The River Rose (25 page)

VINCE CAME INTO THE engine room and said, "Ezra's nervous." He had to shout because the engine was always loud and on this stormy morning the rain made a deafening staccato beat against the sides of the
Helena Rose.

"How can you tell?" Clint shouted back. He was kneeling down on the starboard side, looking underneath the complication of pipes that led into and out of the
Rose
's pumps.

Vince came to kneel beside him and help him look. "He's standing out on deck, staring at the riverbanks. We got a leak or something?"

"No, but listen how hard the pump's working. I'm thinking we're drawing up more sludge than water."

"How can you hear the pump?" Vince complained. "All I hear is a deafening hurly-burly racket."

"Good ears, I guess." He stood up and crossed to the port side to kneel again, and he said something that Vince couldn't hear, of course.

Sighing, Vince stood up and was about to kneel by him again when not one but three jangling rings of the attention bell from the pilothouse sounded. Then they heard Jeanne scream, "Clint, Clint! Hurry, I need help!"

Clint stood and bounded out of the engine room, took the stairs three at a time, and was in the wheelhouse in ten seconds. It was dark, the windows completely clouded up. Jeanne was standing on a spoke on the left-hand side of the wheel. "Help me! We've got to turn to port!" she cried, jumped, and stamped on the spoke, hard, but the wheel didn't move.

Galvanized, Clint took two pins at the top and pushed left. For eternal moments he struggled, the tendons and veins on his arms bulging. Slowly the wheel gave, and he was able to move four pins left. Jeanne jumped off the wheel and cried, "That's enough! We've got to—"

But Clint had already guessed the situation and he shouted, "Vinnie! Back and fill, back and fill!"

This command effectively put the boat in neutral, and sluggishly she wallowed to a stop. Clint turned the wheel, still with some difficulty, until the kingpin, the one that was wrapped in marlin as an indicator, was straight up. This meant the rudder was exactly straight.

"What's happened?" he asked Jeanne calmly.

Her face was pale and her hands shook. "I was trying to come out of a hairpin right turn. From the east Choctaw Creek is flooding, and it created a strong cross-current and the rudder got stuck in the right turn. I couldn't get her out of it in time."

"Can you hold her steady?" he asked, and Jeanne stepped up to the wheel.

Clint went outside and wiped the rain away from his face. The storm clouds were so low and black that it was more like late evening than eleven o'clock in the morning. Around him all he could see were gaunt trees with naked spiky branches. The water was black. As he began to comprehend what he was seeing, he realized that the
Rose
was in a swamp, surrounded by cypress and tupelo trees. He ran to the side of the boat and looked around, and barely in the torpid light he could see great cypress knees—hull-killers—rising up out of the water. He oriented himself, and realized that the
Rose
had turned sideways to the current that had swept them in.

He ducked back inside the pilothouse. "Is the way back to the river landmarked in any way?" he asked.

Mutely she shook her head. He went to the speaking tube and didn't bother with the attention bell. Shouting in an operatic voice was loud enough. "Vinnie, Ezra up here now." He took a rag out of his pocket and wiped the windows, but like a wraith, the steam slowly stole back into the corners.

Vince and Ezra came in and Clint said, "We're in a cypress swamp, and we can't back out. The
Rose
is turned port side against the current. What we're going to have to do is reverse, fill, forward, fill, reverse, fill, forward, fill, and so on 'til we get her head-on. Then I'll give you a shout to stop."

"Got it, Clint," Vince said.

He and Ezra started to leave, but Ezra turned back and asked, "Cap'n Jeanne, we's in Dead Man's Slough, ain't we?"

"Yes," she answered dully. "Have you ever gotten caught in here before?"

"No, ma'am, but don't you worry, we'll have her outta here in no time," he said reassuringly, and closed the pilothouse door.

Clint said, "Jeanne, you're the pilot, you know this wheel. You want to do this?"

"No, I don't," she answered tensely. She stood by the wheel, her fists clenched at her sides.

He nodded, and slowly the engines geared up again, and the
Rose
began to back up. Clint worked the wheel, and then they filled, and he turned it the other way; this went on as they inched their way around, turning in a tight half-circle. At last the
Helena Rose
was facing due east. Clint leaned over the speaking tube and called, "That's good, boys! Shut 'er down!"

When the engines came to a full stop, Clint ran outside again to see if the Rose was still being pushed farther into the swamp by the flood current. But the dark water looked still except for the raindrops splashing on its gloomy surface, and he could see no telltale ripples against her nose, so he went back inside the pilothouse. Jeanne was sitting on the bench, her hands limp in her lap, staring into space. He sat down beside her.

"I've always heard the river plays the very devil's tricks on you," he said lightly. "This was a humdinger."

"It wasn't the river," Jeanne said numbly. "It was me. I was afraid this was going to happen."

"Jeanne, boats get shoved around every which way by flood currents all the time. It's not your fault."

"It was my fault. I'm too weak to handle the
Rose
. If a grown man had been piloting he could have made the turn."

"Maybe, maybe not. Ezra told me that pilots have a saying. 'It takes one upstream, but sometimes downstream it takes three: two to fight the wheel and one to holler encouragement.'"

"Fine. So we need three grown men to pilot."

"No. We need you," Clint said quietly.

"Don't patronize me, I am not a child!" Jeanne stormed, jumping to her feet to stand before him, her bloodless fists on her hips. "You don't know anything about what I'm going through! You just tra-la-la, trip your way around life, everything comes so easy for you! You sashay onto a riverboat, and oh, sure, this is
simple
! Steam boilers, reaching jerkins, pooling rods, no problem! I've been a master machinist since I was two years old! Oh, what's the matter, poor little Jeanne, can't turn the wheel? Here, I'll do it with my pinky finger, see how
simple
it is? And you just open your mouth, and glorious sounds like an archangel's anthem just come rolling out, but you fiddle-faddle around and sing about stupid
tuckahaws
! And, oh, Vinnie, help me, I just can't decide between my sandalwood woman or my perfume woman or my tavern maid with the black, black, black hair!"

When this tirade had begun, Clint's inclination had been to rise to his feet, because it was so deeply ingrained in him not to remain sitting when a lady stood. But after Jeanne's first few words he realized he'd better keep his seat. Clint had seen ladies having hysterics before, but he'd never seen one quite as wrathful, nor as acidly articulate, as Jeanne. Despite himself he was fascinated. And so he sat, looking up at her, struggling to keep his face expressionless.

She shut her mouth abruptly, pressed her fingers to her temples, and squeezed her eyes shut. "What am I saying? I must be out of my mind." She collapsed back onto the bench.

Clint watched her warily, but she seemed deflated and listless, and remained silent. Finally he said, "I'm sorry about all of that, Jeanne. But right now I guess we'd better figure out what to do. Should we just stay here until the storm stops?"

She looked down. "I don't want to stay in Dead Man's Slough overnight."

He nodded. "Okay. It's only about noon now. We'll see how it goes for the next couple of hours. By two, if it hasn't let up, why don't we try this. We can take soundings, and drive out of here one paddle at a time."

"That's fine," she said dully. "But I'm not driving. You do it. And I don't want to go south when we get back in the river. About ten miles north is a big landing, Widow Eames' Landing. I'm sure Ezra knows it. I want to stay there overnight."

"Then that's what we'll do," Clint said steadily. "You look really tired. Why don't you go rest for awhile?"

She rose and without looking at him or saying a word, she left the pilothouse. He watched her thoughtfully. She didn't try to shield herself from the rain. Her shoulders stooped, she walked slowly to the stairs and didn't look back. When he was sure she'd had enough time to get into her cabin he went down to the boiler room. Vince, Ezra, and Marvel were there. Marvel was sitting in her chair, clutching Avaymaria and Mrs. Topp. She looked scared. Instantly Clint went down on his knee beside her and took her hand. It was very small and cold. He smiled at her. "The river played a dirty trick on your mama, and whooshed us right up into a swamp. But everything's okay, Marvel. Your mother is fine, she just had a tough morning and needs to rest for awhile."

She stared at him with her wide-spaced almond eyes, so like her mother's. Then she nodded slowly. "I understand. Roberty's already making tea, the black Indian that Mama likes. Should I take it to her?"

"Yeah, I think that would be real nice."

Marvel left to go to the galley, and Clint turned to Ezra. "What in blazes is Dead Man's Slough?"

Grimly, Ezra said, "Hit used to be just a bog about a quarter-mile east of the river, called Choctaw Bayou. Indians used to go in there to gather thet moss on the trees, makes good stuffing for pillows and mattresses and such. But the Choctaw Creek acrost flooded and cut a swath over to the bog, so's now it's connected to the river by a narrow ditch of fast-flowin' water, in heavy rain times. Story is that back in the bad days when all the Indians was gittin' shipped out to the west, some of 'em would try to hide in Choctaw Bayou. But rivermen that got caught just like we done did told tales of finding Indians hanging from the trees back up in here, lot's of 'em, all over. That's when they started calling it Dead Man's Slough. And that's when it started to be said that Choctaw Creek tries to push the white man's boats up in it."

"You don't believe that though, do you Ezra?" Vince asked uncertainly.

He shrugged. "Choctaw Creek does push boats inter the bog. That's how we got here."

Clint asked, "But you said you'd never been here before?"

"No, Cap'n Hardin wasn't named 'Bull' for no reason. He was strong as a team of ox. He could fight that rudder right round when it got flat-up a-whomperjawed by the river. I niver did know of him to lose the boat 'cause of that. I reckon that's what's happent; going downstream, and them currents pushed the rudder right bang-up agin the housing."

Hesitantly, Clint said, "Jeanne says it's because she wasn't strong enough to turn the wheel."

"Prob'ly true. They's been other pilots that's been caught up inter Dead Man's Slough, though. Rip-roarin' river men. If that's what she's done got in her head."

"That's what she's done got in her head," Clint said dryly.

"But did these other pilots see any dead Indians?" Vince asked, his brow furrowed.

"Not that I know of," Ezra answered. "But dead men or not, it just ain't a good place to be stuck in."

"I don't think Jeanne's going to be able to get us out of here," Clint said evenly. "Could we take soundings and go real slow?"

"Sure 'nough," Ezra replied. "But who's going to drive the
Rose
?"

"I guess I am," Clint said. "Captain's orders."

THE NIGHT SKY WAS washed clean by the rain, and countless stars glittered. A solemn half moon hung low, too close to the horizon to reflect in the river. The
Helena Rose
was at rest at Widow Eames' Landing, a solid dock made of cypress. Up a long, gentle hill six lantern-lit windows glowed from the Eames house, three windows downstairs and three windows upstairs. Clint thought that it was a lot of lights for one widow, but then he didn't know if she was lucky enough to have family living with her.

He was sitting up on the hurricane deck in the soundless night, just staring up at the sky. It was unusual for him to be so still for so long. But he felt tranquil, not restless, as he watched the old moon and the stars and smelled the rich fragrance of wet earth and felt the tentative warmth of early spring.