Part 8 (1/2)
TEN.
Gwen awakened the next day feeling frustrated and irritated, and no matter what she tried - Bible reading, prayer, a firm mental talking-to, scrubbing the kitchen with more vigor than was normal - she couldn't seem to shake the feeling.
As her final student, Owen Goldsmith, flew through his scales and chords on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, Gwen's thoughts returned to the previous evening at the Carter home. She still felt out of sorts over Harrison's unwillingness to answer her question about the McKinley resort. Had he meant to brush her aside or had she simply asked at an inopportune moment? Perhaps she was being overly sensitive. One of her worst faults was to bristle when she felt ignored by reason of her gender. However, she had earned that fault through experience. Too many men of her acquaintance thought she - and all females - should think of nothing but how to manage a home and raise children. Ridiculous! Did they believe G.o.d gave her a mind but didn't want her to use it?
”How was that, Miss Arlington?” Owen asked, drawing her attention back to the present.
”Very well done. You've been practicing, haven't you?”
”Yes'm. Ma says I've gotta play a lot if I wanna be good.”
Gwen nodded. ”Your mother is right.” She flipped through a stack of sheet music. ”I believe you're ready for something a bit more challenging. Here's a short piece by Frederick Chopin. Let's give it a try.”
The first time through was slow and choppy. The second time through sounded much better. By next Sat.u.r.day, the boy would have it memorized. He was such a gifted student. One day in the not too distant future, he would surpa.s.s her ability to instruct him on the piano. It was no stretch to believe that if he received a proper education, if he stayed in school through all twelve grades, his talent would take him far beyond the borders of Bethlehem Springs.
With the minute hand on the mantel clock marking the hour, Owen slipped from the piano bench, then shoved his right hand into his pocket. ”Almost forgot. Ma sent the money for my lessons, last week and this.” He dropped the coins into Gwen's hand. ”She said thanks for waitin'.”
Many would not consider it a great deal of money, but Gwen knew it was a financial sacrifice for the Goldsmith family. ”Tell your mother she's welcome, and remember to thank Mrs. Evans for letting you practice on her piano.”
”Yes'm.” He grabbed the sheet music. ”See you next week.” He started for the door, then stopped and spun toward her again. ”Miss Arlington? You still gonna give me lessons if you're the mayor?”
”Yes, Owen. I'm still going to give you lessons.”
”That's good, 'cause Ma said she wouldn't vote for you if it meant you not teachin' me no more.” With that, he dashed out the door.
Gwen slid the bench under the keybed before putting the remaining sheet music into a wicker basket on the floor next to the piano. One day, Owen might play on a piano in a place like Carnegie Hall, but his grammar would need to improve before then. And that probably wouldn't happen without changes in the Bethlehem Springs educational system. The town needed more teachers, more books, perhaps even a new building.
As mayor, education for the children of Bethlehem Springs would be her top priority.
A rap on the doorjamb drew her gaze to the front door. On the opposite side of the screen stood Morgan McKinley.
”Good afternoon, Miss Arlington. Am I intruding? I saw that young fellow leave, and I was hoping I might have a moment of your time.”
She moved toward the door. ”Owen was my last student for the day.”
”I heard him playing. Or was that you?”
She opened the screen, but rather than inviting him in, she stepped onto the porch. ”How is it I can help you?” She didn't mean to sound unfriendly, but she was afraid she did.
If it bothered him, he didn't let it show. ”I am in need of a secretary, and I was hoping you might be able to recommend someone.”
And you couldn't ask someone else? It seemed a flimsy excuse for this visit. It seemed a flimsy excuse for this visit.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, ”I asked Mrs. Cheevers, but she had no suggestions. So I went over to the church, but Reverend Barker is on a pastoral visit to someone who lives near the sawmill and he isn't expected back until this evening. And then I thought of you. Since I was close by, I decided to stop and ask you.”
”I might be able to come up with a few names. Give me a few days to think about it.” She narrowed her eyes. ”Tell me, Mr. McKinley. Do you plan to remain in Bethlehem Springs after you lose the election?”
”After?” Amus.e.m.e.nt lit his eyes. ”Not if if ?” ?”
She smiled despite herself. ”After, not if.”
”I a.s.sure you, Miss Arlington” - he returned her smile - ”I plan to spend plenty of time in Bethlehem Springs, no matter what happens in the election.”
Gwen felt as if her stomach had done a somersault. Perhaps two or three. Gracious. What an odd sensation. Gracious. What an odd sensation.
Morgan enjoyed watching the emotions that played across her face. He almost thought she might like him a little. Or at least didn't dislike him as much as she'd seemed to in the past.
Reluctant to leave just yet, he glanced toward the chairs at the far end of the porch and asked, ”Do you mind if we sit down?”
She surprised him by acquiescing with a nod, and he followed her as she walked to the porch swing. He settled onto one of the chairs. Briefly their gazes met before she turned to look at the flowers in her garden. A touch of pink colored her cheeks, and he realized that she was made uncomfortable by his staring.
To break the lengthening silence, he cleared his throat and asked, ”How was the party at Commissioner Carter's last night?” Her eyes widened, and he knew he'd startled her with the directness of his question. ”Mind telling me who was there? Or would that be aiding and abetting the opposition?”
Gwen shook her head. Whether in answer to Morgan's first question or the latter, he didn't know.
”Miss Arlington.” He leaned forward in the chair. ”I am not not the enemy. I don't wish you ill. Surely you could see from our articles in the newspaper that our ideas and desires for Bethlehem Springs are more alike than they are different.” the enemy. I don't wish you ill. Surely you could see from our articles in the newspaper that our ideas and desires for Bethlehem Springs are more alike than they are different.”
A new emotion appeared on her face - regret. ”That is is what I've done, isn't it? I've made you the enemy.” She released a soft, self-deprecating laugh. ”I apologize, Mr. McKinley. An enemy is quite a different thing from a political opponent.” what I've done, isn't it? I've made you the enemy.” She released a soft, self-deprecating laugh. ”I apologize, Mr. McKinley. An enemy is quite a different thing from a political opponent.”
”At least it is in our case. I'd like to believe we could be friends, no matter what happens in the election.”
Friends.h.i.+p. Was that what he wanted from her? He wasn't so sure.
”There is no reason you shouldn't know who came to the gathering last night.” Gwen raised a hand to her nape and twirled a wisp of blonde hair around her index finger. ”The entire board of commissioners and their wives were present. Mr. Patterson from the paper and his wife. Mr. Benson from the mill and his wife and son. Our county sheriff, Mr. Winston, and his daughter. Mr. O'Rourke from the mine. Reverend Rawlings from All Saints Presbyterian.” After a pause, she added, ”I believe that's everyone. No, wait. Mayor Hopkins was there too.”
The guest list didn't surprise Morgan. Money and power. That's what mattered to a man like Harrison.
A frown crinkled Gwen's brow. ”Are you aware that Mr. Carter believes your spa is not in the best interests of the people of Bethlehem Springs?”
”Yes, I'm aware of it. What about you? Do you believe it isn't in the town's best interests?”
”I may not understand all the ramifications.” Her answer showed both wisdom and caution. Her eyes narrowed a little as she looked at him. ”I know the reasons you say the town will profit by the resort, but I think I'd like to understand a little more why you want to build a resort. Here or anywhere. You haven't built a resort or a hotel anywhere else. Nor has the McKinley family been involved in those enterprises. So what makes you want to do it now and here of all places?”
Ah, she had done her own bit of investigating. Good for her.
He leaned back in his chair again. ”It began with my mother's illness. I was in college when the symptoms first appeared. Periods of pain throughout her body, usually intense. A general weakness at times. At others, total exhaustion.” It was his turn to look toward the flowers in Gwen's garden. ”There were times when she didn't get out of bed for a week or two at a time. Different doctors diagnosed different conditions, and they tried numerous remedies. Her greatest physical relief came from the warm water therapy and ma.s.sage she received at spas in Europe.”
Morgan's reply didn't paint a complete picture of his mother's struggles with debilitating pain, but he couldn't bring himself to be more descriptive.
He looked at Gwen again. ”But it was her faith in G.o.d that gave her the strength and courage to endure. New Hope was her dream, and while she didn't live long enough to see it built, I mean to make it a reality in her memory. The McKinleys have enjoyed financial blessings for many generations. That's what allowed her to receive the help she did. But she dreamed of a place where anyone could come. The poor who suffer from polio. The young and old who live with incurable pain. Those without faith who need prayer.”
”Do you mean to say that your spa will not cater to the wealthy?”
”Not to them alone.”
There was something different about the way she looked at him now. Could it be a glimmer of admiration?