Gwen crossed the post office to the counter.
“Long time between letters. Your Mutter is well, I hope.”
“I hope so too.” She took the proffered envelope from the postmaster’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Is true, you will be mayor?”
“I want to be, Mr. Finster. I will do a good job. I hope you’ll vote for me.”
“I will decide. Vote very important.”
“Yes, I know it is.” While Mr. Finster’s English wasn’t perfect, she knew he was proud of his American citizenship and felt privileged to be able to vote in an election. “You should cast your ballot for whoever you think will serve our town the best.” She gave a little wave. “Please say hello to Mrs. Finster for me.”
“I will, Fräulein. I tell her.”
Gwen hurried down the sidewalk toward home, eager to read her letter. As happy as she was in Idaho, she still missed seeing her mother and looked forward to hearing from her. She hoped the transcontinental telephone wires would soon reach Bethlehem Springs, making it possible for her and her mother to speak to each other. It had been such a long time since she’d heard her mother’s voice.
On the porch, she made a beeline for the swing. Settling onto it, she opened the envelope and unfolded the pretty stationery.
Dearest Guinevere,
It’s been nearly two months since I’ve written to you or your sister. I have meant to write often but have not had the opportunity until now.
Your grandfather fell and broke his right leg in three places, and even though we hired a nurse, Mother and I see to many of his needs ourselves.
“Oh, no. Poor Grandfather.”
You can imagine how out of sorts Father is, being confined to his bed, unable to go into his office whenever he pleases. His secretary (poor man) spends much of the day at the house, despite the doctor’s urging that Father rest more. Mother says she cannot see why we should pay the physician good money when Father refuses to follow any of his advice.
Gwen couldn’t help but smile. She could hear exactly how her grandmother would have said those words — loving but exasperated.
Before Father’s accident, I was visiting with Stuart Martin and his sister at their home on Long Island. I believe you met the Martins at your coming out. Stuart has proven quite the persistent suitor, and I believe he may be on the verge of proposing marriage to me.
Gwen noticed her mother didn’t mention she wasn’t free to accept Stuart Martin’s proposal. Had that even occurred to her?
When Gwen was about seventeen, she’d asked her mother why she never got a divorce. Elizabeth Arlington had replied that she would not remove the protection of her wedding ring until it was about to be replaced by another.
“Oh, God,” Gwen whispered, an ache in her heart, “please lead my mother home to You.”
With all that is going on here, I’m sure you will understand why I must decline your invitation to come stay with you in Bethlehem Springs for the summer. I do miss you terribly. Perhaps it’s time for you to return to your grandparents’ home. You could bring Cleopatra with you, and we could spend a lovely holiday at the shore.
After Gwen settled in Bethlehem Springs seven years before, she’d tried to explain to her mother why she, Elizabeth, should come for a visit, why she needed to see Cleo and let Cleo get to know her. Gwen understood the deep hurt her twin felt because of her mother’s desertion. She wanted to see healing between those two.
But in their mother’s mind, she’d left Idaho — a place — not her husband and daughter. That they had remained behind wasn’t her fault, just an unavoidable circumstance. There was no need, Gwen’s mother had written back, for her to return to Idaho when Cleo was free to visit Hoboken at any time.
Despite her mother’s selfish actions and thoughtless behaviors, Gwen loved her and tried not to judge her too harshly. Still, her refusal to visit Cleo was something she found hard to forgive.
Oh, I nearly forgot. Do you remember the Wellington boy, the young man I once encouraged you to consider as a suitor? He became involved with a woman of poor family and there was something about a child, although I never learned the particulars. Certainly he disgraced his family’s good name. He took his own life last month. A shocking turn of events. It was in all the newspapers and has been the talk of every social event I’ve attended.
Thank goodness you had the good sense to see through him years ago. He wasn’t at all what he appeared to be.
Her mother’s letter went on for another two pages of gossip about neighbors and friends from her social circle. Nothing of interest to Gwen who cared little about the things her mother found so important.
Well, I must close. This is my day to join your grandfather for lunch at his bedside. His preferred topic of conversation is matters of business, which I find boring. I do hope he will be able to get about on his own soon so I can get on with my life.
Say hello to Cleopatra and your father for me, and tell your sister I will write to her soon. Sending my love.
Mother
Gwen sighed as she refolded the letter. Sometimes she felt more the parent than the child. She wanted to chastise her mother, to scold her, to tell her to grow up, to encourage her to think of someone other than herself every now and again.
“I’m sorry for feeling that way, Lord,” she whispered as she slipped the stationery into its envelope. “But Mother can be so exasperating at times.”
Morgan ran his gaze down the list of supplies one last time before handing it to Bert Humphrey. “May I tell Fagan the supplies will be ready for pickup on Friday?”
“Sure can. I’ve got everything here in my storeroom.” The proprietor of the mercantile set the list on the counter. “I’d like you to know, Mr. McKinley, I’m grateful for your business. It’s been a boon for me and the missus this past year, I can tell you.”
Morgan acknowledged the man’s thanks with a nod, then asked, “How is Mrs. Humphrey feeling?”
“She’s somewhat better. Though it’s hard to make her keep to her bed, the way the doctor wants. She’s used to working here in the store with me and is feeling mighty restless.” He shrugged. “I was telling Miss Arlington awhile ago that it’s too bad that spa of yours isn’t open already. Maybe it would help her. But then, I probably couldn’t afford to take advantage of it no how.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Humphrey. New Hope will be affordable for all. I give you my word.”
“Do tell.”
Morgan nodded again, even as he felt a stab of frustration. If the county commissioners, led by Harrison Carter, kept interfering, kept preventing him from acquiring the necessary use permits and land purchases, it would be difficult for anyone, rich or poor, to benefit from New Hope. Overcoming the roadblocks was the reason he’d decided to run for mayor. Running for mayor meant opposition to Gwen Arlington. And Gwen — with the lovely hair that curled into tiny fish hooks at her nape and the soft-scented cologne that wafted about his nostrils whenever he drew close to her — was the reason he hadn’t slept much for the last two nights.
Two more customers entered the store, bringing a convenient end to his discussion with Bert Humphrey. He bid the man a good day and left the mercantile.
Outside on the sidewalk, he checked his watch. He had appointments with several businessmen this afternoon. Glad handing. Speech making. Kissing babies. He couldn’t say any of it was a favorite pasttime.
Maybe that was because his candidacy had begun with admittedly selfish motives. He had something to gain if he became mayor — overturning unfair and restrictive laws that made life difficult for honest men of business. Yes, he would make a good and open-minded mayor, should he be elected. Still…
He frowned.
It was different for Gwen Arlington. She had nothing to gain. She wanted to serve her neighbors and the tradesmen and even the children of Bethlehem Springs. She cared about them. Morgan believed she too would make a good and open-minded mayor. Perhaps a better mayor than
he would make, even though she lacked practical business experience.
Was it right for him to continue, knowing all that?
On the other hand, would the people of Bethlehem Springs elect a woman? And if they wouldn’t elect a woman and Morgan withdrew, that would leave Hiram Tattersall to serve as mayor. His gut told him Tattersall would be a puppet for Harrison Carter, just as the other county commissioners and the current mayor were, and that Morgan could not allow.
No, he couldn’t withdraw from the race. He had to stay the course — and pray that the people of this town would choose the right person come Election Day.
TWELVE
Standing in the hall near the front door, Gwen checked her appearance in the mirror. A gauzy pink scarf covered the crown of her hat and was tied snugly beneath her chin. She hoped it would keep her face and hair clean while she and Morgan motored to the construction site.
After slipping her arms into a duster coat, she took her purse from the entry table and opened it to double-check that her mother’s letter was there. Cleo would want to read it, especially if she hadn’t received one of her own.
The put-putter-put of an approaching motorcar reached her ears, causing a tiny shiver of anticipation to race up her spine. Morgan was here. It was time for them to leave.
But why this sudden excitement? This was nothing more than a fact-finding excursion. It was her duty as a candidate for mayor to be well informed.
She stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. No reason to wait for him to get out of the car. She had no need to be escorted to the vehicle.
“Good morning , Miss Arlington,” Morgan called as he brought the automobile to a halt. “Lovely day for a drive, isn’t it?” Reaching over to open the passenger door, he smiled.
What was it about his smile that made her feel so unsteady? It didn’t used to have that effect on her. What had changed between last week and this? Was his offer of friendship enough to make the difference?
“Watch your step.”
She drew a quick breath. “Thank you, Mr. McKinley.” After sitting down, she closed the passenger door and folded her hands in her lap, eyes forward.
“We should be up to the site in a little more than half an hour.”
Gwen saw Edna Updike staring out her parlor window. Although she couldn’t tell for certain, given the distance between them, she imagined the woman wore a frown of disapproval. After all, Gwen was about to drive off in an automobile with a man without the benefit and protection of a chaperone. Scandalous!
Morgan steered away from the curb, driving down Wallula to Main, then taking Main out of town. Once they were on the road heading north, he spoke above the noise of the engine. “Do you drive, Miss Arlington?”
“Drive? Do you mean an automobile?” Without waiting for his answer, she shook her head. “No.”
“That surprises me. I somehow thought you would.”
How was she to take that comment? Was it a compliment or an insult? She couldn’t be sure.
There hadn’t been a drop of rain in several weeks, and it wasn’t long before their coats were covered with a fine layer of dust. Morgan expertly steered the Model T around ruts carved earlier in the spring when the ground had been softer.
They rode in silence for a while. Then Morgan said, “I’ve been wondering something, Miss Arlington.”
She looked at him.
“How much do you charge for piano lessons?”
What an odd question for him to ask.
He glanced her way, obviously expecting a reply.
“Twenty cents for a half-hour lesson in my home. Another nickel if I go to the student’s home.”
“Very reasonable,” he said, his eyes back on the road. “And do you give lessons to adults as well as children?”
There was that strange sensation in her stomach again. “Sometimes.”
“Would you consider taking me on as a pupil?”
“Why do you want to learn to play, Mr. McKinley?”
He glanced at her a second time. “Does there have to be a reason?”
“There should be, yes.”
“Well… I’ve always had an appreciation for the musical arts, even as a boy. But my father preferred I pursue other interests while I was in school. Sports in general. Football in particular. After I graduated from university, I was involved with my father’s various business interests. Later I traveled with my mother after she became too ill to travel alone, and we never stayed in one place for any extended period of time.” He removed one hand from the steering wheel and raked his fingers through his wind-tousled hair. “Now that I’m settled in Bethlehem Springs, I’d like to pursue an old interest.” He smiled again without looking at her. “Is that reason enough?”
Although she was certain it would be better to remain silent, she asked, “Do you have a piano in your home so you could practice?”
“Yes. A rather fine one, I believe. It came with the house.”
It wouldn’t be wise to give him lessons. She felt that in her bones. But since he seemed so determined, perhaps she had best try another line of reasoning. “I don’t recommend that you begin lessons, Mr. McKinley, if you’ll be spending all your time at the building site in a matter of weeks. It takes dedication and determination to learn to play a musical instrument.”
“There you go again, assuming I’m going to lose the election.”
His comment amused her. She had begun to enjoy this competition of theirs. “Since I plan to win, I believe that means you must lose.”
“Then I’ll make you a promise. Even if I lose the election, I will still be dedicated in my playing of the piano. I’ll practice every day.”
She couldn’t help smiling now. “All right, Mr. McKinley. If you are truly determined to learn to play the piano, I will instruct you. I could do it Tuesdays or Fridays.”
“Let’s make it Tuesday.” He slowed the motorcar to a stop, then reached into his pocket and extracted a quarter. “At my home.” He reached over and took hold of her left hand, opened it, and dropped the coin onto her gloved palm, then folded her fingers over it. He didn’t release her hand immediately.
Gwen’s smile faded. She found it difficult to move, to think, to breathe. She scarcely knew where she was as she stared into his eyes.
“Shall we say three o’clock?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She nodded. That seemed the only response possible.
It was more difficult than it should have been for Morgan to let go of Gwen’s hand. That he felt a growing attraction to his lovely opponent was becoming clear to him. Whether or not that attraction would prove a disaster — for him, for the resort, for the election — remained to be seen.
Silence surrounded them as they resumed the drive, Gwen pretending great interest in the passing countryside. After they passed the bridge that led to her father’s ranch, the road curved into a narrow canyon, hugging the river on the right side that tumbled and foamed over boulders and ancient logs.
“If things go as planned,” Morgan said, hoping to make both of them feel a little less uncomfortable, “that’s where the railroad will lay tracks.” He pointed to the flat terrain on the opposite side of the river.
“Do you really think the Union Pacific will bring a spur up this way?”
“They will if the county and town do their part. We’ve had several meetings with the men who make those decisions, and it looks encouraging. Of course New Hope will cover some of the costs, which is a good incentive.”
Gwen seemed to consider his words before asking, “When do you plan to open the resort, Mr. McKinley?”
“We’d hoped to have our first guests staying with us this fall, but it looks now like it will take us until early next spring, depending upon what sort of winter we have.”
She said nothing more, and Morgan decided to leave her to her own thoughts until they reached the resort.
A short while later, they arrived at the building site. Th
e air was filled with sounds of hammering and sawing and the shouts of one man to another. Noticeable progress had been made since Morgan’s last visit. The exterior of the lodge was nearing completion. Soon the craftsmen would begin work on the interior.
Just as the motorcar’s engine fell silent, Morgan heard Gwen whisper, “Oh, my.”
A perfect response. He grinned. That’s how he wanted everyone to react when they arrived at New Hope.
As Morgan walked around to the passenger side of the motorcar, Fagan Doyle hurried toward them from the direction of the bathhouse. “Morgan, you weren’t expected today. But it’s glad I am you’ve come.”
“Problems?”
“No, but we’ve got some questions about the pools that need answered.”
He nodded. “I’ll meet with you before we leave.” He turned and opened the car door, holding out a hand to Gwen to assist her to the ground. “Fagan, I’d like to introduce Miss Arlington. Miss Arlington, this is Fagan Doyle.”
Fagan doffed his hat. “It’s pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” Then to Morgan, “You should’ve warned me, boy-o. Sure and I wouldn’t have any man jack atop a ladder or roof right now. They’re likely to fall off when they see her pretty face.”
“Then perhaps I should keep my face covered, Mr. Doyle. I would hate to be the cause of an accident.”
Did Morgan detect a less-than-pleased edge in her response to the compliment? It did seem that she could turn prickly at the most unexpected moments. What woman didn’t like a bit of flattery?
Morgan removed his duster and tossed it into the rear seat before turning to Gwen to ask, “Would you like me to take your coat? It seems to be warming up.”
With a nod, she unbuttoned the lightweight overgarment. “Thank you, Mr. McKinley.”
The scent of her cologne teased him as he slipped the coat from her shoulders. It was all he could do not to bring it close to his face and breathe deeply.
What had come over him lately? He was acting like… like a lovesick pup. Heaven help him! He needed to nip this behavior in the bud.
Vote of Confidence Page 9