The Law and Miss Mary

by Dorothy Clark

  “I am headed that direction, if you would accept my escort?”

  Poor man, trapped into offering because of good manners. And she could not refuse for the same reason. “That is most kind of you, Captain, thank you.”

  They walked the short distance to the corner and turned uphill. A slight breeze played with the dangling ends of the thin ribbon bow that held her hat in place. The sun warmed her back. She sighed, grateful that her features were now in the shade.

  “Are you becoming accustomed to St. Louis, Miss Randolph? To the clamor and din of the steamboats and levee? To the sight of Indians and mountain men roaming the streets?”

  There was a smile in his voice. Mary met his gaze. The memory of that moment when she had seen her first Indian and crowded close to him for his protection flashed between them. And then she remembered Ben, who she had also met that day, and looked away. “I am indeed, Captain Benton. I no longer jump every time a steamboat blows its whistle. And I am no longer wary of going shopping without escort. But I despair that I shall ever become accustomed to the sight of the Indians.”

  He chuckled, and the sound seemed to bounce around in her stomach, causing it to quiver and tighten. She took a breath to ease the sensation. “You said you had to speak with James this morning. Were you successful in arresting Mr. Goodwin?”

  “You know of that?” He took her elbow. “We cross here. Mind the step down.” He waited for a passing wagon, then guided her at an angle to the other corner. “I’m afraid Goodwin escaped. When I got to his boardinghouse, he was already gone. I made some inquiries on the levee and found he had taken passage on a steamboat headed downriver. There’s no telling where he’ll go from there. To join Thomas, likely.”

  She looked up at him. “The former manager of the line?”

  He nodded, took her elbow again and guided her onto the brick path that led to the courthouse. “That’s right. I figure they had to be working together. Otherwise Thomas would have turned Goodwin over to me, same as your brother did.”

  They reached the courthouse steps and he offered his arm. She stared at it, remembering the image of the petite Miss Stewart clinging to it. Comparing that to her own tall self soured her stomach. But there was no help for it. She slipped her hand through and rested it on his forearm, aware of the firm, muscular strength of it as they began to climb.

  “I have come to know your brother quite well since you arrived in St. Louis. He’s a fine man.”

  “On that we agree, Captain Benton.” She drew her hand from his arm as they reached the portico and forced a smile. “Thank you for escorting me, Captain. I am grateful for your kindness.”

  He gazed down at her, and the heat crawled into her cheeks again. She had not meant it to sound like a dismissal. He crossed to the double doors, opened one and gave a polite little bow. “My pleasure, Miss Randolph. The mayor’s office is the first door on the right.”

  “We have no money for an orphanage, Miss Randolph, and I will not have those urchins roaming our city, stealing from our shopkeepers and cluttering up our streets with their dirty, unkempt presence! They are offensive to our finer citizens!”

  Finer citizens? Mary took a breath, held it, then slowly released it. Clearly appeals to the mayor’s conscience would not work. Perhaps he would be moved by financial considerations? “Mayor Stewart, when these children are arrested and jailed, the city must provide them with meals and a place to sleep—the same as would be done in an orphanage. Surely there is a building available to the city where—”

  “Miss Randolph—” The mayor’s palms slapped against the top of his desk. He rose to his feet. “I have tried to be patient, but my patience is at an end. In an orphanage, the city would have to pay people to care for these urchins. In jail there are already keepers to—”

  “Jailers, Mr. Mayor.”

  The man’s face flushed an angry red. “Those ragamuffins stay in jail! As for meals and a place to sleep—they will earn their keep. There are jobs they can do on the additions to the courthouse, and on the public school we are to begin constructing.”

  Mary shot to her feet and looked him straight in the eyes. “And did your daughter help construct the private academy she attended, Mr. Mayor?” The words flowed from her mouth sweet as honey.

  The mayor’s eyes narrowed. He rested his palms on his desktop and leaned toward her. “You have a bold, sharp tongue, young woman.”

  “Better a bold, sharp tongue than no heart, sir! Good day!”

  Mary whirled about, took two steps and faltered at the sight of Captain Benton standing beside the open door. She raised her chin, her back ramrod straight, and marched on. When she reached the door, she shot him a glance that told him what she thought of men who would treat helpless children in such a fashion and stormed out into the corridor.

  “Miss Randolph, wait!”

  She turned, her entire body quivering with anger, and watched him walk to her. “You might have warned me of the mayor’s plans to make laborers of the children, Captain. You might have warned me that my visit to his office would be futile.”

  His face flushed. But his gaze held steady on hers. “I did not know the purpose of your visit, Miss Randolph, or I would have told you. And I heard of his plans to use the children as laborers the same time as you, when I stepped in that office minutes ago. The mayor does not inform me of his plans.”

  “I see.” Sadness swept over her. Unreasonable, unwelcome sadness. She believed him, but it made no difference. “Well, you know now, Captain. What are you going to do about it?”

  She pivoted and walked to the front doors. And this time she did not look back.

  Mary moved about the store, anger driving her steps. She may not be able to get those boys out of jail at the moment, but she could do something to make their lives a little brighter until she could think of a way. How anyone could be as heartless as the mayor when it came to children was beyond her. And Captain Benton was little better!

  She frowned, picked up a ball, turning it in her hand. That would not be a good choice, as the cell was far too small to allow for throwing a ball. And if it rolled out of the cell, who would retrieve it for the boys? She put the ball down and moved on.

  To be fair, the captain had sent for her when Katy took sick. But he should not have jailed her in the first place! Of course, if Katy had been on her own on the streets, what would have happened to her when she became ill? She would have had no care.

  Mary paused. How many other children on the streets were sick or injured in some way? The possibility of their suffering made her ill. And angrier. There had to be some way to provide a home for those children! And she would find it.

  She glanced at the shelves in front of her. Smiled at the sight of a gaily painted kaleidoscope. That would be perfect. If it were light enough for them to see through it. It had been so dark and dank in that cell! She put the toy in her basket, added another for the children at home and moved on. What else? She needed six toys. One for each of those boys, so they could be busy, have something to do. Tops!

  Mary added two of the wooden toys to the basket and wandered over to another table. A game of checkers caught her eye. That would entertain two of the boys at once. She picked up the wooden box and a smile touched her face. She and James often challenged each other at checkers. Sarah was not as much fun to play with. She was not as competitive. What else? Jackstraws! Yes, they would do well. And perhaps one of those wooden cup-and-ball games. And paper dolls for Callie. There were several to choose from. She made her selections and went to the counter.

  Sam sat deep in the saddle, the wind blowing in his face, the thunder of Attila’s hoofbeats in his ears. The chestnut loved to run and Sam gave him his head, exalting in the power and strength of the horse’s legs beneath him.

  He needed this. He needed this wild gallop out here on the open plain to clear his head. He needed time alone. Only he and Attila…running.

  Sam’s face went taut. He leaned forward, patting the th
rusting neck. “Ease up now, boy. Ease up.”

  The chestnut slowed. Sam held him to a canter and rode on trying to escape his own thoughts…his conscience…the memory of Mary Randolph’s accusing eyes. Those eyes!

  Sam glanced to his left. The sun was hanging low in the western sky. He reined Attila into a big sweep toward the right, and headed back toward town.

  What was he going to do? Why did Simon Stewart have to come up with this scheme for using these kids for free labor? It was…it was wrong. Plain wrong. And there was no way to put a good face on it. What kind of life was that for kids? Up in the morning, marched to a job—And what sort of job would it be? Picking up rocks? Sifting sand? What? Then marched back to their cells, fed a supper of scraps from the restaurant—half of it not fit to be eaten—and then laying down their hurting bodies on hard cots and sleeping behind locked, barred doors until the morning when it would start all over again?

  Sam swept his gaze over the waving grasses on the plain, on the band of trees he was approaching. He was free to go where he wanted—but not those kids. They were locked up in cold, dark cells away from the sunlight and fresh air. And they had done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve such treatment. It was all because they had no parents. No one to care about them.

  No one but Mary Randolph.

  She had brought them toys. Things to make their days a little brighter. And what a fighter, that woman! A smile tugged at his lips. Taking on the mayor of a city to fight for kids she didn’t even know. The smile died unborn. Sam stared into the distance—saw the past. What would his life have been like if there had been someone like Mary Randolph to care enough to fight for him? And what of Daniel? Maybe Daniel would have lived if there had been someone like Mary Randolph to take him into her home and nurse him when he was so sick.

  Sam’s stomach knotted. He yanked his thoughts from that path. That was a dangerous, costly road to travel down. The past was dead. There was no help for the boy he had been, but there was plenty of help for the man he was determined to become. Help from the mayor and Levinia, to achieve all he’d dreamed of. He tried to summon her face but Mary Randolph stayed stubbornly in his thoughts.

  She was a pretty woman. He had known that from the first time he saw her laugh, but he hadn’t realized how pretty until today, when she came hurrying out of her house with her brown eyes sparkling, her lips curved in laughter and her dark hair shining in the sun. It was the first time he’d seen her without a bonnet. She was beautiful. And when she smiled…

  Sam blew a long breath of air into the twilight and shook his head. He’d had all he could do to stop staring at her. And when she had taken his arm…She sure fit well at his side.

  He scowled, turned Attila onto the path toward town and slowed him to a walk. He had no business thinking about Mary Randolph. He was going to marry Levinia Stewart—even if she seemed less admirable than he had thought. He could be wrong about her. But even if he wasn’t, he was not going to give up his plans. All he needed was the deed to the land he wanted for his house. Then he would ask for her hand.

  But what about those kids?

  Sam reined in the horse at the stables and dismounted. He pulled open the door and led Attila inside, the comfortable sound of the horse’s hooves thudding against the puncheon floor easing his tension. He undid the cinch strap, reached for the saddle and froze.

  He narrowed his eyes and absently scratched under Attila’s mane, examining the idea that had popped into his head from all sides. The argument might hold water. Maybe there was a way to help those kids.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sam closed the door and turned to face the portly man behind the desk. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Not at all, Captain Benton.” The mayor waved him toward a chair. “What is this meeting about?”

  “These street children.” Sam winced inwardly as the mayor’s eyes narrowed. If this cost him—

  “What about them?”

  “Well, sir. They present a problem I did not, at first, anticipate.”

  “And that problem is?”

  “Sickness.” Sam removed his hat and took a seat. “It has been worrying at me ever since Ka—the girl took ill a few days ago.”

  “She’s worse?” A scowl darkened the mayor’s face. “You told me you would handle the problem, Captain.”

  “I did, sir. When you refused money for the nursing care the doctor ordered, I had Miss Randolph brought to the jail. She is nursing the girl.” No need to tell him that he had allowed Mary Randolph to take the girl home.

  The mayor’s scowl deepened. “You would do well to keep that woman away from the jail, Captain. She is a busybody! Now, what is the problem?”

  A busybody? Because she helped the children? Sam frowned. “Quarantine.”

  “What?” The mayor jerked forward in his chair. “The jail is under quarantine?”

  That had got his attention. Sam shook his head. “No, sir, it is not. But I have been pondering what would happen if one of the street children we arrest has some sickness that would bring that about. Consider what would happen if the jail, and my men and myself, were all placed under quarantine.”

  “Unthinkable!” The mayor stared down at his desk. His short, fat fingers drummed against the smooth mahogany surface. “That would be an impossible situation.”

  Sam held his silence, let the mayor’s imagination picture the situation and the resulting chaos in the city. The man lifted his head, looking at him.

  “That cannot be allowed to happen, Captain.”

  “I agree, sir. That is why I came to you.” Sam tightened his grip on his hat. “The city must open an orphanage to house the children. There is a building on Spruce Street—”

  “Nonsense! An orphanage costs money!” The mayor rose and strode to a window to look outside. “There are more roads to be paved. The city water works must be completed. And the courthouse is to be expanded. And the park.” He pivoted, paced back to his chair. “These are the things the finer citizens of this city expect me to provide for them, Captain. Not an orphanage for the children of emigrants who die on their way west.”

  Sam’s face tightened. It was becoming harder and harder to hold his tongue. To swallow the mayor’s callous attitude. He drew a calming breath. “They also expect police to protect them from the wild and unsavory elements of this town, Mr. Mayor. And if the jail were under quarantine, that service would be halted. The boatmen and mountain men would make the levee unsafe.”

  “I am aware of that, Captain Benton!”

  “Then, sir, you agree the children must—”

  “Do not speak to me again of an orphanage, Captain! I will not be known to the fine citizens of St. Louis as the mayor who wasted their money!”

  Wasted? Sam’s hand clenched. His hat brim curled beneath his fingers. “Then what is your solution, sir?” The question came out sharper than he intended.

  The mayor narrowed his eyes. “Do I detect a spirit of insubordination, Captain?”

  “Only concern, sir.” Sam rose and clapped on his hat, using the time to get his temper under control. “I am concerned that this practice of housing these street children in the jail may one day interfere with my ability to perform my job.”

  “I see. Well, concern yourself no more, Captain Benton.” The mayor leaned back and smiled. “There is a simple solution that will prevent such a scenario as you present from ever happening. From this time on, you and your men shall not arrest any child that shows signs of sickness.”

  Mary wielded the eraser, then chalked different numbers on the slate she had bought that morning. A lock of hair fell onto her forehead. She brushed the hair back, held the slate up for the children to see and smiled encouragement. “Three plus three equals…”

  Ben scowled.

  Callie looked down, her lips moving silently as she pressed the tips of her small fingers one at a time on the table. Her right hand shot into the air. “I know, Miss Mary.”

  Ben’s scowl
deepened. “That’s ’ cause you cheated.”

  “Did not!”

  “Did to! Countin’ on your fingers is cheatin’. Ain’t it, Miss Mary?”

  “Is it not. We do not say ‘ain’t,’ Ben.” Mary looked across the table at Ben and Callie and struggled to keep a smile from her face. It had been such a short time since she had rescued them, silent and afraid, from the streets, and already they acted like brother and sister. “And we do not argue, children. It is impolite and—”

  She stopped. Listened—heard Edda going to answer the knock on the door—and returned to her work with the children. “Callie, I know it is easier to count on your fingers—” Her pulse stuttered. Was that Captain Benton’s voice? She chided herself for her foolishness and focused her thoughts back on the business at hand. “But it is better if you memorize the answers to—” She glanced up as the maid came to stand in the dining-room doorway. “Yes, Edda?”

  “Captain Benton to see you, miss.”

  Her foolish pulse stuttered again. Picked up speed. “Thank you, Edda.” She put down the slate, then ran her hands over her hair. “I will be right back, children. You think about the answer to the problem while I am gone.”

  She hurried to the front door, paused to collect herself and then opened the door. Samuel Benton stood on the porch, his big hands resting on the shoulders of the small boy who stood in front of him. She swept her gaze from the boy’s frightened, grimy face, to his scratched and dirty hands, over his ripped overalls and shirt to his dirty feet. Another arrest. Her anger flared. She looked up at the captain.

  He gave a slight nod. “Forgive my intrusion, Miss Randolph. I don’t mean to disturb you. But I think this boy may be ill.”

  “Oh.” Concern overrode her anger. Mary leaned down and peered into the boy’s blue eyes. They were shimmering with unshed tears, but clear. She smiled. “I am going to feel your forehead for fever, young man. All right?” She stretched out her hand.