Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  “As luck would have it, I’m paying a visit there tomorrow. I’ll tell them you send your regards.”

  And he’d arrange for them to say that she’d worked there if they were asked. “Send particular greetings to the patients in the women’s ward. I miss them the most.”

  “I understand.” He cleared his throat. “It shouldn’t be long before you have some guests. As soon as loose ends are tied up—”

  “Already?” she gasped. “I’ve only just arrived.”

  “But you should know soon if you’re going to have a successf—er, enjoyable visit.”

  “Call me Monday,” she said. “I’ve got some ideas that I’m pursuing.”

  “Monday, then. Be careful, and your mother says hello. Good-bye . . . dear.”

  But the feeling of impending judgment was anything but endearing.

  “If you’ve got steady work, then why don’t you have any money?” Matthew took another bite of his sandwich while keeping an eye on the wiry miner sitting next to him on the steps of the Joplin Carnegie Library. In the miner’s dirt-lined face, Matthew recognized his Uncle Manuel. Including, unfortunately, his bloodshot eyes.

  Irvin’s gaze lingered on the remaining slab of turkey between the bread. He wiped his stained fingers against his loose-fitting shirt. “Everything is so expensive. The money is gone before I know it.”

  “But you have enough money for whiskey?” Matthew asked.

  Irvin snorted. “Do you know how much whiskey it takes to make my back stop aching? Do you know how much whiskey I have to drink before I can face the next day of digging, digging, and more digging?”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Matthew said. “You’re just not used to hard work.”

  The wizened miner raised a gray eyebrow.

  Matthew’s confidence wavered, and he handed Irvin the rest of his sandwich. “Next time you hit ore and have a payout, I hope you think ahead.”

  Irvin grunted around his mouthful of food. “I have the best intentions on Saturday when they weigh up the ore and settle up with us, but those intentions don’t make it through the week.” He sucked on his fingers one by one, getting the last of the turkey juice off them. “I thank you, sir. With some food in my belly, I’m perked up enough to give it another go. If there’s ever anything I could do for you . . .”

  “Actually, I would like to meet—have prayer, read the Bible. If you’re sober.”

  “Welp, I remember you mentioning that last time, but my schedule didn’t allow . . .”

  “I never told you what time we were going to meet.”

  “Oh? I thought you did. When is your meeting?”

  “Sunday morning, of course.”

  Irvin laughed. “Sunday morning ain’t going to work for anyone. We’re all sleeping off Saturday night.”

  Meet on a day besides Sunday? Was Matthew going to start compromising already? Yes, he was. “Whenever, then,” he said. “If you know where Trochet’s Flowers is, my apartment—”

  “After a day of digging, I don’t much feel like walking into town. Why don’t you come to my place?”

  Matthew hesitated. Was he wasting his time with Irvin? He wasn’t exactly the most promising prospect out there. If Matthew had his druthers, he’d host his meetings at Silas Marsh’s place—another miner who was younger, sharper, and cleaner than Irvin.

  But this was just to see Irvin. It didn’t mean he had to ask anyone else to come to the wastrel’s home. “I’ll come to your claim,” Matthew said at last. “After dark would be best for you, right? You can’t see what you’re digging after dark. I’ll bring some food. And tell your buddies. Everyone is welcome.”

  Irvin sucked the last of the turkey juice off his thumb. “Okay, then. Tonight after dark. My claim is on Wolstead’s land, just past the Imperial Mine. I’ll see you there.”

  Matthew’s stomach still felt empty, but it was worth it. Now that Grandpa Cook had gone home, Matthew had no one to entertain, no one to plan with. Finally, he had an appointment, somewhere to be. But it was just a start, and from reading all the missionary books he could get his hands on, Matthew knew that many leads would fizzle out before one spark caught and grew. There was hope, though.

  With a strong handshake, Irvin took out to his claim, leaving Matthew to set his feet toward his next project, which was to see what charities were in place in the city. He knew about the Elks, the Odd Fellows, and the Women’s Benevolence League. There had to be more. Thankfully, he was in the right place to get information.

  Passing beneath the massive columns of the Carnegie Library, Matthew shuffled to a stop right inside the doors. His head tipped back as he followed the bookcases up to the pressed tin ceiling high overhead. It took him a second to realize he was seeing two stories of bookcases before him, for they looked like long continuous shelves stacked to the sky.

  Back in Pine Gap, he couldn’t have imagined a building so fine, much less one built solely for holding books. While eccentric Betsy Puckett had a few shelves of books, there wasn’t a public library they could call their own. Then again, neither were there seventy-six saloons in Pine Gap. Unlike Joplin, it also didn’t have one hundred and seventeen whiskey shops. Before arriving earlier that week, his country mind couldn’t fathom a town with that many businesses, much less ones dedicated to debauchery. But they did have a nice library.

  Wishing he’d worn his Sunday best, Matthew headed toward the paneled desk that curved in the center of the room. Light from the six windows behind the desk streamed in and lit up the ladies like they were members of the heavenly host. He was so distracted, he nearly tripped over a lady with a squeaky shoe pushing a heavy cart of volumes past him.

  “May I help you?” The librarian’s rosy cheeks shone like they’d been polished. She’d probably already raised a passel of children, causing her permanently flustered appearance.

  “Yes, ma’am. My name is Matthew Cook. I’m new to the area, and I wanted to inquire about the various charities in town.”

  She did a quick appraisal of him before smiling with compassion. “Certainly. What manner of help are you seeking?”

  “No, not me. I’m a . . . well, I’ve come to help, and I thought I could give a hand . . .” He was talking in circles. Why couldn’t he just say it? Because it didn’t seem like he was worthy of the title. But he had to start somewhere. “I’m a missionary. I want to volunteer my services.”

  “A missionary? Where’s your church?”

  “I don’t have one, but I’ve met one man—”

  “Irvin? Yes, I saw you on the steps. You’ll run out of food before you finish your sermon with that one. But why do you think Joplin needs a missionary? We have churches.” Her fingers drummed against the cart. “You’ve been reading the Carthage newspaper, haven’t you? The one that calls Joplin a naughty, wide-open town? Jealousy, that’s what ails them. We don’t need help. We have charities, but most of our poor are rich on Saturday and poor by Tuesday.”

  He’d wanted information, and he’d gotten a big portion of it. “What do you mean, rich on Saturday and poor by Tuesday?”

  “On Saturday the miners, property owners, and foundries settle up their accounts. Even the banks open on Saturday in the evening, because those starving miners can’t wait until Monday to get their cash. And then they hit the streets—or the whiskey dens, more likely. The whole town comes out and celebrates. And by Monday morning, most of them are broke again and counting the days until Saturday.”

  “What an awful way to live.” In his young life, Matthew had been surrounded by disciplined, frugal people. The thought of such waste was horrendous to him.

  “You should see the miners’ wives and children. It’s no wonder so many of the kids end up in the Children’s Home. Even those who have proper fathers can’t always be fed. But Joplin is doing its best to help.”

  A Children’s Home? That sounded promising. Even if they didn’t need a chaplain, they probably had maintenance he could help with. Or keeping the grounds. Al
though he aimed to be a man of the Word, he knew the value of working with his hands. He wasn’t one to sit in his apartment when there were things to accomplish.

  “And where is the Children’s Home?” he asked.

  She gave him directions. It would be a healthy walk to the outskirts of town, but he enjoyed stretching his legs. Matthew took up his hat, laid down his thanks, and left.

  What kind of women would he meet at the Children’s Home? Women who had chosen the wide path of destruction? That made him a speck nervous. Matthew was pretty green about women and had only heard tales about some who misused their beauty. He hoped he’d be strong enough to resist when he heard the sirens’ calls. He knew some pretty girls back home, but none who would compare to the great beauties that lured men to their destruction.

  As he walked along, the paved streets of Joplin turned to gravel, and the shade went from the solid blocks of tall buildings to the mottled coverage of dancing light coming down through the trees. Where the trees parted, farmhouses could be seen on green fields, making Matthew long for home. And then a home appeared that was grander than any he’d seen outside of the Murphysburg District of Joplin. It was the Children’s Home, he suspected, and according to the librarian, the next fork would lead him to the front door.

  “Stop it, you ignorant snot-bucket of a steer.”

  It was a woman’s voice coming from a washout down beneath the road. A horse nickered from where it was tied to a tree alongside another. Matthew heard a man’s laugh, and it wasn’t a particularly nice laugh.

  “Don’t be such a killjoy. I’ve got it coming to me.”

  Matthew’s teeth were set on edge. He was supposed to be a man of peace, but he wasn’t a coward, and judging from the protests of the lady, she needed help. He looked both ways on the road and saw no one. No matter. He’d grown up with Bald Knobbers and bushwhackers infesting the woods around his farm. He’d learned to take care of himself and others from a young age. He could handle this.

  He hopped down into the washout beneath the bridge. The man had the lady by the arm and was dragging her forward. Matthew couldn’t believe it. It was the woman he’d seen at the House of Lords earlier that week. No, she just shared a resemblance, but she was also in trouble.

  “I wouldn’t be doing this, but it’s owed me.” The man’s amusement sickened Matthew.

  “Unhand her.” Matthew had been waiting his whole life to say those words.

  The man spun around. His eyes tightened as he sized Matthew up. He was shorter than Matthew but built like a regular rounder. “This here ain’t none of your business,” he said.

  Finally, Matthew was on footing he understood. “If you’re harassing that lady, it is.”

  The man looked like he could wrestle a wildcat. He also looked like he couldn’t quite believe he was being challenged. He jerked the girl closer. “You better just move on.”

  The girl twisted her arm free, but Matthew had already committed to action. He swung for the stubborn jaw, but the man ducked so quickly that his blow swished harmlessly through the air. Thrown off balance, Matthew reached out to steady himself on the bank, but the girl lunged toward him. With a sweep of her foot, she hooked his calf and jerked it forward. The next thing Matthew knew, both of his feet were pointing toward the sky and his spine was crashing into the gravel waterway beneath him.

  His sight turned all white and sparkly as he tried to rise, but dizziness and a weight kept him on his back. When his eyes refocused, he saw the girl with her boot squarely on his chest and her hands on her hips. Her turned-up nose was wrinkled in merriment.

  “What have we got here, Amos?” she said. “A regular Robin Hood to save me and Old Man Tormand’s watermelons.”

  “Why do you always have to butt in, Maisie? I had him dead to rights. I can’t hardly sock him now when he’s lying there helpless as a newborn lamb.”

  “I’m not helpless,” Matthew protested, but the fact that he’d prefer to stay on his back meant that their assessment was fair.

  “You miners need to learn not to mess with the countryfolk.” The lady stepped off him but kept her hands forward, as if ready to defend herself again.

  “I’m not a miner.” Matthew rolled to his side while keeping a leery eye on the couple. “I’m a preacher.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth with her hands, but not before a throaty laugh escaped.

  The man extended a hand and hauled Matthew to his feet. “Good gravy, Maisie. You done took down a preacher.” He would’ve turned Matthew around and dusted off his backside had Matthew not pushed away.

  “You haven’t accounted for your treatment of the lady.” Matthew picked up his hat and tried to look stern.

  “She ain’t no lady. She’s my sister. I had a hankering for a watermelon, and Tormand’s patch is along this creek. He owes me for when I helped him with his runaway pigs, but he’s never paid up. I thought to collect—”

  “He wanted me to play lookout for him,” the lady interrupted, “but I’m done with that. I’m always caught, and my brother sneaks away scot-free.”

  Her brother? Matthew rotated his shoulders to shake out the bruises. Knowing they were siblings made his presumptions ridiculous. Now that he understood the circumstances, he recognized them for what they were—farm folk coming to town. Just like him.

  “Matthew Cook,” he said and extended his hand to the man.

  “Amos Kentworth, and this is my sister, Maisie.” They had to speak up to be heard over the wagon crossing the bridge above them.

  Matthew waited until it passed before asking, “Are you’uns from around here?”

  “Yep. Our ranch starts a few miles back that way. What brings you to Joplin?”

  “Ever heard of Pine Gap?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not surprising, but I’ve certainly heard of Joplin. I figured that if I wanted to do any good with this life, I might as well go where I’m needed. They didn’t need me in Pine Gap.”

  The girl grinned. “But Joplin is a different critter. Yessir, our folks don’t usually let us come to town without one of our elders. It’s a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. If it weren’t for our cousin needing looking after . . .”

  “What’s wrong with your cousin?” Matthew wanted to make himself useful. Considering that these two had nearly knocked him unconscious, he was feeling right warmly toward them.

  “She’s up to no good. Always been the unruly sort. Another cousin of ours saw her in town this week, and believe me, if no one knew she was coming, then it’s mischief she’s after.” Amos delivered his judgment with a twist of his mouth that could be taken as a sign of jealousy.

  “She’s a caution,” Maisie said. “If everyone wasn’t so busy with planting, they would’ve never sent us to bring her in. As it is, we’re on our way to ambush her at our aunt’s doctor’s visit.”

  “I’d say the two of you could round up a whole herd of ne’er-do-wells,” Matthew said.

  The siblings grinned at each other. Amos winked. “They’re afeared that when we find out what she’s about, we might up and join her.”

  Matthew laughed. “Something tells me that you know better.”

  “Oh, we know the fear of the Lord, but there’s lots of ways to have fun that the Lord hasn’t thought to expressly prohibit,” Amos said. “Finding those things is our specialty.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t find more than you bargained for, but if you do, you can find me out back of Trochet’s flower store. I’m new to town, so I’m eager for company.”

  “We might do that,” Amos said. “We just might. Now, if you’d like to share a watermelon, I still need a lookout.”

  His sister landed a solid punch on his arm. “Even if he don’t look like it, he’s a preacher, Amos. You can’t ask him to help you steal from Mr. Tormand.”

  “I told you, it ain’t stealing. He owes me money, so I’ve put a lien on his watermelon patch. With interest, we should be able to take—”

&nb
sp; “Ill-gotten gains bring nothing but misery,” Matthew said. “Good luck.” He climbed out of the culvert and back onto the road.

  Amos and Maisie. Since arriving in the metropolis of Joplin, they were the first people he’d met who felt familiar. Sure, they were spirited, but they had a code they would follow, and heaven help this cousin of theirs who was trying to break that code.

  CHAPTER

  4

  She’d packed a severe ebony gown in case she needed to pretend to be in mourning. She’d packed a scandalous, gaudy day gown that looked more like evening wear in case she was invited to an event that wasn’t quite proper. She had a whole wardrobe of clothes in between, but nothing that resembled a nurse’s uniform.

  Calista buckled a narrow leather belt around her camel-colored skirt. A white shirtwaist and a modest hat would have to suffice. She wouldn’t look like a Parisian-trained decorator, but today her aim was to look like a responsible, efficient working girl who needed a job. If she didn’t make progress on this case quickly, she would be looking for a job in earnest.

  But it wasn’t about her job. It was about a girl who’d been separated from her family. Calista couldn’t dwell on the probable particulars of Lila’s treatment at the hands of her captors. Such thinking would make her fearful and distract her from the task before her. Instead, she would focus on the satisfaction of solving another case.

  The first time Calista had ever considered what a detective did was when a ruby necklace of her mother’s went missing. It had likely been gone for weeks before her mother sent Mrs. Herman to fetch it for the Christmas ball and the case was discovered to be empty. When her father hired the Pinkerton Agency, they told the operative, one Mrs. Kate Warne, that they suspected a lady’s maid who had recently left the position. What happened next fueled Calista’s imagination for years.