Chapter 17: PROGRESS
By the time Jess and Alcide finished their chore, the noise from below had abated and the boat grew silent again aside from the symphony of snores, grunts and whistles. Cap'n Booger ambled around the wheelhouse to advise the time of banishment was up. Alcide asked if he should wake up the others. The captain told him, no... let them sleep as long as they needed but that he, Alcide, should probably get started on lunch. It'd be a late lunch, but then, they'd be having a late dinner.
Turning to leave, he beckoned to Jess. "Put yer duds on an' come below. Painter's waitin' to have a word. We'll be in the saloon."
What? Already?
Hurriedly dressing, Jess tried to steady himself for whatever news was to come—good or bad. Bounding down the stairs, he nearly slipped and fell. His heart was thumping.
Painter was already seated at the head of the table, cigar fired up and glass filled from a ceramic jug. Seated to Painter's left with his own libation, Cap'n Booger gestured to Jess to take the chair opposite and poured one for him.
"It's a little early for me, Cap."
"Drink it anyway. You'll need it."
Trying to control his palsied hand, Jess tossed back the entire contents. His gullet was on fire and his eyeballs threatened to shoot out like miniature cannonballs. Whatever this was, it was far more potent than what they'd been imbibing the night before. Before the mist cleared his eyes and nose were both watering. He had to use the back of his hand to wipe both, lacking sleeves.
"Swamp poteen," Cap'n Booger explained simply.
Painter's face was a mask of inscrutability as he waited for Jess to return to some semblance of sensibility. Then he spoke.
"He's alive."
"Wha... uh... he is? You sure?" Fer God's sake don't babble like a idiot! "Where is he? When can I go see 'im?"
"That's the good news. The bad news is, he don't want to see you."
Jess was stunned. "But... why?"
"He don't believe you are who you say you are. If you attempt to come near him, you will be killed."
Jess' gut plummeted to his feet. "Did he tell you that himself?"
"No. This information comes third-hand, from a reliable source."
"I can't give up... not now. I just... can't!" Jess moaned, plunging his face in his hands.
"He claims all his kin died in the house fire you described. That you couldn't possibly be his brother."
"I told you what happened."
"My word don't count for shit with Carp," Painter said softly, almost kindly. "You got any proof? Something we could send him? A tintype maybe."
"No. Nothing. But if he'd just meet me... see me. He'd know..."
"Well, he won't."
"Can't you even tell me where to find him. I'll take the chance..."
Painter nodded negatively. "Could... but won't. I ain't takin' responsibility for you getting your head blown off or your throat cut."
"Excuse me for interrupting," Cap'n Booger said. "But may I make a suggestion here?" Seeing that he had their attention, he continued. "That story you told Painter last night... do you think you could write it all down? Along with any other childhood memories that only the two of you would know about?"
"I 'spose I could. It'd take me all day... I don't write too fast."
"Excellent idea, Bruce," Painter said. "Jess... you should start on that right away. If you can get it done... or enough of it, anyway... by nightfall, I'll send someone out tonight."
"He won't know my handwritin'..."
"Not important. You got nothing to lose. It's the contents that'll either win him over... or not."
"Guess it won't hurt ta try."
"Good lad!" Cap'n Booger boomed, standing up. "I'll fetch some paper and writing implements from my quarters toot sweet and bring them to your stateroom." With that, he stumped away, leaving Jess and Painter alone.
"Can I ask you somethin' before I go?" Jess had stood up as well.
"Fire away."
"You ever meet Tony... Carp... in person? You know what he looks like?"
"Yes. I have. It's been a few years since I've seen him, though."
"Do you believe my story? Do we even look alike... even though he's twelve years older'n me?"
From the odd expression now occupying the older man's face, Jess sensed he was about to hear something extraordinary. And he was right...
"Sit," Painter said, sighing.
Jess sat, expectantly.
"I wasn't going to tell you this but I'm experiencing what I believe is referred to as a crisis of conscience."
Jess waited until, unexpectedly, a paw was thrust in his direction. He shook it, thoroughly bumfuzzled.
"William Henry Bradshaw, Captain."
"Uh... pleased to meet you, Captain Bradshaw." That was dumb.
"Just Billy nowadays... or Painter. Whichever you like."
"Okay."
"I served with your brother... I knew him as Carl then. We were demolitions experts... and good friends. We helped lay the mines that sunk the USS Tecumseh at the Battle of Mobile Bay. We were both wounded but I got away. He didn't. By the time I was fit to return to duty, he was already in the prison at Fort Pickens. Nine months later when the war ended, he was still there.
"There was no way I could go see him. My name was still on the wanted list and I had to go into hiding. I was already living here in the swamp when he was pardoned... and then there was that awful business with his wife. I found him and brought him here for safety... him and his little girl and Olivia. They stayed with us two months before establishing their own group elsewhere. He wasn't himself, Jess... wanted nothing to do with anyone who'd known him before. Believe me, I tried... but he acted like he'd never known me at all.
"We know now what we didn't know then... about the brain damage. He has these spells... he goes on acting perfectly normal for weeks... and then he goes haywire, sometimes only a day or two, sometimes for weeks. His people look after him when it happens and keep him from harming himself or anyone else. He might be fine today but tomorrow he might not be. You have to be prepared."
"That's exactly what Miss Pettus said, so I believe you. Do you believe me?"
"I knew the minute we met last night... although I didn't know what I knew until you told your story. And the answer is yes, you favor each other enough to claim kinship. I have to say, I don't see a positive outcome to your meeting. Not for either of you. He can't leave the swamp and neither can I... ever. There's still a price on both our heads. There's nothing you can do for him. But I now have a moral obligation to assist in any way I can... as long as it doesn't endanger either his tribe or mine. I hope you understand that."
"I do. I promise. I just want to see him." Jess couldn't keep the pleading from his voice.
"Then go write your letter. I'll see that he gets it."
Wednesday, November 26th... Two days had passed with no response to Jess' letter. The day before had been mostly taken up with a repeat of Monday... with the women and children coming in the morning while the banished crew fidgeted on the afterdeck. By noon they'd left and only their menfolk remained. The sow—which had been wrapped in wet palm leaves and left to bake over hot stones—had been disinterred from the firepit. They'd eaten their fill and the rest, donated to the Rushing tribe, was borne away by pirogue to their hidden camp. Meat from rotisseried piglets turned up in every conceivable form for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The remainder were smoked and salted and wrapped in burlap for later consumption. The men complained piteously. Could they please have something other than pork to eat? Fish would be good. Or frogs. Or freshwater crabs and turtles.
Cap'n Booger put the men to scraping and painting—always something in need of that on a boat. Having nothing better to occupy their off time, they fished and went foraging for wild oranges, mushrooms and other edible vegetation. Few knew or cared that it was Thanksgiving eve. Certainly not Jess, who'd spent the better part of both days lying on his bunk staring up at the overhead and contemplating the advisability of the whole venture.
Perhaps he should have left well enough alone. But what about his niece... Samantha? There was her inheritance to consider—after all, it was hers... as the last female of the line. He had... what was it Painter had called it?... a moral obligation to ensure she got it. If she were still alive, that is. As evidence to the contrary had accumulated, he could've called off the search at any time, gone home and admitted defeat. But could he have lived with the knowledge of 'maybe' the rest of his life? No. Not good enough.
Alcide worried over him like an old maid with an aging cat. Eat this! Drink that! Even Jay Dee, though unaware of what was transpiring, hovered like a gnat. He'd even resumed sleeping in the stateroom the past two nights, instead of out in the open on the afterdeck with the rest of the crew.
Cap'n Booger wisely left him alone. If he hadn't been assured by both Missus Mount and Miss Pettus that he would be adequately recompensed for his downtime and loss of commerce, he would've had to insist on a return to the outside world. Though the pelts and hides he'd traded with Painter weren't great in quantity, they excelled in quality and would bring good prices. Too, the Rushing tribe's women were superb basket weavers. He now had a supply of beautiful and functional baskets that could be sold at exorbitant prices directly to retailers in the larger towns, who would mark them up and unload them on tourists and housewives as authentic Indian products. It wasn't a totally wasted trip by any means.
All was about to change with a knock, long after dark, on Jess' stateroom door...
"Uh... come in." Jess was just about to drift off.
Cap'n Booger poked his head in. "You asleep?"
"Just about."
"Just want to give you a heads up... we're pullin' out at first light... headin' back to the bay."
"I guess that means the answer was 'no'."
"No... I mean yes. He'll meet with ya. Painter just got in with the news."
"He's here... now? Can I talk to 'im?" Jess literally fell out of bed, dragging the mosquito netting down on top of him and clawing at it.
The captain chortled. "Hell no! It's after midnight an' he's already bedded down next door. Mornin' will be soon enough. Fix yer veil an' go on back to sleep."
Jess padded around restoring the netting and crawled back into bed, positive that now he'd never get back to sleep. Wrong again... his light went out as soon as he hit the pillow.
Thursday, November 27th... Some time before dawn the boilers started firing up. It would take awhile before enough pressure built up to turn the great paddlewheel. Jess awoke briefly then dropped back off. The second time he woke up, it was to cooking smells and shuddering as the boat pulled back from the bank. Jay Dee and a few of the deckhands were already at the table by the time Jess made it into the salon. When Jess queried why the boat was heading upriver instead of back the way they'd come, one of the younger crew—Remy—responded that they were moving north only as far as the confluence with Rushing Creek.
"River's wider there an' we got room to turn in one sweep. Otherwise, we gotta back an' fill an' Cap don't like to do that. Puts too much strain on the engines an' takes too much time."
"Oh... thanks for explainin'."
"Yer welcome."
Breakfast was served as the boat made the turn. It was dizzying to look out the saloon windows as the landscape revolved, so Jess quit looking. Cap'n Booger entered, looking refreshed and quite jovial.
"Uhhhh... who's drivin' this thing?" Jess asked.
"You mean 'who's at the helm'... an' it happens to be Painter."
"He know what he's doin'?"
"Oh ye of little faith. You think I'd trust my ole gal with just anyone? Alcide... where's my coffee, dammit."
The captain refused any further discussion until he'd got on the outside of a bowl of grits, a heaping helping of scrambled eggs, two fried pork chops, a goodly portion of fried potatoes with onions and three cups of coffee.
Slim's always kiddin' me about my appetite but I can't hold a candle to Cap'n Booger when it comes to packin' away grub. Man must have a hollow leg...
Cap'n Booger belched with alacrity and backed away from the table. "Alcide… bring a pot a coffee and three mugs up to the wheelhouse, ya don't mind. Jess... you come with me."
Painter was lounging back in the captain's chair with his bare feet upon the dash.
"Keepin' it warm for ya, Bruce."
"You're a prince among men, Billy. Get the bay chart out an' show young Jess here where we're bound."
With the Jolie Rouge moving along with the current at a spanking rate, Jess followed Painter's finger on the chart.
"We're not going all the way out the same way you came in. We're taking this little fork down to Nancy's Cutoff then heading straight south past the mouth of the Indian River and the pass to Duck Lake and the mouth of the Cypress. Then we're going upriver on the Choctawhatchee."
Jess looked up at the back of Cap'n Booger's head. "Didn't you say that was the last place he'd be?"
The captain shrugged. "I was wrong. On the other hand, you wouldn't a got Painter's help. We coulda sailed up an' down that goddamn river all year an' never a got close."
Back to the chart with Painter... "As you can see, the Choc is twice as wide as the others. We're gonna loop around Indian Island to the north and go by the other end of the Indian River. After the Live Oak Cutoff there's a long stretch of nothing other than a little no-name slough to the south. Eventually we get to a bunch of bayous branching off to both sides and a couple of s-bends."
"Great... but where're we goin' exactly?"
"Don't know... exactly. This time of year when the water's low where we want to go and where we can go are two different things. We're gonna lay by in this slough right here..." Painter placed a forefinger on an unnamed body of water on the chart. "Someone'll show up to guide us in."
"How long's it gonna take to get there?"
"All day."
"What if we meet someone we don't wanna see on the Choca... the big river? Cap'n Booger mentioned military patrol boats..."
Painter grinned. "Booger assures me there's no contraband this trip... and if we're boarded... why, I'll just ease over the side."
"Ain't no shark gonna mess with the Painter, no sirreebob!" the captain threw over his shoulder.
Sharks? Goodgawdamighty!
"Is he serious... about the sharks?"
"Oh yeah... they've been spotted as far as seventy miles upriver."
Jess took a deep breath. "I swear... if I make it outta here alive an' with alla my parts still attached I ain't never leaving Wyomin' again. Ain't much chance a civilization movin' too far in this direction... too many critters what can kill ya."
"Au contraire, my Rocky Mountain friend... it's moving in this direction far too fast to suit me," Painter contradicted... and he wasn't smiling. "I may live in a swamp but I read the newspapers at every opportunity. Flagler and Rockefeller and the rest of that Standard Oil crowd... they're buying up thousands of acres over on the East Coast as fast as the government's turning it loose. Now that they've got railroad connections to the north, they're promoting the tourist industry in Jacksonville and St. Augustine. They've already got a lock on the citrus and minerals industries. When they run out of land over there, they'll start on the Gulf Coast."
"Yep," Cap'n Booger chimed in. "Folks who can afford to are comin' down in droves to get away from winter snow an' ice. Why, I predict that afore this century's out this state'll be jam-packed with orange trees an' tourist hotels. Folks'll be fightin' over who gets to live next to the beach. Won't be able to fart without rufflin' yer neighbor's curtains. Won't be no more places to hide for folks like Painter. 'Course, he'll be dead or too old an' decrepit to notice by then."
"Oh... and you won't?" Painter threw back.
"Not me. I'm schemin' on retirin' pretty soon. Goin' back to Nawlins an' lettin' my young 'uns take care a me in my old age."
This conversation's takin' an interestin' turn, Jess was thinking.
"You're already past your shelf life, you old buzzard. And New Orleans is already too crowded," Painter guffawed.
Jess had a question... "If you had to leave here, Painter, where would you go?"
"I always had a hankering to go out west... but then the war came along and my world went to hell in a handbasket. Lost my home, my business... everything. My wife and sons died in a cholera epidemic—no doctors, no medicine."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Can't be helped. Gone with the wind, as they say. Got me a new wife—Choctaw, born and raised right here—and five kids. Same with Carp... Carlton. He and Ollie have... I forget... three or four sons? If you're entertaining any notions of prying him out of here for medical treatment in a hospital somewhere... well, that won't fly. But to answer your question... I really don't know where I would—or could—go. If I did, I'd probably be there already."
Jess was floored. That thought had been at the back of his mind ever since hearing of his brother's condition... getting him away from this pesthole, maybe even back to Laramie... to the ranch, where he could be cared for. What had not occurred to him was that Tony might have a second family...
This changes everything...