Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  Maisie was a force to be reckoned with, which meant Calista would have a hard time dealing with her. “My boss won’t agree to that. She’s not on the payroll.”

  Granny tapped her chin. “I’ve never been to Chicago. Do you reckon that Mr. Pinkerton would allow me to make a visit? I could stop in Kansas City along the way and pick up your father.”

  Calista’s family ties had been one of Mr. Pinkerton’s greatest concerns. He preferred to hire orphans or people estranged from their families. Now Calista understood why.

  “I suppose he doesn’t need to know if I have a roommate,” she grumbled.

  “That’s the spirit. Now, if you can’t tell me who you’re investigating, then I’ve got a story to tell you. It’s about a rabbit snare and a raccoon and how I came to have a pet crawling around the parlor. Come to the kitchen. I’ll get you some vittles before we go to your uncle Bill’s house and tell them that Maisie is going to be staying in town with you.”

  When it came to Granny Laura, one could argue until the cows came home and be no better off. Calista might as well accept defeat. By agreeing to Maisie’s company, she had her Granny’s approval, and that counted for a lot.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Another blast from the powder monkeys, and Matthew moved in with the other cokeys. He would never get used to his sunshine lamp—a solid mixture of lard oil and kerosene that sat on the brim of his cap. The sunshine lamps burned slowly and smoked horribly. It would have been tolerable except for its proximity to his eyes and the lack of fresh air in the mine. With the swirling dust from the explosion, it would be a half hour before he could see very far anyway. And another half an hour before the smoke from the gunpowder stopped burning his nose.

  The men moved to their ore cans. When they filled their can, they dropped a marker in it so they could claim it as their own for payment. Matthew found his can, ashamed he wasn’t filling it as fast as some of the others, but he’d get better. According to Cokey John, it would be a few weeks before his back stopped twinging with every shovelful, but one never got used to darkness and poor air.

  This was what the men had to endure. This was what drove them to speculate on leases and lose their earnings. This was what drove them to drink themselves into oblivion every weekend. Between the backbreaking work, the deadly lung diseases, and the depressing environment, hope seemed a far-off dream. It hadn’t been a full day yet, and already Matthew had a better understanding of what compelled them to make the choices they made. He also had a better understanding of how arrogant he’d acted around the men, assuming he had all the answers—he who had never been tested like they had.

  Speaking of trials and testing, how was he supposed to respond to Calista’s unpredictable behavior? He dug his shovel into the pile of rubble and tossed it into his bucket. Was she part and parcel of the corruption of Joplin, or was there a more logical explanation for her actions?

  Between thinking about Calista, praying for his friends, and plotting to stop the baby raffle, Matthew had enough on his mind to make the day pass. He wasn’t bored as he’d feared, but despite his gloves, his hands were blistered like overcooked fish. When the whistle blew, he heard the foreman’s bellow echoing through the caverns.

  “Go on up, boys.”

  Matthew planted the tip of his shovel into the ground and slowly pushed himself upright against it. Nope, his hands wouldn’t be the only part of him sore tonight.

  Much to his dismay, leaving wasn’t just a matter of walking out. Matthew had to get his ore bucket on the rails so it would be hauled to the surface and weighed. He was relieved to learn that he didn’t have to stand around and wait for them to take an accounting of it. If he trusted them, and he did, he could leave it and head back to town.

  Once aboveground, he squinted even though the clouds softened the light. Would he ever have lungs full of clean air again? That cough, so prevalent in mining towns, would be his cross to bear if God didn’t spare him. The men working their own leases enjoyed better health. That was, if they found enough zinc and lead to keep food in their bellies.

  “I just delivered my last bucket for the day, Parson.”

  Matthew turned to see Silas approaching. He pulled a grimy handkerchief out of his back pocket and swiped it against his forehead. Silas managed to do well enough on his lease even though he started work late and quit while the sun was still up. The fickleness of the ore mines on display. When someone as industrious as Dan Campbell couldn’t dig up enough zinc to make ends meet, but a frolicking playboy like Silas pulled up baskets of it by the shovelful, one better understood some of the psalmist’s laments on the unfairness of life.

  Still, Silas was working, and Matthew didn’t begrudge him his reward.

  “Are you headed to town?” Matthew asked.

  “I’ll keep you company, if you don’t mind,” Silas answered and fell into step with him.

  Matthew enjoyed knowing someone who wasn’t wallowing in need like Irvin or dripping in riches like Clydell Blount. Going to town with Silas made him feel like less of an outcast. More like he had a peer, and today he could use the companionship, because he didn’t have any good answers about Calista.

  “How was the mine?” Silas asked.

  “Not bad.” Matthew rolled his shoulders and stifled a groan. “The mine was fine, but I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a horse.”

  “I hate to tell ya, but that’s how it’s going to be,” said Silas. “Now, those blisters, you need to get something on those. Go to the dry goods store and ask for the cokey’s ointment. They’ll set you up. C’mon. I’ll take you.”

  They’d reached Broadway and were turning toward the mercantile when Matthew noticed something new. Plastered on the brick wall of the alley next to the DeGraff Building was a poster that hadn’t been there that morning.

  Support the Joplin Children’s Home

  Baby Raffle Under Way

  Tickets Available at the Carnegie Library

  Silas whistled. “A baby raffle? Who ever thought?”

  “I’ll get that ointment later. I need to pay a visit to the library.”

  “Count me in. I never pass up a curiosity.”

  Despite his earlier good humor, Matthew could feel his face settling into grim lines. By the time they’d followed the trolley tracks to the library, he felt like Moses rumbling down the mountain with the stone tablets, but instead of rioting Israelites prostrating themselves before a golden calf, he saw an assortment of Joplin’s citizens waiting at a table.

  Atop a sky-blue silk tablecloth sat a wooden box with the words Joplin’s Baby Raffle stenciled on it in gold. A woman wearing a modest coat over a waitress’s uniform opened a brown paper sack and counted out a stack of coins to a clerk behind the table.

  “Five dollars. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “My husband and I have talked about getting a child for years but didn’t know if we should. I guess if we win, then we’ll know it was time.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Did you complete the entry form?” The clerk held out his hand and took it from her. Scanning the form, he took his pen, asked for her address, then dropped the form through a slot on the side of the box and put her money into some contrivance beneath the table. “Your ticket has been registered. Good luck.”

  “Thank you.” She smoothed the empty sack, folded it, and tucked it inside her coat.

  “Looks like the contest is under way,” Silas muttered as another woman approached the table.

  “May I see the little one again before I buy my ticket?” The fur collar of this woman’s jacket wasn’t rabbit or fox or any animal Matthew had ever seen. Behind her, her maid stood, holding some recent purchases.

  “Didn’t you see him yesterday?”

  “Yes, but I want another look. I don’t buy things on impulse.” The woman’s eyes swept over the copious bags her maid was holding before returning to the clerk. “I might have missed something on the first inspection. He could be absolutely unsuitable, and th
en where would I be?”

  “If you win and decide you don’t want the child, we’ll pick another winner. You’ll have the consolation of knowing that your money is still helping the rest of the children at the home.”

  The lady checked with her maid to see if she shared her annoyance. The maid kept her eyes on the ground.

  “I’ll tell you this, if I’d known there were such beautiful children at the Children’s Home, I would’ve gotten one before now.” The woman reached into her purse. “It’s only five dollars. It’s worth a chance.”

  “Here’s a form for you to fill out, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind. You know who I am. If you have any questions, you can contact my solicitor. Good day.” She lifted the front of her skirt to make a tight turn and exit the building. She dipped her head in acknowledgment of the man who’d just entered and was strutting across the lobby.

  “Mr. Blount.” The clerk tugged his starched cuff down over his wrist. “So glad to see you. We’ve done a brisk business. This shows every sign of being a huge success.”

  “It should, by golly.” Mr. Blount scratched at his fitted suit like it was infested with fleas. “Tell you what. I’d be a poor sport if I didn’t purchase some tickets myself. Here’s fifty dollars. Put my name in ten times.”

  “Ten times?” The clerk took the money with a deferential smile. “Does Mrs. Blount want a youngster?”

  “Lands no, but the old gal needs something to liven her up. Getting long in the tooth, she is.” Mr. Blount scanned the room to see who appreciated his humor, but his grin only proved that his dentist wasn’t as particular as his tailor.

  “Yes, sir. That would be one lucky child to be raised in your household. Good luck to you, sir.”

  Matthew couldn’t help himself, even if Mr. Blount owned the mine he worked at. “Excuse me,” he said. “You probably don’t remember me, but I spoke to you at the Children’s Home. I’m disappointed to see that you’re going through with this.”

  Mr. Blount’s eyebrows lifted, and he smiled broadly. “Ah, I remember you. Yes, well, unless you know of a better way of raising money, I’d recommend you take your moral outrage to the bank and see how many of the Children’s Home’s bills it will cover.”

  “Surely you see what’s going on here. People are treating this child like a commodity. They are discussing its worth, its qualities, as if it were a piece of merchandise.”

  “And while they are talking about the babe, they are putting money in that box. That’s the bottom line, and I know a thing or two about bottom lines.”

  Matthew hadn’t expected a rich man dressed so fine to act so coarse. Or maybe he hadn’t thought that a coarse man could become this rich.

  “The child doesn’t deserve to be sent to whatever home was drawn out of a box,” Matthew said.

  “Who of us gets to pick which family we’re born into? This child has a better chance than most. At least we know the parents wanted the child and they had enough fortitude to put together five dollars. And it’s putting several in a mind to adopt that would’ve never considered it before.” Mr. Blount stepped back and scratched again at the bothersome spot. “Young man, I reckon you’re not a bad sort. What do you want?” He reached for his wallet. “If I remember correctly, you’re trying to help the miners?”

  Matthew wasn’t sure of his response. Mr. Blount seemed sincere, but it could be that he sincerely wanted to buy Matthew’s complicity. It also seemed that he was unaware that Matthew worked for him. Better to keep it that way.

  “No, thank you,” Matthew said. “I’d rather know that our charity doesn’t include selling children.”

  “No one is forcing anyone to be involved.”

  “Besides the child. You are forcing his participation.”

  Blount’s good humor was fading. Matthew seemed to have that effect on people. “You’ve made your point. Now get, before I have you arrested.”

  Matthew stood toe-to-toe with him, but in this instance, Silas had better sense.

  He grabbed Matthew’s arm. “Don’t get a trespassing charge, Parson. I’m not going to bail you out of the pokey.”

  Common sense slowly began to filter back in. It was frightening how close Matthew had come to ruining his reputation. He rubbed the back of his neck. “My apologies,” he said. “I have no right to do more beyond expressing my opinion.”

  Mr. Blount snorted, then held out his hand.

  And because he could think of no way the man had caused him personal offense, Matthew accepted the handshake, returning it wordlessly.

  He’d lost again. The satisfaction of keeping his cool was weak tea, but he could reflect on the fact that he wouldn’t have to come back and make amends. His only accomplishment was in not making a fool of himself.

  Not yet.

  “Mr. Cook.” Mr. Blount’s voice echoed in the cavernous library. “If you’re curious about how to help, you ought to have another visit with my pastor. He’s having a charitable meeting even as we speak.”

  Matthew’s teeth ground together with a satisfying groaning noise. His last meeting with Reverend Dixon hadn’t been helpful, but maybe this time he could make some progress. He’d give it a shot.

  So with his thanks and with a good-bye to Silas, he turned his feet and his mind to the Tabernacle Church.

  Matthew waited in the hallway of the Tabernacle Church and wondered what his preacher at the one-room church back home would think about having a secretary. He reckoned a pastor needed some help in a building this big, lest people get lost and endlessly wander the halls, unable to find their way out.

  He’d only worked his hands around the brim of his straw hat once before the door opened and Reverend Dixon stepped out. “Mr. Cook, I’m afraid I don’t have time right now. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

  “I’ll be brief. Mr. Blount told me to call.”

  Reverend Dixon’s face stretched in surprise. “Well, then, I’d better hear what you have to say.”

  No use in beating around the bush. “The baby raffle hasn’t been canceled, and some of your church members are promoting it. As their spiritual adviser, it’s your duty to call them into account.”

  Reverend Dixon studied him for a moment. “Why don’t you come inside?” He cleared the doorway and turned toward a rawboned man with blueprints in hand. “No need for you to leave, Oscar. Let me hear Mr. Cook out, and then I’ll get back to you.”

  Matthew recognized the manager of his mine, Oscar Kentworth.

  “Not to worry. I know Mr. Cook.” Mr. Kentworth watched Matthew with a keen interest as he entered the room.

  Reverend Dixon’s office wasn’t what Matthew expected. He’d never seen walls painted that purply-pink of a cow’s tongue before. With the white paneling and gold fixtures, he reckoned his mother would say it was elegant, but he couldn’t understand how any man could spend more than a passing moment in it. He could feel the pink draining the strength straight from his body.

  Instead of going behind the desk, the pastor sat in a chair angled toward Matthew. “Thank you for coming with your concerns over the baby raffle. I’ve thought over your objections, but I’ve decided I won’t oppose the charity efforts.”

  His calm answer made Matthew feel uncouth and graceless, but it didn’t weaken his resolve.

  “Is your decision swayed by the donations of Mr. Blount?” Matthew asked.

  To his surprise, Reverend Dixon considered the question carefully. “I don’t believe so, no. Even if no one I knew was proposing the idea, I don’t think there’s enough harm in it to warrant protest. Rather than spend my time stopping people who are trying to help, I’m listening for what God is leading me to do.”

  “You think Blount’s trying to help? Instead of selling babies, why doesn’t he refuse to lease his buildings to saloons? Why doesn’t he improve ventilation in his mines, so the miners don’t get sick? Why doesn’t he set a better example to all his workers who see his success and want to imitate it?”


  Reverend Dixon leaned forward. “The church is for sinners, rich and poor. Some come to us already trained and discipled, while others have only begun their journey. If we turned away everyone who hadn’t surrendered their will, where else would they hear the challenge to do so?”

  Matthew squirmed beneath the pastor’s piercing gaze. “It’s unseemly,” he said at last. “There should be some accounting.”

  “I agree, and I pray every day for the wisdom to apply that accounting when needed. In the meantime, we take the resources that God has granted us and do what we can. Right now, Oscar and I are looking at plans for a learning center at the Fox-Berry Mine. It’d be a place the employees could go to further their education and get medical help. Mr. Blount is donating the money to build and outfit the building, and if we provide the volunteers, then we’re free to conduct Bible studies on the premises as well.”

  Matthew looked at the blueprint greedily. Something like that might have made a difference for Uncle Manuel. Just a place to go after work instead of heading to the saloon. A doctor, a pastor, people who cared who could’ve seen the danger he was in and intervened. It was just the kind of work Matthew had hoped to start himself.

  “How was your first day?” Mr. Kentworth asked.

  With the raffle and now the blueprints on his mind, Matthew had forgotten about his grimy skin and britches. Even though he’d donned a clean shirt and changed boots in the doghouse, he didn’t look sharp enough to be meeting his boss and a rich pastor.

  “I’m grateful for the work,” he said. “It’ll be tough to keep up one’s spirits down there day after day, but I’m going to do my best.”