by Carol Arens
“I hope that’s true, Ivy.”
“And I hope you find your heir.”
All of a sudden, he wanted to reach up and touch her cheek. In spite of her boyish clothing, her skin was fair, pink cheeked with a light smattering of freckles across her nose.
He laced his fingers together behind his head.
“Even if I find her I’ve got to convince her to do something I reckon she won’t want to.”
“She might...if she gets a sister and a fine ranch for the trouble.”
“She’ll have to marry our rich neighbor. It’s the only way to get the ranch out of the debt it’s fallen into.”
“Gosh almighty!” Ivy clasped her hand to her throat. “What are you going to do when she says no?”
“You think she will? I’m offering a lot in exchange.”
“I think it depends upon her life. Maybe she’ll be willing if she’s a lonely spinster...but I don’t see that she’s old enough to give in to that yet. And what if she’s married already with a pack of young’uns...but I wonder if she might be a widow...in that case you have some hope.”
“I do know that she is not married. The Pinkerton I hired didn’t know much, but he knew that, and that she is supposed to be living on this boat.”
“Could be he meant the River Belle. She sails the Missouri.” Ivy’s hat began to tilt even though she hadn’t touched it. “Good news if that’s so. We’re putting into dock beside her tomorrow night at Bridgerton Landing. Big gambling day for both boats with rich folks coming from all over.”
Something...a mouse, tumbled from Ivy’s hat! He swatted at the dirty vermin, anxious to keep it off Ivy.
She laughed, reached out and caught the creature in the palm of her hand.
She nuzzled its white head with her nose.
“Don’t tell me you’re skittish over a little old mouse?”
“Repelled more than—”
All of a sudden Ivy placed the mouse in his hand.
“Little Mouse is a sweet thing once you get to know her.”
The “sweet thing” nipped his thumb.
“See? She likes you?”
“Where’d it come from?”
Ivy took the hat from her head, pointed to a pocket attached to the brim.
“She lives here in my hat when we’re out. She’s got her own little cage in my room.” The mouse leapt from his hand and onto Ivy’s shirt. It scrambled up to sit on her shoulder. “You will keep my secret, won’t you? There’d be the dickens to pay if anyone but Tom knew about her.”
“It can’t be healthy, wearing a rodent on your head.”
“Well, she’s white, and not vermin. Little Mouse is as clean as you or me. And she’s tidy of habit...goes off to do her business.”
“Ivy, that’s—”
“None of your business, Travis.” Her eyes narrowed at him, daring him, he thought, to believe otherwise.
“Not my business to tell, is what I was about to say. But I still don’t think mice ought to live in ladies’ hats.”
All of a sudden she started to laugh, deep from her belly.
“Can’t you picture that?” she sputtered, trying but not able to control her giggles. “All the screaming and swatting...the fainting?”
He did see it, smiled, then burst out laughing along with her. He sat up, bent over at the middle. All of a sudden his worry felt twenty pounds lighter.
When the humor began to even out, she swatted his knee.
“It’s a lucky thing I’m no lady. I’d sooner fall in the river and never come up than be like one of those poor females.”
He’d always been partial to the sweet gender, enjoyed their delicate, flirtatious ways.
But he’d never forget Ivy. She was not the water nymph he’d fantasized over...she was so much more.
* * *
Morning dawned bright as a new penny. Climbing the outdoor stairs to the pilothouse Ivy breathed deep, savoring the fresh scent of river and pine.
This was going to be a good day filled with the wonder of learning the river, then come nightfall the excitement of games of chance.
“Howdy-do, Uncle Patrick!” She crossed the small space to give her uncle a hug around the middle. “Did we turn a profit last night?”
“Not much, my money-minded little love, but tonight we should earn enough to keep you happy.”
“I’m only money minded so that we can keep the boat going. You know I don’t give a fig about the fancy things to be had with it.”
“Maybe you ought to.” Uncle Patrick’s bushy white eyebrows nearly touched when he frowned down at her. “How are you ever going to get a husband dressed like a boy?”
“Why would I want one of those?” Her uncle meant well, but his aim for her life was a mite different than her own. “I’m happy as a mudsucker here with you.”
“A woman needs a home and family.”
“Not this woman.” She placed her hands on the wheel. It was so large it extended below deck. She felt a thrum pulsing through the wood. The power of the engine, the pull of the boat drawing through water, was right under her fingertips.
Exhilaration claimed her to her toes and back.
“No swimming for you tonight, young lady. The gamblers won’t be abed at all.”
“I hope not.”
“And don’t you go sneaking off to gamble, either.”
“I’ll keep my clothes on, but I won’t promise not to earn us a fistful of money.” She nudged her uncle in the ribs, shot him a grin. He’d always claimed to disapprove of her gambling, but she was skilled at it. In spite of his duty-bound admonitions, she knew he was proud of her. “Besides, I’m looking for someone who might be on the Belle.”
“A man?” Her uncle asked, overstating his hope.
“A woman...for a man.”
“You matchmaking for one of the roustabouts?”
“There’s a passenger, a nice, friendly fellow named Travis, looking for the heir to the ranch he ramrods. If he doesn’t find her the ranch will be lost.”
“And she’s one of our passengers?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. Travis is under the belief that she lives on the Queen. But since I’m the only woman living here, I reckon he wasted good money on the Pinkerton he hired.”
“A Pinkerton?” Uncle Travis mumbled, then grew silent, watching the river with a frown. He must sense some danger she did not yet have the skill to detect.
“The lady’s name is Eleanor. If you recall someone of that name, it would help our passenger out a great deal.”
Her uncle swung his gaze away from the river and settled it on her. She noticed his throat constrict, swallow hard.
“Eleanor?” Odd that his voice sounded unusually gruff...drawn tight in a way that was not common for him. “Girl got a last name?”
“Plum forgot to ask. Reckon it would help if she’s using her true name but we can’t be sure.” She shrugged. “Could be we’ll find her on the Belle.”
Uncle Patrick grunted.
“You see some trouble out there that I don’t, or you got a bellyache?”
He stood behind her, covering her hands with his strong, gnarled ones.
“Could be trouble,” he said. “We’d best ready ourselves for it, just in case.”
As hard as she stared at the water, she could see nothing but the calm surface. She longed for nothing more than the ability to see what a seasoned pilot like her uncle could in its murky depths.
* * *
Travis had sat down at a poker table in the casino of the River Belle at a little after nine. This early in the evening gaming was a social event, the bets low enough that the gamblers without much money could join in and hope to get lucky.
The luck that Travis was
after was to find Eleanor Magee without losing too much in the process.
He’d been partially successful. In the three hours he’d been in this chair, he had tripled his money but come no closer to unearthing the elusive Miss Magee.
He’d met a lot of people from both boats tonight, deck hands, roustabouts and sons of millionaires. He’d been told that the fathers and boat owners would come later on when the losers had drunk their fill and emptied their pockets.
If he quit playing now, he’d be nicely ahead. But there were still plenty of folks visiting the saloon. One of them might know something.
The future of the Lucky Clover’s cowboys and their families depended upon what happened here. What was walking away a winner compared to that?
A woman came into the saloon, her sparkling gown catching the glow of the lantern light. She was too old to be Agatha’s twin. No doubt she was the wife of a rich gambler, or perhaps the mother of one of the young men at the table with him.
The dealer skillfully dealt the hands. Travis stared down at the backs of his cards, wondering what they would reveal. The only lady he was going to find was the cold likeness of a queen.
He yawned. Couldn’t help it. It was nearly midnight and he, because of his years on the ranch, was an early riser.
All of a sudden the scent of fresh water chased away the stench of tobacco.
“Howdy-doo, gentlemen!”
“Miss Ivy!” exclaimed a young man sitting at the table. He greeted her with a broad, friendly grin. “You won’t get my money this time!”
None of the men stood up like they had done when the woman in the sparkling gown came in.
Just because Ivy didn’t have an elegant bearing, did not mean she was not a woman due respect.
Travis stood, pulled out the chair beside him. “Miss Ivy,” he said. “We’d be pleased to have you join us.”
“Nice to see there’s one gentleman present.” She slapped him on the back and sat down on the red velvet stool. “Boys, hold on to your chips. Especially you, Travis. Once a fellow begins to yawn, he might just as well pass his money to the left...gosh almighty, I’m on your left!”
Laughter rang out at the table. Clearly, Ivy was a popular player.
Ivy’s hat shifted. She reached for the pouch and stroked it. He doubted that anyone else knew there was a mouse living inside. For some reason it pleased him, sharing that special secret with Ivy.
An hour later, Ivy had most of the chips in front of her. Somehow, he had managed to only lose a small stack to her.
It was now one thirty in the morning. Back home everyone would be asleep except for the cowboys keeping night watch over the herd.
He tried to stifle a yawn but the urge to doze was too strong.
“Better get back to the River Queen, Travis, before all your chips end up in front of me.”
She leaned closer to him and whispered. “I’ll ask around after your heir.”
“Obliged,” he whispered back. And he was. In the shape he was in now Eleanor could sit down next to him and he wouldn’t even notice.
He stood up, bid the men at the table goodbye then nodded to the man waiting to fill his spot.
From the doorway, he heard Ivy ask the newcomer if he knew someone named Eleanor...last name unknown.
Walking out onto the deck, he shook his head. How had he neglected to inform Ivy that Eleanor’s last name was Magee? In the end, he reckoned it didn’t matter since she might be going by another name anyway.
Fresh June air washed the scent of tobacco from his hair and clothes. He breathed it deeply to cleanse his lungs. While cowboys also tended to smoke around the campfire at night, the space was wide open and one did not become suffocated with the fumes.
It was a short walk from the gangplank of the River Belle to the gangplank of the River Queen. Walking between them, he gazed up at the stars, then lower at the lamps glowing cheerfully in the windows of the Queen’s casino.
It would be a profitable night for both boats.
For Travis, there was only one thing he wanted...well two, maybe three...but just now, he was for his cot next to his horse on the lower deck.
Rounding a corner, he spotted Captain Malone. The boat owner stepped away from the shadowed wall and strode toward him, his pipe puffing smoke into the night.
“Mr. Murphy,” the captain said. “I’ve been hoping to speak with you.”
That was a bit of luck. He’d been eager to speak with Malone but had never gotten the opportunity.
“If you wouldn’t mind?” Captain Malone indicated a bench with a swipe of his pipe. “It’s been a long day and these old bones begin to ache, what with the damp and cold coming off the river. I ain’t the man I used to be...not by a stone’s throw.”
“I’ve been hoping to speak with you as well.” Travis sat then the Captain sat beside him. The boat swayed gently beside the dock. The splash of water against the side sounded gentle compared to the jovial laughter and the cries of dismay of the gamblers.
“Ivy tells me you’ve been looking for a woman named Eleanor. May I ask what her last name is?”
“Eleanor Magee, sir.” He swiped his hand across his face, trying to rub away some of the weariness. “It’s most urgent that I find her.”
The captain sighed, shook his head.
“You have found her, son.”
Chapter Three
The noon hour was later than Ivy liked to rise, but the sock in her drawer was stuffed with money so the late night spent on the River Belle had been well worth it.
While quickly plaiting her hair in a single braid, she imagined the happy look on her uncle’s face when she handed over her winnings. If gambling kept up like it was, the River Queen could sail the Missouri for years to come.
She was smiling and tying the red-flowered belt through the loops of her pants when there came a vigorous pounding on her door.
She opened up with a grin on her face, ready to greet her visitor.
“Captain wants to see you in the pilothouse.” Tom announced without his usual smile. “Like to know what you did to make him so out of sorts. We’re all paying for it, so you know.”
Generally, Uncle Patrick was a man of slow temper.
What in good glory could have happened?
She watched Tom stomp away without closing her door behind him.
Following him outside, she shut the door then climbed the stairs to the pilothouse two at a time.
“Uncle Patrick! Tom says you...oh, hello there Travis.”
Uncle Patrick did look as glum as Tom described. He stood beside the wheel with his fist gripped tight on a polished spoke.
Odd that he didn’t look up at her greeting. No...and neither did Travis.
That handsome fellow sat on the bench, his hands hanging between his knees while he stared at the high shine on the floorboards.
Something was wrong! Misfortune of some kind was about to rain down upon them. Sure did look like it had to do with Travis.
“Gosh almighty, Uncle Patrick, why the long face?”
Silence answered her question. Worry made her heart pound and her belly flip.
“Somebody sick?”
More silence.
“Dead?”
“We’ve located Eleanor,” Travis finally said with a sidelong glance at her.
Blamed if that glum look didn’t make her feel like she needed to run to the rail and vomit. His expression looked as miserable as hooves stuck in deep mud. Eyes that only yesterday shone bright green were the color of dull moss.
“She’s dead?” Poor Travis! He would lose his ranch.
Travis shook his head.
With a nod, Uncle Patrick indicated that she should come closer to him.
Keeping one hand on the
wheel, he circled her shoulder, tugging her close. His fingers bit to the bone.
Gosh almighty, his touch had never bit to the bone, even when he was in a temper.
“She’s you.”
“And you’re the Queen of Sheba!” This was one grand joke that her uncle and Travis were playing, but she would go along, laugh out loud until they did too. “And I reckon Travis is your trained leopard.”
She slapped her thigh, guffawed...but...something was still wrong. Humor had not brightened the desolate mood beating against the walls of the pilothouse.
The men were not laughing.
Travis stood up, shoved both hands in his britches pockets.
And just there, at the corner of Uncle Patrick’s eye, a tear welled.
“When I went to bed last night, my name was Ivy...still was when I woke up this morning, far as I can tell.” As much as she willed it not to, her voice quavered.
“Eleanor Ivy Magee,” Uncle Patrick said, “is the name you were born with.”
“You’re making that up!” She gasped, but she couldn’t imagine why he would. Unless—
“I reckon you’re just wanting to get me married off to some rich fellow so I can’t be a river pilot.” Her voice was rising now...in anger, or panic, certainly denial.
She spun on Travis. “You can’t just make up an heir. I’m not her!”
“Take out your necklace, the one your mama gave you.” Uncle Patrick shoved his hand through his gray hair. “Read the back.”
“I don’t need to read it—I know what it says.” She folded her arms over the ache in her belly. It was exactly thirteen stairs down and twenty-seven steps to the rail and a temporary relief. “Anyone can have a trinket with letters.” Now she was grasping for solid ground and making no sense whatsoever.
She had always known the necklace was special. One of the memories she did have of her mother was of that necklace. She’d sit on Mama’s lap and twist it in her chubby fingers.
“The ranch is yours,” Travis murmured. The line of his jaw looked tight, tense. “All you need to do is claim it.”
