They call her Dana (46 page)

I watched for Lance Sherman, and, sure enough, he left the boat, carrying a black leather bag and looking quite disgrunded as he walked down the wooden gangplank. His fine white suit

was slightly rumpled, his emerald stock not so neatly folded now. I smiled to myself as I thought of how Laura had taken him in, fleecing him as he had fleeced hundreds of others. He had probably stayed up all night trying to win back the money she had taken from him. Two gentlemen stepped forward to meet him, and the three of them sauntered toward a waiting carriage. I watched it drive away. The coast was clear now. Laura would no longer have to hide out in my cabin. I started to turn away from the railing and go deliver the good news when I spied the open carriage and its exquisite passenger.

The carriage was elegantly crafted of shiny black ebony, with powder-blue velvet upholstery and two magnificent black horses in harness. Its passenger was a woman in her midtwenties with a dark, creamy complexion and large, luminous brown eyes that gazed demurely at the hands folded in her lap. Her hair was blond and she wore an extremely low-cut white silk gown with huge pufl'ed sleeves, the skirt awash with ruffles of the same white silk and spreading out over the seat.

As I studied her, a man walked over to the carriage. His back was to me, so I couldn't see his features, but I could see that he was tall and lean, with the trim, muscular build of an athlete. His hair was thick and neatly brushed, a deep, coppery brown, and he was wearing gleaming brown leather knee boots and superbly tailored light tan breeches and frock coat. He said something to the woman and she nodded. He climbed into the carriage and took up the reins, and he turned and glanced toward the boat, and I saw that he wasn't nearly as young as I had assumed him to be. His lean, ruggedly handsome face had the weathered, lived-in look of a man who must be at least in his early forties, perhaps older.

He tightened his grip on the reins, preparing to drive away, and he raised his eyes and saw me looking at him. I didn't look away. Somehow I couldn't. Recognition seemed to flicker in his eyes and he parted his lips, a frown creasing his brow. He let go of the reins. He stared. I still couldn't look away. Something held me. I had a curious feeling inside, as though I recognized him, too, though I had never laid eyes on him in my life. During those few brief moments of direct eye-to-eye contact, it was as though he and I were the only two people in the worid, as though everything else had melted away. His smoke-gray eyes held mine.

Time seemed to stand still and his eyes communicated to me and I felt disconcerting emotions sweep over me, and even though I realized it was totally absurd, I couldn't turn away. People moved slowly along the deck and marched down the gangplank and strolled on the wharf, but they didn't exist, nothing existed but this strange force joining us together. The lovely woman sat beside him, but she didn't exist either, he wasn't even aware of her. Only those few brief moments passed before I was finally able to pull myself free, but each one seemed frozen, each seemed to last an eternity. I turned away from the railing, and it took a great physical effort, as though I had to tear loose from invisible bonds restraining me. I had never experienced anything remotely like this before, and I was deeply shaken.

Laura was amused when I told her about my experience later that afternoon. We were strolling slowly along the shady upper deck as the huge boat cruised on up the mighty river. The water wasn't so muddy now, blue instead of brown and silvery with sunlight, and the banks were covered with moss-hung oaks and other trees, fields of cotton and sugarcane visible in the distance. Now and then I caught glimpses of one of the plantation houses that stood along the River Road, redbrick walls faded to soft pink, tall white columns adding a touch of serene grandeur.

"ft—it was very disturbing," I confessed, "ft was almost as though we had known each other. In—in some other lifetime, perhaps."

"Chemistry," Laura said.

"Chemistry?"

"Physical attraction. I don't believe in love at first sight, but physical attraction is another matter. He looked up and saw you and was immediately drawn to you, wanted you—strongly and forcefully. Apparently you were drawn to him, too."

"ft—it didn't feel like that."

"You said he was attractive, love."

"He was, very, but—there was something else, Laura. I can't explain it. ft was as though—as though we were bound together."

I looked at the sunlight reflecting on the river, remembering those sensations I had felt, and then I sighed.

"I don't suppose it matters. I'll never see him again. He's not

likely to come strolling into Kramer's Emporium in St. Louis to buy himself a new pair of gloves."

A handsome gentleman in blue frock coat and tall gray top hat was approaching us on the deck. He slowed down, smiled, lifted his hat to Laura. She gave him a lovely smile. Every man on the boat seemed to find her fascinating, but she wasn't interested in shipboard flirtations just now.

"I've been thinking about that, love," she said as we moved on.

"Thinking about what?"

"St. Louis. Kramer's Emporium. Somehow I just can't see you standing behind a counter, selling ribbons."

"I have to work," I reminded her.

"I know, but—selling ribbons. It sounds terribly dreary, and it would be a shameful waste, love. Beauty like yours should be seen, should be properly displayed."

"Indeed? What do you suggest I do?"

"Get ofi" the boat at Memphis with me," she said. "Go on the stage."

I was so startled I stopped in my tracks.

"You must be out of your mind,'' I told her. "I 've never even been inside a theater. I've never seen a play. I have no experience, no training, no talent, no—"

"Training and experience you can get on the road. Talent you don't need—not when you look like you look, love. I happen to know for a fact that Maisie Barlow isn't going to be back this season, and Jason will be needing a new girl to replace her."

"It isn't going to be me," I assured her.

"I could arrange everything, love. Jason pretends to be a bear, but actually he's quite fond of me—we're all the family either of us has—and I can usually wrap him around my little finger. He'll be grateful to me for bringing you into the company."

"It's out of the question, Laura."

Laura didn't press me, but I soon discovered she didn't give up easily. A few hours later we were sitting at a table, the best, in the main dining salon, selected for us by the maitre d', who would probably have gladly leaped through hoops had Laura requested it. She was wearing her garnet satin, I was wearing my bronze, and we were dining on oysters on the half shell, pheasant, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, the best. Laura

thought it a pity not to spend some of the money she'd won at cards yesterday. The maitre d' hovered nearby, eager to refill our crystal wineglasses with the sparkling white wine he had personally chosen for us.

"I think he's in love with you," I told her.

"He's a pet." She took a sip of her wine and sliced a piece of the moist, marvelously tender pheasant. "Really, love, I do think you're being very unreasonable. You'd love the theater. Here we've just become the best of friends, and you're already planning to desert me and spend the rest of your life behind a ribbon counter."

"I'm not an actress," I told her.

"Neither am I," she confessed, "not if you believe the reviews I usually get, but I have a following and lots of admirers just the same. It's interesting work, it's always challenging, and we have a marvelous time—even when the going gets rough. The company is—we're sl family, love, and I want you to be part of it."

"Your cousin would never hire me."

"He'll hire you, I promise."

"He'd boot me out the minute he saw me attempt to act."

"The season doesn't start for three weeks. We've all been on hiatus during the summer months. Jason's reassembling the company in Memphis, and we'll have three weeks to get things organized before we tour. Jackson, our advance man, has booked theaters throughout the South. Ollie and I will help you with your parts and teach you all the tricks you need to know before we actually go on tour.''

"Ollie?"

"Mrs. Helena Oliphant, our character actress. She's British, seventy-one years old, an outrageous old ham with flaming red hair, a ruined, sagging face covered with garish makeup, and a voice that could shatter glass. Everyone on the road adores her.''

"She sounds wonderful."

"She's touchy, temperamental and dictatorial, with a heart as big as Montana. Ollie's a real trouper, the one who keeps us all together. She's like a testy den mother, scolding us, giving us encouragement and giving us comfort and aid when any of us need it."

I could feel myself beginning to weaken. It was her use of the

word "family" that had done it. Sensing this, Laura quickly pressed on.

"You'll love the rest of the company, too. There's Bartholomew Hendrics, our character man, fifty-four, silver-haired, blue-eyed, a darling. He speaks in a deep baritone, has courtly manners and always wears a top hat and a flamboyant black cape lined with red satin. Nothing ever ruffles Bart. He always keeps his head, a perfect pro."

I severed the tip of an asparagus, weakening.

"And there's Billy Barton, our juvenile. He's twenty-seven years old but looks about nineteen. He has perfectly chiseled features and merry brown eyes and a roguish grin, and the ladies on the road are mad for him. They're always flocking around him and he's always leading them on. Billy's a scamp, I fear, but he's lovable. He dons a mustache and lowers his voice and doubles as our resident villain—he's strangled me to death dozens of times, once pursued me over the ice floes with a crackling whip. You think that wasn't tricky!"

"You had ice floes on stage?"

"Clever illusion, love. Chunks of papier-mache on a moving platform with snow machines off"stage. I'm the resident femme fatale, and Maisie was our ingenue—you'll be taking her place. When I was in New Orleans Melinda told me Maisie eloped with a Yankee banker three weeks ago and was afraid to let Jason know about it. He probably hasn't heard yet. Your arrival will be most providential."

"Laura, I could never—"

"Trust me, love. Our leading man left at the end of last season, and Jason will have hired a new one while I was in New Orleans. Our leading lady is the only thorn. Carmelita Herring. You'd think she'd have had the good sense to change that name. Carmelita's thirty-seven and overripe and fancies herself the chief attraction. She's spoiled and demanding and hot-tempered and a pain in the ass, but we pretty much ignore her. She's the 'star' and keeps to herself, snubbing everyone but Jason and God."

"Is she a good actress?"

"She is, actually, though a bit too grand for some tastes. Audiences in the sticks admire her. I've already told you about Dulcie, our wardrobe woman who looks like a dumpling, and finally there's Jackson, our advance man, who's also treasurer, assistant manager, jack-of-all-trades. He's the rock, the one who

handles all the money and most of the business affairs and keeps my cousin in line. Jackson looks like a battered prizefighter, wears loud checked suits and smokes huge, smelly cigars, but for all his gruffness and angry scowls, he's the softest touch in the world—always ready to give you an advance on your salary when you find yourself flat."

'' That's the company?''

"There's a crew who handle the scenery and set everything up at the various theaters, but they travel separately. Supernumeraries—extras, bit players and such—Jason picks up on the road. The worid is full of amateurs eager to don costumes and go onstage sans salary. Actually, we're like a band of gypsies, trouping from town to town—never the big cities—performing our melodramas and then moving on. There's a new crisis every day and a lot of frustration and a lot of discomfort, but the camaraderie is marvelous."

"You make it sound very appealing," I confessed.

"No matter what happens, you know that you belong, love. You know you're part of a group and have support behind you— Carmelita notwithstanding. It's not all roses, far from it, but you're never bored. It beats selling ribbons, believe me."

People stared as we left the dining salon—nvc> women traveling without chaperones, one of them decidedly flashy in garnet satin—but I didn't mind the stares with Laura at my side. We decided to walk around the deck awhile to work ofi" the large meal, and Laura left me waiting at the railing while she went down to the cabin to fetch a light wrap. It was a beautiful evening, the moon riding high in a hazy purple-black sky fiill of mottled silver-gray clouds. The boat cruised serenely up the river, the paddle wheel turning slowly, water spilling, splashing. Again I had the sensation that we were standing still as die river and shadowy banks flowed past.

The hurt, the sadness and grief swept over me, try though I might to hold it at bay. I thought of Julian and Charles and all that I had left behind me, and I didn't feel I could bear it. I had loved Charles with all my heart and soul, and he had mmed me away. He blamed me for Raoul's death. He blamed me for everything. It was all right for an Etienne to slip into my bedroom in secrecy as he had done night after night, but I wasn't good enough for an Etienne to marry. Charles wouldn't even consider such an unlikely alliance, nor would be allow his brother to do

so. I was a bastard, trash from the swamps, and that's what I would always be in his eyes. Charles had never loved me, he had used me. I realized that, but it didn't make the loss any easier. Julian had loved me sincerely, with all the goodness of his heart, and I had hurt him badly. That was the worst thing of all.

"It's bad, isn't it, love?" Laura said quietly.

I hadn't heard her approach. She moved over to the railing to stand beside me, a gauzy black lace shawl wrapped around her arms. Moonlight and shadow played over the deck. The boat rocked ever so gently.

"It's bad," I agreed.

"Time helps," she said.

"I—I was such a fool," I told her. "I loved him and I thought—I believed—"