Free River Queen by Gilbert Morris

bursting in on you like this, but I really didn’t know quite what to do.”
    “I’m so sorry, Miss Ashby, but we had stacked our wood outside and when this storm came up all hands were called to bring it into the cargo hold,” Herrin explained. “Even Captain Wynans is down there, shifting cotton bales, to make room. That’s why no one was there to greet you.”
    “I’ll take care of it, Kip,” Dallas said easily. “She’s in the Texas, I imagine. I’ll get her all settled.”
    “Thanks, Dallas, but hurry back, would you? I want to go over Point 142 again,” Kip said.
    Dallas sketched a salute, then took Julienne’s arm. “This way, ma’am, right over here is the hatch to the inside stairwell down to the Texas deck. Oh, hello, ma’am. Are you Miss Julienne’s maid? Here, step right down here, careful now.” He lifted a heavy hatch in the deck, and helped Julienne and Tyla down the steps, then followed them. “Right ahead, down the hallway, the last one of the left. The Texas stateroom. It’s one of the biggest, so I’m sure that’s where you’re booked, Miss Ashby. You ladies go on in, and I’ll go see about your luggage.”
    They went into the stateroom, and Dallas disappeared.
    Julienne looked around, dismayed. The room had two small bunk beds against one wall. A single straight chair was underneath a small window. On the other wall was a chest only eight inches deep, to give room to squeeze between it and the beds. It held the smallest water jug and pitcher Julienne had ever seen, along with two white towels.
    “Good heavens, this is smaller than my closet,” Julienne said with disgust. “What was Papa thinking?”
    “He did the best he could, considering,” Tyla said. But her voice was weak, and she gripped the side of the bunk bed so tightly her knuckles were bloodless.
    Julienne turned to her. “You’re ill, Tyla. Why didn’t you tell me you were getting sick?”
    “I didn’t want to complain, but I really haven’t been feeling myself today,” she answered weakly. “And I guess you’ve forgotten, Miss Julienne. I never have traveled on water too well. And sure even you’ve noticed that we’re rolling something fierce.”
    Julienne felt a wave of shame. Always before, Tyla had either had her own little compartment connected to her stateroom, or had been in some other part of the boat where the servants bunked. She hadn’t really been aware that Tyla got sick when she traveled. “Yes, well, maybe this storm will pass, and Old Muddy will be back to its lazy self,” she said with forced cheer. “Anyway, you go ahead and get comfortable and lie down, Tyla. I’m perfectly capable of seeing to the trunks. No, don’t you dare, you take the bottom bunk. I insist.”
    Despite Tyla’s weak protests, Julienne took off her jacket and loosened her blouse buttons, removed her shoes, noting that they were her old half-boots that she had thrown away. Julienne practically forced her down on the bottom bunk, and covered her up securely. “Rest now,” she said sternly. “I’ll be back soon.”
    She went to the door and Tyla asked weakly, “Miss Julienne? Is that nice man, that Mr. Bronte, the same man you met at that party and you said was no gentleman?”
    “That’s the man himself.”
    “He’s sure a fine-looking man,” Tyla murmured softly. “A man you could depend on, a man that would take care of you.”
    “What? But how—?” But Tyla’s chin had sunk down and she closed her eyes wearily.
    Julienne closed the door quietly and went to find Caesar and Dallas Bronte. She found them on the main deck. All of her luggage had been brought on board but they were stacked just inside the double doors, barely out of the rain. As she neared them she could hear Caesar saying in distress, “. . . has to have her things. She can’t have her nice things piled down here with dirty cargo, and all these roughnecks shoving them around.”
    “I understand, Caesar, but—oh, there you are,