the river rose by gilbert morris - chapter 1

8/2/2019 The River Rose by Gilbert Morris - Chapter 1

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CHAPTER ONE

The Gayoso House Hotel in Memphis, Tennesseegleamed like Mount Olympus on the bluff high abovethe Mississippi River. Its six fifty-foot-high Doric col-umns topped by the grand white marble pediment hadbecome a sure landmark to the lesser beings on the river.A pallid December sun rose behind the hotel, its weaklight still making the grand edifice seem to glow.

Jeanne Bettencourts eyes watered a little as shestared up at the hotel. The wind was keening off theriver, and as she hurried along Front Street she adjustedher woolen muffler to cover her mouth and nose.Above the plain gray wool were wide-set velvet browneyes, odd because they had a perfect almond shape that

was more East Indies than red-blooded American. Thesearching bitter wind teased out several thick chestnut-brown curls from her mobcap and hood, and impa-tiently she tucked them back in.

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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 havingenough money to stay at Gayoso House. It was a luxuri-ous place, with real brass room keys and fobs, daintilywrapped guest soaps, satiny bedlinens, eiderdown com-forters, fireplaces, and velvet chairs and cherry tables ineach 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 Jeannereached the bottom step the great Gothic bells of St.Peters church began to ring the hour of seven a.m. Thedoor was opened by Mrs. Wiedemann, the stern German

housekeeper, who stood frowning as the servants filedin. Jeanne was last, on the final stroke of seven, and Mrs.Wiedemann frowned. You are almost late, Jeanne.

Yes, maam, she said submissively, following thewomans heavy tread into the housekeeping supplyroom. She wasnt late, of course. But Jeanne was luckyto 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 ofhooks, each with a neatly printed white card above it.Jeanne hung her cape and muffler on the hook labeledJ.Bettencourt, gave another quick pat-push to the hairescaping from her mobcap, and checked her whiteapron to make sure it was spotless. At the Gayoso onewas not required to have a uniform as such thoughthey required that the maids wear gray skirts and plainwhite blouses. The hotel supplied each maid with two


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aprons and two mobcaps, and if you came to work atthe Gayoso with your apron dirty you did not work at

the Gayoso on that day. Satisfied that she presented aneat and clean appearance, Jeanne began to gather hercleaning supplies. They were all stored in a long rowof closets across from the hooks, kept locked to deterstealing. Mrs. Wiedemann had a very impressive bunchof keys hanging at her waist. She stood watching suspi-ciously as the maids gathered their supplies.

When they were all ready with their five-gallonbuckets full, they started filing up the back staircase tobegin the day. Mrs. Wiedemann called out, Jeanne, Iwould speak with you for a moment.

Jeanne kept her face expressionless, though she wasdismayed. 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 toher. 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 happywith 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 pillowslipturnover. You may buy ten soaps for one penny, and fivepillowcases for one penny, if you wish.

Jeannes dark winged eyebrows rose with surprise.All such perquisites belonged to the housekeeper, andin four years this was the first time she had ever knownMrs. Wiedemann to let anyone have a chance to buy any

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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 fora penny . . .Yes, maam, I would very much like to buy some

soaps and pillowcases, Jeanne said gratefully. Ten soapsfor one cent and five pillowslips for one cent is verygenerous. 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 havethem for you tonight, when you leave.

Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs. Wiedemann, I have no moneywith 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 bringthe money, Jeanne. Now get to work, please. She turnedand marched away.

Jeanne was ecstatic as she flew up the three flights ofstairs to the top floor. It was December 18th, 1854, twodays before her daughters birthday and seven days until

Christmas morning. She would have time to sew a softlongsleeved chemise from the pillowcases in the nextweek, so Marvel would have two birthday presents andtwo Christmas presents.

Jeanne began, as always, with the first room, #301.All of the rooms at the Gayoso were alike, but thewealthiest and most prestigious patrons preferred thetop floor. In winter it was warm, and in summer thecool breezes off the river kept them bearable. The thirdfloor was, of course, the most difficult one for the cham-bermaids because they had to travel up and down three


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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 atfirst Jeanne had thought that the woman was deliber-ately making it difficult for her. But then she realizedthat 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 hadstopped coming up to the top floor to check the maids

work. Jeanne slowly started training the maids, and thensupervising them.

Jeanne was very happy to see that her first guest wasa regular, an older man named Mr. Borden. She knewthat 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 openedthe 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 firehad not yet caught well and the room was chilly. His teatable was littered with newspapers. A fat cigar was lit andsmoldered in an ashtray next to a silver coffee service. Mr.Borden was a round, jovial man, bald with a thick silverfringe and sideburns, and bright blue eyes. Jeanne! Oh, Iam glad to see you, Jeanne. Come in, come in, girl!

Good morning, Mr. Borden, Jeanne said with realpleasure. She went to the fireplace, noting that the


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wood boy had cleaned the mantel and hearth well, andstirred the coals and added another log. The flames

leapt up and the fire began crackling comfortably. ThenJeanne picked up her bucket and started toward thebathroom.

Just a minute, Jeanne, come here, I have somethingfor you, he called after her. Besides, Im too lazy topour my own coffee. Sad, isnt it? Would you do me thehonor?

Of course, sir, she said, returning to pour out asteaming cup of coffee with three sugars and heavycream, just as he liked it.

Mm, you fix it better than I do anyway, he saidappreciatively. Now, Ive got some things hereoh,where is the blastedthere it is.Frank Leslies Illustrated

Weekly. From last week, but I thought that you mightnot 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 YorkHerald, theArkansasGazette, thelocalAppeal.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 Icaught you sneaking a read of my Herald, Ive thoughtabout it. You see, Jeanne, Ive never thought twice aboutbuying half-a-dozen newspapers every morning, skim-ming the headlines, then throwing them away. But youcant do that, can you?


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No, sir, Jeanne said, slowly rising. But I never meantto

I know, he interrupted her hastily. No, youwouldnt. I just think you should be able to read thenewspapers if you want. Very busily he re-lit his cigar,sipped his coffee, shuffled newspapers, and finally beganreading.

Jeanne put the newspapers outside the door andbegan cleaning. She scrubbed the bathroom, polished

the faucets, cleaned the toilet, then went into the roomto 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 hersupplies to leave, he looked up from his newspaper andsaid, Jeanne, dont forget your Leslies.

She had not forgotten itfar from itbut she wastoo embarrassed to intrude upon him to greedily shufflethrough the untidy pile of newspapers on the table tofind it again. She went back to the table, and it was lyingto 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 impertinentand ask you a personal question? Dunno why youdobject, you see, Im already rude enough to call you byyour given name and smoke cigars in front of you.

I dont object to any of that, sir, she said with asmall smile, and you may ask me a question.

Mm. Are you married, Jeanne?


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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 experienceeven the kindest guests had no interest in a chamber-maids life, unless it was one of the men who took agreat deal of interest, generally in a chambermaids per-

son. When Mr. Borden had asked the first question, shehad a moment of discomfort, but it had swiftly passed.She knew he wasnt that type of man. She had alwaysknown. 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 grandsonthat is possibly the most intelligent, the most wondrouschild 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 isclever, is she? Must take after her mother. Thank youfor indulging my boorish questions. Ive just wonderedabout you, you see. Id like for you and your daughter tohave a good Christmas.

Mr. Borden, with this money, I can assure you that Iand my daughter will have a glorious Christmas. Thankyou again, sir. She gathered up her things, gave him afinal curtsey and a smile, and left.

As soon as she pulled the door closed behind hershe stretched out the five-dollar bill and stared at it


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in wonder. In the previous Christmases, she had madesome one-dollar tips but never five dollars. Happily

tucking it into her ankle boot, she checked her list forthe occupant of the next room. She was the only cham-bermaid that could read. The other girls had lists withthe room numbers carefully drawn the exact same wayas the brass numerals on the doors.

With some trepidation she knocked on Room #302, forher 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 wasopen 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 astraight razor in his hand. Hello, Beautiful! Just give mea minute, Im finishing up.

Its not like Im calling on you,Jeanne thought grimlywith 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 excessivelygratefulbut he was in his sock feet, and he wasntwearing a shirt. His face still had shaving cream on it,but he seemed unaware as he came and put both handson her waist. Who says toilette? Youre not like anychambermaid I ever saw, Jeanne. He tried to draw hercloser. And youre so beautiful

With deliberation Jeanne grabbed his hands and liftedthem away from her away from her as if they were some


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loathsome rodents, and said icily, Didnt you know? Ilearned 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. Illbe 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 ofthe maids. The first time she had cleaned his room, hehad lightly laid his hands on her shoulders, then turnedher around to give her a jolly hug, and then he tried tokiss 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 herwork. Since then he had tried again and again, but asJeanne gained more experience she had become quiteadept at keeping men at arms length. This was the firsttime, however, that he had been half-clothedor half-naked, as she saw itand she had been sharper withhim 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 automaticallychecking the hearth she went into the bathroom andpaused before the big gilt-edged mirror over the sink tostudy her reflection. In her opinion, J.B. Cunninghamalways 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 archedwings. Her face was a small oval, with a delicate nose


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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, almostboyish. She looked much younger than her age; she wastwenty-five but she knew that she barely looked eigh-teen. That, she reflected, was something that womenusually desired, but to her it was a nuisance. Men wouldhave been more respectful of her, surely, if they knewshe was a widow with a young daughter.

Efficiently she finished the room and went on tothe next, noting that it was another frequent guest, Mr.George Masters. He responded to her knock and bid herto come in. She opened the door, stepped inside, andcurtseyed.

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 Greekprofile. He was a wealthy planter, and in the last sixmonths his stays at the Gayoso had become much morefrequent and of longer duration. He always looked atJeanne with admiration, she had seen, but he was neverforward or insinuating. He did talk to her, much like Mr.

Borden did, with particular cordiality though he didntask personal questions. He seemed to be truly interestedin what she had to say.

I am doing very well, thank you, Mr. Masters, shereplied.

And are you looking forward to Christmas? heasked. He was standing in front of the fireplace, hishands behind his back. His tailoring was always elegant,his frock coats perfectly fitted, his double-breastedwaistcoats of satin, with a fine gold watch chain sus-pended from the pocket and hooking onto the middle


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button. His hair was perfectly styled. Jeanne could notimagine 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. Shepicked up her bucket and started toward the bathroom.

Im glad to hear it, he said, and Jeanne stopped, puther bucket down, and turned to face him. When a guestwished to converse with you, you stopped what youwere doing until they were finished with you. He went

on, I came into town particularly for the ChristmasRegale. I was wondering if you were planning on attend-ing?

This year, for the first time, the City of Memphis wassponsoring a public Christmas fair. The playbills postedall 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 seeyou there, Jeanne?

Perhaps, sir, she said evenly, and waited.

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but finally hewent to the armoire and pulled out a heavy dark bluedoublebreasted topcoat and a fine beaver top hat. Ifyoull excuse me, I have people waiting for me. There isan envelope on the mantel, its for you. I hope you havea 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 alwaysleft it for her. Jeanne marveled at his delicacy. Most ofthe guestswho were males, of coursemade a show


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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 toenvelope her in a hug. But Jeanne was not going to giveanyone a hug for a dollar, or even for a lot of dollars, andshe slipped away from him.

Each floor of the hotel had fifty rooms, and normallyall one hundred and fifty rooms were occupied. Thisclose to Christmas, however, the hotel had only eightyrooms, 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 letthem into a room when the guest wasnt there. As far asshe knew, she was the only person that Mrs. Weidemannever gave a master key to. She did her seven rooms, andthe extra. She then checked all the other girls roomsto make certain they were thoroughly cleaned. It wasabout 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 tookher over seventeen days of work to earn that muchmoney. Thank you, Lord!She exulted to the bitter eastwind. Thank You for taking such good care of us!

Because of the Christmas season, the shops alongMain Street were staying open late, and the streetswere still busy. Men in heavy wool topcoats and tallbeaver hats, arm-in-arm with fur-clad women, mingledwith the rivermen, the clerks, the charwomen, the coal


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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 overthe boardwalk. She would have liked to linger and lookat some of the shops that she could never go into, likeMadame Chasseurs Cosmetics and Perfumery, but she

was in a hurry to get home to Marvel. And it was stillharshly cold, though the wind had died down.

Quickly she made her way down Main to AndertonsGrocery and Butchery. The store was busy, with womencrowding around the fresh vegetables that Mr. Andertonhad 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 mouthtwisted, she looked at the little round green balls andthought how very good they would be for Marvel, butshe 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 kaledid look freshly green, and cabbage cooked with a hamhock would be very good. Picking through the bundlesof kale carefully, she finally chose one that seemed fulland without blemish, and went up to the long coun-ter, where Mr. and Mrs. Overton were busy waiting oncustomers. Mrs. Overton finally looked up at her witha flushed plump face and said, Oh, Mrs. Bettencourt, Isee you found the nice kale we got in today. Did you seethe Brussels sprouts?

Yes, maam, they look verygreen, Jeanne said


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politely. May I please have a quart of milk, and wouldyou 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 beenthat busy all the day long . . . She bustled off towardthe butchered meats in the back. Jeanne leaned over tolook behind the counter, for there were two large binsof 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 quartof milk. This is the smallest ham hock we have, Mrs.Bettencourt, but it still has some good meat and fat toit. That would be seven cents a pound, and this is abouttwo 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 werestealing them, and theyre a nickel apiece. Would youlike to come around and look at them?

No, thank you, maam, if you wouldBut 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 Imblind? Plain as plain I saw you poking holes in that therecabbage! Yaint gittin no deals, neither! Plain as plain!She turned back to Jeanne with a polite smile. Youwere saying, Mrs. Bettencourt?

Id like for you to choose two of the best apples,please, Mrs. Overton. And Id like a half-pound bag ofblack tea, Jeanne said with amusement. The Overtons,


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like most of her guests at the Gayoso, treated her withrespect, 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 taughther well. J. B. Cunningham had been right about onething, 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 facepressed close up to the glass, staring wistfully at the freshvegetable display. Jeanne felt a deep pang, as she alwaysdid when she saw Roberty. But she smiled as he held thedoor open for her. Hello, Roberty. I was hoping Id seeyou tonight.

His thin dirty face brightened. You was? How comewas that?

It so happens that my stock of matches is very low,

I desperately need some kindling, and also I was hopingthat you might do me a very great favor, Jeanne said,slowing her step to match his. He was a boy of aboutten, she thought, small and thin and hungry-looking.There were dozens, maybe even hundreds, of boys likehim in Memphis.

I got matches, Mrs. Bettencourt, he said eagerly.

And I kept back a good bundle of wood for you, incase. I hid it round the corner when I saw you goinginto Andertons. He trotted down one of the dank lit-tle alleys and came back with an armload of sticks and


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small branches. Ill do you a favor, maam, anything, youjust ask.

Well, you know the little Christmas tree you foundfor me, she said, weve decorated it some, but I thinkId very much like to have some pine cones to use fordecorations. Do you think you could find any?

Oh, yes, maam! Theres a big stand of pines over onMud 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 thecity 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 winterand stayed there for long. Each day the wood monkeysranged up and down the waterfront, picking up everysplinter lost from the endless line of carts hauling woodto the hungry riverboats.

I got a surprise for you, too, Mrs. Bettencourt, hesaid proudly. I got you some pretty good little sticks ofrich pine.

How wonderful! Jeanne said. One can never seem

to buy rich pine. And as it happens, today I have a littleextra money, and Id love to have every splinter of richpine 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 Jeannesas they hurried north of town, to the district known asThe Pinch. Originally it had been called the Pinchgut


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District, because of the gaunt and pinched faces of thepoor people, mostly Irish, who had settled there. It was

the poorest section of the town.But Jeanne felt that she and Marvel had a fairlygood house, considering that they were indeed verypoor. It was a small clapboard shotgun house that wasonly about ten years old. Shotgun houses were calledthat because of the open middle hallway from front torear; you could shoot a shotgun through them. To keep

out the homeless drunks and thieves and other, worsecriminals, Jeanne and her neighbor, the ODwyers, hadput up stout bolted doors at each end of the house.The ODwyers lived in the room on the right side andJeanne and Marvel on the left. The one thing that Jeannetreasured most about the single room was that it had afireplace. That was why she had decided on renting thehouse instead of living in a more convenient boarding-house.

Finally they reached her home, and Jeanne dreaded thenext few minutes. She felt terribly guilty about Roberty.She didnt know if he had any family, any parents, shedidnt even know if he had a home or if he was one of the

true orphans who camped out in the summer and sleptin 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 darkhallway. 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 downat her door, then pulled some sticks out of his pocket.Heres the rich pine, Mrs. Bettencourt. How many


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matches do you need?How many do you have?

Bout a dozen left, I think, he said, groping in thedark hallway.Good, Ill take whatever you have. Now, I want you

to take this, Roberty, for the wood and the rich pine andthe 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 Illsee you tomorrow with the pine cones! He turned andran out the door, pulling it securely shut behind him. Healways hurried away like that, as if he sensed Jeannesturmoil over asking him into her home. With regretJeanne opened the door to her room and hurried tobring 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 dooropened and she came running out. Mama, youre home!Why didnt you come get me? she cried, throwing herarms around Jeannes legs.

Because I have a birthday surprise here for someone

and I was trying to hide it, Jeanne said, swooping downto lift her up and kiss her. Youre going to have to gostand 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 Marvelseyes grew big and round as she saw the bulging can-

vas bag on the worktable. Gunness! Are those all yourthings, Mama?

They are mine and yours, Jeanne said, smiling.Marvel always said gunness, not goodness. Now, if


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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, notyour breath.

Jeanne took off her cape and muffler and then care-fully removed her mobcap. It looked clean, but of courseher apron got dirty in the course of a days work. Shethrew it into a bucket of water with boracic acid in it,

for she had found that just soaking it overnight wouldremove the stains without having to scrub. Smoothingher hair, she put on a black wool shawl and went outin 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 carefullyplacing small branches on it. The coal-glow lit her intentface. Though she had inherited Jeannes large dark eyes,she was rather a plain child, with a thin face and mousysandy-colored hair. Small for her age, her hands weremore like a four-year-olds than a six-year-olds. Her legs

and arms were skinny, and her neck seemed too smallfor 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. Marvelhad been born two months prematurely, and she hadnever gained normal strength and health.

But she was a pleasing child, because she was bright

and alert and interested in everything, even things thatmost children her age would find a dead bore. Jeanne wasalternately grateful and frustrated with her cleverness.She was gratified when Marvel had started learning to


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read at five years old, and she had been frustrated whenMarvel had insisted she explain why the ODwyers had

six children and Jeanne only had one. Life with Marvelwas 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 ashovelful 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 welltake a look at my bag over there. She set up the irontripod and suspended a cast iron pot over the hottestpart of the fire. All last night she had simmered oxtails,onions, and carrots over the slow fire. Now she added acupful 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 rustysprings, 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 whileJeanne sewed. Tonight they got the canvas bag and set itdown between them.

First, though, before we see these wonderful things,I want us to say a thank-you prayer, Jeanne said. TodayI had some generous guests that gave me tips. We have

to thank Mr. Borden, Mr. Masters, Mr. Cunningham, andMr. Davis.

Marvel nodded and bowed her head. Dear LordJesus, thank you for Mr. Borden and Mr. Masters and Mr.


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Cunningham and Mr. Davis. Thank you for the moneythey 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 saidreproachfully. Youre just joshin me.

Im sorry, I think youll like this better. Here is milkand a ham hock, which I suppose are almost as amazing

as kale. But look at thisand this Jeanne pulled outthe 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 isthat She snatched the bag from Jeannes hand andlifted it to her nose and sniffed. It is! Its tea! You got ussome tea!

Mr. Borden got us some tea, Jeanne corrected her.And these newspapers. Just look, Marvel, this one haspictures.

Oh, Mama, could we please, please, have a cup oftea? And we have milk and sugar! Couldnt we maketea, 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 breadand 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 meto do with the money he gave me. Yes, tonight we mayhave tea instead of supper.

Oh, thank you, thank you! Marvel said. I just love


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tea, and I know its so spensive we cant hardly ever buyit.

We canhardly 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 himor not, Marvel, Jeanne explained. In a way, I work forhim. 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 youtalk about the others you sound funny, like you dontlike them.

What? No, no, Marvel, its not that I dislike them. Itsjust notthe situationits one of those things aboutadults 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 PastorBeecham. I just dont understand why.

Jeanne blinked several times. She didnt actively dis-like all men, of course. But she didnt trust them. Shetreated them with courtesy, but with cool, distant cour-

tesy. She found it troublesome that Marvel had noticedanything peculiar. In Jeannes mind, she was equallypolite to everyone. How could Marvel have recognizedany difference in her attitude toward men? Perhaps itwas simply that Marvel was overly sensitive because shehad no father.

Jeanne reached over and hugged Marvel. It is hardfor you to understand things about grown-up men andwomen, little girl. Just dont worry. Because I love youso much, so very much, and I promise Ill protect youand keep you safe.


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Marvel buried her face in Jeannes shoulder. I knowyoull take care of me, Mama. Ive always known. I love

you, too.

the river rose by gilbert morris - chapter 1

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