A Vote of Confidence (16 page)

His mother hadn’t cared about his technique. Over and over again, she’d asked him to play “Amazing Grace,” “Jesus, Lover of
My Soul,” and other favorite hymns. She’d loved it even when he could only play the melody with his right hand. “It comforts
me,” she had said to him countless times.

Morgan cleared his throat as he tamped down the poignant memories.

“How long has it been since you played?” Gwen’s voice was filled with compassion, as if she’d heard the words he hadn’t spoken.

“About four years.”

“Nothing is lost. You’ll remember what you learned, I promise you. It’s just a bit rusty.” Gwen motioned toward the piano
keys. “Let’s begin our lesson again, shall we?”

She smiled at him.

And in that moment he realized something. A man couldn’t plan if or when he would find a woman who would win his regard. It
simply happened. Such was the case with the enchanting Miss Arlington. Despite his intentions to remain free of attachments,
despite all his promises to himself, he’d fallen for her like a lemming tumbling over a cliff into the ocean, headlong and
mindless of the danger. And unless he missed his guess, it was much too late to save himself. Although she might not know
it yet, Gwen already held his heart captive in her hands.

Good thing he knew God’s timing was perfect. He couldn’t say much for his own.

Gwen was not so naive that she didn’t recognize the light of interest in Morgan’s eyes. She’d seen it in men’s eyes before. She saw it in Charles Benson’s eyes every time they were together. And
yet Morgan’s gaze seemed different. As if he saw beneath the surface and knew the real Guinevere Arlington.

Which was a ridiculous, romantic notion, and she was not a ridiculous, romantic woman. Besides, in her experience, few men
saw beneath the surface when it came to women.

She drew herself up, trying hard to look every inch the teacher. “Please play the C-major scale again. A little faster this
time.” Then, to make certain her thoughts didn’t continue to wander where they shouldn’t, she moved to stand behind Morgan.

The remainder of the lesson progressed in a normal fashion with her student running through the scales and chords, roughly
at first but improving with each try. Gwen suspected she would soon hear him play more difficult melodies.

And though she was loath to admit it, she looked forward to listening to him play again, next week and the one after that
and the one after that.

Harrison Carter closed the office door and turned toward his visitor. “What can you tell me? Why was she in his home?”

Elias Spade, a short, bespectacled man, shook his head. “Miss Arlington’s giving McKinley piano lessons.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true, sir. She was there just over half an hour, and I could observe the two of them clearly. My view was unobstructed.”

Harrison crossed to the window that overlooked Main Street. Kitty-corner from his law offices stood the sandstone municipal
building that housed both county and city governments. For more than a decade, all the major decisions regarding what was
and wasn’t done in this area had been made in Harrison’s office first. He wasn’t about to let anything upset the order of
things.

Piano lessons. What was she thinking? Foolish girl.

This was why women shouldn’t be involved in politics or business. They had no head for it. They were naive and unable to make
the types of decisions men made on a daily basis. Women belonged in the home and not in the halls of government. To think
he would be saddled with this foolish female for the next four years set his teeth on edge.

Maybe he shouldn’t have given her his support. But what else could he have done? If he’d backed Tattersall, he’d have been
labeled crazy. And while he could have run for mayor himself, he knew his own interests were better served in his position
as head of the county commissioners.

He cursed softly. He would have to assert a little more control over Miss Arlington.

“What more have you learned?”

Spade answered, “McKinley owns the land free and clear. No mortgage. No encumbrances. Almost a hundred acres.” He cleared
his throat. “And from what I hear, he’s got some connection to the governor or some senator. I’d be careful if I were you.”

“Moses Alexander isn’t interested in what’s happening in Bethlehem Springs. He’s too busy trying to make Idaho a dry state
to notice us.” Harrison sat in an oversized leather chair. “What about McKinley’s business practices? What about his family?”

“Sorry, sir. Nothing you don’t already know.”

Harrison felt his temper rising. “What am I paying you for, then?”

“Mr. Carter, Morgan McKinley is one of the fifty wealthiest men in the country. What he doesn’t want anyone to know, they
aren’t going to know. I’ve done my best, but there just isn’t anything more to be learned.”

“Get out.” Harrison waved his hand. “Get out of my sight.”

Elias Spade didn’t waste any time following the order.

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 chore, 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.
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 fiancé 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 grass stains on her apron. 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 apron
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 glasses, 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 glass 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 participate in a debate next Saturday in the basement 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 participate. 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.”

“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.”