River Queen

by Gilbert, Morris

  “And this woman,” the minister continued, “adopted the likeliest means she could think of. The Scripture says she had been to physicians until she had spent all of her money. She went to gentlemen who were supposed to understand the signs of medicine, but she found no relief. No doubt she tried men who were educated. In fact, she probably met some who claimed they could heal her complaint. ‘Follow my orders and you will be restored,’ they might have told her. But it was all in vain, no one could help her. No one but Jesus Christ.

  “Perhaps someone here tonight has tried everything and nothing has worked, but I stand before you right now to say that the Jesus that this woman touched, who healed her instantly, is the same Christ. He has risen from the dead, He is seated at the right hand of God, and He is calling to everyone. ‘Let them that heareth come.’ So, no matter what you have tried or what you have done or not done, if you feel in your soul and in your spirit something tonight, a yearning for God, I have it in my heart that God has brought you to this place so that you can reach out and touch the garment of Jesus.”

  The words seemed to penetrate Dallas, and he slumped down and dropped his head, unable to look at those about him.

  “You have tried to save yourself by prayers, and your prayers have probably turned your thoughts upon your sin and you’ve become wretched. You have been trying to feel good and to do good, but the efforts made you feel how far you are from the goodness you desire. In the fruit of your efforts you have suffered all the more, but you are no better off.”

  The minister then lifted his eyes just as Dallas looked up, and the two seemed to be the only men in that room. The evangelist said, “And now perhaps, dear friend, you are saying what can I do? What shall I do? I will tell you. You can do nothing except what this woman ultimately did. You are without strength, without merit, without power, and God grant that you may look to the glorious Christ before this service is over.”

  The sermon went on and Dallas felt weak. The words of the evangelist were like bullets that struck against him! It was as if the man had eyes that could see through flesh and blood and right into his heart.

  Finally the evangelist said, “Look at what this woman did at last. Weaker and weaker she had become. She hears of Jesus of Nazareth, a man sent of God who is healing sick folks of all sorts. She puts the stories together and then she says, ‘Oh, I will go to Him. I have no money, but if I can only touch the border of His garment I’ll be made whole.’” The preacher threw his head back and his voice sounded like a trumpet. “Oh what a glorious, wonderful thing that was! Splendid faith. My dear friend, I do not know your heart. I wish I could come and save you personally. Try Jesus Christ. Trust Him and see if He will not save you. Every other door is shut to you, but I beg you to exercise courage, born of desperation. May God’s Holy Spirit help you to thrust out your fingers, reach out and touch Jesus. Say ‘Yes, I freely accept Christ. By God’s grace I will have Him to be my only hope.’

  “After all,” the evangelist continued, “this was the simplest thing she could do. Touch Jesus. All of the operations performed on her had perhaps been intricate, but all this was so simple. It’s always simple when a man or a woman finally gets into their head that there’s really nothing they can do. I’m sure she thought, People will say it’s foolish that touching a robe could get anybody healed, but I will go no matter if they laugh, no matter if they shove me aside. I’m going to put my trust in Jesus.”

  By this time Dallas felt weaker than he ever had in his life. His heart seemed to be beating like a drum. He could hear the words of the preacher but beyond that he could hear something else. It was not a voice, not a vocalization, but an impulse. It was as if someone was echoing an amen to all that the preacher said, and then he heard the preacher say, “You may say tomorrow may be more convenient. No, if God is dealing with your heart tonight, it may be for the last time. He stands at the door and knocks. Now it’s your turn to move toward Him, to put your trust in the Lord Jesus. When you have done this you will be saved, just as she was healed. ‘He that believeth in Him hath everlasting life.’ Do not leave this place tonight without knowing God. If you will just simply say, ‘Yes, Lord Jesus, I will be whatever You want me to be.’ Confess your sins and call out to God, then the great transaction will be done. By the living God I do implore you trust the living Redeemer. As I shall meet you all face-to-face before the judgment seat of Christ, I do beseech you. Put out the finger of faith and trust the Lord Jesus who is so fully worthy to be trusted.”

  Dallas heard the preacher say something else, then he was aware that everyone was standing. When he got to his feet he felt weak as if his legs would not hold him, and when he lifted his head his eyes met those of the evangelist whose gaze was fixed steadfastly on him. He heard him say, “Come and touch Jesus right now or be forever lost.”

  Dallas suddenly stepped out of the pew, pushing against those that were ahead of him. He stumbled forward, and when he got to the front, Reverend Calloway saw the tears running down Dallas’s face. Dallas was shocked by this, for he was not a crying man. The evangelist said, “Brother, let’s both kneel here and we’ll pray. And I will stand beside you as you reach out and touch the robe of Jesus just as that poor woman did.”

  THE SERVICE WAS OVER. Many had come to shake hands with Dallas, who felt slightly stunned, but he knew something important, something real, had happened to him. When the last of the crowd had left, Williams came and said, “I’m proud of you, Mr. Bronte. God’s done a work. I can see that.” He hesitated and then said, “We’re having a baptismal service tomorrow. There will be fourteen. I’d like for you to make number fifteen. Would you come and join us?”

  Dallas felt a sense of resistance to stand forth and go through a ceremony that he never could see as meaningful, but something within him said, Yes, you must go. He said, “I sure can, Deacon.”

  “Fine! Fine! Now you come along. You’re going to spend the night with us. We’ll have time to talk about these things.”

  Later that night, after Dallas had gone to the room that Deacon Williams put him in, he sat down on the bed, his head still whirling. But persistently his very heart told him, Now, at last I have done one right thing. He well knew that he was different. He had no idea about how to go about serving God so he got on his knees and said, “God, You know I’m not worthy of anything, but I thank You for leading me to this place and for bringing me into the kingdom of God. Now, help me and guide me.” And as he prayed, he knew for the first time in his life that God wasn’t somewhere far off. He was right in Dallas’s own heart.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  For eight days the River Queen had been a floating chaos, it seemed to Julienne. Dozens of men swarmed everywhere, breaking out all the windows to replace them, tearing off paneling, tearing up the ballroom floor, hammering, sawing, nailing, painting, drilling, banging, shouting, and above all, cursing. Lyle had sent a man to oversee the refit, a coarse, squat man with a heavy German accent named Ritter Kahn. Kahn ruled the workers not with an iron hand but with a heavy stick that he doled out blows with constantly. Julienne had asked him to completely redo her mother’s stateroom first, and for a day and a half they had huddled up on the hurricane deck, trying to stay away from the workmen. But their profane shouts and orders rang out continuously, and the family gave up on trying to shield Carley. She herself was very subdued and stayed with her mother and Aunt Leah at all times. Darcy stayed with the workmen, trying to keep up with what they were doing and trying to keep Kahn from abusing them, but Ritter Kahn paid no attention to him at all. And neither did the workmen, because Darcy didn’t hit them.

  The next day the painters were finishing up on the last detail work, and the bills started coming to Julienne. That night she sat in her stateroom, which was now outfitted just as she had envisioned, with a brass bed and a soft mattress, two fluffy pillows, and immaculate white sheets. She had a gas lamp at the new table, which was fitted i
n the corner, with drawers on one side and a tiny desk on the other, with a velvet-covered stool. The drapes for her brand-new window were blue velvet, with a white satin cord. But all of that was forgotten as she began to sort through all of the bills for the fixtures, the windows, the mirrors, the beds, the paneling, the new flooring, the bed linens, the tables and chairs for the dining room, and many more things that Julienne wasn’t even sure of what they were. And the worst was the cost of the workmen. Quickly thumbing through the pages and adding the labor costs up in her head, she estimated almost two thousand dollars for that alone. All together she was looking at a pile of bills that amounted to almost eight thousand dollars.

  Dropping the papers, she held her head in her hands. She had let Lyle make all the decisions about the renovations. He had said he was going to get this company to do such-and-such, that father and son to paint so-and-so, this vendor for the brass, and on and on. It had all sounded so good to Julienne, both to think of how beautiful the Queen was going to be, and especially the fact that she didn’t have to figure out all of the complex tasks herself. After Dallas Bronte had left, she had unquestioningly—even gladly—put all her trust in Lyle Dennison.

  But the enormity of the cost was like a heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders. Somehow she had been thinking that perhaps they would come up with a beautiful new steamer, ready for passengers and dancing in the ballroom, for about two thousand dollars. Why had she thought that? Had Lyle said that? She didn’t know.

  Julienne felt as if she had been in some sort of numbing fog since Dallas Bronte had left. She had never realized how much she leaned on him, she and her whole family. He had been the bulwark that had kept them going, that they depended on, that they knew would help them no matter what happened. A great chasm opened up in Julienne, and with it was an almost physical pain, when she started to think about how much she missed him.

  “No!” she said aloud, and sat upright. He was gone, she was in business with Lyle now, and she knew that Lyle cared for her.

  At least that’s what she told herself. Wearily deciding she would ask Lyle to go over the accounts when he called the next day, she readied herself for bed. Robbie had laid out her nightclothes, and she quickly washed up and put them on. Lying wide awake, she thought, as she had bleakly thought so many times since Dallas had left, I have no choice. The thought gave her no comfort, and she had terrible nightmares of drowning. It was the first time she’d had such dreams since after she and Dallas had been in the wreck of the Missouri Dream.

  Robbie brought her breakfast, and Julienne picked at it. She didn’t have much appetite. Soon Robbie returned to help her dress, for since the men had started working on the River Queen, and Lyle came to the boat every single day, Julienne always wore her good clothes, at-home receiving dresses or afternoon promenade dresses. She had had to forego the hoop skirt, though. She had tried it the first day and she had found that everywhere she went she was subject to getting paint on it, or wood glue, or caught on a nail or a piece of lumber. One man, lumbering behind her with an enormous crate on his shoulder, had accidentally stepped on her skirt and her hoop skirt had come very close to coming untied and falling down. Julienne had fled, but not before she heard Ritter Kahn cursing the man and three solid whacks from his stick.

  Lyle called at about two o’clock, and she met him in the ballroom. He was dressed finely, as always, with a tan satin vest, a gleaming white shirt, and a dark brown chocolate-colored frock coat. “Have you met the new servants yet?” That morning six Negros, two women and four men, had come to the boat, telling Caesar and Libby that they were the new servants. The women were cooks and maids, and the men were going to serve as servants to the male passengers and as waiters at meals.

  “Yes, I have met them,” Julienne said, frowning. “You know, we don’t have slaves on the boat, Lyle. Caesar and Libby have been free for more than five years now.”

  He laughed, a manly guffaw that normally Julienne found attractive. Today she found it rather uncouth. “Julienne, my dear, that just shows that you’re not a very good businesswoman. You never pay for labor if you can afford to buy a slave. They belong to me, and I’m loaning them to you. That way, they’re free, to you. And so you won’t have to use my money to pay them.”

  He had been saying things such as that, and they made Julienne uneasy. She had thought that once she put up her steamboat as security for a loan, the money she got would be her money. But Lyle kept talking about his money, and somehow it made Julienne feel cheapened, as if she had indeed been bought and was being paid for.

  He didn’t seem to notice her discomfort, for he took her arm and said, “Let’s go down to the main deck. I want to introduce you to your new crew.”

  “But I don’t want a new crew,” Julienne protested. “I want the old one.”

  “You can keep the three men you have, Julienne. But of course you must have always known that three men is not a crew, it’s three slaves. To run this boat right you have to have at least six crewmen, three firemen, a first and second mate, three engineers, two pilots, and a captain.”

  “That many!” Julienne blurted out. “But why?”

  As if he were explaining to a rather dull child, he said slowly, “Because that way you can run twenty-four hours a day. Three eight-hour shifts for the engine room and firebox, two twelve-hour shifts for the pilots. No passenger boat can afford to stop every twelve hours for a pilot to rest.”

  “Oh, I see,” Julienne said uncertainly. “I suppose that they are all going to cost a great deal of money?”

  “Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk about it later.” They had reached the main deck, where a group of men stood just inside the main cargo doors. When Julienne and Lyle walked up, they turned and removed their hats and bowed.

  Lyle said, “Gentlemen? Please welcome Miss Ashby, she’s come to visit her new crew.” Turning to Julienne, he said, “I have a surprise for you. Of course you remember Mr. Tisdale. Well, he’s going to be your new captain.”

  Julienne remembered his cousin from when they had dined at his home. He was a man of about forty, nice-looking in a feminine sort of way. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a thin blond mustache. He had a very subservient air toward his cousin. Nervously he bowed over her hand and mumbled civilities.

  Lyle continued, “And of course you already know Mr. Kahn. He’s your new first mate.”

  “Yes, I know him,” Julienne said icily. “And the River Queen already has a first mate, Lyle. Your pardon, of course, Mr. Kahn.”

  “Of course,” he muttered, with a small mocking bow. His cruel features mirrored a sort of condescending amusement.

  “I understand, Julienne, but Mr. Kahn has a lot of experience supervising work crews. It really doesn’t matter what type of crew it is, as long as a man can manage them well.”

  Julienne turned to look up at him, her dark eyes stormy. “Lyle, Ring Macklin is the first mate of the River Queen. That’s all there is to it.”

  “All right, Julienne,” he said with a forced smile, and then he introduced her to Nathan Killingsworth. “He’s our first pilot. He was second on the Columbia Lady, but I’ve promoted him.”

  He was a severe-looking man, about five-ten, slender and wiry. He had nondescript brown hair, but his eyes were a cold gray. Unsmiling, he bent over Julienne’s hand and said, “Pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Mr. Killingsworth, my brother had started to learn the river with Dal—with our last pilot. I hope you’ll continue to teach him, he seems to have a knack for it, and—”

  He interrupted her impatiently. “I don’t take cub pilots, Miss Ashby. They’re just a nuisance.”

  “It’s her brother, he’s an owner,” Lyle said in a warning tone. “You’ll take him.”

  Killingsworth looked icily angry, but he merely said, “Sure, Mr. Dennison. You’re the boss.”

  With outrage Ju
lienne was thinking, No, I’m the boss, but before she could frame anything to say, Lyle was taking her arm and leading her back up the steps to the Texas deck again. “You don’t need to meet the roughnecks,” Lyle said. “Your second pilot won’t be here until tomorrow. But I’ve got very good news, Julienne. I’ve already got the River Queen a load to New Orleans. We’ve got all of the staterooms filled, a full cargo, and thirty deck passages.”

  “Really, Lyle?” Julienne said now excited. “When do we leave?”

  “August 1. In three days.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Lyle!” she said happily. “So soon!”

  They reached the doors leading to the stateroom hall, and Lyle turned to her. “Of course, you do know, Julienne, that you’re going to have to pay the captain and the pilots their salary for the month ahead, not after the month is over. That’s customary.”

  “Oh,” Julienne said doubtfully. “And—how much, exactly, are we paying the pilots and the captain? No more than the ‘customary’ amount, I hope.”

  “No, we got them at the going rates. Two hundred dollars for the captain and three hundred fifty for the pilots.”

  “Nine hundred dollars!” Julienne blurted out. “But—” She started to object, but she couldn’t think of anything to object to. Dallas had told her a long time ago that pilots were commanding between three and four hundred dollars a month. She had no idea what captains made—in truth, she didn’t even know what captains did except mingle with passengers—so she could hardly object to anything that Lyle told her.