Chapter Twelve
As the weather turned chilly in November, Jessica began to think of Christmas and how wonderful it had been at home. In contrast, she could imagine what it would be like at Penelope's—expensive presents, tedious socializing, and cruel gossip. Perhaps if she were very economical, she could convince Travis to move to their own place before the holidays. But on the other hand, she had Christmas presents to buy for so many people. Frowning, she puzzled over the problem and decided that she could make her gifts this year.
Penelope would probably appreciate a handmade gift. She was always bragging about the quality of the hand embroidery on her undergarments. Fired with enthusiasm, Jessica decided to acquire Royal Society packages, which had pamphlets with marvelous diagrams full of numbers, arrows, and dotted lines that showed how to produce an amazing array of things. Perhaps she'd make Penelope a set of tea napkins embroidered in flowers with scalloped edges. And she could construct a pretty boudoir cap for Anne, who always complained that her hair curled up tighter than ever overnight if she didn't wear one. And Frannie—let's see, maybe a dresser scarf for her new bird's-eye maple dresser. If she had time, she might make cuddly dolls for Aunt Sissie's younger children, and—Jessica reined in her runaway enthusiasm, remembering that she wasn't that skillful a needlewoman; she had never been as talented as Anne, but then Anne was her stepmother, not her mother; Jessica wouldn't have inherited Anne's talents.
Sighing, she went to get a cloak. Before she embarked on these Christmas projects, she had to get the Royal Society packets, only a few at a time so as not to spend money on something she wouldn't have time to finish.
What should she make for Travis? A shirt! If only she were at home. Anne could have shown her how. But still, if she managed it, she could embroider his initials on the pocket, and she certainly wouldn't have to worry about him catching her at work. He was almost always away from home, often out of town. Enthusiasm somewhat undermined, Jessica started down the stairs.
"My goodness, Jessica, what are you up to? If it's mending, just have one of the maids do it."
"I'm working on a Christmas gift for my sister.” Jessica had managed to hide the tea napkins and whip out the dresser scarf when Penelope walked into her room unannounced.
"Oh, my dear, what a quaint idea. I hope your sister won't be disappointed."
"Why should she be disappointed?"
"That she's getting a Christmas gift so—well, modest. If I were you, I'd just go out and buy her something nice. But then, knowing your father, I suppose you're all accustomed to rather limited Christmases. And why aren't you using the lorgnette I gave you for your birthday? You're wearing those dreadful spectacles again."
"For one thing, I can't sew and hold a lorgnette at the same time, and for another, as I told you, it's very handsome, but the lenses don't improve my vision."
"Well, goodness, Jessica, it's not what you can see; it's how you look, and the lorgnette I chose is really lovely. Gold, inlaid mother-of-pearl—why, I was almost tempted to keep it for myself—but of course, I don't need spectacles."
"Since the lenses are clear glass, you can certainly use it if you like. Shall I get it for you?"
"Of course not. I don't want to cover up my eyes, but then mine are such an unusual color. What a shame you inherited your father's. Now what did I come in here for? Oh yes, I wish you'd stop by the dressmaker for me this afternoon to pick up a gown she's made alterations on."
"Shouldn't you go yourself to see if the alterations are acceptable?"
"If they're not, you can take the dress back,” said Penelope sharply.
Jessica stared down at the dresser scarf on her lap. In her workbag were the tea napkins, which she now realized Penelope was not going to appreciate. And she wouldn't be able to finish any presents if Penelope planned to send her on an endless round of time-wasting errands.
As she stared bleakly ahead of her, her eyes fell on the law books piled up on her desk. She'd been reading them again at Travis's suggestion. Although he said that a time would come when he could use any expertise in land law she could accumulate, Jessica suspected that he encouraged her reading to distract her from his frequent absences. Of course, if he did eventually call on her expertise, he wouldn't pay for it—but somebody might.
It would be a lot more effective if she were to earn money instead of just trying to save it, as she had been doing the last few weeks. Travis might be more amenable to spending whatever was necessary to establish a temporary household if she were contributing. Her relationship with Penelope might even improve if she and Travis moved out. No doubt, both Penelope and Hugh resented the drain on their income that two extra people in the house represented.
Stuffing the dresser scarf into the bag, she hurried to her wardrobe for a waist-length mantle with a hood and silk tassels. She had a second errand to run; she was going to see Henry Barnett.
"Do you need money?” Henry asked when she had begged him for a job.
"Travis is very generous to me,” she said stiffly. She couldn't tell Henry that she wanted money in order to get out of her mother's house, not when he had been so strongly opposed to her moving there in the first place. “But I—I have nothing to do."
Henry smiled whimsically. “A young bride with nothing to do?” Then he frowned. “Is all well with you and young Parnell?"
"We're very happy, but he's busy, you know, with all his business interests, and I—well, I'd so like to put my education to work. It seems such a waste. If you could use someone, I don't see why—unless it's that I'm a woman. Would your colleagues think the worse of you for employing a woman?"
"They might,” said Henry, “but that's not the problem. Under other circumstances, I'd be delighted to hire you, Jessica, but as it is, I can't."
"Why?” Jessica felt so discouraged. He had just confirmed what she suspected, that her godfather might be the only lawyer in town who would consider her as a prospective employee, and he didn't want to.
"Jessica, your father is one of my most important clients. He has been for years, and you are now living in the house of a woman who would go out of her way to do him ill. I simply cannot make you privy to his affairs under those circumstances."
"But—but. Henry, I would never reveal Papa's business to anyone."
"No doubt that's so, Jessica, but Justin would have cause to complain at the mere suggestion of such a conflict of interest, especially when he has severed important and lucrative ties with Hugh, presumably because you are living there."
"He has?” Jessica felt stunned. Conversations began to come back to her—her father saying how important it was for ranchers to have their own banking sources, Penelope complaining that they had had to buy Justin out because they refused to evict Jessica. She'd completely forgotten about that. The private buy-out, which Hugh had accomplished through an intermediary, had been the price for preventing the open sale of her father's shares and a possible run on the bank.
Had Justin sold out because, as Penelope said, he was angry with Jessica or because, as Henry intimated, he hated and distrusted Penelope? Travis had seen her father in September and said he wasn't angry, but Papa had never come to call or written, thought Jessica unhappily. Whatever the truth, she had evidently caused both her parents financial reverses. Justin no longer had access to the bank or its profits. Hugh and Penelope had lost money buying him out.
"I—I won't bother you further about this, Henry,” she said, conscience-stricken. “Thank you for seeing me."
"My dear child, you're my goddaughter. I'm always happy to see you. I hope you'll come to visit me more often, and feel free to call upon me should you need anything. Do you understand, Jessica? I'm always at your disposal."
"Thank you, Henry.” He seemed so intense. What did he expect her to need, besides a job? He probably thought job hunting was just a whim on her part, not at all in the nature of a necessity. Should she try other law offices? Travis might be upset if he discovered that she was solicitin
g employment all over town. He would probably have understood her going to work for Henry Barnett but not for some stranger, not when he considered himself quite able to support her.
So if she couldn't work for a lawyer, what could she do? Jessica looked anxiously down the street before crossing, and her eye fell on a skinny little newsboy selling the Gazette, as Travis had had to do when he was a child. Was this lad an orphan living in a packing case? Jessica shivered in the cold air and purchased a paper, giving the child several pennies extra, for which she received a huge, gap-toothed smile and a “Thank you, miss."
With the paper tucked under her arm, she began to walk home. How nice it would have been to ride her bicycle, which would have got her home and out of the cold so much faster, but Penelope had made such a fuss that Jessica gave bicycle riding up rather than listen to her mother's carping. Glancing at the paper as she shifted it to the other arm, she lifted her skirt to cross the street. The editor, she noticed, advised his readers in large letters that today's edition had a new short story and a ladies’ article on Christmas decorations for the home.
I could write things like that, thought Jessica. I always got good marks in composition. She wondered what the newspaper paid for such articles. Instead of going to the dressmaker's, she turned around and headed for the offices of the Gazette, where the editor told her he'd be willing to look at a contribution from her, even pay for it if it was any good.
Elated, Jessica hurried home to begin her new career. What should she write? A short story? An historical piece? That was a good idea. Everyone at the Labor Day picnic had been so interested in her stories about the late marshal. She could call it “Reminiscences About Long-Haired Jim Courtright.” If that sold, she'd try a short story, maybe something with a Christmas theme. She read fiction; a short story shouldn't be too hard to write. And she had read that novel by Theodore Dreiser that so shocked people, even in Washington, D.C. Perhaps the editor would be interested in a review of a shocking novel. Brimming with enthusiasm, Jessica bounced into the hall of her mother's house.
"Where's my dress?” Penelope demanded.
"I forgot it.” Good heavens, had her mother been looking out the window, hoping to discover just that omission? A flood of recriminations followed her up the stairs, but Jessica had better things to do. If her mother really wanted to go on and on about the gown, she'd have to wait till dinner. Jessica closed her door firmly, locked it, and went straight to her desk.
Now let's see, should she start with the railroad workers’ strike from which the marshal had rescued her when she was nine? Would her readers be interested in tales of ranch life? Maybe she could submit things to the Weatherford paper as well, or a paper in Washington, D.C. “Reminiscences of a Student at Mount Vernon Seminary” or “A Lone Female at the Columbian School of Law.” She whisked her writing paper from the drawer and began: “When I was nine and on a visit to Fort Worth..."
Travis let himself into the darkened house and went to Hugh's study to pour a whiskey and relax for a few minutes before going upstairs. Jessica had been busy and cheerful for several weeks now, and he hadn't questioned it. Whatever kept her occupied and happy met with his approval as long as she didn't pressure him about moving or question him about where he was on the nights when Hamlet Arleigh's threats forced yet another visit to Fannie Porter's.
Idly Travis thumbed through the papers on Hugh's desk. Much to the Pinkerton agent's disgust, there was never anything relating to the bank, just piles of bills. Penelope had evidently nagged Hugh into abandoning the frugality campaign. These were all her expenditures, and they were mind-boggling.
Travis decided that Hugh must need money; he was behind on the bills, so it stood to reason that he'd get careless as he got desperate. Travis wanted that to happen—but after he and Jess left town so he wouldn't be involved in the collapse of Hugh's fortunes. At this point he didn't think Jessica would be devastated should financial disaster befall Hugh and Penelope. She just wanted to get away from her mother. And that could happen soon.
Word had come that Al Hamil out near Beaumont had found oil in the sludge pit on December ninth, which meant they'd bring in the well—probably in January. Travis's sources said Galey had told the crew to drill three hundred feet deeper; they were at eight eighty when they hit the oil. Evidently Galey thought there would be even more oil at a deeper level. In fact, Galey wanted the rig closed down over Christmas while Lucas bought up more land and leases in the area. Travis chuckled; they wouldn't get his. He'd been out buying himself in early December, but he doubted he'd acquire any more, not at a good price.
He was going to be richer than Croesus as long as he left for Beaumont when the Lucas well came in. His only worries were that Hamlet Arleigh, deprived of his spy, would follow and have that talk with Jess, or that Hugh would get caught before they could leave town and Hartwig would expect Travis to testify at the trial.
Travis picked up a copy of the Gazette lying on the leather sofa and sprawled out to thumb through it. Jess would be happy to move to Beaumont; at least she'd expect to be happy about it. Corsicana had been a cesspool when oil was discovered—hordes of strangers moving into town with no place to stay, rigs, derricks, and oil everywhere. Beaumont could be worse. Still, he'd keep her busy enough that she might not notice the unpleasantness of her surroundings. Just the fact that Penelope was hundreds of miles away ought to make Jessica euphoric.
He turned a page and saw his wife's name. “Should Women Have the Franchise?” He scanned the article, which told him that as early as 1892 the English Parliament had failed by only twenty-three votes to give women the vote. So that's why she'd been so cheerful and busy; she'd been hired by the newspaper as a female rabble-rouser. The little devil! Why hadn't she told him? Did she think he'd object? If all women were as smart as Jess, the country might be better off with the females voting and the men disenfranchised. Unfortunately, all women weren't like Jess. He wondered if Penelope had seen the article. If she had, she wouldn't take it well at all.
Travis sailed the newspaper across the room, threw back the last swallow of whiskey, and headed for the stairs. Too bad if Penelope didn't like her daughter's new outlet. He slipped quietly into the room and over to the bed, where he leaned down to kiss his sleeping wife. “Is this the noted lady author and suffragette?” he whispered when she stirred and opened her eyes.
"You saw the article?” she mumbled.
"Um-m.” Travis licked her ear. “How many have you published while I've been slaving away in Corsicana?"
"Two others,” she whispered. “Are you angry?"
"Of course not. I'm struck down with awe at the many talents of my wife. May I touch you? How about here?"
Jessica gasped and moved restlessly beneath his seeking fingers.
"And here?"
"Get undressed,” she whispered urgently. “You've been away so long."
"Too long,” Travis agreed. “We have all those nights to make up for."
As he rose to strip rapidly out of his clothes, it occurred to him that he now knew what he'd get his wife for Christmas. If she was going to take up writing, he'd buy her one of those typewriters, which he'd heard were a lot faster and neater than handwriting. Some typists, so they said, could run the apparatus without even looking for the letter keys, literally with their eyes closed. The typewriter was as amazing, when you thought about it, as the rotary drill, which was making it possible to drill for oil on the swampy land near Beaumont, or the horseless carriage, which might one day provide another market for oil men. Of course, the contraptions had to catch on first. He climbed into bed and took Jessie into his arms. Lord, it was good to hold her again.
Wearily, Jessica took a seat in the parlor. They were about to have another horrid family dinner. Because her grandfather was to be in attendance, Jessica had come down for the pre-dinner gathering, something she usually tried to avoid. With her hand on the doorknob, she had heard another of Hugh's pleas to Penelope to watch her spending. As Je
ssica entered, Penelope retaliated by staring pointedly at her husband's head and telling him that he should purchase a toupee.
Hugh flushed and sputtered.
"I'm serious, Hugh,” said Penelope. “If you don't do something about your hair, people will think you're my father instead of my husband. I saw an ad in the newspaper just the other day. You cut a piece of paper to the size of your bald spot, snip some of your own hair or at least describe it so that the toupee will blend with what you have left, and then send the whole thing in with the money; I've forgotten how much."
"Penelope, I am not going to wear a toupee."
"I really must insist, Hugh."
"Oh, leave the poor man alone, Penelope,” snapped Oliver Duplessis, who had come into the room in time to hear the end of the conversation.
"I don't see what business it is of yours, Father,” said Penelope.
"Enough!” snapped Oliver. “I'm too old to listen to such foolishness."
Jessica couldn't believe her mother had spoken so disrespectfully to Grandfather Duplessis. If Jessica had spoken like that to Justin, he'd probably have taken her across his knee, no matter what her age.
"And speaking of the newspaper—” Penelope glared at Jessica “—a friend of mine said she saw an article in the Gazette written by you, Jessica. I told her that it couldn't be so, that you'd never do such a thing without first consulting me. However, when she mentioned the subject—feathers, ridiculous opinions on feathers—I knew, to my horror, that it was true."
"Why are you horrified, Penelope?” asked Travis. “I'm very proud of Jessica.” He ignored the ugly look his mother-in-law gave him, although he knew that each time he disagreed with her, he risked her enmity. In this case, he couldn't resist. “It's not every woman who can get published in the newspaper regularly."
"Regularly? You've had more than one article in the paper?” Penelope's voice rose with an edge of hysteria. “This is really too much, Jessica. I don't know what could have motivated you to take up such an unsuitable pastime."
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