Part 12 (1/2)

Harrison got up from his chair and began to pace the length of the office, hands clasped behind his back. He had to stop McKinley from completing that resort, had to force him to give up and sell the land - at a price far less than it was worth. Let him build his resort someplace else. Any place but where it was right now.

Gwen sat back on her heels and wiped the back of her left gardening glove across her forehead. It was unusually warm for early June, and her flowers loved it. Unfortunately, so did the weeds. But she would persevere until every last one of them was gone. Her flowerbeds were one of her joys.

And as much as she disliked the weeding ch.o.r.e, the task did provide time for praying about and thinking through matters that bothered her. Take, for instance, Mr. McKinley. He bothered her a great deal.

She hadn't seen him since Tuesday, not since she'd gone to his home for his first piano lesson. Yet he continued to weigh on her mind. And whenever she thought of him, she felt a strange - what? A strange longing. As if something were missing in her life.

She yanked another weed from the earth.

What a ridiculous notion. Nothing was missing from her life. She was content in every way. Content in her own small home. Content with teaching her music students and writing her pieces for the Daily Herald. Daily Herald. Content tending to her colorful garden. Her life was full of friends and worthwhile activities, and her faith gave her purpose. She didn't need anything more. Not a single, solitary thing. Content tending to her colorful garden. Her life was full of friends and worthwhile activities, and her faith gave her purpose. She didn't need anything more. Not a single, solitary thing.

If she'd wanted more, she could have had it. She could have married Bryant Hudson when she was nineteen. Bryant was from a family of good society, old money, dignified and responsible. Her mother and his parents had arranged the marriage, and she'd liked Bryant well enough at first, before she truly got to know him. They'd become engaged with the usual fanfare and had planned to wed as soon as she finished her schooling - schooling he believed was a waste of time and money.

From the start, her fiance had made it clear he cared nothing for Gwen's thoughts or opinions. When she brought up items she'd read in the newspaper to him, especially matters of politics or economics, he would look at her as if she'd grown a second head. In his mind, such things couldn't be of any interest to a young woman.

Gwen straightened and brushed loose hairs away from her face.

Oh, how close she had come to making a tragic error. She might have ignored all the warning signs and married him despite her growing uneasiness. But then had come the day when she'd mentioned to Bryant her plans to attend a meeting led by supporters of woman's suffrage. He had forbidden her to go.

In a flash, she'd seen her future. She would be expected to pretend she hadn't a serious thought in her head. She would be expected to decorate her husband's arm and her husband's home, nothing more - another possession he could brag about to his friends. Bryant didn't love her, held no special affection for her, would never think of her as an equal partner in marriage.

She'd ended her engagement that very day and had promised herself to never again give anyone else control over her life.

Sadness washed over Gwen, remembering how her poor mother had taken to her bed, distraught over the news of the broken engagement. Maybe, if her mother had tried to understand Gwen's decision, things wouldn't have become so strained between them. But then, if things hadn't been so strained, maybe Gwen wouldn't have come West to meet her father and sister and maybe she wouldn't have made Bethlehem Springs her home. So she supposed it was all for the best.

Rising from the ground, she removed her gloves and dropped them into a basket with her gardening tools. As she turned toward the porch, she heard an automobile putter to a halt on the street. Her heart gave a little hiccup, then quickened. A moment later, Morgan appeared at her front gate.

He smiled when he saw her. ”Good day, Miss Arlington.” He tipped his hat, looking dapper in his light-colored summer suit.

”Mr. McKinley.” She brushed at the dirt and gra.s.s stains on her ap.r.o.n. She must look a fright.

”You've been gardening.”

”Yes.”

He opened the gate and stepped into the yard. ”You have the loveliest gardens in town.”

Her face warmed at his compliment.

”I am here on a matter of business.”

”Business?”

”Regarding the campaign.”

”Oh.” She picked up the basket and moved toward the porch, hoping to put her thoughts in order. ”Do sit down, Mr. McKinley, while I get us something cool to drink.” She motioned toward the chairs.

”Don't go to any trouble for me. I know I'm intruding.”

”Not at all.” What was wrong with her? Let him state his business and leave. ”I won't be but a moment.”

She set the basket on the porch, opened the screen door, and stepped inside. The mirror over the table in the entry told her that not only was her hair disheveled but there was a smudge of dirt on her forehead as well. She whipped off her soiled ap.r.o.n and used one corner of it to wipe the dirt from her face as she headed for her bedroom. Once there, she quickly brushed her hair back into its proper place, all the while telling herself that the only reason she cared about her appearance was because of the election. She did not want to feel at a disadvantage with her opponent.

Yes, of course. That was the reason.

In the kitchen, she poured iced tea into two tall gla.s.ses, sweetened the drinks with sugar, and carried them back to the front porch. She found Morgan sitting on the swing, one arm draped casually over the back of the seat, his right ankle resting on his left thigh just above the knee. He looked at home, as if he'd sat thus a hundred times.

Oh, this would not do.

She handed him his gla.s.s of tea. ”Do tell me what business brought you to see me.” Although the swing was her favorite place to sit, she chose instead to settle on the wooden chair farthest from it - and from him.

”Reverend Barker has invited the mayoral candidates to partic.i.p.ate in a debate next Sat.u.r.day in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the Methodist church. The room is big enough to hold a large group. I'm sure there would be a great turnout for the event. However, Mr. Tattersall is undecided at this time about whether or not he wants to partic.i.p.ate. So I have come to see if you will accept the invitation.”

The Methodist church had become Morgan's church since he moved to town. Would he have an advantage because of the location? Would her fellow Presbyterians stay away? Surely not. Besides, her sister and father attended the Methodist church as well, and they were supporting her in the election.

Morgan took a sip of his iced tea, then said, ”Of course, if you and Tattersall both decline, I suppose I shall simply give a speech.”

Over my dead body! ”That won't be necessary. I accept.” ”That won't be necessary. I accept.”

”Splendid. I believe it shall prove an interesting evening.” He drained the last of his tea. ”Although, as I've mentioned to you before, you and I are not so far apart in what we hope to accomplish in office.”

Rather than agree with him, she reached for his empty gla.s.s. 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. This man would be her undoing if she wasn't careful.

Dear Daphne, 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 antic.i.p.ated.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

SIXTEEN.

”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 wors.h.i.+p the Lord.”