Then again, Mama didn’t approve of anyone—including Blanche. Nothing she ever did was good enough for her mother. Mama would be shocked and disappointed at Blanche’s decisions since her death. Her shoulders drooped. “Please make the arrangements for next Sunday, then.”
Her appetite disappeared. The lemon squeezed into the sweet tea turned sour in her mouth. She forced down the last couple of bites of mashed potatoes and excused herself from the table.
At the top of the stairs, she hesitated. Did she want to walk the deck, or should she head to her cabin? The light breeze rippling across the water called to her, but she decided against open air. After the morning’s excitement, she felt the need for solitude and quiet, time to consider her life, like self-reflection in preparation for the Lord’s Supper. A pang of homesickness for Christ the King Church struck her. She missed the sonorous organ that accompanied the hymns, Reverend Davenport’s sometimes dry but always challenging sermons, the loving fellowship that surrounded her at all times. In her cabin, she disrobed and stretched out on her berth. One by one she pulled up events from the past week for review.
“Poor dear.” Effie put a finger to her lips and gently closed the door behind her. “She must be tuckered out. Out like a light on her bed.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Ike didn’t bother hiding his yawn. “I think I’ll do the same.”
Effie laughed. “You’ve had a time of it. I’ve seen more of you this week than I usually do in a month. Before you rest, though, come with me on deck.” She felt her way to a deck chair and settled down, arranging her skirt so that it flounced prettily. An umbrella protected her from the heat of the midday sun.
Ike took the seat next to her and spread his legs in front of him. With the umbrella shading his face and his stomach full, hymns from the morning lulled him to an almost doze. Closing his eyes, he said, “Go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind before I fall asleep.”
“That’s not necessary.” Effie’s light chuckle tickled his ears as she pulled a light blanket over his form. “Rest while you can. Maybe hidden away up here people will leave you alone.” Soft footfalls receded in the distance, and he relaxed into a light doze. Just a few minutes.
The next thing Ike knew, the aromas of the evening meal awakened him from the best sleep he’d had in a week. For a brief moment, he kept his eyes closed. An elusive image had imprinted itself on his mind during a dream, of a lovely maiden with fiery hair and a spirit to match, dressed in the improbable colors of a peacock. But the memory proved elusive, disappearing as soon as he opened his eyes.
He swung his legs over the side of the chair and rotated his shoulders and neck, working out the kinks from sleeping upright. He glanced at his suit, glad it wasn’t much creased from his unexpected outdoor nap.
He glanced up at the pilothouse. If he went right up, he had enough time before supper to tell Old Obie about the morning’s service as promised. Tugging at the lapels of his jacket and whistling through his teeth, he bounded up the steps with renewed enthusiasm.
“You’re a cheerful soul today.” As usual, Old Obie didn’t turn, but kept his eyes fixed on the river ahead.
“I had a most refreshing nap, thanks to Effie.” Ike joined Old Obie at the window. The pilot made a minute adjustment to the wheel. Ike strained forward, scanning the water for a hint that had caused Old Obie’s reaction. Giving up, he shrugged. “I don’t know how you do it. I never see whatever you see.”
“That Blanche girl. She sees a lot of them.” In spite of the matter-of-fact voice, pride showed through Old Obie’s words. “She’s a natural.”
Ike turned his back on the river so that he faced his friend and mentor. “Do you think it will make a difference? That she’ll stay? She’ll never be a pilot.”
“Don’t see why not. Not since they made that woman a pilot over on the Mississippi.”
Ike had his doubts, but he didn’t argue them. “She’s got a lot of tricks up her sleeve. You should have seen her this morning.” As he described the service, he realized how much he had come to admire her. “Sometimes she seems like a nervous cat, ready to run away at the first sign of trouble. Then she gets up in front of everybody like she’s been doing it all her life.”
Old Obie looked at Ike out of the corner of his eyes for a second before he turned his attention to the river. “She’s got courage. And backbone. The backbone comes straight from her mother, but the courage… maybe her father had something to do with that. At least I like to think so.”
The longer Blanche spent on the river, the more of her father’s qualities she displayed. Ike grinned, and Old Obie looked at him, teeth bared in a matching smile.
CHAPTER 15
Blanche woke up, stretched out on top of the covers of her bed. She stared at the ceiling of the cramped cabin. “What am I doing here?”
“You’re awake. Good. I was beginning to think I would need to wake you up so you wouldn’t miss dinner.”
Blanche glanced at the only chair in the room, where Effie sat working a pair of knitting needles. She raised up on her elbows. “Is it that late?” Rubbing her eyes, she stood and went to the wardrobe. She’d wear her black traveling suit, a penance for the insights she had during her earlier time of reflection.
Reaching the end of the row, Effie paused in her knitting. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” She turned the row and started moving the needles again.
Blanche watched her flying fingers. “Do you ever drop a stitch?”
“Of course.” Effie’s laughter tickled Blanche’s ears. “But that’s true for everyone who knits. And then I go back to find my mistake and fix it. Once I had to start over again from the beginning.”
Give me words. “That’s like what happens when a person becomes a Christian.”
Effie’s face scrunched while she recounted the stitches on her needle. “I don’t understand.”
“Everyone makes mistakes and breaks God’s laws. Jesus died for those sins. When we ask God to forgive us, He takes away all of those mistakes. He makes us into new people.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.” Effie continued down the row then tucked the knitting into her bag. “When we were little, before our parents died, Ike and I used to go to Sunday school. One day our teacher asked us if we wanted to ask Jesus into our hearts. I didn’t know what she meant, but I knew I loved Jesus and so I prayed with her.” A smile played on her lips. “I haven’t thought of that for a long time.”
Blanche’s heart sped and she threw her arms around Effie’s shoulders. “That means we are sisters in the Lord.” And what about Ike? The question dangled in Blanche’s mind but she didn’t voice it.
Blanche felt Effie’s smile without seeing it. “I always wanted a sister.” Effie returned the hug before stepping away. “I’d better get down to the salon. It’s almost time for dinner.” With a whisper of fabric, she left the cabin.
Blanche wanted to call her back, but God would give her another opening. As children, Effie and Ike had heard the Gospel. But when their parents died, they no longer received regular religious instruction.
Blanche would double her prayers for the captain—her father. When he took the children in, they stopped attending church. Righteous anger sang along her nerves. How could he? Charging out of the room, she headed for the pilothouse.
Her route took her past shining brass fixtures, and Blanche caught sight of her reflection. Lines marred her forehead and lips, her slitted eyes looked stormy dark. Even the hair that escaped her bun looked like flames of fire ready to devour anything that got in her path.
She stared at her image, the resemblance to her mother obvious. Nothing about that angry face spoke of God’s love. No wonder her father had run away. Flushed and sickened, Blanche bolted to the railing and leaned over the side. Her stomach heaved, and she opened her mouth. Nothing came up, but acid burned the back of her throat.
Oh Lord, forgive me. A fresh breeze blew across
the bow, and she breathed deeply of the clean, cool scent. Closing her eyes, she recalled the morning’s service, voices raised in songs of praise to the Lord. Overhead a bird called. She followed its flight to a tree branch on the opposite bank, and she thought whimsically of the two languages spoken on either side of this great river, but how the birds only spoke one language and God understood all of them. “All creatures of our God and king.” The hymn from the morning bubbled up in her throat and burst out. Starting as barely more than a whisper, it grew until she sang with full voice, unmindful of anyone else who might be on deck.
When her voice trailed away, a solitary clap of hands welcomed the end. Heat rising in her cheeks, she checked her reflection in the brass again. The angry lines that bothered her earlier were gone, replaced with color and life and, yes, joy. God extended His grace to her even when she was her most ungracious. She turned to greet her audience.
Renewing his applause, Obie stepped out of the shadow of the stairwell. “You sing with all your heart.” He could also have said she sang well, with the voice of an angel. But the color in her cheeks told him he had chosen the right words.
“Thank you.” She regained her composure. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you anywhere except the pilothouse.” Putting her hand over her mouth, she gasped. “Except for the musicale the other night.”
His lips widened in a broad grin. “I’ll let the assistant pilot hold the wheel for a few hours, until full-dark. Walk with me?”
When she agreed, he took her arm and walked to the bow of the boat, used mostly by the crew. “Ike tells me the service went well this morning.”
“It wasn’t much. We shared testimonies and songs. No preaching.”
“Sometimes the only Bible people read is your life. And a lot of people are watching you, weighing your actions.” He patted her arm.
Blanche stiffened. Silence accompanied them as they walked a few more feet.
“They did the same thing to your mother, of course.” When they reached the stairwell, he leaned against the side rail, remaining in the open air instead of the confined space on the steps.
Obie couldn’t read her expression. Did she think he was comparing her to her mother? He hadn’t thought much of Cordelia’s “Bible.”
“Am I… very much like her?”
He took off his pilot’s hat and twisted it back and forth in his hand while he considered his answer. “Yes. And no. You could probably say the same of most children and their parents, I suppose.” He pointed his finger at Blanche. “The captain would be pleased that she didn’t manage to snuff all the life out of you. You love your God, that’s clear enough, but there seems to be more to your faith than a list of dos and don’ts.”
A joyful smile followed Blanche’s flinch. “That means a lot to me. Jesus lives in me. He’s a part of everything I do and say.”
“I know.” Obie winked. “You might even convince an old reprobate like me to listen one of these days.”
A smile spread across her face. “I would like that, very much.”
“I’m sure you would.” He took her right hand in his and patted it. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about your mother. The captain adored her. He just couldn’t live with her.” An old longing swept over Obie.
“You were sweet on my mother, weren’t you?”
The pilot needed to do a better job of masking the longing. “Some might say so. But she only ever had eyes for Captain Jedidiah Lamar, his highfalutin manners and snake-oil charm, not an old river rat like me.” He shook his head. “You see things more clearly than Cordelia ever did. You keep that quality, girl.”
Impulsively, she hugged him. Heat slammed into his cheeks and he plopped his hat back on his head. “Thank you kindly.” He let go of her hand and walked into the darkness of the stairwell.
It had been quite a day.
After sunset, Ike waited in his cabin for his poker cronies to show up. Bart Ventura arrived first, followed by Ralston. Ike poured drinks for the three of them while they waited to see if anyone else would join them. No one did.
“It looks like it’s just us tonight.” Ike gestured for his guests to sit down and slit open a new pack of cards, a weekly ritual. The cards Bart provided featured the logo of the Brownsville Bats—a black bat wrapping its wings around a Louisville slugger. Mr. and Mrs. Ventura provided the inspiration for the king and queen, and the manager served as the jack. VENTURA MARKET was blazoned beneath the logo. “I like these.” He gestured with the pack in his hand before shuffling them.
“We’ll give a deck to everyone who attends the games we’re setting up. Might draw business for both of us.” Ventura winked. “Unless Miss Lamar shakes things up more than she already has.”
Ike fanned the cards on the table and continued shuffling. “The captain made sure that won’t happen.”
Ralston slanted his eyes in Ike’s direction. “Does she know we’ve continued our friendly game?”
He shrugged. “Not as far as I know. And I intend to keep it that way as long as possible.” After shuffling the cards twice more, he tossed them to the other men, one at a time around the table. “This may be her only trip downriver.”
Ventura and Ralston exchanged a look. “She’ll be back.” Ventura spoke with Latin assurance. “We can see it, even if you can’t.”
His words disturbed Ike, and he stroked his ear in an unexpected tell when he turned his cards over. Ralston arched an eyebrow and grinned. I might as well toss my cards on the table. As expected, he played a mediocre hand.
Ralston bent his head in Ventura’s direction. “That’s our secret to winning. Keep talking about Miss Lamar.”
Chuckling, Ventura nodded. “Maybe he’ll be convicted, and he’ll stop taking our money.”
Taking a sip of whiskey, Ike swished it around his mouth, bringing calm back to his spirit. “That’s not going to happen.” He leaned back in his chair, a complete picture of peace. “We welcome your contributions to our coffers.”
From there on, the game turned serious. Perhaps Ike could blame his lack of luck on one glass of whiskey too many, but he suspected it had more to do with the thoughts swirling through his mind about Blanche.
Ventura lost more than Ike did. Over the course of the trip, he had easily lost a thousand dollars. More money disappeared into his baseball team. He ran a profitable business, but how much of his apparent prosperity was smoke and mirrors? A flicker of guilt washed over Ike, but he shook it off. Ventura’s financial well-being wasn’t his responsibility. The Cordelia‘s future was.
Ike’s guests left a little early, which suited him fine. Not yet sleepy, he sat by the porthole, studying the reflection of the moon on the water. He fancied Blanche staring at the same view, except the girls’ cabin lacked portholes. The only people definitely awake this hour were the engineer on the evening shift and Old Obie. As a child, Ike used to explore the decks till all hours of the night. He knew every inch of the ship; he could probably rebuild it from memory.
Until Blanche, the only other person he had ever seen with the same passion for the Cordelia was the captain.
He closed his eyes. Why did Blanche keep cropping up in his every thought? Shrugging out of his suit coat and removing his bow tie, he slipped out of his room. This late at night, he risked comfort, hoping the night air would cool his troubled emotions.
He made his way through the bowels of the ship, nodding at the engineer from a distance, allowing the sweat to build up and roll down his back. He skipped the deck with the passenger rooms. As disheveled as he was, he had no desire to run into anyone. A stop at the salon netted him a sugar cookie with a cup of cool water. After two more glasses slaked his thirst, he returned to the hall, opening the door to the theater. Flicking on a gas lamp, he walked the perimeter, his mind placing the passengers in their appropriate seats. Almost everyone on board had attended the worship service. More than attended, they actively participated and enjoyed the experience. The support surprised him. Blan
che Lamar’s simple trip down the Rio Grande was going to change life aboard the Cordelia in ways no one had imagined when the captain first proposed his plan.
One long stride brought him to the stage, and he walked to the spot where Blanche had presided over the gathering with such skill. She didn’t use any fancy tricks or powerful oratory, only sweet sincerity and genuine kindness shining from her eyes. No one could resist. Him least of all, even if he didn’t understand all this talk about a Savior. He didn’t understand, but he wanted to believe, at least as far as Blanche was concerned.
Blanche. He couldn’t afford to like her. Lamar Industries might not survive with her running the business. Tired of worrying about her, he jumped off the stage and scurried up the steps to the deck.
His long legs ate up the deck as he paced back and forth. Long ago, Effie memorized the number of steps from one spot to another until she could walk about without the aid of a cane. Ike did the same thing, adjusting the number of steps as his legs grew longer.
If only the Cordelia was a bigger boat, he wouldn’t pass over the same spots time and again, listening to the same creaks. His shoe might miss the nail he had hammered down more times than he could count, although it always came loose again.
The moon sank low, and the sky lightened a smidgeon. Below the railing, the river rippled invisibly around the prow of the ship, and the wheel churned slowly. When the visibility decreased, Old Obie kept the speed down. He had every inch of the river memorized, the same way Ike knew the decks of the ship, but the river constantly changed. Even in the darkest reaches of the night, Old Obie could tell something was wrong within half a foot.
The light in the pilothouse testified to Old Obie’s presence, and he would welcome Ike’s company. As tempting as the idea sounded, Ike needed to puzzle out this problem on his own. When the captain turned everyday affairs over to Ike, he vowed to lessen his worries. That meant Ike kept some things to himself. Railroads began to make their presence felt even down here in the Rio Grande Valley, and business profits had dropped every year under his management.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 25
