Runabout (13 page)

}"I will, Mammy," he said, in a soft sing-song voice that sounded nothing like his own.

}Both his parents smiled at him proudly. His father gestured for him to go ahead, and as he hurried before them on the road, he could feel the warm weight of his brother on his back. He felt the comfort of his family's nearness. He was happy. Walking. Walking. Walking up the steps of the Briggs mansion.

}The door was open and he went inside. He stood at the bottom of the stairs.

}Was he supposed to climb up? He turned to ask his mother. She was gone. His father was gone too. The path they had trodden together had vanished with his family. He tried to call out to them, but he couldn't make a sound.

}They were gone. Forever.

}Tears came to his eyes, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He turned once more to face the stairs. Yes, he was supposed to climb them. His parents had sent him here expecting him to continue on. He would do as they had hoped.

}He tried to raise his foot, but he couldn't move. Staring at his leg as if it were not his own, he tried again. He still carried the baby Arthel on his back. The weight had grown too heavy. He tried again, forcing his feet to move. But he could not.

}He looked up the long length of stairway before him and searched for a solution. But none seemed right. Should he remove the papoose cradle? He could leave Arthel at the bottom and return for him when he was stronger. No, he couldn't leave a baby alone here. He'd promised his mother to keep him safe. His father was counting on him. But he couldn't stay forever at the foot of the stairs.

}He tried once more to climb. Desperately, he clutched the rail and tried to pull himself forward. He couldn't pull himself up, he couldn't crawl there on his hands and knees. Sweat broke out all over him. He couldn't make it up the stairs, not now, not ever.

}Panic came over him like a blackness that robbed the air from his lungs.

}There was no place to go back to.

}There was no way to go forward.

}He tried to cry out, but the words wouldn't come.

}Luther sat up in bed. He was covered with sweat. He looked around at the familiar room and his familiar place as his breathing returned to normal. With a shake of his head, he put his feet on the floor and climbed out of bed. Staggering to the washstand, he doused himself with cool water from the pitcher and stood silently in the darkness. Nightmares had never been a problem for him. He had always faced his fears in broad daylight and that was hard enough. As a stunned sixteen year old he'd found himself suddenly orphaned. He'd been grieving and afraid but he subdued his own feelings. If he were frightened and lonely, how much more so was Arthel? At eight, Arthel had been a much beloved and sheltered child. It was his birth that had finally brought his parents together. He was accustomed to attention and spoiling and unconditional love. He needed family. It was the one thing that Luther had been unable to give him.

}Cursing beneath his breath, Luther pushed away any thought that he might have fallen short. He'd given Arthel the most that he could. And he'd tried his damnedest to give him even more.

}Returning to the bed, Luther determinedly covered himself with the worn cotton bedsheet, flung one arm across his forehead and admonished himself decisively to go back to sleep.

}He lay perfectly still for several minutes before he admitted to himself that falling back to sleep might not be easy. He supposed that he should go ahead and get up. It was nearly dawn and Arthel would be making coffee pretty soon.

}As he relaxed, his mind drifted back to the events of the night before. He remembered with pleasure dancing with Tulsy. She was really quite good at it, he decided. Given an opportunity, they could really scrape some sawdust together. Of course the reverend wouldn't like that much. He wondered briefly what the reverend would have thought if he'd known that Luther had seen Tulsy with her shirtwaist soaking wet.

}A low sexy smile parted Luther's lips and he sighed.

}The Bruders' kitchen had all the sweet smells of home. Tulsa May stood there, innocently, yet somehow suggestively. Her carrot-colored hair was mussed. She was his Tulsy, his plain and ordinary Tulsy. But, beneath that sweet, sopping silk dress she was naked. Her perfectly round, plump breasts shimmered like orbs of brass in the yellow-orange glow of the coal oil lamp. And they were crowned with dark nipples. Huge nipples. Luther had never seen such nipples. The sight of them had made him weak.

}He moaned slightly now as he relived the memory. He had stared. He knew that he had stared. That had embarrassed her, and he was sorry about that. But, at least he had only stared, he thought as he drifted back into sleep.

}In his dream he walked toward her until he was standing only inches away. Gently he traced his finger along the soft familiar curve of her lip. She was his Tulsy, his friend. Then his finger left the corner of her mouth and began moving down ... down ... down toward the soaking wet bodice that drew him. Lured him. She looked up at him and then down to his hand on her bosom. There was no fear in her face.

}Luther grasped her shoulders to- pull her closer, closer until her breast touched his mouth. Gently he tasted the sweet rainwater that dripped from the drenched fabric that clung there. His tongue came out to catch another drop, but that was not enough. Pulling her closer still, he took her nipple between his teeth, caressing it with his tongue. So sweet. It was heaven. It was everything. It was not enough. He had to have the rest of her. All of her.

}He opened his mouth further and sucked at her breast, pulling the areola within his mouth. She tasted of violet water, and the lingering scent of talcum was fresh and sweet and soft. He pulled his mouth from her bosom. He gazed up into her penny-brown eyes.

}"Tulsy," he whispered hoarsely to her.

}He opened his eyes to see the full light of dawn just pouring in through the window. His erection was rigid and throbbing. With a sound that was half-sigh and half-curse, he turned on his stomach, pressing his aching flesh into the soft warmth of his feather tick.

}"Tulsy," he groaned into his pillow. His eyes closed for one long moment and then popped open in shock. "Tulsy?" He said the word aloud, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

}Immediately, he turned and rolled out of bed. He stared back at the cotton bedsheet, the familiar scrap-tie quilt and the white painted iron bedstead as if they were traitors. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Still unsteady on his feet, he hurried once more to the water basin and liberally splashed himself, head and shoulders, with cold water from the pitcher. He shook all over like a dog coming out of the river, splashing droplets against the furniture and across the mirror.

}Grabbing up a towel, he dried his face and then gazed in the mirror as if he didn't know himself. His expression seemed to stare back blankly. It was the strangest moment of his life. Imagine, him having thoughts like that about Tulsa May Bruder?

}

}The kitchen was empty, but the coffee smelled wonderful. Carefully, Luther wrapped a towel around the hot handle of the coffee pot and lifted it to pour himself a mugful. Arthel was the only person in Prattville who could make good coffee without using eggs. Luther had tried on several occasions to get the hang of it himself. But his own coffee was a poor substitute. Arthel had a way with a cookstove just as Luther had a way with engines.

}"Morning," he said as he stepped out onto the second-floor porch.

}Arthel was seated in one of the rockers that looked over the road and the bluff beyond. "Damnation!" he said with a shake of his head. "Must be Judgment Day for you to be up before sunrise."

}Luther shrugged and seated himself in the rocker next to his brother.

}"Don't kid yourself, little brother," he said, only half joking. "Some of us get judged every day."

}Leaning back in the rocker, Luther put one long bare foot on the porch railing, holding himself in a perpetual half-recline. "Couldn't sleep," he said simply. "And I promised Tulsy that I'd take her to church this morning."

}Arthel laughed out loud. "Now that's the most amazing thing I've heard you say this week. And it's been an amazing week."

}"Well," Luther admitted as he took a tentative sip of scalding hot coffee. "The Rev was a little wound up about the dancing last night."

}"He wasn't the only one," Arthel said. "What in the world got into you to be holding Tulsa May like that? And in public too."

}"What do you mean? We were dancing." Luther's mouth thinned. Though with his dream still fresh in his mind, he did feel guilty.

}"Oh, I know. I've seen you dancing plenty of times," Arthel agreed with a wry grin. "But Tulsa May is no zam-betty. You've got no business snuggle-spieling with her."

}Luther's voice was dangerously quiet. "Little brother, I am twenty-six years old. When it comes to the ladies in my life, I can do whatever it is I decide to do. And I do so without your permission."

}Arthel raised an eyebrow in challenge, but said nothing. He turned his attention back to the eastern sky and Luther followed his gaze. Quietly they watched the grays, blues, pinks, and yellows of the Oklahoma dawn.

}"Did you get a ride home last night?" Luther asked finally.

}"Yep," Arthel answered. "Mr. and Mrs. Penny gave me a ride in that fancy Chevy Touring Car."

}"Oh?"

}When Arthel made no response, Luther continued. "Was Maybelle with them?"

}"Well, sure."

}"I thought maybe she'd gone home with one of those dozens of fellows following her around."

}Arthel squirmed a little uneasily in his chair. "I don't know who she came with, but she left with me."

}"Now, that's real interesting," Luther said.

}Arthel refused to take the bait. "Actually, it was even more interesting than you think."

}"Oh?"

}"Titus nailed her dress to the platform floor."

}"What!"

}"You heard me. That rascally brother of hers, along with Jimmy Trey and that Wyse boy, must have snuck half a dozen nails in her hem."

}Luther hooted with laughter. "Lord, what happened when she tried to get up?"

}"The Spring Blossom Queen fell flat on her face." ,

}Luther shook his head in disbelief. "How could they do that without her noticing?"

}Arthel was laughing now too. "It was the music. All that dancing and old Mort stomping around on the stage. She just didn't pay that hammering a bit of mind."

}"You saw it?"

}Nodding, Arthel took a long swig of coffee. "I didn't have the heart to stop the little devils. It reminded me of the scrapes we used to get into when we lived with the preacher." He shook his head. "Lord, I wished I'd thought of it myself. You should have seen her in that fancy dress, wallowing in the mud like a wounded hog."

}Luther choked on his coffee at the image that formed in his mind and Arthel had to whallop him on the back a couple of times so that he could catch his breath. "For shame. Arthel. A gentleman never laughs at the expense of a young lady."

}"I think this particular young lady owes me some laughing," Arthel said firmly.

}Luther nodded with understanding but without approval. "I take it you rescued this damsel in distress," he said.

}"I tried to," Arthel said, with mock humility. "But you know that hotheaded little gal. She jumped right up again and ripped the whole back of her skirt clean from the bodice."

}"No!"

}"Would I lie to you?"

}"How'd you keep a straight face?"

}"I didn't."