The River Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  "Me? Nothing! It must have been you."

  "Huh! She didn't bite my head off, buddy. Besides, you're always the one the women are mad at. I've told you and told you, they don't take any notice of me when you're around, and when they're in a huff I'm really, really glad."

  Jeanne went out on the main deck, and Marvel wasn't there, and she wasn't on the Texas deck either. Muttering to herself, she went up the stairs.

  The hurricane deck, where the pilothouse was perched, was the flat roof of the boat. It was about twenty feet above the water, and it had no railing. Jeanne saw Marvel throw a stick that, ludicrously, had pink ribbons tied to the ends. Leo, his ears flopping crazily, loped over to it, picked it up, shook it, and then bounded back to Marvel. Jeanne said sharply, "Marvel! What are you doing!"

  Marvel whipped around and the laughter on her face faded. "I'm playing with Leo, Mama." The dog sat down by her and drooped his head guiltily.

  Jeanne walked over to them. "Haven't I told you not to play up here? It's dangerous! You could fall overboard!"

  Marvel looked down and fidgeted with the stick in her hand. "I'm sorry, Mama, but no, you didn't tell me that. This is the first time I've played with Leo up here."

  "Oh," Jeanne said uncertainly. "I didn't realize . . ." She knelt and lifted Marvel's chin. "I'm sorry, Marvel. But I really don't want you playing up here, all right?"

  "All right, I won't. But Leo comes up here, doesn't he?"

  Jeanne reached over to pet the dog's wide head. "Yes, he likes to come up here and lay down in the shade of the wheelhouse. I guess it's probably the coolest place on the boat. Leo, you big mooch, you always find the most comfortable spot, winter or summer."

  "But won't he fall off?" Marvel asked worriedly.

  "No, he doesn't have much sense but he's got more sense than that," Jeanne said affectionately, scratching his ear. "It's little girls that might fall off. Now, listen, Marvel, I need to ask you something. Have you seen a little black boy come to the boat, with a red waistcoat on?"

  Marvel looked mystified. "Huh? I don't know what you're talking about, Mama. I don't know any little black boys 'cept those ones that bring fish sometimes."

  "So you haven't seen a boy dressed in a red waistcoat and black trousers bring a note or letter to Mr. Clint? Here, on the boat?"

  "No, ma'am."

  Jeanne sighed and stood back up. "Good. Now, I haven't had my breakfast yet. Why don't you and Leo come down and keep me company?"

  They went back down to the galley, and Jeanne managed to make herself agreeable to everyone. Their freight, a load of dry goods and housewares, had been loaded yesterday, so as soon as Jeanne finished breakfast they were on their way.

  They reached Helena eight hours later, and Jeanne came down to talk to Clint. "You're sure you know what's being off-loaded here?" she asked cautiously. "All that stuff looks like a big jumble to me."

  "No, we got it, Cap'n. I made sure it got loaded in order. Roberty's been a big help with multiple shippers and offloads, you know? Ever since we gave him charge of the mail sacks, he's turned into a little organizing fiend."

  "Really? That's nice," Jeanne said shortly, and went upstairs.

  Jeanne was much like that the entire trip, though she didn't stay shut up in her cabin. She was just very cool to Clint. It seemed he didn't even notice, which for some reason only made Jeanne more angry. By the time they were coming back from Little Rock, she had almost forgotten the reason she was upset with Clint in the first place.

  They were steaming easy along. The river was wide and slow, almost like a big orange-brown pond. The sun was just past noon-high, and the heat of the sunbeams on Jeanne's face made her cheeks burn a little. A fly had gotten trapped in the wheelhouse, and its busy buzz and the huffing of the 'scape pipes and the rhythmic water whishing of the paddle wheel were the only sounds.

  Then Jeanne heard a curious beat, like a far-off snare drum, whit! whit! whit! for a few seconds, and then it turned into a jangling clank! clank! CLINK-CLINK-CLANK! CLANK!

  "Shuttin' her down, Cap'n!" Clint shouted in the engine room speaking tube.

  Jeanne positioned the kingpin, then went outside. She saw Leo standing at the far end of the deck, right at the edge, looking down. The wheel was still turning, though much more slowly, and the noise became clank . . . clankety . . . clankety . . .

  "Dumb dog," Jeanne muttered, and stamped down the deck. When she reached him she grabbed the folds of loose skin behind his head and said, "LEO! You're going to—"

  The dog started, jumping as if he'd been scalded, and then she felt a weight on her foot as he landed on it. She then jumped and struggled to get her foot out from under his big paw; her skirt and petticoat flapped around the dog's head, she lost her grip on him and stumbled, and down Jeanne went, dog and all. Her shoulder hit the paddle wheel, and then the warm milky water of the river closed over her head.

  At first she panicked, struggling wildly because she was trapped, something was pulling her down. But immediately she calmed down and realized that her skirt had gotten tangled in the paddle wheel and it was all bunched up and twisted tight around her. She tried to pull it free, and realized that she didn't have the strength to tear the fabric, so she reached around to undo the single button at the waistband. Like all experienced swimmers, she had instinctively taken a deep breath before she hit the water.

  She felt a tug on her sleeve that pulled her arm away, and she saw Leo, trying to pull her up. She wrenched her arm back and reached around herself again. Then there was a splash, and strong arms grabbed her around the waist. She felt a strong yank, and for a moment her skirt held her, but then another bone-crushing yank crushed the breath she had left out of her. Her skirt gave way, and then she was above water. She gasped and coughed, then drew in a deep breath. Clint was holding her up, his hands around her waist.

  She pushed his face. "Let go of me, you—you!"

  "Huh? But I'm helping you! Here, Jeanne, I'll pull—"

  "No! I can swim, you moron! Just let go of me!"

  "Okay, okay!" he said, and struck out toward the shore, which was only twelve feet away. To get back on the boat they'd have to swim all eighty feet down to the bow. Jeanne did have trouble, because she was choking a little and her petticoat was tangled between her legs. Still, she reached the muddy riverbank and pulled herself up to collapse beside Clint, who was sitting there calmly, petting a dripping, downcast Leo.

  "Oh! You almost yanked me in two!" Jeanne shouted to Clint.

  "You were drowning. I pulled you up."

  "I wasn't drowning, I was just unfastening my skirt!"

  Clint's eyebrows shot up. "You were unfastening your skirt," he repeated slowly. "So sorry, I didn't realize I was supposed to be saving your skirt."

  "Mama!" Floating over the water, Marvel's thin voice sounded panicky.

  "It's all right, darling, I'm fine!" Jeanne shouted, and waved. Vince, Ezra, Roberty, and Marvel lined the port side railing.

  "Did you fall off?" Marvel called anxiously.

  Clint, Vince, and Ezra couldn't help it. They all burst into laughter.

  Jeanne was furious with them, and spluttered inarticulately. But then the absurdity of the situation hit her, and she started chuckling, and then giggling. Finally she managed to call out, "Yes, I fell off, Marvel. But I'm fine."

  Clint's white teeth gleamed. "Thought you were a river—er—lady. Only landsmen fall in."

  "Actually Leo pushed me in," Jeanne said, gasping a little. "But then he tried to pull me out, so I guess we're even."

  She plucked at her torn blouse sleeve, and then she realized how she looked. Her blouse, now completely transparent, clung to her like a second skin, and she felt cool air on her back; it must be completely torn in two from Leo trying to pull her up. Her skirt was completely gone, except for a few raggedy tatters hanging down from her waist. Her single petticoat was wrapped soggy around her legs. She remembered hitting the paddle wheel, and reached back to feel of her upper shoulder.


  Clint frowned and said, "You got a mean red streak back there, Captain. Did you hit the paddles?"

  "I just glanced off them, it's not really bad," Jeanne said, working her arm around. It was then that Jeanne really looked at Clint. His hair was slicked back and gleamed ebony in the sun. His eyes were a bright royal blue, and tiny water drops in his long thick eyelashes sparkled. He wasn't wearing a shirt. He had gotten tanned on the boat this summer, and the expanse of his bronzed chest and the thick muscles of his shoulders and arms distracted Jeanne for several moments. Quickly she turned her head. "I must look a perfect fright."

  "Nah," Clint said. "You look real nice. A little damp, but you're still pretty."

  "Liar," Jeanne said with amusement.

  "Am not," he said lazily. Then a curiously unsettled look crossed his rugged face, and he said, "So. You want to swim back, or have Vince and Ezra put down one of the stages? They'd reach."

  "No, that's way too much trouble. I'll swim. But not just this minute, I'm still catching my breath. What happened, anyway?"

  "You fell in," Clint teased. "Okay, okay, sorry. It's one of the reach rods, or as some captains call it, a reaching jerky."

  "That would be a reaching jerkin," Jeanne corrected him, her dark eyes dancing. "Can you fix it? No, what am I saying? Of course you can fix it. You can fix everything."

  "Not everything. For instance, no way I can fix that sad drownded skirt of yours. But yeah, I can fix the reach rod, it just whanged right out of a connection. What really gets my goat is that I oiled all the connections this morning and I didn't even notice it was loose."

  "How'd that happen?" Jeanne said with a mischievous grin.

  "My question exactly. You know, I think this is the first time I've ever seen you laugh. Are you happy, Jeanne?"

  "What?" she blurted out. They stared at each other.

  Vince yelled, "Hey, you people want a gangplank? Or I could bring you over a picnic!"

  "That'd be nice," Clint yelled back.

  Jeanne laughed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "I've got a great idea," Clint said. "I want to take you all out to eat. We can celebrate Captain Jeanne's Dunk. You ever have German food, kleines Mädchen?"

  "I don't know," Marvel replied, puzzled. "Mama knows. Do you speak German?"

  "No, but I can sing in German," Clint said airily. "I know 'O Tannenbaum' and 'Stille Nacht.'"

  "Yeah, but Her Ladyship says you sing German with an Italian accent," Vince joked. Clint gave him a dire warning glance.

  They had just finished unloading in Memphis. Ezra had made lemonade, and Clint and Jeanne kept the boat stocked with the luxury of ice in the icebox. Everyone was sitting out on the main cargo deck, watching the furious activity on the docks. Twenty-two steamers were lined up in the waterway, and hundreds of people—roustabouts, crews, passengers, shippers, receivers, errand boys, woodmen—swarmed all over, shouting and shoving. After the Rose had been unloaded, they pulled down to the far end of the wharves and docked to get out of the way. Ezra had brought out crates for them to sit on, and Clint had remarked that he was going to go to town and get them some nice deck chairs. Now, after Vince's tell, he glanced cautiously at Jeanne. She pressed her lips together and looked down the docks, but said nothing.

  Marvel asked, "Do you sing 'Avaymaria' in German?"

  "No, that's actually in Latin," Clint replied. "And Vinnie has a big mouth, so he's going to tell you I sing Latin with a German accent. So, how 'bout it, everyone? I'll hire us a cart and we'll go to Mütter Krause's for dinner tomorrow. You too, Ezra. You gotta get off this boat sometime or you're going to start looking like a boiler."

  He grinned. "Just so happens I love Mütter Krause's Weiner schnitzel. You betcha I'll go. How're you for sech a thing as Weiner schnitzel, Captain Jeanne?"

  "I've never had it," she said distantly. "And I'm afraid that I have a previous engagement tomorrow, Clint." She was still looking away.

  "I knew it, you always go with Mr. Masters," Marvel said impatiently. "But I can go with them, can't I? I want some weinersnits."

  "Yes, you may go," Jeanne said. She rose and said, "Speaking of Mr. Masters, I see him coming now. If you all will excuse me, I think I'll go meet him."

  He was strolling along dressed in a cream linen suit with a straw top hat. Jeanne had teased him about his "summer" walking stick, made of blonde ironwood with a silver knob with inlaid pearl.

  After their greetings Jeanne tucked her arm into his as they walked slowly back to the Rose. "I see you brought me a present! How thoughtful, I love Frank Leslie's Illustrated Weekly. It's so good for me to read with Marvel. She can't read nearly well enough for a newspaper yet, of course. But with pictures, she sounds out and learns new words. And Roberty too."

  "Then I'll start bringing you one every week," he said gallantly. "It's little enough, since you won't let me buy you any gifts. It's depressing to be limited to flowers and newspapers. So how was the trip, Jeanne?"

  "I fell in the river," she said with amusement. "The crew is calling it Captain Jeanne's Dunk."

  He stopped walking and turned to grab both her arms. "You fell in! Are you hurt?"

  "No, no, I'm just fine. I banged my shoulder against the paddle wheel, and I've got a lurid bruise that's quite dramatic, but it looks worse than it feels. To tell the truth, the whole thing was kind of funny."

  "Funny," he repeated darkly as they started walking again. "You banged your shoulder, so you fell close to the paddle wheel. You could have hit your head, or even broken your back, Jeanne. That is not funny."

  "But I didn't. So it did turn out to be funny, considering—"

  "How did you get out?" he demanded. It was the first time he had ever interrupted her. His smooth classic features were dark and troubled.

  "I'm an excellent swimmer," Jeanne retorted.

  "You swim? And just how are you clothed when you swim?" he snapped.

  "My father taught me to swim when I was very young. And after I got older, he found us a swimming hole just out of South Bend that was private, and we all swam there, even my mother. I haven't been swimming since I was sixteen years old, but even if I had it's none of your business what I wear," Jeanne said indignantly.

  They had reached the Rose's landing stage, and George turned to her again and took her hands. "All right, let's forget all that for the moment. It's just that I'm worried, Jeanne. So many things can happen to people on riverboats. What you're doing is dangerous; steamboats are dangerous, the river is dangerous, the weather is dangerous, the people are dangerous. You just don't take care of yourself at all, otherwise you would never have fallen off the boat. You don't have any idea of what you're doing, do you?"

  Jeanne pulled her hands away from him gently. She was very aware that everyone on the Rose was watching them. "So you honestly think that I don't know what I'm doing? How can you say that to me, George?"

  "You're deliberately misunderstanding me. I was talking about you being more aware of the dangers on the river. That's all."

  "Fine. I'll be more careful."

  "Do you promise? Promise me, Jeanne. I worry, because I care about you so deeply," he finished in a low heartfelt voice.

  Mollified, she nodded. "I know you do, George. I care for you too. Let's just not talk any more about me falling in. I can see that you'll never see that it really was funny. Anyway, I wanted to ask you, were you still thinking that we'd go somewhere tomorrow? Because unless you have special plans, I thought I'd go out with the crew and Marvel tomorrow for dinner."

  He frowned. "But we always go out while you're in Memphis. As I've told you, it's very difficult for me, and I hope for you too, just seeing each other on your layovers. Of course I want to spend the day with you tomorrow. Go out with the crew? Surely you're joking! Where are you going to go with a riverboat crew, a saloon? You shouldn't even be seen in public with them!"

  Jeanne drew herself upright and her eyes flashed. "I said, with the crew and Marvel. You are bein
g insufferably rude and snobbish!"

  "You did? I'm so sorry, Jeanne," he said instantly. "To tell you the blunt truth, when I realized you were saying you didn't want to see me tomorrow, I got terribly jealous. That's why I said what I did. Please forgive me, I didn't mean a word of it."

  "Jealous? Oh, George, that's ridiculous!"

  "I can't help it, I want you all to myself," he said with a half smile. "So now I'm rude, snobbish, and selfish."

  "You're none of those things," Jeanne said quietly. "I know that very well."

  "Then you will spend the day with me tomorrow?" he asked. "Please, Jeanne. The days I have with you are important to me above all things."

  "All right," she said, tucking her arm back into his as they went up the gangplank. "But only because you brought me the Illustrated Weekly."

  Though Jeanne smiled at him, she still had misgivings. She really did want to go with the crew tomorrow. The reason she had been rather cool toward Clint was not because of Vince's mention of "Her Ladyship"; Jeanne had resigned herself to Clint's women. It was because she was thinking of how entangled she was with George Masters now. When they were in Memphis she saw very little of Marvel. Now she realized that George Masters hardly ever wanted Marvel to be with them. She supposed it might be understandable. He was a single man with no children and he was, she knew, in love with her. It was only natural that he wanted to be alone with her. He did ask for Marvel to come with them occasionally, and several times he had asked if he could buy Marvel some gift, which Jeanne always refused, but still it was generous of him. Still, it troubled her that he showed very little interest in her daughter.

  Clint Hardin spent a lot of time with Marvel, and with Roberty. In fact, Clint asked Marvel to do things with him, such as helping her with her arithmetic and making up math games. He and Ezra were making a dollhouse for Mrs. Topp and Avaymaria, at Clint's suggestion. At night when he and Vince were on the boat, Clint sang what Marvel wanted to sing, and he often danced with her. Clint actually seemed to like Marvel, and deliberately sought out her company, and not because she was Jeanne's daughter. And like George Masters, Clint Hardin, too, was single, with no children of his own.