"Over there"—he pointed again—"you can see some of his steamers, which operate between here and Montgomery. The trip takes two days, and the boat stops about two hundred times to load and unload passengers, grain, flour, meats, lumber, liquors, tobacco, cotton, and corn. Every possible sort of household item and luxury finds its way upriver to consumers."
"Is my father here somewhere?" Raven glanced around uneasily. She did not want to meet him unexpectedly; she wanted time to prepare herself.
"No. As I told you, he's sick at his plantation upriver. But even if he weren't, he wouldn't be here. I can't remember the last time Ned came to Mobile. He's got people to run things here, and he'd rather devote his time to the racking horses."
"Racking horses." Raven sniffed with disdain. "A horse is a horse, but he thinks he has found something special."
"When you see them, you might think so too," Steve remarked fondly. "Especially Starfire."
"Starfire?"
"Your father's horse. I told you about him, how no one has ever been able to ride him except your father. He's the most magnificent animal I've ever seen. And he doesn't throw him when somebody whistles," he added with a grin.
Raven ignored him. She was getting good at that, she realized, lifting her chin and turning her head in dismissal of his sarcasm. "He's still just a horse," she muttered under her breath. "I could probably ride him if I wanted to, which I don't."
The town lay at the head of an open bay and ran along the edge of the water north and south. The streets were long and broad, paved with oyster shells. The main avenue—Government Street—was lined with shops offering the latest goods from New York, London, and Paris.
Steve could see Raven was impressed, but not overly so. "Seems to me that a girl raised like you were would be excited about having all this handed to her."
She blinked uncertainly.
"All this," he repeated with an exasperated wave of his hand. "With Ned's money, you can buy anything you want."
"His money. Not mine."
It could be hers, Steve thought, if she'd quit being so stubborn, but he was tired of arguing, glad his job would soon be over.
He reined up and dismounted. Raven did the same. After securing their horses to a hitching post, he led the way to the door of a shop with a sign above that proclaimed BONHEUR BOUTIQUE. Motioning for Raven to precede him, he said, "I don't speak French, but I happen to know the sign means Happiness Shop. We're about to find out if that's true—thanks to your father's money."
Reluctantly, shyly, Raven stepped inside. The air was sweet with the smell of perfume, and as she glanced around she knew she had never been anywhere so elegant. She sank to her ankles in the thick purple rug and thought the walls, covered in a paper of pink and peach-colored roses, looked like a garden that stretched forever. There were tufted white velvet chairs and settees and ornate vases and flowers and more flowers.
Steve stood back and watched, pleased by her reaction. She would find out soon enough how money could open a lot of doors, though he personally had never worried about having any. As long as he had a roof over his head when it was raining, food in his belly when he was hungry, a good horse to take him where he wanted to go, and a firm-feeling woman when he had a yen, he needed nothing else—except, he was struck with a sharp pang to admit, there were times when he wished he had roots. Once Ned was gone, he knew that longing would only intensify.
A tiny silver bell above the door had tinkled when they entered, and a few seconds later the lace curtain at the back of the shop parted and a woman appeared. She wore a blue taffeta gown, and her dark hair was pulled back in a snood. Little round glasses perched on the end of her pointed nose. Her expression, at first, was pleasant, but, seeing Raven, her hand fluttered to her throat and she said, "I believe you are in the wrong shop."
"I don't think so." Steve gave her a lazy smile. Removing his hat, he walked over to settle on one of the pink velvet settees. "We're here to buy some happiness—like your sign says. And I'd like for you to fix this little lady up with a few nice gowns."
"Uh—" The woman hesitated to say it but finally blurted out, "Sir, this is a very expensive shop."
"Money is no object."
The woman looked as if she might faint.
Raven turned to Steve and said, "Let's go."
"Not till you get your clothes." He frowned at the woman. "Maybe we'd better talk to the owner."
Stiffly, she informed him, "I am the owner—Madame Bonet—and I assure you, sir, that I have nothing that the young"—she nearly choked on the word—"lady would be interested in."
"Well, you never can tell. Bring out what you've got, and we'll decide."
"But you don't understand, monsieur. We don't cater to"—she lowered her voice to a scornful whisper—"quadroons. I will appreciate your taking your business elsewhere."
"She's not a quadroon. And I don't think you know whose money we're spending here. Does the name Ned Ralston mean anything to you?"
"Of course," she said uneasily. "He owns this building."
"That's what I thought. Now will you please do as I ask, or would you like Mr. Ralston to come in so you can refuse him personally?"
She paled. "That won't be necessary. I'll be glad to help you." She fled back through the curtains.
Raven started to protest again, but Steve waved her to silence. "She'll break her neck serving you now, so relax."
"But what did she call me? What is a quadroon?"
"A woman of color. One quarter Negro. Your skin is darker than most, and she made a mistake. So you see?" He winked. "I told you no one would guess you're half Indian."
"But—"
"Relax. I'm going to go have a beer or two, and when I come back I'm sure I won't even know who you are."
And when he returned a few hours later, he almost didn't.
Raven was standing in the middle of the pink and white room but easily outshone the magnificent surroundings. Her hair, washed and styled in ringlets by a coiffeur hastily summoned by Madame Bonet, shone like the raven's wing for which she was named. She was wearing a pardessus—a jacket—of green silk taffeta over a separate skirt. A satin ribbon of the same color adorned the jacket and the flounce of the skirt. The upper arms were embellished with a false cuff of net with fringe, and she was carrying a lace scarf and a parasol to match the fabric and lace edging of her costume.
"Do you like it, monsieur?" Madame Bonet rushed forward to dust away a tiny piece of lint from Raven's skirt. "The vivid green color is the latest from Paris and popular because of the recent invention of aniline dyes.
"Mademoiselle found several things she liked," she hastened to tell him. "There are a few alterations to be made, but I have two of my best girls working on them now."
"Have everything finished and delivered to the hotel by tonight and send the bill to Mr. Ralston. Here's a deposit." He threw down some bills.
Raven had already left the shop, wanting to enjoy the beautiful blue and gold day dressed in such a fine outfit.
He was about to follow after her when Madame Bonet touched his sleeve and said, with a faintly conspiring smile, "I am sorry I misunderstood when you first brought the lady in, monsieur. Mr., Ralston has good taste. He has the ability to see the rose among the thorns. Feel free to bring his mistresses to my shop anytime."
Steve tipped his hat and grinned. "Oh, she's not his mistress, she's his daughter. But I'll be glad to give him your message."
This time, Madame Bonet did swoon with shock.
And Steve just continued on his way.
Chapter 10
Raven was determined not to let her excitement show, but it was hard. After all, she had never owned more than one dress at a time in her life, much less even dreamed of wearing such creations as the ones from Bonheur Boutique. And, of course, she'd never had her hair styled either.
But even more delights were in store.
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw her hotel room. The bed was
huge, with a covering stretched above it on poles like a giant flattened tepee but made not of animal skin but a pretty fabric as soft as the gown she had on, in a shade of pink to match the cloth covering the bed.
Slowly, she walked about to marvel over the table draped in dainty ruffles of white lace with a mirror edged in gold hanging above. One wall was nearly covered by a huge piece of furniture she assumed was supposed to be used for hanging clothes, although she wondered who would ever have enough to fill it.
There were rugs on the floor, and fresh flowers sitting on the washstand next to the pitcher and bowl. Two large windows looked out on the street below. In the distance, she could see the waterfront, with large ships anchored offshore and smaller ones at the docks.
It was a busy place, with people scurrying about, and Raven felt a thrill to be a part of it—if only for a little while. Soon she would go back to Texas, then on to Mexico, but while she was here she wanted to see and do everything, for it was a world she could visit... if not embrace.
She found herself wondering about the kind of life she might have lived had her father not abandoned her. While she had not yet seen his plantation, she was sure she would prefer it to the city. There would be horses and wide-open spaces, which was all she needed to make her happy. Fancy gowns and fancy restaurants had their place, but she could not imagine going about dressed every day in finery and spending her time sewing or reading poetry and doing other feminine things—like riding a horse sideways; she wrinkled her nose in disgust to imagine that. She'd seen women riding that way and thought it ridiculous.
Looking down at the ladies walking along the boardwalk, she knew beyond doubt that, if left to their own resources in the wilderness, they could not survive. Not a one of them, she wagered, could defend herself. In the face of danger, they would scream or faint or do both. And certainly they did not know how to make a rabbit snare or carve fishhooks and make fishing lines.
Feeling smug, she dropped the lace curtains and turned to glance again around the room. She would enjoy sleeping in the big soft bed, if only for a night. Steve had said they would get an early start in the morning and hope to arrive at Halcyon by midday. She would then meet her father and, as politely as possible, hear what he had to say. Then, after resting a day, she would put on her scout uniform, which was tucked away in her saddlebag, leap on Diablo, and ride away to leave her father and the life she might have had behind.
Putting Steve out of her mind, however, was going to take some doing.
He had left her in the hotel lobby, saying someone else could see her to her room because he was going to get a bath and a shave. He had suggested she rest a spell, because he was taking her out for a nice dinner. "At one of those places we couldn't go to before," he had added with a wink.
Raven often wondered what he would think if he knew the effect he had on her in those light, teasing moments. Sometimes she had to turn away, lest tremble at his nearness.
A knock on the door tore her from reverie. She hurried to answer. Then, blinking at the stranger standing there, she whispered uncertainly, "Steve?"
He was wearing a new outfit—a blue silk shirt with a string tie, navy blue coat, matching trousers, and a new felt hat, which he removed in a sweeping gesture. "I'm afraid so. I should apologize for letting all the trail dust cake up and make me look like a field hand."
"No, no. You always looked fine, really." She fell silent, embarrassed to be so ill at ease, but he was more handsome than ever, and the warm ripple quickly became a hot wave that rolled from her head to her toes. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble."
"Of course I did, because I wanted to take you out for a nice evening." He held out his arm to her. "Ready?"
Hoping her hand would not start shaking, she slipped it in the crook of his arm and nodded past the nervous lump in her throat.
* * *
All eyes were upon them as they entered the hotel dining room, and Raven tensed. "I knew it. They can tell I'm a half-breed and they don't want me here."
"Will you stop it?" With his free hand, he squeezed her fingers that were digging into his arm. "You don't look Indian at all. French Creole, maybe. But that's not why they're staring."
"Then why?" She found it terribly unnerving. Most of the men had a smile on their lips, while the women seemed almost hostile. "Do they think I'm your quadroon?"
"A quadroon isn't a thing," he corrected her, amused. "It's a woman who's one-fourth Negro, remember? And it's nothing to be ashamed of, at least not in my opinion. As for these folks, the men think you're ravishing, and the women are justifiably jealous."
A waiter in a white coat and black trousers showed them to a linen-covered table. A bowl of fragrant gardenias was in the center.
Raven was still unnerved by all the attention, but gradually that faded. Then her unease came from being faced with having to get through the meal without making a fool of herself. There was a bewildering number of glasses and dishes and silverware on the table, and she did not know what any of them were for. She knew nothing of glasses with long stems and eating utensils of different sizes and types. She would have to watch Steve and imitate him.
As they ate, he made small talk about the city. He told her that Mobile was outranked as a cotton port only by New Orleans, Savannah, and Charleston.
She pretended not to care when he bragged about her father and how he owned a regular line of packets, ships of the first class, to run monthly back and forth to New York. She felt like telling him that the fact her father was rich and successful made him no less a liar and scoundrel in her eyes.
When they were served dessert—a chocolate and cream concoction that made Raven's mouth water just to look at it—Steve asked bluntly, "Well, so far how do you like what could be your new life?"
Snappily, she informed him, "It's not going to be my new life. But quite frankly, I can't help thinking how my mother might have liked living here, had my father kept his promises."
"Do you really think she would have adjusted? Remember, while you've grown up in a white man's world, she was raised Indian."
"My mother was a very intelligent woman. She could have adjusted to anything. If my father thought otherwise, it's because he wanted to."
Steve had not wanted the conversation to go this way, but since she had brought up the subject, he dared ask, "But didn't she love the man she married at all? From what little I've heard about Seth Greer, it appears he was good to her."
"He was. He was also good to me. But goodness doesn't always make up for love, and my mother just loved my father so much she was never able to put him out of her mind. She died calling his name. I'm just glad Seth wasn't there to hear. It would have hurt him deeply, because even though he had to know my mother still loved my father, he didn't deserve to hear her confirm it with her dying breath."
"I guess not. But your father did have reasons for what he did, and he'll tell you what they were."
"I'll hear him out, but that's all. Then I'm leaving."
Steve pushed the chocolate concoction away and reached for the after-dinner brandy. Thinking of Raven and Ned's first meeting made him need a drink.
He hoped it would go well. He could understand Raven's resentment, but for Ned's sake he hoped she would not be too rough on him. "You know he wants you to have almost everything he's got. The least you could do is think about it instead of cutting off your nose to spite your face, as the saying goes."
Raven also pushed the dessert away. It was no longer appealing. Nothing was—except getting the meeting over with and leaving afterward. "Hating him as I do includes hating his money and everything he owns. I only came because you made me, remember?"
Steve set his jaw as ire rose. "What Ned did in the past doesn't matter. Maybe he shouldn't have made promises to your mother that he didn't keep, but that's over and done with and he can't undo any of it. All he wants now is to try and make things right with you before he dies. If you want to turn your back on him and walk out on everyt
hing he's offering, that's your loss. But I'm not going to let you hurt him, understand? For whatever time he's got left in this world, you're going to leave him in peace. Keep your mouth shut and let him tell you how sorry he is. Let him tell you he loves you. And when he dies, you can go, but while you're here, swallow your bitterness and hatred, understand?"
"I told you I have no intention of staying. He could live for months."
"He won't, but you aren't leaving while he's alive, because he doesn't deserve to have you walk out on him in his final days."
She jutted her chin stubbornly. "I'll run away."
His smile was almost sinister. "No, you won't."
"And what makes you think so?"
His tone softened. "Because I know Ned and I think I know you, and you're not as tough as you want people to think you are. Frankly, after you meet him, I don't think you'll be able to keep on hating him."
"You're real sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Steve didn't answer. He was not sure of anything anymore, except that he wanted Ned to have a peaceful death, if possible. That, and the fact that he needed to get away from Raven before he yielded to temptation and found himself embroiled in a situation it might be difficult to get out of. Something told him that if he ever made love to her, he would not be able to walk away. He needed to get her off his mind, stop thinking about how good it had felt to kiss her, how nice the feel of her body was against his, and the way to do that was to pay a visit to the waterfront. He knew lots of women there who could easily distract him.
"Are you finished?" he asked, an annoyed edge to his voice as he got to his feet.
Raven also stood. "Yes. I'm tired, and I'd like to go to bed. I'll find my own way to my room, thank you." And with a swish of her skirts, she breezed out, this time oblivious to the stares.
She hurried across the lobby and up the stairs to her room, slamming and locking the door, her heart pounding fast, but not from exertion. It was Steve's changing his mind about letting her go that agitated her. It wasn't fair. But at least he did not suspect he was actually the reason she wanted to get away as quickly as possible. And she could not let him know that, could not let him suspect how he made her feel.
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