A Vote Of Confidence Part 12

Harrison got up from his chair and began to pace the length of the office, hands clasped behind his back. He had to stop McKinley from completing that resort, had to force him to give up and sell the land - at a price far less than it was worth. Let him build his resort someplace else. Any place but where it was right now.

Gwen sat back on her heels and wiped the back of her left gardening glove across her forehead. It was unusually warm for early June, and her flowers loved it. Unfortunately, so did the weeds. But she would persevere until every last one of them was gone. Her flowerbeds were one of her joys.

And as much as she disliked the weeding ch.o.r.e, the task did provide time for praying about and thinking through matters that bothered her. Take, for instance, Mr. McKinley. He bothered her a great deal.

She hadn't seen him since Tuesday, not since she'd gone to his home for his first piano lesson. Yet he continued to weigh on her mind. And whenever she thought of him, she felt a strange - what? A strange longing. As if something were missing in her life.

She yanked another weed from the earth.

What a ridiculous notion. Nothing was missing from her life. She was content in every way. Content in her own small home. Content with teaching her music students and writing her pieces for the Daily Herald. Daily Herald. Content tending to her colorful garden. Her life was full of friends and worthwhile activities, and her faith gave her purpose. She didn't need anything more. Not a single, solitary thing. Content tending to her colorful garden. Her life was full of friends and worthwhile activities, and her faith gave her purpose. She didn't need anything more. Not a single, solitary thing.

If she'd wanted more, she could have had it. She could have married Bryant Hudson when she was nineteen. Bryant was from a family of good society, old money, dignified and responsible. Her mother and his parents had arranged the marriage, and she'd liked Bryant well enough at first, before she truly got to know him. They'd become engaged with the usual fanfare and had planned to wed as soon as she finished her schooling - schooling he believed was a waste of time and money.

From the start, her fiance had made it clear he cared nothing for Gwen's thoughts or opinions. When she brought up items she'd read in the newspaper to him, especially matters of politics or economics, he would look at her as if she'd grown a second head. In his mind, such things couldn't be of any interest to a young woman.

Gwen straightened and brushed loose hairs away from her face.

Oh, how close she had come to making a tragic error. She might have ignored all the warning signs and married him despite her growing uneasiness. But then had come the day when she'd mentioned to Bryant her plans to attend a meeting led by supporters of woman's suffrage. He had forbidden her to go.

In a flash, she'd seen her future. She would be expected to pretend she hadn't a serious thought in her head. She would be expected to decorate her husband's arm and her husband's home, nothing more - another possession he could brag about to his friends. Bryant didn't love her, held no special affection for her, would never think of her as an equal partner in marriage.

She'd ended her engagement that very day and had promised herself to never again give anyone else control over her life.

Sadness washed over Gwen, remembering how her poor mother had taken to her bed, distraught over the news of the broken engagement. Maybe, if her mother had tried to understand Gwen's decision, things wouldn't have become so strained between them. But then, if things hadn't been so strained, maybe Gwen wouldn't have come West to meet her father and sister and maybe she wouldn't have made Bethlehem Springs her home. So she supposed it was all for the best.

Rising from the ground, she removed her gloves and dropped them into a basket with her gardening tools. As she turned toward the porch, she heard an automobile putter to a halt on the street. Her heart gave a little hiccup, then quickened. A moment later, Morgan appeared at her front gate.

He smiled when he saw her. "Good day, Miss Arlington." He tipped his hat, looking dapper in his light-colored summer suit.

"Mr. McKinley." She brushed at the dirt and gra.s.s stains on her ap.r.o.n. She must look a fright.

"You've been gardening."

"Yes."

He opened the gate and stepped into the yard. "You have the loveliest gardens in town."

Her face warmed at his compliment.

"I am here on a matter of business."

"Business?"

"Regarding the campaign."

"Oh." She picked up the basket and moved toward the porch, hoping to put her thoughts in order. "Do sit down, Mr. McKinley, while I get us something cool to drink." She motioned toward the chairs.

"Don't go to any trouble for me. I know I'm intruding."

"Not at all." What was wrong with her? Let him state his business and leave. "I won't be but a moment."

She set the basket on the porch, opened the screen door, and stepped inside. The mirror over the table in the entry told her that not only was her hair disheveled but there was a smudge of dirt on her forehead as well. She whipped off her soiled ap.r.o.n and used one corner of it to wipe the dirt from her face as she headed for her bedroom. Once there, she quickly brushed her hair back into its proper place, all the while telling herself that the only reason she cared about her appearance was because of the election. She did not want to feel at a disadvantage with her opponent.

Yes, of course. That was the reason.

In the kitchen, she poured iced tea into two tall gla.s.ses, sweetened the drinks with sugar, and carried them back to the front porch. She found Morgan sitting on the swing, one arm draped casually over the back of the seat, his right ankle resting on his left thigh just above the knee. He looked at home, as if he'd sat thus a hundred times.

Oh, this would not do.

She handed him his gla.s.s of tea. "Do tell me what business brought you to see me." Although the swing was her favorite place to sit, she chose instead to settle on the wooden chair farthest from it - and from him.

"Reverend Barker has invited the mayoral candidates to partic.i.p.ate in a debate next Sat.u.r.day in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the Methodist church. The room is big enough to hold a large group. I'm sure there would be a great turnout for the event. However, Mr. Tattersall is undecided at this time about whether or not he wants to partic.i.p.ate. So I have come to see if you will accept the invitation."

The Methodist church had become Morgan's church since he moved to town. Would he have an advantage because of the location? Would her fellow Presbyterians stay away? Surely not. Besides, her sister and father attended the Methodist church as well, and they were supporting her in the election.

Morgan took a sip of his iced tea, then said, "Of course, if you and Tattersall both decline, I suppose I shall simply give a speech."

Over my dead body! "That won't be necessary. I accept." "That won't be necessary. I accept."

"Splendid. I believe it shall prove an interesting evening." He drained the last of his tea. "Although, as I've mentioned to you before, you and I are not so far apart in what we hope to accomplish in office."

Rather than agree with him, she reached for his empty gla.s.s. Perhaps they did share many of the same views, but she would still make the better mayor. He couldn't possibly care about the town or its citizens as much as she did. He hadn't lived here long enough. He'd spent almost the whole of the past year up at that resort of his. That's what would be his undoing.

Morgan rose from the swing and set his hat back on his head. "Thank you for the tea, Miss Arlington, and for allowing me to intrude upon your gardening."

Gwen rose to walk with him toward the steps.

"By the way, I'd like you to know that I've been practicing the piano every day."

"Would that all of my students were as dedicated."

He smiled down at her, a look that caused her breath to catch. "I have every intention of impressing my teacher when she comes to my home next Tuesday." He tipped his hat one final time, went down the steps, and strode toward his waiting automobile.

Heaven preserve me. This man would be her undoing if she wasn't careful. This man would be her undoing if she wasn't careful.

Dear Daphne, Dear Daphne,It has been far too long since I have written to you, dear sister, and I apologize. I would use the excuse of how busy I've been with work on the resort, but that's all it would be. An excuse. Please forgive me. I hope this letter finds you well. How is our cousin Gertrude? Please give her my regards.You may be surprised to learn this, but I am running for the office of mayor of Bethlehem Springs. I confess that I entered the race because we've had problems with the local decision makers at both the town and county levels, and those problems have caused a number of delays for New Hope. I had hoped I would already have an agreement with the railroad to bring a spur up to Bethlehem Springs, but until some land-use matters have been resolved, I don't believe the railroad will look at my proposal seriously.One of my opponents for office is a woman. Miss Guinevere Arlington is her name, although she is called Gwen by her family and friends. It is my hope that I will one day be considered her friend too. It is Miss Arlington who has caused me to enjoy this run for office more than I antic.i.p.ated.Will you be traveling abroad again this summer? If not, I wish you would consider a visit to Bethlehem Springs. I have hired a proper staff to care for my home and the needs of any guests who might come to stay. Do think about it, dear sister. I have been reminded recently of the importance of family. Since you and I are the only McKinleys left, I would like us to know one another better than we do.I remain your affectionate brother, Morgan

SIXTEEN.

"Ah, Miss Arlington." Charles Benson doffed his hat to Gwen as she rounded the southwest corner on Wallula and Main. Almost as if he'd been waiting for her. "A glorious Sunday morning, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, Mr. Benson." She quickened her pace as she crossed the street, the front doors of All Saints Presbyterian in view.

Charles stayed beside her. "Eager to get to church?"

"I'm always eager to wors.h.i.+p the Lord."

"Of course. Aren't we all?"

She thought not but didn't say so.

"Townsfolk are buzzing about the election because of you."

"Are they? Why is that?" Her tone was somewhat sharper than she'd intended it to be.

"Well... I mean... no one expected a woman to run for office. Especially a young unmarried woman such as yourself."

She stopped and faced him, clutching her Bible close to her chest. "My age and gender should have no bearing on my qualifications. Nor should my marital status. I am fully qualified and able to serve as mayor. I care deeply about the issues that concern the people of Bethlehem Springs. I should think that would be all they cared about."

Poor Charles. He seemed at a loss for words now.

"The service will start soon, Mr. Benson. We don't want to be late." She hated using the word we we, certain he would read meaning into it that wasn't there. However, she saw no way around it. After all, Charles and his family were members of All Saints too.

Morgan McKinley, however, was not a member - yet he was the very man she saw first upon stepping into the vestibule. How alarming that her heart tripped at the sight of him.

"Good morning, Miss Arlington."

"Good morning."

"Surprised to see me here?"

His smile was one of his best features. In fact, she liked it so much she forgot his question.

"How do you do," Morgan said to Charles, offering his hand. "I'm Morgan McKinley."

"Charles Benson."

His question found its way back into her head. "Yes, I admit I am surprised. You're a Methodist, aren't you?"

He lowered his voice as he leaned toward her. "I wanted to see you at wors.h.i.+p. One can learn a lot about a person that way." He glanced at Charles, then back at her. "May I sit with you? This being my first visit to All Saints."

No! "If you wish, Mr. McKinley." Why did she say that? "If you wish, Mr. McKinley." Why did she say that?

She moved toward the sanctuary. Although she didn't look, she knew he was right behind her. She heard him greeting other congregants, working his charm, as he followed her to her usual pew.

He didn't need to sit with her just because it was his first visit. He obviously knew many of the people here. Oh, he was a cad to do this to her in her own church. Was there no limit to the lengths to which he would go to win the election?

When she was seated, she glanced to her right to see if Charles meant to sit with them. Apparently not. He had joined his family across the aisle and up one row.

She should have looked for another single female and sat beside her. She wasn't required to sit in this pew. As it was, it looked as if she was with with Morgan McKinley. Nothing could be further from the truth, but that was surely how it appeared all the same. Morgan McKinley. Nothing could be further from the truth, but that was surely how it appeared all the same.

Thoughts churning, Gwen didn't realize the service had begun until Morgan rose to his feet, hymnal in hand. She stood too. A few bars into the hymn, she learned he had a wonderful singing voice, the kind that made others turn their heads to see to whom it belonged. Then they smiled, taking pleasure in listening to him. And there she was, sharing his hymnal, the two of them side by side for all to see.

How had her Sunday morning gone so wrong?

It hadn't been Morgan's aim to make Gwen uncomfortable. Nor had his decision to join her there had anything to do with the campaign. Not really. He'd simply wanted to see her again, and church had been the logical place on a Sunday morning. Reverend Rawlings was a good preacher, although Morgan thought the man could use some of Reverend Barker's fiery enthusiasm.

Which caused him to wonder why Gwen chose to wors.h.i.+p at All Saints Presbyterian instead of Bethlehem Springs Methodist with her sister and father. He would have to ask her - once she was no longer mad at him.

When the last hymn was sung and the last amen spoken, Morgan turned toward Gwen. "I enjoyed the service and appreciate your hospitality, Miss Arlington. Thank you."

She didn't quite meet his eyes as she replied, "You're welcome, Mr. McKinley."

He stepped into the center aisle, then motioned for her to precede him. As he followed her out of the sanctuary, he took pleasure in watching the way she carried herself. She was a tiny thing. Couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. But her back was ramrod straight and her head held high, as if she hoped to make herself a few inches taller by sheer force of will. If anyone could do such a thing, it was probably Gwen Arlington.

At the church doorway, she paused long enough to shake the reverend's hand and tell him she enjoyed the sermon. Morgan did the same.

"It was our pleasure to have you with us today, Mr. McKinley," Walter Rawlings said. "Could it be you might become part of our congregation?"

"Sorry, Reverend." From the corner of his eyes, he saw Gwen go down the steps. "I was only visiting."

The man chuckled. "And I believe I know why." His gaze s.h.i.+fted toward Gwen, who was now in conversation with several other women.

Morgan let the comment go unacknowledged, instead saying, "There's going to be a mayoral debate next Sat.u.r.day at the Methodist church. I hope to see you there."

"I'll certainly do my best."

"The details should be in tomorrow's Herald Herald."

"I'll look for them, Mr. McKinley."

Morgan set his hat on his head and stepped into the bright sunlight of midday. He didn't know if Gwen saw him, but that was the moment she moved away from her women friends and walked across the street, soon disappearing around the corner on her way toward home.

It was tempting to go after her. He could apologize for making her uncomfortable. He could invite her to dine with him. He could - No, he'd best let it go for now. He'd already bungled things enough for one day.

He turned north and walked through town on his way toward home. There was little activity along Main Street on a Sunday. A few horses were tied at the hitching post outside the High Horse Saloon and one automobile was parked on the street. Tattersall obviously had no scruples about having his business open on a Sunday. That wouldn't last long. Prohibition could come to Idaho as early as the first of next year.

What would Tattersall do if that happened? He'd have to close down the High Horse. Could that be why he was running for office? To make sure he had a job? No. Tattersall didn't strike him as a man who considered the future much beyond the next week.

He'll probably become a bootlegger. Just what Bethlehem Springs needs.

Once past the munic.i.p.al building, the street made a steep climb up the hillside. Halfway up, with the sun feeling hot upon his back, Morgan stopped to remove his suit coat, then tossed it over one shoulder, the collar hooked on an index finger. He'd almost reached the top of the hill and the turn onto Skyview when a boy on a bicycle came racing around the corner, headed straight for him. Morgan gave a shout of warning and jumped to one side, barely avoiding being hit. The boy veered hard to the left, wheels skidding in the dirt and gravel, and then the kid parted company with the bike, rolling and bouncing down the incline before coming to a dusty halt on his back.

Morgan dropped his suit coat and hurried to the boy. "Hey, there." He knelt beside the lad. "You okay?"

The boy - perhaps eleven or twelve years old, he'd guess - gave Morgan a dazed stare.

"Are you okay?"

"I... I think so."

"What's your name?"