Texas Born (40 page)

She was turned away, but when she returned to
town, she told everyone what a lovely child Jenny had, and how much
he adored her. The next day she rode out again, and once again she
was turned away. The longer she did not see him, the more she
embellished the tales of the boy's activities. Every day for five
straight weeks she rode out to see him, and each time she was
turned away.

When Elender died at the end of that five
weeks, only Elizabeth-Anne knew that it was of a broken heart.

It was high noon, and the cortege made its
slow way north up Main Street and out past the cotton fields to the
cemetery beyond. Elizabeth-Anne looked down at Charlotte-Anne and
smiled bravely.

The child felt her gaze and looked up, her
large blue eyes wide with confusion. Charlotte-Anne was only five
and did not fully understand what was happening, and she was tired.
Her legs were aching from the long, deliberately slow walk, but her
mother was holding her hand tightly, so she couldn't lag behind.
Regina was on Elizabeth-Anne's right, holding on to her other hand.
Rebecca was dozing quietly in Zaccheus' arms.

They all wore black, and Charlotte-Anne
didn't like that. In fact, she had cried unrelentingly when her
mother had made her put on this dress. She hated its somber,
colorless gloom. She wished her mother had let her wear her bright
blue dress instead. Everybody said it matched her eyes.

Main Street was very quiet today, and she
noticed that whenever they passed people, men would come to a halt,
take off their hats, and hold them solemnly over their hearts. She
twisted around and looked back over her shoulder. A few paces
behind her walked the mayor and the sheriff. They were also dressed
in black. And behind them she could see more townsfolk. It seemed
that almost everyone had turned out for the occasion.

Charlotte-Anne faced front again. Just a few
yards ahead of her was the car. It was a resplendent black car,
with big velvet-curtained windows all around. She could look in
through the rear window and see the black polished coffin. Her
mother had said that Auntie was sleeping inside it, but
Charlotte-Anne couldn't see how she could be comfortable. The box
looked awfully narrow.

She turned sideways, looked up at
Elizabeth-Anne, and gave her hand a shake. 'Auntie should have a
bigger bed,' she announced in a clear, distinct voice. 'How can she
sleep comfortably in a little one like that?'

Elizabeth-Anne's step faltered. Then she
turned slowly and stared down at Charlotte-Anne. 'Your Auntie is
comfortable,' she said in a thick voice.

'You're sure?'

Elizabeth-Anne nodded and gave her daughter's
hand a reassuring squeeze. 'I'm sure,' she said gently, but looked
quickly away. She felt that at any moment she would give in to the
tears that threatened to choke her insides.

Charlotte-Anne craned her neck sideways. They
were approaching the edge of the fields. Ahead was the cemetery
with its crooked gravestones and crosses sticking up out of the
ground. She gave her mother's hand another shake. 'Mama?'

Elizabeth-Anne looked down at her.

'D'ya think I can come and visit Auntie every
day? Maybe even sleep with her inside her bed?'

Elizabeth-Anne's wet eyes were warm with
sympathy. It was a moment before she could trust herself to speak.
'Do you think it's nice to wake someone up when they're
asleep?'

Charlotte-Anne frowned thoughtfully for a
moment. She hadn't thought of that. 'Noooo,' she said finally. 'I
don't think that's very nice. I hate to be woked up.'

Elizabeth-Anne smiled gratefully. 'You're a
very nice young lady, Charlotte-Anne,' she said proudly. 'It isn't
everyone who understands that.'

For a moment Charlotte-Anne was warmed by the
compliment. She had given the right answer.

But later, as Auntie's box was lowered into
the ground and the earth was being dumped in on top of it, she felt
a sudden terror and buried her face in her mother's skirt. She was
afraid to look, but she could hear the clumps of dirt pounding down
against the top of the box. There was something terribly final
about the sound. Then time itself seemed to stand still as a
bloodcurdling wail, the likes of which she'd never heard, drowned
out all other sounds.

Charlotte-Anne peered timidly from around her
mother's skirt. Rosa, the cook, had collapsed in a gigantic heap at
the edge of the grave and was screaming, 'Santa Maria! Santa
Maria!' Her moon face glistened with a mixture of sweat and tears,
and her breasts rose and fell as she beat herself with her fists.
Finally, her energies exhausted, Rosa's litany of despair settled
into a pitiful drone.

Elizabeth-Anne pulled her daughter closer to
her in a vain effort to shield her from Rosa's grief. But
Charlotte-Anne's terror was only reinforced. She had never seen
Rosa like this. Rosa was strong and brave and not afraid of
anything. Maybe she was upset because Auntie had to sleep under the
ground in such a narrow box. Then she remembered something that had
happened a few weeks ago.

She had taken a little duck carved out of
soap and buried it in the yard outside the cottage so no one could
find it but her. A few days later she wanted to play with it, but
she'd forgotten exactly where she'd buried it, and she'd dug
desperately for two days. But she never did find it.

And now Auntie was going to disappear just
like her duck.

They walked home slowly, leaving Auntie at
the place with all the crosses, and for a long time the terror
wouldn't leave Charlotte-Anne. And then things got even more
confusing, because her mother suddenly noticed a long, shiny car
parked some distance away. It was the biggest car she had ever
seen, with a mirrorlike finish and white-walled tires with shiny
chrome spokes. There was even another tire between the fender and
the running board.

Her mother looked at her father.

'How dare she!' Elizabeth-Anne exploded
quietly, her face red with blotches of rage. 'First she killed her,
and now she's come to gloat over her burial. But she couldn't come
to the funeral, could she?'

And her father put his arms around her mother
and said firmly, 'Don't be upset. Eventually she'll get what she
deserves!'

Charlotte-Anne tugged at her mother's hand
for one last time. 'What are you talking about?' she asked in her
clear, tiny voice.

'Nothing, darling,' Elizabeth-Anne said
huskily. 'Nothing. Only grown-up talk.'

But it wasn't nothing, and Charlotte-Anne
knew it. Why else would her mother turn around and stare back over
her shoulder at the big new car with such loathing?

Inside the car, Jenny, staring silently out
through the windshield, watched the funeral come to an end. 'That's
it,' she said aloud.

Tex leaned forward. He grasped hold of the
steering wheel, eased off on the clutch, and pressed gently down on
the accelerator. As the big car began to roll smoothly forward,
Jenny saw Elizabeth-Anne turning to Zaccheus, who was saying
something, and then Elizabeth-Anne twisted around again, staring
malevolently back at the car.

Jenny smiled tightly. Even from this distance
she could tell that Elizabeth-Anne was angry—and a wild, violent
satisfaction surged through her, a mad kind of joy. She felt truly
happy for the first time in weeks. She sensed that the opening
salvo of a battle which would last a long time had been fired, and
that made her feel good.

'Let's go home,' she said to Tex. 'I've seen
enough.'

Tex nodded but did not speak. For a while
they drove in silence. Jenny rested her elbow on the leather
armrest and her chin on her fist. She stared out the window and
watched the fields and groves gliding slowly past. She was grateful
for Tex's silence. Somehow he always seemed to know when to speak
and when to remain silent. It was one of the things she liked about
him. They understood each other.

It was she who finally broke the silence.
'Tex?' she said.

He turned to her.

She reached out to him with her left hand and
traced her fingertips lightly down his thigh. 'Remember,' she
reminded him, 'when you asked me what I wanted as a gift for giving
birth to Ross?'

He nodded and turned toward the road again.
'I remember.'

'You told me I could have anything I wanted,
and I told you I would think about it.' She took a deep breath.
'Well, I have. I know what I want.'

'And?' He licked his lips and forced himself
to concentrate on the driving. He felt both a relaxed contentment
and the beginnings of an immense excitement tingling inside him as
her fingers cleverly explored his crotch.

She gazed down at his groin. 'I don't want
anything material,' she said, frowning, and then looked back up at
him. 'This won't cost you a thing.'

He turned to her again, his eyes filled with
suspicion. He knew only too well how much material possessions
meant to Jenny—and how much that facet of her personality was
costing him. Her latest project was sprucing up the house both
inside and out. She was planting a lavish garden around the pond in
the front of the house with the help of the three full-time
gardeners she'd hired. Simultaneously she was redecorating the
inside of the mansion, and she'd already spent a small fortune on
antique furnishings and cracked old paintings. And on top of all
that was her greatest love- clothes. She spent a fortune on outfits
she never had time to wear, and had already accumulated so many
that one of the carpenters had to transform one entire bedroom into
a walk-in closet. 'Well?' he said.

'I decided that instead of wanting
some
thing
, I want someone.' She paused. 'Someone who works
for you. I want to know exactly what he's up to at all times. And
I'd like to have the last say in any decisions affecting him.'

'You're asking for a lot. You want
power.'

'Only over two people,' she said quickly.

'Who's the first?'

'Zaccheus Hale.'

'And who's the second? Me?'

'Don't make jokes like that,' she snapped
irritably. 'You should know better than that.' She shook her head.
'The second one's Hale's wife.'

He looked thoughtful and drove on in silence
for a while. It was true, he reminded himself: after she'd borne
him a son, he had felt so magnanimous that he had offered her
anything she wanted, and he wasn't a man known to go back on his
word. Still, Zaccheus Hale was a valued employee. The man he
trusted most.

'Hale's important to me,' he said finally.
'He's got things under control like they've never been before. I
depend on him.' His eyes flicked sideways at her. 'What do you want
with him?'

'I want to destroy him.' Her voice was a low,
intense whisper.

He looked at her sharply.

'Watch out!' she cried.

He turned forward and swerved just in time to
avoid a head-on collision with the daily Brownsville-to- Laredo bus
coming from the other direction.

Horns blared angrily and the bus roared past
with just inches to spare.

Jenny sighed with relief and rubbed her
forehead with her fingertips. Her head was pounding and her heart
was palpitating from the sudden surge of adrenaline. Slowly it
receded and she felt herself settling back down.

'You want me to fire Hale?' Tex asked
suddenly.

She swung around to face him. 'No!' she
hissed sharply, her eyes blazing. 'I want to destroy him.'

'How?'

'I don't know,' she lied, knowing full well
that she had already planned every last intricate step toward
Zaccheus' destruction. The only thing she did not yet know was
when. She only knew it had to be when the time was absolutely
perfect. She would wait years if need be—an inescapable web of iron
needed time to construct. And besides, why should she ruin her own
perverse joy by being too hasty? The sword had to descend at
precisely the moment when it would hurt Zaccheus and Elizabeth-Anne
the most. When that happened, her own pleasure would be
unbearable.

'You're positive that this is what you
want?'

She nodded. 'Another thing,' she said,
fighting to keep the excitement out of her voice. 'I'll give you
plenty of warning before I strike. That way, you'll have time to
find and train a replacement for him.'

'I don't know,' he said slowly. 'I need
Zaccheus. What'll I do without him?'

'Wasn't it you who told me only a few days
ago that everyone is expendable?'

He grunted.

'Well, then, isn't Zaccheus Hale expendable
too?'

He sighed. 'I suppose so.'

'In fact,' she said slowly, 'it would be
poetic justice, would it not, if you let him find himself an
assistant? If you had him choose his own successor without his even
knowing what he's doing? If he's as smart and valuable as you think
he is, I'm sure he'll come up with a most likely candidate.'

Tex grinned suddenly. 'Know what? You're a
regular Machiavelli.'

She shrugged.

'No, I take that back. You're not a
Machiavelli after all.'

'Then what am I?'

'Salome.'

She laughed. 'And I suppose Zaccheus Hale
will be my John the Baptist?'

'If I let you have his head on a platter,
yes,' he replied pointedly.

'It's important to me, Tex,' she said slowly.
'Very important.' She resumed toying with his crotch.

'Mind at least telling me why you've got it
out for him?'

'Not at all.' Her hand slid further down into
his crotch, her nimble fingers feeling for the length of his penis,
which she knew lay against his left trouser leg, trapped there by
his underwear. Already she could feel it was semierect. She smiled
to herself and began to massage it in gentle, slow circles. 'I've
got it in for Zaccheus Hale,' she said softly, 'because I don't
like him. And because I despise that wife of his.'