The River Nymph

by Shirl Henke

  Delilah yanked open the door and spread her arm to indicate he should enter. “By all means, do come inside to —speak your piece,— Mr. Daniels. I am not afraid of you.” To empha-size that, she closed the door, even though she could smell whiskey on his breath. Then she walked purposefully to the settee and plunked herself down. It was that or fall down most ungracefully. Her knees and heart were pounding counter-rhythms as he stood in the center of the room, hat in hand.

  He cleared his throat. “Look, what I did last night after the fight, it was abominable. I deeply regret losing my temper and hurting you. Please accept my apology.”

  “Handsomely done. Apology accepted, Mr. Daniels,” she added with a half smile to calm her nerves. When he nodded and turned toward the door, she found herself blurting out, “Tell me, did it take a full bottle of contraband whiskey to work up your courage?”

  His pale eyes bored into her when he turned back. For a moment, Delilah was afraid she’d pushed too far. In poker she’d done it. Now she was doing it again. And her aggressiveness always cost her dearly. When would she ever learn? She forced herself to stand up and face him in spite of her pounding heart. But he surprised her with a long, slow grin that spread across his face, adding to the sun creases at the corners of his eyes, revealing the startling whiteness of his teeth in that bronzed face.

  “Nope. But it did take half a bottle.”

  With that, he tipped his hat and walked out the door.

  She fought the urge to throw a handy statuette from the side table after him. Instead, she settled for a pillow from the settee. He wouldn’t be able to hear it bounce off the door.

  They settled into a routine as the steamer struggled mightily against the powerful Missouri currents. Tying up nights, and sometimes during the days when torrential spring rains came sweeping down, they were always forced to stop midday for loads of wood. Several times, when wooding stations were not nearby as the fuel grew low, the cautious Dubois had them pull over and the crew went ashore with axes and saws to chop dead falls for the voracious boilers. Clint alwayswent with the men and returned as sweaty and disheveled as any of them.

  Sky told Delilah after his first chopping foray that she’d had to treat his hands with herbal ointment because of blisters. His once-callused palms had grown soft dealing cards in St. Louis. Clint’s sister, along with Horace, had become intermediaries between the two, who spoke politely at dinner but avoided each other the rest of the time.

  The Nymph dropped off cargo in Hermann, a small, bustling German settlement around a hundred miles upriver. The picturesque river town was situated on the bluffs in a heavily forested area that the industrious farmers were quickly taming to the plow. Vineyards stretched their long, twining branches in rows following the contours of the rolling hills. For the first time, Delilah left the steamer after finishing her tally of the goods unloaded and money collected for plows and other farm implements.

  It felt good to plant her feet on solid ground, and the town was charming in an old-world way. Horace accompanied her and Sky on an excursion to the merchants on the main street. A dressmaker’s shop caught her eye when Sky pointed out a gown in the window.

  “It would be perfect for you, Delilah! Look at the color. Why, it matches your eyes exactly,” she said, tugging her friend across the street.

  “I already have several green dresses, Sky. I don’t need any more, and besides, we can’t afford—”

  “Tut, my dear. If you want the dress, we can afford it,” Horace said, taking her other arm.

  Standing in the door of a beer hall down the street, Clint watched them coax Deelie into the dressmaker’s place. He found himself wandering casually, too casually, nearer to that shop window. Before the proprietress removed the mannequin with the gown, he saw why they wanted her to buy it. The deep green velvet rippled with light, changing from almost black to vivid grass green.

  Green as cat’s eyes. He banished the thought, or tried to, then waited in the shadows across the street, watching to see what would happen. Soon Deelie emerged from a fitting-room door wearing the green velvet. At Sky’s urging, she turned in a circle. There was some exchange between the seamstress and the potential customers. In a few moments, the trio left the shop sans dress.

  Clint waited until they were out of sight down the busy street, then entered the shop, all the while cursing himself for a damned fool. A thick-set, gray-haired woman with wire-rimmed spectacles squinted as she smiled at him.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” she inquired in a heavy German accent.

  “That dress—” he gestured to the green velvet folded over the counter behind her—“why didn’t the lady buy it?”

  “Ach, first it cost too much, she said. Then the alterations I could not do before their boat leaves. Too many excuses to me it seemed for such a dress. Made just for her it was and her uncle, to buy it he offered, but no, no, said she.” The old woman threw up her hands in disgust.

  Obviously the gown must cost a pretty penny, but he’d seen the way Deelie had touched the fabric, the way it matched her eyes and set off the fire in her chestnut hair. “Tell you what, we leave in three hours, give or take, when the cargo’s unloaded and passengers come aboard. Will you have time to take in the waist about so?” he asked, holding his hands in a small circle to indicate the size of Delilah’s waist. “And let out the bodice about so?” Again, a gesture. “Length looked all right.”

  The German woman nodded. “Ya, and it is a good eye you have for the lady’s measurements,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Is she your schatz?”

  “My fiancée? Lordy, no! Er, that is, well, let’s just say I owe her one and am trying to make peace.”

  Her shrewd blue eyes now measured him as her grin widened. “And you are willing to pay how much extra forthis peace, hmmm? I will have to close my shop and work without stopping.”

  Clint threw down a wad of bills on the counter beside the glistening velvet. “If you need more, just send the bill along with the dress to The River Nymph by three this afternoon.”

  “This I can do,” she said, scooping up the money.

  Clint ambled out of the shop, cursing himself for ten kinds of a fool. Deelie’d probably throw the damn gown into the Big Muddy before she’d give him the satisfaction of wearing it…unless he convinced Horace to lie and say he’d bought it for her.

  He smiled grimly. Clinton Daniels was as good at manipulating people as he was cards…except for one contrary female.

  Chapter Eleven

  The days grew longer and the temperatures rose higher as they reached the twisty stretch of the river bordering Kansas. In spite of her antipathy toward Clint and her anger over the whiskey, Delilah greatly enjoyed Sky’s company. Since her widowhood and the tragedy that followed, she had not had a woman friend. Although Sky was eight years her junior, she had seen much of life. Being of mixed blood, she had experienced prejudice just as Delilah had as a woman in her profession.

  “It must have been terrible when your husband fell in battle,” Sky said after her friend had mentioned Lawrence Raymond in passing conversation as they strolled along the hurricane deck one sunny afternoon.

  Delilah appeared to consider for a moment. “It all seems so long ago…a lifetime, really. This will sound terrible, but there are times when I find it difficult to remember his face.”

  “That’s only natural, considering everything you’ve been through. Among my father’s people, men have always prepared to face death as part of our culture. Long before the whites came, nation warred against nation, even groups within a tribe raided and killed each other.”

  “I hope your education will help your people survive in a world where whites rule. It must have been very difficult, being alone in a big city all these years,” Delilah said.

  Sky smiled. “Oh, but I was never alone. Clint brought me here and paid for my schooling. He visited me often when I was at the ladies’ academy, hired tutors for me and then arranged for me to read law.” S
he paused, as if consideringwhether she should continue, then said, “Our lives have been rather analogous in a way—you with your uncle and I with my brother. Horace has been your protector and Clint has been mine.”

  Somehow the idea of Clint Daniels as a protector of female virtue seemed hard for Delilah to grasp. “You have remained in the respectable world while I have been forced far outside its pale, I fear—although certainly through no fault of Uncle Horace,” she quickly added.

  Her reply was an evasion and Sky knew it. “You believed the worst of my brother from the first time you met him, didn’t you?”

  Delilah could feel her cheeks heat. “I take it you heard the story about the poker game and its…er, aftermath.”

  With a mischievous smile, Sky replied, “All of St. Louis heard, although please don’t tell Clint that I know he stripped naked in front of a lady.”

  “I scarcely qualify as a lady, but it was a clever maneuver on his part, the wily devil,” Delilah said grudgingly. “After that debacle, I couldn’t get a crew or do anything to operate the Nymph without his help.”

  “He can be trying at times, but as I told Uncle Horace, he is a good man.” Sky was not certain how much of their conversation Horace had shared with his niece. “Did your uncle explain how he rescued me and my sister from the soldiers?”

  Puzzled, Delilah shook her head. “No, only that your sister was his wife and she died. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  A faraway expression washed over Sky’s face. “My sister and I were raped by three blue coats under Clint’s command. He was out on reconnaissance. When he returned and caught them, he killed all of them before they could fire a shot in return.”

  Delilah processed this startling information as she reached out and took Sky’s hand in hers. “Oh, my dear friend, you’ve suffered farmore than I ever did. Is…is that incident howhe earned the name you first called him by—Lightning Hand?”

  “He does not like to remember it, or any of the rest…af-ter Teal died. He was a good husband to her. And I think he needs a wife now, even if he does not yet know it.”

  Wishing to divert Sky from that line of conversation, Delilah quickly asked, “He was in the Union army? But I thought he was a Confederate, or at least a sympathizer.”

  “Have you ever heard the term Galvanized Yankee?” Sky asked. When Delilah nodded, she went on, “Clint agreed to serve the Union out West in exchange for the repatriation of two men under his command who’d contracted tuberculosis as prisoners of war.”

  “That was a noble thing to do.” Delilah hoped her doubt did not reveal itself in her tone.

  “Yes, it was. There are many noble sides to my brother’s personality that you don’t know…yet.”The gleam returned to Sky’s eyes when she added, “But you will one day soon.”

  Fort Leavenworth’s imposing stockade perched one hundred and fifty feet above the river on a high bluff, like a sentinel guarding the mighty Missouri from trespass. In spite of its martial purpose, the outpost was situated against a scenic backdrop. Stately elms covered the hilltop, promising shade from summer’s heat, even though their spring buds had only now begun to open.

  After Captain Dubois pulled the boat close to the shore, a hand-picked group of roosters quickly lowered the barrels of contraband whiskey over the starboard side in specially designed nets that would hide them under the now still paddle wheels at the stern.

  Clint oversaw the process while the captain watched from the wheelhouse, keeping lookout for the army inspector coming down from the fort. Delilah paced nervously in her cabin, terrified that all their plans and dreams might be swept away in one brief moment.

  “You’re going to wear out that lovely hand-braided rug, child,” Horace chided from the settee where he reclined. “Perhaps a tot of that whiskey might soothe your nerves.”

  She looked at the twinkle in his eyes and smiled in spite ofherself. “You know I never drink anything stronger than sherry, and that only when I’m not working.”

  “These days, you appear to be working without respite,” “These days, you appear to be working without respite,” he replied, gesturing toward the neatly stacked piles of inventory listings on the small desk in the corner. “The captain tells me there is a lovely spot a few days upriver where we can stop for a picnic, providing that we continue making such excellent progress. The wildflowers are in bloom, and their color should create quite a scenic panorama from the bluffs above the Missouri.”

  Delilah gave an indelicate snort. “Providing we still have a boat in which to travel and aren’t in federal custody, awaiting trial. Do you think the inspector will ask to see my cargo manifest?”

  “I’m given to understand the inspections are fairly cursory, so I doubt it. But if they insist on seeing the manifest, I will deliver it to them without the page listing the whiskey barrels. You will not be involved, my dear.”

  “And what? Allow the army to carry you off in chains because Mr. Daniels insisted we carry contraband? No, if anyone is going to lie to the inspectors, let it be Clinton Daniels.”

  Horace watched her expression change as she chewed on her lip, turning over the situation in her mind. “Now, Delilah, what are you thinking?” he asked uneasily, knowing that look on her face often meant she was planning some deviltry.

  “Perhaps it would be best if neither of you spoke with the inspector. I’ll do it.”

  “Now, my dear—” Before Horace could remonstrate, he knew he was defeated. When Delilah made up her mind, nothing could change it.

  “I’m the principal stockholder, and when need be you know I can charm birds from trees. Let us hope the inspector can fly.”

  Just then a hail sounded from the shore and they could hear men’s voices below, welcoming aboard visitors. Withone quick glance at the wall mirror to inspect her appearance, Delilah opened the door and stepped into the bright morning sunlight with Horace behind her.

  Clint knew the minute he saw the little runt that they were in for trouble. The army inspector, a shave-tail lieutenant from West Point, walked up the gangplank as if he owned the boat. There was a scent about men who came from old money that Daniels could always smell. Usually it worked to his advantage—when he sat across from them at card tables. But this was not a game of chance. He remembered Delilah’s fear and fury about the illegal whiskey. Judging from the look of self-righteous priggishness on Lieutenant Grayham Astor’s face, Clint would’ve known bribery was not an option even if Captain Dubois had not recognized the young man from his last trip upriver.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” Clint said to the bandy-legged little man, being careful to conceal any trace of Southern accent, something he had trained himself to turn off and on at will, depending on circumstances. The little fellow wore a heavy mustache whose bright red color ill matched his auburn hair. Probably thinks it makes him look like a grownup. “Welcome to The River Nymph. Can I offer you—”

  “I’m here to inspect your cargo, sir, not socialize,” Astor replied curtly. He was flanked by two well-armed soldiers who knew what they were supposed to do. They snapped to attention, then swarmed over the densely packed stacks of cargo like angry ants.

  Delilah could sense the short, homely little man’s imperious dislike of the tall, handsome gambler. She was glad she’d worn flat-heeled slippers, else the lieutenant would have had to look up to her, too. Never a good idea when appealing to male vanity. “I do declare, Mr. Daniels, where are your manners?” she asked, brushing past Clint to beam at the officer. “You must forgive my business associate, sir. My uncle and I are principal owners of this boat, and as such I should be the one to make you feel welcome. I am Mrs. Raymond.”

  Clint stepped back, admiring the way she worked on theinspector’s ego, batting her lashes flirtatiously as Astor saluted the back of her gloved hand and introduced himself. She wore a simple yellow dimity gown sprigged with tiny white flowers. Its low neckline revealed the golden, sun-kissed glow of her skin. She had tied back her hair with a ye
llow ribbon. Clint found himself imagining burying his hands in the thick cascade of chestnut-red curls falling down her back. Squelching the disturbing image, he listened as she spoke.

  “This is our very first voyage up the Missouri, Lieutenant Astor. It is so frightening, the wide openness of all this land. And we’ve heard about terrible wild Indians and ghastly storms. You are so brave to serve your country out here.”

  Astor cleared his throat, bobbing his oversized head in agreement. “It is a difficult task, but one that duty compels me to perform. Meeting a beautiful lady such as you certainly lightens my burden, however.”

  Delilah tipped her head and smiled. “Ooh, you are the charming one. And so dashing in your uniform. Please allow me to offer you some tea. Our cook has just baked an apple pie this morning. She really is a jewel. I’m certain you’ll enjoy it. Perhaps your men could have a piece, too…once they have completed their inspection.”

  “You do understand that we must search every boat for contraband,” Astor said almost apologetically.

  “Most certainly! Unthinkable for vile spirits ever to find their way to savages.”

  She looks about to have a case of the vapors. Clint hid his grin as she steered the enthralled officer to the bow of the Nymph. As they climbed the stairs to the hurricane deck and strolled toward the dining room, the indomitable Luellen would see that the aroma of apples and cinnamon quickly diverted the men below from their search. Clint would bet neither of them had tasted a piece of home-baked pie since they’d enlisted. The inspection would be cursory, indeed, thanks to his partner’s cleverness.

  In a few minutes, Luellen Colter was mothering the two soldiers, urging them to have seconds of the warm pie whileDelilah sipped tea with their peerless leader upstairs. Horace strolled toward the stern of the boat, where Clint stood with his arms casually crossed over his chest.