It was a common sight to see Dr. Arthur Richards slouched in his wheelchair, wheezing from the side of his mouth so that the edges of his moustache trembled, a spot of saliva bejeweling his collar. But young Henry was concerned to find Richards wilting now, for while his master looked as slumped as Henry was accustomed, the doctor was decidedly not wheezing and the only wet substance on his collar was ruby red.

“Sir, your card game will begin soon. Rogers sent for you. All the others are present,” Henry said, allowing himself to ignore the blaring signs of catastrophe one moment longer. The steamboat tilted on a swell, but Richards did not stir as his wheelchair bumped the bed.

Gingerly, Henry pushed two fingers into the fat flesh of Richard’s neck. No pulse. He then checked the old man’s pale wrists and listened for one of his rattling breaths. He only noted the muted rumble of merriment and calliope from the bar one deck below. Still, he kneeled. All signs pointed to death, so why not raise the captain? Henry had heard of corpses awakening in their coffins days after burial, surprised and no doubt angry. The fuss his master would raise if Henry misdiagnosed his departure would make Sherman’s march look tame.

It would be best to wait and be sure. They were still 4 hours from St. Louis, where Richards was to give his talk at the World’s Fair in another two days time. His only other engagement was the poker game that night. It was an invitation from other rich, old men who smoked pipes and carried canes just to rap the shins of the younger generation. They’d never met him, but requested his illustrious, stuffy company when they heard he was on board. They’d be crestfallen when he didn’t turn up.

And to think of the money wasted! The buy in for the game alone was over a month of Henry’s salary. If he honorably withdrew, pocketing the buy in, it would turn a profit for Henry…and if he won! If he won, perhaps San Francisco wasn’t a dream after all. Well, if he played, that is. Should he? Having dictated Richards’ will, young Henry knew that the doctor had left him very little. It might be the only sensible thing to do. His years as an assistant to the world’s grumpiest professor hadn’t given him any usable skills, unless being a human coat rack counted. In fact, he realized, the pertinent question was not ‘should’ but ‘could’ he play? Could he impersonate his master?

Henry turned to the door to appraise himself in the mirror. A little talcum powder to give his temples a touch of gray, the doctor’s monocle and pipe, his best clothes, the wheelchair…

***

Louisa straightened her wig and checked in her pocket mirror that her fake teeth were on correctly. They were the proudest part of her disguise – no one would believe she was a man unless she had the unwieldy chompers of a geezer. She hid the pocket mirror in the breast pocket of her velvet suit coat and entered the smoke-wreathed parlor.

Their hose was Dorian Rogers (steel and railroads) an avid poker player who had located the richest men traveling the Mississippi for a proper game of 7 card stud. His smile revealed incisors meant for a wolf and within his obsidian pupils their dwelled the tiniest glint of red.

He said, “This is not a normal steamboat penny poker game. The stakes here are high, the money is real, and cheating will not result in fisticuffs but incarceration in the ship’s hold. I’ve already arranged it with the captain. We’ll play until one man remains.”

The other men – one fat as a bullfrog, one skinny as willow branches, one square and rigid – listened with different low degrees of interest, indicated by yawns, fanning, cigarette rolling. She realized they were already playing the mental games incumbent in poker, though Roger’s vampiric ease had them beat. When his black eyes stopped on her, she was convinced he was going to say, “And no women allowed, Louisa.” Instead, he addressed someone behind her.

“Ah, Dr. Richards has finally arrived. We may begin.”

***

After he folded, Henry realized he’d only won one hand in the first hour and that was due to sheer luck. He’d gotten a full house on the last card (8’s full of jacks) which beat the Russian’s two pair. The Russian had a boxy head and barely spoke, less than Louis, a strange blue-eyed man with big teeth who sounded like he had a cold. It was the fat one from New Orleans, Jean-Pierre, who chattered away like he had steam motors in his plump jaw. He’d even yakked while eating shrimp, leaving marine debris on the felt table which Dorian plucked off before dealing.

Louisa watched the young Dr. Richards fold again. It was nice to know one person here was bad. Perhaps, it was because he was the young, though older than she was in reality. He might be under 40; she was under 20. Yet she was winning as she had planned – just barely. Dorian was always there, smiling at her, smoothing out his moustache as he considered his next move. She could beat the Russian with her math as he was too superstitious, wait till the waiter brought more food to defeat the Creole, and let the thin man be fooled that the ace is the best card, when there are only four of them in a deck. Dorian’s inscrutable play revealed no faults, but he had to have one, she thought. Every man had one. “Every woman too,” she thought.

“I raise 10 dollars,” she grumbled. When she spoke, the hairs of her fake beard bristled against her nose and caused her to sneeze. She wiped her nose with the monogrammed handkerchief she had procured just for the game.

Henry’s ears prickled at the sound of the Louis’ sneeze. His mother used to sneeze like that. He watched Louis wipe his nose with gloved hands. Why was the man wearing gloves aboard a steamer in summer? He caught a glimpse of golden hair at the base of his (elegant) neck and the watch on his (graceful) wrist.

“Louis, I believe that you’ve won the hand,” the thin man declared in a resonant bass that belied his diminutive frame. Henry watched as a woman slid her winnings towards her and could hardly contain his surprise. A woman.

“We’ve reached our first intermission,” declared Dorian.

***

“Come to my room in five minutes,” young Henry hissed. He made sure his grip on Louis’ arm was firm and his voice low enough to avoid casual eavesdropping.

Louis blinked. “Pardon me; I believe the lavatory is down the hall.”

Henry pulled her down close, “I know what you are. Room 17, five minutes.”

Henry released her arm and attempted to wheel through the doorway. He careened into the frame and had to be extricated by the Russian or no one would be able to exit.

Louisa remained in the parlor, gripping the edge of the table to steady her trembling hands. The boat horn gave an operatic whistle, and then all she could hear was an echo of its elevated pitch and the bass throb of her heart. She’d stolen the money for the buy in from her father, and she intended to pay it back in full upon her victory; in the case of her capture how would she fare? He’d throw her from the house. Did she flee now? That young Dr. Richards knew she was a woman but not her real identity. She could leave now and avoid disgrace but not her father’s wrath…unless the doctor was kind. Louisa did not like trusting men, let alone strangers. She let go of the table and chose.

***

“What is your real name?” he asked, unsure of where to begin.

Louisa twisted the gloves that she could now remove. “I’d rather not say.”

Henry nodded respectfully. He liked her real voice, a soft Alabama lilt, like honeysuckle on a hot day. Of course, being a Yankee, Henry had never had honeysuckle, but he imagined it was an appropriately pretty and refreshing substance to use in his metaphor.

“Then I shall call you Louisa, the female version of your stage alias.”

Louisa began to laugh, but turned it into a cough.

“Louisa, I am not who I say I am either,” Henry said, leaning in to put a hand on her wrist. “My name is Henry. I’m not the doctor Arthur Richards.”

Louisa crossed her arms. So you are an impostor.”

“I think judgment is most unwarranted from you, Louisa.” He made his mockery gentle, smiling as he dealt it. Unfortunately, his charm only raised Louisa’ ire.

“I made someone new,” she insisted. “You have stolen an identity of a real man. Who is Dr. Arthur Richards?”

“He is,” Henry said. He rose from his chair (with a flourish as if to say: I’m not a cripple either, eh?) to show her the real Dr. Arthur Richards arranged in repose on the bed.

“Is that Dr. Richards?”

“That was, Dr. Richards, I’m afraid. He passed sometime this afternoon.”

Louisa recoiled. Henry was leering at her and a terrible thought entered her mind:

“My God, you’ve killed him!” And you’re to murder me! she held inside.

I have not!” Henry insisted. “I am – was – his assistant and caretaker. I found him in his current deceased state this afternoon prior to the game. Louisa, I pray you understand while he was a horrid master, but I would never harm another of God’s creatures. I am, nonetheless, still in a precarious situation: Dr. Richards left me very little means. I do not know how I am to survive my sudden discharge of employment. Winning this match could change my fate.”

He inhaled following his speech and his demeanor brightened. He looked to some unknown horizon and spoke of something precious he had never shared, like the pearl of an oyster. “I’ve always wanted to go back to San Francisco. It’s where I lived with my parents, before they died. They had a bakery. I don’t recall much, except licking a dollop of cream from my mother’s finger or the scent of a steaming roll being torn in two. If I had the capital, I would move to the ocean and open a bakery. If I won.”

“That story is very touching,” Louisa conceded. “But it hardly concerns me.” She would not let his sentimentality derail her simple goal: victory.

“But you are wrong! If we work together,” Henry began, “devise a system of communication, not even Dorian will stand in our way. Then we will split the considerable profits in two.”

The conversation had arrived at a junction much different than Louisa had predicted. Instead of kicking her out the game, Henry wanted to make her win. It ruined her whole intention. How could she show her brothers, her father, herself her worth through deception? Louisa stood and adjusted the sack tied under her vest which served as a rotund belly. “I believe you talk of cheating. I cannot honorably do such a thing.”

“I talk of securing our victory! You must need the money or you would not have invested in your ruse. Please consider my offer,” he implored.

“I did what I had to and nothing more!” she snapped. She paused in the doorway, mid stride. “I have seen you play poker Mr. Henry; I suggest you save your breath for prayer.”

Henry ran to her side and slammed the door closed with the palm of his hand. Louisa gasped but he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Why? Why are you here? Why disguise yourself? Why come to my room?” He could feel beneath her padded jacket, thin childlike arms.

“I am here for my brothers and my father. I am here for my mother and my future daughter. I am here for myself so that I can change my fate too.” Louisa relaxed her shoulders and Henry removed his hands. She stood up erect and was nearly eye to eye with him. “I am the oldest of six siblings and the only girl. My father intends to give his land to his oldest son, not me. I am to marry and although I am the most qualified, I shall not manage my family’s property. But I will not stand for such pitiful inheritance. I learned to play poker from my brothers and then learned to beat them. If I win this match I may yet prove my worth to my father. If not, I will gain funds to leave my farm and create my own venture.”

“Then you understand my goal: to earn independence!” Henry exclaimed. “Why multiply your opponents when you can multiply your allies?”

“Cheating is not winning. I will not tell them your secret if you maintain mine.”

Louisa paused in the doorway, waiting for Henry’s agreement.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Henry slumped back in the wheelchair and Louisa exited.

***

“Dr. Richards, you are the big blind. Dr. Richards can you hear me? I once met an Argentinean who went deaf while eating porridge. In an instant he lost all hearing, but he could still taste his bland porridge! He would have traded senses for all gold in the world.”

“How did he tell you this? Do you speak sign language?” the thin man, who Henry now knew as Augustus, asked the garrulous Creole.

Jean-Pierre smiled, delighted to continue narrating his tale. “That is the interesting part: To cure his ailment he visited a witchdoctor in the –”

“That is quite enough! Richards has paid his ante.” Dorian dealt two cards facedown and one up to each contestant. In the course of a round, the players would try and assemble the best combination of cards between those visible, which would total five, and the two they held in secret. It was those secrets that defined poker; they obscured the odds. The player and his confidence or guile communicated what he might be hiding.

The Russian had the lowest showing card so he had to pay a bring-in bet, a small amount they had agreed as one dollar (an entire day’s salary for Henry). Then, betting began, counterclockwise from the Russian. Thus, Dorian went and raised the betting because his face card was a high ace. A valuable card. He changed the bet to 5 dollars which prompted Augustus to drop out.

“Not looking like my hand,” he mumbled and began to light a thick cigar which made his fingers appear as thin as a spider’s legs.

Subsequently, it was Henry’s turn to bet – the five dollars match or a raise. Henry peeled back his two facedown cards to see them. They were an 8 and a 5, in different suits. His face card was a Jack, not terrible. He could see Louisa across the table, her gloved hand already clutching the five dollars necessary to join. She casually thumbed the corner of her two hidden cards and nodded to no one in particular. If he was reading her correctly, she had a good hand. If Henry were to bluff and artificially add more money to the pot, he could assure that she’d win.

“Would you like to bet or are you waiting for Jesus to turn up again?” the Creole quipped. “I saw him on Bourbon Street with two females who, if I remember their demeanor, will have lashed to their bedpost for a fortnight!” He chuckled at his own joke and slapped Louisa on the back.

Henry stared at Louisa and when she met his gaze, dared to give a slight wink. “I’ll raise to 15 dollars,” he said. Slowly, Louisa dropped her five dollars…and then arranged a full fifteen dollars in her hand. Henry had to bite his lip not to smile.

***

Louisa and Dorian paid the fifteen dollars. The Russian and the Creole folded. It was only Henry and Dorian that she had to beat now and the odds were in her favor. Henry was showing a jack, and Dorian an ace, and though she showed only an eight her two facedown cards were also aces. The highest pair one could obtain was already hers. She should have been calm; she should have laughed at the Creole’s risqué humor, she should have taken a drink from her untouched bourbon or requested a song from the piano man the next room over: but something Henry had done unnerved her. Had he winked? They never agreed on any signals. What was his play? The gentle sway of the heavy steamboat in the calm Mississippi was churning her stomach. She closed her eyes and focused on the foreign sensation of the fake teeth in her mouth. Anything to distract from the constant, nauseating motion. Up and down, side to side. When she opened her eyes, Dorian had given them all a new face-up card.

Dorian had a ten. Henry a four. Louisa an ace. She was now in possession of three aces! With luck she would have a full house, which consisted of her three identical cards and another pair. It was one of the strongest hands in the game. The queasiness subsided and Louisa found herself chuckling as Jean-Pierre described an unfortunate chance encounter between the mayor of New Orleans, his wife, and his favorite prostitute on the street one morning.

They played. Henry continued carelessly, dumping piles of cash into the pot until the center resembled a green mountain. Dorian matched his raises, sliding carefully bundled piles of money forward. Louisa hesitated each time, but after the sixth street of dealing she had her full-house assembled: aces full of eights. With one more card left to deal, facedown, Henry’s cards were terrible. They were low, different suites, and she couldn’t see how he would stitch together a hand. Dorian had both a 10 and jack, so perhaps he was trying for a straight. His other two showing cards did not fit, so it seemed to rest on his final card. Too uncertain for Louisa.

“Sacré-bleu,” muttered Jean-Pierre, his eyes wide with jealousy and excitement. The Russian was leaning forward so much that his cubed skull cast a block shadow across the table. Augustus paced and smoked, smoked and paced, a thick gray cloud trailing his wake.

Dorian cracked his knuckles like a piano player approaching Rachmaninoff.

“I think that before we deal the final card, we should all refresh our drinks,” he said. He yanked the bell cord and a white-coated waiter slipped inside with a tray instantaneously.

“I count nearly 500 dollars in the pot,” Augustus said, his smoky baritone scraping the bottom of the audible range.

“Just leave the tray, we shall need refreshments following the hand, I predict,” Dorian instructed the waiter. He dealt the final hand, face down and nodded to Henry to bet.

All in,” Henry said. In his haste to add his money into the pot, his monocle fell off and broke on the floor. “Not a worry; I shall be able to afford a thousand more in a few minutes!”

Louisa gave one last glance to her hidden aces and counted out the money she’d need to match Henry’s bet. If she lost, she’d still have fifty dollars. She put the fifty away and added her bet to the fast growing pot.

Dorian had enough money to match Henry and have plenty left over. Instead he straightened in his chair, winked his red-black eyes, and pushed all of his money into the pot. Louisa nearly lost her teeth. She would have to go all in as well or fold. The losers of this hand would have nothing left. Numbly, she fished out the last fifty and let it flutter onto the pile.

“Show,” Dorian said simply. Henry turned his two cards. He had a pair of nines, but did not seem depressed. He leaned back and drank some whiskey.

Louisa revealed her full house, aces full of eights. The Russian whistled appreciatively. Dorian sniffed, and slowly rearranged his cards. He pushed his ten to the forefront and aligned his three unrevealed cards alongside it. With obvious pleasure, he flipped them over one by one.

There were four tens on the table. Four of a kind beat Henry’s pair, it beat her full house, and nearly every other hand in the game. Dorian nodded and carefully reassembled the pile of his winnings into stacks, bricks of money for him to build what he pleased. Jean-Pierre, Augustus, and the Russian uttered their respective languages’ finest swearwords. Henry couldn’t speak at all. Louisa felt tugged at the collar of her shirt and expected steam to rush out.

She could beat the Russian…defeat the Creole…let the thin man be fooled…Dorian’s inscrutable play revealed no faults…Every man had one. Every woman too.

Louisa strode from the room before they saw her tears but not before they saw her pain.

***

“I’m terribly sorry. I thought that you would win.” It was young Henry, suddenly beside her at the bar. Even with his whitened hair he looked pathetically young. The tears on his cheeks glistened in the lamplight.

“If you hadn’t meddled, if you hadn’t cheated, perhaps I would have. Leave my sight, I beg!” she spat, literally moistening his shirt front with her foamy, alcohol-infused spittle. In the last hour she’d reached a point of inebriation reserved to numb soldiers pre-amputation. Of course, with her dream aborted so violently, it was an apt metaphor.

“Please, allow me to find another solution,” he beseeched.

“If you don’t leave, then I will!” Louisa grabbed her beer from the bar and tottered towards her quarters. On the way out the barroom, a drunken man asked if she’d like to join his card game and she described a dark orifice where he could insert his cards.

She passed by the playing parlor, which was nearly empty. The door was open to the let out the accumulated smoke, so she heard two hushed voices within.

Dorian was at the table, still with his winnings. Beside him stood the white-coated waiter who’d appeared just before the final hand, also holding some cash. On the table lay the drink tray, overturned to reveal several tens stuck to the bottom. Enough tens to build a four of a kind.

“What’s that?” she slurred as she stumbled inside.

Dorian stood and adjusted his cuffs. “You should leave.”

“You liar!” She threw herself at Dorian, hefting the beer glass like a bludgeon.

He intercepted her blow and pinned to the table with a sharp thrust. His hands held her arms immobile. His eyes too, had her frozen in his bloody glare. In the sober recesses of her mind it was sad and obvious. How could a depressed, drunk woman accost him: Dorian?

He whispered like he was telling a bedtime story. “Who can you tell about this Louisa? I know you are a woman. No one will believe you. You will go home broke and disgraced.”

“You lied,” she said. She was crying and unafraid to show it.

“You say that I am a liar, but I ask you to examine yourself. The only lie this evening was your own. You all believed you could beat me and that, unfortunately, is just not true. Not a man like me. Self-deception is a bad habit for poker players.”

Dorian let go of her and then plucked several bills from his stack. He tucked them into her breast pocket. “For the way home,” he sneered.

***

Louisa’s father entered the salon and extended a letter. While she checked who address it, she neglected to hear her father’s inquiry.

“Louisa, I asked if you are enjoying Mr. Thompson’s company?” he repeated. Charles Thompson had the personality of a beetroot and spoke only of his father’s glue factory. Her father was fast advancing their arranged marriage as a punishment for her failed poker game. Furthermore, she’d have to work to pay back the money she stole. It might take her whole life, but she doubted she could regain his respect.

“He’s splendid. We were discussing the difference between horse and mule glue.”

“Good. Be polite and please wait till after he has departed to read your letter.”

As soon as he left, she tore it open and began reading.

Dear Louisa,

It wasn’t easy to find you. The ‘Louis’ registered on the boat had a fake address, but the port authority man remembered a beautiful missus from Alabama with bright blue eyes paying the fare. Unfortunately, my dealings with Dorian have led me nowhere. Our money is lost.

However, all is not lost. I gave Dr. Richards lecture at the World’s Fair. I had prepared his notes and was confident I could impersonate him once again. I was paid his considerable commission and even invited to talk again. However, due to decomposition, I had to report Richards dead.

Presently, I am moving to San Francisco to open a bakery with what I have and a loan. I am capable of baking, but as I demonstrated in the card game, I am terrible with numbers. I need someone to manage my affairs. I could think of no better individual than you. We could make an excellent team.

Included is the replacement buy-in fee for your father and a ticket to San Francisco. I made it by train because I think we are both averted to boats for the time being. I know this offer may seem strange. I hope to see you there when I arrive.

Sincerely,

Henry

Thompson grinned sycophantically. What was it Dorian had said about deception? She pressed the money in Thompson’s hand and kept the ticket, gathered her skirts and left her house for the train station convinced she could smell fresh bread floating on the breeze.