“And two apples,” he added.
“Excellent choice, kind sir.” Smiling, the gypsy woman polished the fat, round apples before handing them to him.
Turning, Morgan presented the daisy and one apple to Amelia. “For the lovely lady.”
“Thank you.” Lifting the daisy to her nose, Amelia twirled it between her fingers, letting the petals softly brush her skin.
“Read your fortune, sir?” the gypsy tempted.
“No, thank you.” He paid the gypsy for the apples.
As they approached the Mississippi Lady, Amelia could see Captain Jean Louis in the pilothouse, motioning for the couple to come aboard. The crowd at the dock was dispersing, and river traffic was moving again. Pilar stood at the railing, holding a small parcel.
Crossing the gangplank, Morgan pulled Amelia protectively to the railing as Henry lifted the crossing and the boat slowly swung upstream.
“Morgan,” Amelia whispered, enjoying the brief feel of his arms around her. “Thank you for taking me to see the showboat.” The past few minutes with him had been a tiny piece of heaven.
Gazing down at her, he smiled. “It was my pleasure.”
Her heart must be in her eyes now. “Do you honestly think I’m evil?”
Squeezing her waist, he refused to meet her gaze, but his tone didn’t sound judgmental. “Misguided, perhaps. But very pretty.”
She didn’t want to believe that she and her sisters could be as bad as Austin Brown and his thugs.
A warm rush of hope spread through her. On impulse, she rose on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips.
His eyes reflected a difference she had never seen before. Taking her by the waist, he moved her into the deep dimness of the stairway.
Their eyes met briefly before he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently but very thoroughly. Only the sound of Mahalia’s screech broke the silence.
“What is that thing in the oven?”
Nine
The Mississippi Lady resumed her journey. Supper was late that evening, but nobody minded. The day had been exciting to say the least. The cake was a dismal failure, but Amelia took the ribbing good-naturedly.
“Next time,” Izzy said, “ask for help. Waste of flour and sugar.”
Amelia crossed her heart. “You have my solemn word.”
For some nameless reason, Izzy, Jean Louis, Niles, and the others had become her family—all but Morgan. Her gaze had touched on the man who now held the key to so many emotions in her life, feelings she’d never experienced. Scary feelings, yet exhilarating—a daily discovery of how love works. The emotions Morgan caused were anything but familial. How had she allowed herself to become involved in such a tangle? Soon she would leave the captain’s care and have nothing left but memories.
Shortly before dusk, she straightened from pinning a dish towel to the clothesline when she heard the shout, “Man the decks!”
Pilar’s sewing fell to her lap as she stood to peer toward the wheelhouse. “I don’t see anything.” By now the other women had gathered around her.
Amelia pointed. “There’s another paddle wheeler pulling alongside us.”
Silence gripped the women. Amelia’s pulse pounded in her throat as she anxiously strained to see the arrivals. Brown? The knot in her throat seized. Moments passed, and her curiosity got the better of her. Dropping the dishcloth she held, she rushed to the lower deck. Others followed.
“Are we racing?” Bunny asked.
A grin broke across Amelia’s face. “I hope so!” That would be too much to hope for. First the showboat, and now a race between two paddle steamers! Nothing more exciting—or dangerous. Tales of exploding steamboat boilers abounded, yet Amelia had heard that captains took delight in the sport.
“I hope not,” Pilar called above the sudden groaning engine.
“A race!” Amelia could barely contain her excitement. She’d never seen a steamboat race and never once dreamed she would be a part of one!
She rushed up to the pilothouse and burst inside to find Morgan and Captain Jean Louis clearly enjoying themselves. “Are we racing?” She scurried to peer out at the second boat that was now gaining ground on the Mississippi Lady.
“No,” Jean Louis stated calmly. He glanced toward Morgan, and they broke into roguish grins. “Just blowing the cobwebs out of the engine.”
The boilers heated up. Black smoke and sparks belched from the Mississippi Lady’s tall stacks as she cut a wide path of boiling white froth through the water.
“Go below!” Morgan shouted over the din as the pace continued to pick up.
“Oh, Morgan!” She sobered. “Are you sure it isn’t Austin Brown trying to trick us?” There had been no tangible evidence to indicate Brown was pursuing them, but everybody aboard knew that he wouldn’t accept defeat so easily.
Morgan shook his head. “It isn’t Brown. Now go below.”
The two steamboats shot down the river, keeping pace with each other. Amelia’s pulse quickened as the Mississippi Lady began to quake and strain from bow to stern.
“Amelia!” Morgan roared.
“I’m going!” She would miss the fun, but she would go. Her gaze fixed on the new vessel. The Mississippi Lady churned the waters, picking up speed. Her steps paused at the doorway, her eyes focused on the race.
The two paddle wheelers struggled side by side, their stacks expelling plumes of black smoke into the air.
Ryder and Henry frantically shoved wood into the boilers, bumping into each other as they fed the fire.
“Did I tell you about the time I held the horns?” Jean Louis shouted as he deftly steered the boat through the churning waters.
“Did you retain the honor?” Morgan called back.
“Four years in a row!”
Amelia glanced quizzically over her shoulder at Morgan. “The horns?” She had her hand on the door handle. She was going to obey Morgan—but the race—a tiny second more and she would leave.
Morgan glanced her way. “Holding the horns is a coveted award among river pilots. The horns are a gilded rack of deer antlers—the symbol of the speed king. The captain who wins the trophy mounts it in his pilothouse or the most prominent place on his ship.”
Amelia bestowed an admiring grin on Captain Jean Louis, and he winked at her. “Watch this.”
The old boat groaned under the building pressure as the two paddle wheelers came around a bend.
Jumping up and down now, Amelia howled with delight as Henry and Ryder pumped more wood into the boiler. “Yes!” Amelia clutched Morgan’s arm. “We’re pulling ahead!”
The decks of the Mississippi Lady vibrated as the stern slowly inched ahead of the other boat. She was running full throttle now, and white steam poured from the tops of the ships’ stacks. Boiling white froth faded into long white streaks as they cut through the mucky water.
Suddenly the race was over as quickly as it had begun.
The Mississippi Lady shot ahead, taking the lead, and the other boat dropped behind.
Sounding a victory blast on the horn, Jean Louis laughed merrily as the Mississippi Lady sailed on down the river.
With a shout, Amelia threw her arms around Morgan’s neck and hugged him. This was absolutely the most fun she’d had since she and her sisters dropped wild onions in the mission well!
“Wasn’t the race the most exciting thing you’ve ever done?” Amelia exclaimed as the women prepared for bed that night.
“Do you know how many people are killed by exploding boilers?” Elizabeth asked. “The race was insane. Men acting like little boys.”
“Oh pooh,” Amelia muttered. “The boiler didn’t explode, did it? Captain Jean Louis wouldn’t do anything to get us hurt.”
“Captain Jean Louis is a man, isn’t he?” Elizabeth stretched out on her bunk. “And a man can be thoughtless when adventure calls.” She deftly filled a cigarette paper with tobacco. “Caught up by the prospect of a race, men have been known to be downright reckless at times.
”
“Well, the boiler didn’t explode.” Amelia shrugged and looked away. “So let’s talk about something else.” She glanced back again when she heard a soft rustling sound as Elizabeth withdrew a pouch of tobacco from her pocket. Amelia’s heart quickened when she recognized the brown pouch with the red writing. Morgan had purchased it from the gypsy.
A wave of jealousy knotted Amelia’s stomach. A small voice warned her to look away, to drop the subject while she could still salvage her pride. But a strong urge compelled her to stare accusingly into Elizabeth’s cool eyes.
Elizabeth broke eye contact to sprinkle tobacco onto a cigarette paper that she was holding with steady fingers. With a practiced move, she locked her teeth onto the drawstring and tugged the pouch closed with one hand. She casually rolled the cigarette and stuck it between her lips, full lips that quirked at the corners in a mocking smile. Grudgingly, Amelia stared at Elizabeth’s mouth. She imagined Morgan and Elizabeth embracing and kissing in the dark corner beneath the stairway, the same dark corner where Morgan had kissed her not so long ago. She suffered such a thrust of pain in her chest that for a long moment she couldn’t draw a breath.
Please, God, don’t let me care so much. I’m doing my best to remain friendly to Elizabeth. It seemed as though the Almighty didn’t want her to like this woman, who at times seemed very lonely.
“Where were you when all the excitement was going on?” The words were out before she could stop them.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow as she struck a match. “None of your business where I was.” She held the flame to her cigarette and drew on it until the tip glowed a bright red.
The tension grew until the room felt suffocating with humidity and smoke. Faith shot to her feet to stand between Amelia and Elizabeth. “See how nice the lace looks on the curtains?”
Amelia didn’t blink. “Very nice.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “What’s the big whooping deal about a boat race? I can whistle and eat soda crackers at the same time.”
The girls’ heads swiveled in unison to gape at her.
Taking a slow drag off her cigarette, Elizabeth mocked, “Surprise!”
Amelia shook her head. She had never met a man who could do that.
“Well, I can.”
“Prove it.” Amelia wasn’t about to take Elizabeth’s word for it. Eating crackers and whistling. At the same time? She didn’t think so.
Elizabeth rolled off the bunk and sat up. “Get me some crackers.”
Amelia left the cabin and was back in record time with a handful of crackers. The women clustered around Elizabeth’s bunk.
“Okay. Prove it.” Amelia knew that Elizabeth couldn’t. She was showing off again.
Elizabeth methodically stacked four crackers on top of one another and then bit into them, her eyes locked defiantly with Amelia’s.
“She can’t,” Amelia assured the others. “She’s bragging, as usual.”
Elizabeth ate the four crackers, chewing slowly and then polished off four more.
“Whistle,” Amelia said.
“What do you want me to whistle?”
“Anything,” Ria said.
“Okay.” Elizabeth began to whistle a spirited rendition of “Dixie.”
“Good grief,” Amelia breathed, fascinated by the spray of crumbs spewing from Elizabeth’s mouth. The woman was flat out whistling after eating eight crackers.
“That’s really good,” Faith said.
“I told you I could do it.” Elizabeth settled back to finish her smoke.
Amelia returned to her pallet. She tried whistling “Dixie” under her breath but gave up when she saw the others staring at her strangely.
“Maybe we’re not like you, Elizabeth.” The innuendo was clear. Amelia wasn’t proud of herself for pointing it out, but it was true. They weren’t like Elizabeth, especially when it came to men.
“You’re right. You aren’t like me in the least. I was married once.”
The silence in the room turned deafening.
“Married.” Amelia found her voice first. “You were not!”
“Yes, I was.”
Amelia’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. Well, no wonder Morgan preferred her! She knew everything there was to know when it came to men. “Oh?” She turned wary. It wouldn’t be above Elizabeth to fib to them. “If that’s true, where’s your husband?”
Pain briefly crossed Elizabeth’s face. “None of your business.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Amelia countered. “You can’t just tell us you were married and then brush it off with a ‘never mind.’ If you are married, where’s your husband?”
“I’m no longer married,” Elizabeth said. “So forget it.”
“Why not?” Amelia glanced at the others. If they weren’t going to call Elizabeth’s hand on this, then she would. “Were you so rotten and mean that he ran off and left you?”
Nervous giggles broke out among the others.
“My husband is dead.”
Elizabeth’s tone was so grave that Amelia was tempted to believe her. Then she reminded herself that the woman was an expert at deception. She’d like nothing better than to make her look like a fool.
“Boo hoo. I’m sorry. You should have told us,” she mocked.
“It isn’t anything I care to talk about.”
Amelia raised her brows at the others. Elizabeth could certainly lay it on thick.
“Elizabeth,” Pilar chided. “Death is very sad. You shouldn’t tease about such things.”
“I’m not teasing. My husband is dead.”
For a moment no one could think of a single thing to say. Finally, Amelia broke the strained silence. “Elizabeth, is this really true? Were you really married and your husband died?”
“My husband is dead,” she repeated, more softly now.
The mood in the room changed. Rising from her pallet, Amelia confronted her. “Elizabeth—”
Elizabeth shrugged off her efforts. “I don’t want your pity.”
Amelia was silent for a moment. She glanced at the others and then back to Elizabeth. “Well, it would be all right if you wanted to talk about it.” It felt strange being nice to Elizabeth. Not bad, but strange. Amelia examined her conscience and decided that she could be decent, providing Elizabeth was telling the truth.
When Amelia turned to go back to her bunk, Elizabeth said softly, “We had been married five months when the war started. Marcus didn’t believe in bloodshed. Our church prohibited his taking another man’s life, so when he was asked to fight, he declined, holding to his beliefs. The men of our community were angered by his refusal. After that, we were considered outcasts.”
Years of bitterness and resentment tumbled out of Elizabeth, word on top of word, as if by voicing her past she would be cleansed of the terrible ache she had lived with for too long.
“We farmed twenty acres outside of town, so we were busy most of the time. We were so young and in love that what went on with the rest of the world didn’t matter to us.” Her eyes filled with love. “We were so crazy in love. Marcus worked the fields, and I took care of the house.”
A tear rolled from the corner of her eye, and she self-consciously wiped it aside.
“It was raining the day it happened. Marcus was reading a farm journal, and I had just taken an apple pie out of the oven.” She paused, apparently recalling how much her husband loved pie. “When we heard the horses, we thought it was a neighbor coming to visit, although that would have been unusual. Folks didn’t much care for anyone who wasn’t willing to fight for their cause.”
Her features hardened, looking more like the Elizabeth that Amelia knew. “Some men, members of a vigilante group, met me at the door. I asked them what they wanted, and they cursed me, saying that Marcus was spineless for not fighting. They called him a coward and a disgrace to his brotherhood. When Marcus came to the door to see who was there, the men shoved me aside and dragged my husband out to the barn and hanged him there.”
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Pilar gasped softly.
“I tried to stop them. I pleaded and cried, but they wouldn’t listen. After Marcus was dead, they torched the house and the outbuildings. When they left,” Elizabeth whispered, “I cut Marcus’s body down and buried him. I stayed in what was left of the cabin for three days, not knowing what to do or where to turn. I was paralyzed with fear that the men would come back and do the same to me. The nights were cold, and it rained during the days. Finally, a neighbor to the east saw the smoke and came to investigate. When he learned what had happened, he and his wife took pity on me and let me stay with them until I could find a place to go.”
“What about your parents?” Mahalia asked quietly. “Couldn’t you have gone to them?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “My father died before I was born. Mother was young and scared, and she didn’t know what to do. We went to live with a cousin in Virginia. Cousin June died when I was fourteen. I had no one but Marcus.”
“What about your husband’s parents?” Amelia asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “There was only his father, who was in such poor health I couldn’t go to him and tell him about Marcus. The shock would have killed him.”
Sliding off her cot, Belicia knelt beside her. “I am so sorry, Elizabeth. We had no idea.”
Elizabeth lifted her head defiantly. “I don’t need your sympathy. I’m a survivor. Pray for the men who did this to Marcus. Ask that their souls will burn forever in hell.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, she straightened, her face showing none of her recent emotion. “I’m not the only one here who hasn’t lived a fairy-tale life.”
A few nodded. Mira said, “I, too, have suffered at the hands of others.”
Mira reached for Elizabeth’s tobacco pouch. “I’ll fix you a smoke, Elizabeth.”
A hint of warmth entered Elizabeth’s eyes when Bunny helped wipe away her lingering tears. “Thank you, Mira, Bunny.”
“You’re welcome, and if you ever need anything, you can come to me. You can trust me,” Bunny vowed.
Clearing her throat, Amelia added softly, “You have all of our friendships, if you want.” Knowing Morgan’s preference, it would hurt to befriend this woman, but Amelia could do it. “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God”—Sister Agnes would have quoted that verse.
Amelia and the Captain Page 15
