“If you will recall, it had something to do with your dislike for the prospect of becoming a scribe on a stool in the office of Cousin Bernard’s shipping company.”
The sudden silence told her Jean-Paul remembered. Carefully she went on. “I’m not saying I regret not going to Bernard. What I am saying is, I don’t want to go now. It would make all the work, the — the sacrifice, if you will, worthless.”
Turning away, she walked to the table at the end of the settee. Automatically her hands went out to straighten the bouquet of ribbon-trimmed palmetto fans standing in a vase upon it. Jean-Paul, leaving his chair, came to stand beside her. “It won’t be for long, just until the government has stabilized in Nicaragua. Then I will be able to leave the army and concentrate on making the estate pay. When it is ready I will send for you. We’ll be a family again. Please, Eleanora. This wasn’t an easy decision. Don’t make it more difficult for me.”
A brittle laugh was forced from her throat. “No, of course not. Your peace of mind is the first consideration. Never mind my comfort, my convenience.”
“Sarcasm will not help, let me tell you,” he told her, his own temper flashing up like powder in a pan. “I have the money here, in my pocket. It is all arranged. I have only to turn the money over to the land agent in the morning. He sails next day, the twenty-sixth, on the Prometheus. By the time I arrive three weeks later he will be ready to present the deed on the property he has purchased.”
“Where did you meet this land agent? What guarantee have you that he is who and what he says he is?”
“Must you question everything? Don’t you have any respect for my judgment?”
A truthful answer would not do. Or would it?
“Trust?” she said softly. “Shall I prove my trust, Jean-Paul?”
A wary look invaded his features with their vulnerable look of youth. “What do you mean?”
“This money, you meant to use a portion of it to reach Nicaragua?”
“The fare has been lowered substantially by the steamship line for Walker’s colonist — but yes, I suppose my expenses will have to come from the proceeds of the sale.”
“And, as your sister, half of it is mine since we inherited jointly?”
“Legally, yes, but as head of the household—”
“Never mind. I believe it only fair that my fare be paid from it also.”
“Your fare? Where are you going?”
“To Nicaragua. Where else?”
2
The ocean steamer Daniel Webster left New Orleans on December 11, 1855. Under a fitful sun she steamed slowly down the Mississippi and out into the Gulf.
Eleanora stood at the rail, watching as the water turned from a muddy brown to a deep, saltwater blue. The wind was fresh, only slightly tainted with the smell of coal smoke from the huge smokestack forward. She faced into it, consciously putting New Orleans and everything known and familiar behind her. She had not watched the city out of sight, though not out of any sense of pain. It was just that she had no time for regret or self-pity. She had spent the hours putting away her things in her cabin and making herself familiar with her cabin and the ship.
As a “colonist” for Nicaragua Jean-Paul could have traveled steerage for only twenty dollars, while her fare would have been no more than fifty. First-class cabin passage was a hundred and seventy-five dollars, second class a hundred and twenty-five. After due consideration it had seemed best to pay for better accommodation. In steerage there would be no outside light or air, no privacy, no segregation of the sexes. For over two hundred people, sleeping, eating, relaxing would all have to be accomplished in one large room. The berths, built in tiers of three, three berths wide, were without curtains, without bedding. Passengers provided their own. They also provided their eating utensils. To be served, they were expected to line up at the galley door, after the first- and second-class passengers had finished, naturally.
Second class was better. Cabins in this section held no more than fifty, the sleeping cubicles were curtained, and passengers had the privilege of the dining saloon. Jean-Paul reserved space for himself in this section, but such a thing was not possible for Eleanora. Ordinarily second-class cabins were divided along sex lines, but at this time they were given over entirely to men. Because of the recent fighting in Nicaragua few women were willing to travel either to that country or across it, along the transit route to California. Those who decided to brave it were, for the most part, traveling first class with their husbands so they need not be separated. A first-class ticket had to be purchased for Eleanora.
In this class the stateroom doors opened directly out of the dining saloon, providing cross ventilation with the porthole, an important point as they steamed southward into warmer weather. The floors were carpeted, a mirror and washstand, water bottle and glasses were provided. In Eleanora’s cabin there were two curtained berths with space beneath for storing luggage. She had met her cabin-mate briefly though they had exchanged nothing beyond civil greeting. They might have managed more if Eleanora had not been so taken aback by the woman’s traveling costume of gold velvet the exact shade of her elaborately dressed hair. The skirt had been supported by a hoop so large it seemed to fill the cabin. Epaulettes dripping gold fringe had decked the shoulders, and military buttons had fastened her corsage — up to a point. A deep vee had been left open, exposing the soft, white curves of her breasts. On her head she wore a milliner’s version of a campaign hat in gold felt with one side pinned to the crown by a diamond-studded hatpin and the brim edged with gold fringe. Her name she gave as Mazie Brentwood. It seemed, in a way Eleanora could not quite comprehend, to fit her.
“Hello!”
At the hail Eleanora turned to see her cabin-mate making her way toward her against the wind. Her skirts were fluttering like sheets on a clothesline, exposing without hindrance a generous froth of lace-edged petticoats and a pair of nicely turned ankles as high as the calf.
With one hand the woman clung to her hat while she grabbed for the rail with the other. “I begin to see why most of the passengers are congregated in the dining saloon,” she said by way of a greeting.
“The breeze is a bit stiff,” Eleanora agreed, firmly suppressing a smile at the sight of the destruction of such expensive elegance. She had no cause to worry. Her gown, far from new, was a serviceable broadcloth in fawn with blue piping. Her bonnet was of straw with blue ribbons which she had tied together and looped over her arm rather than have the wind take it off her head.
“You seem to have found the best spot on the ship. The starboard side is wet with spray from the paddlewheel, and at the bow in front of the deckhouse the ship’s officers are constantly tripping over you.”
“Join me then, by all means,” Eleanora invited.
Mazie Brentwood directed a shrewd look at her from tip-tilted hazel eyes. “You are sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Why should I?”
The smile that moved across her wide mouth was wry. “You don’t look like a complete innocent.”
“I — beg your pardon?”
“You are obliged to share a cabin with me because we are the only two unattached women on the ship. You are not obliged to be seen in public with me. And if that is not a sufficient hint I will tell you, before someone else does, that women who dress in the restrained fashion you represent seldom associate with women of my — profession.”
There was no anger, no belligerence in Mazie Brentwood’s voice, only a dispassionate statement of fact. That, more than anything else, helped to subdue Eleanora’s flush of embarrassment. There was little doubt in her mind of Mazie’s meaning. The two old maids who had lived upstairs had had a passion for scandal and were often forgetful of her comparative inexperience. In addition, sight of the women known as “ladies of the night” was not too uncommon along the poorly lighted thoroughfares of New Orleans after dark. They had not appeared to be in quite the same style as Mazie; still by all the rules she had been taught, she should have
turned on her heelless kid slipper and walked away. That she didn’t had something to do with the upheaval of her life. Nothing seemed to matter as much as it once had.
Lifting her chin she said, “Why, I wonder?”
“We are thought to spread corruption and immorality.”
“For the sake of my character then? I don’t believe I am so easily influenced. And if for the sake of my good name, I have little to protect.”
“That sounds interesting. I warn you, I am insatiably curious.”
A slow smile lit the gold flecks in the depths of Eleanora’s green eyes. “So am I,” she replied.
They watched a whirl of sea gulls give up following the ship and head back toward land. The green and brown shoreline receded at a slow but steady pace. The blue smoke hovering above Balize at the mouth of the river became no more than a smudge on the horizon. Beneath their feet the movement of the deck was a novel sensation. From their place at the rail they could see the spreading foam of their progress, hear the rush of the waves as they cut through the water. The churning waterfall sound of the paddlewheel came from behind them, a pervasive noise that, after a time, they ceased to notice. They carried no sail on the masts that towered fore and aft, but the wind hummed through the rigging and snapped the banners that flew from the top-mast spars, and the stars and stripes displayed at the stern.
Mazie, tiring of holding her hat, unpinned it and tucked it under her arm. The wind immediately began to tear at her elaborate mass of gold waves and curls, but she ignored it. “So,” she said, turning to Eleanora. “Why are you on the Daniel Webster?”
“My brother signed on as a colonist with William Walker. We have arranged to purchase an estate also, and I am going to see after it until Jean-Paul has honored his commitment.”
The other woman waited a fraction too long to comment.
“What is it?” Eleanora asked, all her misgivings reviving to sharpen her voice.
Mazie shook her head. “I wish you luck. The aristocráticos around Granada haven’t held onto their estates nearly three hundred years by giving up easily.”
“You sound as if you have some knowledge of the situation.”
“This will be my third crossing along the transit line. I went to California in ‘53 and only returned to settle a matter of business last spring. There isn’t much to do on these trips except talk. You can learn a lot, if you have a knack for listening to men.”
“You have seen Nicaragua? This is marvelous. You can tell me all about it.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything!” Eleanora said, smiling.
“To begin with, it’s hot, tropical in fact. A big part of the country is covered in jungle. There are also mountains, however, and volcanoes, and a pair of large lakes.”
“What is this, a geography lesson?”
The voice was lazy, and tantalizingly familiar. Even before she turned, Eleanora remembered the tall blond man who strolled up to them, and, taking his welcome for granted, stopped to lean with one elbow on the railing.
“Neville!” Mazie greeted him. “Neville Crawford, you scoundrel, I didn’t know you were aboard.”
“A man would have to be blind to miss you, Mazie,” he answered, his smile quizzical.
“Flatterer. Let me make you known to my cabin-mate, Eleanora Villars. Eleanora—”
“We have met. I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform, Major Crawford.”
“I am crushed, mademoiselle. I knew you at once. One remembers ladies who remain elusive.”
“I resent the implication,” Mazie said in mock affront, but her eyes, as she glanced from one to the other, held a question.
“My apologies. Your charm, of course, is your openness, Mazie.”
“Not, I hope, my only one?”
“Stop angling for compliments you don’t need, and tell me why you are here.”
“I had a notion to see if some of the money changing hands in Nicaragua could not be diverted to mine. But what is this about a uniform? Surely you haven’t succumbed to the trappings of war?”
“My reasons, my dear, are every bit as mercenary as yours. In addition I find the uniform has a beneficial effect on females.”
“A hired killer, Neville? That doesn’t sound like you either.”
“Thank you, Mazie. I’m glad I have some character left in your eyes. Tell me, mademoiselle, how is your brother?”
“Well enough. He is aboard also.”
The major heaved a sigh. “I was afraid of that.”
“Eleanora was asking about Nicaragua. Perhaps you would like to instruct her?”
“Very much,” he agreed, a light glowing brightly for an instant in his eyes the pale blue of a robin’s egg.
“I meant concerning the countryside,” Mazie admonished.
An expression of suitable gravity descended over his face. “Oh, the countryside. Well. We land at San Juan del Norte, the first stop on the Atlantic side of the transit line.”
“You will think me ignorant, but I don’t fully understand what you are talking about when you mention the transit,” Eleanora interrupted.
“No? The Accessory Transit Company was begun five years ago by the millionaire, Cornelius Vanderbilt. The idea was to take advantage of the California gold rush; half the world was anxious to get to California by the quickest route possible. There was already a passage through Panama, but Vanderbilt figured to put it out of business by saving prospective passengers better than seven hundred miles of travel using the natural waterways of Nicaragua to cut across to the Pacific. The route laid out by Vanderbilt begins at Point Arenas, where passengers begin their journey up the San Juan River to San Carlos at the entrance to Lake Nicaragua. There they take a lake steamer to Virgin Bay. Then a twelve-mile carriage ride brings them to San Juan del Sur on the Pacific coast, where they connect with a ship bound for San Francisco.”
“This route is still open, despite the war?” Eleanora inquired.
“It was when I left for New Orleans.”
“When I first went over the route, transport overland from Virgin’s Bay to San Juan del Sur was by mule,” Mazie said. “It was the rainy season and the mud was belly deep. How I made it I’ll never know. Nor will I ever forget it!”
“You probably had to walk around the river rapids at Machuca, Castillo Viejo, and El Toro, too. The new steamers make the trip over the rapids during the wet. If we’re lucky we can arrive in comfort at Granada.”
“I believe that is Walker’s headquarters.”
“That’s right.”
“Is it a large town?” Eleanora persevered.
“Not large, about ten thousand people, but important. Until we captured it two months ago it was the stronghold of the landed gentry, the Legitimistas, as the conservative party is known.”
“The rich are always conservative,” Mazie commented. “The haves are always anxious to keep things as they are, to prevent the have-nots from crowding in. I take it William Walker is allied with the have-nots in this instance?”
“The Democráticos, yes. So far he’s done a fair job of parceling out the wealth, though not as thorough as some would like.”
“Then there is some left, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Mazie’s tone was enthusiastic.
“If you were half as greedy as you pretend,” Major Crawford teased, “you would be a rich woman in your own right.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“You wouldn’t be here if you were.”
“Don’t you know there is no such thing as enough money?”
“You and Vanderbilt would make a good pair.”
Mazie touched a beautifully shaped nail to her lips. “You think so? That idea will require some thought. I understood, however, that Commodore Vanderbilt resigned as head of the Accessory Transit Company. That, because of stock manipulation and in-fighting among the directors, he has set himself up in competition by establishing a new line, the Independent Opposition Line using the Panama ro
ute.”
Slowly the major shook his head. “You always leave me wondering about your sources of information, Mazie.”
“So long as that isn’t all you wonder about.”
The provocative answer. Watching her, Eleanora thought the response was automatic, having little to do with what the other woman was actually thinking. Clearing her throat a little, she said, “Walker must consider himself securely in command at Granada to send so many of his officers out recruiting.”
“Recruiting — you mean at the Arcade? It was Fisher doing the recruiting. Colonel Farrell was there to arrange for the cost of transporting them. Colonel Henry was recuperating from battle wounds and had nothing better to do. Luis — Lieutenant Colonel Laredo — and I were along for the spree. Farrell and Henry returned two weeks ago on the Prometheus.”
“And the lieutenant colonel?”
“I hoped you wouldn’t ask. He’s below in his berth as drunk as a conde. Every so often he tries to pickle the past in alcohol. He succeeds to a point, like preserving a corpse in brandy, or so he says. But then, like the corpse, he must carry it with him until he finds the proper place of burial.”
Mazie shuddered. “What a charming fellow this Luis must be.”
“Most of the time,” the major agreed. “At others he is hopelessly Spanish.”
“His right, surely,” Eleanora protested. “Nicaragua is a Spanish country.”
“Spanish speaking. Officially it is the República de Nicaragua, and those who live there are, of course, Nicaraguan — including your brother now, and Luis also, though he was born in the Guadalquivir Valley of Andalusia, near Córdoba, Spain. If you will take my advice though, you won’t ask him about it unless he’s drunk.”
Major Crawford broke off, his attention going beyond Mazie’s shoulder. Following his gaze Eleanora saw Jean-Paul rounding the corner of the deckhouse from the stern. A frown drew his thick brows together and his eyes were narrowed, though that might have been the effect of the coal smoke swirling around him in a sudden down draft.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 48
