A Vote of Confidence (30 page)

Gwen swallowed a groan as she drew away from Morgan and walked into the kitchen. She paused briefly, looked around, wondering
why she’d come in there, then moved on through and out the back door. She hurried toward the stable that housed Shakespeare.
The gelding greeted her with a soft nicker as he thrust his head over the stall door.

“Hello, fella.” She stroked his head. “I’m a nervous wreck. Can you feel it?”

Shakespeare bobbed his head.

She pressed her forehead against his neck. “I should be planning my wedding, not hoping to be elected. Why can’t I be like
other women?”

“Interesting question,” Morgan said from behind her. “But I rather like you the way you are.”

She sucked in a breath as she turned around. “I didn’t know you followed me outside.”

“Do you want me to go back to the house? I will if you’d rather be alone.”

She nodded, shook her head, nodded again.

He gave her a look that showed great patience as well as tender regard.

She sighed. “You needn’t go. I don’t want to be alone. I think the waiting is driving me a trifle mad, that’s all. Don’t you
feel the least bit nervous, waiting for the results?”

“No. What will be, will be. We’ve done all we can. Now it’s in God’s hands.”

“You won’t mind, even a little, if I win?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she shook her head and said, “Don’t answer that. We’ve talked about it before.”

“What do you say about taking a drive? Just you and me. We’ll head down the road and not come back until it’s time for the
results to be announced.”

Was it any wonder she loved him? “No, we’d best stay here with Dad and Cleo. They’ve been so supportive. I wouldn’t want them
to feel unwelcome. Is that all right?”

“Of course. Whatever you want, Gwen.”

She slipped into his arms and pressed the side of her face against his chest. His heart drummed beneath her ear.
Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
The sound soothed her. Listening to the steady beat made her feel less frazzled, more grounded.

Morgan was right. What would be, would be. She needed to relax, to trust, to leave it in God’s hands.

“Let’s go inside.” She tipped her head back and looked up at him. Then she smiled to let him know her world had begun to right
itself again.

When Morgan and Gwen reentered the house, they found Cleo and Griff seated at the kitchen table with a deck of cards. Cleo
held up the dark red box,
Going to Market
clearly printed on its front. “We thought a game or two might help pass the time. We need at least three players.”

Gwen pulled out a chair between her father and sister. “It might help the time go by faster.”

Morgan took the seat opposite her.

“It’s the latest thing.” Cleo said. “Have you played it yet?”

“No.”

“It’s pretty simple.” She showed him a card with the number four in the upper left corner and a drawing in the center with the name of a cereal beneath it. “I’m going to deal all the
cards, and the goal is to get all four cards that belong to any set and as many sets as you can. There are thirteen sets in
all. So if you got this card that says Postum, you’d want to get the Post Porridge, Grape-nuts, and Post Toasties cards to
finish the set.”

He nodded to show that he understood.

Cleo quickly explained the rest of the game, shuffled the deck of cards — with the speed and precision of a professional card
player, Morgan thought — and began dealing them around the table. When they each had thirteen cards, they picked up their
hands and began sorting them into order.

Morgan’s paternal grandmother had considered any game that included the use of cards to be the devil’s handiwork and his father
had forbidden a deck of playing cards under his roof. As a young man away at school, he’d avoided card games — even simple
ones like
Going to Market
and
Rook
— out of respect for his grandmother and father. It wasn’t that he believed there was intrinsic evil in a deck of cards.
It was simply that old habits died hard. Even now he half-expected to feel his grandmother slap his hand.

But that feeling was soon overcome by the enthusiasm of the Arlington family and his own competitive nature. Cleo won the
first game and did her share of crowing over his measly three sets. He wasn’t about to be trounced a second time.

Before they knew it, the clock chimed nine o’clock. At the sound, everyone laid their cards facedown on the table. There was
a quick and wordless exchange of glances before Griff said, “Let’s walk down to the municipal building. I can’t sit here and
wait for them to bring the news to us.”

Once out on the sidewalk, Morgan offered Gwen his arm and she took it. “God’s in control,” he said softly.

“Yes.”

When the foursome reached Main Street, they saw that they weren’t the only ones who wanted to know the results tonight, as
soon as they were announced. Lots of people, most of them in groups of three or four, were walking toward the Bethlehem Springs
Municipal Building. The mild evening air was punctuated with their voices and laughter. Some called out to Gwen and Morgan,
wishing them luck. Others smiled and waved. No one seemed to consider it odd that the two candidates were walking arm in arm.
Morgan had a feeling their secret wasn’t much of a secret.

At the municipal building, they found a crowd — about a hundred people, Morgan guessed — gathered at the bottom of the steps.
Seeing Morgan and Gwen’s approach, the assembly parted like the Red Sea before Moses, allowing them through, Cleo and Griff
right behind them.

As everyone settled in again, Morgan caught snippets of conversation: someone wondering if or when the United States would
be dragged into the growing war in Europe; a woman expressing horror over the sinking of the RMS
Lusitania
off the coast of Ireland; two men discussing what it took to be a great baseball player.

Morgan and Gwen said nothing. What was there to say now?

Strange, he thought, the importance this election had played in his life over the past weeks. If he’d never declared for office,
he wouldn’t have come to know Gwen. He probably wouldn’t have thought to take piano lessons. They wouldn’t be engaged. If
he hadn’t declared his candidacy, he would still be living in a tent up at New Hope, all of his attention focused on the spa’s
construction — eating, drinking, and sleeping the completion of the resort.

A murmur passed through the crowd and slowly conversations ceased. Morgan looked toward the top of the steps to see Jackson Jones standing there, a piece of paper in his hand.

“Good evening. The votes from today’s election have been tallied, and it is my duty to inform you that Miss Guinevere Arlington,
by a margin of twelve votes, has been elected as your new mayor.”

Behind them came a couple of shouts of congratulations, some applause, and a few murmurs of dissatisfaction.

Twelve votes. Much closer than he’d expected, but still the victory for Gwen that he’d predicted. But no matter. She’d won.
That’s what counted.

Morgan was tempted to gather her into his arms and kiss her in front of everyone. After all, the election was hers. But they’d
agreed to wait until after she was sworn into office, and so wait he would.

Dearest Mother,

I have much to share with you. You shall never guess all that has transpired since I last wrote. Remember that I told you
I decided to run for mayor in the Bethlehem Springs special election. When I wrote that letter, I was facing two opponents
in the race. One of them dropped out several weeks ago. One week after that, the other man and I were to debate each other.
Only instead of debating, he told the crowd that he planned to vote for me. It caused quite a stir.

Today was the election, and I won! Not by a great many votes, but I still won. I will be sworn into office in nine days. I
wish you could be here, but I’m afraid you won’t receive the letter in time for you to arrange to travel here.

But I have another more important reason to ask you to come for a visit. I am to be married in mid-August. Morgan McKinley
is my fiancé’s name, and he was the opponent who voted for me. A rather strange set of circumstances, I am sure you will agree.
But I am also sure the greater surprise for you is that I have chosen to marry at all. I know I told you I wouldn’t, but I
was wrong. Loving Morgan proved me wrong.

Mother, even though you have said you never want to set eyes on Bethlehem Springs again, I hope you will make an exception
for my wedding. Cleo would so very much like to spend some time with you too. Please don’t disappoint us.

Morgan’s father and mother are both deceased, but he has a younger sister, Daphne, who has come from Boston for the summer.
Dad and Cleo both think the world of Morgan and have already made him a member of our family.

Dad is in good health. Cleo is the same as ever. And I am well too.

If you can come, please send me a telegram rather than a letter. It will reach me so much sooner. You can stay with me in
my home, which is small, or with Dad and Cleo at the ranch. Or if you would rather, Morgan would make you welcome to stay
with him and Daphne.

Please do come.

With much love,
Your daughter, Guinevere

A half hour after the swearing in ceremony concluded, Morgan leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and watched as Gwen
ran her gloved fingertips over the surface of the large desk.

Didn’t most mayors in America have gray beards and round bellies? Obviously the voters of Bethlehem Springs had better taste
when choosing who would serve them. Just look at Gwen. She was more beautiful in that rose-colored dress and the matching
wide-brimmed hat than he had seen her look before — and that was saying something.

“Well, Madam Mayor. What do you think of your new office?”

She lifted a somewhat bewildered gaze in his direction. “It’s a little surreal, isn’t it? I keep thinking I’ll wake up and
find this whole thing has been a dream.”

“It’s all real, Gwen.” He pushed off the doorjamb, closed the door with his foot, and crossed the room to take her in his
arms. “And so is the love I feel for you.”

“Good sir.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “Are you trying to influence city hall?”

“Indeed, madam, I am.” He kissed her, something he’d wanted to do earlier but couldn’t with so many people around.

All too soon, she pulled back from his embrace. “I’m expecting Mayor Hopkins any moment. He and I must discuss some matters before he leaves Bethlehem Springs.”

“He’s leaving town that soon?”

“Yes, for medical treatment at a hospital in Chicago.” She removed her hat and placed it on a bookcase beneath one of the
windows. “I don’t know how long our meeting will last.”

“Would you like me to come for you later?”

She shook her head. “It’s hard to know when I’ll be finished.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Don’t worry about me. I’ll walk home when I’m through here.”

“All right, then.” He leaned in to kiss her again. “Don’t shake things up too much on your first day in office.”

Her laughter stayed with him long after he’d left the municipal building.

It was nearing six in the evening by the time Gwen closed the thick law book on her desk. Her head swam with numbers and laws
and rules and expectations and requests. What a day.

Outside the open window in her office, the promise of evening had begun to spread shadows over the town. Music, laughter,
and voices could be heard coming from the direction of the High Horse Saloon, located about a block away. If Idaho became
a dry state, the High Horse would be forced to close its doors. Gwen had never been involved in the temperance movement, but
she had to believe public drunkenness would become a thing of the past if Prohibition was enacted. That would be a relief
to everyone.

The air was still and unusually hot, which didn’t make for a pleasant walk home. By the time Gwen reached her gate, her dress
was clinging to her, sticky with perspiration. What she wanted before dinner was a cool bath and something cold to drink.