The River Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  Hal’s mouth tightened, but his gaze never wavered. “The Belle will travel wherever she must to catch the Spartan—whether it’s through floodwaters, a heavy dew, or into a drowned forest. She may finish in worse shape than the Fannie Harris, when she fetched an artillery battery down the flooded Minnesota.”

  Rosalind blinked and tried to recall what she’d heard of the Fannie Harris. It had obviously been a harrowing passage but just how dreadful?

  Hal’s audience nodded their agreement, which O’Brien voiced. “Aye, sir, you’ll need every hand for that sort of travel.”

  “If any man wishes to go ashore, he may. I’ll not hold it against him,” Hal added.

  “I’ll let them know, sir, but you know they love you. Many of them are contraband that you rescued during the war. They wouldn’t leave you now, not if Moses came down and parted the river in front of them.”

  Hal flushed, clearly embarrassed, and turned the conversation to purely physical matters. “Norton, the Belle needs to make her best speed. Do you have enough fuel?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to have more coal, if we’re readjusting freight,” Norton said thoughtfully. “But I took on a sizable amount of those pine knots, to make the fires hotter, at the old mountain man’s woodyard. She’s a crack boat, sir, and she’ll fly even faster today.”

  “Excellent. Have the carpenter start making spare buckets for the paddlewheel, to replace the ones we may lose to floating debris.”

  “Yes, sir,” O’Brien agreed. In the small room, his voice was quiet and assured—and much more genteel than on an open deck. “And we’ll strengthen the bow, lest we encounter anything bigger than branches.”

  “Thank you. Bellecourt, you’ll take the first watch in the pilothouse, with McKenzie. I’ll take the second with Donovan, who was a helmsman in Ireland.”

  Bellecourt lifted an eyebrow. “Certainement, mon capitaine. The second man will be most helpful when the river is this strong-minded. But would you not prefer to take the first watch yourself?”

  Hal shook his head firmly. “The second watch will see us past sunset. I’ve the best night sight aboard so I’ll handle her then.”

  Shock blazed through the room. Jaws dropped, and Norton’s swarthy skin turned pale. O’Neill crossed himself. A lead weight seemed to wrap itself around Rosalind’s lungs.

  “If storms come up and pour more water into the Missouri, we could reach the Devil’s Rake before dawn, mon ami,” Bellecourt said gently. He alone hadn’t flinched at Hal’s announcement.

  Rosalind shuddered. The Belle could sink in minutes if she hit an unseen snag in the dark, let alone a whole forest of dead trees. She swallowed hard and forced herself to relax. She had no one in the world except Hal. If he believed he could sail the Missouri by night, then she’d follow him wherever he led.

  “Agreed. But we must take the chance.” Hal spoke gently but more urgently. “We must run as long as possible. The Spartan has an hour’s lead on us now and will gain more before we can depart.”

  “We’re accustomed to running on dark nights, thanks to those Mardi Gras excursions down the Mississippi,” McKenzie confirmed. “But Hatcher will probably tie up after moonset.”

  “It’s worth the risk, gentlemen. And remember, right is on our side,” Hal insisted. “Lennox attacked Miss Schuyler when she refused to marry him. She escaped and was chased by every policeman, Pinkerton detective, and money-hungry fool for the past four months.” He looked at every man in turn. “She’s lucky and she did it by trusting the river.”

  Rosalind managed not to blink. She’d always thought she was relying on poker’s river, the seventh card. But Hal was correct too: She had turned to the great Mississippi and Missouri rivers for protection, and they’d kept her safe.

  “She brings luck, and the river’s blessing, with her,” Hal emphasized, slapping the desk. The officers nodded, hard determination stamped on their features.

  “A good boat is like a good woman: She won’t stomach the taste of evil.” Sampson expressed their mood clearly. “The Cherokee Belle will fight that brute, as we do. With Almighty God on our side, we’ll capture that swine!”

  “Amen!” the others agreed, surging up in a wave of enthusiasm. They began to slam their fists against their hands and stamp their feet. Even Rosalind stomped on the deck.

  “Every man to his duty, gentlemen,” Sampson exhorted. “Time’s a-wasting and we’ve a murderer to catch.” Everyone filed out, talking eagerly about what needed to be done before Lennox roasted in hell.

  Rosalind rose and turned to face Hal, who must need more weapons in his arsenal. “Will you marry me now, Hal?”

  He stared at her in surprise. “Why? Don’t you want a fancy church wedding?”

  Rosalind shook her head, as she looked into his beloved blue eyes. “Not compared to helping you. Lennox believes you and Donovan murdered his brother. If he slips through your fingers, he must be stopped before he can rebuild his arsenal. If you marry me now, you can demand aid from powerful men.”

  “The Lindsay family—”

  “Can’t stop trains from running along the Missouri. Commodore Vanderbilt or Fisk or Huntington or others could. They’d never listen to me, a mere woman, but they’d listen to my husband, who’d be the second largest stockholder in the New York Central.”

  “I’m not marrying you for your money,” Hal snapped.

  Rosalind smiled at him. “Darling, I know that but they don’t. They’ll treat you as one of them, with fear and respect.”

  “A riverman being treated with fear and respect by railroad barons?” His eyes gleamed with wicked comprehension, and a slow smile dawned on his face. He started to chuckle. “Darling Rosalind, I believe I’d marry you just to see that happen.”

  He kissed her hands, still rumbling predatory laughter.

  Two hours later, Hal and Rosalind stood hand in hand next to Donovan, on the Cherokee Belle’s hurricane deck, and waved good-bye to Evans. Her hat’s soft black veiling whispered against her cheek as if it, too, were bidding farewell. A frisson danced over her skin, but she ignored it, in favor of savoring Hal’s closeness.

  Then Bellecourt blew the whistle for departure and backed the Belle into deep water. The Missouri’s swift current caught her, turned her, and launched her downriver as if encouraging the pursuit. The last line was cast loose from the shore as the paddlewheel bit into the frothing waters. The engines beat steadily, in the same rhythm felt so often on the journey upriver. Then they speeded up like a racehorse shifting into a gallop.

  The Belle surged forward eagerly, her graceful bow cutting the water like a swan. Billows of black smoke, laced with brilliant sparks, flew from her tall chimneys. The move into deep water made the taut hog chains hum softly overhead, where they ran from stem to stern beside the texas.

  The crowds on the levee and the great bridge yelled approval. The calliope launched into an enthusiastic rendition of “Camptown Races” under the warm blue sky.

  The race to catch the Spartan had begun.

  In the west, a line of dark clouds swept toward the river. Chickens cackled placidly from their coop atop the texas, the only relaxed travelers aboard.

  The roustabouts, softly singing along with the calliope, were still adjusting crates and barrels on the main deck under O’Brien’s rigorous eye. Loud hammering came from the forge as Black Jack Norton labored to make spare parts for the engines before taking a nap, since he’d promised to stand watch with Hal on the night run. The carpenter’s hammer beat steadily as he created spare buckets for the paddlewheel. The two laundresses had emptied every clothesline so that their station, at the very end of the texas, showed only smoothly painted wood, instead of the usual billows of white sheets and shirts.

  The trio stood before the pilothouse for a long time, silently enjoying the breeze racing over their faces and through their clothes. It would have whipped the men’s coats open and displayed their guns, if they hadn’t discreetly buttoned their coats. It swept Rosalind�
��s elegant skirts into a rippling cascade behind her.

  It seemed only a moment before the Belle hurtled past the first bend and Omaha dropped out of sight.

  “Ready, my dear?” Hal asked.

  “Oh, yes.” She smiled up at him, unashamedly letting her joy and confidence show in her eyes.

  The grand saloon was surprisingly quiet, with neither diners, drinkers, nor gamblers present. The skylights’ colors played brilliantly over the empty tables, making the heavily polished wood come alive with brilliant sparks and blazes of light. The magnificent Brussels carpet glowed, while the carved and gilded wood shone like the gates of heaven. The waiters were gathered around a big table, apparently packing the best china and crystal into crates as they sang a sentimental Stephen Foster air. The bartender was handing down every bottle from the ornate bar to the mud clerk, while O’Neill was in his office with the door open, ferociously updating his account books.

  Rosalind and her companions found Sampson waiting for them, Bible in hand, outside Captain Lindsay’s cabin. “Ready?”

  “Completely,” Hal answered and patted Rosalind’s hand, where it rested on his arm.

  Sampson permitted the hint of a smile to soften his face. “I’ve conducted many a wedding on the river but, I admit, this one brings me special joy. Mrs. Donovan has warned me to keep the affair brief, as Captain Lindsay is very weak. But is there anything that you’d particularly like to see in the ceremony? A special verse, perhaps, or a psalm?”

  Rosalind shook her head. “I want to be married as quickly as possible.”

  “I see. Lindsay?”

  “She speaks for both of us.”

  “Very well.”

  Donovan chuckled softly and opened the stateroom door. “Viola and I will throw you a grand party later, when there’s more time for planning and recovering from it.”

  The narrow stateroom was immaculately clean, showing no sign that a blood-soaked man had been carried in a few hours ago. The quilted coverlet, sheets, and blankets, once stained crimson—all had been replaced with linens as white as driven snow. A heavy Oriental carpet and a vase of fresh primroses added warmth. The shutters allowed bars of light to pass through the lace curtains, casting a gentle radiance over the scene.

  Captain Lindsay was propped up in bed, his countenance slightly feverish. His head was swathed in white bandages, hiding one eye, but the other looked forth like an eagle. Viola Donovan stood beside him, her hand resting on his sheets, with no sign of her previous constraint around her father. Rosalind happily realized that father and daughter had settled their differences.

  Hal and Rosalind stood across from the bed, where Captain Lindsay could see them clearly, and Donovan joined his wife. Cicero sat down firmly next to Hal, as if daring anyone to remove him from the role of principal supporter. Sampson took up station in front of the door to the grand saloon, commanding everyone’s attention.

  Beyond him, the waiters and bartender ceased their labors and the muffled thuds of china and crystal stopped. Now the only sound in the cabin was the steady pounding of the paddlewheel and the river rushing past.

  The crystal pendants on the lampshade fluttered, sending a dance of tiny lights around the small room. Rosalind closed her eyes as she felt a beloved presence touch her cheek. She knew, although she’d never speak of it, that her parents and brothers were here and heartily approved of her choice.

  The service was short and simple, as Sampson had promised, but heartfelt on Hal and Rosalind’s part. Tears welled up in her eyes when Hal promised to love her for better or for worse. Her voice was husky but clear as she promised to obey him.

  His eyes danced at that particular promise. She bit her lip, trying desperately not to laugh, and a surge of pure happiness overcame her. This was Hal, who loved her for her brain as much as her body, who was more interested in teaching her to pilot his boat than playing with her money. She almost shouted the last words of her vows, so that everyone could know her delight.

  Hal immediately pounced upon her—before Sampson had given his permission—and kissed her breathless. Rosalind returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm, laughing with pure joy when he eventually freed her. Sampson tut-tutted at their hijinks with mock severity, but his eyes danced. Viola and Donovan, both chuckling, hugged and congratulated them.

  Finally Rosalind and Hal came to Captain Lindsay’s bedside, as Abraham, Donovan’s manservant, handed out glasses of champagne. Rosalind leaned down to kiss his cheek, confident of her welcome as she’d always been around her own father.

  “Congratulations, my dear.” Captain Lindsay’s voice was soft and a bit ragged, but quite clear. He kissed her forehead, then gazed at her intently from his one good eye, as if willing her to understand. “You’ll make a fine wife for my son. Just don’t be afraid to disagree with him.”

  Rosalind blushed and wondered whether to tell the Lindsay patriarch that she wasn’t the least bit afraid of his heir. Hal’s chuckle saved her.

  “Rosalind’s quite a tiger, sir. She’ll say whatever’s needed, no matter what I think. And she’ll make sure I understand her, too.” He dropped a light, awkward kiss on his father’s head.

  The old man closed his good eye, but a single tear leaked out. His eye was suspiciously bright when he opened it again, but no one mentioned that.

  Donovan raised his glass—of lemonade, a proper drink for a teetotaler. “To Mr. and Mrs. Henry A. Lindsay. Long may they sail together in love and harmony!”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay,” echoed Sampson and Viola. All three drank the toast with relish, while Rosalind tried not to grin too idiotically as Hal hugged her. She was so happy that she barely remembered that she was aboard a boat on a flooding river.

  Sampson excused himself shortly thereafter and left, as did Abraham. Captain Lindsay, who’d had his one good eye shut for a few minutes, opened it now and watched her narrowly.

  “What do you want for a wedding present, m’dear? A fancy trifle bought in Paris or China perhaps?”

  Rosalind shrugged and tried to think of something polite to say. She’d always been more interested in men’s diversions such as stocks or gambling, than feminine trifles.

  “Got all you want of those, eh?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rosalind said gratefully.

  “What about something else? Can I remove an obstacle, or an old enemy, for you?”

  Rosalind frowned. “I’m not sure I quite follow your meaning, sir.”

  “Dunleavy, your guardian. Was he part of Lennox’s scheme to marry you? Is he why you had to run away?”

  She wondered what he was leading up to. “Yes, sir. He planned to split my money with Nicholas Lennox.”

  Hal stirred beside her, then went still, but she could almost see the waves of angry protectiveness rolling off him.

  “Optimistic fool, if he thought that louse would hand over gold to anyone else.” The old captain’s voice cracked.

  Viola checked his brow and relaxed. But she substituted a glass of water for his champagne before returning to her station behind him.

  “You are undoubtedly correct, sir,” Rosalind agreed calmly. The heat of Hal’s big body next to her warmed her to her bones—and caused a deep, rich heaviness to grow in her breasts. Dear heavens, soon she’d be alone again with Hal…She managed another polite remark for Hal’s father, who lay waiting. “I’ve thought the same myself, on many occasions.”

  Captain Lindsay snorted and drank some water. His tone was stronger when he spoke again. “I’ll remove him for you. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  “Thank you, sir, but—”

  Hal rubbed the small of her back lightly. Hunger shimmered through her spine before sinking into her breasts and loins. She wondered distractedly if anyone would notice if she rubbed her legs together to stop the dew from beading on her intimate folds. She caressed Hal’s hip, enjoying the solid muscle and the way he quivered lightly under her hand.

  “Don’t worry about me, missy. I’ll have a
grand time crushing him into dust,” the old captain retorted. “The only difficulty will be keeping my brothers from assisting me.”

  “Or your nephews.” Hal seemed to be watching a scene that she couldn’t imagine, but his father recognized it immediately. Then Rosalind remembered how Hal’s uncles and cousins had crowded into that town house’s foyer, all more than ready to do battle for him against Lennox. She began to smile.

  The old man cackled at the vision. “Oh yes, those lads. They would enjoy this, wouldn’t they?” He sipped his water, grinning like a lion waiting to pounce on a gazelle. His son wore the same predatory grin. The family likeness was strong.

  Then her wicked husband fondled her hip, where it was hidden from sight. Rosalind barely bit back a moan and gulped her champagne in a silent toast to the reunited father and son. Moments later, she was still wondering whether to snatch Hal’s hand away or attack him. Her own attentions, necessarily subtle because of their audience, seemed to incite him to more blatant caresses and pats.

  Finally Captain Lindsay fell asleep, and Viola silently shooed Hal and Rosalind out.

  Hal set their glasses down on a nearby table and slipped his arm around her waist. “I can kiss you in public now,” he remarked, blue eyes dancing.

  “Henry Lindsay!” Rosalind gasped, as the rich lassitude deepened still further in her loins. She shuddered slightly as dew glided softly down her thigh.

  Why, oh why, had she thought that respectability would tame her river devil? And why on earth would she have wanted it to? Still, the entire cabin crew was watching. “We’re in a public room. Maybe later,” she hissed, “when we’re in our own room.”

  “Madame, your wish is my command.” He swung her up in his arms, and Rosalind squeaked, grabbing for his shoulders. Then he strode past a stateroom and opened the door of the Wisconsin, the last stateroom aft on the port side. An instant later, he dropped her on the big brass bed. The same big brass bed she’d known and loved on the voyage upriver. Ezra and the cabin crew must have brought it in here, one of the few beds large enough to hold Hal comfortably, when they moved Hal and Rosalind’s belongings.