The thought crushed the last of her resistance. Tears welled into her eyes. Mary whirled and rushed out of the dressing room, away from the mirror that stole all her hopes and dreams.
Sam stopped short of the gate, straightened the cravat at his throat, tugged his vest in place and shrugged his shoulders to loosen the constricting feel of his coat. He had worn his good clothes for the children’s sake. They would be more comfortable with him out of his uniform. His lips twitched. “You keep telling yourself that long enough, you might come to believe it, Sam.”
He frowned and shrugged. He might as well admit it. He wanted Mary Randolph’s approval. He held the woman in high esteem. And he had been the object of her challenging looks and words long enough. He wanted her to know he had risen to her challenges. And—
Sam stiffened, stared at the cottage as if he could see through the walls. Mary Randolph was the one who made him examine his own heart concerning the children. It was her challenges that made him realize he could not comply with the mayor’s plans. And today, it was the sight of her with the children that made him realize how much he wanted a family of his own. How much he wanted—
The truth slammed into him. He stood there, astounded, dumbfounded and not a little disgusted by his own stupidity. Why had he wasted time courting Levinia? He was in love with Mary Randolph.
A steamboat whistled. A dog barked. Sam shook his head, pulled himself together and pushed open the gate. Mary Randolph considered him a cruel, heartless ogre. How would he ever prove himself worthy of her love? The cannonball on the end of the chain rose, then fell again, closing the gate when he stepped through. He strode up the brick path, climbed the porch steps and paused with his fisted hand ready to knock on the door.
Peals of laughter sounded from inside the house, Mary’s low, musical laugh among them. It was the most wonderful, the most inviting, the most terrifying sound he had ever heard. He was twenty-seven years old and had never in his life, since he was seven years old, been around a family. And never a happy one. And that was what was inside that house. A family. Perhaps not of blood, but a family, nonetheless. And Mary was its heart.
He took a deep breath, reaching to knock. The door burst open and a laughing boy crashed into him, followed by two giggling girls. “Ugh!” Sam staggered back a couple steps, instinctively closed his arms about the children to keep them from falling and grinned at Will, who skidded to a halt, went up on his toes and wildly circled his arms like a windmill to keep from pitching forward onto the others. He opened his arms. “You want in, too? I am strong enough to hold all four of you.”
There was a chorus of giggles and laughter. The children righted themselves. Katy reached out and snatched the bonnet Ben clutched in his hand. “Told you I could catch you!”
“You didn’t catch me, he did!” Sam found himself the target of Ben’s pointing finger.
“Well, I would have!” Katy yanked on the bonnet so hard it came down over her face, which set off another gale of laughter.
Sam chuckled, then raised his face to the tall thin woman who appeared in the open door. “I’m sorry, sir. They didn’t know you were here.” The woman wiped the smile from her face. “Children, apologize to Captain Benton and we’ll be off for home.”
There was a flurry of apologies. Sam acknowledged them with a smile as the children filed off the porch. At least he thought he did. He couldn’t be sure. His attention was riveted on Mary, who now stood at the open door, laughter lighting her face and warming her eyes.
“I apologize for the overly exuberant welcome, Captain. Please come in.” She stepped back.
Sam removed his hat and crossed the threshold, his palms moist, his mouth suddenly dry as dust. If God was involved in all that had thus far happened, may He grant that the invitation would be into Mary’s heart.
“Oh, what a lovely cool breeze.” Mary stepped through the door the captain held open for her onto the porch, and fought back a rising disappointment. Supper was over. The captain would make his excuses and leave now. And James—
Was standing before her putting his hat on. “If you will excuse me, Mary…Captain Benton. I have an engagement.”
“With Rebecca Green?”
James grinned at her teasing. “No other. Well, I am off. Enjoy your evening.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks. She could have shaken him. He made it sound as if the captain were courting her!
James’s grin widened. He gave her a wink, tipped his hat to a jaunty angle and then trotted down the steps to the road. His merry whistle floated back to them as he hurried away.
Mary stared after him, vowing to make him pay for that bit of embarrassment. She sucked in a breath, lifted her hands and smoothed back her hair. She might as well give the captain his opening to leave, then go and help Edda with the dishes. “Would you care to relax here on the porch a moment, Captain Benton?”
“That would be pleasant. After you, Miss Randolph.” He bowed her toward the porch furniture.
Was he not leaving? Mary masked her surprise, stepped over to the new porch swing James had hung and seated herself. She watched from under her lowered lashes as the captain propped his shoulder against one of the roof support posts and crossed one ankle over the other. He certainly did not look as if he were in any hurry to leave. Her heart thudded. She plucked an imaginary piece of lint from her skirt to gain time to compose herself.
“I know you have not had much time, Miss Randolph, but have you thought over your original intent? Do you still plan to use the Journey’s End for the orphans?”
“I do indeed, Captain. Though I have not as yet determined how I shall accomplish my goal.” Is that why he stayed? Was he trying to discover her plans for some reason? Perhaps for the mayor? Her stomach twisted with disappointment. Were his acts of kindness toward the children for a nefarious purpose? Oh, God, if You care for these children, please, please, let it not be so. She pushed her toes against the floor and set the swing in motion.
“I have been giving the matter some thought.”
“Oh?” Her disappointment swelled. She braced herself to argue her position.
“Yes. The steamer can stay in the dock while it is being renovated, but, of course, it cannot remain there permanently.” His gaze fastened on hers. “Have you any notion where you will locate the boat when the work is finished?”
“No.” Her mind raced. Why was he asking? “I know only the land shall have to front on the water. I should imagine it would be very difficult to move the boat inland any distance.”
He nodded. “It can be done. But it would be costly. As will any land on the river. Those parcels are highly sought after by men of business. Millers and such. And you won’t want the children close to the levee area.” He stared off into the distance, the hat in his hand tapping against his thigh. “There is talk of expanding the levee both up and down river.”
Her heart sank. If she could not use the steamboat, what would she do? She looked down at her lap. Smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt. So much for prayers.
“Still, there are a few possibilities…”
She lifted her head and stared up at him, trying not to show her confusion at the statement. “Possibilities?” Was this some sort of snare she could not perceive? Perhaps she should make him give her facts. “If you would be so kind as to tell me the location of those possibilities, I shall look into them immediately.” She lifted her chin. “And perhaps you could draw me a map so I might find my way? Oh! And—forgive my ignorance, but I have never been involved in these sort of transactions before. Where does one go to find the cost of these land parcels?”
He grinned.
She stiffened. “May I ask what it is you find amusing, Captain? Is it my questions, or my behavior? I realize it is unseemly for a woman to be so bold in her requests, but—”
“I do not find it unseemly, Miss Randolph. I find it delightful. That is the reason for my smile.” He sobered and his gaze fastened on hers. “I applaud your enthusiasm in
your quest to help these orphaned children. And I hope you will accept any help I am able to offer you.”
Her mind stalled on the word delightful. It took her a moment to accept the term as a politeness. She was not accustomed to the captain in a social capacity. He was quite good at turning a polite compliment, for whatever his purpose. She composed herself and looked at him. The time had come to stop this charade. “You wish to help?”
“I do.”
He sounded so earnest. “Truly?”
He nodded.
Mary stared, then looked down at her hands. She wanted so much to believe him but she dare not trust her judgment.
“I know we have crossed swords over the children in the past, Miss Randolph. But I am the captain of the police and it is my job to uphold the law. I hope, however, that I have demonstrated to you, by calling upon you for help when Katy took ill, and by bringing Will to you, that I am not heartless or uncaring of these orphans’ needs. And that I do not agree with the mayor’s plan to use them as free labor on city projects.” His voice was deep, quiet, persuasive. “And, while I still must do my job, I will continue to do my best for all of these children, and to prove myself honorable to you. I only ask you grant me the opportunity to do so.”
Mary looked up at him, her head cautioning her to be careful, her heart telling her to trust him. She wanted to. With her whole being she longed to trust him. But Winston had seemed honest and sincere, also. He had looked straight into her eyes and made his declarations—and every word he had said to her had been a lie. And this time, it was not only her heart that could be hurt. It was the children, as well. She took a deep breath. Almighty God, please, if I err in my judgment, do not let the children suffer for it. “I will be glad of your help for the children, Captain.”
He nodded. “Thank you for your trust, Miss Randolph.” He shifted his position as he sat on the railing. “Have you made plans beyond housing the orphans on the steamboat?”
“What sort of plans?” She flushed at her skeptical tone, but he seemed not to notice it.
“Well, for instance, who will be with them to watch over them? Do you plan to hire someone to oversee the orphanage? And where will they live on the boat?”
Mary rose, walked to the railing and stared out at the twilight sky. “I have not had time to consider all you ask, Captain. But I believe I can answer your queries.” She gave him a sidelong glance as he rose and stood beside her. “James has grown fond of Miss Green, and I believe she feels the same fondness for him. Therefore, as James is quite persuasive and disinclined to tarry once he makes a decision—and as this cottage is very small—I am quite certain I shall, at some time in the not-too-distant future, need to find another place of residence. In a way, I shall be orphaned, too.” She gave a small laugh and smoothed her hands over her hair. “Therefore I shall be with the children, and, of course, live in one of the staterooms.” How would she ever manage?
“Housing for the children’s caretaker is one of the things I have been pondering, Miss Randolph. And I believe you may find my suggestion acceptable, even favorable. But the hour is late. May I call again? To go over my thoughts about the renovation of the steamboat with you?”
Mary looked down at her hands gripping the railing and tamped down the tingle of excitement caused by the thought of spending more time in his company. He was not asking permission to make a social call. It was for the orphans. She looked up at him and smiled. “I shall look forward to hearing your suggestions, Captain.”
“And I to the pleasure of your company, Miss Randolph. Perhaps I could escort you to the Journey’s End Sunday afternoon, around two o’ clock? It may be easier to explain my ideas there.”
“Very sensible, Captain.”
He made a slight bow. “Until Sunday, Miss Randolph.”
She smiled and nodded, then made herself turn and go into the house. She did not want him to look back and find her watching him walk away. All the same, when she reached the door, she could not resist one quick look over her shoulder.
He was standing at the gate watching her.
Her cheeks flamed. But he could not see from that distance. She dipped her head in a polite farewell, thrust open the door and hurried inside.
Sam strode up Market Street, cut across Fourth Street and headed along Walnut toward the boardinghouse, his long strides eating up the distance. What did that little glance Mary Randolph had stolen mean? Dare he hope it meant the same as the look he had stolen at her? How could it be? She was so cool, and defensive and…and prickly around him.
And why wouldn’t she be? They had clashed so often over the children, how could he even expect her to trust him or hold him in any sort of respectful regard? He was a fool! Why had he taken so long to see the truth?
Sam pivoted, crossed back over to Market and headed for the stables behind the jail. Forget the suit! Forget the dark! The moon was out. The road out of town hard-packed and free of holes. And he needed a ride. An all-out, no-holding-back, ground-eating, hoof-pounding ride!
Chapter Seventeen
Sam stared up at his deputy. “So Goodwin is dead?”
Jenkins nodded. “The New Orleans police got a record of it. He was cut up and robbed outside of a gamblin’ hall. They found his body the day before I got to New Orleans with the warrant for his arrest.”
“And Thomas got away.”
Jenkins nodded. “The police found the boardinghouse he was living in, but he was gone when they got there. He left the same night Goodwin was killed, on a ship for London.”
“Probably with Goodwin’s money on him. All right, Jenkins. There’s nothing more we can do now. But we’ll be waiting when he comes back. Go home and get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
A murmur, low and restrained, ebbed and flowed from pew to pew. Glances, surreptitious and angry, rode its crest, broke over Mary, drowned the pleasure of bringing the children to church for the first time. It had started from the pew occupied by the mayor, his wife and his daughter, swelled to include the front section on the left side of the aisle and rippled through the rest of the congregation.
Mary stared at the vacant pew in front of them, could feel the emptiness of the one behind. She glanced at James, read the message of support in his eyes and sat straighter. She lifted her chin higher and smiled at the children lined up in the pew, though anger tingled from her head to her toes. How could people be so cruel? Had the children noticed? Did they realize the looks and the mutterings were about them? They were so quiet and still, only their gazes moving across the congregation then returning to her.
She touched Callie’s shoulder, received a soft smile that made the girl’s rather plain face a thing of beauty. Gave Ben and Will smiles of reassurance, got a cheeky grin from handsome, blond, blue-eyed Ben, and a wink from the irresistible, dark-haired, dark-eyed Will in return, and patted Katy’s hand. Timid Katy, who nonetheless had a quick temper. The boys delighted in teasing her. And she gave back in kind, her blue eyes snapping, her black curls trembling, and more often than not, her small finger shaking in her tormentor’s face as she corrected them. She was a beautiful child. They all were beautiful, in their own way. And so well-behaved on their first time in church. Goodness, she was proud of them!
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Had she done wrong by bringing the children to church? She had expected a few shocked looks, but she had not anticipated such ostracism and anger. The children had already been hurt by people on the streets and she did not want them suffering rejection again.
She listened to the church filling, all but the pews in front and back of them, and blinked back tears. Should they leave? Almighty God, please, please, do not let these children be hurt by my decision to bring them here today. Please. Amen. A calm settled over her. It was odd how often she prayed these days. She had not prayed for years. But while she still questioned God’s love for her, she was quite certain God cared about these orphans.
The door opened at the back of the ch
urch. A woman’s soft footsteps came down the center aisle. Mary heard Ben whisper to Will, “It’s Mrs. Lucas.” She lifted her head to look. The elderly woman passed by two partially empty pews on the left and turned toward the pew in front of them.
A woman on the left aisle seat whispered something. Mrs. Lucas turned back, nodded and smiled. “Yes, I know, Rose. Miss Randolph and the children are friends of mine.” The elderly voice broke the silence. Drew glances. The woman snapped upright, gave a toss of her head and faced the front.
Mrs. Lucas smiled and stepped toward their pew. James rose, motioning for the boys to do the same. Mrs. Lucas’s faded blue eyes twinkled up at him. “My! You are a handsome lad.”
Color rushed into James’s face. It was the first time Mary had seen him blush in years. But he rose to the occasion. He smiled and winked at the elderly woman. “And you, madam, are a lovely woman of impeccable taste.”
Mrs. Lucas laughed and motioned for him to lean down. “Rebecca Green is a very lucky young lady.” Mary heard the whisper, had to clamp down on her lip to keep from laughing at James’s shocked expression.
“Now take your seat, young man. I shall sit up here.” Mrs. Lucas turned toward the pew in front of them, then looked back. “With your permission, I should like these two young gentleman to sit with me.” She beamed at Ben and Will.
“Of course.” James stepped aside, and the boys filed out and into the other pew, one on either side of the small, elderly woman.
James took his seat and they all slid closer together. Closing ranks. The thought was not a happy one.
The murmuring began anew.
Please, God, do not let Mrs. Lucas be hurt because she has befriended us.
The organist struck a chord. Mary rose with the congregation to sing the opening hymn, swelling with pride at the sight of Will and Ben rising to stand straight and tall beside Mrs. Lucas. The singing started and the children joined in. She glanced down at the girls, then exchanged a smile with James. Callie had a beautiful voice, true and clear. Katy was not as fortunate, but sang with great enthusiasm, all the same.
The Law and Miss Mary Page 15
