The Passionate and the Proud by Vanessa Royall Read Free Book Online Page B

others pressed as close as they dared to the rent and riddled side of the casino and peered down at the dark river. For a long, long moment Emmalee held her breath, able to see nothing but the reflected, multicolored lights of festive lanterns on the black, fast-moving current. Then, with a great sucking, plopping sound, the huge gaming table bobbed to the surface, and in another moment Garn Landar could be seen swimming strongly toward it. It was very dark on the river and already the table was drifting away from the Queen of Natchez, but Garn had slipped out of his jacket. He was quite visible in his expensive white shirt, and Emmalee saw him clearly as he climbed aboard the table. He was alive anyway, if not totally safe. She realized that she’d been holding her breath and exhaled now in a rush.
    Most of the people were cheering and waving at Garn, which they continued to do until he floated out of sight. The mined casino was filled with excited, milling people. Some of the men were remonstrating fiercely with Jason Bascomb. Brutus stood at the broken window, gazing sullenly down upon the river. Emmalee made her decision and left the casino, climbing to cabin twelve on deck three. There, bothered by no one, she spent the rest of the journey to Hannibal. She slept, she looked out at the changeless river and the ever-changing countryside. She nibbled at the food she’d taken with her from the Lutheran home, and she wondered what further exciting adventures lay in store for her. The world outside Cairo, Illinois, had certainly supplied her with a tantalizing prelude.
    Also, while on board the Queen, she thought of what Garn Landar had said: “You can bet money, body, and soul that I will not lose whatever it is that I choose to care about.”
    She had no idea what he’d meant by that, and for a moment she wished he was there so she could ask him. It was a most unusual thing to have said, but then Garn Landar was obviously an unusual man. She smiled to herself, thinking of him floating away on the roulette table, waving. And she remembered, with a small shudder, the way his very touch had made her feel. Garn was a man; despite his reliability and sweetness, Val Jannings had been but a boy. Yet Garn seemed flawed, his immense attractiveness notwithstanding.
    One of the things Emmalee wanted most was to control her own destiny. Garn, with the freedom given by money, appeared to enjoy such control, but he was squandering it! Again, Emmalee wished that he was there so that she could tell him, warn him. It was distressing to think that a man as interesting as he would come to no good end and have nothing but his undisciplined extravagance to blame it on.
    So maybe it was better that he was not there after all: Emmalee did not want a reckless person distracting her from her own goals. But her mind roamed inevitably back to his words: “I will not lose whatever it is that I choose to care about.”
    “Good luck,” she said aloud, thinking of Garn. “Good luck, and I’m glad it’s not me you’re going to choose. There’d be no end of trouble then.”
    Once she arrived in Hannibal, Emmalee went to a bank and traded the piece of hammered Hopi silver for fifty real dollars, less a one-dollar “transaction fee.” Now, with nearly sixty dollars to her name, she felt positively rich.
    She bought a canteen, a bedroll, two bright, durable calico dresses, a jacket, and a pair of boots for the trail, and a train ticket to St. Joe, Missouri. The future had arrived. Fortune would take care of itself.

Getting Where You Want to Go
    The place was camping ground, way station, overnight stop for thousands of pilgrims heading west. It was a vital, tawdry, raucous, sprawling frontier town on the banks of the mighty Missouri. The maps called it St. Joseph, but to those who lived there and to those who passed through on their way to someplace else it was just St. Joe.
    Emmalee thrilled and her heart beat fast as her train chugged into town