The Law and Miss Mary (18 page)

“I see.” Mary’s heart swelled. “I do not wish to pry, but…have you, perhaps, fallen on hard times?”

The shoulders firmed. “I have. Through no fault of my own. I was to marry and travel west with my new husband, and so journeyed here to St. Louis in the company of friends who were also going west. But when John saw me again, after two years apart, he decided I was too frail—not sickly, but
frail—
to be of much help to him on the trail or in settling on a new place. He chose another to be his bride.”

Hurt flashed in Jane Withers’s green eyes, but was quickly masked. The remembered pain and humiliation of being cast aside because of one’s appearance spiraled through Mary.

“And so, Miss Randolph, I am here in St. Louis. I was a teacher back home in Pittsburgh, but I have been unable to find a position here. I have found employment as a seamstress.” A wry smile touched her pink lips. “I am not very good at sewing.”

Mary laughed. “And I am not very good at teaching, Miss Withers. Would you be interested in the position though I cannot pay much wage? Room and board aboard the
Journey’s End
would be included, of course.”

“Oh, I should be very interested, Miss Randolph!” The young woman cast another glance around. “And where would the schoolroom be?”

“In the captain’s and pilot’s cabin above. There are tables and stools, and cabinets for supplies. It would be most helpful if you would make a list of needed supplies.” Mary frowned. “I cannot say for certain when we shall be needing your teaching services. We are still looking for land to place the boat on. Will you be able to manage until then?”

“Yes, I will manage. Thank you so very much, Miss Randolph. I am most grateful for the opportunity to teach children again. But I have taken enough of your time. I shall make the list immediately. And should you need me for anything else…to help prepare the schoolroom or such…you have only to ask. Captain Benton knows where to reach me. I shall look forward to your summons to my duties as teacher aboard the
Journey’s End.
Good day.”

“Good day, Miss Withers.” Mary watched the woman walk away knowing full well her heart had once again run away with her head. How would she manage a wage for a teacher? She could not ask her father for another increase in her allowance. He was already doing so much to help these orphans. And her personal monies were quickly dwindling. Well…she would simply have to find a way. And, with God’s help, she would.

Mary smiled and turned to put the bedding, now lying on the table, into a cupboard. God’s ways were indeed mysterious. Who ever would have thought stopping Ben from being jailed that day would lead to all that had happened? Or that helping the orphans would teach her of God’s love for her.
And
teach her to trust Him. Though she was still learning to do that.

Her lips quirked. She put the last of the sheets on the cupboard shelf and reached for the pillow slips. Was this another lesson? It seemed so. Her mother said there was always a blessing in God’s teaching. And though the finances would be difficult, one more problem was solved. A definite blessing. She had been concerned about teaching so many children. It was limiting enough to teach four of them. Now she would be free to concentrate on all the other matters concerning the running of an orphanage.

Mary laughed and put the last of the bedding away. How happy her mother and father would be to know of the change God had wrought in her heart. It was as if she had been blind and could now see His blessings in every area of her life…save one. Her laughter died. She pushed away the sudden surge of self-pity. Perhaps one day God would see fit to bless her with a husband who loved her and children of her own. Until then, she would busy herself with the orphans. Her life was full with helping them.

Captain Benton’s image burst upon her. The image that constantly hovered at the edge of her thoughts. She tried to shut it out, but it refused to go away. But now there was something else. Something gnawing at the fringe of her mind, wispy yet determined to be remembered.

She sank onto a chair by the game table and sat quietly waiting. Finally, her father’s favorite saying floated into her mind.
Not even God can fill a hand or heart that is already full.
Was that what she was supposed to hear? Tears welled into her eyes. A sob broke from her throat. How could God bless her with a husband and children of her own when her heart was full of love for Samuel Benton? Captain Benton—a man who belonged to another.

Guilt smote her. She closed her eyes, forced words from her aching throat. “Forgive me, Lord, for coveting a man who belongs to another. I confess my love for Captain Benton to You, and I ask Your help in purging this love from my heart and opening it to only the love You have for me. Please help me to accept with joy whatever future You have chosen for me. Be it unto me according to Thy will. Amen.”

She waited for a calmness, a peace to flow over her. But all she felt was the pain of her breaking heart.

Mary paused, nibbled at her upper lip. Wrote a bit more about James being serious about Rebecca Green, sent her love and signed her name. She put down the pen, stopped the ink well and stared off into the distance. Sarah was married and expecting her first child. James was in love, and would soon be married if she knew her little brother. And she—She would mail the letter in the morning.

Knuckles rapped against the front door. The sharp, staccato sound echoed throughout the house.

She pushed back her chair, then hurried down the stairs and opened the door a slit to peer out.

“Good evening, Miss Randolph. Might I have a word with you?”

A test of my sincerity so soon, Lord?
Mary stared up at the captain, then nodded. “Of course, Captain. James is not home, but I will join you on the porch.” She glanced at his face again in the lamplight, then stepped outside and closed the door. “Is something wrong?”

“A difficulty has arisen, yes.” He smiled down at her and gestured toward the swing. “Why don’t you have a seat and I will tell you about it.”

She studied his face in the fading light and shook her head. “No, I prefer to stand.” She moved to the railing and turned to face him. “I assume this is about the orphans?”

“Yes.” He came to stand with her by the railing. “The mayor has learned you are turning the
Journey’s End
into an orphanage. He also knows about the Ladies’ Benevolent Society’s ongoing efforts to help you.”

Misgiving skittered along her nerves. “And what has that to do with the mayor? The city is not involved.”

“True. But he has also learned of your efforts to purchase land to place the orphanage on.”

She studied his face. He was very angry. Her misgiving blossomed into concern. “I do not follow you, Captain. How does that present a difficulty?” The small muscle along his jaw twitched. So did her fingers. She wanted to touch it—to calm him. He took a deep breath, and she knew he dreaded whatever he was about to say.

“The mayor is determined you will not be successful in your efforts. He called a meeting of the aldermen today and they passed a new law stating that no steamboat or other river craft can be permanently located or lived in on land in St. Louis.”

The air rushed from her lungs. She stared at him, unable to speak, to even think. When she returned to awareness, she shook her head to rid herself of the numbness that had seized her. “I see.” She lifted her hand and rubbed at the spot over her aching heart. Managed a small smile. “You are right, Captain. That is a…difficulty.”

She turned toward the railing and stared at the orange, purple and pink twilight sky. “How shall I tell all of those who have trusted me? Who have given so generously of their time and talents and money to help make a home for these children? How can I tell them that it is over? That in spite of all they have done and given, the children will stay in—” Her voice broke. She forced a little laugh. “How shall I tell them, indeed? I cannot even say the word.”

“You don’t have to, Mar—Miss Randolph. All is not lost.”

His deep voice flowed over her like a soothing balm. He was so kind. How could she ever have thought him heartless? She turned to look at him. “Please, Captain. Do not encourage me further in my foolishness. It is clear I am defeated. No one would sell me land. And now, even if I could buy land, it would do me no profit. You said the law states that no one is allowed to live on a steamboat on land.”

“Exactly.”

He grinned, that slow, breath-stealing grin, and leaned toward her. She looked at the excitement dancing in his blue eyes, caught her breath and waited.

“But there is no law against living aboard a steamboat on the
river.
And there never can be—unless they want to destroy St. Louis.”

Mary stared up at Samuel Benton, memorizing the way he looked, the excitement and compassion burning in his eyes, the joy on his face. How had she ever thought him heartless and cruel? For one timeless, breathless moment, she allowed her love for him to swell her heart, to fill her soul, and then she tucked it away and gave him a polite smile. “Thank you, Captain. You have given me renewed hope. With your help, and the help of all the others, I will not fail those children.”

Chapter Twenty

M
ary pulled her lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed the moisture from her brow, then put it back and adjusted the brim of her straw hat to shield her face from the sun. There was nothing she could do about the waves of heat shimmering off the cobblestones. At least she was almost there.

She shifted the basket she carried into her other hand and hurried across the street to stop beneath the shade of the large elm on the corner of the courthouse property. Lovely, wonderful shade!

Mary put the basket down, massaged her tired hand and searched for the children. They were spread in a line across the furrowed soil at the far end of the lot picking up stones and dropping them in the buckets they carried. Her heart ached for them. She had hoped they would not be put to work in this heat. Thankfully, Ivy had packed double the usual amount of cold mint tea.

Would the foreman let the children come now? Or would he make them work their way to her? She scanned the area, spotted him standing in the shade of the building talking with two of the workers. Of course he would be in the shade—he was the boss. A boss who resented her interrupting the children’s work by bringing them something to eat and drink.

She looked back to the children, squinted her eyes against the sun’s glare and frowned. Was Tommy staggering? She watched him a moment, lifted her skirts clear of her shoe tops and broke into a run, her gaze fastened on Tommy now down on his hands and knees with his head pressed against the earth.
Please, God, let him be all right.

From the corner of her eye she saw the men in the shade look her way, then turn and look the direction she was running. She dropped to her knees beside the boy, now prostate on the ground.

She rolled him over, shaded his face with her body. “What is wrong, Tommy?” No answer, only a dull look in his eyes. Sweat sheeted off his forehead, soaked the hair at his temples, dripped to the ground. “Tommy?”
Dear God, let him be all right.

The children clustered around, silent and staring.

Mary put her hand on his forehead. It was cool. How could that be in this heat? Footsteps thudded to a stop beside her. She looked up to see the foreman, the two workers behind him. Rage shook her. “This boy is ill. One of you men go for a doctor!”

One of the workers turned.

The boss grabbed his arm and halted him. He looked down at her. “There ain’t no call to go fetching a doctor, miss. The boy’s only had a mite too much sun. Some can’t take the heat like others. He can rest a few minutes. He’ll be all right.”

“Rest a few—” Mary rose, lifted her chin and fastened her most aristocratic look on one of the workers. “You—carry Tommy to the shade of the elm!” The man didn’t even look at his boss. He stooped, picked up Tommy and started toward the tree.

“And you—” she pinned the other worker with another look “—go find Captain Benton and bring him back here immediately!” The man wheeled and hurried off.

“Now see here, miss—”

Mary spun to face the foreman. “And you, sir—
you
may come out of the shade and pick up your own stones.” Her voice was low, quiet and cold as ice. She turned and held out her hands. “Come with me, children. There will be no more work for you today.”

Sam opened the stable door and stepped out into the heat. Of all the days for Judge Simmons to order Seth Parker served with an eviction notice. It had to be over a hundred degrees. Good thing he had started for the Parker place early. He trotted across the lot, shoved open the door and stepped into the jail’s dim interior. It felt good. The small windows and thick stone walls kept the place somewhat cool.

He tugged off his hat, threw it on a hook, then swiped his forearm across his moist forehead and looked over at Jenkins. “Parker’s not happy. Made quite a fuss about that notice. But I got him calmed down some.” He stretched and motioned the man out of his chair. “Thanks for holding down the fort. I’ll take over now. You go get your dinner.”

Jenkins grinned and pulled on his hat. “Y’ don’t have to tell me twice. I’m feeling kind of hollow.” He strode to the door, looked back over his shoulder. “We got a new prisoner. The report is on the desk.”

“Right. I’ll look it over.” Sam tipped back in his chair, laced his hands across his abdomen and closed his eyes, letting the coolness seep into his overheated body. A nap would sure feel good right about now. But first he’d better read that report. He stretched out his hand and picked up the paper.

Mary Randolph!

The front chair legs crashed to the floor. Sam lunged to his feet, scanning the report while he snatched the key ring from the drawer. His lips twitched. By the time he reached her cell, he was chuckling. He unlocked the door, leaned his shoulder against the framing bars and grinned down at her. She was seated all prim and proper on the edge of the cot, looking very composed despite the dirt and grass stains on the skirt of her gown. “Good afternoon, Miss Randolph. What brings you here to enjoy our hospitality?”

Those brown eyes of hers flashed up at him. “Good afternoon, Captain. I am here because one of your policeman invited me.”

“I see.” His grin widened. She was not as unruffled as she pretended. Underneath all that poise, she was mad as a wet hen. “Would that be the one who found you at the courthouse ordering the laborers and foreman about, and refusing to allow the children to go back to work when they were told to do so?”

Another flash of those incredible eyes. “He did not
find
me. I sent one of the workers for you and he brought the other policeman in your stead. The rest of your statement is correct.” She looked down and brushed at a spot of dirt on her skirt.

“And what did you hope to gain by such behavior?”

Her head lifted. “Medical treatment for Tommy. And a doctor’s orders that the children were not to work in such heat. Which I accomplished.” A look of pure satisfaction spread across her face.

His heart bucked. “And landed yourself in jail in the process.”

She nodded, gave him a smug little smile. “Yes. And the children, also—where they are out of the sun.”

Sam’s heart thudded. He shook his head, gave her a mock stern look. “Miss Randolph, what am I to do with you?”

She slanted a look up at him from under her lashes and flashed him a cheeky grin. “Pay my bail?”

He had never wanted to kiss anyone so much in his life.

“In
jail,
Mary? You spent the afternoon in
jail!
I thought you were at the
Journey’s End.
” James lifted his hands and raked his fingers through his hair.

“I intended to be, James. But…well…I was waylaid as I explained.” She smiled up at him. “You look exactly like Father when you do that.”

He rounded on her. “Do not try to distract me, Mary. It will not work. What were you thinking of?”

Her chin lifted. “I was
thinking
of getting those children out of the sun before they all sickened…or worse.” She tried another smile. “As you would have, had you been in my place.”

James stopped pacing and looked down at her. “That is different! Forgive me, Mary, but you have got to stop being so—so bold! What would have happened to you if Captain Benton were not a friend?”

“He is. And he is also
present,
James.” Heat climbed into her cheeks. She turned so the captain could not see. “Perhaps we could delay this discussion until later?”

James spun around, lifted his hands in surrender. “
You
talk to her, Captain. She will not listen to me.” He stormed off the porch and strode up the road.

“Well, gracious! I am glad I did not tell him before we had supper. It would have quite ruined his meal. And ours. If it has not done so anyway.” Mary turned from watching James to look up at the captain. He was half sitting on the railing, leaning back against the corner post with his long legs stretched out in front of him, looking at her. Her heart fluttered. She frowned and looked away. “I apologize for that unseemly display, Captain. James sometimes becomes protective of me. I wanted this to be a pleasant meal, to thank you for bailing me out of jail.”

“No thanks were necessary, Miss Randolph. But it was a very pleasant supper. I enjoyed the company.”

She could not sit there with him so close any longer. She rose and walked to the top of the steps. Light flickered across the southern sky. “James is very entertaining.”

“I wasn’t speaking only of James.”

The soft words sent a delicious little shiver rippling through her. Foolish woman! She forced a laugh. “I suppose I am entertaining, too. At least, my escapades must seem so.”

“I wasn’t speaking only of entertainment, either.”

She scowled. Why did he talk like that? So soft and deep. It was like…like dark, warm syrup. And it seemed fraught with meaning. Of course it was not. It only seemed that way to her feckless heart.
Help me, Lord.
She wiped her hands down the long skirt of her yellow cotton gown and stole a sidelong glance at him. He had not moved. It only felt as if he had drawn nearer. She wished he would go. Prayed he would stay. And was disgusted with herself for caring either way. He was another woman’s beau.

Silence reigned.

She tried desperately to think of something clever or amusing to say, but all she could think of was him. How compassionate he was. How handsome and strong and kind and gentle and utterly special he was. Miss Stewart was a very fortunate woman.

A steamboat whistled. Another answered. A horse’s hooves clopped against the cobblestones of Market Street.

“James is right, you know. I understand his concern over you.”

The syrup again. Warm and sweet. She would probably dream about it tonight.

He moved, and every fiber of her being tensed, aware of each whisper of cloth as he rose—every tap of his boot heel against the wood porch floor as he came to stand beside her. Her lungs strained to fill. How foolish, foolish,
foolish
she was!

“You should be more careful of yourself. It will do the orphans no good should you come to harm.”

The orphans. Yes. Of course. The orphans. She braced against the disappointment, swift and hurtful, that rose to dash the tiny bit of pleasure she had felt at the thought that he cared what happened to her. Why would he care? He belonged to another. She must keep reminding herself of that. Not that a man like Samuel Benton would be interested in her anyway.

Lightning glinted across the distant sky. Thunder rumbled. Perhaps it would cool off tonight. She brushed back her hair and nodded. “I know you and James are right, Captain. I am far too impulsive and bold for my own good. But…well…I had to help the children.” She looked up. He was gazing down at her.

“I was not aware that you took food to the children every day.”

She gave a tiny wave of her hand. “It is not much. Some biscuits and jam. A cold drink. Sometimes a pickle. They like pickles.” Why did he not look away? She ran her hands down the sides of her long skirt again. Spoke to fill the silence. “It is to help strengthen them. And it gives them something to look forward to. I thought it would make their days a little better—for now, I mean. Until I can get them out of jail.” She clamped her mouth shut to stop her chattering.

He nodded, but still his gaze held hers.

Heat crawled into her cheeks. “Is there something wrong, Captain? You are staring.” She lifted a hand to her face. “Have I a smudge, or—”

“No. There is nothing wrong, Miss Randolph. Nothing at all.” His eyes darkened. “You have very expressive eyes. The tiny honey-colored specks throughout the brown shine when you are happy and flash when you are angry. Your eyes glow with warmth when your emotions are touched.”

The words flowed into her heart, settled there though the warmth she felt at them was unwelcome. She raised her chin. “I will thank you to not make such remarks to me, Captain. I find them inappropriate from a man who is courting another woman.”

“My remarks stand as spoken, Miss Randolph. I am not courting another woman.”

Disappointment flooded her. She had never known the captain to lie to her. “I
know
of Miss Stewart, Captain.”

“What of her?” He leaned a shoulder against the post beside him and looked straight into her eyes. “I have not seen Miss Stewart on a personal basis for some time. A fact you can easily verify to be true or false.”

A rocky patch,
Mrs. Lucas had said. Could it be there was a rift they had not mended? Would he be that relaxed if there was no substance or truth to his words? She
could
easily find out if what he said was true.

He was not lying. And she was too quick to believe all men were like Winston Blackstone. Remorse for her accusation brought an apology rising to her lips. “Please forgive me, Captain. I did not realize you were no longer courting Miss Stewart. I—I hope the loss of her companionship was not too painful for you.”

He straightened to his full height and stepped close to her. “In truth, Miss Randolph, it was not. I discovered some time ago that Levinia Stewart is not the woman for me.” He moved closer, locked his gaze on hers. “Would you like to know how I made that discovery?”

She nodded, held her breath.

“I looked into a pair of beautiful, honey-flecked brown eyes.”