CHAPTER SEVEN
The week-long train trip to Austin, with its stopovers and delays and bone-rattling clackety-clack, was pure torture for Billie. Morning sickness, which continued for most of the day, had struck again within an hour of Moss’s leaving. She was nauseated from waking till midafternoon, and then was so debilitated and exhausted that she spent the entire trip in her lower berth with a bucket provided by a kindly conductor. Agnes fussed and clucked for the first two days but gave it up after Billie cried to be left alone to die in misery.
Agnes absented herself somewhat gratefully and dined in style three times a day in the luxurious dining car, where she made it her business to tell anyone who’d listen that she belonged to the Coleman family of Austin. She never considered this a direct lie, leaving it to the listener to assume she was a blood Coleman or to wonder just who or what a Coleman was. Her entire attention was taken up by the adventure of it all; this trip was like an overture to the opening act. Not once did Moss Coleman enter her mind; from the moment he had stepped aboard the transport that would take him to San Diego and then on to Hawaii, he had been forgotten. Moss Coleman had served his purpose.
The Southern-Pacific superliner pulled into the Austin station the morning of August 25, 1942. Billie held her mother’s arm and fought down the bile that was rising in her throat. Her eyes were rimmed with purple shadows. Her legs trembled from lying in her berth for almost seven straight days, jarring her spine and increasing her queasiness. She looked gaunt and sick.
“Mrs. Coleman?” A white-jacketed porter approached them, smile gleaming.
“Yes,” Agnes answered for Billie, who sank down again on the edge of the lower berth.
“If you’ll follow me, Mrs. Coleman, I’ll take you to your party. They’re waiting on the platform. If you give me your stubs, I’ll get your bags and bring them out to the car.”
Obviously, the Colemans tipped generously, Agnes thought; this explained the porter’s toothy grin. She dug into her purse and extracted the baggage claim stubs. “Come along, Billie. We mustn’t keep everyone waiting.”
The porter led them to the back of the train and positioned a little stepstool to help them disembark. The capped head and uniformed shoulders of a chauffeur were visible behind a white-haired woman and a tall, bulky-shouldered man leaning on a cane. They stood apart from the station throng.
Billie’s eyes met those of her father-in-law and she was sure of what she read in them: So this was the fragile, sickly female that Moss had the misfortune to marry! She turned to Moss’s mother and saw compassion and understanding in the soft gray gaze. Billie found herself heading for the woman’s outstretched arms.
“You’re ill, child,” Jessica Coleman said. “You come along with me. Tita—that’s our housekeeper—has a cure for everything, and that includes morning sickness. We’ll have you right as sagebrush in a few days.” She didn’t even have to look at her husband to know he must be thinking that Moss had gotten himself an ox in a ditch when he’d chosen this ashen-faced child to produce the Coleman heir.
Jessica turned to Agnes. “I hope you’ll enjoy Sunbridge as much as we do, Mrs. Ames,” she said quietly, and Billie recognized the soft drawl that was Moss’s.
Agnes’s polite response was designed to make perfectly clear right from the beginning that her coming to Texas had been Moss’s idea entirely—it had seemed to ease his mind before he went away, and so, of course, she’d been prompted to oblige. This Agnes said without gushing, without any display of emotion. Her manner was subdued, exactly correct. Seth observed the performance and remembered Moss’s remark when asked what the mother was like: “Just like you, Pap.” Well, here she was. Agnes Ames in her severely tailored suit and small black hat atop her chestnut curls. A woman of few words and with a no-nonsense look about her. Seth approved. He looked at Billie and thought how unfortunate it was that Moss’s tastes didn’t run along the same lines.
“Why don’t you take the little gal to the car, Jess,” Seth suggested. “Poor li’l thing looks about done in. Mrs. Ames and I will be along shortly. Carlo,” he addressed the chauffeur, “take care of the baggage.”
Seth took Agnes’s arm as they walked behind Jessica and Billie. “I wonder if you’d mind if we let Jess and your daughter go ahead to Sunbridge. I’m going to the office and we can take a company car home from there.” Seth had no intention of riding forty miles in a car with a retching mother-to-be and this was as good a time as any to get to know Agnes.
“I wouldn’t mind at all. Billie is hardly fit company these days. The baby, you know.”
Seth forced a smile and his blue eyes beneath the thick gray hair glittered in a way remarkably like Moss’s. Agnes watched to see if he carried the cane for effect or out of need. He did walk with a slight limp, but not enough, she thought, to warrant the cane. There was nothing of the invalid about this tall, powerful man, whose eyes seemed to see everything and whose words said only half of what he meant. Agnes already felt completely comfortable with him but she knew instinctively that hers was the exceptional reaction: Seth Coleman would be intimidating to most women and especially someone as young and naive as Billie.
Agnes missed nothing, from the uniformed chauffeur to Seth’s white custom Stetson to Jessica’s expensive silk-blend suit and Stone Marten stole. When the baggage had been stowed in the trunk of the luxurious black Packard, Agnes climbed in the backseat, beside Jessica and Billie; Seth sat in front, with Carlo.
“Jess, Carlo will drop Mrs. Ames and me at the office. There’s something I have to sign. We’ll follow you in one of the company cars.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Ames is tired and would prefer to go directly to Sunbridge,” Jessica said, offering Agnes the opportunity to decline Seth’s arrangement.
“Nonsense!” Seth declared.
“Actually, I had a very good night, Mrs. Coleman. I’d be delighted to accompany Mr. Coleman to the office and follow later.”
Jessica smiled and nodded.
“She’s Jessica and I’m Seth;” her husband growled from the front seat.
“And I’m Agnes,” she replied, mimicking his tone.
In spite of himself, Seth grinned. So the old girl could give as good as she got. Perhaps there was hope for the daughter after all. Perhaps in a few years she’d lose that soft edge and smarten up, be more like her mother. He was going to enjoy having Agnes about, Seth decided, as he decided most things, instantly. The women in his household were just too soft, too easily brought to tears. Agnes would be a refreshing change.
Agnes had been expecting Austin to be a frontier town, like in a western movie, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. They drove down wide-paved streets, between sidewalks almost as wide. The downtown shopping area, while less developed and hectic than New York, certainly could rival Philadelphia’s. The long black Packard came to a stop before a tall building with a pink Italian marble façade. Engraved in the lintel over the brass-and-glass revolving doors was the name Coleman. Agnes was impressed but kept her counsel, as though she were used to associating with people who owned their own skyscrapers. Remembering Billie, she said, “You will be all right, won’t you, dear? I’m certain I’ll be joining you before long.”
Billie, her eyes closed against the bright sunlight and the motion of the car, simply nodded. She’d be glad when Agnes left the car, taking the overpowering scent of her Tabu perfume with her.
“Billie will be fine, Agnes,” Jessica reassured her. “We’re heading straight home and I’ll put her right to bed. Seth, why don’t you take Agnes out to lunch? It will be well past noon before you’ll be able to get out to Sunbridge, anyway.”
“I’ll do that, Jess,” Seth said politely. Why did Jess think people needed three squares a day to survive? He could remember a time when if he ate once a day, he could consider himself lucky.
Billie slept the forty-odd miles to Sunbridge and Jessica found herself patting Billie’s arm. She wanted to gather the young girl close to her but was afraid to disturb her.
Billie Ames Coleman, Moss’s wife, her son’s wife, and within her she carried Moss’s child. Her own honest-to-goodness grandchild. There was a time, so long ago, when she was as bright arid hopeful and young as Billie. Time and Seth had changed that.
She was being bitter, something she usually reserved for the early hours of the morning when she awoke in her bed, alone. A body had a right to feel bitter at such times. Was it too much to ask to have affection and tenderness and perhaps just a tiny dose of companionship at her age? She wished fervently she could point to a time, a place, when things had changed between herself and Seth. If she had to choose, it would be the day of Moss’s birth. She’d done what was expected, given him a son. His first son, he’d declared, the first of many! When Amelia had been born it was a disappointment that had turned bitter when it was discovered Jessica could bear no more children. Yes, that’s when things went wrong, when Seth no longer came to her bed....
Jessica had been wildly in love with the larger-than-life, rawboned Seth Coleman. She always laughed when he told her she was just what he needed, a refined gentle lady to upgrade the Coleman bloodline. “Jess, you have class,” he would tell her, sweeping her into his arms. He knew what he wanted and he wanted her. He made no secret of his desires, telling anyone who would listen. She couldn’t resist the handsome, aggressive young man, though he had worked with his hands in the oil fields and still had the dirt under his fingernails two years after they were married. He shared his dreams of owning the biggest, grandest spread in all of Texas, and she had known that he would claw it out of the bare earth. Once she had thought he had wanted it for her. Now she knew better. He had wanted it for himself, just as he wanted her refinement and respectability. She had given it gladly, thinking she would receive love and tenderness in return.
She could have done so much better, her family had told her. Carl Bowdrie from the Austin bank had wanted her almost as much as Seth. But there hadn’t been the challenge in Carl’s eyes that there was in Seth’s.
Living with her parents hadn’t prepared her for a life with Seth Coleman. Her father had been a gentleman with a classical education and a small family fortune. Her mother had been a lady. They hadn’t been rich, merely comfortable. Life had been pleasant—filled with affection, genuine affection and love—and simple: church suppers, quiet dinner parties with well-bred people carrying on intelligent conversations, good wine, delicately prepared food, discreet service.
She’d never gotten used to the shindigs Seth threw. Raw whiskey, beer by the keg, and the “wheeling-dealing,” as Seth called it; that was the underlying reason. Things had changed recently, though. Instead of raw whiskey there was champagne and the wheeler-dealers had somewhere come by parlor manners. But underneath it was all the same, attended by the same people for the same reasons: money.
Just once she had asked Seth for something that had been important to her. She’d wanted to keep the house she’d inherited from her parents. She would have been able to go there, to escape to her girlhood home with her children and show them that not all of life was focused on one man’s personality and wealth. But this had been denied her. Seth had refused her request, had taken it all away from her. Just as he’d taken her children.
She had been a young debutante when she’d met Seth. Now she was an old lady living in a monstrous house she detested, with a man who didn’t care if she took the next breath.
Jessica reached out and took Billie’s hand in her own, wishing she could impart the strength she herself had never possessed. “You have to be strong, Billie,” she whispered. “Not tough, strong. There’s a difference.”
Just before they turned into the drive Jessica shook her lightly. “Wake up, Billie. I thought you’d like to get your first glimpse of Moss’s home—Sunbridge.”
Billie rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked through the split windshield of the Colemans’ Packard. They passed under a high wooden arch that was emblazoned with the name . “Sunbridge.” Miles of white rail fencing stretched into the distance. Tall oak trees lined the winding drive and on either side were expanses of bright green lawn with sprinklers pulsing rhythmically.
Billie felt as though they were journeying through a tunnel of dappled green. Far up the drive, bright daylight shone, and when they achieved the final turn the house came into view.
Sitting upon a gently sloping rise, the great house basked beneath the blue Texas sky and was caressed by the sun. Billie thought, as they came out from under the dark of the trees, that only here, in this place called Sunbridge, could the sun seem so warm and golden.
The house was a three-story brick of the palest pink, flanked by two wings, which were also three-storied but set back several feet from the main body. This expanse of prairie rose was accented by white columns that supported the roof of the verandah sweeping the entire frontage. A multipaned fan light crested the huge double front door and the design was repeated again over each window on the top floor. Ornamental topiary trees and crepe myrtle hugged the foundation, and surrounding the house was a magnificent rose garden complete with trellises and statuary. Billie gasped with awe. “Moss never told me about Sunbridge. He just called it a spread!”
Jessica laughed. “How like Moss. Sunbridge is a spread; it spreads over two hundred and fifty thousand acres. We raise thoroughbreds and thousands of head of cattle. They’re kept on the back acres, and other, smaller ranches are commissioned by Seth for breeding. But this is only a small part of the Coleman holdings and business interests. Seth built all of this himself.” Jessica sounded proud but Billie noticed a sadness in her eyes.
“The name Sunbridge fits it so well,” Billie said.
“Yes. When Seth first saw the land he says he felt as though he could almost reach up and touch the sun. He came from very dark beginnings, Billie, and building this place was a major achievement for him. He hoped that a great house upon this rise would bridge his past with what he wanted for the future. Seth’s not a romantic, not by any means, but the name of Sunbridge was entirely his own conception.” The sadness had remained in Jessica’s eyes, and as though to break herself from her solemn thoughts she forced a smile in Billie’s direction. “We’ll get you inside, Billie, where it’s much cooler. Then I’ll have the housekeeper fix something for you. I know you’re not feeling well, so I’ll spare you a formal introduction to the servants.”
At the front portico Carlo opened the door for them and tipped his hat. Jessica gave him instructions concerning the baggage. The ethereal grace of the rose garden and the feminine sweep of the clematis vine surrounding the heavy oak doors did nothing to prepare Billie for the inside of the house. Shining oaken floors, massive beams studding the ceilings, thick dark Oriental carpets, and man-sized leather furniture. As Jessica took her on a tour of the downstairs rooms, it was_ easy for Billie to imagine them filled with smoke and noisy with deep masculine voices and thudding high-heeled cowboy boots. Panoramic paintings filled the walls, all of them depicting burly, tanned men at some masculine endeavor: branding steers, breaking horses, riding the range. It seemed that Jessica’s feminine influence stopped in the gardens. The great house of Sunbridge was Seth Coleman’s domain and every detail of the furnishings stated that fact.
“Come upstairs, Billie,” Jessica said. “We’ve opened the second floor of the east wing for you and Agnes, and of course for Moss when he comes home. I hope you’ll like what I’ve done with your room.”
Here Jessica had exerted her influence. Pastel-colored walls, vases of fresh flowers, lighter, feminine furnishings. Billie’s own bedroom was larger than the entire downstairs of the house on Elm Street. Soft mint-green silk moiré covered the walls, while pinks and golds were used for the draperies and bedspread. A luxurious carpet in a soft green-and-beige pattern quieted footsteps.
“It’s such a large house,” Billie said with wonder. “Our house back in Philadelphia could fit in this one at least six times. You don’t try to keep it up yourself, do you?”
“My, no! The rose garden alone would put me under.” Jessica laughed lightly. “There’s Carlo, whom you’ve met. He chauffeurs and acts as a general handyman about the house. He’s married to Tita, our cook, and he does the shopping for her, as well as other errands. Besides Tita, there are two or three other young Mexicans who come in for general cleaning and laundry. Then there are the stablehands and of course Julio, our gardener. Sunbridge supports quite a few people, Billie. Ever since Amelia—that’s Moss’s sister, you know—left for England, I’m quite grateful for female companionship. And now that you and your mother are here, I couldn’t be more delighted. I want us to be friends, Billie. More than that, I’d like it if you learned to think of me as a second mother, if it’s possible.”
Billie was so heart-touched that she found herself rising above her initial shyness and stepping into Jessica’s outstretched arms. “Moss loves you very much,” she whispered, “and I know I’m going to love you, too.”
Jessica’s eyes were bright with tears. “It’s going to be so good to have you here, child. And a baby on the way! Sunbridge has been lonely without young people and children. Now off to bed with you. I can imagine how nice it will be to be in a bed that isn’t rocking back and forth.”
During her first days at Sunbridge, Billie kept very much to her room. A stationary bed did not work its prescribed miracle. Billie still teetered on the edge of nausea for most of the day, and when she didn’t, she was so exhausted from retching that she confined herself to the bedroom. Jessica fussed and fretted over her. Billie had never felt more loved than by this gentle white-haired mother-in-law, who spent hours with her to keep her from being lonely. Everything about Moss’s mother was kind, gentle, considerate. Billie saw very little of Agnes during this time except for morning and evening visits, when she regaled Billie with her observations of Sunbridge. Agnes was very busy these days, familiarizing herself with every detail of the Colemans’ house and family history.
One morning when Agnes came to sit with Billie over a cup of tea, Billie mentioned how helpful and concerned Jessica was. “Well, she should be,” Agnes stated flatly, fussing with her ever-present rope of pearls. “After all, you are going to bring her first grandchild into the world.”
Billie blinked and stared at Agnes. This was going to be her mother’s first grandchild, also.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, Billie, and you’re wrong. I’m delighted about the baby and I do worry about you. It’s just that... well, I’m much younger than Jessica, you must realize. I haven’t really adjusted to the thought of becoming a grandmother. I feel as though a whole new world has opened up for us and I’m determined to explore it. You understand, don’t you, dear.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. “Besides, I mustn’t be selfish. I’ve had a lovely daughter and Jessica hasn’t been quite so lucky with Amelia. You’ve never given me a day’s trouble, but, from what I understand, Moss’s sister has been quite a hellcat, rebellious since the day she was born. Certainly not the kind of daughter that brings a mother gratification.”
“But Jessica loves Amelia dearly!” Billie exclaimed.
“Of course she does—Amelia is her daughter. But from what I gather, Amelia’s running off to England was more to get out of a rather nasty scrape here than from any display of patriotism. Besides,” Agnes added, lowering her voice, “we all know what kind of girls join the military, don’t we?”
“Amelia didn’t ‘run off’ to England, Mother; she was assigned there,” said Billie. “She joined the Women’s Army Corp right here in Texas and the WACs are important to the war effort. I just hope you never hurt Jessica by insinuating anything else.”
Agnes interrupted with a change of subject. “Has Seth come to see you this morning?”
“Yes, he did, but I don’t think he likes me, Mother.”
“Don’t be silly, and don’t you antagonize Seth, Billie. He’s simply a very autocratic man and autocratic men find it very difficult to show affection.”
At this, Billie raised her eyebrows. “And did you learn this from the same person who told you about Amelia? I find it strange that you’d defend Seth and at the same time be critical of Jessica.”
“I wasn’t being critical, just observant.” Agnes placed her cup and saucer back on Billie’s breakfast tray and then stood up, smoothing her russet silk dress.
“Isn’t that a new dress, Mother?”
“Yes, and don’t you think it’s the perfect color for me? It’s been so long since I’ve had anything as nice as this and there are several more on order. The sale of the house should go through anytime now, so I’m not afraid to dip into my savings, just a bit.”
Billie, who had an eye for fabric and fashion, realized that it had taken more than a bit of dipping to buy this dress. She looked at her mother objectively. There were subtle changes about Agnes.... She seemed more polished and put together, somehow. Was it that she was wearing more makeup these days? Or was it just being here at Sunbridge that put color in her cheeks and a glow in her eyes? Billie sighed. She supposed she’d been selfish. She hadn’t noticed the strain her mother had been under for so many years to provide for both of them. Now mundane worries like taxes and grocery bills were no longer her concern.
“You look wonderful, Mother,” Billie said.
“I wish I could say the same for you, Billie. Why, you’re positively haggard—no wonder Seth doesn’t like to come up to visit! When are you going to get out of that bed and come downstairs? The Texas sun is wonderful and at least it would help you get rid of that sickroom pallor. Pregnancy isn’t a disease, you know, Billie!”
“I do get out of bed.” Tears came unbidden to Billie’s eyes. She cried so easily these days. And she was always so sleepy when she wasn’t sick.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Agnes was halfway to the bed to embrace Billie when she remembered her silk dress. Even one tear would stain it beyond repair. “It’s only that I worry about you. Perhaps you can go down and sit on the verandah. That wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
“No, I suppose not.” Billie lay back against her pillows. The tea she sipped was roiling through her stomach and she recognized the signal. Agnes also recognized the green tinge to Billie’s complexion.
“I’ll be downstairs, Billie. Call if you need me,” Agnes said over her shoulder as she made a hasty exit.
During the second week at Sunbridge, when Billie was feeling no better, she resentfully surrendered to Seth’s authority. He arranged a series of tests at the hospital in Austin. Dr. Adam Ward became Billie’s physician on call. What this meant, Seth explained, was that he was available for the slightest problem. If even a headache lasted more than an hour or two, Adam was to be summoned. It was an order. Billie nodded her compliance. Later Agnes told Billie that the entire third floor wing of the hospital had been donated by the Colemans and it was there that the baby would be born. The Coleman heir.
Dr. Ward prescribed vitamins for Billie and a daily regimen of diet and exercise. There were to be twice-weekly vitamin B injections as well, which the doctor administered himself at Sunbridge. That a busy physician would drive the forty-plus miles from Austin was her first realization of Seth Coleman’s clout. In Philadelphia, a doctor made house calls only if his patient was completely unable to make the trip to his office.
Aside from a telegram informing them that he’d arrived safely in San Diego, there had been no word from Moss. Billie wrote him care of an APO number, San Francisco. V-mail was notoriously slow, she’d been told when she’d fretted about Moss’s not answering her letters. She wrote every night, using the onionskin paper commonly known as V-mail stationery that Jessica had brought her from the post office.
After the very first vitamin B injection Billie began to feel more like herself. But the days were still long and lonely for her. It was Jessica who kept Billie company on those afternoon’s when she was feeling better. Billie welcomed Jessica’s attentions and company. She liked to hear stories about Moss when he was a child, and looking through the family photo album was one of her favorite pastimes. One day, Jessica asked Billie if she would like to see Moss’s room.
Jessica opened the door to a room on the second floor, west wing. “This was Moss’s room when he was a boy,” Jessica explained. “When he was seventeen he moved to the room next to yours. And then, of course, he went off to college.” Billie stepped inside and immediately felt herself immersed in Moss’s life. School banners almost covered the walls by the narrow low bed. Books, hockey sticks, baseball bats, and other assorted sports equipment littered the corners. Dresser tops and bookshelves were studded with sports trophies, and from the ceiling, on fine, almost invisible wires, hung model planes, put together by Moss himself with painstaking attention to detail.
“Why don’t I just leave you here, Billie? That’s the first. smile I’ve seen on your face in almost a week,” Jessica said. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen with Tita, going over next week’s shopping list. When you’re through here, I’ve something else to show you.”
Jessica closed the door quietly, a sympathetic smile touching her lips. Poor Billie, she missed Moss so. Such a quick courtship, so little time to get to know each other. And now there was a baby on the way. As she walked to the kitchen, she thought of Seth’s disapproval of Billie—“not the stuff Colemans are made of.” But there was one thing Seth and that lovely girl had in common: their love for Moss. The thought occurred to Jessica that perhaps Seth was so disagreeable to Billie for just that reason—he saw the girl as a rival for Moss’s affections. Well, Jessica sighed, hadn’t that always been the case? Since the day of Moss’s birth nothing and no one else had existed for Seth, and that included herself and poor Amelia, who had tried her whole life to gain her father’s love. And when she’d failed, Amelia had opted for her father’s attention instead. That was the reason for most of her scrapes and rebellion. It seemed that all of them, Moss included, thought nothing was as important as being worthy of Seth’s love. A love so grudgingly given.
Billie hardly heard the door close, so enthralled was she at being surrounded by Moss’s things. It wasn’t difficult to imagine his young dark head bent over the scarred and battered desk as he studied his schoolwork or meticulously painted one of his model planes—and so many of them! It was easy to see that his love of flying had begun at an early age. Her eyes wandered over a cabinet filled with athletic trophies, the floor-to-ceiling shelves littered also with books, some of them read over and over again, judging by the tattered corners and dog-eared pages. Photographs hung on the walls—Moss playing baseball, football, one with his arm around a pretty girl at what must have been his senior prom. She was a slender girl with dark hair and angular features. Several photographs were of Moss with this girl. One, bent and dog-eared, as though it had been carried for a long time inside a wallet, was of the girl, stylishly dressed in ski togs, smiling up at Moss, who had his arm around her possessively. Across the bottom, Moss had scrawled, “Alice ‘n’ me.”
Billie knew a pang of jealousy. Who was Alice?
Several photographs were of himself with his sister, Amelia, whom Billie recognized from pictures Jessica had shown her. Two sleek dark heads close together, Amelia’s arm around a pony’s neck, Moss grinning into the camera while he authoritatively held the animal’s bridle.
Sinking down onto the foot of the narrow bed, Billie smoothed her hand over the green wool sweater that lay beside her. There was so much about Moss she didn’t know, couldn’t even imagine. He was still a stranger, she realized sadly, a man who had come into her life and taken her heart. There had never seemed to be time for questions, for delving into the past. All that had mattered was the present, the all-too-short present. And now here she sat among his things, in this room that seemed to be maintained as a shrine to his youth. She felt as though she’d been sent here to Texas to be stored among his possessions and to wait for his return, something more that belonged to Moss. Unthinkingly, her hand went protectively to her middle, where the life their love had created nestled warm and safe within , her. This was Moss’s also. And the baby would wait, just as she would, to be reclaimed.
The feelings of an echoing past stayed with Billie when Jessica took her later to the little workroom behind the stable. Here an older Moss had littered the small space with radio innards, electric motors, screwdrivers. Here, too, was the sense that Moss had only just left for a little while, that any instant he would appear at the door to finish a project or begin another.
“This should have been cleared out long ago,” Jessica complained good-naturedly, “but Seth wouldn’t hear of it. That man’s as stubborn as a sore-toed mule. It’s not as though Moss will ever use this place to tinker again, not when he’s got factories and laboratories with all the latest equipment.” , Billie’s brows lifted in question. “That’s right, dear. Didn’t Moss tell you? Or was he too busy sweeping you off your feet?” Jessica laughed indulgently. “Seth’s business isn’t just cattle and oil. Heavens, no. The Colemans are involved in aeronautics and electronics. Moss always was bright when it came to new ideas or new uses for old ones. That’s a direct quote from Seth, but I was always proud of Moss, too. Considering the way his father dotes on him—and certainly he never wanted for anything money could buy—Moss was never spoiled or lazy, never what you’d call a playboy. He gets more pleasure from his little inventions than he would from a new sports car.” Jessica’s pride in her son was evident in her glowing smile. “Moss always had good judgment, I’m glad to say, and he’s shown extraordinary taste when it comes to choosing a wife.”
Jessica threw her arms around Billie and hugged her. “You’ve become very dear to me, child. I won’t pretend it doesn’t have something to do with the baby, but I’m so glad you’ve come to Sunbridge.”
“Moss’s good judgment extends to his choice of mothers,” Billie teased, returning the hug. “And thank you for showing me his room and his workshop. There’s so much about my husband I don’t know.”
“The Coleman men are a hard lot to understand, Billie. There’s a lot of Seth in Moss, and even being married for almost thirty years I still can’t say I know my husband. But this is Moss’s world, Billie, and it must become yours if you’re ever to be happy. Your child will belong to Sunbridge. And while you’re discovering Moss’s world and his work, I hope it will bring him closer to you, ease some of the loneliness.”
Together, Billie and Jessica stepped out of the workshop and into the bright Texas sun. When Billie looked over the expanse of lawn and the pastures beyond, she tried to see through Moss’s eyes. Sunbridge. Moss’s home. Would it ever be home to her?
Seth was taking unusually long to select his dinner clothes. Normally he reached into the closet and whatever his hand touched was what he wore. Tonight there were guests. Guests, he snorted. Moss’s sickly-looking wife and her mother, who could double as a barracuda. He withdrew a five-hundred-dollar, custom-made suede jacket that was the color of tumbleweed. He had a shirt to match and he’d even wear a tie. Dress up, spruce up, show off a little. Agnes Ames would catalog his entire outfit complete with prices. He hadn’t managed to get this far in life without knowing something about people, and Seth had seen Agnes before, in himself. There was a burning fever in her eyes that had once been in his own.
The pier glass threw back his reflection. He looked fine. Fitter than a tick on a brown dog, and the image of success. Not long ago Texan magazine had done a spread on him, noting his humble beginnings. Humble my ass, Seth snorted. Born to an abjectly poor tenant farmer, he had worked by day beside his five brothers and his father to eke out a living from the barren land. By night, he’d huddled on a bare mattress with only unwashed brothers for warmth. He would never forget the stink. He would never forget any of it.... His ma was always carrying a big belly or spewing another life into the already too crowded shack. The naked defeat in her eyes and the stench of moonshine on his father’s breath convinced him at an early age that life on someone else’s land would never bring a man a good meal or a clean bed.
He was twelve years old, scared of the big world but scareder still of what staying in that tenant shack would make of him, when he cut and ran with the rags on his back and sixty cents stolen from the cracked milk jug. He poked around some for a year or two, begging and finding odd jobs. But most men took him for older than he was because of his size and the curiously solemn expression in his eyes, and he talked himself into a job in the oil fields. He worked like a slave and was treated like one, but at the end of the first month he had fourteen dollars and eighty-five cents and that was all that mattered. He saved, spending only what was necessary to survive: a warm coat, sturdy boots, and a stupid old mule to carry him about. And at the end of each year the sock in his bedroll bulged fatter and fatter.
He was twenty when he met Skid Donovan, an old catter with a lease on a pumped-out well but no money. There was still oil in that old hole; Seth could smell it. All around them the black stuff was making men rich. It was a chance, a gamble, and he took it. They became partners.
Seth worked like a mule and sharpened his business savvy. That other companies wanted to take over Skid’s lease confirmed Seth’s opinion that there was more, oil down there. He had to fight and develop eyes in the back of his head. Luck decided to ride with him and the well proved. But while he did all the work, Skid drank away his half of the profits. After two years Seth had enough and sold the partnership out from under Skid without guilt. Hell, Skid would guzzle himself to death in another six months anyway, so what difference did it make that he’d gotten his signature while the old man was blind with rotgut whiskey? The world was made of survivors....
The mirror was showing Seth something he didn’t want to see. He was aging just like his father. The grooves and trenches in his face were the same ones he’d despised in the old man. Without a second thought, he raised his booted foot and smashed the pier glass into thousands of sparkling shards.
He supposed that somewhere down the line he should have sent some money to the old man and those shiftless, sorry creatures who were his brothers. But hell, if they wanted to wallow in poverty, who was he to stop them? Sending. them money would have been like pissing in the ocean. They were all too stupid. He didn’t owe them anything. He couldn’t even remember if the old man had ever called him anything besides “boy.” And when he’d left, he was sure, it had been a relief to his family that there was one less mouth to feed. They hadn’t exactly sent out a search party for him.
Seth had never wanted Jessica to know the whole truth. Once he’d set his sights on her, he’d wanted nothing to stand in the way of making her his wife. She knew he came from modest beginnings, but he’d never told her how sorry it had all been—it never did for a woman to have something to hold over a man’s head.
Yes, he’d wanted Jess. Good family, good bloodlines, a little short on money—but that was all right; he was going to have more than enough. Poor Jessica. Pretty as a picture and crazy in love with him. But weak, no grit, no starch, too emotional. He’d been expecting a passel of robust sons and what he’d gotten was a worthless daughter who had made it impossible for Jess to bear more children. Sometimes there was no justice. And of course, she’d given him Moss. For his one magnificent son, Seth did have to thank Jessica. He’d given her an easy life and she had no complaints.
Agnes Ames, now that was some woman. He admired her rigid posture and her capable hands. A strong woman, damned attractive, too. He wished he could say the same for the pitiful little gal Moss had married. Billie would have to toughen up if she was going to fit into the Coleman family. He hoped he was wrong, but he thought he saw many of Jessica’s weaknesses in the girl. Too thin and narrow-hipped.
Yes sir, he’d come a long way by the shortest possible route. He made the rules. The legacy he would leave behind to his son and future grandsons had been worth it. His family, his legacy. No guilt, no remorse. When you won, you won all the way.
Seth Coleman presided over the cherrywood dining table in proper patriarchal form. His thick, freshly combed gray hair brought his healthy tanned features into relief beneath the glow of the Victorian globe chandelier. A russet-brown, western-cut jacket fit snugly about his broad shoulders and he wore a silk waistcoat that belonged to another age. Billie tried to see something of Moss in Seth’s face but could recognize only the summer-blue eyes; they were older and wiser, of course, but they lacked the warmth and humor that were in her husband’s. Those qualities, she decided, he’d inherited from Jessica.
“What’s for supper?” Seth growled in his peculiarly graveled voice. “I don’t mean to offend you ladies,” he said with a smile toward Agnes, “but I hope to hell we’ve having something a man can sink his teeth into.”
“Now, Seth, you know what the doctor said about your diet.” Jessica kept her words light but there was a loving chastisement in her tone. “As it happens, tonight we’re having roast beef and potatoes. That should suit any man, Seth, even you.”
“Damn the doctor. What I’ve been needing is a mess of ribs or maybe some chicken-fried steak. Now that’s man food. Tita! Bring on that beast you’ve roasted and I hope to hell it’s still bloody in the middle. If we’ve got any delicate appetites at this table, they can have the end slices.”
Billie knew the “delicate appetite” Seth referred to was her own. She determined not to think about the blood-rare beef Seth preferred and hoped her stomach didn’t begin to chum halfway through dinner. Her eyes went across the table to Agnes for encouragement, but her mother was already dipping her spoon into the thick corn soup, another of Seth’s favorites. Billie glanced away from the lump of butter floating on its surface.
“I took Billie to Moss’s old room today, Seth, and out to the workshop,” Jessica said. She was optimistic; perhaps with more frequent exchanges between Seth and Billie their relationship would improve. Her technique had never helped reconcile Seth and Amelia, but with a father and daughter, emotions always ran too high.
Billie felt Seth’s eyes on her. “What’d you think gal? Quite a little display, wasn’t it?” Seth always brightened when the subject of Moss came up. “That boy’s got a head on his shoulders. I can remember him taking a jolt or two from an electrical short in those little inventions of his, but that never stopped him from setting out to do what he intended.”
“What was he trying to do?” Billie asked innocently. “I know he likes to tinker with things, but I didn’t understand any of what I saw in the workshop.”
Seth’s expression was disdainful. “Of course you wouldn’t. Before that boy was twelve years old he’d redesigned the pump station we use for irrigation,” he said, pointing his fork at her for emphasis, “and it’s still in use today, That boy can do anything he sets his mind to, and don’t think otherwise. Through-and-through Coleman and the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree. He’s got a few things to learn and I’m here to teach him. If this war hadn’t come along, my son never would’ve left Sunbridge—or Texas, either—to find himself a wife. The Colemans, and Jessica’s family, too, for that matter, have been in Texas for damn near a century. Texas born and Texas bred. And that’s the way it’s going to be for Moss’s sons, even if his wife is a Yankee from Pennsylvania.” Seth’s voice was thundering now, and his eyes pierced the distance between Billie and himself, leaving her dumbstruck.
Jessica’s fingers frayed the edges of her linen napkin. Agnes sat silent and tall, her mouth pinched into a sour line as she stared across at Billie, willing her daughter to stand up to this cantankerous old man before he devoured her. When Billie’s shoulders hunched forward in defeat, Agnes tossed her napkin onto the table like a fighter throwing his hat into the ring—Seth had not only insulted Billie’s heritage but her own as well.
“The Colemans may have been in Texas for nearly a century, but long before any of them saw their first Indian my family fought in the Revolutionary War!” Agnes bristled. “I’m a member of the DAR, just like my mother before me and her mother before her! And since you’ve openly admitted that the bloodline has been stagnant for too long, it seems to me Moss showed good sense in looking elsewhere for a wife.”
The room was still. Even chubby, dark-skinned Tita ceased rattling dishes in the adjoining kitchen. Jessica’s gentle blue eyes went to her husband in a silent plea for domestic peace. Suddenly a great sound filled the room, booming from the rafters. Billie quickly lifted her eyes to see Seth with his head thrown back in laughter, shoulders shaking and belly bouncing. When he’d dried his eyes on the back of his hand, he smiled across at Agnes. “Good for you, Aggie! I guess I’ve been told, haven’t I? Between you and me we’re gonna have ourselves one hell of a grandson!”
Agnes accepted this as a compliment and retrieved her napkin. “Eat your soup, Seth, while you can still choke it down,” she said, and went back to the business of eating. Jessica and Billie were bewildered, Jess because it was the closest she’d ever heard her husband come to complimenting a woman, Billie because it was the first time she’d known her mother to allow herself to be called Aggie.
When coffee was served, black and aromatic the way Seth liked it, he made his announcement. “Got an invite in the mail today” was his offhand remark to Jessica as he added a third lump of sugar to his cup. “We’re flying over to Dallas sometime before Thanksgiving; the date’s not set. The Barretts are having a shindig for Lyndon Johnson. A real down-home Texas barbecue. It’s something we should have done, instead of letting the Barretts get the jump on us. Lyndon’s decided he’ll be more useful in the navy than in Washington. Leastwise, that’s what he’s saying. It’s really only because he thinks it’ll add to his political image.”
“When did Lyndon decide this?” Jessica asked worriedly. “Poor Claudia, she must be beside herself !”
“Lady Bird will do all right,” Seth said. “She always does all right. Luckiest day of Lyndon’s life was when that woman agreed to marry him; otherwise he’d still be a no ’count teacher in the sticks somewhere. She told him he could do anything and he believed her. When she pointed him in the direction of politics he took to it natural as a newborn calf to its mother’s teat.”
“Now, Seth, that isn’t saying much for Lyndon, and you know he’s an able man. I’ve heard you say so yourself.”
“Lots of men are able, Jess, and lots of men never get anywhere. That’s because they’ve hooked up with the wrong woman. We leave Friday, just after lunch.”
Jessica wrung her hands in her lap, clearly distressed. “Seth, couldn’t I take the train and meet you? You know how I hate to fly.”
“No, you cannot take the train. Who’d run the house from now till Friday? You’ll fly with me.”
Jessica paled. “What about Billie and Agnes?”
“What about them?” Seth dug his fork angrily into his lemon pie.
“It’s just ... it’s just that I don’t think it’s a good idea for Billie to fly, do you? Considering the baby and the way she’s been feeling? Billie and I could take the train together.”
Seth swallowed another gulp of scalding coffee. “You ever been up in a plane, gal?” he said to Billie, who shrank back against her seat and nodded, remembering how she’d squeezed her eyes shut the entire time. Just the thought made her feel sick. “Well, Jess might be right. How about you, Aggie? You like to fly?”
“I love it,” Agnes stated, ignoring Billie’s amazement. “Or at least I know I’d love it. We usually drove to parties in Philadelphia, but I’m willing to try flying. According to Moss, it’s an experience everyone should have.”
. “Believe him.” Seth laughed. “Of course, I don’t like that stunt-flying Moss is so crazy about. Just a nice safe, level trip. You’d better rest up, gal,” he ordered Billie. “This family has got to be represented at this shindig and you’re going, pukey or not. Lyndon Johnson has done a lot for this family with his connections in Washington, and we’ve got to show our appreciation.” “Billie will be just fine,” Agnes assured him. “Billie, why don’t you play a few piano pieces for us after dinner? You haven’t been at the piano since before we left Philadelphia.” “I didn’t know you played,” Jessica interjected. “How nice it will be to hear that old piano again. Amelia had quite a bit of talent. Remember how Amelia used to play for our friends, Seth?”
When there was no answer, Jessica hastily went on to recall for Agnes and Billie some of the big parties that had been held at Sunbridge. But Agnes’s attention was on Seth, who leaned back in his chair and lighted a thick brown cigar. She’d noticed that whenever Amelia’s name was mentioned he withdrew from the conversation. Evidently, he didn’t share Jessica’s fondness for their daughter. Billie’s child, she thought with satisfaction, would always hold a position of importance in the Coleman household, and without competition from Amelia or any of her future progeny.
Seth settled himself into a worn leather wing chair in the living room and frowned at his wife, who was busily uncovering the baby grand piano that stood in the bay of long-curtained windows. It wasn’t until Agnes brought him a large snifter of cognac that his expression brightened.
“It’s probably terribly out of tune,” Jessica apologized. “I don’t remember the last time it was played.” Billie tried a few scales. The tone was acceptable but the instrument did need attention. Soon she broke into the beginning strains of Dvorak’s “Humoresque,” playing softly and haltingly at first until her fingers remembered their stretch and reach. Measure by measure her volume increased and the music filled the high-vaulted room with the lilting quality of her interpretation.
Jessica was impressed, smiling over at Agnes with pleased astonishment. “I never knew Billie was so accomplished,” she whispered. She glanced over at Seth, who was clearly unmoved by his daughter-in-law’s performance. Talent, unless it would enhance the power and property of Sunbridge, was unappreciated. When Billie broke into the waltz from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty, Seth was heard to growl, “Doesn’t that gal know any saloon music? Some good old ricky-ticky tunes.” Then, louder: “How about ‘Red River Valley’ or ‘My Darlin’ Clementine’? Why do women always like funeral marches?”
Jessica was embarrassed, Agnes annoyed. But Billie heard and immediately switched to a bouncing rendition of “Red River Valley,” which brought a grudging smile of pleasure to Seth’s face. He wanted saloon music, she’d give him saloon music—“Clementine,” “The Cowboy’s Lament,” “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” Soon Seth’s feet were tapping with the rhythms and he was clapping his hands. Now Agnes’s expression was bored, Jessica’s hopeful. In time, she thought, and the Lord willing, Seth just might come to appreciate this new daughter of theirs.
It was then that the phone rang. After the third ring Tita picked up the receiver in the hall and quickly came to announce long distance, San Diego. “It’s Señor Moss!”
Billie’s hands froze in midair and she leaped to her feet. But she was no quicker than Seth, who struggled from his chair and then had to lean on his cane for balance. For one moment their eyes locked, and Billie was the first to look away. Seth would speak to his son before she could speak to her husband.
Agnes and Jessica followed Seth and Billie out to the hall, gathering close. “That you, son?” Seth barked into the receiver. “’Bout time we heard from you! Still in San Diego?”
“How you doing, Pap? Are you treating my girl right? Not pulling any of your tricks, are you, Pap?”
Seth’s answer was a noncommittal growl. “When the hell are you coming home? Have you gotten those ideas about war and glory out of your thick head yet?”
“I’m calling to say I’m leaving for Hawaii at oh three hundred tomorrow, California time.”
“Why the hell you want to go all the way over there? If you’re fighting for this country, then that’s where you should stay, right here in the States! You’ve got a wife here and a son on the way. This is where you should be. I can still fix it, you know. Why don’t you let me?”
“Pap, this is what I want. I’m being assigned to the USS Enterprise. You take care of Billie and the baby for me. I’m counting on you. Where is Billie?”
“Right here. Listen, son, there’s something I want to ask you. Remember that well we pulled in out over to Waco? They’re telling me she’s going dry and we should pull out before we lose money on her. My gut tells me there’s still a lode down there and we just haven’t tapped it. Christ, the whole area is pulling in oil and I can’t see any reason why we shouldn’t. What do you think about drilling another well along the same ridge? You were out there before you got that fool notion to enlist in the navy—what d’you think?”
Billie hovered near, with clenched fists, straining to hear the sound of Moss’s voice. Frustration screamed through her. Why was Seth talking about oil wells and money. She thought she’d faint if she didn’t speak to Moss this instant! She looked at Jessica, who signaled to her to be patient.
“That’s not what those smart-assed geologists have been telling me,” Seth complained. “They’re’saying those pumps south of ours are pulling and we’re bottoming out. A slant rig, you say? Do you know where it’s been tried? ... Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s a wildcatter out of Oklahoma, isn’t he?” Another pause. “Hell, son, why don’t you come on home? Turn in that leather jacket and come be where you’ll do the most good. Those planes don’t run on water, you know. This country needs all the fuel oil it can get.”
Seth listened, the lines in his face deepening with discouragement. “Yes, your mother’s right here and so’s Aggie.... Yes, she’s here, too.” Without another word, Seth handed the phone to Jessica, who kept her loving remarks brief before turning the phone over to Billie..
“Moss? Darling, how are you?”
“Fine. How’s my girl? Not letting the old man make you sorry you married into the Colemans, are you?”
“Never. Never ever. Are you still in San Diego? Have you written? I didn’t receive any letters. Did you get mine?”
“Every single one of them, honey. I didn’t write; they’ve been keeping me pretty busy. I’m being shipped to Hawaii along with my squadron. Thad Kingsley’s here, too, and shipping out with me. You remember him, don’t you? Tall guy from New England.”
“How could I forget? I danced with him at our wedding. Will you write when you get to Hawaii? I miss you, Moss.” Billie glanced over at Seth, who was standing beside Agnes and Jessica. There was so much she wanted to say to Moss, but how could she with everyone listening to her every word?
“I miss you, too, Billie. Take care of yourself and the baby. Do what your mother tells you and everything will be okay. Hear?”
She wanted to ask if he really missed her. She wanted him to say he loved her. “Moss, when do you think we’ll be together again? Will you be home for Christmas?”
“Don’t think so, honey. Hawaii’s half a world away, don’t forget. Write to me, Billie. I love hearing from you. Write me all the news, okay?”
“Okay. And Moss?”
“Yeah, Billie?”
“Take care of yourself, won’t you? I worry.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to come home as good as I left. I’ve got to go now, honey. There’s a hundred guys waiting to use the phone. Take care of yourself. I miss you.”
Billie gulped, trying to ignore the three pairs of eyes that watched her. She wished for one instant of privacy. Turning her back, she whispered into the phone, “Moss, I love you.”
“I know you do, Billie.” Click.
Billie held the dead receiver in her hand, feeling it grow cold in her grip. “Well, what did he say?” Seth demanded.
“He ... he said he missed me.”
“No, I mean did he say anything important? When is he coming home? Will he be coming back to the States?”
Wordlessly, Billie turned and climbed the stairs to her room. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts of Moss, and more than anything she wanted to spare herself Seth’s inquisition.
Moss pushed his cap back at a jaunty angle and crossed the hotel lobby to where Thad Kingsley waited. “Didn’t I tell you,” Thad said, “it’d be better coming into town to call Billie? At least you didn’t have to compete with two hundred men for use of the phone. Besides, sometimes the lines from the base are so jammed it takes an hour for a call to go through.”
Moss signaled the barman for another drink. “Pap’s having trouble with a well in Waco. That old man thinks I’ve got the answer to every one of Sunbridge’s problems. I told him to get hold of a wildcatter I know in Oklahoma. If anybody can find oil, that bastard can.”
Thad’s brow wrinkled as he balanced his long lean body on the high bar stool. “Wasn’t Billie home? Didn’t you get to talk to her?”
“Billie’s fine, or so she says. She was having a little morning sickness last time I saw her, but I guess that’s passed.”
“Don’t you know?”
“How should I know?” Moss asked honestly. “I’m here in San Diego and she’s in Texas.”
“Didn’t you ask her?” Thad persisted.
“Hell, I just phoned to tell my wife I’m leaving for Hawaii and I don’t know when I’ll see her again. Do you think I want to talk about vomit at a time like that?”
Thad considered himself properly chastened. Moss’s relationship with Billie was really none of his concern. It was just that his impression of Billie was that she was fragile and too terribly vulnerable. And Moss Coleman could be such a bastard. “I suppose a phone call like that can get pretty heavy. It can’t be easy to leave a girl like Billie, especially when she’s carrying your first child.”
“Pap’ll take good care of her.” Moss sipped his drink, oblivious to the frown creasing his friend’s brow.