Emma's River

by Alison Hart

  Emma gritted her teeth and hauled the bucket onto the deck, spilling water everywhere. She scrambled to her feet. The front of her pinafore was wet and streaked with dirt. As she carried the water back to the pen, her boots squished and the bucket banged against her side.

  When she reached Twist’s pen, she stopped dead. One of the oxen had lain down in front of the stall, its mountainous back pressed tightly against the door. Emma’s shoulders sagged. She would never be able budge such a beast. And she wasn’t strong enough to climb into the pen carrying the bucket. “Pox on you, Patrick O’Brien,” she muttered. It was completely his fault.

  She swiped tears of frustration from her eyes, determined not to give up. “Good day, Mister Ox,” she said cheerfully. “May I use you as stairs?”

  Without waiting for the beast’s reply, Emma stepped onto the ox’s hind end. Quickly, she scrambled high onto its slippery back. Then, with a grunt, she heaved the bucket over the door.

  Suddenly, the huge animal rose to its feet, hoisting Emma into the air. The bucket dropped to the stall floor as she tumbled into the pen. She landed hard against the side wall, her legs under Twist’s belly. Dazed, she lay there for a second.

  Twist peered curiously at her. “I’m all right,” Emma told him as she tested out her arms. They would be sore but no bones were broken. Her gaze went to the bucket and she sighed with relief. Not all the water had been lost.

  With her back propped against the wall, she pushed to her feet. Then she inched around to Twist’s tail, stepping in the manure. Grimacing, she dragged the bucket to the pony’s head.

  Emma blew out a weary breath. It was late, and she was bruised and battered. Even worse, tomorrow she would have to do this all over again.

  The thought made her fume. Then she came up with an idea. Perhaps she could wheedle a coin out of Doctor Burton. Then she could pay one of the other immigrants to watch over Twist. Surely they would be grateful for the job. But could she trust another stranger to care for her pony?

  No. She’d have to come up with a different plan. Maybe Kathleen could be persuaded. Emma could watch over Mama while the maid cared for Twist.

  As Twist drank, Emma patted him good-bye. “I’ll think of something,” she told him.

  Moments later, she was trotting along the veranda toward her stateroom. There were no sounds coming from the main cabin, and most of the lanterns had been snuffed. Emma knew it was past her proper bedtime. She prayed that Mama would be asleep and Doctor Burton was still away gambling.

  When she reached the stateroom, she eased open the door and listened. She heard soft breathing. Hurrah, her mother was asleep. All she needed to do was sneak inside, change into her nightgown, and toss her ruined clothes overboard.

  But as she stepped into the stateroom, her wet boot hit a bulky mound stretched across the doorway. Pitching over it, Emma landed hard on the floor.

  “Sorry, miss!” Kathleen rose from where she’d been lying. A blanket covered her shoulders like a shawl, and she blinked sleepily at Emma.

  Emma put a finger to her lips, her gaze flying to the lower berth. “Shhh. I don’t want to wake Mama.”

  “Ah, yer mum won’t wake. She took a dose of sarsaparilla.” Kathleen clutched the blanket tighter. “What’re ye doing coming in so late?” she whispered. “Are ye all right?”

  Emma frowned. She wasn’t about to explain her whereabouts to a servant. “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. Her palms stung where she’d caught herself and her limbs now had bumps on top of the bruises. “What are you doing lying in front of the door?” she asked.

  Kathleen looked flustered. “That’s where I sleep every night. I did not mean to trip ye.”

  “No matter.” Emma stood up, shivering, cold in her damp clothes. “Bring me some wash water, please.”

  “Yes, miss.” Kathleen dropped the blanket. She was still wearing her uniform. Plucking her cap from a peg, she placed it on her tousled hair, which had escaped from its bun.

  “There’s still some warm water,” Kathleen said, pouring half a pitcher into the bowl. “We’ll get ye washed in no time. As for yer dress and pinafore …” Her voice trailed off as she cast a sidelong glance at Emma.

  “Could you fetch me a cup of hot cocoa, too? Get two cups, one for you,” Emma said, wanting Kathleen to go away. The maid’s gaze was much too curious.

  “Yes, miss.” Kathleen hurried from the stateroom, being careful to close the door quietly behind her.

  Emma stripped to her chemise and scrubbed her filthy hands, neck, and face. She tossed the gray, soapy water into the chamber pot and poured fresh water into the bowl to rinse.

  Mama moaned in her sleep, making Emma jump. What if her mother woke up? What story could she invent to explain her wet clothes and lateness?

  I fell overboard and a deckhand saved me.

  It had worked for Missus Thornrose’s poodle.

  By the time Kathleen came back carrying two steaming mugs, Emma was dressed in her nightgown. “My pinafore, stockings, and dress need to be washed,” she told the maid. “And my boots cleaned and polished.”

  “Yes, miss.” Kathleen handed her the hot chocolate.

  Emma sat gingerly on the end of the berth. Her mother didn’t stir. As Emma blew on the steaming cocoa, she studied the Irish girl, who leaned wearily against the wall and sipped from her own cup. Kathleen’s cap was askew and auburn curls framed her face. Had Doctor Burton enlisted the young maid’s help? Maybe the doctor had given her a coin to tattle on Emma.

  “Is yer chocolate all right, miss?” Kathleen asked, alarm sharpening her face when she caught Emma staring at her. “I can fetch ye another.”

  Yer chocolate? Fetch ye another? Emma suddenly realized that Kathleen had the same color hair and way of speaking as Patrick. Their eyes were similar, too.

  “No, this is delicious. And yours?” Emma asked.

  “Oh, ‘tis a treat.” The maid sighed with delight.

  “You’ve never had hot chocolate before?”

  Kathleen shrugged, as if embarrassed.

  Emma’s eyes widened at the familiar gesture. This girl had to be Patrick’s sister!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kathleen, do you have a brother named Patrick?” The maid startled as if surprised by Emma’s question. “I—”

  Just then Emma’s mother turned over and the quilt slipped to the side. Setting the mug on the edge of the washstand, Kathleen rushed to cover her up again.

  “You do, don’t you?” Emma said. “And he’s a stowaway on the Sally May.”

  Kathleen’s hands shook on the quilt. “Please don’t tell anyone about me brother,” she whispered, unable to meet Emma’s gaze. “He’s a good lad and clever. I hired on to work, but the clerk said Patrick was too young. If anyone discovers he’s a stowaway, he’ll be put ashore.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

  “Thank ye.” Kathleen bustled over to the pile of dirty clothes. “I’ll get these washed tonight, miss, and set them by the stove in the parlor. Then they’ll have a chance to dry.”

  When Kathleen left, Emma finished her hot chocolate. A Cousin Minna–type idea was flitting through her mind. Tomorrow she’d find Patrick and tell him she knew his secret—that his sister was her mother’s maid.

  Then she would inform him that if he didn’t keep taking care of Twist, she’d tell Captain Digby he was a stowaway. That should change Patrick’s rude behavior.

  The plan pleased Emma. She finished her cocoa, then pulled herself into the upper berth. Tiredness swept over her. As she slid her aching limbs under the quilt, she smiled at her clever plan to make sure Twist would be cared for. Cousin Minna would be proud of the sneaky way Emma had solved the problem.

  But as Emma rolled onto her side, guilt pricked her. She wasn’t bossy and snooty like Cousin Minna. And she’d promised Kathleen she wouldn’t tell her secret. But Twist needed hay and water. Perhaps tomorrow, a better plan would come to her. Tonight, however, all she could think of was
sleep.

  * * *

  “Careful, Mama.” Emma held her mother’s elbow as they slowly climbed the steps to the hurricane deck.

  “Yes, Missus Wright, please watch yer step,” Kathleen said behind them.

  “Almost there,” Mister Jenkins said from above.

  It was late morning and the sun shone brightly. Emma had finally convinced her mother that fresh air, not medicine, would clear her head. Doctor Burton had not been in favor of the plan. Or maybe he’d been too deep in his cards to care, Emma wasn’t sure which. But at breakfast, Captain Digby had agreed that the marvelous breezes on the hurricane deck were just what Mama needed and had sent Mister Jenkins to assist them.

  When they finally reached the hurricane deck, Emma said, “Isn’t the river breathtaking?”

  Beside her, Mama nodded, but her face was greenish. “Yes, Emma,” she said as she opened a parasol. “You and Captain Digby were correct. The sun and air are delightful.”

  With Kathleen on one side and Emma on the other, Mama let them steer her to the railing, which she gripped tightly. Mister Jenkins bid them good day. “We will be landing at Jefferson City soon, so I must get back to work. There is cargo to be sorted.”

  “Thank you, Mister Jenkins,” Mama said, sweat shimmering on her cheeks. She was overdressed in her best velvet cloak. White gloves and plumed hat finished her outfit. Emma wore her Sunday best, too—her everyday dress was still damp—and her straw hat to keep off the sun.

  Doctor Burton was escorting Mama and Emma to shore for their stop at Jefferson City. Mama wanted to telegraph Papa, who was still days ahead of them. Emma was torn. Part of her needed a break from river travel. Another part wanted to check on Twist again while the steamboat was docked.

  Emma left Mama in Kathleen’s care and hurried after the mud clerk. “Mister Jenkins, could I speak to you a minute? Julia was saying what a good storyteller you are.”

  Mister Jenkins paused at the compliment. “How nice of Miss Julia to say such a thing,” he said, beaming.

  “She raved. I’d love to hear the tale of Harry Bixby when you get the chance.”

  “Harry Bixby?” Mister Jenkins frowned. “I don’t believe I know that one.”

  “About the boy who disobeyed the ship rules and ventured below?” Emma prompted.

  “No, sorry. But at dinner tonight and I’ll tell you and Miss Julia about—”

  But Emma had already turned to rush back to Mama. So much for Captain Digby and Mister LaBarge telling her the truth. There was no Harry Bixby, so nosy children weren’t put off the Sally May. She would go into Jefferson City with Mama today. Tonight she’d sneak to the main deck.

  And what about her plan? Did she have the heart to tell on Patrick? Perhaps if she only pretended she was going to tell the captain …

  When Emma reached them, her mother was holding tight to the railing, her face still green. “Kathleen, did you bring Mama’s handkerchief?” Emma asked.

  The young maid was staring over the water, eyes wide with wonder. “Yes, miss. ‘Tis here. In my pocket.” Barely taking her gaze off the river, she handed the handkerchief to Emma’s mother.

  “You’ve not seen the river before?” Emma asked.

  Kathleen shook her head. “Not since we boarded. The Mississippi is so grand.”

  “We’re on the Missouri River now. Captain Digby said at breakfast that we’ll reach Jefferson City soon if the water stays calm.”

  “Look, miss!” Kathleen pointed excitedly toward the shore. “I believe it’s an Indian.”

  Emma looked where Kathleen was pointing. A lone man stood on a bluff. He had long black hair in braids and a robe wrapped around his shoulders. “Mama, Kathleen is right,” Emma said. “But where are his feathers, bow and arrows, and war pony?” She’d read frightening stories of Indians in My Boys’ and Girls’ Magazine and Fireside Companion. “Perhaps he’s signaling to a war party waiting up ahead to ambush us.”

  “Ambush us?” Mama frowned. She pressed the handkerchief to her lips. “I do wish your father would stop telling you such horrid stories.”

  The steamboat slowly chugged around a bend. Emma craned her neck, keeping her eye on the Indian, waiting for an attack. But none came. Instead, several ladies pounced upon Mama with greetings and expressions of concern: “Lovely day, isn’t it, Missus Wright?” “How are you feeling, Missus Wright?” Emma quickly grew bored with their chatter. Excusing herself, she made her way to the pilothouse.

  “Good day, Mister LaBarge,” she greeted the pilot from the doorway. “Are we nearing Jefferson City?”

  “Aye, we are, Miss Wright,” he replied. “Are you ready to help me land this whale of a boat?”

  “Yes, sir.” She leaped up the last step and took hold of the wheel. Ahead of them, she could see Captain Digby on the Texas deck roof. He had a megaphone in one hand, preparing to shout directions for landing.

  “Mister LaBarge, did you see the Indian on the hill?” Emma asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Was he not preparing to attack us?”

  He shook his head. “The Indians in this area won’t attack. Too many of them have been wiped out by cholera and smallpox. Others starve on reservations because settlers have taken their land. The rest trade trinkets or beg food to survive.”

  Emma stared at him. Was this true? Then she cocked her head. “Are you telling me another tale?” she asked. “Like the one about Harry Bixby?”

  The pilot chuckled. “So you caught on to us, then? But no, Miss Emma, the plight of the Indians along the river is no tale.”

  “Stop the boat!” Captain Digby suddenly hollered to Mister LaBarge, startling Emma.

  Immediately the pilot rang two bells, one for each paddlewheel, then yelled back, “All stopped!”

  “May I stand fore with Captain Digby?” Emma asked the pilot. He nodded, his attention on the landing.

  Emma trotted across the roof to join the captain. Farms, shacks, and fences dotted the riverbank to the left, signaling that they were getting close to the town. Indeed, she could just make out Jefferson City, a cluster of buildings and houses separated by narrow streets. Townspeople crowded the landing like ants, waiting to board or to pick up mail and supplies. As the steamboat drew closer, they cheered.

  “Back slow, larboard!” Captain Digby shouted.

  Mister LaBarge rang the larboard stopping bell. “All stopped,” the pilot called.

  Slowly, the stern of the Sally May turned toward shore. Emma peered over the edge of the roof. Below, the deckhands waited, lines in their hands.

  Emma watched as the Sally May edged closer to the landing. She aided Captain Digby by keeping watch, and finally, after many commands and much bell ringing, the Sally May was tied fast.

  After thanking Captain Digby, Emma ran back to Mama. Kathleen was guiding her down the steps to the cabin deck.

  “Wasn’t that thrilling?” Emma exclaimed. “Mister LaBarge is a lightning pilot,” she repeated Captain Digby’s boast. “And I helped land the steamboat.”

  “That’s nice, Emma,” Mama said. “Now let’s find Doctor Burton. I must go ashore and telegraph your father.”

  “I know where to find the doctor,” Emma said. “I’ll fetch him and we’ll meet in the cabin circle, by the stairs leading to the main deck.” She sidestepped around Mama, whose bell-shaped skirts nearly blocked the walkway.

  Emma found the doctor in the gentlemen’s area huddled over a hand of cards. “Why, you’ve a pair of aces,” she said, peering over his shoulder. “I would place a large bet if I were you.”

  Sputtering with annoyance, he threw his cards face down. Around the table, the other players chuckled. “Good heavens, child,” the doctor said, his cigar bobbling between his lips. “Can’t you keep silent? You have just cost me a gold mine.”

  “Come.” She tugged on his elbow. “You promised to escort Mama and me into town.”

  “Town?” Doctor Burton checked his pocket watch. “We’re at Jefferson City already
?”

  “Yes, and Mama is eager to be on dry land.”

  “As am I.” Doctor Burton pushed away from the table and rose. “Gentlemen, excuse me, but you have swindled me out of my last dollar for today.”

  He followed Emma to the cabin circle where Mama waited with Kathleen. Doctor Burton offered his elbow to Mrs. Wright, and they all went down the stairs. The main deck was teeming with passengers. Emma glanced around, wondering if Patrick might be unloading cargo with the roustabouts. Then she scolded herself. Why did that annoying boy keep popping into her thoughts?

  She turned her mind to Twist instead. Here she was, getting a break from river travel, while he was still trapped in a tiny stall. If only she could let him out for fresh air and a bite of grass.

  Doctor Burton paused at the bottom of the stairs. A crush of ragged immigrants surged toward the gangplank. “Missus Wright, I cannot jeopardize your safety in this unwashed mob. Let’s wait a moment until the riffraff is past.” He led them to an empty spot next to a stack of cotton bales. Emma stood in front of the doctor, eager to see everything. The smoke from his cigar swirled around her straw hat. She coughed loudly and not very politely.

  Kathleen stood next to her, looking in all directions, as if just as curious. Or, Emma wondered, is she searching for Patrick, too?

  “Kathleen, are you and your brother planning to leave the Sally May here at Jefferson?” Emma whispered, feeling a pinch of worry. If neither of them were on board, who would care for Twist and Mama?

  “No, miss,” Kathleen whispered back. “I’m quitting me job with the steamboat, all right, but I’m staying on until St. Joe. From there we’ll head west to California like ye and yer family.”

  Emma was surprised. “Really? What will you do out west?”

  “I will open a laundry. Miners need clean clothes. I’m thrifty, like me mum.” Kathleen said proudly. “When I make enough money washing clothes, I’ll open a boarding house.”

  “You can do that?” Emma had never heard of a young woman doing such a thing. Even one with a clever brother.