The River Rose (27 page)

THE NIGHTS HAD GROWN sultry. Jeanne slept with not even a light sheet covering her, only her cotton nightgown. She tried to stay very still so as not to wake Marvel, who never seemed to get too hot. But after about an hour, Jeanne felt perspiration beading on her forehead, and she got up. She bathed her face in cool water scented with mint, which she found to be cooling and refreshing, but it also had a tendency to make her feel wide-awake. She went to the window, propped her crossed arms on the sill, and rested her chin on her hands. There was a very slight breeze, and it felt good on her tingling face. Again she thought how grateful she was to Clint for replacing all of the windows on the
Rose
with six-by-six windows that opened. It had been an extravagant expense for a steamer, but Clint had known a glazier that gave them a good price, and he and Ezra had installed them. Ezra was an experienced carpenter, and Clint had learned quickly, Jeanne thought ruefully. Naturally.

It was early, so there was still activity on the docks. The music of a waltz drifted on the air, probably from the steamship docked two down from the
Rose
, a big luxury steamship with twenty staterooms and a ballroom, Vince had told her. He seemed to know everything about every boat on the river. Jeanne hummed along with the waltz. In the capricious breeze, occasionally a man's deep voice would carry to her, or a woman's light laughter.

Then she heard two voices quite clearly. Clint and Vince were coming back on board the
Rose.
". . . trying to tell me you're not staying over with her, Clint? C'mon!"

"I'm trying
not
to tell you anything, Vinnie."

"I know, but you might as well give over, man. Don't you think we all know who that little colored boy is, with his red vest and black trousers, that brings those messages? Her Majesty sure knows how to dress up her slaves, even the errand boys. Little popinjay, carrying around those purple notes that smell like perfume."

"Hey, Vinnie? Did you notice that I happen to be standing here talking to you for some reason I can't understand and not at her house?"

"Yeah. How'd that happen?"

"Shut up, Vinnie."

Their voices faded as they went into the boiler room. Jeanne had been motionless, outrage growing in her. Now she stood up and banged the window down. It sounded loud, but Marvel didn't stir. Jeanne paced.
Staying with
Her Majesty!
And this woman is sending little love missives down here to my boat? How dare she! And I wonder how they explain those perfumed notes and the popinjay to Marvel? I could kill Clint!

Jeanne raved on for a while, and managed to make herself tired. She lay back down but found that she couldn't make her mind stop going over and over the conversation. It was a long, restless night.

When she awoke in the morning she could tell she had slept late, for the light streaming through the windows was already white and hot. Marvel was already gone to breakfast. Jeanne splashed her face again and again and dressed hurriedly. She went down the hallway to the galley, stepped inside and looked around at Ezra, Vince, and Roberty, then glared at Clint. "Where is Marvel?" she demanded.

"Good morning, Captain," Clint said pleasantly. "Don't worry, she ate a good breakfast. She's out playing with Leo."

"Thank you," Jeanne said stiffly, and hurried out.

Vince stared at Clint, his brown eyes wide with alarm. "What'd you do?"

"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.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN