Vote of Confidence Read online

  “ ‘Fagan,’ me blessed mother used to say, ‘don’t be bangin’ your shin against a stool that isn’t there.’ ” He raised an eyebrow. “God almighty has spoken to your heart, Morgan McKinley. So you’ve told me and so I believe. Quit doubtin’ yourself. ’Tis not like you.”

  His friend was right. It wasn’t like him. Morgan usually had an abundance of confidence. Maybe the frustrations of the past few weeks had cracked his self-assurance. Or maybe he just needed a few good nights of sleep. He hadn’t slept well since moving to town.

  The two men completed a survey of the lodge, the bathhouse, and the pools. Morgan made some notes to himself, including one about another visit to the municipal building to inquire again about land-use permits, variances, and options to buy.

  An hour later, his business finished, he mounted his horse and rode toward Bethlehem Springs. He let the gelding have its head while his thoughts continued to churn and tumble, while he worried and fretted about construction delays and vandalism and manpower and mounting costs.

  But eventually the calm of the forest that surrounded him seeped into his consciousness. He reined in, bringing the horse to a standstill, and stared at the towering pines that swayed and whispered in a gentle breeze.

  Then shall the trees of the wood sing out at the presence of the Lord, because he cometh to judge the earth. O give thanks unto the LORD; for he is good; for his mercy endures forever.

  He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, the tension going with it. “Your mercy endures forever.”

  A Steller’s jay swooped across the road only a few feet in front of him, causing the horse to sidestep and toss his head. The bird landed on a branch of a nearby ponderosa pine. A moment later, it was joined by another, their dark-blue feathers in striking contrast to the yellow-green of the pine tree’s needles.

  Then shall the trees of the wood sing out at the presence of the Lord!

  Morgan nudged the gelding’s sides with his heels and started down the road once again.

  The delays in construction were irritating but not critical. Replacing the window glass would take both time and money, but not an insurmountable sum of either. He needed to relax and trust God. Keep the faith, as Fagan always told him.

  “Hey, Morgan!”

  At the sound of his name, he looked around. There came Cleo Arlington, cantering her black and white pinto across the bridge. He stopped and waited for her, greeting her with a touch of his fingers to hat brim.

  “Did your automobile break down?” she asked as she drew near, slowing her horse to a walk, then to a stop.

  “No. The car is fine. My horse needed exercise so I decided to ride him up to the resort.”

  “You headed back to town now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mind some company?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Dad and I enjoyed visiting with you last Sunday.”

  He’d bet money her sister wouldn’t say the same.

  “One of our ranch hands brought the newspaper back from town earlier today. Seems to me you and Gwennie think more alike than you do different.”

  The horses moved forward in unison.

  Morgan chuckled. “Maybe that’s why she seemed so smart to me when I read her piece.”

  “Could be. Sure could be.” She gave him a hard stare, but her smile remained broad. “Know what, Morgan? If it weren’t for Gwennie, you’d have my vote. That is, if I could vote in the town’s elections, which I can’t.”

  “Thanks anyway, Cleo. It’s kind of you to say so.”

  “Pity you’ll have to lose to my sister.”

  “What makes you so sure I’ll lose?”

  “Some things a gal just knows. Especially when her twin’s involved. It’s a kind of special connection we’ve got.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I heard you’re twins, but it’s a bit hard to believe.”

  “Don’t I know it. My gorgeous sister, as pretty and ladylike and genteel as you please.” She dropped the reins onto her horse’s neck and held out her hands, palms up, then shrugged. “And me.”

  He immediately regretted what he’d said. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Cleo’s feelings. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean — ”

  “Easy, Morgan. My hide isn’t that thin. The boys at the ranch would have me for breakfast if it was.” She shrugged again. “I am what I am, just what the good Lord made me. That suits me fine.”

  She pulled a watch from her pocket, then released a whistle. “I’d better get me a move on. I promised Gwennie I’d help her get ready for the shindig Carter’s putting on for her. Guess you knew he’s supporting her candidacy.”

  Morgan went still at the name. What was Harrison Carter’s interest in Gwen? Was he courting her? Or was he just trying to keep Morgan from winning?

  “If Gwen’s elected mayor, those two will be working together plenty, so it’s good he believes in her. And I guess there isn’t anybody in town who’s got more pull than Carter. Lots of folks turn to him for advice, him being a lawyer and all.”

  Morgan made a sound to let Cleo know he was listening, but in his mind he imagined Harrison with Gwen. A disturbing image.

  “ ’Course, I can’t say I know Carter or his wife well myself. We don’t exactly move in the same social circles.” She laughed.

  Morgan felt the tension leave his shoulders. “I didn’t know he was married.”

  “Yeah. His wife’s about my age, I think. Pretty. Real quiet thing. She and their two children go to mass at the Catholic church. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I don’t think Carter ever darkens a church door, Catholic or otherwise, except for weddings and funerals. Maybe that’s why I don’t cotton to him much.”

  Morgan didn’t cotton to Harrison either, particularly now that he was showing so much interest in the election.

  NINE

  The supper party was only a few hours away, and Gwen still couldn’t decide whether to wear the rose-pink dress or the lemon-yellow one. She liked them both.

  “Oh, Cleo. Hurry up.” She checked the clock on her dresser. “You were supposed to be here by now.”

  A voice called to her from the front of the house. “Halloo.”

  Oh, mercy. It was her nosy next-door neighbor, Edna Updike. The worst gossip in town. Such a difficult woman, and one who could talk for hours without seeming to draw a breath. Gwen didn’t have time to deal with her now. She shouldn’t have left her door open, despite wanting to let in the fresh air.

  “Miss Arlington. Are you there? Halloo.”

  Patience. Give me patience. She took a quick breath, put a smile on her face, and left the bedroom.

  Edna had her forehead pressed against the screen as she peered into the house. When she saw Gwen, she said, “Oh, good. You are at home. I was hoping to speak to you.”

  “How are you, Mrs. Updike?”

  “My rheumatism’s been acting up lately, but I’m well enough for a woman my age.”

  Gwen waited for her neighbor to take two steps back, then pushed on the frame of the screen door to open it. “Won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you.” She breezed past Gwen. “It really is fine weather we’re enjoying, isn’t it? I was telling Mr. Updike this morning that I don’t remember a prettier May in all the years we’ve lived in Bethlehem Springs. Of course, you haven’t lived here near as long as we have, but don’t you think this is the finest May ever?”

  “Indeed.”

  Edna plopped her plump form onto the sofa. “Did you know our Lady had her pups this week? Five of them. That’s a large litter for a small dog. I thought at first the littlest wouldn’t survive, but she seems to have enough milk now and they’re all thriving, including the runt.” She looked around the parlor. “This really is the most pleasant room, Miss Arlington. You have quite the flair for decorating. So appealing.”

  “Thank you.” Gwen sank onto a chair. “What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

  “Why, the newspaper, of course. What else?
”

  “Oh.” She resisted the urge to sigh.

  “You surely are not serious about this election nonsense, Miss Arlington. Goodness, dear child. Being mayor is not a proper vocation for a woman, especially not a young, unmarried one such as yourself. Surely your father did not know you intended to do this or he would have forbidden you to consider it.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Updike. My father did know. As a matter of fact, he encouraged me.”

  Edna clucked her tongue. “I declare. And what of your minister? He has undoubtedly advised you to withdraw.”

  “No.” Gwen shook her head. “He has not.”

  “Then Reverend Rawlings has forgotten his duty as a man of the cloth. He should remind you that women are never to have authority over men. The Bible says so. Women are not equipped to assume leadership roles. We are the weaker vessels, after all.”

  Gwen quelled her irritation. Her neighbor was in her late sixties, set in her ways, and unlikely to change her mind about anything. “Mrs. Updike, I know you mean well. Truly, I do. I appreciate your concern. But the Bible has several examples of women who held authority. What about Miriam, the sister of Moses, and also Deborah, who was a judge? Isn’t a judge a little like a mayor?” She smiled to soften her words.

  “That’s the Old Testament,” Edna responded, accenting the words with a harrumph at the end. “Christians live under the new covenant.”

  “Then what about Priscilla and Phoebe? They were leaders in the early church. I believe when women are called the ‘weaker vessel,’ it means our physical strength, not that we are inferior.” She leaned forward. “It isn’t my wish to be argumentative, Mrs. Updike, but I was taught we must never use one verse of Scripture out of context from the whole.”

  Edna gave her a cool stare. “Miss Arlington, you are more like your sister than I suspected.” She stood. “You shall regret this. Mark my words. It will be your ruination. No man of good standing will look upon you with favor.” She wagged her finger at Gwen. “Your Mr. Benson will soon look elsewhere for a bride if you persist in your current way.”

  “Since he is not my Mr. Benson, he is free to look wherever he wishes. I do not intend to marry. Not him or any other man. I don’t intend to surrender the freedoms I enjoy as a single woman. Too many men in this world want a servant, not an equal partner. They don’t want someone who can walk beside them rather than behind.” Gwen’s temper grew hotter with each word. “And I’m delighted to know that you think I’m like Cleo. There’s no one I admire more than my sister.”

  From the parlor doorway came Cleo’s hoot of laughter. “Now there’s something I don’t hear every day.”

  Edna sputtered something about tending to the puppies and hurried out without a word of good-bye to Gwen or a word of greeting to Cleo. Rather than rise and follow her neighbor, Gwen covered her face with her hands and released a groan.

  Wry amusement laced Cleo’s voice. “I take it Mrs. Updike isn’t thrilled about you running for mayor.”

  “I’m doomed to spinsterhood because of it.” Gwen lowered her hands. “And possibly risking my salvation.”

  Cleo snorted. “Gwennie, given you’re a Presbyterian and of the Calvinist persuasion, you can’t possibly believe that.”

  Despite herself, Gwen smiled. Cleo had an uncanny way of knowing just what to say to make her feel better.

  “Now, what’re you doing just sitting there? Don’t you have a party to get ready for and an election to win?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then let’s get to it, sis. Times a wastin’.”

  Cleo urged Gwen toward her bedroom much as she would herd cows into a corral. Once Gwen was seated at her dressing table, Cleo plucked the pins from her hair until it cascaded down her back. “Guess who I rode into town with.” She began stroking Gwen’s hair with the brush. “Morgan McKinley.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. He’s had a hard time believing we’re twins, just like most folks do.”

  Gwen met her sister’s gaze in the mirror, wondering what else he’d said to her.

  “Before we parted company, he asked if I was going to the Carter shindig with you.” Cleo grunted. “As if you could drag me to something like that.”

  “All you would need is a new evening frock and — ”

  “Gwennie, haven’t you learned by this time that you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear?”

  Gwen grabbed her sister by the hand and twisted on the dressing stool to look at her. “Don’t say such things about yourself. You are not a sow’s ear.”

  “Maybe not.” Cleo smiled gently. “But I don’t belong with the Carters and their like either. It’s not just that I don’t belong. I don’t want to belong. I like who I am.”

  Gwen sighed. “I envy you, Cleo. You’re so sure of who you are and what you want to do. I wish I was more like you.”

  “Poppycock. You’re already who you want to be. I just heard you saying so to Mrs. Updike. You’re just nervous about tonight. That’s all.”

  Cleo took Gwen by the shoulders and turned her to face the mirror again. “Now let’s get your hair fixed or you’ll never get to that party on time.”

  Gwen knew everyone seated around the long table in Harrison and Susannah Carter’s dining room — the Daily Herald’s Nathan Patterson and his wife, Christina; Samuel Benson, owner of the Pine Company sawmill, his wife, Flora, and their son, Charles, who was seated to Gwen’s right; Jedidiah Winston, the Crow County sheriff, and his unmarried daughter, Rose; Mike O’Rourke of the Golden Gorge Mining Company; Reverend Walter Rawlings; Mayor Thaddeus Hopkins; and the four other county commissioners along with their wives. All sixteen present were dressed to the nines.

  As the party dined on rainbow trout, roasted potatoes, creamed vegetables, and a chocolate confection for dessert, a three-piece orchestra — violin, cello, and harp — played softly in a nearby room. Overhead, a chandelier glittered, its glory reflected in the gold-rimmed china and fine crystal goblets. Black-and-white uniformed servants saw to the guests’ every need.

  Charles leaned near to Gwen. “You are a surprising woman, Miss Arlington. I had no idea you had political aspirations.”

  “I surprised myself in that regard, Mr. Benson.”

  “Please allow me to assist you in any way I can.” He spoke in a husky voice, implying some sort of intimacy between them.

  Why must he do that? It was actions such as this one that had made her neighbor refer to Charles as “your Mr. Benson.”

  She lifted her water goblet and took a sip before answering him. “That’s very kind of you. Of course, there isn’t much to do, other than convince voters I’m the right candidate, and that is something I must do myself.” She gave him a smile, hoping it looked genuine. “Isn’t it?” Without waiting for Charles’s response, Gwen turned to her left and said to her host, “Thank you again for doing this, Mr. Carter.”

  “I’m pleased to do so. Tattersall isn’t qualified, and since I’m quite unhappy with that resort McKinley is building, I couldn’t very well support him.”

  She hadn’t known Harrison opposed the resort. “Why is that, Mr. Carter?”

  “I don’t believe it will be good for Bethlehem Springs.”

  She recalled Morgan’s response to a similar question. His answer had made sense to her — employment for many in the area and an influx of tourist trade for the businesses in town. Didn’t everyone see the benefits of those things, even if they thought a resort would ultimately fail?

  Before she could voice her thoughts, Harrison stood and tapped a knife against his water goblet. Ting… ting… ting… ting… The room fell silent and all eyes turned toward the host.

  “I would like to thank you all once again for coming tonight.” He looked at each person as he spoke. “As you know, we have three candidates for the office of mayor of Bethlehem Springs. As you must also know by now, I have given my support to Miss Gwen Arlington.” He applauded as he looked at Gwen. Everyone else followed suit. “I c
ertainly hope you will join me, for the sake of our fair town, in seeing that she is elected.”

  With darkness blanketing Bethlehem Springs, Morgan leaned his shoulder against an awning post on the side porch and stared at Harrison Carter’s mansion, located on an opposing hillside. Lights glowed from every window of the house, and music could be heard, even from a half mile away.

  Morgan wondered if the guest of honor was enjoying herself. One thing was certain: she wouldn’t be among strangers. Bethlehem Springs was not a large town. Most who lived here could call their neighbors’ children by name and would have a fair idea of the personal business and romantic involvements of those they saw on the street. Townsfolk who didn’t have small businesses of their own — dress shop, haberdashery, mercantile, shoe store, bank, feed store, law office, restaurants — worked at the sawmill to the south of town or in the sole remaining mine to the west. Even those who lived in the county on cattle ranches and small farms were well known because this was where they purchased supplies and went to church.

  All of which meant Gwen was among friends. They would support her because she was one of them already.

  Morgan pushed off the post, turned, and walked inside. Unlike the Carter mansion, few lights burned within these walls. Silence engulfed him.

  Too silent. Too empty. Maybe he should invite his little sister to come stay with him again. Not that he thought Daphne would accept. She was having far too much fun traveling with their distant cousin.

  It bothered him that Gwen had Harrison Carter’s endorsement. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the commissioner wasn’t all he tried to appear. Maybe Morgan was wrong, but his instincts were usually good ones.

  As for Miss Arlington? He’d believed at first she was a beautiful woman who thought rather highly of herself. He’d had to readjust his opinion after reading her campaign piece in the paper. In fact, earlier in the week he’d perused the newspaper archives to better acquaint himself with matters of interest in the town. In doing so, he’d read quite a number of Gwen’s columns. On paper, at least, she came across as intelligent, thoughtful, and caring.