Runabout (38 page)

He shook his head in self-disgust. "I tried, Tulsy. I swear that I tried. Do you think I wanted to be Miss Maimie's chauffeur? To spend every day of my life listening to that old harpy complain about everyone and everything. I don't know how many times she told me that I was nothing, less than nothing, to her or anybody else."

His jaw tightened with the memory. "I thought if she came to know me, she'd come to accept me. I did that for Arthel. I knew she would never accept him unless I forced her to." He shrugged and shook his head. "But in the end, I couldn't even get her to do that. To Miss Maimie, Arthel was just another Indian."

"That's sad," Tulsa May admitted, her eyes misting.198

"It's stupid!" Luther corrected forcefully.

"Well yes, that too. But it's sad for Arthel. And more so for Miss Maimie."

"For Miss Maimie?" Luther was incredulous.

"Yes," Tulsa May answered. "Much worse for her than for him. Arthel's had so many of us to love him, and he has so much love to give back. It was hard for anyone to love Miss Maimie, and I doubt many did. She could have used some of what Arthel had to give."

Luther looked at her in amazement and shook his head but didn't disagree with her.

"However," she continued, "Miss Maimie's foolishness is nothing that you should feel guilty about, Luther. Arthel said so himself.
You
were his family. You were anyone and everyone that he needed."

"Losing your parents, your home, everything that is known and familiar is a horrible thing for a child. But terrible things happen to all of us in our childhoods. None of us makes it through that time without our share of pain and horror and despair. You didn't know your own father until you were eight. I don't know why heaven lets things happen that way, but maybe hardship teaches us to face life. For as soon as we learn that we can live through adversity, we become an adult."

Tulsa May took Luther's hand and squeezed it tightly in her own. "Arthel has lived through and become a strong and gentle and caring young man. You haven't failed him, Luther. You've raised him. He's a man of whom you should be very proud."

Luther turned to stare at her. "I love you, Tulsy," he whispered.

He felt uncomfortable as soon as the words were out. This was no place for romantic declarations. They were sitting in an old-fashioned car, covered with a mud-splattered tarp, heading toward a forced wedding. And Tulsa May's expression of horrified surprise was so comical, Luther actually laughed. His laughter broke the tension and after a moment Tulsa May began giggling with him. Holding hands, they hurried along the muddy road to Guthrie and their wedding ceremony.

A loud blast beneath the seat startled them both.

"OH!"

"WHAT!"

They hollered in unison.

Before Luther could get the car stopped there was the slap, slap, slap of something broken.

"Good heavens, Luther, what is that?"

"Sounds like a belt," he answered as he pulled the Runabout to the side of the road. He'd just set the brake when the cap on the radiator shot off like a cannon and a spewing shower of boiling water shot three feet in the air.

"Lord have mercy!" Tulsa May cried. "What have you done to my car?"

"Your car?" Luther asked as soon as he'd assured himself that neither of them had been splashed by the scalding water. He jumped down to the ground and Tulsa May held out her hand for his help. He ignored the offered palm and grasped her around the waist. He carried her to a grassy area on the edge of the roadway that was out of the mud. "What have
I
done to
your
car?" He tweaked her nose in feigned fury. "Tulsy, you'd best be grateful that this car hasn't done something to us."

She shook her head and laughed. "You're right, I'm sorry. What in the world happened?"

Luther was putting the seat forward to look into the engine. "Well, it sounded like a belt broke," he said. "But the way that water boiled over, I think something must have been hung up somewhere."

Peering into the hot, smelly engine, Luther squinted. He reached in to touch something on the engine and cursed vividly.

"Luther!" Tulsa May scolded.

He stood shaking his hand furiously for a second before sticking his fingers in his mouth.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Burning myself," he answered tartly. "What else would a fellow want to do on his wedding day?"

"Let me see," Tulsa May said, coming forward.

"Stay out of the mud," he ordered. "You're in your good clothes."

"Well, so are you."

He looked at her, chin up and arms akimbo for a minute and then grinned by way of apology. "Are we about to have our first marital spat?" he asked.

Tulsa May raised an eyebrow. "We aren't married yet. I could still change my mind."

"Oh, really?" Luther asked with his eyebrows raised skeptically.

"Yes, I could. And you might as well know that if you and I were having a marital spat, I'd probably knock you flat in the mud."

"You think you could do that?" he asked.

"Well, it looked pretty easy last night when Turley did it."

"Why, you little
—" Luther reached over and jerked Tulsa May toward him. She was bubbling with laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"Well," she answered, still giggling. "Nothing yet, but I bet the justice of the peace will find it humorous marrying a couple with equally muddy boots."

Luther looked down to see them both standing ankle-high in the muddy red clay. "You tricked me."

"I had to teach you not to order me around," she admitted.

"Even if it meant getting your feet muddy?"

"I don't care about my muddy feet, I just care about getting my car fixed."

With a long-suffering sigh and a shrug, Luther turned once again to look into the depths of the Model G Runabout engine.

"Can you see anything?" Tulsa May asked as she moved up beside him and gazed at the perplexing array of mechanical parts that made up the Buick two-cylinder engine.

Luther nodded. "Fan belt broke," he said. "It looks like it got gummed up in the generator before it snapped."

"Can you fix it?" Her voice sounded worried.

Luther raised his head and grinned at her as he removed his jacket and hung it over the steering wheel. "Tulsy, would I let you go riding in a car I couldn't fix?"

His smile reassured her.

"I'm going to have to clean out the bad rubber from the old belt," he said. He glanced down at the muddy ground. "Unfortunately, I'll need to be underneath the car to do it."

Tulsa May, too, looked at the mud-soaked roadway with dismay. "Luther, I don't mind marrying a man with muddy boots, but I might have to draw the line at a muddy shirt."

Luther shrugged. "I can buy a new shirt when we get to town. There is no way I can attach the belt from the top side."

Tulsa May nodded her understanding as she glanced around looking for another alternative. "Can we push the Runabout down that hill?" she asked, indicating the far side of the road. "It's not nearly as muddy at the bottom of that maple grove."

Luther looked in the direction that she indicated and smiled. "That will be a whole lot better," he admitted. "It's a lucky man who gets himself a wife that's smarter than him."

She rolled her eyes. "For some men it's easier than others."

Luther turned to give her a thoughtful squint. "I think there was an insult somewhere in there."

She gave him a look of completely feigned innocence which brought a broader smile to his face.

"Hop in the car, Tulsy," he said. "You drive and I'll push. If we don't run the car into one of those maple trees, this will be one of the best ideas you've had today."201

"It's still early yet," Tulsa May answered as she took her place in the driver's seat.

Getting across the muddy road was slow and, from the groans she heard, obviously painful. She glanced back once, only to notice that Luther would need more than a new shirt to keep the mud out of this wedding. As soon as the Runabout was on the down side of the far bank, however, Luther's manpower was no longer needed. The Buick went racing down the hill so quickly, Tulsa May cried out in delight at the exhilarating ride. She did, fortunately, remember to brake at the bottom of the hill and she actually brought the Runabout to a complete stop among, but not against, the maple trees. She set the brake.

"I'm all right!" she called back to Luther who was hurrying down the hill.

Tulsa May stepped down from the driver's seat and surveyed the area. The tall field grass kept the ground from being muddy, but the grass itself was quite wet. Tulsa May took the tarp that had covered her knees, and as neatly as a picnic cloth she laid the tarp beneath the frame of the Runabout. The bridegroom might be muddy, but he wasn't going to be damp. She was just straightening the last wrinkle in the tarp when a pair of muddy booted feet halted at her side.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a nice neat place for you to work," she answered.

Luther looked at the tarp spread beneath the car and smiled. "Thank you," he said. "I can't wait to put you to work in my shop."

She gave him a doubtful glance and he chuckled.

He dropped to the ground and slid himself beneath the Runabout. Grabbing the frame from the far side of the car, he pulled himself to the center of the vehicle, looking up into the bottom of the engine. The broken belt ran from the auto generator to the fan that cooled the radiator. The fan seemed in fine condition, but he used a screwdriver to scrape clean the spokes of the generator.

"How does it look?" Tulsa May asked above him.

"I've seen prettier sights," he answered.

"Under cars?" she asked.

There was a slight hesitation and a teasing in his voice. "No," he answered. "In a mirror."

Tulsa May felt a blush stain her cheek as she remembered the sight of herself glowing in the lamplight. She couldn't think of a thing to reply.

"It's fine, Tulsy," Luther answered as if sensing her discomfort. "Hand me that half-inch crescent."

She looked through the confusing array of tools in the box beneath the
turtleback. Quietly, she picked up the wrench that she assumed he wanted and handed it under the car to him. "Is this the one you wanted?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, clearly in a jovial mood. "And thank you. You're the best mechanic's assistant in a mile or more."

Tulsa May looked down through the top of the engine to see the teasing smirk on his face. Her expression was purposely unimpressed. "I'm the only
human
in a mile or more," she pointed out.

"You said that, Tulsy, not me."

Luther heard the sound of her laughter above him. They had laughed a lot today. It was surprising, with everything going like it had. But they had spent a lot of time laughing. He liked that sound. It made him feel warm and happy: a feeling he would certainly like to learn to live with. He wondered if living with Tulsa May would mean laughing every day. Somehow, he hoped that it would.

"That's got it," he said finally as he spun the generator a couple of times to assure himself that there was no rubber left on it. "Clean as a whistle."

He reached down to the belt at his waist and found that it wasn't there. His smile faded.