Pamela Morsi (9 page)

“You should be ashamed,” she teased.

“I am,” he assured her facetiously. “I guess I’d better be careful. This thing between a man and his woman can be as volatile as dynamite. I want him worried enough that it prompts him to ask for your hand, not jealous enough to shoot me dead in a rage.”

Gussie laughed out loud at that The idea of mild-mannered Amos Dewey angry enough to threaten violence was completely absurd.

“I think you will be safe,” she said. “But I do hope that the provisions in your will are all up-to-date.”

He seemed to warm to her teasing and it pleased her. They had known each other and worked together for a very long time. But they had never been this easy and friendly together. Obviously the scheme was going to create some unanticipated changes in her world. This one, she thought, was perhaps nice and probably due.

Rome had always worked
for
her. Although she trusted his judgment and relied upon his opinion, decisions about the business were ultimately up to her.
Gussie told him what she wanted done and Rome did it. It was important to maintain that type of distance between employee and employer. But once Amos had been brought to the point, Rome was to be her partner. The decisions would be jointly made. So a more equal and amiable footing would be wholly appropriate.

“I think collaborating together on this plan is a fine thing,” she told him. “We are getting to know each other better and learning to come up with mutual decisions.”

Rome nodded. “I think we will manage very well together, Miss Gussie,” he said. “And, of course, you will still have two-thirds of the votes in your own hand.”

Gussie was momentarily surprised at his words.

“I meant for you to be an equal partner, Rome. I said nothing about giving you only a third.”

It was his turn to look surprised.

“Of course, I understood that you meant to make me an equal,” he said. “But I assumed you intended to give the same to your husband. Do you plan on dropping out of the business and handing it over to Amos completely?”

“Why, no, of course not,” she answered. “Amos has his own business. I … I suppose I never thought … yes, certainly I would take him on as a partner as well.”

In truth, she had never really considered what interest Amos might have in her business. Many men did not approve of women having their own commercial concerns. Usually those gentlemen were vocal about their opinions. Amos had never spoken of it, so perhaps she had assumed that he had no interest. But husbands always had some sort of say about things.

“Maybe Amos will be more amenable to distillation,” Rome suggested.

Gussie glanced at him in surprise.

Rome chuckled lightly. “Perhaps I could spark his interest in a new distiller and the two of us could outvote you on the subject.”

He was joking, but Gussie knew that what he’d said was possible. Taking on a partner, either in business or in wedlock, meant giving up full control of the company. She had known that intellectually, but she had yet to engage her heart in the reality of it.

“I am not completely opposed to a new distiller,” she told Rome, not being completely honest with him. “I just wonder about the cost versus the benefit. A new machine will be expensive. And the one that we use now is still working.”

“I was teasing you,” Rome said. “Let’s not talk business tonight.” He sat up and opened his arms wide as if embracing the sky. “On a beautiful night like tonight, with the moon high and a gentle breeze in the air, the last thing we should talk about is water distillation.”

His manner was so flirty and funny, Gussie couldn’t help but throw off her reserve and laugh with the man.

“I’ve never seen you behave like this,” she told him.

He feigned a downtrodden tone. “That’s because you always see me working,” he said. “And my boss is such a harsh taskmaster.”

“Is that what you tell folks in town about me?” she asked, pretending complaint.

“I don’t have to tell them,” Rome answered. “I’m sure they all observe that you are nearly working this poor man to death.”

“You look as strong and healthy as any man in town to me,” she remarked.

He grinned. “But as anyone in this town will be able
to tell you by morning, Miss Gussie Mudd looks at Rome Akers through eyes gone glazed with sweet romance.”

Gussie’s jaw dropped and she was tempted to kick him.

“Indeed they will not, sir,” she insisted. “They’ll all be saying how you are making a fool of yourself over me.”

He chuckled. “All right. Why don’t we just agree that my friends will be saying the former and your friends the latter.”

Gussie shook her head with resignation. “That will probably be the closest to the truth,” she conceded.

“And whatever they say, we’re going to be grateful,” he added. “The more folks are talking, the sooner Amos will come to his senses and be over here asking the question.”

Gussie nodded. That was exactly what she wanted. And the sooner the better.

“What do you think our next move should be?” she asked him.

“What’s the next opportunity for us to be in full view of our friends and neighbors?”

Gussie was thoughtful for a moment.

“Well, there is church on Sunday morning,” she said.

Rome made an unpleasant face.

“Did you hear what the preacher said to me tonight?” he asked. “I stick out like a sore thumb in that sanctuary. Besides, I’d feel a little guilty about carrying on this deception during Sunday service. It would be kind of like lying in church.”

Gussie could see his point. There was a certain amount of the unsavory about it.

“All right,” she agreed. “What about Sunday afternoon? There’s to be a concert in the park.”

He rose to his feet in one smooth motion, turned to her and gave a jaunty salute.

“Would you do me the great honor, Miss Gussie, of allowing me to escort you to that concert?” he asked with marked formality.

Gussie delightedly went along with the game.

“I will await you here, sir, breathlessly and with my heart all aflutter.”

“Until Sunday, then, my dear,” he said.

She gave him a questioning glance. “Won’t you be by tomorrow afternoon for your report?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no, your hardworking employee, Mr. Akers, will be by tomorrow. Your adoring Romeo will not be back to your porch until Sunday.”

She smiled at him.

“Until Sunday, then, Romeo.”

“Sunday, Miss Gussie,” he replied.

He set his hat upon his head and headed down the front walk. He negotiated the gate easily. She listened to the retreat of his footsteps upon the macadamized street.

He began to whistle.

Gussie listened pleasantly for a moment and then realized that he was already at the end of the block and she was still smiling.

The Monday Morning Merchants Association met regularly on Friday afternoons in a back room of the Cottonwood National Bank. There were still those among the membership who could recall those first two or three years that the group had held their meetings just after breakfast on the first workday of the week. But the time had been changed for more than a
decade now. They hadn’t quite gotten around to changing the name.

That was all right with Rome. In fact, the group’s inattention to detail was a quality that had afforded him the opportunity to be a part of it. According to the organization’s bylaws, only owners of businesses within the city limits of Cottonwood were welcome to hold membership. Therefore, although he had been a faithful attender for several years, Rome was not, could not be, a member.

Initially he’d gone at Miss Gussie’s behest. The organization’s goals were civic improvements: better streets, modern waterworks, sanitary sewers. Laudable tasks that Miss Gussie was very interested in supporting. Unfortunately, local businessmen who attended Monday Morning Merchants desired an opportunity to socialize as well. That meant ribald talk, gruff manners and big, smoky cigars. None of those things were appropriate in the company of a lady. So Miss Gussie had chosen to no longer attend. She’d sent Rome in her stead.

At first he’d felt uncomfortable and a little intimidated as well. These were men who owned businesses. That was his bright and shiny dream. To own his own business, to do things as he thought best and have his fortune rise or fall based upon his own work, rather than upon the whims of someone else. That’s what Rome wanted. It was his ambition and all that he was working for.

Of course, one thing he’d learned about the world of commerce was that luck played a big part in any endeavor. Luck had not shown any particular preference for him in the past. But now it seemed that things had finally turned his way. And so unexpectedly.

As Rome walked the five blocks between the ice
plant and the downtown meeting, he contemplated his stroke of good fortune and shook his head in disbelief.

If Amos Dewey had simply asked Miss Gussie to marry him, as any fool could see he rightly should, then he and Miss Gussie would be planning a wedding and Rome would still be scrimping and saving in the hope that sometime in years ahead, he’d be allowed to buy in as a partner. How quickly a man’s whole future could change! And how fortuitous that it had.

As he reached the wide expanse of Broad Street, the heart of the Cottonwood business district, Rome’s mind was much occupied upon that subject. Since their debut at Lucy Timmons’s wedding, he and Miss Gussie had been the foremost subject for discussion in town. He’d gotten more than his share of curious, speculative glances. But he refused to take notice. That was what was needed, for folks to be wondering, to be talking. And they would be doing so for some time.

Even after Miss Gussie married Dewey, folks would be curious. Especially when it became known that Rome had been given a partnership. People would be very surprised at that. He wondered what she planned to tell Amos about it. Did she intend ultimately to confess all? Probably so, he decided. Married couples should not keep secrets. He supposed that some did, but were he ever to marry, he’d expect both to speak truth and to hear it.

Broad Street was busy for a Friday afternoon. It seemed almost crowded. More often than not, it calmed considerably as if in anticipation of Saturday, when the town swelled to twice its usual population. Farmers and their families from every direction came to Cottonwood to sell eggs and butter, buy needed provisions and have a bit of fun. But today it was not filled
with near strangers, just crowded with folks he knew. Rome almost ran smack into a fellow who was obviously headed in the same direction. It was only after the close call that the two glanced at each other.

“Good afternoon,” the other man said rather formally, speaking first.

“A-Amos,” Rome answered, stuttering a little. He had known, of course, that a confrontation with Miss Gussie’s future husband was inevitable. He just hadn’t imagined that it would be so unexpected, let alone on a public street.

The two stood together awkwardly for a long moment.

“I suppose you’re headed to Monday Merchants,” Rome said finally.

Amos nodded. “Yes, although with all the business on the street this afternoon, I hated to close the shop.”

Rome agreed.

He glanced around and saw more than one interested gaze focused in their direction. “Shall we walk?”

Amos had made the suggestion, but it was a good one. Side by side, they continued through the crowd and toward the bank.

Rome was at cross-purposes. He couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of guilt for deceiving this man and manipulating him with a broken heart. Then again, Amos Dewey had called on Miss Gussie for three long years. She had every right to expect a declaration of some sort. It was not at all fair of the man to string her along indefinitely.

And Rome intended to tell him exactly that if he said anything even suggesting that Rome had gone behind his back or stolen his woman.

Amos didn’t say anything at all. They walked along
the street to the bank in silence. Amos got to the door first and held it open so that Rome could pass in.

The Cottonwood National Bank was new, gleaming and palace-like in its architecture. It sported shiny white marble floors, huge Greek revival columns and an elegant chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The chandelier had come all the way from New England via the port of Houston. It utilized both long-burning candles and the new electric light bulbs, which were brilliant and modern, if consistently unreliable.

The two nodded informal greetings to those they passed.

Behind the bars of the teller’s window, Mr. Viceroy Ditham observed them warily, as if he expected them to break into fisticuffs at any moment.

Rather than that, the two made their way up the elegant stairway to the second-floor meeting room.

“The weather’s been good so far this spring,” Amos noted.

“The old-timers would say it’s still not too late for a freeze,” Rome answered. “Though that is very unlikely.”

They both attempted, with limited success, to make inconsequential conversation on neutral topics. It was a great relief for each man when he arrived at the meeting room.

The place was already noisy and smoke-filled, but there was a momentary surprised hush as they entered the room together. They quickly parted company.

Somebody handed Rome a cigar. He wasn’t much for smoking, but he stuck it in the corner of his mouth and lit it up anyway. Without any mutually understood agreement, he and Amos kept to opposite ends of the room. There were discussions occurring all around him and he tried to keep up a semblance of listening.
He had fully expected Amos to be at this meeting. But he certainly had not imagined to feel so ill at ease. He was doing the fellow a favor, he reminded himself. Without this scheme and the temporary pain it was undoubtedly causing, Amos Dewey was going to miss out on a fine woman like Miss Gussie. It wasn’t right to let that happen when a few well-placed lies could prevent it.

Finally the meeting was called to order and the gentlemen merchants took their seats. Huntley Boston was presiding. He was generally known in town as “Mrs. Boston’s boy,” though he would never see forty again. Huntley was an extremely smart fellow and could figure huge math queries in his head. But he spent so much time thinking his own thoughts that he barely understood what was happening around him. The Monday Merchants was in danger of splintering into several petty rivalries. Huntley not only didn’t do anything to stop it, he didn’t even seem to be aware that it was happening.