2. Two
Daniel stuffed a nervous hand into his pocket and gestured down the gangplank with the other. The captain’s engineer sighted them and stalked over, his hands flying in a series of complicated movements.
This time Captain Lockhart didn’t reply out loud. Her hands flashed rapid responses. The engineer frowned, then daggered a glare at Daniel.
Not sure what else to do, he turned out both palms. “She has nothing to fear from me. But you’re welcome to join us for lunch if you’d like. I’m sure she’ll want to go over my proposition with you before making any commitments anyway.”
Both of them stared at him like he’d sprouted gills. Had he said something wrong? Perhaps he’d misjudged the nature of Captain Lockhart and her engineer’s relationship. He hadn’t meant any offense.
The towering man emphasized another gesture, then thrust his chin toward Daniel.
Captain Lockhart notched her hands on her hips. “Solomon says he likes you. Which doesn’t happen often.” Before relief could fully take hold, she added, “But he said if anything happens to me, he will…”
She tilted her head to the side, signed something suspiciously like gutting an animal, then lifted her eyebrows.
Solomon bobbed his head.
“He said…” Pink colored her cheeks. “He said if you prove him wrong about you, then he will skin you like a fish.” A grimace accompanied the last part.
Daniel had to catch his laugh before they took his relief the wrong way. Instead, he managed a respectful nod. “I’d expect nothing different from a captain’s loyal engineer.”
That earned a snort, but the big man strode away to motion at a skinny redhead with a gesture easily interpreted as “get back to work.”
Captain Lockhart plucked a wristwatch with a broken armband from her pocket and squinted at the time. “I only have an hour before an important meeting, so you best find a fast way to convince me this isn’t a harebrained scheme held together with nothing more than vague rumors and assumptions.”
As there was indeed an abundance of rumors and no shortage of assumptions, he opted for a hopeful smile and nodded to the gangplank. He’d likely jumped too far ahead of himself. It would have been better to gather more evidence before he attempted to make his case and solicit help. He didn’t have the first idea where to start in what he had once considered a ridiculously fanciful endeavor. But the providential sighting of the Alma May docked in Natchez on the very day he discovered the Lockhart name secreted away proved too much of an opportunity to waste.
If he couldn’t convince her to have mercy on his plight, he’d have to find another way. Just because his father had worked with hers didn’t mean she was his only option.
There had to be someone prepared to journey through turbulent waters to unknown locations. Surely some other captain intimately familiar with the dangers of this stretch of river would be willing to risk life, limb, and vessel to help him for only a promise of a cut of the treasure.…
If he found it.
Tamping down the newest wave of doubt, Daniel pressed forward. Too much depended on him, so how could he not fight for what they needed with every shred of his being? No matter how foolish it seemed.
Captain Lockhart sauntered down the rickety plank, a braid so deeply brown it bordered on black swinging against a work shirt more suited to a man than a sprightly woman. But then, everything from her cocked newsboy hat to her scuffed boots said she’d intentionally dressed as a man.
Only her thick, shiny locks and the smallest touch of lip rouge suggested any interest in feminine frivolity. That and the clean scent of something floral he’d caught as she’d passed him.
Not that she could hide her appeal, even dressed that way. He’d never seen the like.
She stopped on the dock, head cocked to the side. A sullen breeze attempted to nudge a loose lock of hair by her temple but gave up under the heavy humidity.
He shifted his thoughts to recover whatever words had exited her rosy mouth but had failed to find meaning in his ears. “Beg your pardon. I didn’t catch that.”
She hiked a dark eyebrow toward the shabby brown cap. “I asked if you had a destination in mind.”
Oh. Right. He had invited her to eat. Never mind he’d spent almost everything he’d had in his wallet to keep her in port. “Are you opposed to sandwiches while we discuss business overlooking the water?”
She shrugged and returned her steady pace toward the hill leading to the town proper.
“Wait!” He thumbed the other direction. “I know a place this way.”
Her nose wrinkled. “You want to take me to a tavern under the hill?” She glanced toward the boat, clearly waffling over marching up the gangplank again.
“It’s not like that. I promise.”
Shallow lines formed the corners of her intelligent eyes as she studied him, but then curiosity must have won out because she pivoted in the other direction.
He couldn’t blame her. Natchez Under the Hill didn’t have a sterling reputation for good reason. But these days, moral folk made an honest living and carved out a pocket of decency in what had traditionally been a hive for undesirables.
Thankfully, the place he had in mind stood on the outskirts. He matched his stride to the woman who only reached his shoulder. “Thank you for your time, Captain Lockhart. I’m sure you are busy, so I appreciate you considering my situation.”
The sultry breeze mustered more strength and played with a lock of her hair, sending it skittering over her nose. Deep-brown eyes studied him with an intensity he’d not often encountered. “Lula and Solomon both think you seem decent enough, so that earns you a half hour.”
“Lula?”
She checked her watch and then stuffed it back into her pocket. As they walked, the sharp cliff of the riverbank rose higher. “My dog. Named for the Tallulah River. I call her Lula for short.”
A chortle rumbled from his chest. “Glad she approves of me.”
Captain Lockhart grunted. “I didn’t say that. But she didn’t take off one of your fingers, so that saved you from Solomon chunking you overboard.”
He sobered, unsure if she was joshing or not. “Solomon. He’s your engineer.”
“And my father’s closest friend.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Only the twitch of her nose gave any indication the grief still stung. She cleared her throat. “Where are we going?”
Daniel followed her gaze to the general store boasting “Moses and Sons Cheap Cash Store” on a rough-hewn sign protruding from a brick building. Several similar edifices huddled along a dirt road snaking along the river’s edge, most in need of more tending than the residents could afford.
“It’s up ahead.” He moved over to allow a cart to pass, the weary gelding’s plodding steps stirring up dust.
Boats crowded the landing on the other side of the street, and the scent of silty water, sweaty men, and a variety of goods from tobacco to cotton thickened the air. Men hustled from general goods stores and greeted one another with nods as they loaded supplies into waiting wagons.
“Hmm. Not quite the den of debauchery I was expecting.” Captain Lockhart mumbled as Daniel tipped his cap to a boy of about fourteen carrying a fifty-pound sack of flour.
Spices and the smell of fresh bread broke through the river of other scents and tickled his nose. His stomach rumbled in response, and he quickened his pace. “Almost there. Anna makes the best po’boys you’ll ever eat.”
She stopped. “Poor boys?”
He flashed a grin and hurried forward, leaving her to succumb to curiosity and follow him. A good quality. One desired a healthy dose of curiosity in a person he wanted to decode clues with.
They approached a squat tin-roofed structure wedged between two brick buildings. Some twenty years ago, Anna’s father had closed in the alley between a warehouse and a dry-goods store. A resourceful use of the tiny strip of land he’d purchased from both owners for minimal cost.
The boards on the narrow front stoop sagged under Daniel’s weight as he pulled open the door, causing a bell to ring overhead. Fried seafood, yeasty bread, and horseradish washed over him, and he savored it before motioning Captain Lockhart inside.
“They bake their own bread every morning and fry up whatever Anna’s brothers can bring in, but the crawfish are my favorite. Fried with extra pickles. But she also serves an étouffée that’ll have you licking your fingers.”
Captain Lockhart chuckled and followed him to the counter set behind two narrow rows of two-person tables. Only three were currently occupied, as most patrons took their wrapped sandwiches and headed back to work.
“Danny boy? Is that you?” Anna slapped a kitchen towel over her shoulder and squeezed her girth out from behind the counter. “I ain’t seen you in a coon’s age! Where you been?”
Coon’s age happened to be roughly a week ago. He wrapped the motherly woman in a familiar embrace. “You know. Just taking care of Mabel and the boy and trying to get everyone settled.” He extracted himself from her grip. “How are you?”
“Fat and sassy, like always.” She winked. “Who’s your lady friend?”
Captain Lockhart’s lips twitched into a smile as she extended a hand. “Captain Camilla Lockhart.”
“Captain?” Anna fanned her face. “Ain’t that somethin’? Didn’t think we’d had no female captains since Blanche took over the Natchez.”
The Queen of the Mississippi, famous as the first licensed female steamboat captain.
Captain Lockhart’s grin grew. “Yes, ma’am. There’s been a couple of us, but Captain Leathers is an inspiration.”
“Got you a good one, Danny boy.” Anna smacked his shoulder. “Takes a strong woman to do what she does. Best you give her all the respect she deserves.”
Daniel spread his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything less.”
Captain Lockhart shifted her feet and averted her gaze from Anna’s open consideration, but her twitching lips gave away her pleasure.
Anna patted his cheek. “Good boy. Now, what you two want to eat? I got courtbouillon, and then we got river cats, crevette, and chicken livers for the po’boys today.”
After Anna shuffled back behind the counter, Captain Lockhart’s harsh whisper stopped Daniel’s forward progress across the brick floor.
“Cats? Did she say cats?”
Anna burst into laughter, the frayed ends of her yellow hair wrap dancing on her shoulder. “Pauvre ti bête.”
At his look, Anna translated. “Means poor little thing.”
Captain Lockhart smirked. “Who? The cat or me?”
That earned another round of laughter from Anna. And judging from the twinkle in the younger woman’s eyes, that had been her intention. To solidify his suspicion, the fetching riverboat captain winked at him.
Anna dabbed her face and called something in French over her shoulder to one of her brothers working in the kitchen before turning back to her guest. “My family, we are Cajun. Danny boy here knows the basics well enough to eat what he wants.”
Taking the cue, he explained the unfamiliar words. “Court bouillonis a spicy tomato-based stew made with fish filets, onions, and mixed vegetables. Crevette means shrimp. So, for the po’boys today she has fried shrimp, catfish, and chicken livers.” He darted his gaze back to Anna, who stood smirking at them. “No crawfish today?”
She snorted. “Now you know it’s getting too hot for them critters. Shoulda come see me a month or two ago. Had ’em in bucketfuls. As it is now, we was right lucky Mo got them crevette. Came packed in ice kept cold by one of them fancy generators, they did. Big fat ones they brought up from the Pontchartrain this mornin’.”
“And what exactly is a ‘poor boy’?” Captain Lockhart eyed the man nearest to her seated at one of the ladder-backed chairs, thick hunk of crusty bread in his hand.
“It’s a French baguette stuffed with goodness. You’ll love it.” Daniel tapped the counter, his stomach having grown impatient with all the talk of food. “I’ll have the shrimp.”
“Extra remoulade sauce and pickles?”
“Of course.” He glanced back at Captain Lockhart.
She shrugged. “Make it two.”
A handful of minutes and a goodbye hug to Anna later, Daniel tucked the paper sack into the crook of his elbow and held open the door for Captain Lockhart.
They strolled in silence back toward the Alma May. She didn’t speak as they passed her steamer and made the turn to climb the hill into Natchez. From atop the hill, the scene struck him as it always did.
The water glistened in the sunlight, a highway of vessels taking people on one adventure or another. He led her to a bench overlooking the cliff and took a seat. She settled next to him, delicately crossing her ankles.
He fished a sandwich from the sack and handed it to her, then revealed a special treat he’d whispered to Anna without Captain Lockhart’s notice.
“Coca-Cola?” Her eyes lit, sending a strange sensation through his center.
He grinned and notched the cap against the metal arm of the bench. Then he popped the bottom of the glass bottle, snapping the top off with a fizzling hiss. He held the bottle out to her.
“Impressive.”
The warm sensation in his center intensified, and heat crawled up his neck. Why should he care if he’d easily impressed such an accomplished woman? “I’ve had plenty of practice.”
He cracked the cap on his bottle and then unwrapped the paper from his sandwich, tearing it so the end in his hand remained wrapped to catch any sauce that might squirt free.
The woman at his side did the same, and he waited to watch her take a bite.
She chewed slowly, then swallowed. “Pretty good. I’ll have to see about getting some of these for my crew.”
“How long will you be in town?” He sampled a small bite, and a delightful burst of Cajun spices and crispy batter erupted on his tongue.
“Just long enough to get the payment due to my crew. So you better get to talking.” She took another bite and focused on the river.
Right. Straight to business. He’d practiced how to approach this request on the way to her boat. How to frame it in the right way so she understood what was at stake. “There are these stories in my family—”
She groaned and shook her head. “Mr. Gray, I’m not about to take my crew on a goose chase based on old family lore.”
She hadn’t let him finish. Horsefeathers. She’d hardly let him start! He pulled a breath through his nose and let it out, then started again. “These stories have been passed down for generations, and none of us thought much of them. Just tales to entertain children. Until I found proof.”
“Proof?” She paused, the already half-eaten sandwich hovering near her lips.
How had she devoured it so quickly? She stared at him, expression less than patient.
He cleared his throat and attempted a curtailed description of recent events. “After my grandfather passed, leaving his estate to me, I discovered certain documentation that leads me to believe these were more than mere stories.”
“Written accounts of family lore are no more proof than the tales people tell.” She wedged the bread between her teeth and tore off a hunk.
Daniel stifled his irritation. “There’s more than that.”
She washed down another mouthful with the soda and cast him a sidelong glance. “Like what?”
“I’m not comfortable telling you too many details until—”
“Then I’m not comfortable risking my crew’s lives for a bunch of fairy tales.”
He clenched his sandwich, and two fried shrimp plopped to his lap, leaving a grease smudge. “No one asked you to risk their lives. You make it sound like taking me downriver to a location of my choosing is akin to signing your crew up for war.”
She twisted to face him fully. “Asking my men to work without pay is a risk to their lives. We have to eat.” To emphasize the last word, she snatched another hunk from her sandwich.
His gaze traveled along the line of boats near the water. The Alma May’s twin stacks stretched toward the sky, weary and worn with age. His father’s notes said the boat had been named for Captain Lockhart’s great-grandmother and predated the War Between the States.
How much did it cost to maintain such a vessel? She had to make decent money running goods, as a seasoned captain was the only way to traverse the Wicked River safely. A river captain’s intimate knowledge of the hidden dangers lurking beneath the dark waters meant the difference between surviving or not.
Apparently, the details of the progression of events he’d encountered weren’t going to be the way to convince her. He switched to a more direct tactic. “What’s it going to take to hire you to ferry me downriver?”
She crumpled the empty paper in her fist and brushed crumbs from her lips. “Depends on where you want to go.”
“Not far.” Hopefully. Anything he’d gleaned thus far didn’t suggest a long journey, at least.
Her gaze spiked through him, obviously disenchanted by his vagueness.
“And I’ll need you to help me decode a few clues.” He forced the words from between lips that wanted to bite down on them.
“Me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
He gripped the edge of the bench. This would be the moment. She’d either dive in with him or send him running. “Because I found your name in a hidden journal inside a secret room at my grandfather’s estate.”
And your father was the last man to see mine.
Those words he kept to himself. She likely wouldn’t be ready for that revelation.
The paper fell from Captain Lockhart’s hand. She opened her mouth, but no words came free.
At least he’d secured her full attention.