Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  Her cousins followed her inside the library but wandered toward the ticket table, where Silas was standing. Calista spotted Matthew alone, leaning on a sandstone column, looking glum.

  She hurried to him, wishing it was permissible to give him a big hug. Well, in Joplin nearly anything was permissible, but not to Matthew. Instead, she rubbed his arm like she might a hurt child . . . as long as it wasn’t bleeding.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “Miserably,” he answered. “Only started work this week, and I had to ask off to be here. I just had to see it with my own eyes.”

  “Remember Moses. God had a plan for him, even when he was ripped from his home.”

  “But these aren’t pagan Egyptians. These people claim to be Christians, but they don’t see anything wrong in supporting this travesty.”

  Mr. Blount hammered against the side of a bell at the ticket table, silencing the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, only ten minutes left to purchase your tickets. No more tickets will be sold at five till. Don’t wait. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” He set down the bell, then stepped away from the table to shake hands with Mr. Holly, the owner of the paint factory. From their smiles and puffed chests, it was obvious they felt the campaign had been a success. Calista dearly hoped so. Since Matthew could do nothing to prevent it, it might as well help the kids and the home.

  “Thanks,” Matthew said.

  “For what?”

  “For being nice. I know you don’t understand my complaint, yet you’re acting like you care.”

  “I understand,” she said. “I understand your heart and how much you care, and that’s what makes me care. If you’d seen the things I’ve seen over the last few months, you might not think a baby being won by a family that wants it is the worst thing that could happen to it.”

  “The things that you’ve seen?” He pushed off the column to stand before her. “You know, last night I did some thinking. I went through all the things you’ve said and done that you didn’t have any reason for. All the things you said that ended up not being true, all the decisions you made that seemed random, and spontaneous, and senseless. I went over it all, and I came up with a limited number of possibilities.”

  Calista forced a smile. “I’m flattered that you were thinking of me.”

  “I decided either you are insane and honestly have no control over yourself, or you’re involved in criminal enterprise and can’t disclose what you’re up to.”

  “Insane or a criminal?” She threaded her fingers together. “My goodness. I’m flattered.”

  “The only other option, and it’s so unlikely that I sound crazy suggesting it, is that you’re involved in some secret law enforcement activity. Could it be for a private citizen who’s hired you to investigate someone? It could be that the Joplin police department is involved, or maybe you’re one of those operatives from that famous agency in Illinois.”

  Calista’s mouth went dry. The blood had drained from her face, and her heart was pumping furiously to keep from drowning in it. She’d never been exposed before. How had he figured it out?

  “It’s time, folks. The moment is here,” Mr. Blount called. “Bring the child to me, and let’s see who the lucky winner is.”

  “You must be kidding me,” Calista said. “A female agent? Who ever heard of such a thing . . .”

  But Matthew was looking over her head. His jaw tightened, and he started breathing as hard as she was. Mrs. Fairfield from the Children’s Home stepped forward holding a happy baby boy. He was in a ribboned white gown, sucking on his fist. He stared back at the audience, wondering at all the attention he was receiving. When one well-heeled lady smiled and waved at him, his face split into a smile, and his legs began pumping, eliciting sighs of approval from the crowd.

  “We have a winner! Some lucky lady is going to be a mother today.”

  But Calista couldn’t care less, because as soon as this event was over, she had to face Matthew’s questions or avoid him completely. If he persisted, she’d have to admit to Mr. Pinkerton that she’d been discovered, and that would be the last straw. He’d recall her and probably end her employment.

  Unless she could solicit Matthew’s cooperation and get him to promise not to interfere. She couldn’t let him or anyone else get in her way.

  Interrupting her thoughts was Mr. Blount’s announcement. He held the paper before him. “And the winner is . . . Miss Calista York.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Calista’s jaw dropped. There must be some mistake. She hadn’t bought a ticket.

  Across the room, she could see Amos doubled over, holding his stomach. Maisie was wiping tears from her eyes as she made her way toward Calista. No one else in the room had spotted her yet, or maybe they didn’t know who she was. Instead, the people were talking, scanning the crowd, waiting for someone to step forward.

  Maisie grabbed Calista’s arm and fell across it, breathless with laughter. “I can’t believe it worked. Amos bought the ticket, saying it’d be a hoot if you were stuck with the baby, but I never in a hundred years thought that you’d win it.”

  “You put my name in the drawing?”

  The Elks were huddled over the slip of paper, probably debating what they’d do if the winner wasn’t present.

  Maisie laughed. “Remember when Pa told you that you’d bought that duck at the auction? You were fiddling with your hair, and he told you that you’d bid without knowing it, and that you were left with a duck to take care of? Wait until he hears about this! We outdid him, for sure.”

  “This is not a duck,” Calista growled. “They must draw another name. I have to tell them.” She pushed Maisie’s hands off her arms, but before she could get away, Matthew pulled her back.

  “You can’t do that, Calista. Think about it.” His face was drawn, intense.

  “I am thinking about it. I don’t want a baby. I said that from the beginning.”

  “If you don’t take him, they’ll draw another name.”

  “Good. That’s what they need to do.” She tugged against him, but his grip held firm.

  “But who will they draw? Will it be the right family? This could be the Moses story. It could be that God wants this child with you, and that’s why He had your cousin put your name in the drawing.” His words were coming fast, trying to convince her even as the crowd was starting to grumble.

  “You can’t blame God for what Amos did. Amos isn’t getting off scot-free.”

  “Listen. Listen to me, listen to God. Stop thinking about your cousin. Stop doubting that God can fix this. Just ask what the right thing to do is.”

  Through the hubbub, Calista stilled. She felt annoyance, anger, assurance that this wasn’t fair to her and that she’d done nothing to deserve this complication, but also resignation. Matthew was right. She always prayed that God would guide her steps. In her heart, she knew she couldn’t walk away.

  Her eyes flicked up to Matthew’s. This was a disastrous complication. It would delay her search. It would frustrate her progress. It would keep Lila in the hands of her abductors for even longer. Calista had to save Lila, but maybe she was saving this child as well.

  “Thank you,” she said. Thanks for making me do what I didn’t want to do. Thanks for making me be a better person than I want to be today. It was a hard thanks to give, but it was the kind of thanks that was best given while one still had the grace to give it.

  She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and turned.

  “I’m Calista York,” she said, and strode toward the woman holding the baby.

  Matthew’s bad day had just gotten worse. He’d failed to stop this outrage from taking place. He’d braced himself for the defeat. He’d prepared himself for the sorrow but had determined that he’d see it through, knowing that once it was behind him, he could pray for the child, then turn his attention to other issues.

  Finding out that the child was now in the hands of a mysterious young lady with no p
arenting experience and questionable morals wasn’t the worst. The worst was that he was the one responsible for making her keep the child. Far from having the distasteful incident behind him as he’d expected, now he was going to be tangled up in it for . . . how long could this go on?

  “You’re Miss York?” Blount’s scarred brow wrinkled as he looked her over. “I suppose you have the means to raise this child?”

  Where had she gotten that dress? It was fancier than anything Matthew had seen her in before. But from her carelessness with money and her residence at the Keystone, Matthew had always assumed she was well-funded. People who had to check their pockets and count their change before buying something didn’t spend like Calista.

  “I have funds, yes,” she answered.

  Mr. Blount looked at the other Elks before asking, “Are you married? Do you have any references?”

  “I’m not married, but as for references, I’m the granddaughter of Albert and Laura Kentworth.”

  Instant respect appeared on their faces. If that wasn’t enough, Mrs. Fairfield said, “And she’s volunteered at the Children’s Home in the past weeks.” Nothing was said about her locking herself in an office, but perhaps Matthew was the only one who knew about that.

  “That settles it.” Mr. Blount motioned for Mrs. Bowman to bring the baby closer. “Attention, citizens of Joplin. We have our winner here. Miss Calista York. We congratulate her on winning, and thank you all for participating in our little contest. Keep in mind that we have other children available for adoption, so if you didn’t win today, you could still be parents. Help the Children’s Home feed and care for Joplin’s disadvantaged.”

  Everyone waited expectantly as Mrs. Bowman put the baby into Calista’s arms. Calista’s face went tight, but she managed a pained smile. The baby boy drew back his head to look at her in puzzlement, then searched for a familiar face, reaching out when he saw Mrs. Bowman. Calista juggled him awkwardly to keep him from bounding out of her arms, crushing the pleated collar of her suit in the process.

  “We have paper work here for you to sign, which we’ll file to finalize the adoption.” Mrs. Fairfield directed Calista to the table. “And the Elks would like to get a picture of you and the child. Their national organization always likes to hear about their efforts to improve our community, and this will be of great interest to them.”

  Matthew’s thoughts were broiling as Calista took the child, then dutifully lined up with the preening men. With chests puffed out, they faced the photographer as if they’d accomplished a great and mighty feat, but all they’d done was take money from lonely families, and now those families were all disappointed. The person who’d won was the most disappointed of all.

  Why were people staying? They seemed to want to be acknowledged by Calista or the child. They waited as if there was going to be a demonstration of her fitness for them. Or maybe they were loath to say good-bye? Maybe some had already considered the child their own and couldn’t stand to leave him.

  Another reason Matthew had hated the idea of the contest from the beginning.

  “This is quite a surprise, Matthew.” Reverend Dixon patted him on the back. “I thought you were against anyone participating in this carnival, but here your friend Miss York won.”

  And now he was tainted by association. Matthew’s annoyance notched up another spoke. No one had prepared him for the messes that one could get into while trying to do ministry.

  “I was taken by surprise, I promise.”

  “But, see, some good has come of this. A child might help our friend Miss York settle down. As far as the child is concerned, it could’ve found itself in a worse situation.”

  Help Calista settle down? What was her pastor implying? “What do you know about Miss York’s activities?” Matthew asked.

  Reverend Dixon took a step backward. “I’m not speculating. She’s a fine young lady and never has given me any reason to doubt her sincerity.”

  “But . . .” Matthew prodded.

  “But nothing.” The reverend tucked his hands beneath his arms. “I think her heart is in the right place. Beyond that, I can’t judge.”

  Matthew’s guess was that Calista’s pastor assumed her to be as flighty as she’d first appeared to him. He probably hadn’t thought about it any further. It was only Matthew who was kept up at night wondering about her.

  “If you mean to suggest that the raffle was a success because a member of your congregation won,” Matthew said, “I have to disagree. From the beginning I was promised that they would carefully screen all applicants and wouldn’t let the baby go to an unfit home. As much as I enjoy Miss York’s company, I think this proves that they’ve failed in their duty. Miss York doesn’t have a home, a husband, or any experience with children. The charitable inclinations of this town have been misguided. The outcome is a disaster.”

  “Do you think it’s out of the question that Miss York might have a home and husband ere long?”

  The heat flooding Matthew’s face wasn’t welcome. “That’s not your concern.” And because there was nothing stronger he could say without having to apologize for it later, he left to join Calista.

  The newspaper men and the photographer had finished their tasks. Calista’s face had lost all its cheer. The lines around her mouth made her look a decade older. Women surrounded her, some giving her a friendly hug, but most wanting a chance to evaluate her.

  “She doesn’t have the first clue what to do with the baby,” a woman with the beginning of silver streaks at her temples said to her friend. “It’ll be back at the Children’s Home before long.”

  “Did you see her friends laughing at her? They think it’s a joke,” her friend replied. “It makes me ill to consider the child’s future. I can’t bear it.” To emphasize her point, she headed to the door, but not without walking slowly by Calista to make sure her disapproval was recognized.

  Even with a dozen hands pulling on her and the child she was holding, Calista didn’t miss the judgment in the eyes of the women leaving. She repositioned the baby on her hip and glared right back—proud and strong even though she was lost and afloat.

  She’d endured enough. Matthew cleared a path to her and held his arms out for the child. Coming in as a party to this disgraceful event might forever taint his reputation, but he wasn’t going to leave her to the wolves.

  Lifting the baby high on his chest, he pulled it out of reach of the crowd. The women stepped back, affording him more distance than they’d given Calista.

  “Let’s go,” he said and marched to the door, ignoring the questioning looks from all the men he’d challenged over the raffle.

  Maisie and Amos fell in line next to Calista.

  “What are you going to do?” It was finally dawning on Maisie that the consequences for their prank wouldn’t be easily corrected.

  “I’m going to take him to my room and collect my thoughts,” said Calista. “But no mistake, I’ll deal with you later.”

  “You have to admit, this is the best prank ever,” Amos said. “You’ll be hard-pressed to come up with a better.”

  Matthew’s head was going to explode. Fortunately, Calista intervened before he lost his temper.

  “Amos Kentworth, I have half a mind to head straight to your parents and leave this little bundle of joy with your ma to raise. What do you think she’d say about that?”

  Funny how her refined city accent roughed up when her cousins needed a talking-to.

  “No call for that,” Amos said. “We didn’t know you were going to win. Just your bad luck.”

  Seeing the growing tension, smooth-talking Silas stepped forward. “Have y’all been to Lakeside Park? Why don’t we get some food and go out there? It’s likely to be hot in town, but the breezes coming off the water . . .”

  Maisie and Amos quickly agreed, leaving with injured looks in Calista’s direction.

  “That’s a fine how-de-do. They buy me a baby, then run off to play at the lake,” she fumed.

 
; “I’m not running off, Calista. I’m here.”

  Her head snapped his direction, but her gaze softened as it traveled from the baby to him.

  “What’s its name?” She stopped on the sidewalk, oblivious to the attention they were attracting from the crowd leaving the library.

  “His name is Howard. Howie, if you like.” Matthew looked both ways. “Let’s go somewhere private and decide what to do.”

  “Miss York?” The young nursemaid from the Children’s Home ran down the steps to reach them, bouncing a modest bundle against her side. “Here are a few of his things. Mrs. Fairfield told me to include one outfit, but with all the money this little chap raised for the home, I figured we could spare some diapers and food as well.”

  Calista’s eyes grew big. Matthew looked away, knowing who she would blame with each and every diaper she changed.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bowman,” she said. “What sort of food is he accustomed to?”

  “Oatmeal, milk, mashed potatoes, cooked carrots. He has a good start on teeth, so he’ll be wanting more solid food soon. I’m sure you already know all this . . .”

  “Let’s pretend I don’t. What else can you tell me?” Calista said.

  “He’s a quick one. Scampers around like a kitten. Puts everything in his mouth. Is used to going to sleep without rocking, so don’t spoil him if you want it easy. That’s about it. I don’t know if you’ll find time to come back to the Children’s Home now—”

  “Yes, I will—”

  “—but if you have any more questions, come find me.” Mrs. Bowman smiled up at Howie. “I’m glad he’s going to have some good parents now.” She looked from Calista to Matthew, then her face turned pink. “At least, I hope he will soon.”

  Matthew avoided Calista’s gaze, already knowing this would be the assumption of many in town. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Bowman. Don’t you worry, we’ll be looking for you soon.”

  Her youthful face beamed. “I hope so. Good luck.”

  Calista pulled the brim of her hat lower against all the curious stares until they passed through the ornate brass double doors of the Keystone. Howie spotted the fish tank and watched it as Matthew carried him past. The elevator operator looked just as curious as Howie when his doors opened on Calista and Matthew fussing with the child.