Amelia and the Captain

by Lori Copeland

  Tipping his frayed nautical cap, the old man bared a row of overly large buckteeth. Sister Agnes would say he could eat grass through a picket fence. “’Enry Muller’s the name, and you’ll be safe as a chick in her mama’s nest with us,” he promised. He dished out plates, tin cups, and bountiful portions of the tasty fare that looked to be seafood chowder. The smell of hot biscuits and fried apples made Amelia faint with hunger. They’d eaten sparely, and the thought of a hot meal made her heady.

  “How far to New Orleans?” she asked as she gratefully accepted the coffee the stranger was pouring from a large black-and-white splattered porcelain pot. By this time, she was hungry enough to eat or drink anything anyone offered.

  “At least a week,” Enry conceded. “But the water’s good!” He grinned, showing lots of big teeth. “Once we’re on the Mississippi, other than an occasional planter or sleeper, we shouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “What’s a ‘planter or sleeper’?”

  “Well now, I can see you little girls have a lot to learn.” Enry heaped a couple of extra biscuits brimming with butter on Amelia’s plate. “I’m talking about snags in the river, trees, logs, driftwood…things like that.”

  Amelia took a sip from the steaming cup, trying not to stare at him. She didn’t want him to think she was staring at his teeth. She wasn’t. It was just hard not to. They were large. Really big.

  “Is there someplace we could wash our dresses?” Pilar asked.

  “Sure is! There’s a tub of rainwater just down the deck.” He flashed another toothy grin. “Just help yourself.”

  Pilar sat up straighter. “Do you have soap?”

  “Made a fresh batch this morning. Lye, goat’s milk. Good stuff. I don’t tell the others what I put in it, but they like it. I have all you need.”

  After they’d eaten, the women gathered at the rain barrel to wash. Enry brought several large bars of soap and a stack of thin hemp towels. The girls chattered as they scrubbed their hair and their muddy clothes. As far as Amelia was concerned, this boat was heaven compared to the sloop. Her thoughts drifted to the moment they had boarded the Mississippi Lady. Captain Jean Louis greeted Elizabeth warmly, even called her by name. How did he know Elizabeth?

  The association made no sense. What was Morgan trying to hide? Or Elizabeth? She couldn’t possibly know Captain Morgan Kane. She had been a captive, the same as Amelia. Morgan had no reason to disassociate himself from Elizabeth because of Amelia. The three were complete strangers a few days earlier.

  She made a mental note to speak to Morgan about the confusing relationship the moment she could find a minute of privacy with him.

  Morgan sat in the wheelhouse with his childhood friend, listening to the women splash. Captain Jean Louis smiled as the female giggles filled the air.

  Shaking his head, the Frenchman tapped tobacco into the bowl of his meerschaum pipe. “Got yourself a handful, my friend. How do you do it?”

  Morgan’s gaze unwillingly fixed on Amelia, watching as she vigorously scrubbed her hair with a bar of soap. As she rinsed away the lather, the fiery highlights in the long strands glinted in the sunshine. Earlier clouds had cleared, and the day turned out to be sunny and warm. Amelia slowly tossed her head, and her tresses fanned out over her shoulders.

  “Now that one’s a rare jewel,” Jean Louis said.

  “She’s a real spitfire.” Morgan shook his head. He resented the feelings Amelia McDougal aroused in him. And the idea both pained and intrigued him. She was the first woman he’d met that actually matched him wit for wit. Every encounter with her strengthened his resolve to know her better. He was actually starting to consider the hour she left for Mercy Flats. Eventually the day must come. Had this been a different time in his life, he might be of mind to explore this childlike woman and discover the real Amelia McDougal, but that was futile thinking. The war raged on, and he owed his duty to the government.

  “Say you rescued her from a band of Comanche?” Over dinner Morgan had told his friend about the events of the past few days and how he came to have the lovely Amelia in his care at the most inopportune time.

  “Since Elizabeth’s with you, I assume you are on a mission.”

  “I am.” Jean Louis knew Morgan never spoke about his business, so the turn of conversation was brief.

  “What was a lovely one like Amelia doing in a jail wagon?”

  Turning away, Morgan centered his interest on the passing scenery. “You would have to know Amelia, Jean Louis. She tends to draw trouble like a watermelon does flies.”

  “I take it you have a plan once you get the women to New Orleans?”

  “None. I was hoping you might have a suggestion.”

  “Ten women?” Jean Louis shook his head. “Right now I can’t think of a thing, except maybe take the youngest ones to an orphanage or church mission. Even at that, they’re a mite old.”

  “One of the reasons I wanted to take only Elizabeth with me. The women’s circumstances aren’t the best, but neither are mine. I have little time to dally before my subject will move on. The man has slipped through my fingers more than once. I know exactly where he is now, and I don’t intend to lose him again.”

  “You said some of the ladies were homeless when they were abducted?”

  “Some were. Amelia said one or two of the younger ones have families to return to, but the older ones had been living on the streets.”

  The captain shook his head. “Pity. This dastardly war has changed lives forever.”

  It was more than a misfortune. Morgan’s gaze returned to the women. Kidnapping was a crime, one he felt powerless to do anything about.

  “Once we reach New Orleans, they’ll be on their own. Because I assumed responsibility for Amelia, I’ve promised to see that she is returned to Mercy Flats, but the others will need to look after themselves. I don’t like it, but circumstances leave me no other choice.”

  “Except for Elizabeth.” Jean Louis looked on him kindly.

  “Elizabeth and I work together, Jean Louis. Not by choice.”

  “Work together, eh?” His friend chuckled. “You two have been together for years, and she’s still nothing more than a working partner?”

  “Nothing more. And that goes for both sides.” Over the years Morgan had developed a distinct fondness for the woman, but love wasn’t involved. Elizabeth felt the same about him. They made a good team, but the interests of both lay elsewhere. “I don’t need to remind you that we are speaking in strict confidence.”

  Jean Louis chuckled. “Spying seems a mighty risky business for a woman.”

  “Elizabeth is as smart as any man I’ve met. She’s had some hard knocks in her life brought on by her willful ways. She stays to herself, does her job, and doesn’t take anything off of anybody. I admire the woman, though I admit that I don’t like her much.”

  “That right? She married?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Uh-huh,” the captain mused. “That bad?”

  “I haven’t asked the details and don’t plan to. It seems marriage left a bad taste in her mouth.”

  Jean Louis shook his head. “I would have wagered that the two of you were very close.”

  Morgan chuckled. “Elizabeth and I are misleading the others about our relationship because of the nature of our business. You should have that figured out.”

  “Even Amelia?”

  “Most assuredly, Amelia.”

  “Now, what’s the point in that? Aggravating a bunch of females doesn’t seem like your style, friend.”

  “Life’s simpler that way.” Morgan knew whatever he confided with his friend would go no further. The same could not be said of Amelia. “Elizabeth and I are on a mission.” He grinned. “But you’re welcome to court her the brief time we’re aboard, friend.”

  “You’d do that to me?” The captain chuckled.

  “She could have a gentle side, but I’ve yet to come across it. She can out-cuss a sailor, fight like a boxer, and nag a man
to his grave.”

  “My dream of the perfect woman,” Jean Louis noted.

  Morgan’s eyes lifted. “I haven’t mentioned it, but once this mission is over, I’m going to be excused from service for a brief time.”

  The captain’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Why?”

  “Silas is near death now. Laura can’t work the orchards alone anymore. If we can believe the rumors, the war could be over soon. If so, I will be free to leave. I’ve served my country, Jean Louis.” Turning away, he finished softly. “Laura needs me, and Elizabeth has a strong case of wanderlust.”

  “Pity. But I know your deep affection for Silas and your Aunt Laura. Your mother—have you seen her over the years?”

  Morgan shook his head. “I heard she’s still alive somewhere in California.”

  “Well, maybe some women aren’t cut out for motherhood.”

  “Laura and Silas are the only family I’ve known. Without their grace, I’d have been living on the streets at a very young age.” He’d always figured that he would marry and settle down, but he hadn’t planned on meeting “his lady” for many years. Perhaps that was why Amelia disturbed him. He wasn’t ready to meet a woman like her.

  She in no way bore a resemblance to the woman in his mind. She was pretty enough, but she kept his insides tied in a knot most of the time. Circumstances would change. Amelia would go her way and he would go his, and this nonsense he was starting to feel every time he was around her would evaporate.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to settle down in the meantime,” Jean Louis offered, as though he’d read Morgan’s thoughts.

  “You have my promise.” Morgan flashed a grin. “I will the day you do.”

  The men’s gaze strayed back to the laughing women. “Ah,” Jean Louis said. “Is there anything lovelier than a woman’s beauty and allure?”

  “Not much.” The agreement might be mutual, but Morgan hated to think that the woman, smelling of soap, with the sun glinting off the red streaks in her hair, had any permanent hold on his life.

  She didn’t. He’d make sure to guard the growing temptation.

  Seven

  Amelia was the first up the next morning. Dawn streaked the sky with bright orange and red when she left Pilar still asleep and climbed the few steps to the deck. Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. The old-timers would say they were in for a storm today. To her relief, the temperature was warm. The old paddle wheeler gently churned the muddy Mississippi, making its way slowly upstream.

  Taking a deep breath of fresh air, she smiled as she headed straight for the cook shack, located between the decks and the storeroom. She felt more optimistic this morning, and when she was optimistic, she was hungry. If the food was anything like yesterday, the trip would be even more pleasurable. The bacon she’d eaten all these years paled in comparison with the meals the cook put out.

  The smell of coffee and frying bacon encircled her as she climbed the steps to the galley. She hadn’t tasted bacon since she’d left the convent.

  She paused, her gaze skimming the railing. Morgan wasn’t on deck, though she was certain he was around. He rose earlier than chickens. Elizabeth wasn’t anywhere to be seen either. Amelia followed her nose to the galley. What did Morgan see in Elizabeth that she didn’t? He could hear her harsh tone, see her callous manner. And those dreadful cigarettes. Her clothes smelled of smoke, and the inside of her right forefinger was stained with tar.

  Sister Mary Grace at the convent would make Amelia say a ton of Hail Marys for such uncharitable thoughts, but she longed to shake Elizabeth and then ground out the tobacco on Captain Jean Louis’s deck. She wasn’t a pretty woman in the normal sense; her mouth was a tad bit too large, and her complexion had pockmarks from lack of care, but her eyes and the way her nose tilted just slightly to the right could charm a man. But what man would want to kiss a smokestack?

  Correcting her attitude, Amelia reminded herself that she didn’t care if Morgan favored Elizabeth. And even if she did, she had no right to question the man’s taste in women. She would think a man like the captain would prefer a sweet-smelling, soft-spoken, kind-hearted lady, but if he was attracted to a shrew, a ruffian with a salty tongue, then Elizabeth was an ideal choice.

  Amelia tapped on the galley door and smiled when it opened to reveal an elderly woman. Everyone on this boat looked old.

  “Good morning,” Amelia greeted. “The bacon smelled so good, I thought I might snitch a piece.”

  The old woman looked as tough as a twenty-five-cent steak. “You did, did you?” she said in a gravelly voice.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Amelia widened the smile, hoping the woman would reciprocate. She hadn’t met the cook yesterday—only eaten the fine food she produced from the big black woodstove.

  Leaving her standing in the doorway, the lady returned to the huge frying pan of sizzling bacon.

  Without waiting for an invitation, which obviously wasn’t coming, Amelia entered the galley. “I’m Amelia.”

  After reaching for a slice of bacon draining on the sideboard, Amelia casually lifted herself onto the counter, making herself at home. She had spent hours in the mission kitchen, whiling away the time with the sisters. The nuns hadn’t seemed to mind, and Amelia had nothing better to do, so she’d talked for hours about anything and everything that interested her, which included anything and everything.

  She was reaching for another slice of bacon but jerked her hand back swiftly when the cook threatened to swat her with a wooden spoon.

  “Got a whole boatload to feed, ya know.”

  “Sorry,” Amelia replied sheepishly, “but it looks like you have plenty.” There must have been three or four pounds of bacon set to drain.

  The old woman shuffled to the counter and began to crack eggs into a large bowl. “Name’s Izzy. This here’s my galley, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I won’t. Want some help?”

  “If I’d wanted help, I’d have asked.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Amelia eyed the bacon speculatively.

  Throwing a pinch of salt in the pot of beans boiling on the stove, Izzy fixed on her. “Don’t you have nothin’ better to occupy your time?”

  “Nary a thing.” Sliding off the counter, she gave the old woman a gentle nudge aside. “Let me help you.”

  The cook shrugged, moving to the oven to check on a pan of biscuits.

  “You’re old, aren’t you?” Amelia cracked an egg and frowned when part of the shell dropped into the bowl.

  Izzy lifted the bacon out of the skillet with her right hand, her left hand resting on her hip. “Your momma never teach you no manners?”

  “I don’t mean any disrespect. It’s just that you look pretty old.” Amelia knew that she was often thought to be younger than she was, so she didn’t see any problem in asking. If you didn’t ask, how would you ever know anything? She’d always wished that she’d looked older, and she imagined the old woman probably wished she looked younger. No one was ever satisfied. “My mother left me and my sisters at a Catholic mission when we were very young. The good sisters have tried to teach us proper upbringing, but I’ll admit the McDougal sisters were born with a wild streak. Of course, our true mother couldn’t have known that, since she abandoned us so young, but the note she left tucked in my blanket said she could no longer afford to feed us and she was going to look for work.” Amelia sighed. “She must’ve not found anything, because she never came back.” She glanced at the bacon. “Is it all right if I eat my two pieces of bacon now? I promise I won’t take more when breakfast is served.”

  A smile threatened the old woman features. “Yes, I’m old, and you can take two pieces. No more.”

  Grinning, Amelia reached for a strip of the delectable pork. “How old?”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  Amelia thought that this woman looked older than dirt, but she wasn’t about to say so. Sister Agnes looked older than dirt, and she was
seventy-two. Frightfully old.

  “Well, maybe seventy and a half?”

  Izzy dipped flour into the skillet and thickened the drippings for gravy. She chuckled. “Now that’s mighty kind of you.”

  “Older than seventy and a half?”

  “If you must know, I’m ninety.”

  Amelia’s breath caught. “Have you been raised from the dead?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Sister Manjra was ninety when she died, but she never came back.”

  “A body is only as old as they feel.”

  “How old do you feel?”

  “Well, now that you’ve brought up the subject, I’m old as Methuselah. Now you best get those eggs cracked. Folks around here want their breakfast on time.”

  Amelia stuck the third piece of bacon in her mouth and slid off the counter to crack the remaining eggs as Izzy stirred the gravy. Methuselah! And the woman was still standing. Lord, bless her precious soul. She was a true fighter.

  During breakfast, Amelia kept her eyes trained on Elizabeth, who sat beside Morgan, passing him biscuits and offering him gravy as if she owned him.

  Izzy was kind enough to mention that Amelia had helped with breakfast. The rest of the crew commented on how nice that was of her, but Morgan remained silent. He buttered a fourth biscuit, doused it with honey, and ate it.

  Amelia focused on the meat plate, and then her gaze drifted to the occupants of the long table. All of them except Morgan and the girls looked so old.

  Izzy sat next to her husband, Enry, who spoke with an accent, perhaps French mixed with Irish. He was kind and always helpful when the women asked for anything. Next to Enry sat Niles, and then a roustabout, Ryder somebody. Amelia didn’t know his last name. Everyone just called him Ryder. “Ryder, can you get me this?” “Ryder, can you get me that?” Ryder always did whatever was asked of him, but sometimes it took a while. He moved with a slow but determined sense of purpose. He sort of reminded Amelia of a doddering turtle. He moved with drawn-out precision, but he eventually got there.