No Ordinary Princess

by Pamela Morsi

  "Ma," Cedarleg interrupted her. "You was once a town girl yourself."

  "So I know what I'm talking about," she insisted. "If you think it's been easy learning to live with you, Winthrop Pease, then you're a fool!"

  "Winthrop?" Tom asked, wide-eyed and teasing.

  Cedarleg grinned at him. "That's the feller I used to be when I had two legs to my credit."

  Ma continued her advice. "I'm just saying that there are plenty of nice girls in Topknot without the need for you to go looking over at Burford Corners."

  Tom rather liked Ma's advice and attention; even when she was nagging. There had never really been a mother figure in his life. Reverend McAfee was the closest thing to a parent he had ever had. He found being treated like a son by the Peases to be a very pleasurable and unexpected bonus.

  "Please don't worry about me, Ma," Tom told her. "I know what I'm doing."

  But in truth he was no longer sure that he did. Every evening he spent with Cessy, learning to like and admire her as a person. A development that he clearly had not planned for.

  And every day he worked on the rig with Cedarleg. As he became more skilled he earned the respect of the men around him. He was learning a lot about the tool dresser's trade, the oil business, and about the viability of the well. And, he joked to Cedarleg, he was learning about mud.

  Mud, Tom discovered, was the lifeblood of the oil drilling. A shallow, man-made pond next to the rig was kept stirred up and oozing with the stuff. It was pumped down the drill stem to cool and lubricate the bit, to flush out the cuttings and create a counterpres-sure that prevented both annoying cave-ins and dan­gerous blow outs. Keeping large quantities of the easily obtainable brown viscous available was part of Tom's job. And the most cursory glance at his work clothing indicated as much.

  Daily he worked, covered hairline to boot top in mud. Occasionally he was so splattered with the stuff that only his white-toothed grin was visible.

  He saw Maloof one afternoon while he was in that very condition. The peddler's eyes had widened at the sight of him, but he made no comment except to inquire about his satisfaction with his dress suit. Tom was a bit disconcerted to be called Tom by the peddler to whom he had introduced himself as Gerald Crane. But the foreign fellow had obviously heard the other workers call him by that name and didn't seem to comprehend the discrepancy.

  At the well Tom listened. He learned from the other men and profited from their experience. The Topknot was a salt dome geological formation underneath the ground. Because the salt was less dense than the sedimentary rock that surrounded it, it bulged up toward the top. The bulging created little traps, empty caverns between the rocks. Over time, as gas and oil moved upward through the natural passage­ways, it settled in these traps. And it was the oilman's business to find these hidden traps and to get the oil out.

  Drilling was a new and still-developing technolo­gy. And it was fraught with unexpected difficulties. Yet Tom had begun to believe with all certainty, as did the men around him, that there was indeed oil beneath the ground of the Royal Oil field at Topknot. And he caught the fever that all the men seem to share of wanting to be the first to get at it.

  For the next six evenings after supper, wearing his fine clothes and having scraped the mud and grease from beneath his nails, he made his way over to the Calhoun Mansion. His first night there had set up a precedent for the ones that followed. He would meet Cessy on the porch. They would take a walk in the sparse, unattractive garden in twilight. They would talk. She told him everything about her life, her parents, her friends, and her days at Miss Thorogate's College. He let her tell him everything about the oil business. He was surprised to discover a lively inter­est in her father's company and the labor in the fields. He deliberately showed no interest in it at all. He changed the subject every time it came up. Under no circumstances must she ever suspect that he was after a share of Royal Oil or that he spent his days pounding hot bits and backing a driller.

  He told her nothing about himself. Nothing of the Methodist Indian Home or Cuba or any of the places in between. When the subject turned to him and his life, he let Gerald do all the talking. He discussed Gerald's views on politics and economics. Gerald's experiences with the family business and Gerald's successes at Yale. And he told her Gerald's hopes and dreams and aspirations.

  As twilight turned to full night, he would find an opportunity to kiss her lips. Then they would return to the secluded darkness of the front porch, where they would sit in the swing, snuggle, and spoon.

  "It feels so funny when you put your tongue in my mouth," she whispered.

  "Funny? Like you're going to burst out laughing?"

  "No, no, not like that. Like . . . like a tiny fluttering bird is somehow trapped in my chest trying to get out."

  "A bird trapped in your chest? Where in your chest? Here?"

  "Oh, Gerald," she answered him breathlessly.

  They were sitting in the porch swing, or rather he was sitting in it. She was sitting atop his lap. They were both fully clothed. He had never so much as loosened a button at her collar. But he did allow his hands to follow their inclination, stroking and caress­ing her.

  "When I put my tongue in your mouth I get some strange feelings, too," he admitted teasingly. "But it's not like a bird in my chest. It's more like a tentpole in my trousers."

  "Oh!"

  Cessy was clearly shocked by his implication. She might have a mannish stance, but her reactions to his enticements were completely feminine. She shifted uneasily upon the aforementioned tentpole and he groaned in pleasure that was near agony.

  He stilled her with a hand on her derriere and kissed her again, allowing his tongue to trace the definition of her lips. He nipped her very lightly and she used her own tongue with equal effectiveness.

  "You learn too quickly, Cessy Calhoun."

  "You taught me everything I know," she replied. "I never imagined that people's mouths could do so many interesting things."

  "You don't know the half," he told her as he ran his hand across her bosom. He could feel her nipples raised and stiffened through her clothes. "Wait until I put my mouth here."

  Her sharp intake of breath was almost a cry of desperation. "Do it, do it Gerald. Put your mouth there."

  "I can't, Cessy," he answered back in a hot, tempting whisper. "I won't. I won't compromise you. We must wait until . . . until . . . oh, Cessy, I'd better go before we do something that you'll regret."

  "I would never regret anything with you," she breathed.

  "I'd better go."

  "Not yet, not yet," she insisted. "Kiss me, Gerald. Kiss me once more."

  He did. He kissed her with all the seduction and expertise that he could manage. He kissed her with his whole body, his whole self. He kissed her wholly.

  The moan of desire at the back of her throat was a sound akin to beautiful music. It had been like this every night. Every night from the first he had kissed, caressed, and conduced her toward the sensual plea­sures. And every night she had been eager and willing to cooperate, even to offer instructions in her own seduction.

  "We mustn't. We mustn't do this, Cessy," he told her as he teased and tantalized the nipple between his fingers, and cupped and clutched the small, firm breast upon which it sat.

  He felt her squeeze her thighs together tightly and momentarily he wished that his aching erection was buried firmly between them.

  "It's not right, Cessy. It's grievous and I would not lead you astray," he insisted as he teasingly, tantaliz-ingly did just that.

  She was squirming atop his lap once more and Tom was enjoying it just a little too much. He clasped her around the waist and set her on her feet, only to stand beside her and pull her into his arms.

  "I must leave," he whispered against her neck.

  She made a soft sound and pressed her body more firmly against his own. Trailing hot kisses along her neck, interspersed with little love bites, he ran his hands down the length of her back and then clutched h
er buttocks in his hands and pulled her tightly against his erection.

  "Oh, Cessy," he whispered against her ear. "I want you so much. I love you so much. I ... I have to leave. I have to leave now."

  He pulled away from her and stepped back.

  "Gerald . . ."

  Tom held up his hands as if to ward her off.

  "We're playing with fire here, Cessy," he said. "We're playing with fire and I won't have you burned."

  Even in the darkness, standing at a distance, he could see that she was trembling, bereft without his arms to hold her.

  "I love you, Gerald," she said. "I love you so very much."

  "And I love you, Cessy." He hurried down the garden steps and then turned back to blow her a kiss. "Tomorrow evening, Cessy, may I call upon you again tomorrow evening?"

  "Yes, oh yes," she answered as she grasped the air, as if catching his kiss and bringing it to her lips. "You must call on me tomorrow."

  Tom walked away from her, facing backward as if unable to tear his eyes from the sight of her. When he reached the darkness of the trees where she could no longer see him, he turned and gave a long-suffering sigh.

  "Geez," he muttered to himself as he shook his head. "Hard as a brick and aching worse than a sore tooth. I can't keep going on like this."

  He made his way with some haste through the edges of the dark, deserted downtown of Burford Corners and the rough noisy saloon district of Top­knot and into the oil camp.

  "I can't continue doing this," he repeated to him­self.

  In truth it had only been a week. King Calhoun lingered in St. Louis and Tom took advantage of the opportunity to see the young woman unchaperoned. Every evening after Ma's great meal, he hurried over to Cessy's front porch. He knew that he should make hay while the sun was shining. Of course, he could have made more hay than he had currently.

  Cessy Calhoun was passionately in love with him. That was obvious. But even if he had not been able to tell by looking, the woman frankly told him so. She wanted him and seemed to have no compunction to wait for wedding vows. He could have bedded her a week ago. Truth to be told, he could have bedded her the night that he met her.

  But something held him back. He wasn't at all sure yet if he should. It was all working out so perfectly. All just as he'd planned. Except she was not as he'd planned. She was not just an oil heiress. Cessy was a person. A person he found that he liked and admired. That should be good. That should be very good. But somehow it was not. He had a strong sense of foreboding. He was certain that there was some kind of trouble ahead.

  If he bedded Cessy, then he would have to marry her—only, a cad would do otherwise. And he liked her far too much to break her heart. But of course he wanted to marry her. And if he decided not to, whether he'd seduced her or not, her heart might well be irreparably broken nonetheless.

  These nightly enticements were playing havoc with his sleep and his good humor. It had been a long while since he'd lain spent and satisfied in the arms of a woman. Normally that was no problem. He was fastidious enough to do without female companion­ship when there was none of the superior kind available. But he had never in his life allowed himself to become sexually aroused night after night with no relief.

  "So the million-dollar drill sergeant in skirts is beginning to look good to you, Gerald?" Tom said to himself, snorting with self-disgust.

  Tom reached the Pease camp tent, but he hesitated. It was dark and quiet inside. Cedarleg and Ma were both probably sleeping. Exhausted as he was, Tom knew that he was a long way from any rest. If he went in now, he'd toss and turn for another hour at least.

  He decided that pacing was a better way to pass the time, and began thoughtfully to walk back and forth along the path in front of the tent.

  He liked her. He had to admit that to himself. He actually liked her. She was smart. Not in the book sort of way, he concluded. But she was smart in the way that he was. Cessy was smart about people. Except, of course, about him. She was not at all smart about him. She'd fallen for Gerald like a sapling meeting a buzzsaw.

  Yet she was different about that, too. She didn't hanker after Gerald's tales of Yale life and the finer things. She didn't seem impressed about Gerald's family or his social position. She didn't even seem to agree with some of Gerald's most strongly held beliefs about the importance of class structure in upholding the framework of civilization.

  Cessy talked about real things. She talked about people's feelings and the way the world worked. She talked about the bright future she wanted, not just for herself and her family. The future she wanted for the folks that she knew, the folks in the oil fields. She talked about life in a way that self-involved Gerald could never understand. She deserved better than Gerald. Certainly she was a spoiled, rich woman with too much money and not enough good sense. But she deserved . . . she deserved . . . well, she deserved better than a deceitful fortune hunter.

  "Son, is that you?"

  Tom stopped pacing and turned to see Cedarleg emerge from the tent.

  "I didn't mean to wake you," Tom said. "I was just not . . . not quite ready for sleep."

  Cedarleg chuckled lightly. "That little gal sure keeps you stirred up. Don't you know a working man has got to get some sleep sometime?"

  Tom shook his head. "I'll be awake and on the job come morning, don't you worry."

  "Oh, I ain't worrying much about that," Cedarleg assured him. "I know you'll be there, but a tired man makes mistakes, and mistakes can be dangerous."

  "You may be right," Tom told him. "But if a fellow can't sleep, he can't sleep."

  "Oh, I know. It's been a while since I was courting that old gal inside there, but I remember it distinctly," he said. "That Ma'd kiss and cuddle 'til I was near crazy with wanting her. Then her old daddy would call out to her to get into the house. I'd wander home to stare at the ceiling all night and try not to think about the parts that ailed me."

  Tom smiled at him. "With the kind of work I'm doing daytime and seeing Cessy at night, all my parts are ailing me."

  Cedarleg laughed and clapped him on the back. "Well son,.the work is something you'll get used to. And the other, well ... I suspect in the army you had some acquaintance of goodtime gals."

  Tom folded his arms across his chest. "I met a couple," he admitted.

  "Well, Mr. Calhoun's coming home on the train tomorrow evening. I'll be going over to meet with him at Queenie's Palace, the finest sporting place in Topknot."

  Tom raised a curious eyebrow.

  "You can come with me," Cedarleg told him. "I'll introduce you to Queenie and maybe she can set you up with one of her gals. Just to kindy take the edge off of things and get you a good night's sleep."

  Tom nodded, but he was not thinking about Queenie or her gals. King Calhoun was returning tomorrow.

  The awning striped surrey made slow and difficult passage through the narrow, uneven alleyways of the oil camp. Howard appeared unhappy and ill at ease in the primitive surroundings. Princess smiled and waved as she went calling out greetings to old friends that welcomed her.

  Princess laughed and chatted with animation. She was so happy. So very happy, at last. She had waited all her life for that one man, that one man who could truly love her, and it had finally happened.

  Discreetly she opened her alligator pocketbook and retrieved the card she carried inside it. Already it showed the wear of a hundred caresses and more than a few kisses. But once more Princess drew her fingers gently across the raised gold letters. Gerald TARKINGTON CRANE, BEDLINGTON, NEW JERSEY. It was all she could do not to shout her joy out to the world.

  "I think this is it," she said as she directed Howard to the group of more spacious and better-constructed tents.

  The sounds of the horses brought the "lady of the house" to the entrance, where she made an immedi­ate declaration of delight.

  "Princess! It's so good to see you. It's been an age."

  Alighting from the vehicle, she was immediately wrapped in warm, loving arms.r />
  "I've missed you, Ma," Princess told her. "I know how busy Cedarleg is on the rig, but you could come visit me."

  "And I've been meaning to," Ma said. "I've really been meaning to. Cedarleg has brought a young feller home from the rig who's got no money nor no one and he's been staying with us. Tending for two men has kept me pretty busy."

  "I certainly hope you're not letting some freeloader take advantage of you," Princess said.

  "Don't you think I'm a little old to worry about fellahs takin' advantage?" Ma cackled at her own joke.

  Princess shook her head. "You simply do not need to take on any more youngsters to raise," she pointed out.

  Ma laughed. "Look who's talking. The little gal that finds employment for every sick or stuck or stray feller in the oil fields. And I hear you're wearing ruts in the road visiting out at that orphanage."

  "I only try to help those that really deserve a chance," Princess insisted. "And I sure don't take anyone in and make them part of the family."

  Ma's eyes widened. "Except maybe for Howard here."

  They both looked up toward the driver who took his position much too seriously to join them in laughter, but nodded in agreement.

  "I can return for you in an hour, Miss Calhoun,” he said.

  "That will be fine,” Princess assured him. As he turned the team, she spoke to Ma once more. "I just don't want you to overwork yourself."

  Ma laughed. "Oh, don't worry, this fellah is al­ready grown and not long for this tent nohow. He's got him some little gal in Burford Corners that he goes to see every night. Love's done knocked him a blow straight to the head and that ringing in his ears is bound to be wedding bells."

  Ma laughed again, enjoying the sound of that. "The ringing in his ears is bound to be wedding bells," she repeated.

  Princess couldn't help but chuckle at the descrip­tion.

  "Come in, come in," Ma said. "I've got no coffee nor lemonade to offer you. But the springwater is cool and fine to drink. Remember that water in Gladys City?"

  Princess wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Sulphur. It's awful living in a place where everybody and every living thing smells like rotten eggs."