Blanche craned her neck as she walked with the Gallaghers, scanning the docks for her first glimpse of the riverboat that had stolen her father away from her. Long before she had learned about her father’s business, she had daydreamed of a day trip downriver, properly chaperoned, of course. It sounded so… romantic. But romance and maidenly sighs didn’t put food on the table, as her mother was wont to say. For all of her nineteen years she kept her feet pinned to the ground and didn’t dare to dream.
For the immediate future, she would live in a fairy-tale world aboard her father’s boat. Maybe she would find out she was the long-lost princess, her father the king of the Rio Grande. Her eyes wandered to Ike. If she was the princess, what role did Ike play? Sir Lancelot or court jester? With the ready smile that came to his face, he could be either.
Until she arrived in Brownsville and learned the answers about her father, she could fashion a future out of her dreams. Dreams might lead to future disappointment, but she didn’t have much else to cling to for now. Except for the Lord, of course.
Mama had scoffed at Blanche’s dreams, saying “God helps those who help themselves.” From an early age, Blanche learned to keep her innermost desires to herself, holding them close the way Joseph must have for all those years he spent in Pharaoh’s prison.
They turned the corner to the dock, and Effie said, “There she is. Straight ahead.” She spoke with so much confidence that Blanche glanced at her face again, wondering if her first impression was wrong. No, the woman’s eyes remained focused on some distant sight that no one else could see, and her white cane tapped out a steady rhythm on the street.
“She’s something. Whenever I catch a glimpse of her like this, I fall in love with her all over again.” Ike had his arms at his waist, his suit jacket pushed behind his back by his fists.
One of Blanche’s teachers had used famous steamboat races to teach math: If a steamboat burns eight cords of wood to travel five miles per hour upstream, how much wood will it take to travel forty miles? Miss Burton had captured Blanche’s attention, as well as many of her classmates, and she had encouraged them to construct scale models of the famous steamboat, the Robert E. Lee, while they read Life on the Mississippi. All too soon Mama had heard about the project and single-handedly stopped it, much to Blanche’s dismay. Now that she knew her father’s history, she understood why.
From the pride and affection both the Gallaghers had used to describe the Cordelia, Blanche expected to see the same version of the famous floating hotels. Hundreds of passengers could travel aboard boats that had fifty or more staterooms with stained-glass ceilings and tessellated floors covered with rich carpets. Perhaps it even rose to four decks.
“There she is.” Ike paused and gave Blanche her first clear look at the steamboat that had dominated her thoughts ever since her mother’s death. She blinked. Painted green instead of white, a modest two decks instead of three, the gigantic stern wheel silent at the back of the boat. All in all, Blanche swallowed a bit of disappointment. Still, the paint was fresh, including curlicued gold letters announcing Cordelia. Crates stacked the decks. Perhaps they hauled more freight than passengers. Why would Mama object to a ship that did nothing more harmful than carry cotton and other products downriver? There was so much she didn’t know.
“She may not look like much.”
Mr. Gallagher read her mind.
“It’s a little smaller than I expected.” Blanche wrinkled her nose then held her face still. This boat represented her inheritance. She needed to learn as much as possible about its operations and all aspects of business before she made any judgments.
Effie laughed. “Don’t let the Cordelia hear you call her an ‘it.’ She’s a lady and expects to be greeted with respect. River and boat, both of them are demanding mistresses.”
“I’ll try to remember.” Were river people superstitious? “Why do you say that? Is traveling downriver dangerous?”
Effie inclined her head in Ike’s direction, and he shook his head. “I have lived on the river most of my life, and there’s no place I’d rather live. Captain Lamar wouldn’t have invited you along if he thought you were in danger.”
Blanche felt like she was listening to true statements without hearing the whole truth. Fear fluttered in her stomach, although she knew no place was safe from danger. Her mother had taken sick and died in a matter of days. Fire, thunderstorms, tornados, rainstorms, floods… anything could happen even in a small town like Roma. The river was no different, except that she was surrounded by water and she couldn’t swim. She swallowed.
“Shall we go?” Ike gestured at the Cordelia. “The crew has worked hard to spit and polish every inch of the ship for the captain’s daughter. They’re eager to meet you.”
Blanche smiled. From a poor orphan to an heiress. She lifted her chin with pride and moved forward to meet her destiny.
Old Obie roused himself from his spot high above the Cordelia, in the pilothouse. Unable to resist, he raised the binoculars to his eyes for one more look at the young woman accompanying Ike and Effie.
Blanche Marie Lamar. Ike’s description hadn’t done her justice. But how could one describe such a woman? Even in the wilting summer heat, her clothes looked as stiff as a newly pressed tablecloth, her backbone straight, the tilt of her head determined to look ahead. She wore solid black with a dull gray blouse. Her face had remained somber, with emotions of fear and excitement and hope whispering across her face as she inspected the boat from afar.
But that hair… as bright as red light that either delighted or warned a sailor, depending on the time of day. Old Obie would take delight in that hair, an omen that all would go well with her first trip aboard the Cordelia. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; red sky at morning, sailor’s warning.
Obie watched her confident steps as she strode toward the boat, taking in more details of her delicate facial features, a scattering of freckles on her nose, the rakish angle of the bow under her chin, the sparkle in her brown eyes. When they reached the dock, he put away the binoculars and buzzed around the already gleaming equipment.
Let Ike and Effie introduce Blanche to the crew. He would make her acquaintance later.
As they walked the deck, Ike caught a glimpse of Old Obie’s binoculars. If there was any chance Blanche would discover the romance of the river as her father hoped, sooner or later she must make her way to the pilothouse. Old Obie was just the man to teach the young lady the moods of the Rio Grande, from the present summer drought that increased difficulty in navigation to storms that pounded anyone caught in them, from the trees sweeping the riverbanks to the unexpected bridges that appeared with increasing frequency. Adjusting the pilot wheel an inch to the right or left could mean the difference between safe passage or running aground on a sandbar.
Old Obie was master of the pilothouse. Ike had learned a lot from him, but no amount of time had given him the feel for the river that Old Obie had. He was the boat’s most valuable employee, the one irreplaceable member of the crew, and well the captain knew it.
The crew had loaded the cotton stored in the warehouse while Ike had absented himself. Splendid pinks, reds, and oranges painted the western sky. If Old Obie agreed, they would set sail tonight. Ike’s arm tingled where it touched Blanche’s. He looked forward to standing with her on the deck and watching the boat pull away from the dock, feeling the stern wheel come to life, the near deafening turning of the wheels, the water rushing beneath the boat, wind whipping through his hair.
Would the wind tease a lock from Blanche’s abundance of red hair, so that it twirled and danced in front of her eyes? Or would an abundance of pins hold each lock in place? He pictured his fingers brushing those curls back against her face, running through the hair hanging loose about her shoulders. He pushed his mind away from the image. Blanche Lamar was a lady, and some images were best left between husband and wife.
The crew lined up to greet them. Everyone had dressed in uniform, as clean and sparkling as the boat. “Are you ready to meet your employees?” He held in the laugh that bubbled in his throat when he heard her suck in her breath at the words.
“Do you have any suggestions on how I should behave?” Pink tinged her cheeks. “This is a new experience for me.”
“I will tell you what Ike always tells me,” Effie answered for him. “It has helped me get through many difficult situations. Think like an actress and pretend. What would you do if you were the captain?”
Color drained from Blanche’s cheeks. Effie sensed her faux pas. “That’s not good advice for you. You don’t know our captain. Well, pretend you’re the hostess at a dinner party, or your pastor’s wife speaking to the ladies’ aid society.”
“Just be yourself. You’ll do fine.” Ike took one step forward but Blanche held back.
“How do I remember all their names? I’m terrible with names,” she moaned. “They only have one new name to learn, and it should be familiar—Lamar.”
“Which is why they will love you. They’ll be curious about you. Of course. Who is this mysterious daughter the captain has kept hidden all these years? But they won’t ask.”
“And if they do, tell one of us,” Effie spoke up. “We’ll set them straight.”
“I’ll keep that in mind and try not to be frightened away.” Still, Effie’s reassurance brought a smile to Blanche’s face. “I’ll practice with the two of you. What is your position with the crew? Ike, I know your card says ‘purser.’ I even looked it up in a dictionary. But I still don’t quite understand.”
“Paperwork and customer service.” Ike wasn’t ready to explain the full extent of his role on board just yet. His duties regarding passengers involved activities that would make Blanche… blanch. He could find some humor in the situation. He put his concerns aside and held out his hand. “Come. We will be beside you all the way. If we wait any longer, they may wonder what is wrong.”
Shyly, she accepted his hand and let him lead her forward.