Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  “Where should I start?”

  “You could do worse than talking to Oscar Kentworth at the Fox-Berry Mine. He does the hiring there.” Cheers erupted on the street again, this time without an accompanying gunshot. Dan pulled his hat down tighter over his thick black hair. “I’d better get home, or Loretta is going to get concerned. She doesn’t appreciate me staying in town on Saturday night, and she has her reasons. See you Monday.”

  Matthew watched him walk away through the spots of light on the sidewalk. He limped slightly, but his gait still showed power.

  Just when Matthew had thought he’d never make any progress, God sent him some encouragement. It was sorely needed, because Matthew had never been in a situation that felt as dark as this night did. True, there were individuals hurrying through, perhaps to shield themselves until they could get their funds safely home, but for the most part, the unholy merriment was being enjoyed by all. And what really upset him were the respectable-looking citizens who didn’t seem to mind that their fellow Joplinites were being fleeced. They had enough money to gamble and carouse on a Saturday night without their children going hungry. What did they care? And what was worse, many of them owned the buildings and businesses that were preying on the impulses of these impulsive men.

  Dapper young men mocking the drunkards, proper young ladies gawking at their fallen sisters, peering into the dark dens for a salacious view. Matthew stopped. He knew very few people in Joplin, but he could hardly forget Miss Calista York. And here she was, unescorted after dark on a public street crowded with men at their worst. She might be more cosmopolitan than he was, and she might know the city, but he understood the attention she was drawing, and going inside that whiskey shop wasn’t in her best interest.

  He looked up at the span over the door, as if he expected it to have fangs and snap closed the second he crossed the threshold. Was this how Uncle Manuel got started? Did he also have innocent intentions but fell prey to temptation? And one drink led to another, which led to another. . . .

  Matthew said a quick prayer that God would protect him and that he’d have the sense to know when to flee, and then he plowed forward. It was just a door in a building. He could walk out when he was ready, fight his way out if necessary.

  Slipping past the two women at the door, Matthew scanned the room. Every table seemed full, most with businessmen doling out handshakes and checks like crooked politicians. The piano player’s hands sped over the keys while his foot stomped the rhythm. Next to the piano, a woman who couldn’t keep up with the quick beat fell laughing and swearing into the arms of a man whose beer splashed over both of them. This didn’t look like anyplace that would hire a decorator of Miss York’s taste. It was a far cry from the café of the House of Lords—but then again, she had mentioned that she wanted to decorate the upstairs. Who knew how low she was willing to go?

  Thinking again of the young woman in the street made his stomach turn. How could Miss York have any part in that?

  A man, probably a mine owner, lingered at the side of the room. With a point of his finger, he directed his clerk to gather up the account books and put them in a briefcase, and then, with his hands drumming the brim of the hat he was carrying, he headed toward the piano.

  Perhaps it was intuition, but Matthew knew who the man had in mind even before he saw him approaching Miss York.

  Although she was dressed modestly for the company she was keeping, it was no wonder that she’d caught the man’s eye. Her brown curls tumbled down her back, stopping just shy of her slender waist. Why was Matthew here? What if someone recognized him in this place? Would he lose credibility? Especially when the lady in question seemed to be courting misfortune.

  Matthew stepped closer and heard her speak over the piano music.

  “I was just talking to my friends, here,” she said to the man. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Hans, do you know this lady?” The businessman called to someone behind the bar.

  Hans leaned against the bar to support his weight as he made his way closer. “I’ve never seen her before. Are you one of those temperance women?”

  When she covered her mouth to giggle, Matthew wanted to break something. “I enjoy a good time as much as the next girl. I was just asking Matilda the name of her perfume. It’s got an original scent.”

  Hans didn’t look happy with her answer. “Matilda is working and shouldn’t be talking to people who aren’t paying customers. I’m willing to overlook your rudeness if you’ll sit down with my friend here for a visit. Bernard, I’ll bring you two shots of whiskey.”

  Of all the naive, idiotic . . . Matthew’s victory with Irvin faded. How could he be content in a world where girls didn’t know any better? And yet, for all Miss York’s bravado, there was a whiff of inconsistency—a split second when he felt rather than saw a flash of something more genuine than her actions.

  Matthew often prayed that God would open his eyes to see the truth. Was this such a moment? Had something been revealed that he couldn’t have recognized on his own?

  Hans plopped two shot glasses before them. Miss York smiled at her companion as she took up her drink, then looked up at the mirror that ran the length of the bar. Her eyes focused as she searched for something in the reflection, and her gaze met Matthew’s. Their eyes locked, and his chest thumped like he’d pulled the trigger on his shotgun. He stepped forward just as she lifted the shot glass and tossed the contents over her shoulder, all over his shirt.

  He’d grabbed her by the arm before he had time to think. Her shock was evident as she blinked at him with wide brown eyes. Only then did it occur to him that she might not have meant to drench him. But if she wasn’t throwing her drink on him, then why . . . ?

  “I’m so glad you found me, Matthew,” she said. “I’d lost track of time.”

  And then she threw herself against him, covering the wet splotch on his shirt. As her arms went around his neck, the drenched shirt offered little protection from the softness pressed against him. Matthew caught her by the waist, but before he could push her away, he felt a single word breathed against his neck.

  “Please.”

  His hands tightened. He should free himself, but again he was making a decision that inched closer to that gray line. Yes, if he was like Uncle Manuel, this could definitely be his undoing. Flee or fight, he had to make a decision.

  Matthew would fight, and fight for her if it would save her.

  “Calista.” Her heart-shaped face, glowing in the dim light, was shining up at him. Her smile was beguiling, but he saw in her eyes a flicker of fear. Matthew’s courage grew. He could handle this. “Dinner is waiting. I have a table,” he said.

  Her hands lingered on his chest as she turned to the brute named Bernard. “Thank you for the drink,” she said, “but I have a prior engagement.”

  How the businessman took the news, Matthew would never know, because he couldn’t take his eyes off his companion. He noticed that she was content to be escorted by him. He also noticed that her dress had dampened from being pressed against him.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the girl at the door said as Matthew bumped into her.

  “Sorry.” He stumbled down the stairs and into the bustling crowd. Instinctively, he turned toward the outskirts of town, away from the chaos. In this case, the darkness was residing in the lights. He wanted to get away from all of it.

  “What were you doing there?” she asked. “Spying on the competition?”

  He’d never thought to call those establishments competition, but he figured it was close enough. “Can I guess why you threw your drink on me?”

  She bit her lip as she looked at his shirt. “Thank you for playing along. I didn’t want to outright refuse his drink.”

  “You’re going to face worse than that if you’re working at the House of Lords.”

  “Are they offering me a job?” Her hand tightened on his arm. “What changed their mind?”

  “How am I supposed to know? They d
on’t consult me with their employment decisions.” He’d heard that a life of sin led to a reprobate mind, but he hadn’t thought it could muddle the thinking this much.

  “I thought you worked there,” she said.

  His shocked look made her laugh.

  “Calm down,” she said. “I wish I worked there, remember? I’m not judging you, whether you do or don’t.”

  “Anyone with ties to that establishment should be ashamed of themselves. Real suffering goes on there. God won’t hold them that contribute blameless.”

  Her steps slowed beneath the streetlight. Releasing his arm, she turned to face him. The electric light buzzed above their heads. Blue flickers danced across her serious gaze.

  “God? Did you say God?” Her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t work at the House of Lords, where do you work?”

  He regretted the embarrassment his answer would cause her. Not that he was ashamed, but he figured that a woman like her would feel judged. But there was nothing to do besides tell the truth.

  “I work for the Lord. I’m a pastor,” he said.

  The immediate effect was . . . nothing. Her face was as smooth as cream in an undisturbed jar. Seconds ticked by. Matthew had to step out of the way of some carousers, but after they passed, he waved his hand in front of her face.

  “Hello,” he said. “Are you having a spell?”

  She blinked, then looked down to the side. “When you invited yourself to my lunch table, you were thinking . . . ?”

  “That I could convince you to leave. I saw what you did for that miner, giving his money back. I figured you were a decent sort.”

  “A pastor?” she repeated. “I didn’t expect that. It could be useful.”

  His chest swelled with importance. “Of course I could be useful. I haven’t been in town long, but if you’re looking for employment, maybe I could introduce you to some less controversial jobs. And eventually I’d like to have a gathering. It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to meet alone, but—”

  “I can’t be seen with you,” she said, even as her eyes roved his face like she was seeing him for the first time.

  His mouth went dry. If he wasn’t being misled by vanity, he’d say she liked what she saw. “I promised you a dinner,” he said. “If we can find a restaurant that isn’t too busy—”

  “I said I can’t be seen with you.”

  “And I decided to ignore that statement. Don’t say it again.” He took her arm. “Whatever ridicule you fear from associating with me is nothing compared to what could happen to you alone on the street.”

  “Take me back to my hotel, then. At least we can limit the damage.”

  Matthew couldn’t help but be amused by her resignation. “Which hotel is that?”

  “The Keystone.”

  Right next to the flower shop. No wonder he kept running into her. And he hoped their paths would keep crossing. “What’s wrong with being seen with me?” he asked. “I haven’t submitted you to any hellfire and brimstone homilies.”

  “Yet.” Her teeth gleamed with her grin. “I’m here to have fun and experience life. Not to belabor the obvious, Parson, but you’re a hindrance to both.”

  “It’s Matthew, and there’s nothing wrong with having fun. I’m having fun right now, in fact.” Although he had to remember not to barge down the street too quickly. Her dainty steps deserved consideration. Besides, he didn’t want to cut their time short.

  “What else did you do today that was fun?” she asked. He caught glimpses of her face as they walked side by side.

  “Not much today, but earlier this week was noteworthy. I was attacked by a couple on the road, for starters.”

  She pouted. “Were you hurt?”

  He kinda wished he had been. “It was a misunderstanding. After that I visited the Joplin Children’s Home. It might not be the type of fun you’re seeking, but I enjoyed it.”

  She tilted her head so that she could view him from beneath thick lashes. “Tell me more about this Children’s Home. It sounds interesting.”

  She’d known he was a threat from the time she laid eyes on him. Sensible, direct, and too green to take anything for granted—those were the marks that exposed your game. The jaded man-about-town was easier to fool than the country boy who was analyzing everything about his new situation. And on top of that, he was a God-fearing man.

  The moment he’d told her he was a parson was the closest she’d ever come to dropping her disguise with a stranger. From the beginning at the House of Lords, she’d found his direct honesty appealing. He was handsome, capable, bold, and everything she’d ever thought she’d want in a man, except for his morals. As long as she’d thought he was working for a brothel, she wasn’t interested. True, she couldn’t believe her luck when she had turned to find him at the saloon, and it was possible that she could have found a way to escape besides throwing herself into his arms, but it had seemed the most agreeable solution at the time.

  And here he was with a connection to the very Children’s Home that she was attempting to infiltrate.

  “This Children’s Home,” she said. “Is there much need for it?”

  His handsome face settled into more somber lines. “With all the solicitation in this city? Those babies aren’t going to be raised in a house of entertainment.”

  It wasn’t likely that Lila Seaton would have a child already, not unless she left home to hide a pregnancy, but it was worth checking out. Anywhere that the girls were likely to frequent was a place she could ask questions. Even more interesting was the possibility that she could accompany Mrs. Bowman on her rounds of the brothels. That would be the safest way for Calista to get a look behind the screens.

  “What about the mothers? Are there any records of them?” Mrs. Bowman had said that volunteers had access.

  “From what I understand, there are, unless the child is abandoned on the doorstep. They do have a maternity room for confinements . . .” He cleared his throat. “Pardon me. I’m not accustomed to discussing such things with a lady. I’d be better off talking about breeding animals.”

  He was so sweet, and she had to act jaded. She took a deep breath and prayed that God would never let her be as flippant as she was pretending to be. “You’ll get over it. It’s the way of the world. Anyway, I might be interested in lending a hand there. My job prospects don’t amount to much. Might as well do something.”

  They’d reached the flower shop next to her hotel. His eyes flickered up to the green and gold sign above them. “You can’t,” he said.

  Calista stopped. “What do you mean I can’t? You said they need help.” She turned and looked over her shoulder at the sign. What was he seeing?

  “I’m going off my gut, but my gut says you aren’t in the right state of mind to be there.”

  Pretending to be immature was no stretch at the moment. “Who are you to judge my state of mind? You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all.”

  But he wasn’t moved. “I know your lackadaisical attitude toward their predicament.”

  “I don’t have any attitude about them.”

  “You should. You should pity them. Instead you’re trying to profit from the same men who are exploiting them.”

  While she regretted that his opinion of her was so low, at least he believed her disguise. “I need a job,” she said. “If your church is hiring a decorator, I’d be glad to work for it.”

  His eye roll wasn’t very chivalrous. “When I have a church of my own, I don’t know that gilt mirrors will be called for.”

  “I’ve worked for years developing my own personal style,” she said. “Perhaps we have a difference of tastes.”

  “Regardless, you have no business at the Children’s Home. Many of these women visit, just for a glimpse of the children they’ve been separated from. How would it look to them if the same organization that claims to offer a safe, respectable place for their children to grow up also allows someone tainted by her associations to work there?”

  C
alista had been glad to learn he had morals. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “It’s a pity. When I think of all the help I could’ve been to those poor girls . . .” This situation was spinning out of control. Matthew was a complication she hadn’t bargained for. Better to end the conversation before she slipped up any further. “Thank you, Matthew, for providing me with an escape tonight. Hopefully your services won’t be needed again. There’s my hotel. Good evening, and good luck with your church.”

  Had things been different, she would have liked to hear his plans, but she could hardly tell him they were fighting on the same team. Dropping his arm with a huff, Calista stomped inside the hotel and hoped that her show of frustration disguised her wistfulness over what could have been a nice conversation under different circumstances.

  CHAPTER

  6

  “Can you read?” the man asked as he handed Matthew a typed sheet of paper.

  “Yes, sir.” Although in the dark office of the Fox-Berry Mine, it wouldn’t be easy. Matthew held the page up to catch the light flickering from the weak bulb above his head. He reckoned miners used to working underground didn’t notice when the lighting was puny.

  He licked the tip of his pencil before setting it to the form. The address of Trochet’s Flowers was a mystery to him, but surely the name of the business would serve just as well. References? There he was at a loss. He should have asked Dan Campbell if he could use his name, but without permission, it seemed like an imposition.

  The light bulb swung as the ground trembled beneath his feet. Matthew looked up and caught the eye of the bull of a man behind the desk.

  “We gotta get that ore out of there somehow,” he said. “I just wish the explosions didn’t shake the office so.” He snatched the completed form from Matthew and glanced over it. “You got a nice hand. What’s an educated man want with going below?”

  “I’m not educated,” Matthew said. “Just took to learning on my own after school.” Especially stories about missionaries. Those were his favorite. “But I aim to be a pastor. What better way to do that than work side by side with the men?”