Texas Born

by Gould, Judith

She shivered and quickly lay back down, pulling the quilt up around her neck. For a while she stared up at the dark ceiling.

  She wished she could go back to sleep. This large rough-hewn room made her feel tiny, lonely, and frightened, but it had been the only unused room in the house. Auntie had wanted to put her in with Jenny, but since Jenny had kicked up a fuss, Auntie had put her in here. 'Besides, every young lady needs a room of her own,' Auntie had told her kindly, trying to make her feel better.

  Elizabeth-Anne glanced around the room. It was actually a storeroom, where Auntie kept all her herbs, staples, unused furniture, and anything else that was not used regularly or which she wanted to keep out of sight, and there was something disconcerting about it. The big heavy pieces of stored furniture loomed threateningly, like mute giants, and in the midst of it all was Elizabeth-Anne's bed, a huge, towering spiral- posted bed with a lumpy horsehair mattress. When the house had been built, the plasterwork had been stenciled with primitive green leaves and yellow thistles, but they had long since faded away, leaving a murky, trailing pattern that Elizabeth-Anne's imagination took for other, more horrible things: thorns and nettles and monsters and snakes.

  She had tried desperately to communicate to Auntie how much the storeroom frightened her, but the words had never come. She had opened her mouth and struggled to form them, feeling the effort in her throat.

  The only sound that had emerged was a garbled, hideous, high-pitched squabble.

  She had seen Auntie's stricken expression, and Jenny's horrified look the first time she had made that sound, so she had stopped trying to talk altogether.

  But Auntie hadn't given up easily. Every day, for half an hour, Elender sat her down in the parlor and tried to teach her to speak.

  'A,' Auntie said slowly, drawing the sound out so that it lingered musically in the air. 'Aaaaa . . . Now, try to repeat it, Elizabeth-Anne. Just watch my lips. Aaaaa . . .'

  Elizabeth-Anne sat in the chair and stared at her.

  'A,' Auntie said again. She pointed at her own lips and then moved her hand gracefully, as if she were conducting an orchestra. 'Aaaaa . . . Aaaaa . . .'

  Elizabeth-Anne dutifully formed the vowel with her lips, but not a sound could be heard.

  Auntie drew her chair closer to Elizabeth-Anne's. She took the girl's hands and looked into her face. 'Let's try it again, dear,' she said gently. 'Aaaaa . . .'

  Elizabeth-Anne eyed her sadly. She had never felt so miserable. She wished Auntie would give up.

  Elizabeth-Anne knew she would never be able to speak again, no matter how much coaching she got. It wasn't that she didn't want to speak. She just couldn't.

  'Aaaaa . . .' Auntie gave Elizabeth-Anne's hands a little squeeze. 'Please, dear. Just give it a try?'

  Elizabeth-Anne nodded solemnly. She had loved Auntie since that first day, and she wanted to please her in any way she could. She'd do anything for her. Anything. But couldn't Auntie understand that the one thing she simply couldn't do was speak? That she would never talk again? That as hard as she tried, it just wouldn't happen?

  'Aaaaa . . .' Auntie prodded again, and Elizabeth-Anne closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration. She took a deep breath. Then, summoning up all her strength, she opened her mouth and once again formed the sound with her lips. She fought to force it out from deep inside her, and she could feel the back of her throat hurting from the strain, but still there was only silence.

  She fought to bring out a sound. Any sound.

  'Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.'

  All she could produce was that inhuman clucking noise. Defeated, she slumped in the chair and opened her eyes. She stared at Auntie helplessly.

  I've failed, she thought miserably. I've let Auntie down again.

  But Elender smiled reassuringly, quickly got up, and bent down to hug her. 'That was very good, Elizabeth-Anne!' she said. 'I'm very proud of you. We'll continue tomorrow.'

  And Elizabeth-Anne thought: Oh, what's the use?

  7

  It was the twenty-third of December, and rain was lashing down in thick sheets. In the warm parlor, Elender hummed 'Silent Night' to herself as she stood atop the stepladder and carefully draped the last glittering garland around the top branches of the Christmas tree. Then, clapping her hands together in a gesture of finality, she stepped down, moved the ladder away, and stood back. She surveyed the trimmed tree with pleasure.

  The pine was perfectly cone-shaped and stood nearly six feet tall. It was crowned by the angel she had made years earlier out of gold paper and white lace, and the crocheted ornaments and the silver glass balls she cherished sparkled and looked lovely. The feathery white angel's hair stretched from branch to branch like snowdrifts. All that was missing were the candles.

  In the past eight years Elender's Christmas festivities had become a tradition. All her roomers were single or widowed, and she made an effort to ensure that they enjoyed a nice holiday. On Christmas Eve she would light a Yule log in the fireplace and hang mistletoe above the door, just as the servants in the Cromwell house on Beacon Hill used to do. Then, when she rang the dinner bell, all the roomers would come downstairs and gather in the cozy parlor to share a smorgasbord of roast beef, smoked ham, fried chicken, and plum pudding. There were freshly baked Christmas cookies and glasses of punch for everyone. Afterward the roomers would gather around the tree while she lit the candles, and she would sit down at the spinet and everyone would join in singing the carols.

  But this year there would be no candles on the tree. Elender didn't need to be told that they would terrify Elizabeth-Anne. Since the circus fire, the child had become alarmed of flames of any sort.

  Elender glanced at the pendulum clock ticking away on the mantel. It was nearly eleven o'clock, long past her usual bedtime. Tomorrow would bring a long, grueling day. She would have to get up by five. There were the gifts to be wrapped, the smorgasbord to be prepared, the house to be cleaned, and any multitude of last-minute things she had overlooked to be taken care of.

  She crossed to the window, parted the curtains, and looked out. She sighed. The night was unusually dark because of the rain, and a chill draft blew in from around the window frame. She had never quite got used to Christmases here in southwest Texas. They could be rainy and cold or dry and cold. But never cold enough for a white Christmas. Just cold enough to settle in your bones.

  Elender let the curtains fall back in place and walked around the parlor. She checked to make sure the embers in the fireplace had died. Then she lifted the frosted hurricane shades from the lamps and blew out the flames. She'd bought the frosted shades especially for Elizabeth-Anne. The girl didn't seem half as frightened of them as the clear ones. Of course, they didn't give off as much light, but at least the flames weren't visible.

  She left the last lamp lit and carried it to her room. On the way, she looked in on the girls. Jenny was curled up on her side under a mountain of quilts, breathing peacefully. Silently Elender kissed her on the cheek and then closed the door. Then she went to the storeroom and looked in on Elizabeth-Anne.

  The child was having another bad dream.

  She sighed to herself as she approached the bed and held the lamp high. She could see Elizabeth-Anne squirming. Her forehead was creased in agitation and she was flushed and sweaty. Elender could hear her making frightened clucking noises—those same clucking noises that were the only sounds she could produce.

  Quickly Elender set the lamp on the bedside cabinet, leaned over the bed, and reached out and shook Elizabeth-Anne gently. 'Elizabeth-Anne,' she called out. 'Elizabeth-Anne!'

  The girl awakened with a start, her eyes wild with fear. Immediately she sat up and threw her arms around Elender's neck.

  Elender sat down on the edge of the mattress and held her tightly, patting her reassuringly on the back. 'There. There,' she whispered soothingly. 'You've just had a bad dream. Everything's going to be all right. Auntie chased the bad dream away.' Gently she uncurled the girl's arms and made her lie back down.<
br />
  Elizabeth-Anne's aquamarine eyes were wide. Don't leave me, they seemed to plead. Please stay here.

  Elender read the expression and stroked Elizabeth-Anne's cheek reassuringly, but she was worried. Elizabeth-Anne's nightmares had been recurring ever since the day she had found her wandering in Geron's Fields. But lately they seemed to have increased in frequency. Perhaps . . . She frowned thoughtfully to herself. Perhaps a tiny dose of laudanum would help her sleep more peacefully. Would keep the nightmares at bay. It was, after all, a harmless mixture of alcohol and opium.

  'I'll be back in a moment,' Elender said decisively. 'I'm going to get you something to chase away your dreams.'

  Elizabeth-Anne sat up again and clung tenaciously to her, afraid to be left alone with her nightmare.

  'I'll only be a moment,' Elender assured her gently.

  Elizabeth-Anne looked at her doubtfully, but obediently lay back down.

  Elender left, and soon returned with the bottle of laudanum she kept on a shelf in the kitchen and poured a mere drop in a teaspoon.

  Elizabeth-Anne licked the spoon dry and grimaced, but for the rest of the night she slept peacefully. The next day, for the first time, she awakened without a haunted, restless look.

  The next night, without the laudanum, the nightmares returned. Elender gave her another tiny dose, and Elizabeth-Anne slept soundly.

  From that day on, before bedtime Elender would give her a drop or two.

  She did not know that it was the beginning of Elizabeth-Anne's addiction.

  8

  Amanda stood uncomfortably beside Bazzel Grubb in front of the big clapboard house. The ground-floor windows were all lit, and from inside came the tinkling of a piano and voices raised in a carol. They were mostly men's voices, deep and off-key, but a woman's strong voice overpowered them and kept the tune going:

  Deck the hall with boughs of holly,

  Fa la la la la, la la la la,

  'Tis the season to be jolly,

  Fa la la la la, la la la la . . .

  Amanda glanced sideways at Bazzel. 'I still don't like this,' she murmured. Her lips were numb from the cold and her nose was running. She wiped it on the sleeve of her coat. 'It ain't right, Bazzel. 'Specially not at Christmastime.'

  Bazzel stared at the house through the sheets of rain. For the first time, he, too, felt misgivings. They had begun at the railroad station. Night had fallen by the time they had got off the train, and all the while they'd ridden here in the horse-drawn buggy they'd hired, he'd been on the lookout for signs of the circus. In the night he hadn't been able to see a thing, and there wasn't even any moonlight because of the rain. He'd thought it best not to ask the old man who drove the buggy anything about the circus. These small towns were all alike. When one person as much as sneezed, the next day everybody within miles knew about it.

  Amanda sensed his misgivings. She took his arm to turn him around and leave—not that they had anyplace else to go.

  He looked at her coldly, his pale eyes glittering like steel behind his wet, round wire-rimmed glasses. 'You're Elspeth,' he said quietly, 'and don't fergit it. That's all that matters. Answer to that name only. Case anybody asks, when you married me you became a Grubb. Elspeth Grubb.' He shivered suddenly. 'It's cold out here. Let's git inside.'

  Amanda sighed deeply as he picked up his suitcases, and she reluctantly picked hers up too. She followed behind him, climbing the three steps up to the porch. The familiar strains of the music inside stopped, but a moment later 'Hark! the Herald Angels Sing' began.

  Bazzel knocked loudly on the door.

  Hark! the herald angels sing,

  Glory to the newborn king,

  Peace on earth . . .

  In the parlor, Elizabeth-Anne slid quietly over to the far side of the settee and kept one sharp eye peeled on Jenny's feet, since Jenny had been giving her painful little kicks on the ankle with the tips of her boots. With her other eye she watched the gentlemen standing around the spinet, which had been moved from its usual spot in front of the windows. Elizabeth-Anne knew that Auntie had moved it there especially for her—so that it hid the fireplace completely. The gesture made her feel safe. Now, if only Jenny would leave her alone, life would be almost perfect.

  Elizabeth-Anne felt prettier than she ever had. Auntie had bought two identical dresses—one for Jenny and one for her. They were white, with eyelets down the front, and were the prettiest dresses she had ever seen. And because it was Christmas Eve, Auntie had parted their hair in the middle and tied it at the sides with red and green silk ribbons.

  Abruptly Auntie stopped playing, her fingers poised in midair. She cocked her head to one side and frowned as, one by one, the men stopping singing. She craned her neck up over the top of the piano. 'Was that the door?'

  Jenny jumped to her feet. 'I think so,' she said. 'I'll go see who it is!' She skipped out of the parlor and into the hall.

  Elender scraped the piano bench back, got to her feet, and looked at her gentlemen roomers clustered around the piano—she knew that they were tired of singing and were anxious for refreshments. 'That's enough caroling for now, I should think,' she said, smiling warmly. 'Why don't we have some punch and food?'

  The men murmured grateful agreement and moved over to the table, which Elender had festively draped with a white tablecloth she'd embroidered with green holly leaves and clusters of red berries. The big cut- glass punch bowl was the centerpiece, and around it, mouth-watering platters of artfully arranged delicacies were heavily laden.

  As she did each Christmas, Elender took her place behind the table and ladled out cups of punch and handed them around. Then she circulated among her guests. A good hostess, she knew, made everyone feel welcome and important.

  'Auntie?'

  Elender stopped in mid-step and frowned. Jenny was standing in the doorway with two well-bundled strangers. She had never seen the plump red-faced woman or the tall, cadaverous man before. In the hallway behind them, she could see four suitcases.

  Quickly she crossed the room, folding her hands in front of her. 'Yes?' she inquired pleasantly.

  Bazzel Grubb's eyes swept around the warm, cheerful parlor. In one long glance he took in the tall Christmas tree, the wreaths hanging in the windows, the little pine twigs sprouting from behind picture frames and mirrors, the lavish platters of food. He exchanged glances with Amanda and then stepped forward and cleared his throat.

  'I'm Bazzel Grubb, ma'am,' he said in a dry, unemotional voice, 'and this here is the missus, Mrs. Grubb.' He took Amanda by the arm and pulled her forward.

  Amanda smiled shyly at Elender and lowered her eyes.

  'Up till nine months ago, Mrs. Grubb here was Miss Gross.' Bazzel paused and added pointedly: 'Miss Elspeth Gross?'

  'We jest got married lately,' Amanda said nervously. 'We moved an' we jest got yer letter. We come as soon as we could, 'cause of li'l Elizabeth-Anne.'

  Bazzel turned to Jenny and smiled thinly. 'You're a mighty pretty young thing, Elizabeth-Anne.'

  Jenny raised her pointed chin indignantly. 'I'm Jenny,' she said loftily. 'That's 'Lizbeth-Anne.' She pointed disdainfully at the settee and sniffed. 'She can't talk. We think it's because she was scared speechless when the circus burned down.'

  Bazzel's smile faded and his eyes narrowed. He didn't even catch Amanda's I-told-you-so look. 'The circus . . . burned?' he asked in a faltering voice, all his hopes and dreams of easy money crumbling down around him.

  Jenny nodded vigorously. 'It was the biggest fire ever seen in these parts—'

  'Jenny!' Elender hissed.

  Jenny froze in mid-sentence. Nothing she might have let slip out in front of Auntie could bring about worse repercussions; in the excitement of the Grubbs' arrival, she had totally forgotten Auntie's stern warnings about what would happen if she ever as much as hinted about the fire while Elizabeth-Anne was within earshot.

  Jenny's heart sank abysmally. For once, she hadn't even been trying to torment Elizabeth-Anne. Oh, damnati
on! she thought. It had simply slipped out! And now . . . She could feel the tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. Now she would be well and truly punished.

  She raised her eyes fearfully to meet Auntie's gaze, half-expecting her wrath at this very moment. Instead, she saw a peculiar mixture of compassion and hopelessness in Elender's eyes.

  Jenny immediately felt better. She sniffed and wiped the tears away with her knuckles. She sensed that her fear of punishment was without foundation and that Auntie mistook her tears of self-pity for sorrow toward Elizabeth-Anne. Then she noticed her aunt's odd expression, and wondered what could have caused it. Elizabeth-Anne's relations finally having arrived? Jenny could not conceive that that could be the reason. For her own part, she was more than delighted that they had finally come to rid her of that freak once and for all. Now it wouldn't be long before everything would be back to normal and she would again be the sole object of attention in this house.

  Jenny had to struggle to keep from smiling.

  Elender nervously fingered the locket watch that hung from the thin gold chain around her neck, but otherwise she maintained her composure, and pasted a weak, quivering smile on her lips. 'You must be cold and hungry,' she told the Grubbs in the warmest voice she could muster. 'Why don't you give me your coats, and then we'll see about getting you some refreshments.' She turned to Jenny and fluttered her hands to shoo her toward the kitchen. 'Jenny, be a dear and fetch some hot tea for Mr. and Mrs. Grubb, would you?'

  'Yes, Auntie,' Jenny said with patent resignation.

  Amanda Grubb slowly unbuttoned her coat. She looked surprised as Bazzel helped her slip out of it. He had seldom ever done that before.

  Bazzel handed Amanda's coat to Elender, took off his own, and handed it over too. Then they made a beeline for the piano and stood behind it, their backs to the room as they leaned down, gratefully holding their icy hands out in front of the warming fire.