River Queen Rose

by Shirley Kennedy

  “Oh, would you? I would be much obliged if you could.”

  “I shall do my very best.”

  On her way down the staircase, Rose met Drucilla on the second floor landing. “What’s the matter?” her sister-in-law inquired. “You look troubled.”

  “I am troubled.” Rose described how the thought of Cherry’s plight hung heavy on her mind. She put herself in Cherry’s place. What would she have done under the same circumstances? Could she have given up her own child at birth? No! How horrible if she’d lost her precious Lucy. The trouble was, she still had no idea what to do, and it wasn’t just Cherry, it was all the third-floor girls. “Why can’t I make up my mind, Drucilla?”

  “Well, you certainly ought to. If you’re waiting for a sign from God, that’s not likely to happen.”

  “I suppose not.” Shaking her head, Rose continued down the staircase. What was she waiting for? Why couldn’t she make up her mind? How nice it would be if somehow she did get a sign from God.

  Hardly the day went by that she didn’t see Mason. He never declared he was courting her but always seemed to be around, bringing small gifts, offering invitations to dinner. One day he took her for a drive and showed her the nearly completed house he was building. Situated on a rise overlooking the river, it resembled an English mansion, at least three stories high, with quaint turrets and massive chimneys.

  “Pretty fancy,” she declared. “You’ll be lord of the manor in a place like this.”

  He got a teasing smile on his face. “Then I shall need a lady of the manor, won’t I?”

  So of course he was courting her and was only holding back because of her status as a new and supposedly grieving widow. Occasionally, she was struck by the irony of it all. Mason Talbot had made her a widow. Now he wanted to marry her himself? How very strange, but she had no time to sort it all out, and besides, why should she? The day might come when she would indeed seriously consider becoming Mrs. Mason Talbot. Meantime, each of her days was so busy she had no time to think about what might or might not happen in the future. Mostly she turned down Mason’s invitations because she needed time with her daughter. Every morning when she left the farm, she got a pang of guilt, but it never lasted. Coralee might have her faults, but she remained the loving, caring grandmother Lucy adored. She couldn’t have been in better hands.

  Rose had been so busy she’d hardly seen Deke, and she missed him. The day workmen finished the new ice cellar, she hastened to invite him to come take a look. Built directly back of the hotel, the cellar had a large trap door for lowering blocks of ice, a wooden staircase, and plenty of space for the storage of beer. “What do you think?” she asked Deke after they’d descended the staircase and stood in the good-sized cellar.

  He looked around and nodded with approval. “Plenty of room. You did a good job.”

  “Tim Delahunty did it all. Designed it and hired the workmen to do the digging. He’s truly a godsend.”

  Deke’s gaze swept her critically. “How are you doing? I’ve hardly seen you.”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “No, I don’t mean that.” In the dim light of the cellar, he studied her with eyes both sharp and shrewd. “You’ve made some big changes in your life. Are you happy? Has it been worthwhile?”

  How perceptive of him. Certainly no one else had asked how she truly felt about the momentous decision she’d made. Actually, she’d been so busy she hadn’t taken a moment to question herself, but now that she thought about it? Despite all the difficulties, a mounting wave of satisfaction flowed through her. “I’m glad you asked. I’m doing what I want to do, and I love it. There’s problems…one after another, it seems, but at the end of the day when I go home all tired, I get this…this…”

  “Feeling of a job well done?”

  “Yes! That’s it. I’ve accomplished something. Because of me, the River Queen is a better hotel than it was the day before.” She touched his arm. “It’s all thanks to you.”

  “And how is that?”

  “Remember what you said about courage? You got me to see what I really wanted in this world. That’s why I got brave and stood up for myself.”

  “Ah, Rose.” He stepped closer. His hands gripped her shoulders. “You’re quite the girl.”

  In the dimness of the cellar, she felt, more than saw, the warmth and tenderness of his gaze. “Deke, I…”

  He pulled her close and bent to kiss her. Her heart jolted, and she leaned toward him, eager for his kiss. When his lips pressed against hers, then gently covered her mouth, she wanted more, but after one long, passionate moment, he broke off and thrust her away. “Don’t worry, that was a friendship kiss.”

  “I know. Of course it was.” But it wasn’t. She hadn’t missed the tremor in his voice or the searing, devouring way his mouth had moved over hers. Friendship kiss, my foot. But the moment was past. Best to let it go. She stepped away and gestured toward the empty depths of her ice cellar. “Will you sell me some ice?”

  He laughed, and she heard the relief in his voice. “If you like, a whole cellar full.”

  “Fine, then. I shall aim to have the coldest beer in town.”

  Her knees felt a little wobbly as they climbed back up the stairs. What had happened? How could it be that a casual kiss from the man she’d always felt sorry for had sent tiny shivers down her spine? Ridiculous. He was just plain Deke, good friend and nothing more. Besides, she already had a suitor. Mason Talbot—rich, handsome, successful. Every woman’s dream. She knew he loved her. If she gave him a sign, he’d propose in a second. What a fool she’d be if she threw him away.

  * * * *

  It was late. Deke sat on the steps of the ice house long after he should have been in bed. Soon Mitch joined him, asking, “Why are you up so late?”

  “Can’t sleep.”

  “Neither can I.” Mitch sank down beside him. “We’re a long way from home, aren’t we?” He looked upward, taking in the millions of stars in the sky. “Did you ever think those are the same stars that shine over Amalie Station?”

  “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Mitch.”

  “I think about it a lot. Here we are, thousands of miles from home, and I ask myself, was it worth it?”

  Deke laughed with irony. “You tell me. You never found a speck of gold. You’re living over a stable in back of an ice house. You spend your days delivering ice.”

  “But making a fortune doing it. We’re getting rich, Deke. Did you stop to think about that? We began this business at the right time, and we’re just getting started.” Mitch paused for a wistful sigh. “I like it here. The river, the mountains; it’s beautiful country. I’d like to stay, only… Too bad there aren’t any women around.” He tipped his head toward the saloons down the street. “Well, except those women.”

  “That’ll change, Mitch. Already this Gold Rush has begun to run its course. Give Sacramento another ten years—no, five years—and it’ll be a city of solid citizens where you can go to church and find all the virtuous women you want.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve got Rose Peterson.” Mitch looked over at his friend. “Right?”

  “Sure, right.” Hearing her name gave Deke a stab in his heart. One little slip was all, so why was he torturing himself? But damn, why had he kissed her? All right, he knew the reason. No woman he’d ever met could hold a candle to Mrs. Rose Peterson. And when she’d stood there in the ice cellar, holding her chin high, telling him in her soft voice how proud she was of herself, and how he’d helped her, he’d had to touch her, kiss her. It wouldn’t happen again. She didn’t love him. Considered him a helpful friend. Down-and-out Deke, the crippled farmhand. He would never beg, never plead. The last thing he wanted was for her to discover how he truly felt about her.

  Ever since he’d kissed her, he’d played the scene over and over in his head. The intimate feel of her breasts when
she’d pressed against him, the softness of her mouth, the sweet smell of her. Was it perfume Mason gave her? Damn. She made him feel things he’d never felt for another woman. Call it love, he supposed. All he knew was, he wanted her so bad he could hardly act like a normal man around her. He’d do it, though. Do it if it killed him. Despite the eager way she kissed him today, he’d seen her around town, riding with that lowlife, Mason Talbot, in his fancy phaeton. Incredible as it seemed, she had feelings for that cold-blooded murderer, and as long as she did, he would not interfere.

  Deke stood and stretched. “Let’s turn in. Big day tomorrow.”

  Mitch stood too. “We’re going to get richer, and that’s what counts, right?” He clapped Deke on the shoulder. “Don’t get yourself in a twist over the widow. There’s no finer man in the world than you, Deke. If she can’t see that, the hell with her.”

  Chapter 12

  Thanks to the efforts of Monsieur Gaston Bernier, the French restaurant was not only taking shape, it was going to be far finer than Rose had even imagined. When she told him “Spend what you need,” he took her at her word. Soon every steamboat arriving from San Francisco contained items meant for the River Queen’s fancy new restaurant. Gaston had shut the old restaurant down. Whenever Rose peeked inside, she was met with a disarray of unpacked boxes, rolls of carpeting, and stacks of what looked to be new tables, but she wasn’t sure. “Do not worry,” Gaston would reply when she asked. “It will all come together in due time.”

  Meantime, a lunch counter had been hastily erected next to the bar in the saloon. Run by Gus, dirty apron and all, it provided a simple fare of soup, hard boiled eggs, and sandwiches. To Rose’s surprise, Gaston hadn’t yet fired the surly cook. “So what will you do about Gus when the new restaurant opens?” she asked him one day. “Will he still be running the lunch counter?”

  The Frenchman flashed his little enigmatic smile, the one she’d become quite familiar with. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Do not worry, madame.”

  That wasn’t all. In a moment of rashness, she’d left the choosing of the restaurant’s new name entirely up to Gaston. Now she wished she hadn’t. She was dying to know what he planned to call it, but he remained cagey. “Perhaps I’ll name it after one of Paris’s oldest restaurants. La Petite Chaise. It’s been there since 1680. Louis XIV ate there. Their onion soup, their steak tartare! Mon Dieu!” He blew a kiss in the air.

  “La Petite Chaise has a nice ring to it, Gaston. I’d be happy with—”

  “But on the other hand, La Tour d’Argent has been open since 1582. It was there that King Henri III used a fork for the first time.”

  “Fine. La Tour d’Argent, then.”

  “I will let you know in good time, madame.” Gaston gave her his eyebrows-lifted “end of conversation” look with which she never argued. Funny, for all his outrageous arrogance, she liked him and trusted him completely. Judging from what she’d seen so far, he was doing an excellent job. The new restaurant was taking shape nicely and she couldn’t be more pleased. Not only that, from what she’d seen of his cooking, she was sure she’d found an outstanding French chef who would soon dazzle Sacramento with his culinary skills.

  Too bad Drucilla didn’t feel the same. Strange though it seemed, the Frenchman obviously found her attractive, although how that was possible, Rose didn’t know. All the same, his eyes lit whenever he saw her no-nonsense sister-in-law. No matter how busy he was, he would stop and engage her in a conversation all in French. In return, she would remain impatiently polite and always hurry off at the first opportunity.

  More than once, Rose tried to convince her sister-in-law that a miracle had occurred and she’d attracted an admirer. “The man really likes you.”

  The slight curl of Drucilla’s lip revealed her disdain. “He just wants to practice his French so he won’t get rusty.”

  “Not so! I can tell he likes you, just from the way he looks at you with that little gleam in his eye. He’s a fine man, a successful man, and not bad looking, besides. You could do far worse—”

  “He’s an inch shorter than I am.”

  More than once, Rose threw up her hands. Why must her sister-in-law be so hardheaded? Gaston and Drucilla would make the ideal couple, perfectly suited to one another, but oh, well. She’d learned a long time ago that people didn’t always do what she wanted them to do. That was surely the case with stubborn Drucilla.

  Early one afternoon, when renovations were nearly complete and the restaurant due to open in a week, Gaston came to her office and announced, “I ’ave decided on a name.”

  She refrained from remarking it was about time. “What did you decide on?” She expected he’d chosen either La Petite Chaise or La Tour d’Argent.

  “It will be called Gaston’s.”

  For a moment the name didn’t sink in. “You mean you’re naming it after yourself?”

  “But of course. It all comes together.” As if envisioning a sign high above, Monsieur Bernier raised his arm and gazed upward. “Gaston’s! Famed for his coquilles a la Normandie, his soupe à l’oignon.”

  “That sounds like onion soup, but what is coquilles a la Normandie?”

  The French chef beamed. “It’s the dish I’m best known for. Scallops poached in white wine, placed atop a puree of mushrooms in a scallop shell, covered with a sauce so delicious you will call it the best meal you ever ate.”

  She thought a moment and had to smile. “I guess I can’t argue with that. Gaston’s it is then. The perfect name, and your dish with the scallops sounds absolutely wonderful.”

  “It will be.” Gaston frowned. “My poaching pans haven’t arrived. I ordered them over a month ago.”

  “They’re coming by ship?”

  “On the steamship Mary Jane. She’s overdue.”

  “Let’s hope she arrives today.”

  * * * *

  In the late afternoon, Rose was in her office when from a distance she heard the tooting of a ship’s whistle. She hurried to the restaurant and found Gaston. “Did you hear that? I’d wager it’s the Mary Jane arriving.”

  More tooting followed. Gaston tipped his head. “Sounds like more than one ship.”

  “Maybe they’re racing.” Rose had heard about the dubious sport of steamboat racing on the Sacramento River. Arrogant captains weren’t past taking dangerous chances in order to prove their ship was the fastest and therefore the best.

  “At last, my poaching pans.” Gaston made a fast exit. Curious, Rose followed close behind.

  The landing dock lay only a short distance from the River Queen. Rose and Gaston weren’t the only ones hurrying in that direction. Drawn by the sound of the ships’ dueling whistles, a steady stream of curiosity seekers was gathering on the dock and along the riverbank. Drucilla joined Rose as she and Gaston found places on the dock. Deke and Mitch had already arrived and were peering downstream. “They’re coming fast,” Mitch remarked.

  Rose looked downstream. Two steamboats, their paddlewheels rotating at a furious speed, were heading for the dock practically side by side. Were they racing? The churning white wake behind each ship and the constant tooting of their whistles told her they were, especially when people standing on the decks of both ships appeared to be shouting and waving, no doubt urging their ship on.

  “Damn fools!” cried someone in the crowd.

  “They’d better watch out,” said a grizzled old miner. “Them boilers blow all the time.”

  Rose couldn’t take her eyes off the ships. As she watched, one pulled ahead of the other. “Look,” she said to Gaston, “one’s ahead. I wonder if it’s the Mary Jane.”

  She never heard his answer. As she watched, a sheet of flame shot upward from the bridge of the ship that had gone ahead, closely followed by an explosion so strong the force of it drove her backward along with everyone else on the dock. As she staggered to keep her balance, Deke’s strong arms c
aught her and brought her straight again. Gaston caught Drucilla. In horrified silence, the onlookers watched as flames billowed in all directions from the doomed ship. It was literally coming apart, masses of burning timber flying in all directions. In the gathering darkness, Rose could barely make out men, women, and children either jumping or being hurled into the river.

  And then, as if things couldn’t possibly get any worse, flames shot up from the other steamboat, apparently caused by the burning debris blown off the first ship.

  Many of the witnesses on the dock and along the waterfront remained stunned by the shock of the explosion. They gazed in horror, unable to move. Others fled the dock screaming. A few kept their heads and leaped into action.

  “We’ll need boats,” Deke called. Rose watched as Deke, Mitch, and Gaston raced from the dock to an area along the waterfront where small boats were drawn ashore. Without hesitation, they jumped into a rowboat, shoved off, and started rowing toward the flaming remains of the stricken ship. Other men followed, Tim and Gus among them, until soon, in the gathering darkness, an armada of small boats headed toward the wreckage.

  Rose couldn’t hear well. Her ears were ringing and numb from the explosion. Otherwise, she hadn’t been hurt and neither had Drucilla. Rose grabbed her arm. “There’s going to be survivors and they’re going to need help.”

  Chaos reigned on the dock. Many women were screaming and weeping, but not Drucilla. She nodded in agreement. “Let’s get to the River Queen. We’re going to need blankets, lots of them, and whatever else we can think of.”

  Hems held high, Rose and Drucilla raced the short distance to the hotel. They hurried through the saloon. How strange it looked, almost empty, the patrons having deserted their games and whiskey to rush to the waterfront. From the linen closet on the second floor, they grabbed as many blankets as they could carry and started back. Rose could hardly see her way over the top of the pile she was carrying, but when they reached the river, she was glad she’d made the effort.