The Law and Miss Mary (20 page)

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

S
am 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 horse 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.”

The blue eyes narrowed. “Oh, come, Miss Randolph—you may forget your pose as the virtuous woman. The captain is not around to see your performance.”

She all but spat the words.

Mary took a breath, held it and counted. “My performance?”

Levinia’s eyes narrowed farther. “Do not act the innocent with me, Miss Randolph. My father and I are aware of your little scheme. You forget his office is in the courthouse. He sees you through his window, playing the sweet maiden feeding and caring for the darling, hungry, little street children. It is disgusting!” She reached up and bounced a golden curl.

Mary looked away before she gave in to her desire to reach over and yank it. “And what motive would I have for such playacting, Miss Stewart?”

“Why, to capture Captain Benton’s affections, of course. A woman like you would need an excuse to gain his interest.” The woman’s eyes turned from hot to icy cold. “I do not know how you learned that Father has been grooming Samuel to be the future mayor of St. Louis, Miss Randolph, but that is not of importance.”

Mary’s mind raced. Captain Benton was to be
mayor?
He had said nothing—

“What
is
important is that you realize your little scheme with the orphans will not work. Captain Benton is also being groomed to be my husband. As his wife, I will continue my mother’s role as the head of the women’s organizations and charities of St. Louis. It is a position for which I am perfectly suited. Captain Benton realizes that. When the captain returns, I will let it be known to him that I have forgiven him for his small act of rebellion against Father and am willing to accept his suit again. I assure you, he will choose me over you and your pathetic street urchins.”

Mary’s heart lurched.
Was
it Levinia that had stopped the captain’s courtship of her? Her stomach churned. Had he lied to her? What exactly had he said?

Levinia smiled. “You have failed, Miss Randolph. I do not know why you feel someone like you would be a fit wife for the future mayor of St. Louis, but Father has stopped you from opening that ridiculous steamboat orphanage, and that will end Captain Benton’s little rebellion against Father’s authority as well. I am planning a December wedding. There is nothing left for you here in St. Louis, Miss Randolph. I suggest you go home to wherever it is you came from. Good day.”

“A moment, Miss Stewart.” Mary waited until Levinia turned back to face her, drew herself up and looked straight into those blue eyes. “I know nothing of Captain Benton’s plans of being the next mayor. Nor am I interested in the position of mayor’s wife that you so crave. I am, however, very interested in the children who have no parents to love or care for them, and find no mercy in the hearts of those in authority. And I have
not
failed in my purpose to create a home for them. I
will
do so. You may take that message back to your father, Miss Stewart. Good day.”

She turned her back and returned to her task. Not for anything would she let that woman see the doubts her words had raised—the uncertainty only Captain Benton could erase.

“I’m sorry to hear about Harry, Charlie. He was a good man.” Sam looked down at his hands. Studied the dark brew in the tin cup he held. It was the most bitter coffee he had ever tasted. But it was nothing like the bitterness that had grabbed hold of his heart. How was he to ask Charlie to sell him the land Harry had prized? And he had thought God had directed him here for that purpose. He held back a snort, took another swallow of the bitterness instead. All that risk. All that way. For nothing.

“Harry thought high of you, too, Captain. He was always talkin’ ’bout the chance y’took on us. Riskin’ yer money so’s we could come out lookin’ fer the silver. Nobody else would listen t’ us.” The old miner stuck a fork in the meat in the frying pan and lifted it onto a tin plate. He added a scoop of beans and a biscuit, slid the plate across the table, then tossed a fork after it and turned to fill another. “Yessir, Harry thought high of y’all right.”

And now Harry was dead. Crushed by a collapsed wall of a worthless mine he spent a lifetime searching for. And Mary’s dream of an orphanage had died with him. Sam stared down at the plate, his stomach twisted in a knot so tight no food could get through it. Harry and Charlie had laid claim to that parcel of land on the Mississippi way back when they were young. Every time he saw them, Harry talked about living on that land when they were old. It had been their dream. But he had figured, for enough money, they would be willing to change their dream and sell him the property for his showcase house. Now, with Harry gone, that was unlikely.

“Bear meat’s best et afore it gets cold, Captain. Mite gamy else.”

Sam looked across the table at the old miner, nodded and picked up his fork. If he had to ask the man to part with the last link he had to his dead brother, the least he could do was eat the man’s meat. He took his knife from the sheath at his belt and cut off a bite.

“Glad ya come out t’see how we was comin’ along with the mine, Captain. Saves me makin’ the trip back t’ St. Louis.” Charlie shoved back from the rough board table, then opened a trunk and rummaged through it. “This here’s fer you.” He shoved a folded piece of paper at him. “Harry said I was t’give it to ya should anything happen to him.”

Sam put down his knife and fork and unfolded the paper. “This is a will.” He hadn’t even known Harry could read and write.

“Yep. He got that writ up all legal-like ’for we left town t’ come out here.”

Sam nodded, started reading. Read it again and looked over at Charlie. “It says here Harry leaves the property on the Mississippi to me.”