The Law and Miss Mary

by Dorothy Clark

  “Very well.” Rebecca Green moved to the wagon.

  James stepped forward and offered her a hand up. She took her seat, smiled and waved. “Good day, all.”

  “Good day.” Mary returned Rebecca’s wave and joined James on the walkway.

  Levinia Stewart slipped her gloved hand through the captain’s arm and dimpled up at him. “Shall we go, Captain Benton?” She turned the smile on James. “So nice to see you again, Mr. Randolph.” The residue of the smile came her direction. “And you, Miss Randolph. Good day.”

  “Good day.” Mary returned Miss Stewart’s smile in kind.

  The captain tossed a nod their direction and the two walked off, with the wagon lumbering its way up the road ahead of them.

  Mary glanced up at James. He was staring after them, a bemused expression on his face. She gave a quick tug on his sleeve. “Shall we go home?”

  “What? Oh. Yes, of course, Mary.”

  She turned and started off. He fell into step beside her. “Please try not to look as besotted as the captain, James. I know Levinia Stewart is beautiful, but—”

  “Miss Stewart?” James looked over at her and shook his head. “Miss Stewart is pretty enough. But Rebecca Green is beautiful.”

  Mary gazed up at him, her mouth agape. “Rebecca Green? James, Rebecca Green has freckles!”

  “I know. I saw them.” He grinned. “Did you notice they look darker when she blushes?”

  “No. I did not even—” Mary gave him a suspicious glance. “When did she blush?”

  “When she put her hand in mine to climb into the wagon.”

  Mary laughed. “You sound very pleased that you caused that blush.”

  “I am.” He leaned down and pushed open their gate. “I wonder where Miss Green lives. And if she goes to church every Sunday. I think I will ask the captain the next time I see him.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled his way up the walk.

  Mary stared up at him. Had he lost his mind? How could he think Miss Green lovelier than Miss Stewart? Why, she could point out a dozen flaws that made her less attractive. But it was obvious James meant what he said. She stole another sidelong look at him and shook her head. Absolutely besotted!

  “You’ll be all right, boy. There’s no reason to be afraid.” Sam motioned the silent boy into the cell, locked the door and walked away. He had learned that was best. The kid was so scared he could hardly walk or talk, but the others would take care of him. There were four of them in there now. And a girl in the cell beside them. A little girl…seven, maybe eight years old.

  The muscles in his face drew so taut his skin hurt. He tossed the ring of keys in the desk drawer, grabbed his hat off the hook beside the door, then went outside and drew in a deep breath of air. Free air. All the prisoners he talked to said the air was not the same when you were locked in a cell. And for the first time, he understood what they meant. When he locked those kids in, they were so frightened they could not breathe right and his own lungs labored to draw in air for them. Air that was stale and thin and unsatisfying.

  Sam tugged his hat into place and started down Chestnut Street toward the levee. A steamboat whistle blew news of its arrival. He quickened his steps. Maybe Duffy would be working this boat. Or perhaps there would be a gambler with a bad reputation, or some other unsavory character onboard he could arrest or continue out of town. Something that would make him feel like a law officer doing a worthwhile job again, instead of a bully picking on kids. If it were not for his goals…

  Mary Randolph’s face popped into his head. He gave a low growl. The woman was becoming a major annoyance. She made him feel like a criminal, though he was the one upholding the law. But all the same, he admired her spunk. The way she lifted that small, square chin, ready to defend a child she did not know…. Amusement tugged his scowl into a smile. He had no doubt she would fight him if she had to. She was a born she-bear, that one. The thing was—that was one fight he had no real heart to win.

  Chapter Ten

  “Excuse me, Miss Mary.” Edda stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, her hands buried in her apron. “There is a policeman come to see you, ja?”

  “A policeman?”

  Edda’s head bobbed. “Ja.”

  Captain Benton. “All right. Thank you, Edda. I will be right down.” Why would the captain come to see her? Mary frowned, put away her pen, placed the stopper in the ink well and then rose to look in the mirror. As usual, wisps of hair were escaping at her temples and down her neck from the knot on the crown of her head. Why could she not make them stay in place? She lifted her hands to tuck them where they belonged, then shrugged and headed for the stairs. What did it matter? The captain was not paying a social call. All the same, she tugged the bodice of her gown more smoothly into place as she walked down the stairs.

  “Good afternoon, Ca—” Mary halted, stared at the swarthy policeman standing beside the front door, then moved forward again. “I am Mary Randolph. You wished to speak with me, officer?”

  “Yes, Miss Randolph.” The policeman whipped off his hat and dipped his head. “Captain Benton sent me to bring you to the jail.”

  “To the jail!” Shock tingled through her.

  “Yes, miss. I am to escort you.”

  “But…”

  “And he bids you hurry.”

  Mary gaped at him, then gathered her wits and shook her head. “Officer, I do not know why the captain sent you to arrest me. But I have done nothing wrong, and I am not go—”

  “Oh, no, miss, you have it wrong. I am not here to arrest you. It’s about the child.”

  Relief turned her knees to jelly. She placed her hand against the door frame to brace herself. “The child?”

  “Yes, miss. The young girl. She’s took sick.”

  “Oh. I—A moment, officer.”

  Mary turned and headed for the kitchen. Why had the captain sent for her? She—Did it matter? A child was sick, and she was wasting time. She quickened her steps, pausing at the kitchen doorway. “Ivy, I am going to the jail to see about a sick child. Please explain to James if I am not home in time for dinner.”

  “The jail?” Ivy stared, then shook her head and nodded. “I will tell him.”

  Mary whirled about and rushed to the front of the house. When the policeman had broken the news to her, had she looked as shocked as Ivy? Her lips twitched. Probably so. She sobered, grabbed her straw hat off the hat tree and settled it on her head. “All right. I am ready, officer.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  The policeman opened the door. Mary stepped onto the porch, grabbed the long, gauzy ties of her hat and knotted them under her chin as she followed the policeman down the steps to the gate.

  “Captain Benton is waiting inside, miss.” The officer opened the door of the square, one-story, stone building and stepped aside for her to enter.

  Mary took a deep breath and stepped into the dim interior. Gray stone walls supporting the room’s dingy, plastered ceiling absorbed the light from the two front windows on either side of her. The door behind her clicked shut. Movement drew her eye and her stomach flopped as Samuel Benton rose from his desk chair and strode toward her.

  “Thank you for coming, Miss Randolph. I apologize for bringing you here, but—”

  “I prefer an explanation to an apology, Captain Benton. Why am I here?” Mary stared up at him, not caring about her rudeness in interrupting him. “I understand there is a sick child. But what do you expect from me?” His face flushed. He was no doubt angered by her tone, but she cared not a fig for Captain Benton’s feelings. Any man who would arrest children was not worth polite consideration.

  “I had Doc Patterson look at the girl. He says she needs nursing care, and the mayor refuses to—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps you would be willing to—”

  “Volunteer my services as a nurse?” Another flush. Was he embarrassed about the situation? Good! “Where is the child?”

  “In a cell in the back. I’ll
take you to her.” He grabbed a ring of keys from a desk drawer. “This way.”

  “A moment, Captain.” It was obvious Samuel Benton was in a quandary. Mary squared her shoulders, looked him straight in the eyes and shamelessly took advantage of his dilemma. “If I nurse the child, it will be on my terms.”

  He stared down at her a moment, then nodded.

  Mary followed him through the doorway on the inside wall and paused, taken aback at the sight of the barred cells that lined both sides of a short, dark corridor. She had never been in such a dismal, cheerless place. A raspy cough from one of the cells started her moving again. She hastened after the captain into the darker region, keeping her hand firmly anchored to her side, though she wanted to clamp it over her nose. A musty, sour smell mingled with the odor of human waste permeated the place. She took shorter breaths and regretted having to breathe at all.

  The captain stopped. Keys jingled. Metal scraped against metal. There was a loud click as he unlocked one of the barred doors. “In here, Miss Randolph.” He stepped back to allow her room to pass.

  The cramped cell received light from a single barred window high in its outside stone wall. Mary swept a quick glance over the interior. A painted stand with a crockery wash bowl on its surface stood beneath the window. A metal pail covered with a wooden plank sat beside it on the slate floor. On either side, their heads jammed against the stone wall, were two narrow cots. In the cot on the right lay a little girl, her thin body barely causing a lump in the striped blanket that covered her.

  Mary glanced at the captain, wanting to take the girl and lock him up in her place. “What is her name?”

  “Katy Turner.”

  She brushed by him into the cell and knelt beside the girl’s cot. The small, dirt-streaked face was flushed, the eyes closed. “Hello, Katy. My name is Mary, and I have come to take care of you. How do you feel?” She placed her hand on the small forehead. It was hot and dry. The girl’s eyes opened at her touch. Tears rushed into the blue eyes bright with fever.

  “M-my th-throat hurts.” The girl’s voice was thick, raspy. The tears overflowed onto her grimy, gaunt cheeks. Cheeks that should be round and pink.

  Mary nodded, anger welling until it pushed the breath from her lungs. “You will feel better soon, Katy. I promise.” She looked toward the cell entrance. “I shall need your help, Captain Benton.” Her voice was as frigid as the girl’s forehead was hot.

  Samuel Benton’s face tightened, but he made no protest, merely stepped to her side.

  Mary tucked the blankets around the little girl, then stood, tipped her head back and looked up at him. “I am taking Katy home to care for her, and she will not be back, Captain. I will find her a home or she will live with me. Now, as she is too ill to walk, you must carry her for me. Please lift her carefully.”

  “Miss Randolph—”

  “Those are my conditions, Captain.” Her voice was quiet, her tone implacable. Mary set her jaw and met Samuel Benton’s scrutiny without so much as a flicker of her eyes. Something flashed deep in his. She did not bother to try to define it, merely turned and strode to the door of the cell. Her heart jolted. Across the corridor, six young boys of various sizes, dressed in dirty, tattered clothes, clung to the bars of their cells, staring at her.

  There was movement behind her. The captain’s footsteps drew near. Mary blinked tears from her eyes, smiled at the boys and hurried down the corridor toward the doorway and freedom, with the faces of those small boys seared into her heart and mind.

  Mary’s hands shook so she could hardly hold her scissors. She could not remember ever being so angry. Not even when Winston had betrayed her with Victoria.

  She cut a hole in the seamed end of her embroidered cotton pillow slip, cut two smaller holes high in the side seams, then grabbed a long piece of ribbon from her dresser drawer and headed toward the dressing room. She paused beside Edda, who was on her knees tucking the ends of a sheet under the pile of folded quilts on the floor beside the end wall of the bedroom. “Is the pallet ready, Edda?”

  The housekeeper fluffed a pillow and placed it on top of the sheet. “Ja. ’Tis ready, Miss Mary.” She spread her short, thick fingers wide and patted the pile. “And ’tis nice and soft, ja?”

  “It is exactly what I wanted.” Mary smiled her appreciation and hurried to the dressing room. “How is Katy doing?”

  Ivy looked up. “I think she is feeling some stronger, thanks to that broth she managed to swallow before her bath.”

  “Good. I have her nightgown ready.” Mary looked at the skinny little girl in the tub. Her eyes were closed. “Poor little thing, she looks exhausted. Help me get her out of the tub so I can dry her off and get her into bed.” She hung the pillow slip over the edge of the washstand and slipped her hands under Katy’s thin arms. Ivy slid hers under the child’s skinny legs. Mary nodded and together they lifted the little girl from the tub.

  “I—I’m c-cold.”

  “I know, but you will be warm soon.” Mary grabbed a towel, wrapped it around Katy, then went to her knees and began to dry her. “Thank you for your help, Ivy. Please go finish that sage tea concoction now. And be sure to add the honey—it helps to hide the taste of the vinegar.” Thank goodness she had helped at her aunt Laina’s orphanage. At least she knew what to do for a sore throat.

  She finished drying Katy and pulled the pillow slip over the child’s damp hair. The little girl shivered. She tied the ribbon around the tiny waist, pulled her close, gave her a quick hug then took her by the hand. “Come along, Katy. Edda prepared a lovely bed for you so you can rest and get better.” She led Katy to her bedroom, helped her onto the pallet and tucked a blanket around her fragile, shivering body. Katy’s eyes closed.

  Mary stood by the bed watching until she was certain the child was asleep, then stepped over to the writing desk they had shoved into the corner to make room for Katy’s pallet and took her seat. She pushed aside the letter she had been writing to her sister Sarah when the officer arrived and pulled a clean sheet of paper forward. There was a tiny clink as she removed the stopper from the ink well and dipped in the pen.

  Katy moaned. Mary glanced down at the sleeping child. Soft, black curls tumbled around the bony face that was flushed with fever. How could anyone jail such a child? Mary’s spine stiffened. She wiped the tip of the pen against the neck edge of the ink well. She needed help and she knew exactly where to find it. She touched the pen to the paper and began her letter.

  Dearest Mother and Father,

  “What are you going to do with her when she is well, Mary?” James looked from the child on the pallet to the furniture shoved close together along the walls of the cramped bedroom and shook his head. “She cannot stay here. There simply is no room.”

  “Shh, she might hear you, James.” Mary motioned for him to follow her out of the room. She grasped the banister and started down the narrow stairs, then glanced over her shoulder at him. “There is no need for you to concern yourself over Katy. I have everything planned.”

  James gave a soft snort. “I have no doubt of that. You are a very resourceful young woman when you want something, Mary Randolph.”

  She stopped, turned to face him. “I could not leave Katy in jail with no one to tend her, James. And I cannot send her back there when she is well.”

  “I know that, Mary. And it seems Captain Benton knows it, also.”

  “He does now!” She gave a little huff and spun around to walk into the parlor.

  “What is happening here, Mary?”

  “What do you mean?” She walked to the settee and turned to face him.

  “I mean you act awfully prickly whenever Captain Benton’s name is mentioned.” He fastened a brotherly gaze on her. “Do you really dislike the man that much? Or is the opposite true?”

  “That is ridiculous!”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. It is. And stop smiling.”

  “All right.” He walked over beside her. “What is this plan of yours?
”

  “Well, Katy will stay here where I can tend to her until she is well. Then she will share Callie’s bed at Ivy’s house.” She sighed. “That takes care of the sleeping arrangements. But it still leaves meals…and clothes…and schooling…” She shoved a strand of hair off her forehead, then smoothed her hands over her hair, which only resulted in more of her wild, dark hair falling free.

  “And have you a solution for those, as well?”

  She seated herself on the settee and looked up at him. “I believe so. Of course, Ivy cannot afford to provide for the children. And I am responsible for bringing them into her life—therefore, they shall take dinner and supper here. And my allowance is sufficient to provide the necessary clothing for them—at least for now. And I will school them while Ivy is cooking our meals.”

  “And if you save another child?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea what I will do if that happens. I shall have no trouble if, when Father reads my letter, he agrees to increase my allowance. If he does not…well…” She gave a tiny shrug.

  James sat in a chair, leaned forward and looked her straight in the eyes. “Mary, you cannot spend every bit of your allowance on these children. You have needs, also.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “There is no ‘but,’ Mary. I will help. But even with my help…Even if Father does increase your allowance…You will not be able to sustain the expense of three children for long.” He took her hand in his. “Think, Mary. Children grow. Their needs increase. And if you save another, and another…It will be impossible for us to provide for their needs.”

  She gave another long sigh. “I know, James. I have thought of nothing else all afternoon. And I know what you say is true. But I cannot turn my face away and pretend I do not see their suffering. I cannot simply leave these children to their fate, which is to be jailed for no reason other than they have no parents to care for them! I cannot do that, James. I cannot!”