Runabout (35 page)

"Well, Rev," he said, attempting an explanation. "Tulsy and I have known each other so long and we've been best friends practically from the day we met. And, well, we
—"

The preacher seemed uninterested in his reasoning.

"There is one thing that I wanted to speak to you about, however."

Luther's blood chilled in his veins.
The papers,
he thought with near terror.
The reverend is going to ask to see the marriage papers.

"What is that?" Luther asked bravely.

Reverend Bruder opened his mouth to speak, but then momentarily hesitated. He appeared to be as nervous and ill at ease as Luther was himself.

Clearing his throat, somewhat nervously, the preacher tried again. "I still find it difficult to believe that we had our little talk this afternoon and this evening you're my son-in-law."

Luther nodded. He could see how that might be a little hard for the reverend to comprehend. He found it pretty strange himself.

"It was..." He hesitated, unsure of what to say and wishing that he and Tulsa May had had time to cook up a story together. "It was a private thing, Rev," he said finally. "It was just between Tulsy and me."

Bruder's brow furrowed in concern. "Marriages are more than two people," he said, his tone the familiar one of the shepherd of the flock. "Marriages are the joining of families."

Luther raised his chin defensively. "Sometimes families cannot be joined. Sometimes marriages can tear families apart." He spoke with conviction, knowing well of what he spoke. "But if you love someone, I mean really love, then what families, or friends, or even neighbors think is not important in the least."

The preacher looked at Luther for a long moment before nodding a tacit agreement. "What about what God thinks?" he asked.

Luther didn't even hesitate. "Seems to me, Rev, that if it's really love, God's already had a hand in it."

Reverend Bruder stared at the young man before him with a new admiration.

Confused at the meaning of his own words, Luther attempted a hasty retreat. "I suspect I should go upstairs to Tulsy now," he said, hoping the preacher's temporary astonishment would last until he was safely out of the room. He didn't quite make it.

"Wait!" the reverend called out.

Luther hesitated in the doorway.

"What I really wanted to say, son
—" he began. "Well, what I was actually thinking was—" Again the older man struggled for words. "I realize that tonight, with you thinking your brother was at your home, and Mrs. Bruder and I here..." The reverend cleared his throat loudly. The bright orange moustache stood out vividly against the beet-red color in his cheeks. "Well, I just think that... that... well, on the ground in a deserted yard is just—"

Luther's face flamed; he was almost as discomfited as the preacher. "You are absolutely right," he said, nearly choking on the very idea of having ... doing ... well, his Tulsy on the ground beneath a pecan tree. "I promise you that it will never happen again."

The knock at Tulsa May's bedroom door was not exactly welcome.

"Just a minute," Constance Bruder called.

"This is the sweetest, daintiest little nightgown that'you own," she told her daughter earnestly as she held it out before her.

"Mama," Tulsa May answered quietly, but with conviction. "It's pink. I do
not
wear pink."

"Who can tell pink in the dark?"

"I can!"

"Now Tulsa May, I only want you to look as well as you can for your
new husband. Every woman, even the loveliest natural beauty, must enhance herself."

"You are forgetting, Mama," she said bravely. "We got caught together in the Sparrow cottage yard. Luther has already seen me. I don't think a prissy gown will make him believe he got a better bargain."

"Oh!" Mrs. Binder covered her mouth in shock. The reverend had told her the details, but she certainly didn't want to be reminded. "Tulsa May, don't you ever let me hear a word about that again. It's simply too unrefined to even be recalled."

Luther's knock sounded at the door once more, this time more insistently.

"I said just a minute!" Mrs. Bruder's voice was downright strident.

"I know we haven't talked about
—" Constance allowed her eyes to stray to the bed and then pursed her mouth with embarrassment.

"That's all right, Mama," Tulsa May assured her, blushing. "I'm sure that Luther knows ... I mean, that we ... I'm sure that we will manage fine."

Her mother sighed, apparently greatly relieved. "Just remember one thing," she whispered to her daughter. "This is what my mother told me." Constance raised her chin and clasped her hands as if reciting an important litany. "Man was only one of the animals until God created woman."

Tulsa May's expression was puzzled. "I'll keep that in mind, Mama."

The knocking sounded again.

"All right! All right!" Constance went over to the door. "For heaven's sake, young man," she scolded Luther. "Have some propriety!"

Luther gave a slight bow by way of apology. "Sorry, Miz Constance. Or do you want me to call you Mama now?" He hoped she didn't.

Dumbfounded, Constance Bruder stared at him as if he'd lost his reason. "Certainly not!"

"Then good night, Miz Constance," Luther said, shutting the door before she had a chance to make any further comment.

He leaned against the door, breathing heavily as if he had just been pulling the weights on the preacher's Whiteley Exerciser. He glanced over at Tulsa May. They sighed in unison and then smiled at each other as if they couldn't believe that they'd pulled it off.

It was then that Luther realized that Tulsa May was standing at the end of her bed wearing a button-front white muslin nightgown and a little lace cap. Obviously his imitation bride was dressed for bed.

It's simply Tulsy in her sleeping clothes,
he reminded himself. He had lived in this house for almost a year. He'd seen her dressed for bed before. Somehow none of these facts could distract him from the sight of her before him.

Tulsa May felt his eyes upon her and dropped her gaze in embarrassment. Self-consciously she folded her arms across her chest. She didn't know what to do, what to say. What must Luther feel, being trapped like this?

She raised her chin bravely, her eyes wide; an idea that had come to her, a vain hope. "Perhaps you can send Arthel off to college early," she suggested. "If you can get him out of town on the morning train, then by tomorrow afternoon we can admit that we're not really married."

Luther forced his gaze from her thinly clad body up to the hopeful expression on her face. He shook his head slightly. "Tulsy, if I spend this night in this room, we
are
married. I'm sure that the Rev wouldn't have it any other way. And neither would I."

Tulsa May nodded solemnly, knowing what he said was absolutely true. "Luther, I'm so sorry I
—"

"Sorry?" he asked, shaking his head with incredulity. "You shouldn't be sorry, you should be proud. You were so brave. I couldn't believe that you were willing to give up your reputation for Arthel and Maybelle's sake."

Guilt flashed through Tulsa May. She wasn't sure her motives were pure. Had it been for them or for herself?

"Besides," Luther continued. "You didn't say we were married, I did." He sighed heavily and raised his eyes to her. "I'm the one who needs to be apologizing, Tulsy. I may have ruined your whole life."

She looked at him, but knew she was to blame. Tulsa May loved Luther Briggs. She had always loved him. Somehow, she was sure, this could not be just a lucky coincidence. She had maneuvered him into this marriage. Because she'd always wanted it to happen, it had. And she had ruined Luther's life, he hadn't ruined hers.

She felt selfish and ashamed. "I just should have thought of something else."

"Well, you didn't, and I didn't," Luther answered. "And it's done now."

"Yes, I guess it is," Tulsa May agreed quietly not knowing quite what done meant.

"Or rather," Luther corrected. "It's not
done
at all! First thing tomorrow we've got to get to Guthrie and get really, legally married."

"Do we have to?" Tulsa May's voice sounded uncharacteristically meek and distant.

"Absolutely! I swear my hair was going gray downstairs worrying that somebody would ask to see the marriage license."

"The marriage license!" Tulsa May was flabbergasted. "I hadn't even thought about it."

"Fortunately, neither did your father, but we have to come up with one and soon."

"Oh, I suppose you're right."

"Maybe if I cross the judge's palm with a little silver, we can even get it dated for yesterday."

"Is that necessary?"

"It is unless you want to celebrate two wedding anniversaries."

"I never even expected to celebrate one."

Luther was grinning at her then, and Tulsa May was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's just
—"

"Tulsy, let's just make the best of this," he said easily. "I know I'm probably not the man you would have chosen, but I'll try to be a decent husband. I promise you'll never be cold or go hungry."

"Oh, I know that, Luther, but for you
—"

"Me?" He shrugged with unconcern. "I hadn't thought of marrying so soon, Tulsy. But, truth to tell, I always thought to marry sometime, to have a family and all."

"But you wouldn't have married me," she said flatly.

Luther opened his mouth. He appeared momentarily surprised by her words. He hesitated only a moment. "I would have married someone like you, Tulsy," he said. "All the qualities I'd want in a wife are things that I've admired in you."

Tulsa May realized he was not talking about her gap-toothed smile or orange hair. What he meant, she was certain, was that he would have married a respectable young woman from a good family. But Tulsa May was just as sure that had he chosen his bride, she would have been a good deal prettier and much more desirable. Luther Briggs was just too honorable a man to say those things.

"You are very kind," she told him.

He chuckled as he pushed away from the door. "That's what you'd expect from a doting bridegroom on his honeymoon."

Tulsa May's cheeks flushed bright red and once more she nervously cast her gaze to the floor. He stepped toward her, gently raising her chin.

"Don't worry, Tulsy," he whispered. "You and I both know this is not our wedding night."

She flushed with embarrassment and tried to look away, fearing that he might see the longing in her eyes.

"Hush now," he whispered as he caressed her cheek. His hand caught on the tiny ribbon tie of her lace cap. He tugged on it until he had her attention. "Why do you wear this thing?"

"To keep my hair tidy," she answered too quickly.

Luther raised a skeptical eyebrow and grinned warmly. "I've known you for ten years, Tulsy Bruder, and keeping tidy was never one of your top priorities."

Her answering giggle was somewhat nervous. "That's one of the bad things about having a good friend," she said. "They know the truth about you and can always tell when you're lying."

Luther nodded. "That's right, Tulsy. I know the truth about you. Is this thing meant to cover and hide your hair?" he asked.