Steam Over Stephensport: Steam Through Time Series - Book 2

by Carolyn Bond

  Her brain jerked awake in ratcheting thoughts of alarm, “Nnnnn,” she hummed, “Nnnnn, no.” He encircled her tighter like a python, pressing his kiss deeper.

  Without releasing her mouth, he said, “You belong to me, Lily. You can’t fight it. I feel the heat of your core calling to me.”

  She pushed against him to get away.

  “Go then, for now,” he dropped his arms, “but don’t think of denying me.”

  She ran and left the door ajar as she flew down the stone steps. Her heart pounded in her chest and the scenery was going past at sixty miles per hour. She couldn’t focus on anything but getting home.

  She rounded the drive that ended at Black’s Farm and a rush of relief washed over her. Home. She darted behind a tree, as though she were being pursued and the tears came. Leaning on her left forearm against the tree, she let loose of the racking sobs. All the fear and shock of her encounter with Brian bubbled up. Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she wept. Brian was everything she would never want in a mate. His controlling overbearing, entitled attitude made her scream. At the same time, his confidence, assertiveness, and drive was so seductive. The conflicting reactions in her made her head hurt.

  Startled, she jumped at the feel of a small fingers touching her right hand. “Ack!”

  “Don’t be frightened, Miss Wallingsford. It’s just me, Carlton.”

  She knelt down and smiled, relieved. She dashed the tears from her cheeks. Her heart was in her throat. Carlton was the picture of childlike innocence with big blue eyes. She tousled his golden honey hair.

  “What’s the matter, ma’am?”

  She sucked in a breath and then pushed down the anxiety, “Oh! I’m fine. Just a hard day.”

  “Oh, yes. I have hard days, too. Sometimes I bawl just like you were.” He smiled at her.

  “Sweet Carlton. You are such a dear boy.”

  His cheeks pinked. “Thank you, ma’am. You want some lemonade? Momma made some just now.”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  They walked together to the house. She was so glad to have the company of this sweet boy, but her mind kept replaying the scene at the schoolhouse.

  After dinner, William retired to his study and she sat with Bettie in the parlor.

  “Bettie, have, has—” she stammered. Bettie waited for her to find the words. “What I mean is, in your experience, is it common for men to, to beat or discipline women?” Her face turned as red as a tomato and she could feel the heat rise off her cheeks.

  Bettie studied her a minute before answering, “Generally, no. Not that I know of directly. That’s not to say it doesn’t happen. Of course, dear William would die a thousand deaths before he’d lift a hand to me. And of course, I’d throttle him if he tried. That works out well that way.” She chuckled.

  Bettie continued, “But there are men that consider women their property and feel they can do whatever they want. The old ‘rule of thumb’, you know?”

  “I had heard of that, but didn’t think, well, I thought that was back in the Middle Ages.”

  “Oh, darlin’! For all the finery and talk of enlightenment, I can assure you, behind closed doors, it is still very much the Middle Ages. You’ll never prove it, but if you watch, you see the signs. Women who don’t come out in public for a week or so. Chances are they are nursing bruises. We have very little rights. That’s why you have to be very careful who you marry. Even then, men hide their ways until it’s too late. That Brian Everbright seems nice, doesn’t he?” Her voice floated with a pregnant pause as though she suspected trouble.

  Lily’s eyes shot up like a laser. “I can’t say.”

  “Think long and hard, Lily. A man like him can change everything.”

  A tear slipped from the corner of Lily’s eye.

  “Now, there, honeycakes.” Bettie scooted toward her and pulled out a white handkerchief with pink embroidery around the edge. She handed it to Lily.

  “This is too pretty to wipe my face with!” said Lily.

  Bettie let out a belly laugh, “Honeycakes, you are too pretty for that handkerchief. It’s the one that should be worried.”

  They both laughed and Bettie put her arm around Lily’s shoulders and squeezed. “At least you don’t have to choose between him and Mr. McEwen anymore.”

  “But how would I know what’s best?”

  Bettie smiled at her. “No man is perfect or they would be Jesus, himself. So, get that notion out of your head first. Secondly, know what is most important to you. Lastly, find the man who shares that sentiment and forgive him the rest.”

  “It seems so easy when you say it like that.”

  “Oh, honey! That last bit about forgiving him the rest is the hardest part. It’s a cost for getting what’s truly important. Sometimes, a high cost. And then some women will expect him to change the imperfect part, even though they got their most important desire. That’s unfair to him and a fool’s errand for you.”

  ***

  Light flashing in his eyes pushed away the blessed sleep. He felt cold fingers on his cheekbone and eyebrow. His eyes fluttered open as he tried to turn his head to the side. “Stop that!”

  “Whoa! Nelly! I’m just seeing if you are sleeping or in a coma! You weren’t waking up.”

  “I’m in no coma! Stop blinding me!”

  Dr. Cooke sighed and straightened. She stood beside the bed. “I’m glad to see you are conscious.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “It’s been several hours since we last talked. You lost a great deal of blood before you got to me and then during your sleep, you got restless and tore your stitches open. I actually stitched you closed again and you never woke up. I was beginning to get worried about you.”

  “I see.” He glanced at the window. The black sky was dotted with sparkling stars. The oil lamp glowed on the small chest of drawers behind her. “It’s late, isn’t it?”

  “It is. My husband and I are staying here at the clinic tonight so I can be close by.”

  “Yer husband? You’re married?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Does that surprise you?”

  “I just- I mean, aye. How do you have time to be a doctor?”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “We all get twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I mean, how do you manage a home and family with yer work?”

  “Very well, thanks. My work affords me an income to hire others to do wash and cook meals. As for children, well, God has not blessed me with them.”

  He studied her as she waited for his response to her answer. She was a remarkably handsome woman. He wondered if she was a pampered wife of a wealthy man that let her play at what she wanted. “What does yer husband do?”

  “My husband has a lumber mill here in town.” She didn’t appear affected at all by his questions as though she was accustomed to such a response. “Does that surprise you?”

  “A bit. It is unusual.”

  “Go ahead and ask your next question. I know it’s there.”

  His eyebrow pressed down at her request. The question was there. He just couldn’t in good conscious bring himself to ask it.

  She sighed, “You are wondering how my husband feels about my career.”

  Both brows shot up this time.

  “He is very proud of me, as I am of him.”

  Evan smiled. It made such sense. Of course her husband would be proud. Why was that hard to imagine? He had known women who were healers or teachers or seamstresses, but they all quit their career when they married. Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t fair for them to feel like they had to do that. “He is a good man.”

  “I am quite lucky. I know that.”

  “Were ye finished with medical school when ye met him?”

  “No. We have known each other since we were children. He always knew my dream was to be a doctor. He asked me to marry him when I was sixteen but said he would wait until my education was finished. When I graduated and finished my internshi
p, I came back and opened my infirmary. Then we were married. There was never a question about my career.”

  “Do you think it would have been different if you had met your husband after you finished school?”

  She thought for a minute and then said, “No. I would never sacrifice my dreams to please another. If I had met him afterward, either he would have to love me with my dreams or he would not have truly loved me.”

  Evan nodded. “The way ye put it, it makes perfect sense.”

  “How could it not make sense? Loving another means letting them be who they are.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He smiled.

  “You know, I don’t even know your name?”

  “Evan McEwen.”

  “So what was your business on the Granite State?”

  He looked away before answering, “Traveling.”

  “I see. Traveling to something or away from something?”

  He looked back and searched her eyes.

  “I see a great deal in this river city. I’ve found there are three kinds of men. One works on the paddle wheelers. One is running from something and the last is searching for something. Captain Marr told me you were not one of his regular men, so you have to be one of the last two possibilities.”

  He smirked at her, amused at her ability to deduce his story. “Maybe a little of both.”

  She smiled. “Where is your heart? Did you leave it behind or is it downriver?”

  “I can see why yer a good doctor. Ye have a way of getting to the root of a problem.”

  “I believe a doctor should treat the whole person, not just the body.”

  “My heart,” he paused, “is firmly planted in my chest and not staying anywhere it’s not wanted.”

  “Ah. There we go. She turned you down?”

  He pursed his lips and closed his eyes. “I’m a realist, ma’am.”

  She tilted her head studying him. “So, you didn’t wait around to see if she chose you or another. That’s not a realist. It’s someone who’s afraid.”

  His chest swelled as his eyes widened. “Afraid? No, ma’am. I’m not afraid.”

  “You gave up your life there to avoid being the one empty handed if she chose another. That sounds like fear to me.”

  “You’re wrong! All due respect, ma’am, but-”

  She interrupted, “What if she loves you?”

  He stared at her in silent shock.

  “That is what you need to be afraid of.” She got up and started to leave. Before closing the door behind her, she said, “I’ll check on you in the morning.”

  ***

  Lily couldn’t sleep. Her fury had calmed to where the only thing running through her was his words: You will cease teaching the girls to write. It is absolutely forbidden.

  His threats seemed ludicrous. What burned her up the most was not that girls of this time were forbidden to learn to write, but rather that only privileged girls were taught. Girls from wealthy families were sent to private schools and educated to be quite literate. This decision by Brian and the rest of the town council was meant just for the poor and middle-class girls. It was forcing a class of women to stay down. She couldn’t understand what difference it made as long as the boys still got all the attention they deserved. Why couldn’t she teach the girls?

  The only obvious answer was that Brian and those like him wanted to make sure they stayed at the top of the heap. They were pulling up the gang plank. It ensured there was a lower class to raise them up in society. After all, if just anyone could make it, then what pride could a privileged class have for merely existing?

  Evan’s face came to mind. She could see him working his brother’s estate, never able to move ahead. He would never be the laird unless by some tragedy. No matter how hard he worked, his place was set.

  “But isn’t that why America is different? And if we are different, why are they trying to hold these girls back just to keep themselves ahead?”

  She imagined Evan stepping off a ship in America and having the hope of making a life that was built with his own hands. All the hope of possibilities was there in his eyes. Something tickled her mind. That look was familiar. Then she saw her girls in her mind. They were sitting around her in the classroom listening to her as she told them she would teach them to write. They knew. Education meant everything. They may never be wealthy, but being literate would give them power over their own life.

  She wondered where Evan was. Out the window, she saw the stars twinkling against the black void of space. Somewhere under God’s heaven, Evan was out there. A longing grew in the pit of her stomach. She imagined him lying in a bed shirtless with his hand behind his head. A nervous thrill struck her like lightening as she imagined his chiseled torso. Muscles, well-trained from steadying a plow or wielding an ax, formed a shadowed undulation of flesh.

  With all the force of a real slap, reality struck her that he was gone. Her ambivalence had let him slip through her fingers. She had chased a life of comfort and found only shadows. A life with Brian would be a nightmare. A tear welled in the corner of her eye and finally rolled down her cheek.

  “Oh, grandma! It’s no better here than in my own time.”

  ***

  Evan dreamed of Lily all night. He searched for her in the woods. He would get close to her and she would evaporate. He could hear her giggle at him and he felt like a fool. Then he would see her in a clearing in Brian’s arms. Brian would laugh at him and squeeze Lily tighter while groping her backside. He would try to run to her and she would tell him to stay away.

  He was relieved to wake up when the doctor opened the door carrying his breakfast tray.

  “Good morning, Mr. McEwen. Here’s a good breakfast. How do you feel?”

  “Well enough, it seems.” He pushed himself up in bed with one arm causing the sheet to fall around his waist. His flexed left bicep gave the impression he was healthy as an ox. The sling holding his right arm still was the only giveaway that this man was not Hercules himself. Locks of dark wavy hair covered the side of his face as he looked down and realized he was half naked. He pulled the sheet back up to cover his chest.

  She put the tray with short legs down over his lap. I think you are doing well enough to go soon. Let me check your wounds.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. I thank ye, kindly.”

  The doctor undid the knot at the back of his neck releasing the sling. He winced as his arm straightened. “Yes. You’ll be sore for a bit. Those muscles pull on your wound.” She then began to unwind the strip of cloth that wrapped around his chest and back. When she got it halfway unwrapped, she was able to see the square of white cotton over the wound and pealed back the corner to take a peak. “It’s healing well. No infection. A fine job, if I say so myself. Keep it covered and clean.” She rewound the strip of fabric around him and tucked it in. Then she gently lifted the ends of the sling fabric and retied it behind his neck.

  “I see no reason not to release you this morning.”

  “That’s good. I can be on my way.”

  “And where is that, Mr. McEwen?”

  “Farther down river, I suppose.”

  She made tisk tisk noises.

  “You don’t approve?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Just a hunch I have. I know what half a man looks like when I see him.”

  “Half a man?” he grimaced.

  “I can treat your body, but your heart is still torn. You thrashed in your bed all night searching for her. Go back, Mr. McEwen.”

  He sighed. He knew she was right. Something felt wrong. He had to go back.

  Some hours later he was standing on the dock waiting for a paddle wheeler to tie off and open its decks. His left arm was in a sling to protect the muscles that were healing in his chest. His brown overcoat was slung around his left shoulder over his arm. A man in a captain’s hat stepped off onto the deck.

  “Sir!” Evan stepped forward to get his attention. “I w
as wondering if ye might have some work aboard that I could do to earn passage to Stephensport, Kentucky.”

  The captain looked at his arm and then back at Evan’s face. “What could a one-armed man actually do on a boat?”

  Evan was stumped himself and paused. “I, I,” he stammered.

  “Sorry, buddy. I can’t help you.”

  As the captain was about to turn away, Evan blurted, “I can clean. I mean, I can wipe down tables and walls. I can polish brass fittings.”

  The captain studied him for a minute and then said, “All right. Get started. Ask for Danny in the kitchen and tell him to find you some polish and a rag.”

  Evan smiled and tipped an imaginary hat. The captain sauntered off and Evan stepped aboard.

  After the crew shared a midday meal, the paddle wheeler pulled away from the dock and floated freely on the brown churning river. Evan worked on brass lanterns and fittings on the bow, rubbing the polish in to reveal a yellow shine. Going upriver was slower than coming downriver. The two-story behemoth slowly splashed against the white caps.

  This paddle wheeler carried passengers as well as a small amount of cargo. Staterooms lined the port and starboard decks on the first floor. The second floor housed the dining room and observation deck. White wrought iron railings lined the edge of the open-air observation deck above him. He was taking in the details of this river belle when he looked up to find a lady watching him from above. When she saw him look her way, she turned away as a proper lady would. Her blue and white gown glowed in the afternoon sun. Her white parasol fluttered in the gentle breeze.

  Evan was painfully aware of his status as the working class. In Scotland, he garnered some respect as the laird’s brother. In America, though, there was no caste system. Right of birth made no difference unless the family you were born into happened to be wealthy. That same family could be thrust into the lower class if they lost their wealth.