The Glorious Prodigal (2 page)

“Well, you ought to be clean enough,” Ellie said.

“Sorry to be so long, Ellie.”

“Won’t take me that long. I can hardly wait for tonight. I’m ready to start dancing right now.”

As Leah stepped into her room, she glanced at the gilt clock that perched on top of the shelf. It had been her grandmother’s
and was one of the family heirlooms she had kept when she and her mother had broken up their home in Fort Smith. It chimed six times now with a silvery note, and she quickly moved over toward the bed, thinking of how her life had changed recently.

As she removed her robe and tossed it across a straight-backed chair, a brief memory of her life up until six months ago came to her. She had lived in the same house all of her life on the outskirts of Fort Smith, Arkansas, a frontierlike town in the northwest corner of Arkansas tucked in among the foothills of the Ozarks. She had led a happy enough childhood, but her father had died three years earlier, which had been a great sadness to Leah, for they had been very close. She and her mother had lived alone. Her brother and sister were much older than she, and both were married and had families of their own in Georgia. Her mother had grieved over the loss of her husband, but two and a half years ago she had met a well-to-do merchant from St. Louis. The two had gotten along well, and Leah had not been surprised when her mother had informed her that she was marrying George Stephens and moving to St. Louis.

Leah had visited her stepfather’s home for two months but was unhappy there. She did not like St. Louis—or any big city for that matter—and had taken a course on operating the new typing machines. She seemed to have a natural talent for it and became certified as a “typewriter” before moving back to Arkansas. She took a job in Lewisville because it paid more, and she liked the small town very much. At times she felt sad at how alone she was in the world, but she was a sturdy woman with an inner strength and was determined to make the best of it.

Leah’s eyes brightened as she looked at the clothing laid out on the bed and began to dress. She had, indeed, ordered a complete new outfit for the dance tonight, and now she slipped into a pair of crinkled crepe drawers, then donned a corset made especially for a slender figure. She had paid
seventy-nine cents for it from Perry Dame and Company, a New York mail-order house where she had gotten her new clothes. She fastened the corset, which tucked tightly around her waist, then slipped on a pair of fine-gauge silk stockings with silk embroidered clocks at both sides. Fastening them to the garters, she stepped into the high black patent-leather boots and, using a buttonhook, quickly snapped the buttons into the openings.

Finally she slipped into a corset cover and then picked up the dress she had spent much time in choosing. Carefully she slipped it over her head.

When it was in place, she moved across to stand at the mirror and study the full effect. What she saw was a rather tall young woman, five feet eight inches, full-figured, and strongly formed. Gray eyes looked back at her from the mirror, which at times, she knew, would become green. They were large, almond-shaped, and shaded by thick dark brown lashes. A round face, a firm chin, and a long, composed mouth with lips glinting and curving in an attractive line stared back from the mirror. Her complexion was fair and rosy, but now a summer tan shaded her features slightly.

The dress was rose colored with a close-fitting bodice. It was cut rather low and off the shoulders, which troubled her somewhat, and had balloon sleeves. The skirt was full and decorated with lace-trim side panels.

Reaching up, she touched her hair, which was brushed back high on the forehead in the popular Greek style, exposing her delicate ears. Still studying her reflection, she suddenly made an impatient gesture with her hand, then turned and walked over to the window. Several young boys were setting off squibs, which people were beginning to call
firecrackers
now, and she watched them curiously. Mrs. Gates had put a large American flag up in the front yard, and it stirred in the slight breeze that swept across the street.

I wonder if Mott is serious about me.
The thought had come before, and now Leah paused to consider it. Mott
Castleton, as Ellie had said, was considered a catch among the young women of Lewisville and Fort Smith. She wondered why she did not feel more pleased over his attentions to her. Mott Castleton was not handsome, but that shouldn’t matter, as Leah often told herself. He was pleasant enough and could converse on many things, but still there was something lacking in him, and the thought disturbed Leah.
Am I too fussy?
she thought as she turned from the window and paced the floor, wondering about her own feelings. He had kissed her once, and she had not been stirred deeply by it. He was not a man who was demanding in that way, for which she was grateful. Still, as she moved across the carpet, causing tiny dust motes to rise in the yellow sunlight that lay in bars streaming from the window, she remembered Ellie’s question.
“Would you want to spend the next fifty years of your life waking up beside him? That’s the test of a husband.”

The thought troubled Leah, and she put it out of her mind.
There’s no need to think about that now!
she told herself firmly, then moved out of the room to see how Ellie was doing with her new outfit.

****

Leah had just finished brushing her hair and had sprayed on some perfume from the new atomizer she had bought when a knock sounded at her door. She knew it was Mrs. Gates and said, “Come in.”

The door opened. “Your young man is here,” Mrs. Gates announced.

“I know. I heard him drive up.”

“My, don’t you look pretty!” Mrs. Gates declared. Out of all the girls that boarded with her, Leah was her favorite, and she came over now and reached up to adjust a curl that had slipped over Leah’s forehead. “You go now and have a good time, but I wish Mr. Castleton drove a buggy. I hate those nasty new automobiles. They’re good for nothing but scaring horses, and they’ll be killing people one day. You’ll see.”

Leah laughed and patted Mrs. Gates’s shoulder. “I’m a bit nervous about them myself. As a matter of fact, I’ve never ridden in one.”

“Well, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll have him park that thing outside and you two walk to the dance.”

“Oh no. I wouldn’t miss it,” Leah said.

“You come in early now.” Mrs. Gates was a motherly woman and spent considerable time worrying about her young ladies. “And you watch out. You know how these dances are.”

“I’ll be very careful, Mrs. Gates. Don’t worry.”

Leah went downstairs, opened the door, and found Mott waiting for her. He turned to face her. A tall man, six feet two with blond hair and hazel eyes, he was wearing a linen double-breasted suit with a matching cap. His face was puffy with the heat, and as he nodded, he said, “I’ll sure be glad when it cools off. You ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

Mott led her outside toward his new vehicle and said, “How do you like it?”

Leah eyed the contraption skeptically. “To tell the truth, I’ve never ridden in an auto.”

“You haven’t? Well, you’ll like this one. A fella named Henry Ford built it. Here, let me help you in.”

Leah mounted the single seat and sat down and then watched as Mott cranked the engine. As soon as it was running, he leaped into the seat beside her. “Sure would be nice,” he said, panting, “if we could start these things from the inside instead of cranking them. That’ll come someday.”

Moving the levers on the gearshift, the small automobile jerked and then moved out noisily. The armory was only ten blocks away, but they managed to scare several horses along the way. One of them pulling a buggy reared up and ran away, careening madly down the street.

“That’s too bad,” Leah remarked.

“Yes, it is, but horses will get used to them in time. As a matter of fact, horses are on their way out.”

Leah preferred horses herself. She had always loved the animals and had a horse of her own back in Fort Smith, but she was realistic enough to know that Mott was probably right.

“You look very nice,” Mott said, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. He was wearing a pair of goggles and nodded firmly. “I like that dress.”

“Thank you, Mott. I’m looking forward to the dance.”

“Me too. There’ll be a lot of drinking and carousing going on. There always is at these things.”

“Well, we don’t have to join in.”

“No, we don’t. Can’t think of anything more foolish than drinking your health away.”

****

The armory was an old red brick building three stories high. It had seen plenty of use over the years, for it had been an armory during the Civil War. It was the largest building in Lewisville, and the second floor had been converted into a meeting hall. When the chairs were removed, it served as a ballroom for those rather rare occasions when Lewisville citizens came together for such an event as the Fourth of July dance.

As Leah crested the stairs and looked around, she was surprised at the size of the crowd. The place was packed, and she murmured, “I don’t think there’s going to be room to dance, Mott.”

“Sure there will. Here, let’s move around for a bit.”

Mott was, Leah knew, a politician at heart, and she followed him as he greeted people, whispering to her from time to time the pertinent facts about each one. “He’s the judge. A good man to know. I’m going to ask him to support me when I run for office.”

High above them, red, white, and blue festoons were strung across the ceiling. The late afternoon sun, along with the large
crystal chandeliers, threw a blazing light over the dancers. The bright colors of the women’s dresses caught the rays from the chandeliers—green, red, blue, purple—and the sound of many people talking and laughing made a pleasant, though rather loud, noise throughout the decorated armory.

Leah danced with Mott, and then he surrendered her to a friend of his, Luke Garrison. Mott had laughed and said, “Luke is the sheriff, Leah. I’ll trust him to take care of you.”

Garrison, a short man built like a wrestler, had cool gray eyes and was soft-spoken. He danced well enough but shrugged, saying, “I’m no dancer, Miss Freeman.”

“Why, you do very well, Sheriff.”

“I understand your fella’s going to be running for office soon.”

“Well, he’s not really my fella, Sheriff. I think you’re right about his running, though. He’s very interested in politics.”

A gloomy light touched the sheriff’s eyes. “I’d just as soon be out of it,” he said. “I should have been a farmer like my dad. Less trouble.”

“I thought law-enforcement officers led exciting lives.”

The two were doing a two-step, and Garrison concentrated on the intricacies of the dance for a moment. “Well, you’re mistaken about that. I spend most of my time locking up pitiful drunks and trying to get votes for the next election.”

“You make it sound terrible. I’ve read about Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson and all the famous lawmen of the Old West.”

“I don’t think they were quite what the books make them out to be. Earp was all right, but Masterson was nothing but a cheap crook. Some of those fellows just happened to be on the right side of the law. They could have been outlaws and desperadoes just as easy.”

Leah found the sheriff interesting, but then he surrendered her to Ace Devainy, who had come looking for her deliberately.

“Where’s Ellie?”

“She’s dancing with the mayor.” Ace was a homely and gangly man with yellow hair and light blue eyes. For all his
homeliness, the mothers of the town feared him, for young women had a failing for him that was hard to understand.

Leah found Devainy an entertaining man. He enjoyed his dance with her, paying her close attention. When the band started to play a cakewalk tune, Leah protested. “I can’t do that dance!”

“Sure you can, honey. Nothin’ to it.” Ace grinned. The cakewalk dance, originally done by southern blacks, featured prancing struts, shuffling feet, and exaggerated sways. The white version was somewhat different. The couples formed a square with the men on the inside, high strutting to a sprightly tune as they paraded imaginatively around the figure. It had a rather frenetic rhythm and a rollicking melody that was becoming known as ragtime.

Leah was a good dancer and quickly caught on, and by the time the cakewalk was over, her eyes were sparkling, and she said to Ace, “It’s fun, but I don’t think it’s very respectable.”

“Oh, I think it is. All my friends do it, and my friends are all respectable.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard, Mr. Devainy.”

“You’ve been listenin’ to the wrong people.” Ace then said, “Whoops, I’ve got to get back to the bandstand. Come along. I’ll take you over to the refreshment table.”

Leah allowed herself to be guided to the refreshment table and watched as Ace made his way back to the bandstand. She was soon joined by Ellie, who was laughing.

“I saw you carryin’ on with my fella. You tryin’ to steal him?”

“No. I don’t think so. He’s a lot of fun, though.”

Mott came over to join them, and the three stood there as the master of ceremonies called for quiet. As soon as everyone settled down, he said, “We have a real treat now. Stuart Winslow’s going to play and sing a brand-new song. You all know Stuart. His song is ‘Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey?’ ”

Leah’s eyes were on the bandstand when a strongly built man stepped forward with a violin in his hand. He had the
blackest hair she had ever seen, with brows to match, and his dark blue eyes looked almost black. Tucking the instrument loosely under his chin, he began to play and tap his foot and sing. He was handsomely dressed in a pair of fawn-colored trousers, a snow-white shirt with a string tie, and a pair of shiny leather half boots.

Leah listened as Winslow sang the racy song, accompanying his own singing with impressive fiddling skills. When he had finished, she said, “What a wonderful voice!”

Ellie nudged her with an elbow. “Better stay away from him. He’s worse of a woman chaser than Ace. They’re best friends, you know.”

The crowd applauded, and then Stuart held the violin in one hand and nodded to the band. They began a slow melody, and the piano player picked out the notes in a very slow fashion. Lifting his voice, Stuart Winslow began to sing, “Because you come to me, I’ll cherish thee. . . .”