The River Rose (18 page)

Jeanne took out her list, which was long and complicated, and decided to do the hardest thing first: the galley. She had to take stock of what they had, make a list of what they needed, and then go shopping for it all. Sighing, she went down the hall. The door was open, and Ezra Givens stood at the counter grinding a loaf of sugar through a sieve. Roberty and Marvel sat close together on two stools, peeling potatoes. Leo's long gangly body lay against the wall underneath the far counter, his head resting on a sack of coffee beans. He looked up and saw her, gave her his usual two-thump with his tail, and wearily laid back down. "Does that dog ever move except to change sleeping places?" she asked.

"He pretty much finds out warm cubbyholes to lie up in winter," Ezra said thoughtfully. "Come spring and summer he gets right frisky."

"Leo, frisky? This I must see. Marvel, your hands are red and they're going to get chapped," Jeanne warned.

"But I'm learning how to peel potatoes, you wouldn't ever let me do it," she objected. "I'm being really careful, I promise. Can't I please, Mama?"

"My child is begging me to let her peel potatoes," Jeanne said to Ezra. "You don't think I've spoiled her, do you?"

"No, ma'am," he answered sturdily. "Seems to me like she's been brung up just fine."

"Thank you, Ezra. Now, maybe you can help me. We're going to go on a four-day run day after tomorrow, and I know that we need to stock the galley. I don't have any idea how much food to buy, or what kind of food to buy, and if we need any pots or pans or utensils. So I need to make a shopping list, and I suppose I'll spend all day tomorrow cooking," she finished half to herself.

"Well, yes ma'am, I can help you with all that 'cause it's already did," Ezra said. "Clint's done bought food, I mean, and all the fixins we need like salt and sugar and seasonings. I sorta got to cooking for Bull and the crew, and so there it is. No need for you to be cooking, Miz Bettencourt, unless you just have a hankering to."

"No, I don't have a hankering to," Jeanne said with vast relief. "But how can you work the boat and be the cook at the same time?"

"Can't, 'less you take on another crewman," Ezra said succinctly.

Jeanne nodded. "Yes, I agree, it takes at least three deckhands, doesn't it? I'll talk to Mr. Hardin about it. Marvel, are you sure you're not tired? The cabin's all fixed, you could take a nap."

"Do I have to?" she complained. "I'd rather peel potatoes."

"Then I'll leave you to it," Jeanne said with amusement. "If any of you see Mr. Hardin, would you ask him to come up to the cabin, please?"

She went back up to her papers and was poring over a map when Clint knocked once and came in. "Masters doesn't know a boiler from a reach rod," he said with satisfaction. "He's a nice toff, though."

"He's not a toff," Jeanne argued.

"He is. He can't help it. Anyway, I'm grateful to him for everything he's done. It's come in handy, you being friends with the man that owns the
Lady Vandivere
. And the mail. And all of the crushed stone and lumber in Arkansas."

"Silly. No one owns the mail," Jeanne replied. "I've been down to the galley and talked to Ezra. Thank you so much for taking care of the food and supplies. You know, we really should start keeping records of the expenses we incur for the boat."

"Yeah, I'm keeping up with my end. We'll need to get a system going," Clint said. "But not now. I wanted to talk to you about hiring my buddy Vince Norville. He's been a roustabout for years. I know that doesn't mean he knows about crewing a boat, but he sure knows more than I did when I first walked onto the
Rose.
"

Jeanne nodded. "If you think he'll be good help, then by all means hire him. And that reminds me, I haven't thanked you for letting me take on Roberty. I just couldn't think of what else to do with him."

"Way I see it, it's not a question of you doing anything with him. He's young and yeah, he's kinda small, but that boy works. If he doesn't have something to do he comes and begs for chores. Feed him some good solid food, fatten him up, give him a warm place to sleep, he'll do fine."

"That's a great relief to me. I've been worrying about him for a long time. Thank you."

"No, no thanks needed," Clint said dismissively. "So, Mrs. Bettencourt, are you ready?"

"Mr. Hardin, I am ready!"

SATURDAY DAWNED
,
A COLD and crisp day with a cheerful sun. George Masters walked up the gangplank, taking measured steps, rhythmically tapped out with his gold eagle's-head walking stick. Behind him Buck Buckner ambled along, looking over the
Helena Rose
with a disdainful expression. Jeanne and Clint met them, and after desultory introductions Jeanne took Masters's arm and led him to her cabin, while Clint and Buck went up to the pilothouse.

"Never thought you'd be working for me, Buck," Clint needled him.

"And don't think it now," he retorted. "I wouldn't do this for anyone but my owner."

"Masters says you're doing it because you're such a charitable man. That's when I was sure it must be someone else, not Buck Buckner. Oh, I forgot! It was
Francis
Buckner we were talking about!"

"If you mention that name again I'm going to beat you senseless," Buckner said casually.

"Uh—you might have a little problem there, Buck. Remember me? Clint the Flint Fist?"

"So I'll pay someone else to beat you senseless. And just so you won't worry about me, my man, there's no charity about it. Masters is paying me top dollar for this little scheme," Buckner said, opening the door of the wheelhouse and looking around. "So this is it, huh?"

"This is it. What do you think?"

Buck turned to him and crossed his arms. "I think this little hopped-up flatboat isn't going to make you a wooden nickel, Hardin. Don't you have any good sense? Running a riverboat with a bloomin' petticoat for a pilot?"

"She wouldn't like you to call her a bloomin' petticoat," Clint warned him. "I wouldn't do it if I were you. She's tougher than she looks."

Buckner shrugged. "I'll call her Royal Exalted Highness if it makes her happy. But she'll never be able to cut it, you know that. It's a man's world, and no pilot on this river or any other is going to put up with a female pilot."

"You are," Clint said idly.

Buck's smooth brow lowered, but before he could say anything Jeanne and George Masters came into the pilothouse. "Everything in order, Mr. Buckner?" George asked.

"It would seem so, sir. She's a fine, neat little boat," Buckner said politely. Behind Jeanne, Clint rolled his eyes at him.

"Good, good," George murmured.

Jeanne stepped up to the wheel and Buckner turned, solicitously leaning over her as she told him, "Just so we're very clear, Mr. Buckner, I'd like to go over the points and markers before we go. It's been a long time since I've been down the river."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Mrs. Bettencourt," he said courteously. "Would you like to go over the charts?"

Clint left them then, and George Masters settled down on the bench, his top hat tipped back a little, his legs crossed, and his manicured hands resting on his cane.

"That's correct, Mrs. Bettencourt, President's Island, Council Bluff, Cottonwood Grove, Island Number 60," Buck was saying, pointing to her waterway chart. "Helena's just past there. It's about seventy-five miles to Helena—that's five hours—and from there eighty to the mouth of the Arkansas, another five hours. Do I understand that you want to stay in Napoleon Trading Post overnight? Because I don't think they have a hotel or anything there."

"No, I'm afraid we've had a misunderstanding," Jeanne said quickly. "I have no intention of steaming the
Rose
at fifteen miles an hour. We're not racing, Mr. Buckner. And the way we have our freight worked out, there's no need; we're on a four-day run to Little Rock, and that means overnight in Helena, Napoleon, and Pine Bluff. That suits me just fine, because I have no intention of staying at the wheel for more than eight hours at a time."

Buckner shrugged. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Bettencourt."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Buckner," Jeanne said gratefully. "Naturally, we'll pay for your hotel in Helena. At Napoleon, I'm afraid you'll have to bunk in the crew quarters."

Seeing the expression on Buckner's face, George said quickly, "I apologize that I didn't make it quite clear to you, Mr. Buckner. I'm sure we can work out any
adjustments
needed."

Buckner's face cleared. "That's fine, Mr. Masters. Mrs. Bettencourt, we'll just go with your schedule, ma'am. Your boat, your call."

Jeanne turned to Masters. "I can't thank you enough, George. I can't tell you how much this means to me and to Marvel."

He rose and bowed deeply, doffing his hat. "Ma'am, it has been a particular pleasure working with you, and I'm glad to do anything to make you happy. Mr. Buckner, I know you'll take very good care of Mrs. Bettencourt?"

"Of course, sir."

George nodded and replaced his hat. "I'll say good-bye then, Jeanne. I'll see you when you get back, I'll be waiting."

After he left, Buckner turned to Jeanne. "Your pilothouse, your call, ma'am."

The
Helena Rose
backed away from the Memphis shore, shivered a little as she filled, then she slipped into the lazy brown waters of the Mississippi River. As they started downriver, Jeanne breathed, "At last!"

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Buck Buckner proved to be a good river tutor for Jeanne; he was professional, though a bit cool. He stood by the wheel, arms crossed, saying very little except for pointing out the landmarks and snags and currents. Jeanne was surprised at how much she remembered of the Mississippi between Memphis and the Arkansas River mouth. She was also surprised at how extremely weary she was after piloting for eight hours. But she told herself that that would get better.

After their four-day trip, Jeanne was feeling like an old hand when she pulled the
Helena Rose
up to the familiar docks at Memphis. Buckner turned to her and smiled, a tight controlled expression. "You did very well, ma'am. Good luck to you and the
Rose.
You're going to need it." It was the only smile, and the only hint of his attitude he had given her the entire trip.

Jeanne went down to the main deck. Marvel immediately clasped her legs, and the others crowded around her. "You did real good, Captain Jeanne," Clint said, extending his hand, and Jeanne readily shook it.

Ezra, Roberty, and Vince all congratulated her, calling her 'Captain Jeanne', and Jeanne decided to let the rather impertinent nickname stand. "You're a good crew," she told them. "I appreciate you all very much."

They all talked excitedly until Clint looked over Jeanne's shoulder and said, "The toff is here, Cap'n."

"He's not a toff," Jeanne said with gritted teeth, then went to meet George Masters at the gangplank. "I did it, George!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"

He tucked her hand into his arm and said warmly, "I can believe it. I passed Mr. Buckner back there, and he tells me you're a good, solid pilot." They slowly walked to the railing on the main deck and stood talking quietly.

Clint and Vince exchanged meaningful glances, while Ezra said, "You Roberty and you Miss Marvel, I'm thinking I might roast up that big fat ham for celebratin' tonight. I could use some help." He led them to the stairs, their young voices piping excitedly about some promised fried apples.

Vince said to Clint, "Looks like the captain's going to be occupied for awhile. Want to go check in at the Bell and Whistle?"

"Sure," Clint agreed, watching Jeanne and Masters thoughtfully. "But don't start a fight this time, Vinnie. My knuckles have just now healed up."

"I keep telling you to carry a gun. All you have to do is wave it around a little, puts a stop to all the nonsense."

"Then why do I keep getting dragged into saloon brawls with you all the time?"

"Aw, admit it, it's fun. You brawl all the time, Clint the Flint Fist."

"Yeah, but that's because people give me money for it."

Jeanne and George, still arm-in-arm, joined Clint and Vince. Jeanne said, "We're going to pick up our first load Tuesday, Mr. Hardin. It's all set. May I ask if you'll be on the boat tomorrow?"