him awake.
Every night he gave himself the same speech. She’s in a first-class cabin, you dolt. She’s a lady. Ladies are polite. They return smiles. That’s all it is. You wouldn’t dare so much as walk up to her front door in St. Charles. You’re a back door common laborer now, and the sooner you remember that, the better off you’ll be. Even if you were still the heir of a wealthy man, it wouldn’t matter. You’re on the river to find Emma . . . not to fall in love.
Tonight was no exception. Rain had raised the river a couple of inches, and Captain Busch had decided to navigate a stretch of river for just an hour or so after sundown. Just until they got to the next woodlot. The crew members were taking shifts sounding the depths, the river was calm, the evening perfect. But Samuel couldn’t sleep for thinking of Fannie.
Grabbing his coat and retrieving his mother’s Bible, he crawled out from beneath the wagon and made his way past the boilers and toward the front of the ship. Just as he passed the stairs leading up to the hurricane deck, the ship shuddered. Samuel paused. Listened. Jerked on his coat, stuffed the Bible into an inside pocket, and called for Lamar. This was no sandbar. Something was ripping into the underbelly of the Delores .
In seconds the deck began to tilt. As the vessel listed toward shore, everything began to slide toward the water. Deck passengers and hands alike screamed and shouted. The wagon toppled. Samuel lunged to help Lamar, but then he caught a glimpse of the small man already scrambling toward the far end of the deck. Of course. Lamar’s first instinct would be to free the panicked horses. Changing course, Samuel made for the crew lowering the mackinaws into the water. And then he heard the women screaming. Fannie! Mrs. Pike!
Grabbing the tilted railing, he managed to climb halfway up the stairs toward the hurricane deck. One of the smokestacks ripped free. As cables whipped through the air, steam escaped in a horrific burst of heat and vapor. Thrown off the stairs and against one of the capstans, Samuel barely avoided being thrown into the river. Before he could right himself, flames spewed from the firebox below the boilers and began to crawl across the deck, blocking the stairs.
One moment Fannie was asleep. The next she was awake and terrified. Something in the saloon slammed against the opposite side of the wall at the head of her cot. The next thing she knew, her cot was sliding toward the deck-side wall, its progress stopped only when it crashed into her trunk. The force threw her out of bed. She tried to get up, but the floor was tilted.
She reached for the edge of Hannah’s cot, shouting the older woman’s name. The cot contained only rumpled bedding. At the sound of breaking glass, Fannie looked toward the deck-side door. As she watched, the transom window shattered. Her hand went to her face, but the glass fell outward toward the deck. Hannah’s skirt! The hook on the door where she hung her skirt at night was empty! She must have been out on the deck when— No! No! What’s happening?
Staggering back onto her own cot, Fannie snatched her dressing gown off the foot of the bed and pulled it on. Intending to open the door just a crack to peer outside and call for Hannah, she nearly fell out of the cabin when the latch gave way and the weight of the door yanked it all the way open. She clung to the doorjamb, staring in horror at the swirling water just on the other side of the hurricane deck railing. Her cabin door faced the water now. Hannah! Where are you?! Where are the lifeboats?
Her things—she needed her things. Planting one foot against the doorjamb, she pried her trunk open. The ship shuddered. When someone screamed Fire! Fannie peered over her shoulder and up toward the saloon. Oh, dear Lord . . . she could see it . . . crawling across the saloon floor . . . coming this way . . . a golden monster, licking up the wood.
She screamed
Every night he gave himself the same speech. She’s in a first-class cabin, you dolt. She’s a lady. Ladies are polite. They return smiles. That’s all it is. You wouldn’t dare so much as walk up to her front door in St. Charles. You’re a back door common laborer now, and the sooner you remember that, the better off you’ll be. Even if you were still the heir of a wealthy man, it wouldn’t matter. You’re on the river to find Emma . . . not to fall in love.
Tonight was no exception. Rain had raised the river a couple of inches, and Captain Busch had decided to navigate a stretch of river for just an hour or so after sundown. Just until they got to the next woodlot. The crew members were taking shifts sounding the depths, the river was calm, the evening perfect. But Samuel couldn’t sleep for thinking of Fannie.
Grabbing his coat and retrieving his mother’s Bible, he crawled out from beneath the wagon and made his way past the boilers and toward the front of the ship. Just as he passed the stairs leading up to the hurricane deck, the ship shuddered. Samuel paused. Listened. Jerked on his coat, stuffed the Bible into an inside pocket, and called for Lamar. This was no sandbar. Something was ripping into the underbelly of the Delores .
In seconds the deck began to tilt. As the vessel listed toward shore, everything began to slide toward the water. Deck passengers and hands alike screamed and shouted. The wagon toppled. Samuel lunged to help Lamar, but then he caught a glimpse of the small man already scrambling toward the far end of the deck. Of course. Lamar’s first instinct would be to free the panicked horses. Changing course, Samuel made for the crew lowering the mackinaws into the water. And then he heard the women screaming. Fannie! Mrs. Pike!
Grabbing the tilted railing, he managed to climb halfway up the stairs toward the hurricane deck. One of the smokestacks ripped free. As cables whipped through the air, steam escaped in a horrific burst of heat and vapor. Thrown off the stairs and against one of the capstans, Samuel barely avoided being thrown into the river. Before he could right himself, flames spewed from the firebox below the boilers and began to crawl across the deck, blocking the stairs.
One moment Fannie was asleep. The next she was awake and terrified. Something in the saloon slammed against the opposite side of the wall at the head of her cot. The next thing she knew, her cot was sliding toward the deck-side wall, its progress stopped only when it crashed into her trunk. The force threw her out of bed. She tried to get up, but the floor was tilted.
She reached for the edge of Hannah’s cot, shouting the older woman’s name. The cot contained only rumpled bedding. At the sound of breaking glass, Fannie looked toward the deck-side door. As she watched, the transom window shattered. Her hand went to her face, but the glass fell outward toward the deck. Hannah’s skirt! The hook on the door where she hung her skirt at night was empty! She must have been out on the deck when— No! No! What’s happening?
Staggering back onto her own cot, Fannie snatched her dressing gown off the foot of the bed and pulled it on. Intending to open the door just a crack to peer outside and call for Hannah, she nearly fell out of the cabin when the latch gave way and the weight of the door yanked it all the way open. She clung to the doorjamb, staring in horror at the swirling water just on the other side of the hurricane deck railing. Her cabin door faced the water now. Hannah! Where are you?! Where are the lifeboats?
Her things—she needed her things. Planting one foot against the doorjamb, she pried her trunk open. The ship shuddered. When someone screamed Fire! Fannie peered over her shoulder and up toward the saloon. Oh, dear Lord . . . she could see it . . . crawling across the saloon floor . . . coming this way . . . a golden monster, licking up the wood.
She screamed
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