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

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

  Since he had asked for this meeting, he should initiate the discussion. But where should he start? “I didn’t mean for you to find out that way.”

  “You didn’t mean for me to find out at all,” Blanche shot back. “You didn’t want me to know.”

  At least she wasn’t yelling at him, not quite. “Not right away, no.” Gambling aboard a steamboat seemed as natural as a duck paddling down the river. “It’s hard to explain. I’m not that good with words.”

  “Don’t treat me like a simpleton.” Her voice held a definite hard edge. “You could charm a snake out of his skin if you wanted to. At least do me the courtesy of explaining life on the river, as you will probably say.”

  “Very well.” I need to see her eyes. Ike hoisted himself onto the railing so that he was facing Blanche. He tilted back a few inches but righted himself.

  “Be careful.”

  Ike chuckled. “You’d better watch out. Or you’ll worry about what happens to me.”

  “I don’t wish you any harm, Mr. Gallagher. My concern is the harm you bring on yourself and this enterprise by playing games of chance.”

  Ike took a deep breath. “Lamar Industries wouldn’t survive without my poker winnings. I understand that steamboats used to earn big profits before the War Between the States. But those days are long over. Things have just gotten worse and worse since I was a child.”

  Blanche’s face looked as pale and stony as the moonlight striking the deck. “Is this steamboat all there is to Lamar Industries? Is the Cordelia the totality of my inheritance?”

  CHAPTER 12

  Ike tapped his feet against the slats beneath the railings, thinking through his answer. “I’m not at liberty to discuss details about your father’s company.”

  She glared at him. “I have a right to know.”

  “Of course you do. But, remember, I’m not much older than you are. I grew up on this boat, and I always had clothes on my back and food on the table. That was all I cared about. By the time I was old enough to take part in the business, the captain had grown used to keeping it close to his chest.” Ike blinked as memories flooded back. When the captain had taken him and Effie in as children, he had promised they would have a home as long as they needed one.

  Those details might soften Blanche’s attitude toward her father. “When our parents died, the captain stepped in. I think he missed being a father. When he took care of us, he could pretend he was looking after you.” Studying her profile, he couldn’t guess what thoughts ran through her mind.

  “Maybe so.” Face lifted to the heavens, she turned her head to the right and left, surveying the stars. “God knows the stars by name. And He knows when a sparrow falls. He showed His love for you by sending my father to you. But you don’t sense His hand on your life. And that’s the saddest thing of all.”

  “You think God used a gambling owner of a steamboat to provide for two orphans?” Ike let his skepticism show. “I should think God would have sent us to a church or something.”

  “Who can understand the ways of God?” Blanche continued to stare at the sky. “The point is, God knew your need and took care of you. Even if I didn’t have a father.” Her voice cracked. She turned to face him full-on. “When I am mistress of this vessel—if I am—all your gambling activities will cease. God has provided for me all my life without my resorting to games of chance. He will continue to do so.”

  You are not the only one depending on the income the Cordelia provides. Ike didn’t voice the thought as he slipped off the railing. “I will see you in the morning.” With a bow of his head, he sauntered across the deck and down the stairs to his cabin.

  Blanche’s gaze followed Ike until he disappeared down the stairs. Headed to tonight’s poker game, no doubt.

  How naive she must seem, how innocent. Back home, people held that quality in high esteem. Aboard the Cordelia, others laughed at her for not recognizing the obvious.

  Tonight should have been a triumph. She had sung, people had laughed and cried, she had even quoted from the Bible to a good response. Even Old Obie had attended.

  But all that felt like nothing compared to Bart Ventura’s caustic humor. How could a Christian live in a place like this? Bear witness to the saving power of God? She should retreat to her closet and pray the night away. But she hated the thought of descending the stairs and possibly running into someone on their way to the poker game in Ike’s cabin.

  Lantern light blinked overhead. Old Obie. He would listen. As she approached the stairwell, the sign announcing the upcoming church service taunted her with her high hopes.

  She climbed the steps as quietly as possible. When she entered the room, Old Obie didn’t turn around. She flattened her back against the wall, seeking the words to begin.

  “Do you want to take a turn at the wheel?” His voice sliced through the air.

  She darted forward, freed from her inertia by the sound of his voice. “Is it safe?” She laid a tentative hand on the wheel. “It is dark out tonight. Not much moonlight.”

  “I’m right here. If you want to get your pilot’s license, you have to know how to run the river at all times of day. So tell me, what do you need to look out for when you’re piloting at night?”

  Blanche scrambled to remember. “How fast the boat is going. How strong the current is. How close the banks are. What the river bottom is like along here.”

  Old Obie nodded with each item on the list. “Do you know any of the answers?”

  Blanche thought back. “I know we were traveling twelve miles per hour this morning.”

  Old Obie shook his head. “You must think like a river captain. Not miles. Knots.”

  “Why did they use the same word for bumps in thread and distance over water?”

  Old Obie chuckled. “I don’t know. They didn’t ask me.”

  As he led her through the answers to her questions, he occasionally directed her to shift the wheel a fraction to the right or left. The tension that had filled her from earlier in the evening dissipated. “I could stay out here for hours.”

  That brought another chuckle from Old Obie. “The river is getting ahold of you, girl. Why do you think I spend so many hours up here?”

  She voiced the stubborn thought that refused to go away. “I wondered if you were avoiding me.”

  “Now, why would I do that?”

  So you wouldn’t have to talk to me about my parents? Wordlessly, she shook her head.

  “No, indeed. Truth is, we have a second pilot aboard, but he doesn’t have the feel for the river that I do.” His hazel eyes slanted sideways at her. “Like you do.”

  “Do you really think I could be a steamboat pilot?” The idea seemed so audacious, so impossible—so desirable. The possibility challenged her to try something few people had done.

  “Absolutely. You just need to get to know the river better.” He stepped away from the wheel. “I’ll leave you be for a spell. You get any problems, maybe you can sing the river into submission.”

  She chuckled nervously. Her fingers tightened on the spokes of the wheel.

  “Relax. Feel the river.”

  She breathed deeply, as the music director had taught her to do, in and out, and loosened her grip. Despite the cooler evening air, sweat dotted her forehead. She struggled to see the river water the same way as she could during the day. Feel the river.

  Looking ahead, she spotted one cypress tree towering higher over the river than the ones around it. She made that her landmark. Once she passed that, she marked an outcropping of the riverbank. She passed three landmarks before Old Obie tapped her on the shoulder. “You done good, but that’s long enough for now.”

  Blanche glanced at the sky, half-expecting the quarter moon to have reached its zenith. It had barely budged.

  “You held on for fifteen minutes. That’s a good spell for a beginning pilot.”

  The frank admiration in Old Obie’s voice warmed Blanche’s heart. As she let go of the wheel, she gathered her cou
rage to mention her reason for coming to the pilothouse. “I learned something tonight.”

  “That you have an amazing musical gift?” Old Obie shook his head. “I’d think you knew that already.”

  “No. Mr. Ventura mentioned that Ike runs a poker game in his cabin.”

  “Yes, he does, most nights.”

  How could Old Obie sound so matter-of-fact about it? “I wasn’t aware the Cordelia served as a gambling hall.”

  “We don’t. We don’t have a roulette wheel or anyone counting twenty-one.”

  “But card playing—”

  “Is a private game among gentlemen.”

  “Did—my father—approve?” Was this why her mother had left?

  Old Obie’s fingers flexed on the wheel. “The captain of a boat does whatever is necessary to keep his customers happy and the boat running. A game of cards every now and then is one of those things.”

  “So he knew about it. And didn’t stop it.” Blanche heard the resentment in her voice. The weariness and disappointment that were kept at bay while she piloted the boat rushed back in. “I think I’ll go on to bed.”

  “Wait a minute, girl.” One hand on the wheel, Old Obie patted her shoulder with the other. “I know this is all strange for you. And you’ve been raised to disapprove of gambling in all its forms. And in some ways you’re right. But before you think too harshly of Ike, take your time. Get to know him better before you pass judgment on him.”

  Judge not, that ye be not judged. Blanche didn’t expect to hear the echo of God’s Word coming from this unexpected source. “I’ll try.” She took a step in the direction of the stairs, but Old Obie stopped her again.

  “I got something for you.” Old Obie dug at the back of his desk and pulled out a leather-bound volume. “Here is my logbook for last summer. I thought you might like to study it. Ask me any questions you have.” He winked. “Maybe you can learn from my mistakes.” He patted her arm awkwardly. “It will all work out. You’ll see.”

  His words left a warm glow, and she felt better for talking to him. “Thanks.” She hugged the logbook close to her chest. “And thanks for this as well. I can’t wait.” Her footsteps down the stairs fell more lightly than they had when she came up.

  Given Blanche’s reaction to Ventura’s revelation about the ongoing poker game, Ike expected her to avoid him. She surprised him by chatting with him the next morning as if they’d had no disagreement. “I haven’t made it down to the engine rooms yet. Do you have time to take me this morning?”

  Once again she wore her black suit—she seemed to save her new dresses for dinner—but her hair was knotted loosely at the back of her neck rather than pulled into a tight knot on top. She looked quite fetching. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

  The noise increased as they descended step by step into the bowels of the ship. He stopped before they reached the bottom, when he would have to shout to be heard. In the flickering lantern light, he looked at Blanche, a smudge of dust already marring her beautiful pale cheeks. “How much do you know about steam engines?”

  “It has something to do with heating water to steam and cooling it back to water. But how does it work? How does the energy get to the wheels? I thought steamboats have wheels on both sides. Why is the wheel at the back?” She stopped to take a breath. “I have a lot of questions.”

  “The wheel is at the stern. It’s a stern wheeler.”

  Her hands were making circles, punctuating each question. The more animated her voice, the brighter her cheeks grew. Her musical talents had gone without any training beyond singing at church. Old Obie said she was the most natural pilot he had ever met. And now she asked questions like a born engineer. Blanche was a lady of many talents, and the best part was that she didn’t even realize it.

  “I understand some of the theory, but I can only make minor repairs. McDonald is a magician with the machines. Give him a hammer, rope, and a wrench, and he can fix almost anything.” After he explained the layout of the engine room, he led her to the heart of the boat.

  “How much coal does it take to heat the tank?” Blanche asked. When McDonald answered, she raised her eyebrows. She probably knew the cost of coal and could calculate the expenses. “Where is the machinery manufactured? How long do they last?” She piled on questions regarding shipping costs, the benefits of steam power compared to other choices, the problems and delays.

  Whatever self-righteous habits Blanche mimicked from her mother, she showed a good head for business. If Ike presented the income from the poker games in terms of business profit and loss, she would understand their necessity.

  Somehow Blanche’s blouse remained pristine as they walked among the engines, even when her fingertips were coated with coal dust. The steam loosened tendrils of red hair that curled over her forehead like tiny flickers of flame. Ike didn’t know any other woman, except perhaps Effie, who would be so at ease in the environment. He enjoyed their time together.

  As the days passed, Ike waited for Blanche to bring up the subject of gambling, but she seemed as content to avoid it as he was. Although she didn’t say another word on the subject, he gathered facts and figures to bolster his argument about the profitability of the enterprise. But she spent the week exploring the boat from stem to stern, asking for his companionship as often as not. Every now and then he caught her reading intently from a leather-bound book that looked suspiciously like one of the ship’s logs.

  At their last stop, among the stevedores who loaded the ship, Blanche delivered what Ike had come to consider her standard invitation. In each department, she invited the employees to attend the worship service, while making it clear attendance wasn’t mandatory. Would that change if she took over running the ship? Would she want to hire a shipboard chaplain?

  At Saturday evening’s dinner, with Blanche wearing Dame Agatha’s latest creation—a brilliant crimson that looked lovely in spite of its clash with Blanche’s hair—she grew pensive. “I appreciate all the time you’ve put into showing me around the Cordelia this week. I hope I haven’t taken too much time from your duties.”

  “Not at all.” He had lost more sleep for far less pleasant reasons.

  “I want to personally invite you to join us for our time of worship tomorrow.” She cocked her head to one side, as if uncertain of his response. “Of course you don’t have to come, but I think it may surprise you.” Color crept into her cheeks. “I would appreciate it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Until that point, Ike had planned on skipping the morning’s agenda and catching up on sleep. After her personal invitation, his curiosity overcame his hesitation. What surprise did Blanche have in store?

  He decided he wanted to find out.

  CHAPTER 13

  Early Sunday morning, Blanche awoke refreshed, one of the few hours of the day when the tight accommodations aboard ship remained quiet. She grabbed her Bible and headed to her favorite chair at the stern of the boat, where mist from the river cooled her face.

  After days of planning and preparation and worry, today was the day. None of the nervousness that had assaulted her on the day of the musicale bothered her this morning. She didn’t know if there would be three or thirty people present this morning. It didn’t matter. God promised to be in the midst when only two or three gathered in His name. She and the Potters made the requisite three. If no one else attended, they could rejoice in the presence of God and renew their commitment to being light and salt to the world of the Cordelia.

  God knew each person aboard by name. He cared for each one. She dug out the list she had made, with as many names as she could remember. Digging through her memory for relevant facts, she prayed for each one, adding something beyond “God bless.”

  At the bottom of the list, she came to the ones she knew the best: Effie. Old Obie. Ike.

  How had these three people become so precious to her in such a short time? In some ways she felt closer to them than she did to the people she had known her entire life. With s
o many items for prayer, she could skip breakfast altogether. But the breakfast bell rang and she decided to join them, to urge them one last time to attend the service. She looked at the sky and whispered aloud, “If there is any one thing they all need, it’s Your saving grace. Oh Lord, use me. The least worthy of all Your servants.” And send them to the service. She didn’t voice that last plea, but God knew her thoughts.

  Stomach growling, Blanche slipped into the dining salon behind the Ralstons. When Mr. Potter said grace over breakfast, he reminded the diners about the morning’s service. Several heads nodded.

  All that prayer had increased her appetite; she piled her plate high with fluffy scrambled eggs, light orange muffins, and a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Her old choirmaster used to advise her to avoid dairy products before singing, so instead of her usual glass of milk, she drank a cup of black coffee.

  Conversation flowed around her, with her making appropriate responses from time to time. After breakfast, she would change, but she hadn’t decided what she should wear. Her black suit made her the most comfortable, but wearing it seemed ungrateful for all the beautiful clothes God had provided for her. Neither did she want to appear as fancy as a peacock, vying for attention with the God she hoped to glorify.

  Ma would wonder why she even had a question. Effie might tell her to wear the dress that made her feel best, but she couldn’t advise Blanche about whether a color was too flashy. She considered the question as she buttered a muffin.

  Ike leaned in close. “A penny for your thoughts? You’re not worried about the service, are you? You’ll do fine.”

  “Not exactly.” Ike would have some insight into her question. “I’m trying to decide what to wear. I want to wear one of my new dresses, but I don’t want anything too—too…”

  Chuckling, Ike dabbed at his mouth. “Just like a woman. I didn’t know you had it in you.”