Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  Uncle Ludwig was, as usual, pontificating about dachshunds. Aunt Gertrude was listening to him with rapt attention.

  “I tell you, Gertrude, they’re magnificent animals. Marvelous dogs. They have the spirit of the Kaisers in their blood!”

  Uncle Ludwig almost always spoke in italics and exclamation points. He had a heavy German accent and a tendency to spit when he was excited. Since he was excited most of the time, chatting with Ludwig could be quite an adventure.

  “I’m sure you’re right, Ludwig. I’m certain of it.” Gertrude gazed adoringly at her beloved brother. He could do no wrong in her eyes.

  Gustav and Helga had been allowed into the house after supper and they, too, were in the parlor. Neither dog cared for Clarence Pickering. While Ludwig spoke to Gertrude, they nipped at Pickering’s feet and gradually backed him into a chair by the fire.

  “Look at them, Gertrude! Just look at them! They’re trying to protect us.”

  Ludwig’s voice was fervent as he gazed at his pets with pride. Pickering managed to raise his feet a bare instant before Helga’s sharp teeth could damage his new shoes.

  Gertrude’s smile wobbled a little. “Perhaps you should call to them, Ludwig, dear. They seem to be trying to bite poor Mr. Pickering.”

  “I think Uncle Ludwig is right, Aunt Gertrude,” Emily said. “They certainly do seem to be trying to protect us.”

  The ferocious hounds ignored Uncle Ludwig’s command to leave Pickering alone, but at the offer of a biscuit, Gustav immediately abandoned his quarry. Helga followed him a moment later with a fair show of reluctance.

  The dogs’ departure gave Pickering an opportunity to rise from his chair and, in one fluid motion, trap Emily by the fireplace.

  “Those dogs of your uncle’s are a fierce pair, Miss Emily.” Pickering’s slick voice made Emily shiver.

  “They’re shrewd judges of character, Mr. Pickering.” She stood rigid as a lance as he approached. She cursed herself for coming over to the fire, because now there was no easy escape.

  Pickering gave her a sly smile. “You don’t like me much, do you, Miss Emily.”

  “You’re wrong, Mr. Pickering. I don’t like you at all.”

  Pickering seemed undaunted. In fact, he chuckled when he said, “Aw now, Miss Emily, if you’d get to know me better I’ll bet you’d soften your attitude a little bit.”

  “I seriously doubt it, Mr. Pickering. But we’ll never know, because I certainly do not intend to get to know you better.”

  His smile was sincere and condescending, as though he was a politician speaking to a constituent. If one were observing him from afar, Emily was sure one would think he was only making polite conversation. She knew better, though, especially when he said, “It might be a good idea if you did, though, Miss Emily. I really do think it would be.”

  “I’m sure you do, Mr. Pickering,” Emily said furiously. “After all, one of these days, perhaps my aunt and uncle will listen to me and realize what a villain you are.” Actually, she was positive that day would never come, but she didn’t want Pickering to know it.

  He chuckled. “You’re a fine sight when you’re riled, Miss Emily.”

  Her spine stiffened even more. She did not deign to respond to Pickering’s offensive comment, but the look on his face began to alarm her.

  “You know, sweet Emily, it might really be a good idea if you were to be a little nicer to me.” One of Pickering’s long, elegant fingers reached out to stroke her cheek, and she turned her face away in disgust.

  “Stop it!” she whispered fiercely.

  “Oh, my lovely Emily, don’t be so rash. I bet you’d like me if you gave me half a chance. And it sure would be good for your aunt and uncle if you sweetened up to me.”

  “And just what do you mean by that, Mr. Pickering?” Emily tried to move away from him, but he blocked her retreat. She swore to herself that she would never allow this vile creature to back her into a corner again.

  “Well now, Miss Emily, what do you think I mean? If you were to be nice to me, it would be a joy for me to help your family out.”

  “You’re supposed to be helping them now. What does my being nice to you have to do with anything?”

  “Aw, Emily, my pet, you know I do right by your aunt and uncle. But if you were to give me some incentive, I’d work even harder. I’ll bet you’d like pretty dresses and trinkets. Wouldn’t you? All ladies like pretty things. You deserve them, Emily, dear. You truly do.”

  She was flat up against the wall now. She’d slap his face and run out of the room, except she didn’t want to upset her aunt and uncle. Frantically, she tried to peer over his shoulder, but realized he had chosen his time and place well. They were hidden from Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Ludwig by two enormous wing chairs and neither her aunt nor her uncle was paying them any mind. Ludwig was too busy glorifying his dogs and Gertrude was too busy agreeing with him to think about Emily.

  As usual, Emily thought. She had to swallow a bitter tear or two that surged up behind her guard.

  “You’re a real, real pretty girl, Miss Emily,” Pickering whispered.

  His face was getting closer and closer, and Emily finally couldn’t stand it a second longer. She gave him a tremendous shove and he stumbled backwards. They were near the fireplace, and Pickering’s right ankle banged against the brass firewood basket.

  “Oh, dear. How terribly clumsy of me, Mr. Pickering.”

  Emily watched with pleasure as the basket tipped over and Pickering landed on his elegant rear end among the rolling logs. Using exquisite care, she stepped on his hand with the sharp heel of her evening slipper as she sidled around his sprawled body. Then she ground her heel into his open palm once, just for spite.

  “Oh, my goodness, Mr. Pickering, how careless of me,” she added sweetly when he let out a bellow of pain. She smiled at him beatifically and then strolled over to the door.

  “My goodness!” Aunt Gertrude cried as Pickering tried to pick himself up. His ascent was seriously impeded by Helga and Gustav, who sniffed a victory and roared over to attack.

  As she paused at the doorway and peered at the melee, Emily thought she had seldom enjoyed a scene more. She smiled in satisfaction when she noticed the angry red welt on Pickering’s palm as he covered his head to avoid the furious dachshunds’ gnashing teeth. Then he staggered up, immediately stepped on a log, and lost his balance once more as it rolled away under his foot. She nearly giggled when Helga’s long canine teeth rip a big gash in the side of his shiny patent-leather shoe. Gustav tugged at a formerly white gaiter and two buttons popped off.

  Emily was disappointed when Ludwig finally subdued the two small furies, exclaiming, “Now you see what I say is true, Pickering. These dogs are wonderful guardians. Wonderful!”

  While he and Aunt Gertrude were occupied in soothing Pickering’s ruffled feathers, Emily decided to make her escape.

  As she trod up the stairs to her room once more, she realized that she had no choice but to ensnare the innocent Will Tate. She vowed she would do her best to be a good wife to him.

  # # #

  The next day was a productive one for Will. He spent most of it with Charley Wong in the rose garden at Golden Gate Park, making arrangements to have several roses shipped to his home in San Antonio. Before he left, he peered paused before the pretty pink polyantha he’d shown to Emily the day before.

  “Why don’t you give me another one of those ‘Cecile Brunners,’ too, Charley. Put it in a big pot and have it delivered to this address.” He scribbled Gertrude Schindler’s Hayes Street address on a scrap of paper and handed it to the gardener.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Tate.”

  “It’ll grow all right in a pot, won’t it?”

  “Oh, sure. Just make sure it gets lots of sunshine and plenty of water.”

  Will didn’t know it for a fact, but he was fairly certain Emily von Plotz would take good care of anything anybody gave to her.

  “Is this a gift, Mr. Tate? Do you wa
nt to send a note with it?”

  Will decided then and there that Charley Wong was a genius. “Good idea, Charley. Yes, I do.” He thought hard for a minute. Then a grin spread itself across his face, and he quickly scribbled a note. “Can you put this on a card for me?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Tate.” Charley Wong read the message, looked up at Will in surprise, and then stuck the paper into his pocket with a shrug.

  # # #

  Emily felt her cheeks warm with pleasure when she read the note accompanying the lovely potted rose plant that had just been delivered to her aunt’s door.

  “Dear Miss Aunt Emily,” the note ran, “I don’t know if it is proper manners, but please accept this here rose and stick it somewheres in the sun. The man says it will grow good in the pot, so’s you don’t need a yard as long as you pour water on it. Yrs, Will Tate.”

  “Oh, what a dear, dear man,” Emily breathed.

  She gave the delivery boy a tip before she directed him to take the big pot out back and deposit it beside the entrance to Gustav and Helga’s elaborately constructed living quarters. Emily held the snarling beasts by their collars so they couldn’t eat the frightened boy as he did as she’d bade him.

  He eyed the dogs warily. “I ain’t never seen no dogs look like that before.”

  “No, I’m sure you haven’t,” Emily said with a sigh.

  When the boy left and she finally released them, Gustav promptly marked the rose pot as his. Helga sniffed at it with her usual suspicion

  “Well, that beautiful rose will look very pretty climbing over your kennel, Gustav and Helga,” Emily said.

  She stared morosely at the dogs’ home which resembled a miniature Victorian mansion, complete with real glass windows. Uncle Ludwig had certainly spared no expense in building it. Nothing was too good for his dogs, he claimed.

  Sometimes she wanted to ask him why his dogs should live better than their owners, but she always restrained herself. She knew better than to expect her relatives to behave sensibly.

  Her mood was gloomy when she walked into the house to search for her aunt. She found Gertrude in the best parlor, staring into a clear globe of glass Emily had never seen before.

  “What’s that, Aunt Gertrude?”

  Gertrude peered up at Emily with her usual, slightly fuddled smile. “It’s a crystal ball, dear. Mrs. Pollifant says you can see the future in it.”

  Emily held in her groan of exasperation. “And what do you see in your future, Aunt?”

  Her aunt stared intently into the ball for an intense minute or two. “Bubbles,” she announced at last.

  “Bubbles?”

  Gertrude sighed. “The glass has bubbles in it, dear. I can’t see a thing. Mrs. Pollifant says it sometimes takes a while for the spirits to warm up to one.”

  Emily sighed as she looked down at her aunt’s immaculately coifed gray head, covered this morning with a lacy white cap that must have cost five dollars if it cost a penny.

  “Where did you get it, Aunt?”

  “Mrs. Pollifant’s spiritual advisor sold it to her and she sold it to me, Emily darling. Mrs. Pollifant never does a thing without consulting Professor Claude, you know. He’s a very wise man.”

  Try as she might, Emily couldn’t be cross with Gertrude. She was such a sweet woman, in spite of her often tenuous relationship with reality. Emily could not, however, hide the slightly acid tone to her words when she said, “Well, maybe your crystal ball can tell me if Will Tate will be easy to trick into marrying me, Aunt.”

  “Will Tate, dear? Are you marrying a gentleman named Will Tate? I don’t believe I recall who he is.”

  “You haven’t met him, Aunt Gertrude. And I was only teasing about marrying him. Sort of. He’s coming over to take dinner with us tonight.”

  Gertrude brightened immediately. “Oh, how lovely, Emily. A gentleman caller. What a treat for you. Is he a young man?”

  “Yes, Aunt, he’s a young man. I expect he’s about thirty.” Emily had actually not put an age to Will before this. She hadn’t much cared how old he was once she found out he was “Texas Lonesome.”

  Gertrude placed a warm, plump hand over Emily’s. “I know how difficult it is for you to be confined to this house with us two old people, dear. You have your writing to keep you busy, but I still think it’s wonderful that you have a young man to call on you.”

  Emily’s fond smile wavered slightly at the reference to her writing. Aunt Gertrude simply could not be made to understand the only thing standing between herself and poverty was Emily’s newspaper column. And her writing just barely paid for their food and the services of Mr. Blodgett, and their cook, Mrs. Blodgett.

  The possibility of her aunt investing in another one of Mr. Pickering’s ill-fated schemes and losing everything was a daily worry for Emily. One more disaster like those imaginary Chinese horse herds would find them all out on the street. Her uncle’s dachshunds were, literally, eating up the meager interest earned on her aunt’s few remaining solid investments. She knew it was useless to talk to her aunt about any of these things, however.

  “Well, I’m trying very hard to make a good impression on Mr. Tate, Aunt Gertrude,” was all she said.

  Gertrude looked puzzled. “Oh. Well, I’m sure you’ll do that, Emily. You’re perfectly well-mannered, dear, and you’re quite a lovely girl.”

  “I just hope Uncle Ludwig will behave himself,” Emily said very softly, fussing nervously with the ribbons tied at her waist. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground here, but she couldn’t help but be concerned.

  Gertrude’s face crumpled up into a sad little frown. “Oh, Emily, how can you say such a thing? You know your Uncle Ludwig is a wonderful man.”

  Emily felt like a beast, but she still persisted. “Yes, I do know it, Aunt. But you have to admit he can be embarrassing sometimes.”

  “Now, now, Emily darling. Ludwig is a man with strong interests and opinions. And if you’re thinking about that time at the Woodward Gardens, dear, you know that wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.”

  Emily had actually forgotten about Ludwig’s run-in with the chief horticulturist at the Woodward Gardens until now. She cringed as memory flooded back. It had taken all of her charm and an enormous amount of wheedling to prevent the offended horticulturist from having Ludwig arrested for eating the shrubbery.

  Ludwig claimed he had been conducting an experiment. The fact that he was telling the absolute truth didn’t make the incident any less embarrassing for Emily. Nobody else’s relatives ate the plants in public gardens, she thought gloomily.

  “Well, I don’t suppose there will be anything for him to get into tonight. After all, we’ll be here.”

  Emily wondered suddenly if it was such a good idea for Will to visit. Still, it couldn’t be helped. If he was as naive and innocent as he appeared, perhaps he wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary about her aunt and uncle.

  She peered wistfully at her aunt, whose attention had again wandered to her crystal ball. Gertrude now stared into tit with rapt concentration.

  “I believe I’m beginning to see something, dear,” she told her niece in a happy trill as she passed her hand mysteriously over the globe.

  Then again, maybe even a shy, innocent Texan would be able to discern a certain off-centeredness about Emily’s family. Heaving a deep sigh, Emily rose from the sofa and left the parlor to Gertrude and her spirit friends.

  As she trod up the stairs to her room, Emily decided she would use all the feminine wiles at her command on Will Tate tonight, whether such tactics were honorable or not. With any luck at all, he wouldn’t even notice Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Ludwig.

  Chapter 4

  “Dear Aunt Emily: I am going to eat supper with the lady I like tonight. I hope I know what fork to use when and my decorum is good. Please wish me luck. I feel like I know you and you are my friend. Signed, Texas Lonesome.”

  Emily sighed wistfully and decided this was one letter she didn’t need to answer in
her column.

  After a busy afternoon spent in the kitchen helping poor old Mrs. Blodgett prepare a big company dinner, Emily hurried upstairs to her bedroom.

  With trembling fingers, she tugged at her sapphire-blue satin bodice and surveyed herself in her warped mirror. She noted with satisfaction the swell of her firm young bosom.

  Both from reading and from gossip, Emily had gleaned the interesting fact that young gentlemen enjoyed observing young ladies’ bosoms. The information, which might have shocked an innocent maiden in other circumstances, only spurred Emily to action. Desperate times, after all, called for desperate measures. She eased her bodice a tiny bit lower to give herself more cleavage. She smiled at the result.

  She had made this gown over from one she purchased at an estate sale, but she tried not to think about that. The idea of wearing a dead woman’s made-over dress was simply too disconcerting.

  “There. That should do it. Oh, please God, forgive me.” Her little prayer sneaked out from between her lips unbidden.

  She was trying so hard not to feel guilty about this. She almost wished Will Tate wasn’t such a nice man. She’d feel much less terrible about deceiving a villain. On the other hand, her practical nature reminded her, she was sure to be much happier married to a nice man than to a villain.

  The deep, old-fashioned gong of Aunt Gertrude’s front doorbell announced somebody’s arrival. Took as deep a breath as her corset would allow. She hoped it was Will Tate and not Clarence Pickering.

  Then she patted her shimmering brown curls once, adjusted the blue satin ribbon holding them in place, and opened the door to her room. She said a little prayer for strength and practiced a charming smile as she gripped the banister and began her descent.

  It was Will. She could tell by his deep, beautiful, drawling Texas voice. A little flutter of excitement rippled through her. Then he looked up, their gazes met, and she thought for a terrifying moment she was going to tumble down the rest of the staircase.