Impatiently she said, “So are you saying that we can’t do this? So what are we even doing on this stupid river then?”
“I didn’t say that we couldn’t do it,” he answered, now in a sharp tone. “I’m just trying to explain to you, in case everything doesn’t go perfectly.”
“Fine, you’ve explained, thank you,” she said with ill humor.
“Fine,” he said, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the galley.
“Fine!” she said loudly to his back. He didn’t reply.
JULIENNE DID’T SEE DALLAS for six days. When they stopped and she knew he would come to the galley to eat, she made sure she was in her stateroom or out on the deck sitting in her rocking chair. Dallas wouldn’t allow them to sit out on their deck chairs on the hurricane deck, stressing that it was far too dangerous. Often Leah, Roseann, Julienne, and Carley stayed most of the day in Roseann’s stateroom. Carley did her lessons, Roseann and Leah sewed, and mostly Julienne read.
The reason they had so much leisure time was because of Robbie Skinner. She had taken it upon herself to be their personal maid, even for Carley. She brought them all trays for breakfast, she made up their beds and cleaned their rooms, she helped Leah and Roseann to dress, and after a couple of days Julienne found herself letting Robbie help her too. Every morning Carley was fresh-scrubbed, her hair shining in two perfect pigtails, her dresses and petticoats clean and ironed. Even the ruffles on her pantalettes were starched and crisp.
Julienne, though she was avoiding Dallas, watched Robbie relentlessly. The thought once entered her mind that she was literally spying on the girl, but she was so consumed with trying to figure out if Robbie was falling in love with Dallas Bronte that she didn’t care.
To her surprise, she never saw Robbie with Dallas. At least, she didn’t go into the galley during the few minutes that Dallas was eating a hurried meal before taking a nap. Begrudgingly Julienne had to acknowledge to herself that she knew that Robbie wouldn’t go into Dallas’s stateroom when he was sleeping. That would be entirely too blatant.
But to her surprise, she did see Robbie with Rev Brown. The crew crowded into the galley on Dallas’s breaks, and Robbie would serve them. She rarely smiled, and her behavior was modest and quiet. But often Rev would stay after the meal, when the others had gone down to their quarters to rest. Julienne passed by the galley several times, and Rev would be helping Robbie clean the galley. They talked in low voices, and once she saw Robbie smiling up at him.
They made it to Cairo in less than six days, pulling into their berth at the port on the early morning of Wednesday, June 27. Leah, Carley, Roseann, and Julienne gathered on the deck to see the port. They had never been to Cairo, Illinois.
The deafening steam whistle blew twice, and Carley looked up at the pilothouse, beaming. Then her eyes widened and she pointed. “Look! Look, Mama! Dallas is letting Darcy bring her in!”
Julienne looked up with shock to see Dallas standing by the port windows, waving and grinning at Carley. Darcy was behind the wheel. She turned back to her mother and Aunt Leah, but they didn’t seem surprised at all. They waved and smiled. “What is going on here?” Julienne demanded. “Since when is Darcy a riverboat pilot?”
“Of course he’s not a pilot, dear,” Roseann answered complacently. “But he’s been in the wheelhouse with Dallas this entire trip, and Dallas has been teaching him the river. Darcy seems to enjoy it.”
“Good heavens,” Julienne said faintly.
“It’s no wonder you’re so surprised, Julienne,” Aunt Leah said sweetly. “You’ve been in such a fog this whole trip.”
“You’ve been really, really grumpy,” Carley asserted.
“I have?” Julienne responded. She knew she had been “grumpy” with Dallas, but she had been completely unaware that anyone had noticed.
“Yes, you have, dear,” Roseann added. “I hope you’ll get over this depressing humor soon, it’s so bad for the system.”
“I hope I get over it soon too,” Julienne muttered.
As soon as they got docked and the engines wound down, Darcy and Dallas came out of the wheelhouse. Julienne still didn’t want to talk to Dallas, so she hurried back to the doors to go back to her stateroom. But she heard them arguing, with Darcy saying, “Ring and I can handle this unloading, Dallas, go ahead and go see about that return load we’ve got.”
“You know, you’ve done good, Ashby,” she heard Dallas say. “I’m real proud of you.”
For some reason this irritated Julienne beyond measure, and she fled into her room.
They loaded up their textiles that same day, and left the next morning. Julienne, as before, kept to herself, avoiding Dallas Bronte assiduously. In the six-day return trip she became certain that Robbie Skinner had no designs on Dallas Bronte. She also admitted to herself that Robbie was the perfect servant, quiet, efficient, quick, and smart. The fact that she was so much prettier than Julienne was hard for her to take graciously. Robbie took great pains to minimize her looks, continuously fighting her long blonde hair, pinning it back severely into a tight bun. She wore men’s shirts that were much too big for her, so her figure wouldn’t be outlined. When the crew, including Darcy, were around, she kept her eyes modestly downcast, rarely speaking. None of that mattered, however, for she was quite simply the prettiest woman Julienne had ever seen, and she struggled to keep from resenting Robbie because of it. However, she did still resent her for kissing Dallas.
By the time they got back to Natchez, Julienne was emotionally drained. She had been angry, resentful, remorseful, jealous, spiteful, and finally she grew exhausted, battling with herself. They came into Natchez just at sunset. It was a gorgeous time of day, with a great red sun very slowly inching down to the land. It tinted the landscape with crimson beams of light, making the dirty old port look almost inviting. Julienne was so weary that she hadn’t even come out on deck as they came in. She sat in her stateroom, staring out the window.
Then Carley, who rarely knocked, came bursting in. “Julienne, you’ve got to come see! The Columbia Lady’s in, and she’s docked here! And she’s lit up like the stars, and she’s the grandest thing I’ve ever seen!” They had seen the magnificent boat coming and going on the river from her home port of New Orleans, but she hadn’t stopped at Natchez-Under-the-Hill in the last couple of months.
Without much enthusiasm, Julienne took Carley’s hand and let her lead her out on deck. The River Queen was just beginning to pass the Columbia Lady. Julienne, Roseann, Leah, and even Caesar, Libby, and Robbie had come out on deck for their homecoming. With wide eyes they all stared up at the mighty Columbia’s golden decks. Music wafted from the grand ballroom, and with a jolt Julienne recognized the waltz, the same waltz that had played when Dallas Bronte had walked into her life and swept her away in that very ballroom. That had been a world away, a lifetime ago, it seemed to her. The fact that that carefree night had been the last one she would ever have, pressed down hard on Julienne’s heart. Here she was, crawling by that gorgeous, elegant, lavish steamer on the shabby little River Queen. She didn’t want to see the Columbia Lady any more, and she didn’t want to hear that haunting waltz. Bitterly she turned and went back to her stateroom, which she now viewed with a hostile gaze. Her room looked, to Julienne, like a miserable hovel.
SHE DID’T COME OUT of her room for the rest of the day and evening. After the Queen was unloaded and Dallas had concluded all the business with Inman & Sons, he had knocked on her door and called, “Julienne? Are you okay?”
Naturally, in the mood she was in, it annoyed her that he had the nerve to knock on her door. He had done it many times before, in fact, but suddenly Julienne decided that it really wasn’t proper. Yanking the door open, she replied shortly, “I’m fine, thank you.”
He searched her face for long moments, and she dropped her gaze. Quietly he asked, “What’s wrong, Julienne? Either
you’re ill, or something’s really bothering you. Can’t you tell me?”
“No, I can’t,” she retorted. “I just really want to be left alone.”
Slowly he said, “Oh. Okay. But I just thought you’d want to go over the money. We made enough this time that I thought you might want to open a small bank account, get started on establishing credit.”
“I really don’t want to deal with that right now,” Julienne said dully. “Maybe tomorrow. Or better yet, why don’t you go talk to Aunt Leah. She can handle these things as well, or better, than I can.” Even though he was starting to reply, Julienne shut the door and threw herself back on her bed.
The next morning Robbie brought her tea and a full breakfast, a perfectly-boiled egg, bacon, jacket potatoes, buttered toast, and peach preserves. She laid the tray on the chest and turned to Julienne, showing no sign of surprise that Julienne had slept in her clothes. “We’re heating up water, Miss Ashby. You can have a nice hot bath after breakfast.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Julienne said wearily. “I’m sure that will make me feel much better.”
Robbie nodded and said, “Miss Ashby, Caesar knows you haven’t been feeling well, and so he wondered if you want the morning mail, or if he should take it to Mrs. Norris.”
“No, please have him bring it to me,” Julienne said. “I’ll go over it while I’m having this nice breakfast. Thank you, Robbie.”
She curtseyed, to Julienne’s mild amusement. Carley had taught her how to curtsey, and now she did it at exactly the right times that the best-trained British maids did.
Caesar brought the mail, and immediately Julienne was struck by a handsome thick envelope of rich parchment, addressed to the Ashby Family, c/o the River Queen. On the back was printed in gold letters: Lyle Dennison, Natchez, Mississippi. She remembered Lyle Dennison, who had bought the Columbia Lady from Elijah Moak. When she had seen the steamer the previous night, she had remembered seeing him that night, a tall, muscular, commanding man who seemed to dominate the conversations among the men that night.
Eagerly she tore it open and read:
Mrs. Ashby, Miss Ashby, Mr. Darcy Ashby, Miss Carley Ashby, and Mrs Norris:
When I saw the River Queen come in last night, I realized with regret that it has never been my honor and privilege to be introduced to you. Considering that unfortunate circumstance, of course I realized that I may not simply send you my card and then call.
It is my sincerest hope that you will consider this missive as my attempt to introduce myself to you with all the propriety I can muster, and that you will forgive me for being so forward. In the hope that I may be received, I enclose my card, and would be very pleased if I may call on you tomorrow.
Until then, I remain,
Your most faithful servant,
Lyle Dennison
The riotous mix of emotions that this polite note produced in Julienne was almost funny. First she was elated to receive a note worded in the stiff but elegant phrases that she had been accustomed to her entire life, until she had moved onto the River Queen. Then she was horrified when she tried to picture how—and where—they would receive Dennison. Down in the engine room? In one of their miserable staterooms? Following this, she read the note again and was wildly happy that a prominent man such as Lyle Dennison was calling on them, since none of their “friends” had ever done so, except for Preston Gates, who came by the boat at least once a week. Then, perhaps most disturbing of all, she wondered what she would wear, if Robbie could get one of her nice dresses presentable by tomorrow after being folded up and stored for two months, if they could find her hoop skirts, and particularly her gloves, as Julienne’s hands were as worn and rough as a field hands.’ Now panicked, she ran up to the hurricane deck, where Roseann, Leah, and Carley were. Dallas was bent over Carley’s chair, pointing out stops on a map of the river.
As soon as Julienne caught sight of them she waved the note and said, “Mother! I can’t believe this wonderful news! Mr. Lyle Dennison is calling on us! Tomorrow!”
She didn’t notice Dallas’s face darken, and he slowly stood up straight and crossed his arms.
Roseann said mildly, “That’s nice, dear. Now, tell me again, who is Mr. Dennison?”
“He owns the Columbia Lady,” Dallas answered her darkly, “along with some other things in Natchez-Under-the-Hill.”
“He’s a very prominent, well-known and well-respected businessman,” Julienne said. “And I think it’s a very good sign. Maybe we’re starting to regain some respectability. But I cannot for the life of me imagine how we’re to properly receive him. What are we going to do? Gather around that dismal dining room table?”
“Properly receiving him will be for us to welcome him, make him feel at home, and begin to get to know him,” Aunt Leah said firmly. “And the table in the ballroom will be fine for that.”
“But that’s not the most important question by far,” Julienne said with obvious distress.
“Then what is?” Carley asked. She had been following the conversation with great interest.
Impatiently Juliennne replied, “You’re going to have to learn, Carley, the most important question of all for a lady: What am I going to wear?”
THAT DIFFICULT PROBLEM WAS smoothly and efficiently taken care of by Robbie. She and all the ladies visited the stateroom where their trunks were stored; they had decided not to drag them back down to the cargo deck, where they were in the crews’ way anyway. All of them found the dresses they wanted to wear, the appropriate petticoats and underthings, their jewelry, accessories for their hair. Robbie even knew where their almost-forgotten hoop skirts were, all of them flattened and encased in two bedsheets and hung up on the wall. When Lyle Dennison arrived that afternoon, Roseann, Leah, and Julienne were all dressed in lovely summer muslin at-home dresses, with wide flounced skirts and dainty shawls. Carley was in a green-and-blue striped dress with blue satin ribbons in her pigtails, and she looked as pretty and fresh as the spring flowers.
They had a family meeting with Darcy, who had agreed to meet Dennison at the gangplank and bring him in to introduce him to his family. Julienne was a little surprised that Darcy didn’t dress in his best clothes to receive their important visitor; he wore a plain white linen shirt, creased black trousers, and his boots were shined. When Julienne asked him where his coat, tie, and waistcoat were, he replied, “It’s too hot for all that folderol, Jules. Besides, I’m going to pay my respects and then go back to work. I don’t want to sit in this stuffy ballroom drinking tea.”
Since Darcy had gotten interested in piloting, he had seemed to truly have changed. Before, when he worked, he seemed to be merely acting out of guilt, and was also somewhat cowed by Dallas Bronte. But now he was eager and interested in every valve, lever, piston, and bolt on the River Queen.
At exactly three o’clock—the fashionable time for what was called “morning calls”—Lyle Dennison appeared on horseback at the River Queen’s berth. Dismounting from a prancing black stallion, he came forward immediately to Darcy, his hand extended. They shook hands and spoke for a few moments, while Jesse took Dennison’s horse and led him to a hitching post by the boardwalk. Still talking, Darcy and Dennison boarded the boat, and Julienne and Carley hurried to their seats. They had been watching out the window.
They came into the ballroom, where the ladies were indeed seated around the dining table. He betrayed no sign of surprise or censure at their shabby, and rather odd “parlor,” merely bowing deeply as Darcy began the long recitations required by formal introductions.
Julienne studied Dennison avidly, though she kept her expression coolly polite. He was a big man. Right at six feet tall and thickly muscled, his body was bulky, like a bare-knuckle boxer. He had hair so black it seemed to glint blue. His features were rugged, with a prominent nose, an iron jaw, and very sharp dark eyes under thick black brows. His d
ress was impeccable, a three-piece cream broadcloth suit with a matching cream silk low-crowned hat. A fine gold watch chain hung suspended from his waistcoat pocket at exactly the right arc. The only other accessory he wore was a large square-cut diamond pinky ring.
When Darcy introduced them, Dennison took her hand and bowed over, looking straight into her eyes with an intense, appreciative gaze from his glinting dark eyes. It nonplussed her for a moment, for she had almost forgotten what it was like to be in this social situation, meeting an attractive new man who so obviously appreciated her good looks. But she quickly recovered and greeted him warmly.
When Darcy introduced him to Carley, she stuck out her hand and he made a very courtly bow over it. “Miss Carley, it is my great honor to meet you. I see that all of the ladies in this family share the same beauty.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dennison,” she said politely, but then she squirmed a little and said, “Julienne said you own the Columbia Lady. Could I come see it sometime, please?”
Roseann whispered, “No, dear.”
But with a good will Dennison smiled at her, then included everyone else as he said, “Miss Carley must be a mind reader. I had hoped that you would all join me on the Lady for dinner, perhaps on Friday night? Would that fit into your social calendar, Miss Carley?”
Carley giggled and answered, “I don’t have a social calendar yet, Mr. Dennison. I only just turned eleven.”
“It won’t be long before you’ll need one,” he said with assurance. “As pretty as you are, I’m sure it will be a full one, too.”
“That’s good of you, Dennison,” Darcy said, “but of course my sister didn’t intend to wrangle an invitation from you.” In spite of his words, his eagerness to visit the Columbia Lady was evident. Even though he had been at the Moak’s party, all he had seen that night was the grand ballroom and the card room. Now he wanted to see the firebox and the engine room and especially the wheelhouse.
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