Ike laid down his silverware. “Samuel Clemens has romanticized life on the Mississippi. I’ve been down Old Man River a couple of times, but I prefer the Rio Grande. The ‘big river’ is a Texas kind of river. It’s almost two thousand miles long from its headwaters in the Colorado Mountains to the Gulf of Mexico. I’ve seen some of that rough country, over in the Big Bend, but the steamboat traffic runs between Roma and Brownsville. It’s a country all its own, business on both sides of the river mingling two countries and cultures. A meld of Mississippi Delta and wild river canyons.”
“You love it.” She couldn’t keep surprise out of her voice.
“I guess I do. It’s been my home most of my life. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Like her father. Ike remained silent on the subject. If her father was anything like Ike Gallagher, Blanche could understand how her mother fell for his charm. She couldn’t afford to make the same mistake. That was reason enough to stay in Roma: to protect her heart.
But a part of her wanted to discover if the River that her father loved so much ran through her heart as well.
Ike leaned forward, touching her little finger with his own. “Please let me fulfill your father’s request.”
“I… don’t know.” Stay, and be safe? Or risk everything for the chance of something better?
“I stayed behind on this boat trip. They’ll be back a week from now.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small packet of money. “This is to help you with any expenses you might be experiencing. If you decide you wish to join us, you can get word to me at the hotel. You can bring a companion with you, or not. I’ll make arrangements for you to have a room and board in case there’s a change in the Cordelia‘s schedule. And now”—he picked up his knife and fork and sliced into a thick steak—“let’s enjoy this excellent meal.”
Ike kept up a well-informed patter that held Blanche’s interest while not making her feel like a naive girl from a small town. The Cordelia had taken passengers to the Fitzsimmons-Maher heavyweight title bout held on an island downriver. They both laughed at the burial of a supposed alien in Aurora, and shook their heads at the senseless death of two spectators to a stunt involving a train wreck in Waco.
Neither one of them brought up the question of her joining them aboard the riverboat until Ike walked her back to the parsonage. “Please come. It would have meant a lot to your father—and to me also.” He took her hand, kissed it, then released it slowly.
He walked away, glancing back a single time. She held her hand where he had kissed it against her cheek.
They both knew she’d sail with them. It was only a matter of time.
CHAPTER 3
Two weeks passed before Blanche took advantage of Ike’s offer. She sorted through her mother’s belongings, dismayed that so few items could summarize a life. As she worked, she looked for hints of her father. Surely her mother had kept some memento of the one love of her life. She must have loved him at some point. Mama would not have married a man for anything less. Perhaps she’d thought she could convince him of the error of his river ways, and her bitterness stemmed from her failure to do so.
Tucked at the bottom of the linen drawer, beneath a rosepetal sachet, Blanche found a single piece of paper folded into an envelope. “To better times. I will always love you—J.O.”
Blanche drew a deep breath. A set of four gems, miniature photographs, lay beneath the envelope. A younger, happier image of her mother than she had grown up with stared at her. Not that people ever smiled in photographs, but her eyes looked brighter than Blanche had ever seen.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off the man in the pictures. Even though they were in black and white, the way the light glinted on top of his hair suggested they shared the same auburn tresses. She touched her head; every time her mother had looked at Blanche, she was reminded of her failure to reform her husband. His weatherworn face was open and honest. Blanche searched his features for resemblance to her own but recognized none.
Repeating her father’s inscription on the photograph—I will always love you—Blanche fought the tears gathering in her eyes. What had happened to the marital vows to love, honor, and protect, that had caused him to leave them alone, unprovided for? This journey was the only opportunity she would have to discover the truth.
A knock drew her attention, and Blanche opened the door to Mrs. Davenport. Steam rose from a napkin-covered plate. The pastor’s wife had made sure Blanche enjoyed two hot meals a day as well as breads for breakfast every day since her mother’s death. Blanche didn’t know if she would have bothered eating otherwise. Her appetite had sunk as deep in the ground as her mother’s coffin.
“I brought you some corn pudding and fried chicken.” Mrs. Davenport replaced it for the still half-full lunch plate. “You must eat and take care of yourself.”
Blanche had managed a few bites of beans and mashed potatoes but not much more. “I’ve been extra busy.”
Mrs. Davenport took a seat. “I will stay with you while you eat tonight. I’ll tell you what I used to tell my girls: you can’t have dessert until you eat at least three bites of everything on your plate.”
That brought a chuckle to Blanche’s lips. “Mama used to tell me the same thing, especially when she served me spinach.” Her nose wrinkled at the memory. She laid the photograph on the bed and took a seat next to Mrs. Davenport before dipping her fork into the corn pudding. Creamy, slightly sweet, crunchy between her teeth—perfect. Next to it lay a crisped chicken thigh. “Chicken on a weekday. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know it’s your favorite meal.” Mrs. Davenport followed the passage of the piece of chicken to Blanche’s mouth with approval. She bit through the skin with a satisfying crunch and pulled the moist meat into her mouth.
Before Blanche knew it, she had stripped the meat from the bone and eaten most of the corn pudding. A smiling Mrs. Davenport handed her a molasses cookie. “You earned it.”
Blanche laughed. “Thank you, for everything. I’ll miss your home-cooked meals when I leave.” A sudden pang of homesickness washed over her. The Davenports were the closest thing she had to family, and Mrs. Davenport had proven herself a true friend. Blanche reminded herself she’d only be gone for a week or a little bit longer.
“Are you sure you must go? You know you have a home with us, for as long as you want one.” Mrs. Davenport busied herself packing the dishes back into the picnic basket.
“I know I do. I can never repay your kindness.” Mama’s friends had repeated variations of the same offer since the funeral. Blanche didn’t doubt their genuine concern. But she could no more refuse the opportunity to learn more about her father than she could starve herself to death. “But I’ve always wondered about my father. I might have grandparents… aunts and uncles…” Brothers or sisters, but Blanche didn’t voice that thought. The implied betrayal of her mother hurt too much. “I’ve wanted family all my life, and now I have a chance to meet them.”
“But”—Mrs. Davenport twisted her hands in her lap—“a riverboat, Blanche dear. It’s not seemly for a young Christian woman of your standing.”
Blanche lifted her chin. “I am sure I will be well chaperoned on the boat. I am only making the one trip downriver; no harm will come to me. I’m sure my father…” Her voice wobbled at the word. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have invited me otherwise.” She added a smile, meant to reassure herself as much as her friend. “I will send you a letter when we get to Brownsville. I promise I’ll ask for help if I need it.”
As if resigned that Blanche wouldn’t change her mind, Mrs. Davenport wiped her hands on a napkin and folded it. “How can I help you prepare for the trip?”
By the end of the day, they had sorted things into four piles: clothing and other items to give away, a small pile to throw away, and the valise that held the few items Blanche would take with her. The Davenports would hold the remaining items Blanche wouldn’t take with her but wished to keep. Since the Lamars ha
d lived in rented quarters, they had no furniture to worry about. “I hope I’ll be able to send for the rest of my things soon.”
“There’s no hurry, dear.”
Blanche had sent a message to Ike at the hotel about her decision to join the Cordelia, and he had responded when they returned to port. This last night of her old life, she would spend at the parsonage. Grabbing her valise, she scanned the room that had been her home, her refuge from the world, for most of her life. Reverend Davenport would bring her trunk down to the wharf later. With a final good-bye wish for the life she was leaving behind, she followed Mrs. Davenport out the door.
“Do you see her?”
Ike’s sister, Effie, turned sightless eyes in his direction. Her voice stirred his own impatience. “Not yet.” The Cordelia had made one trip downstream and back since his offer to Blanche.
More than once during the past two weeks, he wondered what decision Miss Blanche Lamar would make. Under the influence of her pastor, she might choose to stay in Prudeville, as he had dubbed the people he met at the funeral. Her unexpected message two days ago had relieved a sadness he didn’t know he was experiencing.
He turned as an older man with a pilot’s hat clamped on top of salt-and-pepper hair ambled next to him—Old Obie, the boat’s pilot. “That’s her, I’d bet my life on it.” Despite his age, he still had excellent eyesight, a requirement for any riverboat pilot.
Ike spotted her when Old Obie pointed, her bright red hair showing beneath a straw boater.
“Tell me.” Effie’s hand grasped Ike’s arm. “Is it her? What does she look like?”
Ike leaned forward, dangling his arms over the railing. “It’s her indeed. Doesn’t look like she’s changed clothes since the funeral, unless she has identical outfits in her closet.” The new hat, the only change in her attire, suggested a woman ready for new experiences. But as she drew closer, Ike discerned her facial expression. “She doesn’t look altogether happy to be here.”
“She’s scared, Ike. She must be terribly brave, to leave everything familiar behind and try life on the river.” Effie nodded her head. “It’s up to us to make her feel right at home.”
“She looks like she sucked on a lemon for breakfast, that’s for sure.” Old Obie chuckled. “But she’s here. That’s the important thing.”
“Shall we go down and greet her?” Effie turned a brilliant smile in Ike’s direction.
He took her arm. “Obie?”
“I’ll wait my turn. You go ahead and welcome her aboard.” He headed back to the pilothouse while Ike guided Effie to the street.
If necessary, Effie could maneuver the gangplank without the need of her cane. Even so, he knew she felt safer aboard, where she knew every inch of the boat, than on the less predictable land.
“Maybe you can give her a few pointers on her attire.” Ike couldn’t wait to see her in something other than her black twill suit.
“What do I know of fashion?”
“More than she does.” Effie might not see color, but she had excellent taste in fit, materials, and trims for her clothing. “I have never seen her in anything other than an unrelieved black suit with a white blouse. No flounce to the sleeves or skirt. I’m hoping you can broaden her fashion sense.”
“I look forward to it.”
He knew the moment Blanche caught sight of them. Her chin lifted and her hesitant steps changed to more of a march. Increasing the pressure on Effie’s arm, Ike increased his speed and called out, “Well met, Miss Lamar! I am pleased you decided to take us up on our offer.” Without asking permission, he reached for her valise. “Miss Lamar, this is my sister, Miss Effie Gallagher. Effie, this is Miss Blanche Lamar.”
“I have been so eager to meet you, Miss Lamar. My brother has told me so much about you.” Effie stuck out her right hand.
Ike studied Blanche’s reaction to his sister. Strangers didn’t always know how to treat a blind woman. After a moment’s hesitation, she met Effie’s hand and shook it. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. You are so kind to share your cabin with me.”
“I’m looking forward to it. The Cordelia is a beautiful boat.” Effie’s voice conveyed a measure of pride. “It’s been our home ever since our parents died when we were children.”
“I don’t mind. I am quite used to sharing space.” In spite of her brave words, Blanche looked forlorn. Ike had considered offering the use of his cabin instead of having her share Effie’s cabin, but that would mean bunking with Old Obie. That situation could create more problems than it solved.
“And it will do me good not to be alone.” Blanche spoke the words softly. “Less time to dwell on my sorrow.”
Brave words. Blanche was a contradiction, from red hair fiery enough to light a ballroom to black attire appropriate for a mortician’s wife. “I am glad you feel that way.”
Blanche smiled, and Ike decided he would do whatever he could to make her smile as often as possible. The faint lifting of her lips transformed her from a premature old maid to a lovely young woman. “I’m eager to catch my first glimpse of my father’s boat. Lead the way.”
CHAPTER 4
Blanche craned her neck as she walked with the Gallaghers, scanning the docks for her first glimpse of the riverboat that had stolen her father away from her. Long before she had learned about her father’s business, she had daydreamed of a day trip downriver, properly chaperoned, of course. It sounded so… romantic. But romance and maidenly sighs didn’t put food on the table, as her mother was wont to say. For all of her nineteen years she kept her feet pinned to the ground and didn’t dare to dream.
For the immediate future, she would live in a fairy-tale world aboard her father’s boat. Maybe she would find out she was the long-lost princess, her father the king of the Rio Grande. Her eyes wandered to Ike. If she was the princess, what role did Ike play? Sir Lancelot or court jester? With the ready smile that came to his face, he could be either.
Until she arrived in Brownsville and learned the answers about her father, she could fashion a future out of her dreams. Dreams might lead to future disappointment, but she didn’t have much else to cling to for now. Except for the Lord, of course.
Mama had scoffed at Blanche’s dreams, saying “God helps those who help themselves.” From an early age, Blanche learned to keep her innermost desires to herself, holding them close the way Joseph must have for all those years he spent in Pharaoh’s prison.
They turned the corner to the dock, and Effie said, “There she is. Straight ahead.” She spoke with so much confidence that Blanche glanced at her face again, wondering if her first impression was wrong. No, the woman’s eyes remained focused on some distant sight that no one else could see, and her white cane tapped out a steady rhythm on the street.
“She’s something. Whenever I catch a glimpse of her like this, I fall in love with her all over again.” Ike had his arms at his waist, his suit jacket pushed behind his back by his fists.
One of Blanche’s teachers had used famous steamboat races to teach math: If a steamboat burns eight cords of wood to travel five miles per hour upstream, how much wood will it take to travel forty miles? Miss Burton had captured Blanche’s attention, as well as many of her classmates, and she had encouraged them to construct scale models of the famous steamboat, the Robert E. Lee, while they read Life on the Mississippi. All too soon Mama had heard about the project and single-handedly stopped it, much to Blanche’s dismay. Now that she knew her father’s history, she understood why.
From the pride and affection both the Gallaghers had used to describe the Cordelia, Blanche expected to see the same version of the famous floating hotels. Hundreds of passengers could travel aboard boats that had fifty or more staterooms with stained-glass ceilings and tessellated floors covered with rich carpets. Perhaps it even rose to four decks.
“There she is.” Ike paused and gave Blanche her first clear look at the steamboat that had dominated her thoughts ever since her mother’s death. She blinked. Paint
ed green instead of white, a modest two decks instead of three, the gigantic stern wheel silent at the back of the boat. All in all, Blanche swallowed a bit of disappointment. Still, the paint was fresh, including curlicued gold letters announcing Cordelia. Crates stacked the decks. Perhaps they hauled more freight than passengers. Why would Mama object to a ship that did nothing more harmful than carry cotton and other products downriver? There was so much she didn’t know.
“She may not look like much.”
Mr. Gallagher read her mind.
“It’s a little smaller than I expected.” Blanche wrinkled her nose then held her face still. This boat represented her inheritance. She needed to learn as much as possible about its operations and all aspects of business before she made any judgments.
Effie laughed. “Don’t let the Cordelia hear you call her an ‘it.’ She’s a lady and expects to be greeted with respect. River and boat, both of them are demanding mistresses.”
“I’ll try to remember.” Were river people superstitious? “Why do you say that? Is traveling downriver dangerous?”
Effie inclined her head in Ike’s direction, and he shook his head. “I have lived on the river most of my life, and there’s no place I’d rather live. Captain Lamar wouldn’t have invited you along if he thought you were in danger.”
Blanche felt like she was listening to true statements without hearing the whole truth. Fear fluttered in her stomach, although she knew no place was safe from danger. Her mother had taken sick and died in a matter of days. Fire, thunderstorms, tornados, rainstorms, floods… anything could happen even in a small town like Roma. The river was no different, except that she was surrounded by water and she couldn’t swim. She swallowed.
“Shall we go?” Ike gestured at the Cordelia. “The crew has worked hard to spit and polish every inch of the ship for the captain’s daughter. They’re eager to meet you.”
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 17
