The River Rose (17 page)

"I have literally been so busy I couldn't get time to come down here," she admitted. "I had to keep working for three days. I gave them two weeks' notice, but I have a friend that arranged for me to be able to leave without any recriminations. Marvel even had to remind me that it was New Year's Eve. Happy New Year, by the way. What about you? Have you been working? Are you moved in yet?"

"We had a job that had to be finished before I could leave. I've been working for Mr. Warner for ten years, so I couldn't just ride off into the sunset. We finished up that job a couple of days ago, and I moved in yesterday afternoon. Want to come see my cabin? I've got new furniture."

"No, thank you," Jeanne said frostily. "The only thing I'm adding to our cabin is a dining room table and four chairs. They're supposed to be delivered tomorrow morning, and Marvel and I will be moving in tomorrow afternoon."

"You want me and Ezra and Vinnie to come move you?" Clint offered. "I know where we can rent a cart."

"That's not necessary, all we're bringing are our trunks, and I have a friend with a carriage. He's going to bring us."

"Okay," Clint said tentatively. "Then what are we going to do? Live happily ever after?"

"Are you ever serious about anything at all?" Jeanne said sharply. "I've been working on getting the
Helena Rose
on the river, and I have accomplished a lot. When my friend brings us to the
Rose
tomorrow, I want you to meet with us, and we'll discuss it all then."

"What friend? Discuss what?" Clint demanded.

"Our plans for the
Helena Rose
."

"What
our
? I'm your partner, remember? Don't you think you might let me in on
our
plans?"

"Oh. Yes, I see what you're saying," Jeanne said thoughtfully. "But to tell the truth, I'd feel much better if we discuss everything with Mr. Masters. It'll just be tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Hardin. I'm sure you can wait until then."

CLINT DIDN
'
T HAVE MUCH of a choice, so he waited until the next afternoon and watched with a jaundiced eye as Jeanne, Marvel, and their trunks drove up in an elegant barouche box with glassed windows. Marvel's shining face was at one of the windows, and suddenly Clint recalled seeing her in that same carriage, after the Regale, on Main Street. Mr. Masters must be a good friend indeed, if they had spent Christmas Eve with him. Clint wondered about him and Jeanne, for it was unusual, he knew, for a chambermaid/female riverboat pilot to have such a well-to-do "friend." Eve Poynter Maxfield's face rose up in front of his eyes, but then he told himself that he had never ridden in Eve's carriage, certainly not in public. He had been visiting her this past week, while her parents were in the country, but he always came in the tradesman's back entrance to the house.

Marvel ran up the gangplank, with Jeanne and Masters following more decorously behind. Jeanne had on new clothes, Clint noted, a maroon skirt with a matching short cape. She was wearing a new bonnet that he thought was hideous.

"Mr. Hardin, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Mr. George Masters," Jeanne said when they reached him. "Mr. Masters, this is my partner, and the engineer of the
Helena Rose
, Mr. Clinton Hardin."

Clint stuck out his hand, and Masters shook it firmly. He was dressed in a dark blue frock coat, black trousers with a sharply-pressed seam, spit-shined half boots, and a black silk top hat. Clint was wearing his work clothes, as always, a blue flannel shirt over a cotton undershirt, canvas duck trousers, and his old brogans. He had been working in the engine room, and had oil smudges on the knees of his breeches, and that bothered him. At least his hands were clean. And George Masters' hands were as soft as a woman's, he noted smugly.

"Masters," he said.

"Mr. Hardin, a pleasure to meet you," George said pleasantly.

"Mr. Clint, Mr. Masters remembers you," Marvel said excitedly. "We talked about you riding home in the carriage after the Regale. He said you sing really good."

"Really well," Jeanne corrected her.

"Thanks," Clint said shortly to Masters.

Jeanne gave him a cautious glance, then said brightly, "Marvel, why don't we go find Roberty? I'm sure wherever Roberty is, Leo will be with him."

"Okay, Mama. But 'member, I live here now, so you don't have to tell me where to go all the time," Marvel reminded her. "I already know where everything is." She ran into the boiler room and they heard her call, "Roberty! I'm home!"

Jeanne smiled, then asked Clint, "Was the table delivered today?"

"Yes, ma'am, and the four chairs. We put them in your cabin. If you don't like how we fixed it, we'll move it around."

Jeanne, George, and Clint went up to the cabin, and Jeanne surveyed the room with satisfaction. The desk was still underneath the windows along the back wall, the dining table was in the center of the room, and the two armchairs and tea table were down by the bed, across from the armoire. Jeanne had bought a wool carpet with an embroidered rose motif that covered the end of the room where the chairs and armoire were. The room looked homey and comfortable, and it was delightfully warm. Clint had been keeping one boiler fired up, and it heated the entire boat. "That's perfect, thank you, Mr. Hardin," Jeanne said with satisfaction. "Now, one reason I wanted this table is for a worktable, since my desk is small. Please, gentlemen, sit down." She took off her bonnet and cape, then took Master's hat and gloves. "George? We forgot about the trunks. All of our papers are in there."

"Yes, of course," he said, hastily rising again. "I'll go get the driver to bring them up."

"Don't worry about it, George," Clint said airily. "I'll take care of the manual labor."

He sauntered out, and George resumed his seat. Jeanne joined him and said, "I told you he's impossible."

"Maybe. But I have to say that we've put him in an awkward position, Jeanne. Can't blame a man for having a little resentment in this situation."

"What situation?" Jeanne demanded. "After all, you've done nothing but help."

"I've helped
you
," he countered. "To him, I've just come aboard his boat without a by-your-leave."

"So let's say you came on board my half of the boat at my by-your-leave, and I now extend you an open invitation to board any time you want."

"Yes, I'm sure that will make Mr. Hardin feel much better," George said with a chuckle.

Clint and Ezra came in then, carrying Jeanne's and Marvel's trunks. Jeanne said, "Just put them over here, please." They put them down by the armoire, and Ezra made a quick bow and scooted out. Jeanne opened her trunk and took out a logbook, a sheaf of papers, and several rolled maps and dumped them all on the table. "You see, Mr. Hardin, I know the Arkansas River, but I don't know the Mississippi. And that was the problem. The big problem."

"Why is that?" Clint asked. "You learned the Arkansas, you can learn the Mississippi, right?"

"I could, in a couple of years, if I was a cub on a boat with a good pilot," Jeanne answered.

"Ah. That is a problem," Clint said.

"And another problem is that I don't have a pilot's license," Jeanne went on. "The Steamboat Act that was passed in 1852 requires all boats to have a licensed pilot. So pilots started taking cubs, and when they felt that the cub was expert enough, usually after a two-year period, as I said, they would certify to the marine inspector that the apprentice was a qualified pilot, and he would get his license."

Clint frowned. "Is there any good news in this anywhere?"

Jeanne smiled warmly at George Masters. "Thanks to Mr. Masters, it's all good news. He knows a pilot that is going to take me on a short cruise to Helena, then down to Napoleon Trading Post, and then back here, and then certify me to the marine inspector, who is a friend of his. Also, this pilot has kindly consented to coach me on this trip, because with the freight runs Mr. Masters has worked out for us, between here and Napoleon is going to be the only stretch of the Mississippi River I'll have to learn."

Clint leaned forward and clasped his fists on the table. His knuckles had healed up, but they still had red lumpy scar tissue. "Okay, first, what is Napoleon Trading Post?"

"That's a settlement right where the Arkansas comes into the Mississippi," George explained. He unrolled a map, then pointed. "You see? It's nothing but a collection of log huts, but it's been settled since de Soto's time. There are even some Choctaw Indians left there."

Clint ran his finger down the wide green swath of the Mississippi River, then pointed. "Are you telling me that this is the Arkansas River, right here?"

"It is. It's really better than it looks."

"It looks like a skinny wriggling worm," Clint rasped. "And you can pilot that?"

Jeanne looked uncomfortable. "It is difficult from Napoleon to Pine Bluff," she admitted. "But I've done it many times. It's just a matter of knowing the river, and concentrating while you're navigating it. The Arkansas is much smaller than the Mississippi, much narrower, it flows faster, and in many places it's much deeper. But there aren't nearly as many steamboats on the Arkansas River, mainly because only the smaller ones can navigate it. And that has proved to be a big advantage for us."

Clint studied the map for a few moments, then murmured, "I see. Pine Bluff, Little Rock, Fort Smith, those are all sizable towns. If there are only a few steamboats servicing them I would imagine freight would be fairly easy to come by."

"Last year only thirteen boats went to Little Rock," Masters said. "I guarantee you the
Rose
will have freight."

"I'm not going to Fort Smith," Jeanne said curtly. "But Mr. Masters has figured out how we can have profitable runs to Little Rock and back. Mr. Masters is friends with the Memphis postmaster, and he was able to get us a contract to carry the mail, Memphis to Helena to Pine Bluff to Little Rock, and of course it's a turnaround each trip. That means we pick up both coming and going."

"Yeah, I've heard of that," Clint said dryly. "How much does it pay?"

"Only ten dollars per stop/per trip," Jeanne said, "so it's eighty dollars round trip."

"Not bad for a few sacks of mail," Clint said thoughtfully. "We'll have room to haul plenty of other cargo, if we can get it."

"We can," Jeanne said. "Mr. Masters says that Little Rock and Pine Bluff are crying for any finished goods, any textiles, any processed foods like tinned vegetables and fruit, and any coal deliveries in the winter are snatched right up."

"And for return freight, Little Rock has the best crushed stone mines in the United States," Masters said. "Their problem has always been transport. You can pick up all the crushed stone you can hold any time of the year. With that, and lumber out of Pine Bluff, the
Rose
should be able to stay loaded all the time."

Clint said with interest, "You know, crushed stone and lumber are heavy loads, and we're not a big boat. But we can carry a lot for our size. The
Rose
draws six inches empty and only ten inches loaded. That'll work on the Arkansas River, right?"

"Oh, yes," Jeanne assured him. "As I said, it's narrower, but deeper."

"Sounds like you've got it all worked out. Thank you, Mr. Masters. I appreciate your help," Clint said sincerely. "But I just have one question. Where are you going to find this angelic pilot that's going to babysit us for a couple of days? And how much is he going to cost us?"

"There is an excellent pilot that I've already spoken to, and he's very happy to assist Mrs. Bettencourt. He won't charge you anything at all. His name is Francis Buckner."

Incredulously, Clint said, "Buck Buckner's name is
Francis
? And you say he's going to do us a favor, out of the goodness of his heart? I find that hard to believe."

Masters gave him a dry smile. "Believe it, Mr. Hardin. He works for me, you see. I'm half owner of the
Lady Vandivere
."

BY THE TIME THEY finished their meeting, Clint had thawed enough towards George Masters to offer to take him on a tour of the boiler room and engine room. Masters had accepted the offer with a good will, though Jeanne was sure she saw a flash of panic on his face before he did.
He'll probably die of embarrassment if he gets a smudge on his fine frock coat,
she thought whimsically.
I doubt he's ever seen a steam boiler in his life.