“I believe ludicrous, or perhaps preposterous, is the word you are searching for, James.”
He scowled down at her. “They are both apt! And I should add costly!” He snatched his hat from the hat tree and slapped it on his head. “And I am not speaking only of money. You are investing too much of your heart into these children.”
Mary nodded. “Perhaps. But someone has to care about them, James. And I have no husband or children of my own to spend my love and care on.”
James’s face softened. He stepped toward her. Mary frowned and turned away. She had not meant to let that bit of bitterness be bared.
His hands gripped her upper arms. “Forgive me, Mary. You hide your feelings so well, I forget about your pain over Winston’s betrayal. But, please, do not be discouraged. The Lord will send you a man who will love and cherish you as you deserve. One whom you will love with your whole heart. And you will have children of your own. As many as you wish.”
Mary sighed. If God wanted her to have a husband who would love and cherish her, He would have made her beautiful and gentle-natured and appealing. But dear James would never admit that. He was such a wonderful, caring brother. And he meant well. It was not his fault the words he spoke to encourage her only deepened her sadness. His vision of her future would not come true. She had accepted that. But she would have to do a better job of guarding her tongue, to protect her brother’s tender heart. And she would have to pretend she believed what he said was possible. She forced a bright smile and turned to look up at him. “You may be right, James. But, meanwhile, there are hungry, hurting children who need care.”
“I know. But you give your heart so freely, and I do not want to see you hurt or disappointed, Mary.”
He did not add the word again, but she heard it in his voice. She swallowed back tears and kept the smile pasted on her face.
“Please, do not become too excited about this plan to turn the steamboat into an orphanage. There are so many obstacles.” He frowned and shook his head. “The boat has to be renovated—which is expensive and time-consuming. And even should you, by some miracle, accomplish that, you have no land to place it on. And then there is the cost of maintenance. And of feeding, clothing and—”
She touched his lips with her fingertips, unable to listen to more without breaking down. “I know, James. Truly. I know. But, for some reason, I feel…compelled…to save these children. I know what it feels like to…to receive scorn.” She blinked away tears. “I cannot give less than my best for them, James. And if that means my heart gets bruised—well—” she gave a small shrug “—it has been bruised before.” She forced another smile and gave him a little push toward the door. “Be off to work, now. I have a full morning with lists to make and shopping to do.”
“All right, Mary. But we will talk more tonight about this plan of yours for salvaging the Journey’s End to use as an orphanage.”
She stood in the door until he reached the gate, then gave a final wave, closed the door and leaned back against it. If only James’s wishes for her would come true. But they would not. Not for someone as plain and angular as she. Those dreams were for the Sarahs and Veronicas and Miss Stewarts of the world.
Poor little Miss Mary. She’ll have a hard time findin’ herself a husband, bein’ plain like she is.
Mary lifted her chin and shoved the memory of her nanny’s voice back into the dark recesses of her mind where she had carried it since she was five years old. She pushed away from the door and squared her shoulders. That was enough of feeling pity for herself. She may never have a husband who loved her, but she had children to care for.
“Don’t forget now—slow down when you are in town. You don’t want to run someone over and hurt them.” Sam fastened a stern gaze on the boys sitting astride their restless mounts. “You save your racing for out on the plains—hear?”
“Yes, sir, Captain Benton.”
“All right. If I have to speak to you again, I’ll get your fathers to sit in on our conversation. Now, be on your way. And give your parents my best.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boys rode off at a fast walk. Sam grinned and shook his head. That would probably last until they turned the corner. He started back up the street, then halted. Levinia Stewart was coming out of Sanderson’s Hats and Gloves. She was garbed in an expensive gown that flattered her petite form, and a hat that revealed her blond curls and the beauty of her face. Her pink cheeks were dimpled, her mouth curved into a smile as she chatted with her friend. He watched her, waited for the disappointment, the sense of loss to hit him. But there was nothing. Not one little stirring. No desire to go and speak to her. Only an irritation that he had succumbed to the beauty she used as a weapon to win her way.
He moved forward again, saw when she spotted him. Watched the beguiling smile she put on, as other people would don their clothes. Using it as an instrument to win him over. He touched his hat brim in polite greeting as he approached. “Good morning, Miss Stewart…Miss Weller.”
Levinia started to turn her back. He did not pause or slow his pace. Shock swept over both women’s faces. Levinia’s smile died. A glitter appeared in her blue eyes, which sharpened her gaze as he continued his purposeful stride. The lovely features contorted into an expression of fury at his lack of submission. Levinia Stewart did not like to lose. The woman was spoiled, pampered and willful. How had he ever thought her beautiful?
Excited chatter drew his attention. Sam glanced ahead. A young boy and two smaller girls, all carrying paper-wrapped packages tied with string, stood around the doorway of Nicholson’s Shoes and Boots. He took in their clean, smiling faces and shining hair and smiled. All that remained of the gaunt, filthy, fearful children Mary Randolph had taken under her care were the neat patches applied to the boy’s clean dungarees, which sported new suspenders. The girls both wore new dresses, one in yellow and brown checks, the other in blue. And the boy had on a pair of shiny, new work boots.
His heart jolted. How he had yearned for a pair of boots when he was a barefoot kid.
“Children, do not block the door, it is impolite.” Mary Randolph stepped out of the store and moved to the side. The children crowded around her. “Do you all have your packages?” Wind gusted off the river, flipped her bonnet backward. She grabbed for it, dropping one of the packages she carried. She leaned down to pick it up, and banged heads with the boy who had done the same. Laughter bubbled out of her, echoed by the children’s giggles.
Sam rushed forward and scooped up the package. “You seem to have your hands full, Miss Randolph.” Brown eyes with honey-colored specks aglow with laughter looked up at him. The laughing lips whispered a soft “Oh,” and a deep rose color crept along delicate high cheekbones. He stared. The rose color grew deeper. Long, thick, black lashes swept down over the brown eyes, and a narrow hand raised to pull the bonnet forward.
“Thank you, Captain Benton.”
Her voice was softer, huskier than he remembered. He filled his suddenly air-starved lungs, became aware of the children’s silence and looked down. They had all taken a step back—moved a bit closer to her. Shame hit him. These children thought he was some sort of ogre. So did Mary Randolph.
He smiled and dipped his head at the girls. “You young ladies are looking pretty today.” That won him a timid smile from each of them. He glanced at the smaller of the two. “It is good to see you well and able to enjoy such an outing, Katy.”
He shifted his gaze to the boy and held out the paper-wrapped parcel to him. “You look a good strong boy, and a gentleman always carries a lady’s packages.”
The boy’s eyes flashed with pride at the compliment. He took the package, tucked it under his arm, then reached out for the two smaller ones Mary Randolph still held.
She inhaled to speak, glancing up at him. He gave a very small shake of his head. She exhaled and handed the boy her packages.
Sam smiled down at him. “Good man.”
The boy grinned.
&nbs
p; He heard a softly indrawn breath, looked back at Mary Randolph and read the approval in her eyes. And something more. But before he could identify it, she looked away.
“Thank you again, Captain. It was kind of you to help us. Now, we must be on our way. It is almost time for dinner.” She smiled at the children. “Please lead the way, Will.”
He watched them walk away, Will and the older girl in front, Miss Randolph and Katy behind. A hunger grew in his heart, spread to every part of him. They looked like a family. And he didn’t even know how to be a part of a family. But he wanted one.
The thought jolted him.
He stepped to the side, out of the flow of shoppers and stared after Mary Randolph and the children. He hadn’t thought much about it before. He’d been too busy planning his road to financial and social success, but he wanted a family. A whole houseful of healthy, noisy kids. Maybe he’d even have one that looked like Danny.
The yearning deepened, followed by hard, swift relief—the kind he felt when he had evaded a mountain man’s knife or a laborer’s hard fists. He shot a quick glance up the street the other direction. Levinia Stewart was entering Miss Mayfield’s Emporium. The relief hit him again. If she had not given him that ultimatum over the orphans…If he had not been forced to face his own heart…
Sam returned his gaze to Mary Randolph and the children. She was holding Katy’s hand and laughing. He could not fit Levinia Stewart into that picture. He could not imagine her as a mother, holding a baby in her arms, wiping away a toddler’s tears. Levinia would have a nanny to care for her children. He frowned and shook his head, remembering the night of his parting from her. He had blamed God for it. If that was true, he owed God his gratitude, not his anger.
Sam snorted and turned to cross the street. That was a new thought. One foreign to everything he had believed all these years. But he could not shake his feeling of relief. And if God had saved him from making a mistake in marrying Levinia, perhaps—No. That was going a stretch too far. He’d give it some thought later.
Right now he needed to visit the Golden Fleece. He had heard two of the furnace stokers were there who had been part of the crews of two of the M and M steamboats that sank due to explosions. They might know something about Duffy or Thomas and those “accidents.” And if he could get them to tell him what they knew—
“Captain!”
Sam spun back, saw Will running empty-handed toward him and jerked his gaze down the street. Mary Randolph was standing, packages in hand, girls beside her, looking his way. What—He looked down as Will skidded to a stop in front of him. “What is it, Will? What’s wrong?”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong, Captain. Miss Mary sent me back to ask if you ain’t patrolin’, would ya like to come…er…join ’em…fer supper tonight? She said t’ tell ya they eat shortly after Mr. James comes home—’ bout seven o’clock. And she apologizes fer the short notice.”
It took him a moment. He looked back at Mary Randolph, saw her smile and give a single nod. What had prompted her invitation? He looked back down at Will and nodded. “Please tell Miss Randolph I will be pleased to accept her gracious invitation. And don’t forget to carry those packages for her.”
“Come in, Mary, come in!” Mrs. Lucas beamed a smile at her. “I did not expect to see you again so soon. Have you come for tea?”
“No, I truly do not have time for tea, Mrs. Lucas. I have a very busy afternoon ahead, and a guest coming for supper.” Mary stepped inside and closed the door. “But you asked me to tell you about the children, and I am so excited I wanted to share my news with you.”
The elderly woman’s eyes lit with interest. “Well, come in and sit down.”
Mary followed her into a lovely parlor. A large floor clock ticked off the minutes, making her even more aware of the pressing time. Mrs. Lucas took a seat in a chair covered with tapestry and indicated the one facing her. “Now tell me your news. Have you another child?”
Mary took her seat and shook her head. “No. But I believe I have discovered the answer to providing a home for them all.” She removed her bonnet and smoothed her hands over her hair. “You know my brother, James, is the manager of the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line?”
“Yes. And I hear he discovered Eli Goodwin had been cheating the company and set the law on him. Everyone speaks most highly of your brother. But what has that to do with an orphanage for the children?”
“James has recommended that one of the older steamboats be scrapped—”
“The Journey’s End.”
Mary laughed. “Yes. Truly, Mrs. Lucas, I am astounded by how much you know about what goes on in St. Louis!” She leaned forward. “Do you already know what I am about to tell you?”
The elderly woman’s face crinkled with laughter. “I promise you, I do not. But if you give me a day or two, I will.”
Mary grinned. “Very well. Here is my news. I am going to renovate the Journey’s End and turn it into a home for the children!”
Mrs. Lucas’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened—closed—then turned up into a wide grin. “Why, what a…a…simply perfect idea! You are truly an astonishing young woman.”
“Oh, it was not my idea—well, it was—but only after Captain Benton mentioned that mountain men and idle laborers often use abandoned steamboats as boardinghouses. When he said that, it suddenly seemed the perfect answer for the children’s needs.”
“Captain Benton?” The faded blue eyes sharpened.
“Yes. He happened by as James and I were looking over the steamer. He thought we were mountain men or something.”
“I see.” The older woman’s lips twitched.
Mary frowned. “What is it?”
Mrs. Lucas waved a hand through the air and shook her head. “Nothing at all, dear. When you mentioned the captain, it made me remember he and Levinia have hit a rocky patch is all.”
Her heart lurched. “A rocky patch?”
Mrs. Lucas nodded. “Yes. But you were telling me about your idea.”
“What? Oh. Yes, of course.” She rose and began to walk about the room. Mrs. Lucas was studying her face far too closely. “There are twenty-four staterooms on the steamer—each quite small, but more than adequate for a child. And the beds are there, though they will need painting and new bedding. And the main cabin will do wonderfully well for a school and a play area.” She made her way back to her chair. “Of course, everything is dreadfully dusty and dingy. The entire boat needs a good cleaning and painting. And the curtains must be replaced. And—”
“And have you funds to do all of this?”
Mary sighed and resumed her seat. “Not yet.” She squared her shoulders. “But I will find a way. I simply have to get those children out of jail.”
“I’m sure you will, dear.” Mrs. Lucas leaned forward and patted her hand. “And I will think about what I can do to help.”
Mary rose, then leaned down to give the elderly woman a hug. “Thank you, Mrs. Lucas. Now, I must be going.” She picked up her bonnet, put it on and began to tie the ribbons. “If I am too busy to come myself, I will send news of my progress by Ben.”
“You do that, dear. And may the Lord bless you. This is truly a wonderful, charitable thing you are doing, and—”
Mary stayed her hands, looked down at Mrs. Lucas. “And what?”
“Oh, nothing, dear. Nothing.” She started to rise.
“Please, Mrs. Lucas. Do not trouble yourself. I can see myself out.”
“All right, dear.” The woman relaxed back in her chair. “Come again, Mary. I shall look forward to your next visit.”
Mary walked to the door and glanced back. Mrs. Lucas was sitting in the chair with a wide smile on her face, looking very pleased.
Chapter Sixteen
He was coming to supper. Oh, why had she extended that invitation? When would she learn not to be so impulsive? Mary pulled her ecru pongee from the cupboard, then put it back again. The captain was not coming to call on her, and that was her best gown.
She certainly did not want to give him the impression that she had meant more by her invitation than—Than what?
Mary shut the door on the cupboard and her thoughts and walked away. She would not treat this supper differently than any other. Her green gown was good enough. She marched to the dressing room, peered into the mirror, smoothing the lace collar and straightening the cameo pin at its juncture.
Against her will her gaze lifted to her face. She could not wear a hat or bonnet in the house. He would see her as she was, in all her plainness. Of course, he had seen her that way before, on the day he had escorted her to the courthouse, and again the day he had brought Will to her.
The argument did not help. None of it helped. Not the sensible reasoning, or the foolish reassurances. She had asked the captain to supper because of the children. Because he had treated them so kindly and made them smile. Because he had made Will feel so proud and fine. She had wanted to thank him in a way that would let him know she recognized his change of heart toward the orphans. But now her heart—her foolish, foolish heart—wanted to make something of this supper that it was not.
Mary lifted her chin and tucked away the locks of hair that had, once again, fallen from her knot. Plain brown hair. And plain brown eyes. And those horrible high cheekbones!
She sighed and turned from the mirror. She hated mirrors. Had hated them since she was five years old. Every time she looked in one she heard again Nanny Marlow’s words and realized she was one of the unlovely of this world. Not ugly, but not beautiful like Sarah, or Veronica, or—Veronica, my beloved, what man would not choose your petite, blond beauty and sweet nature over Mary’s dark, angular plainness and bold, forthright ways?
Mary clenched her hands. What was she thinking? Why did she allow her heart to even pretend there might be something more to this supper than appeared? Because she wished it to be so? Winston’s words and actions proved the folly of such a desire. And her appearance mattered not a fig’s worth! The captain was courting the beautiful Miss Stewart—even if they had hit a…a rocky patch!
The Law and Miss Mary Page 14