Runabout (27 page)

}"Which am I? More or less?"

}"I have no idea what you mean."

}Rising to his feet, Arthel came to stand directly in front of her. He was head and shoulders taller than she was and something about him looming over her was disconcerting. Maybelle stepped back. He followed.

}"You haven't answered my question."

}"What question?"

}She retreated once more, but again he stepped forward.

}"About my kisses."

}"What about them?"

}"Do you want more or less?"

}Maybelle stepped back one more time and, unfortunately, found her back against the wall. She placed her hands against the rough-hewn logs and felt trapped. And she didn't appreciate it one bit.

}"Your kisses were perfectly adequate for a young man of your age," she told him haughtily.

}Arthel nodded solemnly. Then slowly, oh so slowly, his expression blossomed into a grin. "I guess I just need practice. I would imagine that a woman like yourself could teach me a thing or two."

}Laying a hand on each side of the wall beside her, Arthel effectively cut off any possible escape route. Maybelle glanced nervously toward the door. For all her haughty, brave words, she'd shared little more than schoolgirl kisses with the other boys who had called on her. And before the picnic she'd never been alone with a man. Then it had seemec' so wonderful. Now, it only seemed downright scary. The doorway was empty and the road beyond it was quiet and deserted.

}"Don't you dare try to force yourself on me!" she said angrily, her hands clenching, ready to bare her nails if necessary.

}Arthel leaned forward, closing the distance between them. "That's what you'd expect of a wild Indian like me, I guess." He crooked his head slightly and brought it within inches of her own. "See, you are teaching me already. First rule, never force the lady."

}He was so close, Maybelle could feel the heat of his words against her cheek. Her heart was beating like a tom-tom and she trembled. Her own hands suddenly seemed superfluous. She didn't know where to put them. So she used them to grasp the straps on Arthel's overalls.

}"I don't like this silly game you're playing," she said. "You are making me very nervous."

}Arthel's lips were even closer now. "Is that against the rules or just an observation?"

}"Yes! I mean, no! I mean—"

}"Ah," Arthel answered. "Games are against the rules, but making you nervous is not."

}He took one hand and laid it gently along her cheek, caressing the soft smooth skin. "Is this making you nervous?"

}"Please, I—"

}"Please what?" he asked so softly, his lips almost touched her own.

}She tried to turn away from him, but it seemed as if he were everywhere, on all sides, enveloping her.

}"Please—" she begged again.

}"Please stop?" he asked.

}"No—"

}"Please kiss you?"

}"Oh, please—"

}"Please let you go?"

}"Yes, yes, please."

}"Say my name."

}"What?"

}"Say my name, Maybelle. I want to hear it."

}"But—"

}"That's all, Maybelle. I just want to hear my name on your pretty lips once more."

}“I—”

}His lips were, only a hairsbreadth from her own.

}"Say it."

}"Oh, Arthel!" she gasped at last, throwing her arms around his neck and melding her mouth to his.

}

}The basement of the Bruder parsonage was dank and rather dark and filled with the mixed odor of drying roots and sweat. The rhythmic sounds of fists thudding against a punching bag were the only noise.

}When Luther entered, he followed his ears to Reverend Philemon Bruder. The preacher was clad in an athletic suit of gray cotton worsted with large damp circles beneath the armpits. His fists were raised, as hand over hand he struck the dangling pigskin target. Clearly he'd been exercising for quite a while.

}"Afternoon, Rev," Luther called. "Looks like you're about to beat that thing to death."

}The preacher gave the bag one last punch before turning to the younger man with a sigh. "It's the best thing in the world, Luther. You really ought to try it."

}Luther shook his head. "I work hard enough as it is, Rev. I don't need to make work for myself."

}"Now, that's where you're wrong," Reverend Bruder told him as he grabbed up a towel and mopped his brow. "The kind of exercise you get working will never strengthen the body and leaven the mind."

}"I'm not sure I'm much in need of either."

}"That's where you're wrong, son," the older man insisted as he rubbed the towel over his graying carrot-red hair before wrapping it around his neck. "Physical exercise will make you a better man, not just outside but inside. I've been at it for ten years now, and I know what I'm saying."

}Luther just grinned.

}"Take that shirt off and I'll start you on some light weights."

}"No, I don't think—"

}"It'll toughen your body and cleanse your soul."

}"I don't need toughening or cleansing," Luther protested.

}"Seems to me," the preacher said softly, "that a young man who takes my daughter on a picnic and doesn't get her home until after dark might be in need of a way to work off some steam."

}Luther flinched, but he didn't reply. Seeing no option, he removed his shirt without further protest.

}Reverend Bruder led him to the corner where he'd set up his Whiteley Exerciser. The contraption of weights and pulleys was attached to a reinforced wall at the far end of the basement.

}"Just turn this way," the preacher said, turning him from the equipment. He handed Luther two padded leather hand grips. "All you do is pull and the weights rise up," he said. "You can pull them in tandem, but it's easier when you start to pull with one arm at a time."

}Luther nodded, not the least interested in the instructions. He intended to work on the exerciser for a few minutes and then escape the basement gymnasium at the first opportunity. He would have never come if the reverend had not sent for him. Halfheartedly, Luther pulled at the hand grip. His muscles clenched. His eyes bulged. But the weight didn't move.

}"It's too heavy."

}The preacher tutted. "I'd never have taken you for such a puny sissypants. I lift twice that much."

}Luther glared at him. Determinedly, setting his jaw, Luther slowly pulled at the hand grip. Behind him, the attached weight reluctantly rose and his arm extended to its full length. Light beads of sweat broke out upon his brow.

}"Very good," the preacher said. "Now don't just drop it. Let it fall back into place nice and slow."

}To his credit, Luther tried. However, the weight dropped back into place much too fast, clanging loudly. The preacher didn't comment.

}"Now let's try the other arm," he said.

}"Us?" Luther asked.

}Reverend Bruder only smiled. Casually, the preacher straightened his bright orange moustache to his satisfaction and then folded his arms before him.

}Luther's second pull was nearly as difficult as his first. But within a few moments he was managing to lift and lower the weights with some efficiency.

}"How long before I've sufficiently cleansed my soul?" he asked.

}The older man smiled benignly. "Depends on how blackened your soul might be."

}Luther looked at the preacher directly. "I hope you know that as far as your daughter is concerned, there is no need of cleansing."

}Reverend Bruder observed him silently for a moment before nodding. "So you two are just friends."

}"We've always been friends."

}"And there is nothing else?"

}Luther almost reassured him, but he did not. When Luther didn't answer, the reverend made a small "ahhh" sound, as if making a discovery.

}Luther dropped the hand grip abruptly and it clanged loudly back into place. "Tulsa May is of age and a decent God-fearing woman. I understand your fatherly interest, but I can't see that any of this is your concern."

}The preacher raised an eyebrow. "Have we progressed so far in these modern times that a father cannot ask a young man's intentions?"

}"My intentions, Rev, are to continue to call upon your daughter as long as
she
welcomes me."

}"Good," the preacher said decisively. "I couldn't be happier."

}"Well, bully for you," Luther answered, jerking on his shirt. He was slightly light-headed and his arms already ached, but he ignored his physical discomfort.

}"I do think that exercise would be good for you, Luther," the reverend continued. "I was young and wild once myself, you know. And there is nothing to take the edge off quite like working up a good sweat."

}Luther mumbled something noncommittal.

}"That's why I think the YMCA would be such a good thing for the community."

}"The YMCA?"

}"Young Men's Christian Association. Surely you've heard of it."

}"They have one in Guthrie," Luther answered. "If you're a member you can stay all night there instead of in a hotel."

}The preacher nodded. "Yes, of course they do that. But that's not really what I'm interested in."

}"Oh?"

}"The YMCA sponsors gymnasiums for young men, like yourself, to work out some of those frustrations of youth in a boxing ring or lifting weights."

}"Sounds like a good idea," Luther admitted.

}"It's an excellent idea," the preacher said. "Don't you remember all that I've told you about the philosophy of body and soul harmony?"

}The reverend had received a copy of Mrs. Millenbutter's book,
A Ladies' Guide to Good Health, Fine Posture, and Spiritual Completeness,
more than ten years earlier. For a while, her regime of balance, meditation, and exercise was almost a local craze. Most of the town had long ago gone back to general laziness, but Reverend Bruder had retained his interest and had studied even further.

}"I certainly remember as much as I want to, Rev," Luther answered.

}"So do you think a YMCA would be a worthwhile addition to the community?"

}"Sounds all right to me, Rev."

}"Good, I knew you'd see it that way."

}"What way?" Luther looked puzzled. "Are you asking me for a donation?"

}“More than a simple donation," Reverend Bruder said excitedly. "With that new empty building right on Main Street, I want to give you the opportunity of being an integral part of the association."

}Luther stared at him for a moment. "Rev, I've told you and everybody else that I haven't decided about the building."

}"Of course you haven't. But now that you know we need it for the YMCA, your decision should be a great deal easier."

}"Rev—"

}"You just admitted to the good that exercise can do."

}Luther didn't remember admitting anything of the kind. He started to make a reply, but a mischievous gleam came into his eye.

}"Yes, Rev," he said. "I am a great believer in exercise. As is your lovely daughter, Tulsa May."