River Queen

by Gilbert, Morris

  He nodded, then made a half-turn so he wasn’t looking at her. He pulled his shirt over his head and wrung it out, then quickly shed his trousers, so all he was wearing was his ankle-length felt underpants. He picked up Julienne’s cloak, which must have weighed ten pounds, and wrung it out as best as he could.

  Julienne felt numb and stupid, as if she were in a troublesome dream. She took off her corset and her four petticoats, so all she was wearing was her chemise and pantalettes. They too were soaked of course, but they were of such thin material that she was sure they would dry quickly.

  The hay was piled into a corner of the little barn, and Dallas pulled on it and worked with it until there was a bed. “Come on, Julienne,” he said quietly. Obediently she lay down, and he pushed piles of hay around the bed. He lay down beside her, pulled a thick layer of hay over them, then spread her cloak on top of it. Without a word he turned to her, put his arms around her, and pulled her close.

  She shivered and shivered, and she thought perhaps her brain might be frozen, too, because it seemed that she wasn’t thinking at all. Images darted through her mind, flashing through in brief moments like the lightning, of the boat burning, of Dallas’s grim face above her, of Tyla coughing, of Dallas’s desperate calls out over the raging river, of Tyla, lying in the bunk, of water crashing in. Her breaths grew shallow and distressed and Dallas murmured, “Don’t faint again, Julienne. Stay with me, stay with me.” He began to stroke her back, softly and gently, a comforting caress that a mother might give a sick child.

  Julienne made herself think, made herself concentrate on breathing, on trying to relax and let the heat from Dallas’s body warm her.

  Finally, dreamily, she lay pliant in his arms, savoring his breath on her face, the closeness and radiant warmth of him. She was, perhaps, more aware of her own body than she had ever been, and she felt a stirring in herself that slowly turned in a burning heat that she had never known. She felt the hard muscling of his chest, his flat stomach, the bulky strength of his arms. She made no conscious choice; she only did what she wanted to do, what she felt compelled to do. She reached up, put her hand on the back of Dallas’s neck, pulled his head down, and pressed her lips to his.

  As he kissed her, Julienne felt the soft, wild half giving and half receiving in her own body. Everything for that moment was unreal: the sinking of the ship, the desperate fight to stay alive, and the wind howling outside their cocoon, but his warmth was real, and the touch of his lips on hers was real. She felt that his caress kept loneliness and fear away. Though Julienne was innocent, she became aware that Dallas’s growing passion made a turbulent eddy around them both, and she knew that he was not alone in his desires. She returned his kiss with a fierceness that shocked her.

  At that instant Julienne was helpless and open to his strength. All she wanted in that moment was love and assurance and security and hope, and they all seemed to lie within his arms.

  Suddenly Dallas jerked, took a deep breath, and turned his head away. Then he halfway sat up and moved away from her. His desertion stunned Julienne. “What’s the matter?” she whispered and tried to pull him back.

  Dallas caught her hand, pressed it to his lips, and didn’t answer for a moment. When he did his voice was hoarse. “This isn’t right, Julienne. You’ve had a bad shock, and you’re not yourself.”

  Julienne could not believe what was happening. She had offered herself to him as she never had to a man, and he was refusing her. She cried, “Don’t you want me?”

  Gutturally he said, “Of course I do, you’re a beautiful, desirable woman. But not like this. You would hate yourself, but you’d hate me more. No, Julienne.”

  Julienne was devastated. He had rejected her! Shame crawled through her like a sickness. Turning over quickly she curled up into a defensive ball, her eyes tightly shut. For long moments she grimaced, fighting desperately not to weep again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice desolate. “But you’re still too cold. I’ll try—I won’t—” He put his arm across her and started to pull her close, but Julienne was like a stone.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said between gritted teeth. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

  He sighed deeply, piled more hay over her, then doubled her cloak to cover her with it. He lay back, staring at the filthy roof of the barn.

  Julienne could hear his breathing and knew he wasn’t asleep. Even though she was so stiff and tense she was almost paralyzed, as the moments passed she knew she was drifting off to sleep from utter exhaustion.

  He turned me away! He rejected me! And he’s nothing but a roughneck, a man so common and beneath me that he shouldn’t even be able to look at me!

  The last thought she had before she drifted off into the now-welcoming darkness was that she thought she now knew what true hatred was. She hated Dallas Bronte.

  JULIENNE BECAME AWARE OF Dallas stirring, and even though he wasn’t touching her she knew that he had gotten up. She turned over and managed to push herself up to a sitting position. A dreary gray light came through the cracks of the barn, and a steady rain beat on the tin roof. It was a dawn most miserable and cold. Hurriedly she grabbed her cloak and held it to her chest.

  Dallas wasn’t looking at her anyway. He already had his breeches on, and he was pulling his shirt over his head. Even through the thick fog of her mind Julienne admired the breadth and deeply wrought muscles of his chest, but swiftly the memories of the night overtook her, and she turned her head away. “What are you doing?” she asked hoarsely.

  “I know the Landers plantation is two miles upriver from here,” he answered. “I’m going to walk up there and bring back help.”

  His words sent a cold shiver through Julienne, and she realized that she desperately did not want him to leave her, no matter what had happened between them. He was her tenuous hold on life, and sanity. Without him, she thought, she would sit in this horrible wreck of a barn and cry and hope that she would die. “No. I mean, I’m coming with you,” she said, struggling to rise. She was so weak, and her entire body was as sore and pained as if she’d been beaten with a club.

  He watched her gravely, then came forward to help her stand, still clutching her cloak like a shield. “Do you really think you can walk that far? It’s two miles by river. I don’t know how far the river road is from here. You’ve been through a very bad time, and you’re sick and weak.”

  “Stop telling me how I feel,” Julienne said angrily. She clung to her anger, welcoming it, for it was her only defense against the miserable shame hovering in her mind like a cruel cloud. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m coming with you, and don’t worry, you won’t have to carry me.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” he said, trying to lighten the ugly tone.

  She glared at him, then waded through the hay to where he had hung her petticoats and dress on the low wall of the horse’s stall.

  Defeated, he said, “I’ll wait outside.”

  It took her a long time to dress. Her clothes were still wet and heavy and she had so little strength. But Julienne had made up her mind that she could do this; she had to do this, because being left alone terrified her. Somehow she summoned her strength and began to try to dress herself. Immediately she realized that it was impossible for her to tie up her own corset; in fact, she couldn’t even button her dress. I can’t even dress myself! Oh, Tyla, Tyla, whatever am I going to do without you? she thought, and deep desolation threatened to overwhelm her. But after a moment she fiercely fought it off. Throwing her corset carelessly aside, she pulled on her dress and considered her petticoats. She had two thick cotton ones and a wool one, and they were all still wet. The woolen one stank. With disgust Julienne put on her cloak over her loose dress, pulled it close around her, and walked out of the barn.

  Dallas stood there, searching the threatening sky. At the moment it wasn’t raining, but from the lo
wering clouds even Julienne could tell it might start again at any time. He pointed to a path that led to the east, up a gentle incline. “I’m sure that leads to the river road. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” Without looking at him she started walking. The path was ankle-deep in mud, and she hadn’t gone very far before she could barely lift her feet, and sometimes she slid precariously backward.

  Dallas appeared at her side and gently took her arm. “I know I don’t have to carry you,” he said hastily. “But at least let me help you, Julienne.”

  Ungraciously she grabbed his arm and leaned on him. “I haven’t given you permission to use my name, Mr. Bronte,” she said coldly. In the circumstances it was absurd, and Julienne knew it. But the bitterness and anger that she was nourishing inside her pushed all calm thoughtfulness aside.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he bit off, matching her frigid tone.

  They reached the top of the little hill, and there they found the road, running straight north. Julienne was relieved, but it was short-lived. The road stood in water, with wagon ruts at least a foot deep, now filled with gummy mud. As she struggled along, even with Dallas’s help, she began to grow treacherously exhausted. He put one arm around her and held her arm with his other hand. He seemed strong and unbowed, walking straight and tall, but taking small, slow steps to accommodate Julienne.

  They came out of the woods and on either side as far as they could see were empty fields, ready to be planted with cotton. “This is Landers’ fields,” Dallas said. “With any luck at all there will be some field hands out plowing.”

  “In this weather?” Julienne said wretchedly.

  Dallas made no answer.

  But just a little farther on, they saw a man on horseback, far out in the middle of the field on their right. He had dismounted, and he walked slowly down the still-visible rows, occasionally kneeling and reaching down to the earth.

  Dallas narrowed his eyes and Julienne saw now that they had turned into a bright deep green. “That’s Kinsey, their overseer. Stay here.” He disentangled himself from her, though she was loath to let him go. Ignoring her clinging hands, he took off running and shouting toward the distant figure. Hazily Julienne wondered how he could possibly have recognized the man, who was so far off that to Julienne he just looked like a rather absurd man-shape.

  Hugging herself, she realized that her knees were trembling. She wasn’t shivering with cold; the hard walk had warmed her up. But Julienne’s body had sustained some horrible shocks in the last hours, and she felt so small, so vulnerable, and so weak that she barely could comprehend that it was her own body betraying her. Looking around she tried to find something, a log or even a little rise to sit down on, but there was nothing. Her head hurt, and she grew dizzy and nauseous, and murkily she decided to just sit down on the road. But then she knew only blackness, and she fainted dead away.

  JULIENNE WAS DROWNING, AND she knew she was going to die. Though her body struggled and fought, and she felt as if her head was bursting from trying to hold her breath, her mind was strangely calm. “I’m sorry, Dallas,” she told him. “You were so right and honorable. I was wrong, I was awful. Please help me.” Though only choked garbles came out of her mouth, he seemed to understand. Serenely he floated beside her, his thick hair waving gently. He nodded.

  “Please help me,” she said again. But the vision of his face faded. Julienne fought to breathe, and she flailed wildly, trying to scream.

  “Julienne, darling, calm down, it’s all right, you’re safe,” a blessedly familiar voice said. Soft hands took her own, and Roseann gently pressed her back down. “Lie down, darling. Don’t struggle so. Just be calm and rest.”

  Julienne realized that she was home, in her own bed, and her mother was there. She fell back, and in her bewilderment wondered why she felt so hot and why her bed seemed to be wet. “It’s because I was drowning,” she murmured drowsily. “Can’t go into the water again.” Again the darkness closed down upon her.

  Later she opened her eyes and looked up. Her Aunt Leah and Carley were kneeling by her bed, their hands pressed together in prayer, their eyes closed. As if from faraway she heard Aunt Leah saying, “. . . give her strength, Lord Jesus, lift this terrible darkness from her heart and mind. Heal her spirit, Blessed Lord . . .”

  Julienne wandered back into the blank formless shadow world that surrounded her again, and their faces and Aunt Leah’s quiet voice faded away.

  It seemed she wandered there a long time, hopelessly sad and bitter. Sometimes she caught glimpses of Dallas Bronte, but it was as if he was a ghost, insubstantial, that appeared before her eyes and then quickly turned into dust. Once her brother Darcy was there, and she could hear him but only in a faint distant whisper: Don’t do this, Jules. Stay here, sweet sister, stay here. She saw Tyla, far off, smiling sweetly at her, and she tried to wave to her and call her, but no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t make a sound, and Tyla turned away and walked off, disappearing into the gloomy mist.

  But then, somehow, she started feeling her body again. She slowly became aware of her arms, her hands folded across her stomach, her legs, the weight of her head against a cool pillow. Her face was warm, and the heat felt tender and welcoming. She opened her eyes.

  Her bedroom was flooded with light, and as her mind grew aware she knew that it was late afternoon. She heard birds singing outside. By her bed sat her Aunt Leah, reading the Bible.

  “Hello, Aunt Leah,” she said, and was surprised by the almost inaudible croak that came out of her mouth.

  Leah’s head snapped up and instantly she was standing by Julienne’s bed, pressing her hand against her forehead. “Oh, thank You, God, thank You, Father,” she murmured. Smiling down at Julienne she said, “Hello, dear. I’m so glad you’re awake at last. Are you thirsty?”

  “Oh, yes, please, some water,” Julienne whispered.

  Leah went to the washstand and filled a glass with water from a crystal pitcher that had ice shards floating in it. Cool droplets streamed down its gleaming sides, and Julienne was amazed how pretty she found this simple sight.

  “Don’t gulp,” she warned Julienne as she slid one arm behind her to help her sit up. “Just small sips.”

  She held the glass up to Julienne’s face, but with determination she took it. “If you would just fix my pillows, Aunt Leah, I can do this myself,” she croaked.

  Leah plumped up two pillows to support Julienne, and obediently she settled back and took three small sips of the cool water. She thought that it was the most delicious taste of anything she had ever known.

  Settling back in her chair, Leah watched her carefully. After many tiny sips Julienne finally felt that she had soothed her raging thirst, and her throat didn’t feel as raw. By herself she managed to set the glass on the table by her bed. Her aunt watched her and seemed to nod with approval. “You’ve been very ill, Julienne. I’m surprised you have this much strength.”

  Confused, Julienne asked, “I’ve been ill? For how long?”

  “For five days. You’ve had raging fevers, and you’ve been mostly unconscious. Julienne, do you remember what’s happened?”

  “Happened?” she repeated dimly. “I remember . . .” She fell silent, her face working. Then she closed her eyes tightly. “Oh, no,” she said faintly. “Tyla. Tyla’s dead, isn’t she? She—there was an explosion, and the boat sank. But Dallas—Dallas—”

  She fell limply back onto the pillows and pressed her hands to her eyes. They felt grainy and inflamed, but no tears came. She remembered all about the wreck, how Dallas had saved her, how he had literally carried her to safety, but looming large and lurid in her mind was how she had thrown herself at him. And he had turned away from her! A common nobody like him, and he didn’t want her!

  She groaned, a wild painful sound.

  Leah said quietly, “I’m sorry, Julienne, but it’
s best that you remember right now, if you can. You’ve been—lost, somehow, and for a while it seemed you didn’t want to come back and we were all very afraid. But you’re a strong woman, Julienne. You have to face this, and with God’s help, deal with it, and go on.”

  Julienne drew in a deep ragged breath, then dropped her hands and opened her eyes. Staring at the ceiling, she said, “I remember, Aunt Leah. I remember it all, unfortunately. Well, maybe not quite all. The last thing I remember is Dal—Mr. Bronte running to some man that was out in a cotton field. I tried to wait for them to come back, but I—I—that’s all I remember.”

  “You fainted,” Leah told her. “It was the Landers’ overseer that was riding their fields. He rode to the house, fetched their carriage, and then he and Mr. Bronte brought you home.”

  “I don’t remember any of that,” she said dully. “Oh, Aunt Leah, it was horrendous. Tyla died, and I thought that I was going to die too.”

  Leah sighed deeply. “It was such a terrible tragedy, twenty-three people died. Everyone, crew and passengers, except for you and Mr. Bronte. And from what I understand, you very well may have died had it not been for him. He saved your life, Julienne, more than once that terrible night.”

  “More than once? What do you mean?”

  “I mean he saved you from the boiler explosion, he saved you from drowning, and if he hadn’t found shelter and a way to keep you warm, you might have died from exposure to the elements,” Leah answered gravely.

  “He told you all that?” Julienne demanded in such a sharp tone that her aunt looked at her curiously.

  “Very reluctantly,” she answered. “He had to explain how you two had survived, and Charles finally managed to drag the entire story out of him.”

  “The—entire story?” Julienne repeated with dread. “Oh, no,” she whispered bleakly.

  Leah frowned. “Julienne, I think you must be still confused. Mr. Bronte saved your life. But he appears to be a very humble man, because it was only with extreme difficulty that he explained about the wreck and having to swim and finding that deserted farmhouse, out in the middle of nowhere, in that raging storm. You were a very lucky woman, Julienne, that he was able to make a fire to warm you up. By the time you got here, you were so thoroughly chilled and your blood was so thin that you were literally half dead. If he hadn’t taken such good care of you, you probably would be dead.”