Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

Gertrude gasped. “Oh, surely not that, Emily. Surely the business is safe.”

  Exasperated beyond endurance, Emily flung herself away from her aunt and resumed pacing. “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, wake up! Please wake up! Clarence Pickering is a vicious, evil fraud! Of course, now he wants Uncle Ludwig’s business to succeed. Now that he knows he can’t ruin it. He tried to burn it down once. When that didn’t work, he tried to kidnap poor Gustav and Helga. Since neither of those vile plans worked, I guess he just figured he’d latch onto it for himself.”

  “Oh, Emily, no!” Gertrude’s tiny protest might not have been uttered for all the attention Emily paid to it.

  “I can’t believe you did it, Aunt. I simply can’t believe it.”

  And without sparing a thought for her aunt’s shattered nerves, Emily spun around and stomped out of the room.

  Oh, Lord. This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened. Emily could imagine many things, but she couldn’t imagine summoning the nerve to explain to Will Tate that his new business partner was Clarence Pickering, a man they both hated. Will knew Pickering was behind the foiled attempts to burn the business to the ground and then kidnap or kill the business’s principals.

  Her beloved Will. Oh, Lord, how could she tell him about this? There was no way. Even Will, as honorable and perfect as a man could be, must have his limits. He’d never agree to work with Clarence Pickering. Then where would Uncle Ludwig and his stupid dogs be? On the street is where.

  Emily ran up the stairs. Then she ran down the stairs. Then she stood still and kneaded her hands together. There had to be a way of solving this terrible dilemma without Will finding out about it. She’d already committed the dreadful sin of trying to deceive him. She wouldn’t allow Gertrude to ruin his business plans.

  “Uncle Ludwig,” she whispered. “I must find Uncle Ludwig.”

  Chapter 15

  Uncle Ludwig was, as usual, out back with Gustav and Helga, “putting the darlings through their paces,” as he liked to call it. To Emily, it looked more like Gustav and Helga were training Uncle Ludwig, an easier task, she was sure, than training them.

  “Yah, yah, you darlings, you stay there where I put you. No, you don’t get a cookie until you stay put. Oh, well, maybe just one. Just one, and then you stay.”

  Although she had stormed out of the house in a rage, Emily’s mouth tugged up at the ends when she saw the ridiculous lesson taking place in the kennel yard.

  “Uncle Ludwig, you’ll never teach them anything that way,” she chided.

  “Ach, Emily, good day to you.” Ludwig honored her with his twinkling smile. “Sure, I train them, Emily. I train them to cheat me out of my cookies.”

  Emily’s brief smile was followed immediately by a distracted frown. This part was risky. Ludwig wasn’t much more grounded in reality than Gertrude; perhaps not as much. But it was his business that was in jeopardy. If there was one thing Ludwig cared about passionately, it was his dogs.

  “Uncle Ludwig, I need to speak with you.”

  Emily hoped the urgency she felt would transmit itself through her tone of voice into Ludwig’s consciousness. Of course, she was wrong. Ludwig didn’t even hear her.

  “Good boy, Gustav. Good girl, Helga. What wonderful puppies you are.”

  Ludwig knelt down in front of the dogs and patted his thighs. They promptly leapt onto his lap and began to bathe him with lavish doggie kisses.

  Emily’s patience had been strained beyond endurance today.

  “Uncle Ludwig!”

  Her bellow startled the dogs. Gustav rolled onto his back in surrender, while Helga bared her teeth and snarled viciously at Emily from the safety of Ludwig’s arms. Ludwig finally looked up at her. “Why, Emily, darling, whatever is the matter?”

  “We need to talk, Uncle Ludwig.”

  Gently disengaging the animals, Ludwig stood and dusted off the seat of his trousers.

  “Why, certainly we talk, Emily. We talk now. Yah?”

  He looked at her as though she were a lunatic who needed to be humored. Emily didn’t care. She grabbed him by a lapel so he wouldn’t wander off.

  “Something terrible has happened, Uncle Ludwig, and it concerns your dogs.”

  For once Ludwig was alert. “The dogs?”

  Emily knew she would have to be dramatic to keep his attention. “You’re in danger of losing Gustav and Helga and your entire business, Uncle Ludwig.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. And we need to plot a strategy to avert such a calamity.”

  Emily was afraid she’d gone too far when her uncle’s face turned as white as Aunt Gretchen’s French poodle and he clamped a hand over his heart. Quickly, she steadied him.

  “What are you saying, Emily?”

  The absolute terror vibrating in Ludwig’s voice smote Emily’s conscience severely, but she didn’t dare offer him any comfort. She helped him up and steered him into the house, where she led him to the best parlor and made him sit down. Then she rang for tea.

  “Uncle Ludwig, we have to talk. And as we talk, you must pay very close attention to me.” Emily felt as though she were dealing with a tiny child.

  His eyes wide with horror, Ludwig whispered, “Of course. Of course. Oh, mein Gott, Emily. What can you mean, lose my beloved dogs? Such a thing cannot be.”

  “Oh, yes it can.” With a soul-deep sigh, Emily sat on the chair opposite Uncle Ludwig. When old Mr. Blodgett tottered in with tea, she thanked him politely and waited until he left the room before she started speaking.

  “Uncle Ludwig, Aunt Gertrude has given her part of your business to Clarence Pickering.”

  “Yah?”

  When he stared at her blankly Emily wanted to scream. How, oh how, could she make him understand?

  The fact that Aunt Gertrude gave Mr. Pickering her share of your business is a catastrophe, Uncle Ludwig, and I’ll tell you why.” Without waiting for him to protest or ask a question, she hurried on.

  “Mr. Pickering is the person behind the attempt to burn the kennel. When that didn’t work, he tried to kidnap the dogs.”

  “But—”

  “I know it’s true, Uncle Ludwig. No matter what you and Aunt Gertrude want to believe about Clarence Pickering, the man is a villain. A criminal villain!”

  There was a long period of silence. Finally it was Ludwig who spoke.

  “Do you really think so, Emily?”

  “Yes, Uncle Ludwig. I know so. And so does Mr. Tate.”

  Ludwig’s eyes got a far-away look with which Emily was quite familiar, although she didn’t know yet whether to applaud or to groan. At least he was thinking. When he spoke again, he sounded troubled.

  “And what did you say Gertrude did with Mr. Pickering, Emily?”

  “She gave him her share of your breeding kennel in exchange for some of the money she owed him. Oh, Uncle Ludwig, we have to do something! Aunt Gertrude owned fifty-one percent of the business! Mr. Tate was trying so hard to help you. Why with his help, your dogs were sure to succeed. But now that Gertrude gave Pickering most of the business, he’ll ruin it!”

  Ludwig had been staring at the floor, but at Emily’s impassioned speech, he lifted his gaze and eyed her glumly.

  “But what can we do, Emily? Maybe we should ask Mr. Tate?”

  “No!”

  The explosive syllable made Ludwig wince.

  More softly, Emily went on, “No, Uncle Ludwig, we can’t tell Mr. Tate. Poor Mr. Tate has already done enough for us. I—I’d just feel terrible if I had to confess to him that my aunt gave away a part of his business to a person who has already tried to ruin it twice. I just can’t do it.”

  When tears began to leak from her eyes, Ludwig sat us straight and looked scared.

  “Don’t cry, Emily. Please don’t cry. We won’t tell Mr. Tate. Just don’t cry.” He patted her knee once or twice, then withdrew his hand and stared at her in trepidation.

  With a big sniff, Emily dabbed at her eyes with the sofa cushion and stopped crying. �
��I’m sorry, Uncle Ludwig. It’s just that I’m so worried. Mr. Tate simply must not find out about this. We have to think of some way to get Mr. Pickering to relinquish his share of the kennel.”

  “But how we do that, Emily? Maybe we ask him? If we give back the bills, he give us back the business?”

  Emily uttered a most unladylike snort. “Well, I can try it, Uncle, but I doubt if I’ll have any success.”

  “No? You don’t think if we just go to Pickering and explain it was a mistake, he’ll do the honorable thing?”

  “Honorable? Clarence Pickering? I think not.”

  Recollections of the many unsavory suggestions Pickering had offered her roiled about in Emily’s brain. The thought of going to his house and begging made her flesh crawl. Still, she thought gloomily, that was probably the first thing they should try.

  “I suppose we should at least make the attempt,” Emily said with a sigh.

  “I come with you, Emily.”

  He sounded noble and Emily was touched. Then she recalled the disastrous other times when Ludwig had tried to be helpful.

  Quickly, she said, “Oh, no. It’s all right, Uncle Ludwig. I think it would be better if I went by myself.” The thought of meeting with Pickering alone made her insides knot up, but it would be better than trying to deal with him and her uncle at the same time.

  “Yah. Well, while you do that, I be thinking, Emily. I don’t know what to think about, but I be thinking.”

  Ludwig nodded vigorously. He was, Emily knew, trying to look thoughtful, but he succeeded in looking as though he had a tic.

  “Thank you, Uncle Ludwig.”

  “Yah.” Ludwig appeared distracted. “Think. I don’t know what about.”

  “I don’t know either, Uncle Ludwig, but we must. Think. Please think. And I’ll think, too, and between us I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

  It suddenly occurred to Emily that the telephone was not being tended by either herself or her uncle.

  “What about the telephone?”

  Uncle Ludwig scrunched himself back in his chair, trying to get as far away from her as possible.

  “The telephone, Emily dear?”

  “Yes. Who’s tending to the telephone—taking messages—if you and I are in here, and Blodgett just brought us tea?”

  “Tea?” Ludwig’s glance shot from Emily to the teapot and back again. “Mr. Tate sent a young man by this morning to take care of the telephone, Emily. He’s setting up an office for me in Gertrude’s old office. Gertrude said it’s fine with her.”

  Mr. Tate. To the rescue yet again. Oh, how she loved him. She would die before she told him her aunt had just jeopardized everything he was trying to do for them. For her. Emily knew good and well Will was helping them because of her. Because he cared about her, and because he was such a wonderful man.

  Disconsolately, she shook her head. She would love to marry him, but she could never do such a despicable thing. Why, just look at this latest catastrophe. How could she subject him to such a nest of lunatics and wretches? Well, one wretch, Emily though miserably. Her relatives might be crazy, but she was the only dishonorable one. She swallowed an aching lump in her throat.

  “Oh, Uncle Ludwig,” she cried, “we must think of something!”

  “Yah, Emily. I will think.”

  When Emily stood and began pacing, wringing her sofa cushion for all it was worth, Ludwig got up and sidled toward the door.

  “I go now and check on the telephone messages, Emily. But I be thinking. You know I be thinking.”

  With those words, he left. And Emily knew beyond a doubt she was alone with this problem. Poor Ludwig was no more capable of helping her wrest those papers from Clarence Pickering than her Aunt Gertrude was.

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered to the stuffy, musty atmosphere of the parlor. “Oh, Lord.”

  But she wouldn’t allow herself to sink into despair. No. She needed to pay a call on Clarence Pickering. After that, when—Emily knew better than to think “if”—she failed to wrest the business papers from him by those means, she would just have to think of another way.

  With a heavy tread she marched once more up the wide staircase to her room. She sat down at her desk and stared out into afternoon on Hayes Street, wishing traitorously that she could somehow start over again and, this time, belong to a different family.

  “Enough, Emily von Plotz,” she scolded after she had moped for only a few seconds. “You must not even think of despairing. If you despair, all will be lost.”

  # # #

  As soon as Will got home from Emily’s house, he sent Thomas Crandall’s junior secretary over to the Schindler residence to tend to the telephone and start organizing an office. Money was no object. By God, he was going to win Emily by fair means or foul—and, as fair means seemed the most expedient at the moment, he planned to use them.

  He was going to make that damned dog business so successful, Emily wouldn’t have an argument left in her repertoire. Damn it, she would marry him!

  “Will, I heard something today I think you’ll be interested in,” Thomas began as he pushed the door of his upstairs parlor open. When he found Will scowling malevolently at two pieces of jewelry, he stared at him in surprise.

  “What are you doing, Will?”

  Will turned around and transferred his glare to Thomas. “I’m trying to decide whether Emily would rather have a diamond bracelet or a pearl-and-sapphire broach,” he growled.

  Thomas was taken aback. Carefully, he hung up his hat and coat, watching Will the entire time. At last he ventured, “Er, and have you a formed preference yet?”

  “No. I’m going to give her both of them.” He slammed the two jewelry boxes down on Thomas’ sitting room table. “Shreve brought ‘em over,” he added angrily. “I called him on the telephone.”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “Shreve came himself?”

  “Yeah.” Will glowered at Thomas again. “It’s ‘cause I’m rich, Thomas. If I’d been nobody, he’d have sent someone else.”

  “Er—well—you don’t seem very happy about it.”

  In the space of heartbeat, Will’s expression changed from fury to despondency. “She won’t marry me. I couldn’t persuade her.”

  Will flopped down on the easy chair and dropped his chin into his hands. He looked more melancholy than Thomas had ever seen him.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said miserably. “But I’m going to make the damned business successful. I figure once she’s out of debt she won’t feel so guilty about tricking me.”

  Will looked up at Thomas for approval.

  “Oh, dear,” was all Thomas said.

  Will frowned again, wavering between broken-heartedness and fury. “What the hell does that mean, Thomas? What the hell does ‘oh, dear’ mean? Hell, you sound like a damned pantywaist parson or something. Do you think it will work? If I make her uncle’s stupid dogs a success, she’ll marry me, won’t she? And don’t give me any more damned ‘Oh dears’, damn it!”

  In all the years they’d known each other, Thomas had never seen Will Tate in such a state. He sat on the foot stool in front of Will and said, “Will, listen to me.”

  “I’m listening,” Will growled.

  “She loves you. I saw it in her eyes that night at the Palace.”

  Will still looked grumpy, but his left eyebrow lifted. “You could see it? Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, so what? She even admits she loves me. But she still won’t marry me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll bring her around, Will.” Thomas actually patted Will’s knee and then wondered what had possessed him to do such a sissy thing.

  Will didn’t seem to mind. “Thanks, Thomas. I hope you’re right. Your trust means a lot to me.”

  “Thanks. But Will, you have to listen to me. Something’s come up that might make it harder.”

  “Criminy! What on earth could possibly be harder than this?”

  “Abe Warner told
me he saw Clarence Pickering and Bill Skates in the Cobweb Palace this afternoon. Skates’ arm was in a sling.”

  Abe Warner had owned the Cobweb Palace for as long as Will could remember. The place got its name because of old Abe’s fervent belief that all God’s creatures deserved respect. He demonstrated his personal respect for spiders by not allowing anybody to disturb their webs. Abe didn’t like Clarence Pickering any more than Thomas or Will did; he claimed Pickering ruined the ambiance in his establishment.

  “I knew I’d shot the guy,” Will said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

  “Abe said he was bruised all to hell, too.”

  A grim smile quirked the corners of Will’s mouth. “Emily beat him with a stick.” He sounded very proud of her.

  Thomas allowed himself a moment of surprise. “Really? My goodness. But that’s not the bad part, Will. Abe said Pickering was flashing an official paper around the saloon and telling everybody he’s got control of the dogs at last. Now, I can’t imagine what dogs he was talking about, except Emily’s uncle’s. I figured you should know about it.”

  Will shot out of his chair. “What?”

  “That’s what Abe told me, Will.” Thomas trusted friendship would prevent Will from murdering the bearer of the bad tidings.

  “How the hell can that be?” Will hollered. He stormed to the fireplace and kicked the stone hearth.

  “I swear, I just got von Plotz’s dog business squared away. Pickering didn’t have anything to do with it as late as the day before yesterday. It took forever to figure everything out, too. God, what a mess.”

  Will ran his fingers through his hair and then shook his head. “The mere thought of dealing with that godawful mess gives me a stomachache, Thomas. I’m sure I didn’t overlook anything. I made sure of it because I didn’t want to have to do it again!”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Will. You’re too smart to overlook anything. But somehow or other, Abe says Pickering claims he’s got a crazy old lady’s signature on a paper signing her share of ‘the dogs’ over to him. It must be Gertrude Schindler, because he’s been bragging about how he’s going to own everything that belongs to them, including your Miss Emily, pretty soon.”