The Law and Miss Mary Page 12

  The boy jerked his head back and glared defiance at her. “I ain’t sick!”

  The captain’s hands tightened on the boy’s scrawny shoulders. “Miss Randolph is only trying to help you. Let her feel your forehead, son.”

  Son? Mary shot her gaze to Samuel Benton’s face. He looked…different. She pulled her thoughts back to the boy, slipped her hand under the matted lock of hair hanging down over his grimy forehead. It felt normal. She saw no sign of illness. “Captain, I do not know why you believe—”

  “I know my bringing the boy to you is an imposition, Miss Randolph. And I apologize for it.”

  She glanced up, shocked by his interruption. She had never known the captain to be rude. Obstinate and heartless, but not rude.

  “I had a meeting with the mayor this morning—about the possibility of an epidemic at the jail that would result in a quarantine.”

  “A quarantine!” Mary shot up straight. Stared at him. “But that’s…that’s…” Ingenious. Why had she not thought to use that argument? And why was he telling her about his meeting? Did he think she cared if his jail were shut down? She would rejoice!

  “Yes. A terrible possibility.” He shook his head. “As you can imagine, that would be an impossible situation for the city.” He stared straight down into her eyes.

  Something in her stirred—went on alert. He was telling her this for a reason. “Yes. Impossible.” She struggled to follow. Where was this leading?

  “Because of that possibility, the mayor decreed my men and I are not to arrest any children that may be sick. However, I am no judge of such things. So I brought the boy to you.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Understanding flashed between them. A smile birthed in Mary’s heart, rose to her lips and eyes. She could have hugged the man! She leaned down and touched the boy’s forehead again. “I do not believe the boy has a fever, Captain Benton. But his eyes are unnaturally bright.” She straightened again, looked full into Samuel Benton’s eyes. “Perhaps it would be best if you leave him here with me—in case.” Something flickered in his eyes. Relief?

  “Perhaps that would be best, Miss Randolph. With your permission I will take him inside.”

  The boy leaned back, dug in his heels. “I ain’t goin’ in there!”

  Samuel Benton turned the boy around, held his skinny upper arms and then squatted on his heels in front of him. “Listen to me, son. It is this, or jail. Do you want to be locked in a cell?”

  Mary stared at the captain, at the look of concern and compassion on his face—the firm but gentle way he held the boy as he talked with him—and her heart got caught in her throat. What had happened to the cold, heartless policeman that did his job without regard to its consequences?

  The captain looked up. Their gazes met. And held.

  The boy stirred.

  The captain cleared his throat and rose. “The boy is ready to go in now.”

  Mary nodded and stepped aside—fought to regain her equilibrium as the captain herded the boy into the small entrance hall.

  “The answer is six, Miss Mary. Three plus three is six!” Ben came running, slate in his hand, Callie on his heels. Both children came to a dead halt when they saw the captain…backed up a step…then another.

  Mary stepped forward and placed her hand on the new boy’s thin, bony shoulder. His wiry body tensed at her touch. “Ben, would you and Callie please take this young man to the kitchen and ask Ivy to feed him? I will be along in a minute.”

  Ben shot a wary glance at the captain, then nodded. “Sure, Miss Mary.” He motioned to the boy. “C’mon. Ivy’s making cookies.” He headed toward the kitchen. The boy stole a glance at the door, glanced up at the captain, then followed after Ben. Callie trailed off in their wake.

  Silence fell.

  Mary glanced at the captain. He was looking at her. She dropped her gaze and smoothed at her skirt feeling crowded and knowing it was foolish. How could a room get smaller? “Thank you for bringing the boy to me, Captain.” She made herself look at him and noticed he had removed his hat. “I will take good care of him.”

  “I know that.” His voice was soft, low-pitched. His gaze held hers. “I’ve seen—Ben, is it?—carrying grocery baskets for the customers at Simpson’s store.” He shook his head. “Whoever would have thought such a thing would come about. I hardly recognized him, he looks so happy and well.”

  “Ben is a very proud little boy and wanted to earn his keep. We let him think he is doing that.” She glanced toward the kitchen, then drew her gaze back to Samuel Benton. “It was James’s idea that he work for Mr. Simpson.” A smile played at her lips. “I thought it was poetic justice.”

  He chuckled, and her stomach did that funny little flutter.

  “It’s good for a boy to feel he’s helping out. From what I see, Ben looks pretty busy. Maybe this new boy can carry groceries at Simpson’s, too.”

  So she was right. He had brought her the boy instead of arresting him. And he intended the boy would stay in her care. Happiness bubbled. She tamped it down. What had brought about this change in him? Was it real?

  The captain slid his hat around in his hand, glancing around. “Where is Katy? Is she doing well?”

  Mary nodded, as she brushed at her hair. “Katy is much better. But she still needs rest. She is upstairs napping.” She glanced up. He was staring at her again. She stiffened. “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head, reached toward her hair, then drew his hand back and made an awkward little gesture. “Chalk.”

  Oh, no! Mary turned her hands palms up. The finger and thumb of her right hand were covered with the white powder. That would never happen to the elegant and beautiful Miss Stewart. But what did it matter? The captain was here on business. She brushed her hands together and forced a laugh. “We were having school.”

  He nodded. “I saw the slate in Ben’s hand.” He took a step toward the door. “Well…I have to get back to my patrol. Thank you for taking the boy, Miss Randolph. Good afternoon.”

  She pressed back against the wall to let him pass. “Good afternoon, Captain Benton.” She watched him tug his hat on and walk down the porch steps, then closed the door, squared her shoulders and headed for the kitchen ignoring the wobble in her legs. She had a young boy to take care of.

  Now what did the mayor want? Why had he sent for him this time? What couldn’t wait until morning? Sam climbed the steps to the Stewarts’ porch, knocked on the door and stepped back as it opened.

  “Captain Benton, how nice to see you again. It has been awhile.” Levinia stepped out onto the porch, dimpled up at him. “I have been waiting for you. I am afraid Father had to leave suddenly.”

  “The mayor is gone?”

  “Yes.” She pouted up at him. “Are you not going to greet me, Captain?”

  “Yes, of course, Miss Stewart. Forgive my bad manners.” He made her a slight bow.

  She smiled up at him. “You are forgiven.” She drifted toward the railing, glanced up at the sky. “What a lovely evening.”

  Sam braced himself. He was beginning to recognize Levinia’s smiles. This one meant she was after something. No doubt another compliment. He was beginning to tire of the demand. The woman’s vanity was never sated. He searched around in his head and mustered something appropriate. “The beauty of the evening cannot compare to your loveliness, Miss Stewart.”

  “You flatter me, Captain.” Another dimpled smile, followed by a pretty little pout. “But you seem…quiet. Father said you had a little disagreement this morning. Is it troubling you?”

  Ah! So that was what she was after. The mayor had set Levinia to bring him to his knees. And arranged this meeting to bring that about, no doubt. Was the man inside waiting to hear if Levinia made him change his mind? “Disagreement?” Sam reached up and adjusted his hat to hide his irritation at being “handled.”

  “Why, yes.” A wide-eyed look of innocence. “That is what Father called it. He felt you were…annoyed…with his refusal to spend city funds on an
orphanage for those horrible street urchins. Naturally, he is upset by your stance.” She moved back to stand close to him. “He thinks so highly of you, and feels he could help groom you to take his place as mayor when he leaves office.”

  Was that a threat? Sam looked down at Levinia, tried to discern what was behind her smile.

  “Now truly, Captain—” This time the dimpled smile was accompanied by a slight pressure on his arm from her dainty hand. “Do you not agree the money would be better spent in completing the water works for the comfort of St. Louis’s finer citizens, and building a lovely new courthouse with a beautiful park where…” a demure lowering of her eyes “…a lady and her beau could stroll and enjoy each other’s company?” She lifted a coy gaze to him. “Or perhaps attend outdoor concerts together? And even plays?” A long sigh. “I would so enjoy such evenings.”

  She seemed so guileless. Could he be wrong about her intentions? Perhaps her lack of concern for the children was because she heard only her father’s opinion of the situation. “I’m afraid the pleasure of such an evening would be marred for me by the knowledge of the children who would be sitting in jail weary and sore from being forced to work on those public buildings and parks.”

  Anger flashed across her face, quickly hidden by a flirtatious smile. But not quickly enough. He had been right. Her purpose for the tantalizing promises was to bring him into agreement with her father. Though perhaps that wasn’t her only purpose. An odd stillness came over him. Sam tried to close his mind, to reject the thought, but it persisted. Perhaps Levinia was grooming him into what she considered to be a worthy husband for her. Perhaps she didn’t consider him good enough as he was.

  “How can you feel thus, Captain? Those lowborn urchins are accustomed to working for their food. After all, they are the spawn of the filthy poor who swarm into our city from those horrible wagon trains.” Her voice coaxed, cajoled. “Why, you would be doing them a favor by arresting them. A bed in jail would no doubt be a luxury to them. And at least they would be under a roof that does not leak.”

  The words speared straight into his memories. Sam clenched his jaw so tight the muscles along it throbbed. He had spent many a night cold and shivering in a bed soaked with rain or covered with snow. But at least the bed had been his, and he had been free to leave it whenever he chose. He took a breath, reminded himself it could be she simply did not understand. “The children would have the same sound roof over them in an orphanage, Miss Stewart. And in an orphanage they would not be forced to perform hard labor. Nor would they be under lock and key. They would be free to go outside into the sunshine and fresh air.”

  She looked up, shaking her curls in a sad little way. “I believe you err in your loyalties, Captain. An orphanage would be a tremendous drain on the city’s coffers. And what of the children of the better citizens who may have to give up a park to fund such an institution?” She dimpled up at him, though he noted that it looked slightly forced. “Do you not agree you would do well to save your sympathy for those who are worthy of it?”

  Worthy. There it was, bald and bare. Insults, slights, sneers from his childhood flooded his head. Sam stared down at Levinia, and for the first time, he fully and truly saw beyond her surface beauty to the utter selfishness and meanness of her nature that mirrored her father’s. He felt a chasm opening between them that he was not sure he could bridge.

  “I do indeed, Miss Stewart.” The ambiguous answer was the best he could offer, but it was clear it only angered her further. There was a sudden glitter in her eyes, a straight, hard-pressed line where her coaxing pout had thrust her lip outward.

  She removed her hand from his arm and stepped to the door. “Perhaps you need to think the situation over, Captain. I am certain, when you have done so, you will reconsider your position concerning these urchins. When you have, I will be pleased to have you call on me again. Good evening.” She opened the door and went inside without a backward look.

  Sam strode across the porch and down the steps, Levinia’s threats ringing in his ears, anger percolating. She had made herself clear. Either agree and support her father’s plans or lose her father’s backing for his political future, and his chance to win her hand. He had to choose. The Stewarts or the orphans.

  Sam sucked in a deep breath of the cool evening air and stepped through the gate. Why had this situation with the orphans arisen, anyway? It made him see truths he did not want to see. Now he was forced to make a decision he did not want to make.

  He traveled down the road toward the jail, the sound of his footsteps echoing in his head, dissolving into the night. He was so close to attaining all he had dreamed of. To achieving the purpose that had kept him alive and fighting through all the shame and degradation and poverty and hardship of his childhood—to fulfilling the vow he had made all those years ago. How could he throw away his goals he had worked toward all these years? How could he give them up now that they were within his reach?

  How could he not?

  The thought brought him to a dead halt. What had he become? Was he a man willing to sell his conscience to pay for his dreams? Sam clenched his hands at his sides, fought the inner stirring, the awakening of truth that made the wall he had so carefully erected around his heart crumble into useless rubble. His face tightened. He stared up at the darkening sky, the knots in his stomach as hard as the clenched fists at his sides, the pain, the longing for love and acceptance that had become the driving purpose of his heart bared. Anger ripped through him. Why now, God? Why now?

  Mary tiptoed across the bedroom and opened the window. Katy was so much improved, surely the night air would not harm her. A breeze flowed in the window, warm, and so slight she could barely feel it on her bare arms.

  She sighed and tiptoed back to bed. There was little hope the room would cool off, but at least the air was fresh. She plumped her pillow and rested against it, then pulled up the long skirt of her nightgown to her knees and wiggled her bare toes. Did Levinia Stewart perspire? Probably not. She seemed impervious to the heat. At least, she had looked cool enough that day on the courthouse portico.

  A mosquito buzzed around her ear. She swatted it away and reached for the bed curtains, then remembered Katy. She could not let the little girl be eaten alive so she could have fresh air. She slipped back out of bed and hurried over to close the window. The corner of the roof of the small shed out back caught her eye. What was in there? Could it be cleaned out and made suitable to sleep the boys? She would look tomorrow.

  Ben had pleaded with Ivy to let the new boy, Will, come home with him and sleep on a pallet on the floor in his room. But if the captain brought another child…And she was quite certain he would. Gracious, that was clever of him to bring up a possible quarantine! And then, when that…that heartless mayor declared they simply were not to arrest any sick children, to use the declaration to keep the children out of jail….

  He had looked so different—so tender and caring while reasoning with Will—talking him into staying with her. Anger spurted through her. Why did he have to do that? It was easier to deny her…her attraction to him, when she believed him heartless. But when he had squatted down and taken hold of Will’s arms, the look on his face…Oh, how had this happened? She did not even like the man! Mary wrapped her arms about her chest, holding in the hurt. Yes. Yes, she did. That was the problem. There was no use denying it. She had been attracted to him before he had been concerned over Katy. Before he had brought Will to her. She had been attracted to him from the moment he had grinned and took hold of her shopping basket that first day. But now…now she liked him. What a fool she was, to allow herself to become attracted to a man like Samuel Benton. A man who courted a beautiful woman like Levinia Stewart.

  Mary wiped a spate of tears from her cheeks, crossed the room and climbed back into bed. She had tried not to care about the captain. She had truly tried. But it seemed her heart had a mind of its own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Oh, James!” Mary clutched the
letter in her hand to her chest, jumped out of her chair and whirled about the room, the long skirt of her blue gown ballooning out around her. “Father says he will not increase my allowance, but he will send an equal allowance for the support of the children! Oh, how wonderful! Now I shall have double the funds to spend on them.”

  James laughed and shook his head. “I do not believe that was Father’s intent, Mary.”

  She stopped whirling and dropped back into her chair. “I know, but they have so many needs and I want for nothing. Oh, my. Only think, James! I shall be able to buy new shoes for Will—he does not say so, but I know his are too small and hurt his feet. And another dress and nightclothes each for Callie and Katy. And Ben needs a new shirt. And they all must have good clothes to wear to church. And then, of course, more school supplies. I shall go shopping tomorrow!”

  She looked over at him. “But I do not mean to ignore your news. What do Mother and Father say in your letter? I mean beyond Mother’s avowal to pray and their declarations of love. Did you tell them of your growing interest in Rebecca Green?”

  “I mentioned it…casually.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That will not fool Mother. She will know you are more than ‘casually’ interested in Miss Green.”

  “I know.” He shot her a suspicious look. “Have you mentioned my interest in Miss Green in your letters home?”

  She laughed and leaned back in her chair. “I may have casually mentioned that I spend quite a few evenings home alone when you call on Miss Green.”

  “Mary…”

  “It is only the truth, James.” She waved her hand toward the letter he held. “What does Father have to say?”

  He gave her a last exasperated look and glanced down at the letter. “He speaks about business, of course. He agrees with my opinion that it would be more profitable to scrap the Journey’s End—” He glanced over at her. “That is one of our steamboats. An old stern-wheeler that is small and in very poor condition. Stern-wheelers are harder to maneuver, and her small size is not conducive to high profits per run. So, as I was saying, Father agrees it would be more profitable to scrap the Journey’s End and build a new, large and luxurious side-wheeler, rather than to invest money in repairs. I estimate a new ship such as I envision will pay for herself in four runs.”