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

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

  Today Blanche wore a brown skirt and beige blouse. The brown colors suited her coloring better than black and white, but he looked forward to seeing her in bright colors. Dame Agatha was finishing the gowns as quickly as she could, hopefully before the Sunday service. He grinned at the thought.

  “I never thought I’d see the day they would hold a church service on the Cordelia. Doesn’t the Bible have something to say about God and mammon?” Ralston’s comment echoed the sentiments of others reading the sign.

  Ike didn’t have a clue what “mammon” meant, but he didn’t like the frown it brought to Blanche’s face. The lunch bell rang. “All right, let’s break it up. Miss Lamar will welcome anyone who wishes to attend, and I might add that my sister will be playing the piano. And that we are in for some special music. You might find it more enjoyable than you expect.”

  The crowd broke up, puzzled glances alternating with outright chuckles at Ike’s expense.

  Ike smiled himself until he saw the hurt in Blanche’s eyes. She really cared about the church service. “Don’t fret yourself. They mean no harm.”

  “What do they find so funny? Navy ships have chaplains aboard. Why not a commercial ship?”

  Since Ike didn’t know how to answer her question without crushing any illusions she might still hold about him, he shrugged. “It’s just not the usual thing. May I escort you to dinner, Miss Lamar?”

  She nodded and accepted his arm with perfect trust. His heart twisted. How long could he continue hiding the truth from her? Could he? Should he?

  The answer was no longer clear.

  Blanche slipped into her cabin. Dame Agatha had delivered an emerald green dress with gold piping to her cabin, and she found herself eager to wear it. The new outfits had drawn admiring glances from passengers and crew alike—and from Ike.

  If she stayed aboard the Cordelia much longer, she’d be as vain as Mrs. Ralston. Sunday, a day dedicated to meditating on the God worthy of all worship, couldn’t come soon enough.

  The passengers’ reaction to the meeting struck her as peculiar. They acted like she was suggesting a preacher go to a house of ill repute. She reminded herself that Jesus said the sick needed a physician, not the healthy. Perhaps their very salvation depended on the service. With a renewed sense of purpose—and a glance in the mirror that confirmed the dress brought out highlights in her eyes and hair—she headed for the dining salon.

  The Ralstons arrived a few minutes after she did. Mrs. Ralston greeted her with what appeared to be a genuine smile. Blanche kept reminding herself to judge not, that ye be not judged.

  Over fresh endive salad, Mrs. Ralston said, “I am glad you are holding the worship service on Sunday. That is sadly lacking in many ships of this kind.”

  Blanche offered a silent prayer of thanks for the affirmation, and from such an unexpected source. “So can I count on your attendance this Sunday?”

  “Of course. And my husband will be happy to join us. Won’t you, Mr. Ralston?” She turned her glossed lips on her husband, whose mouth lifted in a half smile.

  He leaned forward and refilled his water glass. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He winked at Blanche. “I understand that we even have some musical numbers to look forward to.”

  Blanche opened her mouth to protest, but Effie spoke up first. “You won’t have to wait that long. Blanche will sing at tonight’s entertainment.”

  Blanche’s head whipped around. Sure, they had practiced together a few times. But she still hadn’t decided to go ahead with the performance—singing God’s praises was one thing; entertaining the passengers was something else entirely. But she knew better than to voice that argument. “But I’m not ready.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Effie patted her hand and wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin. “And I’m sure once people hear you sing, they will be happy to attend the service on Sunday.”

  Backed into a corner like that, Blanche had to agree.

  Ike’s face broke out in a wide smile. “What is that saying, that God works in mysterious ways? I look forward to this evening with renewed anticipation. Especially if you will be wearing that fetching dress.” He winked, but then his face sobered as his eyes bore into hers. Maybe he didn’t believe in her abilities as much he pretended.

  Her fears returned, doubled in strength. Fear not. The familiar command came to mind, but did it apply to her current situation? God was encouraging Joshua before he crossed the Jordan River to enter the Promised Land.

  Come to think of it, Blanche was also on a river, and her own promised land, a possible future with her father, beckoned.

  Maybe it applied, after all.

  The waves in her stomach refused to go away. She picked at her food, although Elaine had cooked the chicken as tender, as well-flavored, as she had ever tasted. A dish of biscuits and gravy sounded good, but the Cordelia stayed away from such simple fare. Eating the biscuit dry brought on a coughing fit. Ike refilled her water glass and handed it to her. In a low voice, he said, “You’ll do fine.” His tenderness reassured her, and her stomach calmed down enough to finish her meal.

  The hour between the end of the meal and the start of the performance dragged like the night before Christmas. She paced the front of the theater, pausing in front of the chair where Effie sat with perfect composure. “I want to go through the song one more time.”

  “If you sing it again, you’ll have the fish singing along.” Effie laughed. “You’re ready.” She wouldn’t budge.

  Blanche resumed pacing, humming the tune to herself. When she said the words under her breath, she forgot a phrase and panicked. She hadn’t felt this nervous since the first time she had taken part in a scripture memory contest. This one performance made her as nervous as she had been when she was eight.

  Mr. and Mrs. Potter arrived first, at ten minutes to the hour. The dear lady crossed the floor to Blanche’s side. “I am truly looking forward to this evening. I have been praying for you.”

  Tears sprang to Blanche’s eyes. “Thank you. That means a lot.” She turned to the refreshment table. “May I get you some lemonade? Some ginger snaps?”

  “Why, thank you, dear. Pour some for yourself first. You look thirsty.”

  Blanche groped for a glass on the shelf behind her. “I have some water, but thank you.”

  Bart Ventura came in, studying the newspaper he had purchased the evening before.

  Blanche took her mind off her nerves. “What news of your team, Mr. Ventura?”

  “The Bats? They’re coming along. Coming along. You will have to come to one of their games as my guest. But I ignored another little tidbit that I thought you might find interesting.” He handed her the paper, opened to the center page.

  Blanche couldn’t imagine what news item the businessman thought would interest her, but she accepted the paper. “Female pilot licensed in Mississippi,” the headline read. She read on with interest.

  A woman named Blanche M. Leathers had taken the test to become a steamboat pilot on the Mississippi River—and passed. The article mentioned her lifetime on the River, and her years of working by her husband’s side. “Mrs. Leathers is the first woman to receive a pilot’s license.” The paper questioned the wisdom of issuing a license to a woman because of the dangerous precedent it set.

  Sympathy stirred in Blanche’s heart for the woman who showed so much gumption. The possibilities suggested by her accomplishment stirred something else, something more, something that took her mind off her fear of singing in public.

  By the time she finished studying the article, the room had filled. Blanche told herself not to let Ike’s absence bother her. She took a seat next to Effie in the front row, folding her hands in her lap, and breathed in and out. The door opened again, and Blanche turned to spot the newcomers. Her heart sped at the sight of Ike, tall, handsome, in his suit.

  At his side stood Ole Obie. Dressed in a suit that looked almost as old as Blanche, he joined the traveling company on the Cordelia for t
he first time since her arrival on board.

  CHAPTER 11

  The theater had filled with the faces Blanche had come to recognize from their meals together. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and only a few people took notice of Old Obie and Ike’s entrance. Old Obie chose the seat closest to the door. He whispered a few words to Ike, who made his way down the center aisle.

  As Ike took his place in front of the audience, Mrs. Ralston brought her hands together. The remainder of the audience took up the applause, with a few men adding catcalls. Heat rushed to Blanche’s cheeks, and she rued the fair coloring that went with her bright hair. She took a sip of water from the glass they had brought from the kitchen.

  Mrs. Potter reached over and patted her hand. “You’ll be fine, dear.”

  Ike made a dampening motion with his hands, and the noise died down. “Welcome to this evening’s entertainment. I know you are looking forward to our program. Mrs. Ralston will entertain us with Helena’s monologue from Much Ado About Nothing. Our marvelous chef will ply your taste buds with some of her marvelous petit fours. To begin the evening, my sister, Effie, will play a number of Chopin etudes. Then she will accompany Miss Blanche Lamar as she sings a variety of popular songs. And I understand that our two musical ladies have a surprise in store for us.”

  At the last announcement, the audience once again broke into applause.

  “I have promised Miss Lamar that she will retire at a reasonable hour—”

  Chuckles, mostly from the men, came at that announcement.

  “So let us begin.” Ike took a seat and sat back.

  Although Blanche didn’t recognize the etude that Effie played, her fingers made the piano sing with music that didn’t need words. Blanche’s heart soared with its beauty, lifting her heart in worship of God. All too soon, the melody ended.

  Chef Elaine circled the room. Blanche eyed the delectable miniatures but refused one. She didn’t dare chew anything before she sang, or else she might cough in midsong. Mrs. Ralston’s recitation could have graced a Broadway stage. Listening to her, Blanche questioned the wisdom of her planned course of action, but she had promised God, if no one else.

  As Ike stood to introduce her, Blanche took a long drink and almost spilled it on herself. With a trembling hand, she placed the glass on the tray Elaine passed in front of her.

  “And now the moment we’ve all been waiting for… please welcome Miss Blanche Lamar as she serenades us.”

  Blanche stood to excited applause, and she saw interested smiles on most of the assembled people. At the back, Old Obie looked her in the eye and nodded. Lifting her chin, she straightened her back in perfect posture and walked to the space Ike had vacated.

  She bit back the words of apology she wanted to offer. I’ve never done this before, please don’t expect too much. Her one-word prayer, Help! would have to do. Focusing on friendly faces—her eyes swung between Old Obie and Mrs. Potter—she smiled. Effie played the introduction to “America the Beautiful,” a patriotic melody as they had decided.

  The next song included a more risky choice, juxtaposing “Dixie” to “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory.” As her voice faded away on the last line, Mrs. Potter openly cried. At the back, Old Obie wiped at his eyes. Blanche relaxed. Her fears that some might complain at her singing the “Yankee” song faded. To her, they were two sides of the same story, the pain and passion felt by both sides. Love for country, love for home, love for God—both armies shared the same feelings. She paused a beat. “God bless America.”

  “Amen,” Mr. Potter said, and others nodded.

  After the heaviness of the last song, sentimental songs took over the program. “Miss Gallagher and I agreed that we would like to sing songs by Stephen Foster. Feel free to sing along.” Their voices blended as they sang parts of three songs: “Beautiful Dreamer,” “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair,” and “Old Folks at Home.”

  When she heard people singing along, she touched Effie’s shoulder to stop. “Let’s all sing that last verse again.” Everyone joined in singing this time, some clapping, some tapping their feet.

  Now or never, Blanche decided. “I also would like to do a recitation. I’m no actress like Mrs. Ralston”—she smiled at the lady and received a smile in return—“but I have repeated this passage to myself many times since my mother’s death last month. I offer them as comfort to those of you who may have lost a loved one, in recognition of the God who offers us eternal life.” She closed her eyes to focus on God, as she intended, and began reciting the comforting words from the twenty-first chapter of Revelation. “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” A single tear slid down her cheek. She opened her eyes. “I miss my mother, but if she hadn’t died, I might never have come aboard the Cordelia.”

  Clapping broke out, and Mrs. Ralston stood to her feet. Soon the entire audience joined in the standing ovation. As the applause died down, Ike moved forward and handed her a single, perfect rose. “Let’s show our appreciation for Miss Lamar’s debut performance tonight.”

  Applause broke out again, and she wondered if she should bow and sweep out of the theater or how she should respond. Instead she stood there, smiling and nodding. At the height of the applause, Old Obie slipped out of the salon.

  As the noise died down, Ike spoke to the group a final time. “Tonight’s entertainment is finished. Please finish all the trays our chef has prepared, or else her feelings will be hurt.”

  After his dismissal, several people came forward to congratulate Blanche individually. Mrs. Ralston made her way to the front of the line. In the same voice she used to recite her monologue, she said, “My dear, you look so lovely tonight. And your voice was even lovelier than your clothes. I, too, lost my mother at a young age.” She lowered her voice. “After this evening, I look forward to the Sunday service more than ever.”

  “I shall look forward to it.” Blanche’s heart flew to the top of the ceiling.

  Bart Ventura came toward the end of the line. “Miss Lamar.” Appreciation shone in his dark eyes. “What depths you have. I never suspected. I must bow in appreciation.” He suited his action to the words, and she laughed.

  Leaning forward, he continued. “I confess, I am confused. I never expected to hear so much about God only an hour before I sit down for a game of poker. It’s like your boat can’t decide what kind of place it wants to be… church or gambling hall.” He winked at her before turning to Ike. “I’ll see you later.”

  Blanche mumbled something—she didn’t know exactly what—while her mind processed everything she had seen and heard since she arrived aboard the Cordelia. As soon as they were alone, she turned on Ike.

  “Just where will he be playing poker? In your cabin?”

  Ike wanted to curse as he watched Blanche march straight-backed out of the theater. With a few careless words, Ventura had undone all the good, all the humanizing Blanche’s short time on the boat had done. Lips thinned, face pale, she lost any resemblance to her larger-than-life father and had transformed back into her mother’s image. She might as well have dyed her hair black.

  Ike found Ventura waiting for him outside the theater. “I hope I didn’t create a problem for you.”

  Years of experience went into the bonhomie Ike forced into his face. He didn’t feel at all charitable toward Ventura at the moment. “It will be fine as soon as I soothe some ruffled feathers.” He trotted down the stairs to the girls’ cabin.

  Effie came out and shut the door behind her. “She really didn’t know.” As she whispered, she moved Ike down the hall, back toward the stairwell.

  “I didn’t tell her… but I didn’t lie about it either. It just never came up.”

  Effie shook her head. “You knew she wouldn’t like it. You could have laid low for this one trip, Ike. Give her a chance to get used to life on the river first.”

  Ike u
rged Effie up the stairs and out on deck. A light breeze broke across the prow, teasing his hair. “That’s just not possible. I’m good with cards, Effie. I always come out ahead. And… we need the money.”

  “Would one trip bankrupt Lamar Industries?”

  “This time, it wasn’t just the money. I’m trying to woo Ventura to bring his team aboard. And Ventura’s a gambling man. He wouldn’t even consider us if he couldn’t play a friendly game.”

  Effie leaned over the railing. “I’m sure you’re doing what you think is best. I can’t imagine any other way of life. Very little frightens me, but…”

  “It’s like what happened after our parents died and the captain took us in. Only now we are adults, and we’re supposed to be able to take care of ourselves.” He put an arm around Effie’s shoulders. “We’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” Effie turned sightless eyes on him.

  “No.” He dragged out the word. “It’s time for me to come clean. I probably deserve whatever criticism she offers.”

  Effie nodded. “Give me a few minutes with her. I’ll convince her to meet you on deck.”

  Unable to stand the waiting, Ike paced the deck. When walking below the shadows of the smokestacks, heat and soot filled the air, the familiar hum of the engines throbbed beneath his feet. Effie loved to come up here. She called it the heart of the ship, and Ike called it his thinking space, but Blanche wouldn’t look for him there. He walked on to the pallets of untreated cotton and fruit grown only in the Rio Grande Valley. The scents of summer hung heavy in the air, magnolias and citrus and burning coal. Far different from the cigar-smoke-and-brandy-filled atmosphere of his cabin after a night of poker. Housecleaning tried in vain to remove the smell, so he came on deck every now and then for a breath of fresh air.

  Heels tapped on the deck behind him. “‘When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?’” Blanche’s voice floated through the air as she joined him at the rail, keeping about a foot of space between them. Ike drew in a deep breath. She didn’t sound angry, but disappointed, rather.