Virgin Fire

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  "Can't you just overlook them, knowing that—"

  "No, I can't. It's not as if she needs me. She has lots of servants and—and Hugh to look after her. I don't see why we can't live somewhere else and visit them occasionally."

  Travis frowned. He had come back from Corsicana with very good news. The Hamils, three hometown brothers who owned a drilling outfit, had been hired by Lucas to drill the Galey and Guffey-financed well outside Beaumont, drilling to start the end of October. Al had said it was going to be a bitch—hard rock and quicksand—but they were excited, as was Travis.

  In addition, his sources of information at Fannie Porter's place had been productive. Hugh did have a deal to help the Wild Bunch handle any nonnegotiable securities they might take in their next robbery. Hugh had already received money, although as yet he'd done nothing to get himself arrested, nothing that Hartwig could prove. Until that happened, neither Hartwig nor Arleigh was going to turn Travis loose, and Jessica's desire to leave had to be circumvented. Not for much longer, but still...

  "Sweetheart, it's very expensive to set up a household. You may not realize how much it would cost us."

  "You seem to have lots of money, Travis. If you'd just stop spending it on presents that I don't need..."

  "The things I buy you are nothing compared to what we'd have to spend to furnish our own home. I'm not saying we won't do that, Jess, or that I can't afford it, but it would be an extravagance here in Fort Worth when we'll be moving."

  "Oh?” Jessica studied him eagerly. “To Corsicana?"

  "Or wherever the next oil strike is."

  "But you've said you had business here as well."

  Damn. She was so logical. “I do, but oil is my main interest. When I get things running here, we'll be off. It won't be that long.” He could see that she wanted to ask how long and forestalled her by saying, “Surely you can put up with Penelope another month or two—for my sake."

  Defeated, Jessica nodded.

  "Wonderful, love.” How he hated to do this to her. “Now off to the corset shop."

  "Really, Travis...” But he wasn't listening. In minutes he'd paid the bill and hustled her across the square where he announced enthusiastically to the astounded proprietress that he was a married man come to supervise the purchase of a superior corset for his wife.

  "But, sir,” said the woman, “husbands never—"

  "Good heavens,” interrupted Travis, eyeing all the armless, headless mannequins laced into their corsets, “do your garments make ladies’ arms and heads fall off, madam? If that's the case..."

  The sales clerk began to giggle. Jessica would have done the same had she not been so embarrassed, and the proprietress, looking quite horrified, said stiffly, “Sir, I assure you that our garments will have no untoward effects on your wife."

  "Is that true, madam? I would be devastated, I assure you, were my bride to lose an arm, or even a leg—I notice that your models have no limbs of any sort."

  Jessica had to turn away to hide her laughter. He was so endearing, and she knew he wanted to erase from her mind that unpleasant scene with Penelope that he had walked in on. It was amazing that anyone could be so critical over the size of a set of corsets, but Penelope seemed to consider Jessica's waistline a matter of grave importance. As the proprietress, red-faced, scurried off to fetch her most expensive model, which was what Travis had demanded to see, Jessica murmured, “Actually, people who advocate rational clothing for women—"

  "Like those knickerbockers you wore to ride your bicycle?"

  "They are called rationals,” Jessica agreed. “At any rate, the rational clothing societies do not really approve of corsets, and they say that no woman should wear undergarments totaling more than seven pounds in weight."

  "Seven pounds!” exclaimed Travis. “Good lord! Madam, how much does that corset weigh?"

  "Why, I don't know, sir,” the woman stammered, and there followed a half hour during which Travis examined and discussed stays and laces and whalebone amid the giggles of the salesgirls, the frowns of the proprietress, and Jessica's efforts to maintain a sober demeanor.

  After that she chose a corset, and they went home, where Penelope refused to hear a description of their visit to the corset shop and declared that she would have to take her custom elsewhere since Jessica had been so improper as to allow her husband to accompany her. Travis said he had thoroughly enjoyed the mission and hoped to be informed when Penelope needed to go so that he could accompany her as well. Jessica decided that it was a shame her mother had no sense of humor.

  Penelope was giving another of her interminable dinners, which had been preceded by the usual family squabbling. First, Penelope had complained about Jessica's choice of gown, an unusual robelike garment patterned on medieval lines that flowed without a waistline from beneath her breasts to the floor and was topped by an open, floor-length coat with full, flowing sleeves.

  Penelope had never seen anything like it and demanded that Jessica take it off. She said loudly and not for the first time that she intended to throw out and replace every tasteless item in Jessica's wardrobe, an announcement that brought Hugh scurrying from his dressing room and caused an argument about money between Hugh and Penelope that Jessica could hear all the way down the hall.

  Grim-faced, she continued to dress, knowing that whatever she wore, her mother would criticize it. Furthermore, Travis had not yet returned, and the idea of facing her mother's friends and her mother's gibes without his protection was really more than she could bear. When they congregated in the drawing room, he was still absent, and Penelope took the opportunity to point out to the guests the entirely unsuitable gown her daughter had chosen to wear, against advice.

  "Have you ever seen the like, Blanche?” asked Penelope.

  "It's in the aesthetic style, Mrs. Holloman,” Jessica explained politely to Blanche. “All the rage in London. This fashion was popularized by the Pre-Raphaelite painters and is espoused in artistic and intellectual circles."

  "Did you buy it in London?” asked Mrs. Holloman, impressed. All the ladies were now inspecting the gown with interest while their hostess fumed.

  "Yes, ma'am. I also have a lovely Worth gown given to me by my stepmother. I don't wear it because Penelope—” she gave her mother a cool look “—doesn't care for that either."

  The magic word Worth was whispered reverently among the ladies, causing Penelope's face to flush with anger. Jessica ignored her. She had come to the conclusion that nothing could mitigate her mother's hostility, so she might as well fight back.

  "It's a bit plain,” suggested another of the ladies, but hesitantly. She obviously didn't want to denigrate a gown that might well be the latest thing in places more knowledgeable than Fort Worth.

  "Yes,” Jessica agreed, beginning to enjoy herself. “Ladies in the centers of fashion are beginning to feel foolish about cluttering their wardrobes with tasteless frills. For instance, feathers."

  She watched her mother draw a sharp, angry breath, but the circle of women was too fascinated for Penelope to feel comfortable in contradicting Jessica.

  "Women of sensitivity, realizing how many unfortunate birds are killed—and the deaths number in the millions—such women are turning their backs on feathers as a fashion accessory. Did you realize that feathers are actually plucked from living ostriches, causing the poor birds great pain?"

  The ladies, not wanting to be thought insensitive, looked suitably shocked.

  "And the case of the even more popular egret is sadder,” exclaimed Jessica, warming to her subject. “Because the feathers are more beautiful during the mating and nesting season, the birds are killed during that time."

  Penelope cut in with an announcement of dinner, although the cook had not indicated that it was ready and Travis had yet to appear.

  "—leaving the poor baby birds to die for lack of parental care,” Jessica finished. “I fear there will be no egrets left in future years."

  On that note they trooped in
to the dining room, and Jessica astonished the guests by explaining Darwin's theory of evolution as espoused by Professor Henry Drummond, a noted New York divine and speaker on the Chautauqua circuit.

  "From apes?” echoed Mrs. Holloman weakly, as if she could not believe that any man would accuse her of being descended from a large monkey when everyone knew that on her mother's side she traced her lineage to settlers of Boston, Massachusetts. “I can't believe a man of the cloth said that."

  "Yes, indeed,” Jessica insisted. “Many churchmen are quite forward-looking. Why, not three years ago Dr. Lyman Abbott gave a very interesting lecture series on the Bible as literature. For instance, Dr. Abbott disbelieves the story of Jonah and the whale, which, when you think about it, does seem unlikely."

  "But it's in the Bible,” stammered Mrs. Bettina Manrich.

  "Durn Easterners,” muttered Mr. Manrich, the milled flour king of Fort Worth. “Always coming up with some foolish idea. Parnell, you'd best watch what your little lady here reads and listens to. She's just told us some of the durn fooledest things I ever heard."

  Travis dropped a “sorry to be late” and a kiss on Penelope's cheek, causing her to jump, then took his seat by Jessica with a warm smile. “You're looking beautiful,” he murmured. “Lovely dress."

  "Penelope hates it,” said Jessica, still on the attack.

  "Well.” Travis glanced around the table at the embarrassed guests. “I just heard an interesting rumor. They're saying Senator Bailey got himself a real big loan from Pierce, Waters. A sort of thank you for helping them to get their greedy forks back in the Texas pie, and of course, helping Pierce, Waters means helping Standard Oil."

  In the uproar of anger and denial following that statement, Jessica's shocking choices of conversational subject matter were forgotten, just as Travis expected they would be.

  What had gotten into the girl? More hard words from Penelope, he reckoned, wishing the woman would control her tongue. He supposed he himself would come in for some of Penelope's malice since he'd been late for her dinner party, but it would be worth it. He'd just heard that the Hamil brothers, hired by Lucas and backed by Galey and Guffey, had at last started drilling. Galey had chosen the spot—right next to a hog wallow on Spindletop mound.

  "I heard an interesting rumor,” said Penelope, “about a place owned by a woman named Fannie Porter."

  Travis stopped chuckling over the hog-wallow oil well as he watched Hugh shift uneasily. Did Penelope realize she was cutting close to her husband's illegal activities? Travis wondered, amused.

  Jessica kept her eyes fixed on her plate. She had heard that name before in a conversation between her husband and a police officer at the Labor Day picnic; the conversation had made her uneasy and a bit jealous.

  "It's a house of ill repute,” said Penelope.

  Shocked gasps went around the room. Such things were never discussed in polite company, certainly not by or in front of ladies. Jessica had stiffened as she made the connection between Travis and such a place—but no, he wouldn't; probably the policeman had been telling him about some—some illegal activities there.

  "It seems that not only do scarlet women and famous outlaws—"

  Travis had felt his wife stiffen, shocked no doubt by the subject; now he watched Hugh turn white.

  "—frequent the place,” Penelope announced with relish, “but rumor has it that some gentlemen—previously assumed to be respectable and happily married—have been seen there as well."

  "That's enough, Penelope,” said Hugh in a hard voice that took everyone at the table by surprise, especially his wife, who was unused to being interrupted.

  Travis was hard put to keep from laughing at the reaction to Penelope's bombshell. Wives were frowning, husbands glancing at them anxiously. Could all the men here be frequenting Fannie Porter's? If they were unfortunate enough to be married to women like Penelope, they probably needed to. Travis gave his wife a warm smile, thinking that he wouldn't have to go near the place himself if it weren't to protect her. Conversation languished for the rest of the meal, after which Penelope led the ladies out so that the men could enjoy their cigars.

  Jessica hated this part of the evening most of all because she knew her mother would say something awful to her. The remarks might be blatantly hostile or covert, but they would come, especially since Jessica had gone out of her way to be displeasing, instead of being just unintentionally irritating as she usually was.

  "Do bring me my medicine, Jessica,” said Penelope, opening the attack once the ladies were all seated. “After your very unsuitable topics of conversation this evening, my nerves are quite frayed."

  As she went to the cabinet, Jessica wondered whether her mother considered rumors about sporting houses more socially acceptable.

  "One of the men who has been seen at Fannie Porter's is your husband, Jessica.” Penelope had her hand stretched casually in front of her so that she could admire a ring Hugh had just given her. “So surprising. Young bridegrooms don't usually stray that quickly. Goodness, you've only been married two months."

  Jessica felt sick. Travis—patronizing a haunt of loose women?

  "Perhaps that should be a lesson to you, Jessica. Men do not admire women who are always flaunting their knowledge and expressing antisocial ideas. Your husband might stay closer to home if you paid more attention to your clothes—and, I might add, my advice—and less attention to books and competing in such an unfeminine way with men."

  In the face of these cruel words, Jessica froze in her place. She'd heard such opinions before, but never coupled with the sentiment that her husband found her—unattractive and—and unlovable. She swallowed hard, knowing she had to say something—for pride's sake, if for no other reason. Therefore she loosened her death grip on the medicine bottle and continued toward her mother's chair. “If what you say is true—"

  "Oh, I assure you it is, Jessica,” said Penelope smugly.

  "If what you say is true, I'd have thought good manners would keep you from repeating it, Penelope."

  "How dare you question my actions?” snapped Penelope, then smiled through her anger and added, “Though, of course, we must make allowances, I suppose, as this evidence of your husband's—ah—straying from the marriage bed must come as quite a shock to you, new bride that you are."

  Jessica placed the bottle softly on the velvet-skirted table beside her mother's chair. “Perhaps you should take a larger dose of medicine,” she suggested.

  Penelope's eyes narrowed, but she let the challenge pass and moved on to other matters. Jessica hardly listened, so miserable had Penelope's attack made her. Even when the gentlemen returned, she paid no attention. For the moment, she didn't want to look at Travis, only to remain inconspicuous until she could escape from this stifling company.

  "Now,” said Penelope, “I think we'd all love to hear Jessica play. My daughter is so talented, isn't she?"

  There were unenthusiastic murmurs of assent, and Penelope smiled expectantly at Jessica, who said firmly, “You either have a terrible ear for music, Penelope, or you're bearing some grudge against your guests. Even people who love me think my piano playing singularly uninspired. I do myself."

  Penelope, for once, was silenced.

  "If you want to hear music, Travis can bring down the phonograph.” With that and without looking at her husband, Jessica sat back to endure the rest of the evening.

  Before the door had hardly closed behind them and before Travis could ask her what the devil was the matter, Jessica turned on him and asked, “Do you patronize Fannie Porter's sporting house?"

  His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?"

  "Penelope."

  "When?"

  "What difference does it make?"

  "Just a matter of interest. I'm curious as to what occasion a mother would choose to inform her daughter that the daughter's husband had been seen in the company of whores."

  Jessica colored at his blunt language. “When the ladies retired,” she mumb
led.

  "So Penelope accused me of whoremongering over the coffee cups, did she, or did you just take some remark of hers the wrong way?"

  "She said that any woman who paid no attention to fashion and spent her time reading unsuitable books and talking about them to men could expect her husband, even her bridegroom, to stray, and you obviously had."

  Travis swore. His mother-in-law was really out for blood. “All right, Jess, I've been to Fannie Porter's, but not for the reason Penelope was intimating."

  Jessica turned away, feeling as if her heart would break.

  "No, don't turn your back. Look at me. Men go to places like that to meet, drink, talk, and hold business discussions, not always to consort with the women. I don't patronize the women at Fannie's."

  "Oh, Travis,” said Jessica sadly, unbelievingly.

  "Jess, do you really think I'd be interested in some unintelligent, disreputable, half-dressed slut?” He looked at her keenly and saw that he wasn't making the impression he had hoped for. “I'm very happy with you, Jessica. I have no desire for other women."

  Now she did raise her eyes to his, and he smiled.

  "You satisfy all my wants, some I never expected a woman could satisfy.” He took both of her hands in his and added firmly, “Believe it, Jess.” Seeing the self-doubt that still shadowed her eyes, he cupped her face and leaned forward to kiss her. “You're the only woman I want, and it will stay that way as long as you want me too.” He shifted his mouth to deepen the kiss. “Don't let your mother hurt what we have together. She will if she can, you know."

  "I wish we could leave here,” Jessica whispered unhappily.

  "You have to learn to trust me,” he replied. “Now, come to bed. I do like this gown.” He had begun to look for ways to get her out of it. “But I don't know how to take it off.” He gave up for the moment and pulled her hard against him.

  Jessica reached for the ties that were hidden under the flowing outer robe. Even with the doubts still lingering in her mind, his urgency had catalyzed hers.