“Meatball, Mam, and I’m proud to say there are five of them on my fuselage. I don’t know whether you know it, but the Big E saw action in the Solomon Islands after Guadalcanal.” Moss sat beside Billie, taking her hand in his.
“Kingsley was the guy who made marks that day,” Moss told them. “He was on a predawn strike force and was the first to sight a Japanese transport, but he was reaching the point of no return—that’s when you’ve got just barely enough fuel to get back to mother, I mean the carrier. Anyway, he didn’t get a chance to do any shooting. He was ordered back to the ship, but the positions he gave were good enough to blast the Japs to the bottom. Tough break for Thad.”
“Hrmmph!” Seth punctuated. “Watch your step, son. This Yankee seems eager to me and likely to get ahead of you.”
“So you said.” Moss’s tone was sour. “Pap, when I talk about Thad it’s like I’m talking about myself. That’s how proud I am of him. He’s a good man, isn’t he, Billie? Like Billie says, she danced with him at our wedding.”
“Where’s he from, this Yankee? Who’s his family? What do they do?”
“Pap, I’m not Amelia out on her first date. You don’t have to put my friends through the inquisition. Don’t forget, I’m a big boy. Billie’ll tell you, won’t you, honey?”
Billie didn’t like Moss putting her on the firing line with Seth. Besides, it was ridiculous to think that anything she could say would convince Seth of anything. After all, she was only “that little gal” to the patriarch. Agnes seemed to be the only woman whose opinion counted.
Jessica decided to retire early. The excitement of Moss’s homecoming had proved to be a strain. “It’s wonderful to have you home, Moss. I wish it were for good.” There was a sadness in her eyes that went beyond worry for a soldier son at war.
Moss clasped Jessica’s hand to his chest and leaned down to kiss her powdery cheek. “Someday soon it will be, Mam. Everything will be the way it used to be, only better. Have a good night and I’ll come in to see you in the morning.”
“I’ll go up with you, Jessica,” Billie offered, her gaze swinging to Moss. Surely after a few minutes he would follow.
After helping Jessica into her nightgown and tucking her into bed, Billie went to her room and gratefully removed her clothes. It was ironic that just months before she would have cheerfully died for a pair of silk stockings and now that they were a part of her daily wardrobe, she couldn’t wait for evening to take them off. The garters cut into her thighs and her toes always felt squashed.
She ran a tub for a quick bath and donned one of the new nightgowns she’d purchased, topping it off with its matching peignoir of fine pale blue lace. Fondly she remembered sleeping nude with Moss or, at most, wearing one of his undershirts. The clinging cotton knit would never fit over her burgeoning belly now. She whipped a brush through her hair until it crackled and applied just a touch of cologne to her throat, wrists, and between her breasts. Then she waited for Moss. And waited. And waited.
The bedside clock read two-thirty—she must have fallen asleep. She remembered putting her head down on her pillow for just a minute. The lights were still on and she was chilled from sleeping in the cool room uncovered. Where was Moss?
Going to the door, she opened it, peering into a darkened hallway. There were no lights coming from downstairs. The house had been locked and closed for the night. Everyone had gone to bed. Where was Moss? Why hadn’t he come to bed? Her attention focused on the room next to hers. Moss had moved into it when he’d started college, abandoning his boyhood room in the far wing. Not believing that he could be there, Billie tiptoed to the door, tapped softly, and then turned the knob. A shaft of light came from within. Moss was asleep on the single bed, book in hand, bedside lamp still burning.
Billie sank back against the wall, her hand pressed against her mouth to keep the cries from escaping. A hunger welled in her breast, coming from so deep within her that it brought actual pain in her need for him. Didn’t he care how lonely she was, had been all this time without him? Closing the door, she stumbled back to her bed and flung herself across it. Disappointment was a physical ache. She was cast off, ugly and undesirable. All she wanted was to be beside him, be held in his arms, feel close to him. She wanted to feel loved, feel his body beside her, touch him, have him press tender kisses to her lips. Desolate, abandoned, forgotten, Billie clutched her pillow and silenced her sobs.
CHAPTER TEN
When Billie dragged herself downstairs the next morning she bore the badges of sleeplessness beneath her eyes. Moss had already left his room when she peeped in, so she hoped to find him waiting for her downstairs. Tonight was Christmas Eve, her first Christmas with her husband, but the disappointment of the night before had cast a pall over the occasion. Moss’s rejection burned, but she was determined to face him as though nothing had happened. As though her heart weren’t broken.
The dining room was empty except for Tita, who was fussing at the serving board with dishes and trays. “Good morning, Tita. Where is everyone this morning?”
Tita knew that “everyone” meant Moss. Poor Señora Billie. “Your mother is in Señor Coleman’s study calling the florist about something and Señora Jessica will stay upstairs until the party this evening. Señor Moss left early this morning with his father. They took the plane over to Corpus Christi, but they say they will be back in time for dinner.”
“I’d almost forgotten about the party,” Billie said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “What time did my husband leave?”
“Very early—perhaps he didn’t want to wake you, señora. . . .” Tita avoided Billie’s glance.
“Who’ll be here tonight?” Billie asked, swallowing her vitamin capsules. She would have liked nothing more than to spend a quiet holiday with Moss, alone, with tender little touches and sweet caresses and whispers that promised more wonderful Christmases to come. Would she ever be alone with Moss again?
“Just the family for dinner and later a few friends drop in, nothing big, very simple,” Tita said. “Everyone goes home early,” she added reassuringly.
“Is there anything I can do to help? Back home, Mother and I used to bake cookies and—make. . .” Her words faltered. Those days seemed a lifetime ago.
“You can see if Señora Jessica has last-minute wrapping to do, and maybe you can have lunch with her. Then you make yourself pretty for the party, sí?”
Pretty. As though she’d ever be pretty again. “Sí,” Billie answered listlessly.
Billie took a lunch tray up to Jessica’s room and they ate together. Afterward, she took a long bath and lay down for a nap. Outside the window, the wild Texas wind howled, pushing against the house, finding cracks and chinks in the siding to whistle through. Twilight came so early this time of year, daylight deepening to a dark gray and then quickly to blackness. There were no streetlamps, of course, no uptown buzz of last-minute Christmas shoppers and endless holiday music. All that was forty miles away, in Austin. Billie’s sense of abandonment and isolation increased as the day waned. She refused to think about the strong winds, which could affect Moss’s flying home from Corpus Christi. She refused to think about anything at all as she lay on her bed and closed her eyes.
Moss followed Seth into the house, bringing with him a burst of frigid air. His wide-brimmed Stetson was glazed with frost, as was the sheepskin collar of his leather bombardier jacket, and there was a frown of frustration on his brow. Seth suggested a brandy in the study.
“Pap, that trip to Corpus Christi was unnecessary and you know it,” he said, watching his father splash cognac into a snifter.
“Nonsense, no amount of attention to business is unnecessary. Can’t let the men think I don’t take an interest—they’d take advantage. Besides, with this dang war, it’s hard to get help.”
“The hell with the war,” Moss muttered. “And you’ve still got the same old cowpokes driving that cattle as you always did. It’s Christmas, Pap, a hell of a time to make an unexpected vi
sit and take the men away from their families.”
Seth’s expression soured. “Don’t go soft on me, boy. Those men have a job to do and I’m here to see they do it. Cattle still got to be fed and watered, don’t they? If you hadn’t run off to play soldier, you’d be here to help me.”
The cognac slid down Moss’s throat and warmed his belly. “I’m going up to change for dinner,” he announced. His thoughts were on Billie. He wanted to see her. . . . There was an uneasy stirring in his loins.
“You’ve got plenty of time to change. I wanted to ask you what you thought of an idea I had. . . .”
“Not now, Pap. I’m tired and it was a hair-raising trip home. That wind must be blowing at thirty knots.”
“We could’ve stayed in Corpus Christi,” Seth muttered. “You were the one hot to get back here.”
Moss drained his snifter and placed it on the table beside his chair. He was more than familiar with Seth’s tug on his time and attention. But things had changed. Now it was more than a mother and sister he wanted to come home to; it was a young wife with a baby on the way. “You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you, Pap? Me and you staying over in Corpus.”
“Damn right. Nothin goin’ on here but a lot of women’s foolishness. Parties, Christmas trees, bah!”
“Same old Scrooge.” Moss laughed. “Remember the Christmas we were all supposed to go skiing and you sent Mam and Amelia on ahead of us and something came up so we never got there? I thought Mam’s heart would break. They came rushing home here soon as they could, but by then the holidays were over and I was on my way back to school. For the life of me, Pap, I’ll never understand how Mam put up with you all these years.” Actually, Moss was thinking more about Amelia’s disappointments than about his mother’s. Amelia would’ve walked through fire for Seth if he’d just whistled. He never had. There were times when Moss felt guilty about the attention and affection their father showered on him. If Amelia wasn’t such a good person, it would have created profound jealousy. But Moss knew her love for him was almost as great as her need for Seth’s love.
“Jess puts up with me the same way that little Yankee gal will put up with you,” Seth told him. “Have another drink.”
“No more, Pap. I’m going upstairs to my wife. You just reminded me how hard we Colemans are on our women.”
“Remember what I said, boy. Keep your pants zipped. I don’t want anything going wrong for my grandson.”
Wearily, Moss left the study and lifted himself up the long staircase, his boots noiseless on the thick carpeting. First he’d go see Jessica and then Billie. He worried about both of them—neither looked well. Jessica was tired and wan and Billie was bloated and sick. Poor Billie. She should be wearing pretty dresses and going to dances. Right now she should be enrolled in Penn State and looking forward to Christmas vacation instead of teetering around on swollen feet, balancing a pregnant belly. And then to be uprooted and sent all the way here to Texas, away from everything familiar... Christ! It was a wonder she didn’t hate him.
Jessica was sleeping soundly when Moss peered in and he quietly closed the door so as not to disturb her. He worried about his mother but it was a concern that was somehow free of responsibility. With Billie, it was different.
When he opened Billie’s door he saw that the curtains had been drawn and she was on the bed, lying on her side, a pillow propped between her knees to take the strain from her back. As he came nearer, he could see her face, full and round and still so pretty. Her mouth was soft and gentle but there was a pucker between her brows. Had he put it there? A stray blond curl rested against her cheek, accentuating the unhealthy flush. As his hand reached out to touch it, to smooth it away, his heart reached out for her.
Billie’s eyes opened at his touch and he was gratified by the slow, sleepy smile she bestowed on him. No, she didn’t hate him, and somehow that wrenched his conscience. So young, so pretty, so very pregnant. And all for a debt, a payoff for his freedom.
Slipping out of his boots, he climbed onto the high bed beside her, taking her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, throwing her arm over his chest. He could feel the heat from her body, the press of her breasts against his side, fuller and more womanly than he remembered. The intrusion of her rounded girth lay between them. He could smell the freshness of her hair, feel its softness against his lips. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe this was the same Billie he’d met in Philadelphia—golden and pretty, fresh and unspoiled.
Billie lifted her chin, nuzzling his neck and kissing his jaw, her hands moving over him passionately, encouragingly. “I won’t make love to you, Billie. I don’t want to hurt you or the baby,” he told her, softening his rejection with a kiss.
“This is loving,” she whispered, hiding her disappointment. Pregnancy had changed her needs; physical lovemaking was no longer one of them. But it would have been nice to know he still wanted her. Perhaps he still did and it really was only his concern for her that held him back. Her hand slipped to his waist and then smoothed over his hip to his thighs. “Touch me, Moss. Touch my breast,” she said, gratified by the signal of desire beneath her exploring hand.
“Billie,” he murmured, his lips lost in her hair, “don’t do this. Just let me hold you. That’s all I want.” Pap’s warning was pounding in his brain.
“Your body is saying other things, Moss.” She worked his belt and fumbled with the zipper. “There are so many ways to make love—you taught me yourself. Don’t you remember?” His breath caught in his throat as her fingers made contact with his naked flesh. “You want me to, don’t you, Moss? You want me to touch you like this. Don’t you?” Her voice was deep and seductive and her lips were nuzzling his chin and intruding into the warmth beneath his collar. “Touch me. Touch me here.” She leaned into him, disregarding the child who lay between them, sliding his hand down the firm globe of her belly to the place where her thighs met.
Moss’s determinations and resolutions were fading quickly. She was right; there were many ways of making love and he would explore them all. Her body was exciting him; different, yet the same. She was fuller, warmer, strangely exotic. . . . Let Pap be damned!
Agnes, Jessica, and Seth waited around the Christmas tree for Moss and Billie. Agnes nervously fingered her strand of almost good pearls, and Jessica desperately attempted to keep a conversation going. Both women were all too aware of Seth’s glowering anger. “What’s keeping those two?” he asked impatiently. “That boy knows I like to sit down to dinner at exactly six o’clock. We’ll hardly have time to eat before our friends start arriving!” He was drinking, not sipping, corn whiskey and he paced with agitation, leaning more heavily than usual on his cane.
“Seth, the children will be down. They just want to spend some time together, that’s all,” Jessica said soothingly. Despite her husband’s annoyance she was happy for Billie. That’s all the child needed, her husband’s attention and comfort.
Agnes was not so charitable. Her fears ran along the same vein as Seth’s. She should have said something to Billie, warned her of the possible danger to the baby, but she never thought that Moss would be romantically inclined in the face of Billie’s full-blown pregnancy.
“Aggie,” Seth growled, “you go upstairs and get that daughter of yours. Now!”
“That’s not necessary, Pap,” Moss said smoothly as he led Billie into the living room. “Here’s our little mother-to-be, the hope of the Coleman clan.” The sharpness of his glance covered the distance between himself and his father. Seth read it correctly. Moss was warning Pap that he’d better be careful how his wife was treated. Consideration and respect, and nothing less would do.
Billie was entirely unaware of the others’ emotions. Her cheeks were flushed pink and there was a softness in her hazel eyes like that of a contented cat. A cat who’d spent the night on the back fence with her mate.
Seth turned away, slapping his glass down on an end table with an angry clatter. Moss wore the grin of a
little boy.
Jessica sighed, rubbing her temples. Years of practice told her she must be the one to ease the situation if they were to have a pleasant dinner. “Moss, dear, we were waiting for you and Billie so we could each open one present from one another before we go in to eat. This is Christmas. Let’s not be glum.” Her last statement was for Seth.
“Holy bejesus, Jess! We’ll hardly have time to swallow our beans before the Richardsons get here and you know I hate to rush when I eat. It sticks in a lump and takes me two days to get rid of it.”
“Moss, why don’t you give Billie her present?” Jessica said, ignoring her husband’s complaints. “Billie, you go sit near the tree. I want Moss to use my camera to take pictures of us all.” A disgruntled snort erupted from Seth. “You look so pretty tonight, Billie. Is that one of the new dresses you bought in Austin?”
Billie turned gracefully, modeling her long full dress. It was dark navy georgette with a square white sailor collar trimmed in red. “I was thinking if I had to be a navy wife, I should look the part,” she told Jessica brightly.
“She looks terrific, doesn’t she, Mam?” Moss said proudly, disregarding another snort from Seth.
For the next few minutes torn wrapping paper littered the living room. Billie squealed with pleasure when she opened Moss’s present. A Chinese silk wrapper and tiny matching heeled slippers. Laughing, she slipped it over her shoulders and brought the front edges together. “I’ll save it for after the baby,” she announced, demonstrating how the protuberance of her belly prevented it from closing. Only last night she would have been overcome with self-consciousness and embarrassment about her size. But since this afternoon and Moss’s ardent loving, she was accepting the changes in herself because he could. That was a gift more precious and valuable than any other.
For Jessica there was a carton from England, from Amelia, and inside was a delicate bone china tea service and a letter.
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