by Pamela Morsi
Muna nodded. "That's a good choice of words. He is dreadfully handsome."
"You know what I mean. I didn't expect such a man, such an attractive man, to be attracted to me."
"Oh Prin," Muna scolded.
"No Muna," she said determinedly. "If there is one thing I am clear about it is my plainness. To get one's bossy disposition and one's ordinary looks from King Calhoun is not a thing that young ladies would voluntarily line up for."
"You are beautiful on the inside, Prin," Muna insisted. "You have nice eyes and a friendly face."
"But the truth is, Muna, most men under the age of fifty don't even know that there is an inside to women. They know only what they see and that is all they expect or intend to get. But Gerald doesn't feel that way."
Muna sighed heavily. "Are you sure?" she asked.
Princess had been staring wistfully into space and was startled back into the present by her friend's words.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Oh Prin," Muna whispered, her voice concerned. "I don't think you should get your heart set on this one."
"What?"
"I'm not sure . . ." she hesitated. "I'm not sure, Prin, if he's truly the one for you."
"Why ever would you say that?"
Muna shook her head as if she was hesitant to answer. "I just think that he's . . . he's . . . well Prin, he's very good looking."
Princess laughed. "You say that as if it were a flaw in his character."
"No, no, I didn't mean that," she insisted quickly. "It's just . . . well Prin, if he is such a sophisticated gentlemen, so wealthy, so wonderful a catch, then why hasn't some other woman already got him?"
Princess looked at her friend as if she had lost her mind. "Because he was waiting for me," she said.
"Oh Prin, I just think . . ."
"You just think what?"
"Something about him just doesn't seem right," Muna answered. "I think maybe . . ."
"You think maybe what?"
Princess looked at her friend for a long moment. Muna's expression reflected worry and she bit nervously at her lower lip. Finally she shook her head and shrugged.
"I want you to be happy for me, Muna," Princess said.
"Oh well, I am so happy for you," Muna declared determinedly.
Princess appeared skeptical. "Okay, Muna, what's wrong?" she asked her. "What is it?"
"I am happy for you," Muna managed to get out. "I am so happy for you. I just worry, I suppose. You are so young."
"Young?" Princess was momentarily surprised. "Muna, we are the same age."
"Yes, I know but, but you . . . you still believe in love. You think you are in love."
"I'm in love," Princess said with certainty and then gazed at her friend, puzzled. "What do you mean I believe in love. You've gotten yourself engaged! I can't believe you didn't even tell me. You kept it all a secret and—"
"I'm engaged, yes," Muna interrupted her. "But I'm not in love."
Princess hesitated, disbelieving. "You don't love him?" The question was a whisper.
"I don't even know him," she answered.
"Then why . . ."
"He's my father's choice, not mine," Muna admitted. "Baba says that he is dependable and hardworking and that he will take good care of the business and always provide for me."
"But there has to be . . . there has to be love," Princess insisted.
"Baba says that security is more important than sentiment," Muna answered. "And Mama agrees with him. She says we will learn to love each other in time."
"Learn to love each other?" Princess was aghast. "That's not how it works, Muna. You know that. We've talked about this a million times. A person either loves somebody or they don't. You can't choose the right person for marriage and then fall in love with them later."
"I know that's what we always said," Muna agreed. "But then we were just children. We are women now, Prin, and it is not at all what we thought."
"Muna, it is exactly as we thought. Love is a ... an elemental force, like lightning," Princess said. "We never know where it's going to strike, and there is no why. It just happens. The ancients thought of it as Cupid arbitrarily shooting an arrow through the heart. You can't choose when or who. You simply recognize when it happens and then live happily with the results."
Muna shook her head. "I felt nothing when I met Maloof," Muna admitted. "No arrow through my heart. Not even a tug of attraction. Nothing. And I'm sure it was the same for him."
"Then you cannot possibly marry him," Princess stated flatly.
Muna started to protest but Princess held up a hand to silence her.
"Choosing the person you should marry is serious," Princess said. "It is not a game for children. The decision is made soberly and with an eye toward the future. But love is an elemental part of it."
"Mama says all our talk about love is just girlish nonsense," Muna told her. "She says that Maloof and I will learn to love each other."
"Well, that shows clearly how little your mother knows," Princess assured her. "People fall in love, they don't learn to love."
Muna was thoughtfully mute for a long moment. "But I have to listen to Mama and Baba," she said. "They think he will be a wonderful husband for me."
"He seems like a nice man, Muna," Princess said firmly. "But I am telling you that if you don't love him you can't marry him."
"Our marriage will be based on mutual respect and understanding," Muna said. "Mama says that is much more important than love."
Princess looked at her sternly. "Do you believe that?"
"I don't know what I believe, Prin," Muna told her. "What I don't believe is that a man who never met you or talked to you can see you across the lawn and fall in love with you forevermore."
"That's a good deal more likely than marrying a man you don't love and learning to love him later," Princess said.
"I don't love Maloof Bashara," Muna told her. "But I do love my Mama and Baba. They love me and they trust him."
"But he doesn't love you," Princess pointed out.
"No," she said. "He doesn't. He is not pretending something he doesn't feel; he is honest with me so I'm going to marry him."
"What do you really even know about this man?" Princess asked.
"What do you know about this stranger you are going to marry?" Muna shot back. "I know that he's come all the way from Tarablos, half a world away to marry me. I know that his father and mine have been friends from boyhood. I know that Baba is making him a partner in the business. And I know that he wants the best for me. I know that he thinks ... he thinks God has rewarded him by giving him to me."
"Oh, Muna," Princess said to her quietly. "You just can't marry this man if you don't love him."
"I can, Prin, and I will," she said firmly. "I know you enjoy telling me what to do, but this time I must decide for myself."
"We've talked about this so much," Princess continued. "We've giggled and daydreamed and speculated about how we would meet the man we were to love. How we would see him and know him."
"That's what I'm telling you, Prin," Muna insisted. "That was girlish fantasy. Women don't marry fantasies, they marry men. And they choose with their heads, not their hearts."
"Oh, I'm so angry at him," Princess told her.
"Who?"
"Why, at him, that Maloof," she answered. "A man who marries to better himself in the world. It's . . . it's despicable."
"Despicable?" Muna shook her head. "Oh Prin, he's only being sensible and smart. Those are qualities a woman wants in a husband. He's not at all despicable. Actually he is really rather nice."
"How can you say that?"
"Well, it's true. He is nice."
"He is about to marry you because it is a tremendous business opportunity," Princess said. "If that's not despicable, I don't know what is."
"Prin, don't call him names. He's going to be my husband."
Princess gave her friend a long look before nodding. "If you are going to marry him
, Muna, then I'll never say a word against him. And I am going to marry . . . yes, I'm going to marry Gerald Crane. So don't you ever say another word against him."
The two gave each other a long look before simultaneously flying into each other's arms.
"I swear I will find some way to like your Mr. Bashara. I swear it as your best friend."
"And I'll give your Mr. Crane a chance," Muna whispered as she hugged her. "We are closer than sisters."
"Closer than sisters forever," Princess agreed.
The two pulled apart from their embrace and locked little fingers together in a secret handshake left over from childhood days. Then they both laughed at the silliness of it.
Then slowly their laughter faded to serious concern.
"Be careful, Prin," Muna told her. "I don't want you to get hurt."
Princess nodded agreement.
"Muna, make it a long engagement," she said. "And if you find that you can't love him, don't marry."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
The P. Calhoun Number One stood at the top of a high bluff in a bend in the Arkansas River just south of the ferry crossing. Tom was certain that from its crown block a man could probably see Burford Corners and perhaps beyond. It was at least a hundred feet tall, but it was neither lonely nor alone. The wide hill, sloping gradually upward on the west and south, sported a forest of derricks rising tall in the sky, the noise of which certainly discouraged any type of conversation. The constant thud . . . chik . . . thud . . . that had kept him awake the previous night, was, upon closer examination, less an annoyance and more probably a cause of deafness.
The hill was sparsely greened by a thin covering of bluestem and sandburs. Deep, rutted walking paths were worn into the ground and Tom found that strolling beyond them was treacherous, as the thin shale beneath the grass tended to break off and shift.
Tom had been concerned that his presence at the drilling site might be noticed. But as he glanced around, he realized that it was very unlikely. There were men of every stripe moving in every direction. One more, dressed just like most, blended in without effort. Several were huddled upon the derrick floor in deep discussion about some sort of problem.
Beside the derrick itself, there were several other busy working areas around the site. He watched a group putting together a small building. They cut boards and hammered nails, but they were not like any carpenters Tom had ever seen. No measures, no levels, no square was being utilized. Every piece of lumber was eye-sighted and cut to fit. An obvious preference for fast buildings over sturdy ones.
Lengths of pipe in several diameters were being unloaded and stacked near the north side of the rig. Tom tried to imagine the tremendous depth of drilling that the piping, laid end to end, would represent.
Tom wandered around with his eyes watchful. If he did decide to woo Cessy Calhoun, this huge contraption of raw lumber and unattractive machinery might well be his very soon. He wanted to make absolutely certain that the prize was going to be worth the price.
"Is there really oil under there?" he wanted to ask someone, anyone. "How much oil will it be? Will the sale of it keep me in fine shoes and dress coats for the rest of my days? Is it worth enough to take on a wife to get it?"
He couldn't ask those questions. At least he couldn't ask them directly. Tom would have to watch and listen and learn. He'd take his time. He'd have to be quite certain. And when he knew the answer, when he knew for sure, he'd be down on one knee with a posy and a proposal for Miss Cessy Calhoun.
The thought of the plain little blusher had him shaking his head thoughtfully. He wondered what she was up to this morning. Had she lain awake all night dreaming of his kiss? Had she whispered his name into her pillow? Or rather, had she whispered Gerald's name? He hoped so. He didn't have a lot of greenbacks to spend on candy and gifts. He'd have to win her with long looks and soulful sighs. And a few more of those stolen kisses.
Tom had been, he admitted to himself, more than a little surprised by her reaction to him. She'd held her mouth pursed like a ten-year-old. He had known before she told him that she was far from experienced in courting ways. It had been her first kiss. And he had meant it to be very romantic and chaste. But she had not reacted with shock, fear, or embarrassment. Cessy Calhoun had been, well, she had been really quite passionate. She had pressed her body against him without hesitation. Aggressive in her basic nature, she had been unrestrained in her openness to him.
Too easy. That could be its own danger, Tom reminded himself. If last night was any indication, she'd probably be ordering him to marry her within a week! He needed to keep his head. He was to do the seduction here, at the right time and the right place. And in secret, if at all possible. The last thing he wanted was King Calhoun running him out of town with a shotgun.
As if conjured up from Tom's thoughts, King Calhoun came up over the rise in his Packard. The well-worn and much abused automobile was blessed with a wide body and high clearance that somehow allowed it to traverse the slippery hill like a mountain goat.
Tom watched as Calhoun and two others emerged from the vehicle. They hailed the men at the derrick. One of them, an older fellow with a decided limp, moved forward to greet the portly, well-heeled owner and his three-man entourage.
With some stealth, Tom made his way back behind them. He wanted to hear what they were saying. But he sure didn't want to get close enough to catch the eye of Calhoun or his men. With great care, following a crisscrossing path, he managed to come up behind them on the far side of the car. A tall stand of blooming pink dogbane offered relative privacy within earshot of Calhoun and the others. The noise from the well had them conversing in shouts. Tom turned away from them so that anyone glancing in his direction would think his only interest was in relieving himself.
"I'm off to Saint Louis, Cedarleg," Calhoun said loudly, addressing his remarks to the crippled fellow. "I'm going to catch the Limited about seven. I'll be in the Palmer House by morning."
"How long you going to be gone this time?"
"At least three days, but no more than a week," he answered.
"You taking Miss Princess with you?"
"Nah, it's a business trip," he said. "Got to see one of them numb-nut bankers. Lord, I hate those sorry scum-suckers, but a man's got to do business where business is being done. I’ll have Friday's payroll out here on time. And I'll be back before the next."
Tom felt a moment of pure elation. He almost laughed aloud. With her father out of the way for at least three days, Cessy would be easy prey. As soon as he could beg or borrow a decent suit of clothes, he could call on her at the Calhoun Mansion. Without her father at home there would be no need for stealth at all. Servants were notoriously bad chaperones. A few evenings of spooning on the porch swing and she'd be as malleable as territory clay. If Calhoun stayed away a whole week, he might even have time to get her to the "I do!"
"I'll keep the boys at it," the lame-legged fellow assured Calhoun. "We got some kind of back push this morning. Don't know yet if it's a gas pocket or more of that danged salt water."
There was a long moment in which, to Tom's surprise, Calhoun and Cedarleg moved away from the other three and in his direction. As he made a big production of doing up his fly, Tom could hear the hesitation in Calhoun's voice as he replied.
"It's down there, isn't it Cedarleg?" he asked.
The crippled man hooted with laughter. "You ain't thinking this could be a duster? It's there. I ain't saying it's going to be easy, the dome is old and the caprock goes way deep, but the oil is under this hill. I'd risk everything I have on that."
Calhoun snorted and then laughed out loud. "We've brought them in on a shoestring before, Lord knows."
He slapped the crippled man on the back heartily. "You'd best get back to your drilling crew, Cedarleg. No telling what those boys will be up to without you looking over their shoulders."
As Cedarleg headed for the derrick floor and Calhoun and his cohorts returned to the Packard,
Tom made himself scarce.
There was oil down there. Those men knew it. And now Tom knew it too. If he married Cessy Calhoun it would all be his. Every beautiful, black, expensive drop of it.
Following a circuitous route once more, Tom made his way back toward the area around the derrick. He stopped next to a small group of men digging what appeared to be a large earthen pond.
"Any work to be had here?" Tom asked.
One of them raised his head, leaned momentarily upon his shovel, and gave Tom a long perusal. "We got a full crew of tank builders," he said. "The other gangs might need a hand. Ask the tool pusher."
"The tool pusher?"
The man glanced at his cohorts and gave a wide-eyed expression of disbelief. "Is this your first day in the oil fields?" he asked.
"My second," Tom answered. "I got into Topknot yesterday, but this is the first oil well I've seen up close."
"The tool pusher is the boss man on the derrick floor," he told Tom with a long-suffering look that indicated he was only barely tolerating Tom's ignorance. He pointed to the three men up on the rig. "The fellow on his right, he's the driller. He actually puts the tools, the bit and stem and cables to the hole. The other man is called the tool dresser. He keeps things ready, the bits honed and handy, and backs up the driller.
Tom nodded, deliberately committing the man's words to his memory.
"It only takes three men to drill an oil well?"
"Three at a time to drill the hole," the tank builder answered. "But there's better than two dozen that make up the whole crew."
"So they might need someone willing to learn?" Tom asked.
The man shrugged.
"Cedarleg!" he called out.
The crippled man at the rig looked up in his direction. The tank builder waved him over.
Tom raised his chin and put his thoughts in order. He needed a job. He'd have to spend the ten dollars he'd earned on courting clothes. If he could get work on the rig, he could learn about how it operated. If he was about to be an oil baron, it'd be a good thing to know which end of a well was up.
When the crippled man came within hearing distance, the tank builder spoke up once more.