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

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

  “Yes.”

  “I will let Elaine know.” He bowed and headed for the staircase.

  Blanche followed. The floor undulated with minute dimensions, suggesting a wind was rustling the river beneath them. The first breakfast bell sounded, so she had time before beginning the day. She headed to the main deck. Wind whipped around the floorboards, whistling past the empty spaces where cargo had waited on the trip downriver. Voices called from the wharf, and she glanced at stevedores toting pallets to the ship. Somehow, business was continuing as usual.

  The wind teased her hair out of the loose knot, but she was glad for the cooling breeze, not going downstairs until the final warning bell sounded. As she walked through the open door to the salon—quiet, without Effie’s usual piano music—wide smiles broke out on several faces. A few brave souls applauded, but a frown from Smithers brought that to an end. Instead, he came forward to escort her to the captain’s table. “It is good to see you this morning, Miss Lamar. We are most distressed about the captain’s death.”

  Ike rose to his feet, and his smile helped ease the core of cold at her heart. When Elaine brought the food to the pass, everyone paused, waiting for the grace Blanche had instituted. If she tried to pray out loud, she doubted her voice would carry across the room.

  Smithers—Smithers?—led in a simple, but effective prayer. The waiters brought out heaping platters. Elaine made a rare trip from the kitchen. “If there is anything special you wish to eat, just tell me and I will cook it for you.”

  Blanche shook her head, but Ike touched her arm. “Let her. She wants to help.”

  Blanche couldn’t eat all the food already served, but she scrambled to think of something not on the table. “Maybe… some fried bananas? No, warm applesauce with cinnamon.”

  “Yes, Miss Lamar. I will get right to it.” The cook’s smile was as good as a bear hug.

  No one had treated Blanche with such tender care in her entire life, not even after her mother died. She waited, expecting tears to well up and spill out of her eyes. But they didn’t. Instead, tender gratitude held sway, filling her heart with peace. She’d like tea with cream and sugar. British-style, Mother used to call it. “Elaine?”

  The cook appeared at the window in an instant. “Yes?”

  “I would like to have a cup of hot tea. Do you have a cozy?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

  Soon Blanche heard a teakettle whistling merrily and her insides warmed. She’d know she was truly better when the ice-cold spot at the center of her heart melted. For now she couldn’t seem to get warm. Grits, that might be good. She shook her head. She had already given Elaine plenty of extra work.

  Ike offered her the basket of biscuits first, and she took one. They both reached for the gravy boat at the same time. He pulled his hand away, gesturing for her to take it first.

  “I’ve never seen you take gravy on your biscuits.” He spooned eggs onto his plate.

  “It sounds good this morning.”

  Elaine appeared with a teapot encased in a crocheted cozy and poured Blanche’s cup mostly full. “Do you want more?”

  Blanche shook her head. “That’s perfect.” She handed the gravy boat to Ike and added a spoon of sugar to the tea, then enough cream to fill the cup.

  After she ate her biscuit, her hunger returned, and she ate bacon and eggs. When she had finished, she could almost see her reflection. Her mother used to say that. The memory brought a smile to her lips.

  Ike smiled back. “You were hungry.”

  Blanche stared at her empty plate. “I feel like I haven’t eaten for a week.”

  “You haven’t done more than pick at your food since the accident.” Ike brought the cup of coffee to his lips. “I speak for everyone here when I say I’m glad your appetite has returned.”

  Blanche finished a dish of warm applesauce, then she settled back in her seat with a sigh.

  “You know Effie better than I do. What will tempt her?” Blanche surveyed the choices.

  “Biscuits.” Ike wrapped the hot bread in a napkin inside the basket before adding butter and honey. “With sweet tea. I’ll carry it for you.” Together they headed down the stairs.

  After delivering breakfast to Effie, Ike and Blanche returned to the salon. Logs and account books filled his arms; Blanche had to open the door. She brought pens and pencils, including a red one. Add “sensible and resourceful” to the list of qualities that described Blanche. His boss. He shook his head at the thought.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee from the sideboard and added a dollop of cream. “I can’t seem to stay warm this morning.”

  Summer heat bothered Ike as usual, but he nodded. “Do you want me to fetch a wrap from your cabin?”

  “No, I’ll be all right.” She drank about half a cup, topped it off, and sat down at the table, keeping the cup away from the papers. “I was good with sums at school. I hope that will help.”

  Ike wondered if she intended to keep the account books now that she was the owner. Did that fall under daily operations? Or owner’s prerogative? He wasn’t ready to explain the special entertainment income.

  He cocked his head at Blanche. “You’ve had a lot thrown at you at once. Where do you want to start?”

  She picked up the coffee cup and blew across the top before taking a sip. “I want to know everything.” She set the cup to the side. “But today, we need to decide our next actions. Are we ready to return to Roma? Roma is the Cordelia‘s home port, isn’t it?”

  “No, we’re not ready. And yes, Roma is our home port.” Ike hesitated then decided to mention what was on his mind. “Your father kept a room at the hotel in Roma. You’ll want to go through his things when we get there. Or you may wish to keep the room, for yourself.”

  A lost look brushed across her face. “That sounds like a good idea. I don’t have a place I can call home anymore.”

  “Yes, you do.” Ike laid his hand on top of hers, where her trembling fingers held the red pencil. “The Cordelia, for as long as you want to stay.”

  “So I’m like Mrs. Noah, my home afloat on a sea of water. At least I don’t have to take care of any animals.” She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “Only my ark won’t come to rest on a mountaintop anytime soon.”

  “There are worse places.”

  She removed her hand from his and pointed to the stacks by Ike. “I recognize the captain’s logs, but what are the other books?”

  “Accounts. Sums, as you called them. Income and expenses listed. Details of salaries. All the information needed to run Lamar Industries.”

  She nodded. “I will want to study those, I’m sure. But what do we need to do before we can leave? We already have cargo on deck. Are we expecting more? Or do you go from business to business, asking?”

  “We could carry more cargo, but it’s not too bad. I’ve posted notices in the hotels for passengers to contact us about a ride upriver.”

  Blanche nodded. “Do we have definite dates for the baseball trip with Mr. Ventura’s team?”

  Ike shrugged. “River travel is never that precise. The towns are expecting us, but they will announce the game after we arrive in town.” He drummed the table with his fingers. “The main thing we are lacking is a pilot.”

  “What about Pete? I know my father did most of the work himself, but I always thought that was because he loved his work.”

  “He did.” Ike nodded. “But he didn’t completely trust the Cordelia with anyone else. Pete is an adequate pilot, but he doesn’t have the feel for the river that Old Obie had. That you have, for that matter.”

  “Do you think I should apply for my pilot’s license? Like my father suggested?”

  The corners of Ike’s lips quirked upward. “Absolutely. But we need someone to help us in the meantime.”

  Her eyes dancing, she challenged him. “Didn’t I hear that you’re a pilot yourself?”

  He shook his head. “I’d be willing to take over for a few hours, in an eme
rgency, but I’m less experienced than Pete. I don’t want to risk our future with my hands on the wheel.”

  “Then what are our options?” She hit on the crux of the problem.

  “I have a few ideas, but I have to warn you, there are reasons why none of the men I have in mind are on the river at the moment.”

  She grimaced. “Let’s talk it over together.”

  “If we can coax him out of retirement, I’d like to get Captain Pettigrew. He helped teach Old Obie way back when.”

  Blanche absorbed that bit of news. “So he must be elderly by now.”

  “He quit the river about ten years ago when he decided to give up the fight against the railroads. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years, but the last time I laid eyes on him, he was hale of body and sound of mind.”

  “And if he’s not interested or available?” She left the question dangling.

  “The others are either as old as Pettigrew or men who have lost the battle with booze.” Ike didn’t blunt the truth.

  Her face paled, and she took a single swallow. “It’s cooled off.”

  Standing, Ike reached for the coffeepot and refilled her cup. Satisfactory steam rose from the surface, and she gripped it gratefully. She closed her eyes, and her lips moved in silent words. When she opened them, determination shone from within. “Do you think Captain Pettigrew will be home this afternoon?”

  That’s my girl. Ike nodded. “So, you want to come with me?”

  “Of course.”

  The first luncheon bell rang. “I’ll put these away.”

  Blanche tugged the account book toward her. “I want to study this one. Unless there are some figures you need to enter?”

  “Not today.” He wondered how long it would be before she began raising uncomfortable questions. If he was lucky, not on this trip. She’d be too busy studying the books, if he had anything to say about it.

  CHAPTER 27

  Blanche inched the door to her cabin open, in case Effie was asleep. She needn’t have bothered. Her roommate was buttoning up a pretty apricot-colored dress, with square buttons. “Good morning, Blanche. Thank you for the breakfast.”

  “Elaine fixed a feast, with more to come.” Pleasant aromas promised chili and corn bread for the noon meal.

  “When Elaine is upset, she cooks. The captain said he always knew when something was on her mind.” Tears filled Effie’s eyes. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry again.”

  “Oh Effie.” Blanche threw her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “I’ve cried enough tears to make the Rio Grande flood its banks, if they had fallen in the river. No one expects you to have a smile on your face.”

  “Maybe not.” She poured water into the bowl on her dressing table and dampened a washcloth. She dabbed it at her face, neck, hands, and then added a small amount of lotion below each ear. Blanche imitated her actions. Amazing how such a small gesture could offer so much refreshment.

  “Are you ready?” Blanche gently encouraged her.

  Effie nodded. Blanche laid down the account book and handed Effie her white cane. Arm in arm, they headed to the dining salon. Blanche explained about plans she had made with Ike to visit with Captain Pettigrew that afternoon.

  “Captain Pettigrew.” Effie smiled. “I remember him. He was funny. I loved listening to him exchange stories with Old Obie while I played with his cats.”

  “Would you like to come with us? I bet he still has cats.”

  Effie stopped midstep. “No. I feel close to the captain as long as I’m aboard the Cordelia.”

  “I understand.” And Blanche did. She had never seen her father any place other than on board the Cordelia. She had a hard time imagining him in any other setting.

  “You don’t think I’m being silly?”

  “Not at all.” Whatever time Effie needed to grieve, Blanche would allow. She didn’t want her friend’s life turned upside down the way her own had been since her mother’s death. Her first nineteen years in Roma, even the fellowship at Christ the King Community Church, seemed like they happened to another girl.

  The earlier chill continued to cling to Blanche, and she would have welcomed a brisk walk, but Ike had arranged for a carriage. As they trundled past the wharves and the downtown district, toward the residential district, she recognized the wisdom. “Is he expecting us?”

  “I sent a messenger to arrange the meeting.”

  “Thank you.” Ike did so many things so efficiently.

  Blanche studied the streets as they rode, noting the presence of more palm trees than she had seen upriver, with an occasional seagull diving for a morsel of food as they rode by. “Is the ocean close by?”

  “Not far.”

  An impulse seized Blanche. “I want to see it. Can we go, after we meet with Captain Pettigrew?”

  Ike twisted in his seat to face her more directly. “You’ve never been to the ocean? Of course not. I should have taken you before.”

  Her face turned downward, hoping to hide the heat in her cheeks. “As long as I am this close, I ought to see it. Don’t you think so?”

  “Absolutely. And here we are.”

  The house had to belong to someone who had spent his life on the water. Maybe she formed that impression from the narrow walk that circled the roof. What had she heard it called, a widow’s walk? For the whalers’ wives who waited at home? “Have you ever read Moby Dick?”

  “That’s the story about the crazy man who went after the whale, right? Great stuff. I’m surprised you read it, though. Didn’t your mother think it was too harsh for your delicate mind?”

  Laughter bubbled out of Blanche. “She didn’t know everything I read. My reward for finishing my schoolwork early was to read, and my teacher kept me supplied in books. I fell in love with the idea of steamboats when I read Mark Twain’s books.”

  “He got a lot of it right. Things have changed since his time, though.” Ike helped her out of the carriage and opened the gate in the white picket fence. Flowers edged the length of the walkway, and rosebushes hugged the house. If her father was a different kind of man… if her mother were a different sort of woman… she might have grown up in a house like this. Blanche shook away the thought. Wishing couldn’t change the past.

  A man with a blue sailor’s cap on his head and dressed in white came out on the front porch. She thought she had seen him at the funeral, but she wasn’t sure. He waved them forward.

  “Mr. Gallagher, Miss Lamar. I am honored that you would call on me in your time of grief.” He came forward with an affable smile on his face.

  “We appreciate you seeing us on such short notice.” Blanche’s nod felt stiff.

  “I can guess what you came here to see me about.” He flashed white teeth at her. “But first let me introduce you to my wife.”

  A kindly looking woman, a little plump, with a happy expression on her face, appeared at the front door at that moment, bearing a tray. “Do you mind if we take our refreshment on the porch?”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  No one mentioned business as they made introductions and shared in sweet tea and pinwheel cookies. Blanche made an effort to finish the cookies Mrs. Pettigrew pressed on her. The affection between husband and wife was evident, a man comfortable in his retirement. She wondered if any inducement could convince him to leave the comforts of home to return to life on the river.

  After they emptied the pitcher of tea and Mrs. Pettigrew disappeared inside, Captain Pettigrew grew serious. “As I said, I can guess why you’re here. You need a pilot.”

  Beside her, Ike stirred but stayed silent. Perhaps he wanted her to approach Captain Pettigrew about the position. “From what I’ve heard, you’re the best man for the job.” She looked at him directly, refusing to drop her gaze.

  “You’re Obie’s daughter, all right.” Captain Pettigrew wiped at his eyes. “My wife stood by me all the years I spent on the river. I promised her before God that I would spend the last years of our lives at home.” />
  “Are you a Christian?” Blanche couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

  “Amen, sister.” He winked at Ike. “Not all river men are heathen.”

  That statement sent heat rushing to Blanche’s cheeks. She sipped her tea to give herself a moment to regain her composure. For once, Ike remained silent. He seemed to be enjoying her disquiet.

  “We are not asking you to come out of retirement—not permanently.” Blanche took a deep breath. “In fact, I am interested in securing a pilot’s license for myself. My father”—she still stumbled over the word—“felt I had an aptitude for it. And I have to confess, the idea intrigues me.”

  “But a woman pilot?” Captain Pettigrew left the question dangling.

  Ike cleared his throat. “A woman on the Mississippi recently qualified as a riverboat pilot. Our Blanche plans to follow in her steps.”

  “Obie was a good judge of talent.” Captain Pettigrew looked across the expanse of lawn. Standing, he went to the open door to the house and called for his wife. They conferred briefly in low voices then came out hand in hand.

  “Is there room on your boat for my wife to travel with us?”

  “Of course.” Blanche smiled in relief.

  “We have about an hour before the carriage will return.” Ike held the gate open for Blanche to pass through. “You can see the ocean from here. We can spend a few minutes on the beach.”

  Blanche stood on tiptoe. “I can’t see it.”

  “You can smell it, though.” He took a deep breath. “All that salty air.”

  “Is that what it is?” Her nose wrinkled. “It reminded me of fish.”

  “That, too.”

  Palm fronds reached out to brush against them as they walked down the street, narrowing to a footpath about a hundred yards from the Pettigrews’ house. Seagulls flew an elaborate dance overhead, demanding a tribute from the two intruders.

  “Is that the ocean I hear?”

  Ike stopped to listen. Ripple and swish. Not the roar of water tripping over rocks, such as he had experienced on a memorable trip to the headwaters of the Rio Grande, but the gentle wash of waves on sand. “Yes.”