The Law and Miss Mary

by Dorothy Clark

  “Remember that day we met her outside the church, when I helped her into her father’s farm wagon? That was it. When she looked down at me and our gazes met—I knew.”

  I looked into a pair of beautiful, honey-flecked brown eyes. Her pulse skipped a beat. Could it possibly be that simple? Or was it only the longing of her heart? Poor little Miss Mary. She’ll have a hard time findin’ herself a husband, bein’ plain like she is.

  The swing wobbled. James glanced at her. “Sorry.” She waited for the right moment and shoved her toes against the porch again. The swing evened out.

  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? The memory still hurt…but not as much as it had. I discovered some time ago that Levinia Stewart is not the woman for me. Would you like to know how I made that discovery? Her breath snagged. I looked into a pair of beautiful, honey-flecked brown eyes. What was she to believe?

  “James? If you were not my brother—I mean, if you were another man. Would you think me…attractive?”

  “No. I would think you beautiful.”

  “Truly? If you were another man?” She looked over at him. “Heart’s promise truly?” She held her breath. You could not lie when you said “heart’s promise.”

  “Heart’s promise truly.” He turned his head to look at her. “You have never been vain, Mary. Quite the opposite. So I know you are not simply questing after a compliment. Why are you asking?”

  She shook her head. “No reason. I was only wondering. James, that day after church—when you were talking about how beautiful Rebecca was—I thought you were talking about Miss Stewart.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Do you not find her very beautiful?”

  “I do not.” He gave her a look as though she had lost her mind. “Men look at women differently than other women do. Not that we do not appreciate a beautiful face and form. But there is much more to beauty than dimples and curls, Mary. And the first time I looked into Miss Stewart’s eyes, that day we met her and the captain on the portico at the courthouse, I knew how shallow and vapid her beauty was. The woman has no heart. When you look in Miss Stewart’s eyes, all you see is Miss Stewart. There is nothing beautiful about a woman in love with herself. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes. I think I am beginning to understand. Thank you, James.” I discovered some time ago that Levinia Stewart is not the woman for me. Would you like to know how I made that discovery? I looked into a pairof beautiful, honey-flecked brown eyes. She sighed. Perhaps her heart had read too much into the captain’s words. Most likely he had only meant that when he had compared her eyes with Miss Stewart’s eyes, he had discovered Miss Stewart’s vanity.

  At least the captain did not consider her shallow or vain. That was something.

  But how lovely it would be if she had not misunderstood him after all.

  Had he said too much? Too little? Should he have stayed instead of walking away? No. He had said enough. Sam frowned and pulled off his boots. If he had stayed he would have asked Mary to marry him. And he could not do that. Not yet. He did not want to scare her away by saying too much too soon. Not that Mary frightened easily.

  His lips twitched. He would have liked to have seen her ordering that foreman and those workers around. Standing there with those children gathered around her and defying the order that would have sent them back to work. He could imagine how her eyes had flashed, and how that little chin of hers had jutted into the air. She was a fighter. No doubt about that. But fighters sometimes got wounded. And above all he wanted Mary safe. Especially her heart. And the mayor was a formidable foe.

  Light flickered throughout the room. Thunder clapped and boomed. The rain poured off the roof in a wide, shimmering waterfall. Sam walked to the window and tugged it open. Fresh, cool air flowed in. One good thing about this room—the storms came from the other direction. He could always open the window.

  How did Mary feel about him? Would she welcome his suit? There were moments—like when she was perched on the cot in that cell and looked up at him—when he thought she might. Then the next minute she went all cool and prickly on him and he was unsure again.

  Sam huffed, yanked off his shirt and tossed it over the back of the only chair in the room. That moment in the cell had been hard! He’d had to hold on to the bars of the cell to keep from charging over there and taking Mary in his arms. But he wanted it to be right, with everything proper and settled, before that happened. Because once he held her, he didn’t intend to let go.

  He turned at another flicker of lightning and walked back to the window. He loved her. Above and beyond anything he had ever known, thought, imagined or dreamed. And he’d give his life to have her love him, too. He might as well, because without her in it, his life would not be worth living.

  He shook his head, leaned down and peeled off his socks. If he ever ran across Thomas, he was going to shake his hand. He’d arrest him first, but then he would shake his hand. If it hadn’t been for Thomas’s scheme of stealing the insurance money, he never would have looked into those steamboat mishaps. And if he hadn’t been investigating them, he would not have met the Randolphs. Strange how that all worked out. It had sure saved him from making a costly mistake. He snorted. Costly was right! Levinia Stewart would most likely have gone through his money smooth as a canoe glides through water. But the real cost would have been all he would have lost. He never would have known love.

  Sam tossed the socks at the foot of the chair and flopped down on the bed, staring up at the soot smudge on the ceiling and listening to the rain. It always made him think of a woman’s tears. His mother’s tears. But he didn’t feel as if his mother was crying tonight. For some reason, it felt as if she was smiling. And Danny, too.

  Poor Danny and Ma…Knots twisted in his stomach. He had a promise to keep to them. The old bitterness rose and twisted the knots tighter. He had heard James Randolph say that the Lord was blessing the orphans. That it was evident in the way things were working out in spite of the mayor and aldermen and other spiteful folks in St. Louis. Randolph said that God often worked His blessings through people—like him and Mrs. Lucas and the Ladies’ Benevolent Society.

  He couldn’t go along with that. God wouldn’t use a sinner like him. And while Mrs. Lucas had a good heart—she was lonely and helping these orphans gave her something to do. As for the Ladies’ Benevolent Society, most of them seemed to want to help now, but they got into it because Mrs. Lucas shamed them into it. Still…things were working out. The orphans were being helped. Was Randolph right? Was it God?

  Sam rose up on one elbow, pounded his pillow into shape and turned over onto his side. Mary had told him about the mayor’s reaction to the pastor’s sermon on God loving everyone equally and being no respecter of persons. But he didn’t believe what the pastor said either. If it was true, why hadn’t God sent someone to care for Danny and his ma and him?

  His face tightened. He flopped onto his other side and stared at the plaster wall. One of those chips in the paint looked like a rooster…

  Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. Something flickered before him—like a picture against the wall. More of an impression really. Two women, each holding an umbrella and basket, standing outside a door with the lightning flashing behind them.

  Sam rubbed his forehead, blinked and closed his eyes. There was something about those women…

  Lightning flickered against his eyelids. Thunder crashed.

  The images came again and memory broke through the walls of years of denial. More images flashed. The women standing outside their house, begging to be let in. His father drunk, shouting at them to go away, that Ruben Benton’s family didn’t need anybody’s charity. His mother, sick in bed, holding Danny next to her. And him, huddled in the corner, crying and bleeding from the beating his father had given him for going to the church to ask for help.

  Sam opened his eyes and st
ared at the wall. He had blamed God for not helping his mother and Danny and him. All these years he had blamed God for not answering his prayers, and for the beating he had received for turning to the church for help that never came. But help had come. God had sent someone to help them. And his father had sent them away. God didn’t kill his mother and Danny. His father had.

  Sam swallowed hard, all the hurt and sorrow and guilt swamping him as he faced the truth. He had known it when it happened. When he was only seven years old, he had known it was his father’s fault that his mother and Danny had died. But no matter how terribly his father had treated them all—he was still his father. And he had not wanted his father to be guilty. So he had blamed God. And he had run away so he would not have to look at his father and remember.

  And he hadn’t.

  Until now.

  Sam scrubbed his hard, callused hand over his squeezed-shut eyes and cleared the lump from his throat. He was tired of harboring bitterness. It was time to be free of it.

  He turned on his back, opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “God, I was wrong to blame You for Ma and Danny dying. I ask You to forgive me. And I ask You to help me never to run from the truth again.”

  He listened to the rain, watched the lightning glint across the ceiling. And his dream house came to him, more clear than he had ever seen it. His showcase house sitting on the grassy knoll in all its splendor. And then it crumbled and disappeared. There was nothing left. Only the grassy knoll. And Mary. And behind her…

  Sam smiled, snapped a salute toward the ceiling. “I hear You, God. I’ll start out tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sam slipped his rifle into its scabbard, gave his bedroll a jiggle to be sure it was secure and led Attila out of the stables. The air was fresh and sweet after last night’s rain. He took a deep breath of the invigorating coolness and scanned the sky. It was clear and blue, but the sun was already giving off shimmering waves of heat as it climbed. It was going to be another hot one.

  He checked the knife at his belt, made sure his Colt Paterson was ready to hand and mounted. Too bad he could not have started earlier. But he had to get things set up so his men could cover his patrols and the jail while he was gone. And he had to wait till James Randolph was at his office. He tilted his felt hat forward so the wide brim would shade his eyes, gave Attila a pat on the neck and settled in the saddle. “All right, boy. Let’s go.”

  He walked him out to Pine Street, reined left and urged him into an easy lope when they reached the road out of town. He scanned the area ahead, alert for any sign of trouble, but his thoughts traveled backward toward town, toward Mary. A smile touched his lips. It was a new, not unpleasant, sensation for him, missing someone.

  Mary put the maps Miss Withers had requested on the highest shelf and aligned the edges. “Where did he go?”

  James shrugged and looked around. “He only said to tell you he had something to take care of out of town. And that he did not know how long it would take him.”

  “Oh. I see.” What of the children in jail? She knew the captain protected them as much as he was able. And what of the land she needed to purchase to have a permanent dock for the orphanage? Who would tell her where to locate it? And what of her? She smoothed her hands over her hair, then lowered them to dangle idle at her sides, aware of an empty feeling deep inside. How could she miss him already?

  “I think this may be a mistake, Mary.”

  “What is a mistake?” She turned. James was standing at the huge wheel, his hands on the protruding pegs the pilot grasped to turn it, staring out the windows at the river. She smiled. In spite of his business garb, he looked like a little boy with a new toy.

  “Putting the schoolroom up here.” He swung his arm in a wide arc that encompassed the entire wheelhouse. “There are no walls up here, only windows. How are these young boys, and girls for that matter, to pay attention to their schoolwork?” He looked at her and grinned. “They will all be sailing the rivers and oceans playing ‘pirates’ in their minds.”

  She could not resist. “Is that what you are doing?”

  He slewed his mouth to one side and squinted an eye at her. “Aaarrgh! Guilty, mate!”

  Laughter bubbled up, burst out. She turned in a circle. The view was magnificent. “I fear you may be right, my dear brother. I believe some curtains forward of the worktables may be in order. Now get away from that wheel before I make you walk the plank. I am finished here and have work to do on the main deck.” She started down the stairs.

  He fell into step behind her. “You are a cruel and heartless captain, my dear sister.”

  “Headmistress, James.” She smiled over her shoulder at him. “Headmistress of the Journey’s End Orphanage…almost.”

  “Is that doubt I hear?”

  “It is fear.” She stopped in the play area of the main cabin on the boiler deck and faced him. “So many people have helped to make this orphanage possible, James. Look…” She walked to one of the bedrooms for the children and opened the door. There was a cream-colored quilted coverlet embroidered with trailing vines of small pink roses, and matching curtains at the window. A small, flower-patterned rug laid on the polished wood floor. “Mrs. Shields of the Ladies’ Benevolent Society paid for this room. And she did the embroidery work herself. She said it gave her pleasure because she never had a daughter of her own.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. She spread her arms and spun in a circle. “All of these bedrooms are like that, James. And look at this playroom! A lovely new rug, and game tables and toys and—”

  She stopped, clenched her hands and stared at him. It was too much. It was suddenly all too much. He rushed over and put his arms around her, tugged her close. She burrowed her head under his chin. “Oh, James. How can I tell all those lovely people the orphanage may come to naught because of that mean-natured—” she thumped his chest with her fisted hand “—heartless—” thump “—cruel—” thump “—miserly mayor!”

  She lifted her head, looked at him through her streaming eyes. “I hope all of his mean acts toward those children are multiplied to him a thousand times!” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “And I am sorry if that is not a Christian attitude, and I disappoint you. But I cannot help it! I do not have any land. And no one will sell me any. And now the captain is gone and I do not know what to do!”

  She burrowed her head back under his chin and sobbed out all the hurts she had held for so long.

  “Shh, easy now, boy. Easy now.” Sam drew Attila’s head close to his chest and placed his hand over his muzzle. These Indians weren’t of the friendly tribes from around the St. Louis area, and though it was likely safe, he would as soon not test that theory. It was too easy for a man to disappear in the unsettled lands of the frontier. Fortunate for him, he had heard them coming.

  He scanned the area as best he could from behind the screen of vine-draped branches and frowned. The Indians were coming from the direction he was traveling and there was no telling how many more might be following in their path. Should he need to make a run for it, his best chance would be back across the river and into the woods on the other side.

  He took another quick glance at the Indians, dropped his gaze to the path in front of them. Staring would draw their attention. The vines were thick and the air still. There was no breeze to betray his presence to them. Luck was with him today. Or maybe it was something more than luck. Maybe God had taken a hand. He’d give that some thought when he had time.

  The Indians rode by, bare legs gripping their ponies, folded blankets for their saddles. Sam tensed, barely breathing as they passed, then thundered off down the trail.

  He waited, straining to hear and identify every sound. A fish jumped. Birds flew over the water, the snap of their beaks as they caught their food on the fly loud in the silence. Squirrels ran along branches, jumped from tree to tree. The wilds returned to normal.

  Sam released Attila’s head, patted his neck. “Good boy.” The hor
se pricked his ears at the whispered words, tossed his head. Sam led him out from under the tree branches and stepped into the saddle. He touched the handle of his knife, rested his hand on his Colt and let out his breath. “All right, boy, let’s go find Charlie and Harry. But you warn me if any more Indian ponies come our way.”

  “All you kids, get back to work!”

  Mary looked up at the foreman, but held her tongue. Captain Benton was not around to bail her out of jail. A band of worry clamped around her chest. Where was he? He had been gone four days. Was he all right? She managed a smile. “Goodbye, children. I shall see you tomorrow.”

  She watched the children hurry off to resume their work, then knelt on the grass to put the quart jars, tin cups and dirty, cloth napkins back in her basket. The unusual heat had ceased and there had been no more sickness among the children, but it still made her ache to look at them. Their thin arms bore bruises, their hands scratches and sores. They were all gaunt, with large eyes full of fear and distrust and pain. Most of them never smiled.

  She longed to tell them to be brave, that they would soon have a new home, but, of course, she could not. She did not know if that would come to pass. She had tried, with James’s help, to purchase land fronting the river for a permanent docking site, but no one would sell. It was always the same. The property owners would not speak with them once they found out their name. Now they had run out of prospects. And without the captain here—

  “Tidying up after your daily charitable duty, Miss Randolph?”

  Mary looked up. Levinia Stewart stood in front of her, beautiful in a gold linen gown. Her matching bonnet was a confection of shirred linen and lace rosettes.

  But her expression was one of haughty condescension.

  Mary’s ire stirred. She rose, forcing Levinia to look up at her. And for once she took satisfaction in her height. “It is not a duty, Miss Stewart—it is a pleasure.”