Texas Born (4 page)

She was, after all, the orphan of poor Irish
immigrants, had no family, and had blessedly been taken in by the
rich and all-powerful Cromwells. A bad word from any of them, and
her life might as well be over.

Her fear only seemed to excite him all the
more. Swinging his legs off the hassock, he got up from the chair
and crossed over to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he
pushed her roughly to her knees and tore at her petticoat. When she
was naked, he pulled her back up and led her to the bed.

The sheets were cool and clean and crisp, but
she felt hot and dirty and used. She had never been to bed with a
man, and the agony was supreme. Arthur smelled of brandy and sweat,
and when he tore savagely into her, the pain was so great she
nearly fainted. It was the worst experience of her life, but
mercifully quick.

As soon as he fell asleep, she gathered up
her torn clothes and stumbled out of the room. She felt humiliated
and empty. Mortally wounded. Tears streamed down her face. Her
thighs were wet with blood.

At least it's over, she told herself. Now I
can die in peace.

But it wasn't over, nor did she die. He took
her to bed every night, and soon the other servants suspected what
was going on. As a whole, they were ruthlessly respectable, and
blamed Elender. She became a pariah.

Six weeks later, it was all over. This time
it was she who came to see him. Her face was pale. 'I'm pregnant,'
she told him quietly.

He stared at her and then ordered her to
undress. The next day he gave her five hundred dollars and one
instruction: 'Go down to New York and get rid of the baby.'

So she went to New York, but she didn't get
rid of the baby. She worked one job after another until she
'showed,' and was frugal with her money. When the baby was born,
she named her Jennifer Sue and headed west, perfecting her cover
story on the way: that she'd had a widowed sister-in-law who'd died
and left her some money and custody of her child.

When she came to Quebeck, Elender knew it was
the perfect place to start a new life. The town was small and no
one knew her. Her story was plausible and accepted. Not even Jenny
knew the truth.

In over eight years, Elender and Jenny had
never left sleepy little Quebeck. Except for the trip to
Brownsville.

Now Elender couldn't help wishing she hadn't
taken Jenny, who had been sour and had pouted during the entire
drive. Only when they'd checked into the hotel had Jenny finally
forgotten the circus. Elender Hannah Clowney might have been
frugal, but for the one time in years they would stay overnight in
a real city, she had decided to splurge and stay in a first-rate
hotel.

The Hotel Garber was a huge square red-brick
structure of four stories, with ornamental black iron fretwork and
tiers of balconies, and boasted its own livery stable. She and
Jenny were helped down from their buggy and escorted inside to the
front desk by a uniformed porter who carried their luggage.

Elender's breath caught in her throat as she
gazed around the huge, luxurious lobby. This . . . this palatial
hotel . . . this was what she dreamed of owning, not the modest
rooming house in Quebeck, but she was practical enough not to
confuse idle dreams with hard-core reality. Still, it did no harm
to dream, and so her envious eyes took in the plush red carpeting,
the shiny red damask walls punctuated with graceful white plaster
columns with gilded capitals, the electric globes on brass sconces,
the sweeping brass-railed staircase, the palms in Chinese export
pots, and she wondered how it felt to own all this. All the while,
her New England mind attempted to grapple with all that luxury and
translate it into a mind-boggling sum of dollars and cents.

They were shown up to their second-floor room
by yet another porter. As soon as the door opened, Jenny headed
straight for one of the twin beds and hopped on it to test its
springs. Elender looked around and smiled, savoring the luxury of
the quilted pale blue satin bedspread and the matching swag drapes
hanging elegantly on either side of the arched French doors.

The porter cleared his throat. She turned and
found him waiting expectantly. She dug into her purse for a coin,
handed it to him, and smiled. He frowned into his hand and
Elender's smile faded. She snapped her purse shut with a decisive
click. Generosity had its bounds. Money did not grow on trees, at
least not for Elender Hannah Clowney. The amount she had already
spent on the room alone seemed outrageous. 'A fool is easily parted
from his money,' Mrs. Cromwell used to warn, and she cautioned
herself about being more thrifty; it seemed remarkable how, in a
city, money had a habit of changing hands with alarming regularity.
There were altogether too many temptations.

When the porter left, snapping the door
behind him with no less decisiveness than Elender had closed her
purse, she noticed a framed sign affixed to the back of the door.
She leaned forward and read the thick block letters: 'GUESTS
WISHING TO TAKE A BATH

KINDLY RING THE BELLPULL BESIDE THE BED AND
IN¬FORM THE CHAMBERMAID A HALF-HOUR BEFORE THE DESIRED TIME.'

Yes, Elender thought, a bath would be nice.
It had been a long ride, and she felt tired and gritty. She could
use some freshening up.

She started to reach for the tasseled bell
rope. Suddenly she frowned, her hand hesitantly poised in
midair.

Ring the chambermaid for a bath. She wondered
why she felt so peculiar about such a simple action. Was it because
she had once been a chambermaid? Or was it that she still felt the
class distinction she had known on Beacon Hill, and was still
herself a chambermaid at heart?

She lowered her hand slowly and decided to
wait until later. In the meantime, she tried to shove the
unpleasant memories out of her mind by investigating the room.

She pushed her hand down into the plump
mattress and slid back the covers to feel the blinding white,
stiffly starched sheets. Ever neat, she found herself remaking the
bed, as well as smoothing the covers of the one on which Jenny had
sat. She could not help wondering whether this instinctive reaction
was yet another throwback to her tenure as a servant.

She peeked into the closets, felt the
wallpaper with her fingertips, and judged the quality of the towels
folded in precise squares beside the ceramic bowl and pitcher on
the washstand. To her surprise, she discovered the room was no more
comfortable than those she rented her roomers back in Quebeck. Less
so, despite the impact of luxury, because upon close examination
she discovered the lack of the personal, thoughtful touches the
hotel did not provide—an extra blanket, toiletries a hurried
traveler might have forgotten, a dressing gown, a reading lamp that
could be moved just where you wanted it.

Her inspection over, Elender went through the
open French doors that led out to the balcony. She drew a sharp
breath. Jenny was leaning over the railing, precariously perched on
her toes. 'Jenny!' she scolded sharply. 'Get away from there at
once!'

'Yes, Auntie,' Jenny said with glum
resignation.

'Come and wash up. We'll have a late lunch
downstairs in the dining room.' She watched Jenny skip inside, glad
to see her more cheerful.

The dining room was quiet and empty; the
lunch crowd had long since finished and left. The waiter was a
wizened, white-jacketed, white-haired black man. He let them have
their choice of tables, and Elender chose a large round one beside
a window looking out onto the street, where they could watch people
pass, see the latest fashions.

'We still have the special from lunch,
ma'am,' the soft-spoken waiter said solicitously. 'Rabbit stew with
dumplin's.'

Jenny licked her lips.

'We'll order in just a moment,' Elender told
the waiter, who withdrew quietly and busied himself snapping fresh
tablecloths out over the tables and laying silverware and glasses
for the evening meal.

Elender picked up her menu, glanced at it,
and stiffened. The prices were exorbitant, and her immediate
inclination was to get up and leave. Even if price were no object,
she would have difficulty swallowing such expensive food. Surely
there were modest places where they could eat for much less. But
Jenny had never been to a city or a nice restaurant, she reminded
herself. The child would be sorely disappointed.

Elender glanced across the table at Jenny,
who was hidden behind a menu. She closed her own menu and laid it
down. 'We'll have a slice of apple-walnut cake and a nice cup of
tea,' she decided quickly, folding her hands on the edge of the
tablecloth.

'Aw, Aun-
tie!
' Jenny wailed.

'I needn't remind you that we're not rich,
Jennifer Sue Clowney,' Elender said. 'Besides, cake and tea will
hold us over quite nicely until supper.' She did not add that
supper would be inexpensive: while shopping, she would pick up some
bread and cheese, which they would take back to the hotel and eat
in their room.

After finishing their tea and cakes, which
were small in portion, but delicious and beautifully served on
gold-rimmed china, they explored the shopping streets. The hum of
activity around them was contagious, and Jenny quickly forgot about
the lunch she could not have. She was mesmerized by the
faster-paced life here in Brownsville. The salt air from the gulf
was invigorating. Shop windows were chock-f of enticing
merchandise of all kinds.

'Look, Auntie!' Jenny squealed, suddenly
tugging at Elender's hand and pulling her toward a shop. She stood
enraptured in front of the window and sighed deeply. 'Isn't that a
beautiful doll?'

Elender nodded. Seated in the window was the
most exquisite doll she had ever seen. It had long, lustrous golden
hair, a porcelain face with a sultry expression, and languorous
dark blue eyes. It was dressed in a pink crinoline gown with
flounces.

'Oh, Auntie, I'd love to have that doll!
Please, Auntie?' Jenny shook Elender's hand. 'Oh, please say
yes!'

'I'm sure it's expensive,' Elender said
carefully.

'Oh, I know.' Jenny was silent for a moment.
Then she looked up hopefully. 'But for Christmas?'

'We'll see, Jenny.'

Jenny's face fell, and as they continued
walking, she lagged further and further behind.

On the next street corner, Jenny came to a
stop and stood, galvanized, in front of another shop. When Elender
realized Jenny wasn't beside her, she turned around and slowly
backtracked.

Jenny pointed excitedly at a boudoir set of
gleaming gold-tone metal. There was an ornate oval hand mirror, an
embossed white-bristled brush, and a matching ivory comb.

'Oh, Auntie!
That's
what I want for
Christmas!'

Elender smiled tolerantly. 'But I thought you
wanted the doll.'

'Oh, no,' Jenny said loftily, shaking her
curls. 'Dolls are for children.'

Elender hid her smile. 'I see,' she said.

'Auntie, do you think . . .' Jenny bit down
on her lip.

'Perhaps you will get it for Christmas,'
Elender said vaguely. 'If you're good, that is. But not now.'

Jenny was glum the rest of the day.

The following morning, Elender left Jenny at
the hotel while she went shopping for new furniture and curtains
for the rooming house. Prices being what they were, she decided
against buying anything. Besides, she rationalized, the rooms she
rented out were comfortable and homey just as they were. Much more
so, in fact, than the hotel.

They stayed one more night at the Hotel
Garber. In the morning they climbed up on the buggy and began the
drive back to Quebeck. Jenny was gloomy, pouting about not getting
the boudoir set.
Christmas!
she thought.
Christmas is
ages away! I'll never get it!

But unknown to her, Elender had bought the
set and had it secreted in her luggage.

As they neared Quebeck, they passed Geron's
Fields again. Where the circus had been only two days before, there
was now a charred, skeletal ruin.

Elender stared at the destruction with
horror. And then she saw the child again. The one who had been
picking sunflowers. She was ragged and filthy, and her angelic face
was stony. She walked aimlessly about, as if in a stupor.

Jenny saw her too. 'Look, Auntie!' she piped
up. 'There's one of the freaks!'

Elender stopped the horse and turned to
Jenny. Her hand blurred and there was a sharp crack. Jenny cried
out. 'You
hit
me!' she accused.

'And I'll hit you every time you call another
human being a freak,' Elender said with quiet rage.

Jenny stared at her with vitriolic hatred,
but Elender didn't notice. She hopped down from the buggy and waded
through the tall weeds out into the field.

The girl's eyes were dulled with shock.

Elender stooped down, put her arms around
her, and picked her up. 'Come, child,' she said gently.
'Everything's going to be all right.'

The shock Elizabeth-Anne had suffered was so
great that she lost her power of speech.

'What's your name?' the nice woman asked her
over and over, but much as she wanted to reply, she couldn't. Her
mind simply would not allow her to form the words.

After Elender took Elizabeth-Anne home and
bandaged her hands, she asked around in town and learned that there
was another survivor of the circus fire: a dwarf was being treated
by Dr. Purris. But when Elender mentioned Elizabeth-Anne, everyone
expressed astonishment. No one had known that a beautiful little
girl had been part of the circus, and that she had also survived
the inferno. In all the commotion, the child had been completely
passed over.

'Nobody noticed a stranger?' Elender asked in
disbelief. 'I find that extremely hard to believe.'