Lily (Song of the River) Read Online Free PDF Page B

hold the title. It has come into my own hand.”
    “Wow! You’re a landowner?” Jensen’s right eyebrow crept up, making Blake think of a caterpillar.
    “Not a landowner. Something much more suited to folks like you and me.” Blake tossed a smile at Jensen. “You’re looking at the proud owner of the
Hattie Belle.
”
    “You don’t say.” Jensen’s smile lit up his face. “That’s amazing. And it happened last night? I didn’t realize what high stakes you was playing.”
    “Yes, and I’m on my way to pick up the papers in a little while. I don’t know exactly when I’ll take possession, but I’d love to have you come on board with me. If you agree to work for a percentage of the table, you’d be my very first crew member.”
    “I’d be honored, sir. You’d be a good man to work for.”
    Blake slapped him on the back. “I’ll get with you once I know more details. It’s always been my dream to have a floating palace for gambling. Then if the locals get puritanical on us, we can shove off and go where we’re more welcome.”
    “Exactly right. And we can always look at moving some cargo, too. A big ol’ steamboat like the
Hattie Belle
has plenty of decks to accommodate a few barrels of whiskey or bales of cotton.”
    “We’ll see.” Blake wasn’t sure he wanted to be a trader. He did much better when he was seated at a card table. But a wise man always kept his options open. “I’d better get out of here before my appointment gets the idea I’m not interested in claiming my winnings.” He stepped back into the warm afternoon sun and crossed the deck of the
Lucky Lucy.
He would talk to the captain later, once he found out exactly when he’d be leaving.
    The gunnysack thumped against his back with each step. No matter that Blake shifted its weight from shoulder to shoulder, by the time he reached the top of the bluff, he was ready to toss the irritating bundle into a ravine. Eventually he reached the shanty where the washerwoman lived and worked.
    He dropped off his clothing and dickered with the old woman, whose back was bowed from years of bending over hot tubs and scrub boards. Normally she would have delivered the clean clothes in a few days, but since Blake wasn’t sure where he’d be living, he told her he’d come back to collect them in three days. By the time he left, both of them were satisfied with their arrangement.
    The trip down the hill was easier and cooler. He could see a boat chugging its way upstream, loaded with immigrants. It was a common sight. Dozens of families crowded onto steamboats. The lucky ones could afford to rent rooms in the interior of the boats while the poorer immigrants had to eat, live, and sleep on the upper decks, exposed to all weather conditions.
    As he made his way back to the river, the boat docked, and her passengers flowed onto the muddy banks like ants from an overturned mound. Some of them headed uphill while others stayed in the lower town, probably wanting to remain closer to their boat. He hoped they would stay away from the trapdoor saloons, a row of buildings clinging to the river south of the docks. They were perched on tall stilts to avoid damage from frequent floods, but they housed the most dangerous inhabitants of Natchez Under-the-Hill: hardened criminals who were on the lookout for easy prey. Unwary travelers were sometimes clubbed to death inside the saloons and stripped of their valuables. Then the hapless bodies were tossed through trapdoors into the river below. Most of them ended up caught in the eddies of a wide curve just south of the city, aptly named Dead Man’s Bend.
    Blake nodded to several men who had gambled at his table the past few weeks. Natchez had been good to him, giving him enough money for food and shelter. Now it had also given him his dream.
    His musings were brought short by a shout from a nearby brothel. The front door flung open, and two men stumbled onto the wooden sidewalk. Judging from the angry words