Blanche smiled. From a poor orphan to an heiress. She lifted her chin with pride and moved forward to meet her destiny.
Old Obie roused himself from his spot high above the Cordelia, in the pilothouse. Unable to resist, he raised the binoculars to his eyes for one more look at the young woman accompanying Ike and Effie.
Blanche Marie Lamar. Ike’s description hadn’t done her justice. But how could one describe such a woman? Even in the wilting summer heat, her clothes looked as stiff as a newly pressed tablecloth, her backbone straight, the tilt of her head determined to look ahead. She wore solid black with a dull gray blouse. Her face had remained somber, with emotions of fear and excitement and hope whispering across her face as she inspected the boat from afar.
But that hair… as bright as red light that either delighted or warned a sailor, depending on the time of day. Old Obie would take delight in that hair, an omen that all would go well with her first trip aboard the Cordelia. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; red sky at morning, sailor’s warning.
Obie watched her confident steps as she strode toward the boat, taking in more details of her delicate facial features, a scattering of freckles on her nose, the rakish angle of the bow under her chin, the sparkle in her brown eyes. When they reached the dock, he put away the binoculars and buzzed around the already gleaming equipment.
Let Ike and Effie introduce Blanche to the crew. He would make her acquaintance later.
As they walked the deck, Ike caught a glimpse of Old Obie’s binoculars. If there was any chance Blanche would discover the romance of the river as her father hoped, sooner or later she must make her way to the pilothouse. Old Obie was just the man to teach the young lady the moods of the Rio Grande, from the present summer drought that increased difficulty in navigation to storms that pounded anyone caught in them, from the trees sweeping the riverbanks to the unexpected bridges that appeared with increasing frequency. Adjusting the pilot wheel an inch to the right or left could mean the difference between safe passage or running aground on a sandbar.
Old Obie was master of the pilothouse. Ike had learned a lot from him, but no amount of time had given him the feel for the river that Old Obie had. He was the boat’s most valuable employee, the one irreplaceable member of the crew, and well the captain knew it.
The crew had loaded the cotton stored in the warehouse while Ike had absented himself. Splendid pinks, reds, and oranges painted the western sky. If Old Obie agreed, they would set sail tonight. Ike’s arm tingled where it touched Blanche’s. He looked forward to standing with her on the deck and watching the boat pull away from the dock, feeling the stern wheel come to life, the near deafening turning of the wheels, the water rushing beneath the boat, wind whipping through his hair.
Would the wind tease a lock from Blanche’s abundance of red hair, so that it twirled and danced in front of her eyes? Or would an abundance of pins hold each lock in place? He pictured his fingers brushing those curls back against her face, running through the hair hanging loose about her shoulders. He pushed his mind away from the image. Blanche Lamar was a lady, and some images were best left between husband and wife.
The crew lined up to greet them. Everyone had dressed in uniform, as clean and sparkling as the boat. “Are you ready to meet your employees?” He held in the laugh that bubbled in his throat when he heard her suck in her breath at the words.
“Do you have any suggestions on how I should behave?” Pink tinged her cheeks. “This is a new experience for me.”
“I will tell you what Ike always tells me,” Effie answered for him. “It has helped me get through many difficult situations. Think like an actress and pretend. What would you do if you were the captain?”
Color drained from Blanche’s cheeks. Effie sensed her faux pas. “That’s not good advice for you. You don’t know our captain. Well, pretend you’re the hostess at a dinner party, or your pastor’s wife speaking to the ladies’ aid society.”
“Just be yourself. You’ll do fine.” Ike took one step forward but Blanche held back.
“How do I remember all their names? I’m terrible with names,” she moaned. “They only have one new name to learn, and it should be familiar—Lamar.”
“Which is why they will love you. They’ll be curious about you. Of course. Who is this mysterious daughter the captain has kept hidden all these years? But they won’t ask.”
“And if they do, tell one of us,” Effie spoke up. “We’ll set them straight.”
“I’ll keep that in mind and try not to be frightened away.” Still, Effie’s reassurance brought a smile to Blanche’s face. “I’ll practice with the two of you. What is your position with the crew? Ike, I know your card says ‘purser.’ I even looked it up in a dictionary. But I still don’t quite understand.”
“Paperwork and customer service.” Ike wasn’t ready to explain the full extent of his role on board just yet. His duties regarding passengers involved activities that would make Blanche… blanch. He could find some humor in the situation. He put his concerns aside and held out his hand. “Come. We will be beside you all the way. If we wait any longer, they may wonder what is wrong.”
Shyly, she accepted his hand and let him lead her forward.
CHAPTER 5
Blanche put all of Effie and Ike’s suggestions into practice as she followed Ike to the boat. Unlike liners that crossed the ocean, the deck lay close to the water, and she could see people lining the main deck before she stepped aboard. The crew was only a little larger than the household where her mother had worked. One white-haired lady had a soft, round face. Blanche instantly felt like she could go down to the kitchen—or was it called a galley?—for a cup of tea and conversation. Blanche relaxed.
In vain she looked for a man dressed in a captain’s uniform. Her slight hope that she would find her father alive once she arrived on board, ready to greet and reassure her, was dashed. With his suit and unmistakable air of authority, Ike was clearly in control.
To Blanche’s surprise, Effie took the lead in introducing the crew. The round-faced lady who had caught Blanche’s attention was indeed the ship’s cook, Elaine Harper.
“Tell me your favorite meal, and I’ll fix it for you tomorrow night.”
Blanche started to protest, but of course the cook wanted to show off for the ship’s heiress.
“I should have whatever you want. We carry everything available along the Rio Grande and the Gulf Coast in our pantry.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Blanche’s smile came naturally. In time, she thought she could get used to this heiress position.
A young woman named Betty was the chef’s help. Blanche struggled to commit the names to her memory.
Next came the engineers. Jose and Tomas worked with a brusque Scot. “I’m Harry McDonald. The engine belongs to me. Anything you want to know, come to me. If you want a hot bath, I’m your man.”
Blanche almost laughed. “I’m looking forward to it.” She wondered if she would remain as immaculate as the engineers did, if she spent time among the coal and steam. Her limited wardrobe had to extend to every situation she’d be facing.
The next staff member Ike introduced addressed that concern. “This is our laundress, Agatha. She also takes care of any tailoring needs that arise. I took the liberty of asking her to design new clothes for your trip downriver.”
Blanche gave the woman a second look. Glasses gave her face an unfortunate pinched appearance, but her dress—she thought it was called a tea gown—was as modern, outrageous and comfortable at the same time, as anything Blanche had ever seen in the few glimpses she’d had of the catalogues in the general store. “I don’t know what to say.”
Agatha looked her up and down. “We’ll have fun.”
“My mother just died.” I will not cry. “I want to honor her.”
“You don’t need to worry. Whatever we do will be tasteful but… more suitable for your new life aboard the Cordelia.”
Blanche appreciated he
r tact. Too fancy, not fitting well, too worn—she had heard slurs of one kind or another all her life. And she had never had clothes made for her by a professional seamstress. “That does sound like fun. However, I only expect to be here for a single trip.”
The laundress bobbed her head. “Just following orders, miss.”
After the head server asked her to inspect the evening’s dinner service, Blanche wondered how she would fit in everything people wanted of her during a single trip downriver. So far no one had offered to preview the trip’s entertainment or show her the pilothouse.
A figure hovered in the darkened room at the top of the boat, the pilothouse. He couldn’t leave the wheel unattended, so she would make his acquaintance later. She didn’t know whom to ask about the entertainment. Perhaps they didn’t provide any, but instead only offered a means to travel downriver; she would learn.
By the time she greeted the last member of the crew, her face felt like it would crack from the constant smile. As the people filed out, Effie spoke, “You must be tired. Dinner isn’t for a couple of hours, when you will meet our passengers. If you feel up to it, I have a couple of dresses for you to try.”
Blanche wanted to be agreeable, but the implied criticism of her clothes made her uncomfortable. The suit was clean, serviceable, fairly new. The jabot at her neck was a new touch this year.
She swallowed against the fear crowding her throat. Money had always been at a premium in the Lamar household. Mama chose the least expensive, most durable cuts of fabric, from a similar color palette. When Blanche reached her adult stature, they began sharing their wardrobe. The annual changes to her wardrobe dwindled year by year. Mama thought the money could be better spent on other things: feeding the poor and widowed, supporting missionaries, new classrooms for Sunday school. All good, worthy causes that made Blanche feel selfish for wanting a dress with color or frills.
A soft hand touched Blanche’s arm. “Let me show you to our room.” As Effie led Blanche below deck, the youngest crew member, who looked like she might be a maid, relaxed. How well Blanche understood that feeling—they had passed inspection with the new boss. That gave her a feeling of power, and her back straightened. She would allow Effie to dress her up—but not too much.
“Come around my cabin later this evening then.” Ike shook hands with Jason Spurling, a businessman checking out new markets for his products. Part of the problem for the dwindling steamboat business lay in the lack of large population centers on the route. The stops didn’t offer good markets for local businesses. The other, bigger problem came with the increased presence of railroads. Not only did trains run to predictable schedules, they also kept their stations at a distance from the boat docks.
As a result, businessmen like Spurling appeared on the boat less and less often, leading to dwindling income. Hopefully, weather and river would cooperate on this trip and he could show Spurling the several opportunities offered by the Cordelia.
A peek in the dining room found the head waiter, Smithers, giving the tables a final polish. When Ike was a boy, the dining room was double its present size, with staff to match. According to the old-timers, like Old Obie, even those days paled in comparison to the golden days of the steamboat. He told stories of running out of food because they carried so many passengers. Ike didn’t know the line between truth and wishful thinking, but he could imagine.
At the moment, silence reigned in the room, aside from kitchen noises. Where was Effie? She played the piano in the corner before each meal, popular tunes meant to encourage guests to enter and converse with each other.
Blanche must have agreed to a wardrobe makeover. He looked forward to seeing the results.
He went up to the window where Mrs. Harper passed out food. “Do you have Old Obie’s tray ready?”
“Right here, sir.” She hustled to the window. “Will he be joining us for dinner again soon, Mr. Ike? It’s not right for him to eat by himself.”
“He’ll be taking meals on his own until further notice.” Ike gestured for a waiter to take it up to the pilot. Elaine Harper enjoying bending the old man’s ear and doing whatever she could to mother the staff. “It’s best this way, so if there is something you need to discuss with him, you’ll have to catch him in his cabin.” He drew up his full height. “And I don’t need to remind you not to discuss the situation with Miss Lamar.”
She laughed and shooed him away. “I won’t be giving away any secrets. You don’t have to worry about me. But speaking of Miss Lamar, she’s making her entrance.”
Ike glanced over his shoulder and froze for a second. He had gone through Effie’s wardrobe, looking for something better than the unrelieved black and white staples of her wardrobe. Even so, the change achieved by a simple dark blue dress amazed him.
The dress was perfectly decorous, somber in color, and, from what Effie had said, a little out of date. But the dark blue instead of the black, with soft mauve touches instead of white, made all the difference. Blanche’s hair lay in softly whipped layers on top of her head, and pink sparkled in her cheeks almost as if she wore rouge, something Ike extremely doubted. Her eyes sparkled, too. She lifted a handkerchief to her mouth as if to hide her shy smile.
“You’d better go rescue her before every gentleman on board approaches her.” Mrs. Harper stared at him pointedly.
“I’ll do that.” He pulled on the cuffs of his shirt, adjusting the studs so they were aligned properly, before walking across the richly carpeted floor. A smile sprang to his lips. “Miss Blanche Lamar.” He bowed deeply from the waist. “Your beauty doth bedazzle me.”
“You like?” Humor laced Effie’s voice.
The color in Blanche’s cheeks deepened, and she tugged at the waistline of her skirt, sending it in a slight swirl.
She glanced down, and Ike’s eyes followed the direction of her gaze. She was staring at the serviceable, hi-top, lace-up shoes. Even the gleaming oil of a fresh shoeshine couldn’t hide the scuffed use marks on the toes. She pulled her foot back, so that the skirts hid it from view.
Ike leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry. There are several good cobblers down in Brownsville.”
She shook her head. “I never should have come, not if you have to remake me from head to toe.”
Effie made a soft sound. “I need to get to the piano. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“We’re not remaking you. Just uncovering the beauty that’s always been there… and what a few more dollars in the budget can make.”
“I never had to go without.” Her voice came out strangled.
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise…” He drew in a deep breath and didn’t speak until Blanche’s cheeks returned to a more normal color. “I only wanted to compliment you on how fine you look tonight.”
The tinkling sound of piano keys interrupted their conversation, and Ike relaxed. Whatever Mrs. Lamar had taught her daughter, it didn’t include how to accept a compliment. He found it refreshing compared to women who had flirtation down to an art form. Unlike those ladies, Blanche made no attempts at pretense.
When Effie shifted to a different song, Ike hummed along. Blanche tilted her head and nodded her chin in time to the music. Underneath the skirt, her feet were probably tapping. “I don’t know that song, although it’s a catchy tune.”
“That’s ‘The Base Ball Song.’” He belted out a few lines, and Smithers shook his head in mild disapproval. When Ike lowered his head in mock shame, he caught sight of the blank expression on Blanche’s face. “You’ve never been to a baseball game, have you?”
She shook her head. “Roma held a few exhibition games, and some of my friends went. But Mama…” She clamped her lips together.
“Mrs. Lamar suggested you had better ways to spend your money?”
Blanche shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably. “I’m afraid that the only music I know, beyond ‘America’ and the national anthem, are hymns. Music meant to praise God is the best music of all, don’t you thin
k?”
How to answer that? “I think God gave us everything to enjoy. As long as there are no scandalous words associated with the melody, surely music reflects praise to God.” He grinned. “Even music written for a baseball game.” Spotting a familiar face appear at the door, he lowered his voice. “And speaking of baseball… do your best to charm the gentleman who is entering the salon. He is the owner of the Brownsville Bats and is considering bringing the entire team downriver to play exhibition games at each town. It would make a big difference in our income.”
CHAPTER 6
Blanche blinked her eyes. The thought of acting as hostess alarmed her. Mrs. Davenport had once shared her secret to making visitors to Christ the King church feel welcome. People like it when you remember their names. Blanche had memorized the passenger list and only had to associate the right faces with the names. Be polite, complimentary even. Above all, make the greetings unique to the individual.
The problem was she didn’t know a thing about baseball. Maybe that’s what she should say—men sometimes liked to show off their superior knowledge. In terms of looks, Mr. Ventura was short where Ike was tall, rotund instead of muscular, with a shock of thick black hair, bushy eyebrows, and a wide smile that invited the world to laugh along with him. Open my eyes, Lord, to see what You see in this man.
Before she had time to check her hair or adjust her shirtwaist, Mr. Ventura was in front of her, pumping Ike’s hand. “Buenas noches, Señor Gallagher. Dónde está el capitan?”
Blanche held her breath. Where was the captain, indeed?
“No está aquí.” Ike’s answer repeated the obvious: he isn’t here. Switching to English, Ike said, “But this is the captain’s daughter, Miss Blanche Lamar. Blanche, this is Bart Ventura, baseball owner and one of Brownsville’s leading businessmen.”
Mr. Ventura shook Blanche’s hand, just the right firmness, leaving an impression of strength, before he released it. “Mucho gusto encontrarle, Señorita Lamar.”
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 18
