Paxton Pride (19 page)

Retta grinned broadly and her head bobbed up and down in a silent answer of “yes.” Her words indicated the opposite. “No, missy,” she said, gesturing with her eyes toward the library. “Mr. Hampton, he pay me and he de boss man. Dis ol' black lady, she gets in trouble she wish you luck.”

Karen almost laughed, instead reached out and briefly hugged the massive woman in front of her. Retta and Hermann. What an improbable pair of conspirators! “I understand, Retta. Thank you.”

Her spirits revived, she paused for a moment, took a deep breath and marched resolutely to the dining room doors and through them, taking care not to look to the right and risk catching a glimpse of her father in the library. The French doors stood open. She stopped by them for a second to check her hair in the glass, then swept through onto the porch and into the garden.

Alfred was under one of the massive old oaks, hands folded behind his back, eyes cast downward, intently studying the lilies-of-the-valley planted under the ornamental grapevine running down the small fence which led to the back of the house. Each tiny white bell blossom trembled in the light afternoon breeze and nodded to and fro as if sharing whispered secrets forever unknowable to man or beast. His mind on other matters, Alfred failed to notice Karen as she approached, her steps muffled by the soft green grass.

For a moment she said nothing, only watched him, the man she had almost married. Comparisons were inevitable. Karen shuddered. All those categories at which Alfred excelled she realized she had come to abhor. Sophistication, cunning, intrigue, deviousness. A courtier of old, a sycophant by design, he sought to climb to such heights as to command his own retinue of flattering, fawning admirers. How different Vance was. Direct, bold, audacious to the point of impudence. As for his dress, he redefined
distingué
. Karen sighed. Poor Vance. Almost a bad choice for an emissary. Too proud to flatter, Alfred and Barrett would claw his cause to shreds with a multitude of whispered promises and send him home empty-handed. But Vance would learn, of that she had no doubt. No, there was really little to compare. She snapped open her parasol. “Good afternoon, Alfred.”

He jumped, startled. “Karen. Why, I didn't hear you come up.”

“The lilies-of-the-valley are lovely, aren't they.”

“Oh … yes. The lilies-of-the-valley. I hadn't noticed.” Alfred cleared his throat, began to speak and then offered his arm instead. They strolled through the garden around the back of the house and into the large formal gardens bordering the meadow, eventually reaching the garden pond across which floated a dozen water lilies like triremes of old, flowery barges fit for the fairie queen of naiads. Once out of sight of the house, Alfred became more bold, placing his bowler hat and cane at the foot of a sturdy elm. He took Karen's hand and brought it to his lips. “Karen, I …”

“I'm sorry I caused you any embarrassment, Alfred,” Karen interrupted rapidly before he could say anything he'd later regret. “I know you had great expectations for the party, as did my parents. You're terribly … sweet, and … I know a dozen girls who would be enthralled at the chance to marry Alfred Randol Whitaker.…”

Alfred's face clouded. “You're mine,” he said hoarsely. “We're engaged. You had no right to humiliate me before my colleagues.”

“It wasn't and isn't a question of right, Alfred. Don't you see? Our wedding wouldn't be a marriage. It would be a merger. A financial arrangement blessed by the gods of industry and state. But that's not what I want from life.”

Alfred stared at her, his eyes widening with amazement. “I find it difficult to understand you, Karen. Don't you enjoy the finery with which you've been blessed? This house? The parties, your carriage, servants, clothes? They are the rewards of your father's labor and come directly from his position in the world of business and politics.”

“I would rather have had a father,” Karen said bitterly. “I did, for a short time when I was a little girl. And I liked it. Wealth is not all there is to life.”

Alfred shrugged, his eyes taking on a detestable paternal glow. “What else is there, Karen?”

“Love. Love! A man and a woman sharing, blissfully merged in the rapture of being together.”

“Really, Karen, isn't that naive? Who do we know who is,” his voice rose in mocking imitation, “‘blissfully merged in the rapture of being together'? Aren't you being a trifle immature? Unrealistic in the extreme? You sound like a child.”

“And you sound disgustingly condescending. I have such a love. If you find the concept impossible to understand or accept you have my pity. I only expect you to have the grace to leave me alone,” she retorted angrily, turning on her heel.

Alfred gripped her arm and spun her about. His face flamed with anger. “Who? Who is your great love? The Texas stud? The southern trash who's made you the laughingstock of all Washington while you blithely follow in Angie Leighton's footsteps? Don't think the word hasn't gotten around. Poor Angie pining away for the lover who spiked her and spurned her. Everybody weeps to her face and laughs behind her back at how the Texas bumpkin in his fool's clothes set the pants of Washington's prima donna afire.” He stopped for breath, his face red, his eyes black pinpoints boring into her. “Has he dipped his wick in you yet, Karen dear, or are you stringing him along as you did me?”

Karen's hand shot out, exploding in a hollow-sounding pop on his cheek. Alfred's face darkened with fury and he backhanded her, striking her across the right side of her face and knocking her to the ground. “Now you listen to me. I am a Whitaker. I am not to be slapped like a commoner, dallied with, bandied about by any frivolous piece of Itching Jenny who comes down the pike. I was in love with you at one time, wanted desperately to marry you. Not for money, not for power, not for position. Perhaps I was naive. I am no longer so.

“My father and your father are powerful men. They need each other and I need them. Our wedding is a perfect excuse for certain manipulations and changes, certain combinations of benefit to them and, as ought to be as plain as the itch between your legs, for me. I cannot afford to be made the laughingstock of my district, as I have been assured I will be if there is no wedding. I am determined to strengthen the political base from which I started. Whether or not you like it, you are part and parcel of the deal. That's the way the world works. And it's just quite simply too bad if you don't like it.

“As for your barbarian, forget him. He's had an accident.” Karen blanched. “A terrible accident which should convince him he's no longer wanted and will not be tolerated around here or around you for one moment longer.”

“What did you …?” Karen tried to speak.

“Shut up. You wanted a barbarian? Very well. I'll play the part for you. Perhaps I should have done this long ago.” Standing over her, his hand drew back and started down again, but only traveled a fraction of an inch. His arm was caught, his wrist enveloped in a fist. A perplexed look crossed his face and he turned his head in an attempt to see what was wrong.

Vance Paxton was there towering over him, his grip like steel, his face like stone hewn from a solid piece of granite. “Washington is full of slappers,” Vance said contemptuously, jerking Alfred around. “Perhaps I should have done
this
a long time ago.” Vance's fist started from his waist and grew and grew, blotting out everything until Alfred could see no more. Suddenly pain exploded in his face and he went sailing across the lawn, slamming into the elm tree and sliding down it to sit on top of his bowler hat.

Karen stifled a scream of terror as the hulking form bent over her. “Karen, it's me. It's me,” Vance said gently. Nearly unconscious, she took the two hands held out to her, then saw his face, his eyes, so strong and wilful. Panic left her and she pulled herself up and threw herself recklessly into his arms, clasping his lips tightly to hers. Vance pushed her back gently. “Ouch,” he said.

Karen noticed the dried blood on his lips and chin, the abrasions and the swollen lower lip. “Oh, my dear, what on earth …?”

“Just a fat lip. A bruise or so. I've had 'em before. Probably have 'em again.”

“He said he'd … he said he'd.…”

“Naw … he just thought he did.”

Alfred groaned, braced himself against the tree and staggered to his feet. A large blue-yellow bruise started to swell across his face and a thin trickle of blood ran from one corner of his mouth. Vance turned to him. Alfred managed to pick up his cane and face Vance, his eyes blazing with hatred, his voice incongruously murderous. “I have friends.…” he managed to mumble, wincing as he spoke.

“So I heard. But they tried already. I've met them. Nice fellas. One of 'em ran off as fast as his horses would take him, the other two you can pick up along the road, just under the bridge over Rock Creek. I suspect they're still there and would be grateful for a little help. You can kiss your money good-bye. They'll have to spend it on a surgeon.”

The revelation took the fire out of Alfred's eyes. His shoulders sagged in defeat. But not for long. Drawing himself up as tall as he could, he gave Karen a final glance and adjusted his coat and tie. The familiar gestures helped and his haughty mein returned. He laughed contemptuously and walked away, leaving his crumpled bowler where it lay.

Vance watched as Alfred stalked off, keeping an eye on him until he heard a ripping sound behind him. He turned to see Karen let her skirt down. She held a piece of petticoat which she dipped in the pool and, having wrung it out, stood on tiptoes and started washing his face. “You were so gallant,” she said. “I've heard of southern gallantry, but I never thought it would come to my rescue.”

“I don't think Alfred would have done much else to you.”

“Why, sir, he would have ravished me,” Karen cried in mock horror. Then she snickered in spite of herself. “Well, maybe not ravished. Not Alfred, anyway. Nevertheless, he was most unpleasant and you did come to my rescue. Like a chivalrous knight of ages past. Whatever did they do to you?”

“Your old boyfriend paid them to get rid of me. They didn't, is all. We went 'round and 'round … ouch, careful … a little, and they agreed to leave me alone.”

“A little?”

“Well, maybe more than a little. At any rate, they convinced me about one thing. It's time to get out of here. How soon can you be ready?”

Karen dropped the piece of fabric and stood unmoving. A single tear formed in her eye, spilled onto her cheek.

“I leave for Galveston in three days, Karen. It isn't much time. I want you on that boat with me.”

“Vance, we … I … oh, God, yes, I'll be there. I'll be there with you.…” she sobbed happily, throwing herself into his arms, clinging to him, tears of joy and exultation flowing freely now. Suddenly she stopped crying and thrust herself back from him. “We'll have to be married first.”

Vance shook his head slowly. “Nope.”

Karen's face fell, then brightened with the thought he must be playing a joke. “Surely, sir,” she teased, “you wouldn't ask a maiden to travel unmarried?”

Vance reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. “Little lady, if I get married up here in this heathen country, old True will never let me hear the end of it. Don't worry. We're gonna get married all right. But in Texas. Well have a wedding like you've never seen before. Not one of your stodgy old Washington affairs with
petit fours
and dainty cakes and tea, but a real Texas wedding right on our ranch with a whole cow cooked up and lots of music and dancing. Even have a shivaree, probably. No way to keep the boys from having their fun. Now, I don't know what your folks'll think about that, but they're welcome if they want to come.”

“Not hardly,” Barrett said, stepping from the garden path. Vance and Karen spun to face him. “Alfred stopped by the library. He was furious, of course, and I don't blame him. For your sake, Karen, I convinced him not to have the police apprehend Mr. Paxton for his spurious and contemptible assault on one of Washington's finest gentlemen.” His eyes fastened malevolently on Vance. “Mr. Paxton. I do commend your decision to take the next boat to Texas. Your absence will be keenly felt, but I assure you we'll bear up. Now I suggest you leave these grounds immediately. Hermann will drive you to wherever you wish to be taken. Hotel, saloon, bordello, whatever. Karen, if you will be so kind as to follow me.…”

“Father, stop it!” Karen said, her tone one of complete defiance. “I
am
going to Texas. Vance and I will be married there. I will leave with him.” Her unwavering gaze bore into the older man as she took Vance's hand and stood at his side.

“That is your decision?”

“Yes, Papa. It is. Freely made.”

Barrett Hampton stood unflinching. Every trace of emotion drained from his face. When he spoke his voice was as cold and devoid of feeling as a wind blowing through an empty house. “Very well. Then it is over. You are no longer a member of this family. You are free to follow your Mr. Paxton and join his tribe of barbarians.”

Karen forced herself to stand straight, helped by Vance's arm which stole around her to give her support. “Papa, I didn't want it this way. Won't you please …”

“The decision was yours.” He laughed sardonically, brought himself under control. “Freely made, as you said. You are no longer welcome in this house or on this property.”

“Papa …”

“There is,” Barrett concluded, turning his back on them and starting for the house, “nothing left to be said.”

And there wasn't.

PART II

CHAPTER I

Texas … from the earliest days, men followed their dreams to Texas. Cabeza de Vaca, Coronado, LaSalle, and later Englishmen, Germans, Poles, Irishmen and more. Men large of stature and small. Men riding from the past and men riding toward the future. Men of all faiths, all ideologies, men of great wealth and of none. Some perished in the swamplands to the east where the Sabine undulated like the water vipers traversing its tributaries. Some perished on the wide, empty plains where the untrammeled earth stretched as far as eyes could see and the heavy lid of heaven, an infinite dome of blue dotted by wayward clouds, sloped down to fasten on the wind-whipped grasses, a joining toward which one could ever travel but never reach. Some perished on the brutal lances of the Comanche, Apache, Chiricahua, Kickapoo and Tejas, which meant friend. Not all survived, for not every seed takes root, but those who did flourished and were made strong, raised strong children who stayed to tame the land. Here was the true promise, more valuable by far than the ephemeral gold. Here was birth, both literal and figurative, of men, values and a way of life destined to survive and more, to build a nation.