Lily (Song of the River) (49 page)

Grandmother looked past her to where her father stood. “I hope you will stay with us, too, Henrick. My Rose loved you so much, and I hope you’ll forgive us for keeping you separated from your children for all these years.”

He cleared his throat. “Thank you. The past is behind us, and there’s no reason to hold on to it. God has been so good to me, revealing Himself to me and giving me a reason to keep moving forward. He takes the worst circumstances and turns them into something beautiful. That’s what I was telling Lily right before you came in.”

“Amen.” Grandmother released one of Lily’s hands to reach out toward Henrick.

Lily’s heart filled with love and thankfulness as she stood between her father and her grandmother. It was time to stop dwelling on her losses. She had a lot of things to be thankful for. The reconciliation of her relatives was proof that God could work out anything.

Peace settled on her shoulders with that realization, the peace that Christ had promised to all who believed in Him. She claimed that promise with all her heart, trusting that He would work out her future in a way more marvelous than she could imagine.

B
lake had never felt more alone in his life. He still remembered so clearly the day when Lily, along with her sisters, had appeared aboard the
Hattie Belle
, determined to get her clean and ready for travel. At that time he’d wondered if he would ever again enjoy peace and quiet. Now he wondered how he had ever enjoyed the solitude of his life before she … they entered it.

Even Jensen had deserted him, opting to stay near Tamar since she appeared more receptive to sharing her future with him. He hoped the two of them would marry and be happy.

He wanted to go back to Natchez. What was wrong with him? Lily had made her position clear before he left.

Blake left the room he had rented two weeks earlier when he’d decided to stop in Vicksburg. Walking toward the riverfront, he mused about the differences between Vicksburg and Natchez. Both were situated on high bluffs on the eastern side of the river, overlooking Louisiana lowlands on the west. But fewer plantation homes dotted the landscape of this town, and the dock was not as busy. Perhaps that was because Vicksburg had only been a settled area for a few decades.

At least he could play cards. Blake tipped his hat at a lady riding by in a carriage. For a moment his heart nearly stopped. Lily? She had the same light-brown hair brightened by golden strands that reflected the afternoon sun, but that was where the similarity ended.

Blake regained his composure and continued his trek to the waterfront. His footsteps dragged. He didn’t feel like going to a gambling boat. The allure of gambling seemed to have faded now that he had enough money to live comfortably. Maybe he should consider buying a home and settling down. But that wouldn’t solve his lack of companionship.

A flyer someone had tacked to an oak tree caught his attention. Disheartened was the first word, followed by a question mark. He stopped to read further. The next line read, Discouraged? and the third line was equally compelling: Lonely? The hair on the back of his neck rose. The sign might have been written for him.

Blake took a step forward and peered at the rest of the announcement. It was about a revival in Vicksburg beginning this very night and promised that all who came to listen to the Word as preached by Rev. Nathan Pierce would find the answers they’d been seeking. Blake almost passed it by, but what would he do with his evening? Perhaps this Pierce fellow had a message that would make him feel better.

He walked to the livery stable and rented a horse, getting instructions on how to reach the revival. As he rode past the outskirts of Vicksburg, he heard singing. It seemed to come from all around him, wonderful, uplifting chords. He couldn’t make out the words, so he pushed his mount faster.

He reached the meeting place and felt like he’d been transported back in time. A brush arbor stood at the edge of a meadow, its roughhewn posts and leafy roof reminding him of his childhood. Early in his father’s career as a preacher, the church had met in a similar arbor.

Blake almost turned back, but his arrival had been noticed by some of the congregation. He didn’t want to seem like a coward, so he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. He found a seat in the shady arbor as the preacher stepped up to the pulpit made out of a hickory post.

“Good evening.” A tall, handsome man with a piercing gaze and blond hair stepped up to the podium as dusk settled on the meadow.

Some of the men in the congregation answered the preacher. “Good evening.”

“I’ve come to Vicksburg to share a message of hope and redemption with all of you. A message that was first shared a long time before you and I came here. It’s a message that all men need to hear. A promise that we can cling to even when it seems we’ve lost everything.”

Blake leaned forward, his attention caught by the preacher’s words.

“I’m sure a lot of you here tonight know who Daniel is.”

Blake searched his memory. There was something about dreams and visions in that book of the Old Testament. A lions’ den?

“Well, tonight I’m going to tell you a story about a set of young men who were his friends—Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. They were slaves of King Nebuchadnezzar, but they were also devout followers of the Most Holy God. So when King Nebuchadnezzar told them he wanted them to worship at the feet of a huge golden statue he’d made, they refused. This made King Nebuchadnezzar so angry he had them tied up and thrown into a fiery furnace.”

The preacher paused and looked out over his congregation. It seemed to Blake the man was looking directly at him. “That’s when things got really interesting. King Nebuchadnezzar looked at the furnace and saw that Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah were no longer tied up. And they weren’t alone in that furnace. Let me read this part to you directly from the Bible so you can hear it for yourself. ‘Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.’”

Blake’s heart tripled its speed. This story was so familiar to him. He’d been bound and left for dead. He thought back to that night, to the despair that had claimed him before he lost consciousness. Like the three men in the Bible, he’d been rescued. He should have died that night, but God in His goodness spared him—sent others to pull him from the fire. He’d received a second chance, and here he was about to waste it.

As the preacher brought his sermon to a close, he asked all to bow their heads during his prayer. Then he invited anyone who had felt the hand of God on them to come forward and declare their faith.

Blake hesitated as others stood and made their way to the pulpit. Then he could not wait any longer. He stood and took a tentative step. It felt good. So he took another step. Joy was stalking him, making it difficult to restrain himself from running forward. When he reached the pulpit, Blake kneeled and bowed his head. He had learned from a young age what one said when giving one’s heart to God, but tonight the words, the thoughts, had real meaning. He asked Jesus to come into his heart and felt the assurance flood his body. He was a new man.

The preacher put a hand on his head and prayed, giving thanks to God for saving another lost lamb. Blake had no idea how long he knelt there in front of the pulpit, but by the time he rose it was fully dark. He found his horse and rode back to the livery stable, wonder and excitement filling him.

He needed to tell someone, but who would care?
Lily.
The answer was in his heart as soon as the question formed. He needed to get back to Lily.

Blake thought of an advertisement he’d seen in the
Vicksburg Whig
, and everything came together as though God had planned it. Chills ran up his spine. God was omnipotent. Plans for surprising Lily filled his head as thankfulness flooded his heart. Blake knew exactly what he needed to do.

Lily threw a kiss toward Jasmine as she mounted her dapple-gray mare and headed to town. The effort would be wasted. No boat her father had found so far was the right one. Too big, too small, or too decrepit, none fit the vision she had.

Now that she no longer had a partner, she didn’t want a riverboat as large as the
Hattie Belle.
If she and her father could find something on a smaller scale, they could keep the crew to a minimum.

They would hire Tamar and Jensen, of course. They had gotten married right after Blake left. It was the one bright spot in Lily’s life. She loved seeing Tamar blossom into a different person, walking taller with her shoulders back and head high. It was amazing what a combination of freedom and the love of a good man could do.

She wished Camellia would stay with them but had finally realized her sister would only be happy if she could attend the finishing school they had chosen in New Orleans. Perhaps they would at least curb some of her flirtatiousness. Lily was also concerned about losing her youngest sister. Jasmine seemed to be growing faster than the weeds in Grandmother’s garden.

Lily reined in her thoughts as she descended the steep hill to the dock. Natchez Under-the-Hill was as busy as always, boats of all sizes vying for passengers and cargo before they once again braved the river currents. Why was it she always felt more alive when she was close to the river? Papa had nicknamed her well. She had to be on the water to thrive. Living with her relatives was not as difficult as it had once been, but this was where she belonged.

Papa’s bright-red shirt and felt hat with its single feather made him easy to spot in the bustling area. He stood to one side of a new warehouse that partially blocked her view of the boats in the harbor. Lily walked her horse to where he stood and dismounted. “Where is this boat you’ve found?”

“It’s not far.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, his eyes twinkling. “I think this one is going to be perfect.”

Lily smiled at him. He was trying so hard. Even though she had climbed out of the despondency Blake’s desertion had caused, it was difficult to regain her enthusiasm. “I hope you’re right.”

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they ambled toward the river. A bevy of steamboats bumped shoulders, their tall stacks puffing as muscular, sweating men filled them with cargo. Next to them were the smaller craft—the few flatboats, barges, and keelboats that struggled to survive alongside the larger boats. But where was the boat her father had brought her to see?

Then a boat caught her eye, a shiny white vessel with red lettering on the side. A pinprick of interest touched her. The boat was about half the size of the
Hattie Belle
, just what Lily had thought she might want to purchase. It only had three decks: the main deck, the boiler deck, and the hurricane deck. She would need to get closer, but from where she stood, the stern wheel looked as though it was in good condition. Maybe Papa had found the perfect boat this time.

Her eyes widened as she read the words stenciled on the side of the boat. She read the words out loud before looking at her father. “Water Lily. What have you done?”

A wide grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I’m not the one.” He spread his free arm out in an arc.

Lily’s confused gaze followed the gesture. Her heart stopped as a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows and bowed in their direction. Blake. The man she thought she’d never see again.

She wanted to run across the gangplank, but her feet seemed to have forgotten how to move. She watched as he sauntered toward them, his stride as long and self-assured as ever. Her heart ached with love for him. The time they’d spent apart seemed to disappear as he reached her side.

“Hello, Lily.” His voice sent a shiver through her.

Lily looked up at his face, her gaze tracing the lines of his cheeks, her fingers itching to feel the silkiness of his dark hair. With great difficulty she swallowed her emotions. “I love your new boat.”

His eyebrows rose. “I was hoping it might be
our
boat.”

She noted the emphasis on the pronoun, but a thousand questions arose. “I suppose I could buy into it, but who would own controlling interest? I’m not about to let you turn any investment of mine into a gambling casino.”

He tilted his head, and his eyebrows climbed higher. He was not going to agree with her.

Lily braced herself for an argument.

Blake’s eyes darkened in a way that made her heart leap. “Did you know that wives in Mississippi can own property?”