Watching from amidships, Thad saw the Texas Ranger catapult into the air, her wheels leaving the deck before she reached the edge. He’d been astounded and pleased at the mention of the baby. It was rare that Moss was sentimental, but hell, when a guy was about to fly his first mission, what else could be on his mind but what he’d be leaving behind? He prayed Moss would be around to meet little Riley Coleman. Thad pushed his fingers through his sandy hair and grinned. Moss even had him believing the baby would be a boy.
Navy Fighter Squadron 4 took to the air, circling wide of the mother ship and setting a northward course, eight pairs of glinting wings in the early sun. Moss flew starboard wingman for his squadron leader, Lieutenant Commander Jimmy McVey, holding slightly aft in the V formation. They settled into a hunt-and-search pattern, eyes scanning above and below for the enemy.
When only ten minutes of flying time remained, a voice rasped over the headset: “Zeros, up-sun, twelve o’clock!” Moss looked up, squinting, and had his first sight of the enemy. The bright sunlight at 14,000 feet beat into the cockpit, but it couldn’t warm the cold at the pit of his stomach. His experienced eye read the fuel gauge. Bursts of speed and fuel-consuming maneuvers could mean a sudden point of no return. He felt his teeth bite-down on his lower lip.
The attack came from the rear, arrow straight and just as deadly. Curses were mumbled into headsets; grim and determined faces peered through cockpit windshields. Explosive firepower flew all about the American fighters and they were helpless to return it without coming about and taking the zeros head-on. McVey radioed their position back to headquarters. The return message was to pursue and attack—where there were zeros there would be Japanese carriers. Two were known to be in the area. Moss once again glanced at the fuel gauge.
“Break formation,” came McVey’s voice. “Spiral down and jump from the rear.” It was a maneuver that didn’t generate the squadron’s faith. It was already known that zeros could outclimb and outmaneuver American fighters.
One by one, the squadron spiraled portside and dropped to 11,000 feet. The maneuver wasn’t working—the zeros were still on their tails. Mooney, second port wingman, broke radio silence. “Squad four, two zeros hanging back. Repeat, two enemy hanging back. Total nine enemy.”
“Coleman, MacGuire, drop back and take them. Squadron ready and ahead,” McVey commanded.
Two machines, one order. Moss and MacGuire held back on the throttles, losing air speed, allowing the rest of the squad to shoot ahead. Accomplishing a forty-degree turn to port, they climbed to seek their zeros. The Japanese craft flew toward them at a thirty-degree angle, coming from above. Moss saw MacGuire veer eastward. The zeros went after him, increasing air speed and losing altitude. MacGuire was a sitting duck. A long burst and MacGuire’s Wildcat was a burning pyre. Moss watched for signs of a bailout, ready to cover his partner, praying to see a cloud of silk. There was no sign except for vapor trail.
Moss clamped his teeth shut against the roiling in his gut. He gripped the control stick as though it were a lifeline, his finger tickling the trigger. He could sense the zeros hot on his trail, hungry for the kill. A part of his mind wondered how the rest of the squad was doing. Would McVey send a craft to double back? Instinctively he led his pursuers north, away from American territory. His eye judged the fuel gauge. It had to be now or never.
The enemy dove down on him, closing the distance, coming within firing range. Moss throttled back, hoping they’d overshoot. As they flashed past, he poured on the coal, got on their tails, and fired. He felt the burst from his guns send vibrations through the cockpit, jiggling the needles on his instrument panel. He hadn’t known he’d squeezed his eyes shut until he looked to see both of them falling, bursting into flames, paper lanterns crashing toward the sea.
Taking a wide circle that would set him on a course for the Enterprise, Moss headed home to refuel. It was only the beginning of a very long day.
Later, much later, after long hours of battle between ships and aircraft, after the Japanese navy retreated, leaving Guadalcanal and marine bases intact, Moss would acknowledge two enemy zeros destroyed, but he would take credit for only one. Lieutenant MacGuire would be credited for the other.
On the third of November, at the barbecue at the Barretts’ ranch outside Dallas, Representative Lyndon Baines Johnson told Seth in confidence that the Enterprise had engaged in battle. She was now known to be anchored in the hill-rimmed tropical harbor of Nouméa, New Caledonia. She’d been hit and was under emergency repair. No list had yet been released of wounded and fatalities.
Seth kept the news to himself. It wouldn’t do to have Jessica become anxious or for that fragile little gal from Philadelphia to get hysterical and jeopardize the only chance for the Coleman bloodline. It was Agnes who took up the reins after Seth finally confided in her. She saw that the gaiety of the party was gnawing on his nerves and that he’d rather await any news at Sunbridge. She resourcefully claimed to have received an important . phone message; Seth was needed back home immediately. Grateful, and happy for her company, Seth asked Agnes to go with him and together they boarded his private plane and departed for Austin.
Jessica and Billie returned to Sunbridge the following Thursday. They knew something was deeply troubling Seth. He claimed it was a business problem and for Billie’s sake Jessica did not challenge him, but she knew, somehow, that it had to do with Moss. When they were alone, Seth put her fears to rest, or tried to, by telling her it was that damn oil well that had tapped out. Again, she didn’t believe him, but nearly thirty years of marriage had taught Jessica not to contradict her husband or test his patience. She watched as Seth paced the floor or rode old Nessie until the mare nearly dropped in her tracks. Day after day she suffered, silently, praying for her son and worrying over her husband. Migraine headaches kept Jessica to her room, and she reluctantly handed over the household management to an eager Agnes. It was all becoming too much. Moss at war, Amelia marrying, Billie’s pregnancy, and Agnes’s increasing closeness to Seth. And Jessica knew her health wasn’t what it should be, but she kept it to herself. Seth disliked what he called “ailing females.”
Relief came nearly three weeks later when two letters arrived from Moss. One was addressed to Billie. In it he said he’d like the baby to be named Riley, Jessica’s family name. The other was sent after Guadalcanal. He was fine. Only a small note was enclosed for Billie, half a page. The other nine pages of bold scrawl were directed to Seth. Moss told of his first kill, but the bulk of the letter was devoted to describing how Thad Kingsley and his wingman had caught an unprotected Japanese light carrier. The two of them alone had sent her to the bottom of the South Pacific.
“Who the hell is this Kingsley fella?” Seth growled. “Seems like he’s gotten himself pretty close to Moss, if you ask me. If Moss had found that Jap ship, he wouldn’t have needed any help in sending her to the bottom. And what the hell is a meatball?”
The next week a truly grateful Thanksgiving was spent at Sunbridge.
CHAPTER NINE
In the study, Agnes sat back in her chair across the massive desk from Seth. She had just completed taking down a letter he’d dictated and later she would type it. When he was at home, Agnes acted as his secretary. Today, she was marveling at Seth’s expertise in manipulation. There were lessons to be learned here and learn them she would. For the first time in years she felt her talents were being put to use. First the house, which Jessica was relinquishing to her care, and now working beside Seth. She knew that Sunbridge was a family-held business, all of it. Any fool could see that Jessica was in failing health and that Seth was a prime candidate for a stroke if he didn’t ease up a bit. With Moss off to war, that would leave only empty-headed Billie to handle things for the Colemans. Learning as much as she could about the business was not only a pleasure; it was a necessity.
Agnes nodded her approval as she typed up the letters Seth wanted sent to his contacts in Washington. Moss was building an honorable reputation for
himself as a fighter pilot. Within the last few weeks he’d been promoted to squadron commander; lieutenant commander was only a step away. Surely the boy was entitled to leave. To have Moss home for Christmas was not, Seth felt, a request out of bounds. And he was offering a prime dressed beef to grease the gears.
Within two weeks Seth was notified that Moss would be sent to San Diego to assemble a group of replacement pilots and would be given a seven-day leave to join his family in Texas.
Billie’s joy knew no bounds when she received the news. She didn’t know or care how it had all come about; all she knew was that her husband was coming home and she would be in his arms again.
The news of her son’s homecoming roused Jessica sufficiently to join the holiday preparations. Agnes prepared the menus and scrupulously oversaw the holiday cleaning, but it was Jessica who knew how to bring Christmas to Sunbridge. The house was bedecked with holly and evergreens and awash with the fragrances of Christmas. Gifts arrived by the carload, wrapped and beribboned and making Billie’s eyes widen with disbelief.
Jessica took Billie into Austin to shop for presents. It was an experience to sit in a comfortable store lounge and have items paraded before them for their approval. Billie missed the frantic hustle and bustle of Philadelphia and the taste of snow in the air. But she resigned herself to Jessica’s pace, knowing she wasn’t capable of much activity herself. A few weeks of relief from morning sickness had come to an end and she was once again suffering the full range of pregnancy symptoms.
Three days before Moss was due to come home, Billie awakened early, crawled out of bed, and headed straight for the commode. She retched miserably and then sat on the edge of the bathtub while she bathed her face in cold water. Nothing was helping. Not Tita’s home remedies or Dr. Ward’s prescriptions and vitamin injections. Billie felt a mess and looked a mess. Her ankles were so swollen that she’d been reduced to scuffling around in a pair of Agnes’s large house slippers. She needed a haircut and a permanent wave, but the thought of the smelly chemicals she’d have to endure made her queasy. A new dress was a must. Lord, what was Moss going to think when he saw her? When he’d left she still had a waistline! Her breasts had become fuller, but now they showed faint stretch-marks as they lay heavily against her burgeoning middle. It would have been all right if Moss had been with her day after day, accepting the changes in her body; but now, after so long an absence, he couldn’t help being shocked, possibly even revolted. Billie tipped her face into her hands and cried. She was still dabbing at her tears when she sat down at the breakfast table.
Seth’s eyes went to Agnes, who answered his silent question with a shrug. He stole another look at Billie. The little gal looked terrible. Moss was in for a shock when he got home. Seth disliked pregnancies. A woman changed and became an awkward, ungainly, puffy individual, a caricature of herself.’ Billie’s appearance annoyed him, just the way Jessica’s had annoyed him when she’d carried his children. But he was tolerant—or rather, he was forcing himself to be tolerant. After all, this young lady was carrying his future grandson.
“Three more days and your son will be home,” Agnes said brightly as she cut into a succulent sausage. Billie’s head went up and her eyes narrowed. His son? Moss was her husband. Agnes took note of Billie’s look. “We have to do something about your appearance,” she said. “Why don’t we go into town and get your hair done and perhaps pick up a new dress? One that isn’t so ... so ...”
“So like a tent, Mother? I need the room, or haven’t you noticed how much weight I’ve put on? I’m afraid there aren’t too many styles that will fit me.”
“You can try,” Seth said coolly. There it was. Agnes’s backup. She was to go into town. Seth excused himself, and when he returned he laid a check next to Billie’s plate. She looked down at it and winced. A thousand dollars to get her hair done and a new dress. “Buy yourself some pretties,” Seth said. His tone clearly stated that he thought she needed something. Regardless of how she felt, she knew she had to go to town. Seth tolerated no excuses. Agnes smiled benignly. Seth was so good to them.
The entire day was just one long trial of misery for Billie. At the hairdresser’s she’d sat with her shoeless feet propped up while lotions and the heat-wave machine were applied to her hair. Between bouts of nausea she kept reminding the beautician that she wanted a soft curl, no frizz! Twice she’d had to retch into a wastepaper basket while the clamps and wires were still attached to her head, making it impossible for her to bend over. In the end, her hair looked as though she’d stuck her finger into a live light socket and she nearly sobbed when she was told it would relax within a few weeks. It was cut too short, it was permed too curly, and she thought she resembled a bowling pin when she hazarded a look in a full-length mirror. Thankfully, after the setting and an eternity under the dryer, the effect was not quite so bad.
When Agnes saw Billie’s haircut and permanent wave she had to refrain from gasping her shock. “Did you choose that particular style from a magazine, Billie?” she asked offhandedly. Suddenly, Agnes felt very old, hardly a strong-spirited active woman of forty-three. A forty-three-year-old woman couldn’t possibly have a woman of forty for her child. And that was exactly how Billie looked, old and worn. Even her pink-and-gold complexion had faded into something resembling jaundice. For the first time Agnes was truly alarmed for her daughter’s health. “Billie, what did Dr. Ward say the last time you saw him? I’ve tried not to be an interfering mother, but...”
“Lately, Mother, you’ve hardly been interfering. Not interested is closer to the truth. Dr. Ward said I should have my teeth checked. Pregnancies are hard on women’s teeth. Lord.” She managed a grudging laugh. “My teeth are the only part of me that don’t hurt! Can we go back to Sunbridge now?”
“Absolutely not. First we’re going to have lunch. Seth took me to the Paladian once and their food is wholesome and simple. Next we’re going shopping for some new dresses for you. Now that I’ve finally gotten you away from the house, we’re going to accomplish what we’ve set out to do. Honestly, Billie, you’re getting to be a drudge, just like Jessica.”
Billie shot Agnes a warning glance but was feeling too ill to pursue a defense of her mother-in-law. “Whatever we’re going to do, let’s do it quickly. My feet are swollen and my shoes are pinching and I just want to go home.”
Back at Sunbridge, Billie immediately went to her room. All she wanted was to take her shoes off and have a nice warm bath. She sat on the edge of her bed looking down at her swollen feet with clinical interest. And to think she’d been a double-A narrow only months ago. Would things ever be the same again?
After her bath, Billie went to see how Jessica was feeling, and spent the time before dinner reading the daily paper to her mother-in-law. Jessica’s headaches had been too severe to allow her to use her eyes for either reading or working on the baby sweater she was knitting.
“You’d better run along and dress for dinner, Billie. You look so tired. I think the day in town was too much for you. Tell me what you bought. Was Seth generous with his check?”
“More than generous,” Billie assured her, remembering for the first time that she hadn’t spent anywhere near the entire sum. The remainder must still be tucked away in Agnes’s purse. Would she return it to Seth? “I bought a few dresses and tops. One I especially like is a soft sage color with long sleeves and a bias-cut bodice that buttons off to the side. I needed lingerie and a few nightgowns. But there was a dressing gown I simply couldn’t resist. It’s long and flowing and I thought I’d wear it when Moss arrives so he won’t see how swollen my feet and legs are.”
Jessica heard the anxiety in Billie’s voice and sighed. “Dear child, I think you’re making too much out of your appearance. Moss is not even going to notice how you look. You’re going to be the mother of his child and that’s what he’s going to think of. I don’t want you riling yourself up so that you can’t enjoy your husband and the Christmas holidays.”
“Are you s
ure, Jessica? I don’t want him to have regrets.” Her young voice was so full of hope and despair that Jessica found it hard to speak. “I’m sure, child. Run along now and dress for dinner.”
Billie leaned over to hug the older woman. “I always feel so much better when I talk to you. I’ll come back after dinner. I bought you two new mystery stories.” She gave the older woman another light kiss and left the room.
There were tears in Jessica’s eyes when she watched Billie leave the room. Billie was a Coleman now and she would have to accept the Colemans the way they were. They couldn’t be changed—she had learned that hard and bitter lesson years ago. Billie was a fighter; she had that much going for her. How and when she was going to do her fighting would be what was important. Perhaps she was wrong not to confide in the young woman she had come to love. But how could she tell Billie that Seth hadn’t come near her bed after the fourth month of pregnancy? How could she tell Billie about Seth’s philandering over the years without making it sound like Moss would do the same thing? A wave of pity washed over her, not for Billie or herself, but for Seth and Moss. They were the losers. In the end, when it counted, she hoped that both men would realize that fact. She blessed herself quickly for her uncharitable thought. She was a Coleman after all.
Moss stepped off the train in Austin’s depot, his duffel slung carelessly over his shoulder. “Pap!”
After the two men embraced, Moss pointed to his sleeve.
“Take a look, Pap. Lieutenant commander.”
“Good for you, boy. You might make admiral yet. You want admiral, I’ll get you admiral!”
“Hell, no. Thad’s the one who’s going to make admiral the way he’s going. No more string-pulling, Pap. I’m doing things on my own these days. Where’s Mam and Billie? Anything wrong?” he asked as an afterthought.
Texas Rich Page 17
