A Vote of Confidence (24 page)

Whatever the reason, Harrison didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. But even more problematic, in his mind, was Gwen
Arlington’s independent streak. She was proving to be difficult to control, as evidenced by her rejection of the advice he’d
tried to give her. He still hadn’t decided how he would bring her to heel.

Susannah placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “It’s rather exciting to think we will have a woman mayor. How times have
changed.”

His wife was right. Times had changed. But not always for the better. For instance, it was well and good for women to have the vote — as long as they followed the guidance of their
fathers or husbands in how to cast those votes. What he didn’t like was the self-reliant streak that was becoming all too
common among women in these early years of the twentieth century.

Which brought his thoughts back to Gwen, who was now surrounded by a number of well-wishers, including her father and that
outrageous sister of hers.

Yes, we shall have to bring you in hand, Miss Arlington. Indeed, we shall.

“By George!” William Rudyard exclaimed as he slapped Morgan on the shoulder. “You are an unpredictable man, are you not? Whatever
made you do that?”

Morgan grinned and shook his head. “I’m not sure, Billy. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t come here with that in mind. I guess
Miss Arlington won me over during her opening remarks.” He glanced once more in Gwen’s direction, but he could no longer see
her in the milling crowd.

“Beautiful women have changed the course of history more than once through the ages. I guess one has done so again.” William
laughed.

“I didn’t do it because she’s beautiful.”

“Oh, I know that, son. I was joshing with you. You wouldn’t have said what you did unless you thought she was the better candidate.”

Morgan nodded. He hoped everyone had William’s insight, and he hoped everyone understood how remarkable Gwen was. Her remarks
had been intelligent, articulate, and right on point. He’d wager even the senator couldn’t have given a better speech.

“Shall we return to your home? My friends and I want to get an early start in the morning.”

“I’m ready.” He stepped off the stage.

The room was beginning to empty out, and he caught a glimpse of Gwen, standing between her father and sister, talking to about
a half dozen citizens. Her color was still high, and even from across the room, he could tell there was a look of exhilaration
in her eyes.

“Pretty as the day is long,” William said.

Prettier, Morgan thought. Much prettier. And smart. And kind. And caring.

William pointed toward the back of the room. “There’s Clive and Jeremiah.”

Morgan wasn’t surprised to find the two other senators engaged in conversation with Harrison Carter, an attractive woman —
presumably his wife — at his side. He had expected the commissioner to try to learn why the senators were in town. This had
been the ideal place for him to do so.

Clive Austin grinned at Morgan as he and William approached. “Mr. McKinley, I believe you shocked every last person in the
room.”

Morgan inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“I’m glad I was here to see this,” Jeremiah Hayes said. “Wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”

“I merely said what I thought.” Morgan turned his gaze on Harrison. “Here is one man who I know agrees with me. He’s always
thought Miss Arlington the better candidate.”

Harrison’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Indeed.”

Clive said, “I was telling Mr. Carter how impressed I was with your health spa.”

That must have thrilled him.

“And I would like to hear more, Senator Austin,” Harrison said, “but it is time my wife and I returned home.”

Farewells were exchanged, and then Harrison escorted his still-silent wife out of the basement of the Methodist church.

“You have an enemy there,” William said.

“I know, Billy. I just don’t know why.”

Gwen tapped her index finger against her upper lip as she frowned at the paper on her writing desk. A few days ago, she’d
had half a dozen ideas for her next newspaper article. Today, each and every one seemed banal, completely uninspired, and
overdone.

She could write about her surprise over her opponent’s endorsement, but that seemed rather self-serving. Besides, that had
been the hot topic of discussion following Sunday services in every church in town. Was it possible anyone who might be interested
hadn’t heard what happened last Saturday night?

The mantel clock chimed the hour. Two o’clock. Another hour until she was to be at Morgan’s house for his lesson. Butterflies
erupted in her belly at the thought.

She hadn’t seen him since the night of the so-called debate, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing him today. With
just a few words, he had almost assured her of winning the election. Should she thank him for it? Was there proper etiquette
for a situation such as this? If so, she wasn’t aware of it.

A sigh escaped her. How much simpler her life had been a month or two ago. She’d gone an entire year without seeing — let
alone meeting — Mr. Morgan McKinley. The idea of running for mayor hadn’t crossed her mind. She’d been perfectly content,
living alone, visiting with her father and sister, writing her articles for the newspaper, and teaching her students. Now look at
her. She couldn’t concentrate long enough to write a paragraph. And she kept looking at the clock and thinking about her next
student.

Morgan.

His wonderful smile. His easy charm. The way he’d touched her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm as he introduced
her to his guests at the dinner party last Friday. His long fingers as they traveled over the piano keys during his lessons
— almost like a caress.

Heat flooded her cheeks.

Never in her twenty-eight years had thoughts of a man pestered her like this. She found them unacceptable. They must stop.
She must make them stop.

She rose from her writing desk and walked to the front porch. It had rained this morning. The air smelled fresher and the
lawn looked greener — the colors of her flowers brighter with moisture clinging to blades, leaves, and petals. The sky was
still overcast, the temperature cool. It might be wise if she drove her buggy to the McKinley home. But that was such a lot
of work, getting her horse into the harness and traces, when she was going such a short distance. The clouds didn’t look threatening.
No, she would walk and take an umbrella along, just in case.

Gwen checked her watch. Not yet ten minutes after the hour. Oh, how time crawled today.

“Fool,” she muttered. “Go and write this instant.”

Inhaling a deep breath, she turned and reentered the house, determined to get at least one page written before it was time
to leave.

Boston, Massachusetts

June 8, 1915

My dear Morgan,

I have not had a letter from you in such a very long while, dearest brother, but I have been a poor correspondent myself,
so I cannot scold you too harshly. I hope all is going well for you and that you are pleased with your building project. I
know it will be an enormous success. It does seem that the McKinley men have superbly good business acumen. Would that I had
inherited some of the same traits, woman or no.

You will not believe this, but I am planning to come for a visit. Our cousin Gertrude is needed to nurse her elderly mother
who is in failing health. She has insisted that I find a more enjoyable endeavor with which to occupy my summer, and that
is when I thought of you. I have never been west of the Mississippi, and it is high time that I do so. It will be a new and
different experience — one I know I shall enjoy.

If all goes according to plan, I should arrive in Bethlehem Springs before the end of June. I cannot tell you in this letter
of my precise arrival date as I may wish to stop along the way to visit museums or other sights of interest.

Have you had a telephone installed in your home as of yet? Now that the transcontinental telephone lines connect East to West,
it would be ever so convenient if you would do so. Or is Bethlehem Springs too remote for modern conveniences to have reached
it?

Do not concern yourself with my travel plans as I will have a companion, the grandson of a friend of our father’s. His name
is Robert Dudley. I’m sure you remember Marcus Dudley, his grandfather. Robert has agreed to escort me safely to Bethlehem Springs before continuing on to California where he plans to become an actor in motion pictures. (Have you
seen The Birth of a Nation?)

If you have a moment, please write to Cousin Gertrude. I’m sure it would lift her spirits to hear from you. I won’t tell you
to write to me, you wretched correspondent, as I don’t know where I shall be by the time you receive this letter. You shall
simply have to talk to me in person when I arrive.

Your loving sister,
Daphne

Morgan placed Daphne’s letter on the desk and leaned back in his leather chair. He was pleased that his sister was coming
for a lengthy stay, and it was nice that it had been her own idea. This letter had been written about the same time he’d penned
his to her. She might be reading his even now. He hoped she was as amused as he by their like thinking. And with their parents
gone, it would be nice to be closer to his sister — both physically and emotionally.

He heard voices in the entry. That would be Gwen, right on time, as usual. Some women kept men waiting, but that wasn’t true
of Gwen Arlington. She was punctual — in addition to a host of other attributes he liked about her.

He rose from his desk chair and strode from his study in time to catch a glimpse of her as she and Inez Cheevers entered the
front parlor.

“I’ll tell Mr. McKinley you’re here,” he heard the housekeeper say.

Gwen answered, “Thank you.”

When he’d caught his last glimpse of her on Saturday night, she had still worn a bemused expression. How would she look now? What would she say to him?

“Ah, you’re here, sir,” Mrs. Cheevers said as she exited the parlor and saw him in the entry hall. “I was just now coming
for you. Miss Arlington has arrived for your lesson.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cheevers.”

In the front parlor, Gwen stood beside the piano, facing the doorway. The corners of her mouth curved upward a fraction when
she saw him. Not enough to call it a smile, but enough to give him hope.

“Good afternoon, Miss Arlington.”

“Mr. McKinley.”

“It’s dreary out, isn’t it?” He tipped his head toward the windows.

“It always smells good after it rains.”

He crossed the room to the piano.

“About Saturday night,” she said before he could sit down.

He stepped back from the bench, waiting for her to have her say.

“Why did you do it? Why did you say you planned to vote for me?”

“Because I
will
vote for you. Because I believe you would be the better mayor between the two of us.”

“Why, if our positions are so much alike?”