Virgin Fire

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  "I can't."

  "Don't tell me you can't, you little cheat. You did it because you're jealous of me. Well, you won't get away with it. Hugh says we have to have the money; he'll blame me if I don't bring it back."

  "Penelope, I can't—"

  "You'll have to buy it back yourself."

  "At two thousand dollars an acre,” said Jessica, controlling her temper with difficulty.

  "No. I want the price I expected to get."

  "I warned you before you insisted on buying it, and I've been warning you ever since. I don't know what else I could have done. Grandfather said originally that if you insisted, I was to sell it to you. He didn't say he'd be willing to take a huge loss when you changed your mind."

  "It's my money,” said Penelope, a sly look replacing the hostility. “I'm his heir—just as I'm yours, am I not?"

  "You'll have to talk to Grandfather,” Jessica replied, her face hardening. “I couldn't knowingly take a financial loss of such magnitude without his authorization."

  "Now you're trying to come between me and my father."

  Jessica's mouth tightened.

  "You have named me in your will, haven't you?” Penelope demanded.

  "Are you expecting me to die?” Jessica snapped back.

  "This is a dangerous place. Should anything happen to you, we wouldn't want your money to go to Travis Parnell, would we? Or have you gone crawling back to him?” Penelope's voice held an unpleasant sneer that brought a flush to Jessica's cheeks.

  "I don't have time for making out wills or for trying to rectify your mistakes, Penelope, especially when they were made by ignoring everything I tried to tell you. If you want to talk to Grandfather about this, by all means do it."

  "Oh, I shall,” said Penelope threateningly. “No doubt, when he hears what I have to say, you'll find yourself out of a job."

  "I doubt it. Grandfather does read my letters. There isn't anything you can tell him about this or any other business I'm involved in that he doesn't already know."

  Penelope, her face pale as she took in the full extent of her predicament, dropped into a chair and groped in her bag for the medicine she always carried with her. What had her mother planned to tell Oliver Duplessis? Jessica wondered. Some pack of lies?

  "Do you know how much I dislike you?” Penelope's voice was venomous, her hands trembling as she poured a dram of bitters into a little cup, raised it to her lips, and drained it. “What an embarrassment to have such a plain, socially awkward daughter! I'd never have had a thing to do with you if I hadn't known how much my taking you in would infuriate your father. You're—"

  "You're drunk,” Jessica interrupted wearily. “Rainee!” Rainee appeared almost instantly. “Mrs. Gresham is leaving now. Would you see her out?"

  Had Penelope not begun screeching imprecations, Jessica would have thought that her mother looked rather pathetic as Rainee ejected her from the house.

  "Great Cannibal Owl hungry for prey,” said Rainee when she came back several minutes later.

  Jessica gave her a wan smile.

  "You prey she hungry for,” Rainee warned, her face grim.

  "I know,” said Jessica shivering.

  "Watch back,” advised Rainee.

  "You're early,” said Jessica, looking up in surprise when Travis entered her kitchen carrying a burlap bag. “Are those the chickens?"

  "No."

  "Travis,” wailed Jessica, “you've ruined the surprise."

  "What's so surprising about chickens? Unless it's that there wasn't an edible dead chicken in Beaumont this morning. I went out and shot some rabbits, though why you should need four I don't know. We couldn't have eaten four chickens if I could have got them."

  "That's the surprise,” she said brightly. “I've invited the Hamil brothers for dinner tonight—a sort of thank you for saving me from falling pipe when the well blew out. I knew you'd be pleased.” Travis didn't look pleased. “You three being old friends from Corsicana and all."

  "Wonderful,” muttered Travis. “Guess I'll have to take my bath this afternoon."

  "You do like the Hamils?” Jessica's eyes were twinkling.

  "I do like them,” he agreed. “I also, as you well know, look forward to having you to myself on Saturday since you have yet to succumb to my charms and move in with me."

  Deciding a change of subject was in order, Jessica murmured, “I've never cooked a rabbit."

  "Well, first you skin it,” said Travis as he dragged out the bathtub.

  "I'll do no such thing. You shot it; you skin it. Out on the back porch."

  "Only if you come out to keep me company.” He picked up the rabbits and headed for the door, remarking over his shoulder, “Rainee said Penelope had been by."

  Jessica followed him out onto the porch and sat down on the step. “She was furious. Evidently she and Hugh needed the money."

  "Did they?” Travis turned away to hide his smile. He might not be actively pursuing them anymore, but he had no reason to wish them well.

  "She blames me."

  "Well, don't blame yourself."

  "I think she plans to convince Grandfather that I tried to cheat her."

  "Oliver's too smart to believe that."

  Jessica had been watching him as he methodically and efficiently skinned the second of the four rabbits. There was a satisfaction shining in his eyes that she didn't like. “If she hadn't known it was your advice, she might have listened to me."

  "If I hadn't given any advice, what would she have done?” he retorted.

  "Don't look so smug. She wants me to make a will so you don't get my money if anything happens to me."

  "Naming who?” he asked.

  Jessica remained silent; the consternation that showed on his face hurt her.

  "Naming who?” he demanded again. “Her?” Travis scowled and put down his knife. “Listen, Jess, you better go in tomorrow and see a lawyer, and don't, for God's sake, leave anything to Penelope."

  She could have wept. He evidently did hope to inherit her money should anything happen to her.

  "Name Anne."

  "Anne?” Jessica's unhappy thoughts tumbled into confusion.

  "Sure, Anne. You love her best, don't you? Name her; then write Penelope—no, telegraph her what you've done."

  "Then you don't want the money?"

  "I don't care about the money, Jess. I do care about keeping you healthy, so be sure she knows she has nothing to gain from your death."

  "Really, Travis!"

  "Or designate your brothers and your sister. I don't care who, but do it tomorrow,” he added urgently.

  "What about my father?"

  "Fine. Name Justin. Just get that will made and the telegram sent,” he ordered.

  "I remember that mornin’ as if it was yesterday,” said Al Hamil as the four of them—Travis, Jessica, Al, and his brother Curt—sat at Jessica's table finishing their coffee after a rabbit stew of dubious quality and an excellent peach pie made from Anne Harte's recipe.

  "It was cold."

  Curt Hamil nodded his agreement.

  "No clouds. The mornin’ paper said diamonds had been discovered out near El Paso, an’ I thought, ‘What am I doin’ here in Beaumont, freezin’ to death over someone else's oil well when I could have been makin’ a fortune down on the border?’”

  Travis laughed. “Al, you got oil in your veins. You're never gonna turn diamond miner."

  Al grinned and resumed his story. “There was just us three, Curt an’ me an’ Peck Bird. We'd put in a new fishtail bit, an’ Curt was up on the double board steerin’ the drill stem; that's forty feet above the derrick floor, ma'am."

  "Long way to fall,” muttered Curt.

  Jessica had to agree with that.

  "Mud started boilin’ up over the rotary table, so me an’ Peck backed up fast. Then it shot up the derrick an’ got ole Curt all over mud an’ gumbo."

  "I slid down that ladder, an’ we all run for our lives,” said Curt. “Never seen
nothin’ like that at home in Corsicana. Six tons of four-inch pipe headin’ up the derrick, right over the top an’ then tryin’ to spear us as it come down. Knocked off the crown block. Like to scared me to death, all slick an’ slidin’ around as I was."

  "Well,” Al resumed, “it got quiet then, so we went back an’ started cleanin’ about a foot of muck off the derrick floor when all of a sudden there was this here roar like nothin’ I ever heard. Maybe if you was lyin’ between the tracks with the train runnin’ right over you, or someone set off a cannon in your ear; I don’ know.

  "Anyways, up come the mud again, an’ then the gas, an’ we all scattered. Poor Peck, he fell in the slush pit, an’ then comes the oil—green-black an’ beautiful, headin’ for the sky, more oil than you ever seen in your life.” Al Hamil shook his head. “Reckon there won't be nothin’ that excitin’ happen to me again, no matter how many gushers we bring in."

  "Amen,” said Travis.

  "Peck went for the cap'n, an’ he was so flustered when he got there, he fell down the hill tryin’ to git outa his buggy. Then he just stood in the rain of oil. So did we all. Reckon ever'one in the county turned up an’ stood under that rain of oil, ‘cause we all knew it was gonna change our lives.” Al sighed, then grinned at another memory. “Me an’ Curt an’ Peck even took a bow.

  "Course ever'one wasn't happy. Farmers had their livestock stampedin’ all over the place, an’ some folks thought it was the end of the world—preachers an’ such."

  "I heard some of them when I first got to town,” said Jessica.

  "Jessica arrived a few days after the lake caught fire,” Travis explained.

  "Now that was somethin',” said Curt. “I lost a good jacket tryin’ to put that fire out. An’ you'd a thought it was the end of the world when we set the backfire an’ the two met. That clap a thunder like to knocked me over, an’ the smoke covered the whole sky an’ drifted on down as far as Port Arthur, so they say. That's when the preachers started sayin’ the whole world was goin’ up in flames.” He helped himself to another cup of coffee and grunted scornfully, “Didn't, though. Didn't even hurt the well."

  "We may not always be so lucky,” Travis muttered, still worrying about his wife living in the shadow of a well, for he had brought hers in just the day before.

  "Well, the safety committee ought to help,” said Al.

  The conversation drifted on a while longer. Then the Hamil brothers thanked Jessica for a fine meal and left so abruptly that she had no chance to send Travis off with them as she had planned. Had he somehow engineered that? Piqued, she left him in the sitting room while she carried the dishes to the kitchen, where she poured hot water from a kettle into a pan and dumped the dishes in after.

  She was washing them when Travis came up behind her and pinned her against the counter. “Do you remember what was happening this time last year?” he asked.

  Jessica ignored him and went on with her dishwashing.

  "Right about now I was kissing you on the veranda at your parents’ house and wishing I could drag you off into the shrubbery and seduce you."

  Jessica maintained her silence as she lifted plates from the pan and dumped them, wet, onto the counter.

  "Of course, I was too much of a gentleman to do it."

  "Gentleman?” exclaimed Jessica, forgetting her determination to ignore him. “My mother caught us and sent you away. And anyway, I doubt that you were all that interested."

  "Oh, I was definitely interested, and I think I should get a reward for my past restraint."

  "Have another piece of pie,” she suggested.

  "I'd rather ravish you."

  "In the kitchen?"

  "The kitchen's a very sensuous place,” he whispered into her ear. “Don't you remember the time I seduced you on the counter?"

  Shivers ran from the touch of his breath in her ear.

  "Course, I admit that bedrooms are more comfortable."

  "I have dishes to do,” she replied, trying to ignore the effect he was having in the pit of her stomach, just the sound of his voice and the pressure of his body against her back.

  "Well, don't let me interrupt. I'll just—” He began to inch up the back of her skirt and petticoat. “Those rational-clothing people are right. Women wear too many clothes."

  "Stop that,” cried Jessica, whirling to face him.

  "Caught you.” He wrapped her in his arms and lifted her into the air. “Our first anniversary,” he purred, burying his face against the soft swell of her breasts.

  Jessica's eyes closed as she felt, even through the layers of clothing, his mouth against a nipple. “You want to celebrate a night I got a lecture from my mother on what a danger you were to my reputation?” she mumbled.

  "I want to celebrate the night I realized that if I didn't get you into bed pretty quick, I was going to go crazy with frustration."

  "Is that true?” she asked. Had he really wanted her as well as revenge on Penelope and Hugh?

  Travis had swept her into his arms and was heading for the bedroom. No matter what the answer, she knew that she was not going to stop him. As it happened, she got no answer, only a wonderful night of love.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jessica stretched luxuriously. Beside her, Travis mumbled in his sleep and turned to pull her back into his arms. She relaxed against him, feeling wonderful. The cool morning drifted into her window on a light breeze that rustled the curtains and brushed over her body, which still held the languid pleasure of Travis's tenderness and passion. At times like this, when her flesh spoke more convincingly than her mind, she could hardly believe that he didn't love her.

  On the other hand, if he did, why had he never said it, and when had it happened? But that was the mind speaking again. She didn't have to listen. For these few minutes before he awoke and left, she could pretend that they had an ordinary marriage—no, an extraordinary marriage. She nestled her face into the soft hair on his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him. For a man who worked in an oil field and had access to a bathtub only once a week, he smelled unbelievably good, she thought.

  "Anything I can do for you?” asked Travis, voice deep with laughter.

  "When did you wake up?” she countered. She didn't want to open her eyes or talk.

  "The minute you moved away,” he replied. “Did anyone ever tell you you have beautiful breasts?” He ran a finger over the one most easily accessible. “And legs.” He moved the finger to stroke lightly along her inner thigh, causing Jessica to shiver. “And a tummy a man could kill for.” He leaned over to kiss it.

  At that moment someone knocked at her front door, and Jessica shot upright in the bed. “Pretend you're not here,” he whispered. She shook her head. “We're busy,” Travis insisted, grinning. “Can't come to the door for at least an hour."

  "Rainee will be here by then,” Jessica pointed out as she rose and wrapped a robe around herself. “Anyway, it must be something important."

  "I thought what we were doing was important.” Reluctantly he released her hand and closed his eyes again. When he next opened them, Jessica stood in the doorway, her face white and stricken, a piece of paper in her hand. “What is it, love?” he asked.

  "Grandfather has died."

  "Oh, sweetheart.” Travis rose quickly and crossed the floor to hold her.

  "I thought he was in good health,” she whispered. “No one said he was sick."

  "Oliver was an old man, Jess."

  "But he was so—so vigorous.” She was still staring incredulously at the telegram. “Maybe this is some cruel trick on Penelope's part. I just—just don't understand what she could gain by it."

  "It's not from Penelope, Jess,” he said softly as he took the wire from her and read it. “Do you want me to go to Fort Worth with you?"

  "No,” she replied, tears beginning to fall. “No. I'll have to go alone."

  "You don't have to do anything alone, honey. I'm always—"

  "You wouldn't be welcome, Travis. They know
what you wanted to do to them."

  "The only thing that matters is what you want, Jess. If you agree, I'll go with you."

  She shook her head.

  The doctor couldn't understand it himself. Oliver had had only a summer cold accompanied by a slight bit of chest congestion, hardly enough to keep him in bed. “Of course, he was old,” said the doctor.

  "But he was healthy,” Jessica insisted.

  "It could have been pneumonia.” The man didn't sound as if he really thought so. “Some things defy explanation,” he added.

  On the plain outside Fort Worth the funeral cortege, with its hundreds of buggies, spread out in every direction from the graveyard. Throngs of black-clad mourners assembled to pay their respects to Oliver Duplessis. Initially, Penelope, who seemed more excited than grief-stricken, announced that she would not wear black. She said black was not a becoming color and sneered when she came down the stairs to find Jessica in formal mourning. “Your stepmother was always wearing black for someone or other in the days when I had to see her. Perhaps she thought she looked good in it, but she didn't, of course. Neither do you, Jessica."

  "My stepmother,” Jessica retorted angrily, “loved people besides herself. When they died, she mourned for them, as any decent person does."

  "I suppose you mean I should be crying over Father.” Penelope studied herself in the mirrored wall. “Well, he's dead. What good will my tears do him? Not as much good as his money will do me.” She smiled at her reflection.

  Hugh had arrived in time to hear this remark and insisted that Penelope go upstairs and change into proper clothing. “And don't, for God's sake, take any more of that medicine until the funeral is over,” he added. It was one of the few times Jessica could remember him forcing Penelope to do anything she didn't want to do.

  As they were leaving the graveyard, Penelope murmured, “You can stop crying, Jessica. I'm not impressed at all.” The hours without her medicine had shortened her temper considerably. “I suppose you're regretting that you tried to cheat me.” She grasped Jessica's wrist to keep her from walking away. “And don't expect to continue your employment with Duplessis,” she warned triumphantly. “As soon as the will has been read, I shall take great pleasure in dismissing you."