You will not believe this, but I am planning to come for a visit. Our cousin Gertrude is needed to nurse her elderly mother who is in failing health. She has insisted that I find a more enjoyable endeavor with which to occupy my summer, and that is when I thought of you. I have never been west of the Mississippi, and it is high time that I do so. It will be a new and different experience — one I know I shall enjoy.
If all goes according to plan, I should arrive in Bethlehem Springs before the end of June. I cannot tell you in this letter of my precise arrival date as I may wish to stop along the way to visit museums or other sights of interest.
Have you had a telephone installed in your home as of yet? Now that the transcontinental telephone lines connect East to West, it would be ever so convenient if you would do so. Or is Bethlehem Springs too remote for modern conveniences to have reached it?
Do not concern yourself with my travel plans as I will have a companion, the grandson of a friend of our father’s. His name is Robert Dudley. I’m sure you remember Marcus Dudley, his grandfather. Robert has agreed to escort me safely to Bethlehem Springs before continuing on to California where he plans to become an actor in motion pictures. (Have you seen The Birth of a Nation?)
If you have a moment, please write to Cousin Gertrude. I’m sure it would lift her spirits to hear from you. I won’t tell you to write to me, you wretched correspondent, as I don’t know where I shall be by the time you receive this letter. You shall simply have to talk to me in person when I arrive.
Your loving sister,
Daphne
Morgan placed Daphne’s letter on the desk and leaned back in his leather chair. He was pleased that his sister was coming for a lengthy stay, and it was nice that it had been her own idea. This letter had been written about the same time he’d penned his to her. She might be reading his even now. He hoped she was as amused as he by their like thinking. And with their parents gone, it would be nice to be closer to his sister — both physically and emotionally.
He heard voices in the entry. That would be Gwen, right on time, as usual. Some women kept men waiting, but that wasn’t true of Gwen Arlington. She was punctual — in addition to a host of other attributes he liked about her.
He rose from his desk chair and strode from his study in time to catch a glimpse of her as she and Inez Cheevers entered the front parlor.
“I’ll tell Mr. McKinley you’re here,” he heard the housekeeper say.
Gwen answered, “Thank you.”
When he’d caught his last glimpse of her on Saturday night, she had still worn a bemused expression. How would she look now? What would she say to him?
“Ah, you’re here, sir,” Mrs. Cheevers said as she exited the parlor and saw him in the entry hall. “I was just now coming for you. Miss Arlington has arrived for your lesson.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cheevers.”
In the front parlor, Gwen stood beside the piano, facing the doorway. The corners of her mouth curved upward a fraction when she saw him. Not enough to call it a smile, but enough to give him hope.
“Good afternoon, Miss Arlington.”
“Mr. McKinley.”
“It’s dreary out, isn’t it?” He tipped his head toward the windows.
“It always smells good after it rains.”
He crossed the room to the piano.
“About Saturday night,” she said before he could sit down.
He stepped back from the bench, waiting for her to have her say.
“Why did you do it? Why did you say you planned to vote for me?”
“Because I will vote for you. Because I believe you would be the better mayor between the two of us.”
“Why, if our positions are so much alike?”
A silver-gray light from the windows outlined her head and shoulders and accented the narrow curve of her waist. Sometimes he forgot how petite she was.
“Mr. McKinley?”
He gave himself a mental shake and answered her question. “I would be a good mayor. I would serve honorably and do what I believed was best for the people of Bethlehem Springs. But, Miss Arlington, I came to this town to build a health spa. New Hope is where my greatest passion lies. That’s not true of you. You’re passionate about serving this town. That’s obvious to everyone.” He stepped around the bench, drawing closer to her.
She frowned at him. “Don’t you believe God called you to run in this election?”
“Yes.” He smiled gently. “But maybe He didn’t call me to win.”
He took another step closer. She didn’t move away.
There was a tiny cowlick in the center of her bangs. He hadn’t noticed it before. He was tempted to reach out and touch the stubborn strands of hair that refused to lie in the right direction. He was even more tempted to blurt out his feelings for her like some lovesick schoolboy. Fortunately, he was forestalled.
“Did you think I couldn’t win without your endorsement?” Gwen asked, her voice low, her stance rigid.
He swallowed a sigh and took a step back. “No, I never thought such a thing.”
“I want to win on my own merits, Mr. McKinley.”
“And so you shall.”
Her gaze turned cloudy, like the darkening skies outside the parlor windows. “But how will I ever know if that’s why? You have all but pulled out of the race.”
He wished he could reassure her, but he had the feeling that whatever he said wouldn’t be enough — or maybe it would be too much. Her doubts were greater than he’d suspected, and he didn’t like that he was the cause of them. That hadn’t been his intention. It seemed he was destined to make blunder after blunder when it came to Miss Arlington. Courtship should be easier than this, shouldn’t it? He’d better become more adept at the art of wooing and winning this lady’s heart. What he’d tried thus far didn’t seem to be working.
Gwen cleared her throat, drawing his gaze again. “Perhaps we should get to your lesson, Mr. McKinley.”
“Yes. Of course.” With that, he slid onto the piano bench and placed his fingers on the keys.
Gwen found her composure again as she listened to Morgan run through his scales. She regretted that she had exposed her lack of confidence to him. He was, after all, still her opponent until the votes were cast. He had told those who came to the debate that if he were elected, he would serve with honor. It wasn’t wise to lay bare her less than positive attributes. She wanted Morgan McKinley — and everyone else — to think of her as poised, calm, and self-assured.
And that was what she showed him for the remainder of the lesson. She was the instructor. He was the pupil. A good pupil too. When he played the pieces she had assigned to him the week before, she could only listen in wonder. His talent was obvious.
So carried away by the music was she that she didn’t notice how dark the room had become. Not until light flashed across the well-polished wood of the grand piano’s raised lid. An instant later, a loud crash of thunder shook the room. With a small squeal of surprise, she whirled toward the windows. Another jagged streak of lightning lit the sky and another peal of thunder followed. Then another and another.
Gwen’s heart raced as she took a few steps toward the windows.
God, protect us from fire.
That was always her prayer when storms blew through the area. Mountain towns like Bethlehem Springs were especially vulnerable when it came to wildfires. One strategic strike of lightning, one strong gust of wind in the wrong direction, and every wooden building in this town could end up burned to the ground. Thankfully, the weather hadn’t turned hot yet. The underbrush in the surrounding hills was still green, the ground moist. Forest fires were more likely to happen in July and August when everything had turned bone dry.
“Quite the show, isn’t it?”
She looked to her right where Morgan now stood. “Yes.”
He met her gaze. “Are you afraid of lightning storms?”
“Not afraid of the storms. Only of what could follow.”
; “Fire?”
She nodded, then turned toward the windows again. Light flashed against the panes, almost blinding her with its brightness. “Such a display of power.”
“ ‘For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead.’ ”
Gwen felt the skin on her arms prickle as Morgan quoted the familiar verse from Romans. It was the same one that often came to her mind when nature showed her how small she was and how big God was.
Rain began to spatter the windows. Big lazy drops at first, but not for long. The wind rose, driving the rain in sheets as it whistled down the gullies and ravines of the surrounding hills.
“Did you walk here?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You’ll need to stay until this blows over. When it lets up, I’ll drive you home.”
“That’s kind of you, Mr. McKinley.”
“If it rains like this long enough, you can be my guest for dinner.”
“Oh, I — ”
“Don’t disappoint me, Miss Arlington.” His voice was low, made intimate by a room darkened by the storm.
She wasn’t quite certain how it happened. She turned, ready to say something — she forgot what. He turned toward her at the same moment. Lightning flashed again and thunder pealed directly overhead. A little gasp escaped her. Then his hands were holding her upper arms and his mouth was lowering toward hers, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to allow him to kiss her, to tip her head back and let him draw her closer to him as her eyes drifted closed.
His lips were warm upon hers, both gentle and demanding. She surrendered, her thoughts caught in a whirlwind, unexpected emotions careening through her. Her knees weakened, and she leaned into him lest she crumple to the floor.
Gwen had been kissed before but never like this. Never anything like this. And the storm it ignited inside her was far fiercer than the one that raged outside. By the time the kiss ended, her ability to speak had abandoned her. The same seemed to be true of Morgan, for he said nothing at all. Simply looked at her, his expression serious.
Knees still weak, she turned and moved to the piano bench. She sank onto it and waited for the world to right itself again, waited to recall the reasons she wanted to remain free of romantic entanglements. She knew she had reasons. Good reasons. The same ones she’d had since the day she fled her grandparents’ home and her mother’s influence and come to Bethlehem Springs.
If only she could remember what those reasons were.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Miss Arlington didn’t leave after the lesson as she did last week, sir.” Elias Spade sat in one of the large leather chairs in Harrison’s library. Water dripped from his wet hair onto the shoulders of his suit coat. “I’d guess she’s waiting out the storm. It’s still raining mighty hard.”
“I’m aware of that,” Harrison snapped. “You should have stayed at your post.”
“I could see through the windows that the dining room was being set for dinner. Since it appeared she is to dine with him, I thought I would have a bite myself.”
Harrison slammed his hand upon the desk. “I don’t pay you to eat, Spade. I pay you to keep an eye on McKinley, especially when Gwen Arlington is with him.”
“Mr. Carter, I — ”
“Go have your dinner.” He motioned for Spade to get out.
And the devil take you.
As soon as Spade was gone, Harrison placed his elbows on the table, then cradled his head between his hands and massaged his temples. The pain had been increasing throughout the day, pounding, pounding, pounding until he felt like screaming.
Two of the men who served on the board of county commissioners had dropped by to see him earlier in the day. They were inclined, they’d informed him, to change their opinion — and their votes — as it related to the land use approvals requested by McKinley Apparently the visit by those three senators had influenced them. Harrison feared he wouldn’t be able to change their minds back again. He was losing control over them, and his goal of acquiring the land McKinley owned was facing defeat.
He swore beneath his breath. He didn’t like to lose. He wasn’t used to losing. He would go to just about any length — short of murder — to win.
Not that Spade wouldn’t kill McKinley if that was what Harrison wanted.
Should he consider it? No, even he wouldn’t cross that line. Too dangerous. There had to be another way, a setback so huge that McKinley would give up and leave Idaho for good.
Opal Nelson, Morgan’s cook, had done herself proud once again. The beef was tender and tasty, the vegetables cooked to perfection. However, Gwen didn’t seem to notice or appreciate the delicious fare set before her. She ate scarcely a bite, spending far more time moving the food around on her plate with a fork.
Morgan knew he was to blame for her distress. He could tell by the way she kept her eyes downcast. No matter what interesting topic of conversation he introduced, she answered in monosyllables. Every now and again, she would glance toward the window.
The storm continued unabated.
Morgan was both glad and sorry for it. Glad because it gave him time to garner her forgiveness. Sorry because he could tell how anxious she was to leave, to get away from him.
“I’m sorry, Gwen.”
The use of her given name drew her gaze when nothing else had.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you. Not without gaining your permission first. I have upset you, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t I want you to be upset?”
She shook her head. “Why did you kiss me?”
Her question made him want to kiss her all over again. “Isn’t it obvious? I have come to care for you. To deeply care for you.”
“That isn’t possible. You hardly know me.”
“I know more than you might suppose.” He pushed aside his plate and leaned forward, forearms on the white tablecloth. “You favor the color pink, but blue is a close second. Your favorite cologne is lilac. You are strong in your Christian faith, firm in your doctrine, and even the love you bear your father and sister could not induce you to leave the Presbyterian church. You love all kinds of flowers and take great pleasure in nurturing your garden and watching it flourish. And music speaks to your soul.”
“Mr. McKinley — ”
“You love teaching, especially your younger students. Nothing gives you more pleasure than seeing them excel. And although you are always well mannered and ladylike, you have an independent streak and as much strength of will as any businessman of my acquaintance.”
Color had returned to her cheeks. She no longer looked wan and distraught.
“Am I wrong so far?”
“Mr. McKinley, I — ”
“Am I?”
She slid her chair back from the table. “Please, Mr. McKinley.
We should end this discussion. I should have stopped you. When you kissed me, I should have — ”
“Why? Are you promised elsewhere?” He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was not.
“No.” She stood. “But neither do I want to be promised. Not to any man. If I have given you any other impression, I regret it.”
He rose from his chair. “I cannot take back my feelings. They are what they are.”
Were those unshed tears he saw in her eyes or was the light in the dining room playing tricks? If they were tears, he had hope.
She turned her back toward him. “Look. The rain has lessened. I had better go home.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No. It would be better if I walked. I have my umbrella.”
“I’ll drive you, Miss Arlington.”
She must have heard the determination in his voice for she didn’t try to argue with him further. “As you wish,” she said softly then walked out of the dining room.
If Gwen could turn back time, she would have. Bu
t then she would not know what it felt like to be held in Morgan’s arms. She would not know the power of his kisses. She wouldn’t have heard him express his affections for her.
Neither of them spoke during the brief drive from his home to hers. The only sounds were the puttering of the automobile’s engine and the splatter of raindrops upon the car’s roof. Upon arrival, Morgan reached across to open the passenger door. The nearness of his arm made her heart palpitate.
“Thank you.” She opened her umbrella. “You needn’t bother to get out.” She stepped to the ground, umbrella in her right hand, sheet music clutched to her chest with her left. “Good evening, Mr. McKinley.” She hurried up the walk to her front door, thankful he didn’t try to escort her. Better for them both if they were together as little as possible from now on.
Once inside, she leaned her back against the door and listened to the sound of his automobile as it drove away. After the sound faded into the distance, she was engulfed by the silence of her empty home.
Too silent.
Too alone .
But that was ridiculous. She loved her home. She liked her solitude.
Her favorite color was pink. All shades of pink. And blue was a close second. There was no denying that her favorite cologne was lilac. She wore it always. She had considered attending the Methodist church with her father and sister when she first came to Bethlehem Springs, but her heart had pulled her back to her Presbyterian roots.
Tears welled in her eyes, and this time, she allowed them to fall.
She did take great joy in nurturing her flowerbeds, and music did speak to her soul.
A tiny sob escaped her throat as she slid down the door until she sat upon the floor.
Morgan was right. Nothing made her happier than to see one of her students excel.
“And I am independent and stubborn.”
How was it that Morgan had come to know her so well? And why did it matter to her so much that he had?
TWENTY-SIX
The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection Page 17