by Pamela Morsi
Ma chuckled in agreement and held open the canvas door flap so that Princess could step inside. She looked around and nodded in undisguised approval.
"It looks great in here, Ma. I don't know how you do it. No matter where you are or what the place looks like, you always make it seem like home."
Ma made her way to the water bucket and dipped out two cups full. She set the cups uport a tray and served them at the table as if they were an elegant aperitif.
"This place seems like home because it is," she explained. "A woman can wait all her life for things to be different, for her circumstances to be better. Then find out when she's old that her time was simply wasted in waiting. Home for me is wherever my man is. I ain't got no call for looking 'round and whining, 'That woman over there is living finer than me.' There's plenty that live finer. But they's a goodly number that would think my tight little dry tent a paradise on earth."
Princess smiled at her as she accepted the tin cup of cool water.
"I think it's the love here inside that keeps it so tight and dry," she said.
Ma laughed. "Well, some of that, some of that indeed. But you keep a good place yourself," she said. "Just naturally organized and intent on your ways. I recall when you was no bigger than a minute and doing for your daddy like you was full grown."
"Those were good times," Princess admitted. "But I don't long for them. I wouldn't go back. I love my little house. I love planting flowers and being able to know that I'll be around when they come up to bloom. I love the feeling of putting down roots and stretching them out in the soil. And I love the school. It's clean, it's new, it's modern. I feel like we're really beginning to do important work there. When Daddy moves on, as he always does, I'll be staying here."
Ma nodded thoughtfully. "Well, honey, we wish you well and we'll surely miss you."
"You know I still want you to stay. I think it would be a wonderful job for Cedarleg. He's so good with the boys, and it's not nearly as dangerous as tool pushing."
Ma shook her head. "It's hard for him to quit the drilling rigs," she said. "Once getting oil out of the ground gets in your blood, well it's hard to let go of it. Even when you're getting a little too old and a little too crippled to do it anymore."
Princess patted her hand lovingly. "I want you to stay, but I do understand if you go. I will expect you to come and visit me from time to time."
"Of course we will," Ma assured her. "It can be a pretty lonely life for you, living all alone."
Princess's heart lifted and she felt a blush warm her cheeks. "I may not be alone," she said.
Ma nodded. "I heard that Muna is got her a man? Some foreign fellah her daddy done brought over," she said. "They going to settle down right here, you're thinking."
"Well, that would be wonderful," Princess admitted. "Although I can't say that I am really excited about her engagement. It's an arranged marriage."
Ma shook her head. "Them foreigners, they do that," she said. "But I've seen plenty of happy marriages among them."
"Well," Princess insisted. "It might be fine for people from other countries, but Muna has grown up here. She's an American woman. And she wants what every American woman wants. To marry the man of her own choosing. The man she loves."
"Did Muna tell you that?"
"No, of course not," Princess answered. "You know how she is with her parents. She would never go against their wishes."
"Then that is her choice, honey," Ma told her. "And you'd do well to stay out of it."
"But I can't bear to think of my dear Muna never knowing love," Princess lamented.
Ma waved away her tragic tone. "Love is all different kinds of things at all different times," she said. "We cain't never know what it is to someone else."
"I know what it is," Princess said quietly. "And it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. Nobody should ever have to live without it."
Ma raised an eyebrow and gave her a long look. "What's this?" she asked.
"I think . . . no . . . no, I am, I am in love, Ma."
"Land a-mercy and I'm just now hearing about it!" the older woman exclaimed. "Tell me, tell me. Who is this fellah and when do I get to meet him?"
"Oh Ma, he's . . . well he's every thing I ever dreamed about and nothing like I ever imagined."
"Where'd you meet him?"
"In my own backyard! He was at the Fourth of July picnic."
"Wouldn't you know it," Ma complained. "The first time I've missed that shindig in years and somebody interesting finally shows up."
Princess laughed. "I just saw him and, oh, Ma, I just knew, I just knew immediately that he was the one."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. And he knew, too. It was, it was just so perfect, so wonderful."
"And he's wonderful?"
Princess nodded. "Yes, yes he is. I don't know how or why I even think so. The truth is the more I get to know him, the more I really wonder what we might ever have in common. But when we are together it just seems so right."
"Well, opposites can attract," Ma assured her. "Sometimes two very different kinds of people can make a pair that's much stronger together than two more alike persons could ever be."
"He's so very different from anyone I've ever known. He is far from ignorant. He's thoughtful and fair. Yet sometimes he says things that just seem positively wooden-headed."
Ma snorted good-naturedly. "I cain't imagine that you'd let him get away with that?"
Princess shook her head. "You know I can't. Daddy always says that my high opinion of my own opinions is my only vanity."
"So you tell him to his face that he's a wooden-head?"
"Pretty much. I openly disagree with him," she said.
"And how does he take it?"
"Very well," Princess answered. "In fact, almost too well. He doesn't take it personally at all. It's almost as if his opinions are not even his own."
"That is pretty curious."
"It is. It is curious," Princess agreed. "It's almost as if there is a shallowness to him. But somehow he is not shallow. Somehow there is depth to him and beneath that he's wonderful. I'm just sure of it."
Ma eyed her skeptically. "Well, tell me about him. I don't aim to let you take up with any old worthless roustabout."
"Oh you would definitely approve of him, Ma," Princess assured her. "And he's certainly no worthless roustabout. He's . . . well, he's . . . he's sort of a remittance man."
"A remittance man?"
Princess nodded. "His name is Gerald Crane and he's from back East. He's been raised in wealth and privilege. His family was in the publishing business back when Benjamin Franklin was their competitor."
"Land a-mercy, what's such a fellah doing here?"
"He came out West to join up with the Rough Riders, and he just stayed," Princess said.
"Rough Riders?" Ma looked thoughtful. "Tom was in the Rough Riders. Wonder if he knows this fellah?"
"Tom?"
"The young man that's staying here," she answered. "So what does this Gerald feller do now?"
"Well, honestly, Ma, I don't think that he does anything."
The older woman looked surprised.
"Everybody's got to do something."
Princess shook her head. "Rich people don't. If they don't need the money, well, they just take up some avocation like art or writing or some such."
"So what's this fellah's avocation?" she asked. "Topknot ain't the kind of place where a person might take up writing or art. He's got to have some reason for being here."
"Why, honestly, I don't think he has one, Ma," Princess admitted. "He seems to just be wandering the country meeting people and seeing new things."
Ma tutted with disapproval. "I don't like the sound of that, honey."
"He just needs a direction. He just needs a little nudge," Princess assured her. "A woman can give that to a man. You know she can. And I am certainly the kind of woman to do it."
Ma nodded. "A woman can
give a little nudge," she agreed. "And she can also spend her whole life pushing against a stubborn wall that ain't about to be moved. What makes you think this fellah is for you? Apart from that he don't seem to mind your ways?"
"I . . . well, I just knew."
"This is your ol' Ma Pease, Princess," the woman said. "Tell me the truth of it."
She hesitated a moment, partly embarrassed, partly unsure. "Well, I saw him and I ... I just went all like jelly inside. Hot jelly, like just ready for the jars. He's . . . he's really handsome and I saw him and I thought, well, I guess I thought he would never notice me. But he did, Ma. He walked right over to me and wanted to talk to me and dance with me. Ma, he kissed me that very first night," she whispered.
Ma nodded sagely. "And a few times since then, I've no doubt. He's really handsome you say."
"Yes, he is handsome," Princess told her. "I was surprised at how handsome he was. I didn't expect . . . well, I didn't require that a man be quite so attractive to suit me."
"Good looks and money, too,” Ma commented. "It's a miracle that some gal hadn't snagged onto him already."
"I know you don't believe in this, Ma, but I believe he and I were destined for each other."
"Oh, honey, when you're talking about men, don't ever even whisper the words fate or destiny," Ma scolded. "A woman can get herself into all kinds of trouble that way. You've got to make a choice with your head. Clear contemplation and far thinking will set a straighter course than relying on happenstance."
"But what about love?"
"People don't always love where they should."
"No, I don't guess they do," Princess agreed. "But they love wherever they can."
Ma laughed then. "So for all that you're given orders and directing your friends to and fro, when it comes to menfolk you're no smarter than the rest of us weak women," she said.
Princess shook her head.
"So where do you see this remittance man?" Ma asked.
"He comes to visit me every evening," Princess said.
Ma's brow furrowed. "With your daddy gone?"
"We stay on the porch," Princess assured her. "We just walk a little bit in the garden and then sit on the porch."
The older woman didn't appear pleased. "I don't suspect you're playing Parcheesi on that darkened porch," she said.
Princess blushed guiltily.
"How far has it gone?"
"We . . . well, we . . . Ma, I plan to marry him."
"Has he asked ye?"
"Well, no, not yet, but Ma I know—"
"Honey, I know a lot about men. And I'm telling you that even the best ones are up to no good every chance they get."
"Gerald's not like that, Ma," she said. "I'm sure he's not like that. We love each other."
"Maybe so, but it wouldn't hurt to check this fellah out. If he really cares for you, he'll want to meet your daddy and court you properly."
"Of course that's what he wants," Princess assured her. "Daddy has just been out of town. Now that he's back, I'm sure Gerald will commence calling upon me in a more traditional manner."
"Well, I hope so," Ma said. "And if this Gerald feller is what you want, then I pray that he's everything that you want him to be."
"Thank you."
"I'm just sorry that you didn't get to meet Tom.”
"Who?"
"Tom, the young fellah that we've taken on."
Princess nodded, recalling Ma's latest stray.
"He's a nice feller, fine looking, hard worker, got good manners. I thought to myself when I met him, this fellah would do right well for our Princess. But it's too late now, I suspect."
"Yes," Princess agreed. "I don't think I could ever care for anyone the way I care for Gerald."
Chapter 7
The smell of stale beer and honest sweat permeated the dark, narrow clapboard building with the rather auspicious name of Queenie's Palace. Tom walked in by himself. He'd needed to find a boy to deliver a message to Cessy. He couldn't have her waiting all evening for him to arrive on her porch. But he couldn't afford to visit on her porch and ignore the information that he was undoubtedly to find out tonight.
The place was not busy since it was two nights before payday. Most of the oil field workers were already broke. There was no need to come out to a joint without money. The beer and bootleg were never sold on credit. And even if a fellow was not inclined to follow on the line upstairs, it took cold, hard cash to dance, drink, or even talk with one of the gals.
The walls and floor of the rough saloon were all raw planking, not even a covering of whitewash to brighten the place. More than a dozen brilliantly colored paintings of every size and subject hung on the walls. Tom glanced at the signature on the one nearest him. Tommy Mathis was apparently the favorite artist of the whorehouse/beer joint.
In the far corner an old man in a scraggly straw hat banged out ragtime tunes on a upright player, as three or four couples weaved drunkenly on the floor to the rhythm of the music.
Cedarleg was having a word with a woman at the bar. As soon as he spotted Tom he waved him over and met him halfway, handing him a beer.
"Find a boy to send your message?"
Tom nodded. "A nickel the little fellow wanted. When I was a boy, I'd have run a note from here to Guthrie for five mils."
Cedarleg shrugged. "A half a penny don't go near as far as it used to." The older man directed him toward a table. "So you grew up around here, did ye?"
Tom momentarily blanched. He had not realized he'd admitted so much. "I ... I grew up not far from here. Up on Shemmy Creek."
"The Methodist Indian Home?" Cedarleg asked.
"How'd you know that?"
"I know the place. You said you have no family," Cedarleg replied. "You got that Indian look about ye."
"Yes, I grew up there." He hesitated and then looked over at Cedarleg with pointed defiance.
The older man nodded. "You got a headright?"
"What? No," Tom answered. "My mother was white. She left me there when I was a baby. Guess she got herself mixed up with an Indian or maybe she was raped, I don't know. I don't even know her name, I just know that I should have never been born."
Tom heard the anger in his own voice and silently cursed himself for revealing so much. He never let it out, those feelings he kept very deeply buried.
"You should've never been born? Good Lord, where'd you get an idea like that?" Cedarleg asked, astounded.
"Isn't that what most people would believe about a part-breed bastard?" he asked.
Cedarleg shook his head. "If you'd not a-been born, poor old Bob Earlie'd be crippled or dead now. And Ma and I woulda missed getting to know ye."
"I'm not wishing I wasn't here," Tom assured him.
Cedarleg shook his head. "But you sure got a sad attitude as to why. It's like that old song they sing at church, 'Everybody's got a place in God's choir.'"
Tom shrugged. "But some people have better places than others."
"Son, you need to give up that kind of wrong thinking," Cedarleg told him. "You're a grown man now. You're near to marry up with that little town gal you got. And you'll have boys of your own soon. I believe every child deserves to think well of its daddy. I'm sorry for you that you can't. But if you don't think well of yourself, your younguns won't be able to, neither."
Tom looked over at his friend. His heart felt suddenly open, almost raw. He pushed the feeling away forcefully. When he answered, his voice was harsh with anger.
"Don't worry about me, old man," he said. "One of these days I'll have so much money the whole world will respect me."
Cedarleg's eyes widened and he gave a chuckle. "You planning to get rich, are ye? Well, I'm glad I met you now before you got too important for me to know."
Tom realized immediately how belligerent he sounded. He meant to smooth it over, but the arrival of King Calhoun precluded that.
The big man entered not from the street, but from the doorway at the back of the bar. Appa
rently he had been upstairs, and appeared casual in his shirtsleeves. A very good-looking, buxom blonde was on his arm. She was brightly painted up with a big, welcoming smile, and everyone who nodded deferentially at Calhoun grinned warmly at her.
Tom watched as the two made their way to the table. They looked strangely right together. It was almost as if the image of the hard, portly businessman was improved by the fast-looking female at his side.
"I'll just move to this next table and leave you two alone," he told Cedarleg.
"I'll introduce you, you'll like Calhoun," Cedarleg said. "He's a straight-shooter and as down-to-earth a man as you'll ever know."
"No, I don't want to meet him," Tom said. "I'll just sit over here by myself, take no notice of me."
Cedarleg looked at him curiously. "Never realized you were shy, son," he said.
Tom didn't comment. He moved to a chair facing away from Cedarleg at the next table. He would still be able to hear, he hoped, but would not attract the attention of his employer
He could not meet King Calhoun as Tom Walker. Not if Gerald was to marry the man's daughter. As soon as he had Cessy saying "I do," Tom would have to disappear from the face of the earth. Certainly it would be risky. A lot of men who worked for Calhoun knew him as Walker. But maybe he and Cessy would not take an active interest in the business. He'd let Calhoun handle the day-to-day workings of the oil business and he would just bask in the wealth and luxury that it could provide. He regretted losing the chance to talk face-to-face with Calhoun. He was very intrigued with the oil business and wished he could have the opportunity to find out more. But marriage to Cessy was the most important part of his plan. And she was to marry Gerald Crane. So her father couldn't have so much as a passing word with Tom Walker.
"Evenin' Mr. Calhoun, Queenie." Tom heard Cedarleg's greeting and the scrape of his chair as the old man rose to his feet. "It's good to have you back in town, King."
"It's good to be back," Calhoun answered. "I hate them damned bankers with a passion."
Cedarleg made a noise that sounded like agreement. "Ye cain't trust 'em further than you can throw 'em. And an old fellah like me cain't throw 'em very far these days."
