Al nuzzled Amelia awake. “Do you still want to go out on the deck to see the new jetties? If we dress quickly, we can get out there by daylight.”
“Yes, I do.” Amelia crawled over the top of him and stood by the bed pulling her gown over her head.
“You can make me change my mind.” He sat on the side of the bed and watched her light the lamp and turn naked to reach into her trunk for fresh clothing.
“If Mister James Eads is so sure his channel design will work that he refused to be paid until he proves it, we need to see it.” She stepped into her bloomers and fastened her bustle.
“Why don’t we go below? See if Toby’s watching?” Al pulled on his trousers and watched her brush her hair.
They found Toby and two men leaning on the rail, watching as the first light exposed the long channel stretching from the mouth of the Mississippi into the Gulf. “Hey, Pop. I’d like you to meet my cabin mates.”
Al extended his hand as his son introduced both men—the oldest, a heavy-set fellow whose eyes looked like black orbs set low in white sockets; the other, wore a walrus mustache across a face as pale as paper. Con men or gamblers? I hope the boy’s wearing his money belt.
Toby pointed alongside the ship at scaffolding made of willow branches matted together between huge pilings that extended up the river as far as Al could see. “That twisted mess of trees and lumber lining both sides of the river form the foundation of Eads’ engineering feat. These fellows tell me that in the year since Eads put these jetties in to narrow the channel, the river scoured itself from a depth of only nine to twenty feet.”
“That’s the truth,” the droopy-eyed man said after he shook Al’s hand and then bowed toward Amelia. “We make this trip from Galveston every six weeks. At this rate, Eads is going to earn that eight million dollars.”
Gamblers for sure, Al thought. They’ll clean Toby’s plow if they haven’t already.
The mustached-man pointed to the bank of willow mats. “Over time, mud will settle on those mats and form a solid wall. With the river channel narrow like this, the water forms a strong current and keeps silt from building up down here at the mouth of the river.”
Amelia turned away from the men and gazed at the scar the channel carved down the middle of the broad river. Each side rose so high with scaffolding that she wondered if the alligators and pink spoonbills were still on the other side of the maze of planks and beams. Were the trees edging the old river bank still drooping beards of shaggy moss? Did fields of indigo stretch blue into the horizon? “It’s a different world,” she whispered, her voice drifting away with the river current.
The Mississippi spread out broad as a lake ahead of their steamer easing into the New Orleans port. Amelia scanned the rooftops looking for familiar parts of the town. “I can’t find the dome on the St. Charles Hotel.”
“It burned about a year after you left, took several other buildings with it. They rebuilt it without that iconic dome. Look at the three spires over to your right. That’s St. Louis Cathedral near our townhouse. Remember, it was under major renovation when you were here?”
Amelia leaned against him. “I remember everything, but it all looks different. Except for the docks. There are still islands of crates and barrels spread as far as I can see.” She did not add that it still stank of garbage and dead fish.
After disembarking with the first-class passengers, they scanned the lower level of the ship for Toby. “There he is. He’s laughing with those cabinmates.” Al stretched to see over the heads of nearby passengers.
She heard the tension in his voice, felt his body stiffen when he spotted Toby with those men. “I wish you would stop trying to control Toby.” She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.
Al cut his eyes toward her. “Do I sound like an ol’ mother hen?”
She squeezed his hand. “Yes, you do.”
Toby loped down the gangplank and wove through the crowd. “Did you realize those guys are detectives with the Pinkerton Agency? I never figured out what they’re doing or who they’re investigating.”
What a fool I’ve been. “If they’re traveling second class, it wasn’t a pleasure trip,” Al said.
“Aw, Pop, plenty of people travel second class. It’s a hell of a lot cheaper. Now that I know it won’t kill me, I’ll probably do it, even when I don’t have to.”
Al still knew how to hail a carriage. He lifted his elegant bowler and nodded in the direction of a large white carriage. The driver tipped his hat and drove toward them with a mile-wide smile. Her breast swelled with a burst of pleasure. This time she wouldn’t leave him.
Like before, the carriage rumbled over streets of uneven wood planks and cobblestones. Vendors in billowing dresses hawked their wares—figs, carrots, and greens—piled high on trays balanced on their heads. The clatter of the wagon wheels and the sing-song rhythm of women calling “rubyyy-red straw-ber-rees and pretty pur-pully plums!” caused Amelia to grab for Al’s hand. “It’s the same,” she breathed.
Reality settled cold and dreary as she scanned the buildings, peeling from years of neglect and windows boarded shut like the eyes of the dead.
Toby mentioned it first. “Every time I come, it looks more worn out.” He scanned the decaying scene and then turned to Al like a child waiting for reassurance.
“I wish you could have seen the town before the war, the way Amelia and I saw it twenty-five years ago. Each time I return, I’m surprised that another business has moved out of the Quarter.”
“You’ve kept up our townhouse. Old Ruby and Peter have been there all my life.”
“That’s the trouble. They’re old.” Al leaned back on the carriage seat against Amelia. “I wrote them that we’d be here. They’ll get the place dusted out. Ruby will probably have a big pot of gumbo.”
Al directed the driver to stop at the State National Bank. “I want to see what time Jerome DeHart and the other two witnesses can go with me to get the license. I’ll have to put up a bond guaranteeing that nothing should keep us from getting married.”
It was much easier to marry Dr. Stein. Captain Whipple said a few words on shipboard. “Why is it so complicated?”
Al shrugged. “This is Louisiana. We’re lucky that Jerome can pull some strings since we aren’t residents.”
Amelia and Toby glanced at each other after Al smoothed his coat and tucked his hat under his arm before entering the bank’s highly polished brass door. “Pop wants everything to be just so. Always been that way.” Toby’s eyes settled gently on Amelia. “I’m glad he has you. I’ve hurt him pretty bad.”
“One of the things I admire about your father is the way he loves you.” Amelia folded her arms tightly against her middle imagining how Al would have loved their boy.
“Did he tell you I suggested he sell the Independence store to Ruby and Emmett? I think it’s too much for him. His leg’s hurt him forever. Now, he’s got that lousy shoulder.”
Amelia felt like her heart would break. “No, he didn’t say a word.” She brushed the air with the back of her hand. “That’s just like him. Protecting all of us.”
Al and his old friend burst out the bank doors wearing broad smiles. Despite hair turned almost white, Jerome DeHart looked like the vigorous man Amelia met all those years ago. His gray frock coat and dark pin-striped trousers made him every bit as handsome as she remembered.
“I am delighted to see you again, Amelia.” He cut his eyes toward Al. “I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me she is even more beautiful than before.”
“I feared you’d try to horn in.” Al beamed like the winner of a lottery.
Amelia tried to smile, to be part of the charade, but Toby had jumped from the carriage, removed his hat, and stood to one side waiting for the judgment. Jerome DeHart turned toward him, and a gnat-like flicker crossed the banker’s brow before he grabbed the boy, pounding his back.
“Tob, you’re a handsome devil. God, boy, I hope you can keep the women at bay.” Jerome DeHart flashed a devilish grin at Amelia. “I’ve half-raised this boy. I figure to get in some man talk before he heads back to Boston.”
Amelia could only nod and manage a tight smile as she saw the relief spread like a balm, relaxing the furrows in Al’s brow and pucker his lips into a trembling smile. He had not been sure how his lifelong friend would react. Toby—eyes squeezed shut—had leaned into Jerome DeHart’s embrace.
Amelia searched for a way to tell this man how vital his words had been. She leaned down from the carriage seat, reached for his hand. “I am forever in your debt,” she said.
His black eyes softened, and he nodded. Keeping his arm around Toby’s shoulders, he gave no hint of understanding her message. “I told Al that my driver would take us for the license in the morning. Sargent DeMille is our Justice of the Peace, and he owes me a few favors. He’ll be happy to see all the paperwork completed and perform the ceremony tomorrow afternoon. We’ve got to get this overdue marriage formalized.” Jerome’s shoulders sagged dramatically. “I’ve had to change your wedding dinner to Antoine’s. The St. Charles burned again last week. They’re already rebuilding.”
The streets of the French Quarter narrowed as the carriage creaked slowly behind the clomping of the horse on the paving stones. The sweet scent of talcum spilled from flower baskets decorating the faces of faded buildings—painted ladies past their prime. They turned the corner, and Amelia gasped at seeing Al’s townhouse looming tall. The windows, edged with black shutters, gleamed across the faded brick facade. Clusters of pink impatiens hung from the second-floor cast-iron balcony.
Al pulled her hand to his lips. “Ruby’s turned the place into a garden.”
“It’s lovely.” Amelia murmured as the carriage turned into the familiar narrow passage—green with bulging baskets of ferns—and stopped before the French doors.
“There’re Ruby and Peter.” Toby leaped from the carriage and threw his arms around the black couple, starched and pressed like pre-war servants.
“So, this is Miss Amelia.” Ruby’s warm breasts, smelling of yeast and onions, smothered her into a welcome cocoon.
Peter, thin as a weed, rubbed his hand over Toby’s head and grinned. “You’ve made a fine specimen.”
The rich aroma of hot French bread and the nutty smell of the roux in Ruby’s gumbo drifted into the elegant old parlor lit by the floor-length windows facing the street and dressed in the same plush chairs, faded pale.
Toby argued with Peter, refused to let the old man carry the luggage, then thumped up the stairs with their trunks. Ruby hustled toward the kitchen saying she’d pour some iced tea and dish up supper.
Al traced his hand down Amelia’s back. “Does it look the same?”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m weak with the memories.”
“I wish I could carry you up to bed the way I did before.”
She heard the wistful sound in his voice and reached for his hand. “I’m taking you upstairs as soon as everyone clears out.”
They had finally convinced Ruby that she didn’t need to serve or clean up when Toby burst into the kitchen. He had shed his coat and opened his collar, but sweat still trickled along his cheeks and wet the front of his white shirt. “I always forget how humid it is in New Orleans. Peter’s opened all the transoms and windows. But, you gotta see what Ruby’s done in your bedroom.”
Al frowned. “Should I go look?”
“Wait. Let Amelia see for herself.”
Al took off his coat and fumbled in the pocket before he sat beside her at the table. “Look what Jerome gave me. He wants you to have it as his wedding gift.” Al cupped an egg-size sachet of green velvet cradling a gold ring coiled into an emerald-headed snake. “It belonged to his wife.”
Amelia stared at the ring in its cushion. “How can he part with this treasure?”
Toby leaned over her shoulder. “You know the symbolism of that coiled snake? The Romans called it everlasting love.” He grinned at Al. “Hindus and Jews say it stands for passion and desire.”
“You’re getting carried away, boy.” Al looked at his son with a raised brow. “Jerome wishes us the love that he and his wife shared.”
Amelia squeezed Al’s arm, “Whatever it means, I’m delighted. I can’t believe he’s parting with it.”
“Jerome said it’s not doing him any good to keep holding onto the past. He lost Ada and both their little girls to yellow fever after the war.”
Toby stood to refill his bowl with gumbo. “He lived here for a long time, stayed in that extra upstairs room.”
Al’s gumbo sat untouched. “Toby always played with Jerome’s daughters. I brought him here as often as I could. Jerome packed away all their things and tore the house down. Eventually, he moved to the St. Charles.”
Toby filled another bowl and sat back down. “This is good gumbo, but it’s not as good as Violet’s.”
Al snorted. “I’d hate to see how much you could eat if Violet had made it.”
“You remember how she stood for hours, sweating and slowly stirring the roux? It had to be black as mud before she’d finally finish the gumbo. I almost starved before she got it done.”
As soon as they washed the dishes, Toby changed to a clean shirt and said good-night for the evening. When the door closed behind him, Al sighed. “I love that boy, but I thought he’d never get out of here.”
Amelia took Al’s hand and led the way up the winding stairs.
They stopped short at the bedroom door. Al’s old Mallard bed, topped by the half-tester of faded orchid velvet, had been turned back for the night and rose petals spread in deep pink clusters across the pillows.
“I knew Ruby loved flowers, but I would not have called her a romantic,” Al laughed.
“Look around.” Amelia spread her arms toward an arrangement of ferns set before the French doors opening to the balcony. A tiny basket of red grapes sat on the bedside table, and a vase filled with a rainbow of gladiolus reflected in the tall mirror on the dressing table.
Al began unbuttoning the back of Amelia’s dress. “We’re going to smell like a garden when we finish crushing those rose petals.”
She mumbled against his lips. “Tell me, did Jerome know about us? Is that why he’s so generous?”
Al stroked her face. “Several years ago, he told me that he hadn’t understood why I’d become a drunk. When he lost Ada and the girls, he said he finally knew.”
“Did he start drinking?”
“Yep. But, Jerome wasn’t like me. He didn’t let it take over.” Al pulled Amelia onto the bed. “Maybe he saw what a mess I made of myself.”
Amelia pulled back, her breath coming short as her eyes trailed over the broad white sheets, the pillows propped against the massive headboard. “I have to ask. Is this where it happened?”
Al dropped his hands from her shoulders, his lips twisted, and a frown darkened his face. “I’ve been honest with you, Amelia. I’d offer to change rooms with Toby, but I can’t think of what reason to give. I’m sure as hell not going to tell him the truth.” Al stood, paced to the French doors and looked out into the thick treetops. He turned, his eyes pleading. “It’s not too late for you to back out. I hope you won’t. I’ve never stopped wanting you.”
She cupped her face in both hands and tried to quiet the churning that kept stirring the image of Al in this bed, creating Toby. “I love you, Al Waters. I don’t want to be jealous. I hate this feeling––”
“Let’s go downstairs. Take a bath like before.”
Amelia rushed into Al’s arms. “Yes, I would love a bath with you.”