First I'll drop in on Charlotte-Anne, she decided. Then, I'll freshen up and get changed. I've got to drive out to Coyote immediately. I can't let Jenny get the upper hand . . . not when the tourist court is at stake.
The room Charlotte-Anne shared with her sisters was the largest bedroom on the top floor of the café building. The floor and walls were narrow planking painted white. There were three iron bedsteads in the room, a large table, and three straight-backed chairs. There was enough space between the beds to have night- stands between them, and against the opposite wall stood three wardrobes. The windows were livened with red-checked curtains, and there was a dresser with an oval mirror and a low bookcase filled with secondhand volumes. Elizabeth-Anne was a great believer in education, self-education as well as what was taught in school: the books were nearly all nonfiction.
Charlotte-Anne, clad in her nightgown, was sitting up in her bed with several pillows propped behind her back. As soon as she heard Elizabeth-Anne's footsteps out in the hall, she snapped shut the copy of Pride and Prejudice which she'd borrowed from one of her schoolmates, pushed it under the pillows, and lay back, pulling the sheet up over her.
She heard her mother knocking softly on the door.
'Is that you, Mama?' she called out weakly, clasping one hand into a fist and coughing delicately into it.
'Yes, it's me.' Elizabeth-Anne opened the door a crack and peered into the room.
Charlotte-Anne looked up and smiled bleakly. ' 'Morning, Mama,' she said between coughs.
' 'Morning, Charlotte-Anne.' Elizabeth-Anne marched briskly into the room and pulled aside the curtains. 'It's stuffy enough in here without cutting off the fresh air,' she said severely.
'Yes, Mama,' Charlotte-Anne replied in a weak voice.
Elizabeth-Anne sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her daughter. Charlotte-Anne was the middle child, and of the three, had been the most difficult to deliver. Her hair was the typical Hale trademark, a rich, ripe shade of wheat, but incredibly fine and silky. She was tall for her age, and very slender, with pale flawless skin, pale pink lips, and another Hale trademark, aquamarine eyes, though this particular shade of aquamarine was so incredibly pale it both enchanted and made one feel ill-at-ease at the same time. They were eyes that seemed to pierce right through you, they were so startling. Yet the pale hair, pale complexion, and pale eyes gave Charlotte-Anne a peculiar beauty Elizabeth-Anne had never before seen in anyone.
She laid a hand flatly against Charlotte-Anne's forehead. It felt neither hot nor cold. She had no fever, that much was clear. 'Rebecca tells me you're not feeling well,' she said.
'No, Mama, I'm not.'
'Is there anything particular you think is wrong with you?'
Charlotte-Anne's face was bland. 'Nooo . . . it's just that I feel real weak.'
'Well, you don't have any fever.' Elizabeth-Anne sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. 'Perhaps we should take you to see Dr. Purris.'
'Oh, no, Mama. It's nothing serious. I'm positive.'
'But you're feeling under the weather so often. That's just not natural for a healthy young lady.'
Charlotte-Anne's eyes dropped. 'I know . . .' She bit down on her lip.
'Charlotte-Anne?'
Charlotte-Anne's pale eyes looked up.
Elizabeth-Anne took a deep breath. 'I don't think I need to tell you that these bouts of illness you're complaining about are cropping up quite often. They worry me. Also, we don't have money to throw away frivolously on doctor's bills. We're very strapped right now.'
Charlotte-Anne nodded. 'I know that.'
'Are you certain you're not feeling well?' Elizabeth-Anne watched Charlotte-Anne's reaction closely. 'I hate to think you're trying to shirk your chores.'
Charlotte-Anne turned away. 'You've been listening to Rosa!' she accused bitterly.
'Yes, I have.' Elizabeth-Anne nodded. 'I don't think I need to tell you we can't afford dillydallying around here. Everyone has to pull her own share. It hurts me to have to do this, but from today on, each morning you feel unwell, you shall stay in this room until the next morning. You shall not go to school, meet any of your friends, or go anywhere except to the toilet when you have to. I know it's severe, but if you're ill, you shall have to remain quietly in bed. Do I make myself clear?'
Charlotte-Anne nodded and broke out coughing. 'Yes, Mama,' she said glumly. 'I'm being punished for being ill.'
Elizabeth-Anne shook her head. 'No, you're not. But if you're indeed ill, you need all the rest you can get.' She paused. 'I really don't think it's fair to your sisters to have to pull their own weight and yours so often. Do you?'
'Does this mean I have to stay in this room all day?'
'It does.' Elizabeth-Anne got to her feet. 'Now, I have a lot of errands I must run today.' She bent down and kissed Charlotte-Anne on the forehead. 'Good-bye, dear.'
' 'Bye, Mama.'
Charlotte-Anne watched her mother leave. As soon as the door closed behind her, she sat forward and stuck out her tongue. Then she dropped back on the pillows. She was seething with anger.
I'm being punished, she thought with fury. That's the only word for it. And why? Because I'm ill. Well, it isn't far from the truth. Getting up before the crack of dawn and preparing things for other people's breakfasts, just like having to wash other people's filthy lunch and supper dishes, is disgusting. It's a dirty business, and I'm sick and tired of it.
I'm not anybody's servant.
Now, confined to her room, she suddenly didn't even feel like reading anymore. The day was ruined.
She reached under her pillow for the book and flung it across the room.
'That blasted Rosa!' she yelled.
4
The stifling, dry Texas heat sat broodingly atop the flat arid landscape. Even though she had put up the top of the buggy and sat in the shade, Elizabeth-Anne's clothes clung wetly to her body.
She did not like being caught outdoors in the daytime heat. As a rule, she tried her best to avoid it, but today a second, more pressing rule took precedence: never put off any urgent—nasty—business. Take care of it immediately, and get it out of the way.
Coyote Building Suppliers was situated about five miles southeast of Quebeck, right next to the completed stretch of new highway. Elizabeth-Anne's eyes clouded over. The new highway only served as more evidence of Tex Sexton's power. He would possess enough influence to have changed the course of the highway so that it passed directly in front of his thriving building-supply business.
In front of the large warehouses was a huge parking lot, suspiciously newly paved with asphalt identical to the new highway, and facing the highway was a huge billboard painted to look like a coyote. Beneath the coyote was the legend 'COYOTE BUILDING SUPPLIERS.' And under that: 'GENERAL CONTRACTORS AND SUPPLIERS.'
Elizabeth-Anne turned the buggy into the parking lot and slowed down. Quite a lot of trucks and cars were parked there. Horse-drawn wagons and buggies like hers were becoming increasingly rare. She nodded to herself, noticing Ross Sullins' black Model T Ford parked in the shade. Ross Sullins was the manager of Coyote—another of Sexton's many minions.
Elizabeth-Anne pulled in on the reins, and as soon as Bessie came to a halt, carefully climbed down from the buggy. She reached into her pocket, produced a lump of sugar, and fed it to the mare. While it chewed contentedly, she flipped the reins expertly over a post. Then she glanced down and quickly smoothed her gray maternity dress with the palms of both hands. She adjusted her hat, inhaled another deep breath to stifle the chill trepidation that, despite the white-hot heat, she felt coursing through her whenever she had to deal with any of the Sexton-owned businesses, and without further ado strode briskly toward the office of Coyote Building Suppliers. From the sheds out back, the high- pitched screeches of saws set her teeth on edge.
She entered the office through the open door. Although the windows were open, it was even hotter in here than it was outside. She could feel herself breaking out anew with pers
piration and fanned herself briskly with the sheaf of thin yellow papers she carried.
Ross Sullins was hunched over behind his scarred desk. He was a big unshaven man with shifty gimlet eyes, oily skin, and a large bulbous nose. Elizabeth-Anne had never seen him without a match stuck between his teeth.
When he heard the crinkle of her paper, he craned his neck and peered over the desk.
She said, 'Mr. Sullins, may I have a word with you, please?'
With a sigh, he reluctantly scraped back his chair, got to his feet, and came slowly around from behind his desk. 'What you want?' He was looking hard at her, the match bobbing around in his mouth.
Without speaking, Elizabeth-Anne thrust out the sheaf of yellow invoices Carlos Cortez had given her this morning. He glanced at her, then took them and flipped negligently through them. He squinted and passed them right back to her. 'Ever'thing's in order, it seems to me.'
Elizabeth-Anne forced herself to keep her temper in check. 'Perhaps it does to you, Mr. Sullins,' she said quietly, 'but it doesn't to me. Would you care to look at these invoices again and explain to me just why the prices listed are what they are? It seems to me that they've skyrocketed again.'
'Overhead, ma'am. 'Sides, prices always go up. Lumber's gettin' more expensive ever' day. So's bricks and mortar. Wouldn't a happened if you'd ordered ever'thing at once.'
She stared at him. 'If I need to jolt your memory, Mr. Sullins, we did order everything at once. It was you yourself who kept telling me—repeatedly—that you were out of stock and that I'd have to wait until you restocked. Each time I ordered a truckload, it was the same old story. Only a partial order would be delivered.'
Ross Sullins worked the match around from the left side of his mouth to the right. 'We do a lot of business,' he said vaguely.
'Certainly you do,' she said softly, 'but I'm no fool, Mr. Sullins. My eyes don't deceive me. I can tell when your warehouses are fully stocked.'
'We always got lotsa stuff on hold for people,' he said evasively. 'You know, stuff they had on order, waitin' to be picked up or delivered.' He looked even harder at her. 'You're not tryin' to suggest we're out to cheat you?'
'I never said that, but it's interesting that you should bring it up.' Elizabeth-Anne paused. 'Don't get me wrong. I don't mind paying for what I buy. That's the way the world is run. By money—and supply and demand. What I do mind, however, is highway robbery. In all its ugly facets.'
He grinned. His two bottom front teeth were missing. 'Ever'thing's in order. Now, I got a lot of work to do-'
Without warning she brought her fist crashing down on the top of his desk. 'Do not dismiss me so lightly! I'm not one of your illiterate customers. I can read, write, and do arithmetic as well as you can . . . and probably better. When prices are raised by a hundred and fifty percent in a little over nine months—that's robbery! Anybody knows that.'
'Maybe you'd best talk to Mr. Sexton. All I do is take his orders. They all come from him.'
'And I suppose it was he who told you to raise the prices of everything I buy?'
'Hey, now, look here—'
'No, you look here, Mr. Sullins.' She pronounced each syllable distinctly. 'I am only too aware that your customers do not all pay the same prices for the same items. Coyote, it seems, bills their clients on a sliding scale.'
He shrugged. 'What gave you that idea?'
'Let's just say that a little bird whispered it in my ear.' She narrowed her eyes. 'I don't like being played for a fool, Mr. Sullins.' Then she laughed softly. 'Well, I guess it was bound to happen to both of us.'
'Huh?' He eyed her suspiciously. 'What's happened to both of us?'
'Mr. Sullins. Did you know that my Mexican laborers refuse to take orders from me?' she asked chidingly. 'For everything I want done, I first have to go through my foreman, Carlos Cortez.' She shook her head. 'Can you believe it? The men think it's unmanly for them to take orders from me, because I'm a woman.'
He chuckled. 'Well, I can't say I blame 'em. It ain't natural, somehow. Even for a Mex.'
'Mr. Sullins.' The corners of Elizabeth-Anne's lips curled downward in disdain. 'Your orders no longer come from Mr. Sexton. Perhaps you weren't informed about it yet, but Mr. Sexton sold Coyote Building Suppliers.'
Sullins couldn't help showing his surprise. 'He . . . did?'
'He did.' She nodded, folded the yellow invoices with slow deliberation, then ran her fingernail slowly along the crease. She eyed him significantly. 'How does it feel to be doing what every Mexican refuses to do?' she asked softly.
His eyes pinched nearly shut. 'What're you talkin' about?'
Elizabeth-Anne couldn't help feeling satisfaction at the look of annoyance that crossed his face. She said, 'Your boss, Mr. Sullins, is now a woman.'
'What?' The match actually fell out of his mouth.
'Yes. You heard me correctly. This company was sold to Mrs. Sexton. She's now your boss.' Elizabeth-Anne tucked the invoices into her purse. 'Well, it seems I've taken up enough of your time. Since we can't come to terms, I'm going to have to try to sort this out with your new employer. You see, Mr. Sullins? You, too, have been played for a fool. I suppose it's between us women now.'
And with that she walked out of his office, leaving him standing there stupefied, his mouth hanging open. She didn't look back, and it was just as well: Ross Sullins slowly bent over, retrieved his match from the dirty floor, and stuck it back in his mouth.
When she reached her buggy, she untied the reins and glanced up at the sky. The sun was rising steadily to its noonday height. It would soon be ten o'clock. The hottest part of the day was upon her. Yet she couldn't dawdle . . . couldn't take a siesta and wait for the cool late afternoon.
She had an appointment with someone she didn't relish seeing.
She climbed heavily up on her buggy and snapped the reins. She had no choice . . . none at all. All along, she had been filled with the dread that she'd have to head out to the Sexton ranch to have a talk with Tex. That would have been bad enough, but since this morning, things had changed. She could have reasoned with Tex much better than with his wife, of that she was certain. And she would still try to discuss this matter with him first.
Well, there was little comfort in it, but at least she now knew with certainty what was up.
Jennifer had decided to drive her out of business.
To ruin her once and for all.
Some things hadn't changed over the years, Elizabeth-Anne thought grimly. She'd tried to stay well out of Jenny's way. But Jenny had obviously just been biding her time.
Now she would probably have to come face-to-face with her. Something she could well do without.
5
The entrance to the Sexton ranch was so conspicuous only a blind man could have missed it. The road leading into it was flanked by tall wooden poles, and a huge overhead sign arched across them, 'THE GOLDEN S RANCH,' the huge letters burned into the wood proclaimed proudly, and to either side of them was hammered a king-size gold-tone horseshoe intertwined with the letter S. Two other prominent signs, one on either side of the entrance, warned:
PRIVATE PROPERTY
NO TRESPASSING. NO HUNTING.
NO SOLICITING.
VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO
THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW
And smaller letters read:
Caution:
Armed Guards Guard Dogs
If Making Deliveries
Do Not Stray from Road
Elizabeth-Anne pulled on the reins and slowly turned Bessie into the private road.
She pressed her lips grimly together, vaguely wondering if she would be considered a trespasser. It wouldn't surprise her in the least.
Flocks of blackbirds heard her approach and burst out of the scrub fields. Mockingbirds chattered obscenely from an occasional tree. Overhead, a lone hawk banked slowly, intent on small prey, and somewhere in the far distance, a mere speck in the powder-blue sky, a vulture did its lazy, patient circling. Somethi
ng wounded lay out there, something dying, and the vulture waited for its death throes to pounce on the unfortunate creature. Like the Sextons, who owned this land.
For the better part of a mile, the property was simply a monotonous terrain of flat, dusty scrubland. Then suddenly on her left was an endless expanse of surprisingly lush green ranchland, fenced off from the road by miles of barbed wire. The lushness was owed to the myriads of tall windmills on derricks which turned lazily in the hot breeze. Herds of grazing cattle—Brahman, Charolais, and Black Angus—roamed contentedly in the heat shimmer, swatting away flies with lazy flicks of their tails. To the right, the land became slightly more hilly, and had been laid out in precise geometrical citrus groves. The trees were startlingly green after the expanse of scrubland, and fruit hung on them in rich yellow and orange clusters. Mexican laborers were swarming through the groves, picking the fruit and emptying it into bushel baskets for ten cents an hour. The citrus scent was fragrant, strong, and clean.
Sexton country, Elizabeth-Anne thought to herself. She had never been here before, but she had heard enough from Zaccheus to know what to expect. The ranch comprised sixty thousand sprawling acres. There was the gently rolling fertile grassland, the lushly planted green citrus orchards, thanks to the complex irrigation network which directed water from the Rio Grande basin, and the hundreds of windmills and artesian wells which forced it up from deep beneath the ground. From what she could see, the Sextons had doubtless worked miracles. If they hadn't derived so much of their wealth through oppression and underhanded dealings, through stomping out the competition and driving smaller landowners out of business, through carefully planned, usurious loans made with the sole intent of repossession—if it weren't for the evil ways they had gained their wealth, Elizabeth-Anne would have allowed herself to be impressed.
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