Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  Of all the invitees to stay, it had to be the one who didn’t consider a plate of sandwiches adequate fare for entertaining. “I was thinking of sustenance for Irvin more than sweets.”

  “Games?”

  “There are only two of us.”

  “I can think of games for two.” Surely she hadn’t meant anything improper, but she blushed all the same.

  He cleared his throat. “I made some pantomime cards.” He picked up the bowl containing the folded activities he’d written. He should be disappointed that he only had one coherent visitor, but he regretted nothing.

  “Then let’s play that,” she said.

  “But I know all the answers already.”

  “Then I’ll make mine up. I can do that, can’t I?”

  He motioned her to the sofa. “Since there are only two of us, besides Sleeping Beauty over there, we might as well be comfortable.”

  She pushed her chair out of the way and joined him on the couch. He fished his hand through the slips of paper, not even caring which he drew—until he opened it. He could have pulled lassoing a calf, or splitting logs, or any number of other pantomimes that would put his manliness at its best advantage. Why had he even included this one?

  Sticking the slip of paper into his breast pocket, he stood before her, rubbing his hands together.

  “I can’t tell if you’re getting ready for your turn, or if this is part of the act,” she laughed.

  “In real life, this is preparation for the activity.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and blew, hamming it up if it meant keeping her attention.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Well?”

  “I’m getting there.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs, then squatted down. It would be easier if he had a stool. As it were, he’d have to keep his balance and not fall over. Holding his hands in front of him, he pantomimed pulling downward with alternating strokes. She might be a city girl, but everyone knew what milking a cow looked like, didn’t they?

  Evidently not.

  “Hmm . . . shoeing a horse?” she asked.

  His face scrunched up. Did she seriously think this was how you shoed a horse?

  Keeping silent, he exaggerated his motions. One arm, then the other. He looked up to see if she was close to an answer, but her face was as blank as a new blackboard.

  “Knitting?” she said.

  Maybe her pretty face masked a dunce’s intellect? Going even bigger, Matthew exaggerated his movements, being careful to get the roll of his hands right. Poor cow. If this were a real milking, she’d be sore tomorrow. He looked up, and it must have been too quickly, because he caught Calista trying to hide a smile. She was laughing at him.

  “You know, don’t you?” He straightened with fists against his waist. “Why didn’t you say? I lost feeling in my feet.”

  “Your technique wasn’t quite right. When I stayed at my granny’s ranch, if I milked a cow like that, I’d get kicked in the head.”

  “Your granny sounds like a fearsome lady.”

  Calista laughed. “She wouldn’t be the one kicking me in the head, but that doesn’t change her fearsomeness.”

  “You’ve had your laugh. Let’s see how you do.”

  “I can’t do one of the cards you made.” She stood and tapped her chin as she paced the room, thinking.

  Matthew settled onto the sofa. “C’mon. This isn’t supposed to be too difficult.”

  She tilted her head toward the ceiling, then gave a quick nod. “Okay. It’s juvenile, but you deserve something easy.”

  Calista stood in the empty space between the table and sofa. Despite her rumpled clothing, she still looked too fine to be in his lodgings. When he’d decided to leave Pine Gap to come to Joplin, all he could think of was the sacrifices he was willing to make. Suddenly, the sacrifices didn’t seem so great.

  With a flourish, Calista extended one arm in front of her and made a loose fist, as if she were holding something upright. She widened her eyes and rubbed her stomach as she moved her empty hand just beneath her chin. Then, to Matthew’s infinite amusement, she began licking the air.

  With long motions of ducking her head, then drawing it up with her tongue out, she mimicked licking a lollipop. Was it a lollipop? No, she was leaving room for something bigger in her hand. An ice cream cone—that was what she was pretending to lick. The faces she was making—eyes wide, getting her neck into it. He couldn’t decide if she looked enticing or ridiculous, but he did decide that he wasn’t going to let her stop.

  “Going to the doctor?” he managed to choke out.

  She shook her head. “Mmm . . .” she moaned as she twisted her head to get that imaginary ice cream cone from every angle.

  “Bobbing for apples?”

  “I’m using my tongue, not my teeth,” she whispered, then went back to her task.

  “My mistake,” he said. This really would be remembered as one of the most interesting moments of his life. “Give me one more try. I think I’m about to get it.”

  Her moans of satisfaction should have been considered cheating, but Matthew wasn’t about to stop her. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. It was Irvin turning over on the bed.

  “I know what she’s doing.” Irvin sat up and fluffed the pillow beneath his head. “She’s necking with her fella.”

  Calista’s mouth hinged wide open. She looked at Irvin; she looked at Matthew. Deep down, Matthew knew he should be mature. He knew that chivalry required him to cover for Irvin’s horrifying observation. But when the chips were down, he was still a twenty-three-year-old farm boy with a fine appreciation for the ribald.

  He burst out laughing. His chest tightened and convulsed with his guffaws. He could feel his eyes watering, but he couldn’t stop. When he thought back to her enthusiastic licking and moans of pleasure, the comparison was too funny.

  Not surprisingly, Calista didn’t share his opinion.

  “That’s not what I was doing,” she said. “I was eating an ice cream cone.”

  “I know . . . I know . . .” he gasped.

  “You knew? Then why didn’t you say . . . ?” Her eyes narrowed. “This is payback for the milking, isn’t it?”

  “You were enjoying that ice cream so much, I hated to interrupt you.” With a wipe of his eyes, he walked over to her and touched her lightly on the jaw. “Go ahead and smile. This is supposed to be a party, remember?”

  She looked up at him with those brown eyes. The air around them seemed to crackle.

  “It’s getting late,” she said. “I should go back to the hotel.” But she didn’t move.

  “I’ll walk you, but one thing first.” He didn’t move either.

  “What?”

  “Tell me that you’d rather be here with me than in a saloon, being harassed by the customers.”

  She bit her lip as she gauged his sincerity. Then, in a move that made his heart jump, she took his arm. “If I had no other goal but my own entertainment, I’d stay here with you indefinitely.”

  He escorted her out, knowing that he would spend all night on the inadequate sofa, pondering what she meant by that indecipherable statement.

  Matthew walked her to her hotel. Even though it was only across the alley, the streets were boisterous enough that he claimed to be concerned. If only he’d seen the other places she’d been, hiding alone, haunting vacant depots at night, pretending to be someone she wasn’t and protected solely by falsehoods.

  But tonight her true identity was adequate. A rambunctious, well-off lady from Kansas City. That was what she was, and that was all he could know for the time. There was a difference in the way he escorted her. Usually men were formal, keeping their arm away from their body as they escorted a lady. Matthew kept her arm tucked against his side. When they were caught swimming upstream against a rush of people, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kept her protected against him. It was a cozy arrangement. She wished it didn’t have to end, but the way he ran his hand down the length of her arm and brushed aga
inst her waist before taking an official escort position again made it all worth it. She glanced up as they passed beneath a light pole. The corner of his mouth was tucked tight with the hint of a satisfied grin. She ducked her head before he caught her looking.

  The enormous double doors of the hotel were propped open. As they entered the lobby, Matthew greeted a shoeless boy selling boutonnieres at the entrance. Calista watched as he inquired about the boy’s business for the night, then dug deep into his pocket to find some coins. The boy winced until he saw that Matthew intended to buy a boutonniere. With his pride preserved, the boy sold him a rose on a straight pin with a smile.

  They stepped across the threshold and into the marble monstrosity that was the Keystone lobby.

  “You live in a flower store,” she said above the din of the crowded room. “What do you need a boutonniere for?”

  “To give to you,” he said. “I talk to Georgie every week while he’s digging through the garbage can in the back of the shop. The flowers are a tad wilted, but by eleven o’clock on a Saturday night, who’s going to notice?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That flower was in the garbage?”

  “It smells just as . . .” He held it up to his nose. “Never mind. You should probably drop this in the trash.”

  She’d keep it anyway.

  They came to the ornate doors of the elevator. A half dozen men stood waiting for it to reach the ground floor. Matthew looked back toward the street, then again at the crowd of men.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Calista said. “It was nice.” It was more than nice, but she wasn’t one to be effusive with sentiment.

  “It was more than nice,” he said. He continued to eye the men waiting at the elevator. They’d taken notice of her. As was her custom, she’d picked out the one who looked the least threatening to stand beside, although that was the problem with elevators. One couldn’t choose who would be left in the elevator after a few stops.

  Matthew was having the same thoughts. “I’ll see you to your room,” he said.

  What would her father think? Or her brother, if he knew?

  She kept her eyes downcast in the elevator. Her hotel suite was spacious. Several families lived in similar suites while their new homes were being built. This wasn’t any more personal than visiting someone’s home, but having Matthew with her felt intimate. With each ding of the bell, with each person exiting the elevator, she felt a delicious tension rising. He was being gallant, seeing her to her door, and she was happy for more time together.

  As the last man left, he asked, “How many more floors do we have to go?”

  “To the top.”

  The doors closed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Clearing his throat, he waited while the attendant pushed the button to the sixth floor again. She felt flustered as well, and with every stolen moment, a warning in her heart was growing harder to ignore. She wondered what her father would think about Matthew. The more important question was what Mr. Pinkerton would think.

  The doors opened to the long hallway. Matthew stepped out with the clear intention of seeing her behind a locked door before he abandoned his duty. Calista loosened the strings on her handbag to find her key. No distractions. She had to solve this case before Pinkerton talked Jinxy into sending someone more experienced. She had to find Lila both for the girl’s sake and her own. Calista had a mission and a desire to do more than wear ballgowns and the latest coifs. She wanted more.

  Matthew couldn’t interfere with that.

  “I’ve never been in such a beautiful place,” he said as he tilted his head back to gawk at the teardrop chandelier over their heads. They had a similar one in her dining room at home, but she’d never thought it remarkable.

  They reached her door. The key worked as smoothly as a skater on ice. She swung the door open, then turned to him. “You really didn’t have to walk me this far.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He craned his neck to see inside her suite, then whistled. “That’s something else,” he said. “Tomorrow is Sunday. Do you want to do a Bible study at Irvin’s again? We’ll have some strong coffee for everyone.”

  Every part of her wanted to say yes, but she had a mission, and it wouldn’t be furthered by another afternoon with the limited company that met at Irvin’s tent. She had to get to work.

  “I’m going to try one of the bigger churches tomorrow,” she said. “There are several right here in town.”

  He nodded his acquiescence. “Selfishness has never been a failing of mine until now. I don’t want to share you.” He watched as she pulled off her gloves, loosening one finger at a time. “I start work at the Fox-Berry on Monday, but if you’re around in the evening . . .”

  She held her bare hand out to him. As pleasant as the evening had been, her attention had turned back to her case. The sooner Matthew left, the sooner she could sneak outside and speak to more girls. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He hesitated before taking her hand, but instead of a quick handshake, he held it. They stood there motionless. She felt it was an honest moment on his part, but she couldn’t afford honesty. She had too much to lose. Lila had too much to lose. Besides, if she were merely visiting Joplin as Calista York, Kansas City debutante, would she be giving this backwoods preacher-boy the time of day, or was it just part of her disguise?

  It troubled her that she couldn’t answer that question. Or maybe she didn’t want to answer that question. All she wanted to think about was how nice it was standing there in the hallway, holding his hand.

  CHAPTER

  10

  “I’ll take the laundry to the line,” Calista volunteered. It sounded like the perfect assignment. No one at the Children’s Home would be inconvenienced if she disappeared for a while, and no children would be hurt if she abandoned her station. After another weekend without any sign of Lila, it was time to dive into the home’s records. While the House of Lords was a notorious brothel, there had to be smaller, lesser-known places that were exploiting women. Calista would search through them all.

  After securing permission from the director, Mrs. Fairfield, Calista balanced the basket of clean, wet linens on her hip and sashayed in through the front door of the home. In Calista’s opinion, her carefree manner was one of her most effective tools. Even if someone stopped and corrected her behavior, they rarely attributed anything sinister to her mistake. For some reason, people thought it likely that she didn’t know where she was supposed to be or what she was supposed to be doing. Unfortunately, even Mr. Pinkerton seemed to believe her ruse. Calista hummed and twirled her floral scarf as she walked past the nurseries. Finding Lila would prove her value to her boss more than any dour expression could.

  What would Matthew think if he knew? If things had stayed as they were, he might be annoyed, or maybe even amused, that she wasn’t a girl looking for a designing job, as she claimed. But now it was different. Saturday night, everything had changed. He wasn’t a man she’d just met. He wasn’t an acquaintance from whom she could withhold information. She owed him the truth, and the fact that she had to deceive him troubled her greatly.

  Calista’s humming dropped as she approached the reception area. Stopping before she came in view of the desk, she leaned her back against the door to the records office, slanting it open. Cooler air wafted out of the dark room. She readjusted the basket on her hip and peered inside the office. Empty. Looking once over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she bumped against the door and slipped inside as it shut behind her.

  Situated in the middle of the building, the room was windowless. With a flick of a switch, the electric lights hummed to life. Dropping the basket of wet laundry, Calista turned the knob on the deadbolt lock, ensuring that no one would interrupt her until she’d had time to find what she was looking for.

  Starting at her left, Calista methodically made her way through the desk drawers, then the files in the credenza. Some were licenses, some were expense books, some were applications for
adoption, some were employees’ files. None of those interested her. It wasn’t until she opened a wooden file drawer on an upright cabinet that her heart sped up.

  It was the records on the children. A quick scan revealed that they weren’t arranged chronologically, as she’d hoped, but alphabetically. Was there a file for every child at the Children’s Home? She bit her lip and glared at the cherry desk clock on the credenza. How long would this take? No matter. Every piece of information had the potential to be useful.

  Yanking out the first file, she flipped it open. The top record was a listing of the child’s measurements and shoe size. This child was nearly as tall as she was. She snapped the file closed and traded it for the next one. She needed newer files. Who cared where the children came from ten years ago? It didn’t take more than a couple of files before Calista learned to open the file to the back and look at the first record for the information she sought. There she found the date the child had been left at the home, the parents’ names if known, and the parents’ locations.

  She focused on the parents’ locations first. Scattered among the records were mentions of some of the shanty towns surrounding the mines. Women, maybe even married, who couldn’t afford their child. Those records weren’t what she was looking for.

  The ones that made her giddy were the listings of the hotels, the saloons, the seedy apartments on Maiden Lane. While she didn’t expect to find Lila Seaton’s name on the records, all of the places the mothers lived were good places to search for the missing girl.

  Calista worked her way through half the files, committing to memory the places that fit the criteria she was searching for. While they didn’t have pictures in the files, the ages of the babies made them easy to pair with the children she’d tended. Calista wondered which was the baby that would be given away in the raffle. Or would the winner have their pick? Would these mothers who lived at the Grosman’s Inn, Delilah’s Inn, or the Clarketon come to watch?