Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  “This job is for a powder monkey, not a pastor.”

  What was a powder monkey? Matthew guessed he’d figure it out soon enough. “I know how to do a full day’s work,” he said. “I’ll save my preaching for when I’m off the clock.”

  “Just the same, I’ll bet the boss man will want to visit. Wait here.”

  Matthew shifted his feet beneath the chair and settled in for a wait. Despite his plans for Monday, it hadn’t gone as planned. He’d started out after the final bell, invigorated by the thought of Bible study at Irvin’s claim. The breeze whipping over the piles of chat had never been more refreshing as he passed by the tents and shanties of the miners returning from their workday.

  If only Irvin had been home. He must have had some luck gambling over the weekend, because he still had money to spend on Monday. Instead of coming home to meet with Matthew, he’d found somewhere to stay in town.

  If it hadn’t been for Dan and Loretta Campbell, Matthew’s day would have been miserable indeed.

  The hiring man came back and, with a wave of his massive paw, motioned for Matthew to follow him.

  “Matthew Cook.” The man at the desk peered over the application form at him. His blond hair was slicked up and back off his forehead like a steep riverbank. “I’m Oscar Kentworth, and I’m looking for someone with intelligence.”

  Kentworth? Matthew wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Amos and Maisie were kin of his, but someone with intelligence didn’t mention street brawls they’d fought in.

  “I hope you’ve found him,” Matthew said.

  “Have you had any experience with explosives?”

  Not a question he’d ever been asked before. “No, sir.”

  “Too bad. We need a powder monkey, and someone who’s as precise as you were filling out this form might fit the bill. Alas, without experience, I’ll have to start you as a jack shoveler. You look strong enough.”

  Even Matthew knew that a jack shoveler was the lowest of the low. It didn’t take skill or aptitude to work a shovel. It was mind-numbing, backbreaking work, but he prayed it would bring him in contact with the people he needed to meet.

  “I’ll take any work you have,” he said. “When can I start?”

  “Beginning of next week, how about? Show up at the doghouse out there at eight, and we’ll get you outfitted.” Mr. Kentworth rose and held out his hand. “And Godspeed your efforts on preaching, but if a preacher doesn’t work as hard as the next man, he’s set no example I’d be proud of.”

  “I understand.”

  With a firm shake of his hand, Mr. Kentworth said, “See you next Monday.”

  And just like that, Matthew was a miner.

  He’d have to go through his clothes and see if he needed to purchase anything. He had canvas britches that would take wear, and a denim shirt. What about tools? Would the Fox-Berry provide them?

  He returned to Trochet’s and was on his way through the shop when he heard a voice that was becoming familiar. Pausing by a vase of lilies, Matthew spotted Calista in a stern white shirtwaist and a rich mahogany skirt. Looking at her today, he’d never guess she was adrift with no guidance.

  “Our biggest accounts are the hotels and restaurants downtown, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mr. Trochet was behind the counter with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose so he could see her better. Matthew didn’t blame him. She warranted looking at.

  Calista smoothed a wisp of hair behind her ear. “What I’m proposing is that I’d make deliveries for you. I’m trained in flower arrangements, and I could add that to my service for no extra charge. Your customers will be forever loyal if your business not only delivers the flowers but arranges them throughout the premises as well.”

  “I already have Bennie. He has a horse and wagon. Bennie has worked with me for years.”

  “I could go with Bennie and put fresh flowers in each room instead of delivering them to the door, then leaving. Please, let me try it for a week, for free. If your customers don’t appreciate the added service, then I’ll give it up, no harassing you.”

  A flower arranger? Matthew supposed that flower arranging could be learned alongside decorating, but she hadn’t mentioned it before. And while he’d prefer that she work for Mr. Trochet than at one of the bawdy houses, he regretted that Mr. Trochet’s business was also tainted by the unrighteous trades. Was nothing in this city set apart? Matthew made his way through the rows of blooms to the cash register.

  “No, thank you, ma’am. I have all the help I need.” Mr. Trochet spotted Matthew approaching. “If Bennie needed more help with deliveries, I would send Matthew.”

  “Matthew?” Her face scrunched up in an adorable scowl. “I don’t know Matthew, but I doubt he has my talent.”

  “Hello, Calista,” Matthew said.

  At her name, Calista spun around, one hand reaching for the countertop to steady herself, the other outstretched, as if defending herself was a concern. Her eyes flashed to his, scanned the room behind him, then did a complete sweep of his body.

  He’d give his copy of David Brainerd’s biography to know what she was looking for.

  “You’re the Matthew?” she asked.

  “There’s bound to be more than one, but as far as you’re concerned, yes, I’m the Matthew.”

  “You know each other?” Mr. Trochet pushed his glasses up his nose. “That doesn’t change my answer, but you’re welcome to stay and look around. Matthew, don’t let her leave without a rose, you hear?”

  Calista dropped her gaze to the ground and fidgeted with the narrow strip of trim on her cuff as Mr. Trochet went back to his office. “You work here?” she asked.

  “I live here,” Matthew said. “In the gardener’s cabin.” He couldn’t help but think the picture she made was a particularly attractive one, in her crisp white blouse surrounded by flowers and framed by every color of the rainbow. “Now you’re a flower arranger?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” She smoothed her hair behind her ear again, and he noticed that her hat didn’t fit her. For someone as fashionable as she was, you would think she’d only buy hats that fit.

  “You never mentioned it before.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, but what you do know about me is consistent. I’m an artist of a sort. I make beauty, whether by decorating with fabrics or flowers. While I’ve been unsuccessful in obtaining employment, I’m persistent. I haven’t given up.”

  She also sounded like a snake-oil salesman listing off the benefits of his brew.

  “Congratulations, then.” When had her cheeks pinked? It wasn’t hot in here. “I commend your persistence and will do my best to match it. Come with me on Saturday night.”

  Her lips puckered in shocked disapproval. “Saturday night? Why?”

  “Instead of fighting the crowds and the debauchery, I’m going to see if anyone wants to have a simple gathering. We can celebrate payday with food instead of spirits. Games instead of gambling. It’ll be fun.” It was an idea he’d been mulling over since he’d seen what Saturday nights were like. She just happened to be his first invitee.

  If it weren’t for the phone call from Pinkerton yesterday, Calista would have thrown caution to the wind and accepted Matthew’s offer. She hadn’t expected her job to be so lonely. Being a stranger in town, befriending people of questionable character, always hiding your true motives and personality—Calista yearned to let her guard down with Matthew.

  But Pinkerton wanted results. After Matthew had escorted Calista back to her hotel on Saturday night, she’d skipped out the back door and headed in the opposite direction. She’d done her best, asking about Lila Seaton and showing her picture around, but Joplin had many places a girl could disappear into. While all her interviews corroborated that Lila was no longer at the House of Lords, as the gap-toothed girl at the doctor’s office had said, Calista had a lot more places to check before she could say that Lila wasn’t in Joplin.

  And on Saturday nights, the brot
hels turned inside out. The women who normally stayed hidden away paraded down Main Street. Calista couldn’t spend the evening enjoying herself in a cozy cabin with Matthew, as much as she wished she could. Not when Lila was somewhere out there.

  “I’m sorry.” She allowed a sliver of her yearning to show through. “I can’t come on Saturday.”

  “Why? You aren’t working.”

  “It’s not a good time for me.”

  “You were out last Saturday.”

  “I said no.” She crossed her arms. “You aren’t supposed to question a lady when she declines your invitation.”

  “We agreed that we admire persistence. I’m practicing what I preach.”

  The bell on the front door rang as a customer walked in. Calista couldn’t take her eyes off Matthew, even as she heard the clicking heels behind her. Of all the times to meet the man who could turn her head, why did it have to be now, when her every action would disgust him?

  “I’m here to pick up flowers,” the customer said, “for Dr. Stevenson’s office.”

  Calista turned, then chomped on the inside of her cheek when she realized her mistake.

  The nurse’s eyebrow rose. “Miss York, what a surprise. You turn up like a bad penny, don’t you? So tell me, did you manage to find work at another doctor’s office that needed a nurse?”

  “A nurse?” Matthew leaned forward so he didn’t miss a word.

  Calista waved her hand. “I’ve decided to change careers. I’m no longer in the nursing field.”

  “After that fiasco with that sick cousin of yours . . .” The nurse wrinkled her nose. “We cleaned the reception area, but in my mind, it still stinks. I’m hoping some flowers will help me forget it.”

  “You’re a nurse?” Matthew’s skepticism was impossible to miss. “Did you go to nursing school before or after design school? And how old are you, anyway?”

  “I should be going,” Calista said, glad that the nurse had summoned Mr. Trochet and was too busy to question her further. Calista went to the glass front doors, conflicted about leaving so soon, but there was no remedy.

  She turned the knob and swung the door open . . . right into the path of Amos and Maisie. They gawked at each other, and quick as a wink, Calista pulled the door closed in their faces.

  Striding past the nurse, she marched up to Matthew. “You have an apartment here? I’d very much like to see it. Take me.” She grabbed his wrist.

  His face broke into a lopsided smile. “I knew the women in Joplin were forward, but—”

  The front door to the shop flew open.

  “Calista York, where do you think you’re going?” Amos’s voice made the petals on the lilies shiver.

  She’d been caught.

  “You know him?” Matthew asked.

  “Stay away from me,” the nurse cried at Maisie. “I’ve yet to get my uniform clean from last time.”

  “Stop your bellyaching,” Maisie shot back. “You work in a doctor’s office. You’re gonna encounter puke occasionally.”

  “The watermelon patch,” Matthew said. “You two attacked me.”

  Amos grinned. “I thought you’d put that behind you, brother. It’s not like a man of the cloth to hold a little tussle against a fella.”

  “My head . . . the heat . . . I really need to retire for a moment.” Calista pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Is there a quiet place I might lie down?”

  But Matthew was having none of it. He waited until the nurse had left the shop before asking, “How do you know these people?”

  “She’s the cousin you heard tell of,” Maisie said. “The one who’s shaming her family with her scandalous behavior.”

  Calista’s head turned from Maisie to Matthew. “You know each other?”

  “I told you I was attacked by two people, remember?” Matthew said. “It looks like they’re family of yours.”

  Calista wasn’t surprised. Amos could be volatile if he thought he’d been disrespected. And Maisie wasn’t one to miss out on a fight if there was one in the vicinity.

  “What exactly did you tell him?” Calista whispered to Maisie.

  Ignoring Calista’s discreet tone, Maisie chirped, “We told him the truth—that you are plumb out of your mind. That you’re going against your raisings, and we’re here to hold you to account.”

  Amos nodded toward Matthew. “If you’re looking for a wayward lamb to bring back into the fold, Preacher, this one here needs bidding.”

  Calista had to frame this new encounter in such a way as to further her work. Unexpectedly, Amos and Maisie’s claims strengthened her disguise of being a person of low character. Their concern was authentic, even if misguided, and might get her out of explaining about the finishing school.

  Matthew was studying her as Amos recited a laundry list of complaints from Granny Laura about the dangers of the town and how Calista shouldn’t be there alone. Matthew’s gaze was steady, thoughtful, and appraising. He’d left home out of his concern for others, lived simply, worked hard. As far as he knew, she was causing her family grief just because she wanted some excitement. In his eyes, she was less considerate than the felons she’d helped catch.

  And there was no remedy until she found the girl she was looking for.

  Matthew laid a hand on Amos’s shoulder, stopping his recitation of all of Calista’s misbehaviors. He was looking at her, making a connection that made her feel somewhat giddy. Would pretending to be besotted with him further her progress? Was she pretending?

  “Tell your grandmother that Calista is attending a Bible study with a group of believers on Wednesday night,” Matthew said. “That she has someone holding her accountable.”

  “You?” Maisie flung her braid over her shoulder. “What makes you think you’re up to snuff?”

  “If she warrants family intervention, I’ll send word,” Matthew said. “And by all means, hold her to account yourselves. Far be it from me to try to replace family concern.”

  Amos scratched his head. “It’s not that I’d cast aspersions on your intentions, Matthew, but you’re no older than the rest of us. It doesn’t stand to reason that you’d be the best chaperone.”

  “I intervened when I thought you were harassing Miss Kentworth, didn’t I?”

  “And I whupped you good for it,” Maisie said.

  Calista rubbed her brow. Why hadn’t she asked to be assigned to Wyoming or somewhere less complicated?

  Matthew arched his back as if still feeling the soreness. “My point is—”

  “His point is that I’m an adult,” Calista interrupted. “I’m not doing anything illegal, but if it will settle my family’s concerns to know that I’m keeping the company of a preacher, then they can rest easy.” She hadn’t decided yet if she would go through with the offer. Keeping his company didn’t feel like a safe strategy, but someone with her poor character would make the promise without qualms just to end this discussion.

  “So you aren’t going to come with us to the ranch?” Amos asked.

  “I have a room at the Keystone. It’s very respectable,” Calista answered.

  “Where is this Bible study?” Maisie’s eyes darted from Calista to Matthew, then back again.

  “Tomorrow in the ore fields,” Matthew answered. “I’ll escort her there myself.”

  Amos winced. “Granny would be better off not knowing that she’s going anywhere near the ore fields.”

  “Pastor Dixon is married and not nearly as handsome,” Maisie whispered to Calista loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to go there? As it is, you’re kinda like Eve climbing an apple tree to get away from temptation.”

  Calista shot a startled look at Matthew, but he was immovable, not acknowledging the implications of Maisie’s tactless observation. “I’m going to the ore fields with Matthew,” she said. “What you tell Granny is your business.”

  Maisie dropped her braid, and Amos took his hands out of his pockets. “Welp,” Amos drawled,
“we said our piece. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Cook.”

  Matthew dipped his head in acknowledgment. With one last look at Calista, Amos and Maisie walked out the door.

  All the words that had been spoken seemed to take their time settling around the room. It took a minute before either of them felt like stirring them up again.

  “Thank you,” Calista said. “I’m glad they believed you.”

  “It’s true,” he replied. “You are coming. Bible study Wednesday, and then the party on Saturday. That wasn’t an excuse to rescue you from your family.”

  “They love me.” She could allow herself this one moment of honesty, couldn’t she? She reached for a long-stemmed carnation and spun it between her fingers. “If they didn’t care about me, they wouldn’t be such a bother.”

  “And I intend to be every bit as big of a bother as they are,” he said.

  “I know why my family would do that, but why would you?”

  His eyes were the color of her walnut desk when it was freshly polished. Why would she notice that now? Because neither of them could look away. Who was he? What was he thinking? Why would Matthew Cook, a good, upright man, bother to care about the likes of her?

  Mr. Trochet walked out of his office. “I told you to give that girl a rose,” he reminded Matthew. “You can do better than a carnation.”

  Matthew’s jaw moved forward, and he inhaled a deep breath. The tips of Calista’s fingers tingled as he looked her over. Then, with a sigh, he turned on his heel.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said over his shoulder as he strode out the back door.

  CHAPTER

  7

  How did one tell if he was playing with fire? When his justifications were so weak, not even he believed them. Matthew was wearing a path bare as he argued both sides of the quandary.

  With a family that good, Calista couldn’t be all bad. With a family that good, she must be an awful person to cause them grief. She’d been raised right, so she had a good foundation. She’d been raised right and had turned her back on God. Despite her scandalous behavior, she seemed decent and charming. She used her charm to deceive and excuse her scandalous behavior.