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

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

  She touched the remaining letter in her pocket. Effie had laughed when she asked for Old Obie’s full name. “That’s a closely guarded secret. You’ll have to ask him yourself.” Humming a few bars of “When Morning Gilds the Skies,” Blanche mounted the stairs.

  Sunshine outlined Old Obie’s form in fiery reds. “My songbird is up early this morning.” He turned, and Blanche saw he was holding a cup in his hand.

  “Coffee.”

  He laughed. “Do you want some?” He dug out a coffee mug and poured from a pot that would look right at a campfire.

  She sipped it and sighed. “Perfect.” She enjoyed coffee first thing in the morning, before the day became too warm. Drinking deeply, she studied the river. To the left she spotted a submerged log. Maps indicated a sandbar on the right, but the water level would carry them over it without a problem. “How do you adjust for the sun on the water?”

  “I slow down and look out the side windows instead. Fog is worse. More than one morning, I’ve had to stop the engines until visibility improved.” He tapped the wheel. “A good pilot is never afraid to stop if necessary. Don’t let an anxious owner push you to do something that is unsafe.”

  “You sound like I will actually get to pilot the boat one day.”

  “Of course you will. I have no doubt.”

  She finished her coffee and set the mug down. Taking care that her fingers were clean, she pulled out the envelope. “This is for you. I would have addressed it, but I don’t know your full name.”

  “A letter.” He didn’t offer his name. “I haven’t had one of these in a long time. Should I open it now?”

  Suddenly shy, she shook her head. “It’s not much. Just something to remember me by.”

  He turned his complete attention on her, piercing her with his gaze. “I won’t ever forget you. It’s not possible. And I still hope you will choose to make your home on the river, so I won’t need something to remind me. But, I will treasure this.” He gestured with the letter. “As I would treasure anything that you give to me.”

  Ike dressed slowly, as if delay on his part could prevent the coming revelations from the captain’s lawyer. He read the few lines of Blanche’s letter to him again. The balanced message, poised between a polite letter of appreciation and a personal note to a friend, betrayed more than she intended to, he suspected. He lifted the paper to his nose and breathed in. Every time he passed a rosebush, he would remember this letter.

  Oh Blanche. Would she feel the same way after she talked to the lawyer, only a few hours from now?

  Bringing the letter to his lips and placing Effie’s letter in his suit pocket, he headed for breakfast. He treasured these hours of uncluttered friendship, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t reject him once she knew the truth. When he glanced up at the pilothouse, Old Obie waved for him to come.

  The click of heels behind him announced Blanche’s arrival. “Do we have a scheduled time with the lawyer?”

  Ike noted, with amusement, that Blanche had returned to the security of her black traveling suit for this business appointment. “Not exactly. We didn’t know when we would arrive. But they are expecting us sometime this week.”

  They rode in the carriage to the offices of Cox, Carver, and Chavez in relative silence. Ike knew the answers to most of the questions Blanche had held at bay since they left Roma. Neither one of them indulged in idle speculation as the carriage drove them to the office on East Washington Street, adjacent to Washington Park.

  “That must be their office.” Blanche pointed to the modest storefront office. “Mr. Carver was my father’s lawyer?”

  Ike nodded. He circled the carriage and helped her down. Her smattering of freckles stood out darker than usual on her skin, color having fled her face. He didn’t have any words to reassure her. He offered her his arm and led her inside.

  A young man Ike had never met before sat at the front desk. He half-rose from his chair. “May I help you?”

  Something resembling panic filled Blanche’s eyes. Ike took a step forward. “Blanche Lamar and Ike Gallagher, here to see Mr. Carver.”

  The man’s nose quivered. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.” Blanche backed up a step.

  “He is expecting us this week.” Ike moved forward. “Why don’t you let him know we’re here? We can wait.” He escorted Blanche to a chair.

  The young clerk frowned. “That’s not possible.”

  Before Ike could retort, Blanche spoke. “Pardon me, what is your name?”

  Her request erased the unpleasant young man’s frown. “I am Walter Brown, ma’am.”

  Blanche glanced at Ike. “Mr. Brown, we’d like to make an appointment. Is there an opening with Mr. Carver this afternoon?”

  “That is what I was attempting to explain.” Brown glared at Ike. “Mr. Carver has business out of town today. He will return next week. May I schedule an appointment for you?” Leaning forward, he unbent a little. “Can Mr. Cox assist you? He is available today.”

  Blanche looked at Ike, her eyes sending a silent plea, but Ike didn’t care to discuss the situation with someone reading the file for the first time. Struggling to make his voice pleasant, he said, “We don’t expect to be in Brownsville that long. Is there any possibility that Mr. Carver will return earlier than next week?”

  Brown scanned the calendar in front of him. “His court case is scheduled to last through this week. There is always the possibility it will end early, but we do not expect it.” He offered an apologetic smile. “And it could also, unfortunately, last longer.”

  Ike nodded. “Then let us make an appointment for Friday afternoon, and hope he returns earlier than expected.”

  Brown held the pen in his hand for a moment before making a note on the appointment book. “Two o’clock on Friday afternoon, Mr. Gallagher and Miss Lamar to meet with Mr. Carver.” He copied the information onto a calling card and handed it to Blanche. “I cannot guarantee that Mr. Carver will have returned.”

  “We understand.” Blanche glanced at the card before tucking it into her reticule. “Thank you, Mr. Brown. You have been most kind.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Miss Lamar.”

  The sun beat down on their heads as they exited the building. As instructed, the carriage had left to return in an hour. Blanche clasped her reticule. The courage she had demonstrated only minutes earlier had disappeared, and she looked anxious for their ride.

  “Mr. Brown would not object if we want to wait inside until the carriage returns. Or we could walk a couple of blocks in that direction.” Ike pointed to the right, toward the center of town they had passed a short time earlier. “We could find a bakery or a mercantile.”

  “A walk sounds pleasant.” Blanche accepted his arm at her elbow and shifted her reticule to her other hand. “I would love to go shopping again, but I shouldn’t spend any more money. God promised to provide for my needs, but knickknacks don’t fall into that category.”

  The look of longing that filled her face told him all he needed to know about the absence of nonessential items from her childhood. He wished he could buy her an entire cabinet full of curios from every town in the river and more beside.

  “The letters were a wonderful idea.” The words she had written to him had seared themselves in his brain. Dear Ike… friendship… support… you have made me feel special. She had even copied a Bible verse, something about God loving him. “Creative. Personal. Everyone is talking about them.” He smiled.

  “You didn’t mention the low cost.” Blanche’s smile let him know she meant no offense. “Thank you. I learned a lot about giving from my mother. We never had much money, but we always had enough to give away.”

  “I felt the same way, growing up on the Cordelia. We always had what we needed, and we knew the captain loved us. Those are things money can’t buy.”

  “Just like God’s love.” She nodded. “He was there for you, even back then.”

  CHAPTER 19

  This is
n’t the quality of cotton we have come to expect from Roma.” The owner of the textile factory, a Mr. Draper, shook his head over the pallets that had been delivered from the decks of the Cordelia.

  Blanche stood uncertainly by the carriage. She didn’t know how to respond. In the past, her only business consisted of dealing with school supplies and food from the local mercantile in Roma. But from the time she had spent reviewing the accounts for Lamar Industries, she knew delivery of cotton played a big role in continued profitability. Was this kind of complaint common?

  The chief stevedore shrugged. “I just load it and unload it, boss.”

  “And I’m telling you, this isn’t what I ordered.” Draper’s voice grew agitated.

  This disagreement was going around in circles, and she took a step forward. “Do you have a copy of the order you placed?”

  “What’s that?” Mr. Draper switched his gaze to her. “Who are you?”

  “I am Blanche Lamar. Captain Lamar was my father. I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding. The order might clear it up.”

  Mr. Draper looked at Ike out of the corner of his eye, who nodded. Blanche stepped on her irritation. How long had Ike been handling business for her father?

  “I have a copy in my office.” Mr. Draper headed for the small adobe building at the back of the property. “This way.”

  Ike held a chair for her while Mr. Draper rustled through his file drawer. He laid a sheet of paper in front of her. “This is what I ordered.”

  The handwriting was legible, but that didn’t make the meaning any clearer. She’d guess it referred to the weight and quality of the raw cotton. Did she have to understand the cotton business to operate a profitable steamboat operation?

  Ike zeroed in on the heart of the problem. “You requested six bundles. We delivered the requested half dozen. Any problems you have with the product, you need to take up with the farmer.”

  “And if I refuse delivery?”

  Were all business owners this belligerent?

  “That is acceptable, as long as you pay for the return shipment.”

  Panic rose in her throat. She thanked God for Ike’s presence and calm demeanor. She didn’t know if she could speak.

  The two men continued arranging the details while she tried to relax. She clasped her hands in her lap, tapping her fingers against her palm, settled her back against the chair, and let a smile play on her face. A lemon drop might renew the moisture inside her mouth. They could stop at the mercantile for some penny candy. She could afford that much. Visions of hard candy ran through her mind while she ran her tongue around the inside of her cheek. From the posture of both Ike and Mr. Draper, she guessed they had engaged in this duel of words many times before.

  I still have so much to learn.

  Including the information the lawyer would convey. As his associate had predicted, Mr. Carver didn’t return early. With the completion of today’s business, the Cordelia was ready to return to Roma. They couldn’t justify spending an additional three days in Brownsville so she could talk with the lawyer.

  Ike shook Mr. Draper’s hand, and he turned to her. “Is that acceptable to you, Blanche?”

  She hadn’t followed all the steps of the negotiation. “Th—that’s fine.”

  “Good. Then we’ll be on our way.” They left the office by one of the many side streets in Brownsville. All roads led to the river eventually, at least they did in Roma. Follow the flow of traffic, follow the smells, follow the birds, and she would find the wharves.

  “How do you want to spend your last night on land?” Ike had relaxed, perhaps glad that the business had finished.

  The words sounded a gong in her heart. Was this her last time in Brownsville? She didn’t dare risk another trip down the river. One time had already turned her whole world upside down.

  She also didn’t know if she wanted to settle in Roma; she had changed from the person she was. The meeting with the lawyer should have provided some direction, but for some reason God hadn’t allowed that to happen.

  “What are you thinking?” Ike nudged her shoulder. “You went somewhere faraway.”

  Blanche brought her thoughts back to the presence of Ike at her side, the community of Brownsville out before them. “You don’t have to keep me company. Did you already have plans?”

  “Nothing, except this.” He reached into his pocket and flashed three tickets before her. “Ventura has invited us to join the Brownsville Bats for a baseball game.”

  The carriage returned for them, and Effie sat next to the driver. “Have you told Blanche yet?” Her smile was as warm as the white cotton dress with gay red stripes she wore.

  “Just now.” Blanche realized Ike’s clothes matched Effie’s, thin red pinstripes in his shirt and a red bow tie. “Someone should have told me to wear red.”

  “You noticed.” Ike’s lips lifted in a lopsided smile. “The team’s colors are red and white.”

  Blanche glanced at her black suit and decided that it would cover a multitude of sins, with all the dust and spills possible at a baseball diamond.

  “You have been to games before.” Blanche made it a statement, not a question.

  “As often as possible.” Effie’s light laughter rippled through the air. “You’re wondering why a blind woman wants to go to a baseball game.”

  “The thought did cross my mind.” Blanche accepted Ike’s arm as he assisted her into the carriage.

  “The ballpark, please,” Ike said to the driver. The horse moved at a slow trot.

  “There must be more to baseball than watching men running around the bases.”

  “Oh my, yes. A bag of peanuts and a box of Cracker Jack.”

  “Cracker Jack? What is that?”

  “A delicious snack that Elaine would never allow in her kitchen.” Ike rubbed his stomach in anticipation. “Caramel corn with peanuts. There is something to be said for the pleasures of childhood.”

  “I can’t wait to taste it.”

  “And hot dogs and pretzels and—”

  “Stop! You’re giving me a stomachache.”

  “Do you mind if we walk the rest of the way?” Effie glanced over her shoulder. “I enjoy a chance to stretch my legs. We’ll take a carriage back after the game.”

  Blanche nodded. Soon the three of them were walking down the street, Ike’s hand tucked through the crook of Blanche’s elbow. He made her feel protected, special. Tonight he was offering her another new experience. “Effie, what do you think of baseball?”

  “I love it. I hope you enjoy it. Have you ever played?”

  Blanche paused in her steps. “What, me, play baseball? No.” Shock showed in her voice. “Girls don’t play baseball. Do they?”

  “Maybe in the schoolyard. Even I have played catch.” Effie kicked a pinecone and caught it with her hand. “They tell me I caught nearly as many balls as the girls who can see.” Pushing her hands out, she said, “Here, catch.”

  The pinecone brushed the ends of Blanche’s fingers before dropping to the ground. She giggled.

  “I guess you won’t be catching any fly balls today.” Ike smacked his fist into his palm. “I’ll have to catch one for you.”

  “Fly ball?” The image of a ball with tiny white wings brought a smile to Blanche’s face.

  “Let’s get to our seats. I’ll explain it all to you.”

  Their “seats” turned out to be bleachers. Blanche tucked her skirt beneath her, hoping to avoid soiling the fabric.

  Peanut shells crunched beneath their feet. “Ah. The sound of peanuts.” Effie lifted the hem of her skirt and settled down next to Blanche.

  “What do you want to eat? Hot dogs, Cracker Jack, peanuts? Candy?” Leaning in close, he whispered, “Beer?”

  “Ike!” A giggle accompanied Effie’s reprimand.

  “I take that as a no.”

  Blanche considered. “I don’t know. They all sound good. Except beer, of course.”

  “I’ll get one for each of us, together
with Dr Pepper.” Ike left a handkerchief to mark his place, on Blanche’s right. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Is he always like this before a game?” Blanche watched him half-run down to a vendor carrying a box full of snacks supported by a shoulder harness.

  “Turn back into a little boy all over again? Yes. I think it does him good.”

  Blanche leaned forward to see Ike’s retreating back. He encountered the vendor, the pitch of his head suggesting laughter, filling his arms with food. “He’s buying enough to feed everyone here.”

  Effie laughed. “He does that on purpose. He sneaks it back on ship and then skips breakfast for a day or two. I think Elaine knows his secret, but she lets him get away with it.”

  Blanche had brought sweets home from a friend’s house once or twice, but Mother had never caught on.

  Impossible. In the short time Blanche had shared Effie’s cabin, she knew one or two of the places she kept special treats, and could guess at others. Mother must have known most of Blanche’s secrets, but she had pretended otherwise. The thought warmed her down to her toes. Mother had allowed her the small piece of childhood.

  Ike returned with his arms laden with food. “Here’s a bag of peanuts for you, and one for Effie, and one for me.”

  Removing a peanut, Blanche squeezed the shell. It crushed beneath her fingers, popping the nut onto the floor. The shattered shell clung to her skirt. She tried to pick it off.

  “Just brush it underfoot.” Ike handed her another nut. “We get to make all the mess we want to here at the game.” He snapped a shell in half and dropped two peanuts into his hand before he dropped his shells onto the floor. Lifting his foot, he ground them into powder.

  Blanche gingerly brushed off her skirt. She succeeded in getting the second nut. “It’s salty.”

  “They roast and salt them before bagging them.” Ike popped another one in his mouth. “The game is starting.” Ike pointed to the field, where nine men had taken positions. The men tossed balls—at least Blanche assumed they were balls. It was hard to tell, as quickly as they sailed through the air. One man stood on a mound in the middle of the diamond, throwing to a man crouched behind a bag. They all wore matching outfits, white with the words “Brownsville Bats” emblazoned in red over a cartoon bat holding a baseball bat. Ike’s hat sported the same ridiculous picture.