Maud's Line (7 page)

She did keep her eye out for the Mount brothers so she wouldn't be taken by surprise again. But with the town filling up, it was hard to scan the crowd well enough to be certain someone wasn't coming up on her from behind or at her from a catty-cornered direction. She stayed mostly on the planks in front of the stores, looked in windows for items that struck her fancy, and talked to girls she knew, and to more boys, too. She'd promised several dances and had gossiped about a friend's upcoming marriage when, from down the street, she heard the fiddlers tuning up. She loitered some more, went into and out of Berd's Drugstore without buying anything, and wound toward the dance corner looking for the bright blue canvas that was to her mind the prettiest thing ever set against the sky.

Near the corner, she walked the length of the Pierce building, hesitated for a moment, and then peered through its two arches to the fiddlers' stage. Above it, men were hanging lanterns and behind them were two rolls of blue sitting atop the hull of a wagon. The rolls sucked Maud's breath into her chest. Her heart began to flutter like a bird that wants out of a cage. She spun around and put her hand on one of the stone columns that supported the second story of the building. Her other hand she drew to her breast. She needed a plan to get over to the wagon. She couldn't think of one; her wits had suddenly scattered. So instead of walking toward the bright blue, she crossed the intersection, brought a buckboard to a halt without noticing it, and walked entirely in the opposite direction. She passed clumps of blanket Indians sitting on the curb wearing black hats with feathers, passed their wives and children parked in groups not far away, passed a small house, and walked even farther up the road until it bordered a long, deep lawn in front of the Nash Taylor mansion.

Mr. Taylor had been dead since Maud was a little girl. But his grandson (who was also Mr. Singer's son) lived in his grandfather's house and ran the general store that still bore the Taylor name. The home was the grandest Maud had ever seen, even bigger and better than her Mr. Singer's, and although she'd never been inside, she'd toyed in her imagination with the home being her own from the first time she'd laid her eyes on its two-story center section and double front porches. She didn't actually hope to live in that house, but she hoped to live in one just like it. And whenever she glimpsed the home, she used it as a guide, much like a sailor uses the brightest stars in the sky. She sat down on one of the sandstone slabs in the front lawn and positioned herself at an angle so that she could see the house without appearing to watch it, see the road, and also, in the far distance, see a corner of one of the blue rolls over Booker's wagon. The house and the blue canvas anchored Maud while she tried to plan.

She was still cogitating when she heard the first tune, “When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along.” After only a few bars, she bolted up with the notion that she needed to retrace her steps quickly and get to Booker before other girls started swishing their skirts around him. The very thought of him clasping some girl's forearm and twirling her around made her feel as frantic as if she'd found a thief in the house. She passed the clumps of blanket Indians so quickly that she didn't smell the smoke from their pipes and cigarettes, nor did she realize that she'd stepped right into the middle of a penny-pitching contest that stopped to let her go by.

When she got to the dance corner and saw all the men, women, and children standing at the edge of the square just tapping their toes and not yet dancing, she felt foolish. She knew as well as anyone that nobody danced the first dance and that all parties had to get started by some brave couple who took the floor (or the watered-down dust) and showed off enough to erase everybody else's embarrassment. Her uncle Ryde yelled out, “Who's gonna claim this ground?” and Maud craned her neck to see one of the Benge boys and his new wife step into the patch. The Benges were kin to nearly everybody standing around the dirt square and the new couple was, Maud agreed, the most attractive in town. So by the time the fiddlers started “Red Robin” again, four squares of couples had moved into position. Booker wasn't in any of the squares, and the crowd in front of Maud had thinned out enough that she could see the onlookers on the two other sides of the patch as well as she could see the stage where Ryde and the other fiddlers were. She scanned the crowd. Booker wasn't in it.

About that time, she felt a tap on the shoulder. Jimmy Foreman, a good-looking, skinny boy she'd known most of her life, led her into the dirt. They joined a new square and danced two more dances before Jimmy was cut in on by Henry Swimmer and Henry was cut in on by John Leeds. Maud decided that she looked better on the floor than she would've looked standing around it and that dancing was the best place to be appreciated by Booker. She figured he must be looking on, even if, as her eyes searched the rims of the dance patch, she couldn't locate him. The light was now entirely cast by lanterns. Maud couldn't make out the blue except in her imagination. But she could see a canvas roll. Booker's wagon was still there.

And it continued to be when the fiddlers broke and the dancers went off in clumps to drink lemonade or stronger brew sold out of the trunks of cars. But Maud, instead of availing herself of any refreshment, took the break as an opportunity to do what she'd been wanting to do for at least five dances. That was to go to Booker since he wasn't coming to her. But as soon as she reached an angle where she could see the wagon and its owner well enough, she realized that Booker was there to sell, not to dance. She felt foolish for having spent so much time thinking anything else. He was beside his wagon, holding a pot out to a woman she couldn't place. But she could tell from a distance that Booker was reciting the advantages of that particular pot over all others on this Earth or any other planet.

Maud felt a jab of jealousy. She fought an urge to stride over to the wagon, grab that pot, and buy it herself. To contain that feeling, she looked around at the people who had wandered in back of the stage, and she saw, at a distance, Billy Walkingstick. He was talking to two other boys she knew, but she also knew she could lure Billy into anything, even a briar patch. So she walked in a direction that would both avoid the wagon and catch Billy's eye, and sure enough, like a bass following a lure, Billy disengaged himself from his friends, and shouted, “Hey, Maud, don't be highfaluting.”

Maud replied, “Oh, Billy, you surprised me. I didn't know you'd taken up square dancing.”

Billy said, “Haven't. Didn't have anything better to do. You been dancing?” He fell in next to Maud.

“A bit,” she said, and kept walking. But then she suddenly stopped. “That peddler over there has something I want to look at.”

“What is it?”

“Several things. Women like to look. You know that.” She took off toward Booker's wagon.

Billy dropped his cigarette, crushed it with his boot, and caught up with Maud in a couple of long strides. She was pleased he did. His puppy eagerness and Indian good looks made him the perfect escort to be seen with.

She went straight to the Woodbury soap. She picked up a bar, read its wrapper, and held it close to her nose for a sniff. Booker was making change with his back to her. She was afraid he wouldn't turn her way until she sniffed the bar silly, so as soon as that transaction was completed, she said, “How much did you say this was?”

Booker turned around slowly. He looked at Maud's face and then at the item she held in her hand. He stretched his hand out to hers, brushed it slightly, and said, “Let me see.” He turned the bar over and found 5
C
marked on the back. He said, “A nickel, normally, but for you, two cents.” He touched the rim of his bowler and smiled. Then he turned to Billy. “Howdy. Are you Maud's brother?”

Maud spoke quickly. “No, a friend. This is William Watie Walkingstick. He goes by Billy.”

Billy brought the fingers of his left hand to the rim of his cowboy hat and inserted his right hand into his front pocket. “I'll pay full price for that.” He drew out a nickel.

Booker took the coin with one hand and delivered the bar to Billy with the other. “Glad to do business with you, Mr. Walkingstick. Fancy anything else for your girl?”

Maud made a noise that was more of a catfish growl than a word. Both men jerked a little and looked to the source. Maud knew she was turning red. She hoped the dark of the night and the dark of her skin were combining to protect her. “Thank you, Billy.” She held her hand out for the bar. To Booker, she said, “He's one of my oldest friends. Fishes with my brother.”

Booker said, “I see.” Maud hoped that he both did see and didn't. And she was trying to sort out some kind of response that would straighten things out but not give her away when Billy said, “You sell soft drinks?”

“No, they're not in my line.” Booker shook his head.

Maud said, “He mostly trucks in books. Booker, would you show Billy your books?”

Booker held out his arm toward the side of the wagon facing the back of the stage. “What kinds of books do you like to read?”

“Whatchya got?”

Booker, in a singsong cadence that spoke of practice, recited a litany of books, and Billy's eyes took on a glassy gaze. But shortly into that, to insert herself back into Booker's attention and also to get Billy off the hook, Maud said, “My uncle was telling me about a book that escaped the fire. Did you hear about that?”

“Heard about the fire. Hard not to.” Booker had a smile on his face.

“I meant did you hear about the book?”

“No. I assumed all the books were burnt. I went by there the day afterwards. It was a mess if I ever saw one. You can even see the pile from the bridge.”

“You've been over the bridge?”

“Went to Muskogee. Had to pick up more goods at the railway station.”

“I'm surprised you didn't stay over there.”

“I did for a couple of days. But I wasn't having much luck competing against the stores.”

Billy said, “How much will ya take fer this book here?”

Maud had forgotten about Billy. And she'd never known him to read a lick. She said, “What is it?”

“Lasso tricks. See here?” He held out a page illustrated with several pair of hands and ropes in different positions. “It shows all the angles.”

Maud pretended interest in the pictures, and Booker named a price. Billy pulled more coins out to pay and then stuffed the book into his right hip pocket. Maud couldn't see a graceful way back to the original conversation. Worse, she didn't see any way to dump Billy without looking heartless, and she knew males sometimes sided with each other in their sympathies even if they were rivals. She didn't want to look cruel, but she didn't want to leave. So she was stuck. And she was fishing around for something to remark on when a commotion arose on the other side of the wagon. Booker said, “Excuse me,” and stepped away.

Maud was still on the book side of the rig, her view blocked by the pyramid, when she heard an official-sounding voice: “Are you Mr. Booker Wakefield?”

Both she and Billy moved toward the voice, and Booker said, “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

“You can come with me.”

Maud knew the sheriff. And she was about to say, “That's just stupid gossip,” when Booker said, “What for?”

“It's about the school burning.”

Booker rubbed the back of his neck. Then he laid his hand on the edge of his wagon and gripped it, his elbow stiff. “Do you have probable cause?”

The sheriff said, “Do ya want to come peacefully, or should I persuade you?” He put his hand on the butt of his gun.

The crowd had grown thicker. The faces were lit by lanterns. Most were women of childbearing age with little ones at their skirts. Husbands were sprinkled around in groups behind their wives. The deputy was at the sheriff's right shoulder. Booker said, “I need to close up. I can't leave my wares.”

Maud felt heat rising up beneath her dress and her slip, and with it, the urge to blurt out, “That silly woman just wants attention.” But she realized that accusation would only complicate the situation and that she didn't have any proof except her intuition. Besides, she knew it made matters worse that she was there, that men hated to be humiliated in front of women. She felt embarrassed for Booker and wanted to back away, to disappear, and then to reappear again, maybe at the jail, to save the day. But she also recognized that was a foolish desire. Heroic moments happened only in the pages of books. She touched Billy on the arm and jerked her head as a signal to step away.

They moved outside of the ring of light, and Maud watched without speaking as Booker, in silence, rolled down the netting over his goods, rolled down the bright blue canvas, killed his lanterns' lights, and hung the lanterns on hooks on the side of his wagon. By the time that was done, most of the crowd had dispersed and one child's voice was yelling in the distance, “They've arrested the drummer!” Only the glow of the dim yellow lights of the dancing patch remained in the air. But that was light enough for Maud to see Booker look in her direction. As though they were alone in the world, he shook his head. She nodded and mouthed the words
I know
. Then he climbed into the seat of his wagon, picked up the reins, and after the sheriff climbed in on the other side, flapped them, and clucked at his horses.

Maud said to Billy, “There's no justice in that. Some ignorant woman accused him and the sheriff needs someone to pin the fire on.”

“What makes you so sure he's innocent?”

“I don't have to be sure. They have to be. That's how the law works.”

“Really?” Billy looked at Maud sideways.

“Well, no. But that's the way they tell it.”

“They tell a lot of things, Maud. None true as far as I've ever seen.”