Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  Her honest, breathless confession made Will smile with pure male satisfaction. That’s was the sign he’d been waiting for: The unmistakable note proclaiming she was his. He had never heard it before from a woman—had never wanted to hear it—but he recognized it with an innate, animal instinct for possession. She was his, and he was going to keep her, come hell, high water, crazy relatives, Clarence Pickering, Gustav, Helga, or kennel arsonists.

  “Well, well, well,” said Ludwig once more. “Come into the parlor and visit with your old uncle, Emily darling. Your auntie is there with her spirit friends. We can have a nice chat.”

  Ludwig smiled broadly at the both of them. Emily felt like a miserable coward for cringing from his voluble good humor after having almost died from heart failure at his report of arson. She knew she had no just cause to feel such embarrassment. All at once, though, the thought of sitting in the parlor with Will while her uncle lectured them about dachshunds and her aunt conversed with the Raja Kinjiput was too much to bear.

  “Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh, no, I can’t, Uncle Ludwig.”

  Her cheeks burned with shame when she saw her uncle’s crestfallen expression.

  “Oh, Uncle Ludwig, Mr. Tate, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that. It’s just—it’s just—I’m so tired all of a sudden. Why, I simply can’t seem to keep my eyes open a second longer.” She gave a ridiculous titter and knew they knew she was lying.

  Will understood. He’d felt the same way a time or two around boyhood chums when in his own uncle’s presence, especially when Mel had been tippling. He smiled to let her know he wasn’t offended, neither by her retreat nor by her falsehood.

  “It’s all right, Miss Emily. You go on up to bed. I know it’s late.” Will didn’t figure a little fib to help her out would earn him any more years in purgatory than he was already facing. Her grateful smile was all the thanks he figured he’d ever need.

  She murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Tate,” so sweetly, he wanted to follow her right on up the stairs.

  “It’s all right, ma’am.” He also wanted to kiss her good-night. He didn’t, of course.

  Emily turned toward the staircase, then suddenly whirled around and grabbed Will’s hand. She pressed it fervently when she said, “Mr. Tate, I can’t thank you enough for the wonderful evening you’ve given me. I can’t remember ever having such a delightful time. Thank you.”

  She wanted to kiss him, to snatch one last, blissful buss before leaving him for what would be, if not the last time, at least close to it. But she didn’t dare. All of her proper upbringing rose as a steel barricade to stop her.

  When Will lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, she thought for a moment she might faint.

  “Miss Emily, the pleasure was entirely my own. Believe me.”

  The speaking look in his eyes convinced Emily he was telling her the truth. She supposed her blush must be as deep as the pickled beets her Uncle Ludwig loved so much. “Thank you, Mr. Tate.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He didn’t release her hand. Instead, he squeezed it more tightly and said, “Please let me call on you tomorrow, Miss Emily. I’d like to see you again tomorrow.”

  This was the end of the road for Will and he knew it. He figured he might as well get it over with. He was going to propose to her, damn it, and that was that.

  Emily hesitated for a second. The idea of seeing him tomorrow was as tempting as the promise of candy to a child, even if it meant saying good-bye forever. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt she could not marry him. She couldn’t do such a patently evil thing to such a perfect, wonderful man. But the thought of never seeing him again almost made her heart snap right in two.

  One last time, she told herself. Just one last little time. Then she would leave him alone and not darken his life anymore with her vile, deceitful, schemes.

  “All right, Mr. Tate. I’d love to see you tomorrow.”

  She shook his hand with the utmost propriety and hurried up the stairs. To Will, who had no idea her heart was breaking, it looked as though she were skipping upstairs on a cloud of happiness. He knew she loved him. He had read it in her eyes.

  He had also completely forgotten Uncle Ludwig was anywhere in his vicinity until he heard the man’s discreet cough.

  “Come into the parlor and have a glass of brandy with me, Mr. Tate. I’ve got some excellent cherry brandy in the parlor. Brought it with me from Austria. It’s the best.”

  “I’d like that fine, Mr. von Plotz.”

  This would be his opportunity, Will realized, to kill two birds with one stone. He could finalize plans for his investment in Ludwig’s dachshund scheme and, at the same time, be a proper gentleman and ask Emily’s aunt and uncle, properly, if he could call upon her on the morrow to ask for her hand in marriage. He knew Emily would appreciate that gesture.

  He wanted nothing but the best for his Emily, and would cut his own throat before he did anything even remotely smacking of disrespect. He supposed the kiss they’d shared in the carriage might be considered disrespectful by some stuffy moralists. But Will himself remembered it with too much awe to believe it had been anything but wonderful, even worshipful.

  His first glance at Aunt Gertrude once he crossed the threshold into the parlor made him stare in amusement. Good Lord. She was gazing with short-sighted intensity into her crystal ball, and her hands were passing in mystic circles through the air above it, as though she were attempting to polish the globe without touching it.

  “Gertrude, look who’s come to take brandy with us.” Ludwig interrupted Gertrude’s spiritual communication without so much as a by-your-leave, Will noticed. It seemed to him these two relatives of his Emily’s were so wrapped up in their own little foibles, neither had a thought to spare for anyone else, least of all their niece, who was struggling so valiantly on their behalf.

  He bit back the unkind thought. They were Emily’s family and precious to her. As such, they were also precious to him. He would be happy to take them under his wealthy wing and thereby spare his Emily the trials they must cause her. Poor Emily. His admiration for her grew every day as the knowledge of her many struggles became evident to him.

  Speaking of struggles, Gustav had managed to locate a shoe buckle from somewhere. Will saw him gnawing at it from under one of the sofa’s end tables. Ludwig noticed it at the same time, uttered a loud cluck, and stooped to retrieve it.

  Both Ludwig and Gustav held on tight to either end of the buckle, Gustav growling ferociously, Ludwig pleading. Ludwig finally won after a brief but intense struggle. Gustav stared after him with what Will could have sworn was resentment in his beady brown eyes when Ludwig stood and carted off the now-ruined buckle.

  Good God almighty, Will thought. Who in his right mind would ever want a dog like that?

  He did not give voice to his doubts. Instead, he accepted Ludwig’s proffered brandy and sipped politely.

  “This is very good, Mr. von Plotz.”

  “Yah. It’s the best.”

  Gertrude had by this time put her crystal ball aside and joined the gentlemen. Sipping with appropriate delicacy at her brandy, she said, “It was so kind of you to take our Emily to the Palace this evening, Mr. Blake. I know she thinks a lot of you. I think it’s simply marvelous that you have managed to find your way so easily around our huge city, being from Arizona and all. It must be so different here for you.”

  Will discovered with surprise that he was beginning to honestly like these people, even if they did cause his Emily a lot of worry. “Well, ma’am, my name is Tate, and I’m from Texas. And as for San Francisco, I actually lived here before I moved to Texas.”

  “Really?” Gertrude seemed to find the information fascinating. Or maybe she was just trying to focus her near-sighted eyes. Whatever the cause, her gaze now fixed as firmly on Will as it had on the crystal ball a few moments before. Some people might have found her fixed stare disconcerting, but Will, who had grown up with much worse than Gertrude, didn’t mind at all
.

  “Yes, ma’am. I like it here just fine. Always have. As a matter of fact, I’m partnered in a business here.”

  “Ach, a businessman! Didn’t I tell you, Gertrude? Mr. Tate is a man of parts. I said so, Mr. Tate. I told my sister that.” Ludwig’s head bobbed up and down like an India rubber ball.

  “Why, yes, Ludwig dear. I believe you did say something of the sort.” Gertrude smiled vaguely.

  “Yes, ma’am. My partner’s name is Thomas Crandall, and the business is Crandall and Tate. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

  “Crandall and Tate?” Ludwig’s mouth dropped open.

  “Crandall and Tate?” Gertrude’s eyes blinked so fast, Will nearly got dizzy.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why, my goodness, Mr. Blake, you must be positively wealthy. Crandall and Tate is the biggest import house in the United States.”

  “Well, maybe not the entire United States, ma’am, but it’s pretty big, all right.”

  Will wondered why he was trying to make his business enterprise sound like a trifling matter. What he really wanted was to show these people he had so much money, he could support Emily, Gertrude, Ludwig, and a hundred dachshunds. He didn’t want there to exist the slightest possibility that either one of them might object to his suit. He was positive Emily loved him, but he also knew her sense of duty would prevent her from going against their wishes. Or, at least, any objections on their part would make her sad, and he didn’t want his Emily to be sad again. Ever.

  “Wonderful! That’s wonderful, Mr. Tate. No wonder you want to invest in my dogs. You’re a shrewd man. You know the coming thing when you see it.”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered.

  Ludwig nodded with vigor. “I told you, Gertrude. I told you Mr. Tate was a man of parts.”

  “Well, Mr. von Plotz, Mrs. Schindler, I don’t like to boast, but I did want you to know I’m no mere Texas vagabond. I’ve got plenty of money to support a wife.”

  Gertrude’s sweet smile faded somewhat. “Oh, Mr. Blake, I didn’t know you had a wife. Is she in Arizona? I’m not sure it’s quite the thing for you to be escorting our Emily to dinner all alone if you have a wife, sir. I’m quite certain it is not, in fact.” A small frown was the most Gertrude, who deplored unpleasantness, could manage.

  Will felt himself losing his audience and wondered how on earth it had happened. He hurried to explain.

  “No, no, ma’am, I don’t have a wife. That’s what I want to talk to you about tonight.”

  “About not having a wife?” Gertrude looked suitably puzzled.

  “Wait, Gertrude. I understand. Mr. Tate wants to call on our Emily!”

  “Exactly!” Will exclaimed in relief.

  “Well, of course he wants to call on her. He’s been calling on her, Ludwig dear. What I’m saying is that it’s not proper for him to call on her if he has a wife in Arizona already.”

  “I don’t have a wife, ma’am, in Arizona or anywhere else,” Will said, deciding bluntness in this circumstance was more appropriate than politesse. “I want to marry Emily, and I’ve come to ask if you will allow me to court her properly.”

  “Oh!” Gertrude’s face lit with comprehension. “Oh, how sweet.” Then she asked, obviously touched, “Did your other wife die, Mr. Blake? How terribly sad for you.”

  If Will hadn’t seen tears of genuine sympathy in her eyes, he would have cursed in frustration. “I’ve never been married, ma’am. If Emily agrees to be my wife, she’ll be my first. My first and only.”

  “Oh.” Gertrude looked terribly confused.

  Not so Ludwig. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Tate! I’m happy for both of you. You couldn’t find a more wonderful girl than our Emily. And I’m sure you’ll be a fine husband for her. Anybody with your good sense about my wonderful dogs has got to be a brilliant provider.”

  Ludwig’s happiness was apparently contagious, because Gertrude smiled, too.

  “How lovely,” she sighed. “Our Emily to be married. Oh, what a beautiful bride she will make.”

  “Well, Mrs. Schindler and Mr. von Plotz, she hasn’t accepted me yet,” Will reminded them.

  “She will,” Ludwig said with certainty.

  Privately, Will thought so, too, but he didn’t say so aloud. Instead, he decided the time was ripe to finalize plans for his investment in Ludwig’s dogs, so he steered the conversation in that direction. Ludwig was, as ever, eager to oblige.

  About an hour later, Will walked home feeling quite chipper. After his dinner with Emily and his brandy with her relatives, there was no doubt in his mind that Emily was the woman for him. He shook his head in awe.

  “God almighty,” he whispered to the foggy night sky.

  Family feeling was not an emotion his Uncle Mel had fostered in Will’s breast. The fact that Emily harbored such devout feelings for her own family, even in the face of their lunatic propensities, both puzzled and touched him. In fact, if he didn’t already love her to distraction, those feelings of hers would have pushed him over the edge.

  “She’s amazing,” he told himself. Then he told the same thing to Thomas Crandall when he got home, completely forgetting that Thomas had annoyed him almost to the point of murder not four hours earlier.

  Thomas had been reading peacefully in his upstairs sitting room, once again engrossed in the seamier streets of London, when Will intruded upon him.

  “You’re a fallen man, Will Tate. I recognize the symptoms.”

  Will didn’t even bother to deny it. “Damned right I am. I’m going to propose to her tomorrow.”

  Thomas stood up and stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, Will. I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

  “I didn’t think so, either, Thomas. I surely didn’t.”

  Will decided the only thing that could possibly make him happier that night would be to have Emily next to him in bed.

  Soon, he promised himself. Very, very soon.

  # # #

  Emily felt as though her body had been cast out of lead when at last she reached her bedroom. She went through the motions of disrobing mechanically, sighing wretchedly as she hung up her gown. The dress had done its duty well, she guessed, for all the good it was going to do her.

  The night should be clear, she thought, as she gazed out her bedroom window at the sky. She wanted to see stars, not this hideous fog that hid the heavens from her. She was depressed enough without adding fog to cloud her vision.

  Oh, how she would love to marry Will Tate. She sighed into the mist. How she would love to go to Texas with him and be his wife and help him heard his cows—or whatever it was a ranch wife did. “I could learn,” she declared soulfully to the cold, uncaring night. “I know I could learn.”

  But it was not to be. She positively could not deceive Will Tate another minute longer. She would confess her sin tomorrow, in fact, when he came to call.

  Well, maybe she would wait until after his visit ended and he was leaving. It was cowardly of her she knew, but she couldn’t bear to lose him without one last, happy hour in his presence.

  When she finally dragged her soul-weary self to bed, she stared at her ceiling for a long time before sleep claimed her.

  Chapter 9

  “Dear Aunt Emily: I am in love with a sailor whose ship departs for Singapore on the morrow. He says he loves me, although I would not give him his heart’s desire even when he begged. I shall wait for him until the end of time, but waiting is so hard. My Mother does not understand. She believes, as I am only fifteen, I am being silly. How can I convince her I am not silly? Signed, Mermaid.”

  “Dear Mermaid: While your caring Aunt Emily is pleased you think you have found your one true love, she is concerned about your planned course of action. She believes you would be better advised to participate in the activities common to other fifteen-year-old young ladies rather than wait and pine for your sailor. Perhaps if you prove to your mother you are not merely a silly girl, but an obedient, thoughtful one, she will begin to treat you
differently. Love, Aunt Emily. P.S. Please, darling Mermaid, never grant a gentleman his heart’s desire unless and until his ring is firmly affixed upon your finger, and the minister has pronounced the Holy words.”

  Emily reread her latest letter and sighed. “Why is life so hard?”

  The window, to whom she had addressed the question, gave her no answer.

  When she tired of working on her column, she gave herself a firm lecture before she stepped out of her room. Marriage to “Texas Lonesome” was no longer an option now that she had come to care so deeply for Will Tate. She absolutely had to determine the exact state of her aunt and uncle’s financial affairs if she ever hoped to set them straight. The thought held no appeal. In fact, it was downright depressing.

  Nevertheless, directly after luncheon, she trod to her aunt’s office and sat herself down at Gertrude’s big desk. The clutter was appalling, Emily decided with drooping spirits as she scanned the mess. But she told herself it had to be done.

  Sorting through the heap of papers took over an hour. Modistes’ statements and butchers’ bills were piled together with the intimacy of long acquaintance, along with Gertrude’s “Daily Star Guide for Aquarius, Year of Our Lord 1893” and a Sterling Safety Bicycle Manual. Emily wracked her brain to think of where on earth a bicycle could be hiding itself but she couldn’t come up with a location or a single other thing to account for the presence of the manual.

  A carpenter’s statement for the building of Gustav and Helga’s fancy quarters nearly made Emily burst into tears. She wanted to scream in frustration when she discovered a bill from Clarence Pickering for financial services rendered, lying underneath a notice dunning Gertrude for unpaid grocers’ charges.

  Then there were the overdue taxes on Gertrude’s property. Emily’s hand trembled as she scanned the document.

  “Oh, my Lord,” she whispered when the full extent of her aunt’s financial ruin lay in front of her in neat little piles of stark black-and-white. “What on earth can I do now?”