But she couldn’t remember the last time she had had so much fun.
CHAPTER 9
Es una buena noche, si?” Face ashen, Bart Ventura leaned against the railing, waiting for the gangplank to extend to the wharf at Smithville. “I know we have only been on the river for twenty-four hours, but I feel better on dry land.”
Ike smiled. Any ill effects Ventura felt probably resulted from overindulging in bourbon while playing poker the night before. “Come now, a pleasant day on the river, good food, and now a night in a pleasant community. I can personally recommend Mrs. Hurley’s café. The best pork ribs in all of Starr County.” He glanced at the lily-white cuffs extending beyond the sleeves of his suit. “Although if we eat barbeque, I need to change clothes.”
“My ballplayers like barbeque. We will try the café.” Ventura turned the pearl studs of his cuff. After the walkway was extended, the two men strolled into town. “So tell me, are the ladies of the café as lovely as your sister and Miss Lamar?”
Ike’s head jerked up at that statement. “So you think Miss Lamar is pretty?”
Bart’s laughter rang through the air, loud enough to be heard on board the boat. “So you are thinking that way? That one has spirit underneath all the prim-and-proper manner. And you are just the man to bring it out of her. Bring her along to our game one night. We can teach her how to have a good time.”
“I’d rather get honey from a beehive.” Ike hoped his suntan hid the heat rushing to his cheeks.
The evening passed pleasantly. The local alcalde, Mayor Fernandez, agreed to an exhibition game by the Brownsville Bats. Later, after they returned to his cabin, Ike won a healthy amount even after he took out the boat’s fifty percent cut. Despite the successful evening, he felt unsettled. After an hour of tossing and turning, he arose and cleaned his room, a task he usually left for the maid. After putting everything away, he sprawled in the most comfortable chair in the room and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, his chin nodded forward and he jerked awake.
Face it. He wouldn’t get much sleep no matter what he did, so he might as well join the others for breakfast. But if he did that he’d run into Blanche and get stirred up again. No, he’d stop by the salon later to grab a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. The cook usually obliged him even when he showed close to the noon hour.
Ignoring a pounding headache and empty stomach, he stayed in his cabin going over the account books. Totaling up the income received to date, he decided this voyage would be profitable. More and more it looked like Bart Ventura would bring them repeat business. The Roma cotton gin had sent a larger than usual shipment. If they delivered the cotton within a reasonable time, that could turn into increased traffic as well.
What would Blanche think of the gambles businesses took all the time, in the hopes of making money? Expenses had outpaced income for several years. On mornings like this, he sometimes wondered if they could afford to forgo the late nights and uncertainties of gambling. Just as often, his winnings determined whether or not the Cordelia stayed afloat.
The grumblings in his stomach increased, and a glance out the window confirmed the late morning hour. As soon as he entered the salon, he headed for the captain’s table. Elaine spooned a big portion of eggs onto a plate. Acid rose in Ike’s throat. “I think I’ll just have coffee this morning. And some dry toast.”
“Like that, is it?” Elaine didn’t say anything further. She didn’t have to. She had nursed him through everything from splinters to his first hangover. Taking a sturdy ceramic mug instead of fancy china, he grabbed a biscuit with the other hand and headed for the one place where he could always find peace. He could depend on Old Obie to listen, and he hurried through the fresh air across the open deck. The worn steps to the pilothouse beckoned.
As soon as his right foot landed on the bottom step, he heard her voice. Blanche. His feet raced up the stairs even while a curse rose to his lips.
Dressed once again in her black traveling suit, Blanche stood at the wheel. Her hands grabbed the spokes, her right hand at two o’clock, left at ten. Her fingers curled around the wheel as if the ship would sink if she didn’t hold on. Old Obie stood about a foot behind her, his head never moving although Ike knew he saw every nuance of color in the river. He grunted and pointed over Blanche’s shoulder. “Do you see anything unusual about that patch of water?”
When Blanche shook her head, Old Obie handed her his binoculars. “Take a closer look.” He placed his hands on the wheel while she leaned forward toward the window, adjusting the glasses.
“It looks like there’s a shadow under the water. Is that possible?”
Old Obie nodded. “Yup. That’s a sandbar. We have to keep the boat away from it or else we could run aground.”
“And that’s not a good thing.”
“Not at all.”
Ike hung back, enjoying the interplay between the old sailor and the young lady.
“You turn the boat.”
“Oh no. I’ll run us straight into it.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll help you.” Old Obie shifted position. “Here. Put your right hand next to mine.”
Blanche reached out a tentative hand and placed her white hand next to Old Obie’s speckled one. Slowly, Old Obie moved the wheel a fraction of an inch at a time, letting Blanche feel the shift of the boat beneath them, until they steered clear of the obstacle.
“I did it!” Blanche sounded as excited as boys at a baseball game. Ike remembered his excitement the first time Old Obie let him take the wheel. Only he didn’t have Obie’s feeling for the river, the instinct necessary to do a pilot’s job. He served the business in other capacities.
But Blanche… Blanche might be a natural.
“Well done, Blanche. I’m impressed.”
At the sound of Ike’s voice, Blanche’s right hand escaped the wheel and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ike. I didn’t hear you come up the stairs.” She heard the breathiness in her voice and chastised herself.
Old Obie chuckled. “Your mind was all on the river.” He turned merry brown eyes on Ike. “The girl is a natural-born pilot. I insist she spend time here each day, to better learn the ways of the Big River.”
Heat rushed into Blanche’s cheeks at the unexpected words of praise. “Don’t be ridiculous. I almost ran us aground on that sandbar back there.”
“What I saw”—Ike crossed the floor and leaned against the captain’s table—“was an apprentice learning from a master. The important thing is that you avoided the sandbar. You’re catching on quickly.”
If her cheeks weren’t already burning, Ike might have blamed the color on his kind words. These two men had spoken more warmly of her abilities in a handful of days than her mother ever did. “There seems to be a lot I don’t know.” She turned the compliment aside.
“Different areas of expertise. If we had a quiz on Bible facts or recitation, you’d win hands down.”
Laughter as big as Santa Claus issued from Old Obie. “He has you there, missy.”
A smile crept onto Blanche’s face. “You may be right, although others on board might excel, like Mr. and Mrs. Potter. In fact…” An idea, so radical, so perfect, jumped into her mind. “We should test that theory out. What would our passengers think about a departure of music for our evening’s entertainment?”
“What are you thinking of?”
“A Bible sword drill or possibly a memory contest. I’m sure the Potters would take part, and we could invite the other passengers and crew to join us.” Her excitement grew as she talked. “I used to do well at things like this when I was a little girl. I won my very own Bible in my first contest.” The pace of her speech increased, the words blending together, so caught up with the possibilities that it took a minute for the disbelief reflected on the two men’s faces to register. Her voice trailed off.
“This is a steamboat, not a church.” Ike’s voice came out high-pitched.
Old Obie only shook his head. “That sounds lik
e something Miss Cordelia might suggest. If we were transporting a revival meeting or a church convention, that might work. But people don’t pay money to have a bunch of ‘thou shalt nots’ quoted at them.”
Blanche shrank back, her shoulders slumping. Then she squared them and lifted her chin. “You’re right, I shouldn’t put learning the Bible in the same category as ‘entertainment.’ But how about a chapel service on Sundays, after breakfast? We must do that much, at least.”
Grinning, Ike shook his head. “You won’t give up on this, will you?”
Straightening her spine and raising herself to her full height—still nearly a foot shorter than Ike—she nodded. “I at least will spend time on Sunday worshipping Almighty God, and I will welcome anyone who wishes to join me. It would be wonderful if Effie could play some hymns for us to sing.”
“‘Amazing Grace.’ I always liked that song.” Old Obie hummed the first few measures.
“Effie has never studied church music…” Ike temporized.
“I already know she plays by ear. I can sing, a little. I can teach her.” Blanche relaxed.
Chuckling, Old Obie lifted the binoculars and stared over the river.
“Another sandbar? I didn’t know the river was that low.” Ike peered through the window.
Blanche joined them, looking in the direction where they focused their attention, scanning for whatever had them concerned. What she saw resembled a submerged tree limb, with a branch sticking above the water. But these men were the experts.
Old Obie lowered his glasses. “It’s nothing. Just an old log.”
I was right. Pleasure flooded Blanche’s spirit. Maybe she was a natural-born pilot after all.
Old Obie returned his attention to Blanche. “It sounds like you’re going to be busy. Dress fittings, pilot lessons, music lessons. You’re fitting into river life just fine.” He patted her on the shoulder. “The Rio Grande will grab your heart before you know it.”
At that point, the dinner bell rang, and a low growl erupted in the room.
“Skipped breakfast, did you?” Old Obie spoke before he inserted an unlit pipe in his mouth. “You’d better get down to dinner.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Blanche had never seen Old Obie in the salon.
He waved her concern away. “I’ll grab a bite after Pete—he’s my relief—shows up.”
Ike put his arm through the crook of Blanche’s arm and led her to the stairs. She paused and looked over her shoulder. A featherlight touch landed on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry about Old Obie. Elaine keeps him well fed. As Thoreau said, he hears a different drummer.”
After dinner, Blanche convinced Effie to join her at the piano. “I want us to celebrate a time of worship on Sunday.”
“And Ike agreed to it?” Effie’s cane hesitated a fraction of a second.
Blanche tamped down a desire to remind her that she was the captain’s heir and she didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission. But… “I will simply announce that I will retire to the theater for a time of worship after breakfast on Sunday and invite anyone who wishes to join me.” She reminded herself she wanted Effie’s help—more than that, her friendship. Pasting a smile on her face, she stared again into Effie’s sightless eyes. Forced smiles wouldn’t win Effie over. Tired of seeking approval in this strange environment, Blanche decided to relax. “From the time I was a little girl, my favorite part of the service was singing hymns. I really want to include a few songs on Sunday. And you are so talented with the piano—will you help me?”
A smile wrinkled those blank-staring eyes. “I’d like that.”
“What hymns do you suggest?” Blanche didn’t know how much church music Effie had been exposed to.
Effie cupped her hands over the table, her fingers moving as if seeking out piano keys. “I know ‘Amazing Grace,’ of course. I love Christmas songs, but it’s not Christmas. What else? The doxology.” A smile played about her lips. “But if you sing one for me, I can probably pick it up.”
Blanche bounced on her feet in time to one of her favorites by Fanny Crosby. “Can we practice right now?”
“The salon is empty now, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Blanche answered the question, although Effie probably could name the order in which the passengers had left the room. She went to the piano and pulled out the bench, aligning her body perfectly with middle C. She played a few chords and hummed a few bars of “Amazing Grace,” her voice a lovely alto.
“I’ve never heard you sing before. What a lovely voice you have. Maybe we can sing a duet.” As soon as Blanche realized what she had said, heat rushed into her cheeks. “That is, people have told me I have a pleasant voice.”
Effie chuckled. “I’m sure you have many talents we know nothing about. We’ve just met. But you must make me a promise.”
“What?” Pleasure at Effie’s compliment warmed her.
Effie plunked out a few chords of a melody Blanche had heard her play every night. “You must sing with me one evening.”
“Why not?” Why not indeed. Her mind tumbled with possibilities as she guided Effie through a few hymns.
She couldn’t remember a time she had felt happier or more at peace than the last two days. She had stayed too busy, and too happy, to spend her days in tears and recriminations.
For the first time, the possibility of living on the river no longer terrified her.
CHAPTER 10
Should I try to talk her out of this church service she’s planning?” Ike lounged against the railing in the pilothouse.
Old Obie didn’t object, one of the few people he allowed the liberty of touching anything in his domain. “No need to make an enemy of the girl. She’ll be your boss someday, after all.” He knew the twinkle in his eyes would take the sting out of his words.
“So you think she’ll stay on the river?” More than simple curiosity lay behind Ike’s question.
“How do I know? She might be pulling the wool over my eyes the way her mother did to the captain.” Old Obie shrugged his shoulders, pretending an indifference he didn’t feel. “But I do know this. In less than one week, she’s learned more about steamboats than Cordelia did in two years of marriage. Maybe we should test it, let the boat get grounded and see what she thinks about being stuck in one place for a day or two.”
Ike groaned. “Don’t forget the passengers. We’re trying to convince Bart Ventura that we can meet our schedule and that it’s safe to bring his team aboard. That’s Bart Ventura’s biggest concern about bringing his team aboard. Floating them down the river for exhibition games will only work if they can advertise ahead of time. The only reason he’s considering the steamboat is that the railroad hasn’t made it to Roma yet.”
Old Obie looked down the river. Ever changing, yet constant, none of the shifting attitudes of society. “Everybody’s in such a rush to get places these days. There was a time when we could relax and take life easy.”
Ike pointed to the steam pouring from the smokestacks. “This from the man who adapted the design of the engine to get the boat to go a few knots faster to win a race?”
“A race is different.” Old Obie waved away Ike’s reaction, a smile lighting his face. “I won a pretty packet on that race.” He sobered. “Of course, that was also the time when Cordelia decided she didn’t like noisy engines, running fast, or gambling, and left the river for good.” He stuck the unlit pipe in his mouth and chewed on the stem without lighting it.
“If I was making a bet, I’d give at least even odds that Blanche will stick.” Ike placed a hand on Obie’s shoulder. “She didn’t have to come, but she did.”
“So did Cordelia. Until she couldn’t take it anymore. That just about broke the captain’s heart.” Old Obie turned his eyes inward to unpleasant memories of dark days.
“We’ll know a lot more if… when… no one shows up at this Sunday service she’s planning.” Ike straightened away from the railing. “I bet she’d enjoy a time trial. Too
bad the river is too low for that.”
Old Obie laughed. “She probably would. Maybe we can arrange it.”
Ike tossed a coin into the air and caught it with one hand. “At least Effie is having fun. She loves learning new music. She keeps humming this one hymn, ‘It Is Well with My Soul.’ It was written by someone who lost his family at sea, or so she says.”
The sound of a hammer raining blows against wood floated up the stairs. “What’s that noise? Did something on deck need repair?”
“No.” Ike stared down the stairway. He rounded the corner at the bottom of the staircase in time to find Blanche tacking a sign by the doorway leading below deck. WORSHIP SERVICE headlined the sign in bold letters. The penmanship deserved an award.
Passengers and crew alike drifted by the sign, paused, and read it.
“A church service? Here?” one of Ventura’s men questioned.
Ike waited for Blanche’s reaction.
“A time for believers in the Lord to gather together to worship. We won’t have a sermon, just friends sharing about a Friend.”
“I’ll probably be sleeping before my shift in the pilothouse.” Pete had arrived. “But I wish you well.”
He entered the stairwell, pausing when he saw Ike. “That Miss Lamar, she’s something else. A church service on any boat. Let alone this boat. Doesn’t she know—”
“No.” Ike’s voice came out more clipped than he meant it to. “And you’d better keep it that way.”
“I didn’t mean any harm, Mr. Gallagher.” The young man’s eyes widened. “I won’t say a word.”
“Good.” Ike joined Blanche on deck. A crowd had gathered around her. Their expressions ranged from skeptical to outright humor. Should he rescue her? No. The more he learned about her, the more he discovered surprising strength. Only today he had read in the logbook that she spent an hour observing the river in the fading twilight last night.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 21
