“There is some good news, however. About five years ago, your father put five thousand dollars in an interest-bearing investment account in your mother’s name. Right now the balance is around sixty-one-hundred dollars. Supposing we might clear around two thousand dollars on the sale of the house, and if you withdrew a thousand dollars from this account, with three thousand dollars you should be able to buy a small cottage and have money for food and other necessities for quite awhile. And you would also have the interest from the investment account.”
“How much would that be?” Leah asked sharply. “You said the principal was five thousand dollars?”
“Yes, and it’s invested at five percent. That would give you an interest income each month of a little over twenty dollars.”
Julienne gave a short hysterical laugh, a harsh sound. “Twenty dollars? When we’ve been spending over a thousand dollars a month? That’s impossible!”
“With God all things are possible,” Leah said quietly. “We’ll do whatever we have to do, Julienne, and the Lord will bless us and watch over us, always.”
Julienne looked rebellious but didn’t answer.
Gates rose and said, “Mrs. Norris, Miss Ashby, I’ve told you what I think your options are, in my best opinion. I know you’ll need time to think about all this. I know that Charles kept very good records, and if you can’t find what you need here, just ask, and the bank will answer any questions you have and supply any records you may require. And please, if there’s any way that I can help you, any way at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Leah and Julienne walked him out, and Leah thanked him profusely, while Julienne was merely polite.
“This is worse than I ever could have imagined,” Julienne said as they closed the front door.
Her aunt managed a smile. “We’ll get through it, dear, and we will be a good, strong, happy family again. I know it. The Lord will bless us and watch over us and protect us and even prosper us, if we are faithful to follow Him.”
“That I’ll leave up to you,” Julienne said grimly. She turned on her heel, swept down the hall to her father’s office, went in, and locked the door.
LATE THAT NIGHT, AFTER Roseann had gone to sleep and she had put Carley to bed, Leah went to the sitting room and sat in front of the fire she had instructed Caesar to build. “My old bones are cold even in warm weather these days,” she murmured to herself. “A home fire is comforting anyway, dear Lord, thank You for it.” She took up her Bible and began to read.
Julienne came into the room and sat in the chair beside her, staring at the fire. “I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible all day,” she said in a low voice. She had locked herself in her father’s study and had refused to come out for dinner, or even to read to Carley and put her to bed.
“We all know that you’re so grieved, Julienne, and that the burden of all this trouble has fallen on your shoulders,” Leah said. “We’re your family. We love you, and no one is going to be angry with you.”
“Thank you,” Julienne said softly. Then, rousing herself, she said, “Yes, I understand now that I don’t have the luxury of throwing temper tantrums any more. It’s clearly up to me to manage things from now on. But, Aunt Leah, would you help me, please? I know I’m smart enough to figure out all of this money business, but you’ve been through it.”
“Of course I’ll help you, Julienne,” she answered warmly. “Charles let me help him some, you know, so I think I know more about the household than you do. And you know, I loved my husband very much, and we were happy, but we were poor. I learned how to manage a household, the hard way.” Barry Norris had been in the U.S. Army, and he had died in Oklahoma, fighting Indians.
Julienne smiled a little. “And I need you to teach me, the hard way, it looks like. But there’s something that I wanted to talk to you about. Would you come into the study and look at some papers with me? I mean, truly, Aunt Leah, I want you to go over everything with me, just like I’ve been doing all day, but there is one thing that I especially wanted you to see.”
“Let’s go,” she said.
They went into the study, settled themselves into two comfortable armchairs, and Julienne handed Leah a sheaf of papers. Perusing the top sheet, she murmured, “A title—oh, of course, I had completely forgotten about this. Charles bought a steamer—let’s see, this title is dated 1848, that’s right. The River Queen. Now I remember. She hauled our cotton for a couple of years, but then there was some sort of mishap, and Charles had to dock her.”
“That next paper said the boiler blew up,” Julienne said somewhat fearfully. “But I don’t understand, it didn’t sink?”
“No, I know it didn’t sink,” Leah answered quickly, shuffling through the papers. “Here, let me see . . . no, this report said that the boilers burst, Julienne, but she was towed to Natchez-Under-the-Hill. That was three years ago.”
“Oh,” Julienne said with relief. “When I saw that, I just thought that—that—well, you know what I thought.”
“Obviously they didn’t explode,” Leah said kindly. Thumbing through the papers again, after a few moments she said, “There’s no record that she ever traveled again. But here, look here. Charles wrote notes to himself that he had the carpenters and some workmen drydock her and scrape her and revarnish her every winter. And here’s the harbormaster’s receipts. We’re still paying dock fees every month!”
“So we have a steamer?” Julienne asked in confusion. “But what does that mean?”
“It means that the Lord is showing us a way to deliver us,” Leah said solidly. “And I’m going to believe it’s a miracle.”
“But we don’t know anything about steamboats,” Julienne complained. “At least, I don’t.”
“Neither do I. But Captain Silas Plank does.”
“Captain Plank, Captain Plank,” Julienne repeated in an undertone. “I recall that name. Yes, yes, now I am remembering something about Father being so excited to have a steamer, and having Mr. Plank as captain. But when I found out it was only for freight, I paid no more attention to it. Do you think Captain Plank would help us?”
“I know he would. I remember him well. He’s a fine man, a good Christian man, and he was close to your father. He was at the funeral, though he didn’t address the family since Charles and I were the only ones who ever met him. There are several letters in here from him. The last one was just last month.”
“Does it have a return address?”
“Oh, yes.”
Julienne nodded. “Then I’ll call on him tomorrow. I know this is not exactly gold coins raining down from heaven, but I do feel better, Aunt Leah. I’ll even say a thank-you prayer to God tonight. It may be a short one, and maybe not the warmest prayer I’ve ever prayed, but you’ve influenced me, Aunt Leah.”
“I’m praising Him right now, and believing for a miracle,” Leah said happily. “Julienne, I know that you’re bitter, maybe even angry, toward God right now. But He is just and true and He will never forsake us. In time you’ll come to see that, I know.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Why, I’m glad to see you, Miss Julienne. My, you’ve grown up.” Silas Plank was a hale old man of sixty-eight years. The outdoors life had given him a ruddy complexion, and his hair was snow white. But still there was a life in his eyes, and he leaned forward toward her where he had placed her in a chair and fixed her a cup of tea. “I was so sorry to hear about your daddy. He was a good man. Good to me.”
“He thought a lot about you, Mr. Plank.”
“I’ve thought about those days on the River Queen. If those two boilers hadn’t cracked, I think he could have made a lot of money with it.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Julienne said quickly. “I didn’t quite understand what happened to the River Queen.”
“She was a good, hardworking boat,” he
said solidly, and glanced at her questioningly. “Do you have any idea about how a steamer works?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You seem like a sharp young lady, so I think I can explain it to you. See, you build a fire into these big barrel-like things filled with water, and they have pipes coming out of them. They make steam, it goes through the pipes to the engine, and that’s what powers the boat.”
“I see that,” Julienne said thoughtfully.
“The thing is, see, is that these boilers get real, real hot, and they keep boiling off the steam, and the engineer has to keep adding water to them all the time. But sometimes you can bust up a boiler good. In winter, when the river water you pump in to add to the boiler is freezing cold, and the boiler itself is hot, it cracks the boiler. And that’s what happened to the River Queen. Busted two of her boilers wide open, and we figured the other two would go too. So we just shut her down and had her towed back to Natchez. See, it didn’t explode through the bottom, or blow anything up off the boiler deck roof. It just ruined the two boilers, but then that caused some of the gears and pulleys to jam up and break, and then the paddle wheel stops turning.”
“Captain Plank, do you think that the River Queen could be repaired and put back in service?”
“You know, Miss Ashby, I’ve thought of that, I sure have. And your father and I talked about it. I think it could be done. At least it could have three years ago.” He eyed her shrewdly. “I’ve heard that she’s still anchored down at Under-the-Hill.”
“We think so, though none of us has been down to look at her. But we do know that for the last three winters my father has sent down the carpenter and some workers to drydock her and work on the hull. So we hope she’s still afloat, at least.”
“I’m not too surprised, your father loved that sweet little boat, and I always thought he hoped he could get her going again. Well, I’ll tell you, Miss Julienne. It would be a long shot. It would cost a lot of money to restore that boat, but if it could be put together, and you could get some good help, there’s a lot of money to be made on the river.”
“And we need to find a way to make money, Captain Plank. My family is in a very unfortunate way right now, financially. I really hate to ask you, sir, but would—could you possibly help us with the River Queen? Agree to captain her, figure out what she needs, help us find the parts and the crew to get her on the river again.”
“I wish to goodness I could,” he said vehemently. “I would, in a minute. But what you don’t realize, Miss Ashby, is that you don’t need a captain. A captain’s job is to manage the crew. What you need is a good pilot, that knows a good engineer, and that can get together a crew that not only can manage hauling freight but can make repairs and renovations on the boat.”
“Then can you recommend a pilot? I know that even though you’re retired, you still know everything about the river.”
“It was my life for fifty years. Guess it’ll still be a big part of my life from now ’til I’m gone,” he said with a smile, but then it faded. “But Miss Ashby, did you know that pilots are the highest-paid men on the river? They can demand much, much more than a captain.”
“No, I didn’t know that. How much would a pilot’s wage be?” she asked hesitantly.
Steadily he answered, “Right now they’re making anywhere from one hundred fifty to two fifty a month. It’s real hard to find one for less that two hundred.”
“Two hundred dollars a month!” she exclaimed. “Oh, my goodness, I had no idea.” Her face fell. “Then it’s hopeless. My family can’t possibly afford that.”
He nodded. “I was afraid maybe that was the way it was. I know the bank’s probably not been your best friend since your father passed.”
“No, they haven’t,” Julienne said dully.
“I might know a man, though,” he said quietly. “A pilot. He’s a good pilot, a tough man that knows this old river as good as it can be known. He’s got friends, too, and I think he’d be able to get a crew for you. He’s going through a rough patch right now, so I think he’d help you out for a whole lot less than a pilot’s wage.”
“Really?” She brightened. “Tell me about him.”
Plank’s mouth tightened. “He was piloting a boat when it hit a brand-new snag, one that no one had come up on yet. Tore the hull in two like it was made of canvas. Now, that happens, you know, and usually there’s no blame put on the pilot, especially a good one. But somehow rumors started flying around, and people talked, and word got out he’d been drunk when he was piloting the boat. The owners fired him, and he’s never been able to get past it. He’s been taking jobs here and there as a fireman, maybe just a roustabout. But I think it might help him—and you—to take on the River Queen and get her going again.”
“But is he a drunk?” Julienne demanded.
“I’ll never believe he was drinking when he was piloting,” Plank said with emphasis. “I’ve known the man for years. He’s a river man, he takes a drink, I know. But he’s honest. Dallas Bronte would never take a boat out if he’d been drinking.”
“What! Dallas Bronte!” Julienne repeated with horror.
Captain Plank narrowed his still-sharp blue eyes. “You’ve met him, I take it.”
“Yes, once. Twice. Anyway, he—no, I couldn’t ask him for—for anything. It’s just not possible,” Julienne said in confusion.
“I see,” Captain Plank said, though he didn’t. “Well, then I’m sorry to say that right now nothing else comes to mind, Miss Ashby. I can’t think of another pilot right now that would be in a position to help you.”
For several moments Julienne sat still, confused and upset. I can’t do this! I won’t! But then, as it had so often happened since her father died, she came to the hard realization that she could indeed do it, and she would do it, because she had to. She had no choice.
“Perhaps I was too hasty,” she said to Captain Plank, who nodded knowingly. She continued, “Although Mr. Bronte and I have had some unfortunate disagreements, I can see that really I must at least ask him to help us.”
“And he’ll say yes,” Captain Plank said. “Because it’ll help him too.”
WAKING UP LONG BEFORE daylight, Julienne tossed in her bed. She had slept but little, and now as she finally threw the cover back and began to dress, she found herself as disturbed as she could ever remember. She dreaded the thought of going to find Dallas Bronte and asking him for help.
After putting on undergarments, she found herself staring at her dresses and thinking about what would be appropriate. She had no old out-of-fashion dresses for she gave them away as soon they lost favor. Finally she chose a blue and gray striped, polished taffeta skirt with a white silk blouse, lace ascot with a small stickpin, and a tight-fitting gray jacket. As she sat down before the mirror and began brushing her hair, a memory came of the many times that Tyla had done her hair so well. It was a poignant memory, for she had grown genuinely fond of the young woman. She found the tears rising in her eyes and, picking a handkerchief from her dressing table, she wiped them away and finished fixing her hair, parting it down the middle and putting it into a modest bun at the back of her neck. She couldn’t decide between her blue bonnet or her gray, but then she realized that she didn’t have to be meticulous about her dress, not for meeting Dallas Bronte.
CAESAR DROVE THE BROUGHAM down to Natchez-Under-the-Hill. The only decent looking building down there was the harbormaster’s office, a small dusty brick building with muddy windows. “Wait here for me, Caesar, this shouldn’t take but a few moments,” she instructed him.
She went inside to a musty-smelling cluttered room with two desks piled with papers and books. Through the windows she saw hundreds of dust motes floating daintily in the air. A man with his sparse hair parted down the side, a long nose, small close-set eyes, and sleeve garters looked up and then jumped up when he saw Julien
ne. “Ma’am? Are you lost?”
“No, I’m not lost. I’m looking for a pilot, and a captain friend of mine said he may be registered here.”
“Likely he is,” the man said in a fawning tone. “The pilots always notify us where they are, on what boat, and who is available.”
“I believe this man is available. His name is Dallas Bronte. Has he registered an address with you to be contacted by owners?”
“Well, yes, ma’am,” he said. “So you are an owner? A steamboat owner?”
“I am,” she answered shortly. “I recently inherited a steamer, and if possible I would also like to know where she’s docked. But Mr. Bronte first please, if you could look up his address.”
He gave her a furtive grin. Obviously he had lost some of his awe of her. “I don’t have to look up Bronte’s address. He’s where he always is between jobs. At the Blue Moon.” At her mystified expression he said with a slight leer, “The Blue Moon Saloon and Gentlemen’s Rooms. Right down the street.”
“I see,” she said frostily. “Thank you for that information. Now, my steamer is the River Queen. Can you direct me to where she’s docked?”
“The River Queen? That wreck? She’s all the way down at the end, you’ll have to walk, I’m afraid. Silver Street ends, but the shore goes on around a little corner, and there she is.”
“Thank you,” she said shortly, and turned to leave.
He called, “Why don’t you let me walk you down there, Miss—Miss—” he hinted.
“I hardly think that’s possible, sir. I haven’t been introduced to you, and so therefore I don’t know you. And I don’t believe that I want to. Good day.”
She hurried out and practically jumped into the buggy. “Drive until you see the Blue Moon Saloon,” she called to Caesar.
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