Virgin Fire

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  "You're riding a bicycle around here? I'm surprised I haven't heard of it.” He kept hustling her down the street. “Reckon I'm spending too much time out at the well."

  "Travis!"

  "This man botherin’ you, ma'am?” asked one of Sheriff Landry's deputies.

  "This man is her husband,” said Travis.

  "That right, ma'am?"

  "We're separated,” said Jessica stiffly, her cheeks flushed.

  "Married is married,” the deputy decided after a minute's thought, and he took himself off.

  "I suppose if you'd been pulling a gun to shoot me, he'd have said “married is married’ and left,” said Jessica bitterly.

  "You didn't have to tell him we're separated,” Travis muttered. After an argument, they compromised. Travis rode his horse. Jessica rode her bicycle and ignored him, the more so because he had grumbled that her short cycling shirt showed her ankles. She told him that her ankles were no longer his concern. They made a very mismatched pair on the road and elicited humorous comments from men coming into town from the drilling sites.

  Once at the house, Travis prowled around, checking windows, doors, and locks, usually remarking that they wouldn't keep out a six-year-old. Jessica knew that but hadn't wanted to be reminded. Then Travis discovered her tin bathtub. “You've got to let me use it,” he pleaded.

  Jessica glared at him.

  "Do you have any idea of how few tubs there are in Beaumont? Not above twelve, I'd guess, most of them in barber shops and so filthy you'd rather go dirty than put your body in one."

  Travis had always been a fastidious man, but now he looked scruffy. Not just his clothes—Travis himself. Jessica could understand how much that would bother him.

  "I'll make you a deal, Jessie. Dinner and a bath, and I'll fix up your doors and windows. How about it?"

  He was giving her such an appealing smile, and there were things that needed to be done around the house, things she herself did poorly or couldn't do at all. “Very well,” she said grudgingly, “but dinner won't be much. I hadn't planned on company."

  Travis gave her a merry grin and scooped up some tools piled on the kitchen table. “You start heating the water. I'll start on the front door. No, I'll pump the water for you first.” She watched him jumping energetically off the back stoop, a bucket in either hand, and bit her lip hard, the pain a reminder that he was not to be trusted, that what he wanted from her was not the love she had wanted to give him.

  Travis was as good as his word. He effected an amazing number of repairs while his bath water was heating. Then he had his bath while she cooked dinner and thought about him, wet and naked in the small tin tub they had moved to her sitting room since she would not allow him to take his bath in the kitchen while she worked there.

  She stood at the stove, absently stirring a pot of stew and staring into the night. There were still men out there on the hill boring down into the earth. She could hear them, their shouts and the sound of their equipment. Travis probably had a crew working tonight. He might be going back to them after he'd had his dinner, or he might be going into town—to one of those girls at Deep Crockett, as they called the sporting district.

  She could remember when she had worried about his visits to Fannie Porter's. Then he had assured her that he was happy at home, but now he had no home, so he probably—Lord, she was still jealous, jealous of a man she'd never live with again. He had betrayed her and—

  Her thoughts were cut off when two brown, bare arms encircled her from behind, pulling her back. “Two months, Jess,” he whispered against her ear, his warm breath stirring the fair, fine hair. “For two months I've been thinking about you, wishing I had you in my arms, wanting to share the excitement of things here with you, and then when I thought you'd come back to me—” He sighed. “Ah, love, that was cruel. I thought—"

  "Travis, let go of me.” Instead of letting go, his arms tightened, pressing her hard against his body.

  "I don't want to, honey.” His desire to kiss her neck frustrated by her high collar, he nipped her earlobe instead. “I don't want you living here by yourself.” He pressed one forearm across her waist while with the other hand he released the hooks of her collar and kissed her neck, then her shoulder. “I don't want you living anywhere but with me."

  Jessica was virtually immobilized, by his arm which held both of hers helpless, by the realization that he had started to undress her, and by the wave of passion that swamped her as he first nuzzled her bared shoulder, then closed his free hand over her breast. Through the fabric of her shirtwaist, he stroked the tip with his thumb. In response the nipple tightened, and an old ache bloomed low in her body, weakening her resolve, firing the passion she had tried so hard to bank since she had thrust him from her life.

  "I want you back, Jessie. I just plain want you.” His voice was low and urgent.

  Jessica tried to detach herself from what he was doing to her. Once, knowing she might be hurt, she had let herself love him, and she had been hurt—in a way she never anticipated. Now, she didn't want to take any more chances. Now, she understood him better. He probably did want to make love to her, but there would be other, more pressing motivations. She could guess at them. “Maybe what you really want is this land,” she replied. “What did you have in mind, Travis, besides moving in with me? A lease in your name? A well in the front yard?"

  She had made her voice scathing. His hands fell away, and he stepped back.

  "When's dinner?” he asked coolly.

  "Ten minutes,” she replied. His passion was highly controllable it would seem, fueled by greed, quenched by the frustration of that greed.

  "You've got a bad step out back. I'll mend it.” He went into the sitting room for his shirt, threw out the bath water, and was soon pounding nails into the loose step that led up to her back stoop. When he came in for dinner, he brought her two more buckets of water for which she thanked him politely.

  Over dinner he advised her to keep holding out against offers on Oliver's property. He said the boom hadn't even begun, that by the end of the month more wells would have come in and prices would shoot out of sight. For the next few months she would be able to sell Oliver's off-hill land for huge amounts; it would bring prices far in excess of its value because people would not yet realize that little or no oil lay beneath that flat plain. He advised her to sell, not lease, the off-hill land for as much as she could get and do it before too many dry holes had been drilled there.

  Why not lease it? she asked. Because the lease would guarantee to drill within a given period of time and promise her a percentage of the potential oil revenues, but there would be none, he explained. Then the lease would lapse, and the land would be worth considerably less because by then everyone would realize that the oil was on the hill. At that time she could make up her mind to sell or lease the hill property.

  Jessica understood his reasoning. Her only problem with his advice was the possibility that it might be deliberately misleading. After all, Oliver was Penelope's father; Travis might hold a grudge against him. On the other hand, Travis's advice might be well meant, but that didn't guarantee that he was right. People were buying up that flat land surrounding Spindletop even now because they expected to become rich. Wells were being drilled.

  Travis watched her frowning and said with a lazy smile, “Distrust is written all over your face, Jess, but I can tell you, Oliver won't appreciate it if you lose him a lot of money."

  "I imagine you're really enjoying it—putting me in this position,” she replied angrily.

  "I'm not enjoying anything about my problems with you, Jess,” he said sharply. “I don't want to cheat you or quarrel with you. What I want is to stay here tonight and make love to you, tonight and tomorrow night and..."

  Jessica rose hurriedly and left the room. Behind her she heard him swear, then stamp to the door and slam it behind him.

  Jessica had been in Beaumont three weeks when she acquired a housekeeper. She always remembered the
date, March twenty-sixth, because it was the day the Beatty well came in, blowing the driller, Jim Sturm of Corsicana, right off the derrick floor and gassing Lige Adams, the farmer who had leased the land to Beatty and taken a job as a cook at the well site. She knew both of them.

  When she heard the news, her first thought was of Travis, and she wanted to find him, to be sure he hadn't been hurt. Then she realized that the first of his predictions had come true. Oil had been found again on the hill and before the end of the month. Just as he had said, prices skyrocketed and pressure increased on her to sell or lease her grandfather's land. She was offered dozens of deals, but all she could think of was that Travis's well would come in soon and he might be injured or killed.

  She hired the woman who appeared at her door that morning for several reasons. First, Jessica liked her on sight, even though she had never seen anyone like her new housekeeper, who was tall, taller than Jessica herself, with dark red-brown skin and wide, high cheekbones. She seemed to be around Jessica's own age, but regal and exotic in appearance, forceful if somewhat taciturn in personality.

  When Jessica opened the door to her, the woman simply announced that Jessica needed a housekeeper, a statement with which Jessica had to agree. As her business activities multiplied in Beaumont and on the hill, it became obvious that she would have to let her domestic arrangements go entirely if she were to keep writing articles for the Fort Worth newspapers, articles for which she was now being well paid. Papers competed to buy them because of their popularity with readers. She'd even had offers from out-of-town newspapers and often sold the same article two or three times, but she couldn't continue to write and keep her clothes and bedding clean and her table set each day. Therefore, she agreed when told that she needed a housekeeper. She needed one and could afford to pay the price the woman asked.

  In addition, another person in the house would act as a barrier between herself and Travis, should he decide to call. Some days she ached to see him and had the disconcerting suspicion that she would throw her arms around him should he appear at her door—but not if there were a housekeeper standing by. In fact, even if he never came again, others did, and another person in the house would offer a measure of protection.

  Only after they had settled on terms did Jessica realize that her new housekeeper was married and expected to go home to her husband at night. Rainee lived in “South Africa,” a neighborhood populated by Negroes and Mexicans. Perhaps, if the woman's husband proved to be a reliable man, Jessica would later invite the couple to move in with her here on Spindletop Heights. She had the room and would welcome the company. Maybe if they became friendly, the woman would tell her story. She had introduced herself simply as Rainee, but the name didn't fit her. Jessica was sure she was part Indian, as well as part black. Rainee Beeker, who said so little and worked so hard, piqued Jessica's curiosity and gave her something to think about in the evening hours, something besides Travis, who usually occupied her mind as she was falling asleep.

  "That girl's going to make me another fortune,” said Oliver Duplessis.

  "Really, Papa?” asked Penelope. “And how could my little daughter make you a fortune? Is she dividing her newspaper earnings with you?” Penelope laughed musically to cover her irritation over the fact that Oliver kept returning the conversation to Jessica.

  "Don't be a bigger fool than you usually are, Penelope,” snapped her father. “Fortunes are being made at Spindletop. Land prices are going up, and they'll go higher still, and I own land there.” He looked very self-satisfied, and Penelope was interested for once.

  "What has Jessica to do with it?” she asked.

  "She's handling sales and leases for me."

  "Really? And you say the prices are going up?"

  "They are. There are millions to be made in that market,” said Oliver firmly.

  "Millions?"

  "Fool girl wants to come home, but I've told her she's to stay. She's doing too good a job to be replaced by some fella I can't trust."

  "Oh, I quite agree, Papa. I think you should leave Jessica right where she is,” said Penelope.

  "Why?” asked her father, the many folds of his bulldog face quivering with suspicion. Then he chuckled, remembering that Penelope had hoped to effect a divorce between Travis and Jessica so that she could marry Jessica off—with some advantage to herself and Hugh, no doubt. Well, she was bound to be disappointed. She obviously didn't know that Travis Parnell was in Beaumont.

  No, Oliver wasn't bringing his granddaughter home. He'd keep her right there on Spindletop until she and her husband reconciled. Travis wanted that; he and Oliver kept in touch, and Travis was keeping his eye on the girl, giving her advice when she needed it. So far she'd been smart enough to overcome her suspicions and take that advice. Smart girl, Jessica. Deserved a smart husband, and Oliver intended to see that she kept the one she had.

  Chapter Twenty

  "It's called the Easy Washing Machine,” said Jessica as she demonstrated its operation to her housekeeper. “See. You turn this handle to stir the clothes around, and this is the wringer. It rolls the water out."

  "Does handle take smell from water?"

  "'Fraid not.” Jessica grinned at Rainee. “But it's better than washing clothes in a cold stream.” The housekeeper went into the kitchen to fetch a large kettle of hot water. When she returned, Jessica resumed the conversation.

  "Where are you from, Rainee?” Jessica knew her questions to be intrusive, but she couldn't resist asking.

  "Comanche Reservation in Oklahoma,” said the woman.

  "Are you—ah—a full-blooded Comanche?"

  "Grandmother was slave, then captive, then second wife of war chief."

  "Really?"

  "You not think war chief marry slave?"

  "Oh, I didn't mean that,” said Jessica, flushing.

  "No soul inside black skin,” said Rainee impassively.

  "That's nonsense,” cried Jessica, aghast.

  "Comanche believe no soul in black skin. Never take scalp of slave."

  "Well, that must have been a blessing of sorts,” Jessica mumbled, wishing she'd controlled her curiosity.

  "But war chief not interested in wife with soul, looking for tall sons.” Rainee's voice was sardonic.

  "I only asked because my grandmother was kidnapped by a band of Comanches,” Jessica explained defensively. “Her first child was born while she was still a captive."

  "Indian father?” asked Rainee, thawing somewhat.

  Jessica shook her head. “No, she was already married. My grandfather rescued her. Very romantic, don't you think?” she added, laughing.

  Rainee didn't laugh.

  "They might have known each other—our grandmothers."

  Rainee looked at her as if to ask, How likely do you think that is?

  "I suppose not,” Jessica mumbled. The two women, as they talked, had been stuffing clothes into the Easy Washer. “Is Rainee an Indian name?"

  "Rain Woman. Comanche name. Rainee...” She shrugged. “Husband give."

  "Rain Woman,” said Jessica dreamily. “That's nice. Is your husband a Comanche?"

  "Black man,” said Rainee. “Worked for freighter who supplied trading post. When much work open here, he move. I move."

  Jessica nodded. “Since the Beatty well came in, the town is twice as crowded, lots of new people seeking jobs."

  Rainee had gone back to ignoring her.

  "Well, if you understand the machine, I'm off to town,” said Jessica, embarrassed at having trespassed on her housekeeper's privacy. “I'm going into the map business today."

  As she pedaled away, Jessica wondered how her grandfather was going to take the inclusion of an Easy Washing Machine among her business expenses. Would he understand that a businesswoman needed clean clothes, especially in a place as dirty as an oil field, most especially in April when it was beginning to rain more frequently, turning the streets to mud?

  She smiled to herself. If he didn't like it, he could
always fire her. Once she had her map business going, she wouldn't need the salary, not with her earnings from the newspaper articles and the fees she charged people who asked for legal advice. Jessica always explained carefully that she was not licensed to practice in Texas and could not represent them in court; still, people came to her. Travis did. How surprised he'd been when she told him what fee she planned to charge him. He'd said in that case he should charge for his financial advice. Jessica retorted that he could trust her legal advice; she couldn't trust anything he said. He had left in a huff.

  "All right, boys,” said Jessica to the small crowd of ragamuffins who clustered around her. “These maps are twice as accurate as anything now being sold in Beaumont. I commissioned them from a professional mapmaker, and you should tell your customers that. A poor map can make a difference of several thousand feet in the property lines, and several thousand feet can be the difference between wealth and poverty. Does everyone understand what I'm saying?” A dozen unbarbered young heads nodded.

  "You'll be selling a better map and charging more money for it. Also, you'll be getting a better cut of the profits, so I expect you to work hard. When you need more maps, go to Mr. Kelleher at the printing shop. He'll keep track of how many you've taken out and how much money you return.” Then she eyed them sternly. “If you're careless with either the maps or the money, or, worse, if you're dishonest, you'll be out of business. On the other hand, the boy who does the most business in a given week gets a bonus."

  The high young voices cheered, and Jessica looked at them fondly. She had screened the boys she chose with care, poor things; they were all orphans or sons of women without husbands. Had Travis looked like one of these boys when he was homeless in Fort Worth? Jessica stifled her softer feelings for him and sent the children off to launch the new business.

  "Jessica, I've got to talk to you. Why don't I come to your house tonight?"

  "No."

  Travis gritted his teeth. “All right. We'll go out to dinner."

  "Just tell me what it is. There's no reason—"