A Vote of Confidence (8 page)

He groaned. Even in his wildest dreams, he wasn’t sure he could picture Gwen Arlington as a man.

“Excuse me, Mr. McKinley.”

He turned from the window, glad to be interrupted by Inez Cheevers, no matter what she wanted. “Yes?”

“If you’ve got a moment, sir, I’d like to introduce the staff I’ve hired.”

“Of course.” He strode across the room, following the housekeeper out to the entry hall.

Standing near the front door was a girl of no more than eighteen, her chin tucked to her chest and her eyes downcast; a middle-aged
woman with a hooked nose and the shadow of facial hair across her upper lip; and a man of sixty or more whose shoulders were
stooped and legs bowed.

“Mr. McKinley, I’d like you to meet Miss Louise Evans who I’ve employed as the housemaid.”

Morgan extended his hand to the girl. “How do you do, miss?”

“I’m well, thank you, sir.” Her voice no more than a whisper, she shook his hand but didn’t look up.

Morgan glanced toward Inez with a raised eyebrow.

The housekeeper shrugged, then motioned toward the older woman. “This is Opal Nelson, your new cook. She worked in one of
the finer restaurants in Boise for many years, but she and her husband moved to Bethlehem Springs this year. Mr. Nelson works
at the bank.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Nelson.”

“Likewise, Mr. McKinley.”

“And this,” Inez finished, “is Roscoe Finch. He’ll be tending to the upkeep of your house and yard and anything else we need
him to do around the place. He’s a fine carpenter, by all accounts, and with the right clothes, he could serve as your butler
when you entertain.”

Morgan tried to imagine the man in butler’s attire, but failed. “Welcome, Mr. Finch.”

“Thank you, sir. Glad to be of service.”

“Mrs. Finch isn’t here as she’s in Boise visiting her sister, but she’ll be taking care of the laundry for the household.”
Inez rested her hands on her belly. “I’ve given Louise the attic bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Finch will take the room off the laundry
in the basement. Mrs. Nelson won’t be living in, but we’ve agreed she’ll arrive for work each morning at six and return to
her home after supper every day except Wednesdays, which she’ll have off.”

Morgan nodded his acceptance to the arrangements.

“Very well, then.” The housekeeper looked at the staff. “Let’s be about our business, shall we? Mr. McKinley has his work
to do, and we have ours.”

The new employees scattered, leaving Morgan alone in the entry hall. Rather than returning to his study, he opened the front
door and stepped outside onto the veranda that wrapped around the house. From this hillside location, he was afforded an unobstructed
view of Bethlehem Springs. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he could see the rooftop of Gwen Arlington’s home on Wallula Street.

Hers was a modest home made of red brick, single story, perhaps five or six rooms in all. A white picket fence surrounded
a well-tended front yard, flowers and shrubs in abundance. A stone walkway led to the covered porch where wooden chairs and
a swing invited people to sit and relax in the cool of the evening. He knew all this because he’d made a point of driving
past it yesterday.

It hadn’t taken much effort for Morgan to learn some details of Gwen’s life: raised by her mother in New Jersey; moved to
Idaho at the age of twenty-one after graduating from a women’s college; taught piano lessons and wrote occasional articles
for the newspaper; devoted to her sister and father; attended the Presbyterian church on Sundays; pursued by one Charles Benson
whose father owned a sawmill to the south of town. But Morgan would like to know a lot more.

For practical purposes, of course. The more he knew about Gwen Arlington the more likely he was to win this election.

And he meant to win. The success of New Hope could depend upon him becoming the next mayor of this small mountain town. He
wasn’t about to let a pretty face best him. The sooner Gwen Arlington realized it, the better for all concerned.

Gwen’s favorite day of the week was Sunday.

She loved cooking for her father and sister, but even more, she enjoyed the discussions that transpired after they’d eaten
their Sunday dinner and moved to either the parlor or, in nice weather, the front porch. Once settled comfortably, they shared
the main points of the sermons they’d heard from the pulpits, Gwen quoting Reverend Rawlings, the minister at All Saints,
and her father and sister sharing the words of Reverend Barker from the Methodist church.

Then, invariably, Gwen and her father would debate opposing points of Christian doctrine held to by their respective denominations.
Cleo tried to stay neutral and sometimes acted as referee.

This Sunday had followed the familiar pattern.

Leaning against the porch rail — looking more comfortable now that she’d changed out of the dress she wore to church and into
her trousers, shirt, and vest — Cleo set her glass of iced tea on the floor. “Gwen, your roses are prettier than ever, and
it’s only May.” She straightened and moved to the steps. “I’m particularly fond of those.” She pointed to a bush near the
front gate. “What color would you call that?”

“Peach.” Gwen exchanged an amused glance with her father. Mentioning the roses was Cleo’s way of indicating it was time for
the debate to cease. “I’ll cut you some and put them in water for you to take home.”

She rose from the swing and went into the house, retrieving a pair of scissors from a drawer in the kitchen. When she came
outside again, she saw Cleo had descended the steps and was bent over the rose bush in question, sniffing the petals.

Gwen drew near. “You should plant some roses at the ranch. They would be beautiful along the south side of the house. I could
give you some starts.”

“Gwennie, I just look at a plant like I’m going to tend it and it keels over dead. I’m far better with horses than green things.”

“I’d be happy to show you how — ” The words died in her throat at the sight of Morgan McKinley on the other side of her fence.

“Good day, Miss Arlington.” He touched his hat brim. Then his gaze shifted to Cleo. “And I believe you are Cleo Arlington.
I saw you and your father in church this morning but didn’t have an opportunity to be introduced.”

Gwen felt her eyes widen. This was the first she’d heard of that. Why hadn’t Cleo told her he’d been there?

“I’m Morgan McKinley.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Cleo answered. “We were admiring my sister’s roses. Aren’t they pretty?”

He was looking at Gwen when he answered, “Very pretty, indeed.”

She felt an odd quiver in her stomach.

“Out for an afternoon stroll?” Cleo asked.

“Yes. I felt the need to walk after dinner. I have a new cook, and I’m afraid I ate more than I should have.”

“I know what you mean. Gwennie’s a mighty fine cook herself.” Cleo stepped to the gate and pulled it open. “Why don’t you
come on up and meet our father? He’d probably like some male

company.”

Forget what their father would like. Gwen would like to kick her sister in the shin.

“That’s kind of you, Miss Arlington. Thank you.”

“It’s too confusing, all this ‘Miss Arlington’ nonsense, what with the two of us. Call me Cleo. That’s proper enough for me. I’m not a candidate for anything.” She led the way toward the porch. “Care for some iced tea, Mr. McKinley?”

“Yes, thank you. I would. And feel free to call me Morgan.”

When that man left, Gwen was going to throttle her sister. Throttle her within an inch of her life.

She pasted on what she hoped was a pleasant expression and returned to the porch swing.

That Gwen wasn’t happy to have Morgan sitting on her front porch in the chair next to her father was as obvious to him as
the nose on her face. Oh, she tried to hide her feelings, but he wasn’t fooled nor surprised. The surprise was that he wanted
to change her feelings. He wished her to be comfortable around him. Despite being her opponent, he wanted her to like him,
which wasn’t logical in the least.

“Thanks for the iced tea,” he said to Cleo. Then, lifting the glass toward Gwen as if toasting her, he added, “It’s very good.”

She nodded but said nothing, the swing moving gently forward and back.

It was her father, Griffin Arlington, who broke the silence. “You’ve shocked a lot of people, Mr. McKinley, by declaring for
office. Some are wondering why it took you more than a year to live in that house you bought. Not to mention your appearance in church this morning for the first time.”

Morgan nodded, certain there was more to come.

“Living out where we do, I don’t have a vote in town affairs, and you don’t owe me an explanation if you don’t want to give
one. But I’d sure like to know why you came to Bethlehem Springs. Seems to me there must be plenty of other places to build
that resort of yours. This isn’t the only one with hot springs.”

“That’s a fair question, Mr. Arlington, and I don’t mind answering it. I had a number of sites to consider, several of which
would have been suitable places to build the resort. All of them had benefits and drawbacks, including the one north of here.”

He decided against saying he believed God directed him to build in Idaho. People usually wanted more concrete explanations
than that, and so that’s what he gave them. “But after weighing every factor, I came to believe this would prove to be the
most successful site.”

Gwen shifted on the swing. “You think it will be the most profitable location.” Her words seemed to be half-question, half-statement.

“Success isn’t always measured by profits, Miss Arlington. But yes, I do believe the resort will turn a profit.” Morgan leaned
back in his chair. “And, I might add, it will do a world of good for the town too.”

“I don’t imagine very many of our citizens could afford to stay at your resort.”

Should he tell her what his mother, before her death, had envisioned for this spa? No, he didn’t think he would share that
information. For the moment they were adversaries, and he’d best remember it.

Breaking the silence, Cleo said, “So tell us what your resort’s going to do for Bethlehem Springs.”

“That’s easy enough, Miss Arlington.”

She shook her head. “Call me Cleo. Remember?”

“Cleo.” He smiled at her. “The resort is already employing a number of men during the construction phase. Carpenters. Bricklayers.
Stonemasons. General laborers. And when it’s time for our opening, we’ll need maids, bellmen, waiters and waitresses for the
restaurant, a chef and chef’s assistants, attendants who will work in the bathhouses, masseurs, stable boys, a physician,
a couple of therapists, and several nurses.” He lifted his hands, palms up. “As you can see, we’ll need many, many people
to work at New Hope, and I naturally hope to be able to hire as many as possible from the area.”

He could have mentioned the possibility that a railroad spur would be brought up to Bethlehem Springs. But that was too tentative
at present. Without the cooperation of the town and county, without his ability to buy more land from them, the railroad would
never agree to come here. And lack of train service would definitely be a hindrance for New Hope.

“And it goes without saying,” he continued, “that the resort will bring with it a strong tourist trade, which will benefit
other businesses in Bethlehem Springs. They’ll come into town to attend a performance at the opera house or to eat in one
of the restaurants, or they’ll want to buy a new dress or a new hat or any number of things that the resort doesn’t provide.”
He glanced from Cleo to her father to Gwen and back to Cleo again.

“That all sounds good,” she said, “but it begs another question in my way of thinking.”

Something told him that Cleo Arlington always spoke her mind, and he decided he liked that about her. No pretense. No gilding of the lily. No pretending to be anything she wasn’t just to impress someone. She was who she was.

And if Inez Cheevers hadn’t told him Cleo and Gwen Arlington were twins, he wouldn’t have believed it.

“If you’re all so determined about making that resort of yours a success, why are you running for mayor? Won’t that take you
away from the work that brought you here?”

Morgan nodded. “Yes, it will, but I have good people working for me who can manage things on my behalf.”

Softly, Gwen said, “You didn’t answer Cleo’s other question. Why do you want to run for mayor?”

He turned his attention upon her. “Because I can do the job and do it well. And as a businessman, I’ve discovered that the
governing bodies hereabouts are not always as helpful as they should be. They make it harder for new businesses to come to
the community. I want to change that. I want to bring progress to Bethlehem Springs, and I want to see the town and its people
flourish.” He challenged her with his eyes. “Don’t you, Miss Arlington?”