Free The Parnell Affair by Seth James Page B

oldest families) and with her husband's more modest oil revenues.  Pete had stood off to one side during that press conference, almost two years ago, out of sight, and had chuckled to himself when the reporter had launched his first salvo.  He knew what the man was in for.
    “I guess I'd better,” he said, never as careful about his accent when the two of them were alone.  “Why this'll be flapping like a sandal before long,” he said, pawing at the loosening sole.  “Just as well we're heading home tomorrow: I wouldn't know a good cobbler from a bad baker in this town.”
    “The porter would take care of that, dear,” she said, closing her jar of face cream.  “Just leave it with him.”
    “Oh, right,” Pete said.  “I guess he would, at that.”
    Linda turned in her chair to smile at him.  “Always so independent,” she said.  “Though I suppose the Presidency demands such spirit.”
    Pete set his shoes in the closet and then crossed the room to get into bed, kissing Linda's hair as he passed.  “I could use a different sort of spirit altogether, right now,” he said.
    “Oh, should I get you something?” she asked, all concern.
    “No, no,” he said with a wave of his hand.  “I'm just fussing.  Independence?  I suppose so, back when I ran my little oil company amongst the giants of Texas.”
    “I wish you wouldn't describe it that way to me,” she said, leaving her dressing table.  “Why, sometimes I almost think you resent daddy.  He had generation after generation preceding him, while you've had to start all but from scratch.”
    “No, I don't resent your father,” Pete said.  “After my father passed, why, your father sort of stepped into the breach: just as wise and with just as much to teach.”  Pete smiled; he always felt generosity of sentiment easier, more natural when talking to Linda.  Even having her behind him while giving a speech had the effect—one that Karl had noticed, insisting on her presence for domestic issues and banning her from any room where foreign matters were discussed.  “I was just saying how much easier it is to go it alone amongst a crowd,” Pete said, “than to stand up here alone, because there's no one in the world in the same position.”
    “What's bothering you?” she asked after climbing into bed next to him.             
    “Oh, nothing,” he said.
    “Dear,” she demanded gently, taking his hand.
    “Nothing specific,” he said, smiling and leaning toward her.  “It's just, some days require more of the kind of decisions I'd never had to make before.  It was easy—nothing at stake but money and pride—to go in with Paul's company into some rough Central American fields.  There's some of that independence for you: everyone said we were fools—including your daddy, in his way—but they've all followed us in now.”  Pete heaved a big sigh and patted Linda's hand.  She knew when he was half making a speech to himself, needed her as his audience, and let him have the floor.
    “Not the same as President,” Pete said.  “I've sent boys to their deaths in Afghanistan.”
    “But, dear, you had to,” she said.
    “I know,” he said.  “I know.  But nonetheless, I said 'go' and they went to the other side of the world and they died.  Not the same in business: a town dies because the oil dries up, you can always tell yourself—looking at the sad folks leaving their old lives behind—there's another town and another house and a new challenge for them to find.”  He shook his head, seeing nothing, or rather something not in the room.  “You can't say that in Arlington.”
    He must have received casualty reports today, Linda thought.  I wish I could go to Arlington cemetery for him, instead of simply with him.
    “Oh, it's a terrible thing to ask anyone to do,” she said.  “To order young men to war and death.  That must be why the country asks the best man it can find to make that kind of