The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  Ike didn’t know how long the Cordelia could stay in business. If he really cared for Blanche, he would make sure she had a miserable trip and never wanted to come back.

  That shouldn’t be a problem. All he had to do was tell her he ran a nightly gambling hall that kept them in business.

  She’d run back to Roma in a second and retreat into the shell of the woman she could become.

  He didn’t know which loss would bring more grief—the loss of the Cordelia or the departure of Blanche Lamar.

  Whichever way things turned out, he’d let down his captain.

  CHAPTER 16

  Blanche straightened in her chair and stretched her arms, rolling up the map of the river Old Obie had given to her and slipping it into a case. As she read the logs, she marked down every spot where he mentioned obstructions and other warning signs to study. When not studying the maps, she stared at the river as it sped by, so that she could identify the potential problems she knew were there.

  Now that she had finished reading the logs, she would indulge in one of her favorite activities: heading to the pilothouse and steering the boat under Old Obie’s watchful eye. Even though she hadn’t reached a decision about whether she would stay on the river or return to Roma for good, she had developed a passion for earning her pilot’s license. The study was not only fun, it also made dull subjects like math and science important in a way that her teacher never managed.

  Five new dresses hung in her closet. Colors and stylish cuts, which seemed inappropriate and prideful in her mother’s domain, were perfectly acceptable in this setting. God’s flowers of every shade and shape filled the earth all year long. Why would He prefer His people to dress in uniform black and white? She would enjoy the dresses Madame Agatha had made for her, even if she only brought them out for special occasions when she returned to Roma.

  Today she donned her persimmon-colored dress, a shade of red her mother would have insisted clashed with her hair. But the color made her feel alive, like the first rays of daylight awakening the earth. She thought Old Obie would approve.

  Realizing she had dawdled a little too long over her attire, she hurried to the pilothouse. She dabbed at the unladylike sheen of sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief and headed in.

  The soft scent of rose water alerted Obie to Blanche’s presence. “I was wondering when you would come.”

  “I apologize.” Her voice was hushed, less confident than usual. “I spent so much time studying the maps that I rushed to get here.”

  Satin whispered against the wall, and Obie turned around, a smile spreading across his face. “Dame Agatha has done well. You look lovely, my dear.”

  Red a shade between her hair and dress flooded Blanche’s cheeks. “Thank you, kind sir.” She dipped in a curtsy and giggled.

  “You are most welcome.” He waved his hand, inviting her to turn around. She pirouetted for his approval, shaking a little as she completed the turn. In that moment, she looked so much like her mother that Obie’s heart constricted. “Your mother would have looked lovely in that dress. I saw her in a red dress one time. Then she hung it at the back of the closet.”

  Blanche dropped to the soles of her feet. “I never saw her in red, not even at Christmas.”

  “I’m not surprised, but that’s unfortunate. Bold colors brought out her coloring, made her beautiful, but she was more comfortable in the background.” He glanced at Blanche’s feet. “Perhaps Ike can do something in the matter of new shoes.”

  Blanche sneaked the toes of her boots under her skirts. “These are perfectly serviceable.”

  Obie laughed out loud. “You sounded just like Cordelia.”

  Blanche kept her gaze on the floor.

  “That’s not a bad thing.” He gentled his voice. “But you are not her. To use words that Cordelia herself might use, God created you, a separate and beautiful young woman. He welcomes your laughter. In heaven, Cordelia would want you to be happy.” In a low voice almost more to himself than to her, he said, “The captain wanted her to be happy, but he couldn’t do it. They loved each other but made each other miserable.” He lifted Blanche’s chin with one gnarly finger. “Never doubt that your parents loved each other, and their child.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “My mother loved me?” Her voice broke as she said the words.

  “Never doubt it.”

  It felt like the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms and rest her head on his shoulder, comforting her as she cried.

  Ike searched the boat to inform Blanche of his dinner plans in the town of La Joya with Bart Ventura. As expected, he found her in the pilothouse.

  He wanted to pinch himself at the transformation. Could the woman wearing the persimmon-colored dress in midafternoon be the same woman he first saw at the funeral a few short weeks ago? She, who always wore black and white, until that first cream-colored dress Dame Agatha had made for her sight unseen?

  Neither one of them paid attention to his arrival.

  “What’s coming up in the next mile of the river?” Old Obie lounged at the side, ready to step in if she made an error. Given the fact he still hovered behind Ike on the rare occasions he took the wheel, the pilot was offering Blanche a tremendous compliment. Did she know?

  She laughed, a lighthearted sound that Ike would love to hear every day. Her happiness mattered more than a compliment. He leaned against the wall, watching them chat.

  “There should be a sandbar right up there, to the left of the poplar tree.” She leaned forward, as Ike had seen Old Obie do time and time again. “I see the shadow. Over there.” She raised a draped arm, her delicate hand pointing a single finger.

  The pilot nodded. “So how do you correct?”

  “If it was spring, runoff would raise the river level and I wouldn’t have to worry.” She drew in her features as if running through options in her head. “The water goes down in summer, but we’ve had several afternoon showers. I’m not sure.”

  “Look at the shadow again. Use your eyes.”

  Blanche tilted her head. “I think the boat can pass over it.”

  Old Obie didn’t speak.

  “But—I’ll ask them to slow the engines?”

  Old Obie remained silent, and Ike laughed. The two of them turned and stared at him.

  “That’s a favorite trick of Obie’s. He’s testing your confidence.” Ike came forward. “Which means you are correct.”

  Shaking his head, Old Obie smiled. “Don’t go telling her all my secrets.”

  Blanche laid her hand on the bell she used for alerting the engine room to slow down. Both men nodded, and she pulled it. She tilted her head, her ears peeking out beneath her halo of hair, as if seeking the telltale sounds of the bottom of the boat scraping the riverbed. The prow glided forward, past the danger zone, and Blanche’s grip on the wheel relaxed.

  “Well done.” Ike brought his hands together in a single clap. “Not only will you be one of the few women with a pilot’s license, but you will also earn it the fastest if you keep things up at this rate.”

  The grin on Blanche’s face was more little boy than young woman.

  “She still needs hours on the river.” Old Obie was a little stingier with his praise. “She’s had just enough experience to be cocky and think she knows it all.”

  “I could never do that.” Blanche shook her head.

  “Not on purpose, no. But you might look for what you expect to be there and not see what is different.”

  “That takes a lifetime.” She acknowledged his experience. “My father was lucky to have you.”

  Old Obie cast an amused glance at Ike, and he stifled a laugh. “We put in a lot of years together.” The pilot nodded.

  “Don’t let him fool you. You’re his prize pupil, and he knows it.” Ike changed his plans for the night. “I know how we can celebrate. We are stopping in La Joya tonight. Why don’t you come with me? Meet the customers who use the boat for shipping, and then go out to dinner? T
here’s a wonderful restaurant that serves the best steaks on the Rio Grande.”

  Blanche kept her eyes trained on the river, avoiding his gaze. In a flat voice, she asked, “Will Mr. Ventura join us? I thought you introduced him to town officials at each stop.”

  Ike arched an eyebrow. “So you were paying attention.”

  “Of course. Every place we have stopped has agreed to exhibition games. You’ve done a good bit of business for Lamar Industries.” She glanced over her shoulder, the expression in her brown eyes an enigma. “I will come with you, if Effie will consent to host dinner for the evening.”

  “She will.” Ike grinned. “She has before. I will suggest that Mr. Ventura visit the town council on his own this time. We’ll be in Brownsville before we know it. I’d like to do something special before we reach the end of the line.” He came forward and leaned against the window, so that he could see Blanche from the front. “You look like a vision in that dress. You will light up the restaurant.”

  Blanche’s hand went to her throat, and she looked at the ruffled cuffs at the end of her sleeves. “I… will think about it.”

  “I will meet you at your cabin then, about fifteen minutes after we dock. Until then.” He nodded his head and withdrew.

  Whistling, Ike debated whether or not to return to his cabin. During this time of day, he often rested for a few hours. But today thoughts of his upcoming dinner with Blanche filled his mind, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Effie would say he should lie down, rest his body if not his mind. He’d rather sweat out his uncertainty than lie in bed and dwell on it.

  While Ike dawdled at the top of the stairs, Ventura climbed from below deck. “What’s on your mind?”

  Ike rolled his shoulders and balled his fingers into a fist. “This is one of those rare occasions when I wish I lived on land. A long ride on horseback sounds perfect, or perhaps an hour toiling the soil.”

  Ventura threw back his head and laughed. “I can see you on the back of a horse, but turning the sod like a farmer? That would make the headline on towns all up and down the river.”

  “You may be right.” Ike unclenched his fists and turned sideways, imitating the swing of a bat. “Perhaps a friendly game of baseball with your Bats.”

  “It’s physical exercise you’re wanting…” Ventura rubbed his chin, considering. “I might be able to accommodate you. Perhaps a sparring bout, between you and me? With a friendly wager on the outcome? My man could keep the score.”

  “Where?” The idea held appeal. Channel his energy into quick jabs. Punch his feelings into line. “We don’t have a gymnasium on board.”

  “The theater is large enough. And we are unlikely to be disturbed there at this time of day.” Ventura pulled out a pocket watch. “What say you? I’ll go get my man.”

  “Easy money, Ventura. Easy money. I have ten years on you, man. Shall I spot you a point or two?”

  “Not necessary.” Ventura grinned. “You don’t know everything about me. Fifteen minutes?”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  “And you can bring a second, if you wish.”

  “Duel at dawn?”

  Ike trotted down the stairs. In his cabin, he rustled through his clothing. His stylish wardrobe filled him with pride, but he had precious little suitable for a boxing match. He settled for the clothes he wore when helping the stevedores loading and unloading—worn slacks, a shirt with loose buttonholes and a few paint splashes on the sleeves. What else? A pair of leather gloves might protect his hands. Slipping them into his pocket, he went to the theater.

  Ventura danced around the floor, his feet shifting and arms darting with an invisible partner. As the door shut behind Ike, he looked up. “Where’s your second?”

  “I didn’t bring one.” Ike said. “You won’t last more than five minutes.”

  “How much do you want to bet?” Ventura grinned.

  “Oh, I don’t know. One dollar a point? Five?”

  “Five. Let’s keep it interesting.” Ventura handed his pocket watch to his man. “Terms. One point for every hit landed. Punches only allowed above the waist. Two five-minute bouts, a third if we are tied. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. Are you sure you don’t want me to spot you a point or two?”

  “No chance.”

  After Ventura’s second moved the chairs to the perimeter walls, he met Ike in the middle, where they knocked their knuckles together.

  “Shall we separate six paces before we come out swinging?” Ike couldn’t get over how much this felt like a duel.

  “A yard should be plenty.” Ventura backed up a few feet. Both of them waited for a signal from his second. At his nod, Ventura darted forward, swinging his right fist. Ike shifted, but the blow glanced off his chin.

  “One point!” Ventura danced back. Ike threw right, left, right, but Ventura dodged all of them.

  Ike’s estimation of his opponent rose a notch or two. Ventura was tougher than he looked.

  “We grow them strong in Old Mexico. Like a bantam rooster. Small and tough.” Ventura grinned as he darted forward and swung his left hand toward Ike’s chest. Ike avoided the blow.

  As they continued to dance around each other, feinting, avoiding, darting forward, Ike worked up a sweat. This room would smell like the engine room. He’d have to give special instructions to the cleaning crew tomorrow.

  “Five minutes,” the second called. “Halt.”

  The first period ended with Ventura ahead two points to one. Ventura tossed a towel to Ike. In the absence of a bucket of cold water, he accepted it and wiped at the sweat pouring from his face and neck and down his arms.

  “Take your places.”

  Ike copied Ventura’s stance, holding his elbows in close, protecting his vulnerable chest. This time he landed the first blow on Ventura. “Even.”

  Ventura circled Ike, moving him to the left, his weak side. “Not for long.” He darted in and landed his right fist beneath Ike’s protective block with his left arm.

  Ike resisted the urge to jump back and protect the injured area. He would smart tomorrow. Instead, he channeled his aggravation into vigilance and landed a second punch before time was called again. Ike took his seat, swiped at his face with the now-damp towel, and wished he had a cold drink.

  “What is going on in here?”

  Ike’s head snapped up and his gaze collided with the astonished glare of Blanche Lamar. “We’re… letting off steam.”

  “You’re fighting! I heard you all the way at the end of the hall.” She took a step into the room, glanced at Ventura, but crossed to Ike. “You’re hurt.” Her finger pointed to his chin. “I’ll get some cold water.”

  “In Mr. Gallagher’s defense, I’m the one who suggested this.” Ventura stood up. “Nurse him later. We’re not done yet. The next man who lands a hit wins.”

  “This is a game?” Blanche looked as mystified as women always had since they watched boys fight in the schoolyard.

  “It’s not so much a game as a way—”

  Ike hastened to interrupt. “I felt the need of exercise, and my choices on board are limited. Ventura came up with this suggestion. Now, if you will excuse me…” He stood and crossed the distance to Ventura in one long stride. His hands lashed out, left, right, left, and all three landed.

  CHAPTER 17

  Ike raised his arms in the universal signal of victory. Gasping, Blanche stepped in Ventura’s direction to make sure he was uninjured.

  “Well done! We’ll settle things later.” Ventura accepted his man’s towel and buried his face in its folds. Swinging the towel around his neck, he smiled as if he hadn’t lost the bout. “Good day, Gallagher. Miss Lamar. I will see you later.” A tune whistling between his teeth, he walked out the door, happy with the world.

  Blanche counted to ten once, then twice. “Was that really necessary?”

  “Of course not.” The corner of Ike’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “But it was fun.”

  “Grown men, fighting like
two boys in the schoolyard.” She shook her head. “I thought the two of you were friends.”

  “Have you ever heard of boxing?”

  Blanche shook her head.

  “It’s a kind of organized fight. With rules.”

  “You still were hurt. Your chin is already turning color.” She peered at it, questioning whether what she saw was a bruise or his whiskers. Her fingers stretched out to check before she pulled back, embarrassed by her close examination of the man.

  He touched his side and winced. “I didn’t expect you to leave the pilothouse so early.”

  Old Obie had sent her out early with strict instructions to rest and fix her hair for the evening, but she wouldn’t give Ike the satisfaction of telling him so. “I was just taking a break before we come to La Joya. I was on my way to my cabin when I heard all the commotion in here.” She drew a deep breath. “Since it appears you will live, I will go on ahead.”

  “I’ll see you this evening then.” Ike grabbed a towel and walked her to the door. “Looking like a gentleman, I promise you.”

  Blanche watched his back as he walked away. Damp patches darkened his shirt where it stuck to his skin. Dressed in these clothes, he looked more like farmers she had seen working around Roma, and less like the suave man of the world. They transformed him into a real man with muscles, one who sweated when he worked—strong enough to defend his family. She turned away, heat spreading into her cheeks and down her arms. So, he was a man, like any other man. A man who had invited her to dinner at a restaurant.

  Confused by her feelings, she slowed her steps, seeking direction. She should go to her cabin, grab her Bible, and ask God to clear her momentary muddle. What she did instead was return to the pilothouse.

  “Back so soon?” Old Obie gestured her forward. “It’s just as well. We are almost at La Joya.”

  “I thought so. I want to watch you pull up to the dock.”

  “Maybe you want to do it yourself?” The corners of Old Obie’s hazel eyes crinkled as he patted the wheel.