Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  “I can’t promise for everyone,” Mrs. Bowman said with a smile and opened the door to step out.

  “Before you leave . . .” Calista shifted her weight and knocked over a toddler. The baby toppled onto another crawling toward her. Both broke into cries. Raising her voice, Calista decided to pry one more time. “Do you see many of the mothers? After they leave their kids here, do they ever visit?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve asked about the mothers.” Mrs. Bowman’s brows pinched together over the bridge of her spectacles.

  Calista swallowed. “All these children must have mothers.”

  Mrs. Bowman was talking, but Calista couldn’t hear her over the din. She leaned forward and cupped her hand behind her ear. Honestly, didn’t these babies know that she was trying to have a conversation? Mrs. Bowman’s mouth tightened. Whatever she had to say, it looked like she was regretting that she’d welcomed Calista after all.

  Mrs. Bowman opened the half door and scooped up the crawler, then held the baby out to Calista. Calista took it beneath the arms and held it suspended. It was heavier than it looked. She watched as Mrs. Bowman settled a toddler on her hip, then mimicked her, jutting out her side to give herself enough hip for the baby to rest on. But with the crying that close to her ear, all hopes for a conversation were vanishing.

  Mrs. Bowman handed her the second screaming child, and then, with a tiny wave of her fingers, left Calista to the nearly toothless wolves.

  By the time the regular workers returned, Calista understood why they would welcome a day of hard labor in the garden. She had never felt more rumpled or dowdy. Her hair was a mess, her sleeve was soggy from being gummed while she was on the floor playing, and her back needed stretching. What was worse, it was already getting dark, and she was going to be late for Matthew’s Saturday night party.

  And she’d accomplished nothing on the case. Whenever the young but suspicious Mrs. Bowman was out of sight, Calista passed around the picture of Lila and asked the nursery workers if they remembered this girl visiting in the last few months. Of course, she would have looked different, not dressed for a formal occasion, but no one had, although several of them commented on how young and tragic she looked. If they only knew.

  The ride back to town took twice as long. At every stop, passengers shoved through the rows of seats to exit the streetcar, fighting against the passengers trying to get on. Evidently, there was no prescribed limit to how many passengers a car could legally carry. If they paid the fare, they were allowed to stand anywhere, even balance on the edge, as they rode along. If Calista hadn’t already been run roughshod by the babies, she probably would have taken offense to the jostling she got from the passengers. Everyone from the mines, the refineries, and the claims that surrounded Joplin and its neighboring communities had come to town to settle up and get their weekly pay. Knowing that money would be in good supply, farmers, traders, and tinkers had brought their wares as well. It was like market day, crossed with a carnival, crossed with Christmas—if your Christmas involved flowing alcohol, brawls, and gambling.

  The streetcar reached her corner. Calista had to fight her way through the crowded aisle to get off before it started up again. Once off, she looked wistfully up at the side of the hotel. In the coming darkness, she couldn’t make out her room, but as much as she’d like to change her clothes, she didn’t want to keep Matthew’s friends waiting. Besides, it might do him some good to see her mussed and realize how hard she’d worked.

  She took the steps to the flower shop, not surprised to see it lit up and busy. A man held the door open for his lady, then waited politely for Calista to enter before following the woman with a bouquet. Calista waved to Mr. Trochet as he rang up another purchase, then made her way to the back of the store.

  The door outside was open, and a streetlamp shed its light over the fence. The garden was more beautiful up close than it was from six floors above. The greenhouse was dark, with the outline of plants pressed against the glass walls, and the little cabin was nestled against the fence with a gravel walkway winding its way to the yellow painted steps.

  Calista had never been to Matthew’s cabin before. She was surprised at her feeling of uncertainty. What did she have to be nervous about? She’d been presented to more important society before. Her heels clomped against the hollow wooden stairs as voices from inside reached her.

  “Thank you, Matt. We’d like to stay longer, but Loretta wants to get home before the streets become too unruly.”

  “What am I going to do with all these sandwiches?” That was Matthew. She could hear the smile in his voice as he encouraged them to take some home.

  “You have an icebox,” Loretta answered. “You can—” She spotted Calista in the doorway. “Calista! Good. I hope you’re hungry. Matthew has all this food, and we were just leaving.”

  “Calista.” Matthew stood proud and welcoming, making it impossible for her attention to rest anywhere but on him. “You’re here.” Then his bottom lip bounced. “The Campbells are already leaving. I don’t think Silas is going to show up.”

  Dan had settled Loretta’s shawl on her shoulders, but he paused. Calista shifted her bag to her other hand. If they were going, it wouldn’t be right for her to stay. Not by herself. Loretta turned her head to catch her husband’s eye.

  “We’re not in that big of a hurry,” Dan said and took Loretta’s shawl.

  Did Matthew feel as relieved as she did? He beamed as he strode toward her. “Welcome. It’s not much beyond a cozy little hole-in-the-wall, but it’s comfortable.”

  “It’s perfect,” she said, although she hadn’t yet taken her eyes off him.

  “The floral wallpaper is an affront, and the prissy sofa won’t wear well with me falling onto it of an evening, but the apartment came furnished, and what should one expect when living behind a flower shop?”

  Calista forced herself to take stock of the room. As he’d said, the furniture would have looked more at home in a formal parlor, which was where it probably had been a decade ago. Yet, besides the fussy decor, the room contained everything a bachelor would need, from the economy gas stove and icebox to the metal-framed bed.

  “It’s nicer than being hustled along the sidewalks tonight,” she said.

  “Is that what happened to you?” he asked as he grabbed a plate and loaded it with more sandwiches than she’d eat in a month.

  “Matthew!” Loretta blinked in shock. “Don’t you know not to make a negative comment about a lady’s appearance?”

  “He didn’t say anything about her appearance,” Dan replied.

  “Yes, he did. Her hair’s awry, her clothes are rumpled,” Loretta said. “That’s what he meant.”

  Matthew passed the plate of sandwiches to Calista. “But I didn’t say anything negative.”

  Calista adjusted the heavy knot of hair that was sliding off its designated spot and toward her ear. “If I look unkempt, it’s Matthew’s fault. He’s the one who got me a volunteer position at the Children’s Home.”

  Loretta sat suddenly, Dan barely having time to arrange a chair beneath her. “What age of children did you mind?”

  “The babies.” Calista passed the plate to her. “I didn’t see any newborns, mind you, but those that are crawling and bigger.”

  Loretta took a sandwich off Calista’s plate and ripped off a bite. “Did any of them stand out to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Make an impression. Catch at your heart. Endear themselves?”

  Calista shrugged. “I was so busy keeping sundries out of their mouths and keeping their diapers dry that I didn’t have time to favor any in particular. I’m sure they are all precious, but I wouldn’t be a good judge.”

  Matthew was leaning against the table with his arms crossed, watching Loretta thoughtfully. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss to Calista. Loretta looked like she was satisfying a healthy appetite, especially since she’d claimed to be full earlier. If anyone looked ill at ease,
it was her husband, Dan.

  Calista took a bite of her sandwich. The vinegary jolt surprised her. “Pickles and salami?” she choked out. “Savory.”

  “I don’t do a lot of cooking,” Matthew said, “so I’ve been experimenting with the different meats at the deli. Especially those that have been discounted.” He poured her a glass of tea. She guessed before its coolness splashed down her throat that it would be sweetened.

  “Since moving in at the hotel, I haven’t cooked much either,” Calista said. “My rooms are spacious enough for entertaining, but they prohibit cooking. That means I spend more time in restaurants than I’d like.”

  “That’s so pricey,” Loretta said. “The expense must be a strain on you.”

  Calista waved away her suggestion with a story already in place. “You have to spend money to make money. If I’m going to get a career that fits me, I have to spend time in those circles. It’s just the way things are.”

  “And what kind of job is that?” Mr. Campbell asked.

  Calista sat in a small wooden chair, testing its base before she launched into the meat of her story. “My talents lie in the arts—decorating, flower arranging, fabric selection.” Had she covered everything that Matthew had heard about? “I’ve also done some nursing,” she added. There. That should suffice.

  “The Keystone is very fine. Do you expect you’ll make enough decorating to afford your lodging?” Mr. Campbell asked.

  Matthew’s foot stopped tapping, and he leaned forward for her answer. Calista could already tell he wasn’t going to believe it, no matter what she said.

  “Matt-hew . . .” Irvin’s voice wavered from the entrance. “I told ya I’d come, Matt-hew, and here I am.” He stepped into the room, holding a bottle by the neck. He shuffled sideways until he found a wall to lean against, then put his hands on his knees and bent forward.

  Saved from answering, Calista took another bite of her sandwich as Loretta got up and propelled Irvin by the shoulders to her seat.

  “Sit down before you fall down,” Loretta said while her husband took away the bottle.

  “I think you’ve worked this one over.” Dan passed the bottle to Matthew, who tilted it to see that it was empty before dropping it into the trash bin.

  “Welcome to the party.” Forgoing a plate, Matthew picked up a sandwich and dropped it into Irvin’s lap. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m not hungry. They fed me well over at Black Jack’s. I didn’t even have to leave the poker table. Food and drink appeared magically at my side.”

  “At least he decided to leave and come here,” Loretta said. “He wasn’t out all night.”

  “Is that true?” Matthew asked. “Did you decide to leave?”

  Irvin rubbed his forehead hard, pushing the skin from one side to the other. “If I’d won that one hand, I would’ve left a rich man. As it were, I was out of chips, and they were out of patience.”

  “It’ll be a hungry week,” Matthew said.

  Irvin stuck the sandwich inside his shirt. “I’ll save this for later.”

  Loretta covered her mouth to hide her smile. Calista looked at Matthew to gauge his response. To her surprise, he winked, then poured Irvin a cup of coffee off the stove.

  “Now that you have another guest, we don’t feel so bad leaving,” Dan said. “Loretta was looking to get home.”

  “Go on,” Matthew told him. “I’ll deal with Irvin. If Calista wants to stay . . .”

  She’d seen drunks before. When she was befriending that Louisiana embezzler in her first case, he’d taken to drinking his guilt away. Unfortunately for him, the more he drowned his conscience, the more the facts of the case floated up. She knew Irvin meant her no disrespect, and if he did, Matthew looked fully capable of intervening.

  “I just got here,” she said. “You all go ahead. Don’t worry about us.”

  Looking confused, Irvin lurched out of his chair and followed Dan out the cabin door. Matthew chased after him.

  “No you don’t.” He turned Irvin on his heel and led him back to the cabin. “You’re our chaperone. If I have to feed you all week, you can at least do that.”

  Irvin straightened and tugged his vest down smooth. Or as smooth as it could go with a sandwich beneath it. “I’m honored you trust me with such an exalted position.”

  Walking behind Calista’s chair, Matthew trailed his hand over her shoulders as he passed, sending shivers down her spine. “This might be a total disaster,” he whispered. “My apologies in advance.”

  “I’m up for the adventure,” she said. And she was. This was infinitely more interesting than watching a room full of infants.

  Reading her thoughts, Matthew asked, “How was your day at the Children’s Home?”

  “I survived. Barely.” Running her hand over her hair, she felt how truly disorganized it had become. “Sticky fingers don’t make good pomade.”

  “No one watches a nursery to improve their looks,” he said, “but you did a good thing for them. When I think of what lies ahead for one of those boys . . .” He cut his eyes to Irvin, who was dozing off in his chair. “Upsy-daisy. Let’s get you somewhere else before you fall out of that chair.”

  Matthew wrapped an arm around the miner’s shoulders and lifted him to his feet. He tried to steer him to the sofa, but Irvin demanded to lie in the bed.

  “It’ll mean sacrificing my clean sheets and half of tomorrow to beat creepy-crawlies out of my mattress,” Matthew said.

  He was such a good man. Calista would have burned the mattress before letting Irvin sleep on it, and that wasn’t because of the callous disguise she was adopting.

  “What’s happening to the kids at the Children’s Home?” She took a bite of her sandwich, trying not to appear too curious. And also trying not to look disgusted by the taste.

  The sorrow on his face sobered her. “To raise money for the home, the Elks are selling tickets.” He rubbed his hands together. “They are having a raffle, and the winner gets a baby.”

  Calista didn’t mean to laugh so suddenly. She also didn’t mean to inhale a bite of her sandwich. A pickle plastered itself on the back of her throat, and she tried to cough it out.

  Matthew was at her side in a moment and pounding her back with more force than necessary. Honestly, what was he trying to prove? That he was stronger than Paul Bunyan?

  She couldn’t stop laughing. “Give me a moment, will you?”

  “As long as you’re not going to die in my cabin.”

  “Not from this,” she said. Throwing her shoulders back, she took a deep breath and salvaged some composure before facing him. “Do you mean to tell me that they hope to earn money by a raffle, and the prize for their raffle is going to be one of those babies?” She didn’t give him time to answer before blurting out, “Who in the world would want that? That’s the worst prize in the history of contests. They won’t raise a cent.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  In Matthew’s opinion, if anyone was going to be outraged by the thought of using a baby as a prize, it should be a woman. The fairer sex possessed the gentler spirits and domestic tendencies that improved the baser impulses of men and helped refine society. Compassionate women needed to show these community leaders the error of their ways. Loretta had nearly collapsed when he’d told her about the plan. He’d only waited this long to present the idea to Calista because he feared another strong reaction and didn’t want to be responsible for causing her distress.

  He shouldn’t have worried.

  She picked at a stain on her shoulder. “Winning a baby? Prizes are supposed to be something beneficial, not something that will take all your time, ruin your clothes, and tie you down forever.” How could she look so wholesome and joyful when spouting such heartless thoughts? “I have an idea. If you really want to make some money, have a contest where the only way you can guarantee not to be left with the baby is if you donate. Put all the wealthy women on notice that if they don’t raise funds, you’ll deliver a child
to their house for them to raise. That will help collections.”

  “Are you serious? You don’t care about the children?”

  “Would I have spent my day the way I did if I didn’t care? Of course I care. It’s just a prize I wouldn’t want to win. Now, if you’re going to raffle off some kid gloves, or a beaded handbag, then I might buy a ticket.” She twisted her mouth to the side. “If I wasn’t opposed to gambling, that is.”

  She was so obviously trying to appease him that Matthew felt guilty for his outrage. He fought to loosen the muscles in his neck. She was being honest. She was telling him what she thought. If he responded poorly, she would learn to hide her opinion, perhaps even to say what she thought he wanted to hear. Nothing would be more pointless.

  “That’s understandable,” he managed, “but my concerns aren’t whether you’re going to buy tickets. My concerns are over the indignity to the child. People aren’t property. You shouldn’t be able to win one in a raffle.”

  “I understand, but when you look at it, this solves several problems simultaneously. The home has children it must provide for. They lack funds. Growing up in an orphanage isn’t ideal, so it’d be better if children could be placed in families. If there are families wanting children, and willing to give some money for a chance at a child . . .”

  “Morals aren’t just a matter of what’s financially beneficial.”

  “And just because something is financially beneficial doesn’t mean it’s immoral.”

  The feeling of conflict was disagreeable to Matthew. Having spent his life surrounded by the family and friends who raised him, he wasn’t used to such stark differences of opinions on moral issues. People either agreed, or they were determined to be difficult. His instinct was to say Calista didn’t care, but what if she did? Could she disagree with him and still be right?

  “I’m trying to dissuade them from this event. Whatever the end result is, I think this road leads to darker, more sinister places.”

  Calista set her plate on the table, leaving only the crust of her sandwich. “I won’t get in your way, Matthew. You have to listen to your conscience. But I wouldn’t cry any tears if the Elks go ahead with the fundraiser. The child will probably be better off, and it might encourage some people to adopt when they hadn’t thought of it before.” She scanned the table as if he’d hidden dessert somewhere and she couldn’t locate it. “You said this was a party?”