Vote of Confidence

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Gwen found it difficult to breathe and impossible to speak. All she could do was watch as he lowered his mouth toward hers. It was sweet torture, his kiss, his arms now embracing her. Loving Morgan must have been God’s purpose for her all along, for surely nothing in her life had felt so right as this.

  At long last, he drew back, far enough that she could look into his eyes and see her own swirling emotions mirrored in them.

  “I love you, Gwen.”

  And I love you.

  “Marry me.”

  “Marry you?” she whispered.

  “Yes, marry me.”

  She hadn’t wanted marriage. She had turned her back on it years ago. But now she couldn’t remember why. Looking into his dark eyes, she couldn’t think of a single reason why she wouldn’t want to be his wife.

  “Marry me.” Another smile began to curve the corners of his mouth, and he nodded, as if to show her how to respond.

  Marry him.

  Love him.

  Cherish him.

  Laugh with him.

  Grow old with him.

  Holding her breath, she nodded in return.

  His smile widened a second before he kissed her again, long and warm and sweet. She didn’t care if he never stopped. She was willing to stay right there forever, wrapped in his arms, his lips upon hers, their hearts beating in unison.

  When he drew back a second time, he surprised her by sweeping her feet off the floor and cradling her in his arms. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, Gwen Arlington. Shall we go tell my sister? Then we can drive out to the ranch to tell your father and Cleo.” As if he anticipated what she would say, he continued, “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. I want to tell them now.”

  She laughed, her joy matching his. “Yes. Let’s go tell them. Let’s tell everyone. Let’s tell the entire world.”

  As Morgan’s automobile approached the ranch house, a cloud of dust whirling up behind it, Gwen saw Cleo dismount and tie her horse to the corral fence. A moment later, their father appeared from inside the barn. Cleo waved at the passengers in the automobile, then the two of them strode toward the house to await their arrival.

  Excitement and nerves erupted in Gwen’s stomach. She knew Cleo and their father liked Morgan, but maybe they would think Gwen was rushing things. Maybe they would think she hadn’t thought things through. And if they didn’t approve? What then?

  The touring car rolled to a stop, and Morgan helped Gwen and Daphne out of the automobile.

  “Dad, Cleo,” Gwen said as the three of them stepped forward, “I’d like you to meet Morgan’s sister, Daphne McKinley. Daphne, this is my father, Griff Arlington, and my sister, Cleo.”

  “How do you do?” Daphne offered her hand to Cleo’s father first, then to Cleo. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  After the group exchanged a few pleasantries, Gwen’s father said, “Let’s go up on the porch out of the sun.”

  The five of them trouped up the steps. While the others sat on chairs, Cleo leaned her backside against the porch rail and crossed one booted foot over the other while crossing her arms over her chest. Gwen wondered if her sister had already guessed the reason for their visit. Something about her shrewd expression said she had.

  Her father asked Daphne a number of questions about her trip to Idaho and how long she meant to stay and if she’d ever been on a cattle ranch before. Gwen wished he would stop before she exploded with the news of her engagement.

  At long last, Morgan cleared his throat and leaned forward on his chair. “Mr. Arlington, I wonder if I might have a word alone with you.”

  Before their father could answer, Cleo said, “Say no, Dad. I think I’d like to hear this too.” She pinned Morgan with a fierce gaze. “I reckon Gwennie and your sister already know what’s on your mind, so why should I be left out? Go on. Speak your piece here and now.”

  Gwen couldn’t recall a time she’d seen Morgan when he looked less than confident, but that’s how he looked now. He glanced at her, a question in his eyes, and she gave a slight shrug in answer.

  “All right.” He cleared his throat again. “Mr. Arlington, I’ve proposed marriage to your daughter, and she has done me the honor of saying yes. So we’ve come to ask for your blessing.”

  Cleo let out a whoop as she pushed off the rail. “I knew it!” She grabbed Gwen’s hand, pulled her up from her chair, and wrapped her in a tight embrace. With her mouth close to Gwen’s ear, Cleo whispered, “I’m so glad you came to your senses, Gwennie. I’m so happy for you and Morgan.”

  “Morgan,” their father said, laughter in his voice, “I believe Cleo has answered for the both of us. You and Gwen have our blessing with our whole hearts.”

  THIRTY

  Although Gwen asked and Morgan agreed that their engagement would be kept a secret until one of them was sworn in as mayor, it didn’t escape people’s notice that the two candidates spent a great deal of time in each other’s company in those days leading up to the Tuesday of the election. Edna Updike, Gwen’s next-door neighbor, reportedly said that if Gwen was elected, at least the townsfolk would know she had a competent man behind her, telling her what she needed to know and what she needed to do.

  When that comment reached Gwen’s ears — passed along on election day by Cleo, who had gone to the municipal building to check on the voting — it nearly sent her through the roof. “As if I need Morgan to tell me what to do for Bethlehem Springs. Doesn’t Mrs. Updike know I formed my campaign platform on my own? I didn’t even know Morgan when I decided to run for office.”

  Cleo shook her head. “Edna Updike doesn’t think a woman should have an opinion apart from a man’s say so. You know that, Gwennie. Don’t pay her no mind.”

  “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a puppet, that’s all. You don’t suppose Morgan thinks that’s what I’ll be?” More nervous than she’d expected she’d be on Election Day, Gwen paced the parlor.

  Her sister made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. “Nobody who knows you will think that. Especially not Morgan.”

  Footsteps on the front porch caused Gwen to turn around just as her father and Morgan opened the screen door. “Any more news?” she asked them.

  Morgan shook his head. “We were told they’ll have the results about nine o’clock. We can go to the municipal building to await the announcement or they can send someone to us with the final tally.”

  Gwen glanced at the clock. Not yet seven. She might go crazy before the next two hours were up.

  “Where’s Daphne?” Cleo asked Morgan. “I thought she was coming over with you.”

  “She said she had some writing to do and wondered if it was okay for her to stay at home. I imagine her correspondence is more important to her than our local politics.” He shrugged. “Especially when I told her Gwen was certain to win.”

  “I wish you would quit saying that.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Stop fussing. The election is yours.”

  “None of us can know that for sure.”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve talked to as many people as I could since the night of the debate. Everyone knows by now that I voted for you today. Maybe I should have pulled my name off the ballot, but — ”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I wouldn’t have wanted to win that way.”

  He gave her an encouraging smile.

  Perhaps the election shouldn’t mean as much to her now. She and Morgan were engaged and had settled on a date in mid-August for the wedding. After they married, she would move from her little house on Wallula to Morgan’s larger home on Sky view. Other women would be content to live the simple life, overseeing their husbands’ homes. Why wasn’t she like that? Why did she want more?

  Gwen swallowed a groan as she drew away from Morgan and walked into the kitchen. She paused briefly, looked around, wondering why she’d come in there, then moved on through and out the back door. She hurried toward the stable that housed Shakespeare.
The gelding greeted her with a soft nicker as he thrust his head over the stall door.

  “Hello, fella.” She stroked his head. “I’m a nervous wreck. Can you feel it?”

  Shakespeare bobbed his head.

  She pressed her forehead against his neck. “I should be planning my wedding, not hoping to be elected. Why can’t I be like other women?”

  “Interesting question,” Morgan said from behind her. “But I rather like you the way you are.”

  She sucked in a breath as she turned around. “I didn’t know you followed me outside.”

  “Do you want me to go back to the house? I will if you’d rather be alone.”

  She nodded, shook her head, nodded again.

  He gave her a look that showed great patience as well as tender regard.

  She sighed. “You needn’t go. I don’t want to be alone. I think the waiting is driving me a trifle mad, that’s all. Don’t you feel the least bit nervous, waiting for the results?”

  “No. What will be, will be. We’ve done all we can. Now it’s in God’s hands.”

  “You won’t mind, even a little, if I win?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she shook her head and said, “Don’t answer that. We’ve talked about it before.”

  “What do you say about taking a drive? Just you and me. We’ll head down the road and not come back until it’s time for the results to be announced.”

  Was it any wonder she loved him? “No, we’d best stay here with Dad and Cleo. They’ve been so supportive. I wouldn’t want them to feel unwelcome. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. Whatever you want, Gwen.”

  She slipped into his arms and pressed the side of her face against his chest. His heart drummed beneath her ear. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. The sound soothed her. Listening to the steady beat made her feel less frazzled, more grounded.

  Morgan was right. What would be, would be. She needed to relax, to trust, to leave it in God’s hands.

  “Let’s go inside.” She tipped her head back and looked up at him. Then she smiled to let him know her world had begun to right itself again.

  When Morgan and Gwen reentered the house, they found Cleo and Griff seated at the kitchen table with a deck of cards. Cleo held up the dark red box, Going to Market clearly printed on its front. “We thought a game or two might help pass the time. We need at least three players.”

  Gwen pulled out a chair between her father and sister. “It might help the time go by faster.”

  Morgan took the seat opposite her.

  “It’s the latest thing.” Cleo said. “Have you played it yet?”

  “No.”

  “It’s pretty simple.” She showed him a card with the number four in the upper left corner and a drawing in the center with the name of a cereal beneath it. “I’m going to deal all the cards, and the goal is to get all four cards that belong to any set and as many sets as you can. There are thirteen sets in all. So if you got this card that says Postum, you’d want to get the Post Porridge, Grape-nuts, and Post Toasties cards to finish the set.”

  He nodded to show that he understood.

  Cleo quickly explained the rest of the game, shuffled the deck of cards — with the speed and precision of a professional card player, Morgan thought — and began dealing them around the table. When they each had thirteen cards, they picked up their hands and began sorting them into order.

  Morgan’s paternal grandmother had considered any game that included the use of cards to be the devil’s handiwork and his father had forbidden a deck of playing cards under his roof. As a young man away at school, he’d avoided card games — even simple ones like Going to Market and Rook — out of respect for his grandmother and father. It wasn’t that he believed there was intrinsic evil in a deck of cards. It was simply that old habits died hard. Even now he half-expected to feel his grandmother slap his hand.

  But that feeling was soon overcome by the enthusiasm of the Arlington family and his own competitive nature. Cleo won the first game and did her share of crowing over his measly three sets. He wasn’t about to be trounced a second time.

  Before they knew it, the clock chimed nine o’clock. At the sound, everyone laid their cards facedown on the table. There was a quick and wordless exchange of glances before Griff said, “Let’s walk down to the municipal building. I can’t sit here and wait for them to bring the news to us.”

  Once out on the sidewalk, Morgan offered Gwen his arm and she took it. “God’s in control,” he said softly.

  “Yes.”

  When the foursome reached Main Street, they saw that they weren’t the only ones who wanted to know the results tonight, as soon as they were announced. Lots of people, most of them in groups of three or four, were walking toward the Bethlehem Springs Municipal Building. The mild evening air was punctuated with their voices and laughter. Some called out to Gwen and Morgan, wishing them luck. Others smiled and waved. No one seemed to consider it odd that the two candidates were walking arm in arm. Morgan had a feeling their secret wasn’t much of a secret.

  At the municipal building, they found a crowd — about a hundred people, Morgan guessed — gathered at the bottom of the steps. Seeing Morgan and Gwen’s approach, the assembly parted like the Red Sea before Moses, allowing them through, Cleo and Griff right behind them.

  As everyone settled in again, Morgan caught snippets of conversation: someone wondering if or when the United States would be dragged into the growing war in Europe; a woman expressing horror over the sinking of the RMS Lusitania off the coast of Ireland; two men discussing what it took to be a great baseball player.

  Morgan and Gwen said nothing. What was there to say now?

  Strange, he thought, the importance this election had played in his life over the past weeks. If he’d never declared for office, he wouldn’t have come to know Gwen. He probably wouldn’t have thought to take piano lessons. They wouldn’t be engaged. If he hadn’t declared his candidacy, he would still be living in a tent up at New Hope, all of his attention focused on the spa’s construction — eating, drinking, and sleeping the completion of the resort.

  A murmur passed through the crowd and slowly conversations ceased. Morgan looked toward the top of the steps to see Jackson Jones standing there, a piece of paper in his hand.

  “Good evening. The votes from today’s election have been tallied, and it is my duty to inform you that Miss Guinevere Arlington, by a margin of twelve votes, has been elected as your new mayor.”

  Behind them came a couple of shouts of congratulations, some applause, and a few murmurs of dissatisfaction.

  Twelve votes. Much closer than he’d expected, but still the victory for Gwen that he’d predicted. But no matter. She’d won. That’s what counted.

  Morgan was tempted to gather her into his arms and kiss her in front of everyone. After all, the election was hers. But they’d agreed to wait until after she was sworn into office, and so wait he would.

  Dearest Mother,

  I have much to share with you. You shall never guess all that has transpired since I last wrote. Remember that I told you I decided to run for mayor in the Bethlehem Springs special election. When I wrote that letter, I was facing two opponents in the race. One of them dropped out several weeks ago. One week after that, the other man and I were to debate each other. Only instead of debating, he told the crowd that he planned to vote for me. It caused quite a stir.

  Today was the election, and I won! Not by a great many votes, but I still won. I will be sworn into office in nine days. I wish you could be here, but I’m afraid you won’t receive the letter in time for you to arrange to travel here.

  But I have another more important reason to ask you to come for a visit. I am to be married in mid-August. Morgan McKinley is my fiancé’s name, and he was the opponent who voted for me. A rather strange set of circumstances, I am sure you will agree. But I am also sure the greater surprise for you is that I have chosen to marry at all. I know I told you I wouldn’t, but I wa
s wrong. Loving Morgan proved me wrong.

  Mother, even though you have said you never want to set eyes on Bethlehem Springs again, I hope you will make an exception for my wedding. Cleo would so very much like to spend some time with you too. Please don’t disappoint us.

  Morgan’s father and mother are both deceased, but he has a younger sister, Daphne, who has come from Boston for the summer. Dad and Cleo both think the world of Morgan and have already made him a member of our family.

  Dad is in good health. Cleo is the same as ever. And I am well too.

  If you can come, please send me a telegram rather than a letter. It will reach me so much sooner. You can stay with me in my home, which is small, or with Dad and Cleo at the ranch. Or if you would rather, Morgan would make you welcome to stay with him and Daphne.

  Please do come.

  With much love,

  Your daughter, Guinevere

  THIRTY-ONE

  A half hour after the swearing in ceremony concluded, Morgan leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and watched as Gwen ran her gloved fingertips over the surface of the large desk.

  Didn’t most mayors in America have gray beards and round bellies? Obviously the voters of Bethlehem Springs had better taste when choosing who would serve them. Just look at Gwen. She was more beautiful in that rose-colored dress and the matching wide-brimmed hat than he had seen her look before — and that was saying something.

  “Well, Madam Mayor. What do you think of your new office?”

  She lifted a somewhat bewildered gaze in his direction. “It’s a little surreal, isn’t it? I keep thinking I’ll wake up and find this whole thing has been a dream.”

  “It’s all real, Gwen.” He pushed off the doorjamb, closed the door with his foot, and crossed the room to take her in his arms. “And so is the love I feel for you.”

  “Good sir.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “Are you trying to influence city hall?”

  “Indeed, madam, I am.” He kissed her, something he’d wanted to do earlier but couldn’t with so many people around.