Life hasn’t been easy for Jeanne Bettencourt, a widow approaching thirty and struggling to provide for her eight-year-old daughter. But hope arrives in the form of the Helena Rose, a steamboat she unexpectedly inherits from a distant, departed relative. Jeanne’s father had captained a similar vessel and taught her how to pilot a steamer along the banks of Memphis. She’s looking forward to a renewed livelihood on the mighty Mississippi. However, as plans are made, news comes of another heir to the Helena Rose -- a tough man named Clint Hardin -- and a clause in the will that says claimants of the estate must live aboard the boat. Jeanne, a Christian woman, makes it clear she won’t stay with a man who is not her husband. But both are desperate for work, so they agree to keep their distance as Clint occupies the lower deck and Jeanne takes the captain’s quarters. As they restore the Helena Rose, the slowly softening Clint becomes attracted to Jeanne -- who is now being courted by a wealthy plantation owner. With her family and future at stake, the desires of Jeanne’s heart are duly complex. Only her simple faith can navigate her through what’s about to happen.
Life hasn’t been easy for Jeanne Bettencourt, a widow approaching thirty and struggling to provide for her eight-year-old daughter. But hope arrives in the form of the Helena Rose, a steamboat she unexpectedly inherits from a distant, departed relative. Jeanne’s father had captained a similar vessel and taught her how to pilot a steamer along the banks of Memphis. She’s looking forward to a renewed livelihood on the mighty Mississippi. However, as plans are made, news comes of another heir to the Helena Rose -- a tough man named Clint Hardin -- and a clause in the will that says claimants of the estate must live aboard the boat. Jeanne, a Christian woman, makes it clear she won’t stay with a man who is not her husband. But both are desperate for work, so they agree to keep their distance as Clint occupies the lower deck and Jeanne takes the captain’s quarters. As they restore the Helena Rose, the slowly softening Clint becomes attracted to Jeanne -- who is now being courted by a wealthy plantation owner. With her family and future at stake, the desires of Jeanne’s heart are duly complex. Only her simple faith can navigate her through what’s about to happen.
Life hasn’t been easy for Jeanne Bettencourt, a widow approaching thirty and struggling to provide for her eight-year-old daughter. But hope arrives in the form of the Helena Rose, a steamboat she unexpectedly inherits from a distant, departed relative. Jeanne’s father had captained a similar vessel and taught her how to pilot a steamer along the banks of Memphis. She’s looking forward to a renewed livelihood on the mighty Mississippi. However, as plans are made, news comes of another heir to the Helena Rose -- a tough man named Clint Hardin -- and a clause in the will that says claimants of the estate must live aboard the boat. Jeanne, a Christian woman, makes it clear she won’t stay with a man who is not her husband. But both are desperate for work, so they agree to keep their distance as Clint occupies the lower deck and Jeanne takes the captain’s quarters. As they restore the Helena Rose, the slowly softening Clint becomes attracted to Jeanne -- who is now being courted by a wealthy plantation owner. With her family and future at stake, the desires of Jeanne’s heart are duly complex. Only her simple faith can navigate her through what’s about to happen.
gleamed like Mount Olympus on the bluff high above the Mississippi River. Its six fifty-foot-high Doric col- umns topped by the grand white marble pediment had become a sure landmark to the lesser beings on the river. A pallid December sun rose behind the hotel, its weak light still making the grand edifice seem to glow. Jeanne Bettencourts eyes watered a little as she stared up at the hotel. The wind was keening off the river, and as she hurried along Front Street she adjusted her woolen muffler to cover her mouth and nose. Above the plain gray wool were wide-set velvet brown eyes, odd because they had a perfect almond shape that was more East Indies than red-blooded American. The searching bitter wind teased out several thick chestnut- brown curls from her mobcap and hood, and impa- tiently she tucked them back in. 1 2 GILBERT MORRIS She went around to the back of the hotel to the ser- vants entrance, of course, because she was a chamber- maid, not a guest. Sometimes Jeanne dreamed of having enough money to stay at Gayoso House. It was a luxuri- ous place, with real brass room keys and fobs, daintily wrapped guest soaps, satiny bedlinens, eiderdown com- forters, fireplaces, and velvet chairs and cherry tables in each room. And most elegant and desiredmarble tubs, silver faucets, hot and cold running water, and even flush toilets. Indoor plumbing was grandiose, indeed. A crowd of maids, porters, waiters, and wood boys were gathered at the service entrance, and just as Jeanne reached the bottom step the great Gothic bells of St. Peters church began to ring the hour of seven a.m. The door was opened by Mrs. Wiedemann, the stern German housekeeper, who stood frowning as the servants filed in. Jeanne was last, on the final stroke of seven, and Mrs. Wiedemann frowned. You are almost late, Jeanne. Yes, maam, she said submissively, following the womans heavy tread into the housekeeping supply room. She wasnt late, of course. But Jeanne was lucky to have this job, and she never crossed Mrs. Wiedemann. Under the circumstances, the two got along very well. The housekeeping supply room was something like a long railroad car. Along one wall was a row of hooks, each with a neatly printed white card above it. Jeanne hung her cape and muffler on the hook labeled J.Bettencourt, gave another quick pat-push to the hair escaping from her mobcap, and checked her white apron to make sure it was spotless. At the Gayoso one was not required to have a uniform as such though they required that the maids wear gray skirts and plain white blouses. The hotel supplied each maid with two 3 THE RIVER ROSE aprons and two mobcaps, and if you came to work at the Gayoso with your apron dirty you did not work at the Gayoso on that day. Satisfied that she presented a neat and clean appearance, Jeanne began to gather her cleaning supplies. They were all stored in a long row of closets across from the hooks, kept locked to deter stealing. Mrs. Wiedemann had a very impressive bunch of keys hanging at her waist. She stood watching suspi- ciously as the maids gathered their supplies. When they were all ready with their five-gallon buckets full, they started filing up the back staircase to begin the day. Mrs. Wiedemann called out, Jeanne, I would speak with you for a moment. Jeanne kept her face expressionless, though she was dismayed. She never knew what Mrs. Wiedemann was going to say to her when she asked to speak to her. Sometimes she berated her for some imaginary wrong, or chided her for the faults of other maids assigned to her. Sometimes she asked polite questions of Jeanne, as to how so-and-so new maid was adjusting, how Mr. Such-and-Such was enjoying his stay, was Jeanne happy with her supplies, did she feel anything useful may be added to the cleaning materials? Jeanne hurried back to her and asked politely, Yes, Mrs. Wiedemann? Yes, Jeanne. This week we have some soaps barely used from overnight guests. Also we have pillowslip turnover. You may buy ten soaps for one penny, and five pillowcases for one penny, if you wish. Jeannes dark winged eyebrows rose with surprise. All such perquisites belonged to the housekeeper, and in four years this was the first time she had ever known Mrs. Wiedemann to let anyone have a chance to buy any 3 4 GILBERT MORRIS castoff supplies. And the price she quoted was excel- lent; the swift thought went through Jeannes mind, she could sell them to the secondhands five for a penny, one for a penny . . . Yes, maam, I would very much like to buy some soaps and pillowcases, Jeanne said gratefully. Ten soaps for one cent and five pillowslips for one cent is very generous. Thank you, maam. To Jeannes surprise, Mrs. Wiedemann seemed slightly uncomfortable. The pillowslips are very thin. Perhaps we make it six for one penny. Yes. I will have them for you tonight, when you leave. Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs. Wiedemann, I have no money with me at all, Jeanne said in embarrassment. Please, hold them for me until tomorrow, Ill bring the money then. No. You take them tonight. I know you will bring the money, Jeanne. Now get to work, please. She turned and marched away. Jeanne was ecstatic as she flew up the three flights of stairs to the top floor. It was December 18 th , 1854, two days before her daughters birthday and seven days until Christmas morning. She would have time to sew a soft longsleeved chemise from the pillowcases in the next week, so Marvel would have two birthday presents and two Christmas presents. Jeanne began, as always, with the first room, #301. All of the rooms at the Gayoso were alike, but the wealthiest and most prestigious patrons preferred the top floor. In winter it was warm, and in summer the cool breezes off the river kept them bearable. The third floor was, of course, the most difficult one for the cham- bermaids because they had to travel up and down three 5 THE RIVER ROSE flights of stairs to resupply or to take their twenty- minute lunch break. Mrs. Wiedemann had started giv- ing Jeanne the top floor every day she worked, and at first Jeanne had thought that the woman was deliber- ately making it difficult for her. But then she realized that the third floor patrons tipped generously, as a rule. Too, Mrs. Wiedemann had started assigning all the new- est maids to work with Jeanne, and over time she had stopped coming up to the top floor to check the maids work. Jeanne slowly started training the maids, and then supervising them. Jeanne was very happy to see that her first guest was a regular, an older man named Mr. Borden. She knew that he was a very prominent man, for she had over- heard snippets of conversations and she knew that when he was in town he saw the mayor, city council members, judges, presidents of companies, insurance executives, and the sheriffs and marshals. He was no salesman. She knocked twice on the door and said, Chambermaid to attend the room, sir? Yes, yes, come in, come in, he called. She opened the door, stepped in, and curtseyed. At the Gayoso the chambermaids always curtseyed. He was sitting at the tea table by the window wearing a maroon satin dressing gown over his clothes, for the fire had not yet caught well and the room was chilly. His tea table was littered with newspapers. A fat cigar was lit and smoldered in an ashtray next to a silver coffee service. Mr. Borden was a round, jovial man, bald with a thick silver fringe and sideburns, and bright blue eyes. Jeanne! Oh, I am glad to see you, Jeanne. Come in, come in, girl! Good morning, Mr. Borden, Jeanne said with real pleasure. She went to the fireplace, noting that the 6 GILBERT MORRIS wood boy had cleaned the mantel and hearth well, and stirred the coals and added another log. The flames leapt up and the fire began crackling comfortably. Then Jeanne picked up her bucket and started toward the bathroom. Just a minute, Jeanne, come here, I have something for you, he called after her. Besides, Im too lazy to pour my own coffee. Sad, isnt it? Would you do me the honor? Of course, sir, she said, returning to pour out a steaming cup of coffee with three sugars and heavy cream, just as he liked it. Mm, you fix it better than I do anyway, he said appreciatively. Now, Ive got some things hereoh, where is the blastedthere it is. Frank Leslies Illustrated Weekly. From last week, but I thought that you might not have seen it yet, he said tactfully. No, I have not, Jeanne said. Thats very kind of you, Mr. Borden. Thank you. He waved dismissively. And theres some other papers, the New York Herald, the Arkansas Gazette, the local Appeal. I believe youll find them underneath the night table. Jeanne found the newspapers and looked up at him questioningly. You brought all these for me, sir? Mr. Borden always left her his newspapers when he stayed, but this was a stack of about a dozen current papers. Of course, he replied with a smile. Ever since I caught you sneaking a read of my Herald, Ive thought about it. You see, Jeanne, Ive never thought twice about buying half-a-dozen newspapers every morning, skim- ming the headlines, then throwing them away. But you cant do that, can you? 7 THE RIVER ROSE No, sir, Jeanne said, slowly rising. But I never meant to I know, he interrupted her hastily. No, you wouldnt. I just think you should be able to read the newspapers if you want. Very busily he re-lit his cigar, sipped his coffee, shuffled newspapers, and finally began reading. Jeanne put the newspapers outside the door and began cleaning. She scrubbed the bathroom, polished the faucets, cleaned the toilet, then went into the room to shake out the sheets and plump the comforter, change the pillowslips, remake the bed, sweep the car- pet, and clean the windows. As she was gathering her supplies to leave, he looked up from his newspaper and said, Jeanne, dont forget your Leslies. She had not forgotten itfar from itbut she was too embarrassed to intrude upon him to greedily shuffle through the untidy pile of newspapers on the table to find it again. She went back to the table, and it was lying to the side, with a five-dollar bill on top of it. Eyes wide, she stared at him. Merry Christmas, Jeanne! he said as jovially as Santa Claus himself. Oh, thank you, sir, she breathed. Itsitsvery generous, sir. Not really, he said lightly, then cocked his head, as alert as a bird. Jeanne, may I be extremely impertinent and ask you a personal question? Dunno why youd object, you see, Im already rude enough to call you by your given name and smoke cigars in front of you. I dont object to any of that, sir, she said with a small smile, and you may ask me a question. Mm. Are you married, Jeanne? 8 GILBERT MORRIS I am a widow, Mr. Borden. And do you have children? Yes, sir. A daughter. And how old is she? She will be six years old in two days, sir, Jeanne replied, now thoroughly surprised. In her experience even the kindest guests had no interest in a chamber- maids life, unless it was one of the men who took a great deal of interest, generally in a chambermaids per- son. When Mr. Borden had asked the first question, she had a moment of discomfort, but it had swiftly passed. She knew he wasnt that type of man. She had always known. Still, his questioning was curious. And what is her name, if you please? he continued. Marvel Bettencourt. No middle name, sir. He nodded. I have two sons and two daughters. Theyre all grown now, of course. And I have a grandson that is possibly the most intelligent, the most wondrous child that has ever been born. Deadpan, Jeanne said, Im sorry to tell you this, sir, but my daughter is quite the cleverest and most won- derful child ever. He laughed, a delightful boyish sound. So she is clever, is she? Must take after her mother. Thank you for indulging my boorish questions. Ive just wondered about you, you see. Id like for you and your daughter to have a good Christmas. Mr. Borden, with this money, I can assure you that I and my daughter will have a glorious Christmas. Thank you again, sir. She gathered up her things, gave him a final curtsey and a smile, and left. As soon as she pulled the door closed behind her she stretched out the five-dollar bill and stared at it 9 THE RIVER ROSE in wonder. In the previous Christmases, she had made some one-dollar tips but never five dollars. Happily tucking it into her ankle boot, she checked her list for the occupant of the next room. She was the only cham- bermaid that could read. The other girls had lists with the room numbers carefully drawn the exact same way as the brass numerals on the doors. With some trepidation she knocked on Room #302, for her cleaning list told her that this was J. B. Cunningham. Chambermaid to attend the room, sir? she called. Come on in. She entered the room, which was deliciously heated by the roaring fire. On the air was the sharp mentho- lated scent of shaving lather. The bathroom door was open and delicate wisps of steam wafted out of it. A young man peered around the door, his face half smoth- ered with big dollops of shaving cream. He held a straight razor in his hand. Hello, Beautiful! Just give me a minute, Im finishing up. Its not like Im calling on you, Jeanne thought grimly with an angry bob to pass for a curtsey. No, Mr. Cunningham, since you are still at your morning toilette I will return later. She turned, but too late, he popped into the room. He had trousers onfor which Jeanne was excessively gratefulbut he was in his sock feet, and he wasnt wearing a shirt. His face still had shaving cream on it, but he seemed unaware as he came and put both hands on her waist. Who says toilette? Youre not like any chambermaid I ever saw, Jeanne. He tried to draw her closer. And youre so beautiful With deliberation Jeanne grabbed his hands and lifted them away from her away from her as if they were some 10 GILBERT MORRIS loathsome rodents, and said icily, Didnt you know? I learned it at Chambermaid School. Its very exclusive; they all look like me at Chambermaid School. He laughed. Wish I knew where that school was! Aw, cmon, Jeanne, Im sorry Imer Half naked? she supplied. I know that word, too. Ill be back after I do the next two rooms, Mr. Cunningham. Please be clothed by then. Without waiting for his comment, she flung the door open and stalked out. J.B. Cunningham pawed all of the maids. The first time she had cleaned his room, he had lightly laid his hands on her shoulders, then turned her around to give her a jolly hug, and then he tried to kiss her. She had been new, and frightened, and awk- ward, and she had barely managed to keep darting away from him until finally she had managed to complete her work. Since then he had tried again and again, but as Jeanne gained more experience she had become quite adept at keeping men at arms length. This was the first time, however, that he had been half-clothedor half- naked, as she saw itand she had been sharper with him than ever before. Lost that tip, she thought dryly as she went to the next room. The guest wasnt in the room, so Jeanne unlocked it with her master key and went in. After automatically checking the hearth she went into the bathroom and paused before the big gilt-edged mirror over the sink to study her reflection. In her opinion, J.B. Cunningham always told her she was beautiful because he was try- ing to seduce her. She was not beautiful; she was pretty. Her eyes were dark and fringed with heavy dark lashes, and above them her eyebrows made perfect arched wings. Her face was a small oval, with a delicate nose 11 THE RIVER ROSE and wide mouth. Her hair was rich dark brown, luxuri- ously thick and curly, reaching almost to her waist. She was of average height but her frame was slender, almost boyish. She looked much younger than her age; she was twenty-five but she knew that she barely looked eigh- teen. That, she reflected, was something that women usually desired, but to her it was a nuisance. Men would have been more respectful of her, surely, if they knew she was a widow with a young daughter. Efficiently she finished the room and went on to the next, noting that it was another frequent guest, Mr. George Masters. He responded to her knock and bid her to come in. She opened the door, stepped inside, and curtseyed. Good morning, Jeanne, he said with pleasure. How are you today? George Masters was thirty years old, with wavy yellow hair, blue eyes, and a classic Greek profile. He was a wealthy planter, and in the last six months his stays at the Gayoso had become much more frequent and of longer duration. He always looked at Jeanne with admiration, she had seen, but he was never forward or insinuating. He did talk to her, much like Mr. Borden did, with particular cordiality though he didnt ask personal questions. He seemed to be truly interested in what she had to say. I am doing very well, thank you, Mr. Masters, she replied. And are you looking forward to Christmas? he asked. He was standing in front of the fireplace, his hands behind his back. His tailoring was always elegant, his frock coats perfectly fitted, his double-breasted waistcoats of satin, with a fine gold watch chain sus- pended from the pocket and hooking onto the middle 12 GILBERT MORRIS button. His hair was perfectly styled. Jeanne could not imagine him allowing her into the room in such a coarse state of undress as Cunningham had done. Yes, sir, thank you, sir, she replied politely. She picked up her bucket and started toward the bathroom. Im glad to hear it, he said, and Jeanne stopped, put her bucket down, and turned to face him. When a guest wished to converse with you, you stopped what you were doing until they were finished with you. He went on, I came into town particularly for the Christmas Regale. I was wondering if you were planning on attend- ing? This year, for the first time, the City of Memphis was sponsoring a public Christmas fair. The playbills posted all over the city promised a lavish party at Court Square on Christmas Eve. Yes, sir, I do plan to attend, Jeanne said with plea- sure. It sounds like its going to be quite a fte. One of his smooth eyebrows arched. Yes, a fte. How do you knower, pardon me. Perhaps I may see you there, Jeanne? Perhaps, sir, she said evenly, and waited. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but finally he went to the armoire and pulled out a heavy dark blue doublebreasted topcoat and a fine beaver top hat. If youll excuse me, I have people waiting for me. There is an envelope on the mantel, its for you. I hope you have a good day. Ill see you in the morning, Jeanne. She curtsied as he went out the door, and then hur- ried to open the envelope. He had left her two dollars. She smiled a little. He never handed her a tip; he always left it for her. Jeanne marveled at his delicacy. Most of the guestswho were males, of coursemade a show 13 THE RIVER ROSE of tipping her, with the obvious expectation of grati- tude, and sometimes more. George Masters had always shown her unusual respect. When she finished with George Masters room she returned to Cunninghams. He was shaved and clothed, to her relief. He gave her a dollar tip, and then tried to envelope her in a hug. But Jeanne was not going to give anyone a hug for a dollar, or even for a lot of dollars, and she slipped away from him. Each floor of the hotel had fifty rooms, and normally all one hundred and fifty rooms were occupied. This close to Christmas, however, the hotel had only eighty rooms, and many of them were checking out today. Twenty-two rooms had to be cleaned on the third floor, and Jeanne had were two other maids working with her. They interrupted her several times so that she could let them into a room when the guest wasnt there. As far as she knew, she was the only person that Mrs. Weidemann ever gave a master key to. She did her seven rooms, and the extra. She then checked all the other girls rooms to make certain they were thoroughly cleaned. It was about five oclock, and close to full dark, when she left the Gayoso. She carried her newspapers, her soaps, her pillow- cases, and eight dollars and forty cents in cash. It took her over seventeen days of work to earn that much money. Thank you, Lord! She exulted to the bitter east wind. Thank You for taking such good care of us! Because of the Christmas season, the shops along Main Street were staying open late, and the streets were still busy. Men in heavy wool topcoats and tall beaver hats, arm-in-arm with fur-clad women, mingled with the rivermen, the clerks, the charwomen, the coal 14 GILBERT MORRIS scuttlers, the woodcutters, the couriers, the tradesmen, all of the different kinds and shapes of people that made up a relatively cosmopolitan city such as Memphis. Jeanne was charmed by Main Street at Christmastime. Every shop window was framed with holly and ever- greens, and the lanterns cast an angelic golden glow over the boardwalk. She would have liked to linger and look at some of the shops that she could never go into, like Madame Chasseurs Cosmetics and Perfumery, but she was in a hurry to get home to Marvel. And it was still harshly cold, though the wind had died down. Quickly she made her way down Main to Andertons Grocery and Butchery. The store was busy, with women crowding around the fresh vegetables that Mr. Anderton had just gotten in that very day. Jeanne looked at the bins with a jaundiced eye. She disliked the most com- mon winter vegetables, beets, collard greens, turnips, and particularly Brussels sprouts. Her long mouth twisted, she looked at the little round green balls and thought how very good they would be for Marvel, but she had never been able to bring herself to buy them, she loathed them so. She didnt think she could take a bite of a Brussels sprout, not even for Marvel. The kale did look freshly green, and cabbage cooked with a ham hock would be very good. Picking through the bundles of kale carefully, she finally chose one that seemed full and without blemish, and went up to the long coun- ter, where Mr. and Mrs. Overton were busy waiting on customers. Mrs. Overton finally looked up at her with a flushed plump face and said, Oh, Mrs. Bettencourt, I see you found the nice kale we got in today. Did you see the Brussels sprouts? Yes, maam, they look verygreen, Jeanne said 15 THE RIVER ROSE politely. May I please have a quart of milk, and would you happen to have any ham hocks at a good price this evening? Mrs. Overton frowned. Mm, Ill check for you, Mrs. Bettencourt. We did this afternoon, but weve been that busy all the day long . . . She bustled off toward the butchered meats in the back. Jeanne leaned over to look behind the counter, for there were two large bins of the plumpest, reddest apples she had ever seen. Her mouth watered. Mrs. Overton returned, still a-bustling, holding a ham hock in brown paper and a glass quart of milk. This is the smallest ham hock we have, Mrs. Bettencourt, but it still has some good meat and fat to it. That would be seven cents a pound, and this is about two pounds. Thats fine, Mrs. Overton, Ill take it. Those apples, they are very fresh, arent they? Oh, yes, fresh-picked in Pennsylvania, I understand, and shipped downriver. We just got them today. I apolo- gize, but we had to put them back here, people were stealing them, and theyre a nickel apiece. Would you like to come around and look at them? No, thank you, maam, if you would But suddenly the kind, warm Mrs. Overton turned into a termagant. She leaned over to look behind Jeanne, her face red with outrage. Here, you! Dye think Im blind? Plain as plain I saw you poking holes in that there cabbage! Yaint gittin no deals, neither! Plain as plain! She turned back to Jeanne with a polite smile. You were saying, Mrs. Bettencourt? Id like for you to choose two of the best apples, please, Mrs. Overton. And Id like a half-pound bag of black tea, Jeanne said with amusement. The Overtons, 16 GILBERT MORRIS like most of her guests at the Gayoso, treated her with respect, in spite of her lowly status. Jeanne knew it was because of her upbringing, which had been unorthodox, but her mother had been a gentlewoman and had taught her well. J. B. Cunningham had been right about one thing, at least. She really wasnt like a chambermaid. Mrs. Overton obligingly put all of Jeannes purchases, along with her newspapers and pillowcases and soaps, into a roomy canvas bag. Ill return it tomorrow, Jeanne promised. Yes, I know, she said, beaming. And a very Merry Christmas to you and your little one, Mrs. Bettencourt! Merry Christmas to you and yours, maam, Jeanne said. As she neared the door she saw a boy with his face pressed close up to the glass, staring wistfully at the fresh vegetable display. Jeanne felt a deep pang, as she always did when she saw Roberty. But she smiled as he held the door open for her. Hello, Roberty. I was hoping Id see you tonight. His thin dirty face brightened. You was? How come was that? It so happens that my stock of matches is very low, I desperately need some kindling, and also I was hoping that you might do me a very great favor, Jeanne said, slowing her step to match his. He was a boy of about ten, she thought, small and thin and hungry-looking. There were dozens, maybe even hundreds, of boys like him in Memphis. I got matches, Mrs. Bettencourt, he said eagerly. And I kept back a good bundle of wood for you, in case. I hid it round the corner when I saw you going into Andertons. He trotted down one of the dank lit- tle alleys and came back with an armload of sticks and 17 THE RIVER ROSE small branches. Ill do you a favor, maam, anything, you just ask. Well, you know the little Christmas tree you found for me, she said, weve decorated it some, but I think Id very much like to have some pine cones to use for decorations. Do you think you could find any? Oh, yes, maam! Theres a big stand of pines over on Mud Island, and every morning they drop loads of cones. Ill be there first thing of the morning, afore the other wood monkeys get there, and get you the prettiest ones. The boys who scavenged the scarce wood around the city had come to be called wood monkeys. They practi- cally knew where every tree in Memphis was located, and no branch or pine cone hit the ground in winter and stayed there for long. Each day the wood monkeys ranged up and down the waterfront, picking up every splinter lost from the endless line of carts hauling wood to the hungry riverboats. I got a surprise for you, too, Mrs. Bettencourt, he said proudly. I got you some pretty good little sticks of rich pine. How wonderful! Jeanne said. One can never seem to buy rich pine. And as it happens, today I have a little extra money, and Id love to have every splinter of rich pine you have. Youyou didnt steal it, did you? No, maam, he said stoutly. I dont steal. No, Im sorry, Roberty, I know you dont steal, Jeanne said apologetically. Are you making it all right? Thats a pretty hefty bundle you have there. I dont know what hefty is, but it aint too heavy. Gamely he struggled to match his stride with Jeannes as they hurried north of town, to the district known as The Pinch. Originally it had been called the Pinchgut 18 GILBERT MORRIS District, because of the gaunt and pinched faces of the poor people, mostly Irish, who had settled there. It was the poorest section of the town. But Jeanne felt that she and Marvel had a fairly good house, considering that they were indeed very poor. It was a small clapboard shotgun house that was only about ten years old. Shotgun houses were called that because of the open middle hallway from front to rear; you could shoot a shotgun through them. To keep out the homeless drunks and thieves and other, worse criminals, Jeanne and her neighbor, the ODwyers, had put up stout bolted doors at each end of the house. The ODwyers lived in the room on the right side and Jeanne and Marvel on the left. The one thing that Jeanne treasured most about the single room was that it had a fireplace. That was why she had decided on renting the house instead of living in a more convenient boarding- house. Finally they reached her home, and Jeanne dreaded the next few minutes. She felt terribly guilty about Roberty. She didnt know if he had any family, any parents, she didnt even know if he had a home or if he was one of the true orphans who camped out in the summer and slept in a crowded church shelter on the coldest winter nights. But what could she do? Just because he had adopted her, that didnt mean that she could adopt him. Jeanne opened the door and they went into the dark hallway. From the ODwyers, loud voices sounded, argu- ing about someones tobacco, and one of the children was crying. The strong smell of onions pervaded the hall. Roberty slipped past her, laid his bundle of wood down at her door, then pulled some sticks out of his pocket. Heres the rich pine, Mrs. Bettencourt. How many 19 THE RIVER ROSE matches do you need? How many do you have? Bout a dozen left, I think, he said, groping in the dark hallway. Good, Ill take whatever you have. Now, I want you to take this, Roberty, for the wood and the rich pine and the matches. And for Merry Christmas, she said, hand- ing him two quarters. His dulled eyes grew round. Gosh! Thanks, Mrs. Bettencourt! Merry Christmas to you too, and, and Ill see you tomorrow with the pine cones! He turned and ran out the door, pulling it securely shut behind him. He always hurried away like that, as if he sensed Jeannes turmoil over asking him into her home. With regret Jeanne opened the door to her room and hurried to bring in the wood and put all of her things away. But somehow Marvel must have heard them, per- haps when the door slammed, for the ODwyers door opened and she came running out. Mama, youre home! Why didnt you come get me? she cried, throwing her arms around Jeannes legs. Because I have a birthday surprise here for someone and I was trying to hide it, Jeanne said, swooping down to lift her up and kiss her. Youre going to have to go stand in the corner and hide your eyes. Thats silly, I havent been naughty, Marvel scoffed. Ive been very good today. Jeanne let her slide down to the floor, and Marvels eyes grew big and round as she saw the bulging can- vas bag on the worktable. Gunness! Are those all your things, Mama? They are mine and yours, Jeanne said, smiling. Marvel always said gunness, not goodness. Now, if 20 GILBERT MORRIS youll let me get my breath, and get that fire going good, Ill show you our treasures, and tell you about my excit- ing adventures today. Ill help you, Marvel said happily. With the fire, not your breath. Jeanne took off her cape and muffler and then care- fully removed her mobcap. It looked clean, but of course her apron got dirty in the course of a days work. She threw it into a bucket of water with boracic acid in it, for she had found that just soaking it overnight would remove the stains without having to scrub. Smoothing her hair, she put on a black wool shawl and went out in the hallway to fetch a good-sized log for the fire. She and the ODwyers split the cost of a cord of wood, which ran about ten dollars. Marvel stood at the fireplace with the poker, vigor- ously stirring a good-sized bed of coals and carefully placing small branches on it. The coal-glow lit her intent face. Though she had inherited Jeannes large dark eyes, she was rather a plain child, with a thin face and mousy sandy-colored hair. Small for her age, her hands were more like a four-year-olds than a six-year-olds. Her legs and arms were skinny, and her neck seemed too small for her head. It was not an evidence of malnourishment, because Jeanne was vigilant about feeding her well. Rather it was because she was frail and sickly. Marvel had been born two months prematurely, and she had never gained normal strength and health. But she was a pleasing child, because she was bright and alert and interested in everything, even things that most children her age would find a dead bore. Jeanne was alternately grateful and frustrated with her cleverness. She was gratified when Marvel had started learning to 21 THE RIVER ROSE read at five years old, and she had been frustrated when Marvel had insisted she explain why the ODwyers had six children and Jeanne only had one. Life with Marvel was like that. Jeanne came in to put the log on the fire. Did Mr. ODwyer give us the coal starter? Yes, maam, Angus got home early today and stoked their fire up real good, and Mr. ODwyer brought a shovelful of live coals over here just a little while ago, she said. Did you remember to thank him? Yes, maam. I told you I was very good today. Pardon me, I forgot, Jeanne said gravely. Now Im going to put this soup on, and while its heating up well take a look at my bag over there. She set up the iron tripod and suspended a cast iron pot over the hottest part of the fire. All last night she had simmered oxtails, onions, and carrots over the slow fire. Now she added a cupful of cooked rice for a good thick stew. Lets go ahead and put our bed down, shall we? Jeanne said. They had an iron bedstead with rusty springs, but in winter they always put the mattress down in front of the fire and sat wrapped up in wool blankets. Most nights they read some, and then they talked while Jeanne sewed. Tonight they got the canvas bag and set it down between them. First, though, before we see these wonderful things, I want us to say a thank-you prayer, Jeanne said. Today I had some generous guests that gave me tips. We have to thank Mr. Borden, Mr. Masters, Mr. Cunningham, and Mr. Davis. Marvel nodded and bowed her head. Dear Lord Jesus, thank you for Mr. Borden and Mr. Masters and Mr. 22 GILBERT MORRIS Cunningham and Mr. Davis. Thank you for the money they gave Mama. Thank you for all the stuff in the bag. Amen. Jeanne began taking things out of the bag. Surprise! Kale! Isnt that wonderful? Mama, that bags got more things in it, Marvel said reproachfully. Youre just joshin me. Im sorry, I think youll like this better. Here is milk and a ham hock, which I suppose are almost as amazing as kale. But look at thisand this Jeanne pulled out the muslin bag of tea, and the apples. Marvels mouth made a small o. Those apples! Theyre so, so red and shiny and fat! And, Mama is that She snatched the bag from Jeannes hand and lifted it to her nose and sniffed. It is! Its tea! You got us some tea! Mr. Borden got us some tea, Jeanne corrected her. And these newspapers. Just look, Marvel, this one has pictures. Oh, Mama, could we please, please, have a cup of tea? And we have milk and sugar! Couldnt we make tea, and then read the newspapers while were having tea? she pleaded. Mm, I suppose we might, though Ill have to take the stew off the fire, Jeanne said thoughtfully. But just this once, to celebrate Mr. Borden and Mr. and the other gentlemen may we have tea and bread and cheese and apples for supper? Marvel said slyly. Ah, to celebrate, Jeanne said. As a matter of fact, that is just about what Mr. Borden told me hed like me to do with the money he gave me. Yes, tonight we may have tea instead of supper. Oh, thank you, thank you! Marvel said. I just love 23 THE RIVER ROSE tea, and I know its so spensive we cant hardly ever buy it. We can hardly ever buy it, Jeanne corrected her. We can hardly ever buy it, Marvel echoed. Mr. Borden must be nice. You like him, dont you, Mama? Hm? Oh. Its not a question of whether I like him or not, Marvel, Jeanne explained. In a way, I work for him. He is a generous man, and I am grateful to him. Marvel frowned. I thought you liked him, because when you talk about him you sound okay. But when you talk about the others you sound funny, like you dont like them. What? No, no, Marvel, its not that I dislike them. Its just notthe situationits one of those things about adults that you cant understand yet, Jeanne struggled to explain. Maybe. But I know you dont like men very much, Mama. Cept for Mr. ODwyer, I guess, and maybe Pastor Beecham. I just dont understand why. Jeanne blinked several times. She didnt actively dis- like all men, of course. But she didnt trust them. She treated them with courtesy, but with cool, distant cour- tesy. She found it troublesome that Marvel had noticed anything peculiar. In Jeannes mind, she was equally polite to everyone. How could Marvel have recognized any difference in her attitude toward men? Perhaps it was simply that Marvel was overly sensitive because she had no father. Jeanne reached over and hugged Marvel. It is hard for you to understand things about grown-up men and women, little girl. Just dont worry. Because I love you so much, so very much, and I promise Ill protect you and keep you safe. 24 GILBERT MORRIS Marvel buried her face in Jeannes shoulder. I know youll take care of me, Mama. Ive always known. I love you, too.