Virgin Fire

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  "Seemed all right to me,” Justin agreed.

  Out on the veranda, Travis was saying, “Your family certainly has a variety of hair and eye colors.” He wasn't just making idle conversation.

  "What you mean,” Jessica replied sadly, “is that I don't look like any of them. That's because I'm not their daughter."

  "Oh?” said Travis encouragingly. He was sorry to pursue this because she looked so miserable as she said it, but he wanted to know how much she knew about her mother, Penelope Gresham.

  "I don't know who my parents are."

  Travis frowned. That wasn't the reply he'd expected. “Haven't you asked?"

  "Oh yes, but Mother always says, ‘You're our daughter.’ Unfortunately, that's impossible. The twins and I are only a month apart in age, and Mama couldn't have had three children in two months. Papa won't talk about it at all."

  "I see,” said Travis, confused. If he had been able to find out that Jessica was the daughter of Justin Harte and Penelope Gresham, who had been married until just after the child's birth, it couldn't be that much of a secret. How had they managed to keep it from Jessica? And why?

  Her contention that the twins were her age was certainly a surprise and perhaps explained the family reticence on the whole subject. Anne, who was obviously the boys’ mother, couldn't have been married to Harte when she'd had them. Interesting, but irrelevant as far as he was concerned.

  "I suppose that I'm a foundling they took in out of kindness,” she added. Jessica had noted his bemused expression and assumed that he had been interested in her because she was the daughter of a wealthy cattleman. That had certainly happened before. Now that he knew she wasn't, he would disappear. Jessica felt a sharp stab of regret at the thought. “Well, good night, Mr. Parnell,” she said. “It was very pleasant to meet you."

  Her quiet farewell jolted Travis out of his calculations and back to his purpose in striking up an acquaintance with the Harte boys. “May I call on you, Miss Jessica?” he asked.

  Again the flash of surprise and pleasure in her blue eyes. “Why—why, yes, certainly.” Then she seemed to think better of her moment of vulnerable enthusiasm. “We'd be glad to have you visit any time you're in Weatherford, Mr. Parnell."

  "Thank you,” said Travis. She might be surprised at just how soon he planned to accept that invitation and which member of the family he'd be calling on.

  Jessica Harte floated into the house, her previous disappointment dispersed like summer mist by warm sunlight. What a lovely man, she thought, and he seemed to really like her, not her father's money, not her mother's cooking—her, Jessica. He hadn't even minded that she was smart—and educated. He didn't think taking law courses made her a freak.

  She remembered with a shiver of pleasure the touch of his hand on her shoulder as he seated her at the dinner table. At that time she hadn't known how nice and how interesting he was, just how handsome. That thick, dark hair, sort of like Papa's but darker and not so curly, and his eyes—they were so intense. Sometimes she almost thought he looked sad, as if there'd been some tragedy in his life, although she was probably being silly and romantic. Drilling for oil didn't sound tragic, just intriguing and unusual.

  And he was very well built. She had to compare him with various young men she had known in Washington, young men who took up boxing and other manly sports to develop their physiques, young men who admired cowboys without ever having seen a real one. He made them seem effete in retrospect, for he was overpoweringly male. And this handsome, dashing man had asked to call.

  She smiled dreamily, speculating on how soon he'd come. Next week maybe? Certainly not earlier than three or four days.

  "Has Mr. Parnell gone, Jessie?” her mother asked when Jessica reentered the parlor.

  "Yes, Mama, but he's asked to call again."

  "That's nice,” said Anne. “He seems a personable young man.” Actually, when she thought about it, Travis Parnell reminded her of Justin, with whom she'd fallen so hopelessly in love years ago. It was that aura of power some men had, and, of course, Parnell was handsome.

  The combination could make him a heartbreaker, and Anne wondered if Jessie, who was so unsure of her own attractions, could handle the attentions of such a man, because Parnell was interested; Anne knew the signs. She had no fears that her daughter would get herself into trouble; Jessie was too sensible for that, too intelligent, but she could be hurt.

  Anne sighed. There was a point past which you couldn't protect your children, she decided; you had to let them live their own lives, else they'd have none worth living. Jessie was twenty-two. It would be a shame if she never loved a man, as Anne had loved her father all these years, a shame if she never married.

  Chapter Two

  Returning from an afternoon visit with an elderly family friend, Jessica trudged up the long drive to her parents’ house. She wished with all her heart that she still had her bicycle. It had been stolen from the stable just before she left Washington, and although she'd asked her father to buy her another, he'd objected to purchasing the Overman drop frame she had her eye on.

  Jessica had never understood why, but Papa seemed to think she was always in danger of becoming a spendthrift, whereas Jessica knew herself to be quite thrifty and sensible. The machine she coveted was a case in point; it had a chain guard and a twine-laced rear fender to protect the rider's skirt from damage, a very practical bicycle but not particularly expensive because the model had been on the market ten years. She'd chosen it for just those reasons.

  Papa had said, when she brought the subject up, that he expected his children to take better care of their property. She might have considered his point of view more reasonable had it not been so hard to protect one's property in a big city like Washington. All kinds of things were stolen there. Perhaps Papa didn't realize that.

  Still, his flashes of disapproval hurt and reminded Jessica that she wasn't a part of the family in the same way that her red-headed brothers and sister were. Had she been left on Mama and Papa's doorstep, a mysterious foundling? Mysterious foundlings might be very intriguing in novels, but Jessica didn't want to be one. She wanted to be an ordinary Harte daughter, although she supposed that could never happen. Because she sneezed around cattle and was afraid of horses, she couldn't even be an ordinary ranch daughter the way her sister Frannie was.

  Papa, seeing how disappointed she'd been about the bicycle, had suggested that she try again to overcome her fear of horses, which were a more practical mode of transportation in the West. He'd offered to teach her to ride himself. Much as Jessica yearned to spend time with her father, whom she adored and thought the handsomest, bravest, smartest man in the world, she couldn't face getting up on a horse. She knew exactly what would happen. The horse would realize immediately that she was terrified and run off with her or toss her out of the saddle or scrape her off on a fence, if one were handy. No, even for Papa she couldn't face riding.

  Thinking of Papa reminded her of Mr. Parnell, who was also very handsome. Would he really come to call again? she wondered. Last night she had been sure he would and so excited at the prospect that she'd found it hard to fall asleep. She'd sat for hours in the window of her tower room listening to the sound of leaves rustling in the old tree beside the house and thinking of Mr. Parnell.

  Jessica stopped to pat Frannie's dog Bobble, who had bounded across the lawn to greet her. Then she resumed her walk. Had she liked Mr. Parnell so much because he treated her like a real person instead of a brainless social ornament? Jessica knew that she wasn't particularly ornamental and that men preferred to marry pretty women rather than intelligent ones. Not that she thought Mr. Parnell wanted to marry her. Goodness, they'd only met once, and she was being very silly, although silliness was not ordinarily a part of her nature.

  After all, she'd been to law school and persevered in the face of her disapproving professors—Supreme Court justices, renowned legal scholars and very formidable men. She'd ignored the snickers and the resentment of h
er fellow students, all of whom were male as well. And she'd distinguished herself academically even if they wouldn't let her graduate. Much good it had done her.

  Here she was at home, where she couldn't practice law because, to become licensed, you had to have the approval of a judge and a committee of lawyers, something a woman was unlikely to win. No doubt she should have encouraged one of the young men who had come to call in Washington, but she hadn't wanted to marry a Northerner and be separated from her family for the rest of her life. She'd missed them terribly all those years away at school.

  On the other hand, now that she was home, she had nothing to do. It would be nice, very nice, to have a handsome beau like Mr. Parnell, even if only for a little while, and she did hope he'd come to call as he had promised. If he did, when would it be? Tomorrow? The next day?

  She climbed the steps to the veranda. Bobble at her heels, and closed her ruffled parasol, relieved to be out of the hot August sun. She was wearing her prettiest afternoon dress, a blue dimity that matched her eyes, but the high choker collar brushing her chin was uncomfortable on a day like this, and she was sure she looked rumpled and wilted. She should have taken the carriage as Mama had suggested when she asked Jessica to visit old Mrs. Artemis Culp.

  In the front hall Jessica noticed a strange hat on the big oak hat rack and wondered who was visiting. As she unpinned her own hat, she peeked into one of the mirrored sides and groaned to herself. Her hair, which had at least been neat when she set out, was now coming down in little strands around her face and neck. Messy, she thought with a grimace. Outside, Bobble, who was not allowed in the house because he devoured small decorative objects, had stopped howling mournfully at the door and tumbled down the steps to chase butterflies. Jessica always felt guilty about closing the door in his face.

  "Jessie, look who's come to call."

  Jessica looked up to see her sister emerging from the commode room and after her—oh heavens! It was Mr. Parnell. What were they doing in there—and Jessica with her hair in disarray and her dress damp and rumpled.

  "I've been taking him on the commode tour,” announced Frannie.

  Commodes? Frannie was showing him the commodes! Jessica felt a wave of horror roll over her. “H-hello, Mr. Parnell,” she stammered.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Jessica,” he replied.

  "Goodness, Jessie, don't look so embarrassed,” said Frannie cheerfully. “Everyone wants to see our mechanical commodes. Hardly anyone in Weatherford has them."

  "Frannie—"

  "Why, if I've shown one visitor, I've shown a hundred since we got them."

  "Frannie,” said Jessica weakly, “I'm sure Mr. Parnell has seen—"

  "Oh no, he hasn't. He said he doesn't know a soul in Corsicana with a mechanical commode. He said outhouses are more the fashion there."

  Jessica wanted to sink through the floor. No one mentioned commodes! Certainly not in mixed company. Could Frannie be up to one of her pranks—like the time she'd put the cow pattie between two pieces of bread in Ned's lunch bucket, and he'd taken a big bite at school and—Jessica didn't even want to think about that, any more than she wanted to think about Mr. Parnell being dragged around the house to view the new mechanical commodes. Once he got loose, he'd run for his life and never come back.

  "Come along, Mr. Parnell,” said Frannie, taking his hand and tugging him toward the staircase. “Wait till you see the one on the second floor. We call it the throne because it's built on a platform."

  Miserably Jessica watched them disappearing up the stairs.

  "Oh, darling, you're home.” Anne came down the hall from the back of the house, removing her gardening gloves and wide-brimmed hat. “How was Mrs. Culp?"

  "Mother, Frannie is—"

  "I hope you had a nice visit."

  "Yes, fine, but Frannie's—"

  "Poor old woman. Do tell me all about her."

  Jessica sighed. It was too late to stop her little sister from showing Mr. Parnell the upstairs commode, and obviously her mother wouldn't let her get a word in until the affairs of Mrs. Artemis Culp had been discussed. “Mrs. Culp thinks the servants are trying to steal her spectacles,” said Jessica, “so she hides them at night. Unfortunately, this morning she couldn't remember where she'd put them, and since she can't see a thing, she was in a bad way. Does Frannie always—"

  Anne, shaking her head over the problems of Mrs. Artemis Culp, interrupted to ask if Jessica hadn't offered to help look for the missing spectacles.

  "I spent the whole two hours of my visit searching,” Jessica replied. “Now could we discuss—"

  "Poor old thing,” cried Anne. “Whatever will she do until she gets a new pair?"

  "I found them!” said Jessica. Then she spotted her sister and Mr. Parnell descending the stairs and groaned.

  "...and because of the commodes, Papa had to have a cesspool dug,” Frannie was explaining enthusiastically.

  I can't believe she's saying that, thought Jessica.

  "Did he?” murmured Travis Parnell with solemn courtesy.

  "Frances Harte, are you showing off those commodes again?” her mother demanded.

  "Of course I am, Mama, and Mr. Parnell is ever so interested, aren't you?"

  "It was very instructive,” said Travis politely.

  Jessica knew her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

  "You're looking blooming, Miss Jessica. I dropped by to ask if you'd care to attend the Molly A. Bailey circus parade with me this afternoon."

  "You did?” Jessica had been sure he would never want to see any member of her family after such an embarrassing incident.

  "With your mother's permission, of course.” He smiled at Anne.

  "Oh, goodie!” cried Frannie. “Do say yes, Mama. I want to go too."

  Jessica glared at her.

  "Absolutely not, young lady,” said Anne. “You go straight into the parlor. I want a word with you.” Then she turned to Jessica. “Don't forget your hat, dear, and don't get near the elephants. I'm always afraid they'll step on someone."

  "Yes, Mama,” said Jessica gratefully.

  "And it's a hot day. Try to walk on the shady side of the street and not get overheated."

  "We'll stop for a cold drink,” Travis promised.

  "Good idea,” said Anne. “Now, have a nice time, children.” Then she turned and marched into the parlor, saying, “Frances, how many times have I told you..."

  Grinning, Travis whisked Jessica out the front door.

  "M-Mr. Parnell,” she stammered, “I'm so sorry—"

  She stopped because he was leaning against the veranda column, laughing helplessly. When he saw how astounded she looked, he said, “I hope you'll excuse me for laughing, Miss Jessica, but your sister is the funniest little girl I've ever met."

  "She is?” He'd thought it was funny? And he thought of Frannie as a “little girl"? Frannie, who was so pretty with her red-gold curls that boys were already starting to follow her around, cow-eyed, although she was only fourteen?

  "You mustn't be embarrassed. She's a sweet child, and no one could take offense just because she's excited about the new—er—plumbing.” Travis was thinking how pretty Jessica looked with her face all flushed and her hair loosened from its customary severity.

  Jessica knew better. Plenty of people would have taken offense, but she was certainly glad Mr. Parnell hadn't, and he was giving her that wonderful, warm smile that made her stomach flutter disconcertingly.

  By the time they returned, Jessica knew that it had been the happiest afternoon of her life. They watched the parade, which was delightful, and then had tea in the wagon of Molly A. Bailey herself, whom Mr. Parnell knew personally. Mrs. Bailey told them tales of her life in the circus, a life that stretched over more years than Jessica had been alive. Then Jessica was able to offer Mrs. Bailey legal advice.

  "The man claims my elephant spooks his cattle,” said Mrs. Bailey indignantly. “What I want to know is why he didn't think of that before he signed th
e contract to rent me land for winter quarters."

  "If you have a contract, he'll have to honor it sooner or later,” said Jessica.

  "Oh, sure,” grumbled Mrs. Bailey. “So my lawyer says, but going to court could take years, and in the meantime I've got a circus to quarter."

  "Maybe there's another way,” said Jessica thoughtfully.

  "Miss Jessica's a lawyer herself,” Travis explained.

  "Is she?” Mrs. Bailey perked up. “Well, suggest away, girl. I reckon I need a miracle."

  "Not a miracle,” said Jessica, her eyes beginning to twinkle, “just an interim solution. I imagine this gentleman has a yard at his home?"

  "Of course, he does. Bastard's as rich as a crooked politician."

  Jessica was somewhat taken aback at the language but went on with her train of thought. “And he probably has no cattle in his yard."

  "That's true,” agreed Mrs. Bailey, looking intrigued.

  "So he could honor his contract by quartering your elephant and any other animals that need space right there in front of his house,” said Jessica, “at least, until the courts can settle the matter. I'm sure the county sheriff would agree to that as a fair interim solution, and once the animals are settled in, the gentleman might even decide to honor his contract without going to court."

  "Reckon I'd come to terms after a couple of days with an elephant in my front yard,” said Travis, and the three of them howled with laughter at the surprise coming to Mrs. Bailey's prospective winter landlord.

  "I'll swear, girl,” exclaimed Mrs. Bailey, wiping her eyes, “I wish I could take you along with me when I leave town."

  Jessica thought wistfully of how much fun it would be to run away with the circus.

  "Now, how much do I owe you, child? You're a lot cannier than my lawyer, I can tell you."

  Of course, Jessica refused to accept payment, and although Mr. Parnell said nothing at the time, later, over lemonade, he pointed out that her advice was valuable and should be paid for, which had made her feel wonderful.