Part 5 (1/2)
Gwen could have argued that point. She thought Bethlehem Springs was as close to perfect as any place could be. So much so that she'd chosen to live in town rather than on the ranch with her father and fraternal twin. Bethlehem Springs suited her as no other place had. She loved that the streets weren't all straight lines, that they didn't run north-south and east-west in perfect, square blocks. She loved that the new mixed with the old. She loved that the stately sandstone munic.i.p.al building was across the street from the livery stable with its faded red paint.
Cleo tilted her head toward the schoolhouse. ”Did you know that Miss Thurber has been teaching the children of Bethlehem Springs for the past twenty-eight years? In fact, she grew up here and went to school in that same building.”
”Yes, I've heard that before. We're lucky to have her. She's very dedicated. She told me she sometimes buys supplies with money out of her own salary because the school budget doesn't stretch far enough.” Gwen shook her head. ”That doesn't seem right, does it?”
”It sure doesn't.”
Gwen paused a moment on the sidewalk, her gaze still on the schoolhouse. ”Don't you think it looks a bit dejected?”
”A fresh coat of paint would go a long way in helping that.”
Gwen nodded. Yes, paint would help. But the school needed far more than that.
They continued walking. As they approached the firehouse on Bear Run Road, they were greeted by a man hosing down the driveway in front of the station.
”How's everything, Mr. Spooner?” Cleo called to him.
”Just peachy, Miss Arlington. Same for you and your sister?”
”Same for us.”
”That's good. Nice day for a walk.”
”We couldn't agree more.”
He nodded his head and returned to his work.
After they were out of earshot, Gwen said, ”After church last Sunday, Mr. Spooner told me that they could have saved the Goodman home if they'd had the new hoses. He said some of the hoses on the fire wagon didn't carry more than a thimbleful of water before the seams burst. The volunteer brigade's been complaining for more than a year, but the mayor never did anything. If he had, the Goodmans would still have a home.”
”That's shameful.”
”Thank G.o.d there hasn't been another fire since then. The whole town could go up in flames.”
Cleo tsk-tsked tsk-tsked in response. A few minutes later, when they turned onto Main Street, she pointed at the High Horse Saloon. ”I heard Tattersall's got a room set up for gambling in the back of that place. It's supposed to be hush-hush, but if even I've heard about it, how come the law hasn't done something to stop it?” in response. A few minutes later, when they turned onto Main Street, she pointed at the High Horse Saloon. ”I heard Tattersall's got a room set up for gambling in the back of that place. It's supposed to be hush-hush, but if even I've heard about it, how come the law hasn't done something to stop it?”
”Because Mayor Hopkins looked the other way.”
”Uh-huh. And who's going to enforce Prohibition if it becomes the law? Won't be Tattersall if he gets elected.”
Gwen stopped and turned toward her sister. ”Bethlehem Springs does need me.”
Her sister grinned. ”Isn't that what I told you? Now you remember that the next time doubt comes knocking at your door.”
”I will. I promise.”
”Good girl.”
Like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather before him, Morgan McKinley was a man of single-minded purpose, one able to focus on a goal and pursue it without wavering from the chosen path. For as long as he could remember, he had been that way, both in his personal life and his business life. It had served him well during his school years, later as he'd sought healing and relief from pain for his ailing mother, and more recently, in the planning and construction of the New Hope Health Spa.
That's why his persistent thoughts about Gwen Arlington troubled him so.
As he sat at his desk, supposedly writing something for the Daily Herald Daily Herald, he recalled the sweet curve of her mouth when she smiled. He remembered the soft scent of her lilac cologne that had teased his nostrils as they sat next to each other in the Daily Herald Daily Herald offices. How could a woman appear so gentle and refined and yet be such a headstrong, opinionated, obstinate - offices. How could a woman appear so gentle and refined and yet be such a headstrong, opinionated, obstinate - ”Stop.” He stood and stepped to the window of his study.
The last thing he needed was to be distracted by a female. Any female. But especially this particular one. He needed to think of her as he thought of Hiram Tattersall: just his opponent in this election. Think of her as he would any man who stood in his way, any man who wanted to keep him from achieving his objective.
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 bas.e.m.e.nt. 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 un.o.bstructed 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.