Virgin Fire

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  "Speakin’ a farmers,” said Joe Ray, “some jackass out home done put in a crop a cotton. Can you b'lieve that, Travis? Course, the cowboys, soon as they heard, they come along an’ made the fella plow it up. Tole him where you got cotton, you got colored folks, an’ Lubbock County was white man's territory an’ gonna stay that way."

  "I can certainly sympathize with that sentiment,” said Penelope. “They are not to be trusted. I wouldn't have one in my house."

  Jessica had been looking from Joe Ray to Penelope with wide, slightly befuddled eyes. “I don't understand that at all,” she said. “Some of the finest men and women I know are colored. We had a wonderful nurse named Calliope, and we all love her dearly. She still lives out at the Rocking T."

  "Don't you mention her at my table,” hissed Penelope. “I won't have it. You said that just to spite me, and you can be sure that I'll make you very, very—"

  "Here now, Miz Gresham,” Joe Ray intervened, “I didn't mean to cause no to-do between you an’ your daughter, no sir."

  Jessica had drawn back, white-faced.

  Before Travis, feeling protective once more, could intervene on Jessica's behalf, Joe Ray continued. “My, you are a feisty lady, ain't you, Miz Gresham, an’ fer a fact, I've heard that about you. We'll just change the subject. I ain't had a chance to tell you, Travis, how good it's worked out ‘tween me an’ that Calloway fella you sent my way."

  "Glad you were pleased, Joe Ray,” said Travis quickly. “How much land you figure to sell to the sodbusters?"

  "None. Why would I want to sell good land when I'm gonna make me a fortune in the cattle dip business?"

  Hugh Gresham paused in the act of pouring himself more wine. “Calloway?” he asked.

  "Yep, Travis was bein’ a good Samaritan like the Good Book tells us to."

  "Joe Ray,” murmured Travis, trying to keep his voice casual and still get the warning across.

  "I didn't realize my son-in-law was given to philanthropy in business matters,” said Hugh grimly. “I'd like to hear about it."

  "Oh, ‘twarn't nothin’ that important, but it sure turned out good for me."

  Travis groaned to himself, knowing that there was no stopping Joe Ray at this point. Did the man realize what he was doing?

  "Seems Travis knew someone was tryin’ to cheat this Calloway outa his business. Some fellas won't stop at nothin',” Joe Ray added, giving Hugh a bland smile. “You've prob'ly run into that sort your own self, Gresham.” Joe Ray put down his knife and fork and patted his stomach. “Mighty fine grub, Miz Gresham."

  "Why, thank you, Mr. Brock,” Penelope replied, smiling graciously.

  Penelope had no idea what was going on, but Jessica seemed to have come out of her dream; she was listening with a puzzled frown. Had she heard his conversation with Hugh about Oscar Calloway? Travis wondered. He couldn't remember if she'd been in the room. One thing he was sure of; he couldn't let her hear any more of this. “Well, since you're through eating, Joe Ray, we need to—"

  "I haven't heard the rest of the story,” Hugh interrupted.

  "Not much to tell,” said Joe Ray. “Travis sent him to me, an’ I put up the money for this Calloway fella to expand. Man's come up with the best cattle dip in the country. Him an’ me is gonna make us a goldanged fortune. Why, orders is already up a hunnerd percent ‘cause, a course, I been spreadin’ the word in the cattlemen's associations. Took up the distribution on the South Plains my own self, an'—"

  Hugh was no longer listening. Face white, lips trembling with fury, he had turned to Travis. “That was my deal! You used what I'd told you in confidence."

  "I'll be damned,” said Joe Ray. “You was the fella gonna cheat ole Calloway?"

  "Don't be naïve!” snapped Hugh. “It was a perfectly legal business deal."

  "Oh, sure it was, Gresham. Jus’ like the one that drove Will Parnell to his grave,” said Joe Ray.

  "Will Parnell?” Looking as if he'd seen a ghost, Hugh turned to Travis. “You're related to Will Parnell?” The man's voice was trembling.

  "Course he is. Didn't you never remember what you done to Will, Gresham? Didn't you remember he had a boy heard the whole thing an’ found the body? You mus’ kill a lotta ranchers an’ cheat a lotta orphans to forgit a thang like that ‘cause it ain't been so many years. Fifteen, sixteen."

  "Seventeen,” said Travis. “Seventeen years and one month."

  Joe Ray nodded. “Glad to know you ain't forgot, boy. I was wonderin’ why you'd marry Gresham's daughter. Seemed like a disloyal thing to me, but I guess you got more meanness in you than I thought. Maybe I done taught you something after all."

  "Are you saying, Mr. Brock, that Travis married Jessica out of a desire for revenge against my husband?” asked Penelope, having finally begun to understand the conversation.

  "I ain't sayin’ nothin’ ‘bout why he married her,” said Joe Ray. “I wasn't here when he done it.” He glanced uneasily at Jessica, who seemed turned to stone.

  "How dreadful!” cried Penelope, but her tone said she didn't find it dreadful at all. “It would seem that Travis wasn't madly in love with you, after all, Jessica. In fact, didn't you wonder why he married you? I certainly did."

  "Yes,” said Jessica. She was staring at her husband, pale and stunned.

  "How very embarrassing for you, dear."

  "Yes.” Jessica rose, folding her napkin and placing it carefully beside her plate.

  "Jessica certainly seems to be taking this calmly,” said Penelope, sounding disappointed. “But then I don't suppose she'd want to burst into tears here in company.” She watched her daughter leaving the room, then turned to Travis.

  "So you were that grubby little boy. Heavens, I haven't thought of Will Parnell in years,” she declared, her laughter tinkling around the table. “He courted me when I was just a child, and then he married that chit Rose Anne—what was her name?—Bascomb. Rose Anne Bascomb. Not that I'd have had him.” Penelope tossed her head disdainfully.

  What a despicable woman! Travis thought. Had she treated his father so maliciously because Will had preferred another woman to her? “Yes,” he said coldly, “I was the boy."

  "I had my duty to the bank,” said Hugh. “It was a perfectly justifiable move from a financial point of view."

  "You suckered him, just like you tried to do Calloway,” said Travis.

  "It served Will right,” said Penelope complacently.

  "Shut up!” Hugh snapped.

  "Borrowing all that money. Still, it's only business,” she added with an airy wave of the hand. “Imagine holding a grudge all these years."

  "Well, ma'am,” said Joe Ray, “we're not folks to forgit our grievances. We got long memories, the boy an’ me, an’ it looks like Travis here's been busy, mighty busy.” He turned to Travis. “You shoulda tole me what you was up to. I shore wouldn't a give the game away, if—"

  "But you did, Mr. Brock,” said Penelope smugly, “and Travis must be terribly disappointed that he had so little luck against us—except for that silly cattle dip company. And of course, the wedding and Jessica's clothes. What a shame we spent all that money on—"

  "No luck against us?” Hugh cried. “Do you realize what it cost me to buy Justin out? Do you realize what I've had to...” He clamped his mouth shut.

  "Well, really, Hugh, you can recover from a few minor setbacks."

  "You idiot!” Hugh shouted at his wife.

  "Nice to see your enemies fallin’ out, ain't it?” Joe Ray remarked to Travis.

  Travis, badly worried about Jessica, had risen to leave.

  "Going upstairs to try to mend your fences?” asked Penelope sweetly. “You'll never manage it. My poor daughter's no doubt vastly disappointed that you've made such a fool of her—"

  "How very motherly of you to see it that way, Penelope,” said Travis and turned to the stairs and a confrontation that was going to be hard, very hard.

  "—but she has some pride,” Penelope called after him. “She won't take y
ou back. And now that we know what you've been up to, you'll have to leave the house, so you'll have no more use for her, will you?"

  Her laughter followed him up the stairs. No more use for Jess? Travis shook his head. Somehow he had to square this with her. He had to make her understand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jessica was sitting in a straight-backed chair, hands folded precisely in her lap, eyes fastened bleakly on the glass doors that led now, in December, to a balcony lashed by cold winds and a few flakes of snow. It might well be a white Christmas, she thought, remembering how her father had read them stories on Christmas Eve about snow and crackling fires on hearths and presents and families that lived happily ever after—her father, from whom she had run away.

  He and Anne had tried to protect her, but she'd been too stupid, too infatuated, and too much in need of love to see that she was being used. By Travis, with whom she had been so happy these last months, for whom she would have done just about anything. God! She had done just about anything. How amused he must have been when she'd fallen so deeply in love, how disdainful of her physical passion for him. With her heart as bleak as the winter night outside her windows, she turned to watch him enter their room.

  "I think you should go along to the hotel with Mr. Brock,” she said in a dull voice. “The charade is over, so there's no reason for you to stay."

  "I'm not going anywhere without you, Jess,” he replied quietly. “I realize this has come as a shock to you, but we are married and—"

  "Not really,” she interrupted. “All those vows we made—yours were perjured. Dr. Campbell said nothing about marrying for revenge, using your wife to retaliate for some imagined—"

  "Nothing imagined,” he retorted, looking surprised.

  "I don't know what Hugh did, Travis. I didn't even know Hugh back then—or Penelope, but whatever happened, I don't see how that excuses what you've done to me."

  "What have I done to you?” he asked reasonably.

  "You must really hate me to—"

  "Jess, I don't hate you!” He looked at her somberly. Since Joe Ray had brought all this to a head, Travis decided that he might as well tell her everything. One way or another, they weren't going to be staying here, and he was tired of living a lie. “Do you recall my saying that my father died when I was eight?"

  Jessica nodded, her face drawn with misery as he began the story of the confrontation in Gresham's office and his father's suicide. Travis described how he himself had found the body and then been shuffled aside by the hotel employees and the police, ending up on the street, grief-stricken and frightened; how he'd slept in an alley that night and returned the next morning to the hotel, where he had been called a “dirty little beggar” and turned away; how the Greshams, although they had seen him with his father, had claimed what was left of the estate for the bank, citing absence of heirs—evidently never mentioning him or making any effort to find him.

  When he finished his tale, Jessica said, “You were eight years old. It's possible that you remembered that scene in the office incorrectly. After all, you thought Penelope had shot him, and that was wrong. Children—"

  "Penelope's never been that good to you, Jessica,” snapped Travis resentfully. He hadn't expected that she wouldn't believe him. “I see no justification for this sudden loyalty to her."

  "Maybe you're right,” said Jessica. “Maybe there's no reason for me to trust her, but at least her hostility has been right out where I could see it, while yours—I had no idea you blamed me for your childhood."

  "I don't."

  "Of course you do. Why else would you—” She shook her head and looked away from him, unable to go on. Those four years he had spent homeless in Fort Worth must have been terrible, worse than she had ever imagined, but she wasn't responsible! She hadn't done anything to him but offer her love, so very much love, so much love that knowing he rejected it and always had was like a stake driven into her heart.

  All this time he'd cared for nothing but his revenge—not truth, not his wife, certainly not her feelings. How could he do that? “You're quite right, Travis,” she said. “Thank you for the advice. I won't trust Penelope. Or you. You, least of all. Who could trust a man who marries for vengeance?"

  "Jessica, no matter what my motives were,” said Travis as persuasively as he could, “we've had a good marriage. We've been happy together."

  "No, we haven't!” she cried indignantly. “It's been a sham—a meaningless—hopeless...” Her mouth closed in a tight line.

  "How can you say that? Have you been unhappy with me? Have I treated you badly?"

  "Of course not. You wanted something. You wanted to get even with Penelope and Hugh. I was your means of doing it."

  "Jessica, the truth is I haven't made a move against Hugh in months, not since—"

  "—not since the last time you had a chance? Well, I'm sure if Mr. Brock hadn't given you away, you'd have found something else to do to him. In fact, considering the financial problems he seems to be having, I don't even believe you. You haven't stopped, have you?"

  Travis realized with a pang that there was some truth in what she'd said. Because of Hartwig and Hamlet Arleigh—did he want to tell her about that? No. His best argument was their personal relationship. “In what way have I been a bad husband?” he persisted. She was a logical woman; she'd have to perceive the sense of what he was saying. “What more could I have done to make you happy?” He saw no softening of her expression, which was unlike Jessie; he'd always been able to talk her around. “You're upset, sweetheart,” he continued gently, “so you're not looking at this clearheadedly."

  "Oh, but I am, Travis, and for the first time—and please don't call me sweetheart. I always wondered why you married me, but I believed what I wanted to believe.” Looking back, she wondered how she could have been so gullible. “I should have listened to my head instead of my heart; I should have remembered that you've never once said you loved me."

  Hadn't he? Travis, for the first time since entering the room, felt real fear.

  "Because you couldn't say that, could you, Travis?"

  "You've never said that to me either, Jess,” he temporized.

  "But I did,” she cried, tears welling helplessly in her eyes. “I did love you."

  "Jess.” He stepped toward her, but Jessica quickly turned her back. Why had he never said it? he asked himself. God! She'd never believe him now.

  "Go away, Travis. You can't live here anymore. I won't let you use me to cause more trouble. Penelope—"

  "Jess, believe me, Penelope can take care of herself,” he protested. This was becoming a disaster. Had he lost Jessica's loyalty, only to have her transfer it to Penelope, of all people? “Think about it, Jessica. You know what she's like. She can't be trusted."

  "If you knew that, why did you bring me here? You're the one who can't be—"

  "Jessie, I don't want to leave you here alone,” he cried.

  "Why? Who here's likely to hurt me more than you have?"

  Thinking of the story Justin had told, he felt a surge of fear. Had his reasons for rejecting that story about Penelope been a self-serving rationalization? It hadn't mattered then because he expected to be at Jessica's side to protect her should she need it, but if she insisted that he leave, if she wouldn't come with him—maybe that was the key; she herself had wanted to leave several months ago. “You wanted us to get a place of our own. Remember?"

  "And now I know why you wouldn't."

  Damn Hamlet Arleigh, he thought bitterly. “But I will. We'll start looking right away. Tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow,” she echoed, her face flushing. “I understand. You think you can take me to bed, and by tomorrow morning you'll have convinced me...” She stopped, confused. “Of what, Travis? That you never really meant anyone any harm?"

  "Jess, I admit—"

  "I should hope you do. Mr. Brock made it all perfectly clear. Only God knows which of Penelope and Hugh's problems you're responsible for."

&
nbsp; Not enough, he thought angrily.

  "Do you think I'm so lovesick that I'd do anything to keep from losing you? I don't even understand why you want to stay. What possible use can you make of me now, Travis?” she asked wearily. “Unless it satisfies your hatred of my mother to torture me."

  "Jess, for God's sake, I don't want to hurt you. I never have. I want to protect you—from Penelope."

  "Oh, of course,” she said sarcastically. “Now I understand. To protect me from my mother, you have to live here, where you can continue your vendetta. Well, I wouldn't count on Hugh allowing it.” She glared at him, hands on hips. “In fact, if you don't leave this minute, I'll call Hugh and ask him to throw you out."

  Travis stared at his furious wife, his thoughts tumbling desperately. Maybe he should leave—for now. Travis couldn't believe that, when Jessica was calmer, he wouldn't be able to make her see reason. She still loved him; she'd have to forgive him sooner or later. But to let her stay behind, in this house ... “Jessica, I know you're upset,” he began gently.

  She turned her back on him.

  Frowning, he approached and curved his hands over her shoulders. “So I'll do what you ask."

  "Don't touch me.” She pulled violently away.

  Travis suppressed the impulse to spin her around and kiss her senseless. “But this is not a permanent separation, Jessie, and you have to promise me that you'll be wary of Penelope. Don't—trust—her.” His voice was low and emphatic.

  She whirled to face him, eyes shining with tears. “Oh, you don't have to worry about my trusting the wrong people anymore,” she cried, backing away from him step by step as if he were the danger she feared most. “I'm not likely to trust anyone from now on."

  Travis's heart contracted. He'd never meant to hurt her. “I'll come back tomorrow morning, and—"

  "Don't. I never want to see you again."

  "You'll change your mind, Jessie. You need time to—"

  "Go away. Just go away, Travis."

  The tears were streaming down her face as she continued to retreat. Travis could have wept himself. Should he try to tell her how much he loved her? No, it wouldn't do any good. Not now.