Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  But she was here now, and despite the grueling toil of his day, he had the energy to go wherever she wanted.

  They left the flower store. He and Silas walked behind the ladies as Calista led the way. What exactly they were hoping to accomplish, he couldn’t say. From the time he’d realized that he was to leave Pine Gap, Matthew had prayed diligently for God’s guidance. For most of the situations he’d faced, he was confident that he was representing Christ well. His desire to help these people hadn’t wavered. He had managed to hold the loneliness and homesickness at bay. So far, he’d had no doubts concerning God’s calling. But no matter how many times he brought up Calista’s name to God, he never got a satisfactory answer.

  Calista’s steps were quick and light as a deer’s, while Maisie’s showed more strength and surprising grace, considering her general manners. The two girls couldn’t be more different, but there were rare flashes of family resemblance—gestures that called to mind the other, like the way they tilted their head to the side when listening to a story, or the subtle alertness that made them difficult to surprise. And, of course, the easily discernible widow’s peak that even Oscar Kentworth had. Come to think of it, Matthew should be suspect of anyone in town who had that trait, since he already knew her family to be in the area. The last thing he needed was more of Calista’s relatives confounding him.

  Although Matthew thought he had ample reasons to end his acquaintance with Calista, he could never pull the trigger. It was as if all the half-truths, unexplainable quirks, and outrageous behavior were to be ignored. Every time he opened his mouth to call her to account, he felt the restraint of the Holy Spirit. Mercy, patience, forgiveness. He’d come to town with the understanding that he would encounter people who lacked good raising. He’d scolded himself to remember that he couldn’t expect holiness out of lost sheep who’d yet to meet the Shepherd. But he felt an urgency with Calista that he couldn’t justify with a clean conscience.

  For some reason, Matthew didn’t feel the same frustration with Irvin, no matter how many of his paydays went to the whiskey shops. Irvin was a work in progress, and if he made it into heaven with a deathbed conversion, Matthew would celebrate with the angels. But he didn’t have the same patience with Calista. Every misstep of hers affected him deeply. He couldn’t endure the inconsistencies. They grieved him. Should he feel the same sorrow for everyone who strayed, or was there another element present?

  Calista stopped before a dingy building. Her broad-brimmed hat hid her face as she talked to Maisie. Silas stepped forward to join the conversation, leaving Matthew to ruminate. It was time to be truthful to God and to himself. It wasn’t an overwhelming sorrow about the state of her soul that had him crying out to God about her. The urgency he felt wasn’t holiness, it was selfishness. It wasn’t an offense to righteousness that concerned him, but the offense done to his heart. But God didn’t care about protecting his heart, so Matthew had to continue this tightrope of admiring a woman who showed virtue and character but who applied it so poorly as to be criminal.

  Calista turned to address him, trepidation evident in her eyes. Why did she have to be so transparent? Even before she opened her mouth, Matthew knew she wasn’t going to tell him the truth.

  “I just caught a glimpse of an old friend from Kansas City through the window.” Her face was alight with joy, but her eyes told him all he needed to know. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll rejoin you shortly.”

  Maisie stepped closer to Silas, pleased to beg off the errand, but Matthew was caught. Should he ignore the lie and do as she asked, or call her into account? But a third option compelled him. Protect her, even in her deceit.

  He looked at the lettering over the lacquered door. A hotel? That settled it. She wasn’t going in alone.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to Silas.

  Calista didn’t look pleased that he was joining her, but neither did she look surprised as he held the door open, then followed her inside.

  His first thought upon entering was how different this shabby room was from the opulent hotel Calista was staying in. The rug was worn through and pocked with burn holes, especially by the cold hearth that currently held a collection of spider webs. While the tiny room held three spittoons, it didn’t hold a single person. Missing was the friend that Calista claimed to have seen.

  Also missing was a clerk at the desk. Matthew strode to the desk and popped his hand down on the bell. Besides a dull clink, there was no sound from it. Not one. The lobby was absolutely empty. He started toward a door, figuring it was an office, but Calista placed a hand on his arm.

  “Let’s not disturb them.”

  “But don’t you want to see your friend?”

  Instead of answering, she bent over the guest book on the desk. Flipping back a few pages, she paused, checked the dates, then flipped back even further.

  He had to tamper his frustration. Maybe she really was looking for a friend. If she’d thought she saw someone, then checking the guest registry would be a good place to verify it. He’d cut her some slack.

  She straightened and dusted off her fingertips. “She’s not here. Let’s continue.”

  They exited the building to find Maisie leaning against a light post with her arms crossed. “Where’s your friend?” she asked.

  “Where’s yours?” Calista returned.

  “Silas? He went on ahead, saw some shopping he wanted to do. Said he didn’t like loitering in front of places like this.”

  “So he left you to wait alone?” Matthew felt like a herder of crickets, none of them with any more sense than the last, hopping all about.

  “Nobody is going to tangle with me,” Maisie said, “and someone had to stick around and tell you where he’d gone.”

  “I didn’t find my friend,” Calista said. “It must’ve been her double, but there’s no use loitering here.”

  “Then where do we go next?” Maisie asked.

  Matthew was about to suggest a trip to Lakeside Park when Calista skidded to a stop. “Across the street,” she said. “Let’s go across the street.”

  He shot her a sideways glance, but Calista was already scooting through a break in the traffic, leaving him and Maisie jogging to catch up with her on the other side.

  “What I’d really like to do is go inside here,” Calista said. “It looks quaint. If you all would like to shop next door . . .”

  Matthew glanced up to see that they were at another inn, this one scarcely nicer than the last. He was too jaded to even ask why. Instead he said, “I’m staying with you.”

  “Miss Kentworth!” Silas waved them down as he hurried to catch them. “Miss Kentworth, may I take you to the”—he leaned back to read the title painted on the window of the next building—“undertaker?”

  “That sounds dandy.” Maisie laughed as she walked away with arms swinging high. “We’ll see y’all later.”

  Calista had the grace to look uncomfortable. “You’re probably wondering why I’m going in here,” she said. “This place surely could use some sprucing up. If I’m ever going to get my business going, then I must cultivate relationships with establishments like this.” She patted the sandwich board next to the door that advertised a free cup of coffee and bath with any room.

  As if a classy lady like Calista would have anything to do with this hole-in-the-wall. But Matthew had decided not to question. Instead he followed her inside and humored her as she hemmed and hawed over the threadbare sofa, the dead plant stuck in a barrel, and a broken lamp that hadn’t had a drop of kerosene in it for years. He watched her work her way around the lobby, noticed that once again she didn’t seem to want any clerk to be called, and finally found herself at the guest register.

  What was it about the guest register? Was she looking for someone? She continued to name colors and fabrics that she would splash around to make the place presentable, but while she talked, she flipped the pages of the registry back and ran a finger down the date column again.

  Interesti
ng. What had happened nine months ago? Those were the dates she was checking. Come to think of it, although she claimed that a friend was staying at the other hotel, she hadn’t bothered looking at the current guests, but instead flipped back to see what had happened in the past. Different excuses, but the same behavior. Whatever she was doing, it was calculated.

  She bit her lip as she flipped the same page back and forth, then, with a sigh, smoothed it and turned toward him. “They don’t have many paying guests, so it’s not likely they’d be able to afford my services. We can go.”

  She steamed ahead, not even noticing when her skirt brushed against a dried, leafless potted plant and toppled it over. Matthew lunged to keep it from spilling on the carpet. He set it upright and hurried out after her.

  This wasn’t the stroll he’d hoped for. He’d thought she might linger in his company, sympathize as he bemoaned the baby raffle that would take place on Thursday, and listen as he acquainted her with his plans and progress in Joplin. He’d thought that spending more time together would mean that she would learn to appreciate him more. That they would grow closer.

  Instead, she was like a bloodhound on the scent, darting through people, crossing streets, sniffing the air to see which way to turn. Barely aware that he existed.

  “Hey, Matthew.” Silas waved a hand over his head to get his attention. “I’m going to take Miss Kentworth to the ice cream parlor. The undertaker’s wasn’t much fun.”

  “You don’t say.” Matthew turned to his distracted companion. “Calista, how does ice cream sound?”

  “No thank you,” she said, “but you go ahead. I don’t mind walking alone.”

  Out of the question. Matthew shook his head at Silas. “Go on. We’ll look for you later.”

  Silas wasted no time escorting Calista’s eager cousin away.

  “Your granny should’ve sent Amos to look after you. It didn’t take Maisie long to get her head turned.”

  “Mm-hm.” Calista stopped at the intersection and looked up and down the street. He wondered if her tail would wag like a hound’s when she smelled what she was looking for. He choked down a groan at the thought.

  “Let’s go this way,” she said, and took off without looking to see if he’d agreed.

  “If I were to guess, I’d say that we’re going to stop at another hotel.” He clasped his hands behind his back and stretched out his chest as they stopped before the wooden Indian in front of the Grosman’s Inn. “What a surprise! Another hotel. Shall we?”

  The look she gave him showed that his response was inconsequential. Calista was going to do what Calista wanted to do. He could go along peacefully, bellyache, or leave—nothing was going to stop her.

  Why was he putting himself through this? What was her aim?

  He opened the door for her, pleased that this place looked more respectable than the last two. The plaster walls had been painted recently, and someone was keeping the cheap brass lantern on the clerk’s desk polished. The clerk was in attendance and looked at the two of them eagerly.

  “Welcome to Grosman’s. How may I help you?”

  Naturally, the clerk referred his question to Matthew, but Matthew deferred to Calista. What would she say? Something about the decorating?

  Instead of the confident lady who navigated busy city streets, she suddenly acted like a girl. She twisted on her toes and picked at her fingernails. “I was here a few months ago, and I left a hatbox behind. I wouldn’t have bothered coming back, but it had my mother’s hairbrush in it, and it was silver-plated. When I arrived home without it, she sent me back straightaway. I do hope you have it.”

  If the clerk looked confused, Matthew was sure he looked even more so. “I would’ve remembered you, ma’am.”

  She blinked in wide-eyed wonder. “Am I at the right place? Oh dear. I thought this was the hotel where I stayed.” Holding her hand against her chest she fluttered until she spied what she was looking for. “There’s your guest registry. If you don’t mind . . .” Bunching her shoulders up tight, she was the perfect picture of apologetic favor-asking.

  “Certainly. I can find it.” He pulled the book to himself. “What name am I looking for?”

  “No need to trouble yourself.” With a wrinkled nose and another submissive shrug, Calista pulled the book around to herself. “It was back a few months. I should easily spot my own signature. It’ll only be the work of a moment.” Her mouth moved as fast and as easily as her eyes. Just as before, she flipped the pages back until she found the dates she was looking for, but this time, Matthew stepped to her side and watched.

  Whatever she was hunting for, it had happened in October of last year, and she wasn’t sure of the exact date, because she touched every line as she read through the list of names.

  He sensed the tightening of her body before he noticed that she’d landed on one particular line. She’d found it, but what was the name? She snatched her finger away, and before he could make sense of the heavy loops of the signature, she’d snapped the book closed.

  “You’re correct,” she said to the clerk. “I’m at the wrong establishment. My apologies.”

  The clerk exhaled in relief. “Good to hear. I didn’t know anything about a hatbox or a silver hairbrush, but I’d feel terrible if I’d lost it. Good luck,” he said.

  She tucked her chin and batted her eyes at the besotted man. His glance collided with Matthew’s, then flashed with alarm. Excusing himself, the clerk bustled into the office as they left.

  They found themselves back on the road to the Keystone and Trochet’s. If Matthew wasn’t mistaken, she’d accomplished something, although what, he had no idea. She stopped, tilted her head back, and squinted into the sun and then at him, as if just remembering that he was along.

  “You found it,” he said.

  Gone was the simpering girl. The self-assured woman was back, and she looked him in the eye. “Found what?”

  “What you were looking for.”

  “I still haven’t found a job, if that’s what you’re saying. But I’ve done enough searching for one day. We can rejoin Maisie and Silas.”

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’m going back inside. I’m going to turn that registry to October of last year and take note of exactly what name it is that you’re looking for. I’ll be just a second.”

  “No.” She grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t.”

  “You’d better have a good reason why not.” He steeled himself against the allure of her soft brown eyes. He couldn’t allow his judgment to be clouded by her beauty.

  She bit her lip as she weighed her options, but finally the words came tumbling out. “You can’t go in there. It could put me in danger.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “If the wrong person knows I lied, they’ll come after me.” She loosened her fingers but kept the contact with his arm as she looked nervously over her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone see us arguing, please. Let’s walk.”

  He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw popped. No one he knew could get him twisted up like this woman. “Thanks for finally admitting it—the lying—but I can’t let it slide that you’re telling me someone is looking to harm you.” He glared at the miner whose eyes lingered too long on Calista as he passed. “Who’s after you?”

  Her hand slid forward from his arm to his wrist, as if she was seeking contact with his skin, and boy, did he ever notice when she found it. She hooked her little finger in his cuff, rubbing her pinkie against the inside of his wrist.

  “It’s hard for me to say this, and it’s going to be even harder for you to hear, Matthew, but I can’t tell you what I’m doing. You have to trust me.”

  They had stopped in front of the ice cream parlor. Through the gilt-painted lettering on the window, Calista could see Maisie wiping at Silas’s face with a handkerchief. She’d do well to keep an eye on those two. Granny would tan Calista’s hide if anything happened to Maisie.

  All this family and Matthew to boot. Too many peopl
e to keep count of, and all Calista wanted to do was go back to the hotel and make a triumphant call to Mr. Pinkerton. Lila had been to Joplin, and she’d checked into the Grosman’s Inn. Calista had proof now. And she had the names of people who’d signed the register next to her—Della Rush and Gerald Mason. Either of them might be a lead. She couldn’t wait to talk to Pinkerton tomorrow morning.

  But she also had an irate man on her hands.

  “How can I trust you if I don’t know everything?” Matthew asked. His head was bowed. He was watching as she traced his skin along the cuff of his sleeve.

  “If you knew everything, then it wouldn’t be trust,” she said.

  “Miss, oh, miss!” A young woman in a scandalously provocative getup was hailing her from the streetcar.

  Calista could feel Matthew tense beside her. The woman bounded off the car when it slowed to go around the corner, and she ran toward Calista like her life depended on it. Only when she clutched Calista’s arm did Calista recognize her as the gap-toothed girl she’d met at Dr. Stevenson’s—the one she’d shown Lila’s picture.

  “Have you seen her?” Calista whispered, trying to get her away from Matthew. “The girl in the picture? Have you seen her?”

  The girl’s face fell. “No, miss. I’m sorry, but that’s not why I’m here. I was thinking about what you said about my family—thinking about going home. I told myself if I saw you again, then it was meant to be. I should just run away and go back home. I’m like to get in a heap of trouble if I’m caught, but they won’t know I’m missing for an hour at least. Maybe I’m making a mistake, but when I saw you . . .” The words hung with uncertainty.

  With a pained look over her shoulder that revealed Matthew’s obvious interest in the conversation, Calista dug in her handbag for some bills. “You’re doing the right thing,” she said, and taking a pencil, she wrote on one of the bills. “Present this at the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railway office and tell them if they have any questions to contact Graham Buchanan. They can read my signature here, and he’ll know what to do. You should get a free trip home, and along the way, you can use this money for food and some decent clothes. Don’t stop until you get away from here, though, you hear?”