Lost Knight of Arabia
By Barbara Baldwin
Digital ISBNs
EPUB 9781771456890
Kindle 9781771456906
WEB PDF 9781771456913
Print ISBN 9781771456883
Copyright 2015 by Barbara Baldwin
Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2015
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Dear Readers,
In Kansas City, there is a museum whose people are dedicated to the preserving of artifacts from the Steamboat Arabia, sunk in 1856 and excavated in 1988. I have gone there frequently since it opened in 1991, fascinated by the history and romance of it all. I watched the video of the excavation, wandered through the displays, asked questions. I would take friends and family every chance I had so I could see what else they had cleaned and preserved and put on display.
I read the researched articles from the time she sank in 1856 to later attempts to excavate. There were several discrepancies in those original newspaper accounts – everything from the actual date of her sinking, to the day of the week, the time of the evening, and especially about the two hundred tons of cargo headed for the frontier.
And one day, as my hand slid along the original river route mural on the long wall by the boilers; as I read town names, some of which no longer exist, I wondered – what if there was one more discrepancy...
Chapter 1
To whoever finds this journal:
I don’t even know where to begin describing this living nightmare, and so I’ve decided to write it all down. I started out this November morning in 1988 as an intern uncovering sunken treasure from the Steamboat Arabia, and at the end of the day I am aboard the Arabia, back in the year 1856. Magic isn’t real; time travel can’t actually happen, except in the movies. I am a scientist and there must be a logical explanation. Besides, if I don’t try to explain it, I will certainly go nuts.
Fact: The Steamboat Arabia sank in 1856 and after the river channel shifted over the next one hundred thirty years, the boat has been found in a cornfield in Kansas. An excavation is underway to salvage the cargo, and as an archeology PhD candidate, I have the opportunity to work at the dig site. This whole thing must have started with the torrential downpour…
Even with thick wool socks and insulated boots, Brianna’s feet were frozen, hampering her movements as she shuffled through the muddy water. Twenty pumps hummed above them but the forty-five foot deep hole in the middle of a cornfield was close enough to the river that it continued to fill with water.
Everyday new treasures were being found. As soon as items were unearthed at the Arabia dig site they were transported to a refrigeration storage company. It was paramount that everything was frozen immediately to keep the air from deteriorating the cloth or wood. The restoration process wouldn’t even begin until all the artifacts were unearthed. The team had to be in and out of the cornfield in a matter of months and Bri considered herself extremely lucky to be part of the excavation team.
She had been working tirelessly towards the foredeck of the steamboat where they had found glassware, beads, and other house wares, buried in mud and silt. The Arabia had sunk in less than ten minutes, listing to the side with such force that many of the crates of cargo had cracked or broken. Over the years, the wood of some of the barrels had disintegrated and now each piece of glass had to be removed by hand and rewrapped, then carefully placed into a modern crate before it could be lifted out of the dig site and trucked to the warehouse.
She wiped the top of a small wooden box with her mitten. It was only as large as her hand, and she wondered about its owner and contents as she lifted the lid. She sighed. Why had she thought this item would be different? Everything they unearthed was full of silt that had sifted in over the years to surround and clump the contents together. She would have to dump everything onto one of the screens so the mud could be washed away without losing the contents.
She groaned as she stood upright, aching from the long hours of tedious, backbreaking work. She scooped the box carefully into her mittened hands. Just as she began sloshing her way toward the screening area, a sharp crack of lightning was followed by thunder close enough to shake the ground.
With no additional warning, the heavens opened, dumping a deluge of cold water over her yellow slicker. The box she held tumbled from her hands to bounce against the metal edge of the screening table. The rotted wood shattered and began to float away on a rivulet of rainwater.
“No,” Bri groaned, ripping off her mittens so she could pluck the emerging items from the mud that ran off along with the water. Rain soaked her despite her raingear as she scooped up a cold handful of mud and beads, dumping them into a plastic bucket for that purpose.
“Bri, get out!” One of the crew’s voice caught her attention over the thunder and echoing sounds of rain pelting the exposed wood and metal pipes.
“Briana . . . now!”
This was the second rainstorm in the three weeks she had been in Kansas City working at the Arabia site. It was hard enough for the pumps to keep water at a manageable level on a sunny day. She had learned during the first rainstorm that they had no choice but to evacuate the huge, man-made hole because the water table rose frightfully fast.
Thunder crashed again, the vibrations throwing her against the table, bruising her hip. Something hard hit her shoulder and threw her off balance. She looked around for the others but couldn’t see through the rain. She knew where the ropes and ladders were. She could get out, but she’d better hurry.
She glanced at the screening table one last time, bemoaning the temporary loss of artifacts. After the storm, she would have to start over. A hint of gold caught her eye and she scooped up a tiny ring, slipping it on her pinkie. Shuffling her feet carefully so she didn’t inadvertently fall through the rotten wood, she made her way toward the ladder. The rain felt like needles against her face and her vision blurred.
A wall of water suddenly washed her feet out from under her. The rain had come so rapidly it was filling the hole and Bri fought to get back on her feet. Panic chocked her throat as she tried to call for help. Icy water swirled around her, knocking her about until she had no idea what direction she faced.
“Grab the rope!” The command came out of nowhere and Bri didn’t hesitate. She splashed around trying to feel for a rope; anything that would anchor her but she couldn’t see for the muddy water running down her face.
“To my right – your left.”
She pried her eyes open as she continued groping for a lifeline. Through the sheet of rain she could see a weak beam of light above her. Where were the huge spotlights that shone on the dig site all day and night? Where was the noise from the pumps that had been audible even over the thunder? Had they shut everything down in the wake of the storm?
All she could hear was the roar of the water and an unfamiliar chug-chug sound. She lifted her hand to wipe the rain and mud away from her eyes and immediately sank beneath the water. She had to get rid of the boots and jacket weighting her down. She held her breath, struggling and kicking and wiggling as blackness flirted at the edge of her brain.
Oh, God, I can’t drown in a corn field in the middle of nowhere! She hadn’t lived her life yet; she hadn’t made a name for herself in the world of archeology. She hadn’t loved! She sobbed silently as swirling water sucked her under.
* * *
“Haul me
up!” Jake yelled, brackish water choking him as he locked his arms around the unconscious lump of humanity. Why the hell had he jumped over the side of the paddle wheeler into dark swirling water to save anyone? He was normally a very self-serving man, looking out only for his own interests. He knew it and accepted it.
As the Captain’s men hauled on the rope tied beneath his arms, banging him and his burden against the wood sides of the boat, he tried to shut out the demons in his head. It hadn’t been a heroic effort on his part; it had been the act of a coward. He had come to the end of his endurance and thought perhaps jumping into the raging river would put an end to the misery of his own life. Instead, he was being yanked back into that existence.
With a thud, he landed on the first deck of the steamboat, gasping for breath and shivering. Someone pried his fingers apart and he realized he still clutched the unconscious body he had hauled out of the water. As soon as he rolled away, a blanket was tossed over his shoulders and he tugged it close around himself. Hell, he couldn’t do anything right.
Two years ago, his incompetence had cost him his family and when he tried to drown himself in liquor, he’d pass out before drinking enough to end his troubles. Then he had turned to gambling – hence his reason for being aboard the steamboat – but instead of losing everything he owned, he had unbelievable luck at cards. Now, instead of finishing his life, he had inadvertently saved another, and if the audience around him was any indication, they thought him a hero.
Jake managed to scoot up against the side wall of the deck next to the woman. Although she wore a rain slicker and enough clothes to hibernate in winter, he had known the victim was female the moment he had circled her slender waist. Groaning from exertion, he slowly reached forward to find a weak but steady pulse at her throat. Although his reasons for jumping overboard had been purely selfish, at least his efforts hadn’t been in vain.
The woman coughed and he weakly tried to push her onto her side so she wouldn’t choke. A man standing nearby bent to help.
“Thanks.” His voice was raspy and his throat hurt. Too much river water, he thought, wishing he had a stiff drink instead.
The woman didn’t regain consciousness and now that the excitement was over, passengers once again settled into their places on the deck. No one seemed overly curious as to whom she was, or even what was to be done with her. And no one rushed forward to claim her.
Captain Terrill approached and Jake tried to stand. He had traveled with the Captain before and wanted to give him the deference due his station.
“Don’t get up, lad.” He put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” At Jake’s nod, he pointed to the sodden bundle on the deck, asking, “What about him? Do you know him?”
“I suspect a passenger?” Jake answered, for some unknown reason refraining from identifying her gender.
The Captain bent down, hands on knees and squinted at her face. He puckered his lips and shook his head. “Nope, doesn’t look familiar.”
“Well, however sh…he came to be in the river, you’ll need a room for him to recover.”
“Don’t have one. We’re full up and bursting at the seams, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Most of the passengers aboard the Arabia were off to find better lives out west. However, the lot of them didn’t have two nickels to rub together and could barely manage the meager fare it took just for a place on the deck. Those who could afford it occupied the state rooms on the upper decks. Like him, they rarely came below for the space was crowded and the stench of human bodies too long between baths overwhelmed the senses.
Jake looked about, noticing a family of five standing close by, the family matriarch giving him an evil glare for apparently taking up her space in the shade of the deck overhang. It would seem that saving a life was all right, as long as you didn’t infringe on the already crowded deck.
“You saved him. You might as well take him with you.” The captain turned to leave.
“But…” Jake stared from the captain down to the sodden bundle and back. What the hell?
A moan interrupted his thoughts and the bundle began shaking. Damn, he didn’t want responsibility for anyone but himself and certainly not someone who needed any amount of care. He had given up that part of his life when Jennie died.
The woman rolled against his leg and her shivering transmitted to his body, dropping his own temperature. With a weary sigh, he dragged himself to his knees and started undressing her.
“Boy, come here,” he called to the older of the children, whose mother still looked like a vulture spying prey. He knew he couldn’t lift an unconscious person with heavy sodden material clinging to her, but he didn’t want to leave her belongings on the deck. They’d be gone in a heartbeat.
“You want to earn a penny?” At the boy’s quick nod, Jake handed him the slicker, then a wet woolen coat. He made sure she had another shirt beneath her soggy sweater before removing it, but decided to leave her muddy knit cap to help preserve her identity. He tried to get her boots off but the leather laces were wet and impossible to untie. The woman wore trousers, which was probably the reason the Captain had thought her a man, but the men’s pants couldn’t hide the feminine curve of her hips and long legs once he had taken off her coat. Jake was glad people thought the excitement of the rescue was over and were busy now with their own business.
He carefully lifted the unconscious woman, surprised at her lightness even with the remaining wet clothes and boots adding to her weight. His half boots, no doubt ruined beyond repair, squished as he walked along the oak boards. People shuffled out of his way. His legs shook as he climbed the stairs to the hurricane deck where the passenger cabins were located. He had to stop, half way up, leaning against the wall to steady himself. He glanced over his shoulder to see the boy a step or two behind him, struggling under the pile of wet clothes.
“This is what you get for doing a good deed,” he muttered, hefting her higher in his arms and taking another shaky step. Three more and he wearily turned down the promenade to where his cabin was located.
“Damn,” he swore when he stopped at the door. “Boy, drop that pile and dig in my pocket for a key.” He shifted the burden in his arms so the youth could access his trousers. “Uh, uh, leave my coins until after your job is complete.” He could feel the boy’s hand sifting through the change before he reluctantly came up with only the key.
He had thought the woman light, but his time in the water and the tedious stairs had drained him and she suddenly become extremely burdensome. He glanced around the small cabin, reluctant to put her on the bed, but seeing no help for it, laid her carefully on the counterpane. She moaned but did not awaken.
“Here’s your penny,” he said to the boy. “And here’s another for you to go get the steward and have him come at once.”
The boy grinned and shot out the door, only to return the next second with the wet pile of clothes.
“You oughten to leave these outside; they’ll be gone in a flash.” He dropped them and took off again.
Jake shook his head. The boy was far too young to be so aware of how the world worked. He looked at the woman lying on his bed. Even with the muddy Missouri River water streaking her face and turning her clothes a dull grey-brown, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
He reached a shaky hand out to remove her stocking cap, realizing he needed to get himself dry and warm before he could do her any good. He threw a chuck of wood in the stove and quickly stripped bare. Pouring water from the pitcher into a bowl, he washed the worst of the grime off, and then donned a pair of trousers. The effort cost him and he sat down heavily in a chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
God, he needed a drink. Summoning the remainder of his strength he reached for the bottle and poured a goodly portion into a glass. He shook so badly, he clutched the glass with both hands as he raised it to his lips. Liquid fire burned his belly as it hit, warming him from the inside out.
What the hell was he to do with her?
He had foregone responsibility two years ago, leaving Boston and all his worldly possessions behind; his hopes and dreams buried in a lonely cemetery with his wife and child. Since then, he had become a wanderer, drifting wherever the river took him, at times hoping the wilderness would devour him instead of continually leaving him with this dull void.
Now, through some strange occurrence – he wouldn’t say an act of God as he no longer believed in such a divine source of grace – another individual had been thrust upon him.
Knowing there was little help for him, and none at all for her if he didn’t move, he stood, draining the last of the liquor and setting the glass on the dresser.
His hands still shook, although not as badly, as he undressed her, tossing the clothes on the floor and trying not to look as each piece slid from her body. Her hair was blonde, and although her knitted cap had kept out much of the dirt, it was still soaked. He took a towel to it, feathering it out across the pillow. As quickly as he could, he removed her undergarments, wondering at their strange design. Her skin was brown all over and she wore no corset beneath the shirt and britches, but then he knew many women of the west eschewed the dictates of eastern society. Trying to think of her clothing instead of her full breasts and narrow waist, he quickly tucked her under the covers. After all, he was a man. Her only saving grace was the fact she was unconscious.
Taking a cloth from the wash basin, he gently wiped her face, throat and across her shoulders. A bruise darkened one shoulder, and he wondered if there was an abusive husband somewhere looking for her. Perhaps he had shoved her overboard, although the Captain had indicated he didn’t recognize her as a passenger. That left the horrendous idea that she had fallen in, or been pushed, from a dock somewhere along the way. That she hadn’t immediately drowned with the weight of her clothes was a miracle.
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