The Governor's Sons (6 page)

“You wife?
 
And just who would you tell that you’re—
married
to me?”

Ash was taken aback by her question.
 
“I—I couldn’t tell anyone, you know that.”

Kitty looked at him coldly.
 
“I have to go.”

“Kitty—please—don’t leave me yet.”
 
He held her against him.
 
Once again she didn’t protest as he kissed her passionately.
 
Her arms wrapped around him firmly as she kissed him with just as much intensity. “Tell me you love me,” he said softly.
 
She didn’t say anything.
 
As if forcing her to admit the truth, he kissed her even more fervently.
 
“Say it.”

“Ash,” she was breathless, “I—I love you.
 
But,” she pulled from his embrace, “I—I have to go.
 
Goodnight.”
 
Kitty quickly ran to her house.

Ash watched her run up the steps, then shut the door.
 
The light from the porch lamp disappeared.
 
For a while he stood there, hoping she’d come back.
 
But soon a car rolled by, its bright headlights nearly blinding him.
 
After that, Ash finally walked back home.

Ash looked in the mirror over the bathroom sink.
 
He ran a comb through his wet hair, then applied a dab of Brylcreme to keep it neatly slicked back.
 
He’d just showered and dressed.
Mondays were always hectic.
 
He dashed to his bedroom, grabbed his jacket, then rushed down the hall.

It was almost eight.
 
Breakfast would be served at any moment, and then he’d need to leave with Dad.
 
Mondays and Thursdays were the days he worked in his father’s law office.
 
And those mornings in the kitchen were usually filled with too much commotion; at least too much for a quiet conversation.

Ash quickly descended the back stairs, then stood out of sight near the rear kitchen entrance.
 
Coffee was brewing and he smelled muffins baking.
 
But right now, Ash wanted to catch Kitty alone so he could talk to her.
 
He’d thought about her all weekend, and hadn’t seen her since he’d walked her home Friday night.

Ash slipped on his jacket and peeked into the kitchen.
 
He watched Kitty take muffins from the oven, then carefully remove them from the hot tin to a breadbasket.
 
Moments later he saw Izolla carry a platter of fried eggs and sausage patties to the dining room.
 
Betty Jean followed with a tray of juice glasses.
 
At last, Kitty was alone.

Ash made his move.
 
“Kitty,” he whispered loudly.

She jumped, startled to see him there.
 
“Ash!” She smiled.

“Did you think about what I said Friday?” he asked quietly.
 
Kitty only nodded.
 
“And did you think about me?” He winked.

Kitty’s eyes sparkled, but before she could answer, the swinging door flew open and heavy footsteps shook the floor.
 
“Mr. Ash,” Izolla yelled, “get away from Cat!
 
She’s slow enough as it is.
 
You don’t need to be in here slowin’ her down any more.”

“Sorry, Izolla, I just wanted to--grab a muffin,” Ash said.

“Grab a muffin?” Izolla snorted.
 
“Whenever I fix muffins you decide you’s gonna have them dry old corn flakes instead.”

“Well, this morning,” Ash gazed at Kitty, “they looked so good—I couldn’t resist.”

“They look the same way every time I make ‘em!”

Ash moved his eyes from Kitty to Izolla.
 
“That’s true, they always do look good.
 
And I always want one.
 
I have to exert considerable will power not to give in.
 
But today--” he looked at Kitty again, “I just can’t help it.”
 
Eyes still on Kitty, Ash reached for a muffin.

“Mr. Ash,” Izolla snapped, “you wait ‘til those muffins are on the table, you hear!”

Then Heath walked through the swinging door.
 
“Izolla, what’s going on in here?”
 
He spotted his brother next to Kitty.
 
“Catherine, is Ash getting first dibs on those muffins?”

“Ain’t nobody gettin’ first dibs on nothin’, Mr. Heath,” Izolla shouted, “now go sit down!”

“I
deserve
first dibs,” Ash said to his big brother, “‘cause I worked up an appetite.
 
I was out running while you were still sleeping.”

Izolla threw up her hands.
 
“Both of you’s actin’ like six year olds!
 
Now Cat,” Izolla changed her hard-edged voice to one of grandmotherly intonation, “Mr. Heath, he likes the last muffin from the batch.”
 
Izolla pointed to one Kitty hadn’t yet removed.
 
“When you scrape up all the batter that’s left, and pile it into that last muffin cup, it bakes up real pretty and nice.
 
Put that one on a little dish for Mr. Heath and set it at his place.”

“Thanks, Izolla,” Heath said, as he walked from the kitchen, sounding content in knowing that he’d receive the best muffin from the batch.

“Now, Izolla,” Ash said, as if he had a serious bone to pick, “you’ve always favored him over me, haven’t you?”

“He didn’t give me near the trouble you did growin’ up, and he likes my cookin’!”

“I like it too,” Ash said, “I just don’t eat three of everything you make.”

“That’s because you’re the runt,” Heath said on his way out the swinging door.
 
He held it open for Betty Jean as she rushed by.

“Miss Joan and Mr. Louis just sat down,” Betty Jean said, as she poured coffee to serve.
 
“Mr. Louis said those muffins smell mighty good and he’s wondering where they are.”

“Cat, what you waitin’ for?” Izolla scolded.
 
Ash didn’t leave Kitty’s side, but watched as she finished removing the muffins to the breadbasket and placed the last one on a saucer for Heath.
 
“And you just better sit yo’self down, Mr. Ash, and get out of the way.”

Ash and Kitty’s eyes met one last time.
 
With his back to Izolla, he mouthed the words, “I love you.”
  
Kitty smiled.
 
So much for trying to talk to her now, Ash thought, walking from the kitchen.
 
That would have to wait until later.

****

Ash opened the back door of the mansion, his beige seersucker jacket slung over his shoulder.
 
Once inside, he threw the garment over a chair at the kitchen table.
 
Striding toward the icebox, Ash loosened his tie and opened his collar.
 
He took out a fresh pitcher of ice water and poured himself a glass.

Today his dad had told him to leave the office early.
 
Louis had a confidential meeting with a client at 4:15.
 
But prior to that, most of Ash’s day had been spent in the courtroom observing his father defend a different client accused of embezzlement.

After finishing one glass of water, Ash poured himself another and set it on the counter.
 
He looked at his wristwatch.
 
It was just past 4:30.
 
Dinner smelled good, cooked and ready on the stove.
 
Ash rolled up his sleeves, then peeked in the large pots to see what Izolla had fixed.
 
Looked like chicken and dumplings, collard greens, and yellow squash.
 
Izolla usually took a little afternoon break from 4:30-5, so she was nowhere in sight.
 
Oddly enough, neither were Kitty and Betty Jean.

All day long, Ash hadn’t been able to concentrate on much anything.
 
Thinking about Kitty distracted him.
 
After failing to talk to her this morning, he’d hoped to now.
 
Most days around this time, she and Betty Jean were in the kitchen.
 
He’d find her.
 
She couldn’t be far away.

Ash raked a hand through his hair, then propped himself against the counter.
 
He picked up his glass and held the ice water to his temple, trying to relieve the heat.
 
For a moment he closed his eyes, hearing only the buzz of the ceiling fan and the tinkle of ice cubes as he moved his glass.
 
Ash had been up since before 6:00, and now as he thought about making love to Kitty, he almost drifted off, but a knock at the back door jolted him awake.

Ash strode across the kitchen, still holding his water.
 
When he opened the back door, he saw a well dressed Negro standing there.
 
“Good afternoon, sir,” the Negro said in a low deep voice.

Ash knew he’d never met this young man, yet there was something vaguely familiar about him.
 
He wore a black suit on his tall slim frame, and appeared rather bookish with a bow tie and horn-rimmed glasses.
 
His black hair was shortly cropped, and his skin, a deep reddish brown. From the Negro’s grim expression, Ash pegged him as somebody that didn’t smile all that much.

“Afternoon,” Ash said.
 
“Can I help you?”
 
It finally dawned on him why the boy looked so familiar.
 
Ash had just read an article in
National Geographic
about a display of mummified Egyptian pharaohs.
 
There were lots of photographs, and this fellow looked just like one of those mummies.
 
Ramses the something; Ash couldn’t remember the exact number.

“I’m here to see Miss Catherine Wilkes.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Russell Graham, sir.”

Russell was a little taller than Ash, so Ash stood as tall as he could, trying to stretch his five foot eleven and three quarter inch frame to that even six feet he claimed to be.
 
Not taking his eyes from the serious looking Negro’s, he drank a long gulp of water, then scowled. “You got the wrong house.”

Before Russell could say anything else, Ash felt someone grasp his shoulder from behind and push him aside.
 
It was Kitty.

“A—Mr. Ash—I’m right here.
 
And stop being such a prankster.” She smiled.
 
“Mr. Ash Kroth, this is Russell Graham Jr., and I was expecting him.”

“Nice to meet you,” Russell said, but he didn’t look at Ash, only Kitty.

Too taken aback by how glamorous Kitty looked, Ash didn’t say anything back to Russell.
 
Her hair, no longer a kinky mass, was smooth, set in soft curls that framed her face, and she wore makeup that only enhanced her natural beauty.
 
Satin pumps matched the off the shoulder apricot dress, and its shiny fabric shimmered against Kitty’s cocoa brown skin.
 
The straight cut accentuated her curves, and a tantalizing side slit revealed just enough leg.
 
But when Ash saw Russell’s eyes assess every inch of Kitty’s body, his blood nearly hit the boiling point.

“You look absolutely stunning, Catherine,” Russell said.

“Thank you, Russell.” She grabbed his hand. “Come in.
 
Miss Joan said that would be fine.”

“Catherine,” Miss Joan called, as she walked through the swinging door.
 
“I thought I heard someone knocking.
 
Is this your young man?”
 
She asked, rapidly waving the new paper fan she’d received at yesterday’s church service.

“Yes, ma’am,” Catherine said.
 
“Mrs. Kroth, this is Russell Graham Jr., Russell, Mrs. Kroth.”

“Why, Russell Graham Jr.” Miss Joan smiled broadly, extending her hand.
 
“I’m pleased to meet you.”

Ash noticed his mother acting a bit more animated than usual.
 
She’d probably had a dose of Lydia Pinkham. Mother, and all her middle aged friends going through the change of life, raved about that blasted medicine.
 
It had the same effect as two or three glasses of wine.

“I’m familiar with your father’s work,” Miss Joan continued. “It was Russell Graham Sr. that handled the body of one of my most faithful servants, Effie Watson, about five years ago.
 
I attended the visitation at her sister’s home, and Effie was absolutely beautiful—and so natural looking.”

“I’m glad her appearance left a memorable impression, ma’am,” Russell said, in a smooth baritone voice.

“Oh, indeed it did.
 
And Catherine tells me that after you graduate next year, you’ll be going to mortuary school so you can eventually take over the family business.”

Behind Russell’s back, Ash looked at Kitty strangely.
 
With exaggerated disbelief he mouthed the words “mortuary school?”
 
Kitty bit her lower lip, then looked down and began playing with her fingers.

“Yes, Mrs. Kroth,” Russell replied.