Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction (61 page)

Katydids sang me to sleep and katydids roused me, carried on the cool night air blowing through the window sheers. I reached for him, enjoying his exposed buttocks, fondling, knowing now how to touch to bring him to me. Soon he was over me, in me, watching me, until I gasped, before he gave in to his own. He collapsed on top of me and finally I was satisfied.

“What you want to do is—”

“How do you know what I want, Joe?”

Joe rubbed his cheek hard, calluses against whiskers, like sandpaper on splintered wood. “What I
do
know, little lady is that your
husband
told me to teach you to drive an automobile.
Au-to-mo-bile
. Remember that is what they’re called down here. That is what I do know. And if you know more than that, then I’ll just stop wasting both our time.”

That tweaked a memory of what I read once in the New York Times:
The new mechanical wagon with the awful name automobile has come to stay.

I sighed and tapped the steering wheel. All I knew was that I wished Thomas hadn’t gone into town. Or that he had taken me with him and we were searching for our own home, apartment, anything. I was reaching my limit with the haggard southern belle and her overbearing hankering-to-be Confederate soldier.

He took my silence as surrender and continued. “Now this steering wheel you have a hold of is hard for a woman to manage. Your weak little hands will need leather gloves to get a good grip and use your whole body weight to press down on the foot brake. It can go as fast as fifty miles an hour if we want it to. This long stick sticking up here in the floor is to shift gears as you go faster. You have three speeds in this here transmission – well I don’t mean to use big words to a girl, but all you need to know is you have to shift three times.” He brought up three fingers, in case I didn’t understand.

I went from lady to woman to girl. Why did I get younger in his dialogue? He wasn’t the only one who referred to women as girls nowadays. Why were we perceived as being more childish since we earned the vote? It suddenly became obvious to me that we must prove ourselves all over again just because we get to vote.

“Joe, it may amaze you to know this, but I drove an ambulance during the war and although motor cars have changed over the years, I do know this is a Pierce-Arrow. Did you know that Pierce-Arrow trucks were used during the war? I saw them in the New York harbor, being shipped to England and France. As then, the headlights continue to be set inside the wings that give it a stately look in my opinion but the embroidered seats are a new fashion I think. Being
a mere woman, I’ve also noticed that this particular Pierce-Arrow is well balanced, yet is slightly ostentatious, don’t you think?”

He blinked in reply and I took this as surrender. “Do you see these windshield wipers, Joe?” I pulled the lever to operate them. “Did you know that a weak little woman’s hands invented these? Mary Anderson was on her way to New York City when she saw streetcar drivers opening the windows of their streetcars in order to see through the rain. She invented a swinging arm device with a rubber blade that the driver could work from within the motor car - excuse me – au-to-mo-bile. Isn’t that something?”

He scratched his stomach and focused on the remaining herd of vehicles. “Should have put you in that old 1908 Buick and see how well you do with the steering wheel on the right side. Or in that old 1919 Oldsmobile 37 dash B model, I see that right now. But I wouldn’t do that, you want to know why? Because it’s un-roadworthy with bad brakes and steering, that’s why. And I wouldn’t do that to my brother’s wife. I can still get twenty-five dollars for it, although old Franky ran it into a gatepost because his wife was sitting in his lap. Should be a law against that. Fords go for more but I’m getting tired of the black bugs. They’re everywhere, like fleas on a mangy dog. But I bet you don’t know what Ford said about that. He said, ‘Americans can have any kind of car they want, and any color they want, as long as it’s a Ford, and as long as it’s black.’” He said that last line as if not everyone in America hadn’t heard that one over and over. He took a long draw off his cigarette and flicked it out the window. “Well let’s start her up and see what you can do with her.”

I did so, lurching forward. The horses in the corral beside us jumped and whinnied. Wisely, they moved to the other side of their pen.

“You’re going to give my horses distemper if you keep that up.”

I ignored this statement as I concentrated on maneuvering the clutch and gas pedals with the stick. I had suffered through Joe and Harriet’s raised eyebrows when I appeared that morning in my one pair of trousers, but was now appreciative of my choice of wardrobe
as my legs worked in unladylike fashion. I slowly motored through the rutted grass, steering toward the lane way.

“You should have seen these horses when I drove these mechanical beasts in here. They took off running, one jumped over the fence, and I almost lost three of them to sickness within a few months. I think they sense that the automobile is replacing them. Can’t be helped. Folks can call them new fangled if they want but you don’t have to feed and care for these babies as much as horses, and automobiles are cheaper. I had trouble keeping hired hands here for a while though. They were as afraid as the horses were. Everybody’s getting used to them now. The town is pretty much split between horse and automobile. We now have four feed barns, three black smith shops, and three gas filling stations. I expect the gas filling stations to increase and the feed barns to decrease. The automobile is taking over and all we can do is step out of its way. Like Tom said, we’re in a new era. But it’ll be fine because right now our only physical contact with the rest of America is over dirt roads, what don’t come in by boat. We’ve now got a paved road all the way to Savannah. There’s even talk of an airport to bring in our mail. Ol’ Pickerville is only got about ten miles of paved streets. We need gutters and drains real bad. People can’t walk in the streets anymore and the children can’t play there so we need more walkways. Of course this road will go both ways and what goes out of Pickerville can come in. People are already complaining about outsiders who are coming into town and robbing and then getting away fast by motor. Hey, did Tom tell you that our town is named after our grandpappy? He just about ran the town himself, through his newspaper. Told everybody how to think and how to vote, just by writing propaganda. Tom could have done the same thing if he wanted to but women keep drawing him up north. First his first wife and now you. This time he says he’s here for good. Did you know that?”

I was concentrating on the main road by now. Attempting to steer clear of the wagon wheel ruts, deeply channeled from many years of travel and the hardened craters from
automobile
wheels that
had spun in the mud. The massive size of the vehicle handled it well, yet still I had trouble keeping it on the road.

“Hold her steady,” Joe said. He slid over to me and reached his arm around my shoulder to the steering wheel and placed his other hand over my right hand, gripping the wheel. “You could use a strong hand,” he breathed into my ear.

“I have one, thank you Joe, and it’s going to punch you in the eye if you don’t move back over to your side.”

He did so quietly.

“No, I didn’t know that,” I finally said to his question. “We must still sell the Lighthouse. It’s advertised for sale now. And then we must pack and say our goodbyes–”

“When you learn to drive,” he continued and then paused to light a cigarette, “you should go to the soda fountain in town. It’s our social center, now that the Prohibition is law. It’s right with the confectionery shop – can’t miss it. But shy away from town at night – it’s no place for a wife. I don’t know about Tom’s rules, but Harriet’s not allowed to go. The dance hall is open every night and there’s a speakeasy behind it, though everybody pretends that it’s not. Of course I don’t see anything wrong with it myself. Making alcohol illegal is only making people want to drink it. It’s like Adam and Eve with the forbidden fruit. Those Yankee government politicians are so confused, they don’t know whether to scratch their watch, or wind their butt. Hardly anybody is tee-totaling anymore. The rage is to take drink.

“Turn into the Warner’s laneway right here and I’ll show you how to reverse. We have to get back. People’s tongues will wag if they see me out with another woman. Especially Ethel Warner who lives right here. She’d complain if Jesus Christ himself came down and handed her a five-dollar bill. The last time gossip of another woman hit home, Harriet’s weight plumb fell off.”

With the warm sun and wind on my face and my hair blowing freely, I was tempted to argue and keep driving, enjoying this sense of having control over both these large beasts, but as his guest
I decided to cooperate and show my manners even if I was a Yankee. I pulled into the laneway.

I grabbed the ball of the stick and scratched gears a few times before Joe laid his hand back on mine and we found reverse together. A motor car honked its horn as I began to pull out and we saw it was our Duesenberg. Thomas slowed it down to a stop and got out. My heart lifted upon seeing him. My, he was handsome to me as he sauntered over in his tan suit, wearing his big grin.

“This metal looks good on you,” he said, leaning in the window. He smoothed my hair down and patted my head. “How’s my girl? Is Joe behaving himself? Are you learning how to drive alright?”

“I think it’s more of, she’s teaching me she’s in the driver’s seat, not I,” Joe called out.

“That’s my girl. Get out, Brother. I need to talk to you a moment.” He gave me a wink and walked back to his motor car, Joe following behind. I could only hear murmurs and squirmed in frustration at the intended secrets. After some time of heads shaking and nodding and quick glances my way, Thomas came back and opened my door.

“We’ll ride together. We’re going to Savannah and we’ve only got an hour before night fall. Joe will follow.”

“What about Harriet?” I asked, half-running to keep in step with his long strides.

“Joe wouldn’t allow it. She’d only be in the way,” he said. He gave me the once-over. “You’re wearing trousers. Perfect.”

We soon faced each other in the front seat. “Thomas. She’ll be in the way of what? Why so mysterious?”

“We have a job tonight and I need your help,” he answered, diverting his eyes to my hand and plucking at my fingers.

“Did you get a job, Thomas? Why that’s wonderful! How soon can we move from—”

“It’s not a day job, or one you can do in the open, I should say. It’s the midnight shift, I guess.”

He turned and released the brake, steering onto the road toward east. His business mask was on and his mouth pinched tight. I simply
waited; if he needed my help, he would have to tell me what it is eventually.

Eventually was a long run through Pickerville where he pointed out the train station, the hotel, his old school, friends’ well-appointed homes, the popular soda fountain, and the dance hall. Thomas boasted of their movie house, the marquee gaily claiming Rudolph Valentino in Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I couldn’t resist gently reminding him that we (and most people in New York) had seen this film of the Great War melodrama months ago.

He nodded solemnly. “Everything moves slower down here but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It hasn’t yet hit the South to censor dances, like they have up there, now that the New York state legislature passed the law saying the state commissioner could do such a thing. But it’ll be just a matter of time before it will creep right down here, like a snake on a slippery slope. Now that those religious zealots have pushed Prohibition through our Constitution, their power is supreme in pushing forth their certain beliefs. They think that if our Creator disapproves of any pleasure and only tempts us with desires, we can please Him by refusing to go along with them. It’s ridiculous. If a few men over-indulge in drink or in dance, then all mankind must give up the right to indulge at all. Now they’re advocating that Jazz music, card-playing, and dancing be tabooed. Should we just sit in a somber way and wait out our days pondering the joys of heaven? Will we be able to dance in those streets of gold with David and his harp, when we can’t do so now?”

He smacked the steering wheel. “Look at these streets here! They used to be filled with gaiety, music pouring from the saloons, parties and barbeques in many a home. Now any laughter is hidden underground. Those that rise to the top, lose their fizz.”

I couldn’t resist chuckling at that last line. “You should write that down.”

He nodded grudgingly with a smile. “I believe I will.”

“Add that perhaps we should lock all men up, because a few commit crimes.”

He squeezed my hand, his humor returning. “Excellent. I’ll add that in.”

I delighted in seeing some of his passion return.

One main street and we were out the other side. Into darkness we drove until finally we pulled up in front of a quaint Victorian home in Savannah, on a street much like Mama’s, flourishing gingerbread design and wide verandahs. A sign out front said this was
Mama Mia’s Italian Eatery
. With white tablecloths and cozy rooms, the three of us dined on homemade ravioli and sweet iced tea, all the while enjoying this rare occurrence, with gossip around who’s who here. Thomas was his old charming self, flirting with me, teasing the waitress, and arguing with Joe. I’d never felt so beautiful as I did that night basking in candlelight and Thomas’ green eyes.