The Law and Miss Mary

by Dorothy Clark

  She laughed as the children rushed, sure-footed and fearless, up the bright red gangplank. But her heart ached for the children still in jail. Almighty God, please, provide land so we may free those children.

  “Katy, please stay back from the rail. And, all of you, do not pester Jackson and Harmon while they are working!” She watched the children run inside chattering about their new home and glanced at Ivy. Her cook was gazing at the steamboat and seemed undisturbed by the children’s remarks about their new home. Perhaps she hadn’t heard them.

  “Shall we go inside, Ivy? I cannot wait to show you around.” She led the way up the gangplank and through the door in the new end wall. “The children’s quarters on the boiler deck are all completed. But work continues here on the main deck. However, the kitchen is finished.” She laughed at the sudden gleam in Ivy’s eyes. “I will show it to you first. Come this way.”

  She swept her arm in an arc. “This large area will be the dining room. The tables and chairs are from the old dining room above. And here is a sitting room. Those rooms on either side will be for the headmistress—me—” she laughed and made a small curtsy “—and the cook. Who at present is unknown. And this is the kitchen.” She led them through the archway, now boasting cupboards where the open crates had been, and stopped.

  “Oh, my…” Ivy moved into the room, running her hand over the scrubbed-clean table.

  Mary watched her and laughed. “Your reaction is very different than mine when I first saw this room.” She looked around with a little thrill of pride. “It is much the same as it was, except now everything is repaired and clean and polished and in its proper place. And we have a new iron cookstove.”

  Ivy nodded, then began exploring the kitchen—opening the pantry doors and peering inside, moved on to the cupboard full of dishes, the dry sink with a new wide shelf above it, then turned and fastened her gaze on her. “Miss Mary, I want to be the cook. That’s why I asked to come with you today and see the steamboat.”

  Mary stared, taken aback by the sudden pronouncement.

  “I’ve given it lots of thought. I like helping these kids. But my place isn’t any bigger than a mouse’s squeak, and I can’t take in any more. But here, I could be doing for all of them.”

  “But—”

  “And, it appears to me, Mister James will be marrying soon. His bride will want her own help and her own ways. And nothing makes me happier than baking up a batch of cookies and seeing those children’s happy grins.”

  “Well…”

  “Thank you, Miss Mary.”

  Mary lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender and laughed. “You are welcome, Ivy. But you get the honor of telling James!”

  “Come in, Captain Benton. Have a seat.” The mayor gestured to the chair at the end of the long table.

  Sam removed his hat and moved toward the chair. Unease, that policeman’s instinct that warned him of danger, rose. Something was in the wind. And it wasn’t good. He could feel it. He took a quick scan of the aldermen seated around the table. They all looked tense but pleased. He gave a polite nod as a covering reason for his look and took his seat.

  The mayor cleared his throat. “I have asked you to join this meeting, Captain, because I believe you are quite familiar with the person and the subject it concerns.”

  Sam’s unease doubled. The mayor was seething under that polite mask he wore. Still, pleasure over what was to come lurked in the depth of his eyes, easy to read as an item in a newspaper. This was about Mary and the orphans. He placed his hat on his knee, leaned back in his chair and affected a guise of relaxed ease. No sense in giving the man the satisfaction of a response. He already looked too smug.

  The mayor frowned. “I am, of course, speaking of Miss Randolph and this ludicrous steamboat orphanage she thinks she is creating.”

  Stay in control, Sam. He wants you angry. Defensive. He gave a short nod. “I know Miss Randolph. And I am familiar with the orphanage she has created out of a steamboat, yes.” He couldn’t resist the slight emphasis.

  The mayor’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I know of all the renovation that has taken place, Captain. And that the Ladies’ Benevolent Society has contributed generously to bring it about. Also that they intend to continue that philanthropy.”

  There was a general muttering and nodding of heads around the table.

  Ah, so that was it. These men’s pocketbooks were involved. No doubt Levinia—

  “But all that has been accomplished is a useless, renovated steamboat, Captain. The orphans will stay in jail. And they will continue to work for their keep.” The mayor looked straight at him and smiled. “And, of course, more will join them as you and your men continue to arrest them. You see no one can live on that piece of folly. Miss Randolph has no land to situate it on. Though it has come to my attention that she is trying to purchase land for that purpose.” The mayor’s eyes glittered. “I intend to see that she will never do so. That is what this meeting is about. And that, as an officer of the law, is the message you will convey to Miss Randolph when we adjourn.”

  Sam gripped the chair arms. It took all of his control to stay in his seat, to keep from rushing around the table to pummel the man more senseless than he already was. His jaw muscles twitched. His hands clenched and unclenched on the chair arms. The orphans did not deserve this. Mary did not deserve this. She was the most wonderful, the most beautiful, the most—

  “And I assure you, Captain, that was not an idle threat.”

  The words shot out like bullets from a gun—fast and deadly.

  Sam jerked his attention back to the mayor. The man grabbed the gavel by his hand and crashed it down on the table.

  “Gentlemen, I am proposing a new law. From this day forth, there will be no steamboats or other river vessels permitted to be permanently situated or used as a residence on land in St. Louis. No matter what changes or renovations have been made to them! All in favor, acknowledge by saying aye.”

  One by one, clockwise around the table, each alderman spoke aye.

  “Let the record show the new law was passed by unanimous vote.” The mayor leaned back in his chair and smiled. “And that, Captain, puts an end to your Miss Randolph’s steamboat orphanage.”

  Sam wanted to rip the smirking lips off the man’s face. He took a breath, let it out slow and even. “My Miss Randolph?”

  “Why, yes.” The mayor’s gaze bored into his. “Did I forget to mention I am also aware that you have been spending a great deal of time with the woman? Of course, that could change…”

  So this was about Levinia, also. Spoiled Levinia who did not like to lose. Sam shoved back his chair and rose. “You are correct, Mr. Mayor. That could change.” He smiled inwardly at the flash of victory in the mayor’s eyes and drove home his killing thrust. “And I hope it does—to courtship and marriage.”

  He swept his glance over the men around the table, letting his contempt for their high-handed, unjust tactics show. “Good day to you all. I will deliver your message to Miss Randolph.” He yanked his hat on his head, spun on his heel and strode from the room.

  “Excuse me. Are you Miss Randolph?”

  Mary turned at the soft query and looked over the pile of bedding in her arms at a young, thin woman with red hair and green eyes. “Yes, I’m Mary Randolph.” She lowered her burden to a game table and smoothed the front of her skirt. “How may I help you?”

  The young woman stepped forward from her position at the top of the stairs, her eyes rounding as she glanced around. “My. This is…this is…lovely.”

  “Thank you, Miss…”

  “Oh. I am sorry.” A blush swept over the pale skin, making the freckles stand out even more. “Please forgive my rudeness. I was not prepared for such a…a wonderful place.” The blush deepened. “I am Jane Withers, and I—” She stopped and drew her shoulders back. “I have heard that you are making this steamboat into an orphanage. I wondered if, perhaps, you were looking for a teacher for the children who will live here?
”

  Mary smiled and shook her head. “I would very much like to have a teacher, Miss Withers. But at present, I will be teaching the children. I am afraid I do not have the funds to pay another.”

  “Oh.” The young woman looked absolutely crestfallen. “I understand. Forgive me for interrupting your work, Miss Randolph.” She turned to leave.

  Mary scanned her clothes. The gown was neat and clean, but not of rich fabric or style. And the heels of the shoes peeking out from under the long gingham skirt were worn. “Miss Withers?”

  The young woman turned back.

  “Who told you about Journey’s End?”

  “A Captain Benton. He said he thought perhaps you would want a teacher when there are more children.”

  “I see.” Mary’s heart swelled. “I do not wish to pry, but…have you, perhaps, fallen on hard times?”

  The shoulders firmed. “I have. Through no fault of my own. I was to marry and travel west with my new husband, and so journeyed here to St. Louis in the company of friends who were also going west. But when John saw me again, after two years apart, he decided I was too frail—not sickly, but frail—to be of much help to him on the trail or in settling on a new place. He chose another to be his bride.”

  Hurt flashed in Jane Withers’s green eyes, but was quickly masked. The remembered pain and humiliation of being cast aside because of one’s appearance spiraled through Mary.

  “And so, Miss Randolph, I am here in St. Louis. I was a teacher back home in Pittsburgh, but I have been unable to find a position here. I have found employment as a seamstress.” A wry smile touched her pink lips. “I am not very good at sewing.”

  Mary laughed. “And I am not very good at teaching, Miss Withers. Would you be interested in the position though I cannot pay much wage? Room and board aboard the Journey’s End would be included, of course.”

  “Oh, I should be very interested, Miss Randolph!” The young woman cast another glance around. “And where would the schoolroom be?”

  “In the captain’s and pilot’s cabin above. There are tables and stools, and cabinets for supplies. It would be most helpful if you would make a list of needed supplies.” Mary frowned. “I cannot say for certain when we shall be needing your teaching services. We are still looking for land to place the boat on. Will you be able to manage until then?”

  “Yes, I will manage. Thank you so very much, Miss Randolph. I am most grateful for the opportunity to teach children again. But I have taken enough of your time. I shall make the list immediately. And should you need me for anything else…to help prepare the schoolroom or such…you have only to ask. Captain Benton knows where to reach me. I shall look forward to your summons to my duties as teacher aboard the Journey’s End. Good day.”

  “Good day, Miss Withers.” Mary watched the woman walk away knowing full well her heart had once again run away with her head. How would she manage a wage for a teacher? She could not ask her father for another increase in her allowance. He was already doing so much to help these orphans. And her personal monies were quickly dwindling. Well…she would simply have to find a way. And, with God’s help, she would.

  Mary smiled and turned to put the bedding, now lying on the table, into a cupboard. God’s ways were indeed mysterious. Who ever would have thought stopping Ben from being jailed that day would lead to all that had happened? Or that helping the orphans would teach her of God’s love for her. And teach her to trust Him. Though she was still learning to do that.

  Her lips quirked. She put the last of the sheets on the cupboard shelf and reached for the pillow slips. Was this another lesson? It seemed so. Her mother said there was always a blessing in God’s teaching. And though the finances would be difficult, one more problem was solved. A definite blessing. She had been concerned about teaching so many children. It was limiting enough to teach four of them. Now she would be free to concentrate on all the other matters concerning the running of an orphanage.

  Mary laughed and put the last of the bedding away. How happy her mother and father would be to know of the change God had wrought in her heart. It was as if she had been blind and could now see His blessings in every area of her life…save one. Her laughter died. She pushed away the sudden surge of self-pity. Perhaps one day God would see fit to bless her with a husband who loved her and children of her own. Until then, she would busy herself with the orphans. Her life was full with helping them.

  Captain Benton’s image burst upon her. The image that constantly hovered at the edge of her thoughts. She tried to shut it out, but it refused to go away. But now there was something else. Something gnawing at the fringe of her mind, wispy yet determined to be remembered.

  She sank onto a chair by the game table and sat quietly waiting. Finally, her father’s favorite saying floated into her mind. Not even God can fill a hand or heart that is already full. Was that what she was supposed to hear? Tears welled into her eyes. A sob broke from her throat. How could God bless her with a husband and children of her own when her heart was full of love for Samuel Benton? Captain Benton—a man who belonged to another.

  Guilt smote her. She closed her eyes, forced words from her aching throat. “Forgive me, Lord, for coveting a man who belongs to another. I confess my love for Captain Benton to You, and I ask Your help in purging this love from my heart and opening it to only the love You have for me. Please help me to accept with joy whatever future You have chosen for me. Be it unto me according to Thy will. Amen.”

  She waited for a calmness, a peace to flow over her. But all she felt was the pain of her breaking heart.

  Mary paused, nibbled at her upper lip. Wrote a bit more about James being serious about Rebecca Green, sent her love and signed her name. She put down the pen, stopped the ink well and stared off into the distance. Sarah was married and expecting her first child. James was in love, and would soon be married if she knew her little brother. And she—She would mail the letter in the morning.

  Knuckles rapped against the front door. The sharp, staccato sound echoed throughout the house.

  She pushed back her chair, then hurried down the stairs and opened the door a slit to peer out.

  “Good evening, Miss Randolph. Might I have a word with you?”

  A test of my sincerity so soon, Lord? Mary stared up at the captain, then nodded. “Of course, Captain. James is not home, but I will join you on the porch.” She glanced at his face again in the lamplight, then stepped outside and closed the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “A difficulty has arisen, yes.” He smiled down at her and gestured toward the swing. “Why don’t you have a seat and I will tell you about it.”

  She studied his face in the fading light and shook her head. “No, I prefer to stand.” She moved to the railing and turned to face him. “I assume this is about the orphans?”

  “Yes.” He came to stand with her by the railing. “The mayor has learned you are turning the Journey’s End into an orphanage. He also knows about the Ladies’ Benevolent Society’s ongoing efforts to help you.”

  Misgiving skittered along her nerves. “And what has that to do with the mayor? The city is not involved.”

  “True. But he has also learned of your efforts to purchase land to place the orphanage on.”

  She studied his face. He was very angry. Her misgiving blossomed into concern. “I do not follow you, Captain. How does that present a difficulty?” The small muscle along his jaw twitched. So did her fingers. She wanted to touch it—to calm him. He took a deep breath, and she knew he dreaded whatever he was about to say.

  “The mayor is determined you will not be successful in your efforts. He called a meeting of the aldermen today and they passed a new law stating that no steamboat or other river craft can be permanently located or lived in on land in St. Louis.”

  The air rushed from her lungs. She stared at him, unable to speak, to even think. When she returned to awareness, she shook her head to rid herself of the numbness that had seized her. “I see.” She
lifted her hand and rubbed at the spot over her aching heart. Managed a small smile. “You are right, Captain. That is a…difficulty.”

  She turned toward the railing and stared at the orange, purple and pink twilight sky. “How shall I tell all of those who have trusted me? Who have given so generously of their time and talents and money to help make a home for these children? How can I tell them that it is over? That in spite of all they have done and given, the children will stay in—” Her voice broke. She forced a little laugh. “How shall I tell them, indeed? I cannot even say the word.”

  “You don’t have to, Mar—Miss Randolph. All is not lost.”

  His deep voice flowed over her like a soothing balm. He was so kind. How could she ever have thought him heartless? She turned to look at him. “Please, Captain. Do not encourage me further in my foolishness. It is clear I am defeated. No one would sell me land. And now, even if I could buy land, it would do me no profit. You said the law states that no one is allowed to live on a steamboat on land.”

  “Exactly.”

  He grinned, that slow, breath-stealing grin, and leaned toward her. She looked at the excitement dancing in his blue eyes, caught her breath and waited.

  “But there is no law against living aboard a steamboat on the river. And there never can be—unless they want to destroy St. Louis.”

  Mary stared up at Samuel Benton, memorizing the way he looked, the excitement and compassion burning in his eyes, the joy on his face. How had she ever thought him heartless and cruel? For one timeless, breathless moment, she allowed her love for him to swell her heart, to fill her soul, and then she tucked it away and gave him a polite smile. “Thank you, Captain. You have given me renewed hope. With your help, and the help of all the others, I will not fail those children.”

  Chapter Twenty