Authors: Pamela Morsi
}The preacher's brows lifted.
}"But she and I have our own brand of exercise," he continued. "Something more suited to our natures and eminently more pleasurable."
}The reverend's expression darkened.
}Luther actually smiled. "She's been begging me since the Spring Blossom Festival, and tonight I believe I'll take my Tulsy dancing. There's nothing like spieling to a good ragtime to cleanse the soul."
}Chapter 15
}Luther knew his plan was a mistake the minute he pulled the Runabout to a stop in front of the roadhouse at Perkin's Comer. Friday night had seemed a safe bet; the local cowboys and roustabouts were only off on Saturday night. And without them there was sure to be less drink and fewer drinkers. However, the dusty ground in front of the roadhouse was jammed with buggies, saddle horses, and vehicles of all types. And the jangle of piano and banjo was loud enough to be heard even from the road.
}"Maybe we shouldn't," he suggested to the young woman beside him. It wasn't as much a casual suggestion as a conviction. So far today, nothing had gone exactly to his advantage. After his irritating encounter with the Rev, his muscles had ached all day. His mind had been in such a turmoil that he'd installed a repaired clutch backward and nearly stripped it completely. And then there was his brother.
}"You're sure all dressed up," he'd commented when Arthel had stepped out from his room in a fresh white shirt and his hair smelling of pomade.
}"Got a big evening planned," he told Luther with more than a hint of bravado.
}Luther grinned. "Going out on the town, are you?"
}"Not really on the town," Arthel answered with a laugh. "I'm just going down to that old pecan tree in the yard of Mrs. Sparrow's little cottage."
}"Why in the world would you be going there?" Luther asked.
}"It's where I'm meeting Maybelle Penny." Arthel's grin broadened. "That pecan tree is where Miss Maybelle broke my heart," he said. "And tonight, it's where that little gal is going to mend it."
}Luther's expression was deadly serious. "That's not a good idea, Arthel. You start stealing kisses with that little girl and her daddy will see you end up married to her."
}Arthel shrugged. "It wouldn't be the worst punishment I could imagine."
}A furious huff escaped Luther's lips. "What about college? Good Lord, Arthel, it's what we've worked for and wanted for years. You're only a few months from A and M; marriage will end that dream forever."
}His expression also becoming serious, Arthel grasped his brother's shoulder. "College is
your
dream for me, Luther. It's what
you've
wanted and worked for."
}"I promised Mammy and Pa that I'd take care of you!"
}"And you have," Arthel answered. "Now, I'm all grown-up, and I can take care of myself."
}Luther had wanted to say more, but he was too stunned for words. Even now he could hardly think of what to say, but tomorrow, he promised himself, the two of them would have a long talk. Arthel was just being young and foolish. Luther would convince him to go to college.
}"You're still thinking about your brother?" Tulsa May's words startled Luther back into the present.
}"Just worried, I guess."
}Tulsa May nodded. Luther had told her the whole story on the drive. "Would you like for me to talk to him?"
}Luther grinned. "If I can't make him see sense, I'll be very grateful to have you try."
}They smiled warmly at each other. Luther snaked an arm around her waist and hugged her to him lightly. It had been done in the guise of friendship, but Luther was honest enough with himself to admit that he simply wanted to touch her. As always, she felt so good, so warm, so right. He pulled away.
}"If we had any sense at all," he told her, "we'd know that we shouldn't step one foot into that roadhouse."
}Tulsa May giggled. She was wearing her best brown dress, the gloves Luther had given her, and a brand-new hat, a near brimless pale beige straw, banded by dark brown satin, that fit close to her head like a helmet. "Of course we shouldn't. Isn't that what my father told you a hundred times before we left home? But we're here now and I really would like to try dancing again."
}Her grin was mischievous, and Luther found himself giving in against his better judgment. Roadhouses could be stormy places: beer, music, and dancing were often stirred together into a mix of rough talk, wild antics, and dirty fighting.
}"All right," he said, grasping her hand in a protective gesture. "But stick close to me. These places can get a little wild. And they certainly aren't used to young ladies of your caliber."
}Tulsa May laughed again. Lady newspaper writers were undoubtedly of a caliber all their own.
}Luther helped her down and offered his arm like a gentleman at a cotillion and they made their way to the doorway of the boisterous roadhouse. She was flushed and excited and felt none of the anxiety that bothered Luther. While he saw rough, rowdy men and hard-drinking women, Tulsa May's shining, optimistic eyes saw only laughing, happy folks having a grand time.
}"Oh, this is going to be fun!" she told Luther as they stepped inside the open door of the dimly lit room. The establishment, whose official name was Fiddler's Hall, was one long, narrow room. A counter at one end served beer—and any "special requirements" to trusted customers. At the other end was a small stage, raised less than a foot from the main floor, surrounded by lanterns that brightened the faces and instruments of the cigar-smoking piano player, gimp-legged fiddler, and an itinerant banjo picker. They were dutifully jangling out a square as a tall, swarthy-looking fellow with a dashing black moustache called the tune.
}Tulsa May looked around with delight.
}"This doesn't look like our type of crowd," Luther said, close to her ear.
}She stared up at him, puzzled. Once again she let her eyes wander the crowd. Nothing appeared dangerous. Certainly, some of the most clamorous were a bit less than perfect gentlemen, and most of the ladies were dolled up in face paint, but Tulsa May felt no threat. Of course, being at a roadhouse with a man
was
a danger to her reputation. But she was not concerned. After the kisses she'd shared with Luther on the way home from the picnic, she'd begun to think that a good reputation might not be the most desirable thing in the world.
}"It looks like such fun," she told him. "Couldn't we stay for just a few moments? Maybe just a dance or two?" Her smile was bright and hopeful. "You did promise to take me dancing."
}Luther sighed in defeat. "You win," he said. "You want to try this square?"
}Tulsa May nodded excitedly and they moved out onto the floor. Two couples who'd been dancing sixes quickly broke away and another joined them in a square. One man was a big, bearded, ruddy-looking fellow whose girth strained the fabric of his worn overalls. His lady friend was skinny and pale beneath the layer of face paint that had began to congeal in the wrinkles around her eyes. There was no time for introductions and the caller led them in a quick sequence of movements that Tulsa May didn't quite understand. She bumped into the big man twice and once into Luther trying to go the wrong way.
}Laughing, she was more amused than embarrassed. And fortunately her partners felt the same. Finally, the black-moustached man called for bows to partner and corner and the dance was done. Tulsa May was still laughing.
}The big, ruddy man held out his hand to Luther. "You're the mechanic over at Prattville, ain't ye?"
}"Luther Briggs," he replied, offering his hand.
}"I'm Elm Tripten and this here is Carrilee McDonnal."
}Luther offered the lady a polite nod. Tulsa May thought her answering smile overly friendly.
}"Who's this little gal that don't know the steps?" Elm's broad smile revealed a missing tooth on the right side.
}With only an infinitesimal hesitation, Luther introduced her. "This is Miss Tulsa May Bruder of Prattville."
}The big man's brow furrowed in recognition. Tulsa May readied herself for being recognized as the preacher's daughter. It always happened, no matter where she went. She hoped it wouldn't put a damper on the evening.
}"You're the little gal that writes for the
Populist?"
Elm asked at last.
}Tulsa May was so surprised she stared at him mutely for a moment before finally nodding her head.
}"Well, it's about time!" the big man said with delight, clapping his hands together. He gave a big grin to Carrilee before turning his attention back to Tulsa May. "I've been saying for months that it ain't fair that fancy folks that takes their entertainment in salons and moving-picture palaces get writ up in the paper and those of us who're more keen on a sizzling fiddle got to hide out like we was shamed."
}As the fiddler began to saw out a jig, Elm grabbed her hand. " 'Scuse me, honey," he said to Carrilee. "Don't mind if I give the newspaper gal a spin, do ya, Luther?" he asked, not bothering to wait for an answer.
}Luther stared after them uncertainly, but Tulsa May gave him a reassuring grin as she laid her hand on big Elm's shoulder and stepped to the tune.
}His hold for the one-step was loose and proper. Tulsa May felt rather overwhelmed by the sheer size of the man, but his actions were those of a gentleman. Clearly, his intent was to talk.
}"I know they's some that don't hold with dancin'," he told her. "Some of them, like holier-than-thou preachers, can harangue about it from daylight till dark. But I cain't see no sin in it at all. It's just pure fun and that's what them sour preachers cain't stand." He hesitated, giving her an opportunity to disagree with him. When she didn't, he continued. "Ain't no Jesus teachin' agin it," he told her. "Why, even them folks in the Bible done it. Would they be doing it in the Bible if it was all bad?"
}"I don't suppose so." Tulsa May was very grateful that Elm didn't know that her own father was one of those "sour preachers."
}"It's like steppin' inside of the music," Elm continued. "You hear that good fiddle and you feel that frailing banjo and then you move your feet and you're not hearing it no more. You're akin. Does that sound foolish?"
}Elm's big, hairy, sincere face was winning. Tulsa May found herself smiling at him in delight. He was a rough, hard-working farmer with hands as big as bear paws, but he had the heart of a poet.
}"I think I know what you mean," she said. "Moving with the music is like becoming a part of it."
}He grinned broadly, again displaying the missing tooth. "Now, I knew you was one smart female the first time I read one of them stories of yours in the newspaper."
}Blushing at the compliment, Tulsa May shook her head. "I'm really not a very good reporter. Mr. Willers says I've no head for the facts."
}Elm shook his head with displeasure. "That Mr. Willers is a mule's backside. You get the facts just fine. But more, when we read it, well, it's like we see it the way you see it. Not cold and distant, but like we was there." He grinned again as a thought occurred to him. "Reading your newspaper stories is like steppin' into the music."
}Tulsa May was honored by the compliment. But she was embarrassed also. A moment later she brought the subject back to the music and allowed Elm to explain to her all that he knew. She listened with as much interest as good manners as he led her around the floor. From the corner of her eye she spotted Luther standing next to the beer stand at the back of the hall. Even in the dim light she knew he was clearly the handsomest man in attendance. Tulsa May scolded herself for this observation. Luther was certainly a fine figure of a man, but the important thing was that he was honest, hardworking, and honorable. And he was her best friend. All the dreams and kisses in the world weren't worth losing that friendship, she reminded herself for the hundredth time that day. And she very much needed to keep sight of the fact.
}Most of the men around him were partaking of the local brew and talking and laughing loudly. Luther stood quietly among them. Anyone not looking closely would think that he was with them. But he was not. He was not drinking, not talking, not laughing. He was watching . .. watching her.
}Tulsa May felt an inexplicable little thrill sizzle across her skin. Again she felt the touch of his lips on hers and the feel of his hands as they caressed her hair. Once more she was there in the seat of the Runabout, understanding for the first time what the feel and taste and smell of a man could mean. The memory brought a flush to her cheeks. She swallowed and forced her attention back to Elm. •
}When the music stopped, there was no need to look around for Luther. He was right there to claim her. Possessively, he draped his arm around her waist and she remembered the very public kiss on the parsonage steps. For a moment she felt he might try something similar to demonstrate their relationship, to mark her as his own. She smiled at him reassuringly.