Deep in the Heart of Trouble (19 page)

Was she like that? Did she stay below the surface where it was safe? Never risking a journey out into the sunlight?

“Essie?” he said, placing a finger beneath her chin and bringing her face around. “How ’bout we just take our chances and see how it goes?”

She worried her lip.

“It’ll be all right. If things progress, there will be time enough for you to tell me your secrets and for me to tell you mine.”

She searched his brown eyes and found no censure there.

Long ago she’d learned that she was a whole person without a man. That all she needed was Jesus Christ. Had she somehow taken that blessing and pushed God out of it? Made it about her instead of Him? About her being single and successful?

She thought of the virtue she’d so carelessly gifted to a man who wasn’t her husband. Had she accepted God’s forgiveness, then subconsciously built a wall around herself that no man could possibly scale? What if God had a man for her after all?

Is this your will, Lord?

She waited, but He gave no answer. Not so much as an inkling as to what His thoughts were. Her heart began to hammer. Was she willing to let Him knock down that wall?

Tony ran his thumb along her jaw. “What do you say, Essie? Will you accept my offer?”

It was a risk. A huge risk. But deep down, she wanted to tell him yes. This time, however, she wanted to do it the Lord’s way.

Will you show me how to knock down that wall, Lord? Will you show me how to court a man?

But she didn’t need an answer. She knew He would.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Yes, Tony. Yes, I will.”

A gorgeous grin split across his face. His fingers tightened on her chin.

He’s going to kiss me.

After the slightest hesitation, however, he let her go and pulled his watch from his pocket. “We need to head back. With all the stopping and starting and detouring, it took longer to get here than I estimated.”

“All right.”

He gave her a sideways look. “If we take the more direct route back, we’ll pass all the boys.”

Her palms dampened.

“I can’t think of an easier way to announce our courtship,” he said. “Can you?”

Arranging her skirts, she shook her head.

“Well, then. Let’s make it official.”

chapter SEVENTEEN

TONY CUT their buckboard right through the heart of the oil patch, passing rig after rig after rig. Most of them belonged to Sullivan Oil.

The men stopped their work. They pulled off their hats and waved, then shouted a greeting and glanced speculatively between Tony and Essie.

He kept one arm along the seat back, so there’d be no mistaking his claim. Essie looked neither left nor right but sat rigidly beside him, face flushed, eyes on the road.

For an awful moment back there, he’d thought she was going to refuse him. He wondered what social faux pas she’d committed in her past to make her think he would back out. Any woman who’d been so outlandish as to have been in the newspapers was sure to have made a spectacle of herself more than once.

But if he reached the point of wanting to marry her, he couldn’t fathom this imagined sin of hers being something he wouldn’t be able to overlook. How bad could it be?

Besides, any secrets she had would pale in comparison to the fact that he’d lied to her about his identity. No telling what her reaction was going to be when he revealed himself as a Morgan. When he revealed that just a train ride away his own flesh and blood owned and operated Sullivan Oil’s most adverse competition.

He clucked at the horses, urging them to pick up their pace. He really ought to go ahead and tell her. But if she found out now who he was, she might question his motives. He needed to keep his identity a secret at least a little while longer. But time was running out. M.C. knew who he was, as did Mrs. Lockhart and quite possibly Judge Spreckelmeyer. He only hoped he could convince M.C. to keep his knowledge to himself.

Essie squirmed, becoming even more agitated now that they’d reached town. The boomers gave them no more than a passing glance, but the more established citizens gaped, tracking their progress down Main and making even Tony uncomfortable. What was the matter with everybody?

He removed his arm from behind her and urged the horses onward. “Giddyup, there.”

When they finally reached the railroad station, he felt as if he’d run a gauntlet. “What in tarnation was that all about?”

“What?” she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders while he lifted her from the seat by her elbows.

“You can’t mean you didn’t notice,” he said, indicating the town with a nod of his head.

“Oh. That.” She took a step back. “Well, what did you expect?

You’re now courting the town’s old maid.”

He cringed. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“It’s true. I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Well, I don’t want you saying it anymore. You hear?”

She shrugged and started toward the train platform.

He grabbed her elbow. “Whoa, there. We’re together. Remember? That means so long as you’re with me, you don’t go anywhere unless it’s on my arm.”

“Even during the day?”

“Especially during the day.” He extended his bent arm.

“Why especially?” she asked, slipping her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Because there are only three reasons a man would give his arm to a lady during the day. If she was a close relative, if her safety required it, or if she was the gal he was sparkin’. ”

She swallowed. “I see. Well, you needn’t worry. I’m perfectly aware of how to conduct myself on the street.”

He let her rebuke pass. She might know the proper etiquette, but she’d been going her own way for a long time. He wondered just how willingly she’d give up that independence.

A train whistle pierced the air while the rumbling of the oncoming locomotive shook the ground. Metal screamed as the conductor put on the brake, the smell of burnt wood and clashing steel reaching the depot even before the railcars did.

A blue-green iron boiler with gleaming brass handrails, silver road assemblies, and ornamental stag’s horns barreled toward them, pitch black smoke pouring from its cabbage stack.

Tony would need to get M.C. alone before introducing him to Essie. He wanted to make sure the rotary man didn’t accidentally give him away.

He ran his gaze down the rainbow-colored cars. The russet baggage car rolled by first, pulling a red car behind it, where the nicer compartments were housed. A yellow car held the express passengers, and the Jim Crow section brought up the rear in a bright green car.

The train stopped with a smoky sigh. Corsicana’s depot provided a wooden platform for passengers so they wouldn’t have to step out onto the dirt beside the tracks like so many other train stops Tony had seen. Men, women, and children milled about, searching the railcar windows for friends and loved ones.

Tony spotted M.C. jumping off the express car. He wore a baggy ready-made suit one size too big, the sleeves falling clear to his knuckles. His short blond hair stuck out in sporadic tufts across his balding head.

“You stay put,” he said to Essie. “I’ll be right back.”

Weaving through the crowd, he hollered out to M.C., capturing the man’s attention.

“Tony! Good to see you. Where in the world did your moustache run off to?”

Shaking hands, Tony clapped him on the shoulder. “I shaved her clean off. What’d you think?”

“Doesn’t look right. Doesn’t look right a’tall. And say, I’m sorry about your pa.”

“Thank you.” Tony never quite knew which of M.C.’s eyes to look at because one went to the east and the other went to the west and he never could tell exactly which one was looking at him. “Speaking of my father, I need to ask a favor. After he disinherited me, I dropped the name Morgan and started going by my mother’s name, Bryant.”

M.C. scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I’d heard what your pa did and couldn’t quite credit it. Strange doings, that’s for sure.”

“Be that as it may, I’m sure you can imagine that in Sullivan Oil country, having the last name of Morgan wouldn’t earn a body any trust. So no one knows who I am and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You’re fooling me.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“How could they not know? You look just like him.”

“I don’t think Corsicana was a place he frequented, if at all.”

“Well, I’ll be.” M.C. shook his head. “I don’t much like the idea of hoodwinking people, Tony. Even ones I don’t know. I’m a Godfearing man and it just don’t sit well.”

“He disinherited me, M.C. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not my father anymore, so you wouldn’t be hoodwinking anybody.”

“Your pa is Blake Morgan, son. Ain’t no piece o’ paper or different last name that can change that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to claim him.”

“You’re gonna be found out. Cain’t keep a secret like that. It’s too big.”

“I agree. I’d just like for folks to find out later rather than sooner. So will you hold your tongue?”

Sighing, M.C.’s shoulders slumped. “Well, all right, then. I won’t go volunteerin’ the information, but if somebody asks me straight out, I ain’t gonna lie about it, neither.”

“Fair enough, and I appreciate it, M.C. I surely do. Now, where’s your trunk?” Tony looked around and caught sight of Deputy Howard talking to Essie.

“I imagine it’s over by the baggage car.”

“What? Oh. Right. Well, you head on over there. I’m going to fetch Spreckelmeyer’s daughter.”

M.C. swiveled his head around. “
The
daughter? The one that was in the papers?”

“Watch yourself, buddy. I’ve taken a shine to her and I won’t take kindly to any disparaging remarks.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, his right eye zeroing in on Tony.

“Does she know who you are?” “Not yet.”

M.C. let out a slow whistle. “I don’t envy you the telling of that tale.”

“All the more reason for you to keep your knowledge to yourself.

Now, go on. I’ll meet up with you in a minute.”

Tony, tall enough to see over most everyone else’s head, kept Essie and the deputy in clear view. The man stood much closer to her than propriety allowed, and every time she took a step back, Howard took a step forward.

Tony was still too far away to hear their conversation, but there was no mistaking Essie’s displeasure. Pressing through a clump of people reuniting with their loved ones, Tony finally reached them.

“Does your uncle know about this?” Howard was saying.

Essie caught sight of Tony and looked at him as if she were drowning and he was the only life preserver around. Howard glanced back over his shoulder and scowled.

“Pardon my interruption, Essie, but our guest has arrived.” Tony slipped his arm around her, then touched his hat. “Deputy, would you excuse us?”

Not waiting for an answer, he applied pressure to Essie’s waist and moved her toward the baggage car. “You okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. He saw us riding through town and wanted to see why we appeared so ‘cozy.’ His word.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“That you’d received permission to court me.”

“What did he say?”

“He was not pleased.”

Tony frowned. “Why not?”

“Because a few months back I refused his suit. But I made it clear to him that I’d accepted yours. Really. So there’s no need to hold me so close.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, keeping his hand right where it was. If the deputy was watching, Tony wanted to make sure he knew which way the wind blew.

Essie took a liking to M.C. Baker right away. He was around the same age as Uncle Melvin—younger than Papa but older than herself—and he didn’t seem to mind that she was the one representing Sullivan Oil instead of her father.

They’d dropped his trunk off at the front desk of the Commercial Hotel and were now sharing a meal in its large dining room. Used to be, Essie would have known every person in the place, but with the way the town had grown over the last couple of years, most of the patrons were unfamiliar to her.

M.C. picked up his final roasted rib and peeled some beef off with his teeth. “How much you producing?”

“In ’96 we produced only about fourteen hundred barrels,” Essie said, dabbing the sides of her mouth with her napkin. “But by the end of last year, we’d produced almost sixty-six thousand—all within the city limits.”

“They’ve since moved out of town,” Tony said, “and have expanded their producing wells to three hundred forty-two.”

“All cable-tool?”

“Yep.” Tony sliced off a portion of chicken-fried steak. “And all flush production—no pumps whatsoever.”

M.C. lifted his brows. “How far down’s the oil?”

“Anywhere from nine hundred to twelve hundred feet,” Essie said. “Between us and that oil, though, is black, gummy clay and soft rock. So it takes us a good bit of time to break it up.”

M.C. swiped his plate with his bread. “My rotary will bust through that in no time. And we can speed everything up even more by pouring water outside the drill pipe.”

“What good would that do?” Essie asked.

“The water will come back to us through the pipe. But it’ll be carrying rock and mud with it.”

She took a sip of tea, realizing the wisdom of what he was saying. “How long do you think it would take you to drill me a well?”

M.C. dragged his napkin across his mouth and leaned back in his chair. “I can drill a thousand feet in thirty-six hours for six hundred dollars.”

She and Tony exchanged a glance. A frazzled woman Essie had never seen before took away their plates and replaced them with bowls of suet pudding, then hurried off to her next customer.

“When can you give me a demonstration?” Essie asked.

“I’ll need a third down and Tony’s help. That going to be a problem?”

She shook her head.

“Well, then. You show me where and I’ll start assembling everything as soon as I can get a crew here.”

“That would be wonderful.”

With their business concluded, the talk turned more personal. M.C. caught Tony up with news of Beaumont. The two men had obviously become well acquainted while Tony was with Morgan Oil.

“Just heard yesterday that Miss Morgan’s been betrothed to Norris Tubbs.”

Jerking his head up, Tony stopped his spoon halfway to his mouth.

“You might remember her,” M.C. said. “She’s the old boss’s daughter? Name’s Anna, I believe. You know her?”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I believe I’ve run across her a time or two.”

M.C. nodded. “Nuptials are set to take place within the month.”

Tony paled, and Essie wondered at his reaction.

“But she can’t get married this month,” Tony said. “Her father hasn’t even been in the grave for six weeks.”

“You know Darius—” M.C. leaned in as if imparting a secret. “He’s the new boss-man now.”

Lips thinning, Tony gave a succinct nod.

“Anyhow, he’s not one to give much nevermind to any social conventions.”

The tick in Tony’s jaw began to beat. “This is a bit more serious than a society rule. He’s marrying Anna off with undue haste and to a man three times her age.”

“Appears so.”

Tony set his spoon down on the table. His easy use of the girl’s first name surprised Essie. Had they been sweethearts? Had she broken his heart? Was that why he had left Beaumont without so much as a reference?

“That’s not what has the tongues wagging, though.” M.C. shook his head and scraped his spoon along the sides of his pudding bowl. “Nope. The really big news is that Finch Morgan’s new wife died.”