The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Father, fill me with Your peace.

  She wouldn’t have agreed to run if she hadn’t thought God had told her it was the right thing to do. She wouldn’t have run if her father and sister hadn’t agreed that she should.

  May Your will be done, Lord.

  Cleo had worked hard this past week, going from house to house and business to business, sharing what Gwen wanted to accomplish as mayor — improvements to the school, better streets and sidewalks, new equipment for the fire department. Would that information help persuade those who had reservations about a woman holding office?

  Which one of us do You mean to be mayor?

  Gwen didn’t doubt that Morgan was a follower of Christ. She’d observed him enough, listened to him enough, to convince her that his faith was real.

  But shouldn’t he concentrate on the resort if he believes You brought him here to build it?

  Guilt pricked her spirit. That was a selfish prayer.

  Help me not to be envious or resentful if he should win the election.

  Gwen opened her eyes and stared at the wooden cross on the wall above the altar. Like a caress, she felt peace brush against her heart. The nervousness she had felt earlier was gone. Whatever happened tonight, she would be all right. Whatever happened in the election, she would be all right. She would trust in the will of the Lord.

  Thank You, Father.

  She stood, stepped into the center aisle, and walked toward the back of the sanctuary. Moments later, she moved into the bright June sunshine. The day was already warming. She hoped it wouldn’t be too hot by the time Owen arrived for his lesson.

  Speaking of the boy, wasn’t that him riding pell-mell toward her on a bicycle? Kitty must have come up with the money to fix the tire, but how Gwen couldn’t imagine.

  When Owen saw her, he skidded to a halt. “Hey, Miss Arlington.”

  She walked up to him. “Good morning, Owen. I see both your knee and your bicycle tire are much improved.”

  “The tire wasn’t fixed. It’s a whole new bike!”

  “A new bike?”

  “Mr. McKinley brought it to me this morning. He had it shipped up from Boise special, just for me.”

  “He did?”

  “Ma tried to tell him we couldn’t accept it, but he talked her into it. But she says I’m gonna have to do some chores for him until I’ve paid him back.”

  Yes, that sounded like Kitty Goldsmith. She might be poor but she was proud.

  Owen’s smile was brighter than the sunshine. “I’ve never had nothin’ as nice as this bike. Not ever.”

  “It’s a beautiful bicycle, Owen. Be careful that you don’t take another tumble.”

  The boy laughed. “I won’t, Miss Arlington. I’m gonna take real good care of it.”

  As Owen prepared to ride away, Gwen said, “Don’t forget your lesson this afternoon.”

  “I won’t.” And away he went.

  She wondered if Morgan had any notion what a wonderful thing he’d done for that boy. He was a wealthy man, she knew, and well able to afford the gift he’d given. But had he understood in advance how much it would mean to Owen?

  Yes. He must have. And she couldn’t help but like him all the more for it.

  If she lost the election to him, at least she could take comfort in knowing he was a man with a compassionate heart.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The basement of the Bethlehem Springs Methodist Church was filled with chairs and benches, most of them occupied fifteen minutes before the hour. It was an even better turnout than Morgan had expected.

  “Mr. McKinley.”

  He turned toward the sound of Gwen’s voice. She stood in the doorway of the small room where he’d been collecting his thoughts. She wore a jacket and skirt, deep rose in color, and a small hat without decoration. Her attire, he was certain, was meant to say, Take me seriously. I mean business.

  “Owen Goldsmith showed me his new bicycle today,” she said.

  “He was excited when I delivered it.”

  There was an unspoken question in her gaze. “It was a wonderful gift.”

  “I could see how things are for the Goldsmiths. Owen wouldn’t have had a new tire for a long while. Maybe not ever.” He shrugged. “I wanted to help out. A boy should have a bike.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Goldsmith have had a great deal of trouble in recent years. They won’t forget your kindness to them.”

  Could she mean — ? No, surely she didn’t mean that. But just to make certain, he said, “I didn’t do it to get their votes, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  She looked surprised. “Of course not. I believe I know you better than to think that.”

  Did she? Did she know him well enough not to suspect his motives? He hoped so. He wanted her to know him well. Well enough to fall in love with him.

  Gwen Arlington already owned his heart. He’d sworn he would never again fall victim to a pretty face, and he hadn’t. Oh, she was beautiful, but he’d fallen for so much more than that. And if it weren’t for the election, he would have made it clear by now that he was courting her. He wouldn’t be moving with such care. Maybe he would already have a better idea how she felt about him.

  Kenneth Barker, the Methodist minister, opened the door and looked into the antechamber. “Here you both are. It’s time we begin. Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Gwen answered.

  “We’re ready,” Morgan added.

  “Good. I’ll introduce you, and then we’ll begin with Miss Arlington. There’s a good crowd. It’s great to see the community so interested.” The reverend disappeared from view.

  “Well, here we go.” Morgan motioned for her to precede him. “Good luck to you.”

  “I don’t believe in luck, Mr. McKinley.” She walked toward the door, shoulders straight and head high.

  Morgan smiled. Neither do I.

  Gwen had felt a few flutters of nerves earlier in the evening, but they vanished when she faced the crowd. She didn’t have to look at her notes to remind herself what she wanted to say. She knew what concerned her friends and neighbors, because those things concerned her as well.

  “As mayor, it would be my goal to encourage new enterprises to do business in Bethlehem Springs. That will become even easier once a railroad spur is brought up our way. Will the railroad come to our town? I have it on good authority” — she sent a fleeting smile toward Senator Rudyard where he stood in the back of the room — “that it will. And once my worthy opponent’s health spa opens” — she nodded toward Morgan — “we will see an influx of visitors to our community. That will benefit many of our local businesses and tradesmen.”

  Her gaze fell upon Harrison Carter, seated in the third row center. There was no misunderstanding the expression on his face. He was displeased with her opening address. Knowing he was against the completion of Morgan’s spa, she knew he wasn’t happy with her endorsement of the same. She didn’t care. Everything she’d said in the past ten minutes had been from her heart.

  She brought her comments to a close with some words of thanks to those who had supported and encouraged her in her candidacy, especially her father and sister. Then she returned to the chair beside Morgan and sat down.

  “Excellent job,” he whispered.

  Kenneth Barker stepped to the podium. “And now we will hear from Morgan McKinley.”

  Morgan rose, and there was some applause. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” He glanced at his notes, then set them aside on the lectern and began to speak.

  Gwen noted his ease as he addressed the audience, most of whom he’d never met. His voice was pleasant and engaging. He had an air about him that seemed to invite people to be his friend. Magnetism. Charm. Business experience. A knowledge of the world at large. All of these were obvious assets.

  He talked about the need for improvements to the school, the firehouse, and other city departments. He talked about the need for more openness in government at the local level. He talked about the need for more
businesses, and he talked about the importance of the railroad. In many ways, he seemed to be parroting her comments.

  She sat a little straighter. Yes. He was parroting her. How could he do that? Was his strategy to say that both candidates wanted the same things, therefore, vote for a man instead of a woman? It made her so angry she wanted to box his ears. It made her so angry that she almost missed his closing statement.

  “As you have heard, my positions are almost identical to those taken by Miss Arlington. And so I tell you this. While I will serve the people of Bethlehem Springs with integrity and purpose if elected, I believe Gwen Arlington will be the better mayor. She is your neighbor, and her family has lived here for over three decades. Miss Arlington knows Bethlehem Springs and loves it. Thus, when I go to the voting booth on Election Day, I plan to cast my vote for my worthy opponent. I encourage you to do the same.” Morgan turned toward Gwen and gave her a slight bow.

  The room was gripped by a stunned silence. Not so much as the creak of a chair or the tap of a foot. Gwen found it hard to breathe. Had he said what she thought he’d said?

  The Methodist minister stepped forward and placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Well…” He cleared his throat. “I must say that was unexpected. I’m not sure how these two people can debate after that pronouncement.” He glanced at Morgan. “Perhaps we should take questions from the audience instead.” His gaze moved from Morgan to where Gwen sat.

  She nodded, rose to her feet, and moved to stand beside Morgan, hoping she looked more composed than she felt. Her mind was still trying to understand this surprising turn of events. How could she form intelligent answers with her thoughts in such disarray?

  But no one posed any questions. Instead, one by one, people began rising to their feet and applauding.

  “Vote for Arlington!” someone shouted — it sounded like Cleo — and the chant was picked up by others. “Vote for Arlington!”

  Gwen felt a flush of excitement in her cheeks as she raised a hand to wave at the crowd. She was going to win the election. She could feel it in the air.

  And I have Morgan to thank for it.

  That dampened her pleasure a little. After all, she’d wanted to win because she was qualified, because voters liked her ideas and had confidence in her ability to be a good mayor. Was that the case now? Or would they vote for her because Morgan had told them to?

  What are you up to, McKinley? Harrison wondered as he stood with the rest of the crowd, applauding.

  A man didn’t throw an election to his opponent unless he had something to gain from it. Was Morgan just interested in a pretty skirt or did he have another motive?

  Whatever the reason, Harrison didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. But even more problematic, in his mind, was Gwen Arlington’s independent streak. She was proving to be difficult to control, as evidenced by her rejection of the advice he’d tried to give her. He still hadn’t decided how he would bring her to heel.

  Susannah placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “It’s rather exciting to think we will have a woman mayor. How times have changed.”

  His wife was right. Times had changed. But not always for the better. For instance, it was well and good for women to have the vote — as long as they followed the guidance of their fathers or husbands in how to cast those votes. What he didn’t like was the self-reliant streak that was becoming all too common among women in these early years of the twentieth century.

  Which brought his thoughts back to Gwen, who was now surrounded by a number of well-wishers, including her father and that outrageous sister of hers.

  Yes, we shall have to bring you in hand, Miss Arlington. Indeed, we shall.

  “By George!” William Rudyard exclaimed as he slapped Morgan on the shoulder. “You are an unpredictable man, are you not? Whatever made you do that?”

  Morgan grinned and shook his head. “I’m not sure, Billy. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t come here with that in mind. I guess Miss Arlington won me over during her opening remarks.” He glanced once more in Gwen’s direction, but he could no longer see her in the milling crowd.

  “Beautiful women have changed the course of history more than once through the ages. I guess one has done so again.” William laughed.

  “I didn’t do it because she’s beautiful.”

  “Oh, I know that, son. I was joshing with you. You wouldn’t have said what you did unless you thought she was the better candidate.”

  Morgan nodded. He hoped everyone had William’s insight, and he hoped everyone understood how remarkable Gwen was. Her remarks had been intelligent, articulate, and right on point. He’d wager even the senator couldn’t have given a better speech.

  “Shall we return to your home? My friends and I want to get an early start in the morning.”

  “I’m ready.” He stepped off the stage.

  The room was beginning to empty out, and he caught a glimpse of Gwen, standing between her father and sister, talking to about a half dozen citizens. Her color was still high, and even from across the room, he could tell there was a look of exhilaration in her eyes.

  “Pretty as the day is long,” William said.

  Prettier, Morgan thought. Much prettier. And smart. And kind. And caring.

  William pointed toward the back of the room. “There’s Clive and Jeremiah.”

  Morgan wasn’t surprised to find the two other senators engaged in conversation with Harrison Carter, an attractive woman — presumably his wife — at his side. He had expected the commissioner to try to learn why the senators were in town. This had been the ideal place for him to do so.

  Clive Austin grinned at Morgan as he and William approached. “Mr. McKinley, I believe you shocked every last person in the room.”

  Morgan inclined his head in acknowledgment.

  “I’m glad I was here to see this,” Jeremiah Hayes said. “Wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”

  “I merely said what I thought.” Morgan turned his gaze on Harrison. “Here is one man who I know agrees with me. He’s always thought Miss Arlington the better candidate.”

  Harrison’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Indeed.”

  Clive said, “I was telling Mr. Carter how impressed I was with your health spa.”

  That must have thrilled him.

  “And I would like to hear more, Senator Austin,” Harrison said, “but it is time my wife and I returned home.”

  Farewells were exchanged, and then Harrison escorted his still-silent wife out of the basement of the Methodist church.

  “You have an enemy there,” William said.

  “I know, Billy. I just don’t know why.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Gwen tapped her index finger against her upper lip as she frowned at the paper on her writing desk. A few days ago, she’d had half a dozen ideas for her next newspaper article. Today, each and every one seemed banal, completely uninspired, and overdone.

  She could write about her surprise over her opponent’s endorsement, but that seemed rather self-serving. Besides, that had been the hot topic of discussion following Sunday services in every church in town. Was it possible anyone who might be interested hadn’t heard what happened last Saturday night?

  The mantel clock chimed the hour. Two o’clock. Another hour until she was to be at Morgan’s house for his lesson. Butterflies erupted in her belly at the thought.

  She hadn’t seen him since the night of the so-called debate, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing him today. With just a few words, he had almost assured her of winning the election. Should she thank him for it? Was there proper etiquette for a situation such as this? If so, she wasn’t aware of it.

  A sigh escaped her. How much simpler her life had been a month or two ago. She’d gone an entire year without seeing — let alone meeting — Mr. Morgan McKinley. The idea of running for mayor hadn’t crossed her mind. She’d been perfectly content, living alone, visiting with her father and sister, writing her articles for the newspaper, a
nd teaching her students. Now look at her. She couldn’t concentrate long enough to write a paragraph. And she kept looking at the clock and thinking about her next student.

  Morgan.

  His wonderful smile. His easy charm. The way he’d touched her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm as he introduced her to his guests at the dinner party last Friday. His long fingers as they traveled over the piano keys during his lessons — almost like a caress.

  Heat flooded her cheeks.

  Never in her twenty-eight years had thoughts of a man pestered her like this. She found them unacceptable. They must stop. She must make them stop.

  She rose from her writing desk and walked to the front porch. It had rained this morning. The air smelled fresher and the lawn looked greener — the colors of her flowers brighter with moisture clinging to blades, leaves, and petals. The sky was still overcast, the temperature cool. It might be wise if she drove her buggy to the McKinley home. But that was such a lot of work, getting her horse into the harness and traces, when she was going such a short distance. The clouds didn’t look threatening. No, she would walk and take an umbrella along, just in case.

  Gwen checked her watch. Not yet ten minutes after the hour. Oh, how time crawled today.

  “Fool,” she muttered. “Go and write this instant.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, she turned and reentered the house, determined to get at least one page written before it was time to leave.

  Boston, Massachusetts

  June 8, 1915

  My dear Morgan,

  I have not had a letter from you in such a very long while, dearest brother, but I have been a poor correspondent myself, so I cannot scold you too harshly. I hope all is going well for you and that you are pleased with your building project. I know it will be an enormous success. It does seem that the McKinley men have superbly good business acumen. Would that I had inherited some of the same traits, woman or no.