The Law and Miss Mary. Dorothy Clark
James Randolph nodded. “I shall await your visit with interest, Captain.” He turned to the woman and grinned. “Come, dearest, Mr. Goodwin is waiting to show us to our new home.” He took hold of her elbow.
The woman laughed, changing her countenance from cool and austere to fond and amused. Her lips, which had been pressed into a firm line, curved upward in a soft smile. Honey-colored flecks sparkled warmth into her large, brown eyes fringed with long lashes. Sam stared, taken aback. How had he thought her not particularly pretty? She was—
“Stop it, James. Captain Benton cannot know you are teasing.”
Her voice was low-pitched for a woman’s, soft and easy on his ears. A bit husky. Intriguing. She glanced up at him from beneath her hat’s stiff brim and discovered him looking at her. The warmth in her eyes cooled.
“You have erred in your conclusion, Captain Benton. I am not James’s wife. I am his sister.”
“Forgive me, Miss Randolph, I assumed—”
“There is no apology or explanation needed, Captain. It was a natural assumption and of no import. I merely wanted to correct your error.” The river breeze blew the fabric adorning her hat into her face. She frowned and pushed it back, looked up at him again, all trace of warmth and humor gone. “Now, if you will excuse us—I am weary from the journey and anxious to reach our new home. And to remove this ridiculous hat.”
Her frosty demeanor killed his smile. “Of course, forgive my poor manners in detaining you.” He glanced over at her brother. “Until tomorrow, Mr. Randolph.” He gave them a polite nod and headed for the gangplank. If he hurried he could still catch Captain Lewis. James Randolph seemed open and friendly enough, but that did not mean he was above a little unscrupulous behavior. Perhaps on behalf of his boss? He would keep watch on his movements the next few days. As for his sister…what did that “ridiculous hat” comment mean? Women did not wear hats they considered ridiculous. Had she worn it by way of identification to Goodwin? Or as some sort of signal to someone else?
Sam frowned, stepped onto the Fair Weather’s main deck and turned to look out at the levee. Eli Goodwin was leading James Randolph and his sister up the incline to Front Street. No one had joined them. He scanned the area but could spot no one paying the Randolphs any particular attention.
He watched a moment longer, then satisfied he had missed nothing of importance, turned and strode toward the stairs leading to the captain’s quarters on the hurricane deck. He would not only ask about James Randolph’s activities on the journey, he would ask about Miss Randolph’s activities, as well. It was quite possible—in spite of that forthright look in those beautiful, brown eyes of hers—that she would help her brother if he was involved in this steamboat sabotage business. He took another quick glance over his shoulder at the tall, slender figure in the dark blue gown, then gripped the railing and, bucking the flow of the departing passengers, started up the stairs.
Chapter Two
Mary walked beside James, taking in the hubbub of sound and motion around them. Workmen streamed in and out of warehouses, carrying filled burlap bags on burly shoulders or swarmed over huge stacks of crates or barrels. Laborers loaded carts with firewood and hauled it to their boats. Animals, in gated farm wagons, lowed and snorted. Others grunted and squealed as they were forced up gangplanks. Chickens squawked while barking dogs circled their cages. Mary had never seen or heard anything to compare with it. It was organized bedlam.
“That is our warehouse, Mr. Randolph.” Eli Goodwin paused and pointed. “The one you see overtop the roofs of these smaller storage sheds. It was built on the higher ground because of flooding.”
Mary’s stomach flopped. She glanced from the large, brick building with “Mississippi and Missouri Steamer Line” sprawled in large, faded-white letters above the fourth-story windows to the muddy river, and was suddenly very thankful for the rising levee bank they were climbing.
“Does the river flood often?”
James’s question brought a flash of the flat, rolling land along the river’s banks into her head. Mary glanced at Mr. Goodwin.
The man nodded. “You can count on it in the spring. And if there are heavy rains upriver throughout the year, she will flood again. And there is no telling how high the river will rise. But business goes on. When floodwater covers the levee, the captains run their steamers in and moor them to the warehouses.”
“You jest!”
James’s challenge of the story gave her hope. It died when Eli Goodwin shook his head and started walking again. Mary tossed her brother a look of dismay, then followed the bookkeeper as he wove his way through the various piles of merchandise to the street at the top of the levee. Carriages, carts, drays and wagons of all sort rumbled over the cobblestones. Mounted men added to the traffic flow.
“This is Front Street. And that is Market Street across the way.” Eli Goodwin indicated an intersecting road a short distance from them. “And there, on the near corner, is the company office.”
Mary looked over at the narrow, two-story stone building. An oval sign bearing the company name held its place between a door and two mullioned windows painted red.
“A bank on one side, and an insurance company on the other corner. An excellent location.”
Mary smiled at the satisfaction in James’s voice. “And it is only a few steps away from the warehouse on the levee. Surely that is of benefit.”
The bookkeeper nodded and shoved his glasses higher on his nose. “Do you wish to visit the office now?”
James shook his head. “No, tomorrow will be soon enough. For now, I want to get Mary settled in our new home. Is it far?”
“No, sir. It is only two streets away. We will cross here.”
James’s hand closed on her elbow. Mary pulled close her long skirts to avoid horse droppings as they followed Eli Goodwin across Front Street, dodging between a farm wagon full of produce and another loaded with squealing pigs to reach the walkway area in front of the stores. “Gracious me!” She jumped out of the path of a honking, wing-flapping goose being chased by a dog. “I have never witnessed such…such…”
“Pandemonium?”
She looked up at James and laughed. “The very word I was searching for.”
“It is much quieter away from the levee, Miss Randolph. We go this way.” Eli started walking up Market Street. The din of activity fell away as he led them past an intersecting dirt road, then turned right onto the next one and stopped. “This is it.”
Mary stared at the small brick house sitting square on the corner lot. A porch across the face of the cottage shadowed the two mullioned windows, one on either side of a centered door painted white. Wood shingles, bleached and curled by the hot Missouri sun, covered the porch and house roof. Two brick chimney stacks stood at the cottage’s gabled ends.
The chain supporting a dangling cannonball squeaked in protest as Eli Goodwin pulled open the gate in the lime-coated picket fence that enclosed the property. Mary dipped her head, thankful her hat was wide enough to hide her face, and stepped through the gate and up the short, brick walk. James would surely laugh if he saw her shock. Although, from his silence, she was quite certain he was as stunned as she. The cottage was charming, but so small. Why, you could set the whole of it into one end of the stables at home.
“Mrs. Dengler cleaned the place, made up the beds fresh for you and such. And I arranged for Mrs. Rawlins to leave a meal for you. She was cook for Mr. Thomas, the former manager, and has agreed to cook for you if you wish. They will both call on you tomorrow morning to learn if you want them to stay on, or if you prefer to set about finding other help.” A frown drew Eli Goodwin’s brows together. “I believe that is all. Here is the key to the house, Mr. Randolph.” He handed James a skeleton key, gave a curt nod. “I wish you a good evening, sir. And you, Miss Randolph.”
“And