Morgan. Dear, dear Morgan. Thank God he lived through the war. Oh, how I wish I could talk to Morgan. He’d understand. She continued reading the letter that had been so long in coming. Cousin John, Jr. had married a local girl and they were expecting their first baby. Cousin Leon was all grown up and now sowing wild oats at the saloons that had sprung up to accommodate the army trade. Aunt Florence added a postscript that she especially wanted the O’Malley family to join them. It was a land of opportunity open to homesteading.
Tears appeared in Tom Macy’s eyes when she told him she was leaving. He offered to pay her fare, but all she wanted him to do was help her get a singing job on the riverboat.
“You’ve done enough for me. I’ll remember you and what all you did for me the rest of my life. I want to work for passage, Tom. I have some money saved from my teaching days at Larkspur, but I’ll need it further down the road.”
Tom reached for his pocketbook. “Please let me….”
Dayme shook her head. “I must do this on my own, without help from anybody.”
Liquor flowed like water in spite of the economic depression that gripped the country. The elaborately furnished Mississippi Duchess was a gambling boat and it flourished during the hard times as men drowned heartache in forgetful juice. The elegance of attentive white-coated waiters, the plush furnishings and the food were outstanding. About twenty-four dessert choices were on the menu of the exclusive upper deck. Wine and champagne made people feel pampered as if the good times of yesteryear still existed.
The lower deck was a different story. It was cluttered with wagons, freight, chicken coops and not so affluent pioneers hoping to find a better life in the west.
Meanwhile, Benjamin had hoped that after a cooling off period, the girl would come to her senses and return to the plantation. He needed her to run the school while he was away at Harvard. Without her, the school was in chaos. Joe and Lucy had tried to keep it going, but they didn’t command the respect that Dayme did. The couple didn’t know how to teach. They were students themselves.
The girl had caused him nothing but trouble and lost time, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Time after time, he’d driven into Vicksburg with only one purpose…to get Dayme out of that saloon. He felt responsible for her. He felt like a failure in his quest to lift the girl up, a failure at keeping his promise.
All my efforts to find an eligible man to take her off my hands have come to naught, he thought. I was relieved when she turned me down that day in the tree house, but I have never become accustomed to rejection. Suddenly he realized that he didn’t really want her out of his life, and that bothered him. She just isn’t right for me, and yet…. Could I be falling in love with the girl?
He envisioned himself as a Washington lawmaker sometime in the future. No. Dayme wouldn’t exactly be an asset. She is too spontaneous and outspoken. On the other hand, she has a certain naive charm and would look beautiful hanging on my arm. I have always pictured Molly in that roll, but her trail vanished in Ohio. The Pinkerton men discovered that she attended Oberon College, but where did she go from there? I have exhausted all avenues of finding missing persons through dozens of Pinkerton men. They searched courthouse documents in the general area to no avail. Where could Molly be?
Regardless of what his head told him, Benjamin ached to hold Dayme again and feel the softness of her body against his. He’d been able to think of little else in recent days. The nights were even worse. Memories of their rendezvous in the tree house constantly haunted him. One way or the other, he had to see her and make her understand his motives in church that day. He was trying to protect her reputation. He told himself it was an obligation. The least he could do for Lawrence was to make an honest woman of her since he’d ruined her chances for a successful marriage. Who would want her now? He pondered. She is used merchandise. If she marries another, the man would know immediately. He’d probably leave her, and the gossip would surface again. Oh yeah, Morgan would still want her. The thought galled him.
The Scotch-Irish proprietor told Benjamin that Dayme left town but refused to reveal her destination. No amount of urging on Benjamin’s part could get Tom Macy to change his mind. “That little Colleen is like a daughter to me,” Tom told him. “I remember the night Ruby brought her to my cellar during the shelling. Soaking wet she was… bare foot and all eyes. She was scared to death and hungry, hadn’t eaten in days.” He chuckled, remembering her words. “That little darlin’ set me straight right off. She said, ‘I ain’t no chippy, Mister’.” He wiped a glass with a dishtowel and chewed on an unlit cigar. “She told me not to tell, and I’m not tellin’.”
Holly, however, finally broke down and told him. She knew how Dayme felt about Benjamin and thought it was romantic that he would try so hard to find her. She held out for a while, but as he was buttoning his shirt, she told him. “She’s headed for Texas, Benji. Took a singing job on the Mississippi Duchess. Left port day before yesterday.”
Benjamin frowned and heaved a long sigh. “That girl…that unreasonable, high-tempered girl. She doesn’t have to work for passage. If she were bent on going to see her relatives, hell, I’d have paid her way. In the Ladies’ Cabin, I hope?”
“Both. She’ll entertain in both.”
“Damn.” Hurriedly, he rushed downstairs and crossed the barroom floor in giant strides. He waited at the depot for what seemed like hours for a southbound train. He caught up with the boat in Port Gibson and spoke with the captain. It irritated him that the girl would set foot in such a masculine place as the Gentlemen’s Cabin.
By rights, I ought to let her go…forget her. The idea of padding down the Mississippi River in a gambling boat, he fumed. He took a stool at the bar and ordered a drink, wondering what he would say to her…how to begin. Why can’t I just let her go? It’s the perfect answer, he thought, for her to get out of my life for good. Still, his conscience nagged at him. His moral upbringing wouldn’t go away. Father told me when I was just a lad, never to ruin an innocent girl. And he told me, if ever I did, I should do the honorable thing and marry her. It troubles me.
A Shakespearean actor was entertaining at the moment with a one-man rendition of Hamlet’ spoken in perfect King’s English. Benjamin was amused at the man’s attire…purple tights under short, blousy green striped britches, an orange braided vest over a white, puffy-sleeved shirt. There was a three-cornered black hat with an ostrich feather perched on the back of his head, and a yellow cape was flipped over a shoulder. His shoes were curl-toed, soft brown leather. A wooden sword hung from the hip to just below the knee.
“…’T is now the very witching time of night,” the actor quoted, “when churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world….”
Apart from his comical appearance, the thespian was, in Benjamin’s opinion, quite talented. He lit his pipe and took another sip of bourbon. “Shut up!” A drunken townsman yelled. “If we wanted to hear preaching, we’d go to church!”
“Yeah,” another man hollered, “Send Shakespeare to the Ladies’ cabin. I don’t want t’ hear no prissy-assed hermaphrodite recite. Bring on the girls.”
Immediately, as if by magic, the pompous, silver-haired master-of-ceremonies appeared center stage to switch the acts. He was immaculately dressed in a white, ruffled shirt with a high celluloid collar, powder blue silk top hat with matching trousers and tails. The former circus barker’s eloquent speech was as silver as his hair. He was smooth and glib in the entertainment art and an astute calmer of displeased audiences. Dozens of swashbuckling men who left their seats for a barstool during the Shakespearean act now scrambled for front row tables. Benjamin remained in the background at the bar.
Amid cheers and whistles, the master-of-ceremonies announced the next entertainer as the “newest toast of the Mississippi”. “One look at this little doll,” he said with a wink, “is enough to lift any man’s…uh…spirits. I present Miss Dayme O’Malley!”
Oh Lord, Benjamin though
t, glancing around at the crowd of eager cheering men, she could have at least used a pseudonym. Shaken by the mere sight of her, he braced himself. He took a long drag from the pipe and another sip of bourbon. “Vultures,” he muttered under his breath. “Every man here hopes to get to her.” He was determined though not to make a scene.
An upbeat old Foster song, ‘Camp Town Races’, put the men in a party mood. Everyone knew the tune and clapped along to keep time. Everyone, that is, except Benjamin. The next song was a ditty making the saloon circles that Benjamin thought was far too suggestive. He felt a slow burn as the men guffawed at Dayme’s antics, and it took all the strength he could muster to sit still and show no emotion. I have to admit one thing, he thought. Dayme damn sure knows how to hold a man’s attention.
Her voice changed abruptly from wise in the ways of the world to incredulous sweet innocence. “I wrote this original song for my lover,” she said softly. “Nobody, not a single, solitary soul has ever heard this private song before. Not even him. I call it ‘The Torch Song’.” Her song was from the heart, low and dreamy. The crowd of boisterous men grew quiet and attentive.
“I want to brush away a dream, dear,
A dream I had of you.
I want to clear my heart of you, dear,
And start my life anew.”
It was at that moment that her eyes came to rest on Benjamin, and they immediately misted. At first, she was abashed that he heard her love song, but trouper that she was, Dayme finished it, her gaze never flickering from Benjamin’s face. She sang only to him. He showed absolutely no emotion.
“So put away your Sunday manners,
I want to see you as you are.
Climb off that pedestal, my darling,
And help me brush away the stars.”
One middle-aged toper wept openly as a stinging tear in her limpid emerald eyes spilled down her cheek.
“I want to brush away a dream, dear,
And you can help me if you will.
I want to clear my heart of you, dear,
So tell my heart be still.
Please tell me you don’t love me
And you don’t want me now.
Make me sorry I ever met you
So I’ll forget this love…somehow.”
Dayme didn’t wait for curtain calls. She rushed offstage into the direction of her stateroom, hoping Benjamin didn’t see the tear.
Hastily paying his check, Benjamin pushed through the throng of people on the deck. “Dayme, wait!” he called after her, but she slammed the door and leaned against it. “Open the door! Dayme, this is childish.”
“Go away! I never want to see you again. You…you always put me down. You humiliated me.”
“What? It’s the other way around, if you ask me.”
“That…that mock trial you staged at my expense. I wanted to fade into the woodwork. Quit feeling sorry for me. You don’t owe me nothing, and you don’t own me neither.”
“Anything and either. You’re using double negatives again.” He corrected as he lunged his weight against the heavy door.
“You better not damage this door, or I’ll lose my job!”
“Good.” He lunged again, but his time she opened the door, and he fell halfway across the room, looking so foolish that Dayme giggled in spite of her heartache.
Benjamin struggled to his feet and reached for her, but she backed away. “Don’t touch me! I hate you!” she cried.
Benjamin grinned with tongue in cheek. “That’s not what your song said. Holly gave me an old letter from Lawrence she found in your things. He knew all along that you loved me not him. The promise…it was actually his blessing.”
“I do not!” she fumed. “You had no business reading my mail. Oh, now I get it. You had to have a dead man’s approval.”
Unable to reason with the hysterical girl as the argument continued, Benjamin suddenly grabbed Dayme and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of sugar. “One way or the other, you will listen to what I have to say.”
“Put me down!” she cried. “Put me down this instant!”
Paying no heed to her angry cries, Benjamin wound his way through the crowd of curious onlookers gathered in the corridor. The volatile bundle he carried protested all the way.
“Young man,” a stately matron demanded. “Are you abducting this girl? Put her down.”
Benjamin paused for a moment, grinning mischievously. “My wife, Madam. Runs away every little whipstitch…a game she plays to get me to run after her.”
“He’s lying! I don’t even know this man!”
“Hush, darling,” Benjamin soothed. He shrugged helplessly to the group and continued on.
A tipsy gentleman smiled knowingly. “Got yourself a little wildcat. Once you tame her, she’ll settle down and make a good wife. I recommend a sound spanking. All women need one from time to time. It makes them feel loved.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll try that.”
“I hate you!” Dayme screamed, beating him in the back with her fists.
Ignoring her cries, he walked in long strides until he reached the steps to the lower deck, winding his way through the freight, wagons, chicken coops and people.
“It’s better,” a staunch pioneer woman quoted grimly from the book of Proverbs as the couple passed, “to live in the wilderness than with a brawling woman in a wide house.” Benjamin tipped his hat and kept walking.
Meanwhile, the Shakespearean actor had found a captive audience on the lower deck while waiting to perform in the Ladies Cabin…a good time to rehearse his lines. This time, he quoted from Troilus and Cressida. “…He like a puling cuckoid, would drink up the lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece. You! Like a lecher out of whorish loins are pleased to breed out your inheritors….”
A bearded backwoodsman took the quote as a personal insult. Rolling his sleeves, the man spit out a chew of tobacco and let the thespian have it right between the eyes, sending him sprawling. Fire shot from the irate man’s eyes as he drawled, “I’ll have you know that my mama was a woman! She warn’t no whore! You take that back. Get up and fight like a man.”
Amused, Benjamin paused to watch the developing scene. Dayme even stopped her yelling.
“I…I didn’t mean to offend you, Sir,” the trembling actor apologized. “Shakespeare said it.”
“I don’t give a hoot in hell who said it. You got your nerve repeatin’ gossip to my face, fellar.” The backwoodsman hit the man again, this time under the chin. “And dod-rotten it, that’s fer my wife. She ain’t no ‘fat tamed piece’!” Reaching down with a beefy hand, he pulled the shaken actor up by the shirt and slapped him flat-handed across the face. “I’ll learn you t’ talk vulgar in front o’ my fam’ly and fer callin’ me a puking cuckoo!”
With hands raised to fend off blows, the stunned and bruised actor bowed slightly while backing away. He scampered to the safety of the second level.
Continuing on with his protesting bundle, Benjamin crossed the gangplank. He didn’t stop until he reached an isolated, moonlit grassy knoll under a magnolia tree. There, he gently set Dayme down, gathered her in his arms and smothered still protesting lips with a kiss. The battling girl wilted like a thirsty morning glory in the warmth of his embrace. Two creamy arms crept around his neck. “You don’t play fair,” she whispered weakly as she leaned against his chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Telling folks I’m your wife.”
He chuckled. “I was desperate.”
“Oh, Benjamin, I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard not to love you. It makes me so unhappy.”
Snuggling into her soft, silky hair, his lips sought hers again. “You talk too much,” he muttered.
Her parted lips were wet and inviting. The full August moon made a shimmering silver streak over the ripples of the river. Sweet perfume that Dayme wore mingled with the romantic scent of magnolia blossoms while two hearts blended until they were serene and relaxed on the soft green turf. A flock of mockingbir
ds in the tree above persisted in serenading the lovers. Benjamin chunked a stick into the thick branches. A flutter of wings, and the birds departed.
“I didn’t want it to be like this…on…on a riverbank,” he finally told her.
“You make it sound dirty. We made love. It’s only natural. The lightning bugs have come out to play. They make love, too,” she said dreamily.
“Fireflies,” he corrected.
“You call them what you want. I’ll call them what I want. Lightning bugs.” She gathered a handful of pebbles to skim into the river. “Finally heard from my Aunt and Uncle. They live on a ranch near Menardville, Texas. That’s where I’m headed.”
“Look, I don’t blame you for wanting to see your relatives. Wait until my graduation from Harvard next spring and I’ll take you there myself. I need you at Larkspur to keep the school going in my absence.”
“So? Hire another teacher.”
“It’s not that. I feel responsible,” he said in a brooding tone. “For taking away your innocence.” He sighed deeply. “I suppose we should marry. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I want you so…I….”
“Then love me again,” she whispered.
Benjamin struggled with his conscience. “Let’s make it legal…not cheap…on a riverbank. We’ll find a preacher and….”
“What do you mean ‘cheap’?” Dayme was perturbed. “If that’s the way you feel, the answer is ‘no’. Not until you can really truly love me for no reason at all.” Her voice was dead serious. “I’m going to Texas. That’s all there is to it.”
“Where Morgan is searching for lost treasure,” he said stiffening, his voice tinged with jealousy. “You’re going to him. That’s why this trip is so all-fired important….”
Dayme laughed. “Morgan is the best friend I ever had. Stop me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I hear you suggest when you first returned from the war, that Morgan was the man for me?”
“It’s different now,” he replied sullenly. “That was before…. It’s too dangerous. That’s Comanche country.”
Child of the River Page 15
