Texas rich (38 page)

"And let me tell you one thing, little gal," Seth said, moving heavily on his cane toward Billie, "the next time you help yourself to the car without my say-so you'll hear it from me. What's gotten into you since Amelia's come home? I used to credit you with a little sensed

"I suppose pregnant women do silly things," Billie said, hardly able to keep from sneering.

"WTiat's this? Aggie, what's she saying?"

"I think she's telHng you she's pregnant," Agnes cooed. "Billie, when can we expect our new arrival?"

"Maggie should have a httle sister or brother for her birthday present."

"You mean a brother, don't you, little gal?" Seth countered sharply, yet he could not suppress a smile. 'This one will be a son!"

The days trickled into weeks, the weeks into months. Billie and Amelia's friendship strengthened. Amelia's deft fmgers crocheted and knitted httle sweaters and baby blankets as she eagerly anticipated the birth of Billie's child. Her belief that nothing would go amiss, despite Dr. Ward's warning, was a comfort and pleasure to Billie. Amelia's concern was almost parental and, in Moss's absence, even husbandly. When Billie began to hemorrhage in her sixth month and she was confined to bed, it was Amelia who cared for her. She did it with such loving willingness that it brought tears to Billie's eyes. She was doing it for Bilhe, but for Moss, too, her adored brother. Little Rand was installed in the nursery with a nanny who catered to his every whim. Maggie thrived and grew like a healthy weed.

Moss's letters were infrequent and sparse. He was alive; that was about all they knew. Each of them lived in fear of the day a delivery would come by way of Western Union.

Billie lay in her half doze, her drowsy thoughts on her husband. Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he thinking of her?

"Being half-awake is better than being asleep," Amelia said

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cheerfully as she poked her head in the doorway to check on her charge. "Time for tea, if you'd like. Rand and Maggie are napping, so it's just you and me, kid," she teased, doing her best impression of Humphrey Bogart.

Billie laughed, delighted. "Sounds good to me. I was dozing and thinking of Moss. It helps me to think of him and sometimes I have beautiful dreams! Do you think I'm sleeping too much?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I know it's boring for you all alone in this big bed. Three months of complete bedrest is enough to drive anyone nuts. But I think I have a solution for keeping you happy, sane, and busy. Let me get the tea and we'll talk."

Tea trays were a creative process with Amelia. She always fixed them so prettily, delighting in the British custom. This afternoon the tray held a slim vase with two budding yellow roses, a white linen napkin embroidered with spring flowers, a simple white plate holding tiny sandwiches of melted cheese, and Jessica's best English bone china teapot. Fragile porcelain cups and saucers and tiny silver spoons nestled beside blueberry muffins.

As soon as they were settled Amelia came right to the point. "I've been thinking, Billie. I'm going to have to go to court when I get back to England and as you know, court appearances are just that: an appearance, almost like being on stage. Judgments are made on the weight of appearances. We've talked so much about your design studies and how much you loved them. I've seen what you've done with some of your maternity clothes and I've seen the things you've made for Maggie. They're gorgeous, Billie. Would you consider designing some clothes for me? Proper things, stylish but sedate. Something that conveys my responsibility and worthiness to be Rand's mother. This is important to me, Billie, very important."

"Amelia, I'm not a professional. I'm overwhelmed that you should ask. And I admit to being suspicious! Are you just looking for ways to keep me busy so I don't languish here alone in this room?"

"Hell no, gal!" Amelia did her best impression of Seth and made Billie laugh. "Seriously, I'd like you to do it."

"Don't forget I'm fresh out of school and what little I learned from Mrs. Evans back in Philadelphia I've probably forgotten. Why me? You could go to the best designers in New York or even have someone come here."

"I know all about those designers, but you see, Billie, I

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want something that's perfectly me, Ameha Coleman Nelson. You know the real me, Billie. You really wouldn't have to do the actual sewing; there are seamstresses right here in Austin. You thought about pursuing a career in design, didn't you?"

"Yes, but Mother wanted me to become a teacher. Instead I married Moss and here I am. I can't even begin to think of a career—I want to be a wife and mother. Maybe later."

"Billie, later never comes. Something always gets in the way. This is the ideal time for you, while you're confined to bed. I'll help. Let's go back to the time when you hadn't met Moss. What were you going to do? What did you want to do?"

"I wanted to design fabrics, explore colors and shapes. Mrs. Evans, my home economics teacher, said she saw potential in me and worked with me after class. Before she married and had a family she worked for Oleg Cassini and she promised to head me in the right direction. I was even accepted to the Fashion Institute in New York, but when Mother got wind of it those plans changed. Perhaps Mrs. Evans was just being kind."

"Kind my foot. Don't forget, I've seen what you can do and from what I hear, acceptance into the Fashion Institute is no mean feat. Why was someone like your Mrs. Evans teaching school?"

"Mr. Evans thought hfe in New York too glamorous, so they moved to Philadelphia. She wanted her marriage more than a career. I do, too."

"Billie, it wouldn't hurt to lay some groundwork. Let me type up a letter to your teacher asking for the names and contacts she promised. You don't have to use them now, but we'll start a portfolio for you. When and if the time comes, you'll have everything at your fingertips. It won't hurt, Billie. I don't want to see you end up the way my mother did, wasting away here at Sunbridge, dying for lack of attention."

Billie didn't have the heart to teir Amelia those people could very well be dead by the time she got around to thinking about a career. But Amelia was right; it couldn't hurt, and if it would please her: "Okay."

"Oh, Billie, I'm so excited! I think it's wonderful. Moss will be so proud of you."

Billie's eyes widened. "Do you think so?"

"I know so. Moss likes interesting, exciting people. Billie, you're a Coleman now and Colemans always amount to something, or haven't you heard?" This last was said with an edge

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of bitterness. "Do you want to spend your life doing charity work and going to club meetings? Just remember my mother and her empty life once we children were gone."

Billie grinned. "You're making more sense all the time. Let's do it!"

Satisfied, Amelia leaned back in the chair and propped her feet on Billie's bed. "Talk to me. Tell me what you want to do when the time is right," she encouraged in the big sister voice Billie loved.

"Someday I want to work with silks and satins and brocades, but there's too much for me to leam before I can go into that. I'd start off with cotton. It's such a wonderful fabric, simple and clean and comfortable. No other fabric has those qualities. You always have to be aware of texture and weight if you want to combine it with another fabric for contrast. If I were designing something right now in cotton, I'd begin with the natural colors, wheat and ivory and oatmeal, and I'd add white for a catalyst.

"Later, I'll show you a design I did on cotton in high school. It's impressionistic bouquets of flowers in lines of black, white, and purple... sort of like a floating island. That was my first thought when I finished it and when I showed it to Mrs. Evans she said the same thing. She wanted me to do some work with batik, calico, and foulard, but they all seemed to call for stripes and I'm really not that fond of them so I went on to something else. There's so much more I need to leam."

"Tell me where to get the books, whatever it is you need. I'll ask Mrs. Evans to send me a list when I write her. You'll read them, won't you?"

"Of course! You're right, Amelia. It'll give me something to do and it's something that interests me."

"And you'll design some things for me?"

"I'll try. Designing a dress isn't as simple as it sounds. For you, I think it has to be soft yet have the body and substance of good construction and fabric. Nothing heavy, nothing stiff."

"I love it already."

"A kind of casual elegance." Billie narrowed her eyes as she measured Amelia's slim frame. "Maybe a suit skirt with asymmetrical pleating. A jacket in cotton or twill. Something you can wear with a hat. A dress with pure clean lines, maybe in a wool crepe. What would you think of a full tunic ... ease and width, but we can control it with a belt. It would be different and you could carry it off with your height. I'll know more

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when I see and study some of the clothes you have. We can do a few mix-and-match outfits so it will look as though you have more. I like doing that; it's a challenge. What are your favorite colors?"

"All of them." Amelia laughed.

"Me too. Someday I want to create my own palette of colors as well as fabric designs. I have them all in my head. I've even given them names—the colors, I mean. I want to use them in silk, when I've learned more."

"What kind of colors? What sort of names?"

Billie laughed aloud. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Blink Pink, Choke Chtny, Sheny Flip, Cocktail Fuchsia, Turquoise Icing. I could go on. If I ever do work in silk, I plan to use those names."

"Billie, I'm so impressed. It seems the Colemans got themselves a heifer with brains. Someday you'll put them to good use. My prediction, Mrs. Coleman, is that one day you'll be right up there at the top of the heap and not because you're Mrs. Moss Coleman but because your Billie Ames Coleman."

Billie wanted to cry. It had been so long since anyone paid her a sincere compliment. For th^ first time since coming to Sunbridge, she felt worthy of being a Coleman. The feeling was fragile and tenuous and she would treasure it and hold it close. Almost like a secret that only she and Amelia knew.

"I have an idea," said Amelia one Sunday after breakfast. "Why don't I read you the funny papers? What would you like, the Katzenjammer Kids or Tillie the Toiler?"

Billie sighed. "Neither. I'm too distracted over the patterns and construction for the wool suit I designed for you. I keep wondering if, when Mrs. Parker finishes the basting, it will live up to the design. The proof will be in the pudding."

"Don't worry, Billie. Mrs. Parker comes tomorrow for the first fitting and you'll see for yourself. Let's talk about something else. I don't like to see you this agitated."

"All right," Billie agreed, her mind refusing to leave her anxieties behind, struggling for something else to talk about. "How are things going downstairs with your father? Did you two make peace yet?"

"Surely you jest. No, we've not made peace and we won't, not in this lifetime, anyway. My father doesn't like me. He's never liked me and he'll never like me. As for love, the only

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thing Seth ever loved or will love is Moss and his horse, Nessie. You have to accept that. I have. Now if you don't want the funnies, how about one of Mam's mysteries? I saw one that looked like it would curdle our blood. Okay?" She scrambled out of her chair and went in search of the book.

Billie leaned back against the pillows and sighed. After the baby was bom, Amelia and Rand would be leaving for England. Billie knew she was staying on at Sunbridge only out of concern for her; soon Amelia would need to return to face the inevitable lawsuit and her fight to legally adopt Rand. Billie would miss her, miss her terribly. Amelia cheered her up, bolstered her worries with a strength that seemed to know no bounds. She'd even fought with Seth for her—and won.

After the doctor had ordered Billie to bed for the balance of her pregnancy, Seth had stormed about Sunbridge like a rooster with no hens in sight. One disappointment was enough: no way was he going to lose a second chance at a grandson. A white-clad, stiffly starched replica of Miss Jenkins showed up in Billie's room.

Amelia took command. "Don't move," she said to the nurse. "Don't unpack and don't do a thing for Billie until this is straightened out." She turned to Billie. "I'm going to settle that old man, once and for all. He's not going to get away with this—unless of course you want the nurse." Amelia waited, holding her breath for Billie's answer. It was a negative shake of the head. Billie would feel so helpless and smothered by routine. The nurse pursed her lips and Billie could almost read her mind. These rich people never knew what they wanted....

Sounds of the verbal go-round wafted up the circular staircase. Billie tried to distract herself by working a crossword puzzle, not very successfully.

"Don't speak to me like I'm one of your riffraff friends," Seth thundered at his daughter.

"Friend? Friend! You've never been a father to me, so how could you be a friend, riffraff or otherwise? And don't think you're going to throw me off the subject. If you want to talk about the relationship we never had,.fme, but some other time. I want to talk about Billie. The doctor himself said she didn't need a nurse, that I could take care of her. I intend to do just that—did you hear me. Pap? I'm taking care of her. I already wrote Moss about it and so did Billie. Don't interfere. Because if you do, I'll snatch Billie right out of here. Chew on that one for a while. Now you get that goddamn nurse out of here and

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don't you ever pull something like that again. Not while I'm here. And just for the record, I'm staying until Billie delivers and is on her feet. Ek) we understand each another, Pap?"

"You always were a cantankerous little bitch," Seth snarled. "Your mam coddled you too much. I knew it would come to no good. Why couldn't you turn out like Moss? Jesus God, the things I've had to live with!"

'That's not the way I remember it, Pap. Every time Mam tried to coddle me, you slapped her away. You never approved of anything I did—my school work, my athletic ability, my friends, my driving, my music. You didn't approve of me at birth, so why I evOi expected more is beyond me. But I kept hoping, tr>'ing to be what you wanted. Mam tried in her own way to tell me, but I never understood. I'm a female, and with you that counts for nothing. Not Mam, not me, not Billie, either. That Uttle baby lying upstairs—is she going to have to pay the price the way I did? And this new baby, what will you do if it's a girl? Ignore it, too? And your son, the one who is so perfect, is he going to learn from you? Is he going to do to Billie what you did to Mam? God help us all."