Texas OilMan's Bride (Mail Order Bride Series) by Susan Leigh Carlton Page B
Authors: Susan Leigh Carlton
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to step on it as she entered the carriage, revealing a flash of ankle. A rush of desire coursed through Johnny at this revelation of usually hidden flesh. Laura looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Jonathon.”
When he was seated beside her, she asked, “Do you mind if I call you Jonathon? I think it suits you much better than Johnny.”
“I don’t mind at all. My sisters always called me Johnny, but I'm mostly Jonathon to my mother.”
“I like Rebecca a lot. She’s easy to talk to. I would love to meet Cassie, too. Is she like Rebecca?”
“Cassie is nothing like Becky. Becky is quiet where Cassie never met a stranger.”
The streets of Beaumont were quiet, except around the saloons, of which there were several, the only sound came from the clop of the horse’s hooves as they struck the ground. “You mentioned a Sousa concert. What was it like?”
“He was billed as the march king, but he really wanted to write waltzes. His music gets your heart pumping. I liked it. The boy I was with was from West Point, and was into military music.”
Johnny felt pangs of jealousy at her mention of being in the company of another man. “How did you happen to go to school up north,” he asked.
“I was an only child, and my father wanted a boy. I used to go with him when I was little, and I decided I wanted to be an engineer. Texas A&M didn’t admit women, and Papa insisted I go to the best school, so Harvard it was.”
“Wasn’t it lonely being that far from home,” he asked.
“At times, but I came home for the holidays and they came to Boston about once each term, so it wasn’t too bad. I had a nice apartment close to the school, and I spent a lot of time in the library studying. I enjoyed it,” she said.
“I’ll bet you did well. I can tell you have a good grounding in the technical area.”
“I suppose I did pretty well,” she said modestly. “How was A&M?”
“It was busy. The responsibilities of being in the Corps added to the course work, pretty much filled the day. Then you spent part of each summer in the military, and the other part on the farm. Papa wanted me to be a farmer, but he didn’t push me in that direction after I told him I wanted to be in the oil business. It was the same with the girls. After they decided what they wanted, he and Mama backed them all of the way.”
“It sounds like your parents were as thoughtful as mine were,” she said.
“I couldn’t have asked for better,” he said.
Their arrival at the Kyle found a short line at the box office. Laura stood with Johnny as he waited in line. She said, “It seems there is a nice crowd. I’ve heard, the larger the crowd, the better the performance. If that’s the case here, we’re in for a lively evening.”
Seated front row center, they could hear the band tuning up behind the drawn curtain. The house lights dimmed, and the curtain opened. From the wings of the stage strode John Phillip Sousa, a short, bearded man in a magnificent red uniform, similar to the one he wore when he was director of the US Marine Band. He marched to his position, rapped smartly on his music stand, and raised his baton. The large audience quietened as he gave the downbeat. The band thundered into the rousing march, “El Capitan.” Throughout the large hall, fingers strummed the arm rest, keeping time with the music.
Johnny’s fingers did not strum. Laura had intertwined her fingers with his. She squeezed his hand. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked. “He had just composed this piece when I saw him in concert. If this doesn’t get your heart pumping, you’re not alive.”
Johnny nodded, his thoughts more on the warmth in hand he held in his, than on the music. At intermission, they wandered around the lobby, examining the posters of the band and of upcoming
When he was seated beside her, she asked, “Do you mind if I call you Jonathon? I think it suits you much better than Johnny.”
“I don’t mind at all. My sisters always called me Johnny, but I'm mostly Jonathon to my mother.”
“I like Rebecca a lot. She’s easy to talk to. I would love to meet Cassie, too. Is she like Rebecca?”
“Cassie is nothing like Becky. Becky is quiet where Cassie never met a stranger.”
The streets of Beaumont were quiet, except around the saloons, of which there were several, the only sound came from the clop of the horse’s hooves as they struck the ground. “You mentioned a Sousa concert. What was it like?”
“He was billed as the march king, but he really wanted to write waltzes. His music gets your heart pumping. I liked it. The boy I was with was from West Point, and was into military music.”
Johnny felt pangs of jealousy at her mention of being in the company of another man. “How did you happen to go to school up north,” he asked.
“I was an only child, and my father wanted a boy. I used to go with him when I was little, and I decided I wanted to be an engineer. Texas A&M didn’t admit women, and Papa insisted I go to the best school, so Harvard it was.”
“Wasn’t it lonely being that far from home,” he asked.
“At times, but I came home for the holidays and they came to Boston about once each term, so it wasn’t too bad. I had a nice apartment close to the school, and I spent a lot of time in the library studying. I enjoyed it,” she said.
“I’ll bet you did well. I can tell you have a good grounding in the technical area.”
“I suppose I did pretty well,” she said modestly. “How was A&M?”
“It was busy. The responsibilities of being in the Corps added to the course work, pretty much filled the day. Then you spent part of each summer in the military, and the other part on the farm. Papa wanted me to be a farmer, but he didn’t push me in that direction after I told him I wanted to be in the oil business. It was the same with the girls. After they decided what they wanted, he and Mama backed them all of the way.”
“It sounds like your parents were as thoughtful as mine were,” she said.
“I couldn’t have asked for better,” he said.
Their arrival at the Kyle found a short line at the box office. Laura stood with Johnny as he waited in line. She said, “It seems there is a nice crowd. I’ve heard, the larger the crowd, the better the performance. If that’s the case here, we’re in for a lively evening.”
Seated front row center, they could hear the band tuning up behind the drawn curtain. The house lights dimmed, and the curtain opened. From the wings of the stage strode John Phillip Sousa, a short, bearded man in a magnificent red uniform, similar to the one he wore when he was director of the US Marine Band. He marched to his position, rapped smartly on his music stand, and raised his baton. The large audience quietened as he gave the downbeat. The band thundered into the rousing march, “El Capitan.” Throughout the large hall, fingers strummed the arm rest, keeping time with the music.
Johnny’s fingers did not strum. Laura had intertwined her fingers with his. She squeezed his hand. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked. “He had just composed this piece when I saw him in concert. If this doesn’t get your heart pumping, you’re not alive.”
Johnny nodded, his thoughts more on the warmth in hand he held in his, than on the music. At intermission, they wandered around the lobby, examining the posters of the band and of upcoming
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