Runabout (24 page)

}"What exactly are your plans for that place?"

}"I don't have any plans as yet, Mrs. Puser. I'm still thinking about it."

}"Well, I have a wonderful idea," she said, giving him a slightly flirtatious smile that showed her dimples. "I was talking to Mr. Puser about it just the other day—"

}Chapter 13

}Tulsa May sat at the hand-polished solid oak typewriter desk in her room, her fingers resting on the shiny black metal keys of the machine. She was trying desperately to concentrate on the article she had planned for the paper. The Coleman Safety Egg Case Company was to open a plant just north of town; they planned to hire a dozen men and would require at least a thousand pounds of straw a year for making strawboard boxes. The new industry was to be a great boon to the community. It was an important story, and Tulsa May was glad that Mr. Willers let her cover it.

}A
truly
important story, Tulsa May told herself over and over, but somehow she couldn't quite keep her mind on her writing.

}Finally, with a self-disgusted sigh, she rose to her feet and turned away from the sheet of paper on the roller. She'd only typed one sentence.

}Her faded blue calico housedress had been her mother's; it was a couple of inches too short and sported a bodice worthy of a woman twice her size. It was typical of her working wardrobe. With no one to see or care what she looked like, she went for comfort. But since the day of the picnic, Tulsa May had discovered that comfort depended as much on the state of the heart and mind as from the constrictions on the body.

}She began pacing the room nervously. Again, in her mind, she relived the events in the Runabout. Again, she could see the sunset, smell the faint masculine odor of soap and axle grease, and feel the hairs rising on her arms in an almost electric reaction.

}Luther Briggs had kissed her. Oh, he had kissed her before, as a sister. And he'd kissed her rather thoroughly that day on the porch. But this time, he had
really
kissed her. There was no crowd to amaze, no plan being carried out, no reason except that he had wanted to. Luther had kissed her as if he were a man and she were a woman. She stopped pacing in mid-revelation and shook her head disdainfully. He
was
a man and she
was
a woman. But surely he— She couldn't finish the thought. Could he really have wanted to kiss her? Had she felt
his
heart pounding, or just echoes of her own?

}With some trepidation she walked over to her mirror. With hesitant, gentle strokes she touched her lips. They looked the same as always. There was no indication that a man had kissed her with passion. Or that she had kissed him back. Her lips were soft. Had they felt soft to him? Had they trembled then as they did now with just the memory?

}"Oh, Luther, Luther," she whispered softly. Being in his arms was like a dream. But oh, such a wonderful dream. God help her, she didn't want to ever wake up.

}Luther's hands had touched her. His lips had touched her. He'd held her tightly in his arms. It was a miracle, certainly. But were miracles real?

}She looked herself in the face. It was the same face she'd seen in this mirror for years. Not a face she liked or admired, but one she'd grown accustomed to. When Luther Briggs had looked at her, had he seen this face? When she had looked in his eyes, he had stared at her in a whole new way, as if it had been someone else.

}But it had been her, Tulsa May Bruder. And Luther Briggs had known it was her and he'd kissed her. Twice. And he'd told her that he'd wanted to kiss her.

}A thrill shot through Tulsa May. All these years she'd never even allowed herself to dream and now ... now ... Sighing heavily, Tulsa May dropped down onto the vanity bench. Just thinking about those moments made her knees so weak, she could hardly stand. Could it really happen? Could he really
want
to kiss her?

}Gazing into the mirror once more, Tulsa May disdainfully eyed the tiny lace cap that covered her hair. It looked like the type of hat someone's grandmother would wear.

}Tulsa May's mother had hated the cap, but Tulsa May had insisted that it kept her hair neat. It
did
keep her hair neat, but in fact, she wore it for a much sadder reason. Even in the privacy of her own room, Tulsa May hated having to look at her hair.

}She knew that to be foolishness. God had given her that hair with as much forethought as he'd given her her keen intellect and sunny personality. But it was orange. She'd always thought of it as her cross to bear rather than her crowning glory. She had learned to live with her homely face and her gaping teeth. But she hated to look at her hair.

}Luther, however, had not only looked at it, he had run his hands through it. He had kissed it softly, almost reverently.

}Slowly, she pulled the little cap from her head and cast it onto the vanity. The tightly pulled, perfectly smooth knot at the back of her head was as tidy as it could be. Determinedly, deliberately, she began removing the pins and unwinding the knot. She was the one young lady in Prattville who'd never spent an extra hour before the mirror, experimenting with the latest fashion coiffures. She had never pored through fashion books, looking for a brand-new style, though perhaps she had lingered a time or two over the occasional hair-dye advertisement in the paper.

}The tightly secured orange curls, once released from their confines, swirled about her face and shoulders with about as much dignity as pigs on a picnic. Her hair was everywhere. She grabbed big hanks of it to pull out of her face. Long corkscrews of dazzlingly bright orange fell about her shoulders. She picked one lock up, examining it carefully. It was soft and sweet smelling. Again she remembered the feel of Luther's hands as he ran his fingers through its length. She smiled. But then she looked more closely.

}"Carrots," she said aloud. Making a face at herself in the mirror, she spoke sarcastically. "How romantic. Her hair was the color of carrots."

}She shook her head firmly and the curls flew in all directions.

}Luther had said that he loved her hair. Surely he had lied. "Nobody could love this hair," she said aloud.

}She reached for her cap, then hesitated, looking at herself once more in the mirror. Her oval walnut-backed hairbrush with the Russia bristles lay next to the cap. With a sense of purpose, she picked up the brush instead and began pulling it through the waves. At full length, wet or braided, the bright orange mass reached past her waist. When it was dry, the tight curls fell only midway down her back.

}She began to count. One hundred strokes was the correct number, Mother had always insisted. But this afternoon she only wanted to feel the bristles against her scalp, see herself with her hair down in broad daylight. And remember the touch of Luther Briggs.

}The bright light of the afternoon sun poured through the window and shone on her hair. The bright golds and fiery reds glowed with a beauty that she had never seen before.

}Tulsa May ran her fingers through the silky tresses, her expression puzzled. "It's really not so bad," she said aloud. The words were a surprise to her ears. She almost smiled at her own reflection in the mirror.

}A smart knock on the door captured Tulsa May's attention. She hastily came to her feet as if having been caught with her hand in the jelly jar.

}"Come in," she said.

}Constance Bruder bustled into the room. If she was surprised to see her daughter standing guiltily in the middle of the room, she didn't comment. "Good afternoon, Tulsa May. Why are you doing your hair at this time of day?"

}Mrs. Bruder, dressed in an attractive new spring morning gown, sat down with businesslike efficiency on Tulsa May's bed. Her thick, straight hair of chestnut brown was just beginning to be streaked with silver. Currently she wore it in an "upswept." Her new floral crepe dress was Copenhagen-blue printed with tiny pink rosebuds that matched the long sleeves of snowfiake net. The bright, girlish colors were typical of Mrs. Bruder's taste. But the excited expression on her face was atypical. "I need to have a word with you, Tulsa May."

}Mentally cringing at her mother's tone, Tulsa May tried to hold off the inevitable. "You know this is my working time, Mama," she said. "I've got a story due to Mr. Willers this afternoon."

}Mrs. Bruder waved away her concern with a light giggle. "I haven't heard that machine rattle in half an hour. And the peace and quiet is welcome, I do assure you."

}"But Mr. Willers—"

}"Erwin Willers is the least of my concern. Tulsa May, do you realize that the whole town is talking about you?"

}Blushing, Tulsa May nodded and turned to watch her reflection in the mirror. With a grim expression Tulsa May sat once more on the vanity bench and began to tightly braid the bright orange curls she had so recently admired.

}"It doesn't matter what your father preaches to this town about gossip," her mother continued. "People will do it anyway, which is normal and natural, of course, and usually perfectly innocent and ... well, I've been known to engage in that harmless pastime myself, but it just will not do for folks in this town to be talking about
my
daughter."

}"I'm sorry, Mama," Tulsa May said as she wrapped the tightly braided rope of hair into a coil and secured it tightly at the crown of her head. "I'm sure by summer it will all be past."

}"What will all be past?"

}Tulsa May hesitated. "Why, the speculation about Luther and myself. Once it's over and he stops calling, it will be old news."

}Mrs. Bruder regarded her daughter. "Perhaps," she acknowledged with a thoughtful nod. "Then perhaps it won't be over at all. Maybe this gossip will just lead to more."

}"More?"

}"Perhaps," her mother said, nodding. "Maybe a betrothal."

}"A betrothal?"

}Constance Bruder was smiling now. "I never really thought that young man would be quite your type. But love is strange."

}"Mama, Luther Briggs is not in love with me." Her statement was matter-of-fact, but forceful.

}"Then why else is he paying call?" her mother asked, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

}Rising to her feet, Tulsa May thrust her hands into the pockets of her dress. Her first impulse was to begin walking back and forth across the room. But she knew that her mother hated that habit. "Ladies stroll, they do not pace," she always said.

}Tulsa May knew that she should tell her mother everything, the whole stupid, silly idea. But somehow, she couldn't manage the confession. She shook her head decisively. "I'm not getting my hopes up and neither should you."

}"Oh, fiddle!" Constance exclaimed. "You've got a better chance for that man than anyone in town and you know it."

}"Mama—"

}"It's certainly true. It would be the luckiest day of that young man's life if he could persuade you to be his helpmate."

}"Oh, Mama, don't be ridiculous."

}"Ridiculous? Tulsa May, I'll never understand how you can see the bright side of the darkest cloudy day and still not see the sweetness in your own heart."

}When she looked down at her mother's hopeful expression, some of Constance Bruder's own words came to Tulsa May's mind.

}"Men don't marry women for the goodness of their hearts."

}"Where on earth did you ever get an idea like that?"

}"You told me."

}"What? Never."

}But she had. Tulsa May clearly repeated one of her mother's favorite adages. "Women are easily an object of pity, Tulsa May. Better to have the whole world mad enough to spit than one dear soul to feel sorry for you."

}Mrs. Bruder had the good grace to blush. "Now, Tulsa May," she said with absolute conviction. "You know I would never have said a thing in the world to hurt your feelings."

}She shook her head. "Mama, I know that you've always loved me. But I also know that you've worried. I'm not pretty enough to make a good marriage, and you're worried about my future. It's understandable."

}"Why, Tulsa May, where do you come up with this foolishness? You are as sweet and charming a girl as any Mama could want. And any man who can't see that is not man enough to deserve you anyway."

}Tulsa May sat down on the bed beside her mother and hugged her close. "Yes, Mama," she answered with a long-suffering sigh. "You are right as always. Odie Foote didn't deserve me."

}"Doc Odie?" Constance sniffed. "I knew from the first that he wasn't the one for you."

}The fact that her mother and Odie had been like two peas in a pod seemed to have slipped Constance's mind. "He just wasn't the one for you," she said again.