Runabout (15 page)

}Odie Foote was difficult, stubborn, and opinionated. He and her mother got along perfectly: both seemed to find more faults in Tulsa May than graces.

}But he had asked her to be his wife. Why, she honestly couldn't imagine. She had stared at him with disbelief.

}"I'm not sure," Tulsa May had admitted later to her mother.

}Her mother had wrung her hands at the words. "Honey," she'd said worriedly. "Odie Foote might well be the only chance you ever have."

}Tulsa May had paled at the thought and her resolve had weakened. Her "only chance" for a family. So she'd swallowed her misgivings and had said yes, for all the good it had done her. Apparently, Doc Odie had been unable to swallow his own misgivings.

}As she hurried along the alleyway, Tulsa May glanced back a couple of times to assure that she had not been seen.

}For years Tulsa May had read the work of Stanton and Anthony and others in the feminist movement. She believed that women should have the right to vote and she prayed that they would get it. She didn't think that a spinster was a "waste of nature" or that the success of a woman was measured in terms of how well she married. She knew these thoughts were as radical as those of the most fervent bluestocking.

}But there was that other part of her. That little tender growing place in her heart that wanted to feel her belly swollen with child. That wanted to hold that child in her arms and teach the child Euripides as well as how to play cat's cradle.

}Tulsa May blew out a sigh of near self-disgust. It was glandular, undoubtedly. The same traitorish glands that gave her fat, pouty nipples also gave her the desire for a child to suckle them.

}That thought gave her a strange jolt of pleasure she couldn't quite understand. She shook it off.

}Having children was apparently a treasure not to be realized. Without marriage they were impossible. But.what about the rest of it? The tenderness of being held by a man? The taste of his lips on her own. Would she be forced to forgo that also? Momentarily and unwillingly, the smiling image of Luther Briggs crossed her mind, but she pushed it away. Best friends never marry. Any hope to the contrary could risk ruining a wonderful friendship. Losing Luther Briggs as best friend would hurt a thousand times more than any public jilting Doc Odie could ever manage. No, best friends could never marry. But could they share some of the tenderness of a man and a woman? Was being held very far from dancing together? And was being kissed much beyond that?

}Chapter 8

}Fortunately for both Luther and Tulsa May, the Reverend Binder's sermon was not about the evils of dancing. But the community did not escape the Spring Blossom Festival uncensured.

}"Gossip, while not expressly mentioned in the Ten Commandments, was inherently a sin of bearing false witness," the preacher contended. As no one ever repeated things and got them exactly right.

}Luther had seated himself beside Tulsa May in the shiny, slickly polished oak pew reserved for the pastor's family in the front of the church. Ostensibly, this was to give moral support to the preacher. More likely, Luther thought, it was done so that the people of the church could scrutinize them during the sermon. That, at least, was certainly true today.

}Luther gave the reverend his complete attention. Since he hadn't been in church in several years, and every soul in Prattville knew that, every eye in the congregation was focused upon him. The preacher's words notwithstanding, Luther Briggs's attendance at Sunday service was certain to be the main theme of local gossip for the coming days.

}During the years following the deaths of his parents, Luther had been, peripherally at least, a part of the preacher's family. He and Arthel had suffered, or profited from, some of the same inspection that had always been a part of Tulsa May's life. It was different, of course. They were orphans and half-breeds and children to be pitied. They were also the grandsons, unclaimed though they were, of town matron Maimie Briggs.

}Those were sometimes sad, sometimes lonely days for Luther. He missed his parents terribly and felt a deep burden of responsibility for his younger brother. The Bruders were very kind to offer them a home. And although he was grateful and cared very much for Rev and Miz Constance, he did not love them. He wanted the love of Miss Maimie. She was a part of him, a part of his family. And he wanted his family back. More than that, he needed a family for his brother.

}Tulsa May had understood.

}"I go over there nearly every day, Greasy," she had told him. "You just show up with me. What is Miss Maimie going to do? Throw you out the door?"

}Luther was afraid of just that. Tulsa May always looked for the best in people and she'd even managed to find something likable about Miss Maimie. But he knew that there was something very, very bad in the old woman.

}He'd gone over on his own one afternoon, dressed in his Sunday suit, his hair slicked back with the reverend's best pomade. Conrad Ruggy opened the door.

}"Good afternoon," Luther greeted the old man formally. "Is Mrs. Maimie Briggs at home?"

}The fact that Miss Maimie was
always
home notwithstanding, Luther wanted to observe the polite formalities.

}The old black man's eyes were sharp as he surveyed him. "Why don't you step into the library, sir," he'd said as he opened the door wider. "I'll see if Miss Maimie can have visitors."

}It had been an interminable wait alone in the big library that was stuffed full of paintings and bric-a-brac and held very few books.

}"Miss Maimie will see you now," Conrad had announced.

}Luther had felt a wave of nausea sweep over him. But he raised his chin and followed the aging butler to the very formal front parlor.

}He stepped across the threshold and nearly lost his nerve. He'd seen Miss Maimie before. She'd attended the Sparrow wedding and later he'd caught glimpses of her on her occasional visits to town. Somehow she seemed even more formidable close up.

}They stared at each other for a long, assessing moment. She was his grandmother. The woman who had given birth to his father. A woman who had loved his father maybe as much as he had. She was looking deeply into his eyes as if seeing something unexpected. For a moment her face was relaxed and open and there was something ... something there that Luther could not quite make out. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Her expression was a cold, haughty mask of displeasure.

}"Well, boy," she said in a stiff, unyielding voice. "You wanted to see me. I assume you have some business."

}Luther opened his mouth, but he realized he had no words. Maimie Briggs did not want him for a grandson. She did not want to make a home for him and his brother. She did not want to love them or to have them love her in return.

}"Well," she snapped impatiently. "Do you have business or not?"

}"I'm looking for a job," he blurted out.

}The words surprised both of them. He already did plenty of daily chores at the parsonage and he was still attending school. He knew the reverend still considered him a child and would never expect him to pay his own way.

}"A job?" Miss Maimie managed to sound both skeptical and derisive. "What on earth could you do?"

}"I'm very good at working on machines," he told her. "I can fix about any kind of motor or engine that you might have."

}Miss Maimie scoffed. "Young man, I do not have any machines," she said. "No motors, no engines."

}He knew that she was trying to disconcert him. But she did not. The same stubborn haughtiness that was her trademark also flowed through his own veins.

}"Well, if you don't, you should," he told her high-handedly. "This is the twentieth century, after all. Just because you were born in the past doesn't mean you have to live there."

}Sitting in church now, years later, Luther still smiled at the memory of Miss Maimie's face. Unconsciously, he reached for Tulsa May's hand and squeezed her fingers. She'd always shared in his small victories over Miss Maimie. She glanced over and smiled at him curiously before they both turned their attention back to the preacher.

}It seemed Reverend Bruder had barely gotten wound up on his chosen subject when the sermon was over. The congregation stood to sing as Mary Beth Muldrow began playing the invitational hymn. They shared a hymnbook, with Tulsa May paging through to find the right song.

}Luther chanced a quick glance at Tulsa May and then wished that he hadn't. When he looked at her familiar smile, he saw something else, something new, something that immediately reminded him of his wicked dream. He jerked his gaze back to the preacher, but couldn't control the heat that climbed up his neck. He tugged impatiently at his stiffly starched collar. Clearing his throat, Luther sang a deep bass harmony to Tulsa May's high, breathy soprano.

}"Not a burden we bear,

}Not a sorrow we share

}But our toil He doth richly repay;

}Not a grief nor a loss,

}Not a frown nor a cross,

}But is blest if we trust and obey."

}This is Tulsy,
Luther reminded himself silently as he stood only inches from her, the clean, familiar scent of her favorite talcum drifting to his nostrils.
Tulsy. Not some Saturday-night sweetie whose name you can quickly forget.

}Finally the invitational ended and he could take a step back, grateful for the distance. He was angry at himself for merging fantasy with reality. Tulsa May was the kindest, most gracious friend he had ever had. He shouldn't repay that generosity with crude thoughts.

}When the service was over, he escorted both Tulsa May and her mother to the back of the church with extreme formality. The noise and bustle of the departing congregation gave him some perspective.

}Woody and Jimmy Trey Sparrow headed to the church door with such exuberant enthusiasm, they nearly knocked their grandfather down. Haywood Puser only managed to right himself with the help of old Osgold Panek. The two men shared a light laugh and shook their heads.

}Maybelle Penny was attempting to open her lacy pink parasol.

}"Don't open that inside the building!" Beulah Bowman admonished her.

}Maybelle shrugged with unconcern. "I don't believe in silly old superstitions."

}Mrs. Bowman huffed up with disapproval as she moved away, muttering about bad luck.

}Maybelle raised her nose as she allowed young Fasel Auslander to convey her to the door, her umbrella hanging unfolded over her arm.

}Miz Constance quickly drifted away into the crowd, clearly having news to spread. Luther, however, didn't rush, though Tulsa May was clearly anxious to leave. But Luther knew that it was important to take their time. Slowly, deliberately, he led her toward the exit, careful to speak to each and every member of the congregation. They needed to be seen and he intended to make sure they were.

}"Morning, Luther, good to have you in church again," Opal Crenshaw greeted them politely. "Tulsa May, what a delightful hat!"

}"Thank you," she barely had time to mutter before Erwin Willers, publisher of the
Populist,
slid up beside them with a friendly wink.

}"You making your own news these days, Tulsa May?" he teased.

}She flushed brightly.

}"Luther Briggs!"

}Turning, they were confronted with Amelia Puser, the leading society matron of Prattville.

}"Mrs. Puser." He gave the mortician's wife a polite nod. "What a pleasure to see you looking so lovely this morning."

}Amelia flushed proudly with the strength of vanity that even more than fifty years of living couldn't quite conquer. Her delicately featured face remained surprisingly youthful and her wavy blond hair was miraculously lacking in gray. The result of Madame Olivia's Cosmetology Products, which she received in plain brown wrapping from a mail order catalog. Her black silk taffeta gown was trimmed with georgette crepe in the very latest style with a throw-tie belt that emphasized her still fashionably narrow waist.

}"And what a surprise to see you." Pointedly, she glanced over at Tulsa May, whose hand still lay gently on Luther's arm. "So, is it true what I'm hearing?" She fluttered her black lace fan prettily before slapping it playfully against the young man's lapel.

}Luther smiled at her and then glanced down at the young woman beside him. He saw that her pale, slightly freckled face was more rosy than usual. Possessively he patted her hand.

}"Now, Mrs. Puser," he answered with a charming grin. "How could we ever know what you've been hearing?"

}As the smartly dressed older woman raised an eyebrow, Luther gave her a polite but dismissing nod and moved onward.