Oleanders in June

Chapter Two-2

He pulled out another peanut and watched the shell crack between his fingers. Alfred kept his voice in a kind tone, working carefully not to appear to smart at his words.

“I’m sure you can appreciate the difficulty we have in forecasting. The winds seem to make up their own minds on whether they’re more suitable for flying kites or creating swells. Science has leaps left to make before investments in equipment are the equalizer for accuracy in forecasts.”

The man stared at Alfred with small eyes and a stern brow. After several seconds of silence, a small grin crossed his mouth.

“Alfred, my boy, you’ll fit in perfectly on this island.”

Mathias chuckled as he popped a peanut into his mouth and looked about the crowd as if searching for someone. Mr. Jeffries looked out beyond the Midway at the waves crashing onto the beach. Swimmers danced in and out of them in miniaturized waltzes.

“That little hospital of yours is growing quite nicely, Mathias.”

“We’re at thirty-two students this year already.”

“So many,” he mused. “It’ll be a full-fledged attraction within a few years, I’d wager.”

“The first medical school in Texas has got some draw to it,” Mathis replied.

Mr. Jeffries looked off into the crowd and squinted his eyes in the midday sun. “There they go, off for another ride on that damn donkey.” He gestured toward the petting zoo. “Have you ever heard of such a ridiculous attraction as donkey rides?”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Mathias observed. “You don’t strike me as the sort to find amusement in a traveling fair.”

“My grandchildren.” He pointed at the small corral where three donkeys were being led by rope. “They said they wanted to see the peacocks.”

“I didn’t realize there were peacocks here.”

“There aren’t.” He stuck his hand out once more with a sigh. “It was a pleasure, Alfred.”

“Likewise.”

“Mathias, I’ve got a new shipment of silk that Mrs. Poplar would like to see. You’ll pass along the word for me?”

“Of course,” he replied with a nod. “I hope your grandchildren enjoy the peacocks.”

The man rolled his eyes and sauntered away. The smell of popcorn entreated Alfred’s senses as the warmth of the day continued to permeate through the crowd. Behind them a man cursed at a game vendor, and Alfred turned to glance at the commotion before seeing Mathias glance at his pocket watch.

“Keeping the time?”

Mathias dropped his watch back into his pocket. “I was hoping to run into someone but hadn’t agreed on an exact time.”

“We’re not in a hurry,” Alfred coaxed as he looked about the crowd. “Shall we walk around and give the festival a look?”

The roasted peanuts were a treat to Alfred’s palate as they wandered through the festival, walking past a tent showing off a man juggling melons alongside a woman who challenged them both to try for the title of the strongest man in the city. Despite the cool blue of the water just a few hundred yards beyond the festival, the air was thick and pulled at his collar and undershirt with moist fingers.

As they neared the petting zoo, Mathias was caught by the arm and pulled into a conversation with a young man about the week’s clinical rounds. Alfred removed himself from Mathias’s side after several minutes of eavesdropping and busied himself with a small goat that was rubbing against a fence post on his impromptu enclosure. He petted its head, feeling the bony angles of its skull and floppy ears with his rough, calloused hands. He glanced back at Mathias, who stood with his hands just inside his pockets and his jacket pulled open slightly to reveal the shimmer of his pocket watch chain. Alfred reached into his pocket and felt the outline of his watch where it floated without attachment. He compared so little to the men around him. Standing still with a brown and white goat nudging his pant leg, he watched the gentlemen move about him as if he were a poster, something at which to glance and take in but not to study or remember. They wore clean bowlers and pressed shirts with crisp jackets; he fingered the worn hem of his jacket and turned back to the goat, squatting to give it an aggressive rub between the eyes as it chewed on a mouthful of hay. He might not have made the same acquaintances as Mathias, but he had managed to find at least one soul that he could understand.

“Aren’t they gorgeous creatures?”

A thin-framed figure stood over him, her face covered in the shadow of a parasol. He stood carefully to his feet and met her hazelnut eyes. Her brunette hair was pulled up from her neck, but the breeze had blown several strands loose so that they buoyed at her collar. A delicate nose tilted up to look him in the eye, revealing an open smile that brightened her expression. Contrasting the scene around them in a white dress, she looked every bit the part of the city as he had come to expect it but something about her stood out from the others. He studied her eyes as he caught his breath.

“They are the most mischievous things, though” she continued. “Always getting into something and wanting attention when it’s not due.”

Alfred found his voice. “Goats?”

She gave a chuckle and bent to pet the animal.

“Of course!” She rubbed at the animal’s chin as it gnawed on a sprig of hay. “Unless asses are just as roguish, but I don’t imagine they care much for eating my Papa’s honeysuckle.”

Alfred tilted his head to look more closely at her. “You have goats?

“No. Do you?”

She stood and shaded her face once more with her parasol. He furrowed his brow and shook his head, the noise of the festival returning to his ears as someone slammed the hammer down on the scale across the way and the copper ting of the bell filled the air. She smiled at him warmly, which unnerved him. He took in a breath of salty air to ask her name when another young woman joined them, her parasol drifting behind her.

“Florence, how ever do you keep your reputation, running off on your own so carelessly as you do?”

Her companion squinted toward the water and let her head tilt to the side, her loose strands rolling over her neck and onto her shoulder to reveal a smooth jawline. Florence gave the woman a quick glance.

“Who says I do it carelessly? Perhaps I’ve put a great deal of thought into each rendezvous.”

“They’ll be saying scandal before the summer.”

“There’s nothing scandalous about a festival, Evelyn,” she commented lightly. “It’s little more than roasted peanuts and men throwing away money on a ring toss. How would I ever stir up a rumor here?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea as dull as it all is.” The woman looked longingly toward the gate before releasing a deep sigh. “We’ve done our duty. No doubt William will be entreated to return us home after so long in the sun. We should go.”

Florence took hold of her friend’s arm and turned back to Alfred.

“How rude to suggest a lady leave a conversation with a gentleman without proper introduction, Evelyn.” She met his eyes once more and jutted her chin out slightly, her sun-kissed skin revealing faint freckles along the bridge of her nose. “I was rather enjoying a thoughtful conversation with Mr.—”

She shot an eyebrow up, and he took the cue.

“Ridgeway.” He cleared his throat and let the bag of peanuts fall to his side. “Alfred Ridgeway.”

“With Mr. Ridgeway,” she finished with a smile.

Evelyn kept her body turned so that she continued to face the gate but let her eyes roll down to his shoes and back up along his jacket.

“And what were you so thoughtfully discussing, might I ask?” Her words were directed at Florence, Alfred noted, despite her eyes remaining on him.

“Goats,” Florence replied.

Evelyn shot her a rigid look. “Goats?”

“Yes, Mr. Ridgeway was about to tell me about his goats, I believe.”

Evelyn turned her body toward Alfred as if to join their conversation. Her mouth twisted into an amused smile. “Raised on a farm were you, Mr. Ridgeway?”

Alfred caught her tone but engaged in the banter carelessly, keeping his attention more on Florence than her counterpart. “Yes, as a matter of fact.” The corners of his lips pulled upward into the beginning of a smile as Evelyn’s face flattened. “My family farms quite a large set of fields in Tahlequah.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Florence replied, her voice sultry in the heat of the day. “Is it in Texas?”

“Indian Territory.”

“Oh, my,” Evelyn erupted, bringing a gloved hand to her chest in what Alfred took to be a rehearsed flare. “You live in Indian Territory?”

“In the northern corner, very near the Arkansas border.”

“How fascinating,” Florence commented, her eyes sparkling as she spoke.

The two shared a smile.

“Indeed,” Evelyn cut in, her voice low. “I didn’t realize civilized men existed in the territories.”

He tightened his smile as he caught her eye.

“You are not the first to make that mistake.”

“Do tell us about it,” Florence interrupted.

She let her parasol fall onto her shoulder, the edge falling back as the sunlight washed over her, painting her white dress like snow on the prairie. She ignored Evelyn, who huffed mildly and searched the festival for something more interesting.

“It’s very similar to Texas but with flat fields and prairies. Of course, we have nothing like the coast and even Galveston has already outgrown some of our larger cities.”

“With colorful sunsets, no doubt.”

“Please, Florence” Evelyn remarked dryly. “The Indian Territory is no place for a woman.”

“There is actually a good bit of talk of declaring statehood in the coming years,” Alfred replied.

“Statehood!” Evelyn gave a dark chuckle as she pulled uncomfortably at a glove on her hand. “What will they think of next?”

“I think it would be a thrill to see the Indian Territories,” Florence commented, her eyes still on Alfred. “I imagine it’s quite beautiful to see nature so unrestricted with so few men far and between towns. Is the land mostly unsettled?”

“Oh, yes. It’s a breathtaking landscape. The plains are gold in the late summer and the flat land pulls the winds through the trees. And the sunsets in the summer paint the skies red just over the wheat before harvest.”

She continued to smile at him as a small silence settled. He felt his chest grow warm.

“You are quite the poet, Mr. Ridgeway.”

“Please, call me Alfred.”

“Alfred.” She kept her hands lightly on the handle of her parasol, as if preferring their informal exchange despite the circumstances. “I am Florence Mae Keller.”

Her lips parted as if to ask a question when Evelyn swatted her arm with a hollow white glove.

“William is here.”

Three men approached their little group along with Mathias, who took his place across from Alfred and quickly began introductions, gesturing to each man in turn.

“This is William Goodman, Elijah Baker, and Thomas Brighton. Mr. Ridgeway has come to study the weather. He recently arrived in Galveston for a post with the Weather Bureau’s office.”

The tallest of the three who had been introduced as William pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, offering them to the men around him. All but Mathias and Alfred accepted the offer.

“The Weather Bureau, eh? Here in Galveston?”

Alfred nodded and watched as Mathias took a step away from the group and began a private conversation with Mr. Brighton, the only man who went without a tie.

“Are you working with that chap who takes the measurements on the roof downtown?”

“Dr. Isaac Cline.”

“Yes, he’s the fellow. An interesting man. We met during a lecture of some sort.” He let loose a puff of smoke that mingled in the air between them like slow moving honey fresh from the bark. “What is it you intend to study? A place like Galveston can’t provide that much to observe. More often than not, it’s an overly humid sandlot with rainy mornings and balmy evenings.”

“There is actually a great deal to study. Take the oceanic currents for an example. We still do not understand the exact role they play in the development of storms at sea. They could be a primary factor in how tropical storms are formed yet we have no way of observing them for predictions.”

“Do you think we could learn to do that in the future?”

“Weather forecasting is a vast field and still in its infancy in many ways, but the Weather Bureau’s primary objective is to develop tools to forecast weeks in advance.”

“Weeks in advance,” William mused with a draw of his cigarette. “You’ll rival almanacs.” He gave Alfred a nudge with his elbow. “Do tell me, how does one go about measuring something like that? I mean one can’t go into the water and see it, can he? What types of instruments would you use—”

“William,” Evelyn cut in with mock sincerity, “I do hate to interrupt your interest in Mr. Ridgeway’s profession, but we really should be returning home. Mother will not take kindly to us missing tea with her friends yet again.”

The man raised his eyebrows in agreement.

“Right. As my dear sister has noted, we must be off then.” He extended his free hand to Alfred. “I do hope we have an occasion to chat about your profession at length. Perhaps you could join us for drinks one afternoon next week?”

“I think I would rather enjoy that.”

“Excellent! Where shall I post you the time and place? We change week to week, I’m afraid.”

Alfred’s expression was blank as he realized he had not yet memorized the address of the boardinghouse. He wondered if Mrs. Poplar was well known enough to simply give her name, but he felt himself begin to blush at the thought of stating his proprietor’s name in lieu of an address. He cleared his throat and glanced at Mathias, who was still chatting with his Mr. Brighton where they had wandered several yards away from the group.

“I’ve not yet committed the address to memory. Perhaps Mathias can better answer your question.”

William cupped Alfred’s shoulder with a strong hand.

“Ah, what a grand idea! I’ll invite you and Mathias both.” He took another draw on the cigarette and looked toward the petting zoo where the women and Mr. Baker were walking the perimeter and flirting with two talkative sheep. “Evelyn! Time to go.”

He glanced toward Mathias and Mr. Brighton before giving a sharp whistle. The two men turned to look at him, keeping their voices low as they finished their conversation.

“I’m always having to break those two up,” he confided.

“William,” Mr. Baker called out as they neared, Evelyn’s laugh trailing, “what was the name of that poor man that came in for a loan to breed his sheep? You remember, the one that talked incessantly about his wife knitting them hats to keep them dry in the rain.”

Evelyn snorted and covered her mouth with her gloved hand before slapping his shoulder playfully with her free glove.

“Really, Elijah! You must stop!”

“The poor man had a knitted sheep cap in his pocket!”

Evelyn continued her laughter as William dropped his cigarette and snubbed it with his shoe.

“Really, Evelyn,” he rebuked. “And the man wasn’t poor by any means. He owned two farms and had a rather lucrative stock that had earned him a small fortune.”

“Oh,” Evelyn declared as she recovered from her laughter. “Perhaps Mr. Ridgeway knew him then.”

She giggled as Mathias returned with Mr. Brighton and clapped William on the shoulder.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I’m afraid so. We’ve dinner before returning home.”

“We’re dining at the Tremont House,” Evelyn replied, leading the entire group to nod as Alfred looked on, completely out of touch.

“But I’ve roped Alfred into joining us for drinks next Tuesday,” William commented. “You’ll join us, too?”

“Of course,” Mathias replied with a nod toward Mr. Brighton.

“Excellent!” He motioned toward the gate. “Ladies, shall we?”

Evelyn reached for Mr. Baker, who offered her his arm, and William started to follow them. He gave them a tired smile as he departed.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Mathias lifted a single hand and let it fall on Mr. Brighton’s shoulder as the man joined William and their words disappeared in the bustle of the crowd around them. Alfred let his eyes drift from their backs to Florence, who walked slowly beneath her parasol. She turned toward him and paused at the back of the group.

“I do hope to see you again, Alfred.”

“As do I, Ms. Keller.”

Alfred felt his heart pound against his sternum as she lifted her parasol over her head with a grin.

“Do call me Florence.”

Her steps were airy as she sashayed toward the gate. He watched her go, her dress flowing in the breeze, a wave of lace and cloth billowing above her boots. He heard Mathias speak but his ears were deaf to the world. Only his eyes registered the scene before him and he let his mind take over, straining to remember the look of her body as she disappeared into the crowd, a wisp of prairie primrose in a sea of cordgrass.

His senses flooded back as his hand jostled at his side. He looked down to see the bag of roasted peanuts, a section of paper torn off and dangling from his hand. Two goats quickly ate the remnants of his roasted peanuts from the ground, their mouths smacking and their heads bobbing with each mouthful. Mathias held up his own bag, and Alfred took a peanut without a word, both men silently watching the goats eat their free fare.