by Donis Casey
Rob noticed the sour look that passed over Alafair’s face when Alice mentioned her husband’s “standing engagement,” and envisioned a card game. “Too bad Martha’s husband Streeter couldn’t come, either, Robin,” she said.“He’s on the draft board, and they’re getting ready for the lottery on Friday. You’ll like him.”
Rob smiled, but said nothing. If Martha’s husband was complicit with the draft, Rob figured there were probably too many philosophical differences between them for much of friendship to develop.
“Are Mary and Kurt coming, Ma?” Alice asked.
“They came up and met Uncle Robin last night, honey. We’ll all be at church tomorrow, though. Robin, you can meet Streeter and Walter, then.”
***
Rob sat down at the table, to the right of Shaw, the place of honor for a guest. Alafair bustled around for a good ten minutes after everyone was seated, plating dishes and bringing them to the table, pouring drinks, getting the children situated.
Since the U.S. Food Administration had declared that on Saturdays the patriotic housewife should serve one meal wheatless, and one meal meatless, Alafair had decided to go all out for this special dinner and the family could to make do with a bowl of rice for supper tonight. She set a big, bubbling pot of black-eyed peas and fatback in the center of the table, surrounded by bowls of fried okra, sliced tomatoes and onions, sweet potatoes in their jackets, boiled corn on the cob, a dish of wilted lettuce and radishes, and a plate piled high with hot water cornbread, golden little fritters made of cornmeal batter fried in bacon grease.
Alafair smiled when Rob’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the chicken-fried steaks piled high on a serving plate.
He looked up at her. “Is that what I think it is?”
“It is, honey. Just the way you used to like it.”
“You remembered!”
Alafair tried not to grin, but since she was feeling inordinately proud of herself, it was hard.
Rob was so used to hotels and boarding houses that he had forgotten how family dinners worked. By the time Alafair placed the final dish in the middle of the table, he was hungry enough to bite someone’s hand off. When Alafair finally, finally, sat down and Rob moved to pick up a spoon, Shaw folded his hands on the table and said, “Fronie, would you say the blessing tonight?”
Oh, Lord, Rob thought, and not with the proper spirit. He looked down at the tablecloth in case any of his kinfolks happened to glance his way and wonder at his lack of piety.
“Oh, Lord,” Sophronia began, which caused Rob to smile in spite of himself. “Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Rob waited until the chorus of amens had abated before he reached for the sweet potatoes.
The chicken fried steak nearly brought him to tears. The slabs of round steak had been tenderized to a fare-thee-well, dredged in egg and milk and flour, and fried until they were crisp enough to crackle when you cut them. But then Rob ladled so much silky cream gravy over everything on his plate that it was hard to tell where the steak ended and the corn fritters and vegetables began. He didn’t care. Every bite was a delicious, soul-soothing adventure.
The dinner chatter consisted mostly of catching up Rob on what everyone had been up to over the past decade, and though he really was interested, it was hard for him to keep his mind on anything but the food. After half a dozen corn fritters and two helpings of everything else, Rob reluctantly put down his fork, longing for a cigarette.
John Lee noticed that Rob had mentally rejoined them. “Say, Mr. Gunn, I been hearing that the government has been taking Indians and putting them to do war work. I keep half expecting to get hauled off to Tishomingo to get signed up, or explain myself, or something of the like.”
“Call me Rob, pal. Tishomingo, the Chickasaw capital? You’re a Chickasaw?”
“A fourth. My ma registered all of us when we were born, but I wasn’t raised up Indian.”
Rob noticed that Shaw, a quarter Cherokee, himself, was giving him a keen stare.
“Well, yeah, John Lee, in May the I.W.W. circulated a copy of the bill to all us representatives. The federales are requiring all tribal members who are dependent on the government to do farm work. But since you aren’t dependent on the government and you’re already farming, I don’t reckon you have anything to worry about.”
“Streeter says there will be another draft for sure next year and they’ll probably raise the age limit,” Martha said. She and Alice shot each other an anxious look. Would their husbands have to go?
Alice looked at her uncle. “Have you heard anything about the possibility of a second draft, Uncle Robin?”
Suddenly all eyes were on him, and he found himself really wanting that cigarette. He knew that because of his political activism, his family considered him the best source of information on the mysteries of Washington, D.C. to come to town in a long time. They were probably right about that, he thought, not happily. “Well, during the War Between the States, the Union had three or four drafts and called men between twenty and forty-five.”
“Walter’s thirty-four,” Alice said.
“Streeter’s thirty-two.” Martha looked back at Robin, her expression carefully neutral.
“This is a big war, sweetheart.” Rob assured her. “They’re going to need every man they can get. And believe me, girls, there ain’t as many men hot to go to war as they’re telling you.”
Alice puffed. “Are you surprised? Who’d want to get himself killed for that bunch of blasted idiot war-mongers in Washington!”
Robin’s eyes widened at her outburst, and he regarded Alice with interest. Perhaps his family wasn’t as monolithic in its support of the war as he had thought.
“What about Kurt?” Phoebe shifted Tuck on her lap and removed his hand from the gravy on her plate. “Do you reckon they’d even take a German into the Army?”
“I don’t know why not, if he was to volunteer.” John Lee leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “He’s a U.S. citizen, after all. I’d think it’d be real useful to the Army that he speaks German.”
“Well, Kurt wouldn’t dare go off and leave Mary out there on that farm all by herself with that baby,” Alafair insisted.
John Lee shook his head. “I don’t know, Ma. You can see what’s going on as well as I can. There’s a bunch of firebrands around, shooting their mouths off about anybody who wasn’t born here. Kurt may feel like he has to join to show he’s as loyal as the next fellow.”
Alafair sighed.“Let’s pray this folly is over before anybody has to go. Now, let’s eat.”
Chapter Sixteen
“All hail, all hail! to the Liberty Knights
More strength and more brave to their arm
Give them a strong thrust to humble in dust
The foes that would bring us to harm”
—Tulsa Daily World, November 15, 1917
Old Nick whiled away a pleasant evening at the pool hall. He sat in the corner and nursed his root beer for hours, enjoying the sight of a bunch of ignoramuses gambling away their wages on one game after another while swilling bottle after bottle of soda pop that had been sweetened with something from the still that the proprietor kept hidden in the cellar behind his house.
Nick watched the show from the shadows until the hour was late and the would-be pool sharks were thoroughly unsteady on their pins. Then he cocked his bowler hat to a roguish tilt, took up a cue, and proceeded to win enough money to pay for his night on the town. His marks were dejected about their losses, but Nick was so cheerful about it that they found it hard to hold it against him.
Old Nick racked his cue and took a swig of his soda pop. It was a hot night, and the pop was lukewarm at best, but it was wet and felt good going down. He eyed a group of men at a round table in the corner engaged in a heated discussion. One of the arguers was a man whos
e money was now in Nick’s pocket. He walked over. “Mind if I join you, fellows? Let me buy a round of drinks for the table. I don’t want there to be no hard feelings.”
The man Nick had outplayed seemed to be the head honcho of this group, so nobody argued when he grinned and gestured toward an empty chair. “No hard feelings at all, pard’. Take a seat and join the fun.”
Nick turned one the chairs at the table around and straddled it. He had been eavesdropping on conversations all evening, and had pretty well pegged the political leanings of this bunch. “Did I hear y’all talking about the lottery on Friday? From the looks of you fine specimens of manhood, I imagine all of you will be awaiting the outcome with bated breath.”
The head man snorted. “You bet we will, but not because we fear the outcome. Every man here has either already signed up, or like myself, being deaf in one ear, can’t do military service and has found himself some war work. I joined up with the Council of Defense the day it was formed, and Victor over there is one of our Four Minute Men. His speeches over at the moving picture house have sold many a Liberty Bond.”
“Council of Defense,” Nick repeated. “Secret Service? So you’re keeping an eye on your neighbors for signs of disloyalty, are you?”
The atmosphere cooled instantly. “You got an objection to that?” the head man asked.
Nick laughed. “Lord, no! I know for a fact that there are socialists and unionists and German loyalists hidden in every nook and cranny of this land.” He held out his hand. “Call me Nick, by the way.”
The head man took it. “I’m Win Avey. This here is Billy Claude Walker, Wilfred DePew, Victor Hayes. Where you from, Nick, and what are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
“Passing through. I’m on my way up to Fort Riley to offer my services to the Army.”
Billy Claude found this amusing. “You’re long in the tooth for the Army, ain’t you?”
Nick was not insulted. “Oh, I may not be spry enough to enlist, but I figure I can turn my hand to any number of things the forces would find useful. Until then, I’m always looking around for something I can do. You all need any more security at the soiree Friday evening?”
“We’re not doing the security.” Win’s expression indicated that he was not happy about that. “The local lawman is a fat old guy who keeps getting hired as constable because he’s related to half the town council. He’s already deputized a bunch of his kin to keep order. We fellows, on the other hand,” he indicated the table with a sweep of his arm, “will be making a note of who all shows up and how patriotic they behave at the Liberty Sing. Also, once the draft numbers are drawn, we’ll be seeing that every man called up does his duty.”
Nick passed a finger over the scar next to his eye, then removed his derby and fanned himself with it. “Now, that sounds like a worthy endeavor. Who all do you have around here that bears watching?”
“Oh, there’s quite a few,” Win assured him. “We got maybe a dozen families with German ties living around here. In fact there’s one farmer out west of town who came here direct from Germany his own self and married a local gal. I got an eye on him.”
“Good thing you can report suspicious behavior to the Justice Department.”
“We’re going to do more than that. I got a wire today from a pal of mine in Tulsa. They’ve formed a chapter of the Knights of Liberty up there and they’re looking for other places around the state to start units. That’s what we were talking about when you come over.”
“Knights of Liberty,” Nick said. “Yes, I’ve heard of them. They do good work. They strung up a man in San Jose a couple months ago for unpatriotic behavior. I don’t aim to stay around Boynton long, boys, but if you’re looking for volunteers, and have an extra black robe on hand, I’d be proud to ride with you for a while.”
Win clapped him on the shoulder. “We’d be proud to have you, Nick. We’re always looking for right-thinking compatriots.”
Nick shook hands all around, thinking that he could have been General Paul von Hindenburg himself infiltrating their group, and these knuckleheads wouldn’t have known the difference.
He paid for an extra round of “soda pop” for the house and suggested that everyone cap off the evening with a visit to Rose’s place. Nick offered to treat anyone who couldn’t pay for a tumble, as long as he was the one who had deprived him of the means. That made him a very popular winner indeed.
Chapter Seventeen
“To provide for the establishment of a division of venereal diseases in the Bureau of the Public Health Service…For the protection of the military and naval forces of the United States.”
—The Chamberlain-Kahn Act, 1917
After a late supper, Henry Blackwood stepped out of his uncle’s front door for a smoke and a breath of fresh air. It had been a hot, muggy day, but now that the sun was down things were cooling off. It looked like Rose’s place was doing a pretty good business. Her grassless front yard served as a parking lot for an auto and several horses. The place was bright with electric lights, and Henry could hear Victrola music and laughter coming from the open windows.
He tossed away his cigarette butt and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw through the open screen door that his uncle was clearing away the supper dishes.
“Hey, Uncle Eric,” he called. “I think I’ll take a stroll.”
Eric Bent looked up. His sharp expression indicated that he wasn’t fooled. “Just remember that you’re working the early Sunday shift at the plant tomorrow.”
“I remember. I’ll be there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Henry said. “Don’t wait up.”
***
It was busy at Rose’s, even for a Saturday night. She put it down to the fact that the draft lottery was next week and these brainless idiots who had not already fled to Mexico or hastily married their cousins to avoid conscription were feeling nervous about it. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter to her. If they wanted a roll in the hay before they were sent off to die, she was happy to provide a distraction for them. Then they could all go to Europe happy and get killed, for all she cared.
There were a number of men here tonight who had never frequented her establishment before. Mostly young fellows, including the blond-haired man with the beat-up puss who had asked after Eric Bent early that morning. That amused her. She had liked Gertrude Bent. Gert hadn’t exactly been a friend, but she hadn’t treated Rose and the girls like something you’d find on your shoe after a stroll in the barnyard. Unusual behavior for a proper housewife.
But the husband, Eric, was like all the rest of them. While Gert was alive, he cheated on her at Rose’s whenever he thought he could get away with it. And while he had never mistreated any of the girls, he had never treated them with much respect, either. Not that they were respectable, but they were human, after all.
Rose decided that this nephew was cut from better cloth than his uncle. He didn’t take anyone upstairs right away. Just spent a couple of hours on the sofa in the parlor, drinking enough to be sociable, but not enough to make a fool of himself. He spent much of the evening chatting with whichever girl was not busy with a client. He was intelligent, this one, which didn’t make her feel any better about him. The smart ones could be more dangerous than the morons.
She stepped out onto the porch to greet some newcomers who were having a conversation with her bouncer. She knew Dutch Leonard, a dour, middle-aged local who was one of her regulars. But she didn’t recognize the two who were with him. They were young, patched and ragged, but clean enough. She stated her prices upfront, expecting that would be the end of their foray into carnal pleasure, but Dutch assured her that he’d stand good for them.
“I don’t know you fellows,” she said. “What brings you into town?”
The blue-eyed one in the overalls twisted his hat in his hands. “Were friends of Dutch�
�s from Oktaha, ma’am. We’re camping over to his place tonight. We’re supposed to meet somebody…”
The dark-eyed one in the homespun shirt spoke over his companion. “Got to make plans because of the draft.”
Rose had been around long enough to know when someone was skittering around the point and she almost turned them away. If she had to guess, she would have pegged these two as draft-dodgers. She didn’t need trouble. But there were already several strangers there tonight, and the two ragged youths looked pretty ineffectual. They had the money and she had no dog in this fight. “All right, but I’m making you responsible for these boys’ behavior tonight, Dutch. Y’all keep your politics to yourself or you’re out before you can spit.”
As soon as they were inside, Rose had a word with her bouncer. Dave was a giant Negro man from Taft who had been with her ever since she opened her own place. He was deadly efficient at his job, and he never asked to sample the wares. She didn’t care why not, but she did appreciate his temperance.
“The minute anybody raises his voice, get rid of him.”
Dave looked determined. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You making sure everybody who comes in knows the rules?” she said.
“Yes, Miz Rose, I always do,” Dave told her.
She nodded. He always did, but she thought it prudent to keep him on his toes. Rose’s rules of the house were posted on a big piece of cardboard right next to the front door, but probably fifty percent of her clientele couldn’t read. Neither did Dave, but he knew the rules by heart and recited them in his basso profundo voice to everyone who showed up at the door.
One: No guns.
Two: Ever man who wants to do bisness here has to have had a bath today or yesterday.
Three: No slappin around on the girls. Rioters will be thowd out and can’t never come back.
Four: The proprietor can toss out anybody she wants. No argyin.
