Runabout (37 page)

Tulsa May watched him as he allowed the cool evening breeze to ruffle his hair.

"Luther?" she asked quietly.

"I'm fine," he told her, glancing back with a wan smile. "You're right, Tulsy. We are not really married. Not tonight."

}Chapter 19

"We saved your neck last night. Don't you have anything to say about that!" Luther's tone of voice was close to furious as he stared down his younger brother.

Arthel appeared unmoved. He turned to Tulsa May, who sat somewhat uncomfortably on a hard wooden chair at the table. "Welcome to the family, Tulsa May. I always thought you'd make a terrific sister."

"Arthel!"

The younger brother turned back to the older, assessing the anger in his face, but not intimidated by it. "Luther," he said calmly. "I didn't ask for your help. I certainly didn't ask for you to marry Tulsa May." He glanced in her direction and grinned. "Although I'm real glad that you did."

Luther began pacing, his expression dangerous. "What in the blue blazes were you doing down there anyway?"

"That's none of your business," Arthel answered without even a hint of rancor.

"Was that Maybelle Penny you were with?"

Arthel shrugged. "My big brother taught me never to kiss and tell."

"Damn it!" Luther's glare was positively explosive. He held his fists clenched together at his side as if to keep himself from using them.

"I don't want you to curse in the presence of my sister-in-law." Arthel's wry words almost burst through the weary bonds that held Luther's temper in control.

"Please," Tulsa May pleaded quietly. "Arthel, stop baiting him. Luther, calm down a little. You're so angry now you won't be able to talk. And you two need to talk."

Luther turned to her and nodded. She was right. He was hopping mad right now, near ready to blow up, and that wouldn't do himself, Tulsa May, or Arthel any good.

Deliberately stopping his pacing, Luther rubbed his temples. He was tired and angry and sore. Last night he'd been thoroughly beaten up by a half-drunken cowboy. Except for one rather vivid black eye, most of his bruises didn't show. But that didn't keep them from hurting. If that weren't enough, he'd slept the night in Tulsa May's desk chair. All night he'd shifted and turned and attempted to find a comfortable position to sleep.

After the untoward intimacy of the mirror, he hadn't trusted himself to share Tulsa May's prissy pink bed. He had already frightened her. She hadn't asked to marry him. And she was right in pointing out that they weren't really married. Intimacy was something they would have to work at slowly. Just because he was eager didn't mean that she was too. Tulsa May was a lady as well as his best and closest friend. But as far as loving, he was a complete stranger.

He knew he had acted wisely. His back ached, his head pounded, and his unfulfilled desire still plagued him. It had been one of the longest nights he'd ever lived. And this morning hadn't gone much better.

By breakfast, Mrs. Bruder had already planned a reception for them at the parsonage that afternoon.

"We have other plans for today, Miz Constance," Luther had stated quite firmly. He sat at the Bruder table once again as he had when he was a boy. But he was not a boy now, and he was not about to be ordered around.

"Well, whatever plans you have will just have to be changed," the preacher's wife insisted with an unconcern that bordered on complete disregard. She passed Luther the plate of biscuits. As far as she was concerned, it was settled.

Glancing over at Tulsa May, Luther could see that she was also displeased. This morning she had dressed in a pretty blue-striped voile waist with panels of pin tucking and a smart navy skirt of cotton serge. It was not a typical wedding costume, but the style suited her well. And Luther found himself enjoying the sight of her. On the way downstairs he had teased her that she'd worn the dark blue to match his shiner. She'd giggled at his joke, but asked with concern about his other injuries. As usual her hair was done up in a fashionable little twist at the crown of her head, making it simpler to fit under the braided straw panama-style hat she carried. But today the hairstyle seemed a bit looser than customary, allowing a bit of her natural wave and curl to show. Luther remembered those sweet, silky curls from the moments before the mirror. Then, remembering the sight of her bosom, his eyes dropped to her decently covered bodice and he felt the heat of physical need stirring within him again. Determinedly, he turned his eyes to his plate and filled his mouth with hominy grits.

"Couldn't we have a reception next week sometime, Mama?" Tulsa May suggested. "Luther and I have so much to do today and I'm not sure that I'm really ready for a big to-do."

"It simply must be today," Mrs. Bruder said firmly. "Tomorrow is Sunday and your father will be announcing the wedding in church. We can't have everyone in the community knowing before we've had a chance to have all our friends and neighbors over for a little celebration first."

"But, darling." The reverend tried to intervene. "The way news spreads in this town, everybody will know the news by this morning anyway."

Constance Bruder couldn't be dissuaded. To Luther's dismay, he found himself agreeing to be back at the parsonage at two o'clock with Tulsa May and his best dress suit.

"I know you never thought to wear the concert dress again," Constance said. "But it will be perfect for the reception."

"Mama, I'm not wearing that pink dress," Tulsa May said flatly. "I'll burn it first."

"Well, let's not spoil the morning arguing," Mrs. Bruder said lightly. "I'll lay the gown out for you and we'll decide this afternoon."

Luther's eyes narrowed. Miz Constance could push him around all she wanted, but he would not allow her to bully Tulsa May again. "I hate that pink dress," he stated emphatically. "Instead of laying it out, why
don't
you spend the morning burning it?"

Mrs. Bruder was silenced into stunned shock.

But at least this morning Luther had had the satisfaction of having the last word. His discussion with his brother wasn't going nearly as well.

"All right, Arthel," Luther said, forcing calm into his voice. "Let's all take a seat at the table. There is no reason the three of us can't talk this thing out calmly and rationally."

Arthel nodded, but he kept his chin up defiantly. He grabbed one of the chairs and, straddling it, laid his arms casually along the top of the chair back. Although he'd done as he was bid, Luther saw the closed expression on his face and sighed.

"I don't want to argue with you," he told Arthel. "Even if I did, I honestly don't have the time. Tulsy and I have got to get to Guthrie, get married, and be back by two o'clock for a reception at the parsonage."

"Then I think you two had better get on the road," Arthel answered.

"Arthel, you've got to take this seriously," Luther said. "Titus Penny was ready to have your head on a platter last night."

"And maybe he should have," Arthel snapped.

"Probably so, but did you think I could just let that happen?"

"I wish you would have."

Luther stared at his brother, completely puzzled. "Do you want to be run out of town on a rail?"

"I want to live my own life," he answered quietly. "Succeed or fail, I want my life to be my own."

The silence between the two men was long and uncomfortable.

"Arthel, I promised Mammy and Dad
—"

"Don't you think I know that," Arthel interrupted him. "You've loved
me and cared for me for ten years and I'm grateful," he said. "You've been a good brother, a stem father, and even occasionally a comforting mother. But you can stop now, Luther. I'm all grown-up. I can take care of myself."

"You can take care of yourself?" Luther was obstinate. "What about Maybelle? Can she take care of herself too?"

"Maybelle is not your concern," Arthel answered.

"She will be if you get her with child!"

Tulsa May lowered her eyes.

Arthel glanced over at her and then gave his older brother a stem look of disapproval. "If Maybelle's with child, it's
my
child. And
my
child is only
my
concern."

"She's not? Is she?" Tulsa May whispered anxiously.

Arthel shook his head and patted her hand reassuringly.

Luther wasn't ready to give up the argument. "Arthel, what about your plans? What about college?"

"College was your plan, Luther."

His eyes wide with surprise, Luther shook his head. "You've always said you wanted to study engineering."

"And maybe I will," Arthel admitted. "College isn't a bad idea. I understand that you wanted to help me get a start in life and education would be a way to do that."

"It certainly is."

"But I'm not thinking about college these days," he confessed.

Luther's mouth formed into one long thin line of disapproval.

"What about your future?" Luther demanded.

As Arthel gazed at his brother, his expression became serious once more. "I am thinking about the future," he answered solemnly. "There is a war coming, Luther. We both know that. A war is coming and I'm just the right age to be a part of it."

"President Wilson says
—" Luther interrupted.

"I know what Wilson says. And I know that we are going to be drawn into the war in Europe and it's going to be a war fought with machines as much as men." Arthel's solemn visage began to look hopeful. "I know about machines, Luther
—Greasy. I know about machines because my brother taught me. There'll be a place in this war for a man like me. And that's where I'll want to be."

"My God, Arthel!" Luther exclaimed.

"I can't think about college until this is settled," Arthel explained. "When the future looks more hopeful, then I'll think of it again."

Luther covered his face with his hands for a moment and then squeezed them together. "Arthel, I don't want you fighting in a war. You could get killed."

His younger brother smiled at him. Leaning across the table, Arthel laid a hand on Luther's shoulder. His expression was earnest, anguished but determined. "I'm not the helpless papoose in the cradleboard anymore. I'm a grown man, Luther. Old enough to know what I can and what I must do. Older than you were when you became my protector. Older than you were when you took on the world. It's time now that I took it on myself."

The Guthrie and River Road was sloppy from an early morning rain. Luther had chosen to drive the Runabout as a more fitting wedding car than the A-2 Commercial. He had draped a tarp across his knees and Tulsa May's to keep the splatters of red mud from the roadway from soiling either her pretty blue outfit or his best dress suit.

"Try not to worry about Arthel," Tulsa May told him as she secured the pin on her braided straw hat. "In many ways, he is right. You have carried him on your shoulders much too long."

Luther nodded thoughtfully. "I know I have," he said. "In my head at least I know it. But in my heart I still feel so... so guilty."

"Guilty?" Tulsa May stared at him curiously.

"Yes," Luther repeated sadly. "I know it's foolish, but I feel guilty because I was the lucky one, the favored one."

"Lucky, favored?" Tulsa May shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm the one who looked like my father," he said. "I'm the one that Miss Maimie remembered in her will." Luther set his jaw tightly, as if to hold in the anguish in his heart. "Arthel was so little when our parents died," he said. "I promised to take care of him, but I couldn't give him all that he needed. He needed family. He needed his grandmother. I knew that, but I couldn't find a way to give that to him."