The River Rose (50 page)

LATE THAT NIGHT
,
BY mutual agreement, Clint and Jeanne met down on the main deck, standing on the starboard side that faced the river. It was a cool, clean-feeling sort of night, with a low yellow harvest moon and an ivory veil over the stars. They leaned on the railing without touching each other.

"Jeanne, I promised that I wouldn't burden you with any more declarations, and I won't," Clint said. "But I do want to tell you this. Before I really knew about my exact feelings toward you, I cared a lot about you and Marvel. I like you both, I enjoy your company. And we have a great business partnership. I—I just want to say that I hope you'll let me stay on the
Helena Rose.
It'll be hard, I know, for me, at least, but I don't think it will be any harder than being parted from you. But if you tell me that you feel it's not right or proper, then I'll be glad to go."

Jeanne turned to lean back against the rail. "One thing this trial showed me is that no matter how it appears to the rest of the world, I know that it was God's will that you and I, together, inherited the
Helena Rose
. It has always been right and proper for us to make her our home, and it still is.

"When I realized that I was in love with you, Clint, I thought that you didn't feel for me in that way. But I did know that you loved me and Marvel, and I treasured that love. Even though I knew how difficult it would be for me, I determined that I would never let you know how I truly felt about you. It was that important to me, to keep your friendship. And it's that important to me now. Please stay with me, Clint. This is the last time that I'll say this: I know in my heart that you are my partner, and forever you will be."

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
OUR

At dusk the little hamlet of Helena, Arkansas, pretty much shut down. No cargo was loaded on the riverboats. The docks were deserted. The only lights on the riverfront came from the occasional lanterns lit on the steamboats overnighting there. Even the saloons and brothels, always mindful of the wrath of the Anti-Gambling Society and the Temperance Society and the strict sheriff, kept their festivities down to a subdued mumble.

On this misty September night, there were only three steamboats docked for an overnight stay at Helena. One of them was the
Helena Rose.
Several bright lanterns shone through her sparkling windows, casting a golden glow around her. Voices could be heard from her, and children's laughter. The sound of a lively fiddle drifted playfully on the air. Finally the music stopped, and the steamboat grew quiet. Two figures, one slender lady and a tall broad-shouldered man, came out to stand at the railing of the lower deck. They talked quietly, the man's voice a rich baritone murmur, the lady's voice a soft airy soprano.

Max Bettencourt stepped out of the black alley, his shoulders hunched, his chin jutting forward belligerently. He walked toward the
Helena Rose
, his gait a silent stamping march. As he neared the boat, he kept up his deliberate pace and slowly raised his right arm straight out, chest-high. In his hand he held a Colt .38 caliber nickel-plated revolver. The long thick silvery barrel glinted menacingly in the uncertain light.

Clint and Jeanne heard a gunshot. Instantly Clint pushed Jeanne to the ground and threw himself on top of her.

"Miz Langer? Mr. Hardin? Are you two all right?" Cautiously, Clint raised his head, then helped Jeanne to her feet. By the prone figure of Max Bettencourt stood Sheriff Hank Burnett, holding a gun, with grimy wisps of smoke rising from the barrel.

When he saw Jeanne and Clint standing there unharmed, he shook his head and looked down at Max Bettencourt. Then he said regretfully, "The rule is: no guns."

ON THE DAY THAT Marvel Bettencourt turned eight years old, her mama married Clint Hardin. It was a crisp, cold December 5, and the snow had turned Helena, Arkansas, into a Christmas greeting card village. The couple was married in the picturesque First Baptist Church, a small square clapboard building painted white, with a modest steeple and the front door painted bright green. The church was full. Sheriff Hank Burnett gave the bride away.

Clint and Jeanne chose to use the old Episcopal wedding vows.

I, Jeanne Langer Bettencourt, take thee, Clinton Hardin, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.

Clint held a plain gold band and took Jeanne's left hand.

With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

And then he added softly, "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine."