Virgin Fire

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  Jessica too had spoken of Calliope, whom she had known since babyhood, whom she loved and trusted. The colored woman had been her nurse. Calliope still lived out at the Rocking T, Anne Harte's ranch in Parker County. Finally, on Christmas day when he couldn't get Jessica off his mind—Jessica by herself with those two vipers, unprotected from possible harm and separated from the family she loved—Travis decided to follow up that accusation. He'd gone to Weatherford, stayed the night in the hotel, rented a horse the next day, and ridden to the ranch, much relieved to find the family elsewhere. He would not like to explain to Justin Harte why he wasn't with Jessica during the holiday season. Fortunately, his luck was holding in this one matter; old Calliope had been there.

  "So you Jessie's young man,” she had said, looking him over with wise, ancient eyes. “She's mah baby, that one. More'n any the others. Ah birthed her. Course, Ah birthed Miss Penelope too, but Ah turned mah back on that one."

  "Why?” asked Travis.

  "Never you mind. Old, sad tales, they best forgotten. Mistah Justin right about that."

  "Justin told me to come to you. To ask you about why he took Jessica away from her mother."

  "Why Mistah Justin want me to tell you somethin’ he don't want no one to know?” she asked, her wrinkled eyelids lowering suspiciously over sharp eyes.

  "Because Jessica and I have been living with Penelope Gresham, and—"

  "Livin’ with Miss Penelope? Mah baby livin’ in harm's path?"

  "So Mr. Harte said. He told me a story I couldn't believe, and when I didn't, he said to ask you."

  "Oh, mah.” Calliope rocked agitatedly. “Don’ let her stay in that house. Miss Penelope, she got a devil in her. Ah seen it once, an’ Ah don’ wanna hear it riz agin."

  "What did you see?” asked Travis.

  "The pilla,” said Calliope. “I seen her press the pilla on the baby's face. Fo’ months an’ months we ‘fraid. Miss Anne an’ me an’ Mistah Justin, we scart Miss Penelope mighta killed that baby or make her simple. Din’ happen. Miss Jessie, she smarter'n all them, but Miss Penelope, she try to kill that baby."

  Travis had felt a surge of horror and fear. “Why?” he asked.

  "No reason atall. Jus’ pure selfishness. Mistah Justin, he ‘spected her to be a mothah to her chile, an’ she din’ wanna. She wanna go inta Fort Worth to her papa an’ buy fancy clothes an’ go dancin’ an’ flirtin’ like she allus done. Some folks got God in them, an’ it keeps them folks good, but some ain't got nothin', an’ that's Miss Penelope. She ain't got nothin’ in her but wantin'. She wants ever'thin', don't give nothin'."

  It was too accurate an assessment of Penelope's character for Travis to ignore. He returned to Fort Worth desperate to convince Jessica that she must follow him away from that house. In just a few days the Hamils and their crew would start drilling again outside Beaumont, and the Lucas well would come in. Travis knew it in his bones. When that happened, he'd have to go, and Jessica would have to go with him. It was the only safe option for her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jessica ran down the stairs as fast as she could, a large muff that held various necessities clutched in one hand, her warmest hooded mantle slung over the other arm. She barely had time for breakfast and the walk downtown to her grandfather's place of business, but when she glanced up from the gleaming oak steps, Travis confronted her at the bottom. What was he doing in Penelope's entrance hall? She jerked to a halt and stared at him helplessly, swallowing back a wave of regret. He looked so wonderful, his face ruddy from the cold December air, his black hair ruffled by the biting wind she would soon have to face herself.

  "Jess,” he said softly.

  She forced her mouth to close in a tight line. This was the man who had betrayed her love; she had nothing to say to him.

  "We have to talk."

  Jessica shook her head, and Travis's gentle expression hardened. He closed long fingers on the soft blue wool of her sleeve and hauled her abruptly through the double doors of the drawing room. “Sit down,” he ordered. Having little choice without making an embarrassing scene, she sat, choosing the least comfortable chair in the room. Travis towered over her for a minute, then turned restlessly.

  "Jessica, I know you're very upset, although it seems to me that you've been better off since we married than before."

  "You think living here in Penelope's house has been pleasant?” she snapped, then silently berated herself for answering at all.

  "You're still here, aren't you?” he retorted.

  Jessica closed her mouth and turned her head.

  "Damn it, Jess,” he muttered, recognizing that look. Then he took a deep, calming breath. “Jessica, you can't stay here."

  "Really? Where do you expect me to go?” she asked.

  "With me."

  "No."

  "Look, there's something about Penelope that you should know."

  Jessica gave him a cynical look.

  "You wondered why, when they divorced, you went with your father instead of with her."

  Although her curiosity was piqued, Jessica remained stubbornly silent.

  "Justin wouldn't let her near you again because she tried to suffocate you.” He caught her look of outrage and sighed with relief. Now she'd go with him, and he wouldn't have to be terrified for her safety. “So you see, you can't stay here; you've got to leave with me."

  "Travis, that is really contemptible, to make up such a story. I realize that my mother is not the most agreeable person in the world, but to say—to expect me to believe such a—such a..."

  "It's the truth,” he insisted.

  "Is it indeed? And how long have you known this?"

  "Your father told me shortly after we were married,” Travis admitted reluctantly.

  "Then why have I been living here four months if you're so concerned for my safety?"

  "I didn't believe him.” What had seemed an irrefutable argument for reclaiming his wife was going awry.

  "I see. As long as it served your interests to live here, my father was a liar. Now when, for whatever underhanded reasons, you don't want me here anymore—"

  "Jessica, I don't want you here because it's dangerous."

  "It was dangerous before, if you're telling the truth—not that I think you are. First you separated me from my father and stepmother. Now you want to separate me from my mother too,” she accused bitterly. “Well, you're wasting your efforts this time, Travis. I seriously doubt that you'd be causing Penelope any grief if you managed to come between us."

  "Jessica, I'm not here to make trouble for Penelope."

  "You don't think accusing her of attempted murder is making trouble?"

  "I can't protect you here."

  Jessica sighed. “You're the one I need protection from."

  Had she looked up, she would have seen her husband's face twist with pain. “Jess, if you won't come with me, at least go home to your mother and father in Weatherford."

  "You've made that impossible."

  "You know they'd take you back."

  "I wouldn't ask them—not after flouting their wishes the way I did. And why?” she asked bitterly, then answered her own question. “Because I was so stupid as to believe you wanted to marry me for myself. I should have known better. I should have known your proposal had something to do with money."

  "Jess, don't do this, sweetheart. We had a happy marriage. We still could if you'd only—"

  "I'm going to tell the servants you're not to be allowed in this house."

  Travis searched his mind desperately for some way to protect her. At the very least he had to get her away from Penelope. “How about this, Jess? I'll get you a house of your own and give you an allowance so that you'll be able to buy whatever you need."

  "And where will you be,” she asked cynically, “while I'm living in that house and spending your money?"

  He sighed. “In Beaumont most likely.” A flash of anguish shone briefly in her eyes, and he took heart. “I won't say I don't hope
to end our separation, Jessica."

  So that was it. He wasn't worried about her safety. He still thought he could use her against her family somehow.

  "I mean to have you back, but I understand that you need time. This way I can give it to you and keep you out of Penelope's clutches."

  "Go away, Travis,” she said wearily.

  "Do you really want to be beholden to Penelope?” he demanded desperately.

  "I'm independent now,” she said with some pride.

  "Oh?” Travis frowned. “Did your father give you that money you inherited from your grandmother?"

  Money and revenge, she thought despondently. Those were the forces that turned his wheels. He wanted Cassandra's money. How had he found out about it? There seemed to be no end to his treachery. “My grandfather gave me a job.” Let Travis try to profit from that.

  "Wonderful!” he exclaimed, much relieved. “Why don't you move in with him?"

  "Because he hasn't asked me,” snapped Jessica. Did Travis hope to get something from her grandfather?

  "Suggest it."

  "I won't.” The knock at the drawing-room door came as a great relief. Rescue was at hand. “Come in,” she called.

  "Miss, Cook says your breakfast is ready,” Lulu announced.

  "Oh, thank you, Lulu. Would you show Mr. Parnell to the door? He was just going.” Jessica rose immediately, skirted around the maid, and hastened out into the hall without even saying good-bye to her husband. She couldn't; her eyes were full of tears, and she didn't want him to see.

  "Jessica, did you really allow Travis Parnell in this house?” Penelope asked that evening.

  Jessica looked up from the material she had been reading on the lumber business. “No, he was in the entrance hall when I came downstairs to breakfast. I don't know who let him in,” Jessica replied calmly.

  "You know what I mean, and take those dreadful glasses off your nose, young lady."

  "I can't read without them,” said Jessica, “and Grandfather expects me to become conversant with this material."

  "What did Travis want?” Penelope demanded.

  "He wanted me to move out of your house."

  "Where?"

  "With him, or back with my father, or into a house of my own. He even suggested that I ask Grandfather to take me in. He seems to think I'm in danger here.” Jessica studied her mother for some sign.

  "Danger?” Penelope's fingers interlaced nervously. “Whatever could that mean?” Penelope stared at Jessica, an aggressive light gleaming in her eyes. “You know the man's a liar. You're not to believe anything he says."

  Jessica knew that she could no longer trust her husband, that in essence he had lied to her, but Penelope sounded almost threatening. Jessica shivered, then told herself that she was being silly. Penelope was just angry that Travis had returned. No mother would—would try to hurt her own baby. Not even Penelope. That story had to be a lie.

  "You're not to see him again. I'll tell the servants."

  "I already have,” said Jessica, once again facing a future from which her husband would be absent. During the days, she managed to stay so busy with her grandfather's concerns that she could forget how much she missed Travis. However, at night when there was no more work to be done, when she lay alone in their bed, her body restless with longing, she missed him dreadfully. In sleep she dreamed of him, sometimes disturbingly erotic dreams. How could she still want a man who had used her so cold-bloodedly?

  "We'll put an end to his hopes,” said Penelope, her eyes narrowed in calculation. “Tomorrow. I have a party to attend tonight. New Year's Eve. Are you going anywhere?"

  Jessica stared, astonished, at her mother. Where would she be going?

  "You really didn't make any friends of your own, did you?” Penelope smiled. “Pity. Well, I'll have to take a hand. We can't have Mr. Parnell thinking he can get you back. No, if that's what he wants, I'll have to do something about him—and you."

  Jessica thought her mother seemed stranger than usual. Penelope, who often stayed in her room until noon, had waylaid Jessica in the hall before she went off to work and demanded that she go back upstairs to the tub room. It took Jessica five minutes to convince Penelope that she really had to be at her grandfather's offices.

  "You'll never get a husband that way,” Penelope muttered darkly.

  "In the eyes of the law I already have a husband,” Jessica replied. Could her mother have forgotten Travis already? Had she been dosing herself at this hour with that tonic that made one feel so peculiar? Jessica literally tore herself from Penelope's grip and escaped, only to find her mother waiting for her when she got home, demanding again that they go upstairs immediately. Too tired to argue, Jessica followed with Betty, who had been commandeered to come as well.

  "First, we're going to fix your hair,” said Penelope.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The color. Get out of your dress. Betty, have you made up the rinse?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Dreadful color,” muttered Penelope, staring at Jessica's hair, “but we'll fix it."

  Jessica was beginning to feel alarmed.

  "Nothing to worry about, miss,” said Betty soothingly. “It's just a lemon rinse. Used it for years on Miz Gresham's hair afore it turned gray."

  "Shut up, Betty,” snapped Penelope.

  "But I don't want—” Jessica got no further. Between her mother and the maid, she found herself stripped to her petticoat and having her hair washed with some shampoo of her mother's, then rinsed in Betty's rinse, and finally brushed dry. As tired as she was, the attention was a luxury under which she could have fallen asleep if she hadn't been receiving a series of lectures on beauty care from her mother—lotions she must rub into her skin on various occasions, perfumed soap and shampoo to make her smell enticing, and, when her hair was dry, lessons on how to put it up. Penelope produced rats and switches; Betty showed her how to use them to produce a stylish pompadour that flattered her face and emphasized her large blue eyes.

  "Keep your eyes open, Jessica,” her mother ordered. “They're your best feature. You'll never attract suitors if you don't use them."

  "Mother, I can't have suitors."

  "Don't contradict me,” said Penelope.

  Betty and Jessica looked at one another, and Betty shrugged as if to say, What can you expect?

  "Well, the color's better,” said Penelope, inspecting Jessica's hair critically, “and it will continue to get better as long as you use the rinse."

  Jessica looked closely herself and thought that her hair did look blonder, which could be rather embarrassing. What if someone noticed and asked what she had been doing to it? She'd be humiliated to have anyone think she dyed her hair.

  "It ain't dye, you know,” Betty whispered. “Most blonde ladies do it."

  "They do? But I'm not blonde."

  "Enough chatter. Take the hair down. Jessica has to learn to do it herself since my hair is your primary responsibility, Betty."

  Jessica had to reassemble the style three times herself, drawing her hair up over the rats, placing the tortoiseshell and amber combs to hold it in place, making curls on the sides around her face. Only when she had mastered the technique did Penelope allow her to go to bed, and no one offered her any dinner. Penelope drank hers, muttering all the while that her life was extremely difficult, more difficult than she deserved, the difficulties being the imposition of having to improve someone else's looks, someone with absolutely no concept of the responsibilities entailed in maintaining an attractive appearance; personal ill health, which Penelope combated with alarming quantities of medicine, rendering herself largely incoherent by bedtime; and the disappointment about which she talked the most, the proposed change of Harper's Bazaar, a magazine which Penelope read devotedly, from a weekly to a monthly. Since Jessica never read the magazine, she couldn't quite see the change as a major tragedy.

  Travis had received the word he had been expecting for ten days. The Lucas well had come in at Spin
dletop, a monster well, bigger than anything anyone had ever seen. His source had been wild with excitement, babbling about an explosion as soon as the drill went down on the morning of the tenth—a huge fountain of mud, rocks, gas, tons of pipe, and finally oil, shooting hundreds of feet into the sky, nearly drowning the Hamils and their crew, stampeding cattle for miles around, thousands of barrels a day flowing up from one well, so much they couldn't even estimate the flow, had never seen such a well, couldn't cap it.

  Travis knew he had to get down there. He wanted to, but he had unfinished business, and he couldn't get in to see Jessica, either at the Greshams’ or at her grandfather's place of business. Finally Travis decided that he'd have to settle for seeing her grandfather, who would be interested in the news from Beaumont. On that pretext he managed to talk his way into the old man's house.

  "The well came in,” he announced abruptly to Duplessis.

  Oliver's eyes lit up with interest.

  "Bigger than anything this country's ever seen—some say five times, some ten. Spindletop's going to be a very important field, but if I'm any judge of where the oil is, it's going to be on the hill, not on the land surrounding it."

  "Which means?"

  "It means you want to sell off the surrounding stuff at the highest price you can get while oil fever's still high but before people begin to notice the dry wells on the plain. Hang onto your land on the hill. Sour Lake might be good too if you own anything out there. The water smells bad enough to turn your stomach, and there's oil seep and gas in the area."

  "And why should I trust your advice?” Oliver asked. “The way I hear it, you've got a grudge against my family. Might be you want to see me take a big loss."

  Travis stretched his boots out in front of his chair and gave the old man a straight glance. “Told you to hang onto the land, didn't I? If I'd wanted to do you an ill turn, I'd have offered to buy it myself or advised you to sell to Lucas when he was trying to fill in their holdings on the mound."