The Law and Miss Mary

by Dorothy Clark

  “You did not tell me of that, James.” She pursed her lips, nodded her head. “It sounds very sensible. You are turning into quite the businessman. You are certainly learning about steamboats. And you caught the man who was stealing the profits from the line—though he escaped the law. Wait until Father and Mother learn of that! They will be even more proud of you—as am I. Truly.” She smiled at him. “You will have this line turned around and making huge profits in no time.”

  He laughed and tapped his letter. “I had better. That is what Father sent me here to do. And speaking of profits…I need your help, Mary.”

  “My help? Whatever for?”

  “The line has been so neglected, we have to do something to improve our reputation. You have excellent taste, and I want your advice on decorating the main hall and passenger cabins of this new luxury steamboat I picture. I want this steamer to be the very best boat on the river!” He frowned and leaned forward. “I have been trying to think of ways to make it different—better than the competition, so people will swarm to book passage with us.”

  “That is easy.” Mary laughed and smoothed the wrinkles from the letter she had crushed in her excitement. “All I have to do is remember our journey here to St. Louis. I was longing for a well-prepared meal. And a greater selection. I became very tired of the fare offered. And those narrow beds! Why, I almost rolled out of mine every time I turned over. You should put regular double beds in each cabin. That is luxury! And—”

  She stopped fiddling with the letter and stared up at him.

  He waved a hand. “Go on, Mary. Those are excellent ideas. What else have you to suggest?”

  She shook her head, trying not to be too excited by the thought that had occurred to her. “James…you said you were going to ‘scrap’ the Journey’s End. Does that mean you are going to…to discard it?”

  “Yes, of course. Why?”

  “And everything on it?”

  His gaze sharpened at her eager tone. He nodded his head. “Yes, everything is old and, as I said, has been neglected. Why?”

  “Then I can have the cots for the children!” Mary jumped to her feet again, too excited to remain seated. “I have been wondering where we can sleep any more children—I am certain there will be more now that—well…now. And I thought perhaps we could make use of the shed out back. But, of course, we had no beds. And—”

  “And now we have them.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have been praying for beds?”

  “Yes, but it is only a coincidence, James.” Was it? She folded her letter. “I should like to accompany you the next time you go to the levee. I would like to see the Journey’s End. I may find other useful items aboard.”

  “Very well. We shall go tonight, directly after dinner. Before nightfall, but after the heat of the day has begun to wane. But now, I must return to the office. I have hired a new bookkeeper to take Goodwin’s place and I am keeping a sharp eye on his accounting!”

  “It is such a pleasure to have your company, Miss Randolph.”

  “Please, call me Mary, Mrs. Lucas.”

  The elderly woman beamed a smile at her, then went back to pouring their tea. “Thank you, I shall. Cream, dear?”

  “A little. No sugar.” Mary accepted her cup and placed it on the table in front of her. “I am sorry it has taken me so long to pay my promised call. But I have been so busy I find it difficult to find time for social calls.”

  “Yes, I can imagine.” Mrs. Lucas added sugar to her tea and stirred. “How many children have you taken in now, dear?”

  Mary gaped. “You know of the children?”

  “Oh, yes. Ben keeps me informed. But my lumbago is acting up again, so I have not been to Simpson’s in a few days.” Mrs. Lucas made a face that caused her wrinkles to deepen. “A nasty inconvenience, lumbago. It interferes with my gathering of the latest news.” She gave a hearty chuckle.

  Mary’s own lips curled in a wide responsive grin. “How many of the children do you know of?”

  “Hmm, let me think. There is Ben, of course. And a young girl of eight years named Callie—” her face squinched in thought “—and another little girl named Katy, who, I believe, was ill. How is she doing?” Mrs. Lucas picked up a tray and held it out to her. “Cookie, dear? There are ginger and plain sugar ones.”

  Mary smiled and put a ginger cookie on her plate. “Katy is doing fine. Her sore throat is healed, she is able to eat and is putting on some weight. But you are behind one child. We—my brother James and I—”

  “Yes, I know about James. I believe he is courting Levinia Stewart’s cousin, Rebecca Green.” The faded blue eyes brightened with interest. “I also know about your cook, Ivy. And your maid, Edda. But you were saying…?”

  Mary choked back laughter. “Our newest child is a young boy of ten, named Will. You may, perhaps, see him the next time you go to the store. He, like Ben, wants to earn his way. And I thought perhaps he could join Ben in carrying baskets for Mr. Simpson’s customers. Actually, it was Captain Benton that suggested he do so.”

  “Ah, Captain Benton.” Mrs. Lucas’s wrinkled face flooded with satisfaction. She placed a cookie onto her plate, set the tray down and smiled. “And is this Will of yours a nice, handsome, blond young lad like Ben?”

  Mary jerked her thoughts back to the children. “No. I mean, he is very nice, but there is no physical resemblance between Will and Ben. Will has dark eyes and brown, rather curly hair, a long nose and a wide mouth.” She watched in fascination as Mrs. Lucas broke off a piece of ginger cookie, placed it on her spoon and lowered it into her cup of tea. A moment later the woman lifted the spoon to her mouth and ate the bite of cookie.

  “The boy sounds a mite homely.”

  There was nothing mean about the words, only factual. But still, Mary bristled. She knew how it felt to be unfavorably compared to others. She took a sip of tea, put down her cup and broke off a piece of cookie, giving herself time to form a calm response. “I suppose some would see Will that way. But that is only his outward appearance. He has a wonderful, kind heart. And a gentle manner with the girls, who absolutely plague his steps. And when he laughs, you cannot help but laugh with him. Everyone in our home adores Will. I find him quite beautiful.” She put the bite of cookie in her mouth to keep from saying more.

  “He sounds right pleasant to be around.” Mrs. Lucas soaked another bite of cookie in her tea. “Do you suppose he would be willing to do some chores for me? Nothing too hard, mind you. Only fetching in stove wood and such like. I’d pay him well.”

  There was a wistful quality in Isobel Lucas’s voice. Mary peered more closely at her smiling eyes. There was a shadow of loneliness in them. Her heart swelled. “I am sure Will would be pleased to come and help you. Would it suit if I send him around tomorrow morning? We have school in the late afternoon—before supper.”

  “Morning will be fine.” The old woman’s eyes sparkled across the table at her. “And if there is anything I can do to help you with these children you take in, you let me know.”

  Mary peered at her, remembering her influence with Mr. Simpson. “Can you get this ridiculous law about arresting orphans under the age of twelve revoked?”

  Mrs. Lucas shook her head, fluttering the gray wisps of hair escaping from the knot on her head. “I’m afraid not. Nobody can change Simon Stewart’s mind when he gets ahold of an idea. But what won’t go in a front door can be carried in the back. An’ I know most everybody in this town—an’ all their secrets, too. So if you have a problem…you come see me. I’ll be pleased to help. It’ll give me somethin’ to do.”

  “It is kind of you to offer, Mrs. Lucas.” Mary finished her cup of tea. “I am afraid I must be leaving. I am going with James this evening to see a steamboat that is being scrapped. I hope to salvage a few of the beds.” She sighed and ran her hands over her hair. “We are running out of space to sleep the children, and I am considering turning the shed in our backyard into a dormitory of sorts for any mor
e boys that come our way. It is very small, but it shall have to do as the mayor will not consider establishing a city-funded orphanage.”

  “You asked Simon Stewart to build an orphanage?” The elderly woman chuckled. “I can imagine his answer.” She shook her head. “Simon’s nose is so high in the air he can’t even see the ground. He’s plumb lost his way. Still…there’s always that back door.” She brightened again. “If you need some help with supplying the needs of those orphans…you know…blankets, clothes, shoes an’ such, you let me know.”

  The sun was still shining, the golden rays bathing the Journey’s End. But nothing on the steamboat reflected the bright light.

  Mary lifted the front of her long skirt and walked up the gangway onto the scarred deck. The white paint of the railing was chipped and peeling, and the paint on the sides of the boat was little better. Everywhere she looked there was dirt or soot. The cabin windows were dulled with dust.

  “This way, Mary.”

  She turned and followed James to the stairs that led to the boiler deck. He stood back and let her precede him. The steps were worn, but sound, the railing firm. She stepped off the stairs into the main cabin and looked around. There were four round, wood tables, each with six chairs, clustered about a heating stove with a round chimney pipe that rose straight through the ceiling. At the far end was a similar heating stove in the middle of a grouping of furniture—a couch and two chairs with dirty, torn fabric—sitting on a threadbare carpet.

  “Goodness, James. I thought the Fair Weather was in poor condition. Has this boat been running in this state?”

  “Until a few weeks ago, yes.” He looked around and shook his head. “I told you that we needed a truly luxurious steamboat to repair our reputation.”

  “My, yes!” She turned and opened the door to one of the passenger staterooms that lined both side walls. The room was small, narrow and deep, with a single bed covered with a faded woven coverlet, a stand beneath the window in the outside wall and a horizontal board, with double hooks every few inches along its length, spanning the wall opposite the bed. Everything looked dusty and dingy. She could not decide if the paint on the walls was faded and dirty, or if it was the quality of light coming through the thick dust on the window. But that did not matter. It was the bed she wanted.

  She lifted the hem of her gown clear of the door sill and turned. “James, how will—Oh!” She pressed her hand to her chest and stared at the figure at the top of the stairs.

  James pivoted—smiled. “Good evening, Captain.”

  Samuel Benton nodded, then looked her way. “I did not mean to startle you. I thought I saw movement through the windows and came to investigate.” He strode toward them.

  Mary glanced down at her gown, brushed at a spot of dust clinging to it. Was there any on her bonnet? She glanced back over her shoulder, but it was impossible to see her reflection in the filthy window.

  “As long as I am here, may I have a word with you, Mr. Randolph? About that business you told me of this morning.”

  Mary shot a glance at the captain, then looked at James.

  “You may speak freely in front of Mary, Captain. I discuss these things with her. She knows the M and M line lost three steamboats to questionable ‘accidents’ shortly before the line was purchased and I took over as manager.”

  “Very well.” The captain glanced at her. “The buyer kept his name a secret, and for a while I suspected him of arranging the ‘accidents,’ but—”

  Mary jolted. “You thought m—the new owner arranged to have the steamboats destroyed?” She caught the captain’s quizzical look at her and hastened to cover her shocked slip of the tongue. “Gracious! Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  “There are a lot of reasons. But none of them matter for your brother proved me wrong.” The captain smiled. “He would make a good policeman.”

  She looked at James. “What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “When the captain told me his suspicions about the ‘accidents’ to the steamers, I searched back through the company books and found there was insurance purchased by the line for the cargos that were lost, as well as insurance on the steamers, but there was no record of any payments received. I showed the captain what I found this morning.”

  “And I went to talk with the manager of the insurance company.”

  “And…”

  James’s word hung in the air. She looked at the captain.

  “And they paid the claims to Mr. Thomas, the former manager. The new owner and…anyone else new to the company…is cleared of any complicity in the staged accidents. If you press charges, I’ll fill out warrants for his arrest and send them around to the towns downriver.”

  Anyone else new to the company? Mary stiffened. Did he mean James? How dare he! She drew breath. James touched her shoulder. She glanced at his face and held her tongue.

  “I will come to your office and do that tomorrow, Captain. I am glad that mystery is solved and I can now expend all my efforts in improving the line.” James smiled. “And it is good to know you are quick to check into possible trouble—though I am surprised you bother with a steamboat that is about to be scrapped.”

  Mary stared at James. How like their father he was, so calm and controlled. Pride coursed through her.

  “I’ve chased many a drunken mountain man or idle laborer—even Indians—from abandoned boats, Mr. Randolph. Fire is always a threat, and they treat them like a boardinghouse. Figure they can sleep in one of the cabins and no harm done. But—”

  “A boardinghouse!” Mary stared at the captain, looked at James and laughed. “A boardinghouse. Of course!” She whirled around, marched to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, counting.

  “What are you doing, Mary?”

  “There are twenty-four staterooms, James.”

  “Yes…”

  She hurried back to his side. “Oh, James, do you not see? It is perfect!” She looked up at Samuel Benton, saw understanding flash in his eyes. And doubt. She lifted her chin. “How many children have you in jail, now, Captain?”

  “Children in—Mary! Have you gone mad?” It was a roar of disbelief.

  She reached out and gave James’s arm a soothing pat. “How many, Captain?” He grinned—that slow, lopsided grin that did queer things to her stomach.

  “Six boys and two girls, Miss Randolph.”

  Sam strolled down the street letting his presence keep things on the levee under control. A smile tugged at his lips, which broke into a full-blown grin. He couldn’t help it. He had been grinning all night. Every time he thought of Mary Randolph standing in the middle of the Journey’s End main cabin, jabbing the air with her finger and counting staterooms.

  He detoured toward the river to check on the activity at the various warehouses. He couldn’t help thinking about her, either. That woman could out stubborn a mule! There was no give in her. At least, not where the orphans were concerned. The mayor had refused her request that the city fund an orphanage, now here she was, figuring on turning that scrapped boat into one. But how would she manage it? Even a scrapped boat was worth something. Of course, with her brother as manager of the line…

  How many children have you in jail?

  Sam shook his head, watched some laborers loading up their ship with wood. He had been stunned by her question. Still was. Even more by the determined look in her eyes when she had lifted that little square chin of hers. No, she was not giving up. She was going to get those children out of jail and make a home for them on top of it. Quite a difference between Levinia Stewart and Mary Randolph. One was determined to keep the orphans in jail, and the other was determined to get them out.

  “One o’clock, the weather is fair, and all is well.”

  The words sounded clear as he scaled the incline back to the street. Time to go home. Sam frowned. All was not well in his life. There was no open friction with the mayor, but it was obvious he was no longer in favor. And Levinia had turned her back and walked a
way when he had seen her in front of the dressmakers this afternoon.

  His frown deepened. He lifted his hand and massaged the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders. The message sent by Levinia’s behavior was clear. Either change his stance on the orphans and support her father, or any hope of a future between them would be gone. It did not disturb him as much now. He was growing to accept the demise of his goal for a future in politics with Levinia at his side. In truth, he was beginning to look on it as a fortunate escape. Levinia was not the person he had thought her to be. The woman had no heart to her. And he would not accept her terms. Not even to have his dreams. A man didn’t amount to anything if he didn’t have his self-respect.

  He yawned, then turned onto Walnut Street. Don’t you worry, Ma. You sit tight, Danny. I will keep my promise. I’ll be somebody. You have my word on it. Sam set his jaw. He would gain his goal without the Stewarts’ help. He would do it the same way he had achieved all he had so far accomplished—by honest effort and hard work. And all was not lost. He still had his plans for his showcase house.

  He tried to summon the vision, but for some reason it would not appear. All he saw was the knoll, the grassy fields around it and the river. He must be too tired. It had been a long night. Three drunks jailed. He hated putting them in the cell beside the boys, but he had no choice. It was a good thing Miss Randolph didn’t know about that. A smile curved his lips. Mary Randolph. She sure had a cute little chin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Mary, I understand your desire to help these children. I want to help them! But this…this plan of yours is…is…”