Paxton Pride (39 page)

The house was pleasantly warm. A front hall led to a large living room to the right and a dining room to the left, both of which were appointed, as far as Karen could see at a glance, simply but pleasantly with a combination of English, German and purely western pieces. The floor was of strikingly huge planks, rubbed smooth and waxed to a dark, warm sheen, contrasting to the white walls and pale green draperies. Cozy, she thought. Cozy fits perfectly. The butler explained the bustle of activity she felt rather than saw around her as he showed her up the front stairs and to a small but comfortable room with its own fireplace. “A festive gathering, madam. Mr. Green is one of the foremost citizens of San Antonio. Whenever a dignitary visits the city Mr. and Mrs. Green entertain, welcoming him to the state and San Antonio.”

“Dignitary?”

“Yes, ma'am. Here we are. Mr. Green sincerely hopes you will enjoy your stay. Dinner will be at 7:00 sharp. If you care to rest I will have Cecilia wake you at six.”

“Thank you. When is the party?”

“Tomorrow evening. A most important occasion. For the Under-Secretary of the Interior.”

“The Under-Secretary of the Interior? Here?”

“Yes, madam. Something to do with the railroad. Mr. Green is terribly keen on making a good impression on the gentleman. Is there anything else madam wishes?”

“You're English. How on earth did you come to be here?”

The butler reddened at the directness of the question, sighed despairingly as if reliving in a moment a lifetime of bad luck. “The war, madam. Our favors at home were with the Confederacy. I was swept along by the notion of southern gallantry.” He paused, embarrassed. “If you've no further needs I shall see to the downstairs,” he said, stepping aside stiffly as Brazos and a handyman struggled through the door behind him, carrying her large trunk and giving the nameless butler a chance to escape.

“The rest of your gear'll be up in a minute, ma'am.” Brazos looked around the room, grinned broadly in appreciation. “I reckon you'll be all right here, so I'll be ridin'. Get a head start on tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Brazos. You've been very kind.”

“Yes'm. Web.…” He stepped back as two more servants carried in her carpetbags and another small trunk, set them down and left again.

“Brazos …?”

“Yes'm?”

“Nothing. Good-bye. Be careful.”

“My ma didn't raise no careless boys, ma'am.” He doffed his hat and left, obviously in a hurry to start back to the ranch. Once again Karen was left alone in a strange room, in a strange house, surrounded by people she didn't know.

She bathed quickly and sat at the small make-up table with her bag of tolletries while Cecilia, the servant girl, brushed her hair until it hung in smooth waves down her back, glowing with the vigor of the outdoors and healthy living. She chose for her first night a plain gown, very English and undecorative, of white muslin trimmed with cream lace, a gown which through its very simplicity, displayed her form in natural beauty.

Bertha Green entered without knocking just as the last hook was fastened. The massive, austere woman looked impersonally at Karen, her eyes raking the guest from head to foot in a single withering glance. Karen stiffened, surprised at the hostility she met in that first moment. She had expected warmth and, if not friendship, at least friendliness. “Good evening, Mrs. Paxton,” the older woman said, her voice heavy and endowed with masculine power. “I thought I would personally bring you down to dinner. I am sorry Mr. Green and I couldn't be here when you arrived, but we simply had far more important business to which we had to attend.” She smiled coldly, emphasizing her self-imposed superiority. “When one assumes the place of leadership in a community one finds it increasingly difficult to fulfill all the social obligations required of one.”

Obligations. And I shall be made to pay for them. Very well
…

The older woman's voice put to shame the autumn breeze rattling the leaves outside. “We're having a few friends for dinner. Mrs. Carstairs and Mrs. Britt, Olin Britt's widow.” Mrs. Green was plainly and painfully conscious of her own position in San Antonio and, bent on putting her guest at a disadvantage immediately, displayed her social credentials as a weak general did his medals Karen had seen both types before. Her mother for one, but of course Iantha was so much more subtle and poised than this ponderous San Antonian.

“I'm flattered you should take me in like this, Mrs. Green. You're very kind,” she said sweetly, giving no indication the innuendoes affected her, nor of the seething anger welling in her breast.

“Well,” Bertha smiled, her initial appraisal modified by the unassuming demeanor of the untutored ranch girl who, obviously docile and malleable, would bend easily to her will. “If you'll come with me, please.” She led the way, steering Karen out of the room and downstairs.

Snatches of conversation hung in the air as the two women approached the open double doors of the dining room. Karen stifled a quick rush of anger as she realized the words were meant to be heard, for no one could have missed the sound of Bertha Green's footsteps on the polished hardwood stairs. “Of course she's the one. Back there like a common trollop arm-in-arm with a drunken cowboy.”

“Really, Constance. I think …” a man's voice replied.

“It's true, Jared, and you know it,” a deeper feminine voice interrupted. “The story was all over the city. Got that man killed, she did. That rowdy young Paxton found her half na … half-clothed in the room with a drunken cowhand and went berserk with jealousy. Poor Bertha, having to.…”

Bertha suddenly and quite loudly said, “Right this way, dear.”

But Karen had heard more than enough. So they thought her a trollop, did they? No wonder Bertha hated her at first glance. Iantha would have too. The old lessons learned so easily, so naturally, flooded back. Three months on the PAX had convinced her the west was different, but the sad truth was San Antonio differed not a jot from Washington, was a den of malicious chatter and back-biting gossip. Head erect and registering all the Hampton spirit she could muster, she strode into the dining room.

“Ah, Mrs. Paxton.” Jared Green, a still handsome, frock-coated man, rose and walked across the room to her, giving her his arm and showing her to a seat opposite the two women who so blithely had been discussing her. “Delighted to have you with us. Sit down, my dear. You must be famished. Let me introduce you. Constance Britt …” the shrill-voiced woman nodded stiffly, “… and Alice Carstairs. Mrs. Paxton. Her father-in-law and I are old friends.”

“How do you do,” Mrs. Carstairs began, her deep voice tinged with an unusual rasp.

“We've heard so much about you,” Olin Britt's widow added, her voice neutral, waiting for Karen's first words.

Karen smiled graciously. “It's good of you to allow me to impose on your hospitality. Vance spoke very highly of you. I feel almost as if I know you, Jared.” She caught herself, lowered her head, embarrassed. “I'm sorry. That was rude of me. But it was Jared this and Jared that …” She sent a dazzling smile at her host. “I do hope you'll forgive me.” Out of the corner of her eye she watched Bertha's shoulders straighten stiffly at the familiarity with which Karen addressed her husband.

Jared Green positively beamed. “Not at all. Not at all. Please. You are perfectly free to call me Jared as you wish. Too much formality around here as it is. Vance is a good boy. Good boy, and we're more than delighted to have you, aren't we, Bertha?”

“Of course.” Her matronly beam hid a dark warning confirming her first appraisal and dismissing her second.

Mrs. Britt gave a what-did-I-tell-you glance toward Mrs. Carstairs, who nodded in silent agreement.

“We were surprised to see you back in San Antonio so soon after … after …” Mrs. Carstairs stumbled over the words.

“… after leaving for your new ranch,” Mrs. Britt picked up smoothly. “It's rare that ranch people come to the city more than once or twice a year. To shop, usually. I'm afraid culture and civilization get to be a little too overwhelming for them after the simple rigors of the frontier.”

“Sometimes I think I can understand why,” Bertha sighed dolefully, ringing a little bell to summon the servants from the kitchen. “We who live on the Heights try to foster an atmosphere amenable to the outsiders who visit us, but what an uphill struggle it is, with all the goings on and rowdyism running rampant in
some
parts of town.”

Karen ignored the disguised barb and smiled innocently at the three women who searched her face for a reaction. “It must be difficult,” she sympathized before turning her attention back to Jared. “Vance tells me you've tried to get him into politics.” She noted how her host's eyes, caught resting on her breasts when she unexpectedly turned to him, jerked upward guiltily. Daringly, she thrust herself forward against the fabric of her gown and had the satisfaction of seeing the older man, unable to stop himself, glance down at the ripe form. To the side she could see Constance Britt and Alice Carstais redden and turn suddenly to the plates being placed in front of them. A sharp dank of a fork on a plate told her Bertha's reaction had been similar.

Jared, aware he'd been caught, rushed the words. “Vance Paxton is a fine young man with a great deal of promise. I've been trying to lure him to Austin, but he shuns the very notion of entering the political arena. Like his father. He'd rather stay in the hills on that ranch of theirs. Do him good to get out.”

The idea was intriguing, Karen thought. Perhaps when the Jaco business was settled she'd be able to influence him. First state politics then national; a logical progression all the way to the east coast, and back to real civilization. She'd love to see the faces of all those who had sneered and laughed behind her back during that last week or two in Washington.

Dinner was a strange affair during which Karen was filled with conflicting emotions. Conversation, all designed to impress Karen, centered on the coming party at which Marvin Rutledge, the Under-Secretary of the Interior, was to be the guest of honor but Karen, much to the women's chagrin, remained singularly unimpressed with their chatter and paid only peripheral attention, concerned as she was with the confusion of her own thoughts. Was she getting more used to the simple ways of the PAX than she had thought? Had her own values been subverted, suborned by those of the men who moved so guilelessly around the ranch? Was Vance completely right after all? The glittering crystal and shining silver place settings convinced her anew he wasn't. There
were
finer things in life than eating dust and cooking in the west Texas hills.
And yet … and yet
…

The repast ended wtih coffee and a modest liqueur, obviously a rarity here, a refreshing mint cordial shipped from New Orleans. Karen let the three women who held her in such low esteem do all the talking, listened with a polite and attentive air as Bertha, Constance and Alice lulled themselves into a sense of complacency over their easy victory. Finally the two guests tired and indicated a need to be off. The entire assemblage left the room. “We certainly hope you enjoy your stay in San Antonio, Karen dear. Perhaps we'll see each other again before you leave,” Constance Britt remarked.

“Oh yes. Tomorrow night, no doubt,” Karen answered.

“Tomorrow?” Alice queried archly, amused by the very idea.

“Of course. At the party for Mr. Rut.… Oh, dear.” Karen lowered her gaze modestly, looked up at Bertha with innocent eyes. “How terribly
gauche
of me. I
do
hope I'm invited, though.”

“My dear.…” Bertha was cornered and knew it, unfortunately couldn't decide if Karen's
gaffe
had been purposeful or truly naive. There was no way out. “But of course, dear. We wouldn't think.…”

“I guess I just got carried away with it all,” Karen continued, eyes wide and the words gushing from her in a torrent. “I'm just so impressed with San Antonio. Especially after living on the ranch all these long months. I had no idea such a city could exist out west. Such pretty, pleasant little houses … almost like cottages in a fairy tale. And everyone managing so stoically, trying so gallantly to bring a glimmer of civilization to the raw frontier. I guess I just expected everything and everybody to be so far behind, and here I find such a charming, rustic elegance much, much farther along than I had ever hoped. We simply must sit down and have a talk and let me fill you in. I'll have lots of time, and … well, I just think you've managed so very well for being so terribly provincial …” She stopped, put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of embarrassed self-chastisement. “Listen to me prattling on, and you must have very many important things to do. Perhaps I'd better.…” She looked around, caught Jared's eye. “Would you mind terribly seeing me upstairs, Jared? I'm sure Bertha has some last-minute plans to make.” She took the unsuspecting man's arm and steered him away from the group. “Good night to you all.”

The three women watched, daggers in their eyes, as the bustle swept away from them, out of range of protest or retort. Karen half-heartedly scolded herself.
It's awful to take advantage of them, but they asked for it
. Rounding the stairs she noticed all three women bunched in the front doorway, heatedly exchanging words in sanctimonious reassurance of their own incomparable worth and desperate, rationalization of the defeat they refused to recognize. And still they didn't know they'd never had a chance.
Wait until tomorrow night, ladies. Just wait
.

Jared decided the bank could run itself for one day. His duty was to show Karen the sights on her first day in San Antonio. After all, she'd had a bad experience her first time in town and he, as any civic leader should, didn't care to see an important cattleman's wife disappointed with the city in which he had so much at stake. Of course, he decided all this only after Bertha Green left to attend a fund-raising breakfast at which Marvin Rutledge would speak and where everyone who qualified for the early morning affair in the illustrious private dining room of the Menger would be gathered. Jared, attired in immaculately tailored coat and trousers, knocked softly at Karen's door.