The Law and Miss Mary (15 page)

“And I to the pleasure of your company, Miss Randolph. Perhaps I could escort you to the
Journey’s End
Sunday afternoon, around two o’ clock? It may be easier to explain my ideas there.”

“Very sensible, Captain.”

He made a slight bow. “Until Sunday, Miss Randolph.”

She smiled and nodded, then made herself turn and go into the house. She did not want him to look back and find her watching him walk away. All the same, when she reached the door, she could not resist one quick look over her shoulder.

He was standing at the gate watching her.

Her cheeks flamed. But he could not see from that distance. She dipped her head in a polite farewell, thrust open the door and hurried inside.

Sam strode up Market Street, cut across Fourth Street and headed along Walnut toward the boardinghouse, his long strides eating up the distance. What did that little glance Mary Randolph had stolen mean? Dare he hope it meant the same as the look he had stolen at her? How could it be? She was so cool, and defensive and…and prickly around him.

And why wouldn’t she be? They had clashed so often over the children, how could he even expect her to trust him or hold him in any sort of respectful regard? He was a fool! Why had he taken so long to see the truth?

Sam pivoted, crossed back over to Market and headed for the stables behind the jail. Forget the suit! Forget the dark! The moon was out. The road out of town hard-packed and free of holes. And he needed a ride. An all-out, no-holding-back, ground-eating, hoof-pounding ride!

Chapter Seventeen

S
am stared up at his deputy. “So Goodwin is dead?”

Jenkins nodded. “The New Orleans police got a record of it. He was cut up and robbed outside of a gamblin’ hall. They found his body the day before I got to New Orleans with the warrant for his arrest.”

“And Thomas got away.”

Jenkins nodded. “The police found the boardinghouse he was living in, but he was gone when they got there. He left the same night Goodwin was killed, on a ship for London.”

“Probably with Goodwin’s money on him. All right, Jenkins. There’s nothing more we can do now. But we’ll be waiting when he comes back. Go home and get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

A murmur, low and restrained, ebbed and flowed from pew to pew. Glances, surreptitious and angry, rode its crest, broke over Mary, drowned the pleasure of bringing the children to church for the first time. It had started from the pew occupied by the mayor, his wife and his daughter, swelled to include the front section on the left side of the aisle and rippled through the rest of the congregation.

Mary stared at the vacant pew in front of them, could feel the emptiness of the one behind. She glanced at James, read the message of support in his eyes and sat straighter. She lifted her chin higher and smiled at the children lined up in the pew, though anger tingled from her head to her toes. How could people be so cruel? Had the children noticed? Did they realize the looks and the mutterings were about them? They were so quiet and still, only their gazes moving across the congregation then returning to her.

She touched Callie’s shoulder, received a soft smile that made the girl’s rather plain face a thing of beauty. Gave Ben and Will smiles of reassurance, got a cheeky grin from handsome, blond, blue-eyed Ben, and a wink from the irresistible, dark-haired, dark-eyed Will in return, and patted Katy’s hand. Timid Katy, who nonetheless had a quick temper. The boys delighted in teasing her. And she gave back in kind, her blue eyes snapping, her black curls trembling, and more often than not, her small finger shaking in her tormentor’s face as she corrected them. She was a beautiful child. They all were beautiful, in their own way. And so well-behaved on their first time in church. Goodness, she was proud of them!

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Had she done wrong by bringing the children to church? She had expected a few shocked looks, but she had not anticipated such ostracism and anger. The children had already been hurt by people on the streets and she did not want them suffering rejection again.

She listened to the church filling, all but the pews in front and back of them, and blinked back tears. Should they leave?
Almighty God, please, please, do not let these children be hurt by my decision to bring them here today. Please. Amen.
A calm settled over her. It was odd how often she prayed these days. She had not prayed for years. But while she still questioned God’s love for her, she was quite certain God cared about these orphans.

The door opened at the back of the church. A woman’s soft footsteps came down the center aisle. Mary heard Ben whisper to Will, “It’s Mrs. Lucas.” She lifted her head to look. The elderly woman passed by two partially empty pews on the left and turned toward the pew in front of them.

A woman on the left aisle seat whispered something. Mrs. Lucas turned back, nodded and smiled. “Yes, I know, Rose. Miss Randolph and the children are friends of mine.” The elderly voice broke the silence. Drew glances. The woman snapped upright, gave a toss of her head and faced the front.

Mrs. Lucas smiled and stepped toward their pew. James rose, motioning for the boys to do the same. Mrs. Lucas’s faded blue eyes twinkled up at him. “My! You are a handsome lad.”

Color rushed into James’s face. It was the first time Mary had seen him blush in years. But he rose to the occasion. He smiled and winked at the elderly woman. “And you, madam, are a lovely woman of impeccable taste.”

Mrs. Lucas laughed and motioned for him to lean down. “Rebecca Green is a very lucky young lady.” Mary heard the whisper, had to clamp down on her lip to keep from laughing at James’s shocked expression.

“Now take your seat, young man. I shall sit up here.” Mrs. Lucas turned toward the pew in front of them, then looked back. “With your permission, I should like these two young gentleman to sit with me.” She beamed at Ben and Will.

“Of course.” James stepped aside, and the boys filed out and into the other pew, one on either side of the small, elderly woman.

James took his seat and they all slid closer together. Closing ranks. The thought was not a happy one.

The murmuring began anew.

Please, God, do not let Mrs. Lucas be hurt because she has befriended us.

The organist struck a chord. Mary rose with the congregation to sing the opening hymn, swelling with pride at the sight of Will and Ben rising to stand straight and tall beside Mrs. Lucas. The singing started and the children joined in. She glanced down at the girls, then exchanged a smile with James. Callie had a beautiful voice, true and clear. Katy was not as fortunate, but sang with great enthusiasm, all the same.

There was a general rustle and stir as people resumed their seats when the singing was over. The pastor strode to the pulpit, looked down and gave a small nod. Mary watched as Mrs. Lucas gave one in return. She frowned and took her seat. That was more than a casual greeting. It was a bit of silent communication. And the elderly woman’s face now bore that same pleased expression she had worn at the end of their visit.

Silence settled.

“Almighty God, bless these Your people with ‘ears to hear’ and open hearts to receive Your message of truth this day. Amen.” The pastor opened his Bible. “I take my text today from the book of James, chapter two. ‘My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect to persons.’”

Mary smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt and settled herself to listen.

“‘For if there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment; and ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing…’”

Mary snapped her attention to Pastor Thornton, looked at Mrs. Lucas, who was sitting, gaze fixed forward, hands folded in her lap, a beatific smile on her face. Is that what—Had she—

Mary darted a look across the aisle at the Stewart family. The mayor was scowling, Mrs. Stewart was looking at her husband, and Miss Stewart was staring at the pastor, looking displeased.

“‘But ye have despised the poor.’ And in doing so, you commit sin.” The words rang out.

The mayor went rigid. His face turned a frightening shade of purple. He turned his head her way.

Mary stared at him, alarmed for his health. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Mrs. Stewart said something and patted his arm. And Miss Stewart—Mary stiffened. Miss Stewart, like the mayor, was glaring at her. She stared at the woman’s face, at the features suffused with anger, at the glinting blue eyes, the lips curled with disgust and felt the animosity aimed their way.

She reached her arm around Katy, pulled her close, then looked down to reassure Callie. Her breath caught. Plain little Callie sat listening to the sermon, a soft glow warming her brown eyes, a small, gentle smile on her mouth. Tears filmed her eyes. Callie was not plain. The child was beautiful. Truly beautiful.

“In the book of Samuel, it says…‘For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’”

Mary looked from Callie to Miss Stewart and the truth, bright and glimmering, shining in all its glory, burst upon her. To God, Callie was truly beautiful. As beautiful as anyone. Because God did not look at golden curls or dimpled cheeks—God looked at a person’s heart. And if that was true, then—Tears welled into her eyes.
Oh, God, I have been so wrong! Forgive me, for doubting Your love for me. And please let my heart be pleasing unto Thee.
She blinked hard, reached for the embroidered, linen handkerchief she carried in her reticule and dabbed her eyes.

The pastor stepped out from behind the pulpit, looked out across the congregation. “My brethren, in light of this message, I urge each of you to examine your hearts today. Do you value others because of outward appearances and worldly successes? Do you ‘despise the poor,’ to your discredit? Or do you, as does the Lord, look upon a person’s heart and character? May the almighty God help us all to follow as He leads.”

At the last amen, the mayor rose and stormed up the aisle, his wife in tow, his daughter at his side. Several others rose and followed them. Mary clutched her handkerchief and watched them go. Miss Stewart turned her head, shot them all a venomous look, then stuck her nose into the air and swept on by.

For the first time in her life, Mary looked at a petite, beautiful, blond woman, not with envy, but with compassion. She turned and gave Mrs. Lucas a hug. “Would it be possible for you to join us for dinner, Mrs. Lucas? The children and I would be delighted with your company. James has other plans.”

“Yes, I see.” Mrs. Lucas twinkled up at him. “I believe your ‘other plan’ is dawdling by the door, Mr. Randolph. I suggest you hurry to her before Rebecca runs out of reasons to tarry.”

James chuckled. “I believe I am going to enjoy getting to know you better, Mrs. Lucas.” He leaned down, gave her a peck on the cheek, then waved a hand to the children and rushed off up the aisle.

Mrs. Lucas smiled and looked up at her. “Your brother is a delightful young man, Mary. The two of you are a wonderful testimony to your parents. As these children will one day be to you. Now, let us depart. I am afraid I am too weary to accept your kind invitation, but you all may see me home.”

The sun beamed down on the
Journey’s End,
its brightness creating the contrast of deep shade. Mary welcomed the coolness of the shadows, the slight breeze coming off the river. She raised her hand and lifted a strand of hair off the nape of her moist neck, and tried not to think how every suggestion the captain offered made more clear the enormity of the task she had set for herself.

“And now about the kitchen.”

Mary nodded and followed him into a dismal room, took one quick look around and gasped. The place was a disaster. “Oh, my.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again.

The captain grinned. “Cooks on steamboats are not known for cleanliness. But if you look beyond the dirt and grime…”

“Yes.” She took a closer look. Iron pots and pans littered a brick hearth along the far wall. Large, long-handled spoons and two-pronged iron forks, along with other implements, hung from cut nails pounded into the rough beam mantel and in the brick beside the bake ovens. Pewter trenchers and goblets marched in broken formation down the length of the mantel, and porringers formed piles at the end.

Overhead, sooty oil lamps hung from a joining of two long iron hooks. Along the wall to her right was a large dry sink holding a copper basin full of pots and pans, and a tall cupboard—one door hanging askew from its hinges—full of crockery and pewter dishes. The wall on her left was formed by a deep pantry she assumed held the food stores. Nothing could have induced her to open one of the doors to see if she was correct.

A long table with a thick, scarred top, stained with something she did not want to examine too closely, marched down the center of the room. And behind her, on both sides of the arched opening through which they had entered were barred cages. Feathers mixed with dried dung in the bottom told of their purpose. She took a breath, albeit a shallow one, and shrugged. “It seems to be well supplied. And, I suppose it…has possibilities…”

The captain threw back his head and laughed, a deep-chested, full-throated laugh.

She stared at him.

He shook his head, knuckled tears from his eyes. “I apologize, Miss Randolph. But if you could see your face…”

Her own lips twitched. “I suppose I do look rather undone. I confess, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed by the vastness of this undertaking. I did not realize…” She shook dust from the hem of her old blue gown and squared her shoulders. “Nonetheless, I shall manage. Somehow. What is next, Captain?”

“The cargo storage area of the main deck. That is the open area we walked through to reach the kitchen.” He led her back through the arched opening. “As you can see, there is a wall at the outer edge of the boat opposite the kitchen. That was meant to keep perishable cargo dry.” He stepped to the end of the long wall, then walked toward the center of the boat at a right angle, drawing the toe of his boot along the floor to make a line through the dust. He strode to the other end of the wall and did the same, then made another line connecting them. In the middle of the long rectangle, he drew two more lines, stopped and faced her. “I told you the other night that I had a suggestion for where the overseer of the children can live. This is it. If we build walls where I have indicated, there will be a dressing room—” he pointed to the square he had drawn in the center “—and two spacious bedrooms. One for the overseer and, I thought, perhaps one for the cook.” He indicated the two large rectangles on either end.

Mary studied the lines, nibbling at the corner of her upper lip. “Yes. I can see that. What an excellent suggestion, Captain!”

“Wait. I’m not finished. If we build a wall across this end from here—” he hurried down to the far end of the line, placed the toe of his boot on the corner and drew another line in the dust to the corner of the kitchen wall “—to here, it will make this entire area in between these rooms and the kitchen into a comfortable sitting area, and large dining room, heated by one of the furnaces. That will free the main room on the boiler deck for the schoolroom and play area you want for the children. And here, in the center of this end wall, we can build a staircase that leads to the play area on the deck where the children’s bedrooms are located, and place the door to go out onto the remaining portion of the main deck. A sort of porch.” He came back and stood looking down at her. “What do you think?”