As for Miss Arlington? He’d believed at first she was a beautiful woman who thought rather highly of herself. He’d had to readjust his opinion after reading her campaign piece in the paper. In fact, earlier in the week he’d perused the newspaper archives to better acquaint himself with matters of interest in the town. In doing so, he’d read quite a number of Gwen’s columns. On paper, at least, she came across as intelligent, thoughtful, and caring.
But still beautiful. Still very beautiful.
He pictured Yvette Dutetre as he’d seen her during the days of their courtship and engagement. Tall and willowy, with amber eyes, light-brown hair, milk-white skin, and a flawless beauty that caused men to stop and stare, mouths gone dry. Morgan knew their response because he’d been just like them. Strolling with Yvette along the streets of Paris or entering a glittering ballroom with his fiancée on his arm had made him proud because he’d won her affections.
But what he hadn’t seen — what he’d missed completely during their courtship and the months of their engagement — was that her beauty was only skin deep. While he’d been falling in love, she’d been plotting how to spend his family fortune while taking another man into her bed. Discovering the truth — just one week before their lavish wedding was set to take place — had been a rude awakening.
The memory of his narrow escape still gave him chills.
He’d stayed free of romantic entanglements since leaving Paris five years ago. His mother’s worsening illness and their frequent travels had aided him in his determination not to fall victim to another pretty face. But his mother was gone, and he was putting down roots in Bethlehem Springs. He had best be on his guard. Now was not the time to let a woman — any woman — invade his thoughts.
Especially not the woman who might stand in the way of the successful completion of his resort.
Sheriff Winston leaned a shoulder against the fireplace mantel. “If you ask me, Governor Alexander is asking for trouble, pushing to make Idaho a dry state. We’ll need more officers all around the state if we’re expected to enforce it.”
“So you don’t support the prohibition of alcohol?” Gwen asked.
“Sumptuary laws can be slippery things, Miss Arlington.”
“But isn’t public drunkenness a problem in many cities? And even here in our own small town?” Although neither of them mentioned Hiram Tattersall, Gwen felt certain the sheriff knew who was in her thoughts when she asked her question.
“Yes, we’ve had a few problems with it, but I’m still not convinced that the passage of Prohibition is the answer. I guess we’ll find out soon enough. The governor is a determined man, and I think we’ll see the law pass before year’s end.” He took a sip of sherry from the glass he held in his hand. “And what about you, Miss Arlington? Where do you stand on the issue?”
Before Gwen could answer, Harrison Carter stepped to her side. “I’m sure that when she is mayor, Miss Arlington will seek counsel from those more experienced in such matters.” He looked at her. “It isn’t necessary for you to have an opinion of your own on everything.”
Gwen swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips, determined not to be rude to her host. But it was aggravating that he hadn’t given her a chance to respond to Sheriff Winston. She did have an opinion about Prohibition. No doubt, she would have an opinion about anything and everything concerning town government once she was mayor. And she wouldn’t be shy about sharing those opinions either.
Susannah Carter joined the threesome by the fireplace. Slipping her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm, she leaned close to him. “Harrison,” she said softly, “some of our guests are leaving.”
Relief swept through Gwen. At last she could depart without insulting anyone. She looked at the mantel clock. “My goodness. I didn’t know it was so late. It’s almost midnight. I must go as well.”
She followed her host and hostess to the front door and said good-bye to the other guests as they stepped into the night. Finally, only she and Charles Benson — who had insisted on accompanying her home in her buggy — remained.
After putting on her wrap, she turned toward Harrison and Susannah. “Thank you again for the lovely evening.”
“It was our pleasure,” Susannah replied.
“Indeed,” Harrison said. “We want to do whatever it takes to make certain you are victorious.”
“I’m grateful for your support.” Then, although she hadn’t realized it was even in the back of her mind, she said, “I hope we can talk soon about why you feel Mr. McKinley’s resort won’t be beneficial to Bethlehem Springs.”
“Miss Arlington” — Harrison gave her a patient smile; it felt as if he was about to pat her on the head, like a good little girl — “I believe that’s something else we can discuss after you’re elected. Once you and I are working together to manage our town and county governments, I will be only too glad to help steer you through such matters. Certainly you needn’t be concerned with it now.” He turned toward Charles. “Thank you for offering to see our guest of honor home. It’s good of you to do so.”
Charles stepped to Gwen’s side and placed the palm of his right hand under her left elbow. “It’s my pleasure, sir.”
Gwen felt as if she’d been brushed aside like a bothersome fly. Besides, she didn’t want Harrison to steer her anywhere. She’d only wanted to know why he opposed the resort. It was a simple enough question, one that deserved an answer.
Charles said, “Are you ready, Miss Arlington?”
Somewhat reluctantly, she looked at her self-appointed escort. “Yes. I’m ready.”
“Good night, Miss Arlington,” Harrison said. “We’ll talk again soon.”
Charles escorted Gwen to her buggy and helped her onto the seat. As he walked around the rear of the buggy, Gwen turned her gaze toward the gentle, rolling hills on the north side of town. Up there, in the shadows of the night, was Morgan McKinley’s home.
She wondered what his opinion on Prohibition was — and if others would listen when he chose to share it.
TEN
Gwen awakened the next day feeling frustrated and irritated, and no matter what she tried — Bible reading, prayer, a firm mental talking-to, scrubbing the kitchen with more vigor than was normal — she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling.
As her final student, Owen Goldsmith, flew through his scales and chords on Saturday afternoon, Gwen’s thoughts returned to the previous evening at the Carter home. She still felt out of sorts over Harrison’s unwillingness to answer her question about the McKinley resort. Had he meant to brush her aside or had she simply asked at an inopportune moment? Perhaps she was being overly sensitive. One of her worst faults was to bristle when she felt ignored by reason of her gender. However, she had earned that fault through experience. Too many men of her acquaintance thought she — and all females — should think of nothing but how to manage a home and raise children. Ridiculous! Did they believe God gave her a mind but didn’t want her to use it?
“How was that, Miss Arlington?” Owen asked, drawing her attention back to the present.
“Very well done. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”
“Yes’m. Ma says I’ve gotta play a lot if I wanna be good.”
Gwen nodded. “Your mother is right.” She flipped through a stack of sheet music. “I believe you’re ready for something a bit more challenging. Here’s a short piece by Frederick Chopin. Let’s give it a try.”
The first time through was slow and choppy. The second time through sounded much better. By next Saturday, the boy would have it memorized. He was such a gifted student. One day in the not too distant future, he would surpass her ability to instruct him on the piano. It was no stretch to believe that if he received a proper education, if he stayed in school through all twelve grades, his talent would take him far beyond the borders of Bethlehem Springs.
With the minute hand on the mantel clock marking the hour, Owen slipped from the piano bench, then shoved his right hand into
his pocket. “Almost forgot. Ma sent the money for my lessons, last week and this.” He dropped the coins into Gwen’s hand. “She said thanks for waitin’.”
Many would not consider it a great deal of money, but Gwen knew it was a financial sacrifice for the Goldsmith family. “Tell your mother she’s welcome, and remember to thank Mrs. Evans for letting you practice on her piano.”
“Yes’m.” He grabbed the sheet music. “See you next week.” He started for the door, then stopped and spun toward her again. “Miss Arlington? You still gonna give me lessons if you’re the mayor?”
“Yes, Owen. I’m still going to give you lessons.”
“That’s good, ’cause Ma said she wouldn’t vote for you if it meant you not teachin’ me no more.” With that, he dashed out the door.
Gwen slid the bench under the keybed before putting the remaining sheet music into a wicker basket on the floor next to the piano. One day, Owen might play on a piano in a place like Carnegie Hall, but his grammar would need to improve before then. And that probably wouldn’t happen without changes in the Bethlehem Springs educational system. The town needed more teachers, more books, perhaps even a new building.
As mayor, education for the children of Bethlehem Springs would be her top priority.
A rap on the doorjamb drew her gaze to the front door. On the opposite side of the screen stood Morgan McKinley.
“Good afternoon, Miss Arlington. Am I intruding? I saw that young fellow leave, and I was hoping I might have a moment of your time.”
She moved toward the door. “Owen was my last student for the day.”
“I heard him playing. Or was that you?”
She opened the screen, but rather than inviting him in, she stepped onto the porch. “How is it I can help you?” She didn’t mean to sound unfriendly, but she was afraid she did.
If it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. “I am in need of a secretary, and I was hoping you might be able to recommend someone.”
And you couldn’t ask someone else? It seemed a flimsy excuse for this visit.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I asked Mrs. Cheevers, but she had no suggestions. So I went over to the church, but Reverend Barker is on a pastoral visit to someone who lives near the sawmill and he isn’t expected back until this evening. And then I thought of you. Since I was close by, I decided to stop and ask you.”
“I might be able to come up with a few names. Give me a few days to think about it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me, Mr. McKinley. Do you plan to remain in Bethlehem Springs after you lose the election?”
“After?” Amusement lit his eyes. “Not if ?”
She smiled despite herself. “After, not if.”
“I assure you, Miss Arlington” — he returned her smile — “I plan to spend plenty of time in Bethlehem Springs, no matter what happens in the election.”
Gwen felt as if her stomach had done a somersault. Perhaps two or three. Gracious. What an odd sensation.
Morgan enjoyed watching the emotions that played across her face. He almost thought she might like him a little. Or at least didn’t dislike him as much as she’d seemed to in the past.
Reluctant to leave just yet, he glanced toward the chairs at the far end of the porch and asked, “Do you mind if we sit down?”
She surprised him by acquiescing with a nod, and he followed her as she walked to the porch swing. He settled onto one of the chairs. Briefly their gazes met before she turned to look at the flowers in her garden. A touch of pink colored her cheeks, and he realized that she was made uncomfortable by his staring.
To break the lengthening silence, he cleared his throat and asked, “How was the party at Commissioner Carter’s last night?” Her eyes widened, and he knew he’d startled her with the directness of his question. “Mind telling me who was there? Or would that be aiding and abetting the opposition?”
Gwen shook her head. Whether in answer to Morgan’s first question or the latter, he didn’t know.
“Miss Arlington.” He leaned forward in the chair. “I am not the enemy. I don’t wish you ill. Surely you could see from our articles in the newspaper that our ideas and desires for Bethlehem Springs are more alike than they are different.”
A new emotion appeared on her face — regret. “That is what I’ve done, isn’t it? I’ve made you the enemy.” She released a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I apologize, Mr. McKinley. An enemy is quite a different thing from a political opponent.”
“At least it is in our case. I’d like to believe we could be friends, no matter what happens in the election.”
Friendship. Was that what he wanted from her? He wasn’t so sure.
“There is no reason you shouldn’t know who came to the gathering last night.” Gwen raised a hand to her nape and twirled a wisp of blonde hair around her index finger. “The entire board of commissioners and their wives were present. Mr. Patterson from the paper and his wife. Mr. Benson from the mill and his wife and son. Our county sheriff, Mr. Winston, and his daughter. Mr. O’Rourke from the mine. Reverend Rawlings from All Saints Presbyterian.” After a pause, she added, “I believe that’s everyone. No, wait. Mayor Hopkins was there too.”
The guest list didn’t surprise Morgan. Money and power. That’s what mattered to a man like Harrison.
A frown crinkled Gwen’s brow. “Are you aware that Mr. Carter believes your spa is not in the best interests of the people of Bethlehem Springs?”
“Yes, I’m aware of it. What about you? Do you believe it isn’t in the town’s best interests?”
“I may not understand all the ramifications.” Her answer showed both wisdom and caution. Her eyes narrowed a little as she looked at him. “I know the reasons you say the town will profit by the resort, but I think I’d like to understand a little more why you want to build a resort. Here or anywhere. You haven’t built a resort or a hotel anywhere else. Nor has the McKinley family been involved in those enterprises. So what makes you want to do it now and here of all places?”
Ah, she had done her own bit of investigating. Good for her.
He leaned back in his chair again. “It began with my mother’s illness. I was in college when the symptoms first appeared. Periods of pain throughout her body, usually intense. A general weakness at times. At others, total exhaustion.” It was his turn to look toward the flowers in Gwen’s garden. “There were times when she didn’t get out of bed for a week or two at a time. Different doctors diagnosed different conditions, and they tried numerous remedies. Her greatest physical relief came from the warm water therapy and massage she received at spas in Europe.”
Morgan’s reply didn’t paint a complete picture of his mother’s struggles with debilitating pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to be more descriptive.
He looked at Gwen again. “But it was her faith in God that gave her the strength and courage to endure. New Hope was her dream, and while she didn’t live long enough to see it built, I mean to make it a reality in her memory. The McKinleys have enjoyed financial blessings for many generations. That’s what allowed her to receive the help she did. But she dreamed of a place where anyone could come. The poor who suffer from polio. The young and old who live with incurable pain. Those without faith who need prayer.”
“Do you mean to say that your spa will not cater to the wealthy?”
“Not to them alone.”
There was something different about the way she looked at him now. Could it be a glimmer of admiration?
Encouraged, he said, “If you’d like, Miss Arlington, I could take you up to the site next week. Let you see for yourself.”
“I would like that, Mr. McKinley. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you.”
“No trouble at all. I have some obligations to see to on Monday and Tuesday. How about Wednesday?”
She shook her head. “I give piano lessons on Wednesdays.”
“Thursday then?”
“I visit my father and sister on the ranch on Thursday. We l
ike to have lunch together.”
Had she changed her mind? Were these just excuses?
“But I suppose I could meet you at the resort site and then to go the ranch from there. Would that be convenient for you?”
Morgan liked the idea of a drive with Gwen seated beside him. He wanted them to spend that time together. After all, it could be beneficial. He might be able to detail more of his plans, something he couldn’t do if they arrived and departed separately.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Let me drive you up in my motorcar. When we’re finished at the resort, I’ll take you to the ranch. It will be much faster.”
“How would I get home?”
“I’ll come back for you. All you would need to do is tell me when to return.”
“That would be too much to ask, Mr. McKinley.”
He smiled. “You aren’t asking. I’m offering.”
“But — ”
“I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock Thursday morning. That should give us ample time at the site and still get you to the ranch for lunch.”
Her expression revealed her struggle as she weighed his offer. He thought for a moment that she would refuse and was surprised by the disappointment he felt in return.
A small sigh escaped her. “All right, Mr. McKinley. I’ll be ready at nine o’clock Thursday morning.”
“Wear a scarf over your hat.” He rose from the chair. “It gets windy in the automobile.”
Gwen watched as Morgan walked down her front pathway with an easy, yard-eating gait. Once on the sidewalk, he looked back and waved before heading east on Wallula Street toward the center of town.
Had it been wise to agree to drive with him to his resort? She didn’t know. But something had shifted in her heart as he talked about his mother and his plans for the spa she’d wanted to build. He had seemed anything but controlling or high and mighty. What sort of man built a spa that would cater to both the wealthy and the unfortunate?
One with a kind heart.
The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection Page 8