Texas rich (13 page)

When she came abreast of it, she abruptly tore away from Moss and entered the door marked "Ladies." Staggering to her knees, she knelt before what she'd heard Moss call the "porcelain princess" and vomited.

Billie and Moss moved into the master bedroom en the second floor of 479 Elm Street. Privacy was theirs.

June gave way to July and the days were long and hot. Billie was plagued with morning sickness, which she tried to cover by not rising for the day until after Moss left for the Navy Yard. But Agnes had the eyes of a hawk and always seemed to be standing outside the bathroom door just as Billie made her wild dash each morning to retch in the bowl. And always there was the satisfied expression in Agnes's eyes, which Bilhe mistook for a gloating judgment. "Bad things happen to bad girls." How often she'd heard Agnes repeat that smug littie saying as she was growing up. By now her mother should have forgiven her little indiscretion. After all, she was married now. Happily married to a wonderful man.

There was no doubt in Billie's mind that she was pregnant. Still, she never spoke the word aloud. Until a physician made it official, she was simply a young married woman with a delicate stomach. Every so often BilUe was aware of how Moss's glance went to Agnes, and sometimes it seemed that they had more in conmion than she had first realized. Moss didn't exactly defer to Agnes, but he did seem to discuss things with her first. Where had this understanding between them come from? How had it happened? Hesitantly, she spoke of it to Moss, and he was quick to tell her it was her imagination. She believed him.

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Dinner was over—breaded pork chops, to which Moss had added ketchup. He liked to add a variety of spicy condiments to his food, especially to Agnes's plain home-style meals. He liked to sink his teeth into thick rare beef or juicy fried chicken, not a pork chop that had been cooked to kingdom come or an indefinable meat loaf. The pork chops hadn't even been center cuts. Rationing was something that never concerned the Cole-mans of Texas.

"Whose turn is it to wash, yours or mine?" Billie asked, smiling across the table at her handsome husband.

"You two argue it out. I have a meeting," Agnes declared, rising from the table.

Moss volunteered to dry. He disliked soapy water up to his elbows and under any other circumstances would have refused any kitchen duty at all. At home, they had cooks and housekeepers who handled the mundane chores of living.

Billie liked being alone in the kitchen with Moss, doing all the little things that married couples did. Someday, they'd have a little house all their own and a swing in the backyard for their baby. "I heard the news this morning," she said, scraping the plates into the trash. "The USS Enterprise has been assigned a new commander. A Captain Davis. Did you know that, Moss?" Now why had she said that? Why must she persist in punishing herself by mentioning ships and carriers and airplanes and then watch for the eager expression in his eyes?

"Yes, I heard." Christ, he'd give his right arm to be on that ship. Davis. Should he tell Billie now or later? Later always made more sense. Why mention it when he didn't know if Captain Davis would remember him? Just because Davis had been in San Diego while Moss was in flight training didn't mean the captain would go out of his way to honor Moss's request for transfer to the Big E. He had never in his life wanted anything as badly as he wanted out of the Navy Yard and an assignment in the Pacific.

He looked at Billie, who was humming along with the radio as she rinsed the dinner plates. She was all most men would dream of, but Moss knew he needed more than a pretty wife. He needed adventure, challenge; he needed to fly. His gaze lowered to Billie's waistline. Once the pregnancy was confirmed, he'd make his move.

Billie's voice was so soft Moss had to strain to hear it. "They were talking about Midway," she said, her arms im-

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mersed in dishwater. "You were talking about it only last week. Remember?"

"How can I forget? The Big E proved herself and closed the argument against aircraft carriers." Always when he talked about carriers Moss's eyes lit from within and his slow, easy drawl quickened to a staccato. Billie felt the stirrings of panic. "Shore-based aviation had only a minor effect on Midway. High-level horizontal bombing is okay for land targets, but it's ineffective against ships at sea. That's why the Flying Fortresses failed where the fighter planes succeeded."

Moss was thinking of the Pacific map hanging in his quarters. He'd bet anything Guadalcanal was next on the Big E's agenda. When he noticed Billie's silence he looked up to see. a great tear rolling down her cheek. "Hey, Billie, what's wrong?" He dropped the dishtowel and gathered her into his arms.

She cried softly into his chest. "I was just thinking of all those men and how they died. Moss, if anything ever happened to you, I'd die. I'd just die!"

"Billie, nothing's going to happen to me. Don't cry." He held her, soothing her, comforting her, thinking all the while what a bastard he was because soon, very soon, he'd leave her to join the ranks of the Pacific vanguard.

Routine in the Coleman/Ames household had taken on new life. Billie busied herself with small chores around the upstairs bedroom, trying to make it as inviting as possible. She spent hours standing in line at the butcher shop for something she knew Moss would especially like for dinner. On occasion, she squandered the precious coupons on steak—he'd taught Agnes and Billie just how he liked his steak done, charred on the outside, raw on the inside—and then pleaded an upset stomach at dinner, settling happily for a poached egg. Moss seemed unaware of the sacrifices Billie made, although they didn't go unnoticed by Agnes.

As activities in the Pacific intensified. Moss spent more time at the Navy Yard, sometimes coming home well after midnight and going inmiediately to bed. While operations for the Pacific were sent directly through the West Coast and not Philadelphia, information did leak through and he was hungry for every morsel. He was well apprised of the escalation of the war in Europe, as it was part of his job, but it was always to the western skies that his attention would drift.

When Moss arrived home late, Billie was satisfied to lie

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beside him propped up on a pillow and stroke his dark head. And every night, she'd pray that he would stay at the Navy Yard and not be sent off into battle.

By the first weeks of August, Billie had resigned herself to morning sickness. She had missed her second period and was one week into her next cycle. It seemed to Billie that all of Moss's and Agnes's attention was focused on her belly. It was two days now since Billie had been to the doctor. Agnes had made the appointment. She had to know, and Moss needed to know. Billie told them she had a lifetime ahead of her to have babies.

It was three in the afternoon when the telephone rang. Agnes, who was hovering about in the living room picking lint off the sofa, reached for it on the first ring.

She found Billie in the kitchen drinking lemonade. BiUie couldn't remember her mother smiling this way before.

"That was Dr. Backus. He says the rabbit died. That means you're pregnant, Billie. Moss will be delighted."

Pregnant. It was official now. She was going to have a baby. Moss's baby. She should be happy, ready to share in the joy; instead she was a tangle of confused emotions. She didn't think she was ready to become a mother. Not yet. She still wanted to have Moss all to herself. She needed this time with him, wanted it. She would become big and ungainly, uncomfortable and awkward. Would Moss still want her? Would he still be as passionate and demanding in bed? She couldn't comprehend how a couple could make love when the woman's belly was sticking out to here! "You're happy, aren't you. Mother?" Billie asked quietly.

"Certainly I'm happy, for you, Billie. And I'm sure that Moss will be just as delighted. You'll see. I think we should wait until after dinner to tell him, don't you? This isn't something you just announce over the telephone."

Agnes was jubiliant. She felt as though a load of bricks had been lifted from her shoulders. It was a fact. Billie carried the Coleman heir. Moss Coleman, Jr. It was done. Now Billie's and her future was secured, regardless of what happened or didn't happen to Moss. The baby's future, too. It was an afterthought.

"Mother, I'm going upstairs for a while. If Moss calls, call me, all right? Even if I'm sleeping."

"Of course, Billie. You do seem a little peaked today. It

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must be the heat." It couldn't be anything else, Agnes thought. She wouldn't allow it to be anything else.

Billie lay back amid the mound of pillows with their lace edging. She was feeling an apprehension and dread that she couldn't explain. She should be happy, exuberant. Instead she just wanted to cry. This pregnancy was going to make a difference, she knew it would. No matter what her mother or Moss said. It was going to make a difference. She slept, her pillow wet with tears.

Billie was setting the table when the phone rang. Agnes answered, listened, mumbled something Billie couldn't hear, and then hung up. "Moss won't be home tonight. Take away his plate."

Take away his plate, as though he were already gone. "Mother, why didn't you let me speak to him? Didn't he ask for me?"

Agnes stared at her daughter. It was only natural that she was disappointed, although Agnes would never become used to Billie's romanticism. "Dear, he recognized my voice and he just said to give you the message. I think he was in a hurry. There seemed to be quite a bit of commotion in the background."

Billie sank down into a chair, worry and disappointment dinmiing her features. "You really are a lucky girl, Billie," Agnes said mildly, disguising her impatience. "You're married to a man in the military and you must accept the fact that he will have duties to perform. Think of all those other wives whose husbands are thousands of miles away."

"What time is it?" Billie asked anxiously. "Let's put on the radio and listen for the news. I just know something awful happened." And then she exploded. "I hate this damn war!"

Moss didn't come home that night. The following night he didn't appear or call. Billie felt a terrible, urgent need to talk to Moss. It had been two whole days. Didn't he miss her? Was what he was doing more important than her and the baby? He didn't even know about the baby.

Dabbing her eyes, she went to the phone, dialed the Navy Yard, and asked to be put through to Admiral McCarter's office. An unfamiliar voice answered the phone and explained that Lieutenant Coleman was not at his desk. Was there a message? Billie muttered something that passed for a negative and hung up. She hated the pitying expression in Agnes's eyes that seemed to be saying there were going to be many times

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like'this and the quicker she got used to it, the better. She'd never get used to it. Never.

The next day, just when Billie was anticipating still another night without seeing her husband. Moss staggered up the walk. It was noon; she could hear the Angelus ringing. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot from lack of sleep and too many hours in smoke-filled rooms. His uniform, usually impeccable, was wrinkled and mussed. Kissing Billie briefly on the lips, he shook off her clinging arm. "I need a shower and I could go for a cold beer. I've got three hours before I have to get back and I haven't had any sleep to speak of for two days, and no, Billie, I can't discuss it with you. I should've stayed on the base, but I wanted to see you. Now I'm so damned tired I'm hardly worth your trouble. Get me that beer, won't you?"

When Billie climbed the stairs with a tray holding the beer and a single rose in a bud vase. Moss was asleep. Three hours, he'd said. He looked so tired that it nearly broke her heart. Carefully, so as not to awaken him, Billie untied and removed his shoes and socks. There was a fresh uniform hanging in the closet; and she'd take it downstairs with her and give it a pressing. It would give her something to do. She bent over the bed to kiss him lightly on the cheek, hoping against hope that he'd awaken and take her in his arms. He didn't.

At the bottom of the stairs she met Agnes, who was carrying a small Big Ben alarm clock. "I'll just take this up and set it on the dresser. Your little clock will never wake Moss. He needs a cowbell."

Billie's glance flicked away from her mother to hide her resentment. Moss was her husband and she wanted to do for him, and she didn't need Agnes's interference. Agnes thought of everything. It was always her decision what they would have for dinner, what mass they would go to on Sundays, what day the sheets should be changed, whether or not the windows should be opened, when and how Moss should be told about the baby. Since her marriage, Billie had experienced a growing sense of powerlessness and inconsequence. Every choice or decision seemed to have been taken out of her hands by Agnes's greater wisdom and experience. It rankled. It was a small wonder that Agnes had not told Moss about the baby.

Billie had been fantasizing about the moment when she would announce her pregnancy to Moss. In the movies the wife always prepared an intimate little dinner and then afterward snuggled into the husband's lap and shyly made the announce-

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ment. None of Billie's daydreams were coming true. This was the first time Moss had been home in two days. When could she tell him? On the run, when he had a few minutes for her before rushing back to the base? It wasn't fair. If only she knew what was going on at the Navy Yard...

A feeling of dread stayed with her as she sharpened the creases in Moss's trousers and ironed his shirt. Moss had seemed exhausted but exhilarated. The thought made her queasy.

When Moss's freshly pressed uniform hung on the back of the closet door and his newly shined shoes stood in military line beneath, Billie took the morning paper into the living room. Her eyes raked the columns of the Philadelphia Inquirer. News of the war on both fronts leaped at her, but she could find nothing to explain Moss's absence. It was hateful. She wished it would all end so people could ,get on with their lives.