River Queen

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Please stop,” he said harshly. “That was not you, Julienne. I know you now. That was a woman that was in shock, that had lost her best friend in an awful death, that was frightened, and was already half dead. And I don’t want to talk about it any more, except to tell you that I’m so sorry for everything. I would not hurt you for all the money on this earth,” he finished vehemently.

  She dropped her head and furtively wiped tears from her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it any more either, except for this: Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for bringing me home safe. And thank you for your care of me and my family.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said.

  She turned again to watch the river. He rested his hands on the wheel, as the River Queen glided sweetly along. After awhile Julienne said, “If you’ll let me call you Dallas, I’d like for you to call me Julienne.”

  “I’d like that,” he said. Staring straight ahead, he smiled.

  THE WHARVES AT NEW Orleans were not a place that Julienne wanted to linger. Always before she had landed there and had immediately been whisked quickly away in fine carriages to where rich people ate and drank and lived. She stood on the Texas deck, watching the teeming masses of people, carts, horses, and herded livestock below. It was, of course, no better than Natchez-Under-the-Hill, but somehow Julienne felt more vulnerable, even frightened, by the crowds of riverboat men. I suppose Natchez-Under-the-Hill is the devil I know, she thought glumly. Who would have thought that I’d feel some bizarre sort of security there?

  They made the turn into the docks. She saw a big man with a bright red waistcoat strained over a large belly, smoking a stub of a cigar, watching them as they nosed into Slip Number 86, which was on their shipping orders. She felt the paddle wheels stop and the engines slow to silence. Soon Dallas came down the stairs to help lower the landing stages. To Ring he said, “Keep ’em in until I say so.”

  “You bet, Dallas,” Ring said. “But hurry up, would ya? I won’t be sad to see these critters go.”

  Dallas shrugged. “I’ve had human beings that gave more trouble. Some of ’em even smelled this bad.” He walked out onto the dock, and the big man wearing the scarlet vest came at once to see him. “You Bronte?”

  “Yes, sir, pilot of the River Queen. Are you Mr. Pike?”

  “That’s me, here’s my bill of sale from Fender, you can take a gander at it. I brought my drovers, they’ll help you unload.”

  “Sure, Mr. Pike. Here’s the bill of lading. As soon as you pay your freight, we’ll get to it.”

  “I’ll get you paid after they’re offloaded,” Pike said impatiently. “I know my cows are thirsty, and those pigs are losing weight every minute. I’m in a hurry.”

  Dallas pulled himself up to his full six foot, two inches. “That livestock has been well-tended. They can wait until I’ve got my money, sir.”

  Pike’s face grew flushed. “You don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not a matter of trust. It’s business. I’ve got your cattle. You got my money. You give me the money. I’ll give you the cattle. Simple business transaction.”

  Pike stuck the dead chewed cigar in his mouth and growled, “Maybe I’ll just leave them with you.”

  “Fine with me. I got half pay for this trip from Mr. Fender. I’ll just sell them myself, which will cover the rest of the freight, and make me a nice little profit on the side.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said, but now with much less bravado.

  “You just watch me, Mr. Pike.”

  He stared at Dallas and for a moment, it seemed, he would argue more. Then he muttered a curse under his breath, reached into his pocket and pulled out a bankbook. Quickly Dallas said, “We’re not going to be here long enough to go to town and get your draft cashed, Mr. Pike. But I need fuel money for the trip home. It’s going to have to be cash.”

  “Cash!” he cried, his face reddening again. “My draft is perfectly good! I could just leave that bunch of pigs on that boat, you know!”

  “You already said that, and then we decided that you’re not going to do that,” Dallas said with elaborate patience. “Cash, Mr. Pike.”

  Muttering darkly, he pulled a rolled wad of cash out of an inside jacket pocket, licked his thumb, and started flipping bills out of the wad. Dallas watched him closely. He started to gather them up, and Dallas said politely, “Twenty more dollars, Mr. Pike, I see you’ve miscounted. Must have been an accident. Yes, I see that twenty right there, that’ll do it.” As soon as it had been added to the pile, Dallas yanked it out of his hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Pike, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. You can have your pigs now.”

  “That would be ever so kind of you, Mr. Bronte,” Pike said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Dallas turned and walked back up the gangplank, followed by two of Pike’s four drovers. The other two stayed on shore, for Pike had a long line of wagons with high sides to carry the livestock.

  On the Texas deck above him, he saw the Ashby family lining the rail, watching the goings-on. He noticed that Darcy Ashby was dressed to the nines, with a blue cutaway frock coat, silver satin waistcoat with a gold watch chain, iron-creased black trousers, and a black silk top hat. He and Julienne were arguing; at least, he looked angry, and she seemed to be pleading with him. But he had much more important things to attend to, as he came to the main doors of the cargo deck he shouted, “Let ’er rip, Jesse! All the little piggies are going home!”

  The doors opened, and all of the River Queen crew helped the drovers herd the pigs onto the landing stages. It was all going just fine, until it seemed that one fat pink sow with black blotches seemed to lose her senses, and as soon as she came out the main doors she ran right by Jesse, squealing, and launched herself off the boat. She landed right by the side, of course, in the shallow water. But she was heavy, and immediately sunk about six inches, so that the ripples ran over her broad back and lapped up against her chin. She lifted her head and began wailing, a loud squeal that sounded almost like a human cry. Everyone was laughing at the ludicrous sight, including Dallas.

  But then, even through the spectacular ruckus of the docks, he heard Carley screaming. “Dallas! Dallas! She’s drowning, she’s drowning!”

  Quickly he looked up and saw her leaning precariously far over the rickety rail, and her face was wrinkled up with such fear and distress that his heart melted. He looked at the screeching pig; he looked at the crew and drovers. The pig was in no danger, of course, and he knew that Pike’s men would get the pig, she was valuable. But they were all working hard, herding the rest of the pigs on shore and into the wagons. Carley kept screaming that the pig was drowning, and then she started crying.

  Muttering to himself, he stepped off the boat into the filthy water. Wading over to the pig, he bent down, wrapped his arms around her, and tried to jerk her up out of the mud. She struggled but still didn’t come free. “Now listen here, pig,” he growled. “I’ll get you out of this predicament but I’m not carrying you all the way to shore. So shut up and pull!”

  The only thing slippier than a wet pig is a muddy pig, and this pig was covered with slimy Mississippi mud. Dallas pulled and yanked, using every bit of his considerable strength. Finally, with a mucky sucking sound, she worked free. He let go, and she scampered up the shore, and seemingly with relief ran up the ramp into a waiting wagon.

  “You saved her!” Carley shouted gleefully. “Dallas, you saved her! HOOOORRRRAYYY for Dallas!”

  Julienne and Leah were grinning widely, and both of them lost their respectability enough to join Carley and shouted, “Hooray, Dallas! You saved the pig!”

  Dallas pulled himself back onto the deck of the Queen, and as soon as he was out of sight and earshot of the ladies, he muttered a lot of those words that Carley wasn’t supposed to hear.

  Finally the pigs were loade
d onto the wagons. With very little trouble they got the cows offloaded, and with relief all around they watched Mr. Pike and his wagons driving off.

  Dallas turned to Jesse, who was grinning so widely he looked as if his face would split in two. Dallas’s breeches were caked with slimy mud up to his thighs, his shirtfront and sleeves were filthy, and he stank horribly of pig and the disgusting centuries-old muck in the water of the port of New Orleans.

  “Don’t say a word,” Dallas growled.

  “No, sir, I won’t.”

  “All right, I want you to go get Caesar and Miss Libby for me, since I’m not fit to go up to the Texas,” he said with exasperation. “I’m going to send them to town—” He stopped short, his eyes widened, and he slapped his hip. “Oh, no,” he grunted, and yanked the money out of his trouser pocket. Miraculously, it hadn’t gotten wet and muddy.

  Darcy Ashby called, “Bronte! There you are.” He tiptoed across the soiled deck, taking little delicate steps so as not to soil his mirror-shined boots. When he reached Jesse and Dallas, he said to Jesse, “I want you to sweep a path out of this wretched hole, and also sweep off the gangplank. This garbage is going to ruin my boots.”

  Jesse, his smile now gone, looked at Dallas uncertainly. Dallas said evenly, “Go and find Caesar and Libby and tell them to dress to go to town, Jesse.”

  With a furtive glance at Darcy, Jesse hurried off.

  Darcy turned to Dallas and said furiously, “Just who do you think you are? The Ashbys own this boat, and all of you work for us—for me!”

  “You’re wrong about that,” Dallas said, his eyes glinting. “I don’t work for you, I work for your mother and your sister and your aunt. I even work for Carley, as you can see. But I don’t work for you, and I never will. And these men are not your servants. They’re the crew of the River Queen, which means they work for me. Don’t you ever try to order them around again.”

  “I won’t because I’m leaving,” Darcy said sulkily. “I’m going to stay with a friend until this stupid boat starts making some real money so I can get my own flat. Now, give me my share of the money for this haul.”

  “No,” Dallas said flatly. “Until we’ve picked up our return load, and have gotten back to Natchez, we’re not going to know exactly how much we cleared. Your sister told you that. You want some of this money now, you go talk to her.”

  He made an ugly face. “You can’t talk sense to her, she’s gone barking mad. It’s all your fault too, Bronte. I can’t think why she puts so much trust in a river rat and a drunk like you. Well, I’m out of it. Just try to keep from getting drunk and wrecking my boat and killing my family.” This vicious triumphant exit was definitely diminished, however, as he daintily tiptoed out of the cargo hold.

  Dallas watched him, a mixture of disdain and relief on his face. As far as he was concerned, the River Queen would be a much happier boat without Darcy Ashby. Since the day the Ashbys had moved onto the boat, Darcy had done absolutely nothing except sleep all day, demand food when he woke up, dress, go out and get drunk, and come back at all hours of the morning.

  Jesse returned with Caesar and Libby. Dallas asked them, “Do you two know New Orleans? Town, I mean?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Caesar said. “The Ashbys have lots of friends here. We’ve visited plenty of times.”

  “Good,” Dallas said. “I want you to go to the nearest apothecary and tell him you need three barrels of boric acid salts. If he doesn’t have that much, find out where you can get it. And then go to the nearest hardware store and buy a hip bath. And I mean a nice one, a big wide one, a brass one lined with porcelain. And buy two ten-gallon copper pots. Here’s plenty of money. Rent a good sturdy cart.”

  “Yes, sir,” Caesar said. Tucking the money securely in his inside coat pocket, he offered Libby his arm and the two headed for the doors. After a thought, Dallas called after them, “Caesar? You and Libby get you some dinner, or ice cream, or whatever you want. And oh, yes. Get some black licorice.”

  THE CREW, INCLUDING DALLAS, began shoveling the soiled straw from the main deck and loading it into wheelbarrows, then dumping them into a refuse cart. “I don’t want to dump this mess into the river in case I have to go swimming again,” he said dryly.

  “Sure hope no pigs fall in a-drowning again,” Ring chortled.

  It took them three hours of hard work, but they got every piece of straw shoveled up. “We can’t wash it down and clean it good until Caesar and Libby get back with the boric acid salts,” Dallas told them. “So go ahead and take a break. You can go on up to the galley, Libby said she left stuff for dinner. Bring me a plate down, would you?”

  Ring, Willem, and Jesse all went up the stairs. Dallas went out to the deck and leaned against the railing. It squeaked and was loose, and he thought, I’ll sure be glad when we’ve got the old girl fixed up nice again. She deserves it.

  Julienne came to stand beside him. “Hi. Why don’t you come up? The men are eating in the dining room. I’ve decided that it’s silly for you to have to take your food down to that little hole you sleep in. From now on, you eat at the table.”

  “That’s good,” Dallas said warmly. “Thanks, Julienne, I know the men appreciate it. But even I can’t stand the way I smell, that’s why I’m outside. I’m hoping for any little breath of breeze to carry the stink downwind.”

  Julienne giggled, a youthful, carefree sound that Dallas had never heard from her before. “I must admit that you are—fragrant. But it was all in a good cause. You saved the pig from drowning, and though Carley always thought you were the ‘bestest river man she ever saw,’ now she wants to marry you.”

  “Huh. Getting a good woman should be so easy,” he grunted.

  She looked up at him curiously. “You know, I’ve always been meaning to ask you—I mean, it’s really none of my business, I know, but—that is—”

  He turned around, leaning back with his elbows on the rail, to look down at her. “You want to know about Lulie, don’t you?”

  A delicate blush stole over her cheeks, and she quickly looked down. “I have wondered.”

  “It’s not what you think, Julienne,” he said quietly. “I just feel really sorry for her. Did you know that she’s only twenty years old?”

  Jullienne’s head snapped up. “What? But I thought she must be much older than that!” To Julienne, her worn face had looked like a jaded woman of at least thirty-five.

  Dallas shrugged. “She was orphaned, and her aunt and uncle took her in. Her uncle started abusing her when she was thirteen years old. She ran away, and she’s been at the Blue Moon since she was fourteen.”

  “But surely—surely there’s some other way—” Julienne said haltingly.

  Dallas’s face hardened. “A servant? No one would hire a fourteen-year-old without family, without references. Besides, slaves are cheaper. A schoolteacher? She can’t even read. Life is messy, Julienne, and sometimes you can’t fix it. Most prostitutes don’t wake up and decide on that as a career. Lulie sure didn’t.”

  Julienne sighed. “Sometimes I regret the days when I wasn’t aware of such things. I know it’s shallow and selfish, but it’s so hard to understand the evil in this world.”

  “I don’t get it either,” Dallas agreed. “I wish I could find comfort and peace in God like your mother and your aunt and even Carley do. Never have, though. Maybe it’s just not for me. Anyway, Julienne, I just want to tell you one more thing. I never was anything but friends with Lulie. I’ve known her since she was fifteen, when I started going to the Blue Moon. Whenever I rent a room there, I let her stay, because all of those girls sleep in a little windowless stinking room on filthy mattresses behind the saloon. She sleeps on the bed, and I sleep on the floor in my bedroll.”

  She looked up at him then, her dark eyes shining, but then her gaze went beyond his shoulder and she whispered, “Oh, no. I was s
o afraid of this.”

  He looked behind, and Darcy was stamping up the gangplank. His face was red, and his expression was full of rage. Julienne ran to meet him and laid her hand on his arm. “Oh, Darcy, I’m so sorry. I tried to tell you how the Moaks treated me. I was so afraid Stephen—”

  Furiously he muttered, “Just shut up, Jules!” and yanked his arm away from her so hard that she stumbled a little.

  Dallas Bronte was right behind her and put his arm around her to steady her. Quickly he stepped to the side and took a wide stance, blocking Darcy’s way. His eyes were flashing dangerously and his jaw was clenched. “Julienne, go up to the Texas. I need to talk to your brother.”

  With one wide-eyed look at him, she gathered up her skirts and hurried away.

  Darcy looked up at him angrily, but then his high color faded and he licked his lips nervously. “Get out of my way, Bronte,” he said, his voice now low and uncertain.

  “You are not boarding this boat until we get some things straightened out,” Dallas said in a tone of clear warning. “Libby and Caesar aren’t cleaning up after you any more. Your aunt and sister aren’t washing and ironing your clothes any more. No more getting drunk every night and sleeping all day. You want to stay on this boat, you work.”

  “Work? What does that mean?” Darcy said sulkily.

  With grim humor Dallas said, “I’m not a bit surprised that you don’t know the meaning of the word. You’re going to work, Ashby. Not only are you going to clean your own stateroom and wash your own clothes and bed linens, but you are going to help on this boat. You’re going to start in just a few minutes, when we get the cleaning supplies and we have to swab out this deck. You’re going to be swabbing right along with the rest of us.”

  Outrage washed over Darcy’s handsome face, making it ugly. “You can’t make me do that! You can’t make me do anything at all!”