No Ordinary Princess

by Pamela Morsi

  She smiled at him as if to say that he needn't worry.

  Tom followed her directions, although he didn't need them. He began to feel better. He was getting to take her to his special place and the quiet, apparently uninteresting couple with them might not prove to be as much a deterrent as a catalyst.

  There were many sighs of appreciation and words of congratulation on Cessy's choice of location. Tom hobbled the horses in a shady spot with easy access to both water and the tall grass along the edges of the stream.

  As Maloof watched, Cessy directed Muna to sweep off the wide rock ledge that overlooked the river and lay out the tablecloth upon it.

  Tom joined them as they began to unpack the food baskets. He and Maloof were ordered to take their places and allowed themselves to be served up a picnicTunch fit for royalty.

  "The amazing thing about this place is that it's so cool," Cessy told him. "It's such a tiny little stream, and with all these trees and cattails there is barely a breeze, still it's inordinately cool even in the middle of July."

  "It's the underground spring," Tom said. "That water is coming from so deep down that it cools the whole area.

  "What?"

  Cessy was staring at him.

  He hesitated only a fraction of a second. One could be thoughtful when telling the truth, but lies were most convincing when presented quickly and con­cisely.

  "I think that it must be an underground spring,” he said. "There is a place much like this upon my family's country estate in Connecticut. A virtual river of very cool water runs underneath it and keeps the temperature moderate all summer long."

  "I didn't know your family had an estate in Con­necticut," Cessy said.

  "Oh, it is Grandmama's place," he answered. "My cousins and I used to wander the grounds like gypsies when we were boys."

  "Is this the grandmama that married the gondo­lier?"

  "Ah, no . . . no, this is the other one. What is this wonderful delicacy?" he turned to ask Muna.

  "It's simply a cabbage roll," she answered.

  "We call it maashi," the young peddler piped in. Tom had thought he wasn't listening to the conversa­tion. "It is my most favorite and this very good."

  "It is wonderful," Tom agreed. "Maloof, you are a lucky fellow to find a beautiful woman who can also cook."

  "It is my mother who cooks so well," Muna told him, unwilling to accept the compliment. "And how one looks is simply a quirk of nature and nothing in which a person can take pride."

  Deliberately he relaxed his shoulders and plastered a wide, winning grin across his mouth.

  "How right you are," he agreed, turning his full attention upon the woman who was apparently out to discredit him. "Our appearance, fine or ill, is a happenstance. But thankfully the eyes heaven gives to a man or a woman see with love, less critically perhaps, but more clearly for all that."

  He felt Cessy's hand slip into his own and turned to look at her. His smile was gone now, his expres­sion soft and serious.

  Her eyes were wide with wonder.

  "That's what I thought," she told him. "It's exactly what I thought the night that we met."

  Their gazes held for a long moment. Tom felt almost frightened, almost desperate as he looked into her face. But he knew that it was something that he'd never felt before and something that he was not ready to confront today.

  He glanced away first, regarding his plate and making a hasty comment about the food.

  "You have a good appetite," Cessy commented. "That is your second cabbage roll and I haven't noticed you ignoring the cook's fried chicken."

  Tom delicately wiped his mouth with the snowy white napkin in that way that was "so naturally elegant for Gerald.

  "A man who has gone without meals learns to appreciate the wonders of food when it is presented to him."

  The words had barely passed his lips when he was desperate to call them back. Gerald had never known hunger or want. It was Tom whose world was always at risk.

  A strange expression came across Cessy's face and for a moment he thought that she'd found him out. Then she reached over and took his hand.

  "You needn't try to shelter me from the unpleas­antness of your military service," she told him. "I want to share your life, Gerald, all of it."

  Their eyes met and the look that passed between them was so intense, Tom felt as if all the air had been stolen from his lungs. This had to stop, this strange heart stopping power she had over him. It simply had to stop. If he didn't win her soon, he'd confess all and throw himself upon her mercy.

  "More bread, Mr. Crane?" Muna's voice inter­rupted.

  He glanced at the other young woman, grateful for the fateful reprieve. "No thank you, Miss Nafee, I believe I could not eat another bite."

  "Then you must be ready for some dessert," she continued. "Prin's cook makes the best pies in the oil field and my mother has packed some pastries like nothing you have ever tasted before."

  "It sounds tempting, but perhaps later," he said. "Truly, I must take a bit of exercise before I attempt to enjoy any more of this fine cooking."

  He rose to his feet and turned toward Princess, offering his hand.

  "Shall we explore this place, Cessy?" he asked. "To see if I am correct about the underground spring."

  Immediately she placed her palm in his own and would have walked away without another word if Muna's voice hadn't injected a moment of reality.

  "Don't worry about this, Prin," Muna said, gestur­ing toward the empty plates and the remainders of their repast.

  The woman on his arm hesitated. It was she, of course, who was the hostess of the picnic. She should be the one to take care of the clean up. Or at least suggest that it be done.

  "Oh no, Muna, I can't leave all this mess for you," Cessy said guiltily.

  Tom could wait no longer to be alone with her and determinedly wrapped her arm more firmly around his own. "Maloof will help her," he said, grinning at the peddler who looked up at him in surprise. "It will give you a fine opportunity to show your betrothed what a helpful husband you hope to be. And with us out of the way, it will give you a good chance to steal a kiss."

  His words brought a little "Oh" of shock from Muna, whose cheeks immediately sported two bright red spots.

  Maloof seemed as embarrassed as she was. "Later I brew coffee for you, Turkish coffee with the sweets," he said. "You go with Tom, friend of Muna. I have no sisters, I know to help Muna. I am very helpful."

  "Good, good," Tom said and led Cessy away from the picnic spot and into the cool shade of the woods. "I'm going to try to steal a kiss myself."

  With Princess and Gerald off in the woods, Muna found herself sitting in silence with Maloof on the opposite corners of the tablecloth. She gave him a surreptitious glance from beneath her lashes. His brow was furrowed and he looked concerned. Muna assumed that all the talk of kissing had embarrassed him as much as her.

  Maloof had never made any attempt to actually kiss her. But then he didn't need to. They would be married soon. There was no need to spark and spoon a woman who was already committed to be your wife.

  He caught her looking at him and smiled.

  Muna felt a strange fluttering in her heart.

  "Tom is very brave man," he said.

  'Tom?"

  He gestured toward the woods. "Tom, the man friend of Miss Princess."

  "Gerald," Muna told him. "His name is Gerald."

  He shrugged as if he couldn't accept her words but was unwilling to argue them.

  "He is brave man," Maloof repeated.

  "Why would you say that?" she asked him.

  "He goes to steal kiss," he said.

  Muna blushed. "That's just an expression," she assured him.

  "Ah . . . good," Maloof replied as if a huge worry had been taken from his shoulders. "I like him and would not want him in pain or prison."

  "Pain or prison? What on earth are you talking about?" Muna asked him.

  "Your father has explained to me," h
e said.

  "Explained what?"

  "The customs of America," he answered. "It is different here for couple unwed and has much danger."

  "Danger?" she asked, puzzled at his words.

  He looked at her for a long moment and then, to her surprise, moved closer to her side of the table­cloth.

  "I am not afraid of danger," he assured her, his voice surprisingly low and strangely seductive.

  Muna felt gooseflesh raise upon her skin.

  "I would risk much," he whispered as he eased himself next to her. "I would endure much. The danger is much, but I face it bravely."

  Her heart was pounding now, his nearness over­whelming. He leaned slightly toward her, supporting his body with one tanned brown hand only inches from her own. He was not touching her anywhere, but the warmth of him, the scent of him, embraced her as certainly as any arms ever would.

  Muna swallowed, determined to keep her head. "Romance is a powerful emotion," she admitted, "and is certainly the risk of a painful broken heart. But I have already agreed to wed you, sir. You needn't fear I shall reject your affection."

  Maloof seemed momentarily taken aback. His brow furrowed in confusion.

  "I do not fear you," he said. "I fear police."

  "The police?" Muna sat up straight and looked him squarely in the eye, befuddled. "What on earth do the police have to do with it?"

  Maloof tilted his head slightly, considering her words.

  "It no good to go prison in my new country," he said.

  "What on earth are you thinking to do that could send you to prison?" she asked.

  "Kiss you," he replied.

  "You think that if you kiss me you will go to prison?"

  Maloof nodded. "Your father explain," he told her. "In America it is much free, not like Tarablos. In Tarablos man and bride meet with parents, sit with parents, get married."

  Muna nodded. "Here we don't have arranged marriages," she agreed. "But what has that to do with prison?"

  "In America young man and woman have much time alone, yes?"

  Muna agreed.

  "There is much privacy, much time for . . . kisses but family no worry."

  "Well, I think sometimes they do," she said.

  "Your father say to me, 'In America law is clear. Touch bride before wedding and go to jail, face torture.'"

  "What?"

  "Go to jail, face torture," he repeated. "Steal a kiss very dangerous."

  Muna stared at him in disbelief for a long moment and then burst into laughter.

  "Baba told you that if you try to ... to touch me you'll go to jail and be tortured?"

  Maloof looked puzzled.

  "It is not true?"

  "No, of course it's not true," Muna told him. "Couples in America touch and kiss and . . . well they touch and kiss."

  Maloof was incredulous. "Your father lies to me!"

  "Yes, yes, I'm afraid he did lie to you," she said.

  "He lies to me." Maloof shook his head with disbelief. "He lies to me." After a long thoughtful sigh, a trace of a smile niggled at the corner of his mouth and then pulled into a full-fledged grin. "There is much to respect about your father," he said.

  Not for one moment, Princess Calhoun assured herself, had she allowed the nagging worry of the note to intrude upon her good judgement. She was so glad that she hadn't confided her strange doubts.

  Just for a moment, she had lost her nerve. She had doubted. It had been in that instance of uncertainty that she had contacted Muna and asked that she and her fiancé attend the picnic.

  Gerald, being the true gentleman that he was, chose not to take offense at her bad nature.

  Princess glanced toward the man beside her. He patted her arm.

  "I've been waiting all day for a moment alone with you, Cessy," he said.

  She looked up at his warm, honest, loving expres­sion and she smiled.

  "I've been waiting to be alone with you, too," she said.

  He smiled, obviously delighted at her candor. As soon as they were well hidden among the trees he released her to take off his pin-checked linen coat.

  "It's far too warm to be so formal," he told her.

  Princess didn't complain. She relished the sight of him in his snowy white shirt and slate-colored lisle web bretelles. He used a nearby tree branch as a coat rack, and when they continued on, he didn't escort her formally, but wrapped his arm with familiarity around her waist.

  They walked among the dark umbrella of towering oaks and through the open field in the direction of the river. They stopped for a moment to stand and admire a growth of blooming milkweed, its pink flowers so dark they were almost lavender. Princess wanted to linger but he hurried her on.

  "You must see this," he insisted.

  And when he pointed out to her the Queen Anne's lace with its feathery, delicate tops and tiny, brilliant flower in the center, it was worth the hurry.

  "It is so beautiful," she told him. "Do you think people would think me strange if I took to growing weeds in my flower garden?"

  She made the statement as a joke, but his eyes softened. "People mostly do favor the traditional beauty of garden flowers," he said gently. "But I will always appreciate the special loveliness of a blossom uncultivated."

  Princess felt for a moment like crying. She wasn't sure exactly why and she pushed the emotion away from her, deliberately choosing to remain in good humor.

  "So you are comparing me to a weed?" she teased.

  "Be careful," he warned, tweaking her nose. "When we besotted suitors wax poetic you could end up being a sandbur in my heart."

  She managed a bit of genuine laughter.

  He carefully plucked the blooming flower and led her on further. It was almost as if he knew his way around the area. He seemed so much at home and so anxious for her to see it all. Princess was a little surprised at his obvious love of and familiarity with the out-of-doors. It was unusual, she thought, for a city man. And infinitely endearing.

  As they got closer to the river, he spotted a flat rock embedded in the ground.

  "Put your hand on that," he urged.

  "Why?"

  "I want you to prove that I am right," he answered.

  Looking at him curiously, Princess laid her palm against the smooth brown stone. The chilly tempera­ture was so startling, she gave a little cry of alarm.

  "It's so cold!" she said.

  Gerald nodded. "The underground spring is just below here, I think," he said. "And the rock holds the temperature of it better than the ground."

  "It's amazing," she said.

  He smiled down at her. "I think so, too. This is just an amazing place."

  When they finally made it all the way to the river, he found her a pleasant seat on the bank with a broad view downstream.

  "It's lovely," she told him.

  Gerald nodded. "Let me get you a cattail to go with your Queen Anne's lace."

  He made such a vaudeville production of hacking through the tall, marshy growth that Princess found herself laughing with delight at his antics, which appeared to spur him on to more zany behavior. She realized that usually he was more than a bit stuffy, but this place, this magical place, somehow made Gerald Crane appear more like a regular fellow. She was grateful. She loved him, of that she was certain, but it would be difficult being wife to a man who lived so far above her. She had glimpsed the heights

  of culture and fashion and found no place for herself there. She was a simple woman.

  But she wasn't willing to give Gerald up either. And she'd already learned that wealthy spinsterhood did not equal freedom. She'd decided to marry him. Nothing less, no star-crossed love nor illicit liaison would ever be enough.

  Princess watched as he fought his way back out of the tall grass. He hurried up the bank bearing a long, soft brown cattail. He dropped to his knees in front of her and held it out as if offering a fancy bouquet.

  Princess laughed lightly as she accepted it. She gently ran the down against her chee
k.

  "It's so soft," she said.

  Gerald reached over and with one finger caressed the opposite side of her face.

  "Yes, it is so very soft," he whispered.

  She warmed to his touch and the tenderness of his words. He cupped her chin in his hand and leaned forward to press his lips all too fleetingly against her own.

  Princess sighed.

  Gerald smiled. "Oh, I like to hear you make that sound," he said.

  "Do you?"

  He nodded. "It makes me think I should go on kissing you for a lifetime."

  "That sounds nice," she said.

  Taking her words as invitation, he brought his lips to hers once more. It was a sweet, chaste kiss. But as usual, it sparked a fire. Princess ran her palms up the snowy sleeves of his shirt and along the wide expanse of his shoulders before wrapping them around his neck.

  His own hands oh-so-very-gently caressed her midriff as he deepened the kiss, using his tongue to tease the corners of her mouth.

  She was trembling with pleasure at the taste and feel of him. He was warm and solid and she was so protected in his embrace. His fingers fleetingly teased the curve of her breast. She gave a little whine of impatience as she tried to press her bosom more firmly against his hand. He resisted, seemingly un­willing to allow things to go too far.

  "Your friend Muna may come strolling out from the trees at any moment,” he warned. "She would be scandalized."

  Princess agreed with a little giggle. "You're proba­bly right. Then she'd send for my father, who would bring his shotgun and you would be mine forever!" she teased.

  Gerald leaned closer and whispered warm, soft words in her ear. "Too late, Cessy. I am already yours forever."

  She pulled back to look up into his eyes, marveling at her good fortune. How could it be that this wonderful, sweet, sophisticated gentleman loved her? It was almost too much to be fathomed.

  Deliberately she changed the subject. "I worry about Muna," she said. "I only wish she could be as happy as I."

  "Don't worry too much," Gerald reassured her, caressing her shoulders. "Her fellow may be a bit slow for spooning, but he'll most likely get the idea."

  "You shouldn't joke about it," she said. "And you really shouldn't encourage him."