They had debated whether Captain Pettigrew should also take a bow; but he had demurred, saying he didn’t want to detract from the holiness of God’s covenant. In the end his argument won out, although he was mentioned in the credits of the programs they had distributed among the audience.
As the cries for an encore continued, Effie played the introduction to “Build Me a Boat.” The chorus and cast joined Blanche and Ike in singing it one more time.
When the applause at last died down, Blanche took her place at the front of room. Although her stomach roiled with butterflies, she focused on first one smiling face then another. Toward the back, she saw the Davenports from Christ the King Community Church. Their facial expressions remained neutral, and Blanche’s insides tensed. Once she passed on to the next smiling face, her nerves settled. “Let’s offer another round of applause for the composer of tonight’s musicale, Miss Effie Gallagher.”
Effie stiffened at the piano.
“Take a bow, Effie.”
Effie swung around on her piano stool and stood, shock and surprise on her face. When the audience noticed the cane by her right hand, applause grew louder. She bowed and sat back down.
“We will have a repeat performance tomorrow evening and twice on Saturday. Please tell your friends and family.” Nods and whispered conversations encouraged Blanche that they would spread the word. After her dismissal, she resisted the temptation to slip out the side door, but instead remained at the front. A few people pushed forward, including the Davenports. The expressions on their faces told her nothing, and she struggled to focus on the person in front of her.
“We’ll be back Saturday afternoon, with our children,” a matron dressed in a suit in a colorful blue with gray piping gushed. “We wanted to check it out first. It gave me several things to think about. It’s not always easy to trust God.”
Blanche thought back to the day when Effie had asked, “What will you do when God doesn’t seem to come through for you?” Noah might have wondered the same thing, fearing if he would ever get to leave the ark.
The Davenports were next to last in line. Mrs. Davenport embraced her briefly before stepping back.
“I must confess I was surprised when I heard about this performance,” Reverend Davenport’s voice rumbled.
“I told him, there must be some mistake. Cordelia’s daughter wouldn’t be involved with anything so worldly.”
The joy drained from Blanche.
“I was pleasantly surprised that there were a few redeeming qualities in the play. I will not speak against it.” Reverend Davenport nodded his head as if his lack of condemnation should please Blanche, but her heart ached for more.
“Miss Gallagher did an excellent job in capturing the spirit of the biblical account.” Captain Pettigrew entered from the wings, now that the audience had wandered out. “I had misgivings myself, until I read the script.”
The man behind the Davenports—dressed in a somber dark suit but with a welcoming smile—stepped forward. “I have to agree. ‘Build Me a Boat.’ Pa-rum-pa-pa-pum.” He hummed the melody. “I believe I’ll be singing that tune the next time I have to hammer something together. My compliments to Miss Gallagher.” He bent in her direction then took her hand and kissed it. Effie giggled.
“I am Ronald Sanders. Former gentleman of the stage and now a preacher for the Lord.” He sounded more like an actor than a preacher like Reverend Davenport. “I have often despaired that God could use anything from my former life, but you have shown me differently.”
Blanche looked from Sanders to the Davenports to Captain Pettigrew. The differences of opinions didn’t help clarify the decision she must make.
Mr. Sanders said it had helped him. Despite his old-fashioned hairstyle, bushy eyebrows, and long sideburns, kindness shone from his eyes, the love and joy of Christ. “I’m glad our little play helped you, Mr. Sanders. Are you pastoring a church in Roma?” She didn’t think she had met him before, but she didn’t know much about the churches of Roma outside of her home fellowship.
Reverend Davenport’s frown indicated he hadn’t either, and Mr. Sanders confirmed that by shaking his head. “God told me to come to Roma, that someone here needed my help.” He winked at her. “Now I am wondering if that person might be you, Miss Lamar. Do you have need of a chaplain? Or perhaps a theater director?”
Mrs. Davenport drew back. “You must have a lot to do. Come see us, if we can help you with anything.” She embraced Blanche one last time and left without a backward look.
Blanche wanted to run after them, to chase that expression of disapproval from their faces. But nothing she did now could undo their disappointment in the play.
Blanche shook aside the distraction. “Mr. Sanders, I’d love to discuss your ideas with you. Tomorrow morning? Say, at eleven o’clock?”
“I’ll be here, eleven on the dot. It’s been a pleasure.” With a sweeping bow, he took his departure.
“Don’t worry about anything Reverend Davenport has to say. That play of my sister’s gave me plenty to think about. It’s a different kind of sermon. One that settles on a listener’s ear easier than sitting in a church listening to someone drone on in a monotone.”
He mimicked Reverend Davenport’s tone so perfectly that Blanche couldn’t quite stifle her giggle. “It’s not that bad.” She wouldn’t admit how often she had to fight a desire to nap about halfway through his sermons.
“Whatever else Mr. Sanders might be, I doubt he ever speaks in a monotone.”
“No, I doubt that.” Ike’s words had helped restore her good humor. “This idea of Effie’s seems to be working. Do you think people downriver would like to see the play?”
“Positively. Does that mean—?”
She nodded. “We’ll make one more trip to Brownsville and back.”
Ike woke early on Sunday morning. Amazing how much more sleep he was getting since he stopped gambling. If he had any intentions of continuing on the sly, he couldn’t have. Either Blanche or Effie stopped by every night, checking on him.
Life aboard the Cordelia ran to a different rhythm now—prayers at meals, Sunday services, a midweek Bible study as well. Blanche had even provided a multivolumed Braille Bible that Effie spent hours reading. The latest volume remained propped open on a corner table in the dining salon. Musicales, plays, and recitations had taken the place of gambling for entertainment. In the week since they had left Roma, they had performed “Build a Boat, Noah” to sold-out crowds every night and enthusiastic requests for a repeat performance when next they came to town. In fact, they made as much money through the plays as he had expected from sponsoring the Bats’ exhibition baseball games.
Then again, their expenses had increased; they were paying two additional salaries, for Captain Pettigrew and Mr. Sanders. In addition to serving as ship’s chaplain, Sanders took over the role of Noah in the play. The reprieve gave Ike additional time to drum up shipping business.
All in all, business was faring better than he’d feared, but not as well as they needed. On this Sunday morning, he decided to check out the worship service. He chose one of his darker gray suits with a white shirt. Not his favorite, but he thought Blanche would approve.
As he reached the head of the stairs, he encountered Captain Pettigrew headed in the same direction. “Good morning. I thought you gave these Sunday services a miss.” Pettigrew had made no work Sundays a condition of his employment, and Blanche had gladly complied.
“I don’t have anything better to do.” He noticed the Bible in the captain’s hand. He hadn’t given it a thought. “Go on ahead. I’ll join you in a moment.” He peeled away from Pettigrew and headed for Old Obie’s cabin.
One of the surprises that had come from sorting through Old Obie’s things was the discovery of a worn Bible among his possessions. Ike intended to give it to Blanche; he’d do it after the morning service. A glance at the clock told him he’d miss the first few minutes of the service. He’d bet—not that Blanche would allow him t
o bet—that she would be happy to see him, late or not.
Music streamed through the open door. One of the young maids scurried down the hall ahead of him and headed into the theater. Had a church service ever been held in a stranger location? Half the congregation was dressed for work, ready to return to the business of the day once the final amen sounded. Most of the passengers attended—that would please Blanche. For the most part, they had dressed in their Sunday best. Theater backdrops remained on the stage. Plush chairs rather than padded pews formed rows for the congregation. Ike slipped onto the last available seat, next to one of the single male passengers, Robert Albertson. Someone he would have recruited for a hand of poker, and here he was attending church.
When they finished the hymn they were singing, Blanche glanced at Ike and smiled. “Next we will sing ‘Blessed Be the Tie That Binds.’ In my short time aboard the Cordelia, I have met many wonderful Christians. The tie that binds us together is indeed a blessing.”
Albertson held a hymnal where Ike could see. Hymnals? Where had they come from? No one kept him informed of developments in this Christian business, but things appeared to be going well.
With the presence of Sanders, Ike expected to endure an hour-long sermon. He kept his remarks short, directing their attention to the biblical account of Noah. Even though Ike didn’t know much about the Bible, he did know Genesis was the first book. He found the sixth chapter without much trouble.
As Sanders read the verses like the Shakespearean actor he had once been, Ike remembered another reason why he hadn’t read the Bible all that often. Full of thees and thous and shalts and verbs ending with eth. He preferred plain speaking. A glance around indicated a few others felt the same way.
Then Sanders set down his Bible and began speaking. Preaching, Ike supposed you could call it, but it was neither like the rantings he had heard from some tent evangelists nor the monotone of preachers like Davenport. Nor was it melodramatic posing—what Ike might have expected. No, Sanders spoke as he might to a table of close friends. Humming, he started in on a few words of “Build Me a Boat, Noah.” He began clapping; Effie joined him, then Blanche, then Ike as well as everyone else in the back row. Soon everyone was clapping and singing. The place rang with enthusiasm and felt nothing like any church service Ike had ever attended.
Sanders cut them off. He spoke the words of the song. “‘Build Me a boat, Noah.’ But Noah didn’t have any idea what a boat was. It had never rained before. But God gave him a blueprint, and Noah started building. And building.”
He laughed. “Now, I know people lived longer in those days than they do today, but even back then, a hundred years was a long time. And that’s how long it took Noah to build the ark. A hundred years.”
Sanders kept going through the story, singing different parts of the music, pointing out how time after time it wasn’t easy for Noah to trust God. “And how about all those months they lived on the boat? With all those animals?” He chuckled. “I’ve only lived on a boat for one week and my feet are already itching for dry land. I can’t imagine what it was like for Noah.”
Laughter rippled around the room.
Sanders made it clear that Noah had plenty of reasons to doubt and complain. But he trusted God, no matter how bad everything got. His reward? Rescuing all of his family, not to mention all mankind.
Nothing that had ever happened to Ike could compare to what happened to Noah. The light shining from Blanche’s face made sense to him in a way it never had before. Nothing he had ever done, or could ever do, would bring that expression to her face. He couldn’t compete with her faith—but could he share it?
He found himself fidgeting in his chair and biting his lip. Not because he was bored—but because he wasn’t. He wanted to put his fingers in his ears, to stop the words cascading down his eardrums to his heart. Surveying the theater for needed improvements helped pass the time. The sound of shuffling feet, Effie moving to the piano, broke into his attention and he noticed everyone around him was bowing their heads. Sanders finished his final prayer with a loud “amen,” not a moment too soon.
Ike stood with the others and slipped through the door, unnoticed. The always-moving, unpredictable but at least familiar, river would restore him to balance.
Blanche hoped to greet Ike, but he disappeared before she could reach him. Something in his face tugged at her heart, as if he was taking a good look at his soul for the first time. But he left before she had made her way past the first row. With a final glance at the door, she approached the preacher. “That was an excellent sermon, Reverend Sanders. When I think about what Noah had to face, and the comparatively minor problems I have encountered, I am put to shame.”
“We all feel that way. He’s an example, a demonstration of what faith in God looks like.” He gestured with his hands then clapped them together. “I’ll stop before I start preaching again.”
The people around them laughed. Blanche said good-bye to the gathering and went in search of Ike. No sign of him lingered in the hallway or the dining salon. Her footsteps led to his cabin, but she left without knocking. If he was there, she didn’t want to disturb him. She headed on deck. He might be up in the pilothouse, or perhaps in what she had come to call his thinking spot. Only one silhouette appeared in the pilothouse, so she headed for the prow of the ship.
She took two, three, half a dozen steps in his direction, her shoes making soft clipping sounds on the floor. His shoulders stiffened but he didn’t turn around.
When only a yard separated them, she stopped. “Ike?”
He kept his gaze on the sky. “Looks like we’re in for a bad storm. What happens if we have a Noah-sized rain?”
CHAPTER 31
Gray clouds scudded across the sky, whipped into a frenzy by lightning striking the earth to the east. “It looks bad.” Blanche heard the thread of fear in her voice. “What are storms like on the river?”
“The boat will rock a little bit. If it gets bad, we can stop forward progress and drop an anchor.”
“Is that what my father would have done?”
She felt the shrug through his suit jacket. “Probably not. But he had a lifetime of experience on the river. And he did shut down the engines once or twice.”
An overnight stop now would mean a day’s delay in their arrival in Brownsville. Three more meals. Another day’s expenses. The time she had spent pouring over the account books had revealed how close to the bone the boat ran. “Captain Pettigrew is a good pilot. We’ll continue running unless he decides it is dangerous. I’ll ask him to take over at the helm after dinner. Before, if the weather deteriorates.”
“Wise course.” The corner of Ike’s lips lifted in a smirk. “Why not go full steam ahead and trust God to keep us all safe?”
His eyes expressionless, she couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking. “Trusting God doesn’t mean being foolish.”
“I don’t know. From what Sanders said today, it sounds like it was pretty foolish for Noah to build that boat.”
A definite challenge. “That was different. God spoke to Noah directly.”
“So God doesn’t speak to you today?”
Blanche bit her lip. Give me wisdom. And patience. “Not in the same way. We have the Bible.” A bit of humor wouldn’t hurt. “And I have never read in the Bible about steamboats or the Rio Grande River or even the great state of Texas.”
“Touché.” He smiled that strange half grin again. “Would you like for me to quiz you on the pilot’s test after we eat?” Captain Pettigrew had agreed to work a maximum of three months; she dedicated time each day to earning her license before he left.
Blanche gave thought to the safety of her cabin, but life as the owner didn’t allow for self-indulgence, at least not on a day with a looming thunderstorm. “Yes.” A single drop of rain fell on her face. “Perhaps I can take the wheel for a few minutes before the weather gets too bad.” She laughed nervously. “I have to learn how to manage the boat in all kinds of circumstanc
es.”
Three hours later, she debated the wisdom of that decision. Pete was more than happy to let her take his shift at the helm. Since Ike was a licensed pilot, although he seldom worked in that role, he could supervise Blanche. She stood on a crate, an adaptation her father had recommended to make up for her short stature. The additional height didn’t make up for the cascading rain. She found herself trying to look between raindrops—an impossible task. “I’m afraid I’m going to miss changes in the river.”
“Want to quit?” Ike lifted an eyebrow.
“Captain Pettigrew said he would come up if he felt it got too bad.” She took a shaky breath. “But if this isn’t bad, I don’t know what is.”
“Your faith in God isn’t up to the task?”
Leave God out of it. Squinting, she didn’t respond.
Ike put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed her sore muscles. “Relax. Look at the whole tree, not the leaves.”
“I’ll try.”
After that, Ike remained quiet. Blanche’s shoulders kept rising, tensing her entire body until a soft touch of his hand reminded her to relax. Even so, her muscles would feel sore in the morning. She’d resort to willow bark tea and soak in hot water. Rain lashed against the front window, giving both sky and river a rippled effect. The sun disappeared from view, melding white sky to gray horizon that gradually darkened to the same shade.
After half an hour by the hourglass, the pattern of the rain changed, and she called for an increase of power. The Cordelia plowed her way through the spot, and Blanche called for a return to normal speed.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 36