Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  Calista looked about the circle and felt the sharp jab of wistfulness. These friends hadn’t been together for long, but with the exception of Cokey, they’d already begun to face the future together. She could see it in the way Irvin deferred to Loretta, the way Dan punched Silas on the arm like a brother, and the way they all fussed over Matthew. This community was something she would never have as a Pink. Instead, she’d have a new identity for every case, and a different personality for each location. And if she did manage to make friends while working, those ties would wither when she up and left town one day without any explanation or good-bye. Even Matthew would disappear from her life and couldn’t know why.

  “Verse nine,” Loretta said as she passed the Bible onto Calista’s lap.

  Calista moistened her lips, then read, “‘And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.’” Her eyes blurred. She was weary. While she believed that she was doing good, she wondered at the sacrifice. Was it worth it? And if she didn’t have success, if she couldn’t find Lila, would she have the strength to move on to another case?

  Loretta patted her on the back. Calista cleared her throat and continued, “‘As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.’”

  A household of faith—that was a good description for this fledging group. Something she wanted to belong to again. She blinked away tears before looking up. Why did Matthew have to look so kind and understanding? He didn’t understand anything. And she had to make sure she kept it that way.

  Something in the passage had softened Calista’s heart. It never ceased to amaze Matthew how Scripture could mean so many different things to different people. Take this chapter, for example. While it was meant as encouragement to the saints, somehow it had struck a chord with Calista. Or maybe he was presuming too much. Whatever was happening, he knew it was for the best.

  The sun warmed his neck as he bent forward in his seat. He talked about the struggles of persevering, the monotony of making good decisions day after day, the resistance one met when taking that first step. Dan Campbell reached over and took his wife’s hand, while Loretta patted Calista’s back with her other hand. Silas fanned himself with his hat, and though he was listening, he couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to Calista. With elbows resting on his knees, Irvin rubbed his hands together, only interrupted by the sudden jerks he made as he fought to stay comfortable on the stool he’d produced from his tent. Cokey dozed fitfully.

  “It’s easy to get overwhelmed in a society like ours,” Matthew said. “Wealth beckons from every quarter, yet remains just out of reach for most of us. It’s easy to get distracted, to allow our material concerns to shadow what’s really important.”

  Cokey snorted. “What do you know about it, Reverend?”

  So he hadn’t been asleep the whole time? Matthew brushed away the pride he felt at the title and addressed the question. “What do I know about money? I know that we should seek first the kingdom of God—”

  “It’s easy for you to say, but you aren’t breaking your back in the mines every day. I don’t know where you get your funds, but if you had to dig in the bowels of the earth for every penny, you’d have a better understanding of what we’re up against.”

  Matthew glanced around the group. Silas hid a smile, while Dan kept his head down, cleaning his fingernails. Irvin’s face was tilted up toward the sky as if he were weighing the fairness of Cokey’s claim. Matthew closed the Bible. He didn’t need to read it in print to know that Cokey was right.

  “That’s a fine suggestion,” he said. “And I’ve already acted on it. I start at the Fox-Berry on Monday.”

  “The Fox-Berry?” Calista grimaced. “Did you meet Oscar Kentworth?”

  One glance at her was all he needed to know this was another member of her invasive family. “Yes, I did. A very respectable man, he was.”

  Calista dropped her gaze and refolded her gloves on her lap.

  “When I first came to town, I worked at the Quaker,” Dan said. “I hadn’t been there six months when the powder monkeys let a charge go off before we were clear. The blast messed me up. I was luckier than some, but it broke my leg. Couldn’t work at the mine with a broken leg, and they wouldn’t hire me back once I’d been injured. No one wanted to hire me.”

  The memory was too much for Loretta. She crumpled, her hands over her face. Calista patted Loretta’s knee and looked up, meeting Matthew’s gaze. In that raw moment, a solidarity was communicated.

  “We had no income, and just a little money set by.” Dan cast a worried glance at his wife but plowed ahead. “Once I was healed, we used that money to lease our claim, and since then we’ve met nothing but misery. It hasn’t paid out enough to make ends meet. We’ve been in a bad way. Pray for us, if you’re of a mind to.”

  “All the time,” Matthew said, moved by Dan’s simple report and Loretta’s sorrow. Even Cokey nodded, no longer pouting over his own grief.

  After they’d prayed and ended the service, Calista continued to comfort Loretta, while the men talked over each other, trying to supply Matthew with new terms and techniques he’d need as a miner. Matthew knew Calista was dishonest, but this moment was authentic. Perhaps he’d misjudged her. Was Calista York someone who had been led astray? Whatever the case, he wanted to believe her destined for redemption. He wanted her on his side.

  The sun was going down, and these men didn’t get enough rest as it was. Tomorrow was Thursday, and they’d be back at work, so he decided to end the meeting. After they sang a closing song—Calista knew all the words, he noticed—everyone said their good-byes.

  “What are you doing in Joplin?” Silas asked Calista.

  Although Matthew was very interested in her answer, Irvin caught him by the arm.

  “Matthew, I need to ask you for the last of my money.” He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead and disturbed a scraggly eyebrow. “I’m running low on vittles, but Saturday is just around the corner.”

  “Sure, here it is.” Matthew yanked the money pouch out of his vest pocket and nearly tossed it at Irvin, then turned his head to catch Calista’s reply.

  But Irvin wasn’t done. “This week was more tolerable than the last,” he said. “Thank you for having good common sense when I had none.”

  “My pleasure,” Matthew replied.

  “Are all the girls in Kansas City as pretty as you?” Silas was asking.

  Matthew liked Silas. He was good-humored and quick-witted. Actually, Matthew didn’t like Silas, come to think of it.

  “It was a help,” Irvin said, “and I learned my lesson. This Saturday, I’ll keep my money tight to my chest. We won’t be quickly parted, so I won’t need your help.”

  “. . . my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins, so I’m not completely alone.” Did she sound too friendly? Was she humoring Silas, or did she find him that amusing?

  Matthew forced his attention back to Irvin. “You say you’ve eaten better this week than any week in the past, and then you say that you want to go back to doing it the way you were? Where’s the logic in that?”

  “I know better than to gamble or drink it all away now. I’ll spend a few dollars to wet my whistle, and I won’t wager a buck unless I’m feeling particularly lucky, but if that’s the case, then I’ll come home with more money than you can imagine.”

  Let us not grow weary, let us not grow weary.

  “Saturday is payday.” Silas was looking at Calista with that aw-shucks grin he’d no doubt perfected at barn dances. “If you aren’t doing anything, I’d be honored—”

  “Saturday night we’re going to have a party,” Matthew blurted.

  Irvin’s eyes narrowed. Silas stepped back with a nervous chuckle, but Calista merely tilted her head.

  “That’s right,” Matthew continued. “I’d forgotten to tell you. Why shouldn’t we get together and celebrate weekly wages? There’s nothing wrong with that
. Come to my house behind Trochet’s Flowers. Irvin knows where it is.” He felt ashamed by how long he paused before adding, “Even you, Silas. What do you say?”

  Irvin’s mouth went slack, showing a few gaps where teeth should’ve been. “I don’t know . . .”

  “I’ll be there,” Silas said. “I, for one, will be happy to avoid the debauchery on the streets.”

  Matthew looked at Calista. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

  “I suppose I’ll be there,” she said. “After all, it’s just next door, but I really thought you’d meant for us to be there alone.” She winked at him as she started off on the road toward town.

  Matthew gawked and then had to hide a smug smile when he realized that, once again, she’d used him as a decoy to get her out of a conversation with an overzealous man. He was pleased to be of assistance—whatever he could do to protect her—but he couldn’t help but wish that her flirting wasn’t part of some act.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Calista closed her book and rose off the sofa in the sitting room of her apartment at the Keystone. The stark contrast of the white woodwork against the blue walls gave the room a crisp air. The pattern on the sofa’s upholstery was as clear and sharp as Delft Blue pottery, but she was drawn to the window. The sun rising behind her hotel lit the windows of the buildings across the street and turned them into a burnished liquid gold—a color that hadn’t been reproduced by the most talented jeweler or painter.

  Ladies of the night weren’t out and about this time of the morning, but from this height, Calista could watch the streetcars disappearing behind buildings and then reappearing in the gaps as they skimmed down their tracks. The wagons, horses, and automobiles moved more deliberately, stopping in clumps, then going forward as they picked their way ahead. In the distance, over the tops of the roof gardens and water tanks, the sharp points of the mines’ conveyor belts jutted up into the sky. She couldn’t see it from there, but she guessed they were already running, processing the ore that the miners had dug up that morning.

  It was a busy, bustling town, full of buoyant optimism. The poor could become rich. The rich could get even richer. From the sixth floor of a fine hotel, there was much to admire.

  But more than the expanding town, the progress of modern conveniences, the jovial spirit that accompanied every Saturday payday—she admired what she saw in the tiny garden behind the flower store.

  He’d been there since she’d woken up, sitting in a wrought-iron chair at the small round table with his Bible open. The table was too small to hold his notebook too, so he kept it on his lap until he found something that brooked noting, then balanced it on the edge of the table. It was adorable how he crammed his broad shoulders over the table as he bent over the notebook. How he tugged at his left eyebrow while trying to think of what to write. How every few minutes he bowed his head and clasped his hands together. She couldn’t see his face, but she’d bet he was praying. Possibly even praying for her.

  Since she’d gone with Matthew to the ore fields, he’d become more comfortable around her. It was clear she was earning his trust, but she hadn’t decided if this was beneficial. Her plan of integrating into the seedier side of the business world hadn’t panned out as she’d hoped. Perhaps membership in such a scandalous world was more difficult to obtain than she’d bargained for. Or perhaps there was nothing hidden, and Lila Seaton was nowhere near Joplin. While that might be the case, Calista couldn’t assume anything. Finding Lila was too important to leave up to chance. If she wasn’t getting results, then she’d have to attack from a new angle. And that was where Matthew came into play.

  She picked up her shoe from the floor, pulled it on, and then propped her foot on the windowsill. Tugging at the shoelaces, she kept an eye on Matthew as he left off studying and began to patrol the flower garden. Calista had no remorse for posing as an out-of-work decorator, or nurse, or florist. Her cause was just, and if the good, decent people knew why she was misleading them, they wouldn’t have minded. And she had no care for what those who did oppose her quest thought. But what about her plans today? She didn’t have to pretend to be a Christian. She was one. She didn’t have to pretend to care about the fate of the young mothers and children at the Children’s Home. Yet this felt different. Not disclosing her story felt dishonest when it came to Matthew. Volunteering for charity work when she had ulterior motives felt hypocritical.

  She’d laced both shoes. He’d gone to pinching off dead blooms, methodically working over one stand of lilies at a time. He bent and twisted off a dead rose bud next to the gate of the garden, then headed inside his cabin, only pausing to gather his study materials. Her view was superior, but she envied him his greenery and the quiet, rooted peacefulness of the garden. Perhaps she’d get to see it that night when they had their party.

  Until then, she was headed to the Children’s Home. After much haranguing, Matthew had written a letter of recommendation for her, and the home had requested her help for the morning. Their workers were clearing out an old vegetable garden that had fallen into disuse, and they needed extra hands to tend to the kids while they cleared out last year’s patch. She was glad for the chance. If all went as planned, she could get another opportunity to befriend Mrs. Bowman and perhaps be allowed to visit the mothers on behalf of the Children’s Home. It was worth the attempt.

  By the time Calista stood at the front desk at the Children’s Home, it was nearing ten o’clock, but her spirits rose when Mrs. Bowman herself came to show Calista the playroom.

  “I’m surprised you were approved,” said Mrs. Bowman with the direct innocence of a child. “I didn’t know what to think when you asked all those questions about the girls at the House of Lords, but we’re excited for your help today. Just think what all we could plant next year if we get that garden producing.”

  “I’m available to help in other ways too.” Calista eyed the dark-haired beauty behind the thick spectacles. “For instance, running errands or making visits.”

  Mrs. Bowman beamed at the suggestion. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Fairfield. It would be wonderful if you could purchase the bulk dry goods for the larder. That would allow me more time for my visits.”

  Before Calista could make another helpful suggestion, Mrs. Bowman opened a half door, and a score of serious toddler eyes turned their way. A bald-headed fellow lowered a tin rattle, stringing a web of slobber from it to his mouth. A thin little girl dropped her wooden doll and crawled toward Calista’s feet. Another baby—boy or girl Calista couldn’t guess in its white gown—took advantage of the distraction to steal a ball from a neighbor.

  Mrs. Bowman knelt and, using the hem of her apron, wiped slobber off the face of one of the kids. “Miss Provone, you’re free to go, if you’d like.”

  Miss Provone disentangled a baby’s fingers from her curly blond hair and set the baby on the ground. “Thank you, miss,” she said to Calista. “I love these wee ones, but after a full week, working in the garden will be a welcome change of pace.”

  Calista felt like a giant looking down on all the babies. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Keep them from hurting each other or eating something that will kill them,” Mrs. Bowman said. “Someone will be at the desk right outside the door if you need anything. Oh, and if it stinks, change it.”

  How could Calista do any investigating while responsible for a dozen babies? She stalled. “How long have you worked here, Mrs. Bowman?” Mrs. Bowman didn’t look much older than Calista, but she was infinitely more at ease with the children.

  “Nearly a year. My husband and I thought it would be a good place for me to practice my mothering skills before we had a little one of our own.”

  Habit sent Calista’s gaze to the other woman’s waistline, but there was no evidence of a happy event on the horizon.

  “How about you?” Mrs. Bowman asked. “Why are you volunteering here? Let me guess—you were the oldest in a big family, and now that you’re away from home, you mi
ss caring for children. You feel lost without a baby on your hip.”

  It took all of Calista’s self-control not to snort. She hadn’t raised her siblings. While her mother was loving and involved, a team of nurses and governesses had played a part in her raising as well. “I really don’t know how to diaper a child. I have no experience at all. I’m here because when I heard Matthew talking about it . . .”

  “Matthew? Are you talking about that handsome preacher who comes to teach the kids?” Mrs. Bowman’s fine eyebrow lifted. “He’s reason enough to get involved, isn’t he?”

  The woman who popped her head into the doorway wasn’t wearing a uniform. She wore a man’s shirt untucked over a skirt made of coarse cloth. With a hoe held over her shoulder, she said, “She’s sweet on Matthew?” She clicked her tongue. “I’d hoped my Lilith would catch his eye, but I’m not surprised he’d find you more interesting. You’ve got that slim waist that men like. Lilith has lumps where girls shouldn’t have lumps, and she’s prone to lisping. On the other hand, she is better endowed than you. If you want that shirt to fit properly, you should buy something padded—”

  “Frannie!” Mrs. Bowman giggled. “You’d better get to the garden.”

  Frannie waved her hoe and, with a salute, headed outdoors.

  Mrs. Bowman rolled her eyes. “Sorry about her. She’s well-meaning but tends to speak too plainly.”

  “I’d rather have blunt honesty than padded falsehood.” Then, remembering the last use of the word padded, Calista adjusted her shirt.

  “Her point was that we all admire Matthew and think he’s a fine catch. If there’s any way we can help—”

  “No.” Calista held up a hand, then realized her protests had no basis. “I . . . he doesn’t know. I would be embarrassed. He’s such an upright man, and I’m so . . . modest. Please, I don’t want to seem forward.”