Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  Dan nodded. “We’ll be there. Could use the prayer. The cloud of discouragement has been hanging over our heads for quite a spell.”

  Matthew understood. Sometimes the way the world worked didn’t make any sense at all.

  After parting with the Campbells, Matthew walked to the flower store, reflecting on how quickly he could get discouraged as well. Unlike Silas and Dan, every workday he was at the beck and call of the company whistle summoning him to work. He turned his face up to the sun. How would he manage day after day, two hundred feet below the surface? It wouldn’t get any easier, but if that was where the people were, that was where he needed to be.

  Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

  It was natural to have misgivings about the job that had taken his uncle’s health, but if that was what God required, Matthew had better count on obeying. How was it, though, that giving up his life seemed an easier sacrifice than giving up on Calista? The woman loitering by the Delilah Inn had brought Calista to mind, though she was far rougher and more common than Calista. If her twice-turned-out skirt and crushed hat didn’t tell her story, the way her head drooped forward as if expecting to be boxed declared to the world that she’d met her share of trouble, as had the three women she was talking with. And her with a baby too.

  Matthew stopped on the sidewalk. It wasn’t possible. The clothing, the posture, the hair color—every outer sign said it was a stranger, but Matthew knew that child. With a quick look for wagons, he stalked across the street to the cluster of women.

  The woman with cropped, dirty-blond hair saw him first. She stepped out of the grouping and gave him such a speculative smile that he wanted to hurl his dinner. Matthew remembered when he’d thought prostitutes must be the most beautiful women in the world to succeed. How naive he’d been. The ones he’d seen on the streets were more likely to elicit pity than temptation. And here Calista was trying to blend in with them. Why?

  Too late, Matthew remembered Calista’s warning that he could put her in danger. Too late did he consider that his appearance might cause her trouble instead of rescuing her. She’d trusted him. He couldn’t mess this up.

  “Hiya, sweetie. Are you looking for a friend?” the blond woman asked. From her haircut, he could only assume that she’d had a recent illness or infestation that required the shearing. Neither option made him want to come any closer.

  “I think I found her.” At his voice, Calista turned, and it was Calista, although she’d done something dreadful to her hair. Howie didn’t seem to mind, though. Barely stopping himself from giving away her name, Matthew coughed out his greeting. “I’m glad I found you, love. I just wanted to see that you’re alright, then I’ll be going.”

  A girl wearing a faded cotton dress with missing buttons eyed him cautiously. “Is this the man who left you with the babe?” she asked Calista.

  Calista opened her mouth but hesitated. Matthew had been taught to own up to his mistakes. He had no qualms about taking responsibility.

  “It was me, and I’ve apologized to her—”

  “Apologized?” The word exploded as all three women turned on him. “You leave her with child, and you think an apology will suffice?”

  They came at him, talking over each other in a cyclone of female indignation.

  “Ruined her, and then left.”

  “Footloose and fancy free for the fella.”

  “Fatherless child . . .”

  All Matthew could do was hold up his hands and back away as his stammered explanations went unheeded.

  Suddenly, the short-haired woman gasped. “I recognize you. Aren’t you that preacher?”

  The looks the girls exchanged were murderous. “A preacher?” asked the one with the missing buttons. “You call yourself a preacher, and you got this girl with child?”

  Matthew’s throat burned. They had the facts wrong, but the facts were so complicated that there was no explaining. And more than the embarrassment he felt was the horror that they would forever believe that a man of God had done this despicable thing.

  “Girls, he’s here to make amends.” The face was Calista’s, even if the mousy voice and the unnatural hair belonged elsewhere. “If I find it in my heart to forgive him, then my child will have a future.” Her eyes drilled through him, daring him to open his mouth again. “Thank you for your help. We’ll be going now.” She lifted Howie toward him.

  Matthew scooped up the baby and followed her around the corner, where she darted inside a furniture store to get them out of the public eye.

  “You can’t do that to me,” he whispered. “This is my reputation.”

  “You stepped into that on your own. I didn’t invite you into the conversation.” She wiped the soot off her cheek with a clean handkerchief from a dirty bag. “Before you interrupted my investigation, I did come up with an idea. Have you ever thought of having a get-together for the girls? It wouldn’t do to take them out to the ore fields for Bible study—they’ll attract too much attention from the miners—so it’d have to be at your place. And they can’t meet on Saturday night because that’s when they work, but there should be some way to start a friendship with them.”

  Matthew’s head spun. “You’re asking me to invite prostitutes to my apartment? Calista York, that is outrageous.”

  “If you keep following me around, no one will be the least bit surprised at you consorting with prostitutes.”

  “How can I help you?” The salesman walked out of his office, leaning heavily on a cane with an eagle adorning the handle. He took one look at Calista’s tattered clothing, and his welcoming smile melted.

  “We’d like to browse alone, if you don’t mind,” said Calista, her entitled manner at odds with her rumpled appearance. “If we need assistance, we’ll be sure and ask.”

  The man nodded and spun around his cane. The eagle head seemed to grimace as he leaned on it in his hobble back to the office. Calista walked down the ramp to the showroom. Wardrobes, sofas, and tables lined the aisles. Ladderback chairs stood atop every flat surface, the merchandise piled to the ceiling.

  “Exactly what were you telling those girls?” Matthew asked as soon as they had lost themselves in the stacks of furniture. “And this . . . costume. Who are you trying to be?”

  “I told you it could be dangerous to get involved. I can change clothes, and they won’t recognize me, but you . . . they’ll forever think that you have an illegitimate son.”

  “If I did have a son, I’d be honor-bound to marry his mother.” Matthew could tell she was listening closely, wondering what he was going to say next. Matthew wondered too. He dipped his head to Howie’s forehead. “That would be one way to clear my name, if it came to that.”

  Her smudged face and unkempt hair made her look so vulnerable. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t a lost street urchin. She was a privileged socialite who’d decided to throw herself into harm’s way. But it didn’t matter what he knew about her profession. He couldn’t fight the urge to protect her.

  She’d rested her hand against the back of a rocker. The chair swayed beneath her touch. She sighed. “That would be counterproductive.”

  Of course it would. Matthew knew he couldn’t marry a Pinkerton detective who would always be traveling, but that didn’t keep him from ruminating on the idea. “I already stuck you with a baby. It’d be unchivalrous to stick you with a husband to boot, but if it was a choice between leaving Howie in a precarious situation and—”

  A look of tenderness passed over her face, but it was toward the child, not him.

  “Keeping Howie might save him,” she said, “but who else would be lost without my help? We’ve got to find somewhere safe for him so I’m free. God didn’t bring me this far for me to quit now
.”

  Matthew had caught Calista in enough falsehoods to know when she was lying and when she was being sincere. As much as he hated it, he could tell that she believed what she was saying. It was truth as far as she knew, even if it wasn’t a truth he wanted to hear.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Calista paced the flower store, the stiff fans of the irises rustling as she passed by with Howie on her hip. Howie had taken to her, that was a fact. And she guessed she had taken to him too. He leaned forward to put his face in front of hers. Calista smiled in spite of herself.

  “If I didn’t have anything else to do, watching you would be a treat,” she said. But there was plenty to do, and that meant Maisie was on the hook. While Maisie was usually ready to roll up her sleeves and work, ever since meeting Silas, her sense of responsibility had been waylaid. She took every opportunity to disappear when she was needed most, but Calista had found her and wasn’t letting her slip away again.

  “Come out here, Maisie Kentworth. I know you’re in there!” Calista stopped to beat her fist against the door again. “I’m not leaving.”

  Howie pounded his soft fist against the door and grinned at Calista.

  “Miss York, that’s the broom closet. No one is hiding in there.” Mr. Trochet wiped his hands on the half apron he wore around his waist with a pair of shears in the pocket.

  “Do you have a key?” Calista rattled the doorknob.

  “It doesn’t lock.”

  “Then someone is in there.” She pushed her face against the door and raised her voice. “Holding the door closed!”

  Calista had barely registered what time it was when Maisie had crept home last night. When she’d woken at dawn to find Maisie had already left again, she was outraged. It didn’t take her long to track Maisie and Silas to Matthew’s cabin, but when she’d tried to sneak through the garden gate to surprise them, they’d made their exit through the flower store. At least, they’d tried to make their exit.

  Mr. Trochet knocked on the door. “Is someone in there? I’ll get the police.”

  “Fine!” The knob twisted, and the door flew open. A broom handle clattered to the floor as Maisie and Silas stepped out.

  “Hiding wasn’t my idea.” Silas held his hands in front of him as if ready to fend off Calista’s blows. “I told her it wasn’t smart.”

  “A broom closet? You wait until your pa hears about this,” Calista said. Uncle Bill let his kids run wild on the Kentworth ranch, but when they crossed a boundary, he reined them in with an iron hand.

  “Why can’t you leave me alone?” Maisie whined. “I’m leaving you alone.”

  “Leaving me alone with a baby you won me!”

  “And this is the thanks I get?”

  Mr. Trochet looked nervously toward his front door. “I’m trying to run a business here. What if a customer comes in?”

  “Look, Maisie,” Silas said. “Those blue flowers match your eyes. What are they called?”

  “Those are delphinium,” Mr. Trochet said. “They must have had a good season this year, because the color isn’t usually that true. Now, if you’re looking for—”

  “If you’re not helping me, Maisie, then go home,” Calista interrupted. “Your folks would rather you be home than here, buzzing around like a honeybee getting pollen from any bloom that catches its eye.”

  “That’s not true.” Maisie pushed her sleeves up. “It’s just Silas. It’s only been Silas, and he’s a complete gentleman. I might be spending an inordinate amount of time with him, but we’re making plans, Calista. Plans for our future. Why would you want to get in the way of that?” She licked her lips, then called over her shoulder, “I’d prefer roses over those blue things. Roses are more romantic.”

  “The only way I’m going to let you off the hook is if you take the baby.” Calista hoisted Howie higher on her hip. “He’s a good boy. You should enjoy him.”

  “How would that look, Calista? I can’t go carrying a baby down the streets of Joplin with Silas. What will people say?”

  “The same thing they say about me.” The same thing they were saying about Matthew. Why hadn’t he listened to her?

  “But you don’t know anyone here. I have a reputation.”

  Calista tilted her head and frowned. “What time did you get in last night? Were you worried about your reputation then?”

  Silas stepped forward and stuck a rose beneath Maisie’s chin. “It doesn’t match your eyes, but it looks like the blooms on your cheeks.”

  “Oh, Silas.” She giggled as she took it from him. “You say the prettiest things.” The bud bent as Maisie buried her nose in it. “We’re going, Calista. We thought we’d see Matthew this morning, but he hasn’t come back yet. Tell him we’ll be at his party tonight.”

  She hooked her arm through Silas’s, then stumbled sideways as if he’d pulled her away, but Calista wasn’t fooled. She was left in the flower store with Howie and no one to watch him.

  Only someone who knew Maisie and Amos could understand how Calista had gotten into this predicament. And if anyone would understand, it would be another cousin.

  With fresh resolve, Calista headed toward the streetcar stop at the corner. She’d go to Olive. If Aunt Myra was having a good day, then maybe Olive would like a break to watch a rambunctious child instead of her ailing mother. Why Calista thought Olive would want to use her free time to sit with a child, she didn’t examine. Olive was the one they went to when there was a sacrifice to be made. That was just the way things worked in the Kentworth family.

  Uncle Oscar’s house stood on the edge of a modest neighborhood, the last street of what could be deemed respectable. Uncle Oscar’s job as a supervisor at the Fox-Berry paid enough for the family to be comfortable, had it not been for Aunt Myra’s chronic illness. As it was, most of their funds went to doctor visits, medicines, and outlandish treatments, hoping for a cure. Those expenses had made this Kentworth family the recipients of family charity, but only when it was possible to give without hurting their pride. Recently their fortunes had changed, though, with the marriage of their eldest daughter, Willow.

  When Willow had left to work as a Harvey Girl at the Harvey House restaurants, Calista didn’t blame her a bit. Not only had it made it possible to send funds home to the family, it also gave her room to spread her wings and breathe air that wasn’t of the sickroom. Poor Olive, the younger sister, might never get that chance.

  Calista walked up the dirt path to the faded front door. The flower beds were well kept, if well kept meant no weeds, a lot of dirt, and very few flowers. It looked like someone, probably Olive, was doing all she could with what she had. Calista thought of Trochet’s garden behind his shop and wondered if he’d let her take any starts from it. It was worth an ask.

  A cat lying on the windowsill watched her approach. Howie pointed at it and gurgled something, but it jumped down before Calista had a chance to knock on the front door.

  She could hear voices inside, more spirited than she’d expected. What was going on? Uncle Oscar was sure to be at work. Was Olive having a party? Were all the Kentworth cousins except her having fun today?

  The door swung open, but it wasn’t Olive. It was her sister.

  “Willow! What a surprise! I didn’t know you were in town.” Calista grabbed her cousin for an awkward one-armed embrace to keep from squishing the baby.

  “And the surprises aren’t only on my part,” Willow said. “Who is this?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Come on in, and let’s hear it. But first, would you like some refreshments? I have a pot of tea on and some finger sandwiches.” Willow hadn’t forgotten her training at the Harvey House restaurants.

  “Yes, please,” Calista said. “Is Graham here, as well?”

  “Yes, he was asking about you. Come on inside.”

  Calista followed the new Mrs. Buchanan to the parlor. It wasn’t every girl who left home to work as a waitress and instead caught the eye of the son of a weal
thy railroad tycoon. Because of Willow’s good fortune, her family no longer had to worry about finances, but old habits died hard, and Calista would wager that Olive still didn’t think spending money on garden flowers was a necessary expense. Good thing Willow hadn’t listened to Olive’s concerns when it came to the interior of the house. The fresh drapes matched the new sofa, showing that Willow was doing what she could for her family, even if her new life kept her from home.

  Inside the parlor, Olive and Graham sat opposite each other in reupholstered chairs. Olive wore a castoff dress of Calista’s that she hadn’t seen in two seasons, and had a sketchbook on her lap.

  Seeing Calista, Graham leapt to his feet. “Miss York!” He came forward with arms extended and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You’re looking well. How’s that sick friend you’re tending?”

  Calista had met Graham when his father’s railroad company hired her to catch some smugglers. When Willow got entangled with Graham in the midst of the investigation, she learned about Calista’s job, but she hadn’t ratted her out to the rest of the family. Willow, Graham, Granny Laura . . . and now Matthew. Had ever a secret been so well-known?

  “My friend is doing well. Well enough that I might be able to finish out my education. The school is going to allow me to complete my certification by performing a variety of jobs. Something about being well rounded.” Calista shrugged lightly. “I thought Joplin was as good a place as any to find employment.”

  Graham looked askance at Olive, then raised one brow. Calista answered with a slight shake of her head. No, Olive didn’t know. They weren’t safe talking. Not yet.

  “If I may ask, whose child is that?” he asked with a wide grin.

  Calista couldn’t help but smile at the drowsy boy. “He’s more like an unanticipated complication,” she said as she took a seat next to Willow on the sofa. “Did you hear about the baby raffle?”

  “Yes. What a dreadful stunt,” Olive replied.

  “Well, our cousins Amos and Maisie thought it was so horrid that they purchased a ticket in my name. As luck would have it . . .”