by Pamela Morsi
Actually, passion was to be no problem at all. Cessy Calhoun was hotter than a Cuban chili pepper, and the two of them were so physically well-suited that breaking off their impromptu engagement celebration on the big river rock had been difficult.
Clearly, he would be acquiring a worthy bed partner as well as a loving, giving wife and a million-dollar fortune. It was all that a man could ask. Tom didn't truly believe in love, he assured himself. It was just all a mix of romance and passion. His Cessy, he vowed silently to himself, would never be stinted by him on either.
He helped her into the front seat and then, taking up the reins, seated himself beside her.
"Where is this wonderful wedding spot that I will hold fondly in my memories forever as the place where all my dreams came true?"
Cessy giggled beside him and wrapped her arm around his own, laying her head fondly against his shoulder.
"It's right up this road, only about three miles," she said.
Tom felt his heart still.
"That close is it?" he said, deliberately trying to make his voice calm as the blood pounded through his veins in fearful anxiety.
"It's a lovely place," she said. "I've wanted to take you out there and introduce you. And what a wonderful opportunity to do so."
"It's some kind of a church?" he asked.
"There's a little church there," Cessy answered. "That's where we'll be wed. But the place is a school, an orphanage really, where young Indian boys who have no other place to go are given love and care and education and shelter."
"Oh?"
"It's the Methodist Indian Home and it's really my favorite charity. There is this wonderful kind old man, Reverend McAfee. He's devoted his whole life to being a father to the fatherless."
She continued to talk, but Tom didn't hear anymore. His stomach was rolling like he'd eaten something rotten. It was all going to blow up in his face. He was so close, so very close, and it was all going to blow up in his face.
He wanted to scream and curse the heavens. What uncanny twist of fate would introduce Cessy, his Cessy, to Reverend McAfee?
Desperately Tom tried to puzzle out what to do. He could call a halt to the horses right now and claim a remembered errand in town. But what possible kind of errand could distract a man on the way to take his wedding vows? Snidely, he thought he was perhaps not the first man to seek such a distraction.
Perhaps he could simply brazen it out. When the old man pointed an accusing finger at him and declared him an imposter, he could simply deny it. People found ways to believe what they wanted to believe, often in complete contradiction to all evidence. Cessy would be the same. She loved him and she would take his part, willing enough to assume that poor old Reverend McAfee had lost his mind.
Tom relaxed slightly, his natural optimism rebounding. And Tom had certainly changed a lot in the last eight years. The old man very well might not even recognize him. He was the only father that Tom had ever known. But the good teacher had undoubtedly raised several dozen young boys from infancy. There was certainly no reason why he would remember one nameless, part-breed orphan.
He had almost convinced himself when they came to the top of the hill. The only real home he had ever had was in sight. It was changed, irrevocably changed. Large new buildings dotted the grounds and the trees and shrubs were mightily grown. It was all changed and yet the same as it had ever been. It was as familiar to him as the face in his shaving mirror.
The wide-spreading black walnut had a child's swing hanging from every long limb. The brown rock building stones shone clean and new with the diligent labor of a dozen pairs of young strong hands. The outbuildings gleamed with fresh whitewash, the color relieved only by the occasional twisting vine of morning glories or four-o'clocks. It was beautiful, homey, welcoming. It had been, Tom thought, a prison. And he had been grateful that he had finally made his escape.
He forced himself to remain calm as he drove the team beneath the entrance gate. The arched sign above it read, as it always had, METHODIST INDIAN HOME: Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
The least of these my brethren. That was Tom, of course. One evening as he was pretending to be Captain Rourke O'Donnell, Union spy, behind Confederate lines, he'd overheard Reverend McAfee describing him to the visiting bishop.
"Young Tom is an unfortunate little fellow, illegitimate and of mixed race. He was undoubtedly destined for a life of dissipation and drunkenness. Because of his sojourn here with us, he is learning an honest trade and we have every hope that he will be a contributing member of the community rather than a blight upon it."
The words were a revelation. He knew at long last who he actually was. An illegitimate, mixed-race unfortunate who by birth was destined for the dregs of existence.
But that was not going to happen to him. Today, he made sure that any chance of that happening would be stifled forever.
The boys, the young students of the school, were everywhere. To Tom's eyes it appeared there were closer to three dozen than the twenty-some-odd that had lived here when he did. They were spread out among the grounds, each by himself, none speaking to another. It was "quiet time." Tom remembered the Sunday afternoon ritual distinctly, the longest hour in the week. One in which it was expected for a boy to be alone with his own thoughts. Tom's thoughts had, as often as not, driven him to make another run for the world outside.
Beside him Cessy was still chattering. Her words seemed more intended for Muna and Maloof than for himself. And those two were as silent as he was. She was nervous, Tom assumed, but he was so personally shaken, he was hardly in condition to reassure her.
It wasn't until he had unerringly driven up to the front of Reverend McAfee's cabin that he reminded himself that Gerald would not know which building to enter. He had to be careful, he reminded himself. He still had to be very careful. It would serve no purpose to fool Reverend McAfee and then give the truth away himself.
Tom set the brake on the surrey and jumped to the ground to help Muna and Cessy.
Muna appeared suspicious and concerned, clearly worried about the unexpected outcome of the day. Cessy was falsely bright and overcheerful.
"I have a friend in the oil business who is really nearing the age to retire," she was saying. "I keep bringing him out here and talking with him. This would be a great place for a couple to spend the later years of their lives. And it would be so wonderful to have a man about who could teach the boys about machinery and modern technology."
"Yes, I suppose so," Tom agreed.
"Reverend McAfee is a clergyman and a scholar. Beyond that he knows only a little about farming and tending horses. The young men who show no great aptitude for schooling must either be trained as farm hands or for working in a livery stable."
Tom nodded, stifling the surge of feeling that swept all around him.
"There are always jobs for livery hands and cotton pickers," he said.
"Yes," Cessy agreed. "But there is so much more in the world and so much more in the future. I want these boys to at least know what exists in the world outside."
That's what Tom had wanted, so much more. He let his eyes wander the familiar grounds, awash with emotions both nostalgic and abhorrent. He had vowed never to come back. He had pledged to leave it all behind him. Now he was here. Or rather, Gerald was, and everything, everything that he'd planned could just go up in a puff of smoke.
"This is Reverend McAfee's cabin," Cessy said beside him. "He usually takes a nap on Sunday afternoon."
"Yes," Tom agreed, nodding, and then added, "I hate to disturb the old fellow."
When she didn't answer, Tom turned to look at Cessy. Her brow was furrowed in concern. She glanced back at Muna and Maloof and then grasped Tom's arm.
"Walk with me," she said simply.
Surprised, Tom followed her lead. They moved around the corner of the building out of earshot of her friends. The fields in the distance were bright with thousands of
rows of knee-high cotton.
Cessy took his big brown hand in her own two smaller ones and brought his knuckles to her lips. Tom's heart did a somersault at the gesture.
"Cessy?"
"If you've changed your mind, I understand," she said evenly.
"What?"
"I understand," she said. "It was just the . . . the emotion of the moment and now you are . . . regretting, but you are too much the gentleman to bow out. I won't have you do that, Gerald. I'll understand if you've changed your mind."
Tom shook his head, inwardly cursing himself. Of course she would think his strange behavior to be the evidence of reluctance.
"Oh, Cessy," he said, pulling her into his arms and setting his cheek against her brow. "It was the emotion of the moment, and I want a hundred million moments just like that for the rest of my life."
She pulled away from his embrace, unconvinced.
"I can tell that you are upset, Gerald. The truth is, and everybody knows it, I push people into things. I am . . . bossy and demanding and sometimes I just do not . . ."
Tom placed a finger upon her lips to hush her words.
"Cessy, I want to marry you," he said honestly. "It's not something that just occurred to me this afternoon. The truth is, I've been thinking about it since the night we met."
"You, too!" She smiled with such warmth, the coldest heart in the world would have melted. "I loved you then, right then," she admitted. "I knew that very first moment that you were the man I'd been waiting for all my life. The special man that God had made to suit me just perfectly."
Guilt stung Tom as he looked down into her bright blue eyes, made so large by the thick lenses of her spectacles.
"Cessy, I'm not perfect," he said quietly.
She laughed with genuine delight. "Well, it's a good thing," she answered. "I'd hate to marry myself to a true paragon."
"I am no paragon," Tom said. "In fact, Cessy, there are things about me, things that you may find out about me that you may not like at all."
His words were excruciatingly serious, but Cessy seemed unable to take them as anything but humor. Once he'd assured her that he did want to marry, nothing else had the power to evoke her concern.
"Things I don't know about you?" She tutted dramatically. "That does sound ominous, Mr. Crane. Are you suggesting that you are a former bank robber? Or that you sleep with your boots on?"
"I'm serious now, Cessy," he said. "I want to marry you. I will spend my life trying to make you happy. But I want you to understand, going in, that there are things about me that you do not know."
Her expression softened and she raised up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his own.
"Do you think I am sweet and demure?" she asked.
Tom was momentarily mute.
"I ... ah . . ."
"It's a simple question, Gerald," she said. "Do you think I am sweet and demure?"
"Cessy, you . . . ah . . . those are probably not the first words I would have come up with to describe you. You . . . you . . ." He chose his words with great care. "You have an inner strength that shines out from your soul that I find very beautiful."
"Exactly," she interrupted. "You love me for what you perceive is the person that I am. The person I am in my heart. I am not insulted by that. I am overjoyed. You see, that's how I love you, too, Gerald. I love you for the man inside you. I don't know him that well, yet. But I know that he is a good man. I can perceive that much. Whatever I learn about him later will never alter that feeling."
"But what if . . ." Tom began.
"Hallo!" A voice hailed them from the corner of the house. "I didn't expect to see you here today, Missy."
"Reverend McAfee!" Cessy ran toward the old man and gave him a hug. "I have the most wonderful news. Come here, there is someone that I want you to meet."
Tom stood rooted to the spot. The old man had changed. He had changed a lot. The bushy black beard that he remembered hung gray and uncut to the middle of his shirt. The sharp eyes that had never missed anything were now cloudy with age. Momentarily Tom remembered a long-ago moment when he'd been small and frightened and had clung to the old man's pantleg. Today Reverend McAfee was so stooped, the top of his balding head came barely to the height of Tom's rib cage.
"Reverend McAfee," Cessy said formally. "I would like you to meet Gerald Tarkington Crane."
Tom held his breath as the old man appeared to scrutinize him. His brow furrowed thoughtfully.
"I didn't quite catch your name, son," he said.
"Crane," Tom answered in Gerald's crispest eastern intonation. "Gerald Tarkington Crane of Bedlington in the New Jersey, at your service, sir."
Tom extended his hand graciously. The old man hesitated only a fraction of a second before he accepted it, his grasp unexpectedly strong.
"What brings you to visit us today, Mr. Crane," he said.
"Gerald is my intended," Cessy piped in, almost gushing.
The old man seemed taken aback. "You're getting married, Missy? When did this happen?"
"This afternoon," she answered with a laugh of delight. "He asked me, or perhaps I asked him, you know how difficult it is for me wait for others to take action. Anyway, I did not say no."
Reverend McAfee gave a small chuckle at her little joke, but clearly his heart was not in it.
"Marriage is a fine thing," the old man said. "I was wed myself many years ago. We had two little girls."
Tom was startled by this revelation.
"I lost them all to the yellow jack," he finished.
"Oh, Reverend McAfee, I am so sorry," Cessy told him as she lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.
He shook his head with unconcern and patted her hand. "Heaven has seen fit to compensate me. With the young fellow we got last Christmas from the Arapaho, it makes sixty-eight sons that I've been sent to raise. Not many men are so fortunate."
The old man turned to offer a glance toward Tom.
"And each one as dear to my heart as if he were my own flesh and blood."
Tom felt his words as if they were almost a slap. Did the old man recognize him? Surely he could not. If he did, he would speak up.
"Maybe some of your happiness and good fortune will rub off on us," Cessy said. "We want you to marry us, Reverend McAfee."
He gave a little startled sigh of pleasure. "I would be delighted to do so, Missy," he said. "You have been such a friend to the school and a comfort in my old age, but these old bones don't take to the buggy much anymore. I'd never be able to stand the ride into town."
"Oh, but we want to marry here," she said. "In your chapel, today."
"Today!"
"Yes," she told him. "Our families will make such a fuss if we go back and announce our engagement. My father will want to put on some grand show. And all of Gerald's relatives will have to come from back East and well, we just want to be married without all the fixings."
"But surely you want your father there, Missy," he said. "And your friends."
"My best friend is with me," she answered. "With her, and you, and Gerald, I will be surrounded by people who love me."
As if on cue, Muna and Maloof came around the corner and further introductions were made.
"So you two want to stand up with this couple?" Reverend McAfee asked. "Then you must know them pretty well."
"I've known Princess forever," Muna said with great certainty. "We've all just met Gerald."
Her words held an almost palpable air of distrust.
"Ah . . . but you no need time for sure a man can trust," Maloof interjected. "My friend is such man, good man."
His words clearly surprised his fiancé and Muna looked at him askance.
"Mr. Bashara," she snapped. "You do not know this man at all. You can't even remember his name."
Cessy laughed. "Mr. Bashara doesn't speak very good English," she explained to Reverend McAfee. "But I agree with him totally. I trust Gerald completely and there is nothing I want more in the world than to be his wif
e."
The old man looked concerned. He glanced at Tom once more. But nodded affirmatively.
"Do you have a license?" he asked.
"No," Tom replied quietly. "We just became engaged an hour ago."
"Oh, dear!" Cessy exclaimed. "I didn't even think. I hope it doesn't mean we can't get married."
"Well . . ." the old man began.
"We have thirty days to get one?" Tom replied for him. "Isn't that how it often works, Reverend McAfee? A couple marries and then the officiant has a month to file the papers with the state court."
"Why yes, that is often the way," he admitted.
"Then we can get married today!" Cessy exclaimed, delighted. "Gerald, you are so smart. You know so much about everything. Did you study the law when you were at Yale?"
"No," he answered.
"Yale?" Reverend McAfee's eyes widened with surprise. "A fine and venerated institution of higher learning," he said.
There was something in his tone that Tom recognized as dangerous.
"Yes, the oldest in the country," he replied, raising his chin almost in challenge. "The men of my family have always attended Yale."
It was not at all as she had imagined it would be. It was no grand church crowded with fancy dressed people. Only the young schoolboys, fidgeting and curious, were seated in the pews. She did not have the arm of her father as she made her way down the aisle. He was not there smiling down at her, looking proud of her. She wore no beautiful gown of beaded silk and no long frothy veil partially obscuring her face. She was dressed as if for an afternoon picnic and she carried a Queen Anne's lace and a cattail surrounded by buttercups for her bouquet.
No, none of that was as she had imagined, as she had hoped and dreamed. But as she walked slowly, unerringly to the side of the man who was to be her husband, Princess could not fathom a happier or more beautiful wedding.
As she stepped up and accepted Gerald's hand she had to stifle the urge to giggle. The marriage ceremony was supposed to be solemn and serene, but Princess had the nearly uncontrollable desire to laugh out loud, to shriek with joy, to climb to the rooftop and cry out to the whole world that she was the luckiest woman ever born.