The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  “So many people asked for time with me today.” Blanche sounded uncertain.

  “Agatha has demanded an audience this morning.” Effie threw her a lifeline.

  “And no one defies Dame Agatha,” Ike murmured.

  “Why do I need to see the seamstress?”

  Ike made a sound half between cough and laugh. Blanche’s terrified voice made Effie wonder if she had ever owned a dress not made by her own hands.

  “It seems so wasteful to make new dresses for me until I decide whether I’m going to stay with the boat. Truly, I don’t need anything new.”

  Ah, waste not, want not. The captain had mentioned that quality of his wife’s character. How did he describe it? She pinched pennies so tight she wore all the use out of them.

  “I insist.” Ike had regained control of his voice. “Agatha is paid a salary, and the material has already been purchased.”

  “You won’t change his mind, and Agatha is an artist with fabric. You might as well enjoy it.” Effie determined to help Blanche enjoy this new experience.

  “Is her name truly Dame Agatha?” Blanche steered the conversation in a new direction. “What is an English noblewoman doing onboard a riverboat?”

  Effie laughed. “That’s just her nickname. Because she likes to order everyone around. She probably won’t give you a choice about patterns. She doesn’t me.” Stretching her hand out, she clutched the handle of the orange juice pitcher and poured herself a glass. “The only thing worse than enduring a session with her is missing one. She makes you feel like you’ve ignored a royal invitation.”

  Blanche didn’t respond until she ate a bite of something—her oatmeal, Effie would guess. “Did she treat the captain that way?”

  Good question. Blanche continued to show some spunk.

  Nodding, Effie chewed on a strip of bacon. “When you’re the queen of it all, everyone has to bow to your wishes. Even a riverboat captain.”

  “I’ll just have to talk some sense into her. That’s all. Pass me the biscuits, please.”

  Effie took the platter in both hands and handed it over. “What else are you hoping to see today?”

  “I was hoping to see the engine rooms in the morning, while it is still cool.”

  “You can go tomorrow. They’ll be happy to see you.”

  “And this afternoon I’m going back to visit with Old Obie.”

  A spoon clinked against china. Ike was adding sugar to his coffee. “Do you mind if I join you? I can always use another lesson in the ways of the river.”

  He was smitten, no doubt about it.

  Blanche hesitated before answering. “Of course. You don’t have to ask my permission.” She wouldn’t get rid of Ike easily, if only to help the pilot handle the inevitable questions.

  Arriving late, the Ralstons took their seats at the table, and Blanche stopped talking. Out of habit, Effie picked up the slack in conversation.

  Mrs. Ralston jumped in. “Is your marvelous seamstress available to fashion a dress for me? My Ladies’ Home Journal caught up with me in Roma, and there is this absolutely marvelous dress I must have.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to—” Blanche offered.

  Effie had to cut her off, “—as soon as she finishes with her current project.” She was so used to acting as hostess for the Cordelia, she’d have to remind herself to give Blanche time to respond. Thoughts of the future troubled her. Of course the captain refused to give away his daughter’s birthright, but where did that leave Effie and her brother?

  “And what project is that?” The sound of crockery hitting the table pounded Effie’s ears, and Mrs. Ralston screeched.

  “Apologies, ma’am.” Smithers appeared instantly.

  Mrs. Ralston huffed. “I’ll have to change my dress. Such a disappointment. I was hoping to wear this dress for tomorrow night’s dinner performance. Will your laundress be able to get it clean before then?”

  I bet she knows that our seamstress is also her laundress. Effie plastered a smile on her face, dismissing the suspicion. “Of course, ma’am.”

  A choking sound came from Blanche’s direction, but she didn’t say anything. She remained quiet, saying a word here and there, occasionally her spoon striking the plate. Effie offered her the biscuits a second time, and she accepted. “These remind me of my mother’s biscuits.”

  The sadness in her voice reminded her that she had only recently lost her only known family. She must find it difficult to sit with people she had just met, forced into activities she had never done before and trying to be pleasant. No wonder she felt so threatened.

  Whether or not she realized it, this trip was designed to test ability to adapt, to survive. Was any of the old captain in her, or was she an exact duplicate of her mother? “Then she must have been a good cook.”

  “She was.” She pushed back unsteadily in her chair. Ike sprang to his feet to hold it for her. “If you’ll excuse me.” She moved away from the table at a rapid pace.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Ralston spoke over the clinking of the spoon as if the accident had never happened.

  “She just lost her mother.” Why did I speak? We’re supposed to accommodate the passengers, not the other way around.

  Nineteen years of living as a servant in someone else’s house enabled Blanche to walk out of the dining room with every evidence of self-control. She’d spent a lifetime wearing hand-me-downs, every now and then enjoying a new dress made from leftover scraps of fabric. She glanced down at her serviceable black traveling suit. More than necessity drove her to wear it over and over again. She bought it new, with her own money, and it was both fashionable as well as practical. Her first new dress might be her last new dress, and she wanted it to last.

  “Lord, help me to show Your love to Mrs. Ralston. No matter what she thinks about me.” How many times had Mama prayed the same words? She had spent her life serving others without complaint, adding extra touches that spelled love. At least every member of the Winthrop family attended church, and Mama had prayed with the two littlest girls. People who didn’t know the Lord needed those acts of love even more.

  Blanche stumbled into the cabin and sprawled across her berth. Memories of her mother, her countless acts of love even when her words were few, crowded her mind, and her shoulders shook with sobs. She buried her face in her pillow and let the case absorb her tears. She would not appear in front of the seamstress looking like a drowned rat.

  Pick yourself up, girl. No time for tears. Ma’s words haunted her ears. It was all she needed, for now. She scrubbed her face and prepared to meet the dragon Agatha.

  CHAPTER 8

  Is that the one you want to keep our nighttime activities a secret from?” Ralston arched his eyebrows as they watched Blanche leave the dining salon. Effie excused herself and followed behind.

  Ike nodded. “She’d demand we search the ship and toss all cards to the bottom of the river—either that, or she might demand to be let out at the next stop.”

  “Too bad. With that hair of hers, she should know how to have a good time.” Ralston’s eyes lit with an appreciative gleam. He didn’t know what to do with Blanche Lamar.

  “You will treat her with the same respect you show my sister. More, since she’s the captain’s daughter.”

  “All right.” Ralston lifted his hands in surrender. “I promise I won’t bother her. That one needs someone to teach her to crack a smile.”

  “Don’t worry. Effie’s working on that.”

  After breakfast, Ike headed to his cabin for a few hours’ sleep. When he passed Agatha’s domain, his steps slowed. He had given the seamstress a detailed description of Blanche’s attributes, had consulted on which colors he thought would complement her complexion, and had given a masculine impression of current fashions when asked. He appreciated a well-turned-out woman, and Blanche had the potential to put all the society matrons to shame. The captain had teased him about his knowledge of high fashion, but it suited both his personali
ty and his job. No waist overalls or common denim for him.

  The door creaked open as he passed, and Effie’s cane tapped outside the door. Inhaling her breath sharply, she said, “Ike? Is that you?”

  How she recognized him, he had never figured out. “What gave me away this time?”

  Laughing, she shut the door behind her. “Your aftershave, of course. Detectable to my sensitive nose beneath the overlay of cinnamon toast and strong coffee. You came at the right time. From Agatha’s reaction, Blanche must look amazing.”

  “She’s already sewn a dress?” Agatha was a marvel with the sewing needle, but Blanche had been onboard for less than twenty-four hours.

  “Come with me.” Effie hustled down the hallway toward the stairs, her cane tapping a steady rhythm. At the stairs, she grabbed for the handrail. “She took your general comments and fashioned a dress, adjusting it according to her observations of Blanche last night, as well as the exact measurements of her traveling outfit.”

  She dashed into her cabin and returned with a gold hair-comb with mother-of-pearl insets in the handle. “I’m going to try my hand at arranging her hair.” She tucked the comb into her reticule and left the cabin. Ike followed.

  Back in the sewing room, Effie knocked before ducking her head in. “Ike is with me. May he come in?”

  Agatha’s agreement overrode Blanche’s soft protest, and he stepped inside.

  Stunning. Breathtaking. Beautiful. Regal. Warm. All of those words and yet none of them captured Blanche’s transformation.

  “Mr. Gallagher. I am so glad that you are here. I think you will agree that this dress suits Miss Lamar’s position aboard the Cordelia.”

  Words failed Ike. He could only nod.

  “Miss Gallagher and I are trying to convince Miss Lamar to agree to a few dresses in jewel colors: a gold, perhaps, or sapphire or jade. Any of those would look lovely with her coloring.”

  Blanche didn’t respond. She stood transfixed in front of the mirror, her hand held to a cheek that glowed scarlet between gloved fingers.

  “Miss Lamar.” Ike took her free hand and raised it to his lips.

  The garment Agatha had constructed was simple and modest in design, yet a world removed from Blanche’s normal attire. The fitted blouse in warm beige, with vertical stripes of navy blue and ruby red, tucked in nicely at the waist of an eight-gore skirt.

  “Sit down, Blanche.” Effie knew how to exercise authority as well as her brother. “Let me add the finishing touch.”

  Blanche sat down in front of a vanity mirror, shaking her head from side to side. Effie’s deft fingers pulled every pin from Blanche’s head. Luxurious, thick red waves cascaded over Blanche’s shoulders and down her back.

  Ike settled back to watch Effie work. She had a feel for hair, insisting that each woman’s head was different, telling her whether to curl, or brush, or tease.

  A few minutes later Effie had sculpted Blanche’s hair into a soft bun at the back, the sides held in place with the gold combs. After she tucked a few pins back into the hair, she stepped back. “That should do it.”

  A pale blush sprang high in Blanche’s cheeks and spread down her neck. The smile in her eyes reached her lips, the smile of a woman who knew she looked good.

  “You will of course wear that lovely garment when you go up to the pilothouse and let everyone on deck see you,” Ike dictated. No one more so than Old Obie.

  “But what about the dress I was wearing… I don’t want to create extra work.” Blanche offered a feeble protest.

  Agatha guffawed. “I do the laundry around here. And I want you to show off my work as soon as possible. You must wear this dress to the evening meal. It is even more important that you look your best when we have additional guests.” With a quick nod of her head, she turned to Ike. “Now, Mr. Gallagher. Take your leave so we can continue our work.”

  “Just a minute.” Ike leaned close enough to Blanche to say sotto voce, “You look lovely.” The heat rushing into her cheeks tickled the fringes of his mustache, and he hurried out the door before he blushed himself.

  Two hours later, Blanche left Agatha’s domain, worn out from a hard morning’s work. No wonder Ike called her Dame Agatha. She paid no attention to anything Blanche said, as inflexible in her demands as the teacher who had drummed the multiplication tables into her head.

  Blanche didn’t want to offend Agatha, but she couldn’t decide what bothered her more: the colors or the cut of the clothes. “Won’t this dress draw attention to me?”

  Agatha guffawed. “That’s the point.”

  Effie only smiled before reassuring Blanche that the patterns they had chosen were simple, tasteful, and modest.

  For the half hour remaining until the next meal, Blanche decided to retire to her cabin, but she found it hard to relax. If she laid against a pillow or leaned against a chair, she might destroy Effie’s delicate handiwork with her hair. The dress wouldn’t wrinkle easily, but she couldn’t redo the bow by herself. When she removed the gloves, a hangnail on her left hand bothered her. She pulled at it, and a tiny pucker of blood appeared at the root. It dripped onto the perfect white of the gloves. Now what? She couldn’t even keep a pair of gloves clean for two hours. Tears formed in her eyes, which made her feel even worse. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, cry over something as ridiculous as a drop of blood.

  Effie entered the room, catching her in mid-sob. “You poor dear.” She dropped onto the bed beside Blanche. “I had hoped that your dress-fitting session would lift your spirits. I always get excited when I’m getting new clothes made.”

  Ignoring the difference in their perspectives, Blanche pointed to the gloves before remembering Effie couldn’t see her gestures. “I got blood on my gloves.”

  “Is that all? I was afraid Agatha might have forgotten to finish a seam.”

  Blanche’s eyes widened at the thought of walking down the hallway with her chemise showing.

  “Give me the offending garment.”

  When Blanche handed the glove to Effie, she tossed it into the bin with other washables. “I keep several pair at all times. I’m lucky if I can wear a pair for two days.”

  Blanche sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know how to be fancy.” She put a hand to her throat and almost ran her bloodied finger over the top button. She didn’t dare. She might smear blood on the dress this time. I’ll never tear a hangnail again. She hoped she would keep that promise. “Do you have any cures for a hangnail?”

  “Don’t wear gloves?” Effie smiled. “It will grow out soon enough.”

  “What did Agatha mean by new guests tonight?” Blanche had wondered about the comment at the time.

  “We’re stopping at Rio Grande City tonight. Several people usually join us for dinner and the evening’s, umm, entertainment. Even more than usual this trip, because we want to impress Señor Ventura. So promise you’ll wear the dress tonight. Please.”

  “Very well.” Blanche sighed. She couldn’t wait for this trip to be over so that she could go back to where she didn’t face new dilemmas every few hours. “Please help me undress. I want to keep this clean until I get to dinner tonight.”

  After changing into a straight black skirt with a dark blue blouse that could hide dirt, she made her way to the deck. She hated being in the bowels of the ship where the air always seemed far too warm.

  On deck, she closed her eyes and welcomed the fresh air. The fabrics Ike had chosen for her swam before her eyes. Such… color. Before her eyes had landed on the gold brocade, she thought the prettiest thing she had ever seen in her life was a triple rainbow. She had seen one only once, three years ago on her sixteenth birthday. That day, and that rainbow, had changed her life.

  The pleasure she felt in the fabrics Agatha spread before her almost exceeded the pleasure of that day. As she reveled in the bold colors, she felt is if she was lusting after another god. She reminded herself that God created color.

  And Ike bought it for her, for plain, practical Blanche Lamar.
He said they were perfect for her coloring. A part of her wanted to gather the fabric to her bosom and hold it tight in the way she couldn’t a rainbow. Another part of her wanted to throw it onto the nearest bonfire as a heathen idol.

  Mist sprayed Blanche’s face as she leaned over the railing. Unbuttoning the top button of her blouse, she lifted her face to enjoy the cooling drops. It brought a little relief as the sun climbed to its zenith. Raising her hand to her eyebrows to shield her eyes from the sun, she tried to gauge the time until lunch. Could she make it to engineering before the call to the dining room? No. She decided to use the time to walk about the ship instead.

  A glimpse into the salon showed Smithers directing the wait staff. Mrs. Ralston came around the corner, and they nodded as they passed in the hallway.

  Mrs. Potter appeared at the top of the stairs. When she spotted Blanche, she smiled. “Miss Lamar. How lovely to see you again. And I wanted to tell you how much Mr. Potter and I appreciate your quiet time for prayer at our meals. I confess, I never expected it aboard a steamboat.” She chuckled. “Judge not, as the Good Book says.”

  Heavy footfalls ascended the stairs and Mr. Potter joined them. “She’s speaking the truth. I wondered if you’d mind if I say a word or two to the Almighty out loud, before we eat? Invite some of the others to join in.”

  “What a wonderful idea. Thank you for suggesting it. I would have done so myself, except it seemed inappropriate somehow.” She extended a hand toward the rotund gentleman. “Can I count on you for luncheon in a few minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  Excusing herself, she walked past the deck where the staff cabins were located and stood at the top of the stairway leading into the bowels of the ship. Engines throbbed and heat blasted her in the face. Even if she dressed only in her camisole, she would still feel hot. Tomorrow morning she would leave her room early during the coolest time of day.

  The bell rang, calling them to come to the salon. Rarely had a morning provided her so much entertainment. Not much of her time had been put to practical use. None of it had been spiritual, unless she counted her ruminations about rainbows and fabric colors.