An Indian Affair (8 page)

Cindy’s brow knit in puzzlement. “I don’t know what you mean, Drew. You asked me a question and I answered it honestly. You wouldn’t want me to lie, would you?”

Fox studied her for a moment, and then asked quietly, “Do you have a boyfriend back home in Pennsylvania—somebody special?”

“No, not really.”

“Nobody?”

“Well, I’ve dated a few other graduate students casually, but that’s not what you’re talking about, right?”

“How about before, in college, or in high school?”

Cindy considered the question. “Well, I went to an all-girls’ school until I was eighteen, and then in college I was usually pretty busy, trying to keep my scholarship. It was a work scholarship, and I had to hold down a campus job and keep my grades up and...”

She stopped talking when she saw that he was waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “So you’re saying that you’ve never had a serious relationship with a man?”

“No, I never have.”

His expression indicated that he found the information incredible. “What’s wrong with the men up north?” he asked, as if talking to himself. “Are they blind, or dead?”

Cindy shifted uncomfortably, sensing that this new awareness on his part might change their relationship.

He glanced at his watch and extended his hand. “We’d better get going, princess. Eli gets itchy if anybody’s late; he still doesn’t trust cars, considers horses an infinitely more reliable form of transportation.”

They climbed back into the truck to complete the journey, but Cindy could tell that he hadn’t forgotten what she’d told him in the grove. He was quiet and thoughtful for the rest of the drive, and she began to wonder if she’d been wrong to tell him the truth. Maybe she should have pretended to experience she didn’t have. But as soon as that idea formed in her mind, she dismissed it. He would have been able to tell, he seemed able to read her easily. Still, his reaction worried her. If he preferred sophisticated women who’d been around with a lot of men, she guessed she wouldn’t interest him much longer.

After about twenty minutes more on the main road Fox turned off onto a dirt track that wound through citrus groves and scrub grass for another couple of miles. At its end the vegetation became denser, until the path stopped in an area fronting a still lake. In the background, right on the shore, stood a stucco house with a large rear veranda completely enclosed by screens.

Fox had barely turned off the motor when the front door of the house opened and a young man in his twenties came out, wearing a straw Stetson with the inevitable jeans and work boots. His shirt was different, however; definitely handmade, with the distinctive Seminole multicolored stripes. Fox was helping Cindy out of the truck as he greeted them.

“Hey, Drew, good to see you.” He eyed Cindy appreciatively. “Who is this?”

“Cindy, this is my cousin, Walter Fox. Walter, this is Cindy Warren, from Pennsylvania,” Fox said.

“Pennsylvania,” Walter echoed, extending his hand. “That’s somewhere up around the north pole, isn’t it?”

Cindy shook hands with Walter, smiling. “You’ve got the general direction right, though not quite so far.”

“Walter thinks civilization stops at the Florida border,” Fox said. He glanced at the house. “Is the old man inside?” he asked Walter.

As if in answer to a summons, the screen door to the patio opened and a man emerged. Cindy watched his approach, hoping that Eli would like her.

If she had had some idea of Fox’s grandfather as a bent, shriveled ancient in a serape, smoking a corn cob pipe, it was quickly dispelled when she met him.

“Cindy, this is my grandfather, Eli Fox,” her companion said. “Eli, this is Cindy Warren, the lady I told you about.”

Cindy’s hand was lost in the old man’s weathered one as she wondered what Fox had said. Eli looked her over, his keen eyes missing nothing. He was robust, with streaks of white running through his coal-black hair, and looked much younger than his years. He was shorter and more Indian in appearance than Drew. Dressed in tan shorts and a polo shirt, with thongs on his bare feet, he looked like a Long Island retiree about to water his zinnias.

“How do you do?” he said politely. “Andrew tells me that you are interested in our legends and would like to talk to me about them.”

“Yes, if you have the time. I’m doing a paper on the folklore of the southeastern Indians.”

“A college paper?” he asked, faint amusement showing in his tone.

“Yes, a master’s thesis.”

“Do you hear that, Andrew? They’re teaching college courses on our spirit stories now.”

“Yeah, Eli, I know,” Fox replied, smiling indulgently at Cindy. “Do you think you can help this young lady with her research while Walter and I do the lawn?”

“Certainly,” Eli said, making a sweeping gesture toward his back porch. “Will you join me on the patio? The boys get together to do the yard work about once a month. I tell them I can handle it, but they think I’m a feeble shut-in incapable of manual labor.”

This was so far from the obvious truth that Cindy laughed. “Oh, Mr. Fox, I don’t think anyone would make that mistake about you,” she said, as they walked together to the veranda. It was pleasant and cool inside, and a pitcher of iced tea had already been prepared. It was on a stand just beside the door. Cindy could hear the voices of Drew and his cousin as they assembled their tools, and soon the soothing drone of the mower punctuated the late morning stillness.

“Call me Eli,” Fox’s grandfather said, as they sat down on the lawn chairs provided, and he poured the tea. “Now,” he went on, handing her a glass and settling back in his chair, “how did you meet my grandson?”

Cindy described the rather unorthodox circumstances of their meeting to the old man, who nodded and seemed to find nothing strange about his grandson diving through a window onto Council Rock’s main street. In his turn he told her about his move to this new house, how Fox persuaded him that he would be better off in modern surroundings, and how Fox took great pains to find property where his grandfather would be comfortable. His every word was suffused with love for his dead son’s child. Cindy found herself thinking that while Fox might have lacked a mother’s care, he had missed nothing of affection thanks to these people who had raised him.

“Well, enough of this,” Eli said suddenly, interrupting himself. “How can I help you?”

Cindy removed a yellow legal pad from her large purse. “I’d like to ask you some questions, and I’d like to take notes, if I may.”
 

Eli gestured for her to scribble away.
 

“I’m especially interested in the Green Corn Ceremony, the
busk
, as you call it. Can you describe to me the rituals involved, and the stories that were told?”

Eli nodded and launched into a flood of remembrance that gave Cindy writer’s cramp trying to keep up with him. The information was pure gold, however, and she had filled several pages with her own brand of shorthand when a sound from outside caused her to look up.

Fox was cutting the weeds at the side of the driveway with a scythe. Stripped to the waist, his muscular torso streaming sweat, he swung the tool in a rhythmic arc, his whole body swaying gracefully in time to the motion of his arms. Cindy stared for several seconds before tearing her eyes away, but Eli had noticed her attention wandering from their interview.

“My grandson is attractive,” he observed quietly, glancing from the girl before him to the driveway and then back again.

Though somewhat startled, Cindy answered frankly. “Yes.”

“He is very appealing to you, very sexual,” the old man continued, watching her reaction.

Cindy could feel the flush climbing into her skin, but she answered again, “Yes.”

Eli nodded. “It was the same with my son and Andrew’s mother. The heat between them was obvious, you could see it, almost touch it.”

Her face flaming, unable to believe that she was having this conversation with Drew’s grandfather, Cindy said quietly, “Mr. Fox, if you are making comparisons between Drew’s mother and me, saying that I am like her...”

Eli shook his head once, decisively. “You are not like her, and my name is Eli.”

Cindy smiled, relaxing. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“What, that my name is Eli?” he asked, twinkling, and she laughed.

“You have a nice laugh,” he observed. “No, you are nothing like her. She was earthy, aggressive, outgoing—she chased my son. Now I would say that in your case Andrew is doing the chasing.”

“But I’m not running away,” Cindy said, meeting his wise black eyes.

Eli sighed. “You must understand my concern. When I see another of the Fox men bringing home another beautiful shankree girl, I worry.”

“I’m not beautiful,” Cindy began.

“Of course you are.” He made a dismissive gesture, as if the subject merited no further discussion. “And Andrew likes you. He likes you very much.”

“How can you tell?” Cindy asked, her curiosity overruling her manners.

“You’re here,” Eli answered. “You’re the first friend he has ever brought to meet me.”

Cindy was silent, absorbing that.

“You seem confused,” Eli said. “Don’t you know what it is that he likes? ”

Cindy raised her eyes to his, waiting.

“You have a sweetness, an innocence that even I can see. You’re different to him, the lady in the tower in one of those Anglo-Saxon fairy tales.”

Rapunzel, Cindy thought. Eli was right.

“But that’s not me,” Cindy protested. “I don’t want him to like some ideal, some illusion that doesn’t exist.”

Eli folded his arms on his chest and examined her closely. “Don’t you like to read and to study, as Andrew told me? Don’t you like to be alone with your thoughts? Don’t you prefer the world of ideas to harsh realities?”

“I guess so,” Cindy admitted, not liking to hear herself described in exactly that way.

“Then Andrew is not wrong, is he?” Eli asked.

“I guess not,” Cindy replied, and they both laughed.

Fox appeared at the door in time to hear the burst of laughter. “Well, it looks like you two are getting along famously,” he commented, shrugging into his shirt. “How’s it going, princess? Did you get what you need?”

“More than enough,” Cindy replied. “Your grandfather was very helpful.”

He nodded. “Well, I’ll just wash up inside and then we’ll be on our way.” He glanced at his grandfather. “Everything’s done. Walter is going to finish up the edging when the sun goes down and it’s cooler.”

“Thank you, Andrew,” the old man said, with ineffable dignity. “But can’t you stay for lunch? Walter and I can get something together.”

“No thanks, Eli. Cindy and I have plans.” He winked at Cindy as he walked past her into the house. “Be right back,” he added, and vanished.

Cindy’s eyes followed him, wondering what the plans were.

“When he leaves the room the light goes with him, doesn’t it?” the old man said, studying her expression.

Cindy nodded, unable to say it any better.

“Come back,” Eli invited her. “Come back whenever you like—if you need more information for your paper, or if you just want to visit.”

“Thank you,” Cindy said. “I’d like to make the trip again, with Drew.”

“Oh, who needs him?” Eli said, sniffing. “I hope I don’t need my good looking grandson to attract the attention of a pretty girl.” He leaned in closer to her and whispered conspiratorially, “Come without him and I’ll show you all his embarrassing baby pictures.”

Cindy grinned.

“You like that idea, do you?” Eli said, grinning back. Fox returned to find them smiling at each other.

“I think I’d better get this young lady out of here before you marry her, Eli,” he announced dryly and reached for Cindy’s hand. She allowed him to pull her to her feet and felt her pulse quicken as he slipped his arm casually around her waist.

“I’ll be back on Tuesday,” Fox said to his grandfather. “Try not to let the grass grow between now and then.”

“I’ll do my best,” Eli said, raising his hand in farewell. “And remember what I said,” he called to Cindy as she smiled goodbye.

“I’ll remember,” she answered.

“What did he say?” Fox asked, as they waved to Walter, who was riding the mower back into the storage shed.

“That’s between your grandfather and me,” Cindy answered airily.

“Secrets already,” Fox sighed, opening the door of the cab for her.

“By the way, what are our ‘plans’ for lunch?” Cindy asked.

“Our plans are not to subject ourselves to Walter’s horrendous cooking,” Fox replied, leaning on the open door and looking in at her. “He specializes in rubber omelets and incinerated hamburgers.”

“I see,” Cindy said, laughing. “But there’s one problem. I’m starving.”

Fox spread his hands. “Hey, you’re looking at a man who’s always prepared.” He pointed to the flatbed in back, where she saw a styrofoam hamper through the window. “There’s our lunch. Sandwiches, salad, dessert, the works.”

“You didn’t make all that?” Cindy asked.

“Hell, no. I ordered it from the deli in town and picked it up before I came for you.”