Sunrise Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Three Page 2

  Again her gaze traveled the length of the enormous white boat, while she tried to grip the anxiety building inside her. Already she wished she were staying home. Already, but too late, she admonished. The sweeping wraparound railings and brass and red trim blurred before her troubled gaze.

  “We’d better hurry,” Mama Rachael urged. Her brown eyes fairly danced with excitement. Delta thought suddenly that she wouldn’t be surprised were Mama Rachael to jump from the wagon and take off skipping toward the gangplank.

  “I’ve studied the schedule,” the little woman explained, keeping her seat with obvious effort. “If we want lunch, we had best get aboard and unpack our belongings. The brochure says the chef is from New Orleans. I shouldn’t wonder if we were served something exotic like crawfish or shrimp for luncheon. Possibly even champagne.”

  Delta grinned. If she couldn’t muster enthusiasm over the journey, Mama Rachael possessed enough for both of them.

  Hollis drew the team as close as he could, waylaid the first roustabout who passed their way unengaged, and arranged for their luggage to be transported aboard. Then he led the family up the crowded gangplank, greeting first one citizen of St. Louis, then another, all the while issuing instructions to Delta.

  “I forgot to tell you about Louisiana,” he said. “Keep your ears open for news of their gubernatorial race. The incumbent, a man by the name of Trainor—William Trainor—is running for reelection on a platform to expel all Voodoos from the state.”

  “The Voodoos?” Delta questioned.

  “Well, their leaders. Primarily, I think, he’s targeting Voodoo queens. Folks in St. Louis don’t put stock in such things, but they should find it interesting reading. So learn all you can.”

  Delta clasped hands with her twin nephews who ran to keep pace on either side of her. “I may not have time to find you a pirate after all,” she told them. “Your pa is more interested in theatrical troupes and witches.”

  Suddenly it was time for good-byes.

  Hollis pressed a wad of folded bills into Delta’s hand. “Tips for the cabin boy,” he told her.

  Ginny hugged her. “Remember to arrange for your gowns to be pressed. You can’t appear in wrinkled gowns on such a magnificent vessel.”

  Delta squeezed her eyes to hold back tears. “I’ll miss you. I wish I weren’t going.”

  “Now, now,” Ginny hushed. “Last minute jitters, that’s all it is. You’ll have a grand time.”

  “That she will,” a baritone boomed above them. “We wouldn’t be doing our job if we showed anyone less than a grand old time.”

  Delta smiled at the robust figure of a white-haired gentleman, clad in a sparkling white suit.

  Hollis introduced Captain Victor Kaney. While the rest of the family watched, wide-eyed, Mama Rachael fairly preened for the captain. “I do hope we haven’t missed luncheon.” She offered her hand, encased in a black mesh glove, which he took and held. “I’ve read all your literature,” she continued, the black plume on her straw bonnet bobbing in tempo with her excitement. “I can’t wait to see what your famous chef has prepared for us.”

  “Indeed you haven’t missed luncheon, Mrs. Myrick.” He glanced to Delta, then back to Mama Rachael. “We sit informally at breakfast and lunch, but I expect the two of you to dine at my table in the evenings.”

  A sharp whistle pierced the air and the captain dropped Mama Rachael’s hand as though he had been burned by steam from his new engine. “That’s my cue,” he said. “Time to get to work.” He stopped a passing cabin boy. “Orville here will show you to your cabin. Stateroom 219 on the cabin deck.”

  Captain Kaney turned to Hollis. “I’m afraid that’s your cue, too. Time for visitors to disembark. I promise to keep a personal eye on these two ladies.”

  Delta hugged Ginny, then turned to Hollis. The unsettled look on his face brought a smile to her lips. “Don’t worry,” she whispered as she hugged him good-bye. “I’ll chaperon Mama Rachael.”

  Two more blasts from the whistle sent the straggling visitors scurrying for shore. Delta and Mama Rachael stood at the rail waving to the little group on the dock. While Mama Rachael babbled excitedly, Delta struggled to hold back tears.

  “Don’t forget your promise,” little Joey called to her.

  “Your promise,” Jimmy echoed.

  She adjusted her parasol and waved to them. Oh, to be a child again. By the time she returned from New Orleans, Joey and Jimmy would have forgotten all about pirates. Somehow she doubted her nightmare could be expunged so readily.

  One sight of their elegant stateroom and Delta wanted to bolt for shore. Two beds, clad in beautiful green damask, hugged opposite walls, leaving only a narrow walkway between them. A walnut chiffonier with attached looking glass was built into the walnut veneer wall opposite the foot of each bed, again with a narrow passage between bureau and bed. The room contained one window, on the wall facing the rail, which was heavily draped in green damask. Delta stood in the doorway, trying to suppress a suffocating sense of claustrophobia. How would she ever deal with her nightmare in such an enclosed space?

  Mama Rachael headed for one of the trunks that had been placed to either side of the bureaus.

  “After you unpack,” Orville was saying, “a porter will remove your trunks to the storage room.”

  Delta watched in dismay as Mama Rachael opened the door to one of the chiffoniers, inspecting the interior hanging space and drawers. With the door open, passage about the room was limited to crawling over the beds.

  “Ma’am?” Orville inquired.

  Delta focused on the cabin boy who stood directly in front of her.

  “Will that be all, ma’am?” he repeated.

  Quickly she moved aside to allow him to exit the small stateroom. “Yes.” She handed him one of the bills Hollis had given her and which she still held crumpled in a tight fist. “Thank you, Orville.”

  The deck rocked beneath her feet. Her eyes widened.

  “We’re pulling out,” he explained. “As soon as we get underway, the luncheon whistle will sound. Dining room’s on the observation deck, two flights up the same staircase we used to reach your cabin. Can you find your way?”

  She nodded.

  “Delta,” Mama Rachael called. “Which gown do you want pressed for dinner? Hurry, child. We mustn’t be late for luncheon.”

  After promising to send someone to fetch their gowns for pressing, Orville hurried down the swaying passageway.

  Delta moved into the room, closed the door, and before the whistle sounded for the beginning of luncheon, she and Mama Rachael had unpacked their trunks. Once the bulky trunks were removed, she assured herself, the cabin would not be so confining.

  They left their stateroom and headed down the deck with Mama Rachael still babbling, seemingly oblivious to Delta’s black mood. “I wonder which deck we should choose for our afternoon promenade?”

  The boat was well under way by this time, and although Delta had been concerned about walking on board a moving vessel, the movement was hardly noticeable, nothing like riding in a carriage. To her left she watched the St. Louis shoreline recede. She could still see people on the docks, but was unable to make out individual figures. She turned away, refusing to give in to a wave of melancholy.

  They pressed along the deck, which was crowded with people hurrying this way and that. Every one greeted everyone else, creating an air of instant camaraderie. A soft breeze off the river flirted with Delta’s cheeks, and she suddenly entertained the surprising inclination to remove her hat and take the pins out of her hair.

  She smiled to herself, feeling her anxiety begin to ebb. This voyage might not be so difficult, after all. Then better judgement overtook her emerging sense of euphoria and she sighed. If she intended to enjoy herself, she would have to do so during the daytime when she wouldn’t be plagued by that detestable nightmare.

  “A promenade after lunch sounds wonderful,” she told Mama Rachael. “You choose which deck.”

&
nbsp; “The vista will be different from every one,” her sprightly companion observed. “We must try them all before we reach Memphis. Perhaps we should begin below on the main deck and work our way up. Then again, we could start at the top on the sun deck and work down through the promenade deck and the …”

  The grandeur of the dining room jolted Delta out of her reveries and stilled, momentarily to be sure, Mama Rachael’s tongue. Taking up the width of the ship, minus the outside passageways, and practically its entire length, the enormous room surpassed anything Delta had ever seen. Resplendent with heavy moldings, the room resembled a tunnel fashioned of elaborate filigree work, which one need only enter to arrive in wonderland. The ceiling, constructed of row upon row of intricately carved arches, was hung with a dozen chandeliers that swung ever so gently with the motion of the boat. Two rows of tables, each accommodating eight or ten gilded bamboo-carved side chairs, ran the length of the room with an aisle down the center. Each table was dressed in starched white, and at the head of each stood an equally starched, white-jacketed waiter.

  Numerous doors opened at intervals along both outside walls, and diners spilled into the room from them all. At every doorway a steward greeted the passengers. “Take any place you want. Luncheon is informal on board the Princess.”

  Informal? Delta was suddenly relieved that Mama Rachael had insisted on sending their nicest gowns to be pressed. At the far end of the room, raised above the other tables on a dais, stood a long empty table. The captain’s table? Yes, she would need her finest gown to sit up there.

  Trying not to gape at those around her, Delta followed Mama Rachael into the room, allowing her now-mute chaperon to choose their table. They were joined by two couples who introduced themselves as the Humphrieses from St. Paul, near Mama Rachael’s age, and the Menefees from Dubuque, who might be a few years younger.

  If Mama Rachael was disappointed that the entree was roast beef instead of crawfish—and the drink, coffee instead of champagne—she was allowed no time to show it. Talk centered on the nature of the trip itself.

  “Derned clever of Captain Kaney,” Mr. Humphries was saying. “Combining a showboat with a passenger ship and taking the whole kit and caboodle down to New Orleans to celebrate with Captain Eads.”

  “And danged considerate of Kaney, too,” Mr. Menefee added. “Way I hear it, folks down in Louisiana have been giving Eads such a hard time, it’s a wonder the man didn’t give up the project and tell them to keep their danged sandbar.”

  Mr. Humphries nodded, sagely. “The man’s a genius, Eads is, even if the Army Engineers don’t agree.”

  Mr. Menefee scowled. “The Army Engineers have had forty years to remove that sandbar and all they’ve done is talk. After Eads opens the Mississippi to commerce, everyone in the Valley will be singing a different tune.”

  “From the depths of their full pockets,” Humphries predicted.

  “Come now,” Mrs. Menefee chided. “Whatever the reason for the voyage, we’re here to enjoy it.” She smiled across the table to Delta and Mama Rachael. “I haven’t seen either of you ladies aboard before.”

  “We’re from St. Louis,” Delta supplied.

  “Have you had a chance to look over the boat?” Mrs. Menefee inquired. Upon receiving a negative response, she continued. “Lottie and I will show you around after luncheon.” She leaned across her husband to confirm the invitation with Mrs. Humphries.

  “Certainly, Dora,” Lottie Humphries agreed. “We’ll start with the sun deck.”

  “And end in the cabin lounge.” Dora Menefee winked at Delta. “The cabin lounge is Lottie’s favorite place on board. That’s where we ladies are allowed to gamble.”

  “Gamble?” Mama Rachael quizzed.

  “Cards,” Lottie explained, her cheeks taking on a flush that Delta decided had nothing to do with the room’s lighting. “After all, we’re isolated here in the middle of this big river. Who’s to know?”

  Delta glanced at Mama Rachael in time to catch the twinkle in her eyes. Between promenades, dinner at the captain’s table, and gambling in the cabin lounge, Mama Rachael would be hard-pressed to find time for chaperon duty, not that Delta envisioned the need for such protection on board this magnificent floating palace.

  They had finished a dessert of chocolate mousse and macaroons and were enjoying a second cup of a rich coffee that Mr. Menefee claimed was flavored with chocolate, but which Mrs. Humphries insisted was made with chicory, when Captain Kaney stopped by their table.

  He exchanged amenities with the Humphrieses and Menefees before favoring Mama Rachael with a radiant smile. “I hope your stateroom is satisfactory, Mrs. Myrick.”

  “More than satisfactory,” Mama Rachael enthused, her smile vying with the captain’s for luminosity. “We can’t thank you enough for such a fine cabin.”

  Bowing low from the waist, he turned to Delta. “This young lady deserves the credit. And I do thank you, from the bottom of my heart. The articles you plan to write about our little boat will provide a wealth of publicity. Least I could do when Myrick approached me was to provide a suitable stateroom for your journey.”

  He handed Delta a sheet of paper. “Our itinerary. I’ve jotted down names of citizens at each port for you to consider for interviews.”

  Delta scanned the list.

  “I’ve also spoken with Zanna, the artistic director for the Princess Players. She and the cast are anxious to talk with you. You’re invited to join their rehearsal after luncheon.” He glanced up and down the length of the finely appointed dining room. “We need a little time to set this room up as a grand salon and theater.”

  Delta’s eyes widened at the prospect, and he laughed.

  “Let me assure you the task looks more formidable than it is. With all hands working, we can accomplish the transformation in less than thirty minutes.”

  The captain moved away. Lottie Humphries inquired about the interviews—“Not that I was eavesdropping, you understand.” Mama Rachael began to explain, and Delta found her eyes suddenly riveted on a solemn face two tables beyond—

  A face that captured her attention as though a spell had been cast over her, calling to mind Hollis’s discussion of Voodoos. But it wasn’t black magic that held her gaze.

  It was a man. An uncommonly handsome man. And although he stared at her with a frightening intensity, she did not feel threatened. He seemed familiar, like an old friend.

  She struggled to place him in her mind. His face was weathered, with broad forehead and a cleft between his eyes above a long, straight nose. Light from the gently swinging chandeliers skimmed his black hair, causing it to glisten with golden highlights. A shock fell over his forehead, giving Delta the impression he might have been walking along the deck before luncheon. She reached to smooth her own hair back in place.

  His dark eyes narrowed in a way that should have alarmed her, but again did not, for their familiarity. His lips remained closed. She could tell they were well shaped. Suddenly she wondered what he would look like if he laughed, and she smiled. He did not.

  Was it his solemn countenance, she wondered, that caused him to look so out of place here in this gilded dining room? His oversized physique, his rugged face, even his windswept hair, bespoke a man accustomed to the outdoors. His suit, however, what she could see of it, was surely straight from the city, a fine black jacket and starched white collar above a fancy silk necktie.

  She had met this gentleman somewhere before, most assuredly. And he must find her familiar, from the way he stared, she thought, reconsidering her choice of the term “gentleman.”

  But even the arrogance in the straightforward way he stared at her seemed familiar. They had met before, definitely. She searched her brain for a name, but none came. Hordes of people passed through St. Louis. Many of them came to the Sun office for information or directions. That must be where she had seen him.

  Strange, though, she had the feeling she knew this man, had talked to him. Not just talked, either. Deep ins
ide she felt certain she knew him, knew things about his life, personal things, intimacies.

  Before she could further probe her subconscious, his eyes narrowed to a mere squint, sending a shiver of alarm down her spine. She watched his jaws clench. Without warning, he scraped back his gilded chair in an angry gesture and strode from the room, leaving her to stare helplessly after him.

  She watched the larger, somewhat older man who had dined with the stranger, rise and follow him from the dining room.

  Except that man was no stranger, she thought, stunned by a sudden tremor of foreboding.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Brett Reall reached the rail outside the dining room his heart beat against his ribs as relentlessly as the Mississippi Princess’s paddlewheel slapped into the muddy water to propel the vessel downstream. He stared at the roiling brown waves that fanned out from the side of the boat three decks below, waiting for the steady river breeze to cool him off. It did not.

  Pierre caught up with him. “What was that all about?” Pierre towered a couple of inches above Brett’s six and a half feet, with muscles to do a keelboatman proud—which was the reason he had accompanied Brett the last ten years, notwithstanding the gray in Pierre’s hair and the twenty years he had on his now thirty-five-year-old nephew.

  Brett turned to face his uncle, who filled the bill as both companion and bodyguard. “Who the hell is she?”

  “Who? The girl with blue eyes, non?”

  “No,” Brett mocked, swiping at the shock of hair that fell over his forehead, “the wrinkled old crone beside her. Oui, the woman with blue eyes. Who is she?”

  Pierre shrugged, lifting his shaggy eyebrows. Brett glared across the river to the western shore. From this distance it looked more like a horizon than a riverbank.

  “She’s a beauty, for truth,” Pierre said at length. “Hair as brown as a beaver pelt, and lots of it from the looks of things, skin the color of fresh-skimmed cream, eyes as big and bright as cut sapphires.”

  He paused, then when Brett remained silent, continued. “They were tinged with melancholy, those eyes, but that didn’t detract from them. Me, I thought it added to the mystery. And her lips—so full, so rosy, so—”