A Vote of Confidence (17 page)

Rather than agree with him, she reached for his empty glass. 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.

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 anticipated.

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

“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 worship 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
, 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 worship. 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?

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
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 worship 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 shifted 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 Saturday at the Methodist
church. I hope to see you there.”

“I’ll certainly do my best.”

“The details should be in tomorrow’s
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 municipal 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?”

“Owen. Owen Goldsmith.” The boy sat up, giving his head a slow shake as he did so. When he saw the long, ragged tear in the
knee of his left pant leg, he groaned. “Ma’s not going to like seein’ that. These are my Sunday best.”

Morgan leaned for ward. “Your knee’s bleeding too.” He parted the torn fabric to look at the scraped knee. The wound had dirt
and gravel imbedded in the bleeding flesh. “Think you can walk on it?”

“’Course I can.” Owen gave him a disgusted look, one that said the question was dumb.

Subduing a grin, Morgan stood and waited while the boy got to his feet. Owen took one step — and grimaced, his face gone pale.
Even if the bike could be ridden — not likely from the look of the front wheel — he couldn’t have managed it with that knee.

“Where do you live?” Morgan asked.

“On Shenandoah, the other side of Wallula.”

“That’s a long way, limping and pushing a bike with a twisted wheel. Come with me to my place and I’ll drive you home in my
automobile.”

Owen’s eyes got as big as saucers. “Really? I can ride in your car?”

“Sure can.” Morgan pointed. “My house is just around the corner there. Let’s go.” He stepped over to the bicycle, lifted it
by the cross bar, and started up the hillside, checking his stride so as not to outdistance the boy.

When they reached Morgan’s suit coat where he’d dropped it in the road, Owen picked it up. “I’ll carry this for you.”

“Thanks.”

They walked in silence until they reached the top of the hill and turned onto Skyview. That’s when it struck Morgan where
he’d seen the kid before — leaving Gwen’s home. “You take piano lessons from Miss Arlington, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” There was an implied
What of it?
in his tone.

Morgan wondered if some of Owen’s friends gave him a hard time about playing the piano. “She’s my teacher too.”

The kid shot him a look of disbelief. “Aren’t you kinda
old
to be takin’ lessons?”

“Never too old to learn something new.”

Owen grunted.

“And Miss Arlington’s a good teacher. Don’t you think? I know I’ve enjoyed her thus far.”

“Yeah, I suppose she’s good.” The kid squinted his eyes. “You sweet on her or somethin’?”

Fortunately for Morgan, they’d reached his home. He ignored Owen’s question and pointed toward the garage. “My motorcar’s
in there. Want to try to clean up that knee before I take you home?”