The River Rose (40 page)

WHEN MAX BETTENCOURT LEFT Dooley's, he felt that he had made a grand exit. He'd left Jeanne sitting there like a cast-off whore, and she'd have to make her own way back to the boat alone. He considered waiting for her somewhere along the way, but decided against it. It was still several hours until dark and he had no intention of taking such a risk in broad daylight.

He stopped at a dank, dark liquor store and bought the cheapest gallon of whiskey they had. A few blocks down was his hotel, a filthy flophouse that rented rooms by the half hour, the hour, or the night. Paying for another night, he went up the rickety stairs, almost choking from the stench of body odor, rotten fish, and urine. In his room he pulled the single chair up by the window and leaned his whole upper body out of it. Uncorking the whiskey, he took four harsh gurgling swallows from it. This hotel, which apparently had no other name than Rooms to Rent, had no such luxuries as glasses or sheets or even pitchers and washbowls. To wash up he had to go to the pump out back, which was right by the privy. It occurred to him that a pitcher and washbowl would cost less than the whiskey, but cursing silently he decided to use one of the empty gallon jugs—there were two of them in the room, the idea that this place had any maids to clean up was farcical—to fetch water for washing. He couldn't afford a pitcher and washbowl. His lip curled in a snarl, thinking that Jeanne had backed him against the wall, telling him that he'd have to take her to court. Lawyers cost money, and Max Bettencourt's money was almost gone.

He cursed Jeanne in his mind, over and over again. Though she had always been a little spitfire, he had always been able to manipulate her, in fact, to bully her. She had grown much less vulnerable; in fact, it had been an extremely unpleasant shock to him that she so strongly and openly defied him. And she had that big bruiser Clint Hardin to defend her. But he wouldn't stay by her side and protect her all the time, Max thought confidently. He had heard on the river that Hardin was quite the ladies' man. To Max that meant that Hardin was like him. Oh, yes, soon enough Hardin would be out chasing whores. No matter what Max said, he knew that Jeanne would never take a lover, she really was way too holier-than-thou religious. Hardin had needs, like any man, and he wouldn't be finding them satisfied by prudish Jeanne Bettencourt. All he had to do was watch for his opportunity.

There was only one thing that Max liked about this room. The hotel was on Front Street, the waterfront that ran right along the river. Sandwiched between a beef warehouse and an icehouse, the only windows were on the front of the hotel. His window looked right over the river, the northern part of the docks, in fact. He got up and got his field glasses and settled back down in his chair. They were sensitive, and it took him a few moments to adjust them, but finally they were in such good focus that he could read the letters on the side of the boat:
Helena Rose
.

JEANNE
'
S RETURN TO THE
Helena Rose
was slow and torturous. She walked as slowly as she had ever done, feeling barely able to drag one foot in front of the other. Still, she went several blocks out of her way, walking in circles for a couple of hours. She had to think.

But her mind wasn't working properly; her thoughts were incoherent. All she could do was cry out to the Lord.
What am I going to do? Oh, my God, my loving Father God, whatever can I do? I can't stand the thought of him anywhere near Marvel!
An abominable picture of Max Bettencourt picking up Marvel and holding her as she and Clint did, loomed up in her mind. She stopped dead and bent over, clutching her stomach. She actually thought that she was going to vomit.

But the picture faded and she kept on her dogged way. Eventually her mind cleared somewhat, though her thoughts were as painful as if she were being stabbed.
I am his wife, and he is Marvel's father. But I will never, never live with him. And I don't care what the law says or even whether it's right or wrong . . . no, I know it's right. That man shouldn't have any part of Marvel's life. If I have to, Marvel and I will run away. Thank you, God, that I have the money! And he'll never find me again!

Sudden hot tears stung her eyes, and she stifled a sob.
Oh, Clint, Clint, my lost love! What have I done to us! I thought it was unbearable before, my regret at marrying him, but now, how can we stand this pain, this sorrow? Not together. If I have to run away, it will be from you, too, my beloved . . .

She had almost reached the
Helena Rose
, so she dashed the tears away from her eyes and scrubbed her face with her handkerchief. They were all sitting outside, on the main deck, in the deck chaises. Marvel was sitting in Clint's lap, resting her head against his shoulder. He was caressing her hair, smoothing it back over and over again.

When they saw her, they all jumped up and met her at the gangplank. She said, "All of you, please, go ahead and sit back down. Ezra, will you bring me a chair? Here, Marvel, my darling, come sit with me."

They all got seated except for Clint, who stood and paced. His tanned face was tense, his jaw hardened, his eyes dark and foreboding.

"I suppose there's no way to explain this except just to say it," Jeanne said quietly. "I met Max Bettencourt when I was sixteen years old, and I fell in love with him. Or at least I thought I did, now I don't think what I felt had anything whatsoever to do with true love. He was older, he was handsome, he was dashing, a captain of artillery in the army, stationed at Fort Smith. My parents were horrified that at sixteen I wanted to get married, and they made me promise to wait at least a year. And so we did, and when I turned seventeen we married. Max's term of enlistment had expired, and so he resigned from the army. We moved to Memphis, and he got a job at the Victory Ironworks, making cannons and ammunition. He was quickly promoted to supervisor of the light arms division, and there he learned how to make handguns and rifles. He was all right, for a while . . . but . . ." She choked back tears. Marvel started crying.

Clint said, "Jeanne, you don't have to explain yourself to us. I don't even think you have to explain it all in detail to Marvel. When she's older she'll need to understand, but please, right now just tell us whatever you feel you need to. If that's anything at all."

Jeanne sighed, a mournful sound. "I don't, I hate talking about him. I'm sorry, Marvel, so sorry for everything. If you all would bear with me, maybe later I can explain it better to all of you. For now, you need to know that Max is going to claim that since he is my husband, he co-owns my half of the
Helena Rose.
I've told him that he's going to have to take me to court to settle this, and I guess he will, because it's true, in this state a husband does legally own everything that his wife owns, and he'll certainly win. Anyway, I told him that for now he's forbidden to come onto the boat. And to that he said that if any of you try to physically stop him, he'll have you arrested for assault."

"Assault? That's way too nice a word for what I'd do to that vermin if he tries to come on board this boat," Clint growled. "Unfortunately, however, I know that he won't give me the chance. I don't know him, but I don't have to, all I need to know is that he deserted you and Marvel. So he's a coward. He wouldn't even have the guts to face down Roberty."

"If I had to fetch the stepladder I would, so I could punch him in the nose," Roberty said stoutly.

"You would really?" Marvel said, sniffing and looking fascinated. "Mama, could we watch?"

Somehow Jeanne managed a ragged smile. "I hate to say it but I wish we could. But I think you're right, Clint. He may come here again, but he won't dare try to come on board. Now, if you all would excuse me, I want to go up to my cabin and wash up. Marvel? Why don't you and Roberty go get us some fresh water for the cabin, okay? I'll be up in a minute."

They all left, except Clint. He stood by the railing, staring out over the river, a dark brooding look on his face. Jeanne came to stand by him but didn't touch him. "He is my husband. Lawfully, and as he so carefully reminded me, in the sight of God."

"That is the biggest travesty I've ever heard of," Clint said heatedly. "Jeanne, that man is a swine. He shouldn't be able to raise his eyes to look at you. I can't—I won't—"

He grabbed her and tried to pull her to him, but she quickly pushed him away. "Clint, you know that this is the end. This is the end of us. I know that God has forgiven me for marrying him, but sin has consequences in this world. I married him. I'm his wife. I'll never live with him, I'll never let him so much as touch me. But it would be wrong, very wrong of me to have a relationship with you now. You see that, don't you?" She fought back the tears, but she couldn't control her grief. It was as if she was dreadfully wounded, and with each word she spoke that wound was agonizingly opened again and again. She bent her head and blindly felt for the railing as she sobbed.

Clint reached for her again, but then he slowly dropped his hands and turned again to look out over the river. "I'll never love anyone but you, Jeanne. I don't know why the Lord allowed this to happen to us. I prayed so much, and searched my heart, and I knew, I
knew
that He meant for us to be together, that we are bound together as surely as Adam and Eve were. And I'm going to hold to that. One day I believe we'll be man and wife, Jeanne. Already I know that I will love and honor you, from this day forward, forever."

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

"I'm not very hungry," Marvel said. It was breakfast, and Ezra had made her favorite food these days, rice flummery. She had eaten one spoonful and then just fidgeted with the cold pudding.

Jeanne sighed. Instead of joining the crew in the galley, she had asked Roberty to bring them breakfast and coffee. "I know, darling," she said. "Is there anything at all that you can think of you could eat? You were a very sick little girl, and you still haven't gotten all the peaches in your cheeks back."

Marvel puckishly reached up and pinched her cheeks, as women did instead of wearing wicked rouge. "Is that better?" she asked, smiling a little. "Roberty says it's funny that Mr. Clint says we have peachy cheeks instead of rosy cheeks. Hmm . . . do we have any peaches?"

"I don't think so, but if we don't I know Roberty would be glad to go get us some," Jeanne said, rising. "I'll go tell him and I'll be right back." She returned in a few minutes.

Marvel was clearing the dishes, and Jeanne said, "Never mind that right now, Marvel. Come sit with me, I want to talk to you."

They went to their armchairs and Marvel pulled up her knees and wrapped her skinny arms around them. "It's about my father, isn't it," she said in a low voice.

"Yes, it is. I've thought so much about it, and prayed about it, and I know I have to explain some things about him," Jeanne said quietly. "When I met him, he wasn't like—like what you saw yesterday. He wasn't a mean man. He laughed a lot, and he made me laugh. He was very nice to me back then. He told me, so often, how much he loved me.

"I was only sixteen years old. I know it's hard for you, Marvel, because I know that at your age all adults just seem old. But I want you to think of Dorie Eames. You remember her, don't you?" Dorie was one of Widow Eames' many grandchildren, a bright, perky sixteen-year-old girl.

"Yes, I remember her. She was nice. She made a daisy chain for me, and then put yellow roses in my hair and teased me about having yellow roses instead of yellow fever," Marvel said with a child's amusement. "I think I see what you mean, Mama. She's not a little girl like me but she's not like you, either."

"I would say that she's closer to being an innocent child like you. And that's how I was, when I met your father. He was a soldier, and he was tall and handsome and so dashing in his uniform and with his sword. He was eight years older than I was, and he seemed like all anyone would want in a husband. Your grandfather made us wait for a year before we could get married, but Max wanted to marry me as much as I wanted to marry him, so we waited."