But then the key thing was that her father didn’t even know she was going.
“Did you get the money?” he asked.
She nodded. “I think it’ll be enough. I don’t pay much attention to what things cost.”
Such was the life of the wealthy southern belle. Another reminder that he could never be good enough for her in her time period. In the future, he would stand a chance.
He wondered how long they would be gone. She had said they had two weeks while her father was at their plantation up the river. She’d promised to point it out to him as they passed by on their way to Natchez.
That meant two weeks before he would have the opportunity to walk through the portal again. There was, of course, no way to know, but he had an unsubstantiated gut feeling that the longer he waited, the less likely it would be that he could travel through time again.
He was about to come out of his skin in eager anticipation at seeing his sister again and talking to her about all this time-travel stuff. She had doubtlessly developed her own theories about how it worked. Then again, she was less analytic than he was. Bradley was the one who looked for patterns in everything – the weather, people. Erika tended to just go with her emotions. He wondered what she was doing in this time period. Would she be working as a veterinarian or would she have children? The thought of his sister having a child gave him a weird feeling.
“Bradley,” he heard his name called with impatience.
“Sorry. What?”
“I asked which color cravat you prefer.”
“They look about the same to me,” He smiled with the fact that she had called him by his first name for the first time.
She was holding up a maroon color and a slightly lighter maroon color cravat.
“We’ll take both,” she said, dropping them into the trunk.
“You think like I do,” he said. He watched her with open admiration. Though he’d been distracted by the whole time-travel thing, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
They were becoming better acquainted with each other and he’d discovered that he not only liked looking at her, but he also enjoyed her company. In truth, that was a rarity. It was especially a problem he’d encountered in dating. He’d go out with a pretty girl, but they’d have nothing to talk about. Or he’d go out with an intelligent, decently attractive woman, but he’d have no desire to kiss her.
He was funny about where he put his lips. Always had been. Some guys would kiss girls they had no attraction to and be okay with it, but not Bradley. He’d rather do without than settle with less than an all-around attraction – body and mind. It probably explained a lot about why he was still single.
“Mr. Becquerel. Your head is somewhere else today,” Camille said.
“I’m sorry. I’m distracted, I guess, because I’m excited about getting to see my sister.”
“I understand,” she said, sitting on the settee. “I’d be so excited I wouldn’t be able to sit still if I was on my way to see my brothers.”
When they got to the steamboat, there was a line. They had had their trunks sent ahead by one of the servants.
“Is there always a line like this?” Bradley asked, looking around at the throngs of people, some waiting to board, others obviously just came to watch the boat.
“Sometimes, but I usually have tickets in advance. We could do that and come back tomorrow or the next day if you want to. We could probably get a cabin that way.”
“I don’t want to wait,” he said, glad for the hesitation in her voice. He didn’t care if they had to stand all the way to Natchez.
“I don’t think we’re going to get a cabin,” she said, chewing the nail on her little finger.
Bradley looked at the clear sky, with a few puffy clouds. “The weather’s clear,” he said. “And the temperature is pleasant. We can sit on the deck.”
“For two days?”
“Sure. It’ll be nice.”
She shook her head. “It’s going to rain tonight.”
He looked askance at her, then back to the sky. “What makes you say that?”
“The air is damp.”
Bradley almost opened his mouth to explain that it was humidity and it didn’t mean that it was going to rain. It’s New Orleans, after all. But, instead, he bit his tongue and decided to let it go. She would have no way to know about such things.
After what seemed like an interminably long wait, they reached the ramp leading to the Oronoko steamboat and found that Camille had been right. There were no cabins left. “You still want to go?” she asked again.
He nodded. “We have to.”
After going up the ramp, they climbed the iron stairs to the top deck. Though it was crowded, they were able to find an unoccupied space on one of the benches. “Is there some place to get something to drink?” He was thinking that a bottle of Smart Water would be perfect right now.
“I think so,” she said. “If you want to go see, I can save our space.”
After he stood up, she spread her skirts around her and did indeed cover the space he’d just vacated. He smiled to himself. There were definitely advantages to wearing hoop skirts with voluminous skirts.
“Wait,” she said, before he walked away. “You might need this,” she said as she pressed a coin into his hand.
He took the coin, put it in his pocket, then kissed her palm.
Though he regretted leaving her alone even for a moment, he enjoyed the novelty of being among the passengers. Most people seem excited to be there, many of them possibly riding for the first time. He recognized a few seasoned travelers, mostly older, well-dressed men. It was a hazard of his job as a pilot, he supposed, to be able to distinguish those who were accustomed to travel from those who were not.
There were children running about and couples gazing over the rails. Business men with their heads bent together. It was a fascinating thing to witness.
He made his way through the crowd and went below deck. He finally found a wait staff dressed all in white to ask for a drink of water. The man disappeared, then returned a few minutes later with two glasses of water.
“How far are you traveling, Sir?” the waiter asked.
“To Natchez.”
“Very good, Sir. You’ll be with us for two days then.”
“Two days. Seems like a long time.”
“Oh, yes sir. We have a lot of stops to make along the way.”
“What are we stopping for?”
“We stop for passengers and make deliveries to the plantations.”
“So this is a freighter?” He asked, drinking his glass of water in one long pull.”
“Yes sir. Let me refill that for you, Sir.”
Bradley waited for the man to return with more water. “Where do people sleep who don’t have cabins?”
“Oh, passengers sleep all over the place.”
Bradley thanked him for the water and started back up to the top deck. By the time he made it back, the ship was well underway. Camille sat where he had left her, her back to the crowd, staring toward the shore.
She turned and smiled when he stood in front of her. “It’s crowded,” she said, taking the water from him.
“Very. It looks like we’ll be sleeping here,” he said,
“We’ll need to find a place below this afternoon. It’s going to rain tonight.”
Bradley smiled to himself as he sipped his water, pacing himself this time.
“Does it look like this in your time?” she asked.
Bradley gazed at the banks of the river as they left the city. The river was a mile wide, but the banks were undeveloped. Trees lined the banks where buildings would clutter it in the future. They passed a cluster of small houses, a little community just outside the city, yet in this world, it was so far out, rural even.
“No, it’s much prettier now.”
“How has it changed?” she asked, curiosity furrowing her brow.
How could he possibly explain it? “Ther
e are buildings now, industrial buildings.” She frowned. “Large box-like buildings that are used for storage.”
“Like a barn?” she asked.
He nodded. “Sort of like a barn, only much, much larger, and unsightly.”
“No houses?”
“There are houses. But…” Did he really want to get into electricity? Taking a deep breath, he dove in. “The houses are all connected by wires. The wires are rather ugly.”
“Why on earth would all the houses need to be connected?”
“They use something called electricity. The electricity runs through the wires and provides light and energy to all the houses.”
She sat quietly a few minutes, seemingly sorting out what he had said.
“Light, like candle light?”
“Yes! Exactly. People actually use candles for decoration in the future.”
“Candles are nice. I’m glad people still use them.”
The steamboat began slowing and easing toward the right bank. “What are we doing” Bradley asked.
“We must be slowing at a dock.”
“Already?”
Camille glanced at him, sideways. “This is a long way out by horseback. The boat is so much faster.”
Bradley sipped his water. “I suppose is it.” Someday, perhaps, he would explain the concept of air travel. Or perhaps he would keep that to himself. There were some things that would be overwhelming for anyone to comprehend.
As they neared the dock, the steamboat whistle shattered the air. The air was filled with voices, “Four Twain!” Then later “Mark Twain!” They were on the wrong side of the ship to see what was going on. “What are they doing?” he asked.
“They send a yawl to exchange passengers.”
“A yawl?”
“A smaller boat. The ship can’t get close to the bank.”
“I see,” Bradley said. No wonder it took two days to go up the river from New Orleans to Natchez.
“What else do you have in your world besides this electric city?”
Bradley chuckled. “We have cell phones.”
“What is that?”
An addiction, he thought, fighting the impulse even now to check his pocket for his. “It’s a little box with numbers on it that you can talk to other people with. Each person is assigned their own number. So, you could have your brother’s number, key it into your box, and he would pick his box up on the other end and you could talk.”
“You must be teasing me!” she said, her eyes wide.
He shook his head and fervently wished he could show her. As he thought about it, cell phones had to be the best invention ever created. “We started with phones in our houses. Then a few years ago, they became portable and people could take then wherever they went.”
“I want one,” she decided. “Can you make one for me?”
He laughed. “If I could do that, we’d be famous. I wish I could. But it was a very long process involving a lot of people. And things that haven’t even been invented yet.”
“That’s too bad,” she pouted. “I would love more than anything to talk to my brothers right now.”
“I understand,” he said. And he did. Now that they were on the boat on their way to Natchez, he was ready to see his sister. He had no idea how would find her, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
“So you gave up electric cities that don’t need candles and cells that you can talk to anyone at any time anywhere.”
He nodded. Smiled at her awe.
“What else did you give up?”
He couldn’t even begin to list all the things they had in his world. Things to come. Cars. Planes. Computers. Plumbing. Television. Fast food. Medical care.
“Did you give up anything that you can’t live without?”
“Medical care, maybe,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened. “I can’t imagine the advances that must have been made in medical care. Do people still die?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But they do tend to live longer. Unless they’re in an accident. Or have an incurable disease.”
“Sort of like now.”
“Sort of, except that there are things that can be treated in the future that can’t be treated now.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” he lowered his voice. “It’s not for a lady’s ears, but dysentery.”
She nodded, not in the least shocked. “I know several people who have died from that.”
“I don’t know of anyone who has.”
“Goodness. That’s progress then.” She looked around and must have spotted a landmark that only she could recognize. “We’ll be passing my family’s plantation soon.”
“Really? We’ll be able to see it from the river?”
“Oh yes. It’s quite visible.”
They rounded a bend and the steamboat began heading toward the bank again, this time on their side.
“Oh dear,” Camille said.
“What is it?” Bradley asked, all manner of problems entering his imagination. He remembered reading about the frequent steamboat explosions.
“We’re going to be slowing at my family’s dock.”
And sure enough, the boat slowed and veered a little toward the land, the sounder measuring with his leather strap and calling out “Four Twain!” A large white plantation home came into view. As they got closer, Bradley could see that larger was a gross understatement. The house was a large three story mansion surrounded by balconies all around, as well as Greek columns, all shaded by huge oak trees.
A man on a horse waited at the dock, as well as several servants. They had crates waiting to load onto the boat.
Camille ducked behind Bradley. “That’s my father,” she said.
“I don’t think he could recognize you from here.”
“I don’t want to risk it,” she said.
Bradley watched as the servants loaded the crates on the boat and then returned with other crates. “What’s in the crates?” he asked.
Camille glanced toward the bank. “Sugarcane to sell and other various supplies to be dropped off.”
Bradley found the whole process fascinating. “Is it a barter system?” he asked.
“Oh no. My father sells his sugar cane and cotton to the highest bidder. He orders supplies from the city or wherever he gets them at the lowest cost possible. He has a lot of mouths to feed.”
“Mouths? You mean your family?”
“My family and also the slaves. They have their own gardens, but it’s not nearly enough for them to be self-sufficient. My father has to make sure they’re fed and have clothes to wear.”
“Wait,” Bradley said. “Your family owns slaves.”
“Of course. Not very many. We have a few servants at the townhouse – Marcus and Lizette, and the cook that he pays, but most of the slaves are here at the plantation.”
He watched the activity on the banks. Watched Camille’s father sitting on a horse overseeing the work.
“What did you think we did for labor?”
“I thought you had servants.”
“They are servants. It’s just we take care of them.”
“But they’re slaves.”
“We’re fortunate to have them,” she said. “Most land owners don’t. My father keeps them rotated. Once they’ve been with us for ten years, he gives them his freedom. The slave and their family. He never separates families.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“Very. I think of them more as servants. Because really, they become part of the family.”
“But you bought them and you own them.”
“We pay for their services up front, yes, but we take care of them and let them go if they want to. A few stay on and we pay them wages. Like the servants.”
Bradley was having a hard time wrapping his head around what she was telling him. She was telling him in one breath that her father owned other people, but in the same breath, that they were merely taking care of them and allowing th
em to buy back their freedom.
She seemed ready to defend their custom. “I know most people don’t have servants. Or own slaves as you put it, but it’s the only way we can get the work done.”
“You could hire people.”
“And who would we hire? People can’t be trusted to get the work done. Our servants are loyal and anyone of them would give up their life for us.”
“You think of them as paid help,” he said, trying his best to keep an open mind.
“Yes. They are paid. They are paid in food, clothing, and a stipend when they are set free. There’s a misperception about how it all works.”
“But most people don’t free their slaves after ten years.”
The yawl returned and the ship headed back up the river. “Most people aren’t as successful as my father either.”
Bradley would have to give this more thought. He reminded himself that he was in 1838.
Things were different here in this time. I mustn’t be judgmental.
“You’re judging us,” she said, appearing to read his mind. Or perhaps she’d been judged before and knew what it was like.
“No,” he shook his head. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“You have no idea what it takes to run a plantation. It would be impossible to do it without help.”
“I’m not trying to disagree. It’s just a foreign concept for me.”
“You don’t have slaves in your time?
“Geez. No. The outrage would be insurmountable. Every man is free. And women too.”
“I wonder what brought that about,” she mused.
Bradley refused to tell her about the horrific war that would destroy her way of life. Perhaps the tavern could be their salvation. Surely they could continue to hire people to work at the tavern, if not at the plantation
“We should start looking for a place to spend the night,” she said.
“Because of the rain,” he said.
She nodded. Smiled. She knew he didn’t believe her. By the time they gathered up their things and started to go below desk, a raindrop landed on the back of Bradley’s hand. He looked up at the dark clouds and vowed never to doubt Camille again. All his training in the study of meteorology as well as his training in aviation and it had taken someone who didn’t even know what the Weather Channel was to predict this rain shower.
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