by Pamela Morsi
"I mean, get out of this room and don't ever come back here again," she said. "There was a time that I needed a friend and a lover. You were those things to me theri, and I thank you. Now I only need a husband and a father. If you are unwilling to be that, then there is nothing more to be said. Good-bye."
"Queenie, you're being stubborn and unreasonable."
"I am being a mother. I will protect my child. I will protect him even from you if I have to. King Calhoun, either get marriage on your mind or get out."
"I'll get out! I'll get out all right," he said jerking the door open. It went all the way back on the hinges and slammed noisily against the wall.
"I'll get out of this room and out of this place," he yelled angrily. "There are twenty women on this street alone younger and better looking than you, Miss Queenie. And there ain't a one of them who wouldn't drop her drawers in the street for King Calhoun."
"I don't doubt it," she agreed quietly. "But there isn't one of them that carries your baby, either."
Chapter 19
They were lying together in the bed, warm and sated. She loved being in Gerald's arms. The lovemaking was wonderful, but equally as good was the time spent just lying with their bodies next to each other, their limbs entwined.
There were simply not enough hours in the night, she decided. In the daylight they were now so often separated. And she missed him, she realized. He'd spent the previous day lying in the darkened bedroom with a sick headache. Today he had mysteriously disappeared after lunch. At least he hadn't left without word. Thankfully no repetitions of that first awful day when she had almost doubted him. He'd told Howard that he was taking a walk. Considering how long he was gone, she thought, he might well have walked to Tulsa and back.
She missed having him at her side. But it was not, Gerald's fault of course. Her father's business concerns had wormed their way into her own life and now no one talked of anything but the refinery. It was imperative that her father find financing for it in a hurry. And each day that went by, it seemed less and less likely that it would happen.
She wished she could talk it out with her husband. She wanted to hear Gerald's views. And in truth, she wanted to have him express his thoughts to her father and Cedarleg and everyone else. Perhaps she was partial, but she believed he might have ideas or insights that the rest of them didn't have. More than that, Cessy believed that he might well have contacts that they did not. Certainly in the exalted circles of society frequented by the Cranes of Bedlington, there were bankers that might be amenable to refinery construction on a proven well.
Cessy mentally chided herself. It was very selfish to want to use her husband's connections to help further her father's business. It made her seem no better than Maloof, marrying to get a store.
But the difference was, she reminded herself, she loved Gerald. That was primary and anything else was merely another consideration. Of course, Muna seemed to believe that Maloof was in love with her, also. Would Gerald worry that she had other considerations when choosing to marry him?
It seemed that it was not going to matter. Gerald was clearly uninterested in the oil business in general or the problems of Royal Oil in particular. Every time someone from the field showed up at the house, he found some excuse to be elsewhere. It was annoying, but what could she do? The oil business might be the livelihood of her father and her friends, but it obviously meant nothing to Gerald.
He moved languidly beside her and gently kissed the wild mass of her unbound hair that lay on her pillow.
"You'll make a rat's nest of it," she stated without much complaint.
"Then I shall brush it free of tangles," he said. "Would you like that, Cessy? I could light the lamp and you could sit naked in front of the mirror while I tend your hair."
Cessy giggled. "Where do you get these ideas?"
He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. 'The mind is the most potent sexual organ."
"Well the mind may be willing, sir," she said. "But the flesh seems a little weak."
"Ah, well, with a bit of attention to your wifely duty, my weakness will surely be overcome and my resolve will certainly harden."
"Oh, how you Yankees do talk!"
They laughed together as he continued to tease her.
"Just hold me for now," she told him. "I'm far too tired to want anything more."
"Holding is nice," he agreed.
She fitted herself in the crook of his arms, laying her cheek against his collarbone. She ran her hand along the sparse hair of his chest and the wickedly ugly wound at his pelvis.
"Hold me and talk," she said. "I miss your voice almost as much as I miss your arms. Do you think we could just barricade the door and live in this bed for a hundred years?"
"We might get hungry," he said.
"Maybe we could build a dumbwaiter to the kitchen and Mrs. Marin could send up victuals to keep up our strength."
"That sounds wonderful, Cessy," he said. "Truly it does. If we could just be here without all the world and the past and . . . and everything out there."
She sensed a strange, sad longing in him and she brought her hand up to the curve of his jaw, lovingly caressing him.
"Cessy," he asked her quietly. "Have you ever heard of Francis A. Walker?"
"Well, of course I have. What a question."
"Who was he?"
"Don't tell me that you didn't learn that at Yale, either," she teased. "I am becoming more and more determined that our children never go there."
"Who was he?" Gerald asked.
"Well, he was an economist and statistician mostly," she said. "He developed our modern census. But his work that has naturally been most interesting to me were his theories and methods in education."
"Education?"
"Yes, he was the president of Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He believed that in training young men in trades and technology, and broadening that with a grounding in history and political science, he could prepare them for the challenges of the modern world."
Gerald nodded thoughtfully.
"His philosophy and his methods had a strong basis in class reform as well," she said. "He believed, as I do, that determined, motivated students could better society by bettering themselves."
"He wanted them to have a chance at something besides being sharecroppers or livery hands," Gerald said.
"Exactly. Why do you ask about Walker?"
"I ... I was named for him."
Cessy looked up at him, momentarily puzzled, and then laughed out loud.
"Gerald Tarkington Crane was named for Francis Amasa Walker?"
She was still giggling when he sat up in bed. She couldn't see his face in the darkness but her laughter faded at the stillness that suddenly pervaded the room.
"Gerald?" she asked.
A tremendous eruption like distant thunder shook the house and stunned them both.
For a moment, both of them chose to ignore it. They continued to look across the bed at each other. Then a flurry of confusion and hollering commenced downstairs.
The commotion could no longer be ignored. Cessy had just grabbed her wrapper from the end of the bed when her father began pounding upon her door.
"Princess!" King Calhoun called from the hallway. "There's a fire at the tanks."
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed.
She rushed to the doorway, covering herself as she ran. Her father was gone from the door by the time she got there. But she called out to the deserted hallway.
"I'll be ready in five minutes!"
Cessy began grabbing up clothing and dressing with careless efficiency.
"What the devil are you doing?" her husband asked.
"I'm getting dressed," she said. "And you'd better do the same if you don't want to have to walk out to the wells. As soon as Daddy is dressed himself he won't wait another minute."
"I am not going anywhere," he stated firmly. "And neither is my wife."
"There's a fire in the oil tan
ks," Cessy answered him, genuinely surprised at his strange behavior.
"I don't see how that concerns us," Gerald said. "Your father has crews of men in his employ. Neither you nor I have been hired to work for him."
"Gerald, if there's a fire, then there may well be injuries," she said. "I'll need to be there to help."
"You can't go out there, Cessy!" her husband exclaimed. "As your husband, I expressly forbid it."
"You forbid it?"
"I do indeed," Gerald said. "Oil fires are dangerous."
Cessy looked at him for a long moment in total disbelief. He didn't understand. He didn't understand at all. Did he truly believe that she could lie here, even sleep the night unconcerned, while her friends and neighbors, even her own father, risked their livelihoods and even their very lives out on the Topknot? Perhaps he could do that, but she could not.
"Yes, indeed, oil fires are very dangerous," she agreed with him. "So perhaps you should stay here, Mr. Crane. I'm sure no one would wish you to risk your life. But my friends and my family are there and I will be with them."
"Cessy . . ." he began once more. But she didn't wait to hear more. She was decently covered and had her shoes in hand. Mrs. Marin could do the buttons up the back of her dress.
She hurried down to the porte cochere.
Neither Howard nor the housekeeper were yet quite ready, so it was Cessy herself who loaded the car with the basket of emergency supplies that was always kept ready. Accidents in the oil fields were as common as snakes. And although physicians were always sent for immediately, medicines and bandages were rightly provided by the company.
She heard her father's boisterous voice, and then everyone was climbing into the crowded Packard. It was already chugging to life. She was offered a hand up into the front seat. She assumed the hand to be her father's until she saw him seated behind the wheel.
She glanced back to see that it was her husband Gerald who aided her. And it was Gerald who took the seat beside her.
"You're going to help us," she said quietly to him.
"I'm going to protect my wife," he answered.
It wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but it was close enough, Cessy decided.
The Packard shot off in a burst of dust, swung a turn in the yard and was out on the road almost before she had time to catch her breath. Beside her Gerald was solid and warm and reassuring. She was so grateful that he was there. She was so grateful that he was willing to share her world.
The whole town of Burford Corners was waking up as they whizzed by. News of the fire was spreading quickly. And, Cessy was sure, those opposed to the drilling and distrustful of oilpatch folks were already nodding self-righteously and saying, "I told you so."
Cessy couldn't be bothered by their bad opinion. There was no way on earth to suit everyone or to do things perfectly. People simply had to do the best they could with what they had and let heaven take care of the rest.
As the Packard found the ruts on the wild ride down the river road, Cessy closed her eyes and fervently prayed that tonight, as oil was burning, she would do what she could and heaven would indeed take care of the rest.
The ferry crossing was as far as they could go. The heat and fumes from the fire made the whole Topknot hill area too dangerous for anyone not absolutely necessary to fight the fire.
The injured were laid out on the soft sands of the riverbank, with Ma to watch over them.
She was out of the automobile in an instant. Calling to Gerald to follow her and bring the medicines. Hugging Ma briefly, she was grateful that the old woman was already there.
"We're going to have to evacuate the camp," Ma told her. "Leave the medicines with me. And get over there as fast as you can. The smoke is blowing straight into the camp. With their menfolks all in danger and their children underfoot, the women will be running around like chickens with their heads cut off."
"You think I can help?"
"There ain't a soul in the world who can do a better job of getting folks organized and in the right direction. It's the kind of thing God created you for, Princess. If some people weren't by nature meant to take charge, the human race would still be sitting around cold caves wishing they knew how to build a cookfire."
"Can you take care of the injured by yourself?" Cessy asked her.
"Ain't much here," she assured her. "Lots of singeings and skin peels, but nobody's near to dying, I don't think. You take Mrs. Marin with you and leave Howard with me. I've sent for wagons to carry them to the doctor in town. He can help me load them."
"Just these few injured? Thank God it was not worse," Cessy said. "And no one was killed."
"Not yet, but there is a lot to be done before this night is over."
Ma glanced past Cessy then and her face alighted with obvious pleasure.
"Well, praise the Lord!" Ma said. "I'm so glad you're here. Get across the river and lend a hand. Bob and Clifford are both among the burned. Cedarleg will be needing every hand he can get."
Cessy turned to see who Ma was talking to and was surprised to see her words directed to Gerald.
Ma wanted to send Gerald to help Cedarleg? It was ridiculous, and Cessy fully expected that Gerald would tell her so himself. Her husband had made it clear that he was not interested in her father's oil business and he would not have even come along tonight had he not been concerned for her safety.
No, he would not be going to help the other men. Cessy knew that. She just hoped that his refusal to accept Ma's direction would not be condescending.
"I'd better hurry or I'll miss the ferry," he said.
Cessy was so stunned at his words, she didn't even speak. He was hurrying away without even giving her a chance to say good-bye.
"He's a fine young man, that one," Ma said.
"Yes," Cessy agreed proudly. "Yes he is." She turned to call out to the housekeeper.
"Mrs. Marin, come with me," she said. "We've got to evacuate the oil camp."
Tom had never seen or imagined anything like it. Thick black smoke rose in the air higher than the eye could see. And the bright orange flames leapt up from the surface of the open tanks thirty feet high.
Calhoun halted the Packard on the far side of the river. Those injured, at least a dozen men, had already been ferried across. Tom spotted Ma kneeling among the victims. Cessy apparently saw her at the same moment and hurried out.
"Bring the basket!" she hollered back to Tom.
Tom turned to relay the order to Howard, but the fellow was already gone. There was no choice but to carry it himself.
Keeping his head down, Tom followed in Cessy's wake. With any luck at all, he hoped that the two women would be so busy that Ma wouldn't even glance in his direction.
Even this far away, nearly a half mile, the black smoke swirled and scented the air, burning his throat. The men on the ground were blackened with it, only their eyes clearly visible in the darkness.
"Tom," a voice called out hoarsely. Hurriedly he knelt next to Bob Earlie.
"How you doing?" he asked.
"I ain't bad," Bob assured him. "Just burnt enough to hurt like hell."
"Can I get you anything?" Tom asked him.
The man attempted to smile and offered a joke. "How about a feather bed and a half-dozen whores?" he suggested.
Tom grinned at him. "Thought you were a family man," he said.
"Oh, yeah, it slipped my mind," he said. "With my luck I'll get what I'm asking for and spend the whole dang time saying, 'Ouchee! Gals, please don't touch me!' Then the wife will find me in the morning and make me wish I'd died during the night."
Tom left him grinning and made his way on through the injured. Many of them he knew by name and they knew him, too. They knew him as Tom.
He stood just behind Cessy and Ma as they divided up the night's work. He tried to keep his eyes elsewhere and his face averted. But when he heard Cessy ask if anyone had been killed, he forgot himself for one instant and looked up toward Ma to hear the answer
.
"Not; yet," she said. "But there's a lot to be done before this night is over."
It was at that moment that Ma glanced past Cessy and looked Tom straight in the eye.
He froze, expecting shock and anger. Fully expecting within the confusion of the moment to have his scheme unmasked and the truth revealed. He expected Ma's face to register anger and shame and disappointment. What he saw on her face, however, was relief.
"Well, praise the Lord!" she said to him. "I'm so glad to see you're here. Get across the river and lend a hand. Bob and Clifford are both among the burned. Cedarleg will be needing every hand he can get."
Tom hesitated. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing what to say. Cessy turned to him. She seemed surprised to see where Ma's remarks were directed, but Tom was certain that it was not a good time to explain.
"I'll have to run to make the ferry," he told her.
And then he did just that, as if the demons of hell were on his heels.
The ferry had, in fact, already taken off, and he had to leap to make it aboard. He stumbled on the landing and fell on his knees upon the boards at the feet of his father-in-law.
"What are you doing here?" Calhoun asked him.
"I've come to help."
King Calhoun snorted. "Oh that's just what we need, snoopers and gawkers."
Calhoun walked away as Tom came to his feet. As they neared the shore, the heat from the burning sump intensified. Tom could see in the distance the "P" still standing. The fire was contained within the inground oil tanks. The only immediate danger surrounding the land and inhabitants was from fumes and smoke. Still, a fortune was burning and without intervention the other tanks would likely catch fire also.
The ferry had only bumped up to the shore when the men aboard disembarked. In the wake of King Calhoun, Tom scrambled by the steep path now heavy with the scent of smoke.
Calhoun stopped and turned to glare at him.
"Get back to the boat," he ordered.
"Aren't you going to need every hand?" he asked.
"Every experienced hand," Calhoun corrected him. "A useless blueblood like you will only get himself killed."
"Maybe you wouldn't mind seeing that happen?" Tom suggested.
