The River Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  "No, I see now that they were—trying to help," Jeanne said hesitantly.

  "So you're all het up 'cause they got throwed in jail?"

  "No—no. Not exactly. I guess."

  "So you're all het up 'cause they was in a saloon?"

  "I don't know," she said distractedly. "I'm confused now."

  He nodded knowingly. "Miz Bettencourt, I'm a-gonna speak frank to you. See, I'm a Christian now, I done got saved and sanctified ten year ago, at a camp revival meeting. Afore that I wasn't nothing, I didn't have no honor, I didn't have no dignity, I didn't have no good sense, all I had was sin to keep me company, and poor company it were, too. But the good Lord saved me from my sin, and I come to figger out He saved me from everbody else's sin too. I got a hard head, and it tuck me awhile, but finally He got through to me. I had enough in my own lap without tendin' to other folks' problems. He'll deal with them, sure as He dealt with me."

  Jeanne said evenly, "You're telling me that I shouldn't be angry with Clint and Vince for being in a saloon."

  "Well, are you, ma'am?"

  She thought for long moments, then answered quietly, "Yes, I am. And you're exactly right, Ezra, and I'm exactly wrong. I do have plenty enough in my own lap without tending to other folks' problems," she echoed him with a faint smile. "Thank you, Ezra."

  "Cap'n," he said, bobbing his head, then he turned and left.

  Jeanne stared into space. Lord, I've been a mean-spirited busybody. It's none of my business what Clint and Vince or anyone else does. I'm so sorry.

  As soon as she told this to the Lord, she thought: I owe them an apology.

  Somehow, Jeanne thought, she wouldn't have any trouble apologizing to Vince. He was employed by her, and she had made a mistake, and she could easily say to him, "I apologize for my attitude toward you, sir, what you do when you're not on my boat is none of my business. Let's just forget it, shall we?"

  But it wasn't that simple with Clint Hardin.

  Why not? Jeanne wondered.

  She wrestled with herself, trying to pin down the answer. But somehow it was a harder question than it should have been, and finally she gave up. She resolved to be more polite to Clint and Vince from now on, that there really was no need for her to go apologizing all over the boat.

  Why not? Jeanne thought.

  JEANNE WAS NICE TO Clint and Vince, in fact she was very cordial to them. No one said anything more about their Helena escapade; Marvel didn't ask any more questions, Ezra gave no hint to anyone about his talk with Jeanne, Vince went on roustabouting around as he usually did, and Clint was the same easygoing, charming man he'd always been.

  They got back to Memphis and as soon as the Rose's engine shut down, Jeanne hurried down to the main deck. Clint and Vince were lowering one of the landing stages, kneeling down to turn the handle of a big capstan with a ratchet-and-pawl mechanism that slowly let out the stout ropes and lowered the landing stage. It was hard work for two strong men, so Jeanne went inside the boiler room to say hello to Marvel.

  Outside four roustabouts gathered on the shore. "Hey, Vinnie!" one of them called. "We heard the Petticoats beat the tar outta the One Eyes down there in Helena!"

  Vince hopped up. "Eddie, you call me a Petticoat one more time and you're gonna be eating this lumber instead of unloading it!"

  "Aw, keep yer galluses on, I didn't mean nothing by it," Eddie hollered at the top of his lungs. "Them One Eyes is some rough boys. If they got beat by you Petticoats, I sez good-all for ya!"

  Clint grunted, "A little help here, Vinnie?"

  Vince knelt back down and grabbed the capstan handle. "Petticoats!" he muttered darkly.

  Just inside the boiler room, Marvel was standing on a box looking out the window, with Jeanne right behind her. "Those must be some of the yelling men," Marvel observed. "What are they talking about?"

  Jeanne's mouth twitched and she answered, "Oh, just river talk. Nothing to worry about."

  When the landing stages were down, Jeanne went out on deck to talk to Clint. "We had a very smooth run this time," she said. "Any problems?"

  "No, Cap'n Jeanne," he said, eyeing the roustabouts as they filed on board. Each of them nodded politely to Jeanne and murmured, "Ma'am," or "Captain."

  "I know it's Thursday," Jeanne continued, "but do you think we could lay over for two nights and load up Saturday? I'd like to take Marvel shopping tomorrow."

  "It's early yet," Clint said, for it was only two o'clock. "How about you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you and Marvel to town this afternoon? There's plenty of time for shopping, and there's a new confectioner on Main Street that's got this whole castle made out of chocolate in the window. I think Marvel would love it."

  "Thank you, but I need to take Marvel to buy some new clothes, and that takes a while," Jeanne said. "And I am engaged this evening anyway. Maybe some other time."

  "Sure, Cap'n, any time."

  Jeanne hurried to the stairs and Vince came back to Clint's side. "Face it, buddy. She's only got eyes for the Big Bug."

  Clint looked troubled, but then his face cleared and he said easily, "Guess you're right, Vinnie. Hey, you want to take Marvel and Roberty to the new confectioner's shop? You know, the one with the chocolate castle?"

  JEANNE BARELY HAD TIME to wash her face and touch up her hair before she saw George Masters strolling down the docks from her window. She went back down to greet him at the gangplank but Clint, holding Marvel's hand, stopped her at the bottom of the stairs. "Hey, Captain, would you mind if Vinnie and I took Marvel and Roberty to that confectioner's I was telling you about?"

  Jeanne said with surprise, "You and Vinnie? Going to a confectioner's shop?"

  "Well, yeah! I like raspberry ices, even in winter," Clint said.

  "Please, Mama?" Marvel pleaded. "I want to see the castle!"

  Jeanne's every instinct was to say no, but then she saw George coming up the gangplank with an armload of flowers so she said hurriedly, "I suppose it would be all right. Er—Mr. Hardin, it is just the confectioner's, isn't it?"

  His eyes narrowed but his tone was light. "Yes, ma'am. Where else did you think I would take your daughter?"

  "Nowhere, I was just checking," Jeanne said hastily. "Thank you, Mr. Hardin, it will be a treat for Marvel and Roberty."

  "Hurray!" Marvel said, running back inside the boiler room to tell Roberty.

  With an awkward smile Jeanne went to meet George, uncomfortably aware of Clint Hardin's cold blue gaze on her back. "Hello, George," she said with less welcome than she had intended.

  "Hello, Jeanne, my dear. These are for you, I suppose you've guessed," he said, handing her the bouquet of pink roses and white lilies.

  "Mmm, they smell heavenly! And such flowers, in winter!"

  "Yes, the Lady Vandivere buys them by the boatload from a hothouse in New Orleans. How are you, Jeanne? How was the run?"

  She took his arm and they went to stand on the other side of the deck, for the roustabouts were still unloading the lumber. Jeanne frowned. Finally she answered, "It was fine, a clean there-and-back with no problems at all. What about you? How are you, what have you been doing?"

  "I had several meetings the last couple of days. In fact, there are a couple of things that came up that I'd like to discuss with you," he said, his smooth features bland. "We are still on for this evening, aren't we?"

  "Of course. I'll be ready."

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, as he often did now. "And I'll be here."

  Jeanne went upstairs to bathe and dress. Marvel came into the cabin and said, "As soon as the yelling men finish unloading, we're going to town. Are you and Mr. Masters going to a restaurant tonight?"

  "Yes, it's called Gladstone House. I've never been there before, but Mr. Masters says it's wonderful."

  "Those are pretty flowers," Marvel said, sniffing and caressing a pink rose. "That was nice of Mr. Masters, to bring you flowers. You should wear them in your hair, Mama. You would be beautiful."

&n
bsp; "No, I have my new bonnets. Now listen, little one. You wear your cape and muffler and mittens, all right? It's still cold enough for you to catch a chill. And don't eat too much chocolate."

  "I won't," she said solemnly. "Not after that time, with the chocolate." She dressed Avaymaria in her wool cape and muffler, then got her own things and left the cabin.

  Jeanne took her time with bathing and dressing, and at a quarter to five she was standing in front of the mirror, putting on her bonnet. She was wearing her one coordinated outfit, the maroon skirt with the matching short cape and bonnet. She tied the wide ribbon in a perky bow under her chin, then made a face. She actually hated the bonnet, because she thought that the style of completely covering the hair with a big fabric pouf, and then a brim completely encircling the face, so wide that the wearer couldn't see to the right or left without turning the head completely around, looked silly. But it was trimmed with maroon satin flowers with pink pearl centers, and it was fashionable.

  Jeanne untied the ribbon and threw the bonnet down on the table, then took a rose and two lilies and put them into her hair. She took off the short cape and got her old gray mantle and settled the hood gently onto her head so as not to crush the flowers.

  George arrived with the barouche right on time, and soon his grays were prancing up Jefferson Avenue. They arrived at Gladstone House, which actually was an old house converted to an inn, with six bedroom suites on the second floor and the entire first floor turned into six separate dining rooms. Jeanne and George were seated at a small table in the corner of what would have been a parlor, and the room had only one other table occupied by an elderly couple. A silent black man in a white coat and gloves took their outerwear. George eyed her hair and said, "You look very exotic, Jeanne."

  "Thank you, sir," she said, wondering if looking exotic was truly a compliment.

  "This is rather an old-fashioned place," George told her as the waiter promptly brought them crystal goblets of mineral water and a clear onion consommé as soon as they were seated. "They don't go in for newfangled things like serving from a menu. At Gladstone's there is a bill of fare for each day, and that's what you get. I've always found that it's good, hearty food, though. I think you'll enjoy it."

  "I'm sure I will," Jeanne said rather automatically. "George, I've been so very curious. What happened in your meetings that could possibly concern me?"

  George took a sip of the soup before replying. "Perhaps I misspoke. You weren't the topic of the meetings, Jeanne. What I wanted to talk to you about was that article in the Helena newspaper. You did see it, didn't you?"

  "Of course. I thought it was trite and ridiculous. It was hardly what I call newsworthy."

  "Perhaps not, but it is all the talk," George said gravely. "And just today, the Arkansas Gazette had a similar article. Several gentlemen of my acquaintance have mentioned the articles to me."

  Jeanne slowly put down her soup spoon and folded her hands in her lap. "And this is a problem for you?"

  "For us, Jeanne. Wouldn't you agree? I mean, for a lady to have her name bandied about in the newspapers—well, it's just not done." He sipped another spoonful of soup.

  "No, in my case it is indeed already done. Do you have any suggestions for undoing it?"

  He stated the obvious. "Can't undo it now, I'm afraid. You are upset about it, aren't you, Jeanne?"

  "No, George, I'm not. I've just recently learned that having a silly newspaper article written about me is the least of my worries."

  He nodded. "Yes, I knew there would be indecorous gossip about you on the river, and I decided to just ignore that. No gentleman would take notice of the things those river rats go on about anyway. But to be so publicly exposed, that's another thing."

  "You decided to ignore it," Jeanne repeated. "River rats." Suddenly the contrast between George Masters and her crew—especially Clint Hardin—seemed extremely unfavorable for George just now. Frostily she said, "I'm so sorry that my choice of livelihood has been a cause of offense to you, George."

  He looked up quickly. "You're angry with me. Why are you angry with me, Jeanne? What did I say?"

  "I'm not angry, George. I just wasn't aware that this would be such a problem for you. And put quite simply, there's no help for it."

  "I know, not for the articles that have already been written," he said hastily. "But I just wanted to warn you, you see. Since you've gained such public notoriety, I don't doubt but that other journalists, the ne'er-do-well sensationalist kind, will be seeking you out for interviews. I just thought that I'd tell you—that is, I was going to ask you, respectfully, for the sake of your own reputation, not mine of course, not to give any interviews. That's all I meant, Jeanne. Please don't be angry with me, it would make me very unhappy."

  He really was upset, she saw, and she softened a bit. Picking up her spoon again, she said, "I don't want you to be unhappy, George. I'm not angry, and I won't give any newspaper interviews. Let's just forget the whole thing, shall we?"

  "Yes, let's do that," he said with relief. "I've already forgotten."

  Jeanne wondered, But will I?

  "CLINT, FOR SHAME ON you," Ezra scolded. "You're worsen the chilluns. They ain't got no better sense than to spoil they supper by eatin' sweets, but you shoulda knowed better."

  "Vinnie was there too!" Clint said defensively. "He's the one that bought them the cherries!"

  "But all they ate was fruit," Vince argued. "Fruit's good for them."

  "Uh-huh," Ezra growled. "Pears and plums and oranges and such drownded in sugar syrup and cherries dipped in a vat full o' chocolate ain't like crunchin' on a good red apple, you ninny."

  Marvel said wistfully, "Oh, how I wish I hadn't eaten so much. I love fried hominy so, and I can't eat it."

  They were sitting in the galley, all perched on the high stools pulled up to the counters that lined the walls. Leo had managed to worm in between the wall and Marvel's and Roberty's stools, and at suppertime he even sat up and stayed awake. At least Ezra, Vince, and Clint were eating supper. Marvel had taken exactly two bites of the hot, creamy chicken fricassee, and one bite of fried hominy. Roberty was trying to eat the fricassee, for it was one of his favorites, but he, too, was just picking at it. His normally fair complexion looked slightly yellow-green. He had had four candied orange slices, a coconut chew, and three chocolate-covered maraschino cherries.

  Looking at Roberty, Clint said guiltily, "Okay, I guess I was supposed to be the responsible grown-up. Roberty, quit trying to look like you're eating, it makes my stomach hurt. Marvel, I'll make you some more fried hominy tomorrow, for tonight you're excused from supper."

  "Thank you," she sighed with relief.

  "I'll git you some bicarbonate of sody, Roberty," Ezra said. "It'll make you feel better."

  "Thanks, Ezra," he said faintly.

  The men finished eating and everyone helped wash up. Roberty was feeling better, and Marvel seemed none the worse for their visit to the confectioner's.

  Clint said, "Vinnie, why don't we have a little music tonight?"

  "Fine with me," he agreed. He left to fetch his violin, and the others all went down to the firebox. It was a small room, crowded with the two boilers, all the pipes, and with wood stacked along the walls. But it was very warm, almost hot, so Clint opened the double doors out onto the main deck. Leo laid down across Ezra's feet, and he scolded him, so he ambled off and collapsed just under the boilers, panting like it was an August noon.

  Vince came back down and took a few minutes tuning his fiddle. Roberty asked Clint, "Can you sing that song you were singing this morning? That Mr. Foster song?"

  "I sure will, and it's easy, so I expect you and everyone else to help me after you catch on," Clint said. Vince played a few chords, and Clint sang:

  I come from Alabama

  With a banjo on my knee

  I'm going to Louisiana,

  My true love for to see.

  Oh, Susannah,

  Oh don't you cry for me


  For I come from Alabama

  With a banjo on my knee.

  Ezra, Vince, and Clint sang the verses and the children hummed, but after the second verse they sang the chorus with gusto. Then Clint sang "Old Folks at Home," "Cockles and Mussels," and "Yankee Doodle."

  "How 'bout this one?" Vince said, grinning, and started playing a lively tune. Clint sang:

  As I was a-gwine down the road,

  With a tired team and a heavy load,

  I crack'd my whip and the leader sprung,

  I says day-day to the wagon tongue.

  Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay,

  Roll 'em up and twist 'em up in a high tuckahaw

  And twist 'em up a tune called Turkey in the Straw!

  Clint sang all five verses, and Marvel and Roberty clapped when he finished. "What's a tuckahaw, Mr. Clint?" Marvel asked.

  "That's where they put the turkey after he's rolled up and twisted up," Clint answered with a grin.

  Marvel sniffed. "It is not. You just made it up."

  "It's a good word, though, isn't it? I like it, tuckahaw. I think you should name your next doll Tuckahaw."

  Next they sang "De Camptown Races," and when they were finished Clint said, "Miss Marvel, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

  Marvel said, "But I don't know how to dance!"

  "'Camptown Races' is a good polka song. C'mon, I'll teach you." He nodded to Vince, who began to play. Clint scooped up Marvel in his arms. "Heel, toe, away we go!" He danced and Marvel giggled, her eyes starry. Roberty and Ezra clapped and sang, and Vince played the song all the way through twice.

  "Gunness!" Marvel said when Clint set her down. "I didn't know dancing was so easy! And so much fun!"

  "And so thirsty," Clint said. "How about some cider, Ezra?"

  "Be right back wid it," he said, and went upstairs to the galley.

  Roberty went over to sit by Vince, who started showing him how to hold a violin and run the bow across the strings. Clint sat down on a cracker box next to Marvel's cushioned chair. "So you like to dance, huh? Then I think that Vinnie should teach you a couple of jigs, and I'll teach you a waltz. Would you like that?"