Destiny's Magic

by Martha Hix

  A dulcet voice with an English lilt called his attention to the wheelhouse’s entrance. “Captain, have you seen Pippin?”

  Susan. He slapped his hand back on the helm so fast that a jolt of pain went up his arm, which didn’t keep him from admiring the way she looked in a long-sleeved cotton dress of wisteria hue. Breathtaking Susie Black-Eyes, bruise and all.

  “Your boy is below,” Burke managed to answer. “Helping Throck in the engine room.”

  She made the motherly sounds of a tsk, her bosom lifting. She was not flat-chested. Burke wondered how she would look. Naked. Leave forbidden fruit alone.

  “I’ll have word with Pippin about making a pest of himself,” she said.

  “He’s more than welcome below.”

  Burke couldn’t be engrossed in brown water, much less on the marshy banks. A raft carrying bales of hay and an old man in a straw hat didn’t draw his attention either. “Your boy seems naive about the simplest of machinery.” He fished for facts. “Didn’t Mr. Paget teach him anything?”

  “Orson was not an involved father. If he’d been the decent sort, we wouldn’t be on your steamboat. Would we?”

  “Why the hell did you marry him?”

  She didn’t answer. A bird dipped low, winging its way in front of the bridge. Riverboat men shouted from below, and a cloud moved under the sun. At last Susan said, “I don’t find explanations easy to voice.”

  Burke swung back to eyes holding a flicker in their dark, dark depths. “Susan, you involve me in your situation. I should know the whole story.”

  “You are much too curious for your own good.” Whirling around, she made another quick exit, like a rabbit running scared.

  She’s hiding something. Could be several things. Burke intended to find out all there was to know about Susan.

  Five

  He didn’t want to know beans about the magic lamp.

  Throughout the day, Phoebe O’Brien made several attempts to have a chat with her ornery nephew. Each time, he refused. Not that she’d expected better. She hadn’t. They had four years of alienation to sort through. Which would take more than a day.

  For certain he wouldn’t want to know the magic lamp waited in a locked valise aboard this very riverboat.

  “Lordy,” she commented. “I do have an appetite tonight.”

  The cook’s helper took up her empty dinner plate. He next placed a dish of strawberry shortcake on the Battenburg cloth draping the table in front of her. Neither of the other two adults at the table in this dining salon of fine woods, Irish crystal, Limoges, and the finest of American-cast silver made a comment, though Burke tried to draw Mrs. Paget out.

  The woman was busy studying her picked-at plate. Burke kept turning a curious brow to her.

  Pippin now spoke. “I’m hungry too. Hungry as a horse. Gonna need to wash lotsa dishes tonight!”

  Phoebe watched as the freckled-face youngster dug into his dessert. Such a nice boy, poor little thing.

  He finished the shortcake, then hid his hands beneath the table. A few minutes earlier Phoebe spied a large slice of roast beef being rolled inside a napkin. Did the little thing think he must squirrel away food? “If you want a snack, sprig, stop in the galley. I’m sure Cook will find you a nice big apple. He’s a fine one for a thick sandwich too.”

  Pippin eyed his mother. “Can I go now, Momma? Please.”

  Susan smiled. There was tenderness in her demeanor, that of a mother who put her child above all other things.

  Phoebe had never had children. In fact, she’d never had an opportunity to try for one—although she lied to her sister years back and claimed a torrid affair—but she did know maternal instincts. The nephews had been put into her care, and that of her sister and father, when they were at tender ages. She couldn’t love them more, Burke, Connor, and Jon Marc.

  Mrs. Paget now replied to Pippin, “You may be excused.”

  “See ya later.” He scampered toward the hatchway.

  “Pip-pin.” Susan strung out the syllables, which brought him to a halt. “Are you forgetting something?”

  He scratched the top of his dark head of hair before running a finger under his nose. “Uh, um, yeah, sorry. Thank you, Cap’n, for dinner. It was real good.” Pippin charged out, banging the hatch as he went.

  Phoebe continued to size up Susan Paget. The Englishwoman appeared more refined than her boy, and seemed to be trying to shape him up. Obviously, she loved him dearly.

  Phoebe bent her head in contemplation. What kind of mother allowed harsh hands to touch her child? Susan Paget had, in spite of her devotion. Like her nosy nephew, Phoebe itched to find out the whole story. It was a nasty one.

  The Pagets were a bit pitiful. Pity had caused Phoebe to bring them aboard last night, when good sense warned her off.

  She’d arrived with several intentions. Phoebe hadn’t expected to meddle in the bridal choice, but her nosiness remained an awful fault. Worse than a spinster itching for a man on a cold winter’s night. Or on a hot summer’s night, for that matter.

  Burke’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Susan, what part of New Orleans does your father live in?”

  “Near the Vieux Carré.”

  “How near the Quarter?”

  “West of Canal Street.”

  Burke fiddled with the stem of his water goblet. “I know a fair amount of people thereabouts. Perhaps I know your father. What’s his name?”

  “I daresay you don’t know him.”

  Phoebe pushed the shortcake away. Where was his shame? Her bruises hadn’t faded from her last man, yet Burke hankered to become the next one.

  Where was Sister at a time like this? Phoebe faced all life crises with Tessa, and some with the genie. Be that as it may, Phoebe had been the only one who dared walk up this riverboat’s gangplank. For all Burke’s fury at her in the magic-lamp debacle of 1864, he downright despised Tessa and Eugene.

  She recalled departing from her boon companions.

  Taking lemonade, they were in the solarium of the Memphis family seat. Tessa reeked of sandalwood eau de toilette, since Eugene preferred the smell. The genie wore a golden earring, as always. He’d lounged in Fitz’s favorite chair, as always.

  In the early days of knowing the Arab of magical powers, Phoebe decried the sponge and layabout. That worked out over the years. Free-lunch Eugene had proven a pleasant escort to both O’Brien sisters. Yes, he favored the short, round sister, but Tessa’s contentment was worth it. Phoebe, being ignorant of sex, had no idea how the eunuch brought Tessa to blushing cheeks and starry eyes. Must be magic. Certainly, he’d never offered to share his secret with Phoebe.

  Tessa’s satisfaction hadn’t been all that evident a month earlier. Silver-shot ringlets jiggling, she’d fiddled with the lace of her collar. “Shall we wish Burke a happy birthday?”

  “No wishes.” Phoebe stood firm. “We’ve nosed in enough.”

  Eugene, his head as smooth and shiny as a pearl, picked through a bowl of pecans. “He will view it as intrusion when you meet his riverboat.”

  “I’m willing to risk that,” Phoebe replied.

  Trembles set Tessa’s double chin in motion. “Use your last wish, sister. Ask for Burke to come back to the fold.”

  Eugene cracked a pecan between his gold-capped teeth. “Better you use your last wish for pressing necessity.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Phoebe hedged.

  Ever since getting control of the lantern, she’d guarded it like a dog with a bone. Many times her lack of love life had caused her to consider using her third wish on herself. She wanted to wish for a man. Going to her grave a virgin—the mere thought sickened her. She yearned to be a tart.

  The genie contemplated a nut half. “Since milady Tessa wasn’t specific enough in her wishes for the nephews, there could be trouble in the offing for Burke and his bride.”

  “I should’ve loaded up on adjectives. Serene brides, untroubled engagements and weddings.” Wistful, Tessa said, “If on
ly we could give someone else a turn at the lamp.”

  “We have been over this a thousand times.” Eugene folded his arms over his chest. “Too many wishes weaken my power.”

  They would not—must not!—take the chance of exhausting it.

  That conversation occurred in June. Phoebe now had to consider the cog in the wheel of Burke’s birthday. It was not going as planned.

  Phoebe gave heed to her good-looking nephew. She must work on her purpose for being on the Yankee Princess, but would ease into it. “I’d sure like a tour of your fine new steamboat. Everybody in the family is curious about it. And about you. Aren’t you the least bit curious about your folks?” Under no circumstances would she mention Eugene Jinnings. “Shame on you, taking your anger out on Fitz,” she further chided. “Your grandfather deserves more than a cold shoulder.”

  “Has he gone lame or imbecilic?”

  “No. But his rheumatism—”

  “He’s been crying rheumatism all my life and most of his. Never stopped him. He can find his way to my office, or to my address in New Orleans. He is always welcome.”

  “Callous, a young man demanding an old one travel.”

  “Drop it, Aunt Phoebe.”

  “Do you know Connor and India have a new baby girl?”

  Burke set his glass on the table with deliberate purpose. “Of course I know about Pays. And you can quit trying to make me feel like the heel of the century. I visit my brother and his family. And I visit Fitz whenever you and your cohorts are away from Memphis. You don’t know about any of that because I asked them all not to mention my visits. ’Nuff said.”

  While the family’s keeping secrets from her rather miffed Phoebe, she took his admission as good news. Furthermore, guilt crawled in her heart. A terrible injustice had been done to the most kindly of her nephews. He was always the one to turn to, yet Tessa’s wish had turned him away.

  He had no use for the magic lamp. But shouldn’t he be offered a chance at it? Eugene had enough power for three more tasks. Surely so. Burke deserved his own wishes. He might need to get free of a married lady, since Phoebe wasn’t certain of the exact moment he’d laid eyes on Susan.

  “Enough has not been said, nephew. You and I must talk alone. It’s imperative.”

  He shot her a look that would have curdled milk.

  Right then the Yankee Princess gave a lurch that sent dishes and silverware sliding down the table. She ground to a stop, her velvet draperies swinging from north to south.

  Burke threw his napkin to the table, and was on his feet and on the way to check out the matter before Phoebe had a chance to further her case.

  Susan blanched. “Whatever could be wrong?”

  “If you’re worried your husband is sabotaging this boat, don’t. You’re in good hands. The O’Briens will protect you. And steamboats lose power from time to time. Probably a small problem in the engine room. We’ll be under way again in no time.”

  “Let us hope.” Susan placed her hands in her lap and chewed her bottom lip before asking, “May I be nosy?”

  “Ask away. I’m an open book.” Mostly.

  “From what I gather, there’s a hideous estrangement in your family. Last night you mentioned a lamp. And I’ve heard references to the captain’s birthday. What do an innocuous lamp and a date that should be celebrated have to do with your rift?”

  “Plenty. His birthday is—”

  The hatch suddenly blew open; the rotund first mate barreled into the salon and hooked Phoebe’s attention. A fluttering in her bosom made her fret that she might be having an attack of the heart.

  “Cap’n, where are ye?” the silver-haired Throck boomed, his grog-blossom nose aglow. “Ye’re needed below!”

  “That’s exactly where he’s headed,” Phoebe collected herself to say.

  Throck straightened, his eyes widening. “Why, hello, Miss Phoebe. Fancy meeting ye here.”

  Phoebe clicked her tongue. Her attack of heart could be pegged only on girlish interest in the burly foreigner. He wasn’t much to look at, but nature being kind to aging women, this gal saw a lot to like in his less-than-perfect appearance.

  In fact, he’d been subject of her whimsies in the years since they met. Contemplations of using her third wish for her romance had involved this very fellow. When last Phoebe had seen him, on the ill-fated Delta Star, he’d tweaked her nipple.

  Throck made an attempt at sucking in his gut as he lumbered toward her. “Ain’t I lucky as a duck in water? Two lovely wimmen to look at.” But his eyes were only for Phoebe.

  Her silly heart fluttered again.

  He bent down, his stomach bowing toward his slewed feet. A blue eye winked at Phoebe. Smiling and displaying a quartet of golden teeth, he said, “Blimey, I’d hoped to find m’favorite redhead here. ’Tis four long years I spent thinking of ye.”

  Phoebe’s heart took another extra beat. By gosh, all wasn’t lost. The man of her dreams might want even more than a tweak. Maybe she wouldn’t need a magic lamp to get Throck.

  “Damn the shipfitters who put this vessel together.” Burke scowled at the defective rod that was supposed to ease into the engine’s slide valve. “One-fingered idiots.”

  Feeling one-fingered himself, thanks to his aching palm, Burke mopped his brow with a forearm. “One entire night. And all today, and it’s still not working. We’re lucky we made it upriver and back.”

  Newt Storey, his head glistened with sweat, nodded. “ ’Tis a fact.”

  “See that repairs are finished by bedtime, Storey.”

  “I’ve been here for hours. I’m ’ot and tired. Need fresh air.” The crew, used to Storey’s insubordination, ignored his tirade. “ ’Ell’s bells, I haven’t even had a chance to get a look at the lady passengers ever’one is yacking about.”

  “Well, pardon me, sir,” Burke came back sarcastically. “My aunt said otherwise. Remember your tip? You brought them aboard.”

  “A glance in the night, ’tis all I got.”

  Burke was in no mood for Storey. To the midnight hour of yesterday, the Hornet had made appearance after appearance in the engine room, nagging for a private word. Until he’d lost his temper and had raised the ceiling with bellows. “Say, Storey, why don’t you just sashay on up to a rocking chair? I’ll get a fan, then bathe your tootsies.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Get to work. We’ve been becalmed long enough.”

  All six of the engine-room crewmen, with Burke and Storey directing the project, had been atoil, each with shirt-sleeves rolled up. They had snatched little sleep, and were tired, hot, and hungry.

  Pippin had been an observer for several of those hours today, until heat and hunger drove him topside. Before leaving, the lad had asked question after question about faulty equipment. The men didn’t mind having a youth around. Burke had enjoyed Pip’s presence too, but found it peculiar that the boy never once addressed a query to the man in charge.

  But Pippin, his enthusiasm a delight, had come in handy to fetch tools or ladles of drinking water. A few months on a riverboat would make a man out of a boy, or at least let him witness good men.

  Burke eyed his good men. The crew was faithful, loyal, and true, outside of the infraction by the officers, Natchez now forgiven. And they were feeling the July heat.

  Plates of drying lunch, delivered earlier by Pip Paget—he was earning his grub, true!—sat uneaten on a ledge near the gas tank that served the lighting system. “That’s enough for now, men,” Burke ordered, finally cognizant that his crew couldn’t work at top efficiency unless their own valves worked properly. “Rest up for the next attack. You too, Storey.” Burke yanked work gloves and exhaled at getting leather off his stitches. “I’ll tell Cook to make an early supper.”

  He did. Appleby had anticipated such an order, and had supper on the stoves. Burke went to his quarters. He washed, took an hour’s nap, then ate a light meal at his desk. Afterward he checked on the engine room, finding Storey hard at work. They made t
heir peace.

  As six bells approached, Burke climbed toward the wheelhouse to work on the logbook. It was no accident that he made a detour by the main deck, where he found Black-eyed Susan near the bow, obviously restless.

  “Captain, how much longer are we going to be stranded?”

  Susan’s coronet of braids was slightly askew. Her high-neck dress had perspiration at the collar. She’d made a fan out of an old newspaper. It snapped in front of her harried face.

  Essence of heliotrope didn’t cling to her. He caught the aroma of perspiration, as if she’d been running. That was a Black-eyed Susan of the garden variety, an off smell. Nonetheless, Susan’s natural scent had allure to it.

  “At midnight,” she continued, “it’ll be forty-eight hours since my son and I came aboard this vessel. Every moment that passes frightens me more. Mr. Paget could find us. And what could we do? We’re sitting ducks!”

  “Calm down.” His hand at chest level, Burke patted the still, hot air and studied the distressed lady. He had his own queries, though he wouldn’t voice them. Her poor excuse for a husband hadn’t even bought her a Spanish fan to keep cool with. What kind of man was the one she’d given her hand? Not much of one. Black-eyed Susan should have had better taste.

  “I’m safeguarding you and your boy. It’s no hill for a stepper. Paget won’t board. Granted, you don’t know me, but if you’ll ask around, I think you’ll find I’m a man of my word.”

  Shamefaced, she replied, “Of course. Forgive me. I suppose my fears got out of proportion. I am so very eager to reach New Orleans.”

  “Why don’t you go up to the main salon? It’s much cooler there. Matter of fact, you’ll find a newfangled contraption, a ceiling fan you can operate with a foot pedal. Fellow in New Orleans by the name of Seymour invented it.”

  She glanced to shore. “How very clever of him.”

  Burke offered an arm. “I’d be honored to escort you up there. Or perhaps you’d enjoy a visit to the bridge?” Anything to be with her. Just as he’d suspected on the evening they had met, he could not leave Susan alone. “You can see with your own eyes the watch officer’s excellent view of approaching vessels.”