“No, no, I assure you, I intended to extend this invitation for dinner on Friday night,” Dennison assured him. “Of course I realize that it is short notice, and also on short acquaintance. But I hope you’ll indulge me and accept the invitation.”
“We will need to speak with our pilot, Mr. Bronte, to find out if the River Queen will be here or not,” Roseann said. “But if we are in town, we would love to dine with you on your lovely boat, Mr. Dennison.”
“Very good,” he said warmly, glancing at Julienne, who smiled warmly at him.
Roseann urged him to sit down and asked if he would prefer tea or fresh lemonade. He chose lemonade, and so did Darcy, who sat down with him. Immediately he began asking questions about the Columbia Lady. He asked about her boilers, about her engine, her running times, her freight capacity, and on and on. Julienne had been a little surprised that Darcy had stayed, after his assertion that he didn’t want to sit around with them for a social call. But then, when she realized that he was talking about his new favorite topic—piloting steamboats—she understood.
None of the ladies were perturbed that Darcy monopolized their guest. Even Carley understood that when men were present, their conversation always took precedence, and under no circumstances were they to be interrupted. She and the ladies sipped lemonade and observed Lyle Dennison and listened.
After awhile, Lyle asked Darcy to give him a tour of the River Queen. Her mother and aunt looked pleased, and Carley begged to come, promising to be quiet. The three of them left, with Julienne cringing inside. Now looking at the River Queen through Lyle Dennison’s dark penetrating eyes, she was so embarrassed she could have happily sunk through the floor.
“What an interesting gentleman,” Roseann said happily. “Although I have gotten over our lack of social life—mostly—I am looking forward to dining out again. And, Julienne, he’s so handsome! Well, not handsome. Striking, perhaps I should say.”
“Yes, he does make an impression,” Julienne agreed.
As if she were talking to herself, Aunt Leah murmured, “He has a certain air about him—no, that’s not right. Something about him, his presence. He’s not crude, not at all, but I sense a certain aggressiveness in him, a sort of dangerous edge.”
“I don’t understand, Leah,” Roseann said plaintively. “He has such elegant manners, and he’s so kind to Carley. I can’t believe he could be dangerous.”
Julienne thought, I can. Without realizing it, her lips turned upward in a small private smile.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Two weeks later, on a sweltering July afternoon, the River Queen docked at her berth to unload her latest return load from New Orleans, an entire steamboat full of foodstuffs: tinned sardines, peaches, cherries, dried peaches, apples and currants, salt beef, flour, coffee, tea, sugar, rice, casks of vinegar, and many other things. The shipment was going to Rumble and Wensel Groceries and Provisions, the biggest general store in Natchez-Under-the-Hill. It was the first time they had shipped with the River Queen.
As soon as they docked, Rumble and Wensel wagons started lining up at the Queen. Dallas, seeing that the unloading was in good hands, went straight to the store and collected the River Queen’s pay. After that he went down to the Blue Moon Saloon.
“Hello, Dallas, quick trip this time, eh?” Otto said with surprise.
“Yeah, I’m trying to make them quick and clean. The River Queen’s getting a reputation on the river, and I mean to keep it up.”
Otto nodded and asked, “So, you a drinking man today?”
“Yeah, I got the mulligrubs. Give me a whiskey.”
As he poured it, Otto said in a low voice, “Well, I don’t think you’re going to be cheered up too much in here this evening.” He glanced around nervously.
Dallas turned to see four men slouched at a table in the corner, playing poker. He recognized them, though he only knew one of them by name, a short, stout, grim-faced German by the name of Ritter Kahn. All of them were wearing guns, and Kahn always carried a wooden walking stick with a brass head. It was rumored that he had it drilled out and filled with lead shot.
Dallas turned back around, took a sip of his drink, and shrugged. “New Big Bosses? I’ve seen ’em around. Look just as ugly and dumb as the old Big Bosses to me.” The Big Bosses were the ruling gang on Natchez-Under-the-Hill, running the protection rackets and supposedly “policing” the boardwalk.
Otto dropped his voice even lower. “Well, they’re my big bosses now. Someone bought the Blue Moon, we don’t know who, but Kahn runs the Moon now. He’s a rough one, he’ll crack a man over the head for just looking funny. Thing about it is, those apes he runs with, they’re all the time pulling guns and shooting up the place, even if it’s just a couple of the river boys in a fistfight. Seems like it’s meaner in here than it was before, even with their ‘protection.’”
“Who bought the Moon?” Bronte asked.
“Dunno. Only Kahn and his boys know, I guess, and they’re not saying. But Kahn came in with the title, it’s all legal and aboveboard, I guess. Old Man Snedeker is about eighty years old, guess he thought it was time to retire.” Snedeker, the owner of the Blue Moon, lived in a shack right behind the saloon, and as far as Dallas knew, never set foot in the place.
Men started coming in and demanding drinks, and Dallas took a look around. He could see bulletholes in the walls and ceilings, an old dark smoky mirror on one wall was gone, the big gaudy painting of a red-haired woman reclining, scantily clothed, had bulletholes in it and hung crookedly. The Blue Moon Saloon had boasted two front windows, a luxury that only a couple of other saloons had in Natchez-Under-the-Hill, and now one of them had a star-shaped hole in it and had been boarded over. The men that came in carefully avoided the table where Ritter Kahn and his men sat.
Otto came back to pour Dallas another whiskey, and Dallas asked, “Is Lulie with a customer?”
“Yeah, she should be down any time now,” he answered. “Think it was a half-hour fellow.”
Dallas sipped his drink very slowly. Though he had been spending much more time in the Blue Moon in the last few weeks, he hadn’t been drinking very much. After that night when he had met Rev Brown, he had decided that he was getting too old to drink like a fool kid. Funny how much worse the hangovers are when you get older. Just isn’t worth it any more.
At the back of the saloon, in the half-dark, he saw Lulie coming down the stairs. She saw him and weaved between the crowd slowly, her head down. When she reached him she looked down at the bar and said in a jocular tone, “Buy me a drink, mister?”
Dallas frowned, reached over, and tipped her face up to look at him squarely. Lulie’s right eye was swollen shut, a huge lump that was turning lurid blue. His face darkened dangerously.
Quickly she laid her hand on his arm. “Dallas, please don’t make a big to-do. It’ll only get you hurt, maybe shot, and I’ll get in trouble.”
“Who did this to you?” he said between gritted teeth.
She shrugged. “A customer, said I was too skinny, and he was gonna get his money back, but he took it out on me first. But it don’t make any difference, Dallas. You see Minnie Mae over there? Wearing that red scarf wrapped all up around her neck? It’s because she’s got fingerprints on her neck. She almost died, choking to death, and it was one of Kahn’s boys. And look at DeeDee. Both arms covered in bruises. Her back is too. And that was Kahn himself. Said he caught her stealing drinks.”
Dallas signaled Otto and said, “Give us both a double.” Otto, with a furtive look, turned his back to pour the drinks and then brought two full shot glasses to them. Quickly Dallas picked up Lulie’s glass and slid his own over to her. With a furtive glance up at him, she emptied the glass quickly. Dallas sipped her drink. It was lukewarm unsweetened tea.
Otto muttered, “Sorry, Dallas. House rules now, and I got no desire to get beat with that s
tick.” He quickly turned away.
Dully Lulie said, “We gotta buy our own drinks now.”
Dallas tightened his mouth, and the next time Otto came by, he said, “I want Lulie for the night, Otto. And give me one of the real rooms, not the half-hour closets. And I want a bottle of whiskey, one of those you got back there that hasn’t been opened.”
Otto swallowed hard and said, “That’s gonna be ten dollars, Dallas. Three for Lulie, two for the room, and five for the bottle.”
Without comment Dallas threw a ten-dollar bill down. It was more than he made in two weeks working on the Queen. Otto handed him a bottle and two shot glasses, and a key. “Room 12. Best we got, the one with the formal parlor,” he said with disgust.
THEY WENT UP TO Room 12. The luxurious appointments of this expensive two-dollar room was that the cot had sheets on it instead of just a bare mattress, and it had a pillow. The “formal parlor” consisted of a round scarred table and two rickety straight-back chairs underneath a single grimy window. Without speaking, Lulie and Dallas sat down, and Dallas poured them both a drink. Lulie tossed hers back, and Dallas poured her another. She managed a smile. “Thanks, Dallas. I don’t know why you take such good care of me. I don’t deserve it.”
Staring at her black eye with anger, he muttered, “No one deserves that, Lulie. And you’re a nice girl in a bad place. I wish I could help you more. Get you out of this stinking mudhole.”
Lulie took a sip of her whiskey and sighed deeply. “Ain’t no place any better,” she said. “What I hear is that the Bon Ton, the Silver Street Palace, and even the Rip ’Em Up are all run by Kahn and his men now, so all those girls are going through the same thing. And Dallas, I ain’t no nice girl. Even if you could get me outta here, settle me someplace somehow, I’d be back in the nearest saloon in a day or two. If I had any money, I’d spend it on whiskey. When I ran outta money, I’d go back to work.”
Dallas nodded sadly. “Yeah, I see what you mean, Lulie. It’s the way of this old world, isn’t it? It’s just that this is the first time I’ve seen the saloons let the girls get hurt. Seems to me like that kind of thing’s not good for business.”
“Damaging the merchandise?” Lulie said dryly. “I dunno. Kahn and his men don’t seem to think it matters. And I gotta admit, I haven’t seen business fall off none. Saloons in Natchez-Under-the-Hill are busy all the time.” She gave him a searching look. “You look down, Dallas, and I don’t think it’s all ’cause of my shiner. You been hanging around here a lot lately. What happened to your fancy lady owner? She didn’t kick you off the boat, did she?”
“No, business is good, she’s got no reason to fire me,” he said moodily. “She’s just been busy lately, with some of her top-drawer friends. One, at least, that she thinks is top-drawer.”
“A man?” Lulie guessed shrewdly.
“Yeah. Man named Lyle Dennison, just moved to Natchez from New Orleans about a month ago. Big muckety-muck, bought the Columbia Lady. He owned one of the biggest slave markets in New Orleans, and word is on the river that he’s bought into the Forks of the Road, and he’s planning on doubling the traffic this year.” The notorious Forks of the Road slave market in Natchez was one of the biggest and most profitable markets in the Cotton South.
“Hard for me to care much about slaves,” Lulie said carelessly. “I know you don’t hold with it much, but then again you’re fool enough to think you can save someone like me. Anyways, so your lady is steppin’ out with this Dennison?”
“Yeah, just about every night we’re in town,” he answered, staring down at his drink, slowly revolving the glass between thumb and forefinger. “He’s got all the women charmed right up to their hairpins, and Darcy, too, because he’s like a kid, he loves that big palace Dennison owns.” Taking a drink, he went on, “I don’t wanna talk about it any more, Lulie. I think I’ll just go on back to the Queen and sack out.”
Lulie dropped her gaze and muttered, “Okay, Dallas. Whatever you want.”
He rose, adjusting his gun belt. He had taken to wearing a belt with bullet loops and a holster when he was going to be in Natchez-Under-the-Hill after dark. He started to say good-bye to Lulie, but then he noticed her drooping shoulders and dropped head. “C’mon, Lulie, give me a big good-bye hug, girl. You’ve got the room for the night, you can maybe get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow I’ll come early and take you to the Bread and Boar and get you some food. You look like a scarecrow.”
Still she sat, her head down, and merely shook her head. A thought dawned on Dallas, and he said grimly, “If I leave, you’re going to lose the room, aren’t you. Kahn will make you go back to work, and he’ll sell the room again.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “He’s not stupid, he’s sharp and sly. When he sees you leave, he’ll come get me.”
Temper flared in Dallas, but at the same time he knew the situation was hopeless. What was he going to do? Many of the saloons did the same thing, although the Blue Moon never had, and that was one reason he liked it. He could go down and confront Kahn, but all that would do is likely cause a fight, and from what Otto said it might even cause a big gunfight. And he couldn’t win, anyway. Brutal men like Ritter Kahn roamed the streets by the dozens. Whatever happened, Lulie would be in the same situation afterwards as she was now.
“Aw, forget about all of ’em,” he said with forced cheer, shedding his coat and sitting back down. “Ma’am, would you buy me a drink?”
Lulie looked up and smiled.
THAT NIGHT LYLE DENNISON took Julienne to the King Cotton Theater, the finest playhouse in Natchez. He had a box, and they were the only two in it, though it was large enough for a dozen chairs. A British company was performing Hamlet, and Julienne enjoyed it immensely. At the intermission she said, “You know, Lyle, you’re going to be the talk of the town, escorting a woman like me that has fallen so far in status and reputation. Everyone is watching us instead of the play.”
Julienne had seen many of their old “friends,” including the Moaks, who had a box on the other side of the theater. They had all frigidly nodded to one another, and then the Moaks pretended to watch the play, though they kept whispering among themselves and furtively glancing toward Dennison’s box. With great amusement, Julienne saw Archibald Leggett hovering over Susanna Moak.
Motioning for an attendant to bring them champagne, Lyle said easily, “Julienne, we’ve been seeing each other for two weeks now. You know me. I’m not one of those pretend blue-bloods with their skinny noses stuck up in the air. I came from nothing, and I made something of myself, and I’ve found that money talks. Even to would-be aristocrats. I don’t care a wooden nickel for what they think.” With a shark’s smile, he raised his champagne glass toward another box where two elderly ladies were talking and staring at them.
After the play Lyle took her to the Red Velvet Restaurant, a pretentious upper-class eatery that lived up to its name, for every chair was covered in red velvet, and the curtains that separated the small private tables were heavy crimson draperies with gold tassels. It was scandalous for Julienne to be dining with him in one of those intimate little corners alone, but she no longer cared. This was the second time she had been out with Lyle without a chaperone. He had taken her family out, of course, to dine on the Columbia Lady twice, on a picnic, to dine at the grand home he had just bought, and to the Main Street Playhouse to see Rip Van Winkle, which Carley had loved. After two weeks he had asked the family to accompany him to a party at the town square. The city sponsored it, and it included fireworks, dancing, a barbecue, and fiery political speeches. By now Roseann and Aunt Leah were well aware that Lyle’s polite attentions were because of his obvious attraction to Julienne, and they had allowed her to go alone with him. Two nights later he had taken her to dinner at a friend’s home, a family named Tisdale that had also just moved to Natchez from New Orleans. Francis Tisdale was a distant cousin of Lyle’s, an
d he had just gotten his captain’s license, so the conversation was lively and interesting to Julienne.
Now, safely hidden from prying eyes in the restaurant in their booth, Lyle slid his arm around the back of the loveseat they were seated on and asked, “Lobster is the Red Velvet’s specialty, I hear. Would you like to have lobster for dinner?”
“I’ve never had lobster,” Julienne admitted. “I would like to try it.”
Lyle ordered lobster for her and prime tenderloin for himself. When she tasted her dinner she said, “I do like it, very much. I’m a little surprised, because I’m heartily sick of anything to do with fish.”
“Supposed to show good breeding to like lobster,” Lyle grinned. “I don’t like it and you do, which I think shows that it might be true.”
“Nonsense,” Julienne scoffed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that good manners and gallantry have nothing to do with birthright. And besides, you like Shakespeare, and that’s not exactly the kind of thing that the common people care for.”
“I don’t like Shakespeare,” he said, pouring more champagne into her crystal wineglass. “I only wanted to go because I knew you do.”
“That’s nice of you, Lyle,” she said softly.
“Not really, I’m not just being nice. I like you a lot, Julienne. You’re smart and you’re funny and you’re a beautiful woman. Spending time with you has been one of my greatest pleasures the last few weeks.”
Julienne smiled at him. “I’ve enjoyed your company too, Lyle, very much. I know you must think it’s because you’re obviously wealthy, and I’m obviously not. But I really do like you too, Lyle.”
River Queen Page 23