All Men Fear Me (3 page)

Chapter Six

“Altogether Boynton is one of the most progressive cities in the state, and its future is full of brilliant promise.”

—Directory of Boynton, Oklahoma, 1916

Henry Blackwood unfolded a piece of paper that had been residing in his shirt pocket ever since he boarded the train in Brownsville. His father had penciled in a map with directions from the Boynton station to his uncle Eric Bent's house at the end of Kenetick Street.

He set off down the dirt street toward the dirt lane that the agent had pointed out, taking in the scenery and trying to assess the nature of the town he was about to call his new home. He was three or four blocks from the business district, so he couldn't tell much about that, but there did seem to be quite a number of people on the back streets and residential areas, all going about their day. He passed several people who nodded a greeting or wished him a good day. It was a friendly enough place, then.

The only thing he knew about Boynton, Oklahoma, was that his uncle lived here, along with maybe fourteen or fifteen hundred other souls. There was a large brick-plant that had a war contract and needed workers, a small oil refinery, and lots of surrounding farms.

He turned west on Kenetick Street. His uncle had written that he lived at the far end of the street, and it really was far. Henry trudged what seemed to him to be miles, checking the little name signs that residents had put on their fences. The houses grew farther apart as he neared the edge of town, each sitting on one-acre and half-acre plots with large gardens, chickens, and goats, and the occasional cow or horse.

He finally reached the end of Kenetick. The street turned sharply north, and according to a hand-painted street sign set high on a wooden pole at the turn, changed names. Henry looked to his left at a quiet, two-story, white-painted house sitting in the middle of a bare dirt lot. A dark-haired woman in a dressing gown was sitting in a parlor chair on the wide front porch, her legs crossed, holding a mug between her two hands. She gave him a cheeky smile when he looked in her direction.

“Good morning, honey,” she called. “What happened to your face?”

“Good morning, ma'am. Oh, me and a couple fellows just had a little difference of opinion,” he replied, and she laughed.

“Oh, it's ‘ma'am,' is it? You looking for something, honey?”

Henry blinked at her. “Yes, ma'am. I'm looking for my uncle's house. He's supposed to live on this street, but I figure I must have passed him up.”

Every word he spoke seemed to cause her great amusement. “Is that so? And what is this uncle's name, pray tell?”

Something about the woman's tone made Henry tug at his collar and gulp. “Eric Bent. He's expecting me.”

The woman grinned, well aware of his discomfort. “You've reached your destination, sugar. Turn around and look to the other side of the street and you'll see a tired hovel. Your uncle lives therein.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Henry said, and took himself across the lane as fast as was seemly. The house on the shady lot was hardly a hovel, freshly painted as it was and surrounded by marigolds, though it was small. Henry swung open the iron gate and started up the flagstone path when a bald, brawny man with a big mustache threw open the front door and strode out to meet him.

“I got your wire!” The man pumped Henry's hand and pounded him on the back at the same time. “Glad you're here, boy. Good God! What happened to you? You come on inside and I'll fix you up some vittles and get you a piece of meat for that eye.”

Henry was propelled into the cozy little cottage and seated at the kitchen table, where his uncle handed him a small piece of chuck steak to hold to his eye. Uncle Eric placed bread, sausages, boiled eggs, jams, piccalilli, and mustard on the crisp white tablecloth. He finished by pouring Henry a mug of very black coffee and watched with satisfaction as the young man tore into the makeshift meal.

As he stuffed himself, Henry told his uncle about the long trip from Brownsville and his altercation and rescue that morning. But while he ate he did consider the fact that his uncle had changed. The mustache was familiar, as well as the burly build, but the thatch of light brown hair that Henry remembered was long gone. Well, Henry had changed, too.

Eric crossed his arms and sighed. “I'm glad you're here, Henry,” he repeated. “It's been lonely since Gert died. I haven't seen you since you were…what? Fifteen, sixteen? You've filled out. You look like my sister, what with that yellow hair. Anyway, like I said in my letter, I told my boss about you and you can start your job at the brick plant whenever you want. They're desperate for hands since they got that war contract for bricks to build training centers and send to France. There's a lot of work that can be done there. You think you're up for it?”

Henry swallowed a bite of jam-smeared bread and nodded. “I am, Eric. I wish I could go to New York or Washington, though, get close to the action, since I doubt if they'll let me join the Army even if my number comes up. Did Mama write you about that?”

“Yes, she did, but don't you worry. Boynton may not be the most important hub of U.S. war industry, but these bricks are meant to build vital installations. So we'll be doing important work for our country.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, Eric.” Henry took a thoughtful sip. “For a while I didn't think I was going to find your house. You sure live on the edge of town. By the way, who is that woman who lives across the lane?”

“That's Rose. She and her girls have lived over there for a couple of years.”

“She seems friendly.”

The comment caused Eric to laugh. “She is that. I'd venture to guess that them girls have made friends with most of the male population of town and the surrounding countryside.”

Henry laid his fork down on the table and looked his uncle in the eye. “Eric, are you telling me that you live across the road from a house of ill repute?”

Eric chuckled. Henry Blackwood was neither as young nor as innocent as he looked. “Yes, yes I do. And if you wish to maintain your Christian virtue, young man, you'll keep your distance. Though I have to say Rose runs a disciplined house and aside from the occasional fistfight or drunken brawl, they've been good neighbors. When your aunt was sick, Rose sent her simple-minded little housekeeper over here with good cooked meals right along. Once or twice some of the girls even came over here to sit with her. Gert was a fine Christian woman, but she didn't seem to mind being kept company by those girls of easy virtue.”

“You ever go over there yourself?” Henry's question was simple curiosity and posed without judgment.

Eric shrugged. “Maybe I've been over there once or twice since Gert died, for female company more than anything else. It's a clean place, and the girls seem happy. Rose charges a hefty fare, which keeps out some of the riffraff, I expect.”

“If I was to pay them a visit, I hope I could count on you to keep that information from reaching my mother.”

Eric was unsure how to react. “I don't judge a man for his lapses, Henry. Just you don't go wasting your time and your wages by becoming a regular patron. Remember, you're here because you have important work to do.”

“Don't worry,” Henry responded with a smile, “I promise I'm a temperate man by nature. And I don't aim to let anything interfere with my war work.”

***

Old Nick leaned back against the trunk of the big American elm that hung over the lane directly across from Eric Bent's cottage. The blond-haired youth hadn't noticed that he was being followed, and the uncle had been so engaged with his long-missed relative that he hadn't noticed the figure watching them from a distance.

Nick adjusted his bowler hat and crossed his arms, making himself comfortable in the shade while he pondered his next move.

He felt something hot on his shoulder. Perhaps a ray of sun had pierced the leaf canopy above him. He cast a glance behind him and saw the woman in the dressing gown staring at him from her porch. She stood up.

They locked eyes for some seconds. It was her gaze, Nick realized, that had burned his shoulder. He grinned and tipped his hat. The woman gave him a look that stabbed him like a knife before she went into the house.

Nick pushed himself off the tree and dusted off the tail of his suit coat, feeling satisfied. A lot was about to happen here in Boynton, Oklahoma. He had come to the right place.

Chapter Seven

“The county council of defense is the organization
of the hour in Oklahoma.”

—August Aydelotte, Director
Oklahoma Council of Defense, 1917

Rob Gunn sat down in one of the armchairs, feeling contented, warm, and safe for the first time in weeks. The old yellow shepherd, Charlie Dog, had accompanied him into the parlor and flopped down on the rag rug next to the chair. Rob's eyelids felt heavy, and for a moment he drifted, the homely clatter coming from the kitchen transporting him back in time to his mother's house, and the sounds of his mother and sisters laughing as they prepared dinner.

Alafair had not changed. After a decade apart, they had fallen back into their childhood way of relating the instant they had set eyes on one another. She was still trying to tell him what was good for him, and he was still sidestepping her attempts with exasperated good humor. It was funny how comfortable that made him feel.

He could hear her in the kitchen, laughing and joking with her children while directing the action as imperiously as a queen. She was a queen, Alafair, he thought, totally in charge of her realm. He had never known anyone else with as much talent for bossing people around in such a way that they actually liked it. Maybe she tried too hard to take care of you, but it was obvious that she only did it because she loved you so much she couldn't help herself.

A movement caught his attention and he reluctantly came back to the present. One of his many nieces had come into the parlor and sat down in the chair opposite him. She was gazing at him with mild interest, her arms stretched out along the arms of the chair. When his eyes opened, she smiled.

He blinked, trying to clear the cobwebs out of his head before he sat up straight. This was Blanche. Yes, even when this one was a toddler, she stood out in her crowd of siblings for the waves of sable hair that cascaded down her back, reflecting light like a dark mirror. Her complexion was as white as her name would indicate, though her Cherokee ancestry had given her bold cheekbones and an intriguing almond shape to the green eyes rimmed with a fan of black lashes.

Rob felt a sudden tug of protectiveness. If he figured right, the child was only twelve or thirteen years old, and couldn't possibly realize the effect her beauty might have on the wrong people. He wondered if her parents were aware of what was happening to their little girl, and if he should mention to his brother-in-law Shaw that she bore watching.

Probably not. He had no desire for a punch in the face.

She smiled at him just as Alafair came in from the kitchen, carrying Zeltha and trailing two more of his nieces with her. They all piled onto the settee next to Blanche's chair. Rob felt strangely relieved.

“Well, now, Alafair, you'd better tell me how all the kids are. Last I heard, Martha was getting married to some fellow from Ohio.”

“Streeter McCoy. Yes, they got married last fall. He's our town treasurer now. He owns a pretty big land and title company with offices all over the state, and she's his partner. You'd think they would be rich as Croesus, but they put near to every penny they earn back into the business. They live in an apartment over their office. All four of my older girls are married now, Robin. Alice and Walter live in town, too. Mary and her husband Kurt, and Phoebe and her John Lee both have farms not a half-mile walk from here, one that way, and the other across the road. One or the other of them walks over here most every day, and often both. We've been looking after Elizabeth's boy Chase for a while, too. We're beginning to build up a collection of grandchildren, too. Three girls and a boy, up to now.”

She nodded toward the kitchen, where Ruth was clearing away the dishes from his makeshift breakfast. “Even Ruth don't really live at home any more. Last year she went away to Muskogee while she studied piano with Miz Jesse Duke at the Duke-Richardson School of Music and Expression. Since she got back she's taken over her old music teacher's piano students. It's way easier for her to rent a room in Miz Beckie's big old house in town and give her piano lessons there.” She lowered her voice. “That's what she says, anyway, though me and Shaw think it has more to do with her wanting to be closer to Trent Calder, the deputy sheriff in Boynton. We're expecting he'll be coming around asking for her hand any day now. ”

“Oh, Mama!” Blanche's voice was heavy with disdain. “Ruth's grown up now. No matter what her reason is, she ought not to live at home!”

Alafair patted Blanche's knee, unperturbed. “Anyway, Robin, she is eighteen and didn't ask my opinion on the matter.” She sat back and made a sweeping gesture. “The rest you see here before you, gaping like a bunch of monkeys and hanging on to every word.”

“I swear, Alafair, I can't hardly believe how everybody's grown up,” Rob said. “Why, I've never even clapped eyes on yon young lady Grace, and here she is almost old enough to start school.”

Black-eyed, black-haired Grace, standing at quivering attention next to her mother's elbow, grinned a pearly grin. “I'm four years old. I'll be five in October.”

Rob eyed the lanky child. “Is that so? Why, you're so tall I expected you were nigh on to six, at least. What about you girls? Fronie, you were just a little baby when last I saw you.”

Sophronia was curled up on the settee. “I just had my birthday, Uncle Robin. I'm eleven now.”

Rob was surprised. Charlie, Blanche, and Grace looked older than they were, but Sophronia was a fey little creature who seemed younger than eleven. Like her sister Ruth, she had a reddish complexion, with long pigtails hanging down her back, and a winsome dimple that appeared in her freckled cheek whenever she smiled. She was dressed in a calico shirt and a pair of overalls, like a boy. A tomboy, Rob thought, a natural reaction to her near-age sister's extraordinary femininity.

“Shaw or one of the boys will be taking Ruth back into town directly,” Alafair said, bringing him back to the present. “They'll have a dusty trip, as I'm sure you noticed when you walked out here. Last year was so wet you could drown if you looked upwards, but this year has been dry as a bone, which Shaw's mother predicted it would be. ‘Skimpy tails on the squirrels, dry summer,' she told us. And she was right, too. She usually is.”

“How is Miz Sally these days?” Rob said. “She was always my favorite of all the in-laws.”

“She's still blowing and going like always, her and Peter. She liked you, too, when you were a lad and liked to hang around her kitchen. She has always had a soft spot for a scamp.”

“Well, now, Sis, I'm wounded! I've always been right serious and thoughtful. Besides, I had to have somewhere to hide whenever Dad threatened to skin me alive.”

Grace had sidled over and was now leaning over the arm of his chair. He picked her up and set her on his knee. “Who's joined up with the Council of Defense around here, do you know?”

There was an instant of silence before Alafair answered. “The main CD office is in Oklahoma City. I know they're called ‘Secret Service,' but there are a couple of fellows in Boynton, who don't make it any secret that they've joined up.”

“Anyone you know?”

Alafair shrugged. “Some. One of them is Win Avey, who I never did think much of. Win's a bit of a hothead, if you ask me. Scott's always got him in jail for some deviltry. He makes a point of watching out for unpatriotic behavior way more than he ought. He works over at the brick plant. He's deaf in one ear, so he can't go into the Army. The other one is a widower with a little daughter. His name is Emmanuel Clover. When Miz Clover died, seems like her husband never did get over it. He dotes on his little girl like she was made of gold and sugar. I figure that he joined up with the CD because he's trying to keep his mind occupied.”

Rob's leg began bouncing nervously, which Grace seemed to enjoy. “Watch out for that Avey fellow. That's the kind of fellow that likes to get into an outfit like the Council of Defense or the American Protective League. These Secret Service men can get you into a lot of trouble before you even know what's happened. How are y'all doing, Alafair, what with these new war rules and all?”

She shrugged. “All right. Better than most, I reckon. We raise most of what we eat, so we haven't been much bothered by the food restrictions. Worst thing is trying to eat one wheatless meal a day. I didn't realize how many things I make with wheat flour, and we do love our bread and biscuits and gravy. I haven't made so much hot-water cornbread since I was a girl.” She smiled at the collective groan from her children. “The children don't cotton to it much anymore. It's hard to cut back on sugar, too, though we've got syrup and honey and sorghum. I been saving fat for bullets and we've been collecting peach pits for the gas masks. Shaw was thinking of buying a gasoline tractor before the war started, but as hard as it is to get gasoline now, it's just as well he didn't. My son-in-law Kurt has started his own butchering business, but we keep meatless Tuesday, anyway, like Mr. Hoover asked. Don't want anybody to think we're not behind the war effort.”

A shadow passed over Rob's face. “Don't want that.” His tone was dark, and perhaps a touch sarcastic. “Has anybody been giving Mary and her German husband a hard time, Sis?”

All the girls started to talk at once, but Alafair shushed them and answered herself. “Depends on what you mean by ‘hard time,' Robin. Kurt never says anything, but Mary thinks that folks have begun looking at them sidelong.”

“But nothing has happened?”

Alafair's forehead wrinkled at his tone. “Happened? What do you mean?”

“Has something been happening to Germans, Uncle Robin?” Rob twisted in his chair to see Ruth leaning on the kitchen door frame, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She continued. “You travel around a lot more than the rest of us. Are you seeing things in other parts of the country that we should know about?”

“There have been some ugly incidents back on the West Coast, folks harassing those with German names, Jews, foreigners. Union men, too. I was just wondering if it's the same out here.”

Alafair grinned. “Mercy, there's so many types of folks here in Oklahoma that if you only stuck to people just like you, you'd spend all your time talking to yourself.” She was confident that her neighbors judged a tree by its fruit and a person by his actions. She couldn't speak for Easterners or Californians and their strange ways.

Charlie Dog lifted his head and perked his ears toward the kitchen, his tail giving the floor two or three thumps as the back door creaked and slammed.

“We're back, Mama!” Charlie called out. He came into the parlor, followed by his father, Shaw, and a leggy, yellow, flop-eared mutt who leaped at the children with wild exuberance.

Charlie laughed as the dog pawed his way up onto the settee between the girls, but Alafair was not amused. “Bacon. Get down. Charlie, get that feisty hound out of the house.”

Charlie dragged the reluctant pup out the front door by the collar, then flung himself on the floor beside Rob's chair. Shaw paused in the kitchen door to remove his hat and comb his black hair with his fingers. “Well, I'll be! Look what the cat dragged in! I couldn't hardly believe my ears when Charlie told me that Robin Gunn was here.” He plucked Zeltha out of Alafair's lap. She responded by throwing her arms around her grandfather's neck.

Rob stood up with Grace in his arms and shook his brother-in-law's hand warmly. Shaw was a tall, dark man with frank, hazel eyes, and a floppy black mustache that twitched with amusement when he gazed at the visitor. “So what in the pig-snorts brings you out here after all this time? Come to unionize my young'uns? They'd more than likely appreciate some bargaining power.”

“Yeah, Uncle Robin,” Charlie interjected. “Daddy don't want to give labor any say. Management is too tough around here.”

Alafair flapped her hand at the boy. “Charlie, you've got chores to do. Blanche and Fronie, too. You can talk to your uncle at dinner. Go on, now. The cows won't feed themselves nor muck out their stalls.”

The children dragged themselves from the room accompanied by a chorus of complaint. Charlie winked over his shoulder as he left. “See what I mean?”