The boy? Oh, yes, that boy. He does recover, against all odds. On the second day, his eyes pop open to stare about him in wonder, seeing three young females about him, mopping his brow with cold compresses and murmuring soothing words. It has to be quite a change from his former company.
When he is able to speak, he tells us that his name is Daniel Prescott and tearfully relates that he was captured by the river pirates last year, along with his father and uncle, neither of whom survived the attack. When I tell him of our successful attack on those same vermin, he expresses great joy to hear it.
"I hope you killed them all. Warn't a good one in the bunch. I hate them."
"And I hope that you do not let that hatred fester in your heart, young Daniel, for it will mean that they managed to hurt you for the whole of your life," I say, placing my hand upon his arm. "Never fear, many of them are dead, Daniel, and you are alive, here, and safe."
In his delight at being aboard the Belle, he is soon up and about and getting into everything. When we get him clean and presentable, I stand him up in front of me and inform him that his billet is to be ship's boy, and in that capacity he is subject to the orders of every single person aboard. In addition to any chores the others assign him, he has the job of looking after Pretty Saro, scrubbing her down and keeping her in the pink, and she seems to thrive under his care. Crow Jane, with plenty of new slabs of bacon and butts of ham now in her food locker, has given up gazing pointedly at a contentedly sleeping Saro whilst running her thumb along the edge of her knife to test its sharpness. My piglet is safe, for the time being, at least. But every day she is growing larger, and very soon we will no longer be able to call her a piglet.
Crow Jane has an unlooked-for delight in this port when she meets up with someone from her own Shoshone village high up on the Missouri and Snake rivers. There are exclamations of happiness at the meeting, expressed by a sort of shuffle dance done with thumb in mouth, then great hugs and squeals of joy. The girl, who turns out to be Crow Jane's niece, has with her a little boy of about two, Jean Baptiste. She was captured, as a child, by the Hidatsa Indian tribe and then later sold to a French trapper, who made her his wife when she was old enough to be a wife and to be gotten with child. I think to myself, Huh! A lot of say she had in the matter, but the travails of her life don't seem to bother her overmuch. She eats and laughs with great gusto and charm as she recounts her travels, in both French and English. I find that she has been on that Lewis and Clark Expedition across the new Louisiana Territory that Amy Trevelyne was going on about back in Boston. That expedition is now breaking up, the leaders heading back to Washington to report to President Jefferson. 'Tis no wonder the men on the expedition took her along, as I am sure she brought them much cheer in their darkest hours. Now she's been hired as cook on a boat going downriver. Of course, she'll take her son along, too. Her name in English is Bird Girl, and we invite her to dinner and avidly listen to her tales of the wild wonders she has seen, especially me, and, curiously, Katy, too, who seldom expresses enthusiasm for anything. And this Indian girl has even seen the Pacific Ocean on the other side of this massive country. Jeez ... Even I ain't never yet seen the Pacific. We sit there far into the night, listening with chins in hands, rapt, until she finally rises, picks up her child, thanks us for dinner, and leaves to continue her journey downriver.
"Wouldn't that have been somethin' to have been along on that trip?" I sigh, after all have left and we undress for bed.
"Yes," says Katy Deere, simply, but I catch an edge of real longing in her voice.
***
Higgins has managed to sell off some of the goods, and so, on our third day here, we have a payday. We break it down this way: Faber Shipping gets ten shares—after all, we have to pay for resupplying, repairs, and renovations, as well as to pay Higgins and Tanner. All others receive one share, except for Daniel, who gets a quarter share. It works out to fifteen dollars a share, and all pronounce themselves satisfied. Matthew and Nathaniel Hawkes head for the nearest taverns, with orders to be good. If they land in jail, they will be left here, and they know that. I don't know where Lightfoot and Chee-a-quat go, but then, I seldom do.
Mr. Cantrell pockets his pay and goes off looking for a game. Chloe, dressed in her best, goes off with him. As elegant as they both are, I cannot help but think of the circling sharks I have seen in various waters.
Jim and Clementine run off, hand in hand, laughing, to taste the charms of the town, and, I am sure, the charms of each other. Oh, well...
That night, the Belle is left in the capable guard of Crow Jane, the Preacher, Katy, and Daniel, who was allowed enough time to go buy himself a folding knife, of which he is most proud.
Higgins and Lady Gay and I go in search of a tavern, where music might be wanted and where the company should prove kind.
On the day before our departure, the Hawkes boys return. We have not seen hide nor hair of them since they went hooting off with some jingle in their pockets, and I despaired of their return, thinking them surely in jail, or drunk in some ditch—but no, here they are, and instead of looking sodden, seedy, and dirty, they are quite spruced up. They had plainly found a barber, for they are freshly shaven and their hair is neatly cut. They each have a new jacket and hat, and I would be amazed at this change in their appearance had not the reasons for it been simpering by their sides: There stand two girls, dressed identically in frilly pink dresses with matching pink hats. Hats, that is, not the usual bonnets of the frontier, and the girls are, in fact, twins. They look as out of place on this rough dock as the girls of the Lawson Peabody looked two months ago when confined in the belly of that vile slaver Bloodhound.
Nathaniel Hawkes takes his girl by the hand and leads her up the gangway, to face me where I stand on the deck of the Belle. Yancy Cantrell stands by my side, as we have been discussing the final outfitting of the bar.
"Pardon, Boss," says 'Thaniel, taking off his new hat, "but this here's Tupelo Honey. Tupelo, honey, this here is the skipper of the Belle of the Golden West."
The girl dips down in something like a curtsy. "Charmed," I say, not meaning it much.
"And this here's Honeysuckle Rose," says Matthew, proudly handing his girl up from the dock. "We'd be much obliged if you'd allow these girls to ride down to New Orleans with us, yes, we would."
I cross my arms on my chest. "Now, Matty, you know we decided not to take on any more passengers, lads, so I'm afraid we—"
Honeysuckle decides it's time to speak up. "Oh, Miss, please hear us out! We're stranded here, my poor sister and me, and we just want to get back home to dear ol' New Orleans."
Both the girls have blond hair that they perhaps were not born with, that hair having something of a brassy sheen. They are quite ample of chest and tail, with nipped-in waists, which I suspect are kept so by strong whalebone corsets. Their dresses end at mid calf, and frilly white pantaloons show below. They each hold a pink parasol.
"And just how did you ladies come to be stranded here?" I ask.
"Why, Miss, cruel, cruel fate had dealt us a very bad hand. A gentleman down in New Orleans said he had work for us upriver, at St. Louis—we are artistic dancers, you know—and so we agreed to go with him. But when we got up there, he turned out to be not a gentleman at all, no." She pulls a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabs at her eyes, in which I can't really make out any tears. "He wanted me and my poor innocent sister to do awful things with men. Oh! I can't bear to think of it! I can't!" More dabs at eyes. Tupelo, taking the cue from her sister, whips out a hanky of her own and picks up the story, her sister being overcome with emotion.
"So Honeysuckle and me, we cut and run and made it down to Cairo, where we fell ever so gratefully under the kind and lovin' protection of these fine gentlemen." She bats her eyes up at Nathaniel.
I take this all in with more than one grain of salt. "I have friends in New Orleans. Have you ladies ever heard of a Mrs. Bodeen?" I ask.
They exchange a quick look.
Aha.
"Why, no, ah don't believe we are acquainted with that person, no," says Honeysuckle.
Uh-huh.
"And you know, Miss," chimes in Tupelo, hastily, "we'll work to pay our way."
Right, and I can imagine exactly what sort of work you have in mind.
"Hmmm," says Yancy, looking the amply endowed sisters up and down. "They could tend the bar, while you and Clementine and Chloe provide the entertainment. We do have the cabin room."
"What is your last name, girls?"
"Why, it's Sweet, Miss..."
Of course.
"We are the Sweet sisters. Or were." Tupelo giggles, looking up at Nathaniel. "Now our last name is Hawkes."
What?
I cut my eyes over to the Brothers Hawkes. Nathaniel blushes mightily, the red of his cheeks matching those of his brother's. "We all got married up yesterday."
Oh, lads, what have you gone and done?
I heave a large sigh. "Well, I guess that settles it, then. You will have to work to pay your way, but I think you will find me fair. You will tend bar, wait on tables, wash glasses and dishes, help with the laundry—and ladies"—here I pause and give each of them a serious, level look—"above all, you will behave yourselves. Is that clear? Good. Welcome aboard my ship. You may call me Miss Faber."
"Oh, bless your little ol' heart, Miss Faber!" gushes Honeysuckle. "Thank you so very, very much!" She rushes forward to envelop me in a big ol' hug. I endure it stiffly, enveloped as well in a cloud of rose-scented perfume. "And ain't you got just the cutest little ol' accent, you!"
Lord.
So, changes are made in the living quarters. Higgins will get a cabin of his own, as will Yancy Cantrell, and so, too, the Reverend. Jim and Daniel share a cabin that has upper and lower berths. Matthew and Nathaniel each have a cabin and a Honey. All pronounce themselves well satisfied.
The former officers' quarters now become a girls' dormitory. We take down the canvas curtain that divided the male space from the female. Clementine, Katy, and I retain our old beds, and Chloe takes Jim's former bunk. A much better arrangement, I'm thinking. This will make bathing and other personal matters much easier. Plus, I'm glad to get Jim out of the same room with Clementine. I knew that some night soon I would wake to find Clementine not in my bed, but in Jim's, and this ship don't need any more marriages, no it don't.
Everybody's back. We push off in the morning on the biggest river of them all.
PART V
Chapter 44
We are some days out of Cairo and things are going very well. Now we have Tennessee to our east and Missouri to our west. We have made stops at Dorena and Tiptonville and Point Pleasant and Caruthersville and other places whose names I forget almost as soon as we leave them, but we do leave them happier than they were before our arrival.
When we approach a likely town and the weather is fair, we put Chloe's instrument up on the cabin top, and with her pounding away on the harpsichord and me sawing on the fiddle for all I'm worth, well, they gotta know something special's coming. And something special it is, with the Belle of the Golden West all bright in her new paint, and all of us girls up on deck dressed in our best, waving and singing. Kids, told of our coming by Jim Tanner, watch out for us, and when we come around the bend and into their town, they scamper off to spread the word. The showboat's here!