Maud's Line (36 page)

“I left you here to get my mind cleared out. I had to think. I knew I couldn't go back to teaching. I'd already outgrown all of that. And then I saw Tulsa. Maud, you can't believe what's over there. I can make us a real living in Tulsa. You can't live here.” He held both hands up in the air and looked around.

“If this isn't good enough for you, maybe I'm not good enough for you.” She put her hand on Billy's chest of drawers.

“I thought you wanted out of here?”

“I want to be with people who love me. That's more important than plaster on walls and rugs on floors.”

Booker pursed his lips. Then he dropped his gaze. “I see.” He slipped a hand into his coat pocket. He brought out a little box and set it on the bed between him and his hat. “Just let me ask you this first. Is that bump on your front mine?”

Maud thought she knew what was in the box. It looked like one Nan had. But she wasn't totally sure, and she couldn't be making any mistakes. She said, “Don't call my baby a bump.”

Booker clasped his hands together between his legs. “Is that our baby, Maud? Miz Lizzie said it was.”

“Lizzie?” Maud was startled.

“Yes, I talked to her when I got here. She told me about the baby, that it was mine.”

Maud was beginning to feel uncomfortable standing, and talking about the baby made her feel even heavier. She slid into a rocker in front of the window directly across from Booker. “Well, I don't know how she figured that out. But, yes, it's yours.”

Booker put his fingers on the box. He lifted it just a little and settled it back on the bed. Maud could tell his next question was going to be about Billy, and she wanted to put that off as long as she could. “Did Lizzie tell you about Lovely?”

Booker clasped his hands together between his legs again. He looked down. “Mr. Singer told me that.” He looked up and touched his fingers to his brow. “I was sorry to hear it. Lovely . . . well, I liked Lovely a lot. What happened, exactly? If you don't mind me asking?”

Maud didn't mind. Talking about Lovely put off talking about Billy. “He shot himself. There's this place down closer to the river on Blue's allotment. He took us there when we were kids. When we were still pitiful over our mother's death. It's a quiet, peaceful place. Evidently, Lovely had visited it some over the years. I hope to think that he had some comfort there.”

Booker sighed deeply and was quiet for a moment. Then he picked up the little box. “I should have gotten a bow on this. I've been paying for it on time. I picked it up in a rush when Mr. Singer called me to get over here. I still have one payment to go, but I work for the store. I cleared it with my boss.” He looked directly at her. “Maud, you're the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me.” He opened the lid. A diamond ring was nestled in soft blue cloth.

Maud was glad she was sitting down. She was sure her knees would've buckled had she been standing. As it was, she needed to hold back from reaching out. She gripped the arms of the rocker. “You've been paying all this time?”

“Well, I put a little money aside when I sold Evelyn and Arlene. Then I put a little more aside when Mr. Singer wrote me a while back. I made a big down payment, then paid a little every two weeks.” Booker pointed toward the yard with his right forefinger. “I got a loan for the car. The brothers who own the store have put me in charge of men's ready-to-wear. If I do well at that, they're going to make me a buyer.”

Maud was impressed. She hoped that didn't show. “Are you going to give me the box or are you planning on wearing that ring yourself?”

Booker reached across the space between them and handed her the box. Maud wished she hadn't asked for it. Up close, the diamond looked even prettier. In the light from the east window, it sparkled. That sparkle took Maud's breath away. But she was still afraid of what Booker was going to say about Billy. And she was worried about Billy. She snapped the lid of the box closed and covered it with the palm of her hand. She'd beat Booker to the draw. “This is all fine and dandy, but Billy's been tending to me while you were gallivanting around.”

Booker stood up. He walked to the door of the kitchen and looked in there like he was making sure they were alone. Then he turned and stood in the doorway. “Yes, Billy. Miz Lizzie mentioned him. It's not reassuring to come back and find out you've been living with another man.” Booker's voice was grim.

Maud felt at a disadvantage sitting down while Booker was in the doorway. But if she stood up, she'd be following his lead; he'd still be at the top of the pecking order and she'd be at the end. She stayed where she was, turned her face away from him, and looked out the east window. She didn't say anything.

Booker finally said, “Are you planning on commenting before the cows come home?”

Maud took a deep breath. She looked at the box in her hand. “Billy's been good to me, Booker. I can't just leave him.”

Booker huffed. He stepped into the room. “Well, he can't come with us!” His face turned red.

“Don't get all riled up. And don't be standing over me. I'm not suggesting that. I'm just saying this is a big decision. Maybe I should stay with what I know. How can I be sure you won't up and leave me again?”

Booker stepped close to the sheet. “Don't be ridiculous, Maud. I'm not a man who gets his head turned by every girl in a dress. And don't act like you're totally innocent. You lied to me. You lied again and again.” He raised an arm. His hand hit the sheet.

“Could you just sit back down and stop waving your arms all around? You look like you're swatting flies.”

Booker pursed his lips into a hard line. He started toward the bed but instead sat in the rocker in front of the east window. He leaned way back in it. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well, I guess you've been sleeping with him.”

Maud started to laugh. But she caught herself in time to make the laugh sound like a cough. She put a fist to her mouth and cleared her throat. “I guess you've been Mr. Buttoned-up Pants.”

“It's different for a man.”

Maud jumped out of her chair like she'd been bitten. She went to the kitchen door. She had a mind to throw something, but the only throwable things in her line of vision were the Calumet pencil tin and a perfectly good jar of jelly with a knife sticking in it. The knife would frighten Booker. And she didn't want to throw the ring box. She whirled around. “So, you have been seeing other women!”

Booker stood up. “Not really. At least nothing serious. But for God's sake, Maud, don't turn this around on me!” He glared at her and pointed to the mattress. “This bed makes me sick. I know what's been going on here.”

Maud was used to fights ending up in bed. But she was really too pregnant for that. She wasn't sure what to do. She slumped against the door frame. “Billy's been good to me, Booker. I don't know what I would've done without him. Daddy's still away. Probably for good. And Lovely's dead. And I didn't know where you were. Or if you'd ever come back.” She put a hand on her stomach.

Booker sighed. He swiped a hand across his mouth. He glanced at the bed, winced, and then looked out a south window. “Maud, we both need to get out of here. Our baby deserves more.” He turned, stepped closer to her, and looked her full in the face. “There's a whole world out there, Maud. It's sparkling clean. We're coming up on a new decade. Times are booming. You should see Tulsa. There's a hotel ten stories high. Oil companies are as thick as fleas on a dog's back. They're building a new train station. The store I work in has got everything you'd ever want to buy. Dresses and slips galore. Perfume. Creams to make your skin smooth. Baby clothes. I've rented a house. It's got radiators and indoor plumbing. An electric stove and refrigerator. We live in the greatest state in the country. It's overflowing with oil and wheat, and everybody is spending their money. These are the best times the world has ever seen. Come with me, Maud. We'll get married. We'll raise our child in the horn of plenty.”

Maud felt like a tornado was on her. She needed to run without looking back. She squeezed the ring box. “We have to go before I change my mind.”

“Let's go now. There's nothing preventing us. I'll call Mr. Singer when we get to Tulsa. He can tell your family.”

Maud looked around the room. There wasn't much to take. There wasn't much to leave behind. Except Billy. She had to do something about him. But she couldn't say that to Booker. “I have some of Mr. Singer's books. We can drop them by and tell him then.”

“Good idea. What else do you want to take?”

“Why don't you load that cradle.” She nodded toward it. “Put the books in it. Let me change my dress and think about what else.”

When Booker came back, Maud had thrown some clothes in a crate. She asked him to carry the crate and her mother's sewing basket to the car. When he came back again, she was dressed, and she handed him her gun and her mother's pistol and rifle. She stuffed her father's Banjo and her mother's cameo in her little handbag and handed Booker that, too. She told him to wait for her in the car; she needed to look around one more time to make sure she wasn't leaving anything she would want behind. When he cleared the porch, she turned to her chest, opened the top drawer, and pulled her allotment paper out. She studied the writing on it as she walked to the kitchen. She sat down in a chair and pulled a pencil from the Calumet tin. She scribbled “Yours” above the typed words and signed her name at the bottom. She pinned the paper to the table with the jelly jar.

I am grateful for the patience and support of
many friends and loved ones who read for me, again and again, over years as I learned the craft of writing. Foremost in the group is Laura Derr, my college roommate, who thoughtfully and lovingly criticized no-telling-how-many drafts of books that might never see the outside of a drawer. I also want to thank the readers of this particular manuscript in its original draft: my partner, Jane Griffiths; my friend and business partner, Judy Worth; my friends Sue Weant, Lana Dearinger, Tunie Fairbanks, Martha Helen Smith, and Lisa Sharon. I want also to thank Adrienne Brodeur, a wonderful editor, for her insightful and diplomatic comments on a draft of this manuscript.

I would like to thank Roxana Robinson in particular, whose kindness, faith, and encouragement kept me going for years. I am also in Roxana's debt for her practical help in opening doors for me, especially the door to Lynn Nesbit, the consummate agent and professional who placed this book. Lynn's assistant, Hannah Davey, was also extremely helpful to me, as was my editor at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, Lauren Wein, and her assistant, Nina Barnett.

I'd also like to thank Lillian Leeds, the matriarch of our family, without whose mothering and memories this book couldn't have been written. And finally, I'd like to thank the rest of my mother's family. They lived down and around Maud's section line and provided me firm and fertile ground to stand on. I am constantly humbled by the hardship of their early lives; by their humor, ingenuity, and determination; and by their courage.

M
ARGARET
V
ERBLE
, an enrolled member of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma, has set her novel on her family's allotment land. She currently lives in Lexington, Kentucky, and Old Windsor, England.