“I hope that’s what they’ll see.” Gwen released Cleo’s hand. “I’m starting to feel nervous. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to the debate. Maybe it will convince more people to vote for Mr. McKinley than for me.”
“Well, if that’s the outcome, I guess we’ll have to believe it’s God’s will. Won’t we?”
Strange, the way Cleo’s words broke through the worry that had been swirling inside Gwen. Her sister was right. She must leave the results in God’s hands. If He wanted her to be the mayor, then it would come about, and if not, then better she lose.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out, then stood. “I’ll get some writing paper and prepare my comments for you. And while I’m working on that” — she pointed toward the layer cake on the counter — “why don’t you cut yourself a piece of cake? I made it for you.”
“Well, if that don’t make me as happy as a pup with two tails.” Cleo whipped off her hat and hung it on the spindle of her chair, then made a beeline for the triple-layer cake.
Laughing softly — thinking to herself that there was no other woman in the world like Cleopatra Arlington — Gwen went after her writing materials.
NINETEEN
On Tuesday, Morgan found himself frequently checking his watch and the clocks in various rooms in the house. It seemed to him that three o’clock could not get there soon enough.
That morning he’d sent invitations to a number of influential members of the community for a dinner party in his home on the following Friday evening. But at the last minute, he decided that the occasion wouldn’t have anything to do with his campaign. And since it wouldn’t be campaign related, he could invite anyone he wanted — including Gwen Arlington. Therefore, he had one more invitation in his possession. It was addressed to her. He wanted them to be friends. No, closer than friends.
How much closer?
His mother had longed to see him married. She wouldn’t have minded grandchildren either. But after his experience with Yvette Dutetre, the last of a number of unfortunate romantic relationships, Morgan had decided he was a failure when it came to finding the right woman. He had reconciled himself to growing old without a wife or children. His life was full in many other ways. He had good friends, like Fagan Doyle, and he had the kind of wealth that allowed him to do good works, to be of service to others.
Only now, having met Gwen, Morgan was no longer reconciled to bachelorhood. He even thought she might be the reason God had brought him to Bethlehem Springs. New Hope could have been built in at least a half dozen other places in the western states, and yet he’d believed with certainty that this was where it was meant to be. Could Gwen be why?
He wandered into the front parlor and sat on the piano bench. His fingers settled on the keys and he ran through several scales. Then he checked the time again. Almost three o’clock.
He rose and walked to the front door, opening it in time to see Gwen arrive at his gate. “Good afternoon, Miss Arlington.” He stepped onto the veranda.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McKinley.” She came down the walk and climbed the steps.
The skirt of her dress was narrow, the hem reaching only to her ankles, the waistline loose in the style of the day. The fabric, a dusty-rose color, complemented her complexion. Her pale hair was parted in the middle and swept up and back. Morgan wondered how she would look if the pins were removed and her hair was allowed to tumble around her shoulders.
Beautiful. That’s how she would look. Just as she did now. And unlike too many other young women he’d known, her beauty was more than skin deep.
He realized then that he had been staring at her, and she knew it. Her flushed cheeks told him so.
“I’m looking forward to my lesson.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. He sounded like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher.
He held the door open and motioned her inside.
She walked without hesitation into the front parlor. At the piano, she set sheet music on the music desk, then turned to face him. “Let’s begin with scales.”
So that’s how it was to be. All business. All right. He hadn’t excelled in business by quitting at the first sign of difficulty. He wasn’t about to quit in his attempts to win her affections just because she seemed uninterested.
He sat on the bench, placed his fingers on the keys, and began running through the scales, all the while aware of where Gwen stood — behind him and one step to the right. He also heard the tap of her shoe on the hardwood floor, keeping time like a metronome.
Morgan McKinley had elegant hands. Large hands with long, narrow fingers. The hands of a gentleman. Yet Gwen suspected they were also the hands of a man unafraid of physical labor.
She imagined her right hand enfolded in his left, his right hand in the small of her back — gentle but firm, guiding her every step — as they twirled around a ballroom, an orchestra playing a waltz. Oh, how very much she loved to dance.
But it wasn’t an orchestra bringing the melody to life. It was Morgan. He’d finished his scales and now played from the sheet music — a basic but recognizable Viennese waltz — she’d left for him a week ago. Thankfully, he wasn’t looking at her. Thankfully he could have no idea where her imagination had taken her.
“That was very good,” she said when he finished.
He turned on the bench. “I’ve practiced every day. I wanted you to know I’m serious about becoming accomplished on the piano.”
Think of him as you think of any of your other students. He is just one of your students. Nothing more.
Tell that to her rapidly beating heart. What was it about this man that created such confusion inside of her? Whatever it was, she must put a stop to it.
She walked to the other end of the grand piano and looked at him through the open lid. “I shall have to bring more difficult pieces for you to learn, Mr. McKinley. You have a natural talent.”
He rose and stepped to one side. “Would you play something, Miss Arlington?”
“Me?” Her pulse quickened again.
“Please.” His voice was warm, almost like a caress. It was also irresistible.
With a nod of acquiescence, she returned to the keyboard and settled onto the bench. The smooth wood was still warm from his body heat.
Concentrate. Concentrate.
She chose to play a more difficult version of the same Viennese waltz, and it wasn’t long before she was lost in the melody. The instrument was a wonder, every note so clean and pure. The music swirled around her and filled every corner of the room. When she reached the end of the song, it was hard not to return to the beginning a second time. She was reluctant to stop.
Morgan cried, “Bravo!” and applauded.
Pleasure swept through Gwen. “Thank you.”
“You’ve given me something to aspire to.”
“I suspect the day will come when you surpass my playing, if you are diligent with your practice.”
“I’ll be diligent.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the side of the piano. “I can be very single minded when I have a goal in mind.”
A frisson of expectation shivered along her spine.
Morgan straightened. “Have you something new for me to work on this week?”
Sanity returned, and she reached for the sheet music she’d brought with her. “Yes, I do. I brought several songs for you to learn.” She opened the first one and played it for him. Afterward, she rose and offered him the bench. “Now you try it.”
It was like an intricate dance, Morgan thought, the way they moved around each other. One moment Gwen drew near. The next she moved away. One moment she smiled, her eyes filled with warmth. The next her expression was cool and distant.
She beguiled him.
She confused him.
He was almost relieved when Inez Cheevers entered the front parlor. Perhaps he could get his thoughts in order if he had a moment or two away from Gwen.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s a telegram for yo
u. I thought it might be important or else I would have waited.”
“Yes. Of course.” He nodded at the housekeeper, then said to Gwen, “I won’t be long. Please excuse me.”
Morgan had expected the telegram to be from one of his suppliers for New Hope. Instead, he found a message from William Rudyard:
ARRIVING BETHLEHEM SPRINGS THURSDAY. BRINGING TWO FELLOW SENATORS INTERESTED IN YOUR RESORT. STAYING UNTIL SUNDAY. WILL FIND WAY TO RESOLVE ISSUES.
BILLY
Morgan chuckled softly. Grass didn’t grow under the feet of William Rudyard. He’d known that. But he hadn’t expected such a quick response. Nor had he expected William to come to Bethlehem Springs in person. At least, not this soon.
He glanced toward the parlor.
The three senators would be here for his dinner party. Perfect!
He set the telegram on the table in the center of the entry before returning to the front parlor. Gwen stood at the large windows that overlooked the town. He crossed the room to join her there.
“You can see the roof of my home from here,” she said softly.
“Which one is it?” As if he hadn’t discovered that on his own. Was his question the same as a lie?
She pointed. “There. The one with the tall weeping willow in the backyard.”
“Ah, yes. I see it.”
She looked at him, concern in her eyes. “I pray the telegram wasn’t bad news.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not bad news. In fact, it was good news. I’m to have some visitors from the state capital. Three senators who are coming to see New Hope.”
“Word of your health resort is spreading already. That’s good.”
This seemed the perfect opportunity, and Morgan took it. “I’m going to have a dinner party on Friday night. I’d like it if you came.” To ensure her agreement, he added, “If you become the mayor of Bethlehem Springs, it wouldn’t hurt for you to know some of the men in state government.”
Gwen Arlington would never make a good poker player, Morgan thought, for he would swear her eyes revealed each and every thought as she weighed his invitation. He knew the precise moment she decided to accept.
But to be on the safe side, he said, “I would be very honored to have you here.”
“Thank you. I accept your kind invitation.”
Relief flooded through him and he smiled, not trying to disguise how pleased he was.
Gwen smiled too. “You are a rather strange political opponent, Mr. McKinley. Asking me to give you piano lessons. Giving me a private tour of your resort. Inviting me to your dinner parties. Aren’t you concerned how I might use the things I learn about you to my own advantage?”
“Miss Arlington, if you should learn something that makes me unworthy or unsuitable to serve as mayor, then it would be your right and your duty to inform the voters of it. I expect nothing else.”
Her smile faded as he spoke, replaced by a frown that pinched the skin above the bridge of her nose. “I don’t understand you.”
Morgan wanted to kiss away the frown, but he wisely took a step backward, out of temptation’s reach. “Shall we continue my lesson before our time is up?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks grew flushed. “Of course.”
He would kiss her. One day he would kiss her. He hoped that day came soon — before the waiting drove him crazy.
TWENTY
When the dust-covered Cadillac rolled into the turn-around in front of the McKinley house on Thursday afternoon, Morgan stepped onto the veranda and waited for the vehicle’s passengers to disembark. The household had been in a general uproar for the past two days as guest bedrooms were cleaned and aired and everything made ready for William and his fellow senators. Now they were here.
Senator William Rudyard — Billy to his friends — was a large man, both in height and weight. His complexion was naturally ruddy, but his love for the outdoors made it even more so. Though not yet sixty, his hair was pure white.
“By George! We’re here at last, Morgan.” William strode toward the front steps. “I hope we haven’t come at an inopportune time. I gathered from your message that you want these troublesome matters resolved as quickly as possible.” He climbed the steps to where Morgan stood.
“You’re welcome in my home anytime, sir. You must know that.” Morgan shook the senator’s hand.
William turned toward the other two men who now stood at the top of the steps. “Gentlemen, this young man is Morgan McKinley. Morgan, meet Senator Jeremiah Hayes and Senator Clive Austin.”
“How do you do?” Morgan shook the men’s hands. “Welcome.” He motioned toward the front door. “Do come in. I’m sure you’d like something to drink to wash away the dust of your journey. I’ll have your luggage brought into the house and put into your rooms.”
William put an arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “I must say. I was surprised when I learned you’d moved to Idaho. More than once I tried to convince Danielle to marry me and settle here.”
“I know.”
Softer this time: “I miss your mother.”
Morgan nodded.
“She was the finest woman I’ve ever known or ever expect to know.”
“Then you’ll understand why New Hope is important to me. It was her dream to see something like this built. I mean to see it happen, despite the problems I’ve encountered.”
William dropped his arm and turned toward the other two men. “Are you up to a tour of the building site today?”
Jeremiah Hayes answered, “Certainly. It’s why we’re here.”
“How far is your resort from Bethlehem Springs?” William asked.
“Not far,” Morgan answered. “About half an hour in an automobile.”
“Then I say we wet our whistles and be on our way.”
Harrison stared out the window of his law office, his gaze resting on the McKinley home on the hillside above him. “You’re sure?” he asked his clerk.
“I’m sure. I was talking to Nathan Patterson when Senator Rudyard came in to ask directions to the McKinley home. Heard him introduce himself with my own ears. Heard him clear as day.”
William Rudyard was a name Harrison knew well. He was a powerful man and not just in Idaho. He had the ear of men in positions of power in the business and financial worlds as well as in government, both state and national. How did McKinley know him? Why was the senator in Bethlehem Springs?
“Did he say anything else?”
“No, sir. Just wanted directions, and when he got them, he went on his way. There were two other men in the automobile with him. Can’t say who they were.”
Harrison continued to stare up at the house. After a minute or two more, his clerk left, closing the door softly behind him.
Harrison didn’t like this. He didn’t like being left in the dark. If someone like Senator Rudyard was in Bethlehem Springs, he wanted to know why. Elias Spade should have known about this, should have informed him before his clerk stumbled on the information.
“What are you up to, McKinley?”
Perhaps Gwen Arlington knew.
A frown furrowed his forehead. He’d heard that McKinley had attended All Saints last Sunday and sat with Gwen. First piano lessons, then church, and now this. Something had to be done.
Morgan and his three guests had just stepped out of the house when he saw Cleo riding her horse along Skyview Street. He raised an arm and motioned her over. Cleo obliged, hopping down from the saddle. After she tied her horse to the hitching post, she strode toward the veranda with that easy gait of hers.
“Gentlemen,” Morgan said when she arrived, “I’d like you to meet Miss Cleo Arlington.”
“By George!” William exclaimed. “You’re a woman.”
Cleo bumped the brim of her hat with the knuckle of her index finger. “So my father told me.” She smiled, as if to show she was neither surprised nor bothered by his words.
Morgan finished the introductions, then asked, “What brings you to town?”
�
�I’m campaigning for Gwen this week. But I don’t reckon it would be a good idea to give my little speech to you. Not unless you’ve decided to drop out like Tattersall.” Her voice rose in question.
Morgan chuckled. “I haven’t thrown in the towel yet.”
“Then I’d best be on my way. More folks to see before the day is done. Gotta make sure they vote for the right candidate.” She tugged on the brim of her hat, first to Morgan, then to his guests. “Good day to you.” She strode back to her horse, untied him, swung into the saddle, and waved a final good-bye.
“What a strange young woman,” Jeremiah Hayes said.
Morgan glanced over his shoulder. “Believe me, Senator, the world would be a far better place with more people like Cleo Arlington and her sister in it.”
Gwen was sweeping her front porch when a motorcar pulled to the curb outside her yard. For the briefest of moments, she thought it might be Morgan, and her breath caught in anticipation. But it wasn’t his car and it wasn’t him. It was Harrison Carter.
Disquiet replaced disappointment. She wished he would go away. She no longer wanted his support in this election. She didn’t care for his attitude toward her and, even more, had begun to distrust him, although she couldn’t say why. But she had better keep that to herself. If she won the election, she would have to work with him at least some of the time. Better they be friendly acquaintances than unfriendly ones.
She leaned the broom against the side of the house and stepped to the porch railing. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carter.”
“Miss Arlington.” He opened the gate and came up the walkway. “I trust you are well.”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“We haven’t had an opportunity to visit since the night of the dinner party. I wanted to inquire if there was anything I could do for you. Perhaps I could help in some way in preparation for the debate on Saturday.”
A Vote of Confidence Page 14
