Feeling slightly guilty, she asked how the soldiers under Patrick took to the idea of his going on leave.
“I don’t think they care, Trina,” said Patrick. “Since the situation seems to be fairly stable, commanders are allowing leave to the men on a rotating basis. Men who can’t make it home and back in the allotted time—we’re giving each man ten days—often meet loved ones halfway. In too damn many cases, those loved ones are trooping into the camp and taking my innocent soldiers away to the local hotels. God only knows what they’re doing,” he grinned evilly. “But I’m afraid we’re in for a tremendous population explosion in a little less than a year.”
Trina smiled in agreement. “I should be shocked, but I suspect they’re doing just what Heinz and Molly are.”
“With his arm in that huge cast? My, my.”
She covered her face with her hands to hide her embarrassment. “I asked her about that and she assured me there would be no problem. All he would have to do was lie there and she’d handle the rest.” Her face turned red as he roared with laughter.
He took her hand. “I think our world of innocence has ended forever as a result of this war, hasn’t it?”
She agreed. “Perhaps for the better. I’ve learned more about myself and about life and what I want out of it in the last few months than I did in the previous three decades.”
The remaining few days were spent in a pleasant round of talking, eating, hiking, and horseback riding. With Trina’s assistance, Patrick showed signs of becoming a passable horseman.
In the evening, the conversation included Jacob. Sylvia generally smiled and listened. Far from being stupid, she simply knew when not to intrude. Talking with Schuyler gave Patrick an insight into his fertile mind.
“Jacob, I understand you are going into the business of producing oil.”
“Producing oil? Certainly not. Messy, beastly stuff. Besides, there’s no real demand for it as yet.”
Patrick was perplexed. “But I understood you were out west establishing an oil base for the time when automobiles become popular. Aren’t you a believer in what Henry Ford has been trying to sell you?”
“Him? A narrow-minded pain in the ass.” Trina giggled and Sylvia smiled tolerantly. “The sad part about Henry Ford is that he’s right. Someday there will be a huge demand for an inexpensive and well-built automobile, and the first person who produces one will become rich. Filthy and disgustingly rich. If that obstinate man is the first to do it, I shall have to reconsider my belief in God.”
Patrick had not met Ford, but he knew others who had. They all agreed that he could be difficult. “Now I am puzzled. If I’m not being too curious, just what were you doing in the West if not getting into the oil business?”
“Ah, General, I prefer to think in terms of strategy, not tactics. I am in the business of producing money, not oil. What I have done is bought up drilling rights on land that is likely to contain oil. I will own those rights for twenty-five years with an option to renew for another quarter century. The current owners get some money from me with which they can buy additional cattle or goats or whatever the hell they think can live down there. While they do that, I wait patiently for the time when the oil can be removed for a profit.” He grinned happily at himself. “And that profit, I assure you, will be a huge one. I will not rush into the market.”
He puffed on the inevitable cigar and watched the smoke work its way about the beamed ceiling. “Let others pull the sticky, gooey stuff from the bowels of the earth. I will let them pay me dearly for the privilege.”
“And what if those nice Texas ranchers decide to cheat on you?”
“Doesn’t a good general send out scouts? Seriously, Patrick, I’ve retained people to keep a distant eye on things.” His face turned grim. “Some have indeed tried to cheat me in the past. They do not do it a second time.”
The next morning, Trina reminded Patrick that the current day would be their last full one together. He would have to commence his return journey the following morning. “We have done so many things together, and I’ve enjoyed it so much, I hate for it to end.”
Patrick agreed. The preceding days had been a wonderful and soothing experience. “I don’t want it to end either. Not ever.”
They had been walking toward an area near the house, but one he had not visited before. Thus it was with a small shock that he realized she’d brought him to a cemetery. “This is where a great many of the Schuylers are buried.” He walked through the score or more of graves and found a number from more than two centuries past. It was a fascinating history lesson. He turned to say something to Trina and saw her standing, head bowed and deep in thought, by a comparatively recent grave. He walked over and gently slid his arm through hers.
“My mother,” she said simply. “She died when I was twelve. Had she and the baby lived, I would have had a little sister. I wanted one for the longest time to help me aggravate my brother, and I felt guilty that my wanting a sister had caused her to die. Stupid, isn’t it? Now I come here when I need to clear my brain and pretend she’s giving me advice.”
“Maybe she is,” he said gently.
“Perhaps you’re right. She hasn’t failed me yet.”
“Did you get an answer today?”
Her smile was wide and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, I did.” She took his hand and began to lead him to the house. “Well,” she said brightly, “let’s do something different this evening after dinner. We’ve hiked and ridden, and even tried to fish, but you’ve never swum in our pool. Have you been avoiding that?”
“Trina, I swim like a rock.”
“I’ll teach you. I taught you to ride, didn’t I?”
“I don’t have a suit.”
“Not a problem, dear general. You can wear my brother’s. He’s just about your size.”
“What if I said I hated swimming and didn’t want to?”
“Wouldn’t matter. I’ve outvoted you. It’s my house and you’re my guest and courtesy says you must humor me.”
Later that evening, as he walked barefoot down the basement hallway toward the pool with a robe over his arm, he hoped he did not look as foolish as he felt. As a boy and later as a soldier, going swimming meant a bunch of boys or men peeling off their clothes and leaping naked into a pond or stream. Only rarely had he gone swimming in mixed company and in a proper setting, and right now he wasn’t comfortable. For one thing, the suit he’d borrowed reached below his knees and covered his arms. He might as well be going in the water in a full uniform. Worse, it appeared to be wool, and he wondered how it would feel when wet.
“Patrick, you look magnificent.” Trina was similarly attired, although in at least one more layer of clothing. Except for being barefoot, she was dressed demurely enough to be seen in public. For that matter he was barefoot as well.
“Is your suit wool?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“How’s it feel wet?”
“You’ll live. Now let’s get going.” With that she pushed him toward the door to the heated pool room. There was a small glass window in the door and they paused when they saw motion behind it.
Trina gasped. “Oh, lord.” Emerging like Venus from the pool was a totally naked Sylvia Redding. Water flowed down her voluptuous body and cascaded off her large, full breasts. Patrick, conscious of Trina’s embarrassment, grinned but tried not to stare. At least not too much.
“There’s Father,” said Trina. “Oh, thank God he’s wearing a robe.” They stepped back from the door. “We can’t let them see us.”
“Well, we better go back down the hallway then. Your dad’s coming this way and Sylvia now has her robe on and is right behind him.”
Like children caught in a prank, they scampered back, turned around, and pretended to be just arriving. As they passed the other couple, Sylvia smiled warmly; Jacob Schuyler looked puzzled. Patrick, who had days ago decided he liked the man, decided to further confuse him by winking.
Inside, they set their robes on chairs and climbed into the warm water, which was heated by steam. The pool was tiled, and large enough for them to take several strokes before reaching the far side. Patrick found the water quite pleasant and the suit not too uncomfortable.
“Well, sir, you do not swim like a rock.”
“Thank you.”
“But not much better. Your dog paddle is not very stylish. Here, reach out your arms and pull the water back toward you like this.”