Munching on their snacks, they talked and laughed while the team continued throwing balls. Everyone ignored what was happening on the field. Eventually they cleared the field and a brass band marched out.
“Ah, now we’re about to start.”
Mr. Ventura walked in front of the band. Spreading his arms like Blanche imagined a circus ringmaster might, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the national anthem.” Seconds later they were singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
As soon as they finished singing, the Bats returned to the field, joined by a man swinging a bat. On the first pitch, his bat connected with the ball.
“Leadoff home run. Not looking good.” Ike popped a piece of caramel corn in his mouth.
Effie patted Blanche’s hand. “Do you understand any of this?”
“Honestly?” Blanche shook her head. “No.”
“I’ll explain it to you.” Ike’s chest seemed to expand as he began explaining the system of hits, balls, strikes, and runs that made the difference between winning and losing.
“So they can make a run two ways. They either hit the ball over the fence into the crowd, where anyone can get hurt.” She pretended offense. A couple of balls had felt like they whizzed by her ears. “Or they can hit the ball and run to the base and try to make it around all four bases.”
Ike opened his mouth, as if ready to explain more. Shaking his head, he said, “There are foul balls and strikes and steals and… but that’s it in a nutshell.”
“And the Bats are winning. They have seven runs, and the Hurricanes only have six.”
“It’s a good thing that the Bats have the last at bat.” Effie popped a peppermint candy into her mouth. “The game is too close to pick a winner yet.”
The game ended with the Bats winning by a final score of nine to six. Smiles wreathed Ike and Effie’s faces, and Blanche felt sure she looked the same. “Come, let’s congratulate Ventura on the win.” Ike offered his arm, and Blanche accepted it.
“Are all the games this exciting?” Blanche heard the breathless sound of her voice, as if she had been the one running the bases instead of the teams.
“Some more, some less. Sometimes the pitchers keep the batters off base. That’s exciting, in a different sort of way.”
The three of them wormed their way through the crowd that was going in the opposite direction, surging toward the gates. Blanche was glad for Ike’s presence. Without him, the noise and the bustle might have paralyzed her.
“Ventura was successful in arranging games in all the towns between here and Roma?”
“They’re looking forward to it.”
“So am I.” If I’m here. Depending on what the absent lawyer had to tell her, she had to find work, soon. The trip on the Cordelia had been enough adventure to satisfy her for two lifetimes.
“There he is.” Ike pointed to the spot where Ventura stood in front of the Bats’ bench. Instead of the smile Blanche expected, a frown creased his face as he spoke with a young lad. He looked vaguely familiar; about the time they reached Ventura, Blanche placed him as one of the young stevedores who had helped unload the boat upon their arrival.
Ventura caught sight of them and gestured for them to draw close. “Jim-boy thought he might catch you here at the game. There’s been an accident.”
CHAPTER 20
What happened?” Ike asked sharply.
“Has someone been injured?” Blanche asked at the same time.
Ventura nodded to young Jim-boy. “We was loading the cotton back on board, sir. Mr. Draper sent it back. I wondered about that, but he had all the proper paperwork so I thought it was all right.”
“He didn’t waste any time.” Ike grimaced. “But yes, that’s fine. What happened?”
“Since you wasn’t there, I went to ask the cap’n, sir. He came down on deck, and the crane slipped and knocked into him. Knocked him clean out.”
“The captain?” A glance at Blanche reminded Ike of another reality. Her skin paled beneath the light sunburn, and her breath came out in short gasps.
Ike couldn’t afford that distraction now. He had to find out the extent of the injuries. “Have you sent for a doctor?”
“He’s on board already. And I came to find you, straightaway.”
“The captain?” Blanche’s eyes went wide. “Captain Lamar—
my father—has been on the ship the whole time?” She turned agonizing eyes in his direction.
Worry warred with guilt. “I’ll explain it to you later. Right now, we have to get back to the boat.”
Blanche whirled, turning her anger on Effie. “You must have known.”
Effie’s mouth worked, but she couldn’t seem to find words to respond either. “Let’s get back to the ship. I’ll explain while Ike sees to things.”
“Don’t bother.” Blanche’s voice was cold. “I want to meet my father.” She headed toward the exit, Ike hurrying after her. When he caught up with her, she stopped, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know the quickest way back.”
“We’ll walk. The crowd would only delay a carriage, even if we could find one. Come with us. We all want to get back as quickly as possible.”
After Effie offered a few more details that Jim-boy had supplied, they walked in silence. Ike was torn between worry about the captain, injured and unconscious, and what it could mean to Blanche.
The plan for father and daughter to get to know each other before making Blanche aware of their connection didn’t allow for illness. What if something interfered, denying them the opportunity? All the preaching against gambling didn’t stir Ike’s soul, but that single deceit weighed on his conscience.
Ike weaved his way through the streets without thought, trusting his instincts to lead his feet aright. When the Cordelia came into view, Blanche sped up. He matched her step for step, wanting to get there first, to ease the discovery for her.
She pressed forward, leaving him a little breathless when he swept past her on the gangway. “Where is the captain? How is he?”
“Mr. Gallagher, I presume?” A small man, with a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache and no-nonsense cut of a suit coat, greeted him. “John Foster. I’m the doctor they called in.”
Blanche placed herself between Ike and the doctor. With a glare at Ike, she said, “How is Captain Lamar?” Only a slight waver in her voice betrayed her overwhelming emotions.
Dr. Foster glanced at Ike, which only fueled Blanche’s anger.
“Doctor, this is the captain’s daughter, Blanche Lamar.”
“I see.” The man turned to Blanche apologetically. “I was given to understand there was no family to notify.”
Notify. The word hung between them with horrifying import.
“Is he—” Ike left the question unfinished.
Dr. Foster flinched, as if he realized what his words had implied. “Oh no. Nothing like that. He’s had a nasty bump to his head, but he regained consciousness while I was with him, and was alert to his surroundings. That’s a good sign.” He smiled reassuringly at Blanche while explaining the signs they should watch for: disorientation, problems with eyesight, fever—the usual. “The most important thing is to keep him quiet for a few days, give his body a chance to heal. I hear he can be stubborn. Can you keep him to his bed?”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t move,” Ike said.
“Will you be back, to check on him?” Blanche asked.
“Of course. I’ll come by morning and evening. If problems arise, feel free to call for me in between times.” Shifting his black bag to his other hand and nodding at Blanche, Dr. Foster walked down the wharf.
Tapping her right foot, Blanche turned the full force of her glare on Ike and Effie. “Are you ready to introduce me to my father?”
So close. Blanche had been on the boat with her father for more than a week, and no one told her. Every time the facts repeated themselves in her mind, her anger increased. They had no right, no right at all, to keep the truth from her.
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She wanted to scream in frustration, but their discussion with the doctor had already brought curious glances from the crew. Lowering her voice, she said, “Where is he? Who is he?”
Effie looked resigned, but Ike looked almost—sheepish. An air of uncertainty clung to the usually cocky purser.
“Come this way.” Effie walked toward the bow of the ship, past the pilothouse. Blanche glanced up. Old Obie’s replacement was there. The pilot must have known about the deception as well. No wonder her mother had warned her against steamboats. People she had trusted had turned out to be nothing more than thieves and liars.
“This way.” Effie headed toward the cramped stairs at the end of the boat. “His quarters are nothing special. He said Ike needed the captain’s cabin more; all he wanted was a place to lay his head. That’s just the kind of person he is.”
Effie’s voice trailed away as they circled down the stairs, ending up in the bowels of the ship, hot and steamy and dark except for a few lamps down the hall. She stopped in front of a dingy black door, no different in appearance from the three before, and hesitated. “This isn’t how he wanted you to find out. Please… think kindly on him. Listen to what he has to say.”
The door swung open, and Elaine the cook came out, carrying an empty tray. “Mr. Gallagher. I’m so glad you’re back. I was just bringing some of tonight’s supper, like always.”
“Thank you, Elaine.” Ike placed a hand on the doorknob. “Let me go in first, explain what happened.”
“That I found out my father has been hiding from me? Go ahead, warn him. That’s more than anyone did for me.” Reeling from the shock, Blanche knew she sounded bitter.
Ike offered an apologetic smile before slipping around the door. The wait felt like an eternity, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before he reappeared. “He’s expecting you.”
“Do you want me—”
Blanche forestalled Effie’s question. “No, I want to be alone with him.” When neither one moved, she added, “I can find my way back.” Turning her back on them, she opened the door and paused. What would she discover inside? Her heart welled up in a single-word prayer. Help.
For a room awash in lantern light, Blanche had a hard time making out the figure on the bed. Ginger-and-gray hair she had only ever seen in tufts beneath a hat…
“Cordelia. You’ve come back.”
Old Obie’s voice welcomed her into his cabin.
CHAPTER 21
Blanche’s heart skipped beats. It can’t be. Thump, thump. Of course. Thump, thump. I always knew.
“You.” She reached his side in three quick steps, took a seat on a plain, straight-backed chair, and took his hands in hers.
“Can you forgive me, girl?” Old Obie’s eyes searched hers.
“You’re my father.” Wonder filled Blanche’s voice. She couldn’t answer him. Not yet. “But my father’s name is J.O. Lamar.”
“Jedidiah Obadiah Lamar. My mama and pa were good, God-fearing folk.” Old Obie chuckled. “But I’ve been Old Obie for more years than I can count.”
Blanche noticed the envelope she had written to Old Obie tucked under the edge of his lamp. No wonder Effie wouldn’t tell her his real name. Doing so would have revealed their closely guarded precious secret.
Old Obie followed the direction of her gaze. “I’ve memorized your letter, word for word. In it, you said I’d become like a father to you.” He looked away, down the length of the bed, to where he kicked at his covers. “I hope learning I’m your father for real isn’t too big of a disappointment.”
Blanche stared at her feet. “I meant what I said.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “But I can’t connect the man who was teaching me all about life on the river with a father who would lie to me. Deny our relationship.”
“My dear girl.”
Blanche gritted her teeth. She wasn’t his girl, dear or otherwise.
“I have never denied you. I had no way of knowing what Cordelia had told you about me. I hoped, you see, that if you liked Old Obie the pilot, you might be able to like Captain J.O. Lamar, your father.” He locked his fingers together and stretched his arms in front of him. “I guess I got what I deserved, not telling you up front.”
Blanche studied the light and shadows on his face. She had dreamed of meeting her father all of her life, and now that she had, she didn’t know what to think. The man before her was complex, contradictory, charming, and irresponsible, all at the same time. “I don’t know how I feel about things. Not yet.” She leaned forward and took his right hand. “But I do know I care about you, whether I call you Old Obie or… Father.” With her other hand, she brushed his hair away from his eyes. “I think a part of me knew as soon as I saw your hair. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
“A halo of fire around your head.” Old Obie reached up and pulled down a tendril from her hair. “I was ridiculously pleased that a part of you took after me, and worried that you would make the connection.” His eyes drifted shut.
“I’ve tired you too much.” Worry thundered through Blanche.
Old Obie opened his eyes a slit. “I like having you here. I have a lot to tell you—” his eyelids fluttered shut again—“as soon as I sleep a little while.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere, as long as you want me here.” She had spoken to herself more than to him, but he squeezed her fingers. They sat there, hand in hand, while he drifted back to sleep.
Should I let him sleep? Blanche had some idea that people knocked unconscious should stay awake. But the doctor hadn’t said anything, and her—father—was clearly alive. His head thrashing back and forth, he muttered unintelligible words.
At last she had learned the truth about her father. Part of her oscillated between fear and disbelief. But the biggest part of her rejoiced, head over heels happy to learn Old Obie was her father.
The way he was thrashing about couldn’t be good for him. Blanche thought of fractious infants she had cared for on occasion. Singing while she rocked them helped. She couldn’t rock her father but she could sing. She began with Christmas carols.
At the end of “Away in a Manger” mumbled words continued to stream from his lips. After “Joy to the World,” his words had changed to an occasional groan. They died away to soft snores when she finished the final verse of “Silent Night.”
Advent onboard ship might not resemble the Christmas traditions she had grown up with, but how would they celebrate the birth of the Lord Jesus? And what brought her to thinking so far ahead? She wouldn’t be on the Cordelia in December. Would she?
The answer depended on the man lying beside her. She tapped her fingers against his palm, sending up a confused prayer. Thanksgiving and prayers for his salvation warred with anger and questions about why God let things work out this way.
“They’re both sound asleep.” Effie closed the door quietly behind her. “I would take over so she could go to our cabin, but she is sleeping so peacefully I hate to disturb her.”
“She’ll wake up with a crick in her neck.” Ike spoke from experience, from the times he had fallen asleep in his chair after a particularly long night.
“And joy in her heart. We should have told her a long time ago.” Effie sighed. “I’ll bring something down from the dining room in case she gets hungry later.”
“Good idea. I’ll be here, waiting.” Keeping watch by the door for the night seemed like the least he could do. The two of them had tangled his heart and soul. He had no illusions. If Old Obie died, Blanche would leave the Cordelia at the next town.
He banged his head against the hallway wall just as Effie reappeared. Her steps sped up. “Is everything all right?”
“As far as I know.”
She whisked open the door, and Ike followed behind. Blanche’s halo of red hair was splayed across the coverlet on the bed, her hand still entwined with Old Obie’s. He was going to check for a pulse, but he saw the coverlet rise and fall. “They look peaceful.”
&n
bsp; Effie lifted her fingers to her lips and opened the door. “I’ll be out in a moment,” he whispered. Bending over, he listened for Old Obie’s breathing. It was even, relaxed—none of the signs the doctor had warned him about. His eyes strayed to Blanche. Faint blue lines showed in her neck and on the back of her hands. From this new angle, she was even more beautiful.
He pushed himself up and left the room before he got any more notions about Blanche.
He left the room, to find Effie waiting in the hall, a plate in her hand. She handed him a thick roast beef sandwich with a slab of apple pie. “You didn’t eat much supper.”
“This would be even better with a glass of milk.” Ike’s smile showed in his voice.
“Like this?” Effie brought her right hand out from behind her back. “As long as we can share it. I brought a couple of cookies for myself.”
Ike leaned against the wall and took a bite. Thick, juicy. He devoured the rest in short order.
“I wish we had told her a long time ago.” Effie nibbled on her cookie. “I wanted to. Her faith in God is so real. I wonder what this will do to her. I’ve been thinking about the decision I made myself, so many years ago.”
The juice in the sandwich turned to dust in Ike’s mouth. “Are you a Christian now?”
“I guess… I always have been, according to Blanche. I hope she can forgive me for not telling her.” Shaking her head, she yawned.
“Go get some sleep. There is no reason for us all to lose a good night’s rest.”
Effie’s face crumpled and she set down the glass. “He’s been a father to me, too.”
Ike gathered her next to him and let his tears join hers. After the sobs stopped, he held her in a loose embrace. “Old Obie will be okay. He has to be.” He flashed back to the day their parents had been injured, when they were waiting for news. He had said the same thing back then, but their parents still had died.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 29
