Authors: Gilbert Morris
"So it's the flowers' fault, Cap'n. Okay, Ezra, Vinnie, let's get some shovels and see if we can heave her off."
The three men, along with Roberty, worked for two hours, digging under the paddle wheel. At high noon Jeanne went to the stern and leaned over. "Take a break, gentlemen. Marvel and I fixed you some dinner."
Clint looked up at her and grinned. "You cooked?"
"Yes, I've been slaving over a hot cutting board for an hour, slicing ham and roast beef," Jeanne answered sarcastically. "Come on up to the bow, we've set up a picnic on the deck."
Jeanne had made a dozen curried eggs, tomato-mushroom catsup, chow-chow, boiled jacket potatoes, corn fritters, fried hominy, and macaroni with cheese and bacon. Ezra had made fresh bread that morning, and Jeanne sliced some of it up for sandwiches. When they came back on board, Roberty and the men stared at the four crates pushed together and covered with a white sheet that held all the food. "Macaroni," Roberty breathed. "My favorite."
"My favorite is everything on that table," Clint said. "Thanks, Captain. Hey, maybe we should fire you as the pilot and make you the cook."
"Just try it," Jeanne said.
Everyone fixed their plates and got seated, and Leo laid his chin on Jeanne's lap as usual, staring up at her longingly. Resignedly, she gave him a small chunk of ham and asked, "So what's the verdict?"
Clint shook his head. "We're not going to be able to dig her out. About an hour ago the current shifted and started piling more sand up under the paddle wheel, so now it's buried about four inches in sand, faster than we could shovel it out. But Ezra thinks that may be a good thing."
Ezra said, "If it don't rain no more, the mud'll settle. Ol' Arkinsaw River's done righted hisself, runnin' north to south, so oncet cleans up agin she'll have water under her, you mark me."
They all looked up at the sky. It was a hot deep blue, with an enormous glaring sun. In the east were banks of storm clouds, a long low line of charcoal gray on the horizon. "Think it's moving west?" Vince asked Ezra.
"Dunno. If'n it does, it'll be Cap'n Jeanne's fault for sure," he said slyly.
It was the first time Ezra had ever teased Jeanne, and after she got over her surprise she laughed along with the others. "Another disaster to put in my log," she sighed theatrically.
"'The flowers caused us to get stuck on the sandbank that just popped up out of the river because it knew I was coming, and then my own personal storm stirred up the mud so much we were here for days.'"
"Aw, I was just joshin' you, Cap'n," Ezra said. "I think them there storm clouds are the leavin's of the storm we had this mornin', passin' west to east. Looks like hit's gwine to be a clear rest of the day and evenin'."
"I gotta tell you, Captain, I don't think there's any use in us trying to shovel out right now," Clint said. "The current has picked up, but it's like Ezra said, it's pretty much like a sandslide right now, piling up under us."
Jeanne said, "Okay. We might as well take the rest of the day off, don't you think?"
"So we can do whatever we want?" Marvel asked brightly.
"No, you may not learn to swim," Jeanne said sternly, eyeing Clint. "This is not the time and certainly not the place. But you can wade around or play with Leo on the sandbar—
as long as someone is watching you.
"
Clint said, "Now you know I'll be with her all the time, Cap'n. Can't you come out and play too?"
"No, I've been putting off our July accounts, and I need to go ahead and finish them."
"We made a bunch of money, I bet," Clint said happily.
"I'd rather like to narrow it down to more than just
a bunch
," Jeanne said dryly.
Ezra started gathering up plates and the platters of food, but Jeanne said, "No, I'll do the clearing up, Ezra. You cook and clean up every day. It's your day off. Go do something fun."
He grinned, his leathery face crinkling into smile and eye creases. "I did have a mind ter look for some minners in them shallows, Cap'n. Catchin' some fat crappie or bass would make fer a fine supper."
Jeanne cleared up all the food and dishes, cleaned the galley, and checked the pot of water she had put on the stove. It was exactly right; warmer than tepid but not hot. Happily she hauled the five-gallon copper pot to her cabin and threw fresh mint leaves in it. Stripping down, she took the longest, most leisurely sponge bath she'd ever had, and then soaked her feet in the pot. She put on a loose chemise and her lightest pair of bloomers. With a cool wet cloth on her forehead, she fell sound asleep.
After about an hour, she awoke, feeling refreshed and delightfully clean. It wouldn't last long, she knew, because it was suffocatingly hot and when any breeze came in through the windows it was lukewarm and fickle. Sighing, she dressed and sat down at the pile of papers under her clerk's ledger on the desk. Even though it was hot, it was a gorgeous afternoon. The sunbeams were a translucent gold, and Jeanne could see airy dust motes dancing in them. A rich wet mud smell, not dirty but earthy, pervaded the still boat. A fat honeybee came flying in, making erratic up-and-down circles as it investigated Jeanne and her desk, and it finally wandered out the opposite window. Birds were singing, dozens of them, it sounded like. Jeanne didn't hear anyone on the boat. They must be on the far bank fishing, she thought. She decided to join them as soon as she finished.
The accounts were more complicated than she had realized, and she worked for a couple of hours and still wasn't finished. She heard a commotion on the main deck as the others came back on board. She rose, stretched and put her hands to her aching back, and went downstairs. On the stairs she heard Clint say, "I think Marvel's crappie is the biggest one."
"That's 'cause Ezra let me use the fattest minner," Marvel said.
Jeanne came around the corner and stopped in amazement. Clint was holding up a stringer filled with fish, and they were all gathered around him. They turned to Jeanne and Clint said, "Jeanne, Marvel's the best fisher . . . What's wrong?"
"What's wrong!" Jeanne cried. "Look at all of you! Marvel, what have you done to yourself?"
They were covered with mud. All of them, even Ezra, had apparently slathered thick red-brown mud all over their exposed skin: their faces, necks, arms, and hands. Marvel's hair was pulled straight up on top of her head and tied into a messy knot with some fishing string. The only exposed skin was her eyelids. "Did you actually stick mud in your
ears
!" Jeanne demanded in outrage.
"Not in my ears," Marvel explained. "But around the outside. It's 'cause of the mosquitoes, Mama. We were all getting ate up."
"Eaten up," Jeanne said automatically.
"Calm down, Jeanne," Clint said easily. "It's the best mosquito repellent, the Indians used it all the time. It washes off, okay? No harm done."
Jeanne relaxed. "Except for you scaring me half to death. I thought a bunch of mud-goblins had boarded my boat. I've never seen human beings so dirty."
"It's itchy, too, when it dries," Marvel said. "But it's better than mosquito bites. I caught the biggest fish, Mama! See? That one!"
"You did? Good for you, Marvel. Now how about we rinse you off and then go get a proper bath?" Jeanne said firmly.
Jeanne fetched rags, and Clint got a big tub full of fairly sediment-free water. They rinsed off their river mud and Jeanne hustled Marvel upstairs to bathe and change clothes. Ezra, Vince, and Roberty started cleaning the fish. Clint said, "I'm swimming over there, to that lean-to. Be back in a few minutes."
He didn't have to swim, the deepest part across the river came only to his waist. He cut several long honeysuckle vines, their sweet scent filling his nose. Then he picked an armload of black-eyed Susans, the bright yellow flowers with their velvety brown centers, some of them as big as his hand. Back on the boat he put the flowers into a bucket of water. Then he went to sit down by Vince, Ezra, and Roberty. They were sitting on the deck at the stern, their legs hanging over, cleaning and filleting the fish. "I'd help y'all," Clint said airily, "but I got something important to do here."
"Playing with flowers? I'm worried about you, Clint," Vince said. "If I didn't know you were Clint the Flint Fist, I might think you were a sissypants."
"You're Clint the Flint Fist? The fighter?" Roberty asked eagerly, leaning over to stare at Clint.
"I hate that name," Clint sighed, "but yeah, that's what they called me. It's been awhile, though."
"You could fight anytime we're in Memphis," Vince argued. "And you could beat any one of them that's challenged you, too."
"Maybe. But it's more trouble than it's worth. They hit you, you know, Vinnie. It hurts."
"That didn't used to bother you before, and it's not what's bothering you now. It's because your ladies don't like you getting that pretty face bashed in, isn't it?"
"He ain't pretty," Roberty said indignantly.
"No, I ain't," Clint said, grinning. "No lady's ever accused me of that."
Jeanne and Marvel joined them. Clint looked up at Marvel, then scrambled to his feet. "Oh, no, baby girl, what's all this?"
Marvel was covered with mosquito bites. She had them all over her hands, on her neck, and on her face there was hardly a place to put a finger. The big red bumps covered her nose, her cheeks, even the tips of her ears. Her right eye was almost closed because she had a bite on her eyelid, and the sensitive skin had swollen up. Except for that one, every bite had a splotch of white paste on it. She looked like she'd been thoroughly splattered with white paint. "Guess they got me before we put the mud on," she said miserably.
Jeanne said, "That's baking soda paste, it's the only thing I've ever heard of that stops the itching. I never believed I'd say something like this, but from now on please cover Marvel with mud
before
she goes into the woods."
"You mean you aren't mad?" Clint asked in astonishment.
"I was at first. But what am I going to do? Tell her she can't go outside? Who am I going to be mad at? I gave her permission to go."
"Yeah, but stuff like that's never stopped you from being mad at me," Clint said ruefully.
"Oh, don't worry, before too long I'll probably get mad at you," Jeannie joked. "It's been a couple of days. So, how are the fish coming?"
"All done," Ezra said with satisfaction. "Tonight we're gonna have the biggest, best mess of fried fish you never saw."
That night Marvel pleaded with Jeanne to let her wash off the baking soda paste. "It stings when it's wet and it itches when it dries," she complained.
"I know, little girl, but I'm afraid you'll scratch in your sleep. I don't want you to get any open sores, they might get septic. Look, you're rubbing your eye right now. I'll put a cool cloth over your eyes and you try to go to sleep, okay?"
As soon as dawn's first tentative gray light appeared, the crew was back out at the stern of the boat, shoveling sand. Their voices awakened Jeanne, who got up and dressed hurriedly. She went out on the rear deck and called down to them. "How is it?"
Clint looked up. "It's looking good, Jeanne. Paddle wheel's in about ten inches of water. It might be enough to draw."
"Why don't we give it a try? It won't hurt the engine or paddle wheel, will it, if we're still stuck?"
"No, not if we don't rev her up and keep her straining. C'mon, boys, let's go load her up and get some steam."
Jeanne went back to look down at Marvel. She had had an uneasy night, Jeanne knew. She had tossed around, and once or twice Jeanne awoke to see her scratching her face in her sleep. The baking soda paste had dried out completely, so she had little dustings still clinging to her. Jeanne was sure she was lying in grit. She woke her up to bathe her and begin again the painstaking process of covering each bite in the paste.
Within an hour the boilers were hot and the engine was humming. Jeanne went up to the wheelhouse and gave the engine room the go-ahead bell. She felt the boat come alive and shift a little. Then they opened the steam valves to give the
Rose
a full head, and the paddle wheel slowly started turning. Jeanne had a death grip on the wheel, and she turned around to look behind them. The paddle wheel flapped emptily, then they slowed as they picked up water. The
Rose
began to slide backwards. Jeanne held the wheel perfectly steady. The boat was sluggishly moving, then it picked up speed, and then Jeanne felt the welcome buoyancy as she settled into deep water. "Thank you, Lord!" she said exultantly, and rang the forward bell twice.
The
Helena Rose
started steaming down the river as nonchalantly as if she hadn't been high and dry for twenty-four hours. Down in the engine room, at last Clint relaxed as he stood by the gear indicator. "I've been helping her go by holding my stomach muscles tight," he joked to Vince. "Think I can let go now?"
"Yeah, I'll keep mine all knotted up," Vince answered. "Just in case."
Clint went into the boiler room and knelt by Marvel's chair. She still had big red splotches, with white splotches in the middle of them, on her face and neck and hands. "How are you feeling, little girl?" he asked gently.
"Better than last night. But Roberty said I look like someone stuck a bunch of cherries with blobs of cream on my face," she said mournfully.
"I didn't mean it bad," Roberty said regretfully. "I like cherries with blobs of cream."
"But not stuck on your face," Marvel retorted.
"Never mind, I think you're still beautiful," Clint said, rising. "I've got something that's going to make you even prettier, too." He went out to the main deck and came in with the vines of honeysuckle he had woven. "Here, I made this for you. I didn't want to give it to you last night because I could tell you didn't feel good." He set the garland on her head. It was skillfully woven, with six strands of honeysuckle full of blooms, and two long tendrils that hung over her shoulder. "Now, you look like my fairy princess again."
"Ooh, it's beautiful! Thank you, Mr. Clint. I wish my face wasn't all splotched up. I don't feel like a princess."