Strictly Taboo(109)

Chapter 9



Art let go of Grace’s hand long before the two approached the front door of the small wooden house. Grace had understood why, but the absence of his hand in hers had made her feel a certain degree of emptiness that she wasn't particularly fond of. It was as though since giving Art her virginity, he had become inexplicably bonded to her.

Grace walked up the two small wooden steps up to the front porch while Art stood at the bottom of them waiting. Grace gestured for him to follow her, but he shook his head and remained where he stood. Grace knocked lightly on the door before opening it just a crack.

“Daddy? Daddy, it's me, Gracie.” She called quietly. There was some noise from inside the house and Grace beckoned for Art to follow her as she stepped through the front door. He had no choice now but to follow her in to the dimly lit house. “Daddy? I have a visitor.”

“Who is it?” An old man’s voice snapped gruffly. Art immediately felt his whole body stiffen.

“It's Arthur Monroe, he was kind enough to walk me home from the dance when Winnie had to leave early.” Art heard movement and then steps coming towards them.

“That no good piece of shit!” The old man grumbled.

“Daddy!” Grace said quickly.

“What? He is a no good piece of shit! I don't know why she ever married him in the first place!” Grace’s father muttered before holding out a wrinkled hand to Art. “Frank Purdue.” He said. Art shook his hand firmly.

“Arthur Monroe.” Art said.

“Monroe…hmm…any relation to the president, Monroe?” He asked.

“No, sir, I'm afraid not.” Art said politely.

“Oh. There's a fella in town related to Roosevelt, you know.” Frank nodded knowingly.

“I had heard that.” Art said.

“He's about as loaded as my shotgun, you know.” Frank gestured toward an old shotgun standing in the corner by the front door. Art felt a shudder pass over him.

“I had heard that too.” Art said.

“You got any money?” Frank asked, squinting his eyes as he examined Art.

“Daddy, why don't I go through to the kitchen and make us all some tea?” Grace interrupted. Her father shrugged.

“If you like.” He said.

Art found himself desperately hoping that Grace wouldn't leave him alone with her father, but she did. Frank continued to eye Art.

“Well?” He asked. “I said, you got any money like that fella Roosevelt.” Art glanced at the shotgun nervously.

“I do quite well for myself, yes, sir.” Was the best Art could manage.

“Hmm…what business you in?” Frank asked gruffly.

“Well, sir, I own that land out there where Mr. Roosevelt is drillin’ for oil.” Art said and suddenly Frank became much less hostile.

“Oh? Good man, good man.” He turned around and beckoned for Art to follow him. “Come on through and have a seat.” He said as he began to shuffle back through to the living room. Art followed him cautiously.

“Actually, Mr. Purdue…I was wonderin’ if I might ask you somethin’” Art said as they entered the small pokey living room and Frank eased himself in to a recliner. He gestured to an old sofa across from him and Art took a seat.

“Oh? What could a man like you have to ask a man like me?” Frank asked curiously.

“Well, sir, it's about your daughter.” Art said quickly, hoping to get everything out before Grace came back in to the room.

“Winnie?” Frank asked.

“No, sir, Grace. I wanted to ask for your permission to ask for her hand in marriage.” In the brief silence between Art asking the question and Frank answering, there came a loud crash from the kitchen. Grace had heard every word.

Frank stared at the doorway, waiting for Grace to say something, but when the normal kitchen noise resumed, he thought nothing of it.

“And what, Mr. Monroe, can you give to my daughter as a husband?” Frank asked. Before Art could answer, another question came at him. “Are you a drinker, Mr. Monroe?”

“No, sir.” Art said.

“And you have money, you say?” Frank asked. Art nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“And a home of your own? You can't be livin’ here with me.” Frank said.

“Yes sir, I live in my late father’s home, but I hope to build my own farmhouse soon.” Frank seemed stunned in to silence.

“I built this place, you know.” He finally said. Art nodded.

“Grace was telling me, sir. It's a very beautiful home.” He said, looking around the tiny room. Frank nodded.

“Damn near killed me.” Frank laughed a raspy laugh that ended in a coughing fit. After he regained his composure, he nodded at Art. “You buildin’ it yourself?” He asked.