Virgin Fire

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  As she sped down the hall, she saw that her door was open. Could Travis be home already? The scene that confronted her in the bedroom brought her to an abrupt halt. Her mother was there. She had opened all the boxes and parcels, and strewn the contents everywhere. At that moment she was holding up the green evening gown Jessica had worn to the pre-rodeo ball and muttering over it. Jessica stood stunned in the doorway and gasped, “What have you done?"

  Penelope looked up. “This is your wardrobe?” she asked disdainfully. “It's pathetic. Everything will have to be thrown out. Everything. I can't have a daughter of mine wearing such ridiculous garments.” She took the gown in both hands as if to rip it down the front, the gown Jessica had worn when Travis first kissed her.

  Jessica snatched it from her mother. “These are my things, Penelope,” she cried. “You have no right to do anything with them."

  "And this is my house. I can do what I want. Look over here.” She waved a hand toward another box. “Books. Huge, dusty books."

  "My law books!” exclaimed Jessica, delighted.

  "Law books?"

  "I went to law school for three years in Washington."

  "Good heavens, don't you dare tell anyone. My friends would never stop laughing. A woman lawyer? That's—that's ludicrous. You must throw them out immediately. I won't have you reading such things in my house."

  "Up until now, it's been almost impossible to read anything in your house. You have no books,” snapped Jessica, not bothering to hide her contempt.

  "Don't you talk to me that way, young lady. Emily!” she shouted. “I'll have her carry all this debris away."

  "No, Penelope, you won't,” said Jessica, determined that not one item of her property would be discarded to satisfy Penelope's warped ideas.

  Then Jessica discovered the most distressing thing of all. “You've opened my gifts.” She looked around wildly, recognizing the gift wrappings that had gone upstairs covering those birthday presents she had so looked forward to opening. Now she couldn't tell what, in the heaps of things strewn everywhere, had been given her or by whom. “How could you?"

  "What gifts? If someone sent you gifts, you can be sure there was nothing of interest. I'd have noticed."

  "Been shopping, ladies?” asked Travis who had just entered, carrying a huge box crowned with a blue satin bow.

  "My goodness,” murmured Penelope. She gave him a flirtatious glance. “Another gift? What's the occasion? Is this one for me?"

  "Surely you haven't forgotten, Penelope,” he said, cursing himself because he had neglected to make sure that his mother-in-law remembered his wife's birthday. Poor Jessica! He'd have to move fast to repair the damage before she noticed. “It's Jessica's birthday, but of course you're teasing, Penelope. I'm sure you've got her something wonderful."

  "She not only forgot,” said Jessica, “but she came in here and opened all my gifts from home. Now I don't know—I can't tell..."

  Jessica's eyes shone with angry tears, and Travis could have strangled Penelope. He could see that Jessica's belongings, along with the birthday presents, had been opened and dumped, unidentified, around the room. “Well, honey, we can figure it out. Look over here. This must be the bicycle your father got you.” Travis pointed to a blue bicycle with bronzed handlebars, partially hidden by a muslin petticoat and leaning against the hearth.

  "You ride a bicycle?” Penelope demanded.

  Since she looked as if she were on the verge of a tirade, Travis said, “Now that we're opening Jessica's presents, you'll want to go get yours, Penelope.” The woman closed her mouth, confused, and he thought, The bitch, she's half drunk. “We'll wait for you.” That ought to get rid of her; it was obvious she had no gift for Jessica.

  "It's being made up,” said Penelope, a sly look on her face. “I'm giving her a lorgnette, very lovely, to replace those spectacles she wears. I really had no choice, did I, since she insists on reading books, looking exceedingly frumpy in those—"

  "I'm sure the lorgnette will be beautiful,” interrupted Travis before Jessica could voice the protest that had been hovering on her lips and before Penelope could come up with any more malicious gibes. How could he have thought she was treating Jessica well? The woman was incapable of treating anyone well.

  "Of course it will be beautiful,” said Penelope, smiling at him and smoothing a slender hand over her hair, which had begun to come loose during her raid on Jessica's belongings. “Everything I buy is of the best quality and in the best taste—unlike these things.” She waved a disdainful hand at the havoc she had wreaked. “Now, I want all this trash carted away. Jessica simply cannot wear these clothes. I'll buy new ones to replace them.” She smiled sweetly at Travis, evidently having thought better of her earlier unpleasantness. “You know how generous I am where Jessica's concerned."

  "Penelope.” Hugh was standing in the door, attracted by the commotion when he arrived home from the bank. His voice held a world of alarm and warning. Travis was pleased to note that the prospect of providing yet another wardrobe was more than Hugh could face, even though his wife was now glaring at him. “Penelope, if these are Jessica's clothes, I'm sure they'll do very well. She doesn't need you to—"

  "Do you realize who bought these clothes?” Penelope demanded. “I won't—"

  "Come along, darling,” said Hugh, grasping her arm firmly and propelling her to the door.

  "Well,” said Travis, trying to look cheerful in the face of Jessica's anger, “we'll need a maid to hang all these things up, but first the presents. There's this one.” He waved to the huge box he had set down on the bed. “You take off the ribbon, and I'll open it for you."

  Reluctantly, glancing at her things tossed so carelessly everywhere, Jessica went to the bed. Travis crossed to the door and locked it. He didn't want his mother-in-law escaping from her husband's lecture on financial responsibility and coming back to do further damage to Jessica's birthday. Jessica removed the ribbon; then Travis cut the box open to reveal an Edison Home Phonograph, which he lifted out and placed on a table to better display the huge red horn with painted blue flowers disappearing into the throat and the carved oak cabinet, which actually contained a hundred two-minute cylinders. “Let's see. How about a Sousa march?” he suggested, selecting the music and then demonstrating the procedure for working the mechanism.

  Jessica watched with a sinking heart. He'd bought a hundred cylinders? At this rate they'd never be able to afford a house of their own, and she wanted to get out of here! The music came miraculously out of the horn as Travis presented her with another gift. “Oh, Travis,” she said, “you shouldn't have."

  "Open it,” he commanded, laughing. “You're going to be surprised."

  Jessica unwrapped the long narrow package. “A parasol?” Why was she supposed to be surprised at a parasol? It was very pretty, to be sure, cream silk overlaid with fine black lace, daintily ruffled both at the tip and the edges.

  "Look at the handle."

  Jessica examined it, and her mouth fell open. “She's—she—"

  "—looks just like you."

  "She does not!” cried Jessica. “She doesn't have any clothes on!"

  "I got the same impression,” he agreed. “But with or without clothes, I'd recognize that body anywhere."

  "Travis Parnell!"

  "Happy birthday, love.” He caught her waist and leaned forward to kiss her, a light, warm kiss that changed suddenly when he slid his tongue between her lips, something he did occasionally, something that always took her by surprise. “If you don't believe me about the parasol lady, I think we should make a comparison."

  Jessica drew back, eyes wide. “We're expected down to dinner."

  "It can wait.” He sat her on the bed and removed her shoes and stockings. “Now, come over here.” Travis drew her to the pier glass, where he stood behind her and began to unbutton the back of her shirtwaist.

  "It's a formal dinner,” Jessica protested, watching the shirtwaist as it slid to the floor, after w
hich her dark skirt followed. “For twelve."

  "So they'll only have ten for a few courses.” Travis bent his head to kiss the curve of her shoulder, then busied himself with the tapes that held her petticoat to her waist.

  Jessica swallowed. She had never watched herself being disrobed by her husband. The sight in the mirror of her petticoats sliding to the carpet, followed by her corset cover, made her stomach flutter. “She—Penelope will be very angry if we're late.” She heard her own voice as if from a distance, high and a little unsteady.

  Travis unlaced the strings at the back of her corset, then, dropping it at her feet, lifted her chemise over her head and looked into the mirror at his own brown fingers against the white skin of her breasts. He raised his eyes to hers and asked, “Aren't you angry with her?"

  "Y-yes,” she admitted reluctantly as she watched, mesmerized, while he loosened the ties of her drawers and dropped them around her ankles, leaving her quite naked.

  "Step out of them,” he said softly as he reached for the parasol. “That's you,” he murmured, looking from the sensuously carved handle to Jessica's reflection in the mirror. Then he turned her and pulled her tight against him. “We are going to be a bit late for dinner."

  Jessica glanced over her shoulder at the mirror which now reflected her pale body pressed against the dark power of his, fully clothed. “Very late,” she agreed, shivering.

  Travis swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, sweeping aside the things Penelope had thrown so spitefully across the satin counterpane. Minutes later, when he had thrust himself deep into her, he told Jessica to look into the glass. She turned her head to see their joined bodies reflected there, never having realized that every time they had made love by daylight, or lamplight, or even moonlight, she could have looked and seen herself there with Travis. She found the sight and the thought both embarrassing and very exciting. Then he flexed his hips, and Jessica closed her eyes.

  "Don't you want to watch?” he asked.

  She shook her head. It was hard enough to maintain any kind of control with him. She didn't need added stimulation.

  "Another time,” he murmured, flexing again. “Maybe we'll get a mirror to put above the bed.” He was driving her, with slow, sure strokes, toward ecstasy. “Hide the mirror under the canopy."

  "Travis,” she gasped.

  "H-m-m?"

  "Stop—talking.” Jessica felt as if she were beginning to come apart, every inner particle of her body separating from every other, driven apart by a whirling rush of wet warmth. By talking, he was distracting her from that sensation. “Just..."

  "Whatever you want, love.” Gasping himself, he had begun to hasten toward mutual rapture. “Better?” he asked.

  Jessica couldn't answer. She had found disintegration. They were very late to dinner, and Penelope treated Travis with a saccharine flirtatiousness; Jessica she ignored.

  Jessica stared gloomily out the window. It seemed to her that they had had nothing but rain in Fort Worth since the hurricane that devastated Galveston. For the remaining weeks in September she had worked as a volunteer in various church and civic relief projects for the storm victims. Her efforts were appreciated by the organizers, and she had made some friends. However, Penelope disapproved of anyone she didn't already know and refused to let Jessica invite new acquaintances to the house. If they were friends or relatives of Penelope's own circle, she accused Jessica of trying to make her look hardhearted because she refused to participate in charitable activities unaccompanied by social events.

  Jessica had given up hoping that she could please or even understand her mother. She no longer cared. Penelope's mood seemed to depend entirely on how recently she had taken her medicine, and either way she was difficult to bear, whether wildly abusive or sweetly malicious. Jessica avoided her mother whenever she could.

  The worst times were those when Travis went off to Corsicana on business. Then Penelope became especially critical, almost as if she governed her behavior by a desire to keep Travis's good opinion. Why she should care what he thought, Jessica couldn't imagine. Although still beautiful, Penelope was old enough to be his mother; she certainly wasn't cultivating him out of any concern for Jessica; and although both Penelope and Hugh hinted often enough, Travis didn't bank at Cattleman's and thus afford them any financial advantage. Jessica almost wished he would—as a sort of recompense for their hospitality. She disliked feeling indebted.

  After watching the rain pour across the window for another few minutes, she turned back to the ladies’ sitting room, which, being somewhat plain and cold, Penelope seldom visited. Jessica was bored. She had spent the morning reading law in her room, but with no prospect of using her studies, she tired of the effort. If she read anything else, anywhere else in the house, it had to be something her mother approved of, and Penelope looked at nothing but fashion magazines. Restlessly, Jessica swept up a copy of Vogue from a pile on the table. At least it had interesting articles.

  How she wished Travis would let her go with him to Corsicana. However, he never did; he said she wouldn't like it. She'd suggested that they move there; Travis had shrugged and said he had business in Fort Worth as well, and here she had family.

  Some family, thought Jessica grimly. Her real family lived in Weatherford, and in Parker and Palo Pinto counties. She wrote to them regularly; she'd have written every day, but then they might have guessed at her loneliness. Not that she wasn't happy with Travis. She adored him, but he spent so much time out of town. Even when he was in Fort Worth, he went out at all hours of the day and night, excusing himself, when she asked, with vague references to his business affairs. He'd once actually said she wouldn't be interested. Travis had never made any remark so insulting before.

  She flipped through the magazine looking for something not too silly to read and found the most astounding article. Some college professor had stated that the only romantic love men felt for women was “sex attraction.” Jessica blinked. Could that be true of her husband? When she examined their relationship, she decided that it could.

  Many ladies were very upset, even incensed, at the professor's opinion, according to Vogue. Jessica sighed. She would have been upset too if she hadn't had the disheartening conviction that the professor might know what he was talking about. Vogue advised its female readers to have no illusions about men. The magazine writer, in fact, advised ladies to do the sensible thing and make a scientific study of sex.

  How depressing, thought Jessica. Where was she to find any scientific information on sex, a subject no one ever talked about, except Penelope when she was being horrid and Travis when he was having it with Jessica. And was that really all their marriage meant to him? Sex attraction? It didn't sound like a very lasting emotion. Did that mean he'd leave her eventually? Her father had left her mother. But then the more she saw of Penelope, the more sympathy and understanding she felt for her father. If she were a man, she'd have preferred Anne, who was loving, to Penelope, who was not. Could sex attraction be all that her father felt for Anne?

  Jessica's mind jumped back to her birthday when Travis had brought her that parasol, the handle of which she had to keep covered with her hand so that no one could see it. He had undressed her in front of the mirror and made such wild love to her that they had missed the first two courses of Penelope's dinner. Sex attraction, she decided. It had to be. She felt more than that for him. But Travis—Travis had never said he loved her. When he found someone more attractive, and that wouldn't be hard to do, what would happen? And how was a scientific study of the subject going to help her? She tossed the copy of Vogue across the room and vowed that she'd read nothing but her law books in the future. They didn't cast doubts on the longevity of her marriage.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Travis, you really can't come to the corset shop with me,” said Jessica. Penelope had said much the same thing when Travis caught her complaining about Jessica's waist size.

  "I'll take her out for new corsets myself,�
�� Travis had offered gaily. Horrified at the idea of a man in a corset shop, Penelope told him she wouldn't think of asking such a thing.

  "Not at all,” Travis insisted. “My dear mother-in-law, I shall make the sacrifice for you."

  Penelope evidently took his sacrifice at face value and only her due. Jessica, knowing Travis, realized that he was teasing. He had been in remarkably good spirits since his latest return from Corsicana. Perhaps now was the time to suggest that they move to a house of their own. Travis may have seen Penelope's lecture on corsets as amusing; Jessica knew it to be one more attack in a long line of them.

  "Travis,” she said, “I have something I must talk to you about."

  "Something more pressing than corsets?” he asked, laughing, for they were on their way to the corset shop.

  "This is a serious matter."

  "Well, in that case, you need sustenance. Into the tearoom with you, love."

  Jessica sighed, hoping he'd still be calling her love when she brought up moving from her mother's house. She waited for her tea, his coffee, and a plate of chocolate cookies to be served, then said, “I'm very unhappy living at Penelope's."

  His smile immediately disappeared.

  "Because—because of her,” Jessica faltered. “Not—"

  "Jessica,” said Travis, equally serious, “you have to have some tolerance for your mother.” And he had to do some fast talking. Hamlet Arleigh would never let them leave.

  "She has little tolerance for me,” Jessica muttered.

  "I know, love, but Penelope is—the truth is that your mother has a serious problem. That medicine she takes—"

  "I understand, Travis, but it doesn't make the way she treats me any—any easier to withstand. Even when she's had the medicine and is feeling cheerful, she says—really—really ugly things to me."