Texas Born (37 page)

She was named Regina Elender Hale.

For Elizabeth-Anne and Zaccheus, their fifth
wedding anniversary was a time to look back upon five fruitful
years.

Life had been good. Nearly thirteen months to
the day after she gave birth to Regina, Elizabeth-Anne delivered a
second child, Charlotte-Anne. And nearly three years after
Charlotte-Anne made her entrance into the world, she was followed
by Rebecca Emaline Hale.

Zaccheus' job had worked out far better than
they had dared hope. Now, at twenty-seven, he had already been
promoted three times and, by Quebeck standards, earned a princely
salary. When he had first begun working for Tex Sexton, the
townspeople had regarded him with suspicion and dread: they had
long since learned the hard way that anyone of importance in the
Sexton empire was not to be trusted. But somehow Zaccheus had
managed not only to gain people's trust and respect, but also to
keep his integrity intact. For the first time ever, people felt
they had a champion who had Tex's ear, a man they could petition
with their problems regarding any of the Sexton monopolies.
Zaccheus proved that he was not loath to put in a good word for the
deserving, or to intervene on their behalf with Tex or with Roy,
his brother, who was as feared as Tex. He became an unofficial
buffer zone between Quebeck's citizens and the Sextons. The initial
suspicion of him quickly died. He proved over and over that he was
not a Sexton spy and that he had everyone's best interests at
heart. Nor had he become self- important or autocratic. In fact,
whenever he could, he fought against unfair treatment of Sexton
employees and those who depended upon the Sexton-owned businesses
for survival. Tex Sexton tolerated Zaccheus' involvements because
he was as scrupulously honest with him as he was with everyone
else, and having him as a troubleshooter kept people from getting
too restless and too angry. Also, Tex was fascinated by Zaccheus
because he was the only person he had ever met who was not
intimidated by his money or his power. And Zaccheus was as
hardworking and dedicated as he himself.

But it was to those in need that Zaccheus
became a local hero.

When Abner Mason's irrigation water was about
to be terminated because he couldn't keep up with the payments,
Zaccheus interceded successfully to have the sluice gates kept
open.

When the entire Palacios family was fired
from picking cotton—a meager livelihood under any
circumstances—because Luis Palacios was trying to organize the
cotton pickers into a union, Zaccheus found himself powerless to do
anything for Luis, but he managed to get the rest of the family
rehired.

When Tom Reubin, a farmer who leased his land
from the Sextons, lost his three sons in a tragic accident,
Zaccheus organized an emergency detail which kept the farm working
and saved the crops until a permanent solution was found.

When Roy Sexton complained bitterly about the
amount of cotton being picked, Zaccheus tried to talk him into
raising the pickers' wages to see if the added incentive would
help. Roy reluctantly gave him his word that, if in a week the
cotton picked by each worker was a bushel more each day, a raise
would be forthcoming. Zaccheus spoke to the pickers and told them
what had transpired—and offered a bonus to whoever picked the most
cotton in one day as well. That week a record amount was picked,
and Roy grudgingly approved the raises. The daily cotton quota
remained high, thanks to the prospect of a bonus.

On the Hale home front, the children were a
constant source of joy and surprise. Regina and Charlotte-Anne were
already talking up a storm and always seemed to be getting into
mischief. Regina was the wildest of them, but it was Charlotte-Anne
who both delighted and exasperated Elizabeth-Anne and Zaccheus the
most. When she turned three, she began to wake her parents
constantly in the middle of the night in order to recount her
dreams. Rebecca, the newborn, would surely also be a joy. As much
as she hated to, Elizabeth-Anne arranged for Concepcion Sendano, a
reliable, warm-hearted Mexican widow, to take care of the children
during the day so that she could continue helping Elender at the
Good Eats Café.

Each minute of Elizabeth-Anne's life was
filled, and it seemed that there never were enough hours in her
day. Wife. Mother. Housewife. Working woman. On the verge of her
twenty-second birthday, she shouldered the burden of these
responsibilities gladly. Somehow she managed to juggle the limited
hours of each day with a relaxed, cool insouciance. Besides, as she
saw it, she had little choice but to continue working. She knew how
heavily Elender relied on her help.

Elender was getting older, and if anything
made the passing years less than perfect, it was the fact that
Elender, at nearly forty-three, was no longer as healthy as she
used to be. Elizabeth-Anne had always regarded her with love and
respect, but now another emotion had crept in as well: sadness. It
was becoming more and more difficult for Elender to bend and do the
chores she had always whisked through so effortlessly. She was
suffering from acute arthritis, and her joints and muscles were
constantly inflamed and stiff, yet she refused to allow her illness
to keep her from her work; she went about her business as usual
despite her pain, putting in extra hours for any she lost by having
to slow down. She took her suffering in uncomplaining, dignified
silence.

It tore Elizabeth-Anne's heart apart to see
how much Auntie hurt. Yet Elizabeth-Anne never suggested to her
that she retire or take it easy—she knew only too well that the
rooming house and the café were Auntie's true lifeblood. The two
businesses were more than a way to make a living. They gave Auntie
a sense of purpose and belonging, an importance in the community.
For her, to stop working completely would have been to stop living
entirely; to take it easy would have been to die a little bit at a
time. And though she had a little money tucked away, Auntie needed
the steady income her work produced; retirement was out of the
question.

Elender Hannah Clowney considered herself
lucky on many counts. She had the two businesses, she had help,
Elizabeth-Anne had grown into a fine woman, and she loved Zaccheus
dearly. The children were an endless source of joy to her, and she
delighted in spoiling them. She never tired of having them around
her.

There was only one disappointment that truly
intruded on her sense of happiness and well-being—Jenny. The older
Jenny got, the more moody she seemed to become, and she was less
use around the rooming house and the café than ever. It
disappointed her to no end—but Elizabeth-Anne took it as a mixed
blessing. On the one hand, with Jenny refusing to work, there was
twice as much that had to be done; on the other, at least Jenny
stayed well out of the way.

The horrible valentine incident had been the
last vicious prank Jenny had played, and Elizabeth-Anne was
grateful for that. Zaccheus had been right, she thought. Jenny had
found other things to occupy herself with, but what they were, she
did not know. She was far too busy to squander time wondering what
Jenny was doing, and the truth was, she really didn't care, as long
as it didn't involve her. But the best thing of all which the past
five years had brought was dreams of the future. Elizabeth-Anne and
Zaccheus saved money scrupulously, living frugally and banking the
lion's share. 'Sometime, somewhere, an opportunity will come
knocking,' Elizabeth-Anne said with sureness. 'We'll build a
business of our own, and when that happens, we'll need the
money.'

Life had slipped into a tranquil, comfortable
pattern.

And then in May 1918, their idyllic lives
together began to change forever.

Jenny had been marking time. Her
dissatisfaction with life ran far deeper and was much more
dangerous than anyone could imagine. She disliked Quebeck, which
she considered a provincial backwater, she hated the people she
knew, who she thought were nobodies, and she despised working at
the café and the rooming house, which she thought made her a common
laborer. She considered herself above all that. She felt the same
way about the men she dated—she was too good to waste herself on
them, even though at twenty-five going on twenty-six she was headed
for spinsterhood. She quietly hungered for money, luxuries, and
beautiful objects, but most of all she was ravenous for power. As
she saw it, real power was a conglomeration of many things,
information most of all, so she kept her eyes peeled for unusual
goings-on and collected treasured tidbits of gossip. Without
letting anyone know what she was up to, she started gathering dirt
on people and collating it carefully in her mind, filing it away
and storing it for future use. Just as she had done with Zaccheus.
His sordid past, which she had overheard him telling Auntie and
Elizabeth-Anne so long ago, was the pearl of her collection, but
she knew better than to use it just yet. Power needed to be wielded
discriminatingly, at precisely the moment it could do the most
damage.

Power. The very thought of it made the
adrenaline flow madly through Jenny's veins. But in order to
satisfy her appetite for it, she knew that she had to first become
someone other than Jennifer Sue Clowney. She needed a husband who
already wielded immense power. Then, with what she already knew,
and the ever-more-delicious tidbits she would continue to discover,
combined with his power, she would stand alone—reigning supreme and
invincible among all the women she knew. But to fulfill that
vision, she knew that there were only two options left open to her.
She would either have to leave Quebeck for Dallas or some other
major city, or else she would have to conspire to meet someone
around Quebeck who fitted her exacting requirements.

There were only two such men in this part of
southwest Texas.

Tex Sexton and his younger brother, Roy. And
as Tex was not only the elder but also the more powerful of the
two, that narrowed it down to only one choice.

Tex.

It was a little after eight in the morning
when Jenny loaded her mare down with the artists' materials she'd
ordered from the general store and which had had to be sent for
from Brownsville. She mounted the horse with her usual proficiency.
Elender had come out onto the porch of the Good Eats Café to watch.
'I still think you'd be better off with the buggy,' she called out.
'Are you sure you don't want to take it?'

Pretending she hadn't heard, Jenny snapped
the reins, gave the mare a kick, and was off in a cloud of
dust.

'I just don't understand her,' Elender said
to Elizabeth-Anne, who had come out on the porch to join her.
'Jenny's never liked sketching or painting. I wonder why she's
started now.'

None the wiser, they watched until Jenny
disappeared from sight and then went back inside.

Jenny had ridden to within sight of the
Sexton ranch house. It was built behind a manmade pond and atop a
slight incline so that it dominated the surrounding white-fenced
grazing lands and appeared to be forever on the lookout, watchful
of anyone who might approach. Although it was a
far-from-magnificent building, the original white Greek Revival
house had been repeatedly added onto at both ends so that it
stretched out telescopically in both directions, each symmetrical
wing decreasing in size.

She looked around in all directions. Her
first order of business was to find as picturesque a location as
was possible within sight of the house. She ended up choosing an
unlikely spot where four fences dividing four separate grazing
fields converged. The spot found, she dismounted, tethered the mare
to the fence, and unpacked. She shook the blanket she'd brought out
over the ground, set up the easel, pinned a sheet of watercolor
paper to it, and licked her lips thoughtfully. Knitting her brow
and concentrating carefully, she did her best to sketch the scene
in front of her with a pencil. After a few minutes she stopped to
survey her work.

She compressed her lips tightly. The subject
matter was uninteresting to begin with—four whitewashed fences,
grazing land, distant windmills, and herds of faraway cattle, but
the reality wasn't half as bad as she had sketched it.

Don't make your lack of talent so
visible!
she warned herself.
And don't be impatient. Draw
and paint to the best of your ability. If somebody sees this
picture, especially Tex Sexton, he'll know something is up if it's
so obvious that you can't even draw a straight line. If that
happens, all your best-laid plans are sunk.

Angrily she snatched the paper off the easel,
wadded it up, and started over again, this time more carefully.

Jenny knew she was no artist. She knew, too,
that she could never, under any circumstances, pass for one. She
could only hope her lack of talent would be forgiven. She knew that
Zaccheus was away on business somewhere.

She sighed to herself. It seemed, suddenly,
that everything she had planned was hanging by a slender thread
indeed, a tenuous thread composed of one part careful planning and
two parts chance.

The afternoon crawled by with interminable
slowness. She hated sketching and using watercolors. It was tedious
and boring, but she applied herself all the same. After all, she
had set out to accomplish something, and accomplish it she would.
She wasn't about to let tedium or boredom spoil her well-laid
plans.

I'm getting closer to my goal all the
time,
she kept reminding herself
, and that is all that
matters.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder how many
hours—indeed, perhaps even days or weeks—it would be before she
piqued Tex Sexton's interest.