'I must not forget to thank her,' Elizabeth-Anne said. 'What's this?' She pointed to the couch. On it rested a large package wrapped in pale violet and tied with a flamboyant violet ribbon delicately edged in white lace.
'I don't know.' Slowly Zaccheus picked it up. It felt surprisingly light. He squeezed it gently. It was soft too. He noticed a small envelope pinned to it. He handed the envelope to Elizabeth-Anne.
She tore it open and slid out the card. Painted in the left-hand corner was a lovely watercolor of a sprig of violet, and the message was inscribed in florid peacock-blue ink:
A small something for your happiness forever.
The Byrd Sisters
'It's a gift!' Elizabeth-Anne cried. Carefully she unwrapped the package. Then she let out a cry of delight. It was a needlepoint cushion depicting the facade of the cottage, and the embroidered words read:
May all who live here,
No matter how far they roam,
Return to this place,
Which will always be home.
'It's lovely!' Elizabeth-Anne cried softly, the tears moist in her eyes. 'I'll treasure it always.'
'There's more to see.' Zaccheus could barely contain his excitement. 'Come on.'
She hugged the pillow against her breast and followed him back out into the hallway and through a doorway to the sunny little dining nook. The tiny room was white, with French doors and a skylight. And everywhere she looked, there were pots of ferns. They were of all sizes and species, from luxurious gray-green staghorns to delicate maidenhair.
Between the living room and the dining nook was the kitchen. It was enormous, taking up most of the ground floor. The ceiling was of rough smoke- blackened beams and the floor was laid with Mexican terra-cotta tiles. Black iron skillets, copper pots and pans, wooden mixing bowls, earthenware crocks, and enamel colanders hung in profusion. A long refectory table, scarred and battered, with six rush-seated chairs, stood in the center of the room. Along one wall was the wood-burning stove and two large galvanized washbowls set flush in a wooden counter: water would have to be fetched from the pump behind the cottage. One entire wall consisted entirely of shelves displaying a conglomeration of plates and saucers, cups, and, incredibly, an antique birdcage fashioned of wood and wire in the shape of a castle. It was purely decorative; no songbird inhabited the splendid premises.
'I'll buy us a canary the next time there's a fiesta in Mexican Town,' Zaccheus promised. 'That way, while I'm at work and you're at home, you'll have company.' He drew her close. 'Until our firstborn arrives, that is,' he said softly. 'Then I'm sure you'll have more company than you know what to do with.'
But it was the upstairs of the cottage that Elizabeth-Anne fell in love with the most. One bedroom was entirely devoid of furnishings. 'The nursery!' she cried.
And she knew by the way Zaccheus squeezed her hand that he had thought exactly the same.
The master bedroom, tucked under a slanting eave, was heavenly as far as Elizabeth-Anne was concerned.
Pale green walls contrasted with molding of rough, stained saplings. The bed was of thin metal, with a swirling headboard, and was strewn with lacy pillows. The crocheted spread was bordered with tassels that swept the floor. Above the headboard hung a portrait; to either side of it were four framed flower prints, one hung directly over the other. A small writing desk, pushed against the wall in lieu of a nightstand, its tooled-leather writing surface folded out, held writing implements and a lamp. The lace curtains, an ethereal pattern of delicate flowers drawn across the dormer window, let in the softest, most muted, romantic northern light possible.
Elizabeth-Anne charged breathlessly into the room, pulling Zaccheus along by sheer momentum. They tripped and fell backward, startled and laughing, and bounced onto the cushiony softness of the bed, which creaked in protest. 'While we're here . . .' Elizabeth-Anne whispered solemnly.
Zaccheus finished the sentence: '. . . let's take advantage of it and not waste a minute.' He enfolded her lithe body in his strong arms, and she sighed happily as he began to unbutton her dress. She gazed dreamily up at the ceiling. Suddenly her breath caught in her throat.
'What's the matter?' he asked with sudden concern, tenderly brushing her cheek with his fingertips.
She struggled to sit up, and stole another glance at the ceiling. He twisted around and followed her eyes.
Centered on the ceiling directly over the bed was a large red valentine. A copy of their wedding picture was glued to the heart. But this valentine was no symbol of love. It had been torn, rent right down the middle, tearing Elizabeth-Anne and Zaccheus away from each other.
There was something so shocking, so sick, so cruelly chilling about it, that neither of them was able to speak.
Zaccheus tightened his lips and shook his head angrily. He did not need to hazard a guess as to whose handicraft it was. He hugged Elizabeth-Anne tightly, trying to shield her from the chill dread which he knew engulfed her. 'Try to forget this,' he said softly. 'It will never happen again.'
'But . . .' She stared up at him, her aquamarine eyes dulled with hurt. It was at once a plaintive and fearful look, a prognostication of more suffering to come. For too long now she had been victimized by Jenny's vindictive plots and ploys. The message behind the torn valentine was only too clear. 'You don't know Jenny,' Elizabeth-Anne whispered, 'or the lengths she will go to, to break us up. This . . . this proves it.' She gazed up at the ceiling and shuddered.
He reached up and tore the ugly valentine off the ceiling. A portion of the pale paint tore off along with it, leaving a white comma-shaped streak. He crumpled the torn heart into a ball and tossed it to the floor. 'Jenny will eventually come around,' he said, hoping to sound confident. 'And if that doesn't happen, I'm sure she'll at least stay out of our lives.'
'But what if she doesn't?'
'She'll have her own life to live. She'll find a husband, have children, occupy herself with more important things than you and me.'
Elizabeth-Anne gazed at him and nodded solemnly.
'Ours is going to be the perfect marriage.' He was silent for a moment while he traced an invisible line with his fingertip from her forehead, down to her nose, and to her lips. 'You'll see. Nothing will come between us. Ever. Not Jenny. Not anybody or anything. Our marriage is a marriage made in heaven.'
And it was.
Perhaps it was because it was Zaccheus' child she was carrying; perhaps it was the mother instinct with which she thought all women were born. Through sheer willpower and with Zaccheus' help, Elizabeth-Anne never touched laudanum again. And nine months later, she received her reward: a beautiful, lively, healthy baby girl.
She was named Regina Elender Hale.
10
For Elizabeth-Anne and Zaccheus, their fifth wedding anniversary was a time to look back upon five fruitful years.
Life had been good. Nearly thirteen months to the day after she gave birth to Regina, Elizabeth-Anne delivered a second child, Charlotte-Anne. And nearly three years after Charlotte-Anne made her entrance into the world, she was followed by Rebecca Emaline Hale.
Zaccheus' job had worked out far better than they had dared hope. Now, at twenty-seven, he had already been promoted three times and, by Quebeck standards, earned a princely salary. When he had first begun working for Tex Sexton, the townspeople had regarded him with suspicion and dread: they had long since learned the hard way that anyone of importance in the Sexton empire was not to be trusted. But somehow Zaccheus had managed not only to gain people's trust and respect, but also to keep his integrity intact. For the first time ever, people felt they had a champion who had Tex's ear, a man they could petition with their problems regarding any of the Sexton monopolies. Zaccheus proved that he was not loath to put in a good word for the deserving, or to intervene on their behalf with Tex or with Roy, his brother, who was as feared as Tex. He became an unofficial buffer zone between Quebeck's citizens and the Sextons. The initial suspicion of him quickly died. He proved over and over that he
was not a Sexton spy and that he had everyone's best interests at heart. Nor had he become self- important or autocratic. In fact, whenever he could, he fought against unfair treatment of Sexton employees and those who depended upon the Sexton-owned businesses for survival. Tex Sexton tolerated Zaccheus' involvements because he was as scrupulously honest with him as he was with everyone else, and having him as a troubleshooter kept people from getting too restless and too angry. Also, Tex was fascinated by Zaccheus because he was the only person he had ever met who was not intimidated by his money or his power. And Zaccheus was as hardworking and dedicated as he himself.
But it was to those in need that Zaccheus became a local hero.
When Abner Mason's irrigation water was about to be terminated because he couldn't keep up with the payments, Zaccheus interceded successfully to have the sluice gates kept open.
When the entire Palacios family was fired from picking cotton—a meager livelihood under any circumstances—because Luis Palacios was trying to organize the cotton pickers into a union, Zaccheus found himself powerless to do anything for Luis, but he managed to get the rest of the family rehired.
When Tom Reubin, a farmer who leased his land from the Sextons, lost his three sons in a tragic accident, Zaccheus organized an emergency detail which kept the farm working and saved the crops until a permanent solution was found.
When Roy Sexton complained bitterly about the amount of cotton being picked, Zaccheus tried to talk him into raising the pickers' wages to see if the added incentive would help. Roy reluctantly gave him his word that, if in a week the cotton picked by each worker was a bushel more each day, a raise would be forthcoming. Zaccheus spoke to the pickers and told them what had transpired—and offered a bonus to whoever picked the most cotton in one day as well. That week a record amount was picked, and Roy grudgingly approved the raises. The daily cotton quota remained high, thanks to the prospect of a bonus.
On the Hale home front, the children were a constant source of joy and surprise. Regina and Charlotte-Anne were already talking up a storm and always seemed to be getting into mischief. Regina was the wildest of them, but it was Charlotte-Anne who both delighted and exasperated Elizabeth-Anne and Zaccheus the most. When she turned three, she began to wake her parents constantly in the middle of the night in order to recount her dreams. Rebecca, the newborn, would surely also be a joy. As much as she hated to, Elizabeth-Anne arranged for Concepcion Sendano, a reliable, warm-hearted Mexican widow, to take care of the children during the day so that she could continue helping Elender at the Good Eats Café.
Each minute of Elizabeth-Anne's life was filled, and it seemed that there never were enough hours in her day. Wife. Mother. Housewife. Working woman. On the verge of her twenty-second birthday, she shouldered the burden of these responsibilities gladly. Somehow she managed to juggle the limited hours of each day with a relaxed, cool insouciance. Besides, as she saw it, she had little choice but to continue working. She knew how heavily Elender relied on her help.
Elender was getting older, and if anything made the passing years less than perfect, it was the fact that Elender, at nearly forty-three, was no longer as healthy as she used to be. Elizabeth-Anne had always regarded her with love and respect, but now another emotion had crept in as well: sadness. It was becoming more and more difficult for Elender to bend and do the chores she had always whisked through so effortlessly. She was suffering from acute arthritis, and her joints and muscles were constantly inflamed and stiff, yet she refused to allow her illness to keep her from her work; she went about her business as usual despite her pain, putting in extra hours for any she lost by having to slow down. She took her suffering in uncomplaining, dignified silence.
It tore Elizabeth-Anne's heart apart to see how much Auntie hurt. Yet Elizabeth-Anne never suggested to her that she retire or take it easy—she knew only too well that the rooming house and the café were Auntie's true lifeblood. The two businesses were more than a way to make a living. They gave Auntie a sense of purpose and belonging, an importance in the community. For her, to stop working completely would have been to stop living entirely; to take it easy would have been to die a little bit at a time. And though she had a little money tucked away, Auntie needed the steady income her work produced; retirement was out of the question.
Elender Hannah Clowney considered herself lucky on many counts. She had the two businesses, she had help, Elizabeth-Anne had grown into a fine woman, and she loved Zaccheus dearly. The children were an endless source of joy to her, and she delighted in spoiling them. She never tired of having them around her.
There was only one disappointment that truly intruded on her sense of happiness and well-being—Jenny. The older Jenny got, the more moody she seemed to become, and she was less use around the rooming house and the café than ever. It disappointed her to no end—but Elizabeth-Anne took it as a mixed blessing. On the one hand, with Jenny refusing to work, there was twice as much that had to be done; on the other, at least Jenny stayed well out of the way.
The horrible valentine incident had been the last vicious prank Jenny had played, and Elizabeth-Anne was grateful for that. Zaccheus had been right, she thought. Jenny had found other things to occupy herself with, but what they were, she did not know. She was far too busy to squander time wondering what Jenny was doing, and the truth was, she really didn't care, as long as it didn't involve her. But the best thing of all which the past five years had brought was dreams of the future. Elizabeth-Anne and Zaccheus saved money scrupulously, living frugally and banking the lion's share. 'Sometime, somewhere, an opportunity will come knocking,' Elizabeth-Anne said with sureness. 'We'll build a business of our own, and when that happens, we'll need the money.'
Life had slipped into a tranquil, comfortable pattern.
And then in May 1918, their idyllic lives together began to change forever.
Jenny had been marking time. Her dissatisfaction with life ran far deeper and was much more dangerous than anyone could imagine. She disliked Quebeck, which she considered a provincial backwater, she hated the people she knew, who she thought were nobodies, and she despised working at the café and the rooming house, which she thought made her a common laborer. She considered herself above all that. She felt the same way about the men she dated—she was too good to waste herself on them, even though at twenty-five going on twenty-six she was headed for spinsterhood. She quietly hungered for money, luxuries, and beautiful objects, but most of all she was ravenous for power. As she saw it, real power was a conglomeration of many things, information most of all, so she kept her eyes peeled for unusual goings-on and collected treasured tidbits of gossip. Without letting anyone know what she was up to, she started gathering dirt on people and collating it carefully in her mind, filing it away and storing it for future use. Just as she had done with Zaccheus. His sordid past, which she had overheard him telling Auntie and Elizabeth-Anne so long ago, was the pearl of her collection, but she knew better than to use it just yet. Power needed to be wielded discriminatingly, at precisely the moment it could do the most damage.
Power. The very thought of it made the adrenaline flow madly through Jenny's veins. But in order to satisfy her appetite for it, she knew that she had to first become someone other than Jennifer Sue Clowney. She needed a husband who already wielded immense power. Then, with what she already knew, and the ever-more-delicious tidbits she would continue to discover, combined with his power, she would stand alone—reigning supreme and invincible among all the women she knew. But to fulfill that vision, she knew that there were only two options left open to her. She would either have to leave Quebeck for Dallas or some other major city, or else she would have to conspire to meet someone around Quebeck who fitted her exacting requirements.
There were only two such men in this part of southwest Texas.
Tex Sexton and his younger brother, Roy. And as Tex was not only the elder but also the more powerful of the two, that narrowed it down to only one choice.
Te
x.
11
It was a little after eight in the morning when Jenny loaded her mare down with the artists' materials she'd ordered from the general store and which had had to be sent for from Brownsville. She mounted the horse with her usual proficiency. Elender had come out onto the porch of the Good Eats Café to watch. 'I still think you'd be better off with the buggy,' she called out. 'Are you sure you don't want to take it?'
Pretending she hadn't heard, Jenny snapped the reins, gave the mare a kick, and was off in a cloud of dust.
'I just don't understand her,' Elender said to Elizabeth-Anne, who had come out on the porch to join her. 'Jenny's never liked sketching or painting. I wonder why she's started now.'
None the wiser, they watched until Jenny disappeared from sight and then went back inside.
Jenny had ridden to within sight of the Sexton ranch house. It was built behind a manmade pond and atop a slight incline so that it dominated the surrounding white-fenced grazing lands and appeared to be forever on the lookout, watchful of anyone who might approach. Although it was a far-from-magnificent building, the original white Greek Revival house had been repeatedly added onto at both ends so that it stretched out telescopically in both directions, each symmetrical wing decreasing in size.
She looked around in all directions. Her first order of business was to find as picturesque a location as was possible within sight of the house. She ended up choosing an unlikely spot where four fences dividing four separate grazing fields converged. The spot found, she dismounted, tethered the mare to the fence, and unpacked. She shook the blanket she'd brought out over the ground, set up the easel, pinned a sheet of watercolor paper to it, and licked her lips thoughtfully. Knitting her brow and concentrating carefully, she did her best to sketch the scene in front of her with a pencil. After a few minutes she stopped to survey her work.
Texas Born Page 27
