Silence circled the group as everyone enjoyed the tang of fresh Gulf oysters. Over the sparkling waters fizzing in champagne flutes, through the tall candles, Hetty peeked at her parents. Nella’s gaze was sunken in her oyster dish, afraid to surface. She looked mortified. Kirb did glance over, but the kind of look he shot Hetty made her wonder if her lipstick was on crooked. Cleveland Yoakum swilled scotch around in a highball glass. Clare Yoakum’s round face swam out of the dimness and drawled, “I hear Ima’s playing has real power.”
“But does anyone take her seriously?” Garret asked. “I mean, you know, with her name.”
Lockett drew up and spoke in a stage whisper. “Young man, if you’re going to attend parties at Bayou Bend, the first thing you have to learn is that Ima doesn’t like people discussing her name.” The white satin ruffles at her wrist swished as she wagged a finger at him. “It’s been such a burden to her.”
“I can tell you’re not from these parts, young man.” Clare Yoakum turned to him. “Her father was our first native-born governor. And one of our best. James Stephen Hogg.”
“She grew up in the governor’s mansion—” Lockett said.
“And slept in Sam Houston’s bed!” Nella added, finally looking up.
While the congressman rattled off the reforms pushed through by Governor Hogg, Clare leaned over and murmured to Garret, “I’m most curious to know where you’re from, sir. You don’t sound like a Yankee.”
“No, ma’am, I was born atop the richest hill on earth—in Butte, Montana. And my name is Garret MacBride.”
“Why, I don’t believe I’ve ever met a Montanan before. Just can’t imagine what it’s like way up there in the West. What do you mean by the richest hill on earth? I thought we had that here—down in Beaumont.”
As they worked their way through the fish course, Garret talked in that earnest, intimate voice he sometimes used on Hetty in bed, the one she found so hypnotic. He described the vein of copper fifty feet wide discovered under his hometown, the white peaks lost in the clouds, the dozens of glaciers grinding through the mountains, and how, as a boy, he’d sometimes be awakened in the middle of the night by a spooky light outside his bedroom window: the aurora borealis. Hetty had never heard Garret talk so much about his native state and found herself leaning in to catch every word. At one point, she caught a glimpse of Clare’s face in the candlelight, her dull eyes sparked with fascination. Good, Hetty thought, caressing her husband’s thigh under the tablecloth, now if we can just get that spark to leap over to her husband.
As the entrée was served, thin, pink shavings of the finest Texas sirloin, Clare ignored her plate and blinked at him, bright-eyed, lifted for a moment out of her perpetual lethargy. “Y’all should stop talking about politics and listen to these stories,” she said to the rest of them. “Where have you been hiding such an interesting beau, Hetty?”
Lockett’s voice shot across the table. “He’s not her beau, Clare. He’s her husband.”
“Husband? Hetty, dear, I don’t remember reading about your wedding.”
A few awkward beats drummed by as Hetty tried to think of a response. Her mother was stunned into silence, and Lockett watched them with cat’s eyes, ready to pounce. Garret maneuvered through the moment smoothly by saying: “You wouldn’t have, ma’am. I just kind of lassoed her, Montana-style.”
“How sweet. Now tell me the truth, was it love that brought you to the Lone Star State?”
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid it was more mundane matters. I feel a young man has to have good prospects before he thinks about romance.”
“I’m glad you’re being sensible. Most youngsters seem so irresponsible these days. What is your line of work, sir?”
“Import-export pays the bills. But as far as I’m concerned, the future lies in petrochemicals. I came to Texas to wildcat.”
Clare laughed. “Petrochemicals? How cute. Honey, here we just call it plain old oil.” She pronounced it all. “Did you know my husband’s an all man?”
“I’d love to meet him. I’m sure we’d have a lot in common.”
She tugged on her husband’s sleeve. “Honey, Kirb’s son-in-law wants to talk to you about petrochemicals. Is that what we have here?” She and Lockett giggled. Cleveland gave a slight nod of his head, thick with silver hair.
“Mrs. Yoakum is right, sir,” Garret said, reaching across her plate to offer a handshake to Cleveland. “I wanted to tell you where the next big strike is going to be.”
Cleveland Yoakum didn’t shake Garret’s hand or even look at him. He sat without moving, bullish, emitting a deep chuckle that was burnished with scorn.
“I’m serious, sir. In fact, so serious, I brought a report for you to look over from my syndicate in Dallas. Backed up by a scientific article. There’s an ocean of oil waiting to be discovered, and we know where it is.” Garret slid out the papers he’d been hiding under his napkin and held them above Clare’s plate. Everyone froze, as if Garret had just stood up and dropped his pants. Hetty held her breath. Several beats passed.
“Well, at least look it over, Cleve,” Clare said, seizing the documents and plopping them down in front of her husband. “I like this young man.”
Hetty could hardly keep her hands from folding together in prayer as new courses glided in front of her soundlessly: lamb with mint sauce followed by a raspberry sorbet and a baked squab that oozed with apples and raisins when she cut it open.
Cleveland ignored his food as he leafed through Garret’s report. He began rasping with laughter again. “Haven’t you told your son-in-law about Dad Joiner, Kirb?”
“What’s that . . . ?”
Nella sneered as she passed the papers to her husband. “Business? At dinner?” She dipped her fingers into the crystal finger bowl that had just been placed in front of her.
“I want to get this settled, Nel,” Kirb said gruffly. He flicked through the pages, squinting in the candlelight. “Umm-hmm, just as I thought. It’s Lloyd’s report. We’ve seen this before, haven’t we, Cleve?” He chuckled, tossing it back.
“Then you know about Rusk County?” Garret asked.
“According to Doc Lloyd,” Cleveland pitched his deep voice to address the whole table, “East Texas is floating over a vast sea of fossil fuels and all anybody’s got to do is dig down a few feet and start spooning it out.”
“You’ve read the report?”
“Young man, do you know what Doc Lloyd’s real name is?”
“No, sir.”
“Joseph Idelbert Durham. He’s not a geologist at all. He used to sell patent medicines made from oil.”
“But his survey—?”
“Oh, he knows the lingo, all right. He’s just in the wrong field. He should be writing fiction.” Cleveland shared a knowing snicker with Kirb.
“But all those salt domes and—”
“Have you ever been up yonder, Mr. MacBride?”
“Umm, not exactly . . .”
“Well, you won’t find any salt domes in Rusk County, believe me.”
“No?” Garret took a breath. “Okay, maybe he was wrong about that part. But what about the Cook Mountain formation? They’re sitting on a gold mine up there, I tell you. I just know it.”
“A mountain in East Texas?” Lockett exclaimed, sending laughter scattering on both sides of her. “Hetty, dear, you’d better send your husband back to Montana if he’s looking for mountains.”
“The best part of all,” Kirb said, “is how Lloyd picked Rusk County. He drew a line from every major oil field in Texas and Oklahoma and they all converged in East Texas. He called it the apex of the apex.”
“The apex of the apex,” Cleveland sputtered, rattling with laughter.
The candle flames wavered as the men chortled till they coughed. Hetty wished someone would blow them out so she could shrink back into darkness. The laughter was scalding her ears. She glanced at Garret, then down at her finger bowl. She couldn’t meet the eyes of anyone at the table and couldn’t bear
looking at her husband’s face, at his stare of embarrassed confusion, at his lips trying to open to speak, turning to her for an answer.
“Y’all are being rude to poor Mac here,” Clare said, trying not to laugh along with the others. “Cleve, can’t you put forward some advice at least.”
“Only this,” he said, pulling out a pen and scribbling across the cover of the Joiner report. “If you’re really serious about the oil business, young man, call this number. This fellow will get you a job as a cat skinner on the derrick floor.” He reached in front of his wife and dumped the package back in front of Garret. “In the meantime, don’t send me any more wild schemes. I don’t want to see your face again until your hair is so saturated with crude oil you can’t get the smell out no matter how many times you shampoo.”
“Yes, sir,” Garret murmured. Everyone watched him in silence. He stood and lifted the report off the table. “Go ahead and laugh, but you’re all my witnesses. I still believe in Dad Joiner. I still believe we’ll strike oil in East Texas.” Clare pulled him back down into his seat and took the papers from him, hiding them under the table. She smiled at Garret indulgently.
Someone placed a delicious-looking dessert in front of Hetty, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat it.
It wasn’t long before she felt people rising around her and saw shadows passing by the candle flames that had drawn her eyes in, mesmerized. Garret left to join the other men for a smoke, and she would have just sat there watching the maids clear the tables had not Lockett come over and squeezed into a chair beside her.
“I’m so glad I found you alone, Esther,” Lockett murmured in a conspiratorial tone. “I’m liable to bust! This is very confidential.”
“Oh—what’s that?”
“My dear, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you on this matter. After tonight, I fear I may be too late.”
Hetty snapped out of her trance and turned to face Lockett. “What matter?”
“Well, if you recall”—Lockett leaned in even closer, her eyes impaling Hetty—“I feel responsible for introducing Garret to Houston society. So I felt it my duty to investigate his family. I finally found out why Garret’s father didn’t finish out his term in the Senate. You need to hear this.”
“No, I don’t.” Hetty stood and slid out of her chair. She heard Lockett shouting after her, “But, my dear, it’s just not going to wash.”
The music throbbed around Hetty’s head, but she didn’t want to let it in. Ima’s skill was evident: Her fingers skimmed the keys as though she were brushing velvet, letting the soft etudes fall into the hushed hall, sending the sonatas pounding down the aisles of chairs that had been jammed into the drawing room of Bayou Bend. Hetty had rushed in at the last minute, alone, taking a seat too near the marble mantel. She thought the first half of the program would never end; she couldn’t breathe and the heat from the fire made her face feel even redder. Finally, the last note echoed through the wide room, and applause stirred itself out of the silence that followed. As soon as people stood, not a beat later, Hetty leaped up and threaded her way quickly down the aisle. She wanted to find her husband and leave before she had to face any of the people they’d sat with at dinner.
Hetty’s head swarmed with confusion. She had to get out of the crowded rooms and needed a cigarette in the worst way. She prowled the parlors and porches, keeping her face averted, avoiding friends she saw at a distance. She spotted Doris Verne and Winifred heading upstairs at one point but didn’t follow them. Instead, she wormed her way down the hall to the threshold of the Pine Room, where the men went to smoke. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t hesitate to barge right into that male enclave, even bumming a smoke off a startled stranger, but, tonight, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She hung in the doorway, watching the men moving about in their black evening wear, pouring themselves enough brandy to get through the second half of the concert. Kirb was at the gravitational center, passing out cigars like calling cards. Then, in a corner, she spotted Mac, or rather heard him first. His flask was out, of course, dancing in the air above the heads of the men who surrounded him. In a voice too loud even for this room, he was offering the group some “good stuff! Don’t worry, it’s Canadian.”
She panicked when she saw Lamar veering toward her. She stepped back into the dim hallway and turned away. But a shadow fell across her feet, and she heard his voice chasing after her.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“What do you mean? Where’s Char?”
“She went to the ladies’ lounge to powder something or other.”
“Char always was big on powdering.” Hetty turned to face him. His bow tie was askew as usual. His eyes studied her intently.
“You’re awfully flushed!” he said. “Embarrassed to face me?”
“It’s so hot in here. All those fireplaces. Didn’t Mother give you my letter?”
“That’s all I get? A Dear John letter? I deserve more than that.”
“Char told me not to call you.”
“Since when have you done what Char wanted you to do?”
“She said you didn’t want to talk to me. That I no longer had access to you.”
He shook his head.
“You mean that wasn’t true?”
“Just the opposite. I need some answers.”
A couple brushed by them. “This is not the place to talk about it, Lamar.”
“Where can we talk about it?”
“I don’t know. Some place more private than this.”
“How about the Diana Garden?”
Give me your answer in the Diana Garden. Suddenly, Hetty remembered the note Lamar had sent her with his proposal, tied to a silver quiver filled with little golden arrows. “All right.”
He steered her through the central hall and under the colonnade in back. In the foggy dark, they felt their way down a series of grass terraces and across a long slanting lawn to a grove of trees where the goddess, draped in soft light, was reflected in the cold waters of a pool.
Hetty found herself falling back into the easy intimacy she used to share with Lamar, reaching into his tux pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes and bending close to him when he offered her a light.
She drew the smoke in hungrily, letting it settle her nerves. “Ummm. You always have such delicious cigarettes.”
“Only the best.” He chuckled.
She shivered. He slipped out of his tux coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Thanks—I guess I have to answer your questions now.”
“There’s only one,” he said, lighting his own cigarette. Plumes of smoke rose like confessions. “Why?”
“It just felt like the right thing to do. Nella had me feeling so trapped. Did I hurt you as bad as Char made out?”
“I have to admit I was stunned when I heard the news that you’d eloped. I couldn’t believe Mac had won you away from me.”
“I didn’t give you much of a chance, did I, my poor little Lam?”
“No, you didn’t. You disappeared out of my life just like that.”
“I’m sorry. Will you ever forgive me?”
“I’ve waited a long time for that apology. I don’t know.” He seemed overcome for a moment. He looked away.
Hetty touched his cheek with her fingers. “Dear Lam. How can I make this up to you?”
He gave her a penetrating glance. “Kiss me.” He was still the trickster, she could see, daring her to do forbidden things.
She lifted her face to him. He moved in to kiss her on the mouth, but at the last moment, she turned her lips and kissed him on the cheek. Then she gave him a long, loving hug and whispered in his ear. “It broke my heart to return those beautiful gifts you sent me. Thank you so much.”
“Did you like them?”
“They were beautiful,” she said, pulling back. “Where did you ever find the silver quiver with the golden arrows?”
“Didn’t you know? We own a jewelry store.”
“Oh . .
. that’s convenient.”
“I really thought that quiver would win you over.”
“It almost did. It was a very hard decision—I hope you know that.”
“You still haven’t told me why you chose him over me.”
Hetty thought for a moment before she answered. “Garret needs me more than you do.”
“That’s not true. I need you, too.”
“No, you don’t. You just want me—that’s the difference.”
“Don’t you mean wanted you? You are unavailable now, right?”
“Right. Sorry.”
He ground his cigarette out under his toe. “How is your marriage?”
“Oh, fine,” she said quickly. “Just fine.” She looked across the water at the statue. “That’s quite a piece of work, isn’t it?”
“Ima commissioned some sculptor in Florence to carve it. It’s copied from the Diana—”
“Of Versailles. I know. Mamá told me. She’s quite enamored of the huntress.”
They sat on a stone bench while Hetty gazed at the white marble figure spotlighted in a curve of yew trees. It was as if Diana were striding across the pool, reaching for an arrow to hand to Hetty. She could have dashed out of the yews only a moment before, searing a path through the misty woods with the cold fire of the moon. She was quick, this goddess, and merciless. Too hard and merciless for Hetty. Her face was turned away in profile, sharp, her eyes hammered with sheer grit out of the hard white marble. Hetty felt her shame cool in the night air as the bold light from the goddess blazed across the water. What can you teach me? she wondered. What gifts do you give my mother? Icy shafts of willpower? Enough to endure the kind of life she’s had to live? Hetty took a final drag and threw her butt into the water. Sssst!
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