Heat tinged her cheeks. “I’m afraid I don’t speak much Spanish, Señor Ventura.”
“I was only saying I am very pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise. Have you traveled aboard the Cordelia before?”
“Once or twice.” Ventura slid a sideways glance at Ike. “Mr. Gallagher and I have some interests in common. But you and I, we may have some business to discuss?”
Did everyone in the Rio Grande Valley expect her to conduct business in her father’s absence? Before she had even heard the terms of—she dreaded the thought—the will?
But Ike said Ventura’s goodwill was important to the continued success of Lamar Industries. So she would do her best.
“That may be so. We can discuss our business as we tour the boat.” Make it personal. “And I look forward to learning about your Bats. I have never had the privilege of attending a game.”
Ventura’s chuckle sent a breath across her hand that tingled her fingers. “So I am to sell you on the idea of the Bats traveling aboard the Cordelia? That is a unique sales tactic, I must say. I look forward to spending more time with you, Miss Lamar.”
A reedy man dressed in what she supposed must be a tuxedo—fancier than a Sunday suit, although still in black and white. Smith, Smithson, no—Smithers—that was it, the head waiter, came forward. “Glad to have you back aboard, sir. Please follow me to your seat.”
After that, a constant stream of passengers promenaded by Blanche. A mother with two children was traveling downriver to visit family. Those two were the only children aboard. A dozen businessmen, a half-dozen couples, a few men who looked like what Mama called “dandies,” and men who lived on family money and dressed in the latest fashions, rounded out the passengers.
Blanche felt her lips curl and forced the sneer into a pleasant smile. Why, Ike himself dressed like a dandy but so far, apart from an unfortunate flare for the dramatic, had acted like a complete gentleman. Mrs. Davenport’s second rule came to mind. Be polite; maybe they would surprise her.
Thanks to an insatiable appetite for the written word, Blanche was conversant with current news events and books, so she could carry on an intelligent conversation. All the while she smiled and made small talk, she listened to Effie playing the piano. She slipped effortlessly from one song into another. Blanche didn’t recognize a single tune, but they ranged from sentimental to lively. All had her wanting to hum along.
Instead of judging, Blanche focused on associating names with faces. In the fleeting seconds between introductions, she reviewed the names of the people already seated. Of all the guests, the young men were the hardest to tell apart. Back in Roma, any one of them would have stood out. Here, they blended together in the similarity of their attire.
The ladies differed in dress and in manner. Roly-poly Mrs. Potter arrived with her thin-faced husband. The pair looked like Jack Sprat and his wife of nursery rhyme fame. They seemed like ordinary, God-fearing folk. At the opposite end of the spectrum, Mrs. Ralston was dressed in a peacock blue gown that looked as if it sported every feather and lacy frill available to the dressmaker’s art. The color of her hair rivaled Blanche’s, but she suspected that had more to do with a bottle than birth’s generosity.
At length, Smithers rang a bell. The piano music stopped. Ike slipped his arm into the crook of Blanche’s elbow. “Shall we?”
Blanche wanted to slide into an inconspicuous seat by the kitchen, perhaps, or in a corner. But Ike steered her toward the captain’s table, where Mr. Ventura and the Ralstons waited. She lifted her chin and let him lead her to the table. Effie was already at her chair. All the women were seated, but the men stood behind their chairs.
“They’re waiting on you to take your seat,” Ike offered her whispered instructions.
“Does anyone say grace?” she whispered back, keenly aware of all eyes on her.
“Not ordinarily.” Ike seemed taken aback. “Not unless we happen to have a clergyman among the passengers.”
Blanche reviewed the names on the list. Not a reverend among them. “Then I will set an example.” She called Smithers over. “Please hold off serving the food until I give you the signal.”
Ike stood behind her chair and held it as she seated herself, then pushed her closer to the table. She tucked the glistening white napkin into her lap and spoke in her speech-class voice. “Let us take a moment to return silent thanks to the Almighty for the meal we are about to receive.” Her bowed head reinforced her meaning. Thankful thoughts warred with worries that she had overstepped her position as captain’s daughter at the first opportunity. She didn’t know if anyone had time to return a word of thanks before she raised her head and nodded at Smithers.
Mr. and Mrs. Potter gave her an appreciative smile, Ventura was chuckling, but Ike—Ike stared at her as if he had never encountered anyone quite like her before.
“I never thought to see the like. She kept the whole salon waiting for a good three minutes while she bowed her head in a silent prayer, as pretty as you please.” Ike chuckled.
Old Obie glanced at the young man, enjoying his discomfort. Although he kept his eyes fixed on the river, his ears captured every detail of Blanche’s first interaction with the passengers. A smile flickered about his mouth. “How did the passengers react?”
“She’s a novelty. They were all interested in her.”
Old Obie peered through the window at the gathering clouds. “If the sky doesn’t clear soon, we may need to shut down for the night. The weather’s been dry; we run the risk of going aground when we can’t see the water.”
“That won’t impress Mr. Ventura.”
“I know. But an accident would be even worse for business.” Old Obie squinted into the fading daylight. If his eyesight ever weakened, his days as a pilot were over. “So far, so good. But tell me, apart from the opening prayer, how did She handle herself?”
The S was a capital letter as clearly as if he had held a placard with it written down.
“Well, on the way out, she made a point of greeting everyone by name. That was a pleasant surprise. Smiles and genuine interest in everyone—she’s a natural hostess. After the night in her company, Ventura was ready to sign the agreement already.” He flipped a coin that rattled on the floor. “Almost.”
“So she has some spunk. From what I saw, I was afraid Cordelia had driven it out of her.” Old Obie took his pipe from his desk and began puffing. “Did Effie get her out of the widow weeds she arrived in?”
“She was wearing one of Effie’s least favorite dresses. Dark blue, with mauve blue gores in the skirt.”
“That’d look better on her than on Effie, with her coloring.”
“It did.” A deep sigh escaped Ike’s lips.
Old Obie snapped his head around, pulling the pipe from his mouth. “Oh no. Don’t repeat my mistake. If you’ve heard the story once, you’ve heard it a hundred times. Test that girl and see if she’s river people before you get sweet on her. She might turn out to be a heartbreaker like her mother.”
Ike didn’t move. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Good.” The sky darkened into night but the clouds dissipated—clear sailing ahead. Old Obie rested during the day so he could work the night hours. He didn’t trust any of the other pilots to do the job. Belowdecks, the clock ticked toward nine o’clock at high summer.
Ike headed for the stairs. “I’d better warn you. She’s already asking about the pilothouse. She wants to watch and learn. In fact, she seems more excited by that than most of the other functions on board.”
Old Obie tamped his pipe and set it back in the bowl. “I’m ready. Let her come.”
After a good night’s rest, Blanche woke early in the morning. Breakfast would start in an hour. In the bed opposite her, Effie slept peacefully. Blanche stretched her arms and snuggled under the sheet again. If today turned out anything like yesterday, she might not have any more time to herself until she retired to bed tonight, too tired to do anything but fall
asleep.
With that in mind, she slipped out of bed with her Bible. With only one day behind her, she already felt the strains and temptations that would come her way on this journey. In her deliberations, she hadn’t factored in the absence of a spiritual mentor. She had never traveled more than a few miles away from the advice of Reverend Davenport. Now it would be her and the Lord alone. Oh Lord, let me hear Your voice in the middle of the noise of this boat. Let me represent You well. Blanche read familiar words of admonition from Colossians. “But now ye also put off all these; anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy communication out of your mouth… Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering.” Help me to dress myself in the things that matter.
Effie turned over in her bed. Reluctantly, Blanche put away her Bible and considered her wardrobe. Effie and Ike might insist on different clothing for the evening, but she would wear what made her comfortable in the daytime—her clean and familiar black traveling suit.
She had finished fastening her buttons when Effie yawned. “You’re up early.”
“Good morning. I thought I would take a turn on deck before breakfast.” Blanche turned her boater over in her hands. Should she wear it? Yes, she decided. It provided some protection of her face from the sun. Without it, her skin might burn so red that it wouldn’t matter if she blushed.
“Do you want company?” Effie pushed her legs over the side of the bed and reached into her chiffarobe for a dress. “I think I’ll wear rose today.” She felt the collars of two or three dresses before she pulled out a rose dress.
“How do you do it?”
Effie laughed. “Oh, I have my tricks. For one thing, my buttons have different shapes and textures. The buttons on this dress are round and smooth, like a pearl.”
Blanche shook her head in amazement. “I have a hundred questions to ask, but I wanted to take a walk before the day gets started.”
“I’ll see you at breakfast then.”
Should she stay and help? Effie lived on her own and dressed without assistance all the time. Blanche headed out the door.
The room was belowdecks. Effie had apologized. “Why should I have a room with a view? I can’t enjoy it.”
Blanche reassured her that she didn’t mind. She had free run of the ship. Outside the door, the darkened interior of the hallway left her disoriented. She closed her eyes. Their room was on the left side—the port side, she reminded herself. She had to learn shipboard terminology. The stairs should be to her left, past a couple of rooms. Opening her eyes, she headed in that direction.
The plush carpet underneath her feet invited her to remove her shoes. Her toes wiggled, begging to be set free. She tilted her head, imagining it in different colors. Thick tapestries lined the walls. Perhaps they were intended to insulate the hall from the engine noise, but oak paneling or a beige tapestry would be better. Her imagination was running wild; instead of enjoying more luxury than she had ever seen before, she wanted to change it. Was it just the possibility that all this might be hers?
If she didn’t stop staring, she wouldn’t get in her stroll before breakfast. Spotting the stairs, she climbed to the deck. A cool breeze brushed her cheek. From one end men’s voices raised in song, men sounding happy in their work. She looked toward the prow of the boat, where the wheel churned through the water. If she went that way, the spray would tickle her face.
Ahead of her the stairway led to the pilothouse. It was time she made Old Obie’s acquaintance.
CHAPTER 7
Blanche stopped at the bottom of the stairwell, admiring the care taken with this small section of the ship. Here she found the freshly painted walls she expected below, the gleaming brass handrail without a handprint. Years of foot traffic had given the steps a bright sheen.
A sharp, somewhat woodsy scent wafted down the stairs. Blanche’s nose wrinkled, striving to identify the smell. Pipe smoke, she decided, a somewhat pleasant odor. Breathing deeply to clear her lungs, she climbed the steps and waited on the top step, suddenly shy.
“Come on in,” a raspy voice called. “Ike told me to expect you.”
Upon entry to the room, Blanche blinked against the onslaught of sunshine. Pipe smoke thick as fog settled in the air. She coughed and waved her hands in the air.
A chuckle made its way through the haze, and a pipe tapped against an ashtray. Her eyes still stung, and she didn’t dare open her mouth for fear the smoke would trigger another cough. But the chuckle had eased her fears.
“Give’er a minute, and it will get better. If I’da known when to expect you, I’d have cleaned up ahead of time.”
Blanche took a shallow breath and walked in. The air had improved. She turned around, looking at the many instruments, only a sextant one that she recognized. Her gaze fixed on the solitary figure with his back to her, facing the wheel. A weather-worn seaman’s cap perched on his head, covering his hair except for a few stray waves at the back of his head the color of a rain cloud. His generous mouth looked equally ready to break into song, smile, or clamp down on the pipe still smoldering in an ashtray made out of driftwood.
Weather lines wrinkled his face. His workmanlike clothes were neat and tidy, but this man was no dandy like Ike. His eyes squinted, studying her as closely as she was studying him. Maybe her imagination was getting away from her again. He probably always looked like that, after a lifetime on the river.
“Miss Lamar.” He nodded in her direction.
How should she address him? She had only heard him referred to as Old Obie. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.” Heat rushed into her cheeks.
“You can call me Obie. I won’t complain if ‘Old’ slips in there.” His lips twitched. “I know my nickname. I don’t mind. Figure I earned it, after a lifetime on the river.”
A lifetime on the river… “Then you must have worked with my father. Captain Lamar.”
Again that half smile as he nodded. “Ever since I started on the river. I reckon you could say I knew him about as well as anyone.”
Old Obie said it with such an air of finality that the truth hit Blanche. Her father was dead. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I wish I could have known him.”
Old Obie’s hand reached for his pipe, but he slid it back in his pocket. “You can ask me anything you want to know.”
The questions that plagued her, she wouldn’t ask a total stranger. Did he ever mention me? Why did he leave us? “Did you know my mother?”
“I did indeed. I argued with the cap’n, telling him he had no business straying so far away from the river. I’ve always blamed myself for what happened. But once he laid eyes on your mother, he was a goner. For a few wild months, he convinced himself he could give up everything he ever knew for her. And he brought stars to her eyes. I was half-smitten with her myself.”
“So… what happened?” She held her breath.
Instead of answering, he grabbed the binoculars and took a step toward the front window. When he swept the river from side to side, his shoulders hitched higher with tension. His generous mouth straightened until it stretched in a thin line. He made a minute adjustment to the wheel. Keeping his hand on the wheel, he reached for a bellpull that dropped through the floor. He tugged it once and received an answering pull. “Steady yourself. They’ll be increasing speed by five knots.”
Blanche’s feet shifted, but she quickly regained her footing. Old Obie stood without speaking, as if he had forgotten her presence.
A bell jingled in the distance, and Blanche waited for the boat to increase speed. When it didn’t, she realized that was the breakfast bell. She took a step to the stairwell. “It’s time for breakfast.”
Old Obie paid her no more attention than if she was a fly buzzing around his face. Repressing her disappointment over the stalled conversation, she headed to the salon.
“You were right.” Ike’s voice broke into the rhythm of the song Effie was playing.
“Wha
t’s that?” Effie asked in low tones as her fingers continued to move effortlessly over the piano keys.
“She’s wearing her black traveling suit again already waiting at the captain’s table.”
Effie held back a chuckle. “People don’t dress up for breakfast.”
Smithers rang a small bell, and Ike helped Effie to the captain’s table. Turning in Blanche’s direction she asked, “Did you enjoy your stroll?”
“Very much.” A story lay behind Blanche’s tone; Effie would ask about it later.
“Miss Gallagher, what a pleasure to have you playing for us before our meals.”
“Thank you. I enjoy playing.” Effie imagined Mrs. Ralston’s appearance. People didn’t understand when she said she heard colors; but she did. For instance, a song in the key of D, with two sharps, sounded yellow, where as something in D-flat could sound dark purple. Mrs. Ralston’s voice felt like a garish green.
“Do you know ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad’?” Mrs. Ralston asked.
Effie tilted her head. Passengers frequently had special requests, and she was happy to accommodate. “Unfortunately not. But if you sing it for me, I can probably pick it up.”
Skirts rustled as Blanche stood. “Once again, we will observe a few moments of silence to return thanks for the food.”
The simple invitation to return thanks pushed a key in Effie’s soul. Even though she didn’t make a habit of saying grace, she did turn her thoughts toward God in the silence.
Beside her, Ike shifted in his chair. His presence surprised her this morning. His work entertaining passengers kept him up half the night, and he couldn’t work twenty-four hours out of twenty-four.
If she had to guess, she’d attribute his attendance to Blanche. Whether or not he admitted it, she suspected he was half-smitten with the captain’s daughter, despite the warnings he had received.
“Amen.” Blanche brought the moment of silence to an end.
“What plans do you have for this day?” Ike’s coffee cup rattled as he lifted it from the saucer.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 19
