Texas rich (19 page)

"Eton't worry. I'm going to come home as good as I left. I've got to go now, honey. There's a hundred guys waiting to use the phone. Take care of yourself. I miss you."

Billie gulped, trying to ignore the three pairs of eyes that watched her. She wished for one instant of privacy. Turning her back, she whispered into the phone, "Moss, I love you."

"I know you do, Billie." Click.

Billie held the dead receiver in her hand, feeling it grow cold in her grip. "Well, what did he say?" Seth demanded.

"He ... he said he missed me."

"No, I mean did he say an>thing important? When is he coming home? Will he be coming back to the States?"

Wordlessly, Billie turned and climbed the stairs to her room. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts of Moss, and more than anything she wanted to spare herself Seth's inquisition.

Moss pushed his cap back at a jaunty angle and crossed the hotel lobby to where Thad Kingsley waited. "Didn't I tell you," Thad said, "it'd be better coming into town to call Billie? At least you didn't have to compete with two hundred men for use of the phone. Besides, sometimes the lines from the base are so jammed it takes an hour for a call to go through."

Moss signaled the barman for another drink. "Pap's having trouble with a well in Waco. That old man thinks I've got the answer to ever\' one of Sunbridge's problems. I told him to get hold of a wildcatter I know in Oklahoma. If anybody can fmd oil, that bastard can."

Thad's brow wrinkled as he balanced his long lean body on the high bar stool. "Wasn't Billie home? Didn't you get to talk to her?"

"Billie's fme, or so she says. She was having a httle morning sickness last time I saw her, but I guess that's passed."

"Don't you know?"

"How should I know?" Moss asked honestly. "I'm here in San Diego and she's in Texas."

"Didn't you ask her?" Thad persisted.

"Hell, I just phoned to tell my wife I'm leaving for Hawaii

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and I don't know when I'll see her again. Do you think I want to talk about vomit at a time like that?"

Thad considered himself properly chastened. Moss's relationship with Billie was really none of his concern. It was just that his impression of Billie was that she was fragile and too terribly vulnerable. And Moss Coleman could be such a bastard. "I suppose a phone call like that can get pretty heavy. It can't be easy to leave a girl like Billie, especially when she's carrying your first child."

"Pap'U take good care of her." Moss sipped his drink, oblivious to the frown creasing his friend's brow.

{{{{{{{(i CHAPTER EIGHT })))}}))}

Billie was determined to make Moss's home her own. But so many things puzzled her; Texas was so different from Philadelphia. Seth entertained business friends and associates at Sunbridge, for instance, often completing financial transactions right on the front porch. Soft voices would discuss details over and over and then the deal would be formalized with a hearty handshake. Only later would contracts and agreements be put on paper; a man's hand on a promise held more weight than his legal signature.

And Billie's own life became internalized, as her focus turned more and more to the small life within her. The changes in her body came quickly and were always accompanied by a fresh bout of queasiness, if not sickness. Her breasts were swollen and painful, her balance seemed awkward, and she noticed in the mirror that her pelvis was tilting forward, which made the hem of her dresses hang unevenly. Agnes decided it was time for maternity smocks and skirts with tummy holes. Often, BiUie yearned for the familiarity of Philadelphia. It would be nice to go shopping with a girlfriend or just walk into town and look in the windows. She had to remind herself that all her friends were at college and the only v^indow-shopping

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available was nearly forty miles away in Austin.

When the subject of Billie's pregnancy came up at the supper table, Seth insisted on referring to his grandchild as a boy— and his tone said he'd accept nothing less. Jessica had told her kindly, "Billie, it doesn't do any good to argue with Seth. I've been married to him for nearly thirty years and you can believe me." She knew Jessica commiserated with her during these conversations and that was comforting. After all, once the baby was bom, regardless of its sex, it couldn't be sent back. As long as it was healthy, what did it matter? Nevertheless, Billie wisely never mentioned the words baby girl or even hinted at a feminine name. But the pressure of Seth's possible disappointment was giving her headaches even Tita's potions or the doctor couldn't cure. She kept her miseries to herself and spent hours rereading Moss's sparse letters, which ran a half to a whole page, never more. At least she'd heard from him; for that she was grateful. If his letters were less than romantic, she would accept it. She spent long hours writing letters that she was certain he never read. It was something to do.

Billie found herself upset over Agnes's silent aversion to Jessica's company: her mother seemed to prefer accompanying Seth whenever she could on his rounds of the ranch, and she sat with him in his study listening to the radio news. While Billie and Jessica read Moss's letters, Agnes was reading prospectus reports on Seth's latest venture into the electronics industry. They got along well, these two, seeming to have a quiet understanding of one another. Cantankerous as Seth was, he had met his match in Agnes and he respected her for it.

Billie was seeing her mother as if for the first time. No longer did Agnes appear matronly and middle-aged. Now, with her new upswept hairdo, stylish dresses, and dainty shoes (instead of the durable, sensible ones she'd always bought in Philadelphia), Agnes was a very attractive woman. Even some of Seth's associates who came to the house seemed impressed with the Colemans' Yankee kin, and she'd been invited to dinner several times.

Agnes had set Seth straight almost from the beginning. She let him know that as Billie's mother she was in control of her daughter and of the child she carried. Sons left home. Daughters stayed and obeyed. Seth was to understand that if things didn't go well at Sunbridge, Agnes would pick up her daughter and return to Philadelphia. She should have been a man, Seth found himself thinking.

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On the last day of September Billie and Jessica were sitting outdoors in the rose arbor drinking iced fruit punch when Tita wobbled out waving an airmail letter. Jessica's hand went to her throat in alarm; Billie rushed to her while snatching the letter from Tita's outstretched hand. "It's all right, Jessica. It's from England." She handed the letter to her mother-in-law and sat down opposite her, feeling the same relief that was evident on Jessica's face.

"It's from Amelia! I've been worried about her. I think the last I heard from her was just before you came to Sunbridge, Billie." Quickly, Jessica skimmed the contents, her face brightening and softening with maternal love. "Amelia has married! An RAF pilot, and she now has a small stepson. Isn't that wonderful?" There was a shadow lurking in Jessica's expression. "I would have liked to give her a wedding, but I suppose that's unreasonable, considering she's in England, and then there's the war, of course. But I'm very happy for her, nevertheless."

"A ready-made family," said Billie.

"Amelia deserves happiness," Jessica went on. "She has so much love to give. She'll be a wonderful mother. Both my children married, and we didn't get to attend either wedding."

Moss Coleman stood on the ramparts of Fort Kamehameha and looked down into Pearl Harbor at the lady he loved. She was 827 feet long, 114 feet wide, and displaced 20,000 tons empty and unarmed. His lady was both a warship and an airfield, the USS Enterprise. Four huge bronze propellers driven by steam turbines gave her more than thirty knots of speed, and behind the props a single rudder ^s big as the side of a bam swung at a touch from the bridge to provide an enviable maneuverability. In her breast she carried a new and secret device called "radar," which could find the enemy in the black of night or shrouding fog. Captain and mess cook, firemen and pilots, and more than two thousand men lived and fought on her. Her pilots, who romanced her from high above her decks, knew a special love for their lady. It was from her that they went to do battle, but it was always to her that they prayed to return. And no pilot's love was greater than Moss's own.

As Moss's eyes squinted lovingly over her, from the superstructure to the aft deck, he knew the reason for her existence was the flight deck that covered her from stem to stem. Her

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deck was broken only by the island amidships on the starboard side where the control centers of the ship were housed. On both bows were catapults to launch the planes, and forward, aft, and amidships heavy-duty elevators lifted the planes from the cavernous hangar deck below. Over eighty aircraft were stored below—stubby Grunmian F4F Wildcats with squared-off wing tips.

Moss throbbed with anticipation. Today was October 16, 1942, and his lady had taken a new master. Captain Osborne B. Hardison. Preparations were being made to get under way. In the month since he'd arrived, he'd been engaged in practice flights and drills. He was ready, like the lady, to engage the enemy. The controls of his Wildcat—affectionately christened the Texas Ranger—felt right in his hand. His ear was mned to the drone of the engine and the lift of her wings. In less than an hour he would report to duty, along with his team of eager pilots. In a few hours the lady's lines would be cast off and she would cruise out into the narrow channel toward the blue Pacific, past Hospital Point and Fort Kamehameha. And when Diamond Head was lost beyond the horizon, scuttlebutt had it that she would turn her bow toward the Solomon Islands. The Japanese troops on Guadalcanal were pressing hard against the marine lines that protected Henderson Field.

One week later, Moss and Thad Kingsley stood bareheaded on the Enterprise's aft flight deck, their gazes turned to Rear Admiral Thomas Kinkaid as he inspected the decks of the floating airfield. That morning, at dawn, they'd met their supporting ships and the tanker Sabine. Hours ago the carrier class Hornet had joined the task force.

"Kinkaid's briefmg was an eye-opener," Thad said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that was drawn away in a thin stream by the wind.

Moss agreed. "Let him handle the tactics and we'll do the rest. Some of the guys are worried he'll get so fancy with his moves that we'll never find the ship before we run out of fuel on our return scat. Not me, though. I'd find this beauty if she was six fathoms under."

Thad laughed guardedly. Moss's bravado sometimes worried him. It was too easy to be too cocky. "Just follow orders, Coleman, and the Big E will be waiting for us. Remember the objective."

Moss tossed his butt over the side. "We have to stop the

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Japs from taking Henderson Field. It's an important link in the U.S.-Australian lifeline. And the Japs' strongest naval forces since Midway are at sea: four carriers, eight heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and twenty-eight destroyers. That's a hell of a lot of targets and I'm going to get my shot at them!"

"We've got targets of our own to protect, don't forget. The Saratoga, the Wasp, now us and the Hornet. The battleship Washington will look mighty good to those zeros. Kinkaid's worried that we're undermanned and he may be right." Moss's seeming overconfidence was a trait Thad knew was keeping his friend from making full lieutenant. The command worried that he'd take unnecessary risks with men and machines.

An announcement came over the loudspeaker:

"All pilots to the wardroom. All pilots to the wardroom."

"That'll be for Crommelin's briefmg," Moss said. There was admiration in his voice for their flight trainer. His combat record was impeccable and when training the Enterprise pilots under his command, he'd given them confidence in their F4Fs by showing them a slow roll at under a thousand feet: he required nothing of them he was not able to perform himself. Moss could still hear Crommelin's voice coming over the radio: "... over and over and over and over again."

Thad and Moss sat together among the other pilots. Everyone wore open-necked khaki. The green-covered tables held brimming coffee mugs, and cigarette smoke rose in blue clouds up to the cables overhead.

"You've all been thoroughly and carefully trained," Crom-melin began. "You know how to drop a bomb and hit a target, and that's what I damn well expect you to do. Our marines have had a long, miserable struggle for Guadalcanal and now they're depending on us. There's no room for waste, no excuse for misses. If you can't do the job, it'd be better if you stayed back in the States and give men who could do it your bunks and your crack at the Japs." There was a long moment of silence. "Now I want you to get some rest, write a few letters, eat light, and lay off the coffee. Come morning, I expect you to knock those Jap sons of bitches right off the face of this earth!"

The sound of the men's uplifting cheer was still ringing in Moss's ears as he wrote to Billie.

Darling Billie,

Things are happening quickly around here and I wanted

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to write. I know I have been remiss in the letter department, honey, but it hasn't been because I don't think about you and our child. I left for San Diego so suddenly that we hadn't even had a chance for those little games parents-to-be like to play. We never even discussed a name for our son. Mam's family name was Riley and I'd like it if that's what he is named. Expect to get some objection from Pap but stand firm, won't you?

I miss you, honey. More than you know. But I know I'm doing what I have to do and there is consolation in that. You are so young, Billie darling, and I was so selfish to send you off to Sunbridge, especially at this time when you would probably like to be in familiar surroundings with friends you have known all your life. Sunbridge is my life, Billie, and it's a good one and one I want for you and our child.

I guess it is at times like these that a man takes stock of who he is and what he has done. Little wife, if I have anything to be proud of, anything to fight for, it is you. From the first, your trust and belief in me have made me a better man. I'll come home to you, Billie. I will.

Moss

Before dawn on October 26, while first-shift breakfast was being served to sailors still grumpy with sleep, a message was received from the headquarters of the commander. South Pacific Force. It was in the familiar style of Admiral Bill Halsey. Three words:

ATTACK. REPEAT. ATTACK.

The flight deck of the Enterprise was a confusion of efficiency as aircraft were raised from the hangar bay and rolled to the catapult mechanisms on the runway. Yellow-jacketed men wearing radio headsets listened for the order to signal takeoff amid the roaring whine of the engines and the thrum of the props.

Moss stood among the pilots, helmet and goggles in hand, waiting for his squadron to be signaled. His leather jacket was opened to the early-morning wind. Thad Kingsley pushed through the others and grasped Moss's hand in a frnn shake. If there was a time for farewell, this was it. He knew without

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doubt that Moss held him in great affection and friendship but that it wasn't his style to initiate the gesture. "Hey, buddy, don't get too eager for those meatballs," he said, referring to the Japanese flags that were affixed to a pilot's plane to indicate a kill. He clapped Moss on the shoulder affectionately. "I'll meet you back in the wardroom for debriefing when this is over, you Texas bastard."

"I'll be there, you Yankee cracker. Make certain you are." Moss flashed a white smile. "There's my plane." As he loosened his grip on Thad's hand and moved forward, he turned suddenly and grinned, shouting above the roar. "Hey, Thad, did I tell you what my son's name is? Riley! Riley Moss Coleman!" Turning again, he sprinted for the Texas Ranger, his mind shifting gears from the elusive reality of his unborn child to the business at hand.

In the cockpit, eyes forward, expression grim, he adjusted his headset and tested the elevator flaps. Efficiently he performed his checklist, switching on controls and inspecting gauges. His parachute pressed into his back but he disregarded it. Mentally, he became one with his machine; if she went down, so did he.

The battlefield had been chosen; a thousand square miles of South Pacific lying just north of the Santa Cruz Islands. The sea was calm except for the long ground swells that never ceased. Above, at approximately 1,500 feet, drifted white-and-gold clouds. As the Big E probed ever westward, the scouting fighter squadrons would return by appointment for refueling. Again and again they would land and depart in their relentless search, until the enemy was met.

Watching from amidships, Thad saw the Texas Ranger catapult into the air, her wheels leaving the deck before she reached the edge. He'd been astounded and pleased at the mention of the baby. It was rare that Moss was sentimental, but hell, when a guy was about to fly his fu^t mission, what else could be on his mind but what he'd be leaving behind? He prayed Moss would be around to meet little Riley Coleman. Thad pushed his fingers through his sandy hair and grinned. Moss even had him believing the baby would be a boy.

Navy Fighter Squadron 4 took to the air, circling wide of the mother ship and setting a northward course, eight pairs of glinting wings in the early sun. Moss flew starboard wingman for his squadron leader, Lieutenant Commander Jimmy McVey,

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holding slightly aft in the V formation. They settled into a hunt-and-search pattern, eyes scanning above and below for the enemy.

When only ten minutes of flying time remained, a voice rasped over the headset: "Zeros, up-sun, twelve o'clock!" Moss looked up, squinting, and had his first sight of the enemy. The bright sunlight at 14,000 feet beat into the cockpit, but it couldn't warm the cold at the pit of his stomach. His experienced eye read the fuel gauge. Bursts of speed and fuel-consuming maneuvers could mean a sudden point of no return. He felt his teeth bite-down on his lower lip.

The attack came from the rear, arrow straight and just as deadly. Curses were mumbled into headsets; grim and determined faces peered through cockpit windshields. Explosive firepower flew all about the American fighters and they were helpless to return it without coming about and taking the zeros head-on. McVey radioed their position back to headquarters. The return message was to pursue and attack—where there were zeros there would be Japanese carriers. Two were known to be in the area. Moss once again glanced at the fuel gauge.

"Break formation," came McVey's voice. "Spiral down and jump from the rear." It was a maneuver that didn't generate the squadron's faith. It was already known that zeros could outclimb and outmaneuver American fighters.

One by one, the squadron spiraled portside and dropped to 11,000 feet. The maneuver wasn't working—the zeros were still on their tails. Mooney, second port wingman, broke radio silence. "Squad four, two zeros hanging back. Repeat, two enemy hanging back. Total nine enemy."

"Coleman, MacGuire, drop back and take them. Squadron ready and ahead," McVey commanded.

Two machines, one order. Moss and MacGuire held back on the throttles, losing air speed, allowing the rest of the squad to shoot ahead. Accomplishing a forty-degree mm to port, they climbed to seek their zeros. The Japanese craft flew toward them at a thirty-degree angle, coming from above. Moss saw MacGuire veer eastward. The zeros went after him, increasing air speed and losing altitude. MacGuire was a sitting duck. A long burst and MacGuire's Wildcat was a burning pyre. Moss watched for signs of a bailout, ready to cover his partner, praying to see a cloud of silk. There was no sign except for vapor trail.

Moss clamped his teeth shut against the roiling in his gut.

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He gripped the control stick as though it were a lifeline, his finger tickling the trigger. He could sense the zeros hot on his trail, hungry for the kill. A part of his mind wondered how the rest of the squad was doing. Would McVey send a craft to double back? Instinctively he led his pursuers north, away from American territory. His eye judged the fuel gauge. It had to be now or never.

The enemy dove down on him, closing the distance, coming within firing range. Moss throttled back, hoping they'd overshoot. As they flashed past, he poured on the coal, got on their tails, and fired. He felt the burst from his guns send vibrations through the cockpit, jiggling the needles on his instrument panel. He hadn't known he'd squeezed his eyes shut until he looked to see both of them falling, bursting into flames, paper lanterns crashing toward the sea.

Taking a wide circle that would set him on a course for the Enterprise, Moss headed home to refuel. It was only the beginning of a very long day.

Later, much later, after long hours of battle between ships and aircraft, after the Japanese navy retreated, leaving Guadalcanal and marine bases intact. Moss would acknowledge two enemy zeros destroyed, but he would take credit for only one. Lieutenant MacGuire would be credited for the other.

On the third of November, at the barbecue at the Barretts' ranch outside Dallas, Representative Lyndon Baines Johnson told Seth in confidence that the Enterprise had engaged in battle. She v/as now known to be anchored in the hill-rimmed tropical harbor of Noumea, New Caledonia. She'd been hit and was under emergency repair. No list had yet been released of wounded and fatalities.

Seth kept the news to himself. It wouldn't do to have Jessica become anxious or for that fragile little gal from Philadelphia to get hysterical and jeopardize the only chance for the Coleman bloodline. It was Agnes who took up the reins after Seth finally confided in her. She saw that the gaiety of the party was gnawing on his nerves and that he'd rather await aiiy news at Sun-bridge. She resourcefully claimed to have received an important phone message; Seth was needed back home immediately. Grateful, and happy for her company, Seth asked Agnes to go with him and together they boarded his private plane and departed for Austin.

Jessica and Biiiie returned to Sunbridge the following Thurs-

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day. They knew something was deeply troubling Seth. He claimed it was a business problem and for Billie's sake Jessica did not challenge him, but she knew, somehow, that it had to do with Moss. When they were alone, Seth put her fears to rest, or tried to, by telling her it was that danm oil well that had tapped out. Again, she didn't believe him, but nearly thirty years of marriage had taught Jessica not to contradict her husband or test his patience. She watched as Seth paced the floor or rode old Nessie until the mare nearly dropped in her tracks. Day after day she suffered, silently, praying for her son and worrying over her husband. Migraine headaches kept Jessica to her room, and she reluctantly handed over the household management to an eager Agnes. It was all becoming too much. Moss at war, Amelia marrying, Billie's pregnancy, and Agnes's increasing closeness to Seth. And Jessica knew her health wasn't what it should be, but she kept it to herself. Seth disliked what he called "ailing females."

Relief came nearly three weeks later when two letters arrived from Moss. One was addressed to Billie. In it he said he'd like the baby to be named Riley, Jessica's family name. The other was sent after Guadalcanal. He was fme. Only a small note was enclosed for Billie, half a page. The other nine pages of bold scrawl were directed to Seth. Moss told of his first kill, but the bulk of the letter was devoted to describing how Thad Kingsley and his wingman had caught an unprotected Japanese light carrier. The two of them alone had sent her to the bottom of the South Pacific.

"Who the hell is this Kingsley fella?" Seth growled. "Seems like he's gotten himself pretty close to Moss, if you ask me. If Moss had found that Jap ship, he wouldn't have needed any help in sending her to the bottom. And what the hell is a meatball?"

The next week a truly grateful Thanksgiving was spent at Sunbridge,

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UHUUi CHAPTER NINE ))})»}}}

In the study, Agnes sat back in her chair across the massive desk from Seth. She had just completed taking down a letter he'd dictated and later she would type it. When he was at home, Agnes acted as his secretary. Today, she was marveling at Seth's expertise in manipulation. There were lessons to be learned here and learn them she would. For the first time in years she felt her talents were being put to use. Fu^t the house, which Jessica was relinquishing to her care, and now working beside Seth. She knew that Sunbridge was a family-held business, all of it. Any fool could see that Jessica was in failing health and that Seth was a prime candidate for a stroke if he didn't ease up a bit. With Moss off to war, that would leave only empty-headed Billie to handle things for the Colemans. Learning as much as she could about the business was not only a pleasure; it was a necessity.

Agnes nodded her approval as she typed up the letters Seth wanted sent to his contacts in Washington. Moss was building an honorable reputation for himself as a fighter pilot. Within the last few weeks he'd been promoted to squadron commander; lieutenant commander was only a step away. Surely the boy was entitled to leave. To have Moss home for Christmas was not, Seth felt, a request out of bounds. And he was offering a prime dressed beef to grease the gears.

Within two weeks Seth was notified that Moss would be sent to San Diego to assemble a group of replacement pilots and would be given a seven-day leave to join his family in Texas.

Billie's joy knew no bounds when she received the news. She didn't know or care how it had all come about; all she knew was that her husband was coming home and she would be in his arms again.

The news of her son's homecoming roused Jessica sufficiently to join the holiday preparations. Agnes prepared the

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menus and scrupulously oversaw the holiday cleaning, but it was Jessica who knew how to bring Christmas to Sunbridge. The house was bedecked with holly and evergreens and awash with the fragrances of Christmas. Gifts arrived by the carload, wrapped and beribboned and making Billie's eyes widen with disbelief.

Jessica took Billie into Austin to shop for presents. It was an experience to sit in a comfortable store lounge and have items paraded before them for their approval. Billie missed the frantic hustle and bustle of Philadelphia and the taste of snow in the air. But she resigned herself to Jessica's pace, knowing she wasn't capable of much activity herself. A few weeks of relief from morning sickness had come to an end and she was once again suffering the full range of pregnancy symptoms.

Three days before Moss was due to come home, Billie awakened early, crawled out of bed, and headed straight for the commode. She retched miserably and then sat on the edge of the bathtub while she bathed her face in cold water. Nothing was helping. Not Tita's home remedies or Dr. Ward's prescriptions and vitamin injections. Billie felt a mess and looked a mess. Her ankles were so swollen that she'd been reduced to scuffling around in a pair of Agnes's large house slippers. She needed a haircut and a permanent wave, but the thought of the smelly chemicals she'd have to endure made her queasy. A new dress was a must. Lord, what was Moss going to think when he saw her? When he'd left she still had a waistline! Her breasts had become fuller, but now they showed faint stretch-marks as they lay heavily against her burgeoning middle. It would have been all right if Moss had been with her day after day, accepting the changes in her body; but now, after so long an absence, he couldn't help being shocked, possibly even revolted. Billie tipped her face into her hands and cried. She was still dabbing at her tears when she sat down at the breakfast table.