Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  “I don’t have a bellyache.”

  “Sure you do. You just ate half a watermelon.” Calista turned to give Maisie her full attention. “Think about all that liquid sloshing in your stomach. It tasted good going down, but now you wish you had held back.”

  Maisie’s mouth twitched. “Now that you mention it . . .” She wrapped her arms around her waist and let her shoulders droop. “Oww . . . my belly. It’s ailing me.”

  “Shh! Not until we get out of the shrubbery.” Calista stumbled toward the bricked walkway, kicking to release a vine from her boot.

  Maisie took the more direct path, trampling a hosta in her suffering. “The pain is fierce. I’m gonna die.”

  “You’re supposed to have a stomachache,” Calista grunted, “not a gutshot.”

  They had attracted the attention of the women, although no one stepped forward to help. Regardless, Calista had her target in sight. “She needs to see the doctor.” She spoke with an urgency that was hard to ignore and addressed the matronly woman whose job was probably to look after the young girls.

  “The doctor is busy,” she replied, “but if it’s an emergency, you could go before us.” Up close, Calista could see cosmetics smeared on her jaw where the washcloth had missed them.

  “If one of these girls could help . . .” Calista pointed at her target, the young girl with the charming gap between her front teeth. “You, please. Could you take her other arm?”

  On cue, Maisie’s legs buckled. The frightened girl that Calista had indicated rushed forward to grab Maisie by the arm.

  “To the office,” Calista said. “Let’s get her inside.” She groaned at her cousin’s sudden weight as they dragged Maisie through the doctor’s door. “You have a bellyache, not two broken legs,” she whispered.

  “I always give my best effort,” Maisie retorted between groans.

  “How long have you been in Joplin?” Calista asked the girl over Maisie’s head.

  “What?” The girl’s confusion was understandable, but Calista didn’t have time to waste. The reception area was empty, but it wouldn’t be for long.

  Letting go of Maisie, Calista pulled the picture of Lila out of her handbag. “Have you ever seen this girl? She’s new to Joplin, as well. Less than a year.”

  “It’s you again?” The nurse was making a beeline toward them.

  “I don’t feel good.” Maisie stumbled toward the nurse. “Help me.”

  “This is ridiculous,” the nurse said. “You have to leave.”

  “I don’t know her,” the girl told Calista after glancing at the picture.

  “You’ve never seen her?” Calista bent to gauge her reaction. “Do you know all the girls at the House of Lords?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do, but I don’t know her.” The girl lowered her eyes. “Does her family want her to come home?” The wistfulness was hard to miss, even with Maisie’s increasingly frantic demands echoing in the room.

  This girl wasn’t Lila, but she was still worth saving. “Yes, they do.” Calista took the girl’s hand. “So does your family. Or someone does. Someone cares about you. You can leave.”

  “Doctor, there’s a disturbance out here!” the nurse yelled.

  “I have to go,” said Calista, “but if you see this girl, please tell me. You can find me at the Keystone Hotel. Or if you need help, find me. Calista York. That’s my name.” She kept her eye on the door, wanting to keep her exit free.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” The nurse came toward her. “Not until you give a full accounting for your behavior.”

  At first, Calista thought Maisie was overplaying her hand, but then she heard the splat. By instinct, Calista lifted her skirt and jumped back. Everyone did, but the nurse had walked right into the eruption. Calista stared at the pink mess drenching the nurse’s white skirt. What had just happened? Where had the vomit come from?

  Maisie stood upright and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I feel better now.” She blinked as innocently as one of her cows. “I wanna go home.”

  Calista squeezed the arm of the girl. “Remember what I told you.”

  Then she turned on her heel and hurried out the door before the smell could catch her. Keeping their heads down, she and Maisie sped through the group of women waiting outside, then down the hidden walkway to the street.

  “I don’t know what you were doing, but I hope you helped that girl,” Maisie said. “She looked so sad.”

  “What about you?” Calista asked. “Are you really sick?”

  Maisie shrugged. “The more I said I was sick, the more I thought that I might could actually be sick. But don’t worry. Once I got it out of my system, I recovered.”

  Never underestimate Maisie’s commitment to seeing a job through.

  “Then you’ll be fine to go on to Aunt Myra’s on your own? As much as I’d love to visit with all of you, I find that my time is precious today.”

  “No, sirree. You aren’t sending me back to Granny Laura without some kind of explanation.”

  “I did explain. I’m here doing a class assignment. Tell Granny that I’ll come see her before I leave town, but that I’m just too busy to make the trip to the ranch.”

  “What did you show that girl?” Maisie asked. “Who was in that picture?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “You’re family. Everything you do is my business.”

  “Like stealing Mr. Tormand’s watermelon? Is that my business?”

  Maisie plopped a hand over her stomach. “That preacher was right—ill-gotten gains bring nothing but misery. Fine, I’ll tell Granny whatever you want me to tell her, but she won’t be satisfied. You know that.”

  Calista did know. The clock was ticking on how long she could continue to work unencumbered by her relations, but Pinkerton might stop her before her family had a chance.

  CHAPTER

  5

  The excitement had been building all day. Business owners carried their wares to the sidewalks to tempt buyers, restaurateurs crowded more tables into the dining rooms, and grocers’ wagons hurried along, making deliveries of bushels of fruits and vegetables, wrapped cuts of beef, and bags of flour so that all shelves would be stocked. As the afternoon wore on, every head seemed cocked, listening for the mines’ whistles that would signal the end of the workday and the release of the men and their funds.

  Knowing that she might work until late, Calista had napped during the heat of the day, then woken refreshed, ready to see if Saturday night in Joplin was all that had been promised. Fairly certain that Lila was no longer at the House of Lords, Calista needed to broaden her search, and Saturday was her best opportunity for leads.

  In the Keystone Hotel elevator, the well-to-do women plotted their expenditures as they rode down from their penthouses. Calista knew these weren’t miners’ wives. Their husbands might own the mines, or the foundries, or the smelters, but Saturday was payday from the top down. Their husbands would write the checks, and then they would make a claim on whatever was left over.

  “I’ve had my eye on that fabric for weeks. I’m going to be in line at Temple’s store, waiting for Jeffrey to balance the books. He’ll come there first so no one buys it before me.” The woman adjusted her hat like a major embarking on a mission.

  Her friend nodded her approval. “I’m buying faucets for our kitchen. The house should be completed this month. After living in this hotel for a year, I’m more than ready. . . .”

  The doors opened, and Calista stepped off the elevator into a lobby that was packed full of men. The small gilt tables that anchored every sitting area were each claimed by a check registry, an adding machine, and a line of men waiting their turn. She worked her way around the room, picking up what bits of conversation she could catch.

  “Your load brought in two hundred and twenty-five dollars from your lease this week. After taking my twenty percent, that’s one hundred and eighty dollars.”

  “Ore has gone up this week. Pay will
be better, but set some aside.”

  “If it weren’t for that ailment that beset me this week, I would’ve got more. Would you advance me a sum until next week?”

  Calista had been warned that Saturday night in Joplin was unlike anywhere else in the world. The landowners settled their accounts with the operators who bought the ore. The operators paid the landowners, and they in turn paid the men leasing their stakes, minus their commission. Those were the independent miners who had leased land. Those who worked in the mines would not get rich, but they had steady income. They were also paid on Saturday night. It was payday for everyone, the money trickling down from owner to miners to storekeepers and grocers. Like a holiday once a week.

  If Calista had thought Joplin completely debased itself on weeknights, she’d underestimated its abilities.

  “I’ve got money in my pocket, sweetheart, but no company. How about you join me tonight?” The miner might have washed up and put on his best clothes, but he’d left his manners back at the tent on his claim.

  Calista walked on through the lobby without answering. She didn’t have time to address every inappropriate remark tonight. Her task was to look for Lila when women were most likely to be on the sidewalks.

  In her hotel, the ratio of men to women made it easy to quickly discern that Lila wasn’t among the females congratulating the men as they received their money. Some were wives and girlfriends, but others seemed the ambitious type who weren’t going to wait for the men to stumble into their lairs. They were going hunting.

  Calista focused her eyes ahead. She’d better be ready for anything. Pushing through the hotel doors, she found the sidewalks no less crowded. Whether the randy behavior on display was from intoxicated men or from men who planned to be intoxicated soon, she couldn’t guess. When a family with children passed, the mother excitedly looking in shop windows while the father zealously kept his brood together, Calista stepped in behind them. Her passage would be easier if the miners assumed she was under the protection of this family. She looked into the face of every woman she passed while averting her gaze from the men. She craned her neck to look down dark alleys as they passed. Clearly there was activity in the shadows, but she was no fool. Pinkerton had made it clear that she was to avoid dangerous situations until she had more experience.

  The open doors of a whiskey shop drew her interest. The piano music skipped along, and electric lamps flickered. Two girls stood at the entrance, calling out to passersby with promises of cold drink and hot food. A man with a gun belt slung low on his hips marched up and put his hands around one of the women’s waists. She laughed, then pulled him to her for a sloppy kiss. Calista looked for her family escort, but they had moved on. When she looked at the whiskey shop again, the woman had pulled the man inside, and another girl had come to the doorstep to take her place.

  While Calista wanted to gird up her armor and storm the place, she had to remember her disguise. She was a reckless young lady looking for excitement. That was the only way she’d be allowed to snoop through this cold world. She hoped no one mistook her recklessness for vulnerability. If they did, all she had for protection was a covering of prayer and a retractable baton. The coiled strip of metal hid easily in her palm, and with the flick of a button, it shot out to form a metal stick about two feet in length. It wasn’t a sure option, but it was better than nothing.

  With a deep breath, she prayed that God would honor her intentions and look after her safety, even as she put herself in harm’s way.

  Then she entered the den.

  Matthew had been warned about Saturday night. During the week he’d been in Joplin, he’d made a few friends among the miners, and the further into the week they got, the more they sought out his company. On Tuesday, they would suffer a conversation with him if he provided a hot meal. On Wednesday, they’d let him pray for them for a piece of pie. By Friday, they were willing to open a Bible if he’d only give them a cup of coffee.

  But tonight they’d get a second chance. With a week’s worth of wages, they could finally break the habits that had enslaved them.

  Even on market day, the streets of Pine Gap had never been this crowded. People jostled against each other, sometimes laughing, sometimes threatening. When Matthew saw a man leering at a group of girls, he went to intervene.

  “Is this man acting unseemly?” he asked the girl, no older than his little sister.

  She fell against him, her hand curled around the strap of his suspender. “As a matter of fact, I was waiting for you to step up and show me how a real man is supposed to act.” Even by the weak streetlight, he could see the green tint of an old bruise beneath her eye and the gap where she was missing a tooth.

  Oh, Lord. How long had he gone, thinking that these women were professional seducers, living a life of unrepentant luxury? Instead, he saw in the face of this girl all the children he’d served lunch to the day before. Had she grown up there at the Children’s Home? Or had she left home to pursue excitement, only to be trapped?

  With more patience than he’d thought he’d be capable of under the circumstances, he removed her hand. “I don’t want anything from you, but I want something for you. Peace and freedom.”

  She searched his face. “You got nothing that can help me,” she said at last, then disappeared into the crowd.

  Shaken by the hopelessness he’d encountered, Matthew continued down the sidewalk. He felt like the shepherd looking for one lost lamb among wolves, but it would be easy to get distracted when the wolves were doing their dead level best to entice him away from the God he loved. The words of his mother about avoiding the path of the unrighteous had him wishing for escape, but he was called to walk this path for a time. At least for tonight.

  And maybe this was why. Ahead, he saw Irvin hurrying down the street with his hand deep in his pocket.

  “Irvin!” Matthew bounded through the crowd as he caught up with the miner. “Irvin, did you get your pay?”

  Irvin turned, and Matthew saw the bottle in his hand.

  “Why, Preacher, it’s a fine thing, seeing you today, but I don’t have time for a prayer. Come calling after work on Monday. I’ll have time then.”

  Matthew wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol. “By Monday you’ll be broke again and wallowing in your misery.” And before too long, the drink would do irreversible damage to his constitution. Matthew had seen it with Uncle Manuel. “Better quit while you’re ahead.”

  “I won’t be broke. I’m going to double my money tonight. Just see if I don’t.” Irvin swayed along with the billiards advertisement over his head.

  What could Matthew do short of kidnapping? Then he had an inspiration. If the dealers in the gambling dens could convince Irvin in his diminished state, why couldn’t Matthew persuade him?

  He pulled Irvin against the window of the saloon. “I’ve got a guaranteed deal for you, Irvin. It might not make you rich—”

  “I’m going to get rich tonight.”

  “Okay, but first you’re going to share some of that wealth with me, and I’m going to put it down on a prize for you. You’ll win food for the whole week if we’re lucky.”

  “And if we’re not lucky?”

  Matthew held out his hand. “I’ll pay you back if I lose it. Guaranteed.”

  With a word of protest, Irvin pulled out his roll of bills from the bank and peeled off four of them. Matthew shook his head and took two more. “That leaves you with more than half to play with tonight. That’s more than enough to lose. You come see me when you’re hungry next week. I’ll have this set aside.”

  “We’ll see who has the best luck,” Irvin said and laughed. “You don’t know the first thing . . .” He was still laughing at Matthew when he disappeared into the mouth of the gambling hall.

  Matthew stuffed the bills in his pocket with a small amount of satisfaction. He’d rather that Irvin had made the decision on his own, but any money kept out of the hands of the predatory businesses on a Saturday night was a victory.r />
  “I saw what you did there.” A miner no older than Matthew pushed off the wall to stand before him. Despite his youth, he was weathered beyond his years. “Dan Campbell,” he said as he held out his hand.

  “You’re a neighbor of Irvin’s,” Matthew said.

  “Yep. Seen you around his place.”

  Matthew held up both hands. “I wouldn’t say I’m a friend of his, you understand. I don’t approve of his choices.”

  “It’s alright. No reason to be defensive. I am a friend of Irvin’s, but I can offer friendship without condoning everything he does.” Dan paused, like he was giving Matthew time to repent of something, and maybe he should have. “If I’m not mistaken, Irvin is going to eat better this week than he has in a long time, thanks to you.” He studied Matthew for a moment before adding, “You’re a preacher?”

  “That’s right. I don’t have a church, but if anyone wants to get together . . .”

  “If you’re coming back to Irvin’s on Monday, would you mind if my wife and I joined you?”

  Matthew nearly fell over. “Please do! And it doesn’t have to be at his place, or on Monday. Whenever you’re free . . .” He was rambling, and Dan was laughing at him.

  “Hold up there, Preacher. You’re raring to go.” Dan stepped aside to get them off the busy street. A rat darted from beneath a pile of newspapers in the alley and out onto the sidewalk, where a man pulled a pistol and shot it dead. Miners cheered and hooted, but Dan didn’t bat an eye. “How long have you been in town?” he asked.

  “A week. Now that I’m getting my bearings, I’m going to set about getting a job. Looking at one of the mines.”

  “Most people with a hankering to mine get themselves a lease first. Why not try your luck that way?” Dan asked.

  “If I wanted to find my fortune in mining, I would, but that’s not my aim,” Matthew said.

  “Be careful,” Dan said. “If something goes wrong two hundred feet below, you might never see the sky again.”

  To a man accustomed to the sun, the wind, and the mountains, the thought of being under dirt was unsettling. But it was what Matthew needed to do. A fisherman had to go where the fish were.