Читать книгу The Hidden Gold - Sarah Masters Buckey - Страница 5

2

Gold Rush

Everyone gathered around the fallen girl. Sister Frederica cradled her in her arms, and Dr. Gardner checked her pulse. He turned to Marie-Grace. “Grace, please get my bag. It’s in my stateroom.”

“Yes, Papa,” said Marie-Grace. Her father always carried his medical supplies with him in a small black bag. Marie-Grace ran to her father’s room and grabbed the bag. She was rushing out the door again when she almost collided with a well-dressed young man wearing eyeglasses.

“Excuse me!” said Marie-Grace, hurrying on.

“Can I help you?” asked the young man.

“No—but thank you,” Marie-Grace replied.

As soon as Marie-Grace returned with the bag, Papa dug inside it and pulled out a bottle of smelling salts. He opened the bottle and waved it under Wilhelmina’s nose.

Wilhelmina gagged. “That smells awful!”

“Yes, it does,” Papa agreed, putting the top back on the bottle. “But I’m glad you’re awake now.” He put his hand on her forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever,” he added. Papa looked closely at Wilhelmina. “When was the last time you ate a full meal?”

Wilhelmina shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Maybe she fainted from hunger, Marie-Grace realized. Marie-Grace volunteered at Holy Trinity Orphanage in New Orleans. Sometimes hungry children arrived at the orphanage, and they were often thin and tired looking, like Wilhelmina.

“You need to rest and get plenty of food,” Papa told the girl. He helped Wilhelmina to her feet. “Luckily, you’ll have a chance to do that on this trip.”

“Here’s some water,” said Sister Catherine, handing her a glass. “Would you like something to eat?”

Wilhelmina took a sip of water. Then she shook her head. “No, I’m all right,” she said.

Marie-Grace saw that Wilhelmina’s hand was trembling as she held the glass. “I’m going to my room,” Marie-Grace told her. “Do you want to come with me?”

Wilhelmina nodded and gave the glass back to Sister Catherine. Marie-Grace led the way along the gallery. Instead of numbers, the stateroom doors were all labeled with the names of states. Marie-Grace stopped at the brass plaque that said “North Carolina.”

“See, there’s room here for both of us,” Marie-Grace said as she opened the door. She gestured to the two berths. “You can lie down in either bed.”

Wilhelmina took off her shawl and settled herself on the bottom berth. “I’m not tired, but I’ll sit here for a moment,” she said, as if she were doing Marie-Grace a favor. “Then I’ll go see about my trunks.”

“All right,” Marie-Grace said. She had hoped that she and Wilhelmina could become friends, but Wilhelmina didn’t seem friendly at all. She’s only just lost her father, Marie-Grace told herself. Maybe she wants to be alone.

The silence was awkward in the small room. Marie-Grace decided to keep busy by unpacking her trunk. She unfolded two shawls and a pair of petticoats, and then she took out her most prized possession, her silver-framed portrait of her mother. As she placed Mama’s portrait on the cloth-covered bedside table, Marie-Grace heard the steamboat’s whistle pierce the air. Then the Liberty lurched forward.

Marie-Grace hurried to the window to watch the boat pull away from the levee. “We’re on our way!” she announced. She turned to Wilhelmina. “Do you think—” she started to ask. But then she stopped. Wilhelmina had curled up on the bed and was sound asleep. Her mouth was open and she was snoring gently. I guess she was tired after all, thought Marie-Grace.

Clang, clang! Marie-Grace jumped at the sound of the bell outside her stateroom. A waiter called loudly in an Irish accent, “Supper will be served in ten minutes!”

Thank goodness! thought Marie-Grace. She put down the book she had been reading by the light of the oil lamp. For the last hour or so, she’d smelled delicious aromas of meat roasting and bread baking. Now she was hungry and glad to see that Wilhelmina’s eyes were finally open.

“What’s that noise?” Wilhelmina asked, sitting up quickly.

“It’s the bell for supper. You’ve been asleep for a while,” said Marie-Grace. She didn’t mention that during the long afternoon, the steamboat had stopped once to bring aboard wood and another time to let a passenger off at a plantation. Crewmen had brought Wilhelmina’s smaller trunk into the stateroom, and Papa, Sister Catherine, and Sister Frederica had also stopped by to see if Wilhelmina was all right. Annabelle had poked her head in several times, too. Wilhelmina had slept soundly through all the comings and goings.

As Wilhelmina stood up, her foot banged against her brass-bound trunk. It was so close to Marie-Grace’s trunk that there was barely room to move.

“Where’s the other trunk?” Wilhelmina asked. She looked confused. “The big one?”

“It’s down on the main deck, with the rest of the cargo,” Marie-Grace reminded her. “Captain Smith promised that it’d be safe there.”

“People shouldn’t make promises that they can’t keep!” declared Wilhelmina, frowning. She bent over her trunk and checked its lock. “You didn’t open it, did you?”

“No, of course not,” said Marie-Grace, surprised by the question.

Outside the stateroom, the bell rang again. “Supper is served!” called the waiter.

Marie-Grace wrapped her gray wool shawl around her shoulders. “We’d better go,” she said, edging her way past the trunks.

“I don’t want to,” Wilhelmina replied, sinking back down onto the bed.

Marie-Grace paused by the door, uncertain what to do. Papa said that Wilhelmina needs to eat, she thought. Then she remembered that Wilhelmina had traveled downriver as a deck passenger. Those passengers had to either bring their own food or buy meals from the steamboat’s kitchen. Maybe Wilhelmina thinks she has to pay for her food, thought Marie-Grace. But she doesn’t have any money.

“Well,” said Marie-Grace, resting her hand on the doorknob, “I wouldn’t want to miss supper, ’cause I know we can eat in the main cabin. We can have as much as we want, too.”

Wilhelmina’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Yes,” Marie-Grace assured her. “You’re a cabin passenger, so you don’t have to pay anything extra for meals.”

“I guess I might as well go, then,” said Wilhelmina, jumping up. Together, the two girls walked into the main cabin. The room stretched almost the full length of the steamboat. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. Their lights glimmered on the gold-trimmed walls and were reflected in huge gilt-framed mirrors.

“Gracious!” murmured Wilhelmina as she looked around the elegant room. “I’ve never seen anything so fancy in all my life.”

“It is pretty,” agreed Marie-Grace, smiling as she led the way through the main cabin. The back of the room was set aside as the ladies’ sitting area. It looked like a fashionable parlor, with a grand piano, velvet-covered sofas, and fine carpets. The forward part of the cabin was designed for gentlemen passengers. It had polished wood floors instead of carpets, and it was furnished with mahogany tables and chairs. During most of the day, the gentlemen’s area was filled with men playing cards.

Now that it was mealtime, the tables in the center of the room were covered with white linens and set with bowls and platters of food. There were a dozen passengers at each table, and the room was humming with conversation.

Marie-Grace saw Mrs. Rumsford and Annabelle at the far end of the room, and she waved to them. Then she and Wilhelmina joined the table where Papa was sitting with Sister Catherine and Sister Frederica. Papa had saved two chairs for the girls, and they sat down just as the other passengers at the table were introducing themselves.

Marie-Grace recognized Mr. Zachariah Hopkins as the man with glasses whom she had almost run into earlier. His blond hair was slicked back neatly and parted in the middle, and his white shirt was freshly pressed.

“I recently finished school in Virginia,” said Mr. Hopkins as he helped himself to roast chicken. “I’ve always wanted to see the Mississippi River, and I thought a ride on the Liberty would be a grand experience.”

Sister Catherine studied his face. “You’ve been to New Orleans before though, haven’t you?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” Mr. Hopkins replied with a smile. “My family is from Virginia, and I attended the College of William and Mary there.”

“How peculiar!” said Sister Catherine. “You look so much like a young man who visited our hospital during the yellow fever epidemic last summer. That young man did not wear spectacles, though.”

“Well, I’ve had to wear eyeglasses since I was a little boy,” said Mr. Hopkins as he pushed the wire frames back up on the bridge of his nose.

The painter Marie-Grace had seen on the deck was at the table, too. He was a dark-haired young man with sad-looking brown eyes, and he spoke English with a French accent.

“My name is Jacques Paul André,” he said. He gave a little bow to the table and explained that he had traveled all the way from Paris so that he could paint pictures of America.

“If anyone would like to have a portrait painted during this trip, I will be happy to oblige.” He smiled and then added, “For a small fee, of course.”

“Oh, I’d love to have my portrait painted!” said the plump, middle-aged woman that Marie-Grace had seen on deck when Wilhelmina first came on board. Now the woman and her husband, a bald man who was equally plump, introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Montjoy. They said that they were on their way to perform at a theater in Chicago.

“Reggie and I travel all over the country,” said Mrs. Montjoy, whose red-rouged cheeks looked like bright apples against her pale skin. “We do theater, magic, music—almost every kind of show.”

Mr. Montjoy looked up from his plate of venison, fish, and potatoes. “We’re known as the Magnificent Montjoys,” he said proudly. “Captain Smith has asked us to put on a magic show tomorrow night, and all the cabin passengers will be invited.”

How exciting! thought Marie-Grace. She loved music and theater, and she had never seen a magic show before. She looked over at Wilhelmina, but the girl was so busy eating that she didn’t even glance up.

Marie-Grace reached for the gravy bowl. There was only about a teaspoon of gravy left, and she dribbled it onto her potatoes. A moment later, a tall, heavyset man with a mustache settled himself in the last available chair at the table, just across from Marie-Grace.

The man looked at the empty gravy bowl and frowned. “Waiter!” he boomed. “Bring us some more gravy and be quick about it.” Then he nodded to the table. “Hello, everyone. I’m Jack Bold. I sell jewelry up and down the Mississippi River. Wedding rings, watches, ladies’ lockets— anything you need, I’m your man.” He smiled broadly. “Glad to meet you all!”

While the others at the table greeted Mr. Bold, Wilhelmina dropped her fork and stared at him. “I remember you from Monsieur LaPlante’s hotel!” she said accusingly.

“Yes, I was there—what a coincidence to see you here now,” said Mr. Bold, looking surprised. “I am very sorry about your loss.” He paused, and then asked, “Tell me, did you ever find what you were, ah, looking for?”

“Not yet,” said Wilhelmina. She glared at him, and then she picked up her fork and bent over her food again.

What was Wilhelmina looking for? Marie-Grace wondered. And why is she angry at this man?

Marie-Grace helped herself to crispy fish covered with a creamy sauce. The sauce was delicious, and Marie-Grace saw that Wilhelmina was eating it hungrily, too. “It’s good, isn’t it?” Marie-Grace whispered.

Wilhelmina glanced up, nodded, and then looked down at her plate again. When a waiter brought several pies and cakes to the table, Wilhelmina finished her fish and helped herself to a generous slice of pecan pie. She ate every morsel of the pie, and then she slipped away from the table without a word.

Marie-Grace’s heart sank as Wilhelmina hurried out of the main cabin. She doesn’t want to talk to me at all, thought Marie-Grace.

As soon as Wilhelmina was out of sight, Mr. Bold shook his head. “That poor girl!” he said with a sigh. “When I was at LaPlante’s hotel, I heard that her father had found a small fortune in gold out in California. Mr. Newman was bringing the gold back home when he got sick, and he died at the hotel while I was staying there. It was a terrible thing.”

“That’s a shame,” said Mr. Montjoy sympathetically. His bald head shone in the chandeliers’ light. “But at least his daughter got the gold.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Bold. He took a sip of his coffee. “After Newman died, his daughter arrived. She searched all through her father’s things, but she says she didn’t find any gold.”

“Could Monsieur LaPlante have taken the gold himself—before Wilhelmina got there?” Mr. Hopkins asked. He pushed his eyeglasses up on his nose. “Innkeepers can’t always be trusted.”

Papa spoke up. “I have heard of Monsieur LaPlante. He is well respected in New Orleans,” he said. “He’s known for being an honest man, and a good innkeeper, too.”

“Yes, that’s why I stayed at his hotel,” agreed Mr. Bold. “I don’t believe old LaPlante would take anything that didn’t belong to him. Still, no one knows what happened to the gold. Everyone at the inn was talking about the mystery.”

“Why didn’t Wilhelmina’s father leave a note saying what he’d done with the gold?” asked Mrs. Montjoy. She looked concerned. “That would’ve been the sensible thing to do.”

“Well, you’re right, ma’am,” said Mr. Bold. He helped himself to another piece of pie. “And maybe he would have if he’d been well enough. But he was very sick. All I heard him talk about were fairy tales and nursery rhymes, and none of it made any sense.”

Monsieur André looked up from his plate. “Then the gold is still hidden somewhere?” he asked, suddenly interested.

Mr. Bold took a bite of pie. “I suppose it could be,” he agreed, chewing thoughtfully. “But LaPlante said that all Newman left behind was his two trunks. So if he hid the gold, I guess it would have to be in those trunks.”

Marie-Grace remembered how worried Wilhelmina had been about the trunks. I guess that’s why, she thought.

“Perhaps Mr. Newman buried the gold!” Mrs. Montjoy suggested. She leaned forward, her eyes shining with excitement. “He might’ve left a secret map that shows where the gold is hidden. That’s what pirates used to do!”

“I don’t know about that, ma’am,” Mr. Bold said doubtfully. “But I hope the gold isn’t lost. From what I’ve heard, Wilhelmina’s family is as poor as church mice.” Mr. Bold shook his head. “It’d be a shame if the child couldn’t find the fortune that her father worked so hard to get.”

“We’ll say a prayer for the girl,” said Sister Catherine. Sister Frederica nodded.

No wonder Wilhelmina is so upset, thought Marie-Grace. Her father died trying to bring back gold from California—and now the gold is missing!