The River Rose (32 page)

"I don't know, really. I just know I all of a sudden started feeling bad."

"It's all right, darling. I'm going to get your clothes off and sponge you down and get you in a nightdress. But right now I'm going to go get some fresh water, okay? I'll be right back."

"May I please have Mrs. Topp and Avaymaria?"

"Of course." Jeanne put the dolls in bed with her, grabbed the water pitcher, and went out into the hall. Ezra was standing there, waiting. "I need some fresh cool water, Ezra." Instantly he hurried down the hall to the galley and in a moment reappeared with the pitcher filled with cool water from the icebox. "Thank you. If you look in the cupboard you'll find a tin with dried chamomile. Will you make some tea?"

"Yes, ma'am. Does Marvel have a fever?"

"Yes, but I really think she got sick because of the vinegar," Jeanne answered with artificial brightness. "She's got a tender tummy, and I didn't think about the strong odor all over the boat. A lot of times when she gets nauseated she gets a slight fever."

"Yes, ma'am," he said gravely. "Cap'n Jeanne, I'm a-guessin' that Clint's driving. You want we should dock somewheres?"

Jeanne frowned. "We were just passing Noble's Oxbow when he came to get me. Dead Man's Slough is coming up, and he's driven from there to Widow Eames' Landing. Go talk to him, Ezra. See if he feels like he can get us there."

Jeanne went back into the cabin and undressed Marvel. As she was bathing her, Marvel started shivering. "I'm freezing, Mama."

Her skin was burning, her cheeks were a lurid crimson. Jeanne said soothingly, "I know, little girl. Let me just finish, and I'll put on your soft nightdress with the pink roses and you'll feel a lot better."

AS SOON AS JEANNE ran out of the wheelhouse, Clint took the wheel and searched the river ahead with narrowed eyes. He had no idea, really, of where they were. The lower Arkansas all looked alike to him, a narrow trench heavily wooded on both shores. Rarely could one see more than a hundred feet ahead because the river curved this way and that, with hardly any straight stretches. Grimly, he put the
Rose
in the exact middle of the river and steered. At least he had gotten fairly familiar with the wheel, and could steer smoothly instead of jerking it back and forth, as when he'd driven them out of Dead Man's Slough. Just thinking of the name of that place made his throat tighten.

He thought about just pulling the
Helena Rose
into the next cove, no matter how small, and docking her. But that wasn't at all practical. Marvel needed a doctor. Aside from that, the river was narrow, and he didn't have the expertise to know where to dock the boat so that it would leave room for another boat to pass them. They rarely met other boats, for not many of them ran freight on the Arkansas River, but it did happen. And that gave Clint a start, because he realized he didn't know the protocol for passing by a boat if they should meet one. Was it port to starboard, or starboard to port? He searched his memory, but he had no recollection of Jeanne ever mentioning it to him. He was just about to yell down to Vince in the engine room to see if he knew when Ezra came into the wheelhouse.

"How ya doin', Clint?"

"Well, I don't know where we are, I don't know where we're going, and if we meet another boat I'm just going to lay on the steam whistle to let 'em know there's an idiot at the wheel," he said grimly. "How's Marvel?"

"She's purty sick. Cap'n Jeanne, she thinks mebbe Marvel got a sick belly from breathin' in all the vinegar fumes."

Hope surged high in Clint's breast. "Is that what you think, Ezra?"

Quietly he answered, "Leetle girl's got a high fever, Clint."

As quickly as it rose in him, the hope went away. He nodded helplessly. Ezra went on, "Now as to where we's at, I'm a-thinking we're 'bout ten mile south of Dead Man's Slough. Far as I know there ain't any tricks nor snags 'tween here and there, and you've done piloted from there to the Widder Eames' Landing. That's where Cap'n wants to go. You think you kin do it?"

"I can do it. I
will
do it," Clint said vehemently. "I want you to go back down to the firebox, Ezra. You load this old girl up as hot as she'll bear. We're not dawdling along at ten miles an hour, we need to get Marvel to a doctor quick. Hopefully there'll be one around the Landing, but if there isn't then we're going to have to go on to Pine Bluff. So you stay down there and help Vinnie, Ezra. He'll be okay with the engine, but only you know about the boilers."

"I do know that, and I'm a-tellin' you that if'n you kin keep from crashin' inter something we'll be at the Widder's landing in a coupla hours," he said sturdily. "And by the by, if'n you meet another boat, you jist git outer their way. They'll be doin' the same thing. Y'all will figger it out. So you reckon we orter let Roberty go up and sit outside the cabin if'n they need something?"

"No," Clint said bleakly. "Keep him down in the engine room. He doesn't need to be exposed. Jeanne will understand that."
Maybe not now, if she's telling herself that Marvel's nauseated because of the vinegar. But when we find out for sure that it's
. . . He couldn't finish that thought.

Two hours and nineteen minutes later Clint rounded a familiar bend and saw Widow Eames' Landing ahead. He furiously rang the backing bell two gongs, which when the boat was in motion meant "dead slow." He immediately felt the engines powering down and the paddle wheel slowing. They neared the dock at a reckless pace, but Clint didn't care. He rang the stopping bell once and the
Rose
came to a dead stop only a foot or two from the dock's pilings. Vince and Ezra jumped onto the dock to tie her off. Clint rang the Big Bell furiously, the low gong sounding startling and dire in the quiet afternoon. Then he stamped on the steam whistle pedal three times. These were signals for "Emergency."

He wanted to run down to Jeanne's cabin, but he hesitated. He didn't know whether to bother her and Marvel or not, and he didn't want to intrude on Jeanne if she didn't want him. He waited in the hallway to see if Jeanne would come out, but she didn't, so he ran on down to the main deck.

Vince and Ezra stepped back aboard the boat; the dock was only about ten inches higher than the main deck. "I know that someone still lives up in that house," Clint told them. "When we stopped here before I saw lights."

Ezra said, "Bull niver stopped here, but lotsa times in summer we'd see folks down here, picnicking. Big family, I reckon. Saw lotsa chilluns."

"Anybody seen Jeanne?" Clint asked.

Roberty and Leo were standing behind Clint, and now Roberty said reproachfully, "I wanted to take Cap'n Jeanne her tea, it's time. And I was gonna make some for Marvel, too. But Ezra wouldn't let me."

Ezra reached down and mussed the boy's sandy hair. "We need to see what Cap'n Jeanne wants us to do, boy, afore we go bustin' up in there with Marvel sick and all."

Roberty said, "That's not why you don't want me up there, is it? It's 'cause you think Marvel's got the fever and you don't want me to catch it."

Ezra sighed and said to Vince and Clint, "Niver try to lie to a innocent. Hit jest don't work."

"There's a man coming down the hill," Roberty said, pointing.

He was of average height but of stocky build, dressed in brown canvas work trousers with suspenders and a pullover work shirt. He wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat, and when he reached the dock he took it off, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and asked, "Hello, the boat. You folks having some kind of trouble?"

Clint stepped forward. "We've got a little girl here that got sick on our way from Napoleon. I stopped here, hoping you might have a doctor that could come take a look at her."

He nodded and came onto the boat. "My name is Jacob Eames, and I'm a doctor. You say it's a little girl?"

"Yes, she's six years old. Her mother is the captain and pilot. I'm Clint Hardin, this is Ezra, this is Vince, and this is Roberty."

They all shook hands and Eames absently patted Leo's head. "Okay, Roberty, tell you what. If you'll just run up to that big house on the hill, you'll find my mother and family. Tell them that I need my medical bag. You want to take me to the little girl, Mr. Hardin?"

"Just a minute, Dr. Eames," Clint said cautiously. "We were in Memphis three days ago, and they've got yellow fever." He swallowed hard and continued, "When we found out, we scrubbed the boat down with vinegar, and Marvel's mother thinks that smelling it made her sick. She's a frail little thing, you see. But still, it's a possibility—I mean, we think—"

Dr. Eames nodded wisely. "I see. Take me to the little girl, and then I'll go get what I need."

He followed Clint up to the Texas deck and Clint knocked softly on the door. "Jeanne? We've got a doctor here."

Jeanne wrenched open the door and stood there, staring starkly at Jacob Eames. She was pale and her face and posture was a picture of tension. "Jacob? Jacob Eames?" she muttered.

His brown eyes grew warm with recognition. "Jeanne . . . Jeanne Langer. So you're the lady pilot, and this is the
Helena Rose
. We read about you in the paper, but we didn't know it was you." He stepped forward and hugged her tightly.

She clung to him, then wrenched free. "It's my daughter, Marvel. She's sick. You're—you're a doctor?"

"For five years now, so I didn't just hang up my shingle," he answered reassuringly. Jeanne led him into the room and closed the door behind them, leaving Clint standing in the hall.

Eames walked over to the bed, sat down, and took Marvel's hand. "Hello, Marvel. My name is Dr. Eames. I hear you're not feeling too well."

"Hello, Dr. Eames, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said, managing a small smile. "No, I don't feel good. I keep throwing up." Her thin face was whiter than snow, except for the bright red of her cheeks. The limp hand Eames held was hot and dry. As she spoke, Marvel shuddered with a chill.

"Throwing up is no fun at all, is it?" he asked, laying his hand on her forehead. He gently pulled up one eyelid, then the other.

"No. This is even worse than that time with the chocolate," Marvel said miserably. She shivered so hard her teeth chattered.

Eames took both of her hands and cradled them in his. "Well, I might have some medicine that will help your stomach feel better. The thing is, my medicine and all my doctor stuff is up at my house, because when I heard the bell and the whistle I didn't know it was someone that was sick, and I came running down here without it. So I'm just going to go get you some medicine and I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," she said weakly. "Gunness, I wish it could have been me that got to ring the Big Bell and the steam whistle. Mama wouldn't ever let me do it."

"When you get better I'll let you ring the bell and the steam whistle all you want," Jeanne said tightly. She followed Eames out into the hall, where Clint was still waiting. "So what is it?" Jeanne demanded.

Eames answered slowly, "Jeanne, I really need to examine her more closely, and ask her some questions. Please, just wait. I'll go get my things and I'll be back in minutes." He hurried to the stairs.

Jeanne looked at Clint as if she didn't recognize him. "He—I know him. Knew him."

"I know, I remember. He's about your age, I figure he's the lucky one that got to dance with you," he said softly. "How's Marvel doing?"

"She is horribly sick. She keeps throwing up, and her fever is sky-high. Go tell them," she said as if the words were wrenched out of her. Then she went back into the cabin and closed the door.

Marvel was throwing up again, slumped over the bedside. Jeanne went to her and held her head. She finished and she was so weak that Jeanne had to lift her back on the bed to lie down. Jeanne pulled up an armchair and sat, holding Marvel's hand as she shivered and clung to her dolls.

Eames returned and Jeanne stood behind him as he examined Marvel. "Light a lantern and bring it over here, please, Jeanne." The room was still lit with strong afternoon sunlight, but the bed in the alcove was deeply shaded.

As Jeanne got the lantern, the doctor took Marvel's pulse, staring at a pocket watch. Jeanne brought the lantern and he took out an instrument with a big round polished silver face and a tiny magnifying glass in the middle. "Hold that above her head so that the glow falls directly on her face." Again he pulled up Marvel's eyelid and almost touched her face as he bent close to look through the tiny aperture at her eyes. "Open your mouth wide, please, Marvel," he instructed. With blunt forceps he depressed her tongue, motioning Jeanne to hold the lantern so the light streamed down Marvel's throat. "Okay," he said quietly. "Now, Marvel, would you please sit up for me? And Jeanne, if you'd pull up her gown." He took out his stethoscope and held the chestpiece between his palms to warm it. Then he listened for long moments to different places on Marvel's chest, and then her back. "Here, let's get your nightgown back on, and cover you back up." He plumped up Marvel's pillow, tucked the quilt around her, and took her hands between his again. "I need to talk to you, Marvel. Do you feel like you can answer a few questions?"

"Yes, sir."