Texas Rich

by Fern Michaels

  “I can’t accept that. You have to try. If you won’t, then I will.”

  “Billie, please. Can’t you see that Seth . . .”

  Billie clenched her hands into rock-hard fists. “Stay out of this, mother. Seth, I’m going to call the Red Cross myself. With or without your permission. You may be right about Moss, but Amelia is different.”

  “Billie, wait.”

  “Let her go, Aggie. She won’t get very far. If she wants to strangle herself in red tape, let her,” Seth said wearily.

  “Shouldn’t we be calling people, Seth?” Agnes asked hesitantly.

  “No. We’re going to have a private mass. It will be just us. She’ll be buried here at Sunbridge. We’ll put a notice in the paper next week.”

  “If you don’t need me, Seth, I think I’ll take a walk.”

  “You go along, Aggie. I’m fine. Tend to that daughter of yours.”

  It was two o’clock in the morning when the Red Cross returned her call. Billie picked up the receiver on the first ring.

  “We found her. Now the problem is getting her on a plane. It’s important but not top priority. I have to be honest and tell you I doubt that we can get her there in time, but we’re going to do our very best.”

  “I’m so grateful. We all are. And if there’s any other news, will you call me?”

  “Of course. We’re only too glad to help. I’m sorry we can’t do more.”

  Should she wake Seth and tell him? Billie wondered. No. He wouldn’t thank her for disturbing his sleep.

  “Billie?” It was a soft whisper.

  “Mother! What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “I’ve been sitting in the kitchen waiting for you to get your call. I’m proud of you, Billie. I think it was wonderful of you to stand up to Seth and do what you did. I would like to think you would do the same for me. For the first time, perhaps, I have become aware of my own mortality. Now, why don’t you join me in the kitchen for some hot chocolate? I’ve been keeping it on the back of the stove for you.”

  “I’d like that, Mother. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Like back in Philadelphia. I miss those times, Billie.”

  “You’re always so busy, Mother.”

  “Yes, I know. Sunbridge is so wonderful and heady. Perhaps I adapted too quickly. I’m sorry about Jessica, Billie. Really I am. I know how much you cared for her.”

  “How is Seth taking this?” Billie asked coolly.

  “He was shocked. He is shocked,” Agnes corrected herself. “He’s had a long and loving life with Jessica and now it’s come to an end. I’m sure, Billie, he would have tried to get through to Amelia once the initial shock wore off. He’s very concerned about Moss, about not telling him. That’s a terrible decision to carry around.”

  “And he’s making me a party to it. How can I write to Moss and not let on? I think it’s awful. I understand, but I still think it’s awful. Moss should be told.”

  “It does place you in a rather awkward position. I’ll speak to Seth later on. As I said, Billie, he’s in shock now. He may look at things differently tomorrow.”

  “I hope so. I won’t lie to Moss and I won’t evade. My God, Jessica is his mother... was his mother. You know what I mean.”

  “Finish your chocolate and go to bed, Billie. It’s late. Tomorrow is going to be very trying.”

  Agnes sat at the kitchen table for a long time. She drank cup after cup of coffee and it was bitter on her tongue. Billie hadn’t yet mentioned a word about her pregnancy. How long did she intend to keep it a secret? By Agnes’s best calculations it was already almost three months. The child would be born sometime in February. Agnes blanched. Maggie would celebrate her first birthday in February. This would be physically trying for a healthy woman, one who hadn’t had complications during her first pregnancy. Agnes swallowed her coffee as though she were trying to push down her guilt. What was done was done. She hoped Billie would announce her news soon. Seth would feel so much better.

  The small private service Seth had arranged for Jessica seemed to include half of Texas. And the other half sent flowers and telegrams and notes of condolence. Answering the door and the telephone kept Billie on the run.

  Billie had never really dealt with the finality of death before. Her father and grandparents had died when she was too young to realize what was happening. Jessica had become a second mother to her, a more sympathetic and understanding one than Agnes, and Billie had come to love the woman dearly. She felt the need to creep off somewhere and grieve. Instead, she’d been asked to tend the door and the telephone.

  Jessica was laid out in the front parlor in a huge bronze-and-oak casket, dressed in a pale blue lace gown and tiny satin bedroom slippers. Whoever had coiffed her hair had parted it on the wrong side. No one seemed to notice but Billie. Agnes thought the whole idea of having an open casket at home an archaic and heathenish practice. In Philadelphia things were done with a shade more taste. And wasn’t that what funeral homes were for?

  Jessica was buried on a sunny meadow hillock in the midst of a crowd of strangers. Billie had had no idea a funeral would be such an exhausting experience. The people here had come out of respect for Seth, business acquaintances and friends of his for the most part; the people who’d known and loved Jessica seemed very few. Billie shed her tears and placed a single white rose from Jessica’s garden on the casket, whispering prayers through her grief. Poor Jessica. So alone. Moss and Amelia should have been here, Jessica’s own children, her own flesh and blood. Even little Maggie should have been here, but the notion had been quickly vetoed by both Agnes and Seth.

  Seth stepped forward, his thick gray hair waving aristocratically on his head, hat held respectfully in hand. He leaned on his silver-handled cane, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. “Jessica Riley Coleman was a fine woman. We’re burying her at Sunbridge because this was her home. It’s where she belongs. Jess always knew what was expected of her. She was a good wife and a loving mother. She gave me a fine son, the best. And a daughter,” he added as an afterthought. “We’ll mourn her but we’ll never forget her.”

  It was short, quickly said, and it summed up the total of Jessica’s life. Seth put on his broad-brimmed Stetson and led the procession of mourners away from the grave. The Colemans never looked back. What was done was done.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The day after the funeral everything was back on schedule. Jessica wasn’t missed at breakfast, of course, because for months she’d been taking most of her meals in her room. Even the living room bore no trace of her last hours there; not a petal from the hundreds of flowers remained.

  Agnes sat at the table opening the early mail. Her dark hair was upswept, its severity broken only by a few artistically placed curls over her brow. For the first time Billie noticed the slightest graying near the temples. “Please finish your breakfast, dear,” Agnes said distractedly as she opened another letter. “There’s so much to do today and I need the table cleared.”

  “Why do you open all of Seth’s mail? Do you even open letters from Moss and see them before I do?”

  “What a question, Billie! Of course I don’t read Moss’s letters. What are you thinking of?”

  “Do I see every letter Moss writes Seth?” Billie persisted. “Or only the ones Seth thinks I should see? Why do you insist that I share my letters with him? Doesn’t anyone around here think Moss and I are entitled to our privacy?”

  Both Agnes and Billie were shocked to hear Seth’s voice. “Colemans have no secrets from one another, little gal. Agnes, what’s wrong with this youngster of yours? Ever since she’s come back from Hawaii she acts like she’s got a burr under her saddle.”

  Agnes’s eyes went from Billie to Seth as though trying to communicate something. “Billie feels Jessica’s death deeply, Seth. Emotions run high in young mothers.”

  Before Billie’s very eyes Seth’s anger abated and his pomposity seemed to deflate. “That’s all rig
ht, gal,” he said forgivingly.

  Billie bristled. Why should she be forgiven? She’d done nothing except ask a few direct questions.

  “What are your plans for the day, dear?” Agnes was asking, busy again with the mail, sorting business letters from notes of condolence.

  “Oh, I thought I’d go into town. You won’t be needing the car, will you, Mother? There’re a few things I thought I’d look at in Balden’s Department Store.”

  It was on the tip of Agnes’s tongue to argue that it was improper to be seen window-shopping the very day after burying a family member, but her eyes slid to Billie and she held her tongue. Billie was lying or, at the least, not telling the complete truth. Agnes knew her daughter very well indeed. “How late do you think you’ll be? Planning on having lunch in town? Perhaps you’d like me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ll probably be home for lunch. You’ve already said you’ve so much to do today, I don’t want to bite into your time, Mother.”

  So, Agnes thought with satisfaction as she slit another envelope, Billie was going into town for nothing in particular. She’d be home in time for lunch at one o’clock and she didn’t want anyone with her. Agnes’s heart was thumping. Billie was going to see Dr. Ward.

  Less than an hour later, just after the car left the portico, Agnes whipped up the phone receiver and dialed Dr. Ward’s number. “Hello, this is Mrs. Ames. Can you tell me what time my daughter’s appointment is? I seem to have forgotten. . . . Yes, Mrs. Moss Coleman. I think she mentioned an appointment. . . . Ten o’clock? . . . No, that will be quite all right. I simply wanted to know if I should expect her home for lunch.”

  Dr. Ward’s receptionist looked up and smiled when Billie entered the office. Mrs. Moss Coleman certainly dressed up the office in her crisp lemon-yellow dress and sparkling spectator pumps. Quite a difference from the young girl who had first visited the doctor in a loose-fitting cotton jumper and flat heels. Mrs. Coleman had developed her own style, one that would take thousands of dollars to imitate. The receptionist sighed. Some women had all the luck!

  Billie was nervous and out of sorts. She knew she was pregnant. This trip would only confirm it.

  After the examination she joined Dr. Ward in his office and faced his concern. “I’m disappointed, Billie. I really didn’t want you to get pregnant again so quickly, if at all. I feel remiss in not emphasizing this sufficiently after Maggie was born. It isn’t good, Billie, and I feel we should talk about a clinical abortion. You’re endangering your health.”

  All of a sudden he was calling her Billie. Did all doctors assume a familiarity when they had bad-news to deliver? “Are you trying to frighten me? Surely you aren’t serious.”

  “I’m quite serious. Listen carefully. You didn’t carry Maggie to full term because you became toxic. Toxemia. She was a breech birth and you had a very difficult time of it. The birth left you with a prolapsed uterus and it’s quite likely you won’t carry this child past the fifth month. Miscarriages are dangerous. Very dangerous. The possibilities for infection and childbirth fever are quite high and I don’t think I would be serving your best interests if I didn’t advise a clinical abortion.”

  “If I’m careful and don’t gain too much weight and stay off my feet—would that help?” Her lower lip was quivering and her fingers played with a stray thread on her glove.

  Adam Ward’s heart went out to Billie. It was such a difficult decision. Her husband was fighting a war and her father-in-law was exerting tremendous pressure for a Coleman heir. She was playing out of her league. He himself was mighty sick of Seth Coleman’s demands. If he weren’t the head of gynecology and obstetrics at Memorial Hospital and more than aware that the Coleman patriarch could just as easily donate his money to other institutions, he never would have put himself under the old man’s thumb. A single tear slipped down Billie’s cheek and Adam Ward was tempted to lean over and wipe it away. She was so young and inexperienced, despite this new gloss of sophistication.

  “Billie, you’re facing a difficult decision. But it’s against my best advice to continue this pregnancy. Don’t let personal issues or religion enter. We’re talking about your life. You have a husband and a daughter to consider. Let me call in a consulting doctor. You’ll feel better and so will I.”

  “That’s not necessary. I trust your opinion. But, as you say, in the end it’s my decision only. I have to think—this isn’t something I can answer right now.”

  “You can’t wait too long, Billie. Another three weeks and that’s it.”

  “I have to think! Don’t push me! I can’t think straight right now. I have Jessica on my mind, Maggie is cutting a tooth, and I haven’t heard from Moss in almost a month. How could I keep something like this from Moss? I couldn’t. I want to know how he feels. And Seth would never forgive me. I have to think! I have to think!”

  “Billie, I want to remind you that this matter would be strictly between you and me. I won’t discuss this with anyone, not even your father-in-law. Especially not your father-in-law.”

  “I understand, and I thank you. . . . I haven’t mentioned this pregnancy myself.” She looked up at him with gratitude and now it seemed perfectly acceptable that he call her Billie. He understood and right now it was so important to have someone in whom she could confide.

  Settled in the back of the Coleman limousine, Billie watched the countryside flash past. Abortion. The word lay heavy on her mind . . . a vague, shadowy image of dark hallways and mortal sin gleaned from whispered conversations. Abortion. Hesitantly her hand went to her stomach, where another life grew. This little life that beat within her was not an unreal mystery, as Maggie had been before she was born. The same force that had created Maggie had created this little one, and Billie could already imagine the child in her arms and the sweetness she would find when she nuzzled its cheek. This unborn had a face very similar to that of the child she’d already birthed. To abort it, to kill this child, would be like killing Maggie.

  She’d almost decided against the abortion when other arguments flooded her thoughts. According to the doctor there was every chance she would miscarry—and her own life would be at risk. Fear reached out with clutching fingers. She’d never considered her own death, never thought it a possibility. When death finally came it wouldn’t be for her, but for the old woman she would become, a person so far removed from her that she could face that thought without fear and emotion. At least she always could before now. She wanted to live, for Moss, for Maggie, for herself. She wouldn’t be robbed of what was rightfully hers! Years with Moss, years of watching Maggie grow. Yet as she thought again of abortion, she imagined she heard the cry of her unborn child.

  Sunbridge was coming into view and Carlos stopped the Packard beneath the portico. Billie leaped out and ran for the door. She didn’t stop until she’d climbed the stairs and burst through the nursery door. Even the stern Miss Jenkins didn’t protest when Billie lifted the sleeping Maggie from her crib and cradled her to her breast.

  “Seth, I’d like to talk to you,” Billie said firmly.

  “Talk away,” Seth said gruffly as he pored over his open ledger. Billie knew it was a ploy. Agnes handled the books.

  “Are you going to call the Red Cross so they can get word do Moss about his mother’s death?” There, she couldn’t be more blunt. It was out in the open.

  “In good time. I don’t want Moss endangered. When he gets into port.”

  “I’m sorry, Seth. I don’t agree. I will not be a party to this deception. If Moss is man enough to fight a war, he’s certainly man enough to handle his mother’s death. And he will handle it. You cannot keep this from him. I doubt that he would forgive you. I can’t write to him and not mention it—what will he think of me?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Well, I think it’s very important. You’re asking me to lie to my husband. I won’t do it.”

  Seth swiveled around in his leather chair. He wrapped his burly arms behind his head and
fixed his gaze on his son’s wife. “You don’t know the boy the way I know him.”

  “Moss is no longer a boy. He’s a man and my husband. I insist,” Billie said coldly.

  “Insist all you want, little gal, but my decision stands. Moss could do any damn fool thing. His timing could be off. Anything.” His voice sounded desperate to Billie and she pressed her advantage.

  “You’re going to look rather foolish, then. I sent a telegram to the Red Cross an hour ago. I want you to trust me when I tell you Moss will handle this. I know my husband.”

  “You went ahead after I expressly told you not to do anything?” Seth bellowed.

  Billie’s heart pumped furiously. He wouldn’t intimidate her. He would not. She owed Jessica that much. “Yes, damn it, I did. I’d do it again, too.”

  “By God, if you weren’t Moss’s wife, I’d boot your tail out of here.”

  “Don’t let that stop you. I can be packed and out of here in less than an hour. Decide now, Seth.”

  “You had no right.”

  “I had every right. I’m his wife.”

  “I’m not going to forget this.”

  “I plan to forget it. It’s done. It’s past. We have to go on from here. How we do it is up to you.”

  “Where you getting all this grit lately, little gal?”

  “From you,” Billie said shortly. “It rubs off. I can’t say that I like it entirely. How about you?”

  Seth snorted. “Go on, leave me to my misery. See if you can’t stir up some other trouble to torment me. I’m an old man. Leave me be.” Seth sounded downright pitiful.

  “A cantankerous old man,” Billie said.

  “Out!” Seth thundered.

  Billie was achingly alert for any return word from Moss. Every time the phone rang her heart leaped. She believed she had been right to send news of Jessica’s death, but Seth’s fears had become her own. What if Moss’s grief for his mother clouded his thinking, dimmed his reflexes? What if . . . What if...