Chapter 12
Thanks to the efforts of Monsieur Gaston Bernier, the French restaurant was not only taking shape, it was going to be far finer than Rose had even imagined. When she told him “Spend what you need,” he took her at her word. Soon every steamboat arriving from San Francisco contained items meant for the River Queen’s fancy new restaurant. Gaston had shut the old restaurant down. Whenever Rose peeked inside, she was met with a disarray of unpacked boxes, rolls of carpeting, and stacks of what looked to be new tables, but she wasn’t sure. “Do not worry,” Gaston would reply when she asked. “It will all come together in due time.”
Meantime, a lunch counter had been hastily erected next to the bar in the saloon. Run by Gus, dirty apron and all, it provided a simple fare of soup, hard boiled eggs, and sandwiches. To Rose’s surprise, Gaston hadn’t yet fired the surly cook. “So what will you do about Gus when the new restaurant opens?” she asked him one day. “Will he still be running the lunch counter?”
The Frenchman flashed his little enigmatic smile, the one she’d become quite familiar with. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Do not worry, madame.”
That wasn’t all. In a moment of rashness, she’d left the choosing of the restaurant’s new name entirely up to Gaston. Now she wished she hadn’t. She was dying to know what he planned to call it, but he remained cagey. “Perhaps I’ll name it after one of Paris’s oldest restaurants. La Petite Chaise. It’s been there since 1680. Louis XIV ate there. Their onion soup, their steak tartare! Mon Dieu!” He blew a kiss in the air.
“La Petite Chaise has a nice ring to it, Gaston. I’d be happy with—”
“But on the other hand, La Tour d’Argent has been open since 1582. It was there that King Henri III used a fork for the first time.”
“Fine. La Tour d’Argent, then.”
“I will let you know in good time, madame.” Gaston gave her his eyebrows-lifted “end of conversation” look with which she never argued. Funny, for all his outrageous arrogance, she liked him and trusted him completely. Judging from what she’d seen so far, he was doing an excellent job. The new restaurant was taking shape nicely and she couldn’t be more pleased. Not only that, from what she’d seen of his cooking, she was sure she’d found an outstanding French chef who would soon dazzle Sacramento with his culinary skills.
Too bad Drucilla didn’t feel the same. Strange though it seemed, the Frenchman obviously found her attractive, although how that was possible, Rose didn’t know. All the same, his eyes lit whenever he saw her no-nonsense sister-in-law. No matter how busy he was, he would stop and engage her in a conversation all in French. In return, she would remain impatiently polite and always hurry off at the first opportunity.
More than once, Rose tried to convince her sister-in-law that a miracle had occurred and she’d attracted an admirer. “The man really likes you.”
The slight curl of Drucilla’s lip revealed her disdain. “He just wants to practice his French so he won’t get rusty.”
“Not so! I can tell he likes you, just from the way he looks at you with that little gleam in his eye. He’s a fine man, a successful man, and not bad looking, besides. You could do far worse—”
“He’s an inch shorter than I am.”
More than once, Rose threw up her hands. Why must her sister-in-law be so hardheaded? Gaston and Drucilla would make the ideal couple, perfectly suited to one another, but oh, well. She’d learned a long time ago that people didn’t always do what she wanted them to do. That was surely the case with stubborn Drucilla.
Early one afternoon, when renovations were nearly complete and the restaurant due to open in a week, Gaston came to her office and announced, “I ’ave decided on a name.”
She refrained from remarking it was about time. “What did you decide on?” She expected he’d chosen either La Petite Chaise or La Tour d’Argent.
“It will be called Gaston’s.”
For a moment the name didn’t sink in. “You mean you’re naming it after yourself?”
“But of course. It all comes together.” As if envisioning a sign high above, Monsieur Bernier raised his arm and gazed upward. “Gaston’s! Famed for his coquilles a la Normandie, his soupe à l’oignon.”
“That sounds like onion soup, but what is coquilles a la Normandie?”
The French chef beamed. “It’s the dish I’m best known for. Scallops poached in white wine, placed atop a puree of mushrooms in a scallop shell, covered with a sauce so delicious you will call it the best meal you ever ate.”
She thought a moment and had to smile. “I guess I can’t argue with that. Gaston’s it is then. The perfect name, and your dish with the scallops sounds absolutely wonderful.”
“It will be.” Gaston frowned. “My poaching pans haven’t arrived. I ordered them over a month ago.”
“They’re coming by ship?”
“On the steamship Mary Jane. She’s overdue.”
“Let’s hope she arrives today.”
* * * *
In the late afternoon, Rose was in her office when from a distance she heard the tooting of a ship’s whistle. She hurried to the restaurant and found Gaston. “Did you hear that? I’d wager it’s the Mary Jane arriving.”
More tooting followed. Gaston tipped his head. “Sounds like more than one ship.”
“Maybe they’re racing.” Rose had heard about the dubious sport of steamboat racing on the Sacramento River. Arrogant captains weren’t past taking dangerous chances in order to prove their ship was the fastest and therefore the best.
“At last, my poaching pans.” Gaston made a fast exit. Curious, Rose followed close behind.
The landing dock lay only a short distance from the River Queen. Rose and Gaston weren’t the only ones hurrying in that direction. Drawn by the sound of the ships’ dueling whistles, a steady stream of curiosity seekers was gathering on the dock and along the riverbank. Drucilla joined Rose as she and Gaston found places on the dock. Deke and Mitch had already arrived and were peering downstream. “They’re coming fast,” Mitch remarked.
Rose looked downstream. Two steamboats, their paddlewheels rotating at a furious speed, were heading for the dock practically side by side. Were they racing? The churning white wake behind each ship and the constant tooting of their whistles told her they were, especially when people standing on the decks of both ships appeared to be shouting and waving, no doubt urging their ship on.
“Damn fools!” cried someone in the crowd.
“They’d better watch out,” said a grizzled old miner. “Them boilers blow all the time.”
Rose couldn’t take her eyes off the ships. As she watched, one pulled ahead of the other. “Look,” she said to Gaston, “one’s ahead. I wonder if it’s the Mary Jane.”
She never heard his answer. As she watched, a sheet of flame shot upward from the bridge of the ship that had gone ahead, closely followed by an explosion so strong the force of it drove her backward along with everyone else on the dock. As she staggered to keep her balance, Deke’s strong arms caught her and brought her straight again. Gaston caught Drucilla. In horrified silence, the onlookers watched as flames billowed in all directions from the doomed ship. It was literally coming apart, masses of burning timber flying in all directions. In the gathering darkness, Rose could barely make out men, women, and children either jumping or being hurled into the river.
And then, as if things couldn’t possibly get any worse, flames shot up from the other steamboat, apparently caused by the burning debris blown off the first ship.
Many of the witnesses on the dock and along the waterfront remained stunned by the shock of the explosion. They gazed in horror, unable to move. Others fled the dock screaming. A few kept their heads and leaped into action.
“We’ll need boats,” Deke called. Rose watched as Deke, Mitch, and Gaston raced from the dock to an area along the waterfront where small boats were drawn ashore. Without hesitation, they jumped into a rowboat, shoved off, and started rowing toward the flaming remains of the stricken ship. Other men followed, Tim and Gus among them, until soon, in the gathering darkness, an armada of small boats headed toward the wreckage.
Rose couldn’t hear well. Her ears were ringing and numb from the explosion. Otherwise, she hadn’t been hurt and neither had Drucilla. Rose grabbed her arm. “There’s going to be survivors and they’re going to need help.”
Chaos reigned on the dock. Many women were screaming and weeping, but not Drucilla. She nodded in agreement. “Let’s get to the River Queen. We’re going to need blankets, lots of them, and whatever else we can think of.”
Hems held high, Rose and Drucilla raced the short distance to the hotel. They hurried through the saloon. How strange it looked, almost empty, the patrons having deserted their games and whiskey to rush to the waterfront. From the linen closet on the second floor, they grabbed as many blankets as they could carry and started back. Rose could hardly see her way over the top of the pile she was carrying, but when they reached the river, she was glad she’d made the effort.
Steered by Deke and Mitch, a boatload of survivors had pulled ashore. Spying Rose, Deke called, “Good, we’ll need all the blankets we can get.”
Some of the survivors climbed from the boat on their own, all of them soaking wet and shivering. Rose and others helped them ashore and gave each a blanket. They were the lucky ones. Others had been badly injured, some with broken bones, some with burns. With infinite care, Deke, Mitch, and others lifted and carried them ashore. Just when Rose thought the boat was empty, she saw two unmoving bodies lying on the bottom. “They…they’re dead?”
Deke nodded grimly. “We pulled them out of the water, but it was too late. Worse thing is, we’ll be going back because there’s more, lots more.”
A black-robed priest had arrived. Standing on the shore, he made the sign of the cross and implored, “Dear God, please help us on this terrible night.”
Rose sent up her own silent prayer. Many were badly burned. Many were dead. As the night wore on, Rose learned the ship that exploded and sunk was indeed the Mary Jane. Flames still blazed on the other ship, the Excalibur. It remained afloat but had to be abandoned. She lost track of time as she gave what help she could to victims rescued from the water and brought ashore. Worst of all was the sickening, near-unbelievable sight of the growing row of blanket-covered bodies lined up along the shore, and that included men, women, and children, too. Until now, she’d never seen a dead body before except for funerals and once on the wagon train when a careless young man had accidentally shot himself. She would never forget that ever-lengthening row of the dead, but right now must force herself not to dwell upon it. If she did, she’d fall apart, and that couldn’t happen. She must concentrate on helping the survivors. Only later, and in retrospect, would she ponder upon this heart-rending tragedy and how this night was unlike anything she’d ever lived through before, and, if God had mercy, never would again.
At least one good thing emerged from the catastrophe. At one point in that long, horrible night, the thought crossed her mind that for once, there were no distinctions of class, gender, race, or anything else. Only one thing mattered: helping the poor souls who came from the stricken ship. Everyone worked together. The Chinese kitchen workers labored alongside hotel owners, miners, and ordinary citizens. Every doctor in town had rushed to the scene to aid the badly burned, the cut and bruised, those with broken limbs. A desperate call went out for morphine, as well as linseed oil and lime-water, termed carron oil, to treat burns. A steady stream of wagons and carriages hauled the most badly injured to Sacramento’s one small hospital, located near Sutter’s Fort. A tent was hastily erected for the rest. Every hotel along the waterfront opened its doors for survivors who had no place to go. During the course of the night, Rose noticed Joy, Evette, Ruby—all the third floor girls—had come to the river. Still in their gaudy dresses, their cheeks rouged, they’d pitched in to help like everyone else. Once, when Rose was lifting a little girl from one of the rescue boats, Cherry, now heavy and awkward, stood beside her, lifting another child. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” Rose said.
“Oh, yes, I should.” Cherry had tears in her eyes. “These poor people! Seems like this is the least I can do.”
During the night, Rose threw a blanket over the shoulders of a white-haired, older crewman, one of the relatively uninjured survivors who had stepped ashore from one of the rowboats. “Thank you, ma’am,” he remarked through chattering teeth.
She asked, “Were you aboard the Mary Jane?”
“I was the engineer.”
“Were you really racing?”
The engineer responded with a bitter laugh. “I told the captain how dangerous it was, but did he listen? He points at the boiler and shouts, ‘Shove it up!’ Wants top speed. Wants to get there first and to hell with all the lives on board. Then the fool tells me to lash an oar to the safety valve so it won’t close.”
“That doesn’t sound smart.”
“It sure as hell wasn’t. T’wasn’t long before the whole damn boiler blew and landed us all in the river.”
Rescuers made trip after trip by boat to the disaster scene. At first, their goal was to find passengers and crewmen who were either treading water or clinging to wreckage and pull them to safety before they drowned. Later on, all those still alive had been rescued, and rescuers were pulling only dead bodies from the river. By then, Rose and Drucilla had moved from the beach to the tent set up for the victims where doctors worked at a frantic pace to aid the injured. Rose did what she could, applying carron oil to burns, fetching water, helping find a lost child. Far into the night—Rose lost all track of time— she was placing a bandage on a little girl’s cut face when Ben appeared, frowning with concern.
“Ah, Rose, there you are. I’ve been searching all over. Are you and Drucilla all right? We heard the explosion. Coralee was worried and sent me to fetch you home.”
Rose stood straight and wearily pushed back a wayward strand of hair. “Drucilla’s fine. She’s around somewhere. I can’t go yet. Look around at these poor people. Some are badly hurt. Many are dead. It’s all just so horrible, but I want to stay as long as they need me. Tell Coralee I’ll come home when I can.”
“Terrible tragedy,” Ben muttered as he looked around the tent. Rose didn’t miss his slight recoil when he caught sight of Tillie, face rouged, fancy coiffeur in ruins, still dressed in her red plumed finery. At the moment, she was comforting a crying child who sat on her lap while a doctor applied a bandage.
Ben’s lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “Is that one of your bawdy girls?”
Anger swelled within her. At a time like this, how dare he criticize? In fact, why should he criticize at all? She could easily say Tillie wasn’t from the River Queen, but she didn’t feel like lying. Through gritted teeth, she replied, “Yes, that’s one of my bawdy girls. Everyone has pitched in to help, and that includes all the employees of the River Queen.”
Ben’s cold, hard gaze bored into her. “You gave your word you were going to get rid of them.”
That’s enough. If ever there was a sign from God, this was it. Something snapped, and the words she’d suppressed up to this moment, came pouring out. “I said I would, but guess what? I’ve changed my mind. I am not getting rid of them, is that clear?” She braced herself for his tirade. Whatever he said would do no good. After the selfless manner in which the ladies from the third floor had conducted themselves tonight, she would not throw them out, no matter how much Ben Peterson disapproved.
She waited for his rant but it never came. Ben continued with his granite glare until he said in an icy cold voice, “You will live to regret this,” and walked away.
Drucilla had overheard. “I’m afraid you’re in for it now. Pa’s really mad.”
“I’ll worry about it later.” Not easy. She’d finally made a stand. There would be consequences, but for the moment, she put all thoughts of Ben out of her head. These poor people needed her help, and her own problems would have to wait.
Minutes later, Cherry, who’d been working beside her, clutched her stomach and doubled over. “My stars! I think my time has come.”
No, not now. This couldn’t be happening, but one look at Cherry’s pain-twisted face told Rose that it was. At all costs, she must keep her composure. She worked at keeping her voice calm. “Then you must lie down.” But where? A few cots had been brought to the tent, but they were all taken. Like most of the victims, Cherry would have to lie on the ground with nothing but a blanket to protect her. “At least the doctors are here, so you’ve got plenty of help.”
Cherry clenched her jaw. “No! I won’t be having this child in front of everybody. I want my own room and my own bed. Oh, what’s that?” A horrified look crossed her face. “I think my water just broke.”
From her limited experience, Rose was aware that when the mother’s water breaks, the baby could be coming fast. Cherry would be better off staying here, but if she wanted to go home, then by God, home she would go. Looking for help, Rose gazed around the tent. Drucilla, the third-floor girls—everyone was working at a frantic pace, trying to ease the suffering of the poor victims. She would not disturb them, could do this herself. Nothing to it. All she had to do was somehow get Cherry back to her room and then… She wasn’t sure what, but she’d deal with that later. She wrapped an arm around Cherry’s waist. “Come on, I’ll help you home.”
Cherry was able to walk from the tent on her own, but as they started up the street to the hotel, she called, “Wait!” bent over, and groaned. “There’s another pain. I dunno if I can make it, but I’ve got to.”
“We’ll stop a minute and rest and then keep on.” Rose kept her voice calm, but panic was building inside her. Cherry was too far gone. She’d never get back on her own. Over the top of Cherry’s head, she peered into the darkness. Somebody—anybody—please, I need help.
A figure emerged. “Rose, is that you?”
A miracle! It was Deke.
“Yes, it’s me.”
Mitch appeared alongside Deke. They hurried to where Rose was standing over Cherry who had just sunk to the ground. By a sliver of moonlight, Rose looked into their tired, strained faces. They’d been working nonstop and it showed. She stretched out her hand. “Can you help? She has to get home.” Cherry groaned, this time louder. “I mean, right now, this instant! She’s… she’s…”
“About to have a baby.” Deke took a close look. “Looks like there’s no time to waste. We’ll get her back to the tent and—”
“No!” Cherry cried. “I don’t care if I have this baby all alone. I want my own room and my own bed. Please, please, get me home.”
Mitch stepped forward. After a close look at Cherry, he turned to Deke. “Take the boat by yourself. If the little lady wants to go home, I’ll take her.”
Deke didn’t hesitate. “Rose, Mitch will help. I’ve got to get back. We’re still looking for bodies, and I—”
“I understand. You need to go.” As Deke disappeared into the darkness, Rose gazed at Mitch with pleading eyes. “Please, if you could just get her to her room?”
“Don’t worry.” Mitch bent and scooped Cherry into his arms and started up the road. Since he wasn’t a big man, his strength surprised her. He’d picked Cherry up like a feather and was now taking such long, fast strides, Rose could hardly keep up.
“I’m so grateful,” she remarked as she trotted alongside. “Don’t know what I would have done.”
“Glad to help,” Mitch replied, not slowing down.
“We won’t be able to find a doctor. They’re all down here or at the hospital.”
“No, we won’t.”
“Maybe I can find a midwife.”
Cherry moaned aloud. Mitch increased his pace. “By the looks of things, there’s no time to look for a midwife.”
Rose had to work hard to keep up with him. “But what shall we do?”
Mitch didn’t answer. They got to the hotel and through the entrance. Rose pointed toward the stairs. “Third floor.”
As Mitch carried Cherry up the stairs, he spoke again. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
Breathless, she struggled to keep up. “You?”
They got to the third-floor landing before he spoke again, this time to Cherry. “What’s your last name?”
“I’m Cherry Foley,” she gasped.
“Back in Australia, I’ve delivered maybe a million lambs, some not so easy, so I know how it’s done.” He looked down the hallway. “Is this where you live, Mrs. Foley? Which is your room?”
“I’ll show you.” Rose led the way to Cherry’s room and swung the door open. Mitch came through and gently laid his burden on the bed as Rose, drawing a breath of determination, closed the door behind him.