The Law and Miss Mary (14 page)

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

H
e 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 thought crushed the last of her resistance. Tears welled into her eyes. Mary whirled and rushed out of the dressing room, away from the mirror that stole all her hopes and dreams.

Sam stopped short of the gate, straightened the cravat at his throat, tugged his vest in place and shrugged his shoulders to loosen the constricting feel of his coat. He had worn his good clothes for the children’s sake. They would be more comfortable with him out of his uniform. His lips twitched. “You keep telling yourself that long enough, you might come to believe it, Sam.”

He frowned and shrugged. He might as well admit it. He wanted Mary Randolph’s approval. He held the woman in high esteem. And he had been the object of her challenging looks and words long enough. He wanted her to know he had risen to her challenges. And—

Sam stiffened, stared at the cottage as if he could see through the walls. Mary Randolph was the one who made him examine his own heart concerning the children. It was
her
challenges that made him realize he could not comply with the mayor’s plans. And today, it was the sight of her with the children that made him realize how much he wanted a family of his own. How much he wanted—

The truth slammed into him. He stood there, astounded,
dumbfounded
and not a little disgusted by his own stupidity. Why had he wasted time courting Levinia? He was in love with Mary Randolph.

A steamboat whistled. A dog barked. Sam shook his head, pulled himself together and pushed open the gate. Mary Randolph considered him a cruel, heartless ogre. How would he ever prove himself worthy of her love? The cannonball on the end of the chain rose, then fell again, closing the gate when he stepped through. He strode up the brick path, climbed the porch steps and paused with his fisted hand ready to knock on the door.

Peals of laughter sounded from inside the house, Mary’s low, musical laugh among them. It was the most wonderful, the most inviting, the most terrifying sound he had ever heard. He was twenty-seven years old and had never in his life, since he was seven years old, been around a family. And never a happy one. And that was what was inside that house. A family. Perhaps not of blood, but a family, nonetheless. And Mary was its heart.

He took a deep breath, reaching to knock. The door burst open and a laughing boy crashed into him, followed by two giggling girls. “Ugh!” Sam staggered back a couple steps, instinctively closed his arms about the children to keep them from falling and grinned at Will, who skidded to a halt, went up on his toes and wildly circled his arms like a windmill to keep from pitching forward onto the others. He opened his arms. “You want in, too? I am strong enough to hold all four of you.”

There was a chorus of giggles and laughter. The children righted themselves. Katy reached out and snatched the bonnet Ben clutched in his hand. “Told you I could catch you!”

“You didn’t catch me,
he
did!” Sam found himself the target of Ben’s pointing finger.

“Well, I
would
have!” Katy yanked on the bonnet so hard it came down over her face, which set off another gale of laughter.

Sam chuckled, then raised his face to the tall thin woman who appeared in the open door. “I’m sorry, sir. They didn’t know you were here.” The woman wiped the smile from her face. “Children, apologize to Captain Benton and we’ll be off for home.”

There was a flurry of apologies. Sam acknowledged them with a smile as the children filed off the porch. At least he thought he did. He couldn’t be sure. His attention was riveted on Mary, who now stood at the open door, laughter lighting her face and warming her eyes.

“I apologize for the overly exuberant welcome, Captain. Please come in.” She stepped back.

Sam removed his hat and crossed the threshold, his palms moist, his mouth suddenly dry as dust. If God
was
involved in all that had thus far happened, may He grant that the invitation would be into Mary’s heart.

“Oh, what a lovely cool breeze.” Mary stepped through the door the captain held open for her onto the porch, and fought back a rising disappointment. Supper was over. The captain would make his excuses and leave now. And James—

Was standing before her putting his hat on. “If you will excuse me, Mary…Captain Benton. I have an engagement.”

“With Rebecca Green?”

James grinned at her teasing. “No other. Well, I am off. Enjoy your evening.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. She could have shaken him. He made it sound as if the captain were courting her!

James’s grin widened. He gave her a wink, tipped his hat to a jaunty angle and then trotted down the steps to the road. His merry whistle floated back to them as he hurried away.

Mary stared after him, vowing to make him pay for that bit of embarrassment. She sucked in a breath, lifted her hands and smoothed back her hair. She might as well give the captain his opening to leave, then go and help Edda with the dishes. “Would you care to relax here on the porch a moment, Captain Benton?”

“That would be pleasant. After you, Miss Randolph.” He bowed her toward the porch furniture.

Was he not leaving? Mary masked her surprise, stepped over to the new porch swing James had hung and seated herself. She watched from under her lowered lashes as the captain propped his shoulder against one of the roof support posts and crossed one ankle over the other. He certainly did not look as if he were in any hurry to leave. Her heart thudded. She plucked an imaginary piece of lint from her skirt to gain time to compose herself.

“I know you have not had much time, Miss Randolph, but have you thought over your original intent? Do you still plan to use the
Journey’s End
for the orphans?”

“I do indeed, Captain. Though I have not as yet determined how I shall accomplish my goal.” Is that why he stayed? Was he trying to discover her plans for some reason? Perhaps for the mayor? Her stomach twisted with disappointment. Were his acts of kindness toward the children for a nefarious purpose?
Oh, God, if You care for these children, please, please, let it not be so.
She pushed her toes against the floor and set the swing in motion.

“I have been giving the matter some thought.”

“Oh?” Her disappointment swelled. She braced herself to argue her position.

“Yes. The steamer can stay in the dock while it is being renovated, but, of course, it cannot remain there permanently.” His gaze fastened on hers. “Have you any notion where you will locate the boat when the work is finished?”

“No.” Her mind raced. Why was he asking? “I know only the land shall have to front on the water. I should imagine it would be very difficult to move the boat inland any distance.”

He nodded. “It can be done. But it would be costly. As will any land on the river. Those parcels are highly sought after by men of business. Millers and such. And you won’t want the children close to the levee area.” He stared off into the distance, the hat in his hand tapping against his thigh. “There is talk of expanding the levee both up and down river.”

Her heart sank. If she could not use the steamboat, what would she do? She looked down at her lap. Smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt. So much for prayers.

“Still, there are a few possibilities…”

She lifted her head and stared up at him, trying not to show her confusion at the statement. “Possibilities?” Was this some sort of snare she could not perceive? Perhaps she should make him give her facts. “If you would be so kind as to tell me the location of those possibilities, I shall look into them immediately.” She lifted her chin. “And perhaps you could draw me a
map
so I might find my way? Oh! And—forgive my ignorance, but I have never been involved in these sort of transactions before. Where does one go to find the cost of these land parcels?”

He grinned.

She stiffened. “May I ask what it is you find amusing, Captain? Is it my questions, or my behavior? I realize it is unseemly for a woman to be so bold in her requests, but—”

“I do not find it unseemly, Miss Randolph. I find it delightful. That is the reason for my smile.” He sobered and his gaze fastened on hers. “I applaud your enthusiasm in your quest to help these orphaned children. And I hope you will accept any help I am able to offer you.”

Her mind stalled on the word
delightful.
It took her a moment to accept the term as a politeness. She was not accustomed to the captain in a social capacity. He was quite good at turning a polite compliment, for whatever his purpose. She composed herself and looked at him. The time had come to stop this charade. “You wish to help?”

“I do.”

He sounded so earnest. “Truly?”

He nodded.

Mary stared, then looked down at her hands. She wanted so much to believe him but she dare not trust her judgment.

“I know we have crossed swords over the children in the past, Miss Randolph. But I am the captain of the police and it is my job to uphold the law. I hope, however, that I have demonstrated to you, by calling upon you for help when Katy took ill, and by bringing Will to you, that I am not heartless or uncaring of these orphans’ needs. And that I do not agree with the mayor’s plan to use them as free labor on city projects.” His voice was deep, quiet, persuasive. “And, while I still must do my job, I will continue to do my best for all of these children, and to prove myself honorable to you. I only ask you grant me the opportunity to do so.”

Mary looked up at him, her head cautioning her to be careful, her heart telling her to trust him. She wanted to. With her whole being she longed to trust him. But Winston had seemed honest and sincere, also. He had looked straight into her eyes and made his declarations—and every word he had said to her had been a lie. And this time, it was not only her heart that could be hurt. It was the children, as well. She took a deep breath.
Almighty God, please, if I err in my judgment, do not let the children suffer for it.
“I will be glad of your help for the children, Captain.”

He nodded. “Thank you for your trust, Miss Randolph.” He shifted his position as he sat on the railing. “Have you made plans beyond housing the orphans on the steamboat?”

“What sort of plans?” She flushed at her skeptical tone, but he seemed not to notice it.

“Well, for instance, who will be with them to watch over them? Do you plan to hire someone to oversee the orphanage? And where will they live on the boat?”

Mary rose, walked to the railing and stared out at the twilight sky. “I have not had time to consider all you ask, Captain. But I believe I can answer your queries.” She gave him a sidelong glance as he rose and stood beside her. “James has grown fond of Miss Green, and I believe she feels the same fondness for him. Therefore, as James is quite persuasive and disinclined to tarry once he makes a decision—
and
as this cottage is very small—I am quite certain I shall, at some time in the not-too-distant future, need to find another place of residence. In a way, I shall be orphaned, too.” She gave a small laugh and smoothed her hands over her hair. “Therefore
I
shall be with the children, and, of course, live in one of the staterooms.”
How would she ever manage?

“Housing for the children’s caretaker is one of the things I have been pondering, Miss Randolph. And I believe you may find my suggestion acceptable, even favorable. But the hour is late. May I call again? To go over my thoughts about the renovation of the steamboat with you?”

Mary looked down at her hands gripping the railing and tamped down the tingle of excitement caused by the thought of spending more time in his company. He was not asking permission to make a social call. It was for the orphans. She looked up at him and smiled. “I shall look forward to hearing your suggestions, Captain.”