But why in God's name hadn't he told her before? As he left the house, he realized that since his father's death, he'd gotten out of the habit of thinking in terms of love. Survival? Yes. Revenge? Yes. Love? He sighed bitterly. For seventeen years he hadn't even believed in it. Until Jess. And now he'd lost it again—but not for good, he promised himself. Unlike his father, she was alive, and he'd get her back! Penelope and Hugh wouldn't take Jess away from him. And the baby. Oh, God, if she was carrying his child, the shock of all this might hurt them both.
Of course, the idea of a child might be wishful thinking. Maybe the idea that she'd forgive him and come back was wishful thinking too. Travis hunched his shoulders against the falling snow and walked away from the Greshams’ house on West Seventh Street as he'd once walked away from their bank seventeen years ago.
Chapter Fifteen
Jessica awoke with swollen eyes and an aching head, confused for a moment as to what had caused this feeling of black gloom. Then she turned to the smooth pillow beside her and remembered: Travis was gone. She closed her eyes tight against the sting of returning tears; she would not cry again for him, not when she had been such a fool to love him in the first place. In two weeks, only two weeks, he had weaned her from her family, won her love, and delivered her to Penelope, a woman he hated and despised. Then for four long months she had allowed herself to be duped by him and browbeaten by Penelope—all because she was befuddled by love. Well, no more!
Jessica clenched her fists and rose to dress. She had work to do—no, to supervise. She didn't want to handle Travis's belongings herself, didn't want to touch clothes that had been on his body. The maids would have to do the actual packing. With her chin held at a resolute angle, she oversaw the whole project, hiding her shame as they cast sidelong glances at her.
Under the brave front, she wondered what would happen to her now. She certainly wouldn't succumb to Travis's importunities, if he bothered to make any more. She couldn't imagine why he had wanted her to leave Penelope's with him, unless it had been guilty conscience speaking. If so, he'd get over that soon enough. As for her mother, no doubt Penelope, who had taken Jessica in only to spite Justin Harte, would now delight in sending her back. Even if Penelope didn't insist that Jessica leave, Hugh would. All those financial troubles he seemed to be having—Travis must have orchestrated them.
When they asked her to leave, where was she to go? she wondered anxiously. Not home. She had deserted her family for Travis, and although she had heard from Anne, Frannie, and her brothers, there had been no word from her father. Very likely he had been glad to get rid of her once more. He'd hardly want her back under his roof. She had no one to go to, and she wasn't foolish enough to think she could make her own way on what she earned writing for the newspaper. Nor did she feel that she could demand the inheritance left by her grandmother, the rendering of which would cause more financial problems for her father, who had already lost money by selling his bank shares because of her.
That left her legal training. Could she—no, Henry Barnett had refused her once. He'd hardly want to employ someone who'd shown such poor judgment, who had been so easily tricked. How astute he had been to refuse when she asked to work for him. She could end up as destitute as Travis had been after his father's death. He'd probably consider that poetic justice.
"Miz Jessica, what now?” asked Betty, pointing to the pile of suitcases, boxes, and parcels.
What indeed? Jessica wondered. She could not afford to hire a vehicle to take the things to his hotel. Part of her most recent payment from the newspaper had been spent on gifts for Penelope and Hugh because she had been convinced by her mother that homemade gifts would not do. With the rest she had bought an additional gift for Travis, a handsome cowhide money belt with four different compartments. It was such an ingenious item that at the time she had been unable to resist, thinking how useful it would be when he traveled. Now she wished that she could get back what she had spent on it.
"Don't look like that, miss,” said Betty sympathetically. “I could ask Tommy. The missus ain't due back till afternoon. No reason he couldn't run your errand."
Jessica, weak with relief that Travis would have no excuse to come to the house, could only nod.
"You just lie down, miss. You do look pale. Me an’ Lulu, we'll see to this. Where you want it sent?"
The maids would know that Travis had left the house, but now she had to acknowledge the end of her marriage. “To Mr. Travis at the Worth Hotel. If he's not there—” a flash of bitterness suggested that he might have gone to Fannie Porter's “—have it delivered to Mr. Joe Ray Brock. He is there."
"Don't hover at the door like a frightened rabbit, Jessica. Come in."
Jessica knew she hadn't been doing any such thing. She might be worried about her future, but she was no longer afraid of Penelope. She did, however, dislike her mother. By now Jessica had resolved in her own mind the question of why Penelope hadn't kept her baby after the divorce. Penelope, no doubt, hadn't cared one way or another what happened to Jessica.
"Travis certainly had you fooled, didn't he, dear?” trilled Penelope.
"No more than you,” Jessica replied.
"Me? Why, he's always been charming to me. I rather suspect he finds me attractive."
"He hates you as much as he does Hugh,” said Jessica flatly. Had Penelope really imagined Travis a bit in love with her? Obviously her mother had been almost as big a fool about him as Jessica herself had. Shivering, Jessica wondered if Travis hated her the way he did Penelope. Had he been hating her when he proposed, during the wedding ceremony, while they made love? Had he felt revulsion every time he touched her?
"Really, Jessica, just because he used you doesn't mean—"
"You were evidently very nasty to him when he was a child and even worse to his father,” said Jessica.
"Nasty?” exclaimed Penelope. “What a word to use. I'm never—"
"Did he tell you what else he's done against us?” asked Hugh urgently.
"No,” said Jessica. Hugh at least seemed to have some grasp of reality. Her mother had none.
"He was a very dirty little boy,” said Penelope disdainfully. “I remember him."
"Are you sure he didn't give you any idea of what else he's been up to?” Hugh demanded.
Jessica shook her head.
"For heaven's sake, Hugh,” said Penelope impatiently, “what else could he have done?"
"Nothing,” Hugh muttered, but to Jessica he looked frightened.
"You might feel sorry for poor Jessica,” said Penelope. “Think of how humiliated she's feeling—courted and married by a man whose only interest was revenge.” She slanted a condescending glance at Jessica. “Now she'll have to go crawling back to her father, and you can be sure Justin won't be very sympathetic. Naturally, Travis won't have any further use for her now that his secret is out. I don't want to make you feel bad, Jessica, but it's always best to face the truth, no matter how unpleasant."
"Actually, Travis wanted me to go with him,” said Jessica.
"You mean he wanted to stay here with you?” Penelope was frowning, two sharp pleats in her smooth forehead.
"No, he wanted me to leave with him. He insisted that we had a good marriage,” said Jessica drearily.
"Well, you're not going off with him,” snapped Penelope. “You'll stay right here."
"Penelope!” Hugh protested.
"Don't say a word, Hugh. He's not going to have it all his own way. We'll keep Jessica."
Jessica was momentarily confused at the about-face. Just a minute before, Penelope had intended to send Jessica back to a dubious welcome from her father. Now she evidently wanted to spite Travis by keeping his wife away from him. Well, why not? thought Jessica bitterly. She might as well take the free room and board until she got on her feet. It would help make up for all the unpleasantness she'd suffered at Penelope's hands, and if Travis was worried about her staying here, all the better.
"Do stop fretting
, Hugh,” Penelope was saying. “He'll have to support her. In fact, I think he should support her lavishly. You can handle the money."
Jessica shook her head and suppressed a wry smile. Penelope was going to be disappointed, because Jessica had no intention of asking for or accepting a penny from her treacherous husband. She could make enough money writing to pay for her food here, she had plenty of clothes, and she'd look for ways to make more money, enough to leave before Penelope got tired of her and demanded her departure.
Jessica sat on the straight-backed chair in her bedroom and stared broodingly at the Remington typewriter, her Christmas present from Travis. They had opened gifts that morning after breakfast, many for Penelope, a few for Jessica and Hugh. Of course, Jessica had received presents from her family in Weatherford, things she treasured, but she had opened those discreetly in her own room the night before while Penelope was entertaining downstairs.
Interestingly, Jessica was no longer required to attend Penelope's parties. Perhaps a married daughter with no husband on the premises was a social embarrassment, or perhaps Penelope saw Jessica's exclusion as a punishment. Whatever the reasons, Jessica had no quarrel with the situation; she was not feeling sociable. In fact, she would have valued the free time to write, but some days she was so depressed that she could hardly force herself to the all-important task of earning money to tide her over when Penelope asked her to leave. Soon enough Penelope would discover that Travis had left town and realize that her support of Jessica had become an empty gesture. Jessica herself had discovered his absence within the last hour.
Her mother and stepfather had departed to make holiday calls as soon as the last ribbon was removed from the last gift. As she prepared to leave, Penelope had said, “Oh, Jessica, there's another gift for you in the seat of the hat rack, a huge, unwieldy thing. I believe it's from your husband.” She was in front of the hall mirror adjusting a hat as big as a tea tray with a whole bird, among other decorations, perched on its brim. “Travis brought it in the very night we all discovered just why he'd married you.” Penelope had smiled sweetly and allowed Hugh to help her into a fashionable coat trimmed in fur. “You might as well have it since you've nothing else to show for your very brief marriage."
With that, Penelope and Hugh had left, and Jessica, torn between bitterness and curiosity, had peeked under the hinged seat. Curiosity won, and she undid enough of the paper to reveal the typewriter. She was overwhelmed by a tide of conflicting emotions.
Made forceful by anger, she had interrupted the Christmas festivities of the servants and insisted that Penelope's driver return the typewriter to Mr. Parnell at the Worth Hotel. Grumbling, Tommy had tried to do so, but he'd been told that Mr. Travis Parnell had checked out, leaving no indication that he might return and no forwarding address.
Somehow the news had seemed more than Jessica could bear, and, close to tears, she realized that she had been secretly hoping for a reconciliation, hoping that he would convince her of his good intentions as he had at the time of their elopement.
"Shall I take it upstairs, miss?” asked Tommy, the driver.
"You might as well,” Jessica muttered. She trailed him to her room and stared at the machine with more hostility than any mere object warranted. Then she sat down in front of it and set about learning its operation. As Penelope had said, Jessica might as well get something out of her marriage. Three hours later, having read a booklet enclosed with the machine, she had her eyes tightly closed while she attempted to depress the proper keys with the proper fingers. It seemed to her that they might have made the whole process easier by lettering the keys in order instead of at random as they seemed to be.
"Miss Jessica, Mr. Duplessis is downstairs,” said Lulu from the door to the bedroom.
Jessica opened her eyes. “Lulu, I don't want to see anyone."
"Miss Jessica, I ain't gonna tell Miz Gresham's papa no one wants to see him on Christmas day. He looked fit to be tied when he heard you was here an’ them wasn't. He said you was to git your warmest wrap an’ git on downstairs, or he'd come up an’ git you hisself, an’ Mr. Duplessis, he don't like stairs. He has to climb them stairs after you, well, I ain't gonna be around to hear what he says. I'm goin’ straight down the back way to the kitchen, an’ I'm stayin’ there, ‘cause if you think your mama's mean, you ain't seen Mr. Duplessis when he's done been crossed. Some folks say he ain't smiled in twenny years; that's what some folks say. Here's your wrap, an’ Merry Christmas to you. Miss Jessica.” With that Lulu left and closed the door firmly behind her. Jessica, seeing no escape, tied her mantle and descended the stairs with feet dragging.
"Where's your husband, girl?” was Oliver Duplessis’ greeting.
Oh, Lord, no one had told him.
"Not dead is he?"
"No, sir,” said Jessica, and once they were tucked into her grandfather's buggy, she allowed him to drag the story out of her.
"Not surprised to hear Hugh's business practices have caught up with him,” muttered the old man. “Still, there's no reason for you to break up your marriage over it. Travis doesn't blame you, does he?"
"I guess not, but he only married me because he planned to use me."
"Pride? Is that what's hurting you? Doesn't beat you, does he? Doesn't speak hard to you as far as I can see."
"No, but—"
"It would take a pretty angry man to marry a woman he didn't like at all."
"I'd never be able to trust him,” whispered Jessica miserably.
"He strikes me as a smart boy—and reliable,” said Oliver. “I'm an old man and a good judge of people. Hugh Gresham I wouldn't trust."
Jessica turned surprised eyes to her grandfather.
"Never have. Now, Travis Parnell—I'm inclined to trust that boy. Of course, I'll have to see. I'm not a man to go off half-cocked, but you should give him the benefit of the doubt."
Jessica shook her head. How could she ever put any faith in Travis again?
"He supporting you?"
"He's left town,” said Jessica.
"He'll be back."
"It doesn't matter. I don't want anything from him."
"So what are your plans? Going back to Justin? No? Going to let Hugh and Penelope take care of you? I'm not sure I'd bank on those two. Oh, Hugh will keep you as long as my daughter tells him to, but Penelope's too changeable to count on."
"I'm trying to write and sell more articles,” said Jessica, her pride stung. “And I'm—I'm going to look for work."
"Doing what?"
"Something to put my education to use."
"What, embroidery and piano playing? You're no great shakes as a musician, girl."
"Law,” said Jessica shortly. When her grandfather looked puzzled, she told him about her education.
"Never heard of such a thing,” Oliver muttered. “You studied law? Any other girls doing that? No, I thought not. Well, there's something to think about. You'll have your Christmas dinner with me since your mother saw fit to go off and leave you. Here, Bull, help me out.” They had come to a stop in front of his large, gloomy house overlooking the river on Samuels Avenue.
They ate dinner in silence. Occasionally Jessica wondered what her grandfather was thinking about as he sat at the other end of the long table frowning at his plate. Mostly, however, she thought about her own problems and her grandfather's surprising opinion that she should return to her husband—as if she could if she wanted to. Travis, seeing no profit in hanging around Fort Worth, was long gone.
"Know anything about business?” Oliver Duplessis asked abruptly.
"Only as it concerns law, plus what I've learned from listening to men."
"I'm getting old,” said her grandfather. “No sons, no grandsons. Just you, girl."
Jessica's lips thinned. No doubt a granddaughter was a disappointment to a wealthy man.
"So you'll come to work for me."
Jessica's heart plunged. She knew the lot of unmarried daughters and deserted wives. They became fixtu
res in the homes of wealthy relatives, keeping house and caring for the children, the sick, and the elderly, unpaid domestics on the periphery of family life. The least they could hope for a kind word now and then or a small bequest in someone's will to tide them over in their own old age. Was this what her grandfather had in mind when he said she was to work for him? Was this to be the end of all her studies and her dreams? “Doing what?” she whispered.
"Conducting business. What else?"
Jessica's eyes flew open.
"I told you I've no sons. You're a smart girl; we'll see how you take to business."
"Will you—will you pay me?” she stammered. She didn't want to seem greedy, but female relatives were often expected to work for nothing. She would need money.
Her grandfather was grinning. He was actually grinning at her. And Lulu said he hadn't smiled in twenty years.
"You just asked the right question, girl. Don't give anything away—even in your own family. That's been my motto for years, and I'm glad to see you learned it earlier than I did."
Jessica looked at him in some confusion.
"The answer is yes, I'll pay you. You do a good job for me, girl, and you won't want for money."
Jessica felt faint with relief. She would no longer be dependent on Penelope's erratic good will. She'd have a job! A salary! And she'd earn every penny of it. Never would her grandfather come to regret his generosity. Eyes shining, she tried to express her thanks, but he waved the words aside.
"Get Bull,” Oliver instructed the maid. “Miss Jessica's going home now.” Then he turned back to Jessica. “Be at my offices tomorrow morning at eight. Know where they are? Good. Be on time. I can't abide lateness."
He never asked, Jessica reflected, only commanded. Her grandfather wasn't going to be an easy man to work for, but still she felt as if someone had lifted a dark drapery aside to let a thin ray of light into the room of her life.
Travis leaned his head back against the upholstery of the train seat and closed his eyes, thinking, thinking. Once he left Jessica alone in the Greshams’ house, he couldn't get out of his mind the accusation Justin Harte had made against his first wife. It had sounded so unbelievable at the time—that Penelope had tried to smother her own baby. Why would she have done such a thing? How had it escaped the gossip mill then and later? Yet, Justin hadn't expected him to take the story on faith; he'd said to ask Calliope.
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