The River Palace: A Water Wheel Novel #3

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Maybe. It’s just that I feel like some kind of idiot. I feel like I need to get a job. Playing around shooting up the place isn’t really a job.”

  Denny gave him a sharp sidelong glance from his stomach-down position on the marble massage stand. “What are you talking about? Of course it’s a job. Hey, you’re my friend, Gage, but I’m telling you right now that the Queen of Bohemia is no charity concern. Uncle Zeke wouldn’t pay you if he didn’t think he was getting a return on his investment.”

  “I just can’t see it.”

  Patiently Denny said, “So, do you think that the Gypsies don’t have a real job, that they don’t deserve to be paid? Or Cara? No, you don’t think that. I know you’re like a babe in the woods in a lot of ways, Gage, but what you need to realize is that, just like the Gypsies and Cara, you’re what they call a ‘draw.’ You have a really outstanding, unusual skill, and besides that, people like you, they want to talk to you, they think you’re interesting. Even women,” he added slyly.

  “Yeah, and you know how much stock I put in that,” Gage said. “Who knows what’s going to strike a woman’s fancy in the next minute-and-a-half?”

  “I do,” Denny said. “I know women. They like you and they instinctively trust you, because it doesn’t take very long for even a half-wit to see that you’re a good, decent man.”

  Denny let Gage ruminate on that for awhile, then he continued, “About Cara. Uncle Zeke asked a friend of his, an aide of General Banks’s who has some kind of distant connection to that captain that died, to make some really detailed inquiries about that situation in Donaldsonville. I’m hoping by tomorrow we’ll hear some good news about it.”

  Gage realized he hadn’t thought about Cara since the last performance on the Queen two nights ago. “I forgot to even ask. Where is she? Where did she go?”

  “I tried to get her to stay on the Queen, because you know that Captain Humphries and the pilots really live on the boat, along with about fifty crew members, so we have one galley and the laundries going all the time. But she wouldn’t do it, she said it would be taking charity, and she had made so much money that she could stay at a boardinghouse. A respectable ladies’ boardinghouse, of course.”

  “Of course. Cara is really a courageous, independent-minded young lady.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. She looks like a fluffy little kitten, but she can be as tough as iron.” Very casually Denny continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about her, and her situation. And Nadyha.”

  “Nadyha? What do you mean?” Gage asked alertly.

  “It’s just so odd. Nadyha seems like the daring, flamboyant, world-wise one, and then there’s Cara, the innocent little farm girl. But I’ve realized that Nadyha has really had a much more sheltered life than Cara has. That fierce Gypsy loyalty to familia and vitsi, and the way they shun gajes, really effectively shuts out the real world.”

  Thoughtfully Gage said, “I never thought of it that way. You’re right, Denny. I guess maybe I really am just a dumb gaje.”

  “Nah. You’re smart. Especially for a Johnny Reb.”

  The famous Antoine’s fulfilled all of Gage’s expectations, with his menu choices of Oysters Meuniere, Pompano en croute, and succulent tenderloin flambé. Afterwards, Denny was telling the maitre’d to summon one of his endless cabs, when Gage finally protested. “Why can’t we just walk down to the Queen? It’s only five blocks. It’ll take more energy to hop in and out of the cab than it will to just take a nice after-dinner brisk walk.”

  “Ha! You called it ‘dinner.’ And taking cabs is what fritterin’ hoity-toity gentlemen like us do. Never mind, I guess I can stagger down to the docks.”

  As always, the July night in New Orleans was sultry, but it was refreshing after the close atmosphere of Antoine’s. The first three blocks of St. Louis heading toward the river was mostly residential, old Spanish colonial homes that reminded Gage of his apartment. As they neared the docks there were more coffeehouses, restaurants, and, of course, saloons and brothels. Gage and Denny were propositioned four times by “ladies of the evening” just crossing Chartres Street alone.

  As she always was, the Queen of Bohemia was fully lit by her deck lanterns, even though there were only crewmen on board. Gage savored the sight of the grand steamer towering over them. As they boarded and went up the Grand Staircase Denny said, “She is beautiful, isn’t she? A real, true queen. But I’m kinda surprised you wanted to come along with me, Gage. I’m afraid you’re going to be bored. I’m afraid I’m going to be bored.”

  “Bored? Not me. What else am I going to do with myself? Besides, I’m really interested in everything about the Queen, even the business side of it, which I can see you really aren’t. So why are you bothering to meet with your uncle anyway?”

  “I just decided that if I was going to play at big riverboat owner I might better get some idea of what I was playing at,” Denny said cheerfully. “I hate to admit it to anyone, me bein’ such a ne’er-do-well idle lazy fritterin’ gentleman and all, but after this last trip I have gotten interested in the crass commercial side of the business.”

  They went up to Zedekiah Wainwright’s palatial stateroom, and he greeted them in his usual hearty manner. The ship’s purser, A. J. Ruffin, was there for the business meeting. Gage had met him once, and as he shook hands with him, he thought of his earlier reflections about riverboat crews. Ruffin was nothing like a clerk; he was a thickly built man with shaggy black hair and shrewd black eyes and a craggy face. He had probably been on the river since his childhood, and was likely self-taught as far as bookkeeping for a steamer went.

  “Let’s sit down and have a drink before we get to the heavy lifting,” Wainwright said. “Mr. Kennon? I just today took delivery of a case of fine French brandy, how does that sound?”

  “No, thanks, just coffee, if Hervey’s already got some made,” Gage replied.

  “He doesn’t drink spirituous liquors,” Denny said.

  “Ever?” Wainwright said in astonishment.

  “I tried it once,” Gage said. “It doesn’t agree with me.”

  “You and your buddies stole a barrel of cheap beer when you were eleven years old,” Denny scoffed. “That’s hardly comparable to enjoying a good brandy.”

  “I was sick for a week, and believe me, even though it’s been fifteen years I still haven’t forgotten it,” Gage said with a wry smile. “Seems like it’s just more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “That’s my buddy Gage,” Denny said in an aside to his uncle.

  As the silent Hervey served Gage his coffee and the other men their stronger brews, Denny asked Ruffin, “So, A. J., how’d we do this trip? Seems like we must have done pretty well, the old girl was full to the brim coming and going.”

  “So she was, but as to how well we did, exactly, is a mystery to me,” he answered with a harassed air. “This is the first time since before the war that we were fully booked, and back then we had a very different pricing structure, and all of the costs were a lot lower. It’s going to take me and my assistants at least a week before we can nail it all down.”

  “And we steam in a week, and I’m already seeing problems,” Wainwright said, puffing on a newly lit fat cigar. “For one thing, first class out of New Orleans is booked full, round trip, so I couldn’t take anyone on in St. Louis, and they’re clamoring there, you know. I think we’re going to have to figure out a waiting list there and maybe even in Memphis.

  “And then, on top of that, I am now officially overbooked one cabin in first class. General Banks finally made his hints strong enough that it got through my thick head I’d better accommodate him and his family or I might be staying at a cheap flophouse on Bourbon Street next time we’re in port,” he finished irritably.

  “You aren’t going to kick Nadyha out, are you?” Denny asked in alarm.

  “Are you joking? Not hardly! I’ve got no intention of losing her to the French Opera House.”

  “French Opera House?” Gage repeated
in surprise.

  Denny said, “Did I forget to tell you? The St. Amants are patrons, and they’re interested in a production starring the Gypsies. And Cara, too.”

  “I can’t believe Ynes St. Amant tried to steal my Gypsies and my countess from me,” Wainwright growled. Then with a worried air he asked Denny, “You’re pretty sure they are coming back, aren’t you? I mean, they are Gypsies.”

  “Nadyha said they’re coming back, and so I know they are,” Denny replied. “All she would promise is for this next trip, but I think once she gets a little peace and quiet, and then has another successful run like the last one, which I’m sure it will be, she’ll want to stay. I really think she, and Niçu and Mirella and Baba Simza too, had the time of their lives. Until that vermin Frank Yargee showed up.”

  Ruffin suddenly said, “Mr. Wainwright, it slipped my mind until right this minute, I apologize, sir. The sheriff’s office in St. Louis sent us a telegram. The surgery was successful, but Yargee’s still in a deep stupor. They don’t seem to know if he’s going to come out of it or not.”

  Wainwright shrugged. “Not our problem. Fact is, the longer he’s out of commission, the longer it’ll be before you have to go deal with a trial in St. Louis, Mr. Kennon.”

  “Fine with me. It’s not something I was looking forward to, anyway.”

  “And I’d hate to lose Gage Kennon the Dead-Eye Sharpshooter, too,” Wainwright said expansively. “You know, it’s funny, I knew that would be a hit for the men, but I was amazed at the interest the ladies showed in yours and Niçu’s show.”

  “Told you,” Denny said snootily to Gage, then to his uncle he said, “I know you never thought you’d hear these words come out of my feckless mouth, but can we get back to business? What are we going to do about the first class overbooking?”

  “I wish I knew. All I can think of is to offer a discount if anyone in first class will take two second-class staterooms instead. Second class is only about two-thirds booked. But I know almost everyone booked in first class, and I can’t think of anyone who might settle for second class. Maybe I should talk to the Chalmers, or the Dutreuils. I know them best. I could offer them a discount on a later trip.”

  “That sounds more likely to happen than talking a first-class into taking second class,” Denny said.

  Gage said, “I may be sticking my nose into something I don’t know anything about, but that would be Denny’s fault for inviting me here in the first place. You do understand, don’t you, what all this problem with first class really is?”

  All three other men looked blank. Gage continued, “You’re not charging enough. If you’re fully booking round trips out of New Orleans, and you have a waiting list for first class, then that means your demand has outstripped your supply and you can charge more.”

  “I think that actually made some kinda sense,” Denny said slowly.

  “Of course it does, I should have seen that, it’s basic market economics,” Wainwright rasped. “I know that sometimes I just think of the Queen as more a personal thing than I do strictly business. Especially since I now have my successful stage career. Don’t laugh, Denny, you know you’re in the same shape I am, just doing it because we’re the owners, so we can, and it’s so much fun. Any other observations to make, Mr. Kennon?”

  “If you’re asking, then I’ll just observe that I already thought your second-class fares are a little too high for second-class kinds of people, which are successful tradesmen, owners of retail businesses, owners and higher management of mercantile and manufacturing concerns. Second class is just a little too pricey for some of them, and that’s why you might not have it fully booked.

  “As far as third class goes, in my opinion the fares look about right. But I think you’re spending way too much money on the food in the Sumava. You could serve crawfish stew instead of oysters. You don’t have to serve third class the same cut of steaks that you serve in first. You could serve third class red snapper or sheepshead instead of pompano. Little things like that could cut down your costs considerably, and I don’t think the third-class passengers would ever perceive a reduction in the overall quality of a voyage on the Queen.”

  Denny stared at Gage. “Is it just me, or does he sound really smart?”

  “It’s not just you,” Wainwright said. “A. J., how about if we go into a little more detail with Mr. Kennon, here, about his suggestions?” Ruffin looked wary, and Wainwright added hastily, “Don’t ever worry about your job, A. J., you’ve been with me since the Queen was built and you’re a good man. I just think it might help you and me both, and even my lazy worthless nephew, if we get, shall we say, a fresh perspective.”

  With obvious relief Ruffin said, “Yes, sir, I think you’re right.”

  Denny said, “And besides, A. J., Gage already has a job. It’s to shoot up the place.”

  BY THE TIME THE Gypsies and their animals got settled back into their camp, Nadyha was so exhausted that she felt dull-witted. She could hardly focus long enough to eat their late supper, a delicious beef and vegetable stew sent from the Queen of Bohemia. She fell into bed in her vardo, feeling a rush of warmth for the security of her home.

  After a long dreamless sleep, she was surprised to wake up late. She could tell by the light filtering in through the flower-veiled windows that it must have been about ten o’clock in the morning. The puppies were nestled close to her, and she snuggled with them for awhile, not thinking of anything in particular except how much pleasure the dogs gave her.

  When she finally got out of bed Nadyha had the most peculiar feeling. It was as if she had stepped through a doorway. A confusing, noisy, busy, hot, but exciting world was behind her, and as soon as she crossed the threshold she stepped into a completely different, but utterly familiar serene, quiet, certain and sure world. Nadyha had never been a lazy person, but on this day she allowed herself to forget about everything but bathing in the spring, playing with the puppies and Boldo, grooming the horses, and sitting with Baba Simza and Mirella and tatting lace. All of them really enjoyed this new kind of needlework.

  The only thing that troubled her, all day long, was that her two imaginary worlds kept colliding, and it was all because of Gage Kennon. He was gaje, and he belonged to that other world, the crazy world at the French Market and on the Queen of Bohemia that she had so gladly turned her back on. But everything in her own world, the Gypsy camp, reminded her of him. There was Cayenne, placidly “home” again with Tinar and Saz. Over by the old willow tree was where Gage had slept on his old bedroll. As Niçu worked in the lean-to, she remembered Gage helping him with the forge, and trying to learn to make fake Gypsy coins. When Niçu practiced with his knives, she recalled Gage trying to learn to throw knives, which he had been oddly clumsy at, to his irritated surprise and the Gypsies’ amusement. Every time she looked at the puppies, she couldn’t help but think of him. Even—or perhaps especially—when she bathed at the spring she thought of him. This was where she had first set eyes on him, and her mind overflowed with visions of him and the sound of his voice.

  That night, as they sat around the campfire and talked about the Queen of Bohemia and their travels, Nadyha finally found a mental solution to her odd disjointed feeling. That world, the troubling, even frightening one that she had fled from, was the gaje world. This world, her home, was the Romany world. Gage Kennon was a part of both of them; he had intersected them as surely as if he, too, were walking back and forth between the doorway. But it didn’t necessarily follow that it had to be that way forever.

  Why not?

  Just those two words popping into Nadyha’s head shocked her. What was she thinking? Whatever she might do tomorrow or next week or next year, Nadyha belonged in this world. She was Romany. Gage was gaje. It was just that simple.

  She didn’t sleep so well that night.

  Nadyha was, indeed, a strong person, and she was young and had a natural wellspring of vitality that she vaguely associated more with inheriting from her grandmother than with
her parents. The next day the thought of remaining idle all day, as she had dreamily done the day before, bored her. She tended the garden, and that took almost all day of hard work, for the weeds had grown more than the herbs and flowers. She was gratified to find that her elachi, her transplanted Grains of Paradise, were thriving. Although she was unaware of it, little by little she was forgetting the horror of the attack she had suffered, and she was being healed.

  One thing she was aware of, however, was that she constantly thought of Gage Kennon. It irritated Nadyha in the extreme, and she struggled to put him out of her mind, with little success. Still, she had a wonderful day, and that night she told the others that she’d like for them to sing after supper. She and Niçu practiced their duet from The Countess and the Gypsy Queen. Nadyha and Mirella had found that “Scarborough Fair” was even more beautiful when Mirella accompanied Nadyha’s guitar and lyrics on the recorder. They stayed up late, as they had when they were on the Queen, and Nadyha was more animated, and laughed more, than she had since the day that Yargee had found her down in the cargo hold.

  The next morning after breakfast she announced, “I’m going to the canebrake to cut some reeds. We have almost none left, and who knows? Next month we may need to make baskets to sell at the French Market.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Niçu asked.

  “What? Why should you? Of course not,” Nadyha said, a little too emphatically.

  Her pirogue was just where she had left it, and just as sound as ever. As she maneuvered it out into the shallow water and began to cut cane with her churo, she recalled the last time she’d been here. Gage Kennon had been with her. The memories were pleasant, like the marshy smell of the canebrake, the hot sun making a tiny lacework on her face as it streamed through her straw hat, the cry of the loons.

  But slowly as Nadyha worked, she became uneasy. The sudden thrip-thrip-thrip sound of a startled dove taking flight made her jump. She started looking around nervously, but the canebrake was like a solid wall of reeds encircling her. Nearby she heard a plop-plop, which could have been a bird or, more likely, just a despised frog, but Nadyha found herself straining hard to hear more sounds. Her eyes started cutting this way and that way in alarm.