He released a sigh. He’d best pay a call on Miss Arlington and offer his services and support. Once she was elected mayor, he wanted her to look to him for advice, as past mayors had done. He wasn’t about to lose the behind-the-scenes influence he’d enjoyed for many years.
Come to think of it, Gwen Arlington might make the perfect mayor. A woman would be much easier for him to control.
Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…
Set atop the piano, the metronome marked perfect time. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Felicity Evans. Her fingers stumbled over the keys in fits and starts.
“Felicity,” Gwen said when the pitiful performance ended. “Have you practiced your lessons every day?”
“Yes, Miss Arlington.”
“Every day?”
The girl’s dark pigtails flopped against her back as she nodded. Then, after a moment’s thought, she shook her head. “No, Miss Arlington. Not every day. But most of ’em.”
“You know you shall never be proficient if you don’t practice daily.”
“I know.” Felicity sighed. “But after school, my friend Billy and I’ve been building a tree fort down by the river and I forget about getting home to practice, and then it’s time to help Ma with supper and — ”
“Does your mother know you’re neglecting your practice?”
Felicity lowered her gaze to her fingers, still resting on the piano keys. “No, Miss Arlington.”
“Your mother works hard in the bakery in order to earn the money to pay for your lessons. You shouldn’t waste it.”
“No, Miss Arlington.”
Gwen suppressed a smile. “Promise me you’ll practice thirty minutes every day in the coming week, and I won’t tell your mother that you’ve been forgetful about it this past week.” She closed the sheet music that leaned against the top panel of the upright piano. “That will still leave plenty of time for fort building with Billy.”
Felicity looked up, her face beaming. “Yes, Miss Arlington. I promise.”
“Good.” Gwen rose from the bench. “Then you’re excused.”
Her student jumped up and started toward the door.
“Felicity, aren’t you forgetting something?”
The girl stopped, turned back, a confused expression on her face. Then, with a grin, she grabbed the sheet music from Gwen’s outstretched hand and raced out of the house, the screen door slamming closed behind her.
Gwen chuckled. Felicity was one of her less talented pupils, but she remained a favorite all the same. Gwen supposed Cleo must have been a lot like Felicity when she was a child. Tomboys, the both of them.
I wish I’ d known Cleo when we were little.
Gwen closed the piano’s fallboard to keep the dust off the keys and slid the bench closer to the instrument. A cup of tea was now in order. But the sound of footsteps on her porch drew her gaze to the front door before she could start toward the kitchen.
Harrison Carter removed his hat when he saw her through the screen. “Good day, Miss Arlington.”
“Mr. Carter.” She moved toward the entry.
Her guest — they were acquainted, although she didn’t know him well — was a tall man of about forty with a distinguished sprinkling of silver in his thick, dark hair and a thin mustache riding his upper lip. His striped necktie, silk waistcoat, and leather shoes said he liked fine clothing, and his generous waistline proved he enjoyed fine foods.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he apologized when she reached the door.
“Not at all. I just finished with my last student for the day.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I believe that was Myrna Evans’s youngest who ran past me on the walk.”
“Yes.”
His gaze met hers again. “I’ve come to see you about the mayoral election.”
“Oh?”
Despite receiving encouragement from her father and sister as well as Nathan Patterson, Gwen couldn’t expect everyone to be pleased when they learned she was running for public office. This was the twentieth century, but some folks remained stuck in the Victorian Age. Not everyone believed women were capable of filling roles traditionally held by men. She supposed —
“If I’m not being too presumptuous, Miss Arlington, I’d like to offer you my support.”
Gwen managed to keep her mouth from falling open in surprise. While she didn’t know the councilman more than to say hello on the street, he seemed the sort of take-charge man who would not take kindly to a woman mayor.
“Could we sit down and talk awhile?” he asked.
She felt heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. “Forgive me, Mr. Carter.” She opened the screen door. “Please come in.”
“If you don’t mind, could we sit on your porch? The weather is exceptionally fine today.”
“Of course.” She stepped outside and led the way toward the painted chairs near the north corner of the house.
Once they were both seated, Harrison rested his hat on his right knee and gave her a smile. “I confess I was taken by surprise when I learned you planned to run for office, Miss Arlington. I was also greatly relieved. Hiram Tattersall is not qualified to be our mayor.”
If that’s how he felt, why hadn’t he declared himself a candidate?
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, “and the answer is simple. I promised my wife I wouldn’t run for mayor.”
She felt herself blushing a second time, wishing her thoughts hadn’t been so easily guessed.
“Between my commissioner duties and my law practice, my wife and children see too little of me as it is. And to be frank, the mayor’s salary would not provide adequately for the Carter household. However, I care a great deal that the right person be elected mayor, which is why I intend to back you.”
“But you don’t know me, sir. Not well. Why do you think I’m the right candidate?”
He appeared to give her question deep thought before answering, “ To be frank, Miss Arlington, I’m sure there are several men in this town more qualified than you. You are young and have no experience in matters of city government. However, you are not a drunkard as is Mr. Tattersall, and you are not an outsider as is Mr. McKinley. You are involved in the community already, as evidenced by your articles in the Daily Herald, and this area has been your father’s home, if not yours, for more than thirty years.” He cleared his throat before adding, “With the proper guidance from men who do have experience, I’m sure you will serve our town well.”
Gwen should appreciate his words more than she did . He hadn’t spoken anything but the truth. And yet there was something off-putting about his manner. He was polite, yes, and yet overbearing too. Presumptuous, even.
“Whatever assistance you need, Miss Arlington — whether before the election or afterward — rest assured I will gladly render it. In fact, my wife and I would like to have a supper party in your honor. Our way of endorsing your candidacy.”
“That’s very good of you.”
“Not at all. It’s important that I do this. I am not without influence in Bethlehem Springs, so my support will start your campaign on solid footing. And while I believe you’re the better candidate, we mustn’t take anything for granted.”
“I won’t.” She sat a little straighter in her chair.
“Good.” Harrison stood and set his hat on his head. “Then shall we make that supper for next Friday evening? I’ll have Susannah come see you about the details.”
“Yes. Of course. Whenever it is best for you and Mrs. Carter.”
“Good. Good. Then I’ll be going. And remember, Miss Arlington. Whatever assistance I might render is yours. You need only ask. I am here to advise you.” He gave a brief bow at the waist, then turned and walked away.
I should be grateful for his offer of support. She frowned. So why don’t I feel grateful?
Inez Cheevers rested her folded hands on her ample belly. “My word, Mr. McKinley If this don’t beat all. Of course I’ll be glad to do more th
an the occasional cleaning. And if you don’t mind me saying so, it’ll be good to see this house lived in like it was meant to be.” She gave an emphatic nod of her head. “You leave it to me to find you the rest of the servants you’ll require. I’ve got some folks in mind who I think will suit.”
“Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Mrs. Cheevers.”
“Saints alive! I do believe this election could get exciting.”
Morgan smiled at her. “I hope I’ll have your vote.”
Inez — a short, plump woman with gray hair that resembled a bird’s nest, wisps flying in all directions — held herself erect, her expression serious. “How a person votes is a private matter. You should know that.”
“You’re so right, Mrs. Cheevers. I should know that.” He chuckled. “I promise never to ask you again.”
Her smile returned. “Well, I had best be about my business then. You can expect me here first thing in the morning. Oh, will you want any of the staff to live in?”
The McKinley home of Morgan’s youth had employed a large household staff — butler, cook, housekeeper, housemaids, footmen. Servants abounded when he and his mother stayed in hotels and spas in England and on the Continent. But since coming West, Morgan had become used to seeing to his own needs. He slept on a cot in a tent like the rest of the men. He washed and mended his own clothes too. Fortunately, there was a cook at the work site. They all ate better because of it. It would take some getting used to, living in town and having a full staff there to cater to his needs.
“I think you should, sir,” Inez stated, drawing him from his musings.
He nodded. “Do as you think best, Mrs. Cheevers.”
“Thank you, sir, for your faith in me.”
After the housekeeper left, Morgan went into the kitchen. He stared at the stove, hungry but unwilling to cook. This seemed like a good time to visit one of the three restaurants in town. He could eat a good meal and possibly even shake a few hands. No time like the present to start his campaign.
It was a pleasant time of day for a walk. Everything seemed softer at this midpoint between afternoon and evening. As Morgan made his way along Skyview Street and down the hillside toward the center of town, he considered the odd twists of fate that had brought him to Bethlehem Springs.
If his father, the man Morgan had admired most in all the world, hadn’t died at the age of forty-five.
If his mother hadn’t suffered for years with chronic pain.
If Morgan hadn’t seen the spas of Europe that catered to the privileged.
If he hadn’t talked to so many doctors and nurses in so many places and come away with so few answers.
If he hadn’t met Fagan Doyle, a man familiar with the American West.
If God hadn’t planted the desire in his heart to bring help and hope to the hurting.
Lost in thought, Morgan almost walked past the South Fork Restaurant, a modest-sized eatery located between the office of the Daily Herald and a ladies’ hat shop. He might not have stopped if it weren’t for the delicious odors wafting through the open doorway.
When he stepped inside, he took quick note of about half a dozen other diners, but then his gaze settled on the woman at a table at the far end of the restaurant. It was her — the woman he’d come upon on the road yesterday morning. She glanced up, saw him looking at her, and frowned. Then she quickly lowered her gaze.
Not exactly the response he would have hoped for.
“Good evening, sir,” a waitress in a black dress and white apron said to him as she approached. “One for supper?”
“Yes.”
She led the way to a table and placed a menu on the red and white checked tablecloth. “The special tonight is meat loaf with green peppers and onions.”
“Sounds good.” He sat down, removed his hat, and set it on the chair next to him. “I’ll have that.”
After the waitress walked away, Morgan looked again toward the attractive blonde, eating her supper. Eating alone. There must be something wrong with the men of this town to allow that to happen.
Behind him, the waitress greeted another customer. A moment later, he heard his name.
“Good evening, Mr. McKinley.”
He looked up at the man now standing to his left. “Mr. Patterson.” He offered his hand to the owner and editor of the Daily Herald. “Good to see you.” With a tip of his head, he motioned toward the chair opposite him. “Would you care to join me?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” The newspaperman sat down.
“This meeting is fortuitous. I planned to visit you tomorrow to discuss some advertising.”
Nathan Patterson lowered his voice. “If it has to do with your campaign, then maybe we’d best wait to discuss it at my office. No point sharing your ideas with your opponent.”
“My opponent?” Morgan looked around the restaurant a second time. He didn’t know Tattersall was in here. Failing to find the saloonkeeper, he looked back at Nathan.
The newspaperman’s eyes widened and then he started to laugh.
“What’s funny?” Morgan asked.
“You don’t know, do you? You really don’t know?”
“What?”
Nathan rose to his feet, took three steps toward the young woman who had captured Morgan’s interest not once but twice. “Excuse me for interrupting, Miss Arlington, but I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Morgan McKinley.”
Morgan caught his breath. She was his opponent? She didn’t look anything like what he’d expected. Where was the radical, wild-eyed suffragette he’d had in mind? This couldn’t be Gwen Arlington. Couldn’t be the woman running against him for mayor.
“How do you do, Mr. McKinley. I believe we crossed paths yesterday morning on the road.”
“I remember.” He stood. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Arlington.”
She smiled, the sort of acknowledgment that made a man’s brain turn to mush. “The real pleasure will be when I trounce you in the election, sir.” Her words dripped with honeyed sweetness, but her blue eyes told him she was deadly serious.
Morgan was not the sort of man to shy away from a challenge, not even one uttered by such a beautiful opponent. “We shall see, Miss Arlington. We shall surely see.”
FIVE
“‘We shall see, Miss Arlington,’” Gwen muttered as she turned slices of bacon in the skillet with a fork. “‘We shall surely see.’” She sniffed. “Yes, we shall, Mr. McKinley.”
She’d slept little during the night, her thoughts turning again and again to her brief meeting with Morgan McKinley at the restaurant. The best part about it had been his surprise when he learned who she was. Whatever he’d expected in his opponent, it wasn’t her. That pleased her, for it meant he’d been thrown off guard when Nathan introduced her. She wanted to keep him that way.
She took a plate from the cupboard and eating utensils from the sideboard and set them on the counter. Returning to the stove, she scooped the bacon from the skillet, drained off the extra grease, then scrambled an egg in the center of the pan.
Morgan McKinley’s most striking feature, Gwen thought now, were his eyes. Such a dark brown they were. Almost black. He also had strong features — high forehead, long nose, angled jaw — and there was something about his mouth that made her think he must smile often. It was a handsome smile, to be sure.
Of course, this analysis of his appearance was merely so she might best him in the election. She had to weigh his pros and cons. Knowing his good looks might increase his appeal, especially among women voters, was something she had to expect and overcome.
She carried her breakfast plate to the table and sat down in her accustomed chair. Bowing her head and closing her eyes, she silently asked the Lord’s blessing on her meal, then added a request for wisdom for the day.
“And confidence, Lord,” she whispered. “Keep me confident.”
When Nathan had sat at Morgan’s table yesterday, a chill had shot through Gwen. Nathan had promised to
back her in the election, but that had been before Morgan declared his candidacy. Now she wondered if the newspaperman had changed his mind. If so, running for office could be an exercise in futility.
“Lord, don’t let me waver or begin to fear. Please guide my words and my steps.”
She inhaled deeply and reminded herself that the election wouldn’t be over until it was over. Until then, she would do all she could to ensure that she won.
The first item on the day’s agenda was to go to the paper and speak to Nathan. Even if he chose to back another candidate, he was still a fair journalist. He would want to interview her, get her opinions on matters of interest to the voters of Bethlehem Springs. And he would want her to place advertisements in his paper as well.
Gwen finished eating her breakfast, washed the dishes, and then went into her bedroom to dress for the day. From her wardrobe, she chose a rather austere brown and white dress and a pair of brown shoes. After sweeping her hair atop her head and fastening it with pins, she covered it with a short-brimmed straw hat. She wanted her appearance to speak for her: intelligent, businesslike, serious, able to lead. She thought she’d succeeded.
With another quick prayer for God to go before her, she set off for the center of town.
Morgan was headed for the newspaper office when he saw Gwen Arlington approach from the opposite direction. He stopped to observe her just as she paused to speak to a mother and child on the sidewalk. After a brief exchange with the woman, Gwen leaned down to address the child. A moment later, her laughter carried to him on the breeze.
An angelic sound.
The thought alarmed him. He didn’t want to be derailed by her laughter or her beauty. He had work to accomplish. Besides, Morgan had learned the hard way that external beauty often didn’t translate into beauty of the soul. His personal “hard way” was named Yvette Dutetre. Exquisite, passionate, emotional Yvette. His former fiancée. She’d loved his money more than him, and when she betrayed him the hurt had gone deep.
He pushed the memories away as he resumed walking. That was all long ago and mattered not at all to him now.
Vote of Confidence Page 4
