River Queen

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got the money,” he said to Julienne reassuringly. He took her hand and squeezed it, and Julienne thought that he might have actually tried to kiss her, right there in broad daylight, except there were still men in the ballroom painting the window frames. “I wish we could go out tonight, but I’m afraid I have a previous engagement. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Yes. Yes, tomorrow,” she said in some confusion. He left, and she fled to her room. As she thought over the last eight days, and the things that had happened, and some of the things that Lyle had said, and Ritter Kahn and Nathan Killingsworth, and the slaves that the River Queen now had, dark and frightening thoughts began to grow in her mind. Moving very slowly, as if she were an elderly woman, she opened the bottom drawer of the little chest and took out a sheaf of papers, folded into thirds. It was her contract with Lyle Dennison.

  She skimmed over the first page, which she had already read, when she signed the contract. But she had not read the entire thing; Lyle had told her that it was eleven pages of legalese, and that the payments were going to be ninety-four dollars and forty-two cents per month. As she read, she realized with a shock that the term of the contract was for ten years. She would have to pay one hundred dollars a month for ten years to pay this loan off? With dread she kept reading, and on the very last page, she drew in a ragged breath and let it out in a moan.

  Rising, she stumbled to her bedside and fell to her knees, burying her face in her crossed arms. “Oh, Lord God, what have I done? How could I have been so blind? Oh, please forgive me, Lord! Right now that’s all I care about. You are all I have, only You are faithful and true, and I think I really know it and believe it this time. Whatever happens, if we lose the Queen, if I never see Dallas again, if by my stupidity I’ve lost everything for my family and we are desolate, I will cling only to You.” Julienne prayed for long hours and finally fell into bed and slept better than she had slept for weeks.

  DARCY LOOKED DOWN AT the palms of his hands. He had worked blisters on them but finally they had gone away, and he had the beginning of calluses. He had never done manual labor before, and he didn’t much care for it now. But he had learned a lot about steamboats, and now he was seriously considering becoming a pilot. And he knew good pilots knew a lot about engines, so he still came down to watch Rev work, and he even pitched in sometimes. Today they had two new pilots that Rev was breaking in, showing them all the features of the River Queen’s engine, cooing over it as if it were a cute kitten. The two new engineers, both gruff men, one of about thirty and one of about forty, said very little, but it was plain they were interested. They began talking about some of the new parts that Lyle Dennison had ordered, and Rev came over to talk to Darcy.

  “They don’t seem to be quite as helplessly in love with that engine as you are, Rev,” he joked.

  “Ah, they seem like good engineers. Neither one of them knows the Lord, though. I’m going to have to do some heavy praying for them,” he said airily.

  “Yeah, put in a request to the Big Man Upstairs for me, too, would you? Ask him to smite Ritter Kahn down dead,” Darcy said sarcastically.

  “He’s not a godly man, that’s for sure and certain. He really lays out on these new black crewmen, and I don’t like that one bit. Doubt the Lord does either, though it’s not my place to go asking Him to up and kill somebody dead.”

  “I know, I know,” Darcy rasped. “Just joking. Sort of.”

  Just then they heard shouting up in the boiler room, and both Darcy and Rev hurried up to see what was going on.

  One of the blacks who was hauling wood from the deck into the firebox stood cowering, while Kahn was yelling in his face. “You’re as slow as a half-dead mule, boy! When your fireman calls for wood, you get up and move!” Suddenly he reached out and struck him with his fist. The black man was small, and his head flew backwards, the cut on his eyebrow gushing scarlet blood.

  “Please don’t do that, Mr. Kahn,” Jesse protested. “I ain’t needin’ that wood in split seconds, I give ’em plenty of notice ’fore it’s time to load her up.”

  Darcy said angrily, “You don’t have to hit these men, Kahn. They’ll work without getting beaten every time they turn around.”

  “You keep your mouth shut, girlie boy, you may be an Ashby but you got no business down here. As you for you, Fire-boy, I don’t need any help to run this crew.”

  Jesse had gone to kneel by the man and look at his eye. “This here’s a bad cut, Mr. Ashby. I think it’s going to need a stitch or two.”

  Kahn pulled the stick that he carried at his side out of his belt, swung it and struck Jesse across his broad back. The blow of the leaded weapon drove Jesse to the deck. “You got no word to say to nobody but me down here, boy!” he snarled. He raised the stick again.

  Coolly Darcy reached out and picked up a shovel. He swung it as he would a baseball bat and it hit Kahn squarely in the back of the head. He collapsed instantly, dropping his stick.

  “That made a funny thunk,” Rev observed. “Whanged almost like his head was made outta rock.”

  “I thought it sounded more like a whang, like hitting an iron skillet,” Darcy said.

  They went to help Jesse up, who protested that he was fine. “Good, if you’re sure you’re okay,” Darcy said. “Take this man to Doc Needles to get sewed up, will you, Jesse? Here’s some money.”

  They stood up and looked around. All of the new crewmen were blacks, and they stared at Kahn’s prone figure with fear on every face. With a disgusted grunt Darcy reached down and picked up Kahn’s stick, walked through the cargo area out to the main deck, and tossed the stick into the river. Returning, he and Rev stared down at Kahn solemnly.

  “Think he’s hurt bad?” Rev asked.

  “I don’t know, and don’t much care. I’d hate for him to die right here in our firebox, though. Trash up the place.”

  Julienne came running in then. She had seen Jesse taking the bleeding man up to the boardwalk. “What’s happened, Darcy? Oh,” she said when she saw Kahn lying face down on the floor. “What happened to him?”

  “I hit him. With a shovel,” Darcy said helpfully.

  Julienne studied him. “Well, he’s not dead. I can hear him snorting. What’s he doing down here anyway? I told Lyle that Ring is the first mate, and we didn’t need Kahn here.”

  “I don’t know,” Darcy said. “I’m so used to seeing him walking around beating people, it just slipped my mind to ask his exact position.”

  Rev shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s never come in the engine room and hit anybody.”

  One of the crewmen spoke up in a frightened whisper, “Mr. Ashby, suh?”

  Darcy turned. The young man that spoke was stout, and looked like he was about fourteen years old. “Yes? I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “I’m Tommy, suh. Mr. Kahn, there, he tole us that Mr. Dennison made him crew chief. I didn’t know what that means, except that he must be our boss.”

  “Are you a slave, Tommy?” Julienne asked abruptly.

  “No, ma’am, I works on the river, have for five years now, most always hauling wood for the firemen. And I ain’t never heard of no crew chief on no steamer.” He was growing more confident since he had Darcy’s and Julienne’s interest.

  “That’s because there’s no such thing,” Rev said dryly. “First mate is boss of the crew, that’s what a first mate is.”

  “Then he’s fired. Again,” Julienne said with spirit.

  He started twitching, then moving, then groaning. He turned over and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Who hit me!” he roared.

  “I did. And you’re fired. Again,” Darcy said. “Get off this boat right now, and don’t come back.”

  He scrambled to his feet. “You can’t do that!” he said, his slablike face turning scarlet.

 
“Oh yes I can, and so can my sister. Now we’ve both fired you, Kahn. You leave right now, or I’m going to have you arrested. By the real police, I mean.”

  Cursing under his breath, he walked slowly to the door. Abruptly he turned and demanded, “Give me my stick!”

  Darcy shrugged. “I tossed it in the river. I suggest you throw yourself off the boat to look for it.”

  Kahn’s eyes narrowed and he said in a menacing undertone, “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for, Ashby. You’re going to pay for this.” He made a crude mock bow to Julienne. “Be seeing you soon, Miss Ashby.”

  “What did he mean by that?” Darcy asked Julienne. “That didn’t sound good at all.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said uncertainly.

  Rev said soberly, “Nothing good about that man that I can see. I’m going to pray hard for your protection, Miss Julienne. I’m thinking you may need it.”

  KAHN WENT STRAIGHT TO Lyle Dennison. He told the story, and he was still in a rage. “I’m not putting up with that Ashby pup! Kicking me off that floating pile of junk!”

  Lyle shrugged. “Forget Ashby and the River Queen, Kahn, you’ve got other things to do.”

  “I got unfinished business on the Queen,” he muttered.

  Lyle pulled a cigar out, put it in his lips, and then lit it with a match. He puffed some blue smoke in the air and said, “Don’t worry about it, Kahn. If you’re stuck on working the crew on the River Queen, just give it a little time. Then I’ll put you back on her.”

  Kahn looked confused. “All this money you put in her? But you didn’t buy her, did you?”

  “Not really,” he answered lazily. “At least, not yet.”

  The truth was that Lyle really was more attracted to Julienne Ashby than any woman he had ever met. He even cared for her, in his own way. He respected her because he knew she was untouched, and that only increased his desire to possess her. But he had no intention of marrying her.

  Lyle Dennison was a cunning man. He had figured it all out, within moments after he had offered Julienne a loan and he saw that she would take it. The bills he had submitted to her were, in reality, just under two thousand dollars. With the new crew wages and salaries, she was going to owe him at least nine thousand dollars. And Lyle had taken very great care to talk and explain continuously to Julienne as she signed the contract, and it had worked. She had never seen the $9,000 balloon payment due in three months. On October 19, 1855, Lyle Dennison would own the River Queen. He was sure that Julienne would come “under his protection,” as they so delicately put it in England, before she would let her family be thrown out on the street. And Lyle Dennison was a man that would do that, literally, without a second thought.

  Now he continued, “You don’t really need to know the details, Kahn. All you have to know is—” he took another puff and blew smoke out in a long stream—”at the end of the story, I’m going to get the boat, and I’m going to get the girl. And you can do whatever you want on the River Queen, and I can do whatever I want with the girl. And then we’ll both be very, very happy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was early afternoon when Dallas Bronte came back to Natchez-Under-the-Hill. Slowly he walked down the boardwalk. When he passed the Blue Moon Saloon, he heard the tinkling of the tinny piano and someone singing off-key inside. A sadness gripped him as he thought of how Lulie had died and a poignant wish formed in him. If I’d only known then, Lord, what I know now, maybe I could have helped her more. But that was past and gone so he put it behind him.

  When he came to Inman & Sons, he went in and Mr. Inman greeted him in a friendly manner. “Do you know when the River Queen is due back, Mr. Inman?”

  He answered, “She’s due in today. She’s carrying a load from New Orleans for me. I know when you were piloting her, she wasn’t late. Don’t know about this new pilot, it’s her first haul since she’s been all fixed up.”

  “Thank you, sir,” he said courteously, and left. He walked down to Rumble and Wensel Groceries and Provisions, went in, and said hello to Mr. Rumble and Mr. Wensel, and some other acquaintances who welcomed him back warmly. No one asked him any questions, and he knew that the story about Lyle Dennison and Julienne Ashby going into partnership together would be all over the river, and they could guess the rest. He bought a sarsaparilla, went outside, and took a seat in one of the straight chairs that river men often sat on to watch the steamers come in and out.

  He didn’t have to wait long. The River Queen came steaming in, shining in the sun, steam whistle blaring. She looked beautiful, like a brand-new boat. She was painted an immaculate white, all of the railings were new, with intricate gingerbread designs atop. Thin red stripes were painted all along her decks, and the paddle wheel was painted a bright cheery red. Her old stacks had been replaced with newer, higher ones, and were topped with ironwork that looked like crowns. River Queen was proudly painted on her side in crimson intricate script.

  He watched her pull in with a critical eye. The pilot was showing off, bringing her in too fast, making the firemen pile on a big draw of steam to make the sudden reverse required to bring her to a stop. He watched the new crew lower the landing stages, with Ring shouting out crisp orders. Passengers came filing out, well-dressed men and women who headed straight up the street to the harbormaster’s office to await carriages and buggies. After that the deck passengers came out, workingmen and women with children, dressed in poor clothing. They mostly started to walk up Silver Street.

  The two pilots hurried down the outside stairwells. Dallas recognized one of them, Nathan Killingsworth. He was known to be a good pilot but he did run boats hard. The other pilot was a young man that Dallas didn’t know. Both of them headed directly for the Blue Moon Saloon.

  After the passengers were gone, wagons started pulling up to her gangplanks, and the crew and drivers started unloading. Dallas was a little surprised that the River Queen was carrying a load of liquor, cases and cases of it. But then again, he realized, Lyle Dennison was probably arranging their loads for them. Somehow he didn’t think that Aunt Leah, or even Roseann Ashby, would care much for hauling a ton of liquor to Natchez-Under-the-Hill.

  Dallas watched and waited, but none of the Ashbys came out on deck or left the boat. Once the unloading was done, the new crew left, but he saw that Rev, Jesse, and Ring were still on the boat. Dallas stood up, picked up his knapsack, and went down to the River Queen’s berth. He walked up the landing stage, and heard Ring and Jesse talking in the boiler room, but he really wanted to see the Ashbys first. He climbed the stairs to the Texas deck and went into the ballroom. Inside the double doors, he stopped in amazement.

  Crystal chandeliers had been lit, even though there were no passengers on the boat. He savored the rich glow of the walnut paneling, the almost luminescent floor of blond ironwood polished to a high degree, and the painted frames of the windows that lined each wall, admitting the last feeble golden gleams of the sun. The room was filled with round dining tables with white tablecloths, and chairs padded in sky-blue velvet.

  He was still standing there, staring around, when he heard his name called. He saw Carley running full-speed, so fast that her pigtails seemed to stretch out behind her. She was laughing, and he dropped his bundle, stooped down, and grabbed her. He tossed her high in the air, caught her and then hugged her.

  “Dallas, you came back!” she said in her high, little-girl’s voice. “Skillygalee, you were gone forever!”

  “New word, huh? I like it. Where is everybody?”

  “They’re coming, we’re about to have dinner. You’re going to eat with us, aren’t you? And move back into the captain’s cabin, he’s such a little ponce, I wish he’d go away and you’d be captain. And pilot. Okay? You’ll stay, won’t you, please, please, Dallas?”

  “Where’d you hear the word ponce?” he demanded, but her answer was lost as Roseann and L
eah came in, talking quietly. When they saw Dallas, they both stopped and stared at him in surprise. Then they hurried to meet him, and to his surprise both women insisted on kissing him on the cheek in the midst of their warm greetings. They both started asking questions at once, almost as imperiously as Carley had.

  Finally Leah said, “Roseann, let’s stop gibbering like two pecking hens at Mr. Bronte, we’ll scare him off again. Please, Mr. Bronte, won’t you join us for dinner? It should be—”

  Julienne came through the door, halted in mid-stride, her eyes widening. She and Dallas stared at each other for a few moments. Then she picked up her skirts, ran, and threw herself into his arms. In shock Dallas clasped her to him. Julienne tried to say something, but instead she just burst into tears.

  “Skillygalee,” Carley said in amazement.

  Roseann and Leah glanced at each other, and Leah said, “Perhaps we’d better . . .”

  “Yes, of course,” Roseann said quickly. “Come along, Carley.”

  “But I want to listen to what Julienne and Dallas are going to say!” she complained.

  Roseann took her hand and said, “Yes, dear, so do I. But it wouldn’t be polite, so let’s go to my stateroom and we can have our dinner there.”

  “. . . AND so I got saved that night, and baptized the next morning,” Dallas said quietly. “And I stayed with the Williamses for two nights, but I kept on remembering what my grandfather had told me, about getting off by myself, being completely alone without distractions, to really seek the Lord. So I went back to my old camp, and stayed there, and read the Bible, and prayed. Wandered around a lot, just thinking about things.”

  “What made you decide to come back?” Julienne asked.

  He hesitated, then shook his head a little. “Funny how I’ve never thought I was a dishonest man, but I don’t tell the truth all the time. Sometimes it’s hard to just say what you mean, tell people what you really want.” He looked straight into her eyes and said, “I feel like the Lord was telling me to come back. I feel like He wanted me to come back to the River Queen. And I hope I can get my old job back again.”