There was a general rustle and stir as people resumed their seats when the singing was over. The pastor strode to the pulpit, looked down and gave a small nod. Mary watched as Mrs. Lucas gave one in return. She frowned and took her seat. That was more than a casual greeting. It was a bit of silent communication. And the elderly woman’s face now bore that same pleased expression she had worn at the end of their visit.
Silence settled.
“Almighty God, bless these Your people with ‘ears to hear’ and open hearts to receive Your message of truth this day. Amen.” The pastor opened his Bible. “I take my text today from the book of James, chapter two. ‘My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect to persons.’”
Mary smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt and settled herself to listen.
“‘For if there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment; and ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing…’”
Mary snapped her attention to Pastor Thornton, looked at Mrs. Lucas, who was sitting, gaze fixed forward, hands folded in her lap, a beatific smile on her face. Is that what—Had she—
Mary darted a look across the aisle at the Stewart family. The mayor was scowling, Mrs. Stewart was looking at her husband, and Miss Stewart was staring at the pastor, looking displeased.
“‘But ye have despised the poor.’ And in doing so, you commit sin.” The words rang out.
The mayor went rigid. His face turned a frightening shade of purple. He turned his head her way.
Mary stared at him, alarmed for his health. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Mrs. Stewart said something and patted his arm. And Miss Stewart—Mary stiffened. Miss Stewart, like the mayor, was glaring at her. She stared at the woman’s face, at the features suffused with anger, at the glinting blue eyes, the lips curled with disgust and felt the animosity aimed their way.
She reached her arm around Katy, pulled her close, then looked down to reassure Callie. Her breath caught. Plain little Callie sat listening to the sermon, a soft glow warming her brown eyes, a small, gentle smile on her mouth. Tears filmed her eyes. Callie was not plain. The child was beautiful. Truly beautiful.
“In the book of Samuel, it says…‘For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’”
Mary looked from Callie to Miss Stewart and the truth, bright and glimmering, shining in all its glory, burst upon her. To God, Callie was truly beautiful. As beautiful as anyone. Because God did not look at golden curls or dimpled cheeks—God looked at a person’s heart. And if that was true, then—Tears welled into her eyes. Oh, God, I have been so wrong! Forgive me, for doubting Your love for me. And please let my heart be pleasing unto Thee. She blinked hard, reached for the embroidered, linen handkerchief she carried in her reticule and dabbed her eyes.
The pastor stepped out from behind the pulpit, looked out across the congregation. “My brethren, in light of this message, I urge each of you to examine your hearts today. Do you value others because of outward appearances and worldly successes? Do you ‘despise the poor,’ to your discredit? Or do you, as does the Lord, look upon a person’s heart and character? May the almighty God help us all to follow as He leads.”
At the last amen, the mayor rose and stormed up the aisle, his wife in tow, his daughter at his side. Several others rose and followed them. Mary clutched her handkerchief and watched them go. Miss Stewart turned her head, shot them all a venomous look, then stuck her nose into the air and swept on by.
For the first time in her life, Mary looked at a petite, beautiful, blond woman, not with envy, but with compassion. She turned and gave Mrs. Lucas a hug. “Would it be possible for you to join us for dinner, Mrs. Lucas? The children and I would be delighted with your company. James has other plans.”
“Yes, I see.” Mrs. Lucas twinkled up at him. “I believe your ‘other plan’ is dawdling by the door, Mr. Randolph. I suggest you hurry to her before Rebecca runs out of reasons to tarry.”
James chuckled. “I believe I am going to enjoy getting to know you better, Mrs. Lucas.” He leaned down, gave her a peck on the cheek, then waved a hand to the children and rushed off up the aisle.
Mrs. Lucas smiled and looked up at her. “Your brother is a delightful young man, Mary. The two of you are a wonderful testimony to your parents. As these children will one day be to you. Now, let us depart. I am afraid I am too weary to accept your kind invitation, but you all may see me home.”
The sun beamed down on the Journey’s End, its brightness creating the contrast of deep shade. Mary welcomed the coolness of the shadows, the slight breeze coming off the river. She raised her hand and lifted a strand of hair off the nape of her moist neck, and tried not to think how every suggestion the captain offered made more clear the enormity of the task she had set for herself.
“And now about the kitchen.”
Mary nodded and followed him into a dismal room, took one quick look around and gasped. The place was a disaster. “Oh, my.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again.
The captain grinned. “Cooks on steamboats are not known for cleanliness. But if you look beyond the dirt and grime…”
“Yes.” She took a closer look. Iron pots and pans littered a brick hearth along the far wall. Large, long-handled spoons and two-pronged iron forks, along with other implements, hung from cut nails pounded into the rough beam mantel and in the brick beside the bake ovens. Pewter trenchers and goblets marched in broken formation down the length of the mantel, and porringers formed piles at the end.
Overhead, sooty oil lamps hung from a joining of two long iron hooks. Along the wall to her right was a large dry sink holding a copper basin full of pots and pans, and a tall cupboard—one door hanging askew from its hinges—full of crockery and pewter dishes. The wall on her left was formed by a deep pantry she assumed held the food stores. Nothing could have induced her to open one of the doors to see if she was correct.
A long table with a thick, scarred top, stained with something she did not want to examine too closely, marched down the center of the room. And behind her, on both sides of the arched opening through which they had entered were barred cages. Feathers mixed with dried dung in the bottom told of their purpose. She took a breath, albeit a shallow one, and shrugged. “It seems to be well supplied. And, I suppose it…has possibilities…”
The captain threw back his head and laughed, a deep-chested, full-throated laugh.
She stared at him.
He shook his head, knuckled tears from his eyes. “I apologize, Miss Randolph. But if you could see your face…”
Her own lips twitched. “I suppose I do look rather undone. I confess, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed by the vastness of this undertaking. I did not realize…” She shook dust from the hem of her old blue gown and squared her shoulders. “Nonetheless, I shall manage. Somehow. What is next, Captain?”
“The cargo storage area of the main deck. That is the open area we walked through to reach the kitchen.” He led her back through the arched opening. “As you can see, there is a wall at the outer edge of the boat opposite the kitchen. That was meant to keep perishable cargo dry.” He stepped to the end of the long wall, then walked toward the center of the boat at a right angle, drawing the toe of his boot along the floor to make a line through the dust. He strode to the other end of the wall and did the same, then made another line connecting them. In the middle of the long rectangle, he drew two more lines, stopped and faced her. “I told you the other night that I had a suggestion for where the overseer of the children can live. This is it. If we build walls where I have indicated, there will be a dressing room—” he pointed to the square he had drawn in the center “—and two spacious bedrooms. One for the overseer and, I thought, perhaps one for the cook.” He indicated the two large rectangles on either end.
Mary studied the lines, nib
bling at the corner of her upper lip. “Yes. I can see that. What an excellent suggestion, Captain!”
“Wait. I’m not finished. If we build a wall across this end from here—” he hurried down to the far end of the line, placed the toe of his boot on the corner and drew another line in the dust to the corner of the kitchen wall “—to here, it will make this entire area in between these rooms and the kitchen into a comfortable sitting area, and large dining room, heated by one of the furnaces. That will free the main room on the boiler deck for the schoolroom and play area you want for the children. And here, in the center of this end wall, we can build a staircase that leads to the play area on the deck where the children’s bedrooms are located, and place the door to go out onto the remaining portion of the main deck. A sort of porch.” He came back and stood looking down at her. “What do you think?”
She could not speak. Her heart was too full. Her throat too tight. He had said we. Not once but several times. It was not a mistaken slip of his tongue. She lifted the hem of her gown, turned and walked to the bow of the boat to look down at the new lines he had drawn in the dust so he could not see the folly of her heart reflected in her eyes. “I think it is a wonderful plan, Captain. I should not have thought of anything like it.”
She heard him come toward her and moved to the gangway. He held her elbow to help her down the ramp. She thought of Miss Stewart’s soft roundness and longed to pull her thin arm out of his grip. “With your plan in mind, I am most eager to begin work. I shall start with the cleaning tomorrow.”
“I am certain your brother knows of those who make their living renovating steamboats, Miss Randolph. But if you should need any advice as to who would perform best—”
She shook her head, followed his guidance around a pile of firewood, and continued walking beside him up the levee, acutely aware of the warmth where his hand still held her arm. “I do not have funds to hire the work done, Captain. At least, not yet.”
The din and buzz of activity fell behind them. They crossed Front Street and, at last, he released his hold on her elbow. Disappointment warred with relief. They strolled up Market Street side by side, his long-legged strides making her hurry her steps. “But, as the children in jail cannot wait until I have the funds, I shall begin the work myself—in the morning, before the heat becomes oppressive.”
His steps slowed. “Miss Randolph, that is not wise.”
“But necessary.”
He gripped her elbow again and drew her to a halt. She looked up at him.
“Forgive me.” He released her. “But I do not believe you understand the risk involved. You should not go alone to the steamboat. There are—”
“Unsavory elements on the levee. Yes, I know, Captain. You told me of them that first day.” She resumed walking. They turned the corner and strolled toward her gate. “And, as you also explained that first day, I realize it is your duty to be concerned over the safety of the citizens of St. Louis, but you need have no concern for me. I shall not go to the Journey’s End alone. I shall have James escort me there when he goes to the office—and escort me home at dinnertime. And I will stay out of sight in the staterooms while I am working.”
“Miss Randolph—”
“I shall take every precaution, Captain.” She stepped through the gate he opened for her, turned and smiled up at him. She should invite him in—it was only right after all his trouble, but she could not do so. She wanted it too much. “Thank you for your excellent suggestions. I truly do appreciate your help, Captain. Good evening.”
“All right it’s settled then, Jackson. But you and Harmon do not get your money until the job is finished.”
“Ah, Captain, that ain’t right.” The short, wiry man lounging on a cot in the cell hopped to his feet and came to the stand, holding on to the bars beside his friend. “Half now, half when the job is done.”
Sam shook his head. “No. I’ll pay for your meals at the Cock’s Crow while you are renovating the Journey’s End, but not one coin in your hand. I’ll not have you drinking up the money—leaving Miss Randolph unprotected and the work undone.”
Sam jiggled the keys in his hand. “And she is not to know I am paying you. You will offer to do the work for the privilege of sleeping on the boat. That will allow you to stay there all night and protect it from looters. Understood?” He jiggled the keys again.
The men looked down at the ring of keys, looked back at him and nodded.
“One more thing.”
Their gazes sharpened.
“You eat your meals at different times. I want one of you on that boat at all times. And if either one of you gets drunk, I’ll throw you back in jail and you will finish out this sentence, as well as serving a new one. Understood?”
“Yeah, we understand. Open the door.”
“In the morning. That’s when the deal starts.”
Sam stepped down the dark hall and glanced at the children sleeping in the last four cells. He had managed to delay things so far, but the mayor had sent word that the children were to be taken to the courthouse tomorrow morning. Work had started on the additions to the building, and the children were to clear away unearthed stones.
Sam turned and headed back for his desk in the other room. It wasn’t that clearing off stones was so hard. There were a lot of farm children who did much heavier work. But they did it because they were part of a family. And he had done much harder work himself when he was these children’s ages. But he had been free. It had been his choice. And he had been paid for his labor. It was not right to make slaves out of these kids.
Sam scowled, stepped through the barred door, then plunked down in his desk chair and threw the key ring in the drawer. Turning that steamboat into an orphanage was a clever idea. Once he had gotten over his shock and started thinking about it, it made good sense. Renovating that boat would cost much less than buying or erecting a building of comparable size, and it could be ready quickly.
The big problem would be a plot of land to settle it on. He laced his fingers behind his head and tilted back on the chair’s hind legs. That could be expensive. And, it appeared Mary Randolph dreamed beyond her means. Nothing wrong with that. He had done that all his life. And he had worked to make those dreams come true. Now…
He rose, stood again in the barred doorway and looked down the hall toward the children’s cells. Now it seemed his dreams would have to wait a little longer—these children couldn’t. Preparing this orphanage could get expensive, and Mary needed money now. There was no hurry for his showcase house. A year or so delay wouldn’t matter. He had to wait on the property anyway.
And he had to convince the spunky Miss Mary Randolph to share it with him.
Mary stared out at the starry sky and reminded herself for the hundredth time since coming home to keep her head about her. To keep the wall in place around her heart. But the truth was, the captain had already breached that wall.
We. If we build…If we move… Her heart pounded. It did not matter how often she told herself that his only reason was to help the children. He had still said “we.” He would be working with her.
How would she ever be able to hide her growing feelings for him, from him?
Chapter Eighteen
Sam fought back a smile. Mary was standing against the railing of the main deck of the Journey’s End wearing a long white apron over her dress, a large handkerchief tied over her hair. A bucket of water sat at her feet, and she gripped a broom in her hands. But it was not her costume that made him want to grin. It was the wary, combative look in her eyes as she faced Harmon, perched on an upturned wooden barrel. What a woman! But that spunk and that broom wouldn’t hold off anyone set to do her harm.
The smile died. Dealing with a woman as determined as Mary Randolph had its drawbacks when you didn’t have the right to protect her. Sam frowned and trotted up the gangplank, Jackson at his heels. “Is there a problem, Miss Randolph? Jackson said you wanted to see me.”
Her gaze shot to his and fo
r a moment he read the relief, the trust in her eyes. It was so intense, it was almost as if she ran to him. His heart thudded. God help me never to do anything that will destroy her trust in me again.
“Yes, Captain, I do. It is good of you to come.” Her death grip on the broom relaxed. “These men want to help with the renovation of the boat in exchange for the privilege of sleeping on it. They said you would recommend them as good and honest workers.”
Sam read the doubt in her eyes. He turned to the man beside him. “Run up against some hard times, Jackson?”
“That’s the truth, Captain.”
Harmon shook his head. “Yeah, me an’ Jackson are havin’ a dry time right now.”
Sam shot him a warning look. “I do know these men to be good workers, Miss Randolph. They know how to get a boat back into shape, and they are quick about doing it. And it is more than a fair deal. Have you cleaning tools and supplies enough for them?”
Mary looked down at her bucket and broom, the pile of rags she had brought from home. “I have only these, but—”
He held up his hand and turned to Jackson. “You and Harmon go to Gardner’s and get what you need for the cleaning. Tell Jim I’ll stand good for it. And see you come straight back. I’ll be waiting here with Miss Randolph.”
He turned back. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. He fastened his gaze on hers and got lost in her eyes. Those brown eyes with tiny, honey-colored specks glowing with approval, warmth…He stepped closer. A deep-rose blush spread over her cheekbones. His heart kicked. She stepped back, groped behind her for the railing and lowered her eyelashes. They rested like an inky smudge on the crest of her cheekbones.
“Y-you are most kind to—” a quick little breath “—to offer to purchase the cleaning supplies, Captain.” Hands rose to fuss with the handkerchief, lowered to grip and un-grip the railing. “But—” a quick glance up at him from under her lashes “—I do not know when I shall be able to—” a hand rose to pull at the knot of the handkerchief again “—to repay you.” Soft, husky, quavering voice.
The Law and Miss Mary Page 16
