a gentle kiss that was more winning than his words.
Cessy acquiesced, wondering in silence if this was to be typical of their married life. Certain activities for certain days of the week. It was a very efficient way to live, she supposed. But it did feel a bit wanting in spontaneity.
"I'm sure your friends will understand that we are just wed and getting used to our time together," he said. "We can surely have them over at some later date."
"Well, yes, I suppose so," Cessy admitted. "But I really want you to meet them, Gerald."
"And I will, I will, sweet Cessy," he assured her. "Just not this week."
"All right then, I'll put them off if that's what you want," she said.
"Thank you," he said with a depth of sincerity that felt to Cessy somehow inordinate. She glanced up to question him, but he quickly changed the subject.
"Then let's not talk about it anymore," Gerald said. "Let's talk about what I really want to talk about."
He was lightly tickling her throat and grinning at her in a manner that was hard to resist.
"And what is that?" she asked him.
"Our wedding trip," he said. "I'm ready to leave tomorrow, if you are."
"Leave tomorrow!" Cessy nearly fell out of the swing. "Oh, you are joking aren't you," she said.
"Yes, I suppose that I am," he said with a sigh. "But I do wish that we could get away for a while. That we could spend some time getting to know each other without anyone else around."
Cessy giggled and shook her head. "Now you are being silly. We've hardly seen a soul since we wed."
"Yes, but they are all here," he said. "Your father could come popping in at any time and Howard and Mrs. Marin are scandalized every time I close the door to the room we're in."
"Oh, they are not that bad," she said.
"Just about. Cessy, I want to get away from here for a while. I want to take you places like we talked about."
"All right, Gerald," she told him. "I did marry you, I don't think that it's too far a step to be willing to go to the ends of the earth with you."
"Not all the way to the ends of the earth," he assured her. "Just Chicago and New York."
"All right, not the ends of the earth, although Chicago and New York seem almost that far away from here," she said.
He leaned down to whisper teasingly in her ear. "I told you about that train, that pullman train."
Cessy was grateful for the darkness that hid her blush.
"While we are in New York we can take the excursion to Ocean Grove," he told her. "It's on the New Jersey shore, which should be lovely this time of year. We can take a spin along the boardwalk in one of those rolling chairs."
"Do you mean like the ones in the 'Why Don't You Try' song?"
"Those are the ones," Gerald told her.
"Oh, wouldn't we look elegant," Cessy said, feigning a haughty accent. "We simply must have someone photograph us."
"Indubitably, madam," he replied.
"Oh, Gerald!" she exclaimed with sudden excitement. "If we're to be in New Jersey, then we could take the train out to see your parents."
"Ah, well, I don't know, Cessy," he said. "Bedling-ton is not that near, nor is it on our way," he said.
"But it's ever so much closer than Burford Corners," she said, laughing. "It would be silly to go all that way and not go by and see them. Perhaps I will make a better impression in the flesh than I do by way of telegram."
"Cessy, of course my family will love you, but ..."
"Then we can go to see them," she said. "Oh, please, Gerald, say yes that we can."
There was a strange hesitation in him as if he wished to say something else, and then he sighed smoothly.
"Of course we will go to see them, Cessy," he said. "I am so proud of my new bride and I want my whole family to know her and love her as much as I do."
The Nafees lived in a large, sparsely-furnished apartment built over the store. The appearance of the store downstairs was of prime importance to customers and could mean success or failure of the business. The comfort of the family living quarters was not a vital concern. Ever diligent against dirt, Mrs. Nafee kept the rooms spotless.
The evening meal was partaken later than in most households. The store was first cleaned and closed and the peddlar wagon, having made rounds through the oil camp, was returned to the carriage house. Muna and her mother usually shared the cooking chores, but tonight her parents were double-checking a freight bill that her father believed was in error.
The odor of hot, steaming bamia —stewed lamb with okra and tomatoes—filled the air. It was not Muna's best dish. No matter how many times she cooked it or how careful and conscientious she tried to be, it was never as good as her mother's. And worse yet, her father never failed to mention that fact as he ate it.
Determinedly she attempted to concentrate upon her task, but her thoughts were in a whirl. Ever since the day of the picnic, Muna's life had become increasingly exhilarating. And for one reason alone. Maloof had made it so.
He had not kissed her. She had thought that he would. Perhaps, when she explained how her father had deceived him, she had hoped that he would.
They were interrupted by Prin and Gerald. And with the surprise engagement and the ensuing excitement of the hasty wedding, it was natural that he had not found time to kiss her that day. Although that evening as they walked up the stairs he had taken her hand. Maybe that was merely meant to steady her. But when they reached the top, he pressed it against his cheek and closed his eyes as if savoring the touch of her flesh against him.
He looked at her before as a cousin or a brother might. But now he gazed at her with longing and with passion. It was almost more of a thrill than a young woman could endure.
How had she not realized how handsome he was? she asked herself. Certainly he was not as tall or muscular as some men and his hair was thinning on top. But his eyes, those dark, luminous eyes, were so alluring. And his smile was so easy and genuine. How lucky a woman would be to have that man smiling at her.
She sighed and raised her eyes dreamily, only to find the man of her vision standing in the doorway.
"Oh!"
Her startled cry was as much guilt at being caught in such a pleasant fantasy as it was authentic surprise.
"Good evening
, my little bride," he said.
Muna covered her flustered reaction and raised her chin undaunted. "I am not your bride as yet, sir," she replied.
He grinned broadly as if he approved of her reply. "No, not yet," he agreed. "You are not yet bride. I do not think of you as bride."
"How do you think of me?"
He was thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "I do not have English for what I think," he admitted. "In my thought, you are my entee batata."
Muna's jaw dropped. She was astounded. "You call me your sweet potato?"
"Sweet potato," Maloof considered the English words, nodding. "It is good on ear. I like in English, too."
"Why on earth would you think of me as such a thing?" she asked.
"Because it is like you," he insisted. "Sweet potato is so ordinary, so familiar, so plainly pleasant with meat or fish."
As he spoke he moved farther into the room and closer,, so that he was standing only inches from her, the warmth of his body permeating her own.
"So simple, so ordinary, the sweet potato," he said. His voice lowered to a whisper. "But when I heat it up, add a bit of cinnamon, a clove, some sugar, it makes my mouth wet with longing for it is more tasty than any candy or delight."
He was right next to her then, his chest only a breath away from her own, his mouth open, eager, urging.
"Maloof?" Muna's heart was pounding and she was trembling with passion.
"Kiss me, sweet potato," he begged her. "I have been tortured enough."
She did.
Chapter 16
Tom had little idea what to do with himself. He wandered the Main Street in Burford Corners for the specific purpose of sending a mythical telegram to a group of people who didn't exist.
Tom felt the noose of lies grow tighter and tighter at his neck. He was going to be found out. He had thought somehow that his old life as Tom Walker could just cease to exist. But there were far too many people who knew about it.
Maloof was one. He called him Tom on more than one occasion and even told Cessy that he worked on the oil wells. It was only the man's shaky grasp of the language that kept him from being believed.
But Cedarleg and Ma had no problem with language. All it was going to take for them to unmask the scheme was to lay eyes on Gerald Crane.