Travis

by Georgina Gentry

  She reached out and caught his hand. “You’re not gonna walk away, not when I’ve got such a hunger for you, are you?”

  In his mind, he suddenly saw Violet’s pretty face and blue eyes and four little kids sitting at a dinner table waiting for him to arrive. “I’ve got to go.”

  “What? You’re walking out on me? What’s the matter? Ain’t I pretty enough? Am I too much woman for you?” Her voice rose and he wanted to be any place but here.

  “Sorry, Kate, I changed my mind.” He started for the door, but she grabbed his arm.

  “You’re making a fool of me. All the men will think I’m no fun.”

  “No, it’s me.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I just remembered something.”

  “It’s another woman, ain’t it?” she shrieked.

  No, not another woman, he thought, a girl, an innocent young girl. And he was the world’s biggest fool for turning down this mattress romp with a hot, willing woman.

  He took two silver dollars out of his pocket and tossed them to her. “Here, this is for your trouble.”

  She threw the money back at him, and it made a ringing sound when it hit the door. “I don’t want your damned money, cowboy, I wanted you!”

  He shrugged and started out the door, Kate still screaming at him. Men turned to look up as he came down the stairs with her shrieks and curses drifting loud and sharp over the music. Travis didn’t stop to offer an explanation; he kept walking toward the swinging doors. He’d surely regret this later tonight when he was lying in bed unable to sleep, but right now, all he could think of was getting back to that tidy little house where people who depended on him were waiting. He crossed the dirt street and walked along in the growing dusk.

  Opening the door, he walked in. “I’m home,” he yelled and went into the dining room.

  Everyone was seated at the table. All the little faces turned toward him, smiling. The face he wanted most to see was missing. “Where’s Violet?”

  “Her sick.” Bonnie licked her spoon.

  “Sick?” Travis asked.

  “She went to bed.” Kessie nodded. “I don’t think she was sick. I think she’s mad.”

  Violet came out of her room, scowling. “I was wondering if you’d be here for dinner. Houston said you went to the saloon.”

  “I’m a grown man,” he bristled. “I don’t feel I have to answer to a slip of a girl like you.”

  He sat down at the table and Violet went into the kitchen. “I’ll get you some dinner.”

  He decided to ignore her cold tone. “Well, kids,” he said, “what say after we eat, we play some checkers?”

  No one answered. They were all staring at him.

  Violet marched in and slammed a plate down in front of him so hard, it rattled. She sniffed. “You smell like cheap perfume.”

  “I reckon I do,” he snapped back, “but that’s not your business.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure.” He picked up his fork. The plate was full of fried pork chops and potatoes. Violet could cook even better than his mother. The children didn’t say anything. Violet brought in a cup of coffee and set it down so hard it sloshed into the saucer. Travis stuffed food in his mouth and ignored her. She had a lot of nerve to be angry with him. Right now, he could be rolling on a mattress with a hot whore who would give him the ride of his life, and he had, like a fool, walked away from that to come home to a young girl who was angry with him and kids who weren’t his.

  He took another bite and Houston said, “I told Violet we were invited to Mrs. Van Mayes’s for supper tomorrow night.”

  Kessie popped up. “I don’t think she wants to go.”

  Travis gritted his teeth. “Of course we’ll go; we’ll all go. We’re not going to be rude and not show up when the nice lady has invited us.”

  “She doesn’t want us, she wants you!” Violet called from the kitchen.

  “I’m the man around here and I say we go.”

  Silence from the kitchen except for pans banging.

  Little Bonnie got up from the table, came around and leaned on his knee. Growler lay down next to her. “Why Feathers mad?”

  Feathers. Why did she insist on calling Violet Feathers?

  “I reckon I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do!” came the shout from the kitchen.

  Kessie said, “There’s apple pie.”

  “That’s nice.” He kept eating and thinking. Could the kid be jealous? No, of course not. He’d been like a father to her. Probably she was mad because they didn’t have much money and he’d been in the saloon. Or maybe because she’d worked hard on dinner and he’d been late and let it get cold. The pork chop was really delicious. He finished the last of it and mopped up gravy with a piece of her homemade bread.

  Harold said, “We had apple pie for dessert, you want some?”

  “Sure,” Travis said.

  “I just gave the last piece to the dog,” came the angry voice from the kitchen. She sounded like she was crying.

  “You kids go into the parlor and get out the checkerboard. I’ll be there in a minute,” Travis said as he got up. He waited until they had all cleared out and then he went into the kitchen. Violet was wiping off the counter, with her back to him, but her shoulders were shaking.

  “Kid, what’s wrong. Are you crying?” He walked up behind her.

  “Hell, no,” she sobbed.

  He was startled to hear her swear. “I’m sorry I’m late for dinner—”

  “You think that’s what’s wrong? You’re late for dinner?” She whirled around and her pretty face was streaked with tears that overflowed her violet-blue eyes.

  He reached out and put his hands on her slight shoulders. “Young lady, I don’t understand—”

  “And you never will!” She pulled away from him and fled out of the kitchen and to her room, slamming the door so hard the house shook.

  “Damn it, I reckon I will never understand women or girls either.” He remembered the warmth of her shoulders under his big hands and the clean, sweet smell of her. He stomped into the parlor, where the kids had set up the checkerboard. Through the open window, he heard the faint music drifting from the saloon. Why had he turned his back on that much fun and hurried home, only to be greeted by angry tears from an orphan girl who had no reason to be mad at him? He’d only been behaving like most men, after all.

  “All right, whose turn is it?” he asked as he settled down before the checkerboard.

  “Mine,” said Harold.

  He groaned. “Oh, Harold, I hate to play you. You’re so smart, you always beat me.”

  Harold grinned. “Best two games out of three.”

  “You still wanting to be a lawyer or an inventor?”

  “Neither,” decided Harold as he jumped three of Travis’s checkers. “I think I want to be a doctor; maybe I’ll come up with a cure for yellow fever.”

  “That’s a tall order.” Travis shook his head. “No one’s figured it out yet and it kills thousands every year.”

  Kessie said, “Violet’s mother and little brother, Tommy, died of it; did you know that? She’s all alone in the world.”

  “I think she told me that,” Travis answered and thought, Poor, orphaned kid, trying to make her way in a tough world. Probably a lot of men would take advantage of a young girl like that. He wondered again about what Harold had said, or not said, about her age.

  He forgot about that as Harold beat him three times and then he played checkers with each of the others except Bonnie, who climbed up in his lap while the dog settled himself at Travis’s feet. Her drawers were wet, but he didn’t mention it. While he played, he listened for the sound of Violet’s door opening, but it never did.

  Finally, he yawned and said, “I think it’s time for bed, everyone.”

  “Bonnie’s already asleep,” Kessie noted.

  “I’ll put her to bed,” Travis said and gathered the toddler up in his arms and sto
od up.

  While the children scattered to wash, he carried the toddler in and laid her on her bed, kissed her forehead while Growler curled up on the foot of her bed. He’d like to have a little girl just like Bonnie someday. In fact, he loved all these children like they were his own.

  The children had all gone to bed. Travis walked through the house turning off the oil lamps and locking the doors. When he stood in the dark of the parlor, he could still hear music and laughter from the saloon. He walked to the open window and looked out. The glow of lights from the Cattle Drive shone out into the street and he thought about beer and poker and hot, lusty women like Kate waiting there. They seemed to be calling him.

  After a long moment, he shrugged and walked down the hall, pausing at Violet’s door. He knocked gently. “Violet?”

  No answer. He opened the door and peeked in. She lay on her back with her brown hair loose around her shoulders, a blue nightgown against the white sheets. The moonlight revealed dried tears on her cheeks and he felt like a villain because he had made her cry. Her mouth looked so soft and innocent with no paint smeared on it.

  He sighed as he closed the door and went to his room. The window was open in the warm June night and the sounds of the saloon drifted in. He walked over and closed the window, blew out the oil lamp. He stripped down to his drawers and got into bed. Now his manhood came up hard and throbbing. “Damn you,” he cursed it. “Why didn’t you act like that when I was ready to take a hot ride on Kate?”

  His mind went to Violet again, lying there asleep in her blue nightgown and he knew he wanted her as a man wants a woman. “You’re a sick, twisted bastard,” he whispered to himself. She’s just an innocent kid . . . or is she? He wished he knew for certain. What he was thinking could get him lynched by indignant locals, and then who would look after the kids?

  Still it was a long time before he dropped off to sleep and when he did, the woman he dreamed of was the innocent young Violet.

  He got up early, before anyone else, and made coffee, relieved not to face Violet. Then he left her a note:

  Remember we are all due at Mrs. Van Mayes’s’s tonight at seven o’clock for dinner. Go buy new clothes at the dry goods store. They’ll give you credit. I’ll be home early to get dressed. Travis.

  Then he went down to the gun shop and opened up. It was going to be a busy day, men coming in for ammunition or to buy new weapons. The shooting match at the July Fourth celebration was something all the men wanted to win, and that was only a few days away now.

  Violet was relieved when she got up to fix breakfast and discovered Travis was already gone. She furrowed her brow as she read his note. If there was one thing in the world she didn’t want to do, it was go to the rich widow’s for supper. The beauty was determined to have Travis; anyone could see that. She had plenty of money to look after the kids, and this situation between Violet and Travis was getting tense and awkward. She wanted to go into his arms, kiss him, make love to him, and he thought of her as a gawky kid. Maybe he would marry the rich widow and the kids would be looked after. Then Violet could just disappear. She wasn’t certain where she would go or what she would do, but it didn’t matter as long as Travis was happy and the kids were cared for.

  She heard the kids rising and began making oatmeal and frying bacon. She had not slept well last night thinking of Travis at the saloon, no doubt in the arms of one of the whores. Well, what did she expect? He was a man, after all, and a virile one. He needed a woman in his bed. Violet realized that she wanted to be that woman. She was in love with Travis and he was taking his passion to other women. Maybe some night Violet just needed to climb into bed with him and deal with the consequences later.

  Little Bonnie and the dog came into the kitchen, Bonnie still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “You mad at Travis?”

  “Uh, let’s not talk about that. Here, sit down and I’ll give you some breakfast.” She felt Bonnie’s drawers and sighed, wondering if she had gone to bed wet.

  All the others were now piling into the kitchen.

  Harold looked up at her with those almond eyes. “You still mad at Travis?”

  “Why does everyone ask that?” she snapped. “It doesn’t concern you kids.”

  Kessie picked up her bowl and spoon. “When you’re mad at Travis, this isn’t a happy house and we all worry.”

  Violet looked down at Kessie’s fingers. Her nails were chewed to the quick. “I’m sorry,” Violet answered. “Now you all eat and help me clean up.”

  “Don’t forget we’re going to Mrs. Van Mayes’s for supper,” Houston said, his mouth full of oatmeal.

  “As if I could forget. I hope you all use your best manners or she’ll think we were all raised in a barn.”

  “I hear she’s got a big house,” Kessie said, “bigger and finer than this one.”

  Violet poured herself a cup of coffee. “I reckon it would be a very nice life for everyone to live at her ranch.”

  Houston stared at her. “You don’t look very happy about it.”

  “Who, me?” She managed to smile. “Why wouldn’t I want to live in her big, fine house?”

  “Does that mean Travis would marry her?” Kessie asked.

  Violet winced. “I reckon so.”

  Bonnie shook her head. She had oatmeal all over her face. “Want Travis marry Violet.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Violet answered and got up quickly so the children wouldn’t see her face. “Now you all finish up and we’ll clean house some and then you can go outside and play—except you, Bonnie. I’ve got to give you a bath and wash your drawers.” She got up and went into the kitchen, pretending to be very busy putting away things so she wouldn’t have to discuss this with the children anymore. Yes, marrying the widow would give Travis a rich, pretty wife and a big ranch and a secure home for the children. Then why couldn’t she stop herself from weeping?

  She hated to spend the money, but she went to the dry goods store and bought everyone new clothes, including extra drawers for Bonnie and a cheap blue dress for herself.

  The lady behind the counter had a pencil stuck behind one ear as she peered at Violet over her glasses. “Going someplace special, honey?”

  “To Mrs. Van Mayes’s house for dinner.”

  “My, my.” The lady’s eyes widened as she took the pencil out to write the ticket. “Hardly anyone gets invited to that rich Yankee’s house.”

  “Yes, we’re so thrilled,” Violet said without enthusiasm as she took the package and left.

  Evening came all too soon for Violet. She had the children all dressed and was putting Bonnie’s hair in pigtails like her own when Travis came through the door.

  “You still mad at me?” He grinned at her.

  How could she be mad at him? She wanted to rush into his arms and kiss him, but of course she didn’t. “I’m fine.” She managed to keep her voice even. “You wash up and I’ll get dressed.”

  He nodded. “Oh, by the way, we don’t have to walk. She sent her butler to say she’d send her barouche to pick us up.”

  “What’s that?” Houston asked.

  “Silly,” Kessie said. “Don’t you know anything? It’s a fancy open carriage. Rich people own them.”

  Violet managed to smile. “Won’t that be a fun ride?”

  Travis grabbed a towel and went out in the backyard to wash up. Violet stood at the window a long moment, watching him peel off his shirt and bend over the wash basin. Muscles rippled under his dark skin as he washed. He was all man and she had never wanted a man as much as she wanted this one.

  Harold walked through the room. “What you looking at?”

  “Nothing. I was just getting ready to go.” She went into her room and closed the door, leaning against it, feeling the flush on her face. At least Travis hadn’t seen her watching him.

  She put on the new blue dress and combed her brown hair into pigtails. If she left it down, she’d look older and she wasn’t sure that Mrs. Van Mayes hadn’t already guesse
d her secret.

  At six thirty, everyone was assembled in the parlor, all combed and shiny. Violet said they should leave the dog at home because the rich widow might not like Growler on her fine carpets, and even though Bonnie threw a tantrum, the dog got closed in Bonnie’s bedroom. Then there was a knock at the door and when Travis opened it, a snooty driver stood there.

  “Mrs. Van Mayes sends her compliments and her barouche if you are ready.”

  “I reckon we are.” Travis grinned and they all trooped out to the fancy open carriage. It had red leather seats and lots of shiny brass with two fine black horses to pull it.

  “Oh, my,” Violet breathed. “I never saw anything so fine.”

  Travis lifted each child up into the barouche and then he turned to Violet. “You ready?”

  She nodded and he put his big hands on her small waist and lifted her. For a split second, she looked down into his face and he stared up at her, as if puzzled; then he sat her inside on the red leather seat and got in himself, sitting next to her. She could feel the heat of his muscular thigh through the thin blue fabric.

  Travis nodded to the driver. “We’re ready, my man.”

  The driver snapped his little whip and the fine black horses started off at a smart clip.

  “Boy, this is the life,” Houston said. “This must be the best carriage in Texas.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” Harold agreed.

  Kessie looked around. “Wouldn’t it be nice to ride like this all the time?”

  “I want my dog,” Bonnie sobbed.

  Travis patted her shoulder. “He’ll be all right until we get home and you can bring him some food, okay?”

  That seemed to comfort her and she climbed into his lap so she could see the passing scenery.

  In twenty minutes, they were driving up the circular drive to Mrs. Van Mayes’s fine Victorian-style home. It had turrets and stained-glass windows and at least three stories.

  “This must be the biggest house in Texas,” Kessie said.