“Dum, de-dum, dum,” Blanche hummed. “Sorry this is taking me so long.”
“I’m thrilled someone can write it down.” Effie’s hand riffled over the keyboard. “I don’t think anyone has come up with Braille for music yet.”
Blanche giggled. “I’m picturing someone trying to read Braille music and play the piano at the same time.”
“That might be hard.” Effie repeated the first line again. “I’m glad Mr. Sanders suggested the story of the Israelites crossing the Jordan River and the fall of Jericho for this musical.”
“He’s preparing a list of all the stories that take place on a river or the sea. We won’t run out of ideas for a while.”
“Moses in the bulrushes—”
“Jesus calming the storm—”
“Paul’s shipwreck—”
“But the walls of Jericho is an exciting story to start with. I can’t believe I’m going to be Rahab.” Blanche draped a pillowcase across her face like a veil and giggled.
“With Ike as Salmon.” Effie kept a straight face. “Rahab’s future husband.”
Blanche cheeks heated, and she was thankful Effie couldn’t see her face. There were times when Effie’s blindness was a blessing. “And I can’t believe Dame Agatha has offered to make all the costumes we need, so everyone who wants to can march around Jericho.”
She wanted to hug herself. God had blessed their showboat drama program so that their financial problems had disappeared for the moment. “We’re not getting anything done this way. Go on.”
They had already finished the marching song, with the chorus they repeated seven times. This song occurred earlier in the story, when the spies told Rahab about the one true God. Effie had written a haunting melody with memorable harmonies, but Blanche struggled to get them on paper. Half an hour later, she had managed the three voices. “I’ll work on the piano part later. If we run out of other things to do.”
The first lunch bell rang. “That’s all we’ll get to today. I’m going to be in the pilothouse this afternoon.” Work filled Blanche’s days from morning to night, and she loved every minute of it.
Outside the theater door, the thrum of footfalls raced down the hall. Blanche frowned. “Who is making all that noise? There aren’t any children onboard this trip.”
“Give me a minute to clean up. Then we can go see.”
Blanche wanted to go remind—whoever it was—that crew didn’t run in the halls. But she wouldn’t run out on her friend. Minutes ticked by, the halls grew quiet, and the last warning bell rang.
“I’m ready to go now. Sorry it took me so long today.” Even with those words, Effie leisurely stacked papers on top of the piano and took up her cane. If they didn’t get to the salon soon, they would delay the meal for everyone else.
Blanche matched Effie’s speed as they made their way down the hall to the dining salon. The aroma of saucy beans greeted her nose. She loved beans and corn bread for lunch. Her stomach growled.
Through the door—closed, not propped open the way Blanche had instructed—she heard low murmurs, as if the room was crowded. “I’m afraid we’re really late.”
“I don’t think Elaine will mind.” Effie’s voice held a hint of laughter as Blanche swung the door open.
“Surprise!”
Every member of the crew not on duty stood in a loose circle around the room. Someone had draped a banner reading “Congratulations, Captain Lamar!” in gigantic red letters across the kitchen window.
“You—you…” Blanche stammered.
Ike stepped forward. “I ran into Mr. Roberts from the Board of Examiners when we were in Brownsville the last time, and he told me the news.”
Smithers exited the kitchen, bearing a shining silver platter with a thin envelope. Elaine and one of her assistants followed, balancing a cake between them. A single white candle burned brightly in the center.
“Here is your mail, Captain.” Smithers smiled. He smiled. With the envelope between two thin fingers, he extended it to Blanche.
Two dozen pairs of eyes trained on her. What if… Blanche couldn’t stand waiting any longer. Grasping the letter opener, she slit the end of the envelope and pulled out a thin sheet of paper. “It’s from the Board of Examiners.” Blanche read the return address.
“What does it say?” Effie’s smile told her she had known about the celebration.
“We are pleased to inform you… you are now qualified to pilot a boat on any of the waterways in the state of Texas.” The letter dropped from Blanche’s hand, her arms, her legs, her shoulders trembling beyond her control. “I’m a pilot.” Her voice came out as a squeak.
The room rang with applause.
“Ahoy, Captain.”
“Aye, aye, Captain!”
Different calls erupted across the room.
Elaine had positioned the cake on the table. “Blow out the candle.” She gestured to the fantastic concoction of flowery frosting and “Captain Lamar” written in blue and red letters. “I know it’s not your birthday, but it seemed right.”
Heat rushing into her cheeks, Blanche leaned over the center of the table and blew. As nervous as she was, she didn’t know if she could expel enough breath to blow out the flame. It flickered and went out.
With a sparkle in his eye, Ike handed her a knife. “Go ahead and cut the cake.”
With the knife as long as her forearm, Blanche cut a two-inch corner piece. “You take the first piece.” Ike took over with the server.
Each crew member stopped by to say a few words, so Blanche ate the cake very slowly.
“Well done, Miss Lamar.” Dame Agatha came about midway through the line. “I have asked Mr. Gallagher to buy some material to make you a captain’s uniform.”
“Why, thank you, D—Agatha.”
Some of the crew ate quickly then slipped out. Others came when they left. “Sorry I couldn’t be here earlier,” McDonald said. “I stayed downstairs so Jose and Tomas could be here at the start. Congratulations, Captain!”
“Thank you for coming.” Tears came into her eyes. Her crew had done so much to make this day special.
She eventually finished that first piece of cake and eyed a second piece. Ike slid a corner piece onto a plate and handed it to her. “I saved this piece for you.”
One of the younger maids approached, and Blanche asked Ike to set it aside for later.
Alice, the maid, approached. “I just wanted to say, ma’am, how very pleased and proud we all are of your passing your pilot’s test. I can’t believe as how they let a woman do that. It makes me think maybe someday women will be able to do anything they want to. Maybe even vote.” The timid girl’s eyes blazed.
“Who knows what the future holds?” Blanche hugged the girl. “Whatever dreams God gives you, pursue them with all your heart.”
Elaine disappeared to the back of the kitchen, and Blanche glanced at the clock. When had it grown so late? Soon the dinner bell would ring. “I hate to say it, but…”
“…We have a show to put on tonight. Don’t worry. Several of the crew members are in the theater getting everything ready. You should rest.”
“I’m supposed to be in the pilothouse!” Blanche’s hand flew to her mouth.
Ike and Effie laughed. “We’ve been anchored at the wharf for the past two hours. Pete decided he should rest, since he knows we’ll want to leave as soon as we clear out from tonight’s performance. He sends his congratulations, by the way.”
“I’m a pilot.” She whispered the words. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she had no room for the second piece of cake. “Save it for me, Elaine. I’ll eat it later.”
“I’m going to rest until supper.” Effie headed for the door. “Are you coming with me?”
Blanche circled, taking in the banner, the remains of the cake sitting on the table, with the single white candle in the middle. She picked up the letter from the board and raised it to her lips. “Not this afternoon. I’ll take a turn around the deck.”
“May I join you?” Ike held his hands behind his back.
“Of course.” They walked toward the door.
“Congratulations. Again. I am so proud of you.” With a flash of his hands, he brought a single red rose from behind his back. “For you.”
“How beautiful.” She brought the rose to her nose as he opened the door. “But how did you… When did you…”
“I dashed into town as soon as we received the mail and begged the rose from someone with a rosebush in her front yard.” His eyes darkened to the midnight blue. “I told her it was for a special occasion for a special woman.”
How should she respond to that? “Thank you.”
They promenaded around the perimeter until they reached the prow. The boat split the water, causing small waves to stream backward.
“I can’t ever decide what I like better. Watching the water spill over the stern wheel or watching the prow split the river.” Blanche kept the rose close to her nose. The velvety soft petals brushed against her cheeks.
“Isn’t there a verse that warns against looking at what lies behind?” Ike picked up a small piece of wood and tossed it over the side. “But I know this: I am looking forward to the future.”
“That’s good. So am I.”
“So you should, Captain Lamar.”
They didn’t speak for a few minutes. Blanche felt long fingers wrap her free hand in his, and she turned to look at Ike.
“I can’t predict the future, but one thing I know for sure.” Ike spoke in a low, warm voice. “I love you, Blanche Marie Lamar, and I can’t imagine a future without you.”
Blanche’s gaze slowly traveled from the spot where their hands joined, to his shoulders, to his strong chin, at last allowing herself to gaze into his clear blue eyes. She reached a hesitant hand to caress his cheek. “Oh Ike.”
“I know that I have a lot to learn, to be ready to be the kind of husband God wants me to be.”
“Ike—”
“Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “All I can ask you for now is if you are willing to wait for me, until I am that man, and I feel qualified to ask you to share my life.” His eyes stayed as sharply focused, but had turned to a lighter shade of blue, more like the color of fragile china.
“Ike. Oh Ike.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips then stepped back, shocked at her boldness. “I don’t expect perfection.”
Ike stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “Then?”
“I will gladly wait.” She blinked through the happy tears. “As long as you don’t take too long.”
This time Ike leaned in and sealed her promise with a kiss.
Christmas Sunday, 1894
Blanche had never worn such a fancy gown, although Dame Agatha insisted the lack of puffed sleeves made it plain. The skirt fell in unbroken folds of winter white brocade. White tulle trailed from her veil down her back. The hairdresser Dame Agatha had recruited from Roma was weaving strings of pearls as well as orange blossoms into the soft curls on top of her head. Blanche could never have managed such an elaborate coiffure on her own.
The red roses of her bouquet were a different matter. Blanche had approached the same lady who provided the rose from her garden and asked for a posy. She had agreed and fashioned a beautiful bouquet.
“I don’t often mind being blind, but I wish I could see you in your dress.” Effie herself looked beautiful in her Christmassy dark green dress.
When planning the wedding, they had debated whether Effie should play the piano—her preference—or be her maid of honor—what Blanche wanted. When the Davenports heard about the impending nuptials, Mrs. Davenport graciously offered to play the piano for the wedding. Reverend Davenport and Mr. Sanders would both officiate.
“I will tell Mrs. Davenport to start Lohengrin’s ‘Bridal Chorus’.” Agatha dipped in what could have passed as a curtsy. “You are truly beautiful.”
Ike and Blanche had given brief consideration to holding the wedding at Christ the King Church but decided the best place for the wedding was aboard the Cordelia. She had dressed in Dame Agatha’s room, since the laundry was on the same deck as the theater. Various members of the crew had decorated the theater like a chapel; half the town of Roma was invited.
Even now Ike was making his way into the theater. A thrill ran up Blanche’s spine as she considered him waiting for her, dressed in a black tuxedo. After his salvation, he had devoured the Bible, reading all the way through it twice, and had become as committed to following the Lord as he had pushed Him away earlier. So when Ike asked for her hand at Thanksgiving, Blanche had gladly accepted.
Captain Pettigrew appeared at the door. “Is the bride ready?”
Blanche blinked away the happy tears. She imagined Old Obie watching from heaven.
“Yes.” She accepted his arm.
“You are breathtaking, my dear. And so are you, Miss Effie.”
Music streamed through the open doors of the salon. Effie had decided not to use her cane since she knew the boat like the back of her hand. She took half a dozen steps, turned at the entrance to the salon, and walked through.
At the first chords of the “Wedding Chorus,” Captain Pettigrew drew Blanche gently forward. When she crossed the threshold, Ike filled her vision. He smiled, and her face widened in answer.
When she reached her groom, the “Wedding Chorus” ended, and Effie began singing. “When peace like a river attendeth my way…”
It is well; it is well with my soul.
Award-winning author and speaker Darlene Franklin recently returned to cowboy country—Oklahoma. The move was prompted by her desire to be close to her son’s family; her daughter Jolene has preceded her into glory.
Darlene loves music, needlework, reading, and reality TV. Talia, a Lynx point Siamese cat, proudly claims Darlene as her person. Darlene has published several titles with Barbour Publishing.
To learn more about Darlene and her work, check out her blog at http://darlenefranklinwrites.blogspot.com/
Valiant Heart
by Sally Laity
VALIANT HEART
By Sally Laity
The first time I laid eyes on you
I thought you were like all the others…
Helpless, weepy, and a lot less bright than you should be.
How wrong I was.
For what I perceived to be
A stubborn streak turned out to be the opposite…
Fortitude. Backbone.
A spirit of adventure.
Yet despite those admirable traits,
What struck me most about you
Were things entirely different…
Qualities I could not even name, at first.
Trust. Hope. Striving onward for what is right.
I see now that faith is something
Which stretches beyond Sunday
to all the days of one’s life.
And character comes from deep within…
As intangible and enduring as a valiant heart.
CHAPTER 1
Missouri
May 1848
Amanda Shelby stared out the window of her second-story room in the Bradford Hotel. Scattered showers had dotted the dirt streets of Independence with puddles—glossy brown mirrors that reflected the puffy clouds and blue expanse of the ever-changing spring sky above.
And everywhere were people. Young and old, whole families of them, eager and waiting to start out on the trail to the rich, fertile valleys and hills of Oregon. They had all but emptied the mercantile and hardware stores of goods until new shipments arrived, and then those, too, would be snatched up before they had time to gather dust on the shelves. The process would repeat itself over and over throughout the spring as numerous companies of travelers gathered to begin the westward trek over mountains and plains to establish new homes before the onset of winter.
As she gazed wistfully at the bustling scene below, the iron-rimmed wheels of a pair of Conestogas splashed through t
he puddles, rumbling toward the growing encampment near the spring on the outskirts of town. Two small boys leaned precariously out of the bowed canvas top of the second wagon, their eyes round with excitement. At the sight of a garishly dressed woman in red satin and a feather boa, in front of the Bluebird Saloon, they elbowed each other, then darted back inside the confines of their arched haven.
Amanda released a sigh and steeled her heart against a twinge of sadness. Only a few short weeks ago, Pa had driven her and Sarah Jane in their own prairie schooner over the quay and up the steep grade to Independence Square, their hearts full of hopes and plans for the trip overland to the Far West. But that seemed so long ago, almost like a dream. Nothing could alter the grim reality that Pa now occupied a fresh grave on a lonely hillside a mere stone’s throw away. The cruel twist of fate had brought a swift end to the visions of their wondrous new life. Now the world felt bleak and empty, and Amanda had no idea what she and Sarah would do.
Almost as if the last thought had been an audible summons, her seventeen-year-old younger sister breezed into the room, wheat-gold curls slightly tangled by the breeze. The triumphant smile that lit her guileless face looked a little out of place against the shadows beneath her eyes. Amanda had been more than aware of Sarah’s tossing and turning each night during the past few weeks—and her soft crying. But during her waking hours the younger girl flitted about in a near frenzy of activity, as if trying to keep too busy to dwell on their losses.
Sarah draped her woolen shawl over the back of a chair and held out her tote. “There were only three bottles of sarsaparilla left in the whole town! I nearly had to fend off a mob to get one of them!” Then she sobered, concern drawing her fine brows together above shimmering eyes of clearest blue. “Something wrong, Mandy?”
“Just thinking a little too much.” Amanda silently regarded her sibling, who was the very picture of what she herself had always wished to be—willowy and graceful as Mama, with delicate features and a face that never failed to turn heads. But alas, that particular dream had been in vain. Amanda had conceded long ago that it was only fair that one of them resembled the plainer, sturdier Shelby side of the family, and she was the only other one there was. Twisting an errant strand of light auburn hair absently between her thumb and forefinger, she backed away from the muslin-curtained window and sank to a chair, smoothing the skirt of her somber brown cotton dress.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 39