The Lost Knight of Arabia

by Barbara Baldwin

  He didn’t tend to fare well at the poker table if a town had a church. Churches were institutions of womenfolk and in those towns where women were abundant, their men folk didn’t frequent the saloons with gambling money in their pockets. But those towns were insignificant as there were plenty where gamblers often outnumbered the locals looking for a game. And it was the professional gamblers who had the money.

  His mundane thought helped his libido until Brianna stepped from behind the flimsy curtain, stuffing the tails of his shirt into her trousers. The shirt collar gapped open to reveal the curve of a creamy breast and he swallowed another shot of whiskey. He hoped this town had a good poker game going, because he feared she would break him purchasing a wardrobe. She definitely needed dresses; something to hide the curves of her derriere and cover her chest.

  “Ready?” She smiled at him, those eyes already sparkling because she thought she would have an adventure.

  “Put your cap on.” He knew that wouldn’t disguise her from looking female, but he hoped it would make men hesitate long enough for him to get her out of harm’s way. Should there be…

  “If you go into town with me, you will do what I say when I say it, do you understand? No gallivanting around rescuing small children and puppies.”

  She actually tsked. “I haven’t seen any puppies. Besides, this is a town where civilized people live and law and order prevail. Right?”

  Heaven help and protect them. Jake glanced skyward as he held open the door then locked it behind them.

  * * *

  Chamois was a progressive town even though the storefronts were unpainted, rough-hewn timber and the street down the middle was dirt. Luckily it hadn’t rained lately so rather than wading through mud, they would just have to contend with dust. As with most towns along the river, it sat as close to the water as possible. The only timber that had been cut along the riverbank was that needed for the buildings.

  Not only did it have several saloons where Jake was sure a game was in progress, but there was also a general store and two dry goods establishments. After stocking up on cigars that would be delivered to the steamer, his shopping was complete and he was ready to find a poker table. He had not realized what it meant to take a woman shopping. Or perhaps it was just this particular woman.

  Brianna had to look at everything, from the farming tools to the food stuffs. She opened the lids on barrels of salted pork, tipped up stacks of dishware to squint at the labels imprinted on the bottoms. When she began asking questions about the canning process used to preserve the pickles on a shelf, Jake had had enough.

  “We came to buy you clothes.” He kept his voice low though he really wanted to shout. He needed a drink. He needed a poker game where there was male companionship and no one discussed the difference between a bar of face soap and one used for laundry. And certainly no one asked the woman behind the counter what was used during a woman’s monthlies. How had she survived into womanhood without certain knowledge? Even he knew some things, having been both a doctor and a husband.

  Those thoughts made him even more anxious to get away. Quickly, he pulled her aside and pushed some bills into her hands.

  “This is enough for the dresses and all the phoophara that goes with it. Do not purchase any food stuffs as our meals are taken care of on board the Arabia. And for God’s sake, do not purchase a harness and plow or a tree saw.”

  “But…”

  “Clothes. That is all. You can venture between here and the shop next door as they have the things you will need. Beyond the shop is a restaurant for supper where I will join you in an hour or two and escort you back to the boat.”

  He watched as her gaze slid past him to the street beyond. Her pink tongue came out and licked her pouty lips, making them moist and alluring. He swallowed.

  “I don’t know why you look as if you have never seen anything like this before, but let me warn you. Do not wander around town, especially after the sun sets. Do you understand?”

  Her gaze came back to his. He tried to intimidate her with a ferocious scowl but she just smiled.

  “Where will you be?”

  “Trying to earn enough to pay for your upkeep.”

  He heard the shopkeeper gasp and knew she had misconstrued his comment. “You misunderstand,” he said to her. “This is my niece.”

  The woman raised a brow and pursed her lips but refrained from commenting. Jake knew his money would keep her from becoming too righteous.

  “Do not come looking for me. I will find you.” With that, he turned and left. He couldn’t fathom why he felt the need to look after Brianna. He should have just told her to get a ticket at the stage or riverboat office and go back from whence she had come.

  He pushed open the swinging doors to the saloon, letting the smoke, stale odors and loud voices wash over him. The tinny notes of a piano only added to the atmosphere. Faces that looked vaguely familiar – from past towns or past games – turned disinterestedly his way before gazes dropped back to the cards in their hands.

  It was what he wanted; the life he had carved out for himself when everything else had fallen apart. He took a step forward, forcing himself not to look back across the street.

  * * *

  Bri watched Jake walk away, crushing the money he had given her in one fist. Panic caused her heart to thunder in her chest and her eyes clouded with tears she refused to let spill. She wasn’t at all sure he would find her as he had said. Perhaps this was his way of getting rid of her and moving on with his life.

  Well, she didn’t need him, she told herself. She only needed the Arabia and now perhaps she had money enough to purchase her own ticket. In the meantime, it was her opportunity to explore this time in history that she had only read about.

  She purchased a wide brimmed hat, plaid shirt and a pair of denim trousers, along with some peppermint sticks for the children. Unable to resist the small cakes of rose scented soap, she added one to her pile. With what looked like plenty of money left in her stash, she walked next door to a dress shop and fell in love.

  Growing up in the feminist era of the seventies, she had more often worn trousers and tailored shirts with loafers or clogs. But in her heart of hearts, she always felt she belonged to the era of long dresses and hoop skirts, crinolines and heeled slippers, feathered hats and parasols. Perhaps it was due to having grown up in Boston, which epitomized the historical era of the colonies. As a teenager, she had often helped with reenactments of colonial times, the Tea Party, and Paul Revere’s ride.

  She soon lost track of time as Mrs. Warren, the proprietor, helped her try on several dresses. She didn’t want a corset and bought instead a couple of soft cotton chemises.

  “Don’t worry about a corset, Miss,” Mrs. Warren said with a smile. “The further west you travel, the fewer strictures there are about dress. I suppose in Denver a corset is still proper, but not around here. Too confining and certainly too hot when working a field or bending over a hot tub of soapy wash water.”

  “Women work hard around here, don’t they?” She thought of all the things that would encompass a day in a woman’s live in 1856.

  “Of course they do. Everyone does. How else do you expect them to make a living?” Mrs. Warren gave her a stern look, opened her mouth to say more, and then snapped it shut.

  Bri had a feeling the woman thought she was a working girl, just as the shopkeeper had, but definitely not a farmer.

  “I’m sorry. I’m from Boston and things are different in the city.” That certainly wasn’t a lie, she thought.

  The woman immediately looked contrite. “Traveling the river, are you? Where you headed?”

  Bri knew she had to be careful with what she said. While people seemed to be friendly enough, they certainly wouldn’t understand her need to be in Parkville for the sinking of the Arabia. Recalling the steamboat’s regular route, she answered vaguely.

  “Westport, maybe. Or Omaha. We haven’t really decided.” Before the woman could ask who she
was traveling with, she continued. “If I get these underthings, and those three dresses, how much would I owe you?” She looked forlornly at the feathered hat she had tried on, but knew she had to be practical.

  Mrs. Warren quoted her a price, which Bri thought ridiculously low, but then again what did she know about clothing costs in the nineteenth century. Jake would be proud of her for being able to return some of his money.

  As Mrs. Warren wrapped her packages her stomach did a little flip-flop. She was hungry but that wasn’t the cause. She really did wonder if Jake would come for her. When the shopkeeper assured her that her son would deliver the packages to the Arabia after the shop closed, Bri had no reason to hang around. Saying her thanks, she stepped out on the rough boardwalk that fronted the buildings.

  Noise from the saloon across the way filtered through the still air, still warm from the heat of the day. She looked west to where the sun was very low in the sky, streaks of orange and pink quickly turning to purple and red. He said he would come; he said he would come. She repeated the litany as she quickly walked a short distance to where bright lights spilled out into the darkening night.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed open the door and entered the restaurant. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, exactly, but night time in this century was different than night in the 1980’s. She could look up and see a million stars because there were no street lights; no constant traffic with headlights slicing through the dark. Pedestrians were few and mostly male, and all had given her proprietary glances as she hurried along.

  Where she had always felt safe in downtown Boston, she now wondered if it was safety in numbers, or because of familiarity. There was nothing familiar to her about being in a frontier town.

  The restaurant, called Peg’s after the owner, was lit with a variety of kerosene lamps on the tables and hanging from the ceiling. Small tables were covered with red and white checked cloth and the chairs had matching cushions. A sideboard along the wall held a variety of dishes and plates, coffee cups and other small items of china. Along the wall directly inside the door were pegs where hats and jackets hung.

  “Welcome, welcome.” A deep, cheerful voice had Bri spinning around. Peg, she was sure, stood before her, hands on hips, a head of gray hair tilted to the side as her gaze slid up and down. While Bri had bought the clothes, she hadn’t put on a dress and she supposed she didn’t exactly look like a lady.

  “The disguise definitely doesn’t work, deary, as there’s no mistaking you’re a woman.” She laughed as she patted her own ample hips. “Just not as much to you as there is to some.” She turned and led Bri to a table in the corner, away from the center of things. “Are you expecting company?”

  To keep questions to a minimum, Bri answered, “Yes, but I’ll go ahead and order.”

  Peg laughed again. “Order? Honey, we serve three meals a day, each decided by what I feel like cooking. This morning we had scrambled eggs and ham. Dinner was chicken and noodles with some carrots throwed in, and supper tonight is beef roast with mashed taters. I might have a piece or two of cherry pie left.”

  “Coffee?” Bri asked.

  “Always,” Peg answered with another smile. She quickly returned with a cup and saucer, a small bowl of sugar and some cream. Bri had only taken a few sips of coffee when her food arrived. She spread the cloth napkin in her lap and picked up a fork.

  “Whew.” Peg waved a towel in front of her face and plopped down in the chair across from Bri. “Don’t mind, do you? It’s been a long day and I’m plum tuckered out. My boy went off wood cutting today as we knew the boat would be stopping, so I had to do all the meal fixing.”

  At first, Bri was a little taken back with the woman’s forwardness, but then realized it was the perfect way to find out about the times and people of this era. With the way Peg chattered, she didn’t believe the woman would think her questions strange.

  “Wood cutting?” she asked between bites of delicious roast beef.

  Peg started right in. “Steamers use tremendous amounts of wood, and while they have crew that usually cut and load as they progress down the river, they’re more than willing to buy wood already cut. Not too many places offer that, figuring the steamboats do well and good on their own with what they charge passengers for a little bit of space. But my boy, Will, is always after making a little bit of change, so off he goes whenever we get word a steamer’s coming.”

  “There’s no schedule?”

  “Ha. Suppose to be but you never know what the river’s going to do. Just last week a boat went down five miles upstream. They got all the passengers off, but most either went back the way they come, or took the overland stage to another town.”

  “Does a lot of your town revenue depend on the steamboats?”

  “Revenue? Oh, you mean money? Well, yeah, I guess. There was a time when people traveled straight past this part of the country to get to those gold fields in California.” Her voice hitched.

  “Is that why you came?”

  “My William and I were like the rest, traveling out west. He was gonna pan for gold and I was gonna cook for a mining company. Always did like to cook.” She motioned to Bri’s plate, which was almost empty.

  “You’re a very good cook. This is delicious.” There was even more flavor to the mashed potatoes than Bri could remember.

  “Well, neither here nor there. We managed to get this far and my William took sick. I was in the family way and knew I couldn’t care for him and myself, much less a youngun when it got here. Chamois was just a bit of a town then but seemed friendly enough, so we stayed.”

  Bri laid her knife and fork across her plate and sat back, sipping her coffee. Peg got up and brought back the pot, along with another cup, filling them both.

  “Did your husband recover?”

  Peg shook her gray head, her eyes still sad after all this time. “Buried him up on the rise overlooking the river.”

  “Why didn’t you return to your home?”

  “Didn’t see much sense. Little Will came and I had no money to speak of to go nowhere so I started cooking.” She gave Bri a look that spoke volumes. “Not much a female can do in these parts anyways, if you get my drift. Especially a female all by herself.”

  “But the shopkeeper and the dressmaker are female.”

  “True enough, but both are respectable widows like me so that’s different.”

  Bri knew what Peg was hinting. She hadn’t said she was married, so if Jake showed up, which was looking less and less likely, it would appear she was just traveling with him. While that was the truth, it was not a truth people of this century approved of. It would be better if she returned to the boat herself, regardless of what Jake had told her.

  “Thank you for the most amazing meal, Peg. And for visiting with me. I haven’t had female company in awhile and it was great.” At the lift of Peg’s brows, Bri knew it sounded odd. “I just mean I…um”

  Peg patted her hand. “Don’t need to tell me nothing. You just be careful, y’hear?”

  “I will.” Bri pressed several bills into the woman’s hand. She knew it was more than the meal cost, but why not help a fellow woman making her way in the world. As she stepped out into the night once more, she thought about Peg and Mrs. Warren and the shopkeeper. This century had its share of feminists, long before the movement ever started.

  Chapter 5

  I know Jake told me to wait for him. On some level of consciousness I even realize the danger of a woman walking alone at night in a strange town. A town without street lights or emergency buttons to summon the police. I wonder if there are sheriffs in these small river towns. But Jake hadn’t come, and I was tired, and what harm could there be in walking back to the steamboat by myself…

  Bri didn’t have any trouble deciding which way the dock was, even in the dark. Although this was the first time she’d been off the Arabia, she had often stood on the promenade deck as the steamer pulled to the dock. Most all the towns sat right along the
river with one main street running perpendicular to the river and dock. She knew rivers were important in this time, providing food, transportation, and in some areas industry. The Mississippi and Missouri were far too wide for use in the water driven grist and lumber mills, but some of the smaller rivers that fed into them were ideal for such ventures.

  It was amazing to Bri how self-sufficient these towns were. Everything a person would need could be found here, thanks to the steamboats that plied the waters. Not only did they take passengers to western outposts, but also delivered goods that had been ordered from back east. She thought of the two hundred tons of cargo that had been lost when the Arabia went down. So far they had excavated dishware, tools, guns, hardware, and clothing, along with beads and buttons. Bottles of medicine and bottled goods like pickles had also been unearthed. All of that didn’t even include the personal effects of the passengers, who had lost everything on that fateful night.

  Off key music drew Bri’s attention across the dirt street. Light streamed from the windows of the saloon. At least she figured that was the use of the building considering the amount of noise coming from within. She would probably find Jake there, plying his trade and fleecing the locals out of hard earned cash. She stepped into the street then hesitated.

  Her thoughts were unfair. Jake was a gambler, which was not illegal in this century. Any man who sat at a poker table did so freely. Besides, a dishonest man wouldn’t be so likely to save a drowning woman, or allow her to stay in his cabin. She knew there was more to Jake than he let on; secrets he hid from the world behind a devil-may-care exterior. She had just been too wrapped up in her own troubles – trying to get back to her own time – to understand Jake’s problems.