"I still don't know why you'd do me a good turn when you want to do my daughter ill."
"I've no quarrel with you; I do with her. Anyway, I want a favor from you."
The old man laughed. “Forward young fella, aren't you? What favor?"
"I have to go to Beaumont. I want you to look after Jessica for me. By the way, I appreciate your giving her a job since she won't accept support from me."
"What did you offer her?” asked Duplessis curiously.
"I wanted to take her with me, but she hasn't got over thinking I used her."
"Didn't you?"
"I was a good husband and had every intention of continuing to be. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. She won't have anything to do with me—yet."
"Think she'll change her mind?"
"Maybe. In the meantime, I offered to get her a house here and make her a generous allowance. She wouldn't have it, so I'm grateful that she has a salary coming in from you and a job to take her mind off her—” he sighed, looking troubled “—her unhappiness. But I don't want her living in your daughter's house."
"Not surprising,” said Oliver. “Penelope's not liable to advance your cause with Jessica, that is if you're serious about getting the girl back."
"Oh, I'm serious. Jessica and I had a good marriage, and we will again. Nor am I worried about Penelope influencing her. I'm worried about Penelope hurting her."
"Hurting her how?” asked Oliver, frowning.
"Maybe like she did before."
"Don't know what you mean,” said the old man
"You must have known why Justin Harte divorced her,” said Travis. Was the old man really ignorant of the story Calliope had told?
"They didn't get along. Chalk and cheese, those two. My daughter hated ranch life. Justin hated—"
"There was more to it than that. I'm only asking you to protect your granddaughter. She could live here with you."
The old man grunted.
"She's a smart girl, kind, good-tempered. You'd enjoy her company."
"Doubt she'd want to stay with an old man,” said Oliver.
"She's not that happy with her mother, I can tell you. She was after me to move out before we separated."
"And you didn't. Doesn't it strike you as hypocritical to be asking me to protect her? If you really believe what you've been saying, you kept her in a place you thought was dangerous."
Travis flushed. “At least think it over."
"You think it over. You're the one who's leaving your wife to go chasing after oil wells."
"It's my business,” said Travis.
"I've always thought husbands and wives were each other's business."
"Then tell her to come with me to Spindletop."
"We'll see,” said Oliver. “We'll see."
"We haven't heard from you in a month.” Hamlet Arleigh had caught Travis at the Worth just before his departure.
"And you won't,” Travis replied with satisfaction. The only good thing to come out of his problems with Jess was that Hamlet Arleigh could no longer blackmail him.
"You know what's going to happen if you don't cooperate,” said the Pinkerton man threateningly.
"Sure. You're going to tell my wife something she already knows."
Hartwig whistled between his teeth. “How'd that happen?"
"Joe Ray Brock came to dinner,” said Travis grimly.
"Damn.” The lieutenant looked sincerely distressed. “Sorry about that, amigo. She kick you out?” Travis nodded. “Guess you liked her pretty well, after all."
"Guess I did,” said Travis. “Anyway, you're on your own, Abe, and I'm on my way to Beaumont."
"Double damn,” said Hartwig. “Not that you ever turned up much of anything."
Travis grinned. The lieutenant had once been his friend. In fact, the man had led him to Jessica, even if it had been for the wrong reasons. “Good luck with Gresham, Abe,” said Travis. “Oh, and you might keep your eye on the depositors’ accounts at Cattleman's."
"You know something?” asked Hamlet Arleigh. “It's your duty—"
"Go to hell!” Travis snapped. Then he turned to Hartwig. “It's just a hunch, but I'd keep it in mind if I were you."
Chapter Seventeen
Travis was gone. He'd left town to follow the lure of a new oil field in Beaumont, which was hundreds of miles away. Although Jessica knew that she might never see him again and that she had to forget him, she thought of her husband constantly. The memory of her misguided happiness with him was a cloud of anguish overhanging all other concerns. She rode the streetcars from one end of town to the other, calling on her grandfather's customers, taking and expediting their lumber and hardware orders. She had noticed, with a rush of cynicism, that her sales had doubled since Penelope had taken charge of her appearance. Unfortunately, neither her improved appearance nor her business success was any consolation.
The weather in January and February turned as cold and gloomy as her heart. Every day she watched the unfortunate motormen shivering on their frigid open platforms and jumping off to run alongside the slow-moving cars for the warmth the exertion gave them, and she remembered Travis and the happy Labor Day they'd had—telling stories with the electric-car drivers and the police and firemen. Some of the drivers remembered her and asked after her husband. What could she say? He was gone.
In the evenings when she came home, tired from her long working day, she had to dress in elaborate new clothes and poke fashionable ornaments into the new hair style Penelope insisted upon. She wondered what Travis would have thought of her hair with its golden highlights and chic coiffure and of the new gowns Penelope insisted on buying. Then when her mother dragged her off to dinners, dances, and theater performances and introduced her to dozens of eligible young men, Jessica compared them to Travis, who was so much more interesting and so much handsomer, and she wondered why Penelope insisted on all this social activity.
When Jessica dropped into bed at night, too exhausted to think of him any more, she fell asleep and dreamed of him, dreamed of his hands and mouth and body on hers. Sometimes she awoke weeping in the middle of the night, wondering if he had found a woman in Beaumont, but she never cried when she was awake. Pride kept her stoic.
One evening Jessica protested her inclusion in yet another social occasion, pointing out that all the introductions to eligible bachelors were futile since she was a married woman.
"But, Jessica,” said Penelope, “you're going to divorce Travis. When I've found a suitable second husband for you, we'll see to it. I anticipate that Mr. Parnell will be very upset to find himself cast aside by an heiress, especially one who is now reasonably attractive. In fact, I'd love to see his face when he gets the news that he's been discarded, without half accomplishing his purpose in marrying you."
Penelope looked gleefully smug. Jessica felt sick. Divorce Travis? As long as they were still married, there was the hope that some miracle might reunite them. But she couldn't think that way. No woman of pride would want to hold on to a man who had used her and discarded her as Travis had. He hadn't even sent a note when he left town. As for Penelope, let her spin as many fantasy webs as she pleased; Jessica had no intention of remarrying—ever.
"And speaking of your inheritance, you should let Hugh invest it for you. Gracious, who'd have thought that dreadful Cassandra Harte would ever do anything to benefit me?"
Jessica looked at her mother in astonishment. Penelope knew about the legacy from Grandmother Harte? And how did Cassandra's having left Jessica that portion of land in Palo Pinto benefit Penelope?
"Lord, I hated that woman. I knew what she thought of me—sneering at the house Justin built for me, the furniture we ordered from Chicago, my gowns and furs. She expected me to stay out on his dreadful ranch in a log cabin having babies, cooking for cowboys, making soap and quilts. Just because she was some leathery old pioneer-woman type—"
"I loved my grandmother very much,” said Jessica, unwilling to hear Cassandra vilified.
"Very astute of you, dear. Look how well you did because of it. I never managed to get an inch of their precious land. But now is the time to put your money into something more lucrative. Hugh will be happy to—"
"I don't have any money."
"Then insist that Justin give it to you. And, Jessica, you must make a will. What if something happened to you? Travis would inherit, and you don't want that. Name me as your heir. That would be best."
Jessica watched her mother, now so agitated, pawing through a drawer for her medicine bottle and the pretty quassia cup from which she sipped the potions. Penelope wanted to be named Jessica's heir? Travis's warnings flashed through her mind, and she shivered.
Travis was gone. His absence came home most powerfully when her father arrived one morning before she went to work. Because he looked so grim, she anticipated some very serious complaint or disaster. Otherwise he wouldn't have come to see her at all. “Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Mother's not ill, is she? Or Frannie? Or the boys? Are they all—"
"Fine,” said Justin. “I'm not bringing bad news. We—we've heard that you and your husband are separated."
Jessica nodded unhappily. Had he come to say I told you so?
"I don't know what your financial situation is, but if you need the inheritance from your grandmother...” He paused, spreading his hands in a wordless offer.
Surprised, Jessica remembered Penelope's demand that she get the money and turn it over to Hugh and that she make a will in Penelope's favor. “I'd rather you kept it for me, Papa,” she said hastily. If she didn't have the money from Cassandra, Penelope couldn't—couldn't what? Jessica wasn't sure what she was afraid of. Goodness, Penelope wasn't going to try to kill her. Jessica certainly didn't believe that story.
"I just don't want you dependent on your—ah—mother,” said Justin, his voice gruff. “With you living here, I was afraid—"
"I'm working for my grandfather,” Jessica interrupted. “He pays me well, enough for me to move out if I—if I should want to."
"I see. Good.” Justin frowned. “Parnell's not supporting you?"
"I wouldn't take anything from him,” said Jessica.
"What happened?” her father asked.
She swallowed hard and said, her voice low and pained, “I found out why he married me."
"For money?” Justin guessed.
"Not exactly.” Here was another humiliation she had to suffer. “He married me for revenge on Penelope and Hugh."
"Revenge?” Justin looked astounded. “Why?"
"He says they caused his father's death."
Justin frowned. “Parnell?” He thought for a moment. “I knew a Will Parnell years ago, rode with him during the war when we were boys.” He leaned back in his chair, remembering. “I think he committed suicide—got into serious financial trouble and killed himself. In the early ‘80s it was. I remember wondering why the hell he hadn't come to me if he had problems. I'd have helped him. Is Travis related to Will?"
Jessica nodded. “His son. Hugh called Mr. Parnell's loans, and when he shot himself, Travis found his father's body."
"My God!” muttered Justin. “Travis couldn't have been more than a child when it happened, and he's hated Hugh all these years?” He shook his head. “Will Parnell's son. It's a sad story, but why the hell did he drag you into it?” Justin Harte stared at his daughter for a moment, his face softening. “You're looking pretty, Jessie,” he said.
"Thank you,” she replied, touched by the compliment. “I'm very sorry for the damage my foolishness has cost you. I understand you sold out at the bank because of my marriage."
"If that's the way Hugh runs it, driving good men to suicide when they need help, I reckon I'm well out of it. Besides that, I got a good price, although the scheme didn't accomplish what I'd hoped,” he muttered.
Jessica wanted to ask her father what his aim had been but was afraid to in case it was, as Penelope had said, anger over his daughter's defection.
"I am sorry you've been hurt by all this, Jessica. You know if you need help, Anne and I want to give it.” He cleared his throat and added gruffly, “We love you."
"Thank you, Papa,” said Jessica in a small voice, and she forgot all about bank shares and family feuds. Her father loved her! If he said it, it was true. Unlike her husband, he never lied. Jessica's impulse was to throw herself into Justin Harte's arms and ask to come home, but she was a grown woman, a married woman, for all Travis was gone. She had to stand on her own feet. “I'm—I'm doing very well with Grandfather. He says I have a head for business."
"I'm not surprised,” said Justin. “I reckon you're the smartest of my children. The boys are good ranchers, but they've yet to settle down. Maybe you take after Oliver. We had our differences, but he was always a canny businessman."
"So are you, Papa."
"Fair,” her father admitted, “but I'm a better rancher. Your mother says you take after Cassandra. I reckon the important thing, and it's something I should have recognized years ago, is that you don't take after Penelope. Does she treat you decently?"
Jessica studied his face. According to Travis, it was her father who had first told him that incredible story of attempted murder. Would Justin warn her too, or had Travis made it up? Her father did look worried, but then Justin knew better than most how difficult Penelope could be, which would worry any parent whose child was subjected to her company. “Penelope is—in ill health,” said Jessica slowly. “And difficult."
"I remember,” said Justin. “You can come home, you know."
"Thank you, but—but I chose to leave. I think I must stick with it, put what talents I have to good use."
Her father nodded.
"Will you give my love to Mother and the family?” she asked wistfully.
"I will, and they send theirs to you. Your mother wants you to know how much she appreciates your letters. We all do."
Jessica nodded. She loved theirs too. If only—but there would be no letters from Travis.
"You let him in my house?” Penelope's outrage bordered on hysteria. “What has he been saying about me?"
"Very little,” said Jessica. “He asked if I wanted to come home."
"You're not going back to Justin. You're going to stay here and make an advantageous marriage."
"Penelope, I'm already—"
"Did you ask about the money? Don't look blank. The money from Cassandra."
"It's tied up in land."
"That Buell boy would do,” Penelope mumbled. “What was I saying? Oh. I won't have Justin Harte in my house. Why did you let him in?"
"The maid let him in."
"I'll fire her."
"Good help is hard to find."
"Yes, yes it is. Where's my medicine?"
To Jessica, Penelope seemed unsteady on her feet.
Oliver Duplessis dropped in unexpectedly on one of Penelope's Sunday afternoon soirees, during which Jessica always found herself coupled with one young man or another. Her grandfather sat there, bolt upright by the hearth, glowering at the proceedings. Jessica wasn't quite sure what his objections were, but the young men, unused to such grim disapproval in her mother's house, left early. Even friends of Penelope's age scattered as soon as politeness allowed. Jessica had to swallow back her laughter at the sight of so many fashionable people slinking away under the glares of one old man. It was seldom these days she found cause for mirth, and she rather enjoyed the afternoon until her mother and her grandfather confronted one another at the end of the less than successful social gathering.
"Maybe you'd like to explain what you thought you were doing this afternoon,” said Oliver as soon as the last guest had turned tail.
"I have no idea what you mean, Father,” Penelope replied breezily. She had slipped away for medicine three or four times to Jessica's knowledge and seemed to be feeling somewhat euphoric. “I'd like to know what you were doing. You certainly ruined my party."
"You're acting like a woman with
an eligible daughter you want to marry off,” said Oliver Duplessis.
"That's just what I plan to do."
"Your daughter is already married."
"That's easily undone and no more than Travis Parnell deserves."
"Them whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder,” roared Oliver.
"Oh, really, Father, don't quote scripture to me."
"Are you planning to divorce your husband, Jessica?” Oliver asked.
"No, sir,” she replied. Jessica expected to live out the rest of her life alone, which was no different from the life she had anticipated before she met Travis, just an unhappier prospect now.
"I'm glad to hear that you, at least, have the decency to honor your vows.” He nodded to Jessica, then gave his daughter a hostile look.
"Jessica will change her mind,” Penelope assured him smugly.
"Jessica is coming to live with me,” said Oliver. “Get your things together, girl. You're moving today."
"She is not!” cried Penelope angrily.
"I'm an old man. I need someone to look after me.” Oliver slanted his daughter a wily glance. “Either Jessica moves in with me and does her duty, or I'll move in with you, Penelope."
Given that choice, Jessica knew what her mother would decide.
"You, girl,” said Oliver to Lulu, who had come in to remove the teacups. “Get Bull in here to fetch and carry for Miss Jessica. She's moving out."
Living in her grandfather's house gave Jessica a measure of peace and contentment. Now her thoughts of Travis were often pleasant, memories of happy times together, memories that sometimes made her wonder how he could have given her so much joy when his motives were so black. Well, she'd had four wonderfully happy months. Perhaps a sojourn in fool's paradise was better than never having been in paradise at all.
As for her grandfather, he could be an interesting companion when he chose to talk. He spoke mostly of business, occasionally of his wife, who had died years ago and whom he had loved deeply. He never spoke of Penelope, which Jessica found curious. He must have loved his daughter, yet now he seemed to ignore her existence unless it was forced on his notice.
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