The Matrimony Plan (15 page)

He slumped into the nearest kitchen chair, exhausted. “It’s over, sis.”

“Why?” Mariah returned to the stewpot. “I don’t understand how rejecting Mr. Coughlin’s application warrants firing you. Any decent person can see the man’s not fit to raise a child. How on earth can that lead to removal?”

Gabriel groaned and buried his head in his hands. “It’s tough to explain.”

“Try.”

Thoughts and memories whirled through Gabriel’s mind,
not the least of which was the kiss. In that moment, he knew Felicity was meant for him. She fit so perfectly, as if molded from the same bit of clay. He’d intended to ask Kensington for permission to see her. Gabriel laughed harshly at the lost opportunity.

Mariah stared. “I don’t see what’s humorous about this.”

He rubbed his mouth, but it didn’t remove the bitter taste. “I was going to ask permission to court Felicity.”

“Oh, Gabe, that’s wonderful.”

Count on Mariah to gravitate to the positive and ignore the problem. “It’s impossible.”

She blinked, spoon in midair. “I don’t understand. Even if you did lose the pastorate here, Felicity would go anywhere with you.”

“That’s not the point.” He tore at his hair.

“Then what is the point, because quite honestly you’re not making any sense?”

“Her father would never give permission.”

“Because you rejected Mr. Coughlin’s application.” She laughed and returned to the stew. “Don’t you think you’re taking this to extremes? I’m sure Mr. Kensington is a reasonable man and in time will see that you and Felicity are right for each other. Besides, he loves his daughter. You’ve told me so a dozen times. Even if he is upset now, she’ll eventually win him over. You’ll see. Everything works for the best for those who love the Lord.”

Gabriel groaned at her unshakeable faith. “We are also to expect persecution and suffering for His name’s sake.”

“My, aren’t we gloomy tonight.”

“It’s not gloom. It’s fact.” His voice broke. The chain of events had been set in motion. Once Coughlin learned he wasn’t approved, he’d expose Kensington’s part in the bootlegging. Felicity was smart enough to piece together the rest. She’d hate him. “It’s no use, Mariah. I’ve lost her.”

His sister sat beside him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Gabriel took a deep breath. He couldn’t hold it in any longer, and he trusted Mariah. “Something illegal is going on in this town.” And then he explained it all. He detailed how he’d smelled whiskey on Blevins, the sounds in the alley and that Slinky had fallen into a root cellar full of bootlegged liquor.

Mariah grew more worried with every revelation. “You have to tell the sheriff.”

“I did. He refused to act.”

“But why?”

Gabriel had asked himself that question many times. That was why he hadn’t told Sheriff Ilsley about Blevins and Kensington canting liquor at the root cellar. He knew only one reason why Ilsley wouldn’t act. “Perhaps he’s in on it.”

“I can’t believe that. Sheriff Ilsley is respected throughout Pearlman for his honesty and fairness.”

“Even honest men can be turned by greed, especially when their superiors are.” He bitterly thought of Kensington. There was no other explanation. Though the man owned half the town, it wasn’t enough. Perhaps he’d lost money recently. Perhaps runs on the bank had left him strapped, and he had to turn to illegal activities for funds.

“What superiors?” Mariah asked. When he didn’t answer, understanding dawned in her hazel eyes. “Do you mean, Felicity’s father?”

He nodded miserably.

“Are you certain?”

He wished he wasn’t. “I saw him at the root cellar with Blevins counting their stores of whiskey.”

“Oh, Gabe.” She hugged him, but it didn’t do much to relieve the pain. “What are you going to do?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

F
elicity arrived late at the train station Wednesday afternoon thanks to Mother, who pestered her about every little thing until Felicity finally walked out in midprotest. Judging by the crowds on the platform, everyone else in town was already there. So was the train, its black locomotive grayed by summer dust. The whistle screeched with a cloud of white steam, and the smallest children covered their ears.

The crowd hummed with the anxious excitement of bees on a hive. She slid between Mrs. Evans and Mr. Hammond, who barely gave an inch. She then skirted around the Sheas. The oppressive heat stuck to her like spun candy.

“Excuse me,” she called out repeatedly. “Committee member coming through.”

Most people gave her a little room, but not everyone did. Her hat got knocked askew, and more than one elbow accidentally caught her in the ribs.

At last, intact though slightly disheveled, she stood at the edge of the platform. Only a few feet separated her from the wall of the locomotive. By leaning forward over the abyss, she could see down the length of the train. To her dismay, the passengers were disembarking fifty feet away, and scores of people jammed the platform between her and there. Grown
men and women jostled and craned to get a look, but Felicity didn’t see the children yet.

When the conductor appeared on the metal train car steps, the crowd surged behind Felicity, nearly pushing her off the platform.

“There they are.” The shout rang out, and the crowd pressed toward the passenger car, taking Felicity along with them.

She spotted the little faces in the windows, peering anxiously at the crowd below. One moment they were visible; the next they disappeared.

“They’re coming,” a man shouted.

Again the murmur rose, and Felicity feared the people would crush the poor children the moment they debarked.

“Step back, everyone,” Gabriel urged from the train car’s bottom step. He motioned the people to move, and they obediently took one step back. “Let’s give the children some room.” They moved back a few more inches, but not for long. As soon as he turned to the conductor, they pressed forward again.

“They’re coming,” someone shouted, and the pushing and shoving resumed.

“People,” Daddy bellowed, “let’s give the pastor here some room.”

That not only stopped the pressing but for precious minutes quieted the crowd. Though Felicity was still miffed at her father for supporting Mr. Coughlin, she was glad he’d make sure the crowds didn’t squash the children.

Daddy held up a hand. “Now listen up to the pastor.”

Gabriel had to shout. “There will be a reception at the church at four-thirty. No one may talk to the children before then. Sheriff Ilsley and his deputies are here to ensure that, so you might as well go home.”

The sheriff hopped onto the bottom step of the train car.

“Reverend Meeks is right. Not one child will get off this train until every one of you clears back.”

Grumbling, the crowd backed off, all, that is, but one man. Mr. Coughlin stood alone with unfettered access to the train. He could easily reach the children by going through the unguarded end of the car.

“Stop him,” Felicity cried, but no one listened. Neither could she get past the people that blocked her way. She waved at Gabriel, but he didn’t see her. Daddy was chatting with the sheriff off to the side. They didn’t see Coughlin.

“Let me through,” she begged Mrs. Grattan, whose heavy bulk blocked her way.

Mrs. Grattan planted her hands on her hips. “Felicity Kensington, you have no more right to this spot than I do.”

“But you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand all right. You think you’re better than everyone else. Well, we’re all equal under God and the Constitution.” With a huff, she turned away.

Felicity couldn’t see over or past her, nor could she get around her. She was trapped.

Mariah appeared for a moment but soon disappeared as the crowd moved forward with an “ahhh.” The first of the children appeared in the doorway. Perhaps five or six, the young girl’s golden curls and wide eyes ensured she’d be snapped up by someone. She hugged a rag doll and sucked her thumb.

“Isn’t she darling?” cooed Mrs. Fox.

Why wasn’t the sheriff waiting until everyone left? Bringing out the children now only made the crowd press close again.

Two boys around eight years of age climbed off the train. One, a sparkplug bursting with energy, waved to the crowd, eliciting laughter. The other, bronze-skinned and with a dark mop of curls, kept his gaze firmly on the ground.

The fourth child appeared, an older boy around eleven or twelve, thin and pale and terrified. Felicity’s heart went out to him. The poor boy reminded her of Slinky when Coughlin was leading him to slaughter.

Abandoning all decorum, Felicity shoved past Mrs. Grattan. From there, she saw Coughlin step up to the train. The last boy had appeared on the step by then, beanpole tall and wary, his trousers several inches too short. Felicity looked around for help, but Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.

Coughlin mounted the first step. “Show me yer muscle, boy.”

The lad, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, stood frozen in place until the black-suited male agent gently pushed him forward.

Coughlin squeezed the boy’s biceps as Felicity watched in horror. “Mighty thin, but he’ll do. I’ll take this’un.”

“No,” she cried. Someone had to stop this.

The boy looked ready to punch Coughlin, and though part of her wished he would, the boy was no match for the farmer. Coughlin would pummel the child into a bruised heap.

“Stop him.” Felicity struggled to get to the boy, but no one let her through. If anything, the crowd was more intent than ever on the drama unfolding before them. “Please, someone.”

Thankfully Gabriel leaped onto the train steps and wedged himself between Coughlin and the boy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Coughlin. The process doesn’t work that way. After this afternoon’s meeting at the church, you and the other applicants will have an opportunity to indicate a preference. Then the committee will meet and makes its decision. The children will be united with their foster parents ten o’clock tomorrow morning at the church.”

Coughlin reluctantly backed away, and Gabriel shuttled the boy to Mariah, who was gathering all the children under the protection of the sheriff and his deputy.

The terror hammering inside Felicity eased. The children were safe now. Nothing bad could happen to them.

Yet.

Once the children were safely delivered from the turmoil of the train station into the sanctuary of Terchie’s boardinghouse, Gabriel could finally relax. He hadn’t expected the crush of curiosity—and neither had the children. It took all Mariah’s skill to calm them down. Naps were out of the question and so was eating in the dining room, where curious townspeople peeked through the windows. After drawing the drapes, Terchie brought the paczki and milk upstairs.

The boardinghouse smelled of wax, borax and cleanser—good, honest clean. Gabriel drew in a lungful. This is why he came to Pearlman, not for the trivial sniping and prejudices. Over and over this afternoon he heard people, some members of his own congregation, weigh the merits of one child over the other—too thin, too frail, too shy, too fearful, skin too dark. He’d heard enough to make him wish he’d never agreed to this project.

“They’re not behaving like Christians,” he complained to Mariah when she returned. He poured her a cup of tea.

His sister blew on the piping-hot liquid to cool it. “They’re behaving like people, good and bad.”

Gabriel rubbed his temples. “I wish it was over. Can you believe Mr. Coughlin?”

Mariah smiled slightly. “He didn’t understand the process is all.”

Gabriel raised his eyes. “I never thought you’d take his side.”

“Did I say I was taking his side?” She took a sip of tea. “Did you see Felicity?”

Gabriel hated to admit he’d been scanning the crowd for her the entire time. When she appeared, frantic and hat
askew, he’d nearly abandoned his post to go to her. “I had responsibilities.”

Mariah lifted her eyebrows. “I only asked if you saw her.”

“I did.” Gabriel sank into the irrational sulkiness that had dogged him since yesterday. He told himself it had to do with the disaster that would erupt when Coughlin learned he wasn’t getting an orphan, but in reality, it was all about Felicity. He wanted to protect her from the pain of learning her beloved father was a criminal, and he wanted to hide his role in that revelation.

“Mmm,” murmured Mariah. “Too bad there wasn’t time to talk. Perhaps later.”

“I doubt it,” he growled.

Mariah leveled her cool gaze at him over the rim of the teacup. “Gabriel John, two people in love must talk openly and honestly. It’s the foundation of any relationship. Don’t make her wonder why you’re avoiding her.”

He squirmed in his seat. Mariah could be just like a mother sometimes. “Some things are best left unsaid.”

“You have to tell her what you know about the bootlegging.”

“What’s this, Pastor?” Sheriff Ilsley, a tall, lean man with the sinewy muscles of a cowboy and the crooked nose of a boxer, sauntered into the room with a cup of coffee. His crisp uniform hadn’t wilted in the heat, though the dust on the trousers and shadows under the arms betrayed a tough day’s work. “Have you heard something more?”

Gabriel shot his sister a look that could send a grown man to his knees. It had no effect on her.

“Nothing new,” he mumbled. This was neither the time nor the place to tell Ilsley that he’d seen Kensington and Blevins at the root cellar. He still wasn’t certain the man wanted the bootleggers caught. “Quite a mess at the train station, wasn’t it?”

“Just what I expected,” the sheriff drawled. “A circus. Like I said, you shouldn’t have told people when the children were coming in.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Even a minister had to swallow his words sometimes.

“That church meeting of yours’ll be even worse.”

“In a house of God?” He couldn’t believe that. “Surely people will behave in a church.”

“Don’t count on it, Pastor. These folks don’t see much new around here. It’s a curiosity. You can’t blame’em for wanting to take it all in.”

Gabriel groaned. He did not want to go through that scene again. “Perhaps we should cancel the reception.”

Mariah clucked softly. “You know you can’t do that, Gabe.”

“The lady’s right. People are expecting a show.”

“It’s not a show,” Gabriel protested. “This is serious.”

The sheriff was unfazed. “Of course it is. I’m not saying it’s not. No one here’ll step out of line, not while I’m around.” The sheriff tossed down the rest of his coffee. “You can count on me to make sure everything’s on the up and up.”

On the up and up. The words convicted Gabriel. He hadn’t been forthright with the sheriff, a man who had acted with integrity today. Mariah jerked her head toward the man.
Tell him.
Gabriel didn’t need to hear the words to know what she was saying and that she was right.

He swallowed, but his throat had narrowed. Coward. He had to speak up. “I might have seen something the other day.”

Ilsley fixed his steel-gray eyes on him. “Seen what?”

“You said to tell you if I saw or heard anything else suspicious concerning the bootlegging.”

The sheriff propped one foot on a wooden chair, which creaked under his weight. “Fire ahead, Pastor.”

He gulped more tea and began slowly, “It happened near the river, behind the parsonage.” And then Gabriel told the sheriff everything he’d seen that night at the root cellar—everything except who he’d seen there.

The sheriff tapped his boot idly. “Was it moonshine?”

“One of them said whiskey.”

“We know alcohol’s getting into town, but we don’t know how. Did you recognize anyone?”

Gabriel sucked in his breath, but all he could see was Felicity’s face. “It was dark and difficult to see. Clouds blanketed the moon. From what I’ve seen, they choose moonless nights.”

“Hmm, it’s a new moon tomorrow.” Ilsley’s tone suggested what Gabriel had already speculated.

“They might move the liquor then, and we could catch them in the act.”

The sheriff stood. “We could, but you said that one of’em said they’d been found out. Chances are they won’t use the same location again.”

Gabriel felt a rush of relief. “Then it’s too late.”

Sheriff Ilsley patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pastor. We’ll stake out the spot. If they’re foolish enough to come back there, we’ll get them.”

Gabriel hoped Kensington had the sense not to return to the root cellar, or Felicity’s heart would be smashed along with the bottles of liquor.

Felicity dreaded the reception at the church, but it began better than the mob scene at the train depot. Perhaps being in a church reminded people that they should behave properly. Best of all, Mr. Coughlin wasn’t there.

She sat alone in the front pew, while Daddy prowled the side aisle. Mother refused to go and even tried to talk Felicity into staying home with her.

Gabriel led a few hymns from the pulpit, and then he yielded to the male agent, who described the program in detail. Several people stifled yawns. Everyone watched the empty front pew on the opposite side, waiting for the children to arrive.

Why weren’t they there yet? Felicity appreciated keeping them from the vultures, but eventually they’d have to appear. She glanced at Gabriel, but he was focused on the speaker.

“And now let’s introduce the children,” the agent finally said.

Felicity’s nerves fluttered.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered as the door opened and the children began to enter. “I’m right here.” Indeed, if Mr. Coughlin appeared and dared repeat his stunt from the train station, she’d whisk the boy away in an instant.

The crowd shuffled and murmured softly.

The beanpole boy came first, dressed in the same pair of too-short trousers. He warily scanned the crowd, for Coughlin, no doubt.

“Peter is fourteen,” the agent said. “He came to us a year ago after living hand to mouth on the streets for nearly six months. His only living relative, an aunt, had died of dysentery, and he didn’t know where to go, so he did the best he could. Peter is a hard worker and would like a family where he can use his hands. He’s good at fixing things.”