Texas Born (46 page)

But they had to. It was imperative that she
ride out to Coyote right away and find out what in the world was
going on. At least she was now certain why Coyote continued to
raise their prices so usuriously. Jenny—not Tex, but Jenny—was
trying to drive her out of business. Knowing your enemy was
supposed to be half the battle, she'd once heard said, but small
comfort that knowledge brought her now. Jenny. Vindictive, vicious
Jenny, whom she'd never tried to hurt, with whom she'd tried,
unsuccessfully, to strike a thousand truces.

Once again, Jenny is out to get me. Will
some things never change?

She forced herself to turn around and walk
toward the hall door, her every step slow and weary.

By the time Elizabeth-Anne closed the
dining-room door quietly behind her, the initial shock was starting
to wear off. Her mind slowly began to function again.

First I'll drop in on Charlotte-Anne
,
she decided.
Then, I'll freshen up and get changed. I've got to
drive out to Coyote immediately. I can't let Jenny get the upper
hand . . . not when the tourist court is at stake.

The room Charlotte-Anne shared with her
sisters was the largest bedroom on the top floor of the café
building. The floor and walls were narrow planking painted white.
There were three iron bedsteads in the room, a large table, and
three straight-backed chairs. There was enough space between the
beds to have night- stands between them, and against the opposite
wall stood three wardrobes. The windows were livened with
red-checked curtains, and there was a dresser with an oval mirror
and a low bookcase filled with secondhand volumes. Elizabeth-Anne
was a great believer in education, self-education as well as what
was taught in school: the books were nearly all nonfiction.

Charlotte-Anne, clad in her nightgown, was
sitting up in her bed with several pillows propped behind her back.
As soon as she heard Elizabeth-Anne's footsteps out in the hall,
she snapped shut the copy of
Pride and Prejudice
which she'd
borrowed from one of her schoolmates, pushed it under the pillows,
and lay back, pulling the sheet up over her.

She heard her mother knocking softly on the
door.

'Is that you, Mama?' she called out weakly,
clasping one hand into a fist and coughing delicately into it.

'Yes, it's me.' Elizabeth-Anne opened the
door a crack and peered into the room.

Charlotte-Anne looked up and smiled bleakly.
' 'Morning, Mama,' she said between coughs.

' 'Morning, Charlotte-Anne.' Elizabeth-Anne
marched briskly into the room and pulled aside the curtains. 'It's
stuffy enough in here without cutting off the fresh air,' she said
severely.

'Yes, Mama,' Charlotte-Anne replied in a weak
voice.

Elizabeth-Anne sat down on the edge of the
bed and looked at her daughter. Charlotte-Anne was the middle
child, and of the three, had been the most difficult to deliver.
Her hair was the typical Hale trademark, a rich, ripe shade of
wheat, but incredibly fine and silky. She was tall for her age, and
very slender, with pale flawless skin, pale pink lips, and another
Hale trademark, aquamarine eyes, though this particular shade of
aquamarine was so incredibly pale it both enchanted and made one
feel ill-at-ease at the same time. They were eyes that seemed to
pierce right through you, they were so startling. Yet the pale
hair, pale complexion, and pale eyes gave Charlotte-Anne a peculiar
beauty Elizabeth-Anne had never before seen in anyone.

She laid a hand flatly against
Charlotte-Anne's forehead. It felt neither hot nor cold. She had no
fever, that much was clear. 'Rebecca tells me you're not feeling
well,' she said.

'No, Mama, I'm not.'

'Is there anything particular you think is
wrong with you?'

Charlotte-Anne's face was bland. 'Nooo . . .
it's just that I feel real weak.'

'Well, you don't have any fever.'
Elizabeth-Anne sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. 'Perhaps we
should take you to see Dr. Purris.'

'Oh, no, Mama. It's nothing serious. I'm
positive.'

'But you're feeling under the weather so
often. That's just not natural for a healthy young lady.'

Charlotte-Anne's eyes dropped. 'I know . . .'
She bit down on her lip.

'Charlotte-Anne?'

Charlotte-Anne's pale eyes looked up.

Elizabeth-Anne took a deep breath. 'I don't
think I need to tell you that these bouts of illness you're
complaining about are cropping up quite often. They worry me. Also,
we don't have money to throw away frivolously on doctor's bills.
We're very strapped right now.'

Charlotte-Anne nodded. 'I know that.'

'Are you certain you're not feeling well?'
Elizabeth-Anne watched Charlotte-Anne's reaction closely. 'I hate
to think you're trying to shirk your chores.'

Charlotte-Anne turned away. 'You've been
listening to Rosa!' she accused bitterly.

'Yes, I have.' Elizabeth-Anne nodded. 'I
don't think I need to tell you we can't afford dillydallying around
here. Everyone has to pull her own share. It hurts me to have to do
this, but from today on, each morning you feel unwell, you shall
stay in this room until the next morning. You shall not go to
school, meet any of your friends, or go anywhere except to the
toilet when you have to. I know it's severe, but if you're ill, you
shall have to remain quietly in bed. Do I make myself clear?'

Charlotte-Anne nodded and broke out coughing.
'Yes, Mama,' she said glumly. 'I'm being punished for being
ill.'

Elizabeth-Anne shook her head. 'No, you're
not. But if you're indeed ill, you need all the rest you can get.'
She paused. 'I really don't think it's fair to your sisters to have
to pull their own weight and yours so often. Do you?'

'Does this mean I have to stay in this room
all day?'

'It does.' Elizabeth-Anne got to her feet.
'Now, I have a lot of errands I must run today.' She bent down and
kissed Charlotte-Anne on the forehead. 'Good-bye, dear.'

' 'Bye, Mama.'

Charlotte-Anne watched her mother leave. As
soon as the door closed behind her, she sat forward and stuck out
her tongue. Then she dropped back on the pillows. She was seething
with anger.

I'm being punished
, she thought with
fury. That's the only word for it. And why?
Because I'm ill.
Well, it isn't far from the truth. Getting up before the crack of
dawn and preparing things for other people's breakfasts, just like
having to wash other people's filthy lunch and supper dishes, is
disgusting. It's a dirty business, and I'm sick and tired of
it.

I'm not anybody's servant.

Now, confined to her room, she suddenly
didn't even feel like reading anymore. The day was ruined.

She reached under her pillow for the book and
flung it across the room.

'That blasted Rosa!
' she yelled.

The stifling, dry Texas heat sat broodingly
atop the flat arid landscape. Even though she had put up the top of
the buggy and sat in the shade, Elizabeth-Anne's clothes clung
wetly to her body.

She did not like being caught outdoors in the
daytime heat. As a rule, she tried her best to avoid it, but today
a second, more pressing rule took precedence: never put off any
urgent—
nasty
—business. Take care of it immediately, and get
it out of the way.

Coyote Building Suppliers was situated about
five miles southeast of Quebeck, right next to the completed
stretch of new highway. Elizabeth-Anne's eyes clouded over. The new
highway only served as more evidence of Tex Sexton's power. He
would possess enough influence to have changed the course of the
highway so that it passed directly in front of his thriving
building-supply business.

In front of the large warehouses was a huge
parking lot, suspiciously newly paved with asphalt identical to the
new highway, and facing the highway was a huge billboard painted to
look like a coyote. Beneath the coyote was the legend 'COYOTE
BUILDING SUPPLIERS.' And under that: 'GENERAL CONTRACTORS AND
SUPPLIERS.'

Elizabeth-Anne turned the buggy into the
parking lot and slowed down. Quite a lot of trucks and cars were
parked there. Horse-drawn wagons and buggies like hers were
becoming increasingly rare. She nodded to herself, noticing Ross
Sullins' black Model T Ford parked in the shade. Ross Sullins was
the manager of Coyote—another of Sexton's many minions.

Elizabeth-Anne pulled in on the reins, and as
soon as Bessie came to a halt, carefully climbed down from the
buggy. She reached into her pocket, produced a lump of sugar, and
fed it to the mare. While it chewed contentedly, she flipped the
reins expertly over a post. Then she glanced down and quickly
smoothed her gray maternity dress with the palms of both hands. She
adjusted her hat, inhaled another deep breath to stifle the chill
trepidation that, despite the white-hot heat, she felt coursing
through her whenever she had to deal with any of the Sexton-owned
businesses, and without further ado strode briskly toward the
office of Coyote Building Suppliers. From the sheds out back, the
high- pitched screeches of saws set her teeth on edge.

She entered the office through the open door.
Although the windows were open, it was even hotter in here than it
was outside. She could feel herself breaking out anew with
perspiration and fanned herself briskly with the sheaf of thin
yellow papers she carried.

Ross Sullins was hunched over behind his
scarred desk. He was a big unshaven man with shifty gimlet eyes,
oily skin, and a large bulbous nose. Elizabeth-Anne had never seen
him without a match stuck between his teeth.

When he heard the crinkle of her paper, he
craned his neck and peered over the desk.

She said, 'Mr. Sullins, may I have a word
with you, please?'

With a sigh, he reluctantly scraped back his
chair, got to his feet, and came slowly around from behind his
desk. 'What you want?' He was looking hard at her, the match
bobbing around in his mouth.

Without speaking, Elizabeth-Anne thrust out
the sheaf of yellow invoices Carlos Cortez had given her this
morning. He glanced at her, then took them and flipped negligently
through them. He squinted and passed them right back to her.
'Ever'thing's in order, it seems to me.'

Elizabeth-Anne forced herself to keep her
temper in check. 'Perhaps it does to you, Mr. Sullins,' she said
quietly, 'but it doesn't to me. Would you care to look at these
invoices again and explain to me just why the prices listed are
what they are? It seems to me that they've skyrocketed again.'

'Overhead, ma'am. 'Sides, prices always go
up. Lumber's gettin' more expensive ever' day. So's bricks and
mortar. Wouldn't a happened if you'd ordered ever'thing at
once.'

She stared at him. 'If I need to jolt your
memory, Mr. Sullins, we
did
order everything at once. It was
you yourself who kept telling me—repeatedly—that you were out of
stock and that I'd have to wait until you restocked. Each time I
ordered a truckload, it was the same old story. Only a partial
order would be delivered.'

Ross Sullins worked the match around from the
left side of his mouth to the right. 'We do a lot of business,' he
said vaguely.

'Certainly you do,' she said softly, 'but I'm
no fool, Mr. Sullins. My eyes don't deceive me. I can tell when
your warehouses are fully stocked.'

'We always got lotsa stuff on hold for
people,' he said evasively. 'You know, stuff they had on order,
waitin' to be picked up or delivered.' He looked even harder at
her. 'You're not tryin' to suggest we're out to cheat you?'

'I never said that, but it's interesting that
you should bring it up.' Elizabeth-Anne paused. 'Don't get me
wrong. I don't mind paying for what I buy. That's the way the world
is run. By money—and supply and demand. What I do mind, however, is
highway robbery. In all its ugly facets.'

He grinned. His two bottom front teeth were
missing. 'Ever'thing's in order. Now, I got a lot of work to
do-'

Without warning she brought her fist crashing
down on the top of his desk. 'Do not dismiss me so lightly! I'm not
one of your illiterate customers. I can read, write, and do
arithmetic as well as you can . . . and probably better. When
prices are raised by a hundred and fifty percent in a little over
nine months—that's robbery! Anybody knows that.'

'Maybe you'd best talk to Mr. Sexton. All I
do is take his orders. They all come from him.'

'And I suppose it was he who told you to
raise the prices of everything I buy?'

'Hey, now, look here—'

'No, you look here, Mr. Sullins.' She
pronounced each syllable distinctly. 'I am only too aware that your
customers do not all pay the same prices for the same items.
Coyote, it seems, bills their clients on a sliding scale.'

He shrugged. 'What gave you that idea?'

'Let's just say that a little bird whispered
it in my ear.' She narrowed her eyes. 'I don't like being played
for a fool, Mr. Sullins.' Then she laughed softly. 'Well, I guess
it was bound to happen to both of us.'

'Huh?' He eyed her suspiciously. 'What's
happened to both of us?'

'Mr. Sullins. Did you know that my Mexican
laborers refuse to take orders from me?' she asked chidingly. 'For
everything I want done, I first have to go through my foreman,
Carlos Cortez.' She shook her head. 'Can you believe it? The men
think it's unmanly for them to take orders from me, because I'm a
woman.'

He chuckled. 'Well, I can't say I blame 'em.
It ain't natural, somehow. Even for a Mex.'

'Mr. Sullins.' The corners of
Elizabeth-Anne's lips curled downward in disdain. 'Your orders no
longer come from Mr. Sexton. Perhaps you weren't informed about it
yet, but Mr. Sexton sold Coyote Building Suppliers.'