Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  Blodgett, Aunt Gertrude’s kind, elderly, deaf, and very dignified butler, greeted her at the door. Emily quickly consigned the care of Helga and Gustav into Blodgett’s capable hands, then darted down the threadbare carpet and past the second-best parlor.

  The bell-shaped tones of Aunt Gertrude’s voice told Emily that Gertrude was in the process of giving an elocution lesson. Emily could picture her standing amid the somewhat shabby furniture in the room, her iron-gray hair wound into a discreet knot at the back head, her finger upraised as she imparted the rudiments of proper speech to some bored young lady who didn’t care in the least. Emily sighed and wondered if this student was another one of her dear aunt’s charity cases, or if Gertrude would manage to get paid for once.

  Since her aunt was otherwise occupied and couldn’t be disappointed at her improper behavior, Emily took the steps of the wide, curved staircase two at a time. She flung her door open and made a bee-line to her desk. Once there, she began rifling through a huge stack of papers. She soon found the one she was looking for, snatched it out of the pile, held it up to the late morning sunlight streaming through her window, and read it eagerly.

  “It does,” she breathed with rapture. “It does say what I remember.” Then she kissed the piece of paper, hugged it to her bosom, and did a little twirl around her bedroom.

  # # #

  Will watched for a long time, enchanted, as Emily and her two low-slung companions walked away from him. He enjoyed the way Emily’s little bottom swished and thought she handled her charges quite well, considering their dispositions. He admired that.

  With a pat for Fred and an affectionate stroke of a long, silky ear, Will murmured, “You get an extra bone tonight, Freddy boy. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have met Miss Emily von Plotz.” He shook his head and chuckled. “von Plotz. What a name.”

  When Emily finally ambled out of his sight, he remounted Cyclone, whistled to Fred, and finished his trot around the park.

  The place had changed a good deal in the five years since Will had lived in San Francisco. Civic pride had wrought many horticultural changes in which he took particular pleasure. Will was quite a gardening enthusiast and, therefore, very interested in some of the new gardens planted for the Mid-Winter Exposition the year before. He especially enjoyed roses, and took notes about several new varieties that might grow well in his own elaborate garden back home.

  It was around four in the afternoon when he returned to the Nob Hill mansion belonging to Thomas Crandall, his friend and business partner, and made his way into the parlor. There he sat down in an overstuffed wing chair with his big, booted feet propped on a burgundy velvet ottoman.

  When Thomas came home an hour later Will was shuffling through a huge stack of newspapers piled beside the chair and sipping from a mug of beer. He looked up and smiled. “Home so soon, Thomas?”

  Thomas was a few inches shorter than Will, and he was built along stockier lines, although he was not at all fat. He had thin, curly brown hair and fluffy mutton chop side whiskers Will accused him of growing to distract the ladies from his receding hairline.

  Thomas grinned. “Figured I’d better get back here early to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Too late for that,” Will told him with a grin of his own.

  “Oh, great God, what’s her name?”

  Will laughed and shook his head. “Shoot, Thomas, now what kind of trouble can I get into in one little afternoon?”

  Thomas flopped into a chair across from Will. “Well, if I remember right, it took you less than five minutes when we met up with Flaming Polly that time in Virginia City.”

  There was more than a hint of wistfulness in Will’s smile when he admitted, “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

  “Well, my friend, ladies aside, has the city changed much in five years?”

  “It’s changed for the better, I’d say,” Will told him with a wink. “I found me a fine new polyantha for my rose garden.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Lord, Will, I still can’t picture you, of all people, as a damned gardener.”

  “I like roses. I can’t help it. They make me feel refined. Besides, I’m rich. I can do what I want.”

  “I guess that’s so.” Thomas shook his head again, this time almost sadly, as though he were ruing their lost youth. “That all you did today? Smell the roses?”

  “Well, I had me a right fine time in the gardens. That’s true. But I also met up with some of the finest scenery I’ve just about ever seen in my life.”

  Thomas sat up straight, all attention. “All right, Will, I mean it now. What’s her name?” Thomas and Will knew each other very well.

  Sighing lustily, Will said, “All right. Her name is Miss Emily von Plotz.” He eyed his friend over the crinkled newspaper. “Better known to you as ‘Aunt Emily.’”

  “Aunt Emily? That old maid who writes the silly advice column for the Call? My God, Will, all that digging in the dirt and playing with posies must be making you soft!”

  Will peered at Thomas dreamily. “I learned a valuable lesson today, my friend. You should never judge a book by its cover. Or, in this case, you should never judge a columnist by the drivel she writes. ‘Aunt Emily’ is one prime female.” He added severely, “And I saw her first, so don’t get any ideas.”

  Thomas laughed and stretched his legs out to snag the sides of Will’s ottoman. It took some clever maneuvering, but he managed to catch it between his feet and jog it towards himself so he could share it. “I assume you’re reading old columns so you’ll have something to talk about when you meet up with your fair aunt again?”

  Will crunched the newspaper up on his lap. “Actually,” he admitted, “it’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “Hmmm. Now why am I not surprised to hear you say so?”

  “You see, she thinks I’m some lonely cowpoke who calls himself ‘Texas Lonesome.’ I guess he wrote her a letter saying he needs some kind of help. So I’m trying to figure out just exactly what his problem is so when Miss Emily tries to help me, I can oblige her by getting better. And I promise to be real grateful, too.”

  Thomas cocked an eyebrow. “And how, pray tell, did she get the impression you were this correspondent of hers?”

  “Why, city feller, I ain’t got a clue.” Will’s drawl was so slow a snail could have beat it to Thomas’s ears.

  “Oh, Lordy,” sighed Thomas. “Here. Better give me a hunk of those papers, and I’ll help you look.”

  So Will divvied up the stack of newspapers, and the two men proceeded to dig through them in search of old “Aunt Emily” columns. They had been at their task for about ten minutes, when Will leapt to his feet.

  “I found it!” He stood in front of his wing chair and read the column. Then he read it again. Then he looked over to where Thomas sat expectantly, grinning at him. Will was troubled.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What do you mean, Uh-oh’?”

  Will didn’t respond immediately. He sat down once more and read the column yet a third time to himself. Then he cleared his throat and proceeded to read aloud.

  “‘Dear Aunt Emily,’ it says here. ‘I come to San Francisco to get me a wife because this here is where all the real ladies are. I got me a spread in the middle of Texas and a lot of money, but I’m too shy to talk to real ladies. I don’t smoke nor chew, nor I don’t hardly drink overmuch, but how can I get me a lady for a wife if I can’t talk to them. Please help me.’” Will looked at Thomas. “It’s signed, ‘Texas Lonesome.’”

  “Oh, Lord. What does she say back?”

  “‘Dear Texas Lonesome: You sound like a fine, upright man to Aunt Emily. I believe if you were to study an improving volume on proper deportment, it would help you to feel more at ease with the gentle sex. Ladies always appreciate a gentleman who is polite and kind. Many a young lady would be proud to marry a good man such as the one described in your letter, even if he is deficient in some of the social graces. I must add, however, that a g
ood many proper ladies frown upon the consumption of strong spirits, even if such consumption is not considered by the consumer to be “overmuch.” Please accept my best wishes for success in your endeavor. Sincerely, Aunt Emily.’”

  Will sat in his chair, the paper spread over his knees, and stared out of Thomas’s large parlor window. The window afforded him a splendid view of the city sprawled out at the foot of Nob Hill, but Will wasn’t paying any attention to rambunctious San Francisco as it passed by below.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all,” he said at last.

  Thomas had been trying to stifle his amusement, but he let it go now. He hooted loudly, and then laughed so hard, he ended up slapping his knee and clutching his stomach.

  Will scowled. “I don’t see what’s so blamed funny, Thomas.”

  Thomas leaned back in his chair and wiped his streaming eyes. “Well, I was meaning to talk to you about it’s being high time you got married and settled down, Will. After all, you don’t want to follow in your Uncle Mel’s footsteps, do you?”

  Melchior Tate had reared Will from “infantry to adultery,” in his own colorful and not entirely inaccurate words. Mel Tate was a rambling man. He was also a gambling man. And he had a more-than-passing acquaintance with the bottle. In fact, a good many shocked schoolmarms who had met Uncle Mel during Will’s several brief attacks at schooling had decried Mel as a whiskey-soaked reprobate. Uncle Mel had invariably preened under the flattery.

  It wasn’t until Will met up with Thomas Crandall in the mine fields around Virginia City that he learned not all relationships were based upon what one could get away with. Still, Will appreciated some of the lessons Uncle Mel had taught him. He chalked up his easy way with women to Mel’s tutelage.

  At his friend’s jibe, however, Will shuddered. “Lord above, Thomas, I didn’t know ‘Texas Lonesome’ wanted to commit something as foolish as matrimony.”

  “What did you say she looked like? Maybe I could take her off your hands.”

  “The hell you will,” Will said gruffly. Then he fell silent for a few moments, considering.

  Thomas lifted the newspaper from Will’s lap and read Texas Lonesome’s letter and Aunt Emily’s reply for himself.

  “What exactly was it Aunt Emily said to you today in the park?”

  Will lifted his troubled gaze. “She said she’d be glad to help me.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound too sinister, does it? It’s not as if she said she wanted to marry you herself, is it? Maybe she’s just one of those do-gooders who’s not happy unless she’s rescuing some poor soul from happiness or feeding him Bible verses.”

  Will’s clouded countenance began to clear a little. “That may be so.”

  “So what can it hurt if you pretend to be this lonesome cowboy and learn a few lessons? At least you’d be in her company. There are worse things to do than keep company with a good woman, you know.”

  “Think so? I’ve not had much practice at it.”

  “Well, it’s the truth.”

  Will offered Thomas a crooked grin. “And how would you know about such a thing, my friend?”

  His old pal laughed. “Well, that’s what I’ve heard, at any rate.”

  By the time the two men sat down to sup upon prime California beefsteak in Thomas Crandall’s elegant dining room, Will had decided to keep his appointment with Emily von Plotz at nine o’clock sharp on the morrow.

  As for Miss Emily von Plotz herself, ‘Aunt Emily’ stared at the water-stained ceiling above her bed for hours and hours before she finally managed to fall into a troubled sleep. By the light of the one flickering tallow candle she allowed herself, she considered various ways to entrap a rich, naive Texas rancher into marriage without tipping her hand.

  Chapter 2

  Early the next morning, Emily smiled when she read, “Dear Aunt Emily: I took the advice you give me and called a liberry from the telephone in my hotel. I asked about decorum but the lady said they got books on Ettyket. What is Ettyket? Can I use it instead of decorum? She said so but I don’t trust her. I trust you. Thank you for your help, Texas Lonesome.”

  After thinking for only a moment, Emily wrote, “Dear Texas Lonesome: Your Aunt Emily applauds you for the dedication you display toward the achievement of your goal. Yes, dear sir, ‘etiquette’ will set you on the proper path toward ‘decorum.’ The object of your affections will assuredly honor your attempts to better yourself. Aunt Emily knows full well she will.”

  She stared at her response for a full minute before she heaved a sigh and set the letter aside, her heart strangely stirred.

  Moments later, that same heart thumped a frantic tattoo against her ribs as she walked briskly to her editor’s office. She had hardly slept last night, but she was too nervous to be tired.

  As usual, Emily was alone on her walk and, as usual, she held her chin high in the air, daring any villain to approach her. She hoped any nonvillainous persons who might spy her would chalk up her solo jaunt to her being a suffragist. She wasn’t. But more than anything, she didn’t want to advertise the fact that her solitary state was due to her inability to afford a servant to accompany her. If she had nothing else, Emily had her pride.

  Mr. Kaplan, her editor, gave Emily a somewhat bloodshot smile when she sailed through his door.

  “You’re here bright and early today, Miss von Plotz.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. I didn’t sleep very well last night, so I got up early and wrote my column.” She handed Mr. Kaplan a hefty sheaf of papers.

  “Oh, my, you’ve got a bundle for us today.”

  “I guess I do at that.” Emily had been in such a nervous frenzy this morning, she had read and answered at least five more letters than she usually did. “Can you print them all?”

  “Well, if we can’t print them today, we’ll be able to fit them in eventually. You do good work, Miss von Plotz. Aunt Emily’s column is one of our best-read features. The public really love you.”

  Emily felt her cheeks get hot. “Thank you, Mr. Kaplan.”

  “Thank you, Miss von Plotz.”

  When she left Mr. Kaplan’s office and headed toward the park, Emily tugged at the corkscrew sleeves of her half-fitting sailor jacket with nervous fingers. She hoped she cut a fashionably jaunty picture. She also hoped Will Tate would be too innocent to recognize the somewhat faded blue fabric as having been made over from her aunt’s old draperies.

  She had sewn the walking outfit from a pattern she copied from a Ladies Standard Magazine, and spiffed it up with striped edging purchased dirt cheap and after much haggling from a grimy shop in Chinatown. She knew she was taking a chance by wearing the same straw hat she had the day before, but perhaps Will wouldn’t recognize it. She had redecorated it with more of the same striped edging and a big, red, satin rose.

  A huge sigh leaked from between Emily’s lips when she thought about the rose. Her dear aunt Gertrude believed she had cut a tremendous bargain when she bought the bushel of satin flowers from a street vendor. Poor Gertrude could never be brought to understand a bargain is only a bargain when one actually needs the goods purchased and has no other use for the funds expended. And, although she resisted the truth at every turn, Gertrude needed many things before she needed satin roses.

  Well, if this plan worked, Aunt Gertrude could have all the satin flowers she wanted, Emily told herself stoutly in order to bolster her resolve.

  She still felt more than a little bit guilty about her plot as her footsteps carried her toward Golden Gate Park. She hoped Will wouldn’t notice she carried no parasol or that, if he did, he would chalk the lack up to personal choice and not penury.

  Will was sprawled on a park bench, enjoying the lovely summer weather when he espied Emily striding toward him purposefully. He decided that foregoing a night of gambling and rutting wasn’t really much of a sacrifice when one had such an enchanting companion to look forward to in the morning.

  Forgetting his role as crude country lout, he stoo
d up and ripped his wide-brimmed hat from his head. Then he remembered he was supposed to be socially inept and decided Texas Lonesome would probably fidget. So he fingered his hat and shuffled his feet.

  Aunt Emily, darlin’, you’re pretty as a San Antonio summer sky, he thought.

  When Emily reached him she held out her hand, trying her best to appear unruffled. “Good morning, Mr. Tate.” Saints on high, he was a handsome man.

  “Good morning to you, Miss von Plotz,” Will said with considerable warmth as his big hand engulfed her much smaller one.

  She was nervous, he noticed with some surprise. He was the one who was supposed to be nervous.

  Emily cleared her throat. “Well, now, Mr. Tate, shall we have a seat on this bench and begin our lessons?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Will agreed, trying his best to sound meek.

  Emily gazed at him pensively for a moment or two. She almost wished he weren’t such a handsome devil. She was sure she would feel less fluttery about her deception if he were a plain man.

  “I believe we should start with manners, Mr. Tate. Or, as some might say, etiquette.” She gave him a prim, sideways smile, wondering if she would get a responsive twinkle.

  But Will only nodded solemnly. “I reckon, ma’am.”

  Stifling her sigh, Emily said, “Now, you were perfectly correct when you stood at my approach.”

  Will tried to make the best of his regrettable lapse into manners.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he muttered with as sheepish an expression as he could muster. “My ma taught me that.”

  “Well, your mother was absolutely correct, Mr. Tate. A gentleman should always rise when a lady enters a room or if he intends to greet her in a forum of public assembly, such as this park.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you did very well by removing your hat, too. It was a polite gesture and in the very best of manners. Did your mother teach you to do that as well?”

  “Uh-huh.” Will figured it wasn’t too much of a fib. If he had ever known a mother, he was sure she would have at least tried to teach him that much.