So Wild a Dream

by Win Blevins

  They skidded the luggage along the deck to the rear and left it near the lean-to without going around the corner. Miss Abigail appeared suddenly, “Oh, I need that carpet bag,” she said, lifted it with surprising strength, and disappeared back behind the hutch wall.

  Sam looked at Ten with some embarrassment. The lean-to had one modestly proportioned bed. Well, maybe Captain Stuart was letting the lady have it. They stepped quietly back toward the front. Ten quipped, “I guess I’m wondering just who she really is and what crime she’s wanted for.”

  They tied up well before dark at a good camping place and built a big fire in the sand box. After a good supper of stew and biscuits, Miss Abigail said, “Would anyone care to dance?”

  Grumble already had the fiddle out, and he cut a lively tune, “The Flowers of Edinburgh.” The captain squired Miss Abigail in some turns. Frenchy got out a mouth harp and pitched in a harmony beneath Grumble’s melody. Ten and Eleven began to dance as well, which embarrassed Sam, and put a scowl on Elijah’s face.

  Miss Abigail looked across at Sam. “Come,” she cried, holding her arms out to him, “let’s dance.”

  He crimped toward her but mumbled, “I don’t know how.”

  “Oh, I know enough for both of us,” said Miss Abigail.

  “About a lot things,” said Elijah from somewhere. But Sam ignored him, and off they danced.

  At the end of the tune Sam thanked Miss Abigail for the dance.

  “Oh, you must call me Abby,” she said.

  Sam nodded yes.

  “I heard she was called Sally,” said Elijah. A couple of the men laughed. Sam could see she heard the remark and was miffed by it.

  Abigail boldly took the hand of Ned, one of the men laughing, and twirled him into a dance. “Did you put a Price upon your own head?” Ned asked her, smiling.

  “I am amused by your wit,” she said, “but not your curiosity.” They danced, and Ned shut his mouth.

  In the middle of the tune Elijah came forward to cut in on Ned. Miss Abigail threw Captain Stuart a stricken look, and he stepped forward to rescue her.

  “What’s wrong?” said Elijah with a sneer. “You been in a lot of men’s arms afore.”

  Miss Abigail stopped dancing and looked at him equably. The music stopped. She opened the little bag that hung from her wrist, withdrew a small case, and took out a cigar smaller than her little finger, wrapped in white paper instead of tobacco. At her glance Captain Stuart lit it with a lucifer. It was all as much as to say, ‘I am not like other women.’

  “Elijah,” she said, “you knew me as Sally Sling. Some of you others did too.” She blew smoke to the night sky. “I danced with men, played the piano, and played cards with them.”

  “And done more’n that, I heard.” This was Micajah.

  She looked boldly back at him. Just when Sam was afraid she’d blush, she threw out a smile bright as a full moon. “What I did, or didn’t do, is no one’s business but my own.”

  “Did you do it horizontal?” Micajah again.

  “You’ll keep a civil tongue,” cried Captain Stuart.

  Abby silenced him with a hand. “No man can say that against me. The truth is, I fell in love with a gambler, some of you know Donnell, and got swept into a hard life.”

  “Donnell looking for you?” This was Elijah.

  Her smile turned spicy. “Well, he won’t catch up. Here’s everything you need to know. I was one sort of woman. Now I’m making a new start.”

  “Good for you, Abby,” put in the captain.

  Miss Abigail looked into all the men’s eyes, one after one. Sam saw a mouth or two start to open. But no one denied her. Elijah backed away further.

  “This is America,” she said, “where people can make themselves what they want to be. And,” she concluded, “You may all call me Abby. Which is my real name.”

  “I bet,” said Elijah behind Sam.

  “I liked Sally Sling better,” said Micajah.

  “You liked losing money to her,” came Elijah.

  The men chuckled at this.

  Just then Grumble struck up the fiddle. Captain Stuart led Abby out in a lively strut. She threw her head back and laughed musical notes that whirled merrily from star to star.

  Abby turned out to be the fun of the float to Evansville. At night she shared the shaded rear of the hold with the captain, which disturbed Sam. During the day she relaxed in a shaded part of the hold, or sometimes lounged on deck under her parasol, read a book, and smoked.

  “I never saw a woman smoke a cigar,” Sam said to Grumble.

  “They call them cigarettes,” he answered. “I heard the women in New Orleans and Natchez smoke them.”

  The first two days Sam kept an eye on Abby. She had her ways, some of them not modest. For instance, she spent a lot of time sewing on her corset, without taking care to be discreet about it.

  It was in the evening she sparkled. Either they had music and danced or they played cards. Abby loved to deal cards, just like she did in the dance hall—brag, all fours, sledge, twenty-one—men’s gambling games, not lady stuff.

  Of course, Grumble had to play now. “Remember the bargain,” Stuart proclaimed.

  “If I win even a dime, I’ll give it back,” said Grumble in a meek, righteous voice. And since the stakes weren’t real, he called for a try at the new game of poker, so everyone could learn. “Also, the deal changes with every hand,” he told Abby. “That way we two professionals won’t have an advantage.”

  The captain threw him a dubious look, but the men brought kegs for chairs, and a table of red maple for delivery downstream. At first it was Abby, Grumble, the giant brothers, and Ned. Sam, Captain Stuart, Ten, and Eleven watched to learn the game. After an hour the giants quit, losing. The Indians slipped in. Halfway through the evening, when Grumble had several dollars tucked away, Abby suddenly fixed him with her eyes and said, “I don’t see how you’re doing it.”

  Grumble smiled. “The lady thinks I’m cheating.”

  Every spine around the table stiffened. If a man said that in a gambling hall, the accuser or accused would have been dead in a jiffy. But Abby was very much a lady, and her eyes were merry.

  “Why would I do that?” he went on.

  “You like to win so much, even when you don’t get to keep the money, you cheat.”

  Grumble shrugged his shoulders. If he’d had wings, they would have spread in an innocent gesture, ‘Who, me?’

  She eyed him shrewdly. “I’m damned if I can figure out how, and I know every trick in the book.”

  More innocence.

  “I can’t see any marks on these cards. I’d spot dealing off the bottom or dealing the second card or a reflecting ring instantly. You know the tricks, too. So what are you doing?”

  “Dancing with the great goddess Luck.”

  Abby tossed out a peal of laughter. It was a good laugh, open, free, yet feminine.

  She took out a cigarette. “All right,” she said, “Just in case, let’s switch decks.” She brought a brand-new box of fifty-two cards out of the little cloth bag she wore dangling from her wrist.

  “Whatever your ladyship wishes.”

  Over the next two hours Grumble proceeded to take the money of all players, Abby included.

  “Enough,” Captain Stuart said.

  Grumble carefully counted out coins until each man had the stakes he started with, one dollar. When it came Abby’s turn, though, she declined. “I wouldn’t think of it,” she said brightly. “I have my professional pride.”

  Grumble smiled and put the coins away.

  Several evenings went by before they got into another game. “Twenty-one,” she exclaimed.

  “A game with just one dealer,” Grumble said with a cocked eyebrow. “Isn’t that an unfair advantage?”

  “Then you deal.” With this she whipped out another new pack and grinned broadly. From the same bag she took twenty thin half dimes and arranged them in a line. “Come on, gentlemen, let’s all star
t with one dollar.”

  For two hours neither Grumble nor Abby won nor lost. Micajah gained a few half dimes, Elijah and Sam lost a few, and the others broke even.

  Suddenly, Abby said, “Let’s play against each other, just the two of us.”

  Grumble pursed his lips and nodded yes.

  “Ten dollars each on the table.”

  Grumble eyed her and then counted out the coins.

  “Here’s your own medicine back,” Abby said. “You get to deal. I’ll never touch the cards. I’m going to cheat, and you’ll never know how.”

  Grumble’s face lit up, and then went carefully neutral.

  Everyone else crowded around.

  The game didn’t look uneven at first. Abby won some and lost some. Only Grumble put his hands on the cards, dealing them and picking them up. Abby didn’t even cut.

  Soon, though, people noticed that Abby had a way of sitting on the lousy score of twelve, or fourteen when that looked unwise. Yet Grumble had to draw by rule, and busted every time. She doubled aggressively on pairs of face cards or tens. But twice she didn’t, and improbably instead took insurance against twenty-one. Both times the insurance paid off.

  “You act like you know what I’m holding,” he observed in an appraising way.

  “Don’t second-card me again.”

  In half an hour Grumble’s ten dollars turned into five. “I don’t get it,” Grumble said. “Does anyone have any idea what she’s doing?”

  Every head shook no.

  He picked up the deck to deal again. “Leave the deck flat and deal,” she said.

  “I wasn’t going to bottom-card you anyhow.”

  She made no comment.

  Before long Grumble was down to nine half dimes. “The deck is new. It can’t be marked. You’re not touching the cards. What’s going on?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Abby was greatly amused.

  He pushed the rest of the half dimes over to her. “It’s no fun getting whipped and whipped,” he said.

  She scooped up the coins and put the twenty dollars happily into her wrist bag. “Let’s see,” she said with a quirky smile, “shiny new pack, you’re right, couldn’t be marked. You’re wearing nothing that would let me see a down card. You’re dealing, so I can’t give myself the card I need. So how did I pluck you clean as a headless chicken?”

  Grumble looked at the deck, at Abby, at the empty space where he’d done battle and lost. He looked inside himself. He studied Abby, and then the empty space again. At length he said, with great seriousness, “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to show me what you did.”

  Sam heard several gasps. It was more than half a year’s wages for most men.

  “No deal,” she said quickly, and stood up to leave.

  Grumble stared at her, humiliated.

  The captain offered her his arm, and they waltzed off to bed.

  Chapter Eight

  “Evansville’s not as big a town as Louisville,” said Captain Stuart. They were standing at the bow, and Sam was on watch. “In fact, from Louisville all the way southwest and on south, fewer and fewer people.”

  “The country sure looks good,” Sam said.

  The morning sun was behind them, and their shadows jumped and jounced on the little waves ahead.

  “Once we join into the Mississippi, we won’t see any population to speak of until the Chickasaw Bluffs, on the Tennessee side. Then nothing more, to speak of, before the plantation country of Louisiana.”

  “I like wild country.”

  “You got something against people?”

  “Nope. Just the way they tear things up.”

  Stuart shrugged. The Indian life he wanted had been taken away long ago. Now he didn’t think about how the world was going. He just concentrated on what he wanted to do. He wanted to go and go and trade and trade and go and go some more. Odd, how motion itself seemed to anchor his soul, and aloneness kept company with his spirit.

  He looked across at the farms on the right bank, the first signs of Evansville just beyond. “I have to land her,” he said, and headed for the stern.

  Evansville looked not only a lot smaller but a lot more primitive. A lot of buildings were mostly raw, unpainted lumber. Some were half finished. As the Tecumseh eased into the eddy, Sam could see that only one other boat was moored, a flatboat. Evansville seemed to be an infant port. One long street stretched behind the waterfront, apparently the business district, with houses on the streets behind. Regardless, a town was always fun.

  As soon as they had the unloading done, Elijah, Micajah, and Ned took their wages and headed off carousing. Captain Stuart, Abby, Sam, Grumble, Ten, and Eleven looked at each other. Frenchy was in charge of the ship for the first watch. “Come on, Captain,” said Abby, “show us how to have a good time in a new town.”

  They crossed the corduroyed landing. Beyond it the waterfront street was deep, sticky mud. The good times started, apparently, after you got inside somewhere. Captain Stuart picked Abby up and carried her, to her little whoop of delight. Sam slipped out of his Jefferson boots and got his feet muddy. Beneath the overhangs of the shops, where the earth was packed, the captain set Abby down. Looked like there wasn’t a low-class area and a high-class area in this town. Two hotels, one with apparent pretensions and one without, kept company with several taverns, a livery, a blacksmith, a mercantile, and other shops on the main street.

  “Tell you what,” said Abby, “I’ll treat everyone to a sit-down dinner at the hotel.” She nodded at the fancy-looking one.

  “Great!” put in Captain Stuart.

  “Mmmm,” said Ten.

  The captain raised an eyebrow at his brother.

  “Place like that’s not going to let me and Eleven in.”

  “Nonsense!” said Abby.

  He chuckled. “They won’t let us in.”

  “Ten, the owner is a friend. He’ll accept any party I bring.”

  “And resent you for making his customers mix with redskins.”

  Eleven actually pitched in. “That’s no joke, Sly.”

  “You are my brother, I …”

  Ten said, “I’m not trying to barge into any fancy white-man place tonight. I just don’t feel like it.”

  “Me neither.”

  “If you don’t go, I won’t either.” From Sam. Everyone gawked at him.

  “I won’t either.” This was Abby.

  Everyone looked at each other, uncertain.

  “Then let’s all go to a tavern and have a cheery time.” Abby again.

  When supper was over, Abby said to Grumble, “I think you and I will have such fun as a team.”

  “Did you bring one of your new decks?”

  “Sure.”

  “Will you tell me its secret?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Grumble bit his lower lip for a moment. “Well, let’s see what fun we can have.”

  “That’s my fellow. You go to that tavern one door to the west. If it doesn’t look good, come back quick and tell us. If it does, put together a poker game. I’ll make an entrance soon.”

  Grumble tiddled off.

  “Grumble.”

  He turned back.

  “When I lick my lips, raise and keep raising.”

  Five minutes later Sam and his Shawnee friends went to the other tavern, got a table near Grumble’s, and bought mugs of ale.

  After a judicious interval came Abby and Captain Stuart, with the air of patricians slumming. They surveyed the room and Abby chose Grumble’s table. “My gentleman here is embarrassed, but I like to play poker a little. May I join you?”

  “Sure,” said a big lout in an exaggerated way. He had Kentucky speech.

  “You betcha,” said his friend, who was missing half his teeth.

  “Women, they’s bad luck,” said Grumble. Apparently he was doing backwoods English for this stunt.

  “Oh, ease off, why don’t you?” said the last player, dressed as a gentleman but evidently two sheets to t
he wind.

  Captain Stuart seated Abby and brought a chair up for himself. “Deal me out,” he said.

  The way it looked to Sam and his friends, the gamblers had a great deal of fun. The three strangers seemed tickled pink at the idea of a woman gambling, and to judge by their leers wished it was strip poker. Sam and the two Shawnees drank a few rounds, pretending to pay no attention. They got nothing but Abby’s gay laughter from the poker table, and an occasional glimpse of growing stacks of coins in front of Abby and Grumble. Sometimes Grumble would grouse loudly about having to play with a woman. Captain Stuart looked grumpy for real, not pretend.

  Sam smiled to himself. Grumble was probably sitting there still trying to study out how Abby was rigging the game, and not coming close. That was a hoot.

  After more than an hour Abby suddenly gave a big, artificial laugh, scooped up her coins, radiated a smile at the whole table, and stood. Quickly the captain rose with her. No one else did. Grumble looked more cross than usual. Passing him, she leaned down and whispered something in his ear.

  “You …” Grumble looked into Stuart’s face and squelched the word “bitch” almost audibly. Sam was impressed with his performance. Abby and Stuart paraded out.

  The game broke up. Grumble sat alone for a moment before collecting his winnings, sauntering over to Sam, Ten, and Eleven’s table, sitting, and riffling his deck noisily. “How about a game?”

  They shook their heads no.

  “Time to say so long,” said Ten.

  “Good-bye?” from Sam.

  “This is where we split off for Vincennes.”

  Sam felt a pang. He knew they were leaving the Tecumseh at Evansville, but … “I didn’t realize you were leaving tonight.”

  “We’ll feel better when we’re out of this town,” said Eleven. “Its heart doesn’t warm to Indians.”

  “I want to walk with them a few minutes,” said Stuart. He looked at Abby. “Then I’ll come back to the room.”

  “Sly is treating me to a night at the hotel, a setting suitable for a lady,” she told them.

  “So long.”