"Abe, Gresham's my father-in-law now,” Travis protested.
"I know. That's why I dug up all that dirt on him an’ his wife—so you could marry the daughter an’ do a job on them. Well, now we're gonna do it."
Travis sighed. How was he going to explain this to Abe Hartwig, who knew exactly why he wanted revenge? “If I take an active part in this scheme, Abe, my wife's going to get hurt, and I don't—"
"You owe me, Parnell,” said Hartwig. “You weren't worried about the girl's feelin's when you married her."
"Mr. Parnell,” said Hamlet Arleigh, “I think your new wife would be greatly distressed were I to tell her why you married her, something I might feel constrained to do."
Travis looked into those cold eyes, glittering behind the steel-rimmed spectacles, and he shuddered at the thought of Arleigh talking to Jess. “She'd never believe you,” he muttered.
"Of course she would, especially when I tell her about the Armour deal you ruined as soon as you'd used her to worm your way into Gresham's confidence."
"That was before we were married."
"And then there's the matter of the cattle dip factory,” said Hamlet Arleigh. “That was after you were married.” He stared at Travis with expressionless eyes. “We're only asking you to do what you planned to do in the first place, Mr. Parnell, and your wife need know nothing about any of this."
Travis returned home in a black humor to find Jessica close to tears. “What is it now, Jess?” he asked, irritated to find yet another problem facing him.
Jessica glanced at him, clenched her fingers in her lap, and mumbled, “Nothing."
"It's not nothing when you look like that,” he insisted.
"She heard us last night,” Jessica burst out, then dropped a crimson face into her hands.
"Heard what?"
"Heard us in—in the bedroom."
"Did she have her ear pressed to the door?” he asked sarcastically.
"We were noisy,” said Jessica. “She said if we were going to act like animals—"
"God damn it!” Travis exploded.
Jessica gave him a startled look, shocked for the first time since the humiliating talk with her mother into thinking of something other than her own misery.
"I'm sorry, Jessica,” he said more gently. “We'll be—we'll be more—circumspect in the future. I know this must have embarrassed you."
"We—you—can't ever do what—what you—what happened last night."
"We'll do whatever we damned well please,” said Travis through gritted teeth, determined that Penelope wasn't going to put a crimp in his sex life. “Just ignore her."
"I can't ignore her!” cried Jessica. “I don't even want to go down to dinner."
"I'll have it sent up."
"You mean for both of us?"
"No, I have to go out tonight.” Both Hartwig and Arleigh had insisted that he make contact in Hell's Half Acre immediately.
"What if Hugh sees me there?” he'd asked.
"He'll be more embarrassed than you,” Hamlet Arleigh had replied.
Travis gritted his teeth in rage. Damned and double damned Hugh Gresham had better keep his nose clean, because Travis could just imagine how Jessica would react if her husband had to go to court and testify against her stepfather. She wouldn't need to be told anything by that cold bastard, Hamlet Arleigh. Travis didn't know what to hope for. He wanted to see Hugh and Penelope ruined; every time he looked at them, he saw his father, the despair shining like death in his eyes. But Travis didn't want to cause Jessica pain.
Well, he'd have to play along with Arleigh and Hartwig until he could think of a way out of this mess, which meant he'd best get dressed and go. A bunch of high-spirited outlaws awaited him at Fort Worth's most notorious whorehouse.
Thinking that he was leaving because she had irritated him, Jessica watched with unhappy eyes as he changed his clothes. She wanted to ask where he was going but didn't dare. Still, she wasn't going to placate him by eating downstairs. If Penelope said anything in front of Hugh, Jessica thought she'd die of embarrassment. She'd stay up here and write a letter to Anne. She didn't care what any of them thought—Travis or Penelope. She'd write to her mother, who loved her.
"Don't forget to have my dinner sent up,” she said to Travis as he strode toward the door. She didn't bother to keep the anger out of her voice; it was his fault she found herself in this position, he and his shocking ideas of what was acceptable conduct between husbands and wives. She should have pushed him off the bed. She should have—
Travis suddenly was looming up beside her, having come back from the door when she snapped at him. “I'm glad to see you've got your spirit back, love,” he said and kissed her soundly. “I'll try not to be too late."
He left and took the stairs two at a time, musing on how to handle his mother-in-law and her seeming desire to wreck his love life. Then, struck by an amusing idea, he stopped in mid-stride and headed back up the stairs to knock sharply at her door. “I believe you've got something to say to me,” Travis declared and walked right in when she answered.
For once, Penelope looked confused. “I—I don't know what you mean,” she stammered.
"You had a talk with Jessica. I reckon you'll want to talk to me as well."
"No!” Penelope turned white. “I mean Jessica and I understand each other. A mother, you understand, has to—has a duty—"
"Very admirable,” interrupted Travis softly. He didn't want to alienate her; he just wanted to make sure that she never, ever, brought up such a subject with Jessica again. “But, Penelope, Jessica's a young bride, whereas you and I are, shall we say, experienced adults.” He could see that his mother-in-law wasn't pleased to be described as experienced in the realm around which they were tiptoeing so circumspectly. “In the future if you want to discuss this particular subject, you come to me."
"I hardly think...” Her face was now flushed.
"I insist,” said Travis. “Any advice you want to give can be given to me. That way Jessica won't be embarrassed. Agreed? Oh, and I'll be out tonight. I'd appreciate your having a plate sent up to Jessica. On the other hand, maybe I'll just tell the cook myself. We don't want to inconvenience you, Penelope.” He smiled at her. “By the way, you're looking particularly lovely.” His smile turning grim, he excused himself and went off to solicit an introduction to a man calling himself Jim Lowe.
The cook brought up Jessica's dinner and fussed over her, having decided that she must be ill since she never gave anyone “a bit of grief, like some folks.” The cook frowned as she muttered some folks; then she fluffed Jessica's pillows and plunked a tray of tasty food onto her lap.
Cook was really a nice enough woman, but she wasn't Mab, thought Jessica wistfully. Cook never snatched your plate away because she couldn't see that you hadn't finished, and Cook never served canned peaches with hatchet cuts in them for dessert. Cook never made you take your wet clothes off in the kitchen so that she could hang them on the stove and feed you Mama's good tonic to keep you from taking cold, and Cook, if you still had a doll, probably wouldn't offer to sew its foot on if David and Ned had torn it off playing Indian captive. Mab had done all those things.
Jessica sniffed her excellent dinner, which Mab couldn't have produced in a hundred years. Then Jessica put the tray aside and went to the little ladies’ desk to write her mother—stepmother. She wouldn't tell Anne any of the bad things; she didn't want to worry her. Sighing, she bit the end of her pen and began a long, long letter, sifting through her days for the happy events.
It was very late when Travis came in; Jessica had been asleep. He smelled of whiskey, cigar smoke and—perfume? Her heart speeded up in fear as she remembered him saying that a man who was satisfied at home didn't have to go elsewhere. Had he been so angry when she told him about Penelope's lecture that he—that he—should she ask him?
Before she could decide, he put his arms around her and whispered, “Are you awake, Jessie? God, you smell sweet. Like pansies."<
br />
"Violets,” she corrected automatically, thus losing her chance to feign sleep.
Travis chuckled. “Violets then. I know I must smell like the devil. I hope you're not going to push me out of bed."
If the devil smelled like whiskey and cigars and nasty perfume, Travis did, Jessica decided resentfully, but he obviously had no intention of allowing her to push him out of bed. In fact, his hand was at her breast, his mouth covering hers. If he'd been to another woman, he wouldn't want her as well. Would he? Now, all she had to do was keep quiet so her mother wouldn't hear. Ah-h, it was hard. If only they lived somewhere else.
"Touch me,” he whispered. After that, Jessica forgot, for a time, to think of her mother, and even later she fell into a deep sleep.
"What do you want for your birthday?” he asked the next morning.
Rubbing her eyes, Jessica mumbled, “I didn't think anyone was going to remember it this year."
"Hasn't your mother said anything?” he asked, frowning.
She shook her head.
"Probably has some surprise planned,” he muttered. He'd have to remember to drop some hints. He doubted that Penelope remembered anyone's birthday but her own. “Now what do you want? How about a piano?"
"Are we going to get our own house?” she asked eagerly.
"No, Jessica.” If his wife insisted on moving, he'd be in a bad spot; likely Hamlet Arleigh would pay her a call before they could get their trunks out the door. “Penelope has plenty of room for another piano, and I remember your saying hers wasn't very—very something."
"Well tuned,” said Jessica, sighing. “And I don't want a piano. Goodness, I don't even play well."
"You don't? But she asks you to play every time she has guests."
"I know,” said Jessica dejectedly. “It's embarrassing."
Damn, Travis thought. Being no expert on music, he hadn't realized what Penelope had been up to. She'd seemed to be treating Jessica pretty well. Had he been wrong? Then his mind returned to the birthday present. Jessica did like music, even if she didn't want a piano. “How about a phonograph?” he suggested.
Her eyes lit up.
"A phonograph and lots of those things with the music on them. I saw one in a store the other day with a horn that looked like a giant red flower."
"Travis, you don't have to buy me anything so expensive. Any little thing would do,” said Jessica earnestly, and she meant it. If he saved his money, maybe they could move out.
"That's all right, love. I'll get you some little things too."
Jessica sighed. “Well, if we have a phonograph, we can hear some good performances instead of mine."
Chapter Ten
"David!” Jessica launched herself into her brother's arms, laughing delightedly.
"Guess I found the right house.” He stuck his head out the door and signaled to a cowboy seated on a wagon loaded with boxes. “Brought your things,” he told Jessica as the man began to unload. “Ned's gonna meet us at the Worth, an’ we're gonna buy you about a hundred a them little chocolate cakes an’ catch up on the news."
"Those,” said Jessica, giving him another hug. “Those cakes."
"Well, I guess marriage hasn't changed you. You're still correctin’ my grammar. I swear, Jessie—"
"Are you going to introduce me to your friend, dear?"
Jessica turned to face her mother and, swallowing hard, said, “Penelope, this is my brother David."
"Harte?” Penelope's gracious expression disappeared as she stared intently at David. “Of course. I should have recognized that slut's red hair."
"Penelope!” cried Jessica, horrified. She looked anxiously at her brother, whose face had gone cold and white.
"Well, ma'am,” said David slowly, “my mother, the lady you've just insulted, brought me up to be polite to my elders, but maybe that don't apply to you."
He took a step forward, and Penelope, looking alarmed, backed away. For the first time, Jessica recognized how much like Justin her brother was. Before, she had seen it only in the blue of David's eyes; now she saw it in the expression and the hard power and threat that emanated from him. David was no longer a carefree boy, and had she been Penelope, she'd have backed away too.
"I've heard you were an ugly an’ vicious woman, Miz Gresham. All I had to do was ask around Fort Worth to find out what folks thought about you, so let me say, ma'am, that you better watch yourself with my sister. I don't like her livin’ here—none of us at home do—an’ if I hear you've been treatin’ her bad, I might have to do somethin’ about it."
Having retreated to the foot of the stairs, a distance from which she evidently considered it safe to counterattack, Penelope turned on Jessica and said, her voice high with anger, “I want him out of my house."
"He's come from Weatherford with my things,” said Jessica quickly, hoping to calm her mother before the tension and ugliness escalated.
"I don't care what he's come for. You're never, never to bring another Harte into my house. Do you understand? Now, get him out of here. I won't have a son of that red-headed whore in my—"
David, scowling, took another step forward, and Penelope screamed, “I'll get help. I'll have him jailed. I'll...” She fled up the stair, skirts clutched in both hands, her threats trailing over her shoulder until she disappeared into the upper hall.
"Whew,” said David. “I'm sure glad you don't take after her. How can you stand to live here?"
"She's—she's not well,” said Jessica.
"If you mean she's crazy, I'd say that's right. Now how are we supposed to carry this stuff in if I'm going to get thrown in jail for bein’ here?"
"Beau can take everything up to my room,” said Jessica, inclining her head toward the cowboy who was standing in the doorway with a large parcel in his arms and his eyes as round as pie plates.
"I don't want to go up there, Miss Jessie,” said Beau.
"I'll go with you,” Jessica assured him.
Galey and Guffey. Travis couldn't have been more pleased. He knew them both; they were the men who had financed the Corsicana field. If they thought Lucas's efforts at Spindletop promising enough to warrant their backing, Travis knew his investment in the Beaumont area would be a winner. In fact, he'd leave as soon as he could to buy up more land on the hill—and anywhere else in the area where he found oil seepage from the ground or the odor of gas, anywhere he could get such land at reasonable prices. That way he could maximize his future profits and at the same time avoid Hamlet Arleigh and the spying missions he insisted that Travis undertake.
Travis's sources said the financiers expected to start drilling anew within a month, sometime in October. He considered offering his services but decided against it. Better to lie low so that he could buy land without attracting notice. When the field came in, his drilling crews would be in demand. Then he could take his wife and leave Fort Worth, where Hartwig and Arleigh kept pressing him for information about Hugh Gresham.
He hadn't found out much, although he'd managed to strike up a friendship with Jim Lowe, also known as Butch Cassidy. The outlaw was an interesting man, though, Lord, Travis had to do a lot of drinking to keep up with that bunch. He had an aching head the morning after a session at Fannie's, not to mention an unhappy wife. Jessica couldn't know where he'd been, so evidently she just didn't like him going out nights. Still, diverting her when he got home was a pleasure.
It was about the only pleasure he got these days, torn as he was between loyalty to his father's memory and worry about his wife. He wished Hugh would do something blatantly illegal, get caught at it by someone else, and earn himself a nice long jail term, which he richly deserved, leaving his bitch of a wife poverty-stricken, which she richly deserved. Penelope would probably rather be dead than poor.
Then Travis could spirit Jessie away to Beaumont without risking Hamlet Arleigh's threatened retaliation. Jess would enjoy Beaumont. The legal complications to the lease and ownership of land around there were already horrendous and cou
ld only get worse when prices skyrocketed. Indications were that Spindletop, as they'd taken to calling the hill, would be every bit as lucrative a field as Corsicana. Jess could stay busy from morning till night protecting his interests. In fact, maybe he should ask her to study Texas land law. He remembered Justin's lawyer, Henry Barnett, suggesting it during her brief stay at his house. Barnett had offered the use of his books, but Travis decided to buy the books for her himself. Reading law would give her something to keep her mind off his nighttime and out-of-town absences. He didn't have to tell her about Beaumont; he wasn't telling anyone about Beaumont. He'd say he had title problems in Corsicana.
Travis stopped beside a ladies’ apparel shop, a parasol in the window having caught his eye. He couldn't believe it was out in plain view, not with that carved ivory handle, the figure of a woman who looked, for all the world, to be nude, and whose body looked like Jess's. Grinning, Travis pushed the door open.
Jessica returned home from a wonderful afternoon with her brothers during which they had laughed and talked and eaten thirty-three tiny chocolate cakes between them, drunk ten cups of coffee, and exchanged all their news. She could hardly bear to leave them at her door, but on the other hand, she couldn't invite them in, not after that scene with Penelope.
Jessica's lips compressed. Her mother's behavior had been inexcusable. No matter how ill used Penelope might have felt herself to be by Justin and Anne in the past, the things she had said to David were not to be forgiven. Angrily Jessica decided to stop making excuses for her mother. It was one thing to say the things she said to Jessica, but what Penelope had said to David about Anne exceeded the bounds of decency.
Resolutely, Jessica turned her mind back to her brothers. They had come for her birthday, bringing not only her belongings but presents from all the family as well. She skipped up the stairs, thinking that she would open the gifts right now, while she could enjoy them in private. Of course, she'd show them to Travis later, but she was under no obligation to show them to her mother, who had obviously forgotten Jessica's birthday.
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