"This is too important to be discussed on the street. I'll meet you at Crosby House at six. Be there."
Torn with indecision, Jessica watched him stalk away. On the one hand, she resented his brusque “Be there.” On the other, he had looked very serious, and Jessica was almost afraid to ignore his invitation. Curiosity and dread overcame her better judgment, and she stayed in town to meet him, although she usually made it a point to be home with her doors locked by nightfall. No doubt, Travis would offer to see her home, but she didn't want him at her house, nor did she want to pedal home after dark. Oh, bother!
"Hurry,” said Travis. “I've got a table.” He hustled her into the dining room and all but pushed her into a chair at a table occupied by a man who looked perfectly villainous.
"Thanks, Bart,” said Travis and handed the fellow a bill.
Greatly relieved, Jessica watched Bart leave. At least Travis didn't expect her to eat a meal with that person. “All right,” she said impatiently, once they had ordered the seventy-five-cent chicken pot pie, “what's this crisis you have to talk to me about?"
"That's the gamblers’ favorite, you know,” he replied, adding, “the chicken pot pie,” when she looked confused.
"Travis!” she snapped. Jessica felt short-tempered because he looked so attractive, while she was sure she looked a fright after a day of doing business in a muddy, oil-smeared town full of people who probably couldn't have taken a bath if they wanted to. She'd just spent two hours tramping around, checking her map sellers. It wasn't that they weren't doing well. Her maps were highly sought after. But she believed in keeping her boys honest by letting them know she had her eye on them.
"All right, Jess, but I thought we might at least have a pleasant dinner before we got down to haggling."
Jessica glanced uneasily over her shoulder and whispered, “That man has his hand on my chair."
"He wants your seat as soon as you finish."
"I haven't even been served yet. And what haggling? Do you need more lumber? I suppose you're putting up another derrick."
"I am, as a matter of fact, and I do want to buy from you. You're very reliable."
"Thank you,” said Jessica, pleased. In a town known for wild dealing and double-dealing, Jessica valued her reputation as an honest and dependable businesswoman.
"But I took it for granted that we could come to terms on business matters. It's your bathtub—"
"I won't sell it,” said Jessica. “I've had offers before."
"I just want to rent it, Jess."
"No. I've had offers of that sort too."
"Who wants to take baths at your house?” demanded Travis angrily.
"It's hardly your concern—"
"It damned well is."
"—because no one uses my tub but me, and watch your language, please.” Then she turned completely around and glared at the man hovering behind her. Unabashed, the rude fellow stared right back.
"What are you doing with your bicycle now that the rains have started?” Travis asked.
Momentarily disconcerted by the change of subject and the stranger breathing down her neck, she muttered, “It's a problem."
"All right, let's trade."
"Trade what?” she asked suspiciously.
"You can leave your bicycle at Ervin's every day you come into town. In return, I get to use your bathtub—"
"No!"
"—say, four times a week."
"If you're sellin’ baths, lady, I could use one,” said the man behind her.
"I noticed,” Jessica snapped and then felt ashamed of her own rudeness.
"Just four times a week,” Travis wheedled. “And you get space for your bicycle five times—seven times a week if you want it."
"No!"
"Have a heart, Jessie. How would you like to go dirty? And I know for a fact that last Wednesday you couldn't get your bicycle across the street at all."
"How did you hear about that?"
"Jim Hogg told me. He lives at the Oaks on Calder Avenue."
Jessica remembered all too well the day when she had stood on one sidewalk looking at the mud that separated her from her goal, the far sidewalk. Then suddenly she had been hailed by a preposterous figure wearing an eye-catching green rain slicker and carrying a yellow umbrella. The man was driving his buggy to the Crosby House and offered her a ride after introducing himself as James Hogg.
"The governor?” she had stammered.
"Former governor, ma'am,” he'd replied. “Former governor."
"This is most kind of you, sir, but I have my bicycle, which I—"
"A ridiculous machine,” Jim Hogg had interrupted, and he took both Jessica and her bicycle across the street to the hotel, all the while giving her a lecture, the gist of which was that only a monkey would make a suitable rider for such a contraption. He advised a pretty young lady like herself to find a more appropriate mode of transportation.
"You can't count on former governors of the state of Texas to come to your rescue every time the streets are afloat in mud or water,” said Travis, interrupting her thoughts, “but I think you can count on solid ground from your house to Calder Avenue, where you can leave your bicycle safely at my place. In return I'll only ask to use your bathtub, say, three times a week."
Jessica put her fork down and glared at him.
"This weather could go on all summer."
"Surely not!” she exclaimed.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised. Just three—"
"Once,” said Jessica.
"Once a week? My God, Jess, who'll want to hire me as a driller if—"
"Once."
"Twice."
"Once.” Jessica found she rather liked bargaining.
"Oh, all right,” grumbled Travis. “Saturday night. Starting tonight."
"Next week."
He thrust his hand across the table. Gingerly she accepted the handshake. If she'd been smarter, could she have haggled him down to once a month? Now she was going to have him naked in her bathtub every single week, the thought of which made her stomach flutter disconcertingly.
"How about some pie?"
"No. I have to get home."
"Thank God,” said the impatient aspirant to her chair.
"I'll take you,” Travis offered, “and then I can have my first bath."
"No."
"Now, you know you don't want to ride home by yourself."
"I'll—I'll rent a hack."
"That'll cost you twenty dollars, honey."
"Hell, I'll pay for the hack if you'll just leave,” said the man behind her.
"Done,” said Jessica, rising with alacrity. The man passed her a twenty-dollar bill and dropped into her seat.
"Jessica, I'm surprised at you!” Travis exclaimed.
"Never be surprised at a woman, son,” said the man as he consulted the menu.
Travis paid the bill and left the necessary generous tip, arriving outside in time to see his wife loading her bicycle into a hack. Damned stubborn woman, he thought, shaking his head, but he'd win her over yet. At least, now he had his foot in the door—or bathtub, which was even better. Bathtubs were a lot more intimate than doors. He remembered fondly an interlude with Jessica in Penelope's bathtub. Well, he and Jess would never be able to squeeze into hers together, but they'd make do.
"You heard my father bragging about the money to be made on his land, and you've read the papers. We can't afford to pass up the opportunity."
"You may be right about the profits,” said Hugh, “but Oliver will never sell it to us, and I'd have to leave town to pull it off with Jessica."
"Of course,” Penelope agreed. “We'll get a much better price from Jessica and make more money when we sell."
"But I can't leave, Penelope. Don't you understand? I'm being watched. I have to be here in case someone makes a move against me."
"Then I'll go,” said Penelope.
"You? You don't know anything about business."
"Maybe not, but
I know a lot about Jessica,” said Penelope complacently. “I imagine I can talk her into a more advantageous price than you could."
"Not if you don't know what to offer."
"You tell me how much, and you can be sure I'll get the land for half that much. She's so unsure of herself, poor thing. A few little criticisms, and she'll do anything I want her to."
"I don't know,” muttered Hugh. “Let me think about it."
"We need the money. You're always saying so. This is our chance."
"It takes money to make money,” said Hugh morosely. “I don't even have enough to pay for a lot here in Fort Worth."
"We'll give her a draft on the bank,” said Penelope craftily. “Then we can take our time paying it."
"That's a thought,” said Hugh. “Sometimes you seem almost intelligent, Penelope, instead of just being beautiful."
"Just?” she exclaimed angrily.
Jessica had begun to teach a Sunday-school class at the Mosso Saloon on Highland Avenue. Everyone thought the owner a saint because he had forgone his Sunday-morning profits to allow the classes. Jessica found it somewhat disconcerting to talk about God and heaven in a place that smelled of beer, hard spirits, and cigar smoke, that had sawdust on the floor, and that crowned religious instruction with a rush of saloon customers at noon. Their thirst threatened to trample her pupils.
Still, Mr. Mosso was the only person willing to accept her group of ragamuffins, and Jessica felt that she had to do something about the state of their souls. She had caught one of them smoking a cigarette behind the post office, and another using dreadfully unsuitable language. Also, her Sunday-school activities gave her an excuse to refuse her time to various philanthropic ladies’ organizations. She had been approached by the Presbyterian church ladies, who served coffee and donuts to visitors, and by the Women's Christian Temperance Union, which gave away boiled water to keep thirsty men from drinking whiskey.
The only problem with her Sunday-school class was that the boys didn't want to attend. They said if they weren't going to sell maps, they could stand in line in front of the Crosby outhouses, then sell their places to men who hadn't the time or inclination to spend hours waiting a turn. A fellow could make ten dollars a day in an outhouse line, one boy assured her.
She had to lure them to the saloon with guest speakers like Patillo Higgins, a Baptist Sunday-school teacher himself and the discoverer of Spindletop. His combination of piety and potential wealth, for there were six wells being drilled on his lease, plus his missing arm and his reputation for having been a famous brawler in his time, all made him an acceptable hero to her young map sellers.
She had approached Travis too, suggesting that he could deliver a short talk on God and the rotary oil driller, but Travis had laughed uproariously and reminded her that he had a bath coming to him Saturday night, for which he would arrive promptly, bringing her a surprise. Jessica replied that she didn't need any surprises from Travis, thank you.
In the event, she couldn't find it in her heart to refuse the surprise, a fat puppy that looked astonishingly like Governor James Hogg. Travis swept into her house from a wild spring storm after she'd given up expecting him. She had even convinced herself that his absence was a relief. The wind howled around the corners of her house, and a cold rain out of the north pounded her windows and doors so loudly that she had not at first heard Travis when he did arrive, soaked to the skin and carrying a large, mysterious roll under his arm. He dumped the roll on her sitting-room floor before stepping outside once more to shake the water off his hat and begin to shed his dripping clothes.
"Travis, come in here,” she ordered as she watched the heaving, squirming bundle suspiciously. “What is this you've brought?” Travis was down to his trousers by the time he reentered.
"It's a watchdog,” he replied.
"It looks like a living carpet."
He laughed and unrolled the white sheepskin rug, which had been wool side in. “Not too wet,” he decided and spread it in front of her fire. “And this little fellow isn't wet at all, although he didn't much enjoy the ride.” The puppy had tumbled out of the final coil and immediately begun to lick Travis's ankles. “Stop that, dog,” he ordered.
"Oh,” said Jessica softly and knelt to run a delighted hand through the puppy's soft, white coat. “What kind of dog is he?"
"Damned if I know, love, but he's going to be a big one, which is what you need if you're not going to let me stay here to protect you. What are you going to call him?"
"James,” she replied immediately.
"Jess, everyone's going to know who you named him after."
She started guiltily, surprised that Travis too had seen the resemblance to the governor. “Maybe no one else will notice as long as we don't let him wear a green slicker or carry a yellow umbrella,” suggested Jessica, giggling.
"Or make speeches on platforms or tell stories in the Crosby Bar?” He had started to peel off his wet Levi's.
"Travis, you could at least wait until I get the hot water in the tub and retire to the kitchen."
"Don't be so proper, Jessie. We were still married last time I looked."
"Mind if I have a cigar?” asked Travis when he had had his bath and dinner.
"Of course not. Go right out on the porch."
"Jessica, it's still blowing a gale out there."
"You should stop smoking cigars. They're bad for your health."
"Nonsense."
"Anything that makes you cough has to be bad for your health."
"Cigars don't make me cough."
"Of course they do. They make me cough."
"I didn't know you smoked."
Jessica gave him a long-suffering look. “And around an oil field, they're doubly dangerous. I can't believe the foolishness of any man who would risk blowing himself up just to have a cigar. And they smell bad. What woman would want to kiss a man who's been smoking a cigar?"
"If you're willing to kiss me, I'm willing to give up cigars."
"Just the other day some shoestringer was trying to get me to invest in his lease. He was smoking a cigar, so naturally I—"
"—refused to kiss him, I hope."
"Refused to invest."
"Stay away from the shoestringers,” he agreed. “The only way to get your money out of that sort of deal is through the oil, so you can't win. If he hits a dry hole, there won't be any, and even if he brings in a gusher, oil is cheap. You get more for a barrel of water these days, and there are dry holes everywhere."
"Galey and Guffey just brought in two gushers."
Travis shrugged. “That was on the hill. All right if we go into the sitting room? I think the dog's getting lonely."
Jessica nodded and preceded him from the table, remarking over her shoulder, “I'm going to advise my grandfather to invest in cigars and beer, for which there seem to be better markets than oil, at least around Beaumont."
Travis laughed and complimented her on her business acumen as he watched her drop down onto the sheepskin rug to play with the puppy. How lovely she looked with the fire highlighting blonde glints in her hair and her lacy shirtwaist hugging the tempting lines of her breasts. Travis ached for her and thought if she didn't let him stay, he might be reduced to visiting one of the Deep Crockett girls. Maybe he should tell Jess that. Or maybe he shouldn't. If she no longer cared, he wasn't sure he wanted to know it.
He sat down in her rocking chair to the left of the fire and said quietly, “Jess, look at me."
She glanced up from her game with the dog.
"Have you forgiven me yet?"
Jessica looked away.
"I can't change the past, you know, but I promise to do everything I can to make you happy in the future."
She picked up the puppy and held him tightly against her chest as if he could protect her from the pain of decisions and commitments she was afraid to make.
"Don't squeeze the dog, Jess. He doesn't like it.” Travis knelt on the sheepskin rug and took the puppy,
putting him into a cozy box they'd made up by the hearth. Then he drew Jessica back against his chest, his arms crossed under her breasts. “Don't you know I want only good things and happy times for you, Jessie?” he asked softly. “I've never meant you any harm."
And he'd never mentioned love, she thought sadly as she stared into the fire. Well, at least he'd been honest in that respect. He didn't feel it, so he didn't say it. “I wish you'd go home, Travis. I really wish you would. You shouldn't have talked me into this bath arrangement, and I don't think you should hold me to it."
"Oh, but I will, Jessie—to this, to the marriage. If all I can have is Saturday nights, I'll take them.” He released his hold and, hands on her upper arms, twisted her so that he could kiss her mouth in dozens of angled, fleeting touches. Finally when she trembled with frustration, Travis slid the last kiss off to her ear and whispered, “If I have to suffer this deprivation, sweet Jessie, I want to be sure you suffer the selfsame burden."
Before she could squirm away, he slid his lips back for a deep kiss, plunging his curled tongue into her mouth, then withdrawing before she was ready to give it up. “Remember how the real thing felt?” he asked her. “We could go into your room right now and do all the things we used to do in our bed at Penelope's."
Jessica pushed him away and blinked back tears as Travis stared at her with a set face. Then he shrugged and rose. “Next time,” he said and bent to lift his damp coat from the chair where she had hung it to dry. Jessica dropped her face into her hands, and he was left with the vulnerable curve of her neck to tempt him. He knelt again behind her, taking her shoulders into his hands and kissing the soft down at her hairline. “Good night, love,” he whispered. “Take care of yourself.” Then he left her, and she was very close to tears, very close to calling him back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rainee's disapproving stare communicated her opinion of Jessica's appearance. “Easy Washing Machine in bad trouble,” she predicted.
Jessica had entered at the back door in the middle of the day, bedraggled and coated with greenish-black oil. “A well came in on the Higgins lease,” said Jessica. “I was calling on Mr. Heywood about a lumber shipment when it happened.” She held her hands away from her body, oil dripping off her fingers. “I just hope I can get the mess off my bicycle."
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