No Ordinary Princess

by Pamela Morsi

  The laughing face of Ambrose Dexter swirled into his memory unexpected.

  "Banking," Tom answered. "Her family is in banking."

  "Banking?" Cedarleg looked genuinely astonished. "In Burford Corners?"

  "Yes ... ah, yes, her family owns a bank there," he said.

  "Which one?"

  Tom stared at him mutely for a long moment, mentally trying to reconstruct the Main Street of Burford Corners and banks located there. He could not think of a single name.

  "Which one? Ah . . . Citizens Savings," he an­swered finally, grasping a name from thin air.

  Cedarleg shook his head. "Never heard of it," he admitted.

  Tom was grateful that he didn't dispute its exis­tence.

  "Well, my, my, Tom," Ma teased. "You are really moving up in the world. They are really going to miss you out on the rig. I know Cedarleg would never tell you, but the men like and respect you and we've both been so proud of what a hard worker you've turned out to be."

  Tom was surprised and uncomfortable with her adulation. He'd worked hard, he'd enjoyed the work. But he'd never thought to win the praise of these two people.

  "I ... I can put in a shift and then I have to go," he said firmly. "Tomorrow I'll be a banker, not an oil man."

  Cedarleg offered his hand. "I don't know whether to wish you well or offer my sympathy. I ain't got much use for bankers, but I guess I'll make an exception for you."

  Tom smiled wanly.

  "Well, if you can't congratulate him for being a banker," Ma said, "at least congratulate him on his new bride."

  She threw her arms around Tom's neck and hugged him to her. "I am very proud and happy for you," she told him. "If you say that she's wonderful, then I know she must be. I can hardly wait to meet her."

  "Well I ... I don't know when you'll be able to meet her," Tom said. "We're going to be very busy and I don't know if . . ."

  "You certainly won't be too busy to stop by for supper one night,” Ma insisted.

  "Well, we may be, Ma," he said. "We may be just so busy that we can't make any promises to come by at all."

  "Why, that's the most foolish thing I ever heard," Ma said. "Of course you can come by and see us."

  "No ... I just don't think . . ."

  Tom was stumbling along badly.

  "I don't think I can bring her over here."

  "What on earth . . ." Ma began, and then gasped as understanding dawned upon her.

  Cedarleg simultaneously came to the same conclu­sion. His words spoke a volume of hurt.

  "So now you've flown so high, married up so well, that you can't associate with oil-patch trash like Ma and me."

  "I never said that," Tom insisted.

  "It's the truth, though, ain't it?" Cedarleg asked.

  "Well, no, it's not exactly," Tom began.

  The expression on Ma's face was as if he had slapped her. It was a perfect way to break it off. A perfect way to never have to see them again. Still, Tom couldn't bear the pain that he was causing these two people who had treated him so kindly.

  "I ... I don't think that you would have anything in common with her," he said.

  It was no explanation.

  "She is not familiar with oil people and . . . and . . ."

  Ma raised her hand as if to hush him.

  "Not another word need be said," she told him. She raised her chin bravely, determined not to take offense at the unkindness so obviously done to her. "You two better get to work, the evening tour is going to be hopping mad already at how late you are."

  Cedarleg nodded in agreement.

  "We'd best get out there," he said. "You put in a full day and then draw your pay at the end of it. Ma and I won't be bothering ye or intruding on yer life for one more moment."

  Cessy awakened slowly and with a smile on her face. She rolled to her side and reached out for Gerald, the man of her dreams, the love of her life, her husband whom she had reached out for several times during their long, lingering wedding night.

  He wasn't there. The sheets beside her were cold. That opened her eyes.

  "Gerald?" she called out, even though it was clear that she was alone in the room. It was a vague blur. Without her glasses, she could not distinguish objects at a distance.

  She could see that the window shade was pulled closed and the full sunlight of midday was slanting in through the edges. It was undoubtedly much later than she thought. Gerald, her husband, had probably already gone down to breakfast. In truth she was ravenously hungry herself.

  When she sat up in bed the sheet fell to her waist and she realized that she was naked. In broad day­light, Cessy Calhoun was naked!

  She blushed and giggled, embarrassed and also delighted. She was somebody's wife. But not just any somebody's wife. She was the wife of the most wonderful, romantic man in the universe. And he could do things with his hands and his mouth that she had never imagined possible.

  As she climbed out of bed she felt a little twinge.* She was stretched and sore down there. But then, how could she not be? He had warned her after the first time that perhaps she needed to allow herself to grow accustomed to the new duty. Cessy had been unwill­ing to forego further activity. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the sheer pleasure of sex. And having once discovered it, she found her appetite for it insatiable.

  She also decided that she was in very great need of a bath. It was one of life's surprises that the marriage act, solemn and sacred, was also sticky.

  Cessy found her spectacles, donned her Mother Hubbard housedress, and sneaked down the stairs. She didn't see Gerald and was both disappointed and grateful. He was undoubtedly in one of the parlors, reading or thinking . . . or . . . whatever he did all day.

  She did encounter Howard, who greeted her po­litely. Cessy found it difficult to meet his gaze. Did he know what married people did? Did he have any idea how her night had been spent? It didn't bear thinking.

  "Are you ready for breakfast, ma'am?" he asked. "Or would you prefer to wait for Mr. Crane."

  "Mr. Crane has not yet eaten?"

  Howard's brow furrowed. "Mr. Crane has not come downstairs," he replied.

  "I believe you are mistaken," she told him. "He is undoubtedly in one of the parlors. Please find him for me, Howard, and tell him that I will have breakfast with him as soon as I complete my bath."

  Howard nodded. "Very well, ma'am," he said.

  Cessy slipped into the small room beside the kitchen and realized immediately, to her" dismay, that it was Monday, washday. The housekeeper, Mrs. Marin, and the washerwoman, Daisy Pilgrim, were busily engaged in the scrubbing, rinsing, and wring­ing of the household laundry.

  "Good morning, Miss Princess," they said in unison.

  "Good morning,” Cessy answered. "I was ... I was hoping to take a bath.”

  "You won't bother us one bit," the housekeeper told her. "I just filled up that hot water contraption. Don't know if it's had time to get to boiling."

  Cessy tested the side of the galvanized oil-burning water heater. It was hot to the touch. She turned the valve to the direction of the bathtub and opened the spigot. As the water poured out, Cessy gathered up her soap, towel, and fleshbrush.

  The women were not paying her any attention, still it was a little disappointing not to be able to take a private bath. By necessity, the bathtub was located near the plumbing. So that meant either the kitchen or the washroom. Since laundry was done only twice a week, the washroom seemed the better idea. She chided herself that she should be grateful for the indoor plumbing and the luxury of automatic hot water. Not too many years ago she had to haul water from the well and heat it on the stove to stay clean.

  The spigot began to spit and sputter as the last of its twelve gallons emptied into the tub. Cessy turned off the spigot, reset the valve, and then began pumping the hot water tank full once more. The washerwoman came to her assistance.

  "Go on and have your bath before the water gets cold," she said. "I can do this for you."
/>   "Thank you, Daisy."

  Cessy walked over to the tub and checked the temperature of the water. Had it been hot enough, she could have added cold to it, filling the tub nicely. As it was only fairly warm, she chose to bathe in the three-inch depth that the small tank provided.

  With as much modesty as possible she discarded her outer clothing. She lowered herself into the tub still wearing her chemise. Soaping up her brush first, she relinquished her final sodden garment reluctantly and hurriedly covered her exposed flesh with a sudsy lather.

  "I hear that you married up with some fellow yesterday," Mrs. Pilgrim said.

  Cessy continued scrubbing, unwilling to even glance in the woman's direction until she was certain that the film of soap preserved her modesty.

  "Why, yes, I did," she said. "We were wed yester­day afternoon."

  "Eloped," Mrs. Marin said.

  The housekeeper made the word sound positively sinful.

  "Oh, no, not an elopement exactly," she assured them both hastily.

  "Did you have your daddy's permission?" Mrs. Marin asked.

  "Well, no, I.

  "Then that's an elopement," the washerwoman stated.

  "Mrs. Pilgrim, I am of age," Cessy said with as much dignity as she could master.

  The two women shared wild-eyed looks, as if such a small point was lost upon them.

  They continued their washing. Cessy was grateful that at least they were turned away from her.

  "Who is this fellow anyway?" Mrs. Pilgrim asked.

  "Oh, he's a very wonderful man," Cessy told her. "I met him at the Fourth of July picnic, and he's charming and witty and very easy to talk to. He's a veteran of the Rough Riders. He's been so many places and done so many things."

  "What's his name?" she asked. "We can't continue to call you Miss Princess if you are a married woman."

  "Oh, it's Crane, Cessy Crane. I mean that's my name. He calls me Cessy, so I've decided to go by that. It's nice, don't you think?"

  The housekeeper nodded. Mrs. Pilgrim was non­committal.

  "His name is Gerald,” she told them. "Gerald Tarkington Crane."

  "Never heard of him," Mrs. Pilgrim announced.

  "He's not from here," Mrs. Marin told her.

  "A Topknot feller, I'm guessing," Mrs. Pilgrim said.

  "No, he's actually from New Jersey," Cessy ex­plained. "Bedlington, New Jersey."

  "Never heard of it."

  "Well, there is probably a lot of the world that you've never heard of," Cessy pointed out with as much grace as possible.

  Mrs. Pilgrim shrugged. "That's why I wouldn't marry no man that I ain't knowed him and his kin all me life. Marriage is strange enough without trying it with a stranger."

  Cessy resisted the temptation to give sour old Mrs. Pilgrim a piece of her mind. She didn't want to waste the first day of her married life in a bad humor.

  "Gerald, Mr. Crane, and I are far from strangers," she said firmly.

  It was irritating that people would think merely because she had known Gerald only two weeks and that the introductions between families had not been made, that their marriage was impulsive or unconsid­ered. Certainly Cessy had not meant to elope with him yesterday. But she had meant to be his wife since the moment she'd laid eyes upon him.

  With no hope for privacy or even the solitude of her own thoughts, Cessy finished her bath quickly. In her Mother Hubbard once more she headed back to her room. She met Howard coming from the porch.

  "Mr. Crane is not in the house," he said.

  "Oh. Well, look in the garden," she suggested.

  Back in her room she dressed and planned. She and Gerald would need to get their heads together about meeting her father. King Calhoun would prob­ably not return to the house before afternoon, but they needed to plan his introduction to Gerald. He was a good and loving father, but he was a father and one who'd in the past shown evidence of temper where his daughter was concerned.

  She dressed for the day in a starched white shirt­waist with leg-of-mutton sleeves and a narrow ascot tie at her throat. Her four-gore skirt was black serge and sported a ruffle at the hem. A quick glance in her mirror assured her that her hair was neat and her appearance presentable.

  She closed her eyes and felt in memory his body atop her own, the warmth of his breath against her skin, the tender touch of his hands upon her.

  Cessy sighed heavily and trembled with delight. She was going to love being married. If this was what it was like between a man and a woman, she could almost understand why her father spent so much time at the illicit places in Topknot.

  But, of course, that was different. Her father's illicit pleasures were not at all like marriage. Marriage was about love and trust, honesty and commitment.

  Smiling at that thought, Cessy hurried down the stairs, more eager for the nearness of her new hus­band than for the morning meal. She had expected Howard to have laid out the impressive dining table as he had the night before. But her own modest breakfast was awaiting her on the kitchen table, exactly as it had been every other morning since she'd moved into this house.

  "My husband isn't eating with me?" .she asked.

  Howard appeared ill at ease and Mrs. Marin was positively livid.

  "Mr. Crane is not in the house nor on the grounds," he said.

  "Where is he?"

  "It appears that he has left, ma'am," Howard said.

  "Left? Well, where did he say that he was going?" she asked.

  "He did not say, ma'am. He spoke to no one, departed with no note or word of intent."

  "He's probably taking a morning constitutional," she said. "Health walks are very popular back East."

  "Yes, ma'am," Howard replied. His tone was al­most conciliatory.

  "For heaven's sake Howard," Cessy told him with a little chuckle of disbelief. "You sound as if you believe he has abandoned me."

  The silence that followed, from both Howard and Mrs. Marin, was telling.

  Cessy stared at both of them, stunned and exaspe­rated. They were as bad as the washerwoman, seeing something sinister in a singular walk. Refusing to lose her good humor, Cessy ate her food in silence. This was the first day of her married life. She was in love and desperately happy. She was resolved to feel no other way.

  That steely determination lasted through the morn­ing. Having broken her fast late, she put off the noon meal interminably. But by then her appetite had deserted her anyway. Perhaps he had been hit by a cart or collapsed from the heat.

  She sent Howard to town for any news of accidents or mishaps that morning. He returned with no news. There had been a little trouble up at the well sites, but life was peaceful and uncomplicated in Burford Cor­ners.

  By midafternoon she'd begun to feel a strange aching in her heart. A feeling that was despondent, downcast. She sat at her desk in the sun parlor. From the depths of the tiny, secret compartment within the scrolled door, she withdrew the note.

  My own dear Cessy,

  I can not visit you this evenun as an herjent matter of business has come up. As I am sirten you know, I wood be there if I could. I am hoping to see you on Sunday. Maybe we could go for a picknickon the river and spend the afternoon to­gether. I herd that your father is back in town. I think that you should not say inny thing about me to him yet. As always you hold my heart with your own.

  Gerald

  Why was his spelling so atrocious? What kind of business did he have to take care of? Why had he wanted their growing friendship kept secret from her father?

  In that moment, that frightening, heart-wrenching moment, she doubted. Immediately she was angry and disappointed, not with Gerald but with herself. How flimsy were her vows of undying love and trust that they could so easily be called into question? Gerald was her husband and he loved her. She knew in her heart that it was true. She had been certain of it yesterday. And surely his care and tenderness last night more than expressed it.

  That man could not have cast her off and aban­doned her this morning
. It was not possible. And as his wife it was her duty to have faith that it was not so.

  She heard a step and looked hopefully toward the doorway. She almost called out his name, but was grateful that she did not. It was Howard. Hastily she glanced away, not wanting him to see the unwanted tears that filled her eyes. She raised her chin and forced a smile to her face. She refused to feel sad or scared. He was her husband and she believed in him.

  "Miss Princess, you have visitors in the front parlor," he said, his voice almost too quiet.

  "Who is it?" she asked him.

  "Miss Nafee and her gentleman friend," Howard replied.

  She didn't want to see them. She didn't want to see anyone but Gerald. But Muna was her best friend. She never refused to see Muna. If she turned her away today, it would be the same as saying that something was wrong. And despite the pitying looks of the servants, Cessy was deliberately adamant that nothing was wrong.

  Pasting a welcoming smile upon her face, Cessy made her way to the front parlor.

  "Hello and hello!" she greeted them effusively. "Is this not the most beautiful day that you have ever seen in your life?"

  Muna hugged her warmly.

  Maloof nodded to her. "I bring you wedding present," he said, indicating a rolled rug in the corner. "It is better than rug you have. I get good rug for good friends, yes."

  He rolled it open on the floor for Cessy to admire. It was beautiful and she thanked him.

  "I couldn't stay away," Muna admitted. "I knew I should let you two have this first day alone together. But my curiosity just got the better of me."

  "You're always welcome here, Muna," Cessy as­sured her.

  "How did it go with your father?" she asked. "Did he take the news well?"

  Cessy was momentarily confused, but recovered quickly. Of course, Muna would think that the an­nouncement of their elopement would be the primary news of the day.

  "Daddy hasn't come home yet," she said.

  "He hasn't been home since yesterday?" Muna asked.

  "He often has meetings late into the night," Cesay said. "And I would suppose that this morning he must be out checking the wells. We haven't seen him."