Texas rich (10 page)

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wanted. To fly. To test his mettle. To pit himself against an enemy and win. Moss wanted it so badly he could taste it, and he worried that it would all be over before he could get in.

Wearily, Moss stepped out into the dawn, heading back to the barracks he shared with other officers for a much needed shower. Reveille was just sounding as he stepped out from the steamy spray and tied a towel around his middle.

"Okay, you wing-tailed bastards, let's get the lead out and move," Thad Kingsley shouted to the men lying sprawled in their bunks. "Let's all look alive like Coleman here. We're looking at navy, men. Real navy. Move it!"

"Knock it off," Moss growled irritably. "I'm not in the mood this morning."

"Get him! Big night last night. High school graduation. Ah, youth! Did you get to keep her out all night? Tell us about it!"

Moss endured the heckling of his friends until Jack Taylor ripped away his towel, hooting and catcalling. "Looks like our man had himself a big night."

Moss was on him like a shot. The men flinched at the sound of his fist hitting Taylor's jaw.

"Jesus!" Taylor complained. "What's gotten into you, Coleman? Can't you take a little ribbing?" He rubbed his swelling jaw. "You can hand it out, so why can't you take it? So who cares if you struck out? You can't win 'em all."

"It's none of your business if I struck out or not," Moss said. "Just stay out of my life, okay? And you better get some ice on that jaw." He headed for the latrine.

Thad Kingsley shrugged. "So the guy's in love. Leave him alone, Taylor. He's got something eating him, and if and when he's ready to tell us, he will."

Thad thought about the little fresh-faced blonde Moss had met at the USO several weeks before and frowned. He hadn't been serious when he'd said Moss was in love, but now he wondered. Could it be that a pretty little thing as sweet and naive as Billie Ames could break through that tough Texan veneer when other, more sophisticated women had failed? Kingsley felt a surge of envy that Coleman always managed to find pie in the sky, and at the same time he almost pitied Billie.

Billie heard the sounds of Agnes preparing breakfast in the kitchen and smelled the inviting aroma of brewing coffee. Just before six o'clock that morning she'd heard their roomers leave

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for work. Now Agnes and Billie were alone in the house. Now she had to go out and face her mother.

Bravado at seven-thirty in the morning was not something Billie could muster and her hand shook as she poured the coffee. She steeled herself and waited for Agnes to open the conversation. When Agnes nibbled her toast and sipped her coffee, Billie could feel her stomach tighten. She could see Agnes's reasoning. Billie was the guilty one, the offender; therefore, she should be the first to speak. Billie took a deep breath. "Mother, about last night. I know you're disappointed in me. I understand why you would be. Vm not asking your forgiveness; I'm asking you to understand. I love Moss. And none of it was his fault. It was me. Mother. I instigated—^"

"Somehow, Billie, that doesn't make me feel one whit better," Agnes said sternly. "It's difficult for me to believe you couki be so wanton."

"Mother, I didn't feel wanton last night and I don't this morning," Billie said firmly. "When two peqple love each other they want to be together. They want to make love." And then they marry each other, Billie said to herself.

"I see," Agnes said coolly. "Have you given any thought to the fact that you may be pregnant? It's been known to happen, you know. What if you're pregnant and Moss is shipped out? He wants to go. He's not interested in spending the duration in the Philadelphia Navy Yard."

"I'll talk to him. Let's not blow this all out of proportion."

"Billie, my concern is you. Nice girls do not go to bed before they're married. I don't want you to be like Cissy. Oh, yes, I've heard the rumors," Agnes answered Billie's surprise. "How that girl's mother holds her head up is beyond me!"

Agnes occupied herself with her coffee cup, carefully hiding her smugness. Everything was going as planned. She had to remind herself to be carefiil, to say just the right thing at just tiie right time. She sipped the hot brew, not wanting to admit to herself that Billie's statement had rocked her severely. Strength was not a trait she associated with her lovely daughter. When Moss Coleman entered their lives she'd seen that strength grow and bloom. She musto't let Billie think she was being manipulated. Agnes sighed, wishing for those easier days when Billie was a little girl and had been so amenable and willing to see her mother's way and adhere to her mother's ideals. Everyone knew that Billie Ames was a talented, lovely girl. Why else would Mrs. Fox have entertained the notion of a match between

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Billie and Neal? It was because Agnes had been farsighted, grooming and training Billie for a better life than this one. Carefully now, Billie had to think she was following her own lead. "Billie, you're so young. Moss is older, more sophisticated. You are certainly no match for him. I imagine he's had many women and he's the type to have many, many more. I don't want to see you hurt. Worse, I don'twant you used and left behind. That kind of thing can become a habit. Look at Cissy. It's not what I want for you, Billie. It would be best if you didn't see Moss anymore, forget last night, and go on from there."

"No! I love Moss and he loves me. He's going to ask me to marry him and I will. And if he doesn't ask me, I'll wait for him, forever if necessary. I love him!" Tears were bright in Billie's eyes and Agnes felt pity for her daughter. Still, she mustn't allow it to interfere. Billie tossed her napkin onto the table and fled from the room.

Agnes finished her coffee and set the cup in the sink. She marched through tiie living room to Billie's room and closed the door behind her. "I detest such behavior, Billie. If you want to be grown-up and do the things adults do, then behave like one. I want you to take my place at the Red Cross today. You have to be there by nine and expect to work through lunch. Take a shower and get there as soon as you can. I'll call ahead and tell them you're taking my place. I'm much too upset to go myself," she added, knowing Billie's sense of guilt wouldn't let her refuse. She was right. Again.

The minute Billie had left the house, Agnes called the Navy Yard and asked to be put through to Lieutenant Moss Coleman in Admiral McCarter's office. While she waited, she let her eyes wander to the desk calendar near the phone. She counted the days since she knew Billie'd had her last period. The Moss Colemans of this world didn't believe in things like protection. Agnes would bet next month's ration stamps on that. She swallowed hard, not liking to think of the gamble she was taking. That it was Billie who might be pregnant and therefore Billie who would be taking the risk didn't enter Agnes's mind.

"Admiral Noel McCarter's office. Lieutenant Coleman speaking."

"Lieutenant, this is Agnes Ames. I'd like to talk with you when you get off duty. What time shall I meet you outside the gates?"

Hers was a no-nonsense tone. She meant business. Moss

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grinned. She was one hour and fifteen minutes late. He'd expected the call before eight. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be off duty at three this afternoon. Good-bye, Mrs. Ames."

Beef. Oil. Something called electronics. A spread. Acres and acres of land. Money. Respectable money. Power. Prestige. All the things Agnes ever hoped and dreamed for could be Billie's. Billie would share.

Agnes settled herself at the kitchen table and penned off two notes to her roomers. She apologized for such short notice, but she could no longer rent the rooms. She sealed the envelopes and shpped them under the bedroom doors. She felt absolutely wonderftil.

The Philadelphia Navy Yard was not one of Agnes's favorite places. As she waited for Moss she watched the activity taking place around her. She was still a young woman by some standards and she had to admit that there was something about a uniform that enhanced a man. For a few brief moments she wished again for youth with its highs and lows. She hastily amended the thought to include "providing I knew what I know now."

The Studebaker was hot and airless and smelled of the brake fluid the idiot at the garage had spilled on the floor mat. She checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She wanted to be in command and to be in conmiand one must look one's best.

Moss Coleman walked through the gates at three-forty. Forty minutes late. He didn't apologize or make excuses when he opened the car door and sat down. "Ma'am," he said, smiling a greeting.

"Good afternoon. Lieutenant," Agnes said coolly as she slid the car into gear and away from the gate.

Moss was amused at the situation. If Pap knew, he'd be wetting his pants. Squared off against a woman. At the same time he was finding himself annoyed that she wasn't jittery or just plain mad. She shouldn't be so controlled. He had stolen away her daughter's virginity! She was more controlled than Pap was at times. Agnes Ames was a bitch. Well, Pap was a bastard. He supposed he was a bastard, too, junior grade and working toward first class. Agnes knew he'd make it. He could feel it and almost smell her triumph. That was okay, but he wasn't going to make it easy for her.

"You look fit this afternoon. Lieutenant. This heat is op-

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pressive, don't you think? I'm hoping it will rain so my Victory garden will grow."

"I feel fit, ma'am." He stopped just short of returning the compliment and adding that he thought she looked victorious.

"Did you speak with Billie today?" Agnes asked bluntly.

"She called me from the Red Cross. She said you weren't feeling well so she took your place. My mother always uses a vinegar rag when she has a headache."

"Spare me your little home-grown homilies, Lieutenant, and let's get down to business." She pulled into the A&P parking lot. "I'm not in the mood for coffee and neither are you, so we'll dispense with that idea."

She was reading his mind; shades of Pap. Her coming declaration neither surprised nor offended him. In fact. Pap couldn't have done it better. The lady had what Seth would call spunk.

"I don't think there's any doubt in either of our minds that you will do right by my daughter." Moss knew his shrug irritated Agnes.

"It's quite possible—more than likely, in fact—that Billie will be pregnant," Agnes said flatly. "In your impetuosity last night, I doubt either of you gave any thought to the possible consequences or took any precautions to prevent them. In any case, any doctor could tell you it was the wrong time of month."

Wrong for Billie. Right for Agnes. What was it for him? Less than twenty-four hours and already she had Billie pregnant. There was a lot to be said for seizing opportunity when it knocked. "What is it you want from me, Mrs. Ames? Spell it out so this okey-dokey cowpoke can understand." Moss enjoyed the pink flush that stained Agnes's cheeks. All semblance of his drawl was gone; so was his humor. This was business now. Billie was a commodity. He wished he could hate this old buzzard but if he did, he'd have to hate himself.

"It's not what / want from you. Moss; it's what Billie is going to need. In case you aren't aware of it, Billie loves you, is deeply in love with you. You will notice I am not questioning your feelings—at this point they are immaterial. I want and expect you to marry my daughter to protect her reputation and your own as well."

Protect his reputation? What was she getting at? Besides wanting him to marry Billie, that is. It surprised him that Agnes could speak so glibly and forwardly about sex and pregnancy instead of alluding to it through euphemisms. Something was

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wrong heie. Agnes was looking like the cat who swallowed ^e canary and he had a feeling those were his tail feathers tickling her chin.

Moss was about to give Agnes his answer but decided to make her sweat for it. Agnes deserved to sweat. Earher that morning while tinkering with the admiral's compass, Moss had ab-eady made his decision. Certainly he would marry Billie. Aside from the fact that she really was a lovely girl and a surprisingly inventive bed partner, BiUie Ames would be the perfect solution to his problems with Seth. Pap was hot spit on carrying on the Coleman line. Billie and a baby would free him of responsibility and obligation and he could ask for reassignment to the Pacific. Billie and a baby would free him from spending the duration in the Philadelphia Navy Yard pushing papers and arranging golf dates.

"I'll ask Billie to marry me tonight," Moss drawled, unable to contain the wide grin tiiat spread over his features.

For an instant, Agnes was taken aback. She hadn't contemplated it would be this easy; she'd expected more of a fight from this tall Texan. She had the uncomfortable feeling that instead of her using him. Moss was using her for his own purposes. However, Agnes was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Without another word, she pulled the choke and started the car. As she pulled out of the A&P parking lot, Moss reached forward and turned on the radio, tuning in the ongoing drama of Helen Trent and her trials and tribulations. He lounged back in the seat and stretched his long legs, cap pulled forward so the shiny visor shadowed his eyes. His attitude annoyed her, but then she supposed that's the way they did things in Texas. Texas.

The sky was already darkening when Agnes dropped Moss off at the gates to the navy base. She had driven less than a mile when the cloudburst struck. Cautiously, she steered her car to the side of the road. This was no time to chance an accident, not now, when the golden gates of Texas were ready to open for her in welcome. It took cleverness to lift the Agnes Ameses of this world out of self-sacrifice and privation into the lap of luxury. Coleman luxury. At last she was achieving everything that was meant to be hers since the day she'd entered the world akeady screaming her head off at the injustice of it all. And it had been unjust, she reflected, all of it, fi-om being bom to Maude and Matthew Neibauer, those God-fearing, self-

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righteous parents, to her sorry marriage to Thomas Ames, made in spite and endured in sour resignation

Even as a child Agnes wondered if perhaps things would have been different if the Neibauers had not lived on Elm Street in the house Maude had inherited from her mother. Maude had married Matthew, a simple laborer, against her mother's wishes and the whole town knew it. They sniffed through their proper, middle-class noses in disapproval that one of their own should marry beneath her station.

Maude, always high-strung and nervous, anguished daily over what she imagined were intentional slights. Tearfully, she hung her wash at the crack of dawn before the neighbors could see her and be reminded that she did not have a colored woman to do it. Underwear was hung between sheets so it wouldn't be seen and NoWorry bleach was added by the gallon to the wash water. A white wash was synonymous with virtue, according to Maude. Matthew's dirty plumber's overalls were hung in the basement. No need to remind the neighbors he didn't wear a suit and tie. Life, to Maude, was a series of obstacles never to be conquered.

It had been Agnes's job from the time she was very young to clean the house each Saturday morning, before ten o'clock, in case company should come. They never did. In the front parlor she dusted her grandmother's brown horsehair furniture, replaced the crocheted doilies on the arms with freshly starched ones, and polished the whamot. No one ever sat in the parlor, not even Maude and Matthew. Agnes scrubbed the front porch on her hands and knees and waxed it. She scoured the white columns with Bab-O and waxed them until the gleam could be seen from the bottom of the hill.

Once, her father suffered a back injury and couldn't work for almost an entire summer. They lived off the garden and ate sliced bacon only occasionally. She never complained, even when she left the table hungry, but sometimes she still cringed remembering the threats her parents had made to keep her from telling her few friends that they had no meat.

Friends; how few there were while growing up, and the front porch was the only place she was allowed to entertain them. She could never invite them back to the kitchen for cookies. The kitchen linoleum was cracked, the glasses weren't right, the plates were old-fashioned, and Maude feared the children would report all this back to their parents.

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Agnes used to wonder if she'd been adopted. She hoped she was—she hated to think that she shared the same blood with these fearful, passionless people. There was no way she could imagine Maude taking off her pajama bottoms for Matthew, and there was never a sound from their room. It was always as silent as a tomb.

Thomas Ames drew her with his flashing dark eyes and ready smile. It was with him that she found the affection, approval, and easygoing ways she'd needed for so long. Maude was horrified. Thomas simply wasn't good enough. He was lazy, shiftless, a reprobate. Tht only home he'd known were the tiny rooms over the Twelfth Street saloon. He could never offer Agnes Neibauer a future.

Agnes, however, was much more interested in the very real and very passionate present. Thomas's smile, his gentle nature, intoxicated her. She was determined to have him.

Once, she heard Maude and Matthew fighting. "Why I never listened to my mother I don't know," Maude screamed. "She was right about you! Just like I'm right about Agnes and that Ames boy."

Agnes married Thomas Ames at the age of seventeen in a civil ceremony in Elkton, Mar>'land. Predictably—it wasn't long after Billie's birth—she came to the conclusion that she'd traded one life for another just like it. Once passion's glow-dimmed, she merely tolerated Thomas, forcing herself to share her body with him on Friday nights. When Maude and Matthew died of influenza, she and Thomas took Billie, her few toys, and the cheap living room suite, and moved back to the house on Elm Street. Nothing had changed. Agnes carried on as Maude had done, living the same life and hating every minute of it.

She'd always wanted more, but how did you get more? Prayer wasn't the answer, as any fool could see. and hard work brought no miracles. Power and brains, that's what it took, along with a healthy dose of imagination.

Thomas Ames, husband, father, mediocre provider, died of a lack of imagination. Oh. he'd had it once; that was what had drawn Agnes to him. But time and worry and bills had taken their toll. He had tried his best, that she grudgingly admitted, but he outdid himself the day he took one gasping breath, one last exhale, and died on the kitchen floor. It was over before she could open her mouth in surprise.

She spared no expense on the handsome Springfield metallic

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casket. Their neighbors and the whole Parish touched the bronzed metal at Thomas's wake, and their eyebrows rose in respect. Agnes was satisfied. None of them knew how many meatless meals she and Billie had eaten until the casket was paid.

Two hours after the Springfield casket was lowered into the ground, Thomas Ames's scanty wardrobe was packed and de-hvered to the church poor box. The mattress was turned and fresh linens, the ones embroidered for her hope chest, were put on the bed. She'd then dropped to her knees and thanked God for taking Thomas so quickly. Having to nurse him would have been unjust in a life that was already too one-sided.

The cloudburst was over. Agnes rolled down the window and then wiped the windshield with her linen handkerchief. Everything looked so green. The trees, the shrubbery, even the dress she was wearing was green. Green, the color of money.

It was a glorious day.

UmUU CHAPTER FIVE ))))))}})

Agnes Ames met with Father Donovan that very evening, even before Moss came to the house. She stretched the truth, just a bit, saying Moss was due to be shipped out any time now, so could the Father please dispense with the banns that should be read three Sundays in a row?

"Dispensation is not given freely, Mrs. Ames," Father Eton-ovan said with a sigh, "but neither is it unusual during these times of war." Little Billie Ames was getting married. How could he reftise this child her precious request? He'd baptized her, confmned her, and after all, Lieutenant Coleman was a Catholic—on his mother's side, at least. Most unusual for a Texan, the priest thought, but he was naturally pleased. "I'll make the arrangements, Mrs. Ames. It's usual in cases where the banns cannot be announced three Sundays in a row to have them announced in three different churches." He paused a moment. 'There will be at least one week before the wedding,

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won't there?" he asked sternly. He was willing to go just so far.

"Oh, yes," Agnes hastily assured him. "Today is Thursday, so this Sunday makes one week. And since the wedding will be next Sunday, that gives us two weeks!" Her mind was clicking with the relentlessness of a metronome. Invitations. Only close friends, of course, and Father Donovan. Caterer. Champagne, something light and elegant. Accommodations ... the Latham Hotel, downtown. Simple yet elegant. The word that kept coming to Agnes's mind was "small," but then she amended it to "hurried." She wanted this over and done with quickly, before any of the Colemans got the idea of coming up from Texas and talking "sense" to Moss.

The following days were spent on the telephone, readying the house and making arrangements. She explained to friends that "this war" made it impossible to do anything right, but Agnes knew Billie didn't care a whit if it was a formal wedding at a mass or simply repeating vows in the rectory. All she wanted was the ring on her fmger that said she was Mrs. Moss Coleman.

Moss had voiced no objections and silently agreed to Agnes's Httle fabrication that he might be shipped out at any moment. Everyone appeared to be happy. Moss and Billie were to have the upstairs to themselves now, taking over Agnes's room with its big double bed. The roomers were gone, much to Agnes's relief. Everyone would share the kitchen and bath, but Agnes would move down to Billie's bedroom study. Moss would contribute to the household expenses, and of course there would be a nice little allotment for Billie once he went away.

Agnes was in the kitchen, her mind half on the unfinished letter before her and half on what to have for dinner. Her eye fell on the calendar hanging beside the refrigerator. Billie's period should have begun two days ago. Billie was pregnant. She had to be. She was going to bear the Coleman heir and secure her own and Agnes's future.

Billie wandered in and listlessly poured herself a glass of lemonade. She was thirsty yet almost afraid to drink it because her stomach had been so upset these past three or four days. Billie attributed the queasiness to the excitement of the wedding, but when she'd mentioned it to Agnes she'd been shocked to see satisfaction on her mother's face. Surely her own mother wouldn't wish this misery upon her.

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"What are you doing, Mother?"

"Oh, I thought I'd write to the Colemans. I think it's about time, don't you? I discussed it with Moss last night and he gave me the address. It's such a long trip for them to make that I thought it would be nice to write about a few of the details so they won't feel left out."

"You didn't say anything to me about it. Mother. Neither did Moss. Why do you always confer with Moss and then I find out what you've decided after the fact? I'm beginning to feel left out."

Agnes stared across the table at her daughter. "You're getting cranky, Billie, and that isn't good for you or the baby."

Billie sighed. "You don't know I'm pregnant. I really wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"All right, let's say you're on edge—does that make you feel better?"

"No. Let's just drop it. I think I'll take a shower and lie down for a while. I feel a headache coming on."

"Is there anything you want me to say to the Colemans?"

"How can I say anything? I don't even know them. I've never even spoken to them, and neither have you. Since you're so bent on doing everything exactly right, Mother, don't you know that it's the groom's family who should make the first gesture?"

"Well, / know that, Billie, and you know that, but perhaps they don't know it," Agnes replied defensively. She was well aware of her breach of etiquette and admittedly somewhat unnerved by it. Certainly a family as affluent and influential as the Colemans was aware of its duties and obligations. In fact, this was the only fly in Agnes's ointment: the Colemans might disapprove of Moss's decision to marry; if so, then either they would convince him that he was acting hastily and should cancel the wedding, or they would ignore the situation entirely and never accept Billie or the baby as one of their own.

Billie rubbed her temples and relented, too queasy and achy to argue. "All right. Mother, you take care of it. You usually do. As long as Moss approves, it's all right." It wasn't all right. Why hadn't Moss said something to her? But if he had, it would have been one of those little "don't worry your pretty httle head about things like that" speeches. She was being cranky, but it was only because she wouldn't be seeing Moss tonight. He had to attend a social function with Admiral McCarter, meeting and dancing with other women. She re-

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membered how Moss had been the focus of female attention at the graduation dance, and even at the USO he'd attracted women like bees to honey. She tried to reason with herself that Moss loved her, that he'd asked her to marry him, but jealous fear bit into her like the teeth of a dragon.

She felt better after her shower, more relaxed. Curling herself onto the window seat, she rested her head on her knees and gazed out at the green lawn and summer flowers through the dark rusty screen, thinking about Moss. She always thought about him; even when she was doing other things, thinking Other things, he was always there, like a friendly shadow, smiling down at her. How she loved him! It came from somewhere deep within her, welling, rising like a mountain river during spring thaw, rushing and turbulent until it found its own level. She knew Moss loved her; otherwise he'd never have asked her to marry him, but she guessed it wasn't with the overwhelming, consuming love she felt for him. To Billie, Moss was all that was exciting and beautiful. He was the focus of her passions and the man of her dreams. He was love. If he didn't love with the same devotion and depth, it was all right, she thought. Someday he would. He would grow to love her and she would become his world just as he was already hers. Somewhere in her heart, though, Billie was aware that Moss loved her as much as he could love anyone. It would have to be enough.

A delicious feeling of wickedness rushed through Billie. She dreamed of sleeping in the same bed all night with Moss. She wanted to reach out and touch him, warm with sleep, feel herself turning into his arms and resting her head on his chest. She wanted to awaken in the morning and see him before she saw anyone else, hear the sound of her name on his lips, have him crush her against him, have him make love to her. She hugged her knees to her chest. Life couldn't be more wonderful or perfect if God had stepped down from the heavens and personally handed Moss to her, to keep and to love. If she really was pregnant, it would be wonderful. Moss's baby. Their child. How she would love it. Moss would adore her because she'd given him a child.