Lily (Song of the River)

by Aaron McCarver

  Lily looked after him for a moment before collecting herself. She wondered about the gunshot that had distracted her and the stranger but shrugged. No telling in this part of town. It could have been an argument over words, goods, or even a loose woman.

  She made her way to the bank and plodded tiredly back to her aunt. Lily sighed, steeling herself for the lecture she was sure awaited her arrival. At least Aunt Dahlia seemed unharmed, if not happy.

  Chapter Two

  Where have you been?” Snapping brown eyes inspected Lily’s appearance. Aunt Dahlia’s exaggerated sigh reminded her of the woman’s penchant for blowing every incident out of proportion. “Do you have to act the hoyden?”

  “He took my reticule.” Lily dropped her gaze to her feet, unable to bear her aunt’s look of censure. She wished she were anywhere but standing in front of her angry chaperone. She was a grown woman. Hadn’t she been mistaken for the mother of the young boy who had stolen her purse? Not that she wasn’t a bit miffed at being connected to the raggedy youngster. But she was old enough to avoid being treated like a child no older than nine-year-old Jasmine, her youngest sister.

  “This is a lawless, wild area. Even in the daylight it’s not safe for women to travel unaccompanied.” Aunt Dahlia raised her ruffled parasol and opened it with a click. “Let’s get to the boat. Hopefully there will be adequate protection amongst our own kind.”

  Lily didn’t argue, but she didn’t much feel like the guests at the party were “her own kind.” She felt more kinship with the stevedores and sailors walking up and down Silver Street. They loved the river as much as she did, and she envied them their ability to make their living on the river. With all its hazards, the Mississippi called to her like Homer’s mythological sirens.

  “You look as flushed as a washerwoman, Lily Catherine Anderson. I declare I don’t know what to do with you.” Aunt Dahlia shook her head and looked to the cloudless sky. “Your uncle and I have tried to raise you three girls to take your rightful place in society.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry.” Long experience had taught Lily it was the best answer to give. Silently she listened as her aunt bemoaned all the trials she had endured because of Lily and her sisters.

  She followed a step behind her aunt to the boarding platform of the Hattie Belle, grateful because arriving at the party would end her aunt’s harangue.

  A line of finely dressed matrons were attended by their equally well-dressed spouses. A group of young ladies about Lily’s age were standing in a tight circle, whispering behind their fans and watching the antics of the young men vying for their attention.

  Why had she asked permission to attend this soiree? Although the invitation sent by the newly arrived Champney family had intrigued her, she should have known it would be a disaster. Maybe she could salvage a tiny bit of the expectation that had led to her attendance.

  She and the other guests were to enjoy a leisurely float down the river to the Champney plantation, where they would disembark and enjoy a light luncheon on the grounds overlooking the river. Then they would return to the steamboat and chug back up to Natchez Under-the-Hill. She supposed it would have been easier and less expensive to go to the Champney mansion by coach, but she was glad their hosts had decided to transport their guests by boat, where there would be dancing—a different kind of ballroom to be sure.

  A warm breeze teased at the ladies’ skirts and the men’s hats as the Champneys’ guests waited to cross the gangplank and board the beribboned steamboat. There were three levels on the boat, with the bottom floor almost completely taken up by two forty-foot-long cylinders. Lily knew these were the boilers that would push the long pistons back and forth. The movement of the pistons turned the paddle wheel at the back, which propelled the boat through the water.

  Her father had always known by its sound if a boiler was building up too much pressure and might explode. He’d said it was the first thing a sailor should learn about his boat. She could remember spending hours listening to the hiss and whoosh of his boat’s engine. Being on board this afternoon brought back feelings she thought were long buried—memories of grief and betrayal caused by the death of her mother and her father’s subsequent desertion of his three daughters.

  She shook off the dismal thoughts and concentrated on the present. Her interested gaze took in the graceful curves of a wide staircase that led to the second floor, probably the level on which they would dance. The third-level hurricane deck was open to the sky, limited only by the pilothouse and a pair of tall, black smokestacks that would soon belch smoke, ash, and red-hot cinders.

  Mr. Dashiell Champney, a tall, handsome man with dark hair shot through with white, stood next to a much shorter and rounder woman who must be his wife, Gabrielle. Lily waited behind her aunt while she exchanged greetings with their hosts. Then her aunt introduced her. Hoping her skirts showed no tears or dirt from her recent adventure, Lily curtsied deeply. She comforted herself with the thought that Aunt Dahlia’s keen eyes would have spotted any problem. Her exacting aunt would not have hesitated to point out any shortcomings.

  “What a charming young woman.” Mr. Champney bowed over her hand. “You look more like your mother than your father.”

  Her shocked gaze met his. “You knew my parents?”

  Mr. Champney frowned and glanced toward her aunt.

  Aunt Dahlia tittered. “Oh, you misunderstand, Monsieur Champney. Phillip and I are not Lily’s parents. Her mother, my sister, died some years ago, and Lily and her two sisters were left with my parents.” She laughed as though her words were humorous. “Of course we consider the girls as dear to us as our own children.”

  Lily clenched her jaw to keep it from falling open. What an exaggeration. Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Phillip tolerated her and her sisters because they had no choice.

  Aunt Dahlia put a hand on her shoulder, and Lily schooled her features into a polite expression. “Monsieur Champney is doing some business with your uncle, dearest. I suppose he was talking about his concern for your future.” She turned back to their host. “I’m certain that’s how the misunderstanding occurred.”

  “Our English is a little …” Mrs. Champney glanced toward her husband.

  He patted her hand. “Shhh, Gabrielle, we will learn.”

  Lily’s soft heart was touched. She put aside her shock and reached out toward their embarrassed hostess. “My papa also struggled with accents.”

  “You are sweet, enfant.” Mrs. Champney smiled at her. “Such a kind heart you have. Go on inside and enjoy yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Lily could feel her face flush. Expectation made her stomach clench. When her grandparents had introduced her to local society two years ago, it had been the same—terrifying and exhilarating all at once as she entered any ballroom.

  Mr. Champney passed a white handkerchief across his forehead before turning to greet the next guest.

  Lily moved down the line behind her aunt and came face-to-face with the Champneys’ son, the young man who, according to rumor, was the real reason for today’s party. He was said to be a bachelor on the lookout for a compliant wife. Her heart sped as she wondered which lady he would find interesting.

  He bowed and kissed the air above her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur Champney.”

  His smile was wide and inviting, transforming his face from pleasant to handsome. Two dimples bracketed his mouth, and his dark eyebrows rose in the center. “My father is Monsieur Champney. You must call me Jean Luc.”

  For once Lily’s face didn’t flame. But a dozen butterflies seemed to have awoken in her stomach.

  “And I hope you will save a dance for me.”

  Was he teasing her? She searched but could find no hint of mischief in his expression. “I … I would be gl—”

  “Come along, Lily. You must not monopolize our host.” Aunt Dahlia’s voice seemed to come from a distance.

  Jean Luc’s impudent grin drew an answering smile f
rom her. He squeezed her hand briefly. “I will find you later.”

  “I—” Her voice came out in a squeak, betraying her once again. Lily pulled back and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Thank you, monsieur.” That was better. She sounded more confident, less terrified. “I look forward to having you partner me.”

  Then her aunt whisked her away. Lily didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Was Jean Luc Champney flirting with her? What an odd feeling. And one she could easily grow accustomed to.

  As she followed her aunt to the second level of the steamboat, Lily realized how glad she was that she had worn her new dress, a tailored suit with a fitted top and wide flounced skirt. Jaunty blue ribbon outlined each flounce and fluttered with every step she took. The sleeves were soft and generous, with blue-edged cuffs. A line of pearl buttons decorated the bodice from the edge of her beribboned collar to the wide blue grosgrain ribbon at her waist. The outfit was perfect for this party. Even though she would never be as beautiful as her middle sister, Camellia, Lily’s fashionable attire and Jean Luc’s obvious admiration made her feel pretty.

  She held her skirt aloft with one hand so she wouldn’t trip while her other hand traced a bronze handrail rubbed to a rich sheen. A welcome breeze brushed by as she reached the main landing.

  The stateroom was a large, open area with floor-to-ceiling windows that provided light and a view of the Natchez bluffs. At one end, a full orchestra awaited the arrival of the guests while a wide, arched doorway dominated the other end, its leaded-glass doors thrown open to coax river breezes into the room.

  The boat whistle sounded. Several guests hurried outside to watch the ropes loosened and the gangplank lifted away from the wharf. Some young ladies covered their ears because of the clanging boilers and hissing stacks. The boat shuddered as the long pistons began to move back and forth, slowly at first but with increasing speed and thrust.

  Lily rushed outside to see the stern-wheeler begin churning the brown river water. The busy dock receded quickly as the Hattie Belle slipped into the strong current. Someone joined her at the rail, and Lily turned to see Jean Luc standing next to her. Unable to contain her exhilaration, she smiled widely. “Isn’t it glorious?”

  “Yes.” But his gaze was fastened on her.

  Unable to think of anything to say, she gazed at the green banks slipping past. Silence fell between them, almost like they were in their own private bubble that none of the other guests could inhabit. Her shoulders tensed with each second that ticked by.

  Jean Luc moved a tiny bit closer. “Is this your first time on a steamboat?”

  The romance of the moment fled. Lily shook her head. “My … my parents had a steamboat.” She swallowed hard. “My mother d–died in an accident.”

  “How terrible for you.” He put a hand on the one she had rested on the guardrail. “I didn’t know.”

  Lily appreciated the kindly tone, but she pulled her hand from underneath his. “It was a long time ago. I was only a child.”

  The orchestra began playing a lively tune, and Lily pushed away from the rail.

  “Wait, Miss Anderson. I didn’t mean to pry.” He offered his arm to her. “Please forgive me.”

  She hesitated before resting her hand on the crook of his elbow. “It’s not your fault. Being here has brought old memories to the surface.”

  “Do you want me to have the captain turn the boat around?” His features were drawn in a frown of concern. “We can reschedule the picnic for another day.”

  Lily was touched by the offer but shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving your guests for such a selfish reason.” She pasted a wobbly smile on her face. “I’m just being overly sensitive.”

  “Good afternoon, Monsieur Champney.” Grace Johnson, the beautiful, tawny-haired daughter of one of Natchez’s wealthiest tobacco merchants, floated toward them, her movements as elegant as a swan’s on a moonlit lake. She opened a fan and fluttered it in front of eyes as blue as chicory blossoms. “What an exceptional idea your family has conceived to host a floating gala. I predict they will become all the rage.”

  A hard look from Grace made Lily realize she should not monopolize their host’s attention. She wanted to protest that he had followed her, not the other way around. Yet she felt guilty, so she started to remove her hand from his arm. She was stalled when he placed his hand over hers and applied a slight pressure.

  “Thank you, Miss Johnson.” Jean Luc’s dimples appeared as he smiled. “Please excuse us. Miss Anderson has just agreed to let me partner her on the dance floor.”

  Lily’s heart tripped. Dance? She couldn’t dance with him. They would be the focus of everyone’s attention. She would trip over her dress or step on his feet … or somehow make a fool of herself. Her mind screamed warnings even as he led her into the ballroom. She barely heard Grace’s huff of irritation over the cacophony in her head.

  Then they were in the center of the room. Jean Luc placed one arm around her waist, leading her into a waltz. She concentrated on following his lead for the first few bars but relaxed when she realized she was not going to make a fool of herself. The lessons she had complained about were paying off. She was thankful Grandmother had been so insistent.

  “I’m glad you and your aunt were able to come this afternoon. Especially since I now know about your aversion to the river.”

  “Oh no, Monsieur Champney, I am not averse to the river.” She could feel his fingers tighten around her waist. “On the contrary, I love the river. It is so alive! So full of intriguing characters and beautiful scenery. I deeply regret that my mother lost her life while boating, but I fault my father’s lack of foresight rather than the river itself.”

  His midnight-dark gaze speared her. Lily could feel her heart flutter at the intense scrutiny. A blush heated her cheeks.

  “Mademoiselle, you are an intriguing young woman. As fascinating as the ladies of Paris.”

  “You have been to Paris?” Lily jumped at the chance to change the subject. “Please tell me all about it.”

  He swept her into a complicated series of turns. She could feel the material of her gown swirling out and hoped the movement was not so energetic that her ankles were exposed.

  “Paris is a very sophisticated city. There are endless things to do—balls every night, the opera house, the zoo, and of course Versailles.”

  “You have been to the Palace of Versailles?”

  “Oh yes. It is magnifique, though the emperor, Napoleon III, does not reside there, of course. It is too much the symbol of Bourbon imperialism, and Napoleon and his wife are populists.”

  Lily nodded and tried to think of some dazzling remark. Like why a populist had become emperor. Hadn’t he been elected president of France? She was not sure enough of the facts to question him. “I suppose they would avoid it.”

  “But a pretty girl like you does not want to hear about dreary politics.” Chagrin deepened his voice. His mouth turned up on one corner. “I should be telling you how lovely your dress is and how your eyes sparkle. How light you are on your feet and how much I want to spend the rest of the evening at your side.”

  A blush heated her cheeks. Did he really think she was pretty? “N–not at all. I find your descriptions fascinating. You have seen so much more of the world than most of the men from Natchez. And you understand so much more than they.”

  Their dance came to an end before he responded, and Lily wondered if her compliments had been too gushing. Perhaps he had interpreted her enthusiasm as an attempt to flatter him, but she had been sincere in her sentiments.

  He returned her to her aunt, who was visiting with some of her cronies in a corner of the room. Jean Luc bowed to them and chatted for a moment before excusing himself.

  Aunt Dahlia drew Lily away. “Where did you disappear to, Lily? I was about to introduce you to a special friend of your uncle’s, but I could not find you anywhere.”

  “I went outside to watch as the captain steered the ship aw
ay from the docks.”

  Her aunt shook her head and sighed. “I should have known. One would think you had no thought for your future. Are you content to always be a burden to your poor grandparents?”

  “I danced with the Champneys’ son,” Lily defended herself. She had imagined her aunt would be pleased. Why was she so disgruntled?

  “I’m sure he was just being polite. The Champneys have exquisite refinement, and surely their son has been schooled to spread his attention equally among his guests.” She nodded to the other side of the room where Jean Luc stood talking to a group of young ladies.

  Lily noticed Grace Johnson among their number. Her heart dropped like a heavy stone to her toes. How had she let herself be swept away by Jean Luc’s easy charm? Plainly, her aunt was right. He was nothing more than a kindly host doing his duty. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “I declare, I don’t know why I keep trying to instruct you. It seems you will never learn the basic rules governing our little corner of society.” Aunt Dahlia opened her fan and fluttered it.

  Lily could feel the fan moving air against her warm cheeks. How could she have so easily forgotten herself? She was not beautiful or artistic or even witty. Her talent lay in her practicality, her ability to watch out over others and steer them from trouble. A girl like her would never be able to secure the interest of someone as debonair, charming, and cultured as Jean Luc Champney, the heir apparent to his father’s vast shipping interests.

  The first indication Lily had of trouble floated toward her in a cloud of strong cologne. She opened her own fan and used it to disperse the overpowering smell.

  Aunt Dahlia’s overly bright tones were the second indication. “Oh, good. Mr. Marvin has returned. I know you’re going to be delighted by his interest.”

  Lily glanced at the man who approached. Her heart sank. He was old! As old as Uncle Phillip and Aunt Dahlia. Surely this was not the man her aunt wished her to meet. Casting one last, longing glance toward the lively group of young women surrounding Jean Luc, she sighed and waited for her aunt’s introduction.