“Stop her! Stop her! Stabboard reverse! Labboard reverse!”
The paddlewheels in back ceased, then began a slow backward revolution. At the bow and stern, two deckhands threw ropes to the waiting dockmen.
Ann had never seen a three-deck boat before. The lowest deck teemed with rough-clad men running this way and that, untying freight, carrying wood, shouting commands. Under the protected veranda of the middle deck, fashionable cabin passengers crowded to the ornately carved guardrails. A couple of young ladies in fur coats waved gaily to the Miller girls.
Mabel tugged at her father’s sleeve without taking her eyes from the steamer Emissary. “Look, look, Father!”
“Can we go aboard now?” Susan asked at his other elbow.
“Be patient,” he said. “They must unload the freight first.” He smiled, his new top hat distinguished among the hats on the dock. The other hats flocked together like different species of birds. Over there were flat woolen caps on working men. Here, a bright bevy of fine ladies’ hats fluttered on the passengers who could pay higher prices for cabin passage. Though a few top hats stood proudly with their fair companions, a much larger number hobnobbed together in masculine solidarity behind the women. Their owners variously smoked pipes, stamped feet, and nodded to one another as they watched the boat with anticipation.
“I’d better whistle up a stevedore,” her father said, lifting his arm in the air. Across the wharf, a line of men marched like soldiers, back and forth, carrying boxes, bales, and baggage. Ten yards away, a light-brown man cast his crate on the dock with a thud. He noticed Ann’s father, raised a hand in return, and made his way through the steady stream of waterfront traffic.
“Yessir?” he said. “You need these moved to the Emissary, sir?”
“Yes.” Her father fished in his waistcoat and came up with a coin.
The man took it and stuffed it in his pocket. “She’ll be lowering her gangplank soon.”
Even as he spoke, the wide gangplank dropped into place, and a stream of men poured off it—some carrying freight, others yelling boisterously to one another or simply hurrying up the levee to disappear into the bustling streets. Down the boat’s front staircase came six or seven of the more refined passengers, followed by crew members toting their belongings. As the cabin passengers disembarked, they nodded and smiled at their peers who were waiting to board.
“She’s fast as the best of ’em,” one gentleman proclaimed, tipping his hat to the ladies as he stepped from the gangplank to solid ground.
“Beautiful,” one lady said to Ann, as if confiding a secret. “You will enjoy it.”
A bearded man in a blue coat with brass buttons stepped to the curlicued railing, resting one hand on the white top rail. “Welcome, ladies,” he said to the small cluster of women. “I’m Captain Pruitt. If you care to follow me, I will escort you to your cabin.”
As four or five ladies gathered their skirts in hand and followed the captain, Ann glanced at her father. “We’ll travel separately?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll go to the men’s staterooms at the bow. You’ll be in your own staterooms at the stern, by the ladies’ salon. But we’ll meet on the promenade, and at meals.” He handed her three of the tickets.
“Very well,” she said. “Girls, come with me. Mind your step.”
She started up the gentle incline, the heels of her boots clicking on the wood. When she turned to ensure that Susan and Mabel were following safely, she glanced over their heads at the wharf. Again, there was that man in the beaver hat, standing with the deck passengers, head still lowered, face obscured. A ripple of unease passed through her.
But of course he was going to board the boat. That would be the most likely reason why he had stuck so close to them on their way here. She was being very silly, and if she did not pay attention, she would step right off the gangplank into the cloudy Ohio River.
Captain Pruitt led them up the staircase at the bow, then along the veranda to the far end of the middle deck. He opened the heavy white door with obvious pride. “The ladies’ salon.”
The ladies filed in, Ann and her sisters bringing up the rear. The white salon glittered with gold lacquer. Fine upholstered chairs discreetly bolted to the deck promised a comfortable voyage. Ann added her murmur of admiration to the compliments of the other ladies. The captain pointed out the doors to their staterooms and withdrew with a bow.
“But which stateroom is ours?” a young lady of about Ann’s age asked. She wore a silk day dress under her dark fur cape; her voice was smooth and rich as molasses.
“I suppose we’ll have to confer with our new friends,” an older woman said in a similar drawl. She extended a gloved hand to Ann. “I hope you’ll forgive my manners, but it appears we must introduce ourselves. I am Mrs. Philip Holmes of Nashville, and this is my daughter, Miss Amelia Holmes.” Both of the Holmes women were vivacious, their prominent chins framed by broad-brimmed hats.
“So pleased to meet you.” Ann took the other woman’s hand and marshaled her best etiquette from her classes with the Welsh schoolmaster. “I’m Miss Ann Miller, and these are my sisters, Miss Susan and Miss Mabel.” When Mrs. Holmes cocked an eyebrow, Ann hastily added, “We’re traveling with our father, Mr. Samuel Miller of Rushville.”
Mrs. Holmes smiled and squeezed Ann’s hand gently before releasing it. “Such a charming family.”
Mrs. Holmes turned to greet the other two women who stood by. They wore tailored walking dresses in muted good taste, only their scarlet-and blue-feathered hats hinting at prosperity. The elderly woman in the dark blue dress took Mrs. Holmes’s proffered hand with some reticence, but apparent good will. “I’m Mrs. Lewis Burbridge of Pittsburgh, and this is my granddaughter, Miss Louisa Burbridge.”
Louisa Burbridge, fair-haired and retiring, turned striking gray eyes to Ann before dropping her gaze to the floor. Ann took pity on the girl’s shyness and spoke warmly to her. “We’re headed for Pittsburgh. How wonderful to have traveling companions who can tell us about the city.”
“We’re also going to Pittsburgh,” Amelia Holmes said. “Papa is going to look for a runaway slave, so we thought we’d tour the North while he plays the hunter.” She giggled.
Mrs. Holmes shot her daughter a forbidding look. “Amelia! Hardly a subject for polite company.”
Amelia fell silent, which left a brief hush. Louisa Burbridge was pink, and Mrs. Burbridge fiddled with the strings of her handbag. Perhaps they were abolitionists. The Millers did not approve of slavery either.
Mrs. Holmes cheerfully addressed Ann as if Amelia had not spoken. “Miss Miller, what takes you to Pittsburgh?”
Ann didn’t know if she should tell them her father was a saddler. Something told her the Burbridges and Holmeses might not be accustomed to associating with craftsmen—not even master craftsmen. It would be a long voyage if they decided the Millers were not genteel companions. But honesty above all. “My father has business there with the O’Hara family,” she said. “He has been commissioned to make a saddle for Mrs. O’Hara.”
Mrs. Holmes made no response, but lifted her chin ever so slightly, which gave the unfortunate impression that she was looking down her nose. Then she averted her posture from Ann to address Mrs. Burbridge. “Rather dry weather for March, isn’t it? Not much snow this year,” she said.
The weather. One couldn’t choose a more obvious conversational snub. Slow warmth spread across Ann’s cheekbones. Over Mrs. Holmes’s rounded shoulders, Amelia eyed Ann, her expression bland as milk.
“Mrs. Burbridge,” Mrs. Holmes said sweetly, “I believe I know of the Burbridges of Pittsburgh. Wasn’t there a Burbridge who acquitted himself bravely in our struggle for independence? At Yorktown, perhaps?”
“Why, yes, that was my husband’s father.” Mrs. Burbridge smiled. “I’m so pleased that someone remembers our heroes. Colonel Burbridge is gone these twenty years, but we still miss him sorely.”
Ann stood at a loss, holding her sisters’
hands, while Mrs. Holmes nattered on with her back to them about her love for Revolutionary history and her own father’s part in the victory at King Mountain.
Louisa Burbridge stepped around the Holmes women, pulling aside her heavy green skirt so as not to brush them in passing. “Your father must be a master of his craft,” she said to Ann. “The O’Haras are a fine family. We were so sorry to lose Captain O’Hara. He did a great deal for our city. Will you be staying with them?”
Louisa now stood with her back to the Holmeses, transforming their snub into a mere parting of ways in the conversation. Ann’s father had told her that steamboats were usually floating islands of social democracy, and perhaps that was true. Or perhaps Louisa was simply more tolerant than the others.
“No, we won’t stay at the O’Hara home.” Ann’s relief made her words tumble over one another until she made a conscious effort to slow down. “We will board with Dr. Robert Loftin, a friend of the O’Hara family. He is neighbor to another saddler who will assist my father in his work.”
As she finished her sentence, Ann realized that the stevedores were still clustered outside the ladies’ cabin with their luggage and trunks. She pointed them out to Louisa. “I see that the men need to place our belongings somewhere.”
“Perhaps we should decide on our rooms?” Louisa leaned around Mrs. Holmes to repeat her suggestion to the rest of the ladies, who agreed.
They chose a stateroom for each family and directed the dockmen to deposit their burdens in the appropriate cabins. Ann found an additional coin for her stevedore to compensate him for his patience. She noticed Louisa Burbridge doing the same, though the Holmeses were chatting too loudly with each other to notice.
Ann left Susan and Mabel bouncing on the rather hard beds of the cabin and went in search of her father. He must have conceived the same plan, for she encountered him on the veranda, heading in her direction.
“The accommodations are very pleasant, Father. We’ve seen our room and met the other ladies.”
“Good.” He seemed distracted, looking past her and over the railing at the main deck below them. When she followed his gaze, however, she saw nothing unusual.
“What are you watching?”
“Just the men on the deck.” He turned back to her. “They’re rough, but that’s to be expected. Flatboat men, mostly.” He glanced in the direction of the ladies’ salon. “Where are the girls?”
“Safe in the stateroom,” she said. “I wouldn’t leave them anywhere else. They know they’re not to roam without me.”
“Of course.” He offered his arm. “Now, let me show you where I’m lodging, in case you have need of me.” She took hold of his elbow and they walked toward the bow.
Hurrying workmen left the veranda as gentlemen emerged from their staterooms to gather at the rail for the departure. Two men in top hats and frock coats were so engrossed in their conversation that they almost collided with Ann and her father.
“I beg your pardon,” the younger man said to Ann, putting out a hand instinctively to steady her. She recognized those gray eyes.
“Not at all.” Her father smiled. “Mr. Allan Burbridge, this is my daughter, Miss Miller.”
“A pleasure.” The young man removed his hat and bowed with military precision.
“Mr. Burbridge, I believe I’ve just met your family.” Ann returned his smile.
“Have you? Then you may have also met the fair companions of my new acquaintance.” He indicated the older man with him, who was short and had removed his hat to reveal a head of graying hair. “Mr. Miller, Miss Miller, this is Mr. Philip Holmes.”
“Charmed.” The older man spoke with one hand placed artfully at the lapel of his striped waistcoat.
Her father shook hands with Mr. Holmes. “Mr. Burbridge and I are sharing a stateroom—that one there, the Connecticut Room.” He gestured to a cabin door a few feet past them, emblazoned with a state sign.
This revelation both pleased and disturbed Ann. She hoped her father would not disturb Allan Burbridge by snoring in the night, as he did occasionally at home.
Mr. Holmes made an odd and repellent sound in his throat, as if blasting everything in his breathing apparatus upward with a rattling honk. “Shall we go meet the other ladies?” His drawl emanated from his nose. “I’m sure they will enjoy witnessing the boat’s departure.”
After that honk, Ann was not so concerned about her father’s snoring.
“Splendid idea,” Allan Burbridge said. When Ann’s father nodded, they all strolled back toward the stern. The deck was solid beneath them. Here, in the lee of the dock, the waves were mere lines traced in the water.
Ann made a detour to fetch her sisters from the stateroom. She rejoined the party just as the gentlemen met the women at the starboard rail near the stern. As they exchanged further introductions, the Holmes women lavished Allan Burbridge with pretty speeches but barely acknowledged Ann’s father. She hoped her father would not notice, but even a man could not miss the deliberate one-sidedness of the conversation. Finally, Allan and Louisa turned away from the Holmes women to speak with the Millers.
“Miss Miller’s father is a master saddler,” Louisa said to her brother, nodding to Ann in her friendly, subdued way. “Is that not intriguing?”
“I suspected as much when he told me he was under contract with the O’Hara family,” Allan said. “But of course he was far too modest to go into detail.”
“I believe we’re about to depart.” Ann was anxious for a change of subject. The Holmes’s behavior would not improve with any reminder of her father’s status, no matter how kind the Burbridges might be.
The wharf beside them still crawled with men, but all the dockworkers had left the boat, leaving only the passengers and crew on the engine deck. The steam whistled out of the gauge cocks; the bell rang again. Louisa and Ann stood in companionable silence while Allan talked to Mabel and Susan with enthusiasm, pointing out parts of the ship and explaining how it worked in terms a child could understand. Ann liked the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughed at some precocious comment from Mabel.
“Ann, they’re casting off!” Susan pointed to the wharf.
Two men were untying the mooring ropes. Looping them in their hands, they jumped across the gap to the boat with practiced ease. Ann could tell from Mabel’s alert posture that she wanted to try that daring jump herself. She had always been nimble, like Ann. There wasn’t a tree on the farm that Mabel hadn’t scaled. Ann would have to make sure her littlest sister did not try any adventurous feats on the packet boat. Fortunately Susan was more cautious and ladylike and would not do anything to jeopardize her new grown-up demeanor, now that she was all of eleven years old.
The deck hummed beneath their feet. The great wheels began to turn, churning the water, pulling the massive vessel away from the dock. Bystanders on the docks cheered and waved their farewells to the passengers on board. In the icy wind off the river, the ladies nestled in their furs and the men shoved their hands in the pockets of their greatcoats.
Below on the engine deck, men still carried wood by the armload to the bow. Men without such tasks sat on the nearest available box or pallet of goods. Ann saw cards and dice in two of the groups. Several audible curses flew up from one card game; she blushed and darted a glance at Allan Burbridge. She thought he had heard, but he gave the impression of deafness and deep concentration on what Susan was saying. That was considerate of him.
A man stood apart from the card players, his back to Ann. She marked his beaver hat.
Her father was staring with furrowed brow at the same man.
When her father noticed her attention, he looked away and made a show of fumbling in his breast pocket for his watch.
Perhaps she had reason for concern after all.
Seven
SHIP TIME WAS PRECISE, BUT LITTLE GIRLS WERE NOT. Ann hurried toward the dining room, holding fast to the hands of Susan and Mabel, both of whom were out of breath from their rush to dr
ess for supper. It had been ten minutes since the black iron bell called them to the supper hour. She feared they would keep the company waiting.
When she stepped over the sill of the dining room door, she saw to her mortification that the cabin passengers were already standing behind their chairs. An awkward hush prevailed as she led the girls to the seats at the end of the long table, where her father waited for them. His face was expressionless, but she could tell he was displeased. The girls took the two places next to him. Ann kept her head down and crossed to the other side of the table, where she stood next to Allan Burbridge.
She wanted to apologize to the company, but she did not know if doing so might violate the etiquette of a shipboard meal. The captain stood in commanding silence at the head of the table. A cavalcade of covered dishes marched from his end to where Ann stood. What a quantity of tureens and platters; there were only thirty-odd cabin passengers, and she was sure there must be a serving dish for each of them.
“Will it please the company to be seated?” the captain said.
Chairs scraped against the deck. Allan Burbridge whispered, “Good evening,” and pulled her heavy oaken chair back for her. She seated herself as gracefully as possible; she was unaccustomed to having a man’s assistance with the task. Rushville was not known for its society suppers and formal manners. But across the table, her father acquitted himself well in seating Louisa Burbridge, and a low buzz of conversation began.
Allan leaned toward her to speak quietly. “I’m glad they allow us to converse at meals on this boat.”
“You mean some do not?”
“I’ve traveled on several where the captain kept us silent as the grave.”
“Whatever for?”
“Excessive propriety.”
She smiled, her taut nerves untwisting themselves in the ambiance of his wry humor. He removed the lid of the dish between them and poked at its contents with a fork. “Would you care for congealed chicken? I suspect it was not congealed thirty minutes ago, but it has developed a fine aspic now.”
Fairer than Morning Page 5
