Lily (Song of the River)

by Aaron McCarver

  Lily supposed she should be flattered to be included as an adult, but she had an idea she was not going to enjoy the talk her aunt had in mind.

  Her bonnet ribbon fluttered in a light breeze, tickling her cheek. Lily caught it between her fingers and pleated it with restless fingers.

  “Quit fidgeting, child.” Aunt Dahlia’s frown deepened. “It’s no wonder Jasmine is so restive.”

  Grandmother closed her eyes. “That’s enough, Dahlia.”

  Aunt Dahlia’s mouth dropped open. She was not used to anyone challenging her opinions. She unfurled her fan, whipping up a breeze to cool her reddened cheeks. “I suppose I should not be surprised, Mother. You never have exercised enough control over your granddaughters. If you are not careful, Lily will become a spinster and rely on you to provide for her the rest of her life.”

  Grandmother stepped closer to Lily and took her hand. “You’re being ridiculous, Dahlia. Lily is barely eighteen years old. She has plenty of time to choose a husband.”

  “That might be true if we were speaking of Camellia. But Lily is no raving beauty.”

  If she had not been so numb, Lily supposed the cruel words would have hurt.

  “Lily has a great deal to offer any man lucky enough to win her affection.” Grandmother’s defense had the same effect as Aunt Dahlia’s attack.

  “Win her affection?” Aunt Dahlia blew out a harsh breath. “It’s not as though the whole town is lined up at my niece’s door. As far as I know, she doesn’t have a single suitor.”

  Lily wasn’t surprised at her aunt’s remarks. It was true. No perspective beaus were knocking down her door. And why should they? Although she expected to inherit a respectable dowry from her grandfather, the bulk of his money and his entire estate would go to Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Phillip.

  And Lily had never been under any misapprehension about her looks. She was too short to be considered fashionable, and her waist was several inches thicker than her middle sister’s. Instead of Camellia’s changeable blue gaze or Jasmine’s exotic violet irises, she boasted dull brown eyes that refused to sparkle no matter the number of candles in a room. Her hair was lifeless, too. No long, fat ringlets for her. Instead, Lily had to be satisfied with a sensible bun at the base of her neck.

  Aunt Dahlia snapped her fan shut. “Luckily for you and Lily, Phillip and I have not been sitting idly by. I believe we have found a suitable candidate who is interested in courting Lily. He met her at the Champneys’ party, and even though we had to leave unexpectedly, he has assured Phillip he finds my niece acceptable.”

  Clarity struck Lily with the suddenness of a lightning bolt. Her stomach clenched. The man from the party. The old man. She could stomach her aunt’s unflattering assessment of her chances to find a husband, but she refused to consider linking herself to a man who was at least twice her age.

  Grandmother drew her shoulders back. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dahlia Leigh. We are still grieving. All but you. You and your husband are both too busy trying to take over the estate.”

  “That’s not it—”

  “Stop right there, Dahlia.” Grandmother pointed her fan at Lily’s aunt. “I have listened to you, and now you will pay me the same courtesy.” When Aunt Dahlia said nothing, she continued. “Have you forgotten that you told me the Champneys’ son danced with Lily? She lacks none of the social graces, and while she may not be a raving beauty, she has many admirable qualities.”

  Lily was thankful for her grandmother’s defense, but part of her wished she were as beautiful as either of her sisters. Why did she have to be the one with admirable qualities? As young as Camellia was, men were already drawn to her whenever she was in public. Ashamed of the envy trying to take root in her heart, Lily tamped down her thoughts and concentrated on her relatives.

  “Even if you were right, Dahlia, which I do not for one moment believe, Lily will always have a place of honor in my home.”

  “Surely you’ll not reject this man before you meet him.” Expecting an explosion of rage from her volatile aunt, Lily was surprised at the reasonable tone of her words.

  A sigh came from Grandmother. “I suppose you may invite him to visit my home, but that is all.”

  “Of course, Mother.” Aunt Dahlia kissed Grandmother on the cheek and turned to retrace her steps back to the porch, her strides long and purposeful.

  “That must be the attorney arriving.” Grandmother’s voice drew Lily’s attention to a carriage that had arrived at the front steps just ahead of Aunt Dahlia. “I suppose we should go in and hear what he has to tell us about your grandfather’s will.”

  After a few steps, however, she turned back to Lily. “I don’t want you to worry about your aunt’s plans. She has no say in the running of the household. I promise you she will not force you into a loveless marriage.”

  Lily nodded, but a new worry took root as she watched her grandmother’s unsteady steps across the front lawn. She might always be welcome in Grandmother’s home, but one day Grandmother would join Grandfather in heaven. While she prayed that day would be far in the future, what would happen to her then? Would her aunt and uncle be as loving toward her? Would they allow her to live with them, or would they expect her to find another home?

  And what about her little sisters? What if they had not yet found men they wished to marry? Would they have to accept the first offers that came their way?

  She would not—could not—allow that to happen. Her sisters had to be protected … no matter what.

  Chapter Seven

  Blake looked up at the fancy sign boasting a picture of a stern-wheeler with the words Champney Shipping emblazoned below it. It hung on the facade of an equally fancy building and seemed to fit with the self-assured owner he had met so recently. A much more shrewd businessman than the son, Jean Luc. But he was ready for this meeting, ready to describe his plans to his new business partner.

  Funny how things turned out. When he had finally received the deed, he had been disappointed to learn that it represented only half ownership of the Hattie Belle—49 percent to be precise. He wondered if it galled Monsieur Champney to be in business with a gambler as much as it galled him to find he was not the sole owner.

  After some time angrily pacing the contours of his room, Blake had realized the situation could be salvaged. Partial ownership was better than nothing. From that thought came an idea to present a plan to Mr. Champney. The man would be a fool to turn down easy profits. With his knowledge of the gaming world, all his partner had to do was sit back and reap the profits.

  Blake twisted the polished brass knob sharply, entering the main room of Champney Shipping with a firm step. His gaze rested on a narrow-shouldered clerk sitting behind a polished oak counter. “Good morning.”

  The man looked up and adjusted his spectacles. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I’m here to see Mr. Champney.”

  The man frowned and glanced over his shoulder toward the door that must lead to the owner’s office. “Do you have an appointment, Mr …?”

  “Yes.” Blake tapped the rolled papers into his open palm. “He’s expecting me to come by with this proposal.”

  “If you’ll wait here a moment.” The clerk slid off his stool and knocked on the door to Mr. Champney’s office. After a moment, he opened it a few inches and spoke to someone inside. When he turned back to Blake, his face held a warmer expression. “You may come in, sir.”

  Blake stepped around the end of the counter and entered the room, his heart beating hard. Was it excitement or dread? Probably both.

  A thick carpet cushioned his footsteps, its rich burgundy and navy colors a pleasing contrast to the oak-paneled walls of Mr. Champney’s office, walls that were interspersed with tall mahogany bookshelves. This was luxury. His gaze wandered over the books and ledgers stored inside the office before finally resting on Mr. Champney’s desk. Ornately carved and larger than a formal dining table, the desk was situated between two floor-to-ceiling windows that command
ed a spectacular view of the river below.

  “I didn’t understand your note exactly, Mr. Matthews, but I have a little time to listen to your proposal.” Mr. Champney’s cultured voice focused his thoughts.

  He could be impressed by the man’s property later. For now he needed to impress Mr. Champney with his plans for the Hattie Belle. Blake cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I was cryptic.” He moved forward and placed his roll of papers on one polished corner of the desk. “I have some ideas I think will interest you.”

  “Captain Steenberg mentioned you had visited the Hattie Belle several times this week.”

  “I don’t plan to be a silent partner.” Blake unrolled his plans with a flourish. “I know you are much more familiar with the shipping business than I, but I have some knowledge of other areas you may be lacking. I am hoping to combine our strengths and make the Hattie Belle more profitable than you ever dreamed.”

  “You have my complete attention.” Mr. Champney leaned forward. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Most of your expenses with the Hattie Belle come from moving her up and down the river with heavy loads of goods?”

  “Yes, but that’s what shipping is all about.”

  “What if you didn’t have to move her at all? What if you could make just as much money from her here in Natchez, maybe even more?”

  A frown creased the older man’s brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “For the past six months, I’ve been running a profitable business from the main deck of the Lucky Lucy. My proposal is to create a luxurious, floating casino that would rival the gambling houses of Europe. We could reserve a couple of staterooms for those who come a distance to play at our tables, but the rest of the boat would be dedicated to games of chance.” His words came faster. “I have always run fair games, so our reputation would spread like wildfire. Everyone would be welcome—planters, farmers, traders, anyone who has a little money to spend on entertainment. We’d fill every floor of that boat with people who want a chance to leave with more than they had.”

  “You certainly seem passionate about this.” Mr. Champney sat back.

  Blake wanted to press the point, but he had learned early in his career not to push someone too hard. Allowing a man to make up his own mind generally yielded the same result without any hard feelings. So he waited.

  “I find your proposal interesting if unusual, Mr. Matthews.” Mr. Champney steepled his hands. “But I don’t know if I want to be associated with the dubious world of gambling.”

  “That’s where I come in. I run a clean ship as I mentioned before. You can check with anyone who has gambled on the Lucky Lucy since I came to town at the beginning of the year. Except for one or two who may be sore about losing at my table, you will find nothing but good reports. I have sent a host of men away winners.”

  “Then how do you make a profit?”

  Blake leaned forward. “There’s a saying in my world, sir. Gambling money always makes its way back home. And when you own the house where it lives, you cannot help but profit.”

  Silence slipped into the room as Blake waited, his confidence building with each second that passed. He was good at reading what a man was thinking. It was one of the reasons he was successful in his chosen profession. He was sure Mr. Champney wanted to throw in with him.

  Champney nodded. “What will it take to put your plan into action?”

  Trying to keep his jaw from dropping, Blake flipped through his paperwork. He might need to work on his divining skills more. Although he had seen the other man’s desire to partner in his venture, he hadn’t expected his wholehearted support. But he might as well take advantage of it. With Champney’s financial backing, he could make the Hattie Belle even more spectacular. She would be a showplace! “I can have you a list by the end of the day.”

  Mr. Champney rose from his desk and held out his right hand. “Ask my clerk for a list of businesses in town with whom we trade. He’ll make sure they extend you credit.” His eyes narrowed, and his grip on Blake’s hand tightened. “But if I have any suspicion you are not being honest with me, our deal will be off.”

  “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I had better not be. I am not a good man to cross, Mr. Matthews. Although it would pain me, I would rather sink that boat than let you take me for a ride.” He released Blake’s hand.

  “I understand, sir.” Blake wanted to stretch his hand but refused to show any weakness. He slowly rolled up his papers and tapped them into a neat cylinder. Let Mr. Champney threaten all he wanted. Soon his new business partner would learn to trust him. Soon the money would begin rolling in. This was going to be a profitable venture for both of them. He was certain of it.

  Chapter Eight

  Aren’t you excited to meet your suitor?” Camellia stood at the window, keeping watch for their dinner guest.

  Lily rolled her eyes and turned slightly, forgetting for a moment the curling iron Tamar was applying to her hair. “I am not.”

  “Hold still, Miss Lily, or you’ll get burned.”

  Lily obediently turned back toward the mirror and made a face at her reflection. “It might be worth it if it kept me upstairs during dinner.”

  Camellia came to stand beside the dressing table. “I wish I could go in your place. I’d adore having a handsome man gazing at me and telling me how beautiful I am.”

  “Oh, Camellia, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Her sister put her nose in the air. “I know Aunt Dahlia said you’ll have to marry Mr. Marvin, or you’ll be a burden to her forever.”

  “Now you be quiet, Miss Camellia. You shouldn’t be repeating gossip, especially hurtful things like that.” Tamar’s fingers twisted the curling rod, pulling it from Lily’s hair. “I’m sure you misunderstood your aunt. She only wants the best for all her nieces.”

  Lily shook her head now that it was free of the hot iron. “I think she’s more worried about her comfort than our futures.”

  “I think it’s romantic.” Camellia sighed. “Do you think he’ll propose tonight?”

  “I hope not.” Lily shuddered. The tight coils Tamar had so painstakingly fashioned began to sag and droop. She felt like doing the same.

  Tamar tsked and reached for the iron once more.

  “Just pull it back like always. No sense in torturing either of us any longer. I still have to put on my hoops and that dress.”

  Camellia reached for one of the hairpins on Lily’s dresser. “Don’t you want to get married?”

  “Of course I do, but marriage is a serious decision, an oath that cannot be broken. When you marry someone, you should be certain he is the right one according to the dictates of the Lord.”

  Tamar put the finishing touches on Lily’s hairstyle and moved across the room to retrieve the hoops that would be fastened over her chemise. “You should listen to your sister, Miss Camellia. She’s very levelheaded. She’ll never let herself be carried away by a gentleman’s looks.”

  Lily wondered if she was as levelheaded as Tamar thought. Her mind went back to the party on the Champneys’ steamboat. Dancing with Jean Luc Champney had been much more thrilling than her dance with Mr. Marvin. She closed her eyes to conjure up memories of that night, surprised when Jean Luc’s dark gaze was supplanted by eyes as azure as a summer sky. Now why had she thought of the stranger who had accosted her before the party? He might have been handsome, but he had also been rude, judgmental, and uncouth.

  Her unruly thoughts were interrupted as the door to Lily’s bedroom burst open and a dark-haired windstorm swept in. “Jasmine.” She stood up and held her arms out in welcome, unwilling to chastise her youngest sister for her lack of decorum. Jasmine was such a happy young lady, taking joy in every moment. As the oldest sister, Lily had a duty to make sure both of her sisters behaved, but she couldn’t bring herself to dampen Jasmine’s pleasure. She was only nine years old, after all.

  Jasmine threw her arms around Lily. “I love you, Sis
sy.”

  Who could resist such warmth? Lily placed a kiss on Jasmine’s forehead. “I love you, too.”

  Camellia crossed her arms. “Aunt Dahlia said you need to stop calling her sissy. It makes you sound like a baby.”

  Jasmine stuck out her lower lip. “It does not.”

  “Tell her, Lily.”

  Lily shook her head. “As long as it’s just us, I don’t see the harm.”

  “You always take her side.” Camellia plopped down at Lily’s dressing table. “I think you love Jasmine more than me.”

  “Don’t you be saying such things about your sister.” Tamar shook out the folds of Lily’s skirt as she spoke. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Miss Lily loves both of you more than anything else in this wide world.”

  Lily held up her arms so Tamar could lift the skirt over her head. “It’s all right, Tamar. I know she doesn’t mean it. Camellia is disappointed because she has to stay up here and entertain Mr. Marvin’s children.”

  “What do you suppose his children are like?” Jasmine had a dreamy look in her eyes. She was probably hoping to meet children her own age.

  Lily often worried that Jasmine had no one to play with. Her youngest sister had been a toddler when Lily lowered her skirts and put up her hair, and Camellia had not been far behind.

  With only three years between them, she and Camellia had shared both their lessons and their dolls. They’d had plenty of skirmishes over the years, but they had also spent hours together pretending and exploring.

  Jasmine had been too young to romp with them. Camellia was six years older than their youngest sister and could have played with her, but she was too fastidious. Sometimes Lily thought Camellia was growing up faster than she was.

  Her heart turned over as she watched them perusing her hairpins. She might get outdone with one or the other at times, but Lily’s sisters were so precious to her. Sometimes she felt as protective as a mother would be. No one else could love them more than she did.