Texas Born (12 page)

'And a very Merry Christmas to you, Mrs.
Grubb.'

Amanda Grubb looked even more unhappy than
she had the night before. Elender noticed that she kept pulling
nervously at the frayed white cuffs of her blouse with her fingers,
and she wondered whether this nervous reaction had something to do
with Bazzel Grubb. Had they had words between them? Or could
Elspeth be frightened of him? After all, there was something remote
and formidable . . . almost forbidding . . . about him. Not only
that, but somehow the Grubbs just didn't give the impression of
being a warm, loving couple. There was an odd coldness there, a
chilly distance between them that she couldn't figure out. And . .
. although she couldn't quite put her finger on the precise reason
why such a strange idea should suddenly pop into her head, Elender
was unable to prevent the perceptive thought from forming: call it
intuition or suspicion, for some reason, she just
knew
in
her heart of hearts that Elizabeth-Anne would be far better off
with her than with the Grubbs. But what could she do? Elspeth and
Bazzel Grubb were the child's flesh and blood, while she herself
was merely a stranger who had befriended her.

What rights did strangers, however loving and
well- meaning, have to an orphaned child?

Bazzel cleared his throat, his Adam's apple
bobbing up and down. 'We was wonderin' if we might talk to you in
private fer a few minutes, Miz Clowney.'

Elender glanced into the dining room. The
roomers were already gathering for Christmas breakfast. 'We can
talk in the kitchen as soon as I serve the food,' she said.
'Girls!'

Jenny and Elizabeth-Anne turned around
slowly, their faces barely visible above the tops of the
packages.

'Why don't you go into the parlor?' Elender
glanced at Mr. Grubb and lowered her voice. 'Did you build a fire
in there?'

'Seein' how cold it was, and since there was
wood stacked right next to the fireplace—'

'Did you move the piano?'

He looked at her queerly but slowly shook his
head.

'Good. The only reason I asked that is
Elizabeth-Anne is terrified of fires. After that terrible circus
fire she witnessed . . .'

Elender moved aside and smiled automatically
as she let the girls pass. Then she steered the Grubbs into the
kitchen. 'Have a seat, won't you? I'll serve you your breakfasts in
here instead of the dining room. That way we can talk in privacy
while you eat. I'll be right back.'

Elender smoothed the front of her apron and
busied herself. The Grubbs sat watching quietly as her footsteps
beat a brisk circular cadence from the kitchen to the dining room
and back again. Between her trips she set steaming mugs, filled
half with sweetened coffee, half with hot milk, down in front of
the Grubbs. She added plates of eggs, sausages, and homemade
cranberry muffins, finally closed the dining-room door, and poured
herself a mug of coffee. Then she brought it over to the table, sat
down, scooted her chair forward, and folded her hands on the
tabletop. 'There. Now, what was it you wished to talk to me about,
Mr. Grubb?'

But Bazzel held up his hand to silence her,
closed his eyes, and bowed his head over his plate. Amanda clasped
her hands in her lap and did likewise, murmuring in unison with
him: 'O Lord, bless this bounty which we are about to receive,
amen.'

The moment Bazzel's eyes clicked open, he
reached for the gravy boat, which was filled with syrup. He poured
some liberally over his fried eggs and pork sausages. Then he
punctured the egg yolks with his fork, speared a whole sausage, and
dipped it into the liquid yolk. He bit off a piece and talked while
chewing, his long, uneven teeth moving steadily up and down. 'Miz
Grubb and I had a long talk.' He gestured toward Amanda with his
fork and swallowed. ' 'Bout 'Lizabeth-Anne . . .'

Elender looked at him. 'She's such a sweet
child,' she said. 'And so pretty with that gold hair and those pale
blue eyes. I can guarantee you'll have no problems with her.'

'We never expected any, ma'am,' Bazzel said.
'She's right pretty, jest like her mama.' He glanced at Amanda.
'Ain't that right, Elspeth?'

Amanda bowed her head and murmured, 'Yes,
jest like her mama, God rest her soul.'

'Amen,' Bazzel added. ' 'Course, we love
little 'Lizbeth-Anne, seein' how she's a relative and all,' Bazzel
said. 'I'm sure she'll grow up to be a fine lady, jest like her
mama.' He reached for a muffin, tore it in half, mopped the syrup
up off the plate with it, and chewed on it reflectively. 'I'm
'fraid livin' with me and Elspeth, though—that could be mighty
rough on her.'

Elender cocked her head to one side and
looked at him questioningly. 'I beg your pardon?'

Amanda looked up. 'You see, Miz Clowney, we
don't have no home,' she explained quietly. 'And children, they
need a home. Like we told you yesterday, we been on the move.
That's why it took us so long to git here.' She spoke with
deceptive conviction and chose her words carefully, praying that
what she was about to say would appease Bazzel's anger with her for
destroying the silver-mine shares. She took a deep breath and
continued in a trembling voice: 'Mr. Grubb and me, we're
God-fearin' people. That's why we travel the country spreadin' the
word of Jesus wherever folks'll listen. And that takes money, Miz
Clowney, and lots of it.' She exchanged glances with Bazzel, whose
flinty eyes urged her on. 'When we got yer letter, me and Bazzel,
we took it as a sign from the Lord. We decided that if you was
willin', Miz Clowney, we . . . we might be willin' to sell you
little 'Lizbeth-Anne, seein' as how you git on so well and all. You
know, jest for enough money so's we could keep spreadin' the Lord's
word.'

Elender sat in stunned silence, unable to
believe her ears.
Sell
Elizabeth-Anne? Was that what she had
heard? Had these . . . these . . .
cretins
offered to sell
her their beautiful niece? Elender had never been so outraged in
her entire life.

Before she could recover from her shock and
muster the words she wanted to say to these monsters, Bazzel Grubb
broke the silence: ' 'Course, if you ain't willin' to give us a
good price fer 'Lizbeth-Anne, Miz Clowney, ma'am, then we can sell
her in Dallas or somewheres. I figger she'd bring in a nice tidy
little sum, seein' as how she's so pretty'n all—'

But his sales pitch was interrupted by a
shrill, unearthly scream that tore through the house.

At first Jenny and Elizabeth-Anne had been
too preoccupied with their own presents to take notice of each
other's. They ignored the conversations and the clinking of cutlery
and china drifting in through the open door from the dining
room.

Jenny had set her two packages down on the
parlor table and then picked them up one by one and shaken them.
She quickly proceeded to tear the wrapping off the smaller, heavier
one.

Elizabeth-Anne put her presents on the
settee, and knelt there, fumbling clumsily with the pretty ribbon
on the larger of her packages. The ribbon was difficult to remove
because of her gloves. They wouldn't let her get a firm grip.

'Ooooooh!' As she tore apart the paper, a
black- velvet-covered box came into view and Jenny let out such a
loud squeal of delight that Elizabeth-Anne stopped what she was
doing and craned her neck to look over at Jenny.

Jenny undid the brass catch, lifted the lid,
and proudly held up the box, tilting it to show Elizabeth-Anne what
lay inside. Cool, polished gold-tone metal and silvery mirror
flashed luxuriantly against plush red velvet.

'It's the boudoir set I wanted!' Jenny
breathed with smug satisfaction. She lifted out the hand mirror
with its beveled oval glass and held it up, preening visibly at her
reflection. Then she snatched up the matching brush with its
pristine white bristles and started brushing her hair with the
exaggerated movements of a lady in her boudoir. After a moment she
glanced over at Elizabeth-Anne, who finally had her ribbon and
paper undone. She was about to lift the lid off her carton.

Jenny frowned, wondering what in the world
could be so huge as to require a carton of such copious size.
Probably a winter coat, she thought. Well, that was all right with
her. From past experience, she knew that Auntie always gave a
plaything or something unnecessary as one gift, and something
sensible, but dull and unwelcome—like underwear—as another.

Triumphant with her acquisition of the
boudoir set, as well as Auntie's ready forgiveness for her stealing
Elizabeth-Anne's breakfast, Jenny was capable of being particularly
expansive. 'I'm sure it's something real nice,' she said over her
shoulder without bothering to see what lay beneath Elizabeth-Anne's
mountainous nest of white tissue paper. She busied herself tearing
open her second package instead. She grimaced and pushed it aside.
Just as she'd expected.
Underwear
.

Carefully Elizabeth-Anne parted the white
tissue. She let out a deep breath. Inside her cushioned box sat a
flaxen-haired doll . . . the most beautiful doll imaginable.

Her eyes shone as she took hold of the doll
and, ever so gently, lifted her out. The matte-finished porcelain
face looked so real it could have belonged to a living lady, and
the wide-set sky-blue eyes were framed by thick, fine lashes. Never
in her life had she seen such a beautiful doll, or such a
beautiful, frilly, lace- trimmed gown. Not even the most
extravagant circus costume would have compared with it.

Jenny turned around and let out a cry of
indignant envy. 'That's mine!' she hissed with blazing eyes.
'That's the doll I saw in Brownsville!'

But Elizabeth-Anne was too busy to hear her.
She set the doll on her lap and began stroking its soft blond hair
in wonderment. She didn't see Jenny lunging for it until it was too
late.

Jenny snatched the doll off her lap.
Elizabeth-Anne tried to grab it back, but Jenny was too quick.
'It's mine!' she hissed from between her teeth.

Elizabeth-Anne shook her head and jumped off
the settee. She pounced at Jenny, but Jenny hopped back behind a
table.

A soft, strangled noise came from the depths
of Elizabeth-Anne's throat. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she
held out her gloved hands beseechingly.

Jenny made a face, turned her back on her,
and held the doll against her chest. 'You're mine!' she hissed over
and over to the doll. 'You're mine. Auntie made a mistake. You're
the doll I saw in Brownsville!' She felt Elizabeth-Anne's angry
hands clutching at her dress and quickly tore herself out of her
grasp. She tossed her head. 'Go away, you freak!' she hissed over
her shoulder. 'Nobody wants you here! Leave me alone!'

In desperation Elizabeth-Anne tried once
again to grab the doll away, but Jenny held it high, and, smiling
with hideous triumph, skipped around to the back of the piano. She
was certain that Elizabeth-Anne would stay away, for hidden behind
the piano was the fireplace with its crackling, leaping yellow
flames.

Elizabeth-Anne never went near a fire.

But Jenny hadn't counted on three things:
Elizabeth-Anne's outrage, her tenacity, and what the doll
symbolized to her. It was more than a mere toy; for Elizabeth-Anne
it was a gift from Auntie, whom she loved more and more with every
passing day. Auntie had given it to her, not to Jenny—and now Jenny
was using it to torture her once again.

Suddenly all the months of suffering at
Jenny's hands came to a head.

Enough was enough. Elizabeth-Anne was not
about to sit back and take any more of the cruelties Jenny dished
out without putting up a fight.

Despite the hot fire leaping in the
fireplace, Elizabeth-Anne darted behind the piano and flew at
Jenny, managing to wrest the doll from her clutches. Jenny was
surprised at the younger girl's fierce determination. For a moment
they fought a bitter tug-of- war; then Jenny tightened her hands
around the doll, and Elizabeth-Anne could feel it slipping from her
grasp. Her grip was hindered by the gloves—they wouldn't let her
gain purchase.

Jenny drew back, and as she did,
Elizabeth-Anne tried to give the doll one last fierce tug.

What happened next astonished—and shocked—
them both. The doll flew out of their hands and tumbled into the
fireplace. Greedy flames hissed and crackled as they engulfed
it.

Jenny stared in horrified fascination as the
frilly lace dress caught fire.

For Elizabeth-Anne, the world seemed to stop.
As the flames leapt up around the doll, her hands flew up to cover
her face. Unlike Jenny, she was not seeing the doll burn. She was
seeing the flaming bodies of Szabo and Marikka, her father and
mother.

A high-pitched, hideously bloodcurdling
scream burst forth from her lips, echoed out into the hallway, and
from there into the dining room, where it abruptly stilled the
clinking of cutlery on china; it rolled into the kitchen, down into
the cellar, and up the stairs; it escaped, muffled, through the
closed windows and froze a hopping rabbit outside, its ears drawn
back in fear at the unearthly noise. Then a crash reverberated from
the kitchen, and Elender came tearing into the parlor, the Grubbs
at her heels. She looked around wildly and spied the two girls
behind the piano. She moved behind it and glanced into the
fireplace. Her hands flew to her breast and her heart skipped a
beat at the terrible vision.

'Oooooh, Auntie, Auntie, Auntie!
They're
burning, Auntie! Ooooh, Auntie!
'

Elender stared at the flames as if
mesmerized. Then she glanced at Jenny.

'Oooooh, Auntie. The fire . . . the hot fire.
The horrible hot, hot fire!'

Elender frowned at Jenny; Jenny's lips
weren't moving at all. Then slowly she turned to Elizabeth-Anne.
The girl had fallen to her knees, her hands clutching her belly as
her body rocked from side to side, her lips moving in anguish.