“You two are courting, I hear.”

“Stop.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Connor’s a boy.”

“He’s twenty-six. Older’n you.”

She shrugged. “Still a boy.”

“Are you courting?” Danny flicked his cigarette into the street and looked at her.

“I don’t know what we’re doing, Danny.” She sounded weary. Not so much of the day, but of him. It made him feel like a child, petulant and easily bruised. “Would you like me to say that I don’t feel some allegiance to this family, some weight for what I could never repay your father? That I know for sure I won’t marry your brother?”

“Yes,” Danny said, “that’s what I’d like to hear.”

“Well, I can’t say that.”

“You’d marry out of gratitude?”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

Danny’s throat felt tight, like it might collapse in on itself. “And when Connor finds out you left a husband behind in—”

“He’s dead,” she hissed.

“To you. Not the same as dead, though, is it?”

Her eyes were fire now. “What’s your point, boy?”

“How do you think he’s going to take that news?”

“All I can hope,” she said, her voice weary again, “is that he takes it a fair sight better than you did.”

Danny said nothing for a bit and they both stared over the short distance between them, his eyes, he hoped, as merciless as hers.

“He won’t,” he said and walked down the stairs into the quiet and the dark.

CHAPTER five

A week after Luther became a husband, he and Lila found a house off Archer Street, on Elwood, little one-bedroom with indoor plumbing, and Luther talked to some boys at the Gold Goose Billiard Parlor on Greenwood Avenue who told him the place to go for a job was the Hotel Tulsa, across the Santa Fe tracks in white Tulsa. Money be falling off trees over there, Country. Luther didn’t mind them calling him Country for the time being, long as they didn’t get too used to it, and he went over to the hotel and talked to the man they’d told him to see, fella by the name of Old Byron Jackon. Old Byron (everyone called him “Old Byron,” even his elders) was the head of the bellmen’s union. He said he’d start Luther as an elevator operator and see where things went from there.

So Luther started in the elevators, and even that was a gold mine, people giving him two bits practically every time he turned the crank or opened the cage. Oh, Tulsa was swimming in oil money! People drove the biggest motorcars and wore the biggest hats and the finest clothes and the men smoked cigars thick as pool cues and the women smelled of perfume and powder. People walked fast in Tulsa. They ate fast from large plates and drank fast from tall glasses. The men clapped one another on the back a lot and leaned in and whispered in each other’s ears and then roared with laughter.