White River Brides

by Frances Devine

  Lexie sat frozen, her face numb. He wasn’t their father? But why had they said he was? And why all the made-up stories? A surge of horror slammed her and her stomach churned. Oh no, she’d done him a terrible injustice. He must think her a raving lunatic. She stood, swayed, and grabbed onto the counter.

  “Hey, easy there. Maybe you’d better sit back down.”

  “I’ll be all right.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. She swallowed and tried again. “Do you know if they’ve left yet?”

  “I haven’t seen them go by, but I’ve been in the back quite a bit today, unloading crates.” He gave her a sympathetic glance.

  “I think I really need to try to catch them before they go.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “When would you like for me to start working?”

  “How about in the morning? If you’d like to come on over after breakfast, I’ll show you around.”

  “Yes, that sounds marvelous. Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. You won’t be sorry.” She backed out the door and rushed to the buggy. Oh, if only she could get there in time.

  She drove across country, skirting Marmoros and the cave. Why was Jolly going so slowly? They’d never get there at this rate.

  When she finally pulled up at the Sullivan farm, Tom Marshall, the neighbor who’d been looking after the place, came out of the barn. “Can I help you with something, miss?” He squinted up at her from beneath the brim of his straw hat.

  “Is Mr. Sullivan here?” Even as she asked, she knew she was too late.

  “You mean young Jack?”

  Well, of course. Did he think she’d be asking after a dead man? She had to get herself together before she lost control and started yelling. “Yes, sir. Is he here?”

  “Nope, him and them ornery twins took off around daybreak.”

  Lexie headed back home, her palms damp and heart racing as embarrassment rose inside her. How could she bear to tell Will and Aunt Kate the news?

  Chapter 8

  Jack shut the door to the boiler room and took one step before he heard a scurrying noise and then Tuck’s voice.

  “Shh. Be quiet, Addy. If they catch us we’ll be in big trouble.”

  She was right about that. The twins knew they weren’t supposed to be down here. Now what were they up to? He stepped over in the shadows and waited.

  In a moment they came into sight. “But Tuck, I don’t think we should be here anyway. It’s awfully hot and smelly.” Addy wrinkled up her nose. “It smells like burned up old boots.”

  Tuck took a sniff and made a face. “I don’t smell anything. And if you’d left your overalls on instead of changing into that dress, maybe you wouldn’t be so hot.”

  “I like dresses. And anyway, Miss Lexie likes us to wear dresses.”

  “In a boiler room?” Tuck chortled.

  “How was I supposed to know you’d drag me down here?”

  “Aw c’mon, Addy. I just want to look at the boiler. Bob Shift came out of there red as a tomato the other day. I wonder how hot it gets.” By now she was close enough to reach the heavy door that kept her from her prize.

  As she reached forward, Jack reached out and grabbed her arm. “What do you girls think you’re doing?”

  Both girls whirled, their eyes big with fear. “Sorry, Mr. Jack. Just wanted to see the boiler room.”

  “You don’t sound very sorry to me.” He released her arm. “You know there’s a reason you aren’t allowed down here.”

  “That’s for sure.” Pap’s voice echoed as he hurried toward them. His frown pierced the girls and one gnarled hand grabbed the arm Jack had released. “You want to go and get yerself boiled or somethin’?”

  “Pap, we didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Just wanted to see the boiler room.” Addy’s hand rested on Pap’s. “Please don’t hurt her.”

  “Hurt her? Why, bless yer heart, little ’un. I ain’t gonna hurt her.” Pap’s face had gentled, like it always did when he spoke to Addy. He turned to Jack. “Sorry, Cap’n. The little critters must have slipped by me. I should have been watchin’ closer.”

  “It’s all right, Pap. I don’t expect you to watch them every second. They knew better and they won’t do it again.” He turned a stern eye on the girls. “Right?”

  Both girls nodded.

  “All right. I’ll hold you to that promise. Now let’s go deckside.”

  As they stepped on deck, cool, moist drops off the river sprinkled over Jack’s skin. He glanced at Tuck and noticed her close her eyes and breathe in deeply. Obviously she appreciated the difference, too. Maybe even enough to keep her promise. “Okay, you girls stay out of trouble.”

  “What is there to do if we can’t explore?” Tuck scowled. She loved the riverboat, but once the newness had worn off the adventure, there wasn’t much to do. Which was why she wanted to see the boiler. Was that too much to ask?

  “How ’bout them readin’ and writin’ lessons?” asked Pap.

  “We finished them before chow,” Addy assured him. She loved saying “chow.”

  “Hmm, and chores?” Jack had assigned them work in the galley, and they were doing a good job. Pap had chuckled as he’d reported to Jack that Tuck could pretty near peel a potato all the way from one end to another without stopping.

  “All done.”

  “That right?” Pap scratched his ear and glanced upward. “Well now, how’d ye like to hear a little fiddlin’ music?”

  Tuck grinned. “Sure would like that.”

  “Well then, you two set yerselves down on them crates over yonder. I’ll go fetch my fiddle.”

  Tuck rushed to obey, with Addy climbing up beside her.

  Jack leaned against a stack of crates and observed. Pap’s fiddling was a treat he didn’t want to pass up.

  “Hey, Addy, didn’t Pa used to have an old fiddle?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t know how to play. It belonged to Ma’s grandpa.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I asked Pa once where it came from. Pa said it came all the way from Ireland with our great-grandfather O’Donnell.”

  Tuck made a sound with her tongue as if she didn’t believe her sister for a minute.

  “Well, it’s true, Tuck. Really it is.”

  Jack was pretty sure it was. Addy didn’t usually make up stories unless Tuck started first.

  Pap came around the corner, a big grin on his face, his fiddle tucked under his wrinkled chin. At the first sound of the bow gliding across the strings, Jack noticed Tuck’s finger snapping and her feet swinging up and down to the lively music. Pretty soon she was off the crate and dancing a jig. She grabbed Addy and pulled her down, and they danced around and around the deck. The music stopped and Tuck ran over to Pap as Addy flopped down, laughing.

  “That was a good one, Pap.” Tuck reached her hand over and touched the smooth wood of the fiddle, then jerked her hand back and threw a guilty glance at its owner.

  “No harm done, little gal. Here, you wanna hold it a minute?”

  “Really? I can hold it?” Her mouth flew open and she looked at Pap with disbelief.

  “Why shore ye can.” He held the instrument in her direction.

  She reached out both arms.

  “Naw, that ain’t the way. It ain’t no baby. Here, hold it like this.”

  Tuck glanced down in awe at the wonderful object in her hands. “Do you think I could learn to play?” she whispered, gazing at the fiddle.

  “Why, I don’t see why not. Come ’ere and I’ll give ye yer first lesson.”

  At a sound from Addy, Jack glanced around. Pain washed over her face, and her eyes misted as she looked at her sister. But then she smiled and nodded. “Go ahead, Tuck. It’ll be fun. Maybe we can go to the cabin and fetch Great-Grandpa’s fiddle for you when we get back.”

  Jack continued to watch her for a moment. Had that been longing in her eyes? But if she wanted to play, why didn’t she say so?

  There never was a more beautiful sight than the river at night. Jack stood in t
he bow and leaned against the rail. The sky above and all around was a black canvas filled with stars. A sliver of a moon shone down on the crystal-like surface of the White River, causing the Julia Dawn to appear to skim the air above the water. Almost like flying.

  He turned and looked up at the pilothouse where Thompson manned the wheel. They had made three trips from St. Louis and back since they had left. All had gone fairly smooth this trip except for three crates that fell into the water when they were loading in St. Louis.

  He hadn’t gotten around to searching for a family for the girls. Seemed like every time he thought about it he shoved the idea into another part of his brain. He might as well admit it. The girls were becoming very important to him. He wanted to raise them himself. But he knew that was ridiculous. How could he raise two little girls on the river, even if they’d let him? As soon as some women’s society found out he had them, they’d probably rake him over the coals and maybe even have him thrown in jail. They’d take the girls and then he’d never see them again.

  If only Alexandra Rayton had been the woman he had thought she was. He’d known from the beginning she had a feisty, stubborn spirit. But he’d never expected she had a mean streak. Still, he knew he had some sort of feelings for her no matter if she did have some kind of problems. Come to think of it, the whole family had behaved downright strange when he picked the girls up. You’d have thought he was poison.

  Pain stabbed Jack’s brow just above his right eye, and he rubbed circles with his thumb. No sense trying to figure things out now. Maybe Mr. Hawkins had found a family willing to take the girls. If he couldn’t keep them, at least they could live near enough for him to see them now and then.

  Lexie leaned back against an ancient oak tree and gazed out over the low bluff that overlooked the river. She peered downstream, shading her eyes, hoping against hope to see the prow of the Julia Dawn coming around the curve. She knew Jack Sullivan and his boat had docked at Forsyth several times since they’d left. But he hadn’t come home on those occasions. This time she’d catch him at the docks.

  Her plan was to mount Jolly as soon as she saw the steamboat then ride like the wind home where she’d change into her blue dress—the one that brought out the ocean blue of her eyes—and her new wide-brimmed bonnet with the feathers. No, perhaps that would be too much.

  She’d been thinking about the girls and their plight a lot lately. She’d come to care for them a great deal in the short time they’d stayed with her family. And now that she knew they were actually orphans her heart went out to them even more.

  Her stomach jumped at the bold plan she’d concocted. If Jack cared about the girls, and she was pretty sure he did or why would he have gone to the trouble of taking them with him, then perhaps he would see that her plan had merit.

  The girls needed schooling, and they also needed someone to care for them while he was away. Perhaps when he realized she’d only been concerned for the girls, he would allow her to keep them while he was gone, and then they could stay with him for the short periods of time he was home. Of course, that would mean her giving up her job, but then Addy and Tuck were more important than some old job.

  In the meantime, they could still be searching for a family for the girls. Her heart lurched at the thought, but they had to think of what was best for the twins. At least if they were in the vicinity, perhaps she could still see them occasionally.

  A honking sound drew her attention upward. A flock of geese flying north. This was the third flock she’d seen this week. Which wasn’t unusual for the first week in September and gave strength to her plan. After all, she was certain Mr. Sullivan would see that the river was no place for Tuck and Addy with cold weather on the way.

  She thought about the new dresses she’d sewn for them the past few weeks. There would be several festivities now that the harvest was about over, and she wanted them to have something pretty to wear, even if she was not allowed to be with them. They would love the pretty yellow and blue ruffled dresses. But it was with Christmas in mind that she’d created the velvet dresses, so soft one’s fingers slid across the fabric like silk. One red as the cherry preserves on Aunt Kate’s shelves and the other as green as the pines and cedars that grew in the woods that nearly surrounded the farm.

  With one last look downriver, she stood. It would be time to help Aunt Kate start supper and afterward lay her things out for morning. The circuit preacher would be here tomorrow to hold a service. Perhaps she would find some peace in his sermon.

  Chapter 9

  A new preacher? Not Reverend Collins?” Lexie stared in dismay at Jane Dobson, who’d just told her the news.

  “Yes, and he’s young and…” She lowered her voice and leaned to whisper in Lexie’s ear. “Not married.”

  Humph. So much for her little talk with Reverend Collins. She certainly couldn’t bare her soul to a young bachelor. “Well, you should invite him to Sunday dinner, Jane.”

  The younger girl giggled, an annoying habit in Lexie’s opinion. “Mama’s headed that way now. She wants to get to him before Mrs. Humphrey does.”

  Lexie followed Jane’s glance. Sure enough, Mrs. Dobson was closing in on a group of men standing by the grove of trees where the meeting would be held. Aletha Humphrey’s mother wasn’t far behind.

  Hmm. Lexie narrowed her eyes and peered at the tall young man who stood with several of the local farmers. He was nice looking. Blond hair smoothed back from his forehead and a nice smile.

  He straightened and greeted the two women who approached him at the very same instant. Poor man. He didn’t stand a chance. And there were at least two more women in the neighborhood with daughters of marriageable age. Chances are they’d be pulling up in their buggies any moment. The preacher would be lucky to get away from this meeting without leaving behind a new fiancée.

  “I’m going to find Aunt Kate and sit down.” She smiled and waved at Jane, then made her escape, heading for the chairs and benches that had been set up.

  Aunt Kate waved at her from the front bench.

  Lexie groaned. She hated sitting that close. It made her neck ache trying to look up at the preacher’s face. But she smiled and scooted in next to her aunt.

  “There’s a new preacher.” Her aunt smiled and patted her hand. “He seems nice.”

  “Did you find out his name?”

  “Reverend Hines. He hails from somewhere north of Springfield.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “He’s coming to dinner after the service.” Aunt Kate’s eyes crinkled. Lexie groaned. “Aunt Kate, I hope you aren’t trying to play matchmaker because I’m not interested.” Lexie made her voice as stern as possible without sounding disrespectful.

  “I’ve no idea why you’d think that. It was merely the Christian thing to do. Sarah Jenkins is coming, too.” She glanced around and then said, “I believe Will and Sarah wish to speak to Reverend Hines about their marriage plans.”

  Lexie brightened. “Oh, that’s good. I’m sorry I misunderstood your motives, Auntie.”

  Aunt Kate’s eyes gleamed. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Lexie peered at her aunt, who merely smiled and leaned back on the bench. Maybe that dinner invitation wasn’t so innocent after all. Lexie shrugged and looked around. The grove was filling up, and everyone was scrambling to get choice seats before the singing began.

  Horace Packard walked beside the new reverend to the platform that had been built for the occasion and waited until the rustling and whispers died down. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief and cleared his throat. “Well, folks, I’d like to introduce the Reverend Allen Hines, who’ll be replacing Reverend Collins as our preacher.”

  A bevy of clapping thundered through the crowd, and several people rang out with, “Amen,” and, “Howdy, preacher.”

  Reverend Hines smiled. “I’m very pleased to be here and to meet all you good folks. I know you’ll miss Reverend Collins, but he is getting up in years and the traveling was getting t
o be too much for him. He sent his greetings.” He nodded. “I hope we shall become great friends.”

  He stepped back and sat on a bench behind the back of the platform.

  Horace stepped forward with his guitar in hand and motioned for his brothers to join him. The Packard brothers were well known in the area for their musical abilities, and Lexie looked forward to the singing.

  “Okay folks”—Horace began tapping his foot—“let’s start out with something that’ll put some fire in our souls.”

  The opening chords of “We’re Marching to Zion” filled the grove, and voices arose in joyous abandon. Lexie joined in fervently. She, like most of the folks, had worked hard over the summer, plowing, planting, and all the other things that went along with living. The women had canned vegetables, fruits, and jellies until their hands were stained. People were starved for a good service and fellowship with other believers. There would be a harvest ball next month and, weather permitting, some Christmas festivities. Then the long winter would keep them isolated and lonely. Especially if the snows were heavy.

  The song ended and two more were sung. Then the Packards put away their guitars, and everyone sat down.

  Allen Hines stepped to the makeshift podium and glanced over the crowd. When his soft brown eyes rested on Lexie, he hesitated then smiled warmly and looked straight ahead. He cleared his throat and opened his Bible. “ ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’ ”

  Lexie inhaled sharply. Was God speaking directly to her? It seemed so. She hadn’t really discussed her plans with God but had been barreling along, making one mistake after another.

  I’m sorry, Lord. I bring the situation with Tuck and Addy and Mr. Sullivan to You.

  She paused a moment as Jack Sullivan’s handsome face and searching brown eyes invaded her mind. Then she blushed. Imagine thinking thoughts like that when she was in the middle of praying.

  Forgive me, Father, for not controlling my thoughts. And please show me what to do. You are the all-knowing, all-wise God, and I’m going to trust You to direct my paths.