Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  “Amen,” he heard himself say as eleven-year-old Toddie finished praying.

  Calista also made his mind wander while leading a Bible study at an orphanage. Another charge against her character.

  “Thank you, Toddie.” Matthew rose off the cot they’d gathered around in the children’s dorm. “That was a mighty fine prayer. You’uns listened good.”

  “Will you come outside with us and play ball?” Dolly asked.

  “Maybe next time,” he said.

  They groaned just enough to be politely disappointed before stampeding outside to the fenced yard.

  Matthew gathered the printed Sunday School readers they were using. As sad as it was for the kids to be here with no parents, it was better than the future many of them faced once they got out. Whenever the home ran short on funds, the older children were the first place they economized. The charitable leaders of Joplin were meeting at the orphanage today, and Matthew hoped they had come up with a good strategy to raise the needed money.

  He reached the office just as a door opened down the hall on a boisterous gathering. From the jovial voices, the meeting had been a success. Graying mustaches spread over grinning mouths. A cane tip was bounced against the floor in satisfied approval. Matthew saw Clydell Blount, the wealthy owner of the Fox-Berry Mine, president of the Elks Club, and the most recognizable man in Joplin, exit the room. Every miner in town made way for him when he walked down the sidewalk, and he in return greeted them heartily, one and all.

  “I take it the meeting was a success,” Matthew said.

  Mr. Blount’s chest expanded. “We’ve come up with a plan that will address several needs at once.” His story was interrupted by a racking cough that frequently waylaid him. He held up a finger until the fit passed, then continued. “The Elks Club is going to hold a baby raffle.”

  “A baby raffle? What are you going to raffle off to raise money for the babies?”

  The man who sold the streetcars to the city stepped forward to explain. “We’re going to raffle a baby. The winner gets a baby from right here at the home.” He ran his hand over the gold braid running along the seam of his black suit.

  Matthew wasn’t hearing them right. That was the problem. Before he could ask for clarification, Mr. Blount spoke again.

  “It’s genius. We expect there’ll be a lot of interest—hundreds of tickets sold. Most people either can’t afford adoption, or they don’t have the patience to wait for the proceedings. Or maybe they’ve never thought of it. This will make them more aware of the option, find a family for one of the kids, and raise some money. Can’t put rocks in the kids’ bellies, after all. They gotta have food.”

  “You’re giving away a baby?” Matthew finally managed. “It’s barbaric. A child isn’t a prize to be won, like a suckling pig.”

  “Don’t moralize on it,” the streetcar man said. “It’s novel, but not wrong.”

  “We’d make sure the winner is acceptable,” said Mr. Blount. “The police department would let us know if the new parents were criminals, and the Children’s Home already has a baby chosen. Cute little fellow, ten months old. He’ll be on display at the Carnegie Library every weekday until all the tickets are sold.”

  Was Matthew being too idealistic? To barter with a human life denigrated its worth. He wondered what his pastor back home would say. No, Matthew didn’t have to wonder. At the first news of a baby being displayed as a prize in Pine Gap, his mother would crash all the way through their mountain forests until she reached the child and took it to safety. His mother wasn’t here, but he was.

  “I ask you to reconsider,” Matthew said. “Have we gone back to selling people?”

  “Calm down, young man.” Mr. Blount’s large head settled and tilted to the side. “Why would someone pay money for a child if they didn’t want it? It’s just another form of adoption.”

  But something in Matthew’s gut told him differently. It was dehumanizing, using a human life as a commodity. He didn’t like it a bit, but he wasn’t sure what he could do to stop it.

  He waited inside the door of the Children’s Home, not wanting to walk back to town in the company of the self-congratulating group. How was it that in Joplin even the good deeds were tainted?

  As he let the community leaders clear out, he recognized someone coming across the grounds that he’d yet to introduce himself to. The tall, thin man in a loose-fitting suit stepped inside with a heavy portfolio beneath his arm.

  Matthew extended his hand. “Reverend Dixon? My name is Matthew Cook. I’m here from Pine Gap—”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” The reverend nodded, making his gray curls swing against his neck. “Mrs. Fairfield told me about you and your work here. Very generous of you.”

  Some of the weight of Matthew’s morning seemed to shift. “I’m familiar with your church too. It’s quite impressive.”

  “It’s not my church,” Reverend Dixon said and laughed. “It’s God’s church. I’m just tending it for a few years. So, tell me, how has your stay been in Joplin? I’m very interested in hearing how your ministry is progressing.”

  His ministry? Besides the Campbells, the only people willing to talk to Matthew were under the bribery of food or the threat of family discipline. “It’s been a slow start, sir. I’m learning my way around.”

  “Well, if you need any help, please call on me. We’re on the same team. You may sow, and I water, but the harvest belongs to the Lord.”

  Matthew hadn’t been a pastor very long. He’d yet to learn how to stretch a few words into a lengthy speech. To the point was more his style.

  “There’s something you could help me with,” Matthew said. “I just spoke to the Elks Club—Mr. Blount in particular—”

  “Mr. Blount is a member of my church. A very charitable individual.” Reverend Dixon switched the portfolio to his other arm and shifted his weight.

  Matthew swallowed hard. “Is he? That’s surprising. In case you weren’t aware, he’s just proposed something outrageous. He’s advocating raffling off one of the children from this home to raise funds. He’s convinced the Elks Club and the Joplin Provident Society to go along with it.”

  “Mr. Blount can be unorthodox, but he’s very effective. If you just look at what he’s accomplished in this city—”

  “I’m not talking about his professional résumé. I’m talking about auctioning off a baby. How can he have a heart—”

  “Don’t be hasty. You don’t know the man.”

  “I know enough to determine he’s wrong-minded.” Matthew wished his voice wasn’t rising, but he had a hard time staying calm when discussing weighty matters.

  No matter how the reverend’s smile was meant, Matthew felt it to be condescending. “I’m not going to stand in this lobby and slander someone who seeks my guidance, young man,” Reverend Dixon said. “I’ll speak to him, but in the meantime, I ask you to reserve judgment on him and the others. God uses rough vessels too.”

  When Matthew didn’t answer, Reverend Dixon checked his watch. “I must go, but my door is always open to you. Please come and see me. I’m grateful there’s another man with a conscience in town.”

  Was there? As far as Matthew could tell, he was fighting the good fight all alone.

  “No, Father, I haven’t seen my classmate since I’ve been here. I haven’t found a job either, which has handicapped me in my search.” Another call from Mr. Pinkerton, and Calista was forced to admit that she hadn’t accomplished anything besides eliminating some possible scenarios. It was also a chance for her to hear how impatient Jinxy was to have some progress.

  “Your brother wants to come visit. Would it be helpful if he came to town?” Pinkerton was offering to send another agent, but under the disguise of her brother? That wouldn’t work. Calista had a brother, and her cousins would be quick to point out that Sampson wasn’t him.

  “I think it’d be better for him to stay in . . . Kansas City.” She grimaced. She couldn’t be sure who was listening in on the line
, but it was possible they might know that she and her family hailed from Kansas City. Pinkerton was intimately acquainted with her file. Surely he would understand why she hadn’t mentioned Chicago. “Thank you for the offer, though. Tell Mother I said hello.”

  She came out of the hotel’s office more than discouraged. The calm gurgling of the fountain in the center of the lobby drew her toward it. Sparkling water rushed out of the granite spigot and splashed into the pool. Plump, lazy orange fish glided over the tiny blue tiles without a care in the world. She was getting nowhere. The only thing she was accomplishing was outraging her family.

  And family was what compelled her. Jinxy Seaton might be a criminal, but a missing daughter affected more than one person. Every family in the neighborhood would be burdened with fear until Lila was returned. And the Seaton family had already lost one daughter. How could they survive another?

  Calista would sacrifice much if it meant rescuing the haunted figure in that photograph, but so far her efforts had been in vain.

  A man stepped into her light. Calista’s shoulders relaxed. Instead of wariness, she felt peace in his shadow, as if she could glide through it as effortlessly as the goldfish.

  “Why are there coins in the fountain?” Matthew asked. “Do they have something to do with the fish?”

  He was so amusing. Calista unhooked the fastener on her bag and pulled out a coin. Although he wasn’t in a suit like most of the men in the lobby, there was nothing shabby about his wardrobe. Homemade, perhaps, but sized for him from quality cloth. A good, honest cut that emphasized his wide shoulders and strong chest. When she held out the coin, his expression turned curious, but he lifted his hand and allowed her to press a bright penny into his palm. Maybe because he already thought the worst of her and wouldn’t be surprised at coquetry, or maybe because she was discouraged and wanted the contact, she closed his fingers over the penny and wrapped her hands around his fist.

  “Now close your eyes,” she said over the tinkling of the water fountain, “and make a wish.”

  His eyes darkened as he gazed at her, and for a heartbeat she saw something in them she knew she hadn’t seen before. Something he would have rather kept hidden. A thrill ran through her at what it could mean. Was he interested in her for more than her soul? If so, the guilt must have hit him immediately, for his eyes lowered, then shut. He remained motionless as they stood together, her hands around his.

  “You’re taking a long time,” she said. “Surely you’ve made a wish by now.”

  “I reckon it’s more like praying.” He shot her a wary glance. “And with you around, I can’t do too much of that.”

  She released his hand and moistened her suddenly dry lips. “In order for your wish to come true, you toss the coin into the fountain.”

  He looked at the penny. “I could skip it across the top and see if it’ll bounce out the other side.”

  “Just a simple toss. No fuss, please.”

  Shrugging, he bounced the coin out of his hand. One fish startled at the splash, but the rest maintained their composed gliding. No matter how the surface was disturbed, they weren’t ruffled.

  And neither should she be. Calista closed her handbag. “You’re here for me?”

  “We promised your grandma.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  He motioned for her to precede him out of the hotel lobby. Gentlemanly, but he failed to offer his arm. The sidewalk wasn’t full of carousing drunkards this time, so maybe he didn’t think it necessary. Despite her protestations, he paid for the streetcar and stood guard over her so no one entering or exiting would crowd her seat.

  Calista looked out the window as the ornate buildings of Joplin passed. So much misery hidden behind those facades. The space that had been empty rolling fields when she was young was now renowned for its vice and corruption, all because someone had scratched through the surface of the ground and found ore. The financial gain that looked like a blessing had brought a curse to hundreds.

  Poor Matthew. He was trying to compete with the glimmering allure of sin. If she thought he was the type to become frustrated and wash his hands of Joplin’s residents, she wouldn’t worry about him, but she knew better. He cared. He mourned for their weaknesses.

  And she was giving him even more to worry about.

  The sun flashed between the buildings as the streetcar clanged down the road. At least tonight she could be with believers. She could hear God’s Word and be refreshed. Even if she had to pretend to be indifferent, her heart would know the truth.

  The bell clanged. Matthew offered his hand. She took it and let him escort her off the streetcar. They were on the outskirts of town. After one more block, they’d passed the Joplin Gas Company’s office and had reached the beginnings of the mines. To the north stood the Jack Rose Mine. Tall, utilitarian buildings of odd sizes and angles marred the spotless sky. Conveyor belts connected loaders over railroad tracks that were full of heavy cars waiting to start their trek to the smelters and then on to the factories of the world. The chat piles were gray mountains of shards of rock, discarded once the ore had been removed. This spot in the tri-state area was the world’s leading producer of zinc and lead, but that success hadn’t been shared by all.

  At the edge of the works stood rows of shabby houses built for the miners. Made of rough boards and clumsy tin roofs, they didn’t look comfortable, but the miners who lived there were guaranteed a paycheck and steady work. She and Matthew walked around the settlement to the prospectors’ leases. Here the shelters depended solely on the luck of the prospector. Stained and ripped tents flapped in the wind. A tidy frame house showed that the man leasing that plot possessed both luck and determination. And then there were those who’d struck enough ore that they could move into town. In fact, quite a few of the mansions in the rich Murphysburg section of town belonged to men who had lived in tents like these just a few years ago.

  “It’s so capricious,” Calista said, noting the differences in the homes they were passing. “What distinguishes the man who draws an ore-poor plot from one who hits a bonanza?”

  “It’s a field of opportunity, wide open to anyone, and most of them make something. It’s what they do with their first earnings that often sets the stage for either success or failure. A wise man sets aside some for the weeks when his pocket of ore runs dry. A foolish man squanders what he makes, thinking that tomorrow he’ll make the same or even more. One bad decision leads to more bad decisions, and there are plenty around who aim to ease them away from their money.

  “This is Irvin’s place.” Matthew stopped and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “As you can tell from the tent, he hasn’t gotten off to a good start, but I have hopes for him.” He eyed her with confidence. “I have hopes for a lot of people.”

  Calista returned the smile, but inside, her spirits were sagging. This looked like an unlikely place to find Lila. No entertainment this far out of town. Nothing of interest to draw a troubled young girl out of the city. The sooner Calista could solve the case, the sooner she could stop misleading Matthew. Would she ever tell him the whole truth? Probably not, but it would be a relief to be able to show her true colors instead of pretending to be a reprehensible young lady. How pleased he’d be at the suddenness and completeness of her conversion.

  “Hello, Pastor!” Irvin stepped out of his tent, squatted next to a bucket, and splashed water on his arms as he scrubbed at the dirt. “Dan and Loretta are bringing chairs. They’ll be back in a jiffy.” The dirt on his arms turned to mud and ran down his skin in rivulets.

  “What do you say we meet out here?” Matthew asked.

  Irvin scrunched up his face. “Probably best if we did. I don’t want the ladies to lay eyes on my dirty sundries.”

  “That’s enough reason. Dry off, and I’ll introduce you to our guest.”

  Calista stepped forward once Irvin had dried his hands on his pant legs. “Thank you for inviting us to your property,” she said. “It’s nice to get away from t
he city.” Mixing with people of all classes was necessary for her job, and doing it well was the mark of being truly educated.

  Besides Irvin, another man appeared, a young, buoyant fellow named Silas Marsh. He swaggered like a parade of admirers was following in his wake and smiled like it was the dearest gift he could bestow on a person. Yet somehow Calista still found herself hoping he was as good as his opinion of himself. She accepted his introduction with warmth.

  The woman coming around the piles of chat had an eager, pleasant face. From her narrow shoulders and quick, graceful movements, Calista guessed her to be in her midtwenties. She set down the chair she was carrying and turned smoothly to Calista.

  “Welcome to our gathering. I’m Loretta Campbell, and I’m plumb tickled to have another gal here.” Her dress was neat but faded and covered by a patched apron. She wore a bracelet made from a leather strap and pieces of mother-of-pearl, readily available from clams in the local rivers.

  Her husband removed his hat and leaned forward to shake Calista’s hand, marking him as someone who didn’t know it was impolite to request a handshake from a lady. Not that she was offended. Not at all. She merely found it useful to be observant.

  Another miner, introduced as Cokey John, completed the gathering. Cokey sat with his arms hanging listlessly at his sides as if they were too heavy to stow away properly. From his nearly absent response to Matthew’s greeting, Calista got the impression he wasn’t pleased to be there. Matthew seemed unaware of his skepticism.

  Matthew moved the chairs around so they were in a circle, nearly knee-to-knee. Calista sat next to Loretta, but that put her directly opposite of Matthew. Every time she looked up, their eyes met, which was unsettling. She guessed it was unsettling to him too, because he stuttered as he asked to borrow the Campbells’ Bible. Matthew turned to Galatians, chapter six, and they passed the book around, each reading a verse or two—all except for Irvin, who demurred, saying his eyesight wasn’t good enough.