Lily (Song of the River) (5 page)

A deck of cards slid into a pocket. A new purchase, they had proven to be worthy of the money he’d spent. He dumped his soiled clothing into a gunnysack and tossed it over one shoulder, grabbed his cane, and made for the door. Blake glanced in the mirror at the smile curving his lips. It was going to be a wonderful day.

Summer was quickly approaching. Warm air slapped him in the face like a wet facecloth when he stepped outside. Amazing. It was hardly past the middle of May. Blake hoped his neckcloth would stand up to the humidity.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blake. We sure had a good crowd last night.”

Blake turned back to the corridor where the boat’s cook/steward stood. Jensen Moreau was not a handsome man, but his thick shoulders and brawny arms had brought him a fair share of respectful glances from those who visited the
Lucky Lucy.
An inch or two shorter than Blake, Jensen had swarthy skin and dark features that hinted at mixed ancestry. He also sported a thick scar over his left eye. Apparently whatever had caused the scar had severed a muscle, making him appear to squint all the time.

“It’s good to see you, Jensen.” Blake held out his right hand. “Yes, we did have a crowd. I don’t doubt it’s your food that draws them in for a visit.”

The shorter man’s smile was as wide as the river. “Mr. Blake, you’re a real jokester. Everyone knows they come here to play an honest game or two of cards. So many would cheat and steal to take their money. Word’s gotten out you run a straight game. That’s why we fills up the boat every night.”

“Even if that’s true, your wonderful meals keep their bellies full.” Blake smiled at the ruddy color filling Jensen’s cheeks. “Which puts me in mind of a matter I wanted to discuss.”

Jensen straightened his shoulders and brushed off his apron. “Yes, sir?”

A chuckle rumbled through Blake. “I’m not going to shoot you, man. I want to offer you a job.”

“A job?” A frown brought Jensen’s left brow down. “What kind of job?”

“Were you paying attention to the game last night? Especially a certain young man who had more money than sense?” Blake glanced to see if Jensen remembered.

He looked confused, so Blake continued. “This young man holds the title to some rather valuable property. Or I should say he used to hold the title. It has come into my own hand.”

“Wow! You’re a landowner?” Jensen’s right eyebrow crept up, making Blake think of a caterpillar.

“Not a landowner. Something much more suited to folks like you and me.” Blake tossed a smile at Jensen. “You’re looking at the proud owner of the
Hattie Belle.
”

“You don’t say.” Jensen’s smile lit up his face. “That’s amazing. And it happened last night? I didn’t realize what high stakes you was playing.”

“Yes, and I’m on my way to pick up the papers in a little while. I don’t know exactly when I’ll take possession, but I’d love to have you come on board with me. If you agree to work for a percentage of the table, you’d be my very first crew member.”

“I’d be honored, sir. You’d be a good man to work for.”

Blake slapped him on the back. “I’ll get with you once I know more details. It’s always been my dream to have a floating palace for gambling. Then if the locals get puritanical on us, we can shove off and go where we’re more welcome.”

“Exactly right. And we can always look at moving some cargo, too. A big ol’ steamboat like the
Hattie Belle
has plenty of decks to accommodate a few barrels of whiskey or bales of cotton.”

“We’ll see.” Blake wasn’t sure he wanted to be a trader. He did much better when he was seated at a card table. But a wise man always kept his options open. “I’d better get out of here before my appointment gets the idea I’m not interested in claiming my winnings.” He stepped back into the warm afternoon sun and crossed the deck of the
Lucky Lucy.
He would talk to the captain later, once he found out exactly when he’d be leaving.

The gunnysack thumped against his back with each step. No matter that Blake shifted its weight from shoulder to shoulder, by the time he reached the top of the bluff, he was ready to toss the irritating bundle into a ravine. Eventually he reached the shanty where the washerwoman lived and worked.

He dropped off his clothing and dickered with the old woman, whose back was bowed from years of bending over hot tubs and scrub boards. Normally she would have delivered the clean clothes in a few days, but since Blake wasn’t sure where he’d be living, he told her he’d come back to collect them in three days. By the time he left, both of them were satisfied with their arrangement.

The trip down the hill was easier and cooler. He could see a boat chugging its way upstream, loaded with immigrants. It was a common sight. Dozens of families crowded onto steamboats. The lucky ones could afford to rent rooms in the interior of the boats while the poorer immigrants had to eat, live, and sleep on the upper decks, exposed to all weather conditions.

As he made his way back to the river, the boat docked, and her passengers flowed onto the muddy banks like ants from an overturned mound. Some of them headed uphill while others stayed in the lower town, probably wanting to remain closer to their boat. He hoped they would stay away from the trapdoor saloons, a row of buildings clinging to the river south of the docks. They were perched on tall stilts to avoid damage from frequent floods, but they housed the most dangerous inhabitants of Natchez Under-the-Hill: hardened criminals who were on the lookout for easy prey. Unwary travelers were sometimes clubbed to death inside the saloons and stripped of their valuables. Then the hapless bodies were tossed through trapdoors into the river below. Most of them ended up caught in the eddies of a wide curve just south of the city, aptly named Dead Man’s Bend.

Blake nodded to several men who had gambled at his table the past few weeks. Natchez had been good to him, giving him enough money for food and shelter. Now it had also given him his dream.

His musings were brought short by a shout from a nearby brothel. The front door flung open, and two men stumbled onto the wooden sidewalk. Judging from the angry words being exchanged, the argument had begun when the two conceived a desire for the same woman.

One of the men, a short, broad-shouldered Cajun who sported a red rooster’s feather in his black slouch hat, backed into Blake and nearly fell. “Watchit!” His snarl was as threatening as a mad dog’s. “Whaddaya doin’ here?”

Part of Blake’s mind registered the smell of alcohol on the short man’s breath even as his hand clamped down on his sword cane. Should he back away from the combatants? Or would that be perceived as cowardice and end with his receiving a bullet between his shoulder blades? Should he try to be a calming voice in the quarrel between the two men? Or would they then join forces and attack him?

The irony of the situation did not escape him. He was finally beginning to see his dream come true. Would he die this afternoon, the accidental victim of chance?

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I was wondering if either of you knows the way to the Silver Nickel? I’m meeting a client there in a few minutes.” He hoped his bogus question would take the attention off him. As far as he knew, there was no such place in Natchez.

The taller combatant dropped his fists and scowled. “What? Silver Nickel? I ain’t never heard of it. How ’bout you, Pierre?”

Pierre’s shoulders lowered slightly. He looked from one man to the other and scratched at his head, almost dislodging his hat. “Never heared of it neither.”

“Oh well, thank you, gentlemen.” Blake took a step past them, watching for any sudden movements toward a gun or knife. “I guess I’ll continue my search.”

The two men resumed their argument. Blake reached a corner, breathing a sigh of relief when he knew he was out of their line of sight. They were too drunk and belligerent to come looking for him. All he had to do was make sure he didn’t bump into them again. Even though his current route would take a few extra minutes, the safety it brought was worth it.

He arrived at the saloon and stopped a minute to check for an ambush. When a big prize was at stake, it was prudent to be extra careful. Seeing nothing suspicious, he stepped inside and looked around for Jean Luc Champney. Several patrons perched at the bar, but he didn’t see any sign of the man he was supposed to meet. Deciding it was too early to be concerned, he sat at an empty table and ordered a cup of coffee from a frowsy-headed waitress.

She put one hand on her hip. “Don’t ya want anything stronger?”

Blake used his most winning smile. “No, thanks. Coffee will be fine. Tell me, have you seen a young gentleman in here this afternoon?”

“Well of course, honey. I seen lots of men in here. That’s why they call it a saloon.”

“I’m looking for one in particular. A little shorter than me. Good looking with expensive clothes.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. But give it a few minutes. I’m sure he’ll be right in.” She flounced off, her long skirt dragging across the dirty floor.

The saloon grew more crowded as time wore on, but still Blake saw no sign of Jean Luc. If he didn’t show up soon, Blake was going to have to go in search of him. At least he knew the young man’s last name. It shouldn’t be too hard to discover his whereabouts.

The next time the waitress came to check on him, Blake showed her a gold coin. “I need some information.”

Her eyes watched the coin as she nodded. “I’ll be glad to help ya.”

“I need to know where the Champney family lives.”

She wrinkled her nose before answering him. “I don’t rightly know, but I can ask my boss.”

He nodded, but when she reached a hand out to take the coin, Blake shook his head. “Information first.”

She huffed and walked away. He watched as she talked to the bartender. He nodded and pointed toward the roof. Then more gestures as he apparently described the exact location of the Champney home.

Blake had the coin ready when she came back. “Well?”

She repeated the instructions, although she didn’t use as many gestures as the bartender had.

Blake asked a couple of questions to make sure he understood before handing her the money.

She placed it in a tiny pocket in her skirt. “Thanks.”

Blake stood up. “Have a good evening.”

Her pout was supposed to be attractive, but Blake was unmoved. She was more pitiful than voluptuous. He wished he could tell her to go home and find a husband.

Instead he picked up his hat and settled it on his head. He had more important things to see to … like claiming his boat and the new future that awaited him.

W
hen he met his mother’s concerned gaze, Jean Luc realized he should have gone out instead of taking a meal with his parents.

“You’ve hardly touched your dinner, enfant. Are you ill?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“But it’s not like you—”

Papa interrupted. “Leave the boy alone, Gabrielle. He doesn’t have to stuff himself at every meal.”

Jean Luc shared a sympathetic gaze with his papa.

Mama pushed her chair back. “I will leave you gentlemen alone, then. Will you join me in the parlor later?”

“We won’t be long.” Papa’s voice lost some of its irritation.

A slave moved to open the door, and Mama sailed through. “We’ll need a tray in the front parlor.” The slave nodded and left to do her bidding.

Papa tossed his napkin on the table. “I was surprised you didn’t come to the office today.”

Grasping his goblet, Jean Luc drained the wine in one gulp. “I was busy.”

Silence filled the room. He could almost feel his father’s piercing gaze burn straight through him, but he refused to look up. Papa would see the truth. Another thought made his heart stutter. Did Papa already know? Against his will, Jean Luc’s gaze rose and smashed into his father’s.

Feeling like a youngster, Jean Luc gulped. He tried to marshal his thoughts, but his mind wouldn’t function properly. He opened his mouth to confess when a knock on the door interrupted them.

“I wonder who that can be?” Papa rose from his chair and opened the door.

“Good evening. You must be Mr. Champney.”

It could not be. Jean Luc started at the sound of the voice that had dogged him through every waking minute today. He coughed in an attempt to ease the dryness in his throat.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Monsieur …”

“Matthews. Blake Matthews.”

Papa waited, a look of mild curiosity on his face.

“I need to speak with your son, sir.”

Papa’s gaze raked Jean Luc before turning back to Matthews. “Come in. You’ve arrived too late to join us for dinner, but perhaps you would care for a glass of brandy.” He moved back to the table.

Matthews followed. “I don’t believe so, sir. I don’t wish to disturb you. I was only coming by to make sure Jean Luc was not ill. He missed our appointment today.”

Papa raised an eyebrow. “With all this concern over his health, I’m beginning to wonder if I should send for a doctor.”

“Before you do, sir, could I have a few moments alone with your son?”

“Whatever you have to say to Jean Luc can be said while I’m here.”