Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  Will was a little disgruntled at having his plot foiled so neatly, but he didn’t dare show it. “All right, Miss von Plotz. That’s probably a smart idea. But you have to promise me you’ll let me practice in a fancy place when I get the hang of it.”

  Emily had seldom met such a nice man. It seemed almost a shame to trick him. Nevertheless, she needed him—her family needed him—too much to allow her conscience to smite her. If she had to harden her heart and play the coy seductress, so be it. Resolute, she trod beside him to Mrs. Flanagan’s Kitchen.

  During their luncheon, Will discovered he enjoyed Emily’s little lessons. He tried very hard give her plenty of material to work on.

  He tucked his napkin into his shirt front and adopted an expression of chagrin at Emily’s kind suggestion that he place it on his lap instead.

  He fumbled with the silverware and ate with his knife and was suitably embarrassed when Emily pointed out to him the reason civilized man had invented forks.

  He slurped his soup and dipped his spoon the wrong way, then ducked his head in shame when she taught him the proper way to drink soup.

  He reached clear across the table to fetch the salt cellar and recoiled like a scolded puppy when Emily imparted the socially accepted way to ask for salt.

  He buttered an entire piece of bread and appeared terribly abashed when Emily told him it was polite to break off little pieces of bread and butter them individually, one at a time, before he popped them into his mouth.

  “Why, shucks, ma’am. Ain’t that a lot of effort to go to when you can just butter the whole thing once and be done with it?”

  Emily’s laugh tinkled out of her rosy lips. “I suppose it does seem so, Mr. Tate. But you see, polite manners are often hold-overs from earlier days when there were good reasons for them and they really did make sense. The fact that the absolute necessity for such customs may have passed does not absolve one from following the accepted mode.”

  Will contemplated his companion for a moment. Aunt Emily sure had a way with words, all right.

  “I guess that’s so, ma’am,” he said with what he hoped sounded like uncertainty. When he saw Emily’s eyes brighten with pleasure, he knew his answer was appropriate.

  Emily couldn’t remember ever having had such a wonderful time in a gentleman’s company. Of course, the only gentlemen she’d been in company with lately were her uncle and Clarence Pickering, her aunt’s financial advisor. And, while her uncle was at least a kind man, Pickering was enough to make a saint curse. Suddenly recalling that he was coming to dine at her aunt’s home the following evening, Emily made yet another impetuous decision.

  “Mr. Tate, how would you like to come to my aunt’s house for dinner tomorrow night? You can practice your new table manners there, out of the view of the public. If you make any little mistakes at my aunt’s table, it won’t matter, and you needn’t be embarrassed.”

  Will stared into Emily’s sparkling blue eyes and lost his concentration for a minute. Fortunately he collected himself in time to answer in character. Instead of telling her exactly how charmed he would be to accept such a kind invitation, he made a clumsy show of clearing his throat and then said, “Well, er, gol’, ma’am. I ain’t never been to no lady’s house for dinner before.”

  Emily put her hand over his as he gripped the edge of the table.

  “Please don’t be nervous, Mr. Tate. You’re a wonderful student. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. My aunt and uncle are—are—well, they’re not at all stuffy.”

  In fact, this was quite an understatement. An image of her Uncle Ludwig singing merrily along with “General Knickerbocker” from his seat in the balcony at the opera house nearly made her blush. No. Her relatives were certainly not stuffy.

  “You really think I’m a good learner, Miss von Plotz?” Will wished she would leave her little warm hand on his, but she withdrew it and tucked it demurely back into her lap.

  “You’re an excellent learner, Mr. Tate.”

  “Well, then, ma’am, if you truly wouldn’t mind a big galoot like me invadin’ your home, I’d be proud to take supper with you tomorrow.”

  The smile with which Emily greeted his words almost made him fall off his chair. Lord above, Aunt Emily was some piece of work.

  Emily gave him her aunt’s address, told him to be at the house at seven the following evening, and they parted company. Both left feeling the day had been well spent.

  # # #

  Later on in the evening, Will had a grand time imparting Emily’s lessons in deportment to Thomas Crandall.

  “My God, Will, I can’t believe you actually made her believe you’re a country boy.” Thomas laughed so hard and so long, he had to mop tears from his face with his handkerchief.

  “If my Uncle Mel taught me anything at all, Thomas Crandall, it was how to dissimulate effectively.” Will said solemnly. “Besides, Miss Emily is up to something. I’m not quite sure what it is, but I know she’s up to something.”

  “Something devious? You mean she’s scheming?”

  “Yup.”

  Thomas frowned. “Well, I guess if anybody could recognize a cheat, it’s you, Will. God knows, you cheat better than anybody I’ve ever met.”

  Will frowned and thanked Thomas sarcastically for his kind words.

  # # #

  Emily was alternately elated and depressed as she made her way home from the park. On the one hand, her plot seemed to be working even better than she could have hoped. She had noticed the unmistakable signs of interest in Will Tate’s eyes during their walk in the park and at luncheon. On the other hand, the better she got to know this big, delightful, lonely Texan, the worse she felt about deceiving him.

  “He’s such a sweet, simple man,” she murmured as she walked along Grant Avenue. The street had been renamed recently in honor of the former President, and Emily sometimes had trouble remembering it was no longer Dupont. She turned up Hayes and frowned when she recognized Clarence Pickering’s carriage standing in front of her aunt’s house.

  Pickering’s henchman, Bill Skates, lounged against the carriage and leered at her when she approached. Skates reminded Emily of the villain in a play she had seen at the California Theater. A tall, reed-thin, almost cadaverous man, he had a long, black mustache which he apparently took great pains to wax and wrap into tight curlicues at the ends. The unpleasant fellow sported a hideous red-and-green plaid cutaway suit. Emily wanted to squeeze her eyes shut against it as she walked past him.

  “‘Lo, Emily, darlin’,” Skates greeted her snidely.

  Emily chose to ignore him as she marched up to her aunt’s front door. With luck, she wouldn’t have to talk to Skates’ employer.

  She opened the front door slowly, and cringed at the loud, grating creak its hinges made. She’d meant to soap those hinges. But it was too late now.

  “Emily, my love, come here and say hello to Mr. Pickering,” Aunt Gertrude called from the parlor before the door even stopped screeching. At that point, Emily knew luck was visiting elsewhere today.

  Chapter 3

  Emily silently uttered as foul a curse as she could think of for failing to take care of the door hinges, braced herself for an unpleasant encounter, and donned a smile before pushing open the parlor door. Without looking to her right or her left, she steered a wide path around Clarence Pickering and tried her best to ignore him. She went over to her aunt and kissed her cheek in greeting.

  If Bill Skates was patently evil, Clarence Pickering was even worse. He reeked of sincerity. His handsome face had a sincere smile to it. His dark brown eyes possessed a sincere twinkle. He wore sincere suits of brown gabardine, and his hands were even manicured sincerely.

  It was no wonder her aunt had been taken in by him, Emily thought sourly. Aunt Gertrude gloried in good manners and fashionable dress. She was also not one to delve beneath the surface of anything.

  But Emily didn’t trust Clarence Pickering one bit. He had steered her aunt into one bad investment after anot
her, and Emily was just sure he was lining his pockets with pickings from Gertrude’s estate.

  In the wintertime Pickering invariably wore an elegant multi-caped black coat. But the weather was fine today, and he was clad in a respectable summer suit. He sported white gaiters and black patent-leather shoes just like those of his henchman, and she wondered if they’d purchased them at a bargain, two for the price of one.

  But no, she thought with uncharacteristic cynicism. Clarence Pickering had no need to look for bargains since he had all of her aunt’s money.

  Aunt Gertrude peered up at her expectantly, and Emily knew she could postpone this unpleasantness no longer. She turned, held out her hand, and said with great formality, “How do you do, Mr. Pickering?”

  The man had the effrontery to look her up and down, and Emily longed to smack his handsome face.

  “My, my, aren’t we formal today, Miss Emily. Call me Clarence, child. You know I’m always telling you to call me Clarence.”

  Emily tried not to recoil from him because she didn’t want to upset her aunt. “Yes, Mr. Pickering, I know you’re always telling me that.”

  He didn’t seem inclined to release her hand, so Emily had to tug it away from his grip.

  “Mr. Pickering has been telling me all about a wonderful new investment opportunity, Emily, dear. Something about ships. He’s sure it will make loads of money for us all. Then you won’t have to fuss at me anymore about my finances. Sweet Emily is forever scolding me about money, Mr. Pickering.” Aunt Gertrude gifted Emily with a rather vacuous smile and then aimed it at Pickering.

  “Well, she’s a dutiful niece, Mrs. Schindler. As well as very pretty.”

  Pickering waggled his eyebrows at Emily, making sure her aunt couldn’t see them, of course.

  “Well, you can stop worrying now, Emily darling. Mr. Pickering assures me this new opportunity will turn our luck around.”

  “I didn’t think luck was supposed to have anything to do with it, aunt. I thought one’s financial adviser was supposed to be a font of wisdom.” Emily knew the words were catty, but she tried to keep her expression sweet.

  She was about half successful. Pickering glared at her, but at least her aunt didn’t notice. “Oh, yes!” Gertrude cried. “And Mr. Pickering is so wise. Why, these ships sound absolutely marvelous!”

  “Oh, really, Mr. Pickering? Your last scheme nearly turned us out of this house, you know. Is this as marvelous an investment opportunity as that one? The Chinese horse herds? The ones that don’t exist?”

  The target of Emily’s acid tongue assumed an air of long-suffering patience, as though he were now going to try to explain a complicated mathematical equation to a four-year-old. “Well, now, Miss von Plotz, I’m sure you know how volatile the financial market can be. One must sort through all the information one is given and discard the chaff. Unfortunately, It was truly unfortunate that communications about those Mandalayan herds went awry.”

  Emily hated this man for weaseling his way into her aunt’s confidence. Aunt Gertrude would never allow herself to see through his facade, no matter how thin it was. Emily’s aunt invariably accepted everything at its face value, and Pickering’s face, unfortunately, looked quite pleasant.

  “That’s so, Emily dear,” Aunt Gertrude said with a sigh. “You know those poor Chinese horses weren’t Mr. Pickering’s fault. Such an unfortunate thing to have happened. They sounded so pretty, too. I wonder where on earth they went.”

  Emily could no longer hide her contempt. “Now wherever did I get the impression an investment counselor’s purpose in life was to learn about the investments he proposes before he takes your money for them, Aunt? It seems to me that Mr. Pickering needs to research his schemes a little more thoroughly before you give him any more money. After those invisible herds, you know, you don’t have much left.”

  Aunt Gertrude pouted. “Now, Emily, that’s an unkind thing to say to dear Mr. Pickering. He tries so hard for us. I just hate to hear unkindness spoken in my home, you know.” She then addressed Pickering. “My sweet Emily is such a spirited little thing, don’t you know.”

  Pickering ogled Emily. “Isn’t she, though?”

  Emily sighed. “Well, what is this wonderful investment scheme, then? Did you say ships?”

  “Emily dear, you sound almost snappish. Did you have a bad day, dear? I almost think it would be better for you not to hear about it now, darling, if you can’t speak in a more pleasant manner. Poor Mr. Pickering is very upset about those Chinese horse herds. He brought this new idea to me today in an attempt to make up for the lost horses. He’s just sure investing in these ships built out of that special African wood will recoup all our losses.”

  African ships? Oh, Lord. Emily gave up. She knew from bitter experience it wouldn’t do any good to fight her aunt about Pickering because Aunt Gertrude simply wouldn’t listen. Emily knew her family’s only hope for financial salvation lay elsewhere.

  “You’re right, Aunt,” she said abruptly. “I don’t think I want to hear about any more of Mr. Pickering’s plots and schemes right now. I’ll just leave you to discuss them. I have a column to write.”

  She marched out of the parlor and up to her bedroom fairly quivering with indignation. Once seated at her desk, she was in such a state of frustrated rage that she read and answered another five whole letters.

  When she reread the answer she had just penned to yet one more lovelorn adolescent, Emily realized she was taking her anger out on her correspondents. The heartsick girl had sent Aunt Emily a plea for assistance because her mother and father didn’t understand the depth of her regard for her young man. The girl came across to Emily as an idiot infatuated with a bounder. In her reply Emily had written:

  “Dear Unhappy: You would best recover from your melancholy if you were to turn your energy to some constructive activity rather than whine about lost love at an age when you are too young to know what love means. Mooning helplessly and arguing with your parents about a person who, quite frankly, sounds like a money-grubbing twit to Aunt Emily will only prolong your misery.

  “Believe me when I tell you a proper gentleman would not press a suit distasteful to his dear heart’s parents, nor would he ever urge the young lady into deception. Turn your attention outside of yourself, young lady, and you might come to understand that the reason you are unhappy is not your parents but your own present callow, selfish attitude.”

  Emily actually groaned aloud when she scanned this particularly vituperative response. She crumpled the piece of paper.

  She would have to get a grip on her nerves. It wouldn’t do to alienate her readers and lose the only source of income her family had. With a soul-deep sigh, she dipped her pen into the standish and tried again.

  She was more pleased when she read her edited reply to the lovelorn miss:

  “Dear Unhappy: At age sixteen, I know you believe your heart is broken. Please take advice from your caring Aunt Emily and abide by your parents’ wishes with grace. They love you, my dear, and it is their duty as parents to protect you. It is your duty as a good and obedient daughter to trust their judgment. If your young man is a person of character and honor, he will wait for you and not press you into a deceitful alliance. Please accept my best wishes in this time of your distress.”

  “Idiot child,” Emily muttered as she completed her reply. “Her parents ought to lock her in a closet until she grows a brain in her head.”

  Her heart lurched when she picked up the next letter. She read, “Dear Aunt Emily: I think you are a very nice lady to give me such good advice. I wish more ladies was like you. Signed, Texas Lonesome.”

  Tears stung Emily’s eyes, and she swallowed them back. She must not flinch from her purpose. The reason for her resolve was taking tea with her aunt at this very minute. She couldn’t fail in her plan. She simply couldn’t.

  After she had written a gentle reply and finished reading and answering another letter, she gathered her stack of correspondence. She supposed she
’d better slow down. Pretty soon she’d have so many columns written, Mr. Kaplan wouldn’t need her services anymore.

  Feeling very melancholy, she gazed out her bedroom window as the dusky evening settled into dark and the fog curled up from the bay and wound its way around the city, softening its rough edges.

  What a fraud she was. Who was she to vilify another’s deceit? Here she was, coldly trying to lure poor Will Tate into marriage with her—her!—a woman burdened with debt and two crazy, spendthrift relatives. And he was so kind; so sweet. Emily decided glumly that she was an evil woman. She wiped a tear from her cheek and wished there was another way.

  She changed into her evening clothes slowly and wondered what Will Tate was doing for dinner tonight. The uneasy feeling that Clarence Pickering would be joining them at the table gnawed at her, and she wished she’d invited Will to sup with them tonight instead of tomorrow. For some reason, she just knew Pickering wouldn’t bother her if Will Tate was around.

  Oh, well, she didn’t suppose she could have Will visit every night just to distract her from Pickering.

  Emily didn’t have a maid to help her dress so she generally chose gowns that buttoned up the front. She was fastening her basque when she was suddenly struck by the thought that if she married Will, he could button dresses up the back for her. The thought of his long, brown fingers brushing against her bare skin brought a flush to her cheeks.

  Well, if she did trick him into marrying her, at least she’d be wed to a very handsome man. And he seemed so considerate, too. But it would serve her right if he hauled her off to Texas and she never got to see San Francisco again.

  She loved her city by the bay. Every time she thought about Texas, the best her brain could picture was bleak desert dotted with hostile savages, all aiming their bristling arrows straight at her heart. She was nearly in tears by the time she descended the stairs.

  But at dinner, as Clarence Pickering tried to play “footsie” with her under the dining room table, Emily’s resolve, which had been perilously close to dissolving earlier, began to firm up again. It solidified into a granite certainty after the meal when Pickering managed to get her alone in a corner of the parlor.