“Good afternoon, Miss Randolph. What brings you here to enjoy our hospitality?”

Those brown eyes of hers flashed at Sam. “Good afternoon, Captain. I am in jail because one of your policemen invited me.”

“I see.” Sam’s grin widened. She was not as cool as she pretended. Underneath all that poise Miss Randolph was mad as a wet hen. “Would that be the one who found you at the courthouse refusing to allow the children to go back to work when they were told to do so? And what did you hope to gain by such behavior?”

Mary’s head lifted. “A doctor’s orders that the children were not to work in such heat. Which I accomplished.” A look of pure satisfaction spread across her face.

Sam gave her a mock stern look. “Miss Randolph, what am I to do with you?”

She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Pay my bail?”

MILLS & BOON

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DOROTHY CLARK

Critically acclaimed, award-winning author Dorothy Clark lives in rural New York, in a home she designed and helped her husband build (she swings a mean hammer!) with the able assistance of their three children. When she is not writing, she and her husband enjoy traveling throughout the United States doing research and gaining inspiration for future books. Dorothy believes in God, love, family and happy endings, which explains why she feels so at home writing stories for Steeple Hill Books. Dorothy enjoys hearing from her readers and may be contacted at dorothyjclark@hotmail.com.

The Law and Miss Mary
Dorothy Clark

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.

—1 Samuel 16:7

This book is dedicated with appreciation and affection to my extremely talented editor Melissa Endlich, who knows how to make each book the very best it can be. Thank you, Melissa. It is a pleasure to know you, and an honor to work with you.

And a special thank you to my wonderful friend Jean Mallery. It was Jean who first learned, lo these many years ago, that I was secretly writing a book and encouraged me to follow the Lord’s call. If it hadn’t been for you, Jean, I wouldn’t be working on my seventh novel. Thank you for your faithfulness, encouragement and love.

“Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.”

Your word is truth. Thank You, Jesus.

To You be the glory.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

St. Louis, 1840

Mary Randolph shifted her gaze from the muddy waters of the Mississippi River flowing under the steamboat to the scratched and gouged promenade deck rocking gently beneath her feet. In spite of the sun shining overhead, both river and deck were dull, lusterless. The same as she. Tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them away and squared her shoulders, refusing the thought, determined that no remnant of the past would cloud this first glimpse of her future.

The tempo of the engines driving the paddle wheels slowed. A raucous blast from the boat’s whistle split the air. Mary gripped the rail with both hands and peered out at the city of St. Louis, thankful for the sudden downdraft of wood smoke from the steamer’s tall stacks that made her eyes smart and water, giving her an excuse for any betraying, glistening tears.

The Fair Weather gave another blast of her whistle, slipped into a berth and nosed up to the bank. Cobblestones paved the incline from the river’s edge that leveled off in a street that formed the city’s front door. Mary crowded closer to her brother in the sudden press of passengers along the rail and studied the area. Steamboats and other river craft of all descriptions lined the sloping bank, taking on or unloading passengers. Smokestacks belched plumes of acrid smoke into the warm, moist air. Whistles blew, announcing arrivals and departures. Ships’ mates shouted orders to their crews. Chains rattled and ropes squeaked with tension as cargo was taken aboard or lowered to the dock. Hammers pounded as repairs were made. And beneath the din hummed the constant murmur of voices.

Mary blinked the moisture from her eyes and took a step back to use her brother as a windbreak while she adjusted her new hat. “I did not expect such a hustle and bustle of activity in a frontier city.” She shook out the long tails of diaphanous fabric streaming from the base of her top hat down her back, and moved forward again to stand at the rail. “There must be at least twenty or twenty-five steamboats docked along this shore, James.”

“I make it closer to thirty, perhaps more. It’s difficult to tell.” James leaned over the rail as far as he was able and looked up and down the shoreline. “There are so many smokestacks it looks like a forest growing out of the river.” He pushed himself erect and placed his mouth close by her ear. “And only six of these steamers are ours—including this one. I shall write Father of the stiff competition immediately.”

Mary released her hold on the rail, stared at the flecks of peeling paint on her gloves and lowered her voice to match his. “Do you suppose Father knew of the neglected, weather-beaten condition of the ships before he bought the line? If the Fair Weather is any indication, the vessels of the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line are in very poor condition.”

“He knew. Wilson had all the information when he came to St. Louis to make the deal in Father’s stead.” James leaned closer to her. “And Father knows why. His agent had reported someone has been letting the ships fall into disrepair while they skimmed off the profits. I am to discover the culprit.”

Mary stopped brushing her hands together to rid her gloves of the paint specks and looked up at him. “So that is the reason for our secrecy.”

“Exactly.” He turned his mouth back to her ear. “If anyone learns our father is the new owner, the thieves will cover their tracks and disappear. We must be cautious and trust no one with that information until I uncover the truth.”

“You are warning me to silence?” Mary shot him a look of disbelief. “Surely you do not think anyone will learn our father purchased the line from me? Why, if I were a devout person, I would be on my knees this very moment giving thanks to God for our secrecy. This is the perfect situation for me.” Her face tightened. “Of course, if it were not for God, I would not need anonymity from Father’s wealth and status.” The words came hissing out in a bitter whisper. She pressed her trembling lips together and turned away from the flash of sympathy in her brother’s eyes.

“Mary, listen—”

She shook her head. Wind gusted over the rail, snatched the long, flowing tails of fabric on her hat and whipped them forward again. She brushed the filmy fabric from her face and swallowed the tears that threatened to expose her heart.

“Mr. Randolph?”

“Botheration!” James sucked in air and held it. She glanced at him through her lowered lashes, saw his frown. The threat of tears fled. A smile tugged at her lips. She, Sarah and James all used the “hold and count” method to gain control when they were upset or annoyed. It was one of the gems of wisdom their mother had taught them. Mother. Homesickness washed over her like the river water whispering along the shore.

“We will discuss this later.” James whispered the words into her ear and turned. “I am James Randolph.”

Mary watched a heavy-set man, garbed in a black suit, shoulder his way through the milling crowd of passengers to stand beside them. She straightened as the man peered at her, his gray eyes magnified by the wire-rimmed glasses perched on his slightly bulbous nose. He dipped his head in a polite bow and looked back at her brother. Surprise—no doubt at James’s youth—flickered across his face, quickly replaced by an expression of polite respect.

“Eli Goodwin at your service, Mr. Randolph. I am the bookkeeper of the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line. Captain Lewis sent word of your arrival, and I have come to escort you to the manager’s residence. Mr. Thomas, the former manager, vacated the premises when he was dismissed from his position. You need not wait for your trunks. I have arranged for them to be delivered.”

“How good of you, Mr. Goodwin. My sister and I have had a long journey and are most eager to get settled into our new home.”

The man nodded. “I trust your accommodations aboard ship were comfortable and your journey a pleasant one. If you will follow me?” He turned toward the stairs leading down to the main deck.

James stepped back from the railing, creating a small space in the press of people. Mary gathered close the long, full skirt of her dark blue gown and stepped into the void he had created. Urged forward by her brother’s hand at the small of her back, she followed in Eli Goodwin’s wake.

Samuel Benton stood at the edge of the river, narrowed his eyes and drifted his gaze over the Fair Weather’s main deck. A few frowns, a few curt nods revealed that his purpose in coming to the levee had been accomplished—the crew knew the law was present and watching them. Perhaps it would be enough to discourage anyone who might intend to damage the ship. Though it could be that such danger no longer existed since the line had changed owners.

Sam scanned the deck again, paying particular attention to the firemen and engineer. He did not believe the mishaps on the three previously destroyed or heavily damaged boats of the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line were all accidental. Boiler explosions and shipboard fires were common occurrences on the river, but not to three of one line in such close succession. He had a hunch someone had helped the “accidents” along. And, after his talk with Thomas last week, it had seemed possible that the new owner of the line had a hand in it. It would not be the first time sabotage had been used to drive down the purchase price of a business. And the secrecy of the buyer’s name was a possible indication of his involvement in the crimes. As Thomas said, what other reason could the new owner have for keeping his identity hidden? Of course, being replaced as manager of the line, that could be Thomas’s anger talking.

Sam frowned and raised his gaze to the steamboat’s promenade. He would have a clearer picture of the situation after he talked with James Randolph, the man taking Thomas’s place as manager of the M and M line. Randolph was somewhere in that milling throng of people and he wanted to meet him, find out what sort of man he was. But first he wanted to ask Captain Lewis who, if any, of the crew Randolph may have met with during the trip. And it would be interesting to know who Randolph would speak with on his first afternoon in town.

Passengers began to file down the Fair Weather’s gangplank in a steady stream. Sam glanced their way, automatically checking faces for known criminals or gamblers with bad reputations. A flutter of blue on the promenade deck caught his attention. He looked up, saw a woman brush at the material adorning her hat. His policeman’s mind registered facts—the woman was taller than average, and thinner, with dark hair. Not particularly pretty—at least not in a conventional way. But there was something arresting about the woman, about the way she held herself.

He watched her wend her way toward the stairs leading down to the main deck, noting her graceful, but purposeful way of moving. There was nothing simpering or clingy about her. And he guessed she did not need the protection of the man guiding her through the crowd. She looked quite able to manage without an escort. The way she followed in the wake of that man in front of her, bespoke—

Goodwin! Why was he here? To meet the new manager?

Sam scowled. He had been wondering if Goodwin had a hand in the M and M steamer disasters, though Thomas said no. He tracked the progress of the three of them with new purpose. Yes, the woman was definitely staying close to Goodwin. So the fellow with her must be the new manager. Thomas had not mentioned James Randolph was married. Sam shifted his focus to the man, catalogued the facts. Tall, dark, well-groomed. Fit, but on the slender side. He could not see his face. The three disappeared in the crush of people at the top of the stairs.

Sam pivoted and loped toward the gangplank. He would talk to Captain Lewis later. “Pardon me, sir.” He gave a polite nod to the fellow coming off the walkway, stepped in front of him and held out his hand to stop the couple beside him. “Pardon me, please.” He hurried past them, leaned against a wagon loaded with firewood and riveted his attention on the flow of people. It would be interesting to see if anyone other than Goodwin disembarked with the Randolphs. Or if someone was waiting to meet them.

Sam gave the area another quick scan, frowned. It was odd Thomas wouldn’t meet his replacement. A twinge of unease reared. He quashed it. Thomas could be waiting at the office. Or he could be angry enough that he refused to meet Randolph and help him settle into his new position.

Three men and two more couples filed past. Sam glanced up. Eli Goodwin was at the top of the gangplank, the Randolphs at his heels. He studied James Randolph’s face, looking for clues to the man’s character, trying to decipher if he was expecting to meet someone. Randolph was young, very young, for such a responsible position. He looked to be no more than nineteen or twenty. Half Thomas’s age. Sam shifted his gaze for a quick look at Randolph’s wife and peered straight into her eyes. Brown eyes. Not dark. Medium—like her hair. And challenging.

Sam stiffened, told himself to look away—knew it was already too late. She had spotted him studying her husband. He watched them descend, let Eli Goodwin pass and stepped around the wagon into the path of the young couple.

“Mr. Randolph?”

“Yes?” The man stopped, looked up at him, dark blue eyes posing a question.

“I am Samuel Benton, Captain of the St. Louis police.” He glanced at Randolph’s wife, saw the coolness in her eyes, gave her a polite nod and looked back. “I bid you and your wife welcome to our fair city.” He offered his hand, received a firm clasp in return. “I will be calling on you tomorrow. There are a few rules, regulations and other matters about running a steamboat line in St. Louis that I want to discuss with you.”

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 you, Mr. Goodwin.” Mary offered the man a polite smile. “Your thoughtfulness will make our first evening in our new home a comfortable one. Thank you.”

“And you have my gratitude as well, Goodwin. I will see you at the office tomorrow.” Once inside, James closed the door, hung his hat on the hat tree and followed Mary as she moved out of the narrow entry into the room on the right. “I wonder if Mr. Goodwin ever smiles?” He shrugged and glanced around the small parlor. “Well, here we are in St. Louis.” His lips twisted in a wry grimace. “In a very small cottage. Are you sorry you came?”

Mary cast an assessing glance his way. “Now why was I certain you would ask me that very question as soon as the door closed behind Mr. Goodwin?” She lifted her hands and pulled out the pin holding her hat in place. “There! That is much better. I told Madame Duval these long ties would be annoying. But she insisted it was the latest style.”

James frowned. “And why did I know you would avoid answering me? If you are disappointed, Mary—if St. Louis is less than you expected—it would be best for you to return home now.” He flushed beneath her steady gaze. “I mean, rather than to unpack and have to go through all that work again.”

“How very sensible and considerate. But I had no expectations, James. Only an intense desire to leave Winston Blackstone behind. And every other man living in Philadelphia who knows father is wealthy, as well.” Her facial muscles went taut. She hated herself for believing Winston Blackstone’s lies. For opening herself up to be hurt by his perfidy.

She turned and dropped her hat onto the seat of a Windsor chair sitting beside the fireplace. It gave her a reason to turn her back on the sympathy in James’s eyes. She should not have mentioned Winston. She hastened to change the subject. “And, in truth, I find St. Louis intriguing. Did you notice all those rough-looking, buckskin-clad men? And the Indians roaming about the levee mingling with the people? Do you suppose they are dangerous?”

“I am quite certain they can be.”

She heard James move, listened to his footsteps draw close. She removed her gloves and tossed them down by her hat.

“Winston did not mean to hurt you, Mary. He did not mean for you to ever know about Victoria. He was doing the honorable thing and telling her goodbye.”

Mary clenched her hands into fists. She had avoided talking about Winston ever since the night of the party. But James persisted. Perhaps if she explained he would stop trying to make her talk about what had happened. And perhaps it would cleanse her mind of the memories, free her to move on with her new life.

She turned around and studied her brother’s face. “Why are you so determined to discuss Winston, James? You have been trying to do so our entire journey. Did Mother and Father charge you with the task?” She squared her shoulders and lifted her hand to stop his reply. “No matter. I will bow to your wishes and we shall discuss Winston and the entire sordid situation—” she pointed one long, tapering finger toward the ceiling “—once. But do not dare defend him to me. Do not stand before me and call his actions honorable.”

The word scorched her tongue, seared her heart. She took refuge from her pain in a sudden burst of anger. Allowed the heat of it to carry her words beyond the lump of hurt in her throat. “I saw Winston with Victoria in the gardens, James. And, I assure you, there was nothing lofty or honorable in their embrace. Nor did the ardor of his kisses speak goodbye—except to the announcement of our betrothal.” She lifted her chin and hid her trembling hands in the deep folds of her long skirt. “At least I was spared the humiliation of a public betrayal. Although everyone present that evening did suspect the reason for the party was to announce our future marriage.”

“Mary, I had no idea!” James hurried to her. “Why did you not tell us you had witnessed Winston and Victoria embracing in the gardens?” He reached to pull her close.

She stepped back and shook her head. If he put his arms around her, she would burst into tears. “And have all my family pity me even more? As you are doing now?” She turned away, brushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek. “It changed nothing that I saw Winston’s betrayal with my own eyes.”

“I suppose that is true. Though it may make it more difficult for you to forgive him.”

“Forgive him?” She pivoted, stared up at him. “You are not serious, James?”

“Yes, I am.” He stepped closer. “Listen, Mary. When you refused to see him before we left, Winston came to me and explained the entire situation. He confessed it was only after losing you that he realized how much he cared for you. He begged me to plead his case with you. Of course, I refused. But he convinced me that he is genuinely distraught at losing you.” Warmth from his hands penetrated the fabric of her gown as he took hold of her shoulders. “Mary, Winston loves you and wants you back. He wants you to come home to Philadelphia and marry him. It is that which I have been trying to tell you the entire journey.”

“He—He said—And you—” Her throat closed on the words. Mary dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, fighting a sense of betrayal that was not fair to her brother. He did not know the entire story. She took a breath, held it, released it slowly. “I know you wish only what is best for me, James. And I thank you for that. Truly. But do not be swayed by Winston’s persuasive powers. His only regret is in losing the generous dowry Father offered for me. It would have cleared all his debts. I know, for I not only saw Winston with Victoria, I heard him as well.” She lifted her hand and tapped his chest. “Winston’s pocketbook chose me, James. His heart chose Victoria.” She made herself look at him and forced the rest of it out of her constricted throat. “And, as he said to her, ‘What man would not choose her petite, blond beauty and sweet nature over my dark, angular plainness and bold, forthright ways were debt not an issue?’”

Anger darkened James’s face. His chest swelled beneath her hand as he sucked in air. She blinked the sting of tears from her eyes and shook her head. “Do not say more, James. Please. Do not make useless protests. Winston’s words only confirmed what I have known all my life. I am aware of how I appear in comparison to other women. It has always been so. Mother and Sarah shine like golden jewels. But it is only Father’s wealth that gives me beauty and luster in men’s eyes. And I, like every woman, want to—to be a jewel in the eyes of the man I love. Me—not Father’s money. I want to marry a man who loves and values me for myself. And I will settle for no less.”

“You are wrong, Mary!” James tightened his grip, gave her a gentle shake. “You are a lovely and desirable woman. And Winston Blackstone is a fool! As am I for believing him. He does not deserve you.”

She touched her fingers to his lips, saw the hurt for her in his eyes, and forced a smile. “You are a wonderful, loyal brother, James. But please, do not be concerned for me. Perhaps somewhere there is a man—even here in St. Louis—who will see me as a jewel. And with no one here knowing who our father is, should such a man declare his love for me, I will be certain he cares for me alone. That is why it is so perfect that no one here knows of our father’s wealth. And if that does not happen—” she took another breath “—I will yet be glad I came. For I would far rather be a spinster than a bargain. Now…we shall never mention Winston Blackstone again.” She raised her face, kissed his cheek and spun away. “Shall we explore our new home?”

“That shan’t take long.”

The wry humor was forced. Mary sent James a look of gratitude for accepting the change of subject and picked up her hat and gloves. “Shall we start with the upstairs? I want to put this ridiculous hat away.”

Chapter Three

Her first full day in her new home. Mary heaved a sigh and looked around her. What was she to do with her gowns? Her dressing room at home was larger than this bedroom. And her bedroom was—No. No complaints. Not even to herself. She had begged to come to St. Louis with James, and her parents had granted her wishes. She would not turn into a whining scold because of a few lost comforts.

She marched to the cupboard built into the niche on the left side of the fireplace and opened the door. There was room for five, perhaps six dresses, plus her nightgown and robe. She turned, fisted her hands on her hips and nibbled at the left inside corner of her top lip. She would need her plainest day dresses. And a finer one for church. The rest of her gowns would simply have to stay in the trunks. But where would she store them? Another dilemma.

“What is all this?”

Mary turned toward the door, took one look at James’s baffled expression and burst into laughter. “I am choosing gowns to keep here in my room. The rest must stay in the trunks. I have no thought as to where—James! The office. Do you suppose there would be room in the back to store my trunks?”

“Perhaps. I will know after I see the place. I came to tell you that I am going there now.” A frown crossed her brother’s handsome face. “I have been thinking about those Indians we saw yesterday, Mary. I am concerned about leaving you here alone.”

“Oh, poof!” She waved his concern away and lifted her rose-colored cotton gown from a pile on the bed. The matching embroidered jacket would come in handy for cooler days. “I will be fine. Mrs. Rawlins and Mrs. Dengler will be coming soon for their interviews. And, meanwhile, if any Indians come in with intent to do me harm, I shall simply hide myself in one of these stacks.” She laughed and swept her hand through the air, indicating the dresses heaped on the floor, draped over the open trunks and spread out on the bed. “They would never find me.”

James laughed, then sobered. “You are certain?”

“Yes! Now go, and leave me to my work.”

Mary sat on the settee, smoothed out her skirt and smiled at the women perched on the Windsor chairs. “I am impressed with the cleanliness of the house, Mrs. Dengler. I would very much like for you to continue to clean for us.”

The German woman smiled and dipped her head. “Dank.”

“And what is your given name, Mrs. Dengler?”

“I am called Edda.”

Mary smiled at the older woman. “Are you prepared to begin work today, Edda?”

“I can do work today, ja.”

“Wonderful.” Mary held back a sigh of relief. “There are gowns in my bedroom that must be packed away in my trunks for storage. When you finish with them, I would like you to make the beds.”

“Ja, Miss Randolph.”

Edda walked to the stairs and Mary turned to the woman on the other chair. “The stew you prepared for me and my brother last night was delicious, Mrs. Rawlins. As were the rolls that accompanied it. Do you always do your own baking?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And are you available to cook for us every day?”

“I am.” The woman nodded. “I am a recent widow with children full grown and gone from home. I have no call on my time.”

Mary’s heart contracted at the sorrow on the woman’s face. “I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Rawlins.”

The woman dipped her head.

“Are you able to take up your duties today?”

Relief spread across the woman’s face. “Yes, Miss Randolph. And my name is Ivy.”

Mary smiled and rose to her feet. “I have paper and pen waiting in the kitchen, Ivy. If you will tell me what stores you require and what foods you wish for today’s meals, I will see to their purchase.”

The sun overhead was bright in her eyes. Mary dipped her head slightly, using the shirred brim of her coal-scuttle bonnet to shade her face. The deep flounce running around the bottom of the long, full skirt of her green gown brushed against the cobblestones as she walked down Market Street toward the river, the basket she had found in the kitchen swinging back and forth in her hand.

The sounds of activity on the levee became louder and more distinct as she neared the river. Wind gusted, picked up dust and flung it about. She ducked her head against the onslaught, hurried around the corner toward the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line office building and ran full tilt into a muscular, lean body. “Oh!” She staggered backward. Strong hands gripped her upper arms, steadied her. She looked up to thank her rescuer.

“Captain Benton!”

“At your service.” He released her arms. “Are you all right, Miss Randolph?”

The heat of a blush crawled across her cheeks. “I should ask you that question, Captain. Please forgive me. I assure you I am not in the habit of knocking into people. I was…well…I was hurrying to reach my brother.” She gave a little laugh and straightened her bonnet that had slipped backward when she had bumped into him. “Our cook has given me a list and I am on my way to purchase needed stores and food for dinner. And, I confess, I am a little hesitant to brave the levee area without an escort.”

She glanced up at him from under her hat brim. Gracious, he was tall! She was not accustomed to men tilting their heads to look down at her. “I am unfamiliar with Indians or mountain men, and I am not eager to meet any of them on my own. At least, not yet. Thus, I was on my way to ask James to accompany me to the grocer’s.” She was prattling like a silly schoolgirl in the presence of a handsome boy! Mary clenched her teeth together and tightened her grip on the empty basket.

“Very wise of you, Miss Randolph.”

His calm answer restored her aplomb. “And why is that, Captain?”

“There are some rough and unsavory elements on the waterfront. We are working to clean up our city. But there is much left to do.”

“I see.” Mary hid the tingle of apprehension that slipped along her nerves and turned toward the office door. “Thank you for the information, Captain. Now I know I need James to accompany me.”

A frown lowered his straight, dark brown brows. “I just called to speak with your brother, Miss Randolph. He is in a meeting.”

“But Mrs. Rawlins needs—” Mary stopped, glanced at Front Street and took a deep breath. “Would you please direct me to the grocer’s, Captain?”

“I will do better than that, Miss Randolph. I will escort you there.”

“You?” Mary jerked her gaze to him.

He grinned, no doubt at her response. A slow, lopsided sort of grin that did queer things to her stomach. She took a step back, suddenly uneasy at the prospect of being in his company. The man was overwhelming. And why would he offer to escort her? “It is most kind of you to offer aid, Captain. But it would not be right for me to take you from your duties.” She glanced up and down the street to choose her direction.

“The well-being and safety of the citizens of St. Louis is my duty, Miss Randolph. Allow me.” He reached out and took hold of the basket. “If you are ready?”

His answer left her without argument, but did little to allay her unease. Mary glanced at him, then looked down at his hand gripping the handle. Unless she wanted to engage in a tug-of-war for the basket—a contest she was sure to lose since the man was twice her size—she had no choice. She released her grip on the basket.

“We need to cross Market Street.” He held her elbow.

Mary forced herself to relax. She was being ridiculous. He had not offered to help her from some nefarious motive. It was a simple politeness. A duty. Not every man had a hidden agenda like Winston Blackstone. She walked to the curb beside him, tried not to feel delicate and protected as he guided her through the carriage traffic. But it was difficult not to feel that way with his tall, lean body shielding her, and his hand holding her so protectively. She gave a quiet sigh of relief when they reached the other side and he released her arm. She glanced around as they started down the walkway.

“Are you recovered from your journey, Miss Randolph?”

She nodded, gave him a polite smile. “Yes. Quite recovered, thank you.”

“You are fortunate. Steamboats are a vast improvement on other river craft, but still, long trips can be exhausting.” He smiled down at her. “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you and your brother from, Miss Randolph?”

“Philadelphia” sprang to her tongue, but was quashed by another spurt of caution and suspicion. Why did he want to know? Did it have something to do with being a police officer? Well, she had no intention of telling him. That information might lead to her father’s identity. The Randolph shipping line was well-known in Philadelphia. She glanced up, gave a graceful little shrug. “Why ever would I mind your asking, Captain? We are from Pennsylvania.” She shifted her gaze. “Oh, look! A bookstore. How lovely.” She gave him another polite smile. “Do you enjoy reading, Captain?”

“I do. Though I seldom have time.”

Some subtle change in the timbre of his deep voice warned her that he was aware of her evasion. She turned her head toward the two-story brick, stone and wood frame storefronts to hide her face from him. Those blue eyes were too observant.

A half-naked Indian, a pile of animal pelts folded over one arm, exited a leather goods store, then mingled with the people on the walkway and strode straight toward them. Mary froze, staring at the shocking sight of the Indian’s bare torso. She had heard so many stories…His eyes, black as a night sky, bored into hers. She lifted her chin and crowded closer to Captain Benton, suddenly thankful for his presence. The Indian went on by.

“There’s no danger, Miss Randolph. We’ve been at peace with the local Indians for many years. They come into town often to conduct business.” He smiled down at her. “I know it is a shock to you Easterners at first, but their presence is a sight you will soon become accustomed to.”

His smile and the calm in his deep voice eased her nervousness. She nodded, looked away from his disturbing, penetrating gaze. “I am certain I shall, Captain Benton.” She started walking again. He fell into step beside her.

“The plains tribes are a different matter, of course. But you are safe in town.”

A shiver slithered down her spine. She glanced at him, uncertain of how to respond. Up to now, hers had been a pampered life. She was not used to feeling afraid.

“Stop, you little thief!”

Mary jerked her gaze forward. A young boy, panic on his face, was running toward them, a large man wearing a stained white apron in hot pursuit.

Samuel Benton leaped into the boy’s path.

The boy tried to swerve, but the man behind him thrust out his hand, caught the boy’s shoulder and yanked him to a halt. “Got ya! Now, you’ll find out what thievin’ gets ya!” He nodded at Samuel Benton and shoved the boy forward. “Throw ’im in jail with the rest of the thievin’ jackanapes, Captain.”

“Surely not!” Mary rushed forward, lifted her chin as both men looked her way. “He is only a boy.”

“He’s a thief! An’ here’s yer proof.” The man grabbed the boy’s right arm and jerked it upward. There was a crushed roll in his hand. A bony hand, attached to a pitifully thin arm.

Mary gasped. “Why, the boy’s half-starved!” She glanced up at Samuel Benton. “He is hungry, Captain. Surely you will not arrest him?”

The captain’s blue eyes darkened. “That is my job, Miss Randolph. He broke the law. The reason does not matter.” He reached for the boy.

Mary stepped between them. “It matters to me, Captain.” She stared up at him, at his darkened eyes, his set jaw and drew herself to her full height. “But I can see there is no room in your St. Louis law for mercy.” She pivoted to face the vendor. “Unhand the boy, sir. I will pay for his roll.”

Hope leaped into the boy’s eyes. But the man in the apron let out a growl, tightened his grip on the boy’s skinny shoulders and looked over her head. “You do yer job an’ throw ’im in jail, Captain. There’s too many of the rapscallions roamin’ the streets an’ stealin’ from hardworkin’, decent people now. Y’ let this ’un go, an’ the rest of ’em’ll be swarmin’ around our stores like bees o’er clover.”

“There is no theft if Miss Randolph pays for the roll, Simpson.” Samuel Benton’s deep voice rolled over her shoulder. “Release the boy.”

“Wait!” Mary winced inwardly as the hope faded from the boy’s eyes, but he was going to run the moment he was free, she could see it on his face. And she saw something else written there, as well. Shame. And defiance. She fastened her gaze on him. “I need someone to carry my purchases home, and I thought perhaps you would do that for me, young man. In exchange for your services, I will buy you a thick slab of cheese to go with that roll. Is that agreeable to you?”

Pride replaced the shame. The defiance gave way to caution. The boy drew himself up straight and nodded.

“Very well.” She handed the man behind the boy a coin. “You may release him now.”

The man scowled, lifted his hands from the boy’s shoulders and walked away, grumbling beneath his breath.

The boy stayed.

Mary let out a breath of relief and turned to Samuel Benton. “Thank you for your help, Captain. But I no longer require your aid.” She did not bother to hide her disgust at his treatment of the boy. “If you will please give this young man my basket and tell me where the grocer is located, we shall be on our way.”

He stared down at her for a moment, then dipped his head. “As you wish, Miss Randolph.” He handed the basket to the boy, then returned his gaze to her and made a slight bow. “Good day, Miss Randolph. You have no need of my direction. The boy knows the location of the store. Mr. Simpson is the grocer.” He turned and walked away.

Mary watched his lean, broad-shouldered figure disappear into a nearby store, chiding herself for the disappointment weighting her stomach. What did it matter what sort of man Samuel Benton was? The captain was nothing to her.

Chapter Four

Mary looked down at the young boy clutching her basket and smiled. “And thus, we are left on our own. Where is Mr. Simpson’s store—” She shook her head and gave a little laugh. “I cannot keep calling you ‘young man.’ What is your name?”

The boy stiffened, his nostrils pinched slightly, his eyes narrowed and his mouth firmed as he stared up at her. Had she looked that wary when Captain Benton questioned her? No wonder he knew her answer was an evasion. She kept silent as the boy studied her. After a few moments, he relaxed a little, gave a small shrug. “Name’s Ben.” He pointed a bony finger down the street. “Yonder is the grocer’s.” He lowered his hand and gripped the basket handle. Probably to hide his trembling.

Mary started walking, letting out a quiet sigh of relief when Ben fell into step beside her. He had looked poised to run, and if he decided to do so, she could not stop him. Her lips twitched at the idea of her raising her long skirts and darting among the shoppers on the walkway chasing after the boy.

A puff of wind swirled up from the river, lifting a sour odor from Ben. She held her breath, waiting for the gust to cease, and glanced down. Tears filmed her eyes at the close sight of Ben’s grimy skin, the clumps of dirt and straw in his matted hair, his dirty and torn clothes. She guessed him to be nine, perhaps ten years old. So young. And so horribly thin. Had he no one to care for him?

Thoughts of the homeless children brought to her aunt Laina’s orphanage in Philadelphia crowded into her head. The tears in her eyes threatened to overflow. Was Ben an orphan? She blinked the tears back, released her breath and focused on the situation. Ben needed help, not pity. And she needed information. It was possible he had parents—though his unkempt, half-starved condition made it seem unlikely.

She stole another look at the silent boy. He was so easily frightened, so ready to run. How should she start? I always mask my questions with friendly conversation. Of course! How many times had she heard her aunt Laina say that? Mary smiled, looked down. “I like the name Benjamin.” She made her tone of voice light, friendly. “Is it a family name? Perhaps your father’s?”

No answer.

She tilted her head to get a better view of the boy’s face. His lips were pressed together and he was blinking rapidly. Her heart seized. “Ben—”

“This is the store.” He shot across the walkway, stopped by a store’s open door and looked back at her.

“Go away, you ragamuffin!” A woman loomed out of the darkness of the store, pausing in the doorway. “Urchins like you are not welcome around decent people! Go away, I say!” She made shooing motions with her hands, then drew her long skirts close so they wouldn’t touch Ben before she started out of the store.

Ben cringed away from the entrance.

If that woman makes Ben run… Mary rushed forward, placed her hand on Ben’s shoulder and pulled him to her side. She could feel his bones through his shirt. And his shaking. She straightened to her full height and gave the shorter woman her haughtiest look. “Ben is with me, madam. And he is very welcome.” She ignored the older woman’s gasp and, holding tight to Ben, brushed by her into the store.

The interior was cool and dark. Mary halted to allow her eyes to adjust to the loss of sunlight and to get her bearings. Silence fell. She swept her gaze around the room, met varying degrees of shock or disgust on the faces of the store’s patrons and lifted her chin. “Come along, Ben.” The click of the heels of her shoes against the wide plank floor echoed through the hush as they crossed the room. She stopped in front of the grocer cutting meat on a chopping block at the far end of a long counter in front of the back wall.

“Good day, Mr. Simpson.” She gave him a cool nod. Gave another to the waiting customer who had backed away at their approach.

A scowl drew the grocer’s thick, black brows together. “Get that thief outta here. I don’t—”

“Ben is here to carry my purchases, Mr. Simpson.” There were startled gasps behind her. The grocer’s scowl deepened. She ignored a flurry of whispers and stared straight into the man’s angry eyes. “And I am here to open an account. My brother and I are new in town and must establish our trade somewhere.” She watched his scowl dissolve to the level of a frown. “My brother is the new manager of the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line. Of course, if you would prefer we take our custom elsewhere…” She turned away.

“No need fer that. My wife’ll serve ya.”

The words were low, reluctant. Mary turned back. The grocer inclined his head at a stout woman behind the middle of the counter and went back to his work.

Mary headed toward the woman, another spate of whispers accompanying her as customers moved out of her path. She didn’t have to urge Ben to come with her, he matched her step for step, his head bowed, his gaze darting about the room like a trapped animal.

“Come again, Mrs. Turner.”

Mrs. Simpson’s customer glanced at Ben, snatched up her parcel and rushed away. Mary stepped forward. “I should like to open an account, please.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Simpson smiled at Ben, looked back to give her a welcoming smile. “And the name?” She dipped her pen and poised it over a book.

Mary stared, taken aback by the cheerful attitude. She returned the woman’s friendly smile and let the hauteur slide from her voice. “James Randolph.” She placed the list Ivy had given her on the counter. “These are the items I need today. And also—” she took her basket from Ben, placed it beside the list and indicated the crushed bun in the bottom “—this bun and a thick slab of cheese.” She glanced down, caught Ben eyeing a large barrel, and looked up. “And two pickles from your brine barrel.”

Mrs. Simpson nodded, turned and began selecting the items on the list from the shelves on the wall. Mary took the opportunity to look around the store. She caught the customers staring at her and Ben and gave them each a sweet smile. There was a sudden bustle of activity as they returned to their business.

“Will there be anything more, Miss Randolph?”

Mary turned, looked down at the filled basket and shook her head. “Not today, Mrs. Simpson.”

The woman glanced toward her husband—who was wrapping a cut of beef in paper—then looked down at Ben, slipped her hand into a crock to pull out a piece of taffy. “I heard you tell Mr. Simpson that you and your brother are new in town, Miss Randolph. Welcome to St. Louis.” She dropped the piece of candy beside the roll and the piece of cheese and slid the basket across the counter. “I look forward to serving you again.”

“And so you shall, Mrs. Simpson. Thank you for the welcome, and for…everything.” Mary smiled, met the woman’s gaze in silent understanding, then handed the basket to Ben and headed for the door.

Sam turned the key in the lock, pulled the door open and stepped back. So did the man beside him.

“C’mon, Captain. It was only a little scrap.”

Sam shook his head. “You pulled a knife, Hogan.” He jabbed his thumb through the air in the direction of the cell.

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts. You know the rules here in St. Louis. You pull a weapon during a fight, you go to jail.” Sam placed his hand on the laborer’s beefy shoulder and applied enough pressure to move the man into the cell. He swung the door shut and shoved the key into the lock.

Hogan grabbed the bars. “C’mon, Captain. My boat leaves tonight. I gotta get to the levee and load cargo or Captain Rolls’ll have my job.”

“You should have thought of that before you pulled that knife.” Sam turned the key, yanked it from the lock and started for the outer room.

“How about we make a deal?”

“No deal, Hogan.”

“Not even to find out what happened to the Swift Water?”

Sam stopped, turned and stared into the bloodshot eyes in the scrubby, whiskered face pressed against the bars. “What do you know about the Swift Water?”

Hogan grinned. “You gonna let me outta here?”

Sam walked to the cell. “That depends on what you know and how reliable your information is.”

“I know one of the crew was paid to blow her up.”

“Sorry. Everyone has heard that rumor.” He turned toward the door.

“But they don’t know who.”

There was certainty behind the words. Sam looked back. “Who?”

Thick lips pushed a curved line through the grizzled beard.

Sam nodded. “All right, fair enough. How do you know? I’m not interested in rumors.”

“It ain’t no rumor. I seen him flashin’ money and braggin’ about it in a tavern. Tellin’ around what a big man he was an’ all.”

“Who paid him?”

Hogan scowled. “Don’t know. You’ll have to ask him that yerself.”

Sam nodded. The story had the ring of truth. “Do you know anything about the other destroyed M and M line boats? The Clear Water or the Mississippi Princess?”

“The Princess was an accident. Sawyer got her. Don’t know about the Clear Water.”

“All right.” He stuck the key in the lock, paused. “But the deal is this—if you ever pull a knife in a fight again, you’ll do double time for it. Understood?”

Hogan nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced down at the ring of keys. “The name’s Duffy. He’s a stoker.”

“I know him. Do you know what boat he’s working?”

“Last I knew he was up the Missouri on the Adventure.”

Sam twisted the key and opened the cell door. “All right, Hogan. Get back to the levee. And don’t forget—no more knives or I’ll put you back in here and throw away the key.”

Hogan nodded and hurried down the hall. Sam followed him to the other room, tossed his keys into the drawer, then grabbed his hat and dogged the man’s heels outside. Now all he had to do was locate Duffy. And find out if the man had any connection to James Randolph, or the new owner of the M and M line. Maybe he could do that through Thomas, and not tip his hand.

He cut across lots to Olive Street, where Thomas had lived since vacating the manager’s cottage, and knocked on the door of Emily Stanton’s boardinghouse. He waited, wondering about the sudden sense of disquiet in his gut.

The door opened. He smiled and touched the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stanton.”

“Why, Captain Benton!” Surprise widened the round eyes looking up at him. “What brings you here?”

“I need to talk with Mr. Thomas. If I could—” He stopped, staring down at her shaking head.

“You’re too late, Captain. He ain’t here.”

The disquiet grew. “Did he tell you where he was going? I can catch up with him if—” The gray head was shaking again.

“He didn’t tell me where he was going. Only packed up and left three days ago.” A frown deepened the wrinkles in the plump face. “Late at night, it was. I heard someone on the stairs, peeked out my door and saw him leave. Sort of odd. Most times when someone goes sneakin’ out the door in the middle of the night, it’s ’ cause they can’t pay their bill. But he didn’t owe me nothing.”

“I see.” Sam nodded, touched his hat brim again. “Thank you for the information, Mrs. Stanton. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Captain.” She started to close the door, then pulled it open and stuck her head out. “If you hear of somebody decent that needs a room, tell them I’ve got one empty.”

“I’ll do that, Mrs. Stanton.” Sam trotted down the steps and headed for the levee. Now he had two men to track down. Duffy and Thomas. Queer, Thomas leaving like that. Could there be a connection between that and James Randolph’s arrival? Seemed as if there might be. But why did Thomas sneak off? There was no reason for that, unless it was to keep his leaving a secret. And if that was so, who was he—

Sam’s face tightened. Could it be him? Could it be Thomas didn’t want him to know he was leaving town? Now why would that be? He tugged his hat down snug and let his mind play with that thought while he ate up the distance to the levee with his long strides.

“What is going on in here?”

Mary spun around, and gaped at her brother standing in the washroom doorway. “James! You are home.”

He nodded. “Yes. That is what I do when it is time to eat. I come home. Why the surprise?”

She laughed and hurried toward him. “I did not hear you come in the house is all. As small as it is, I was certain I would. I am sorry. I should have been waiting to greet you.” She touched his arm, gave a little push—a signal for him to leave.

He stood his ground, riveting his gaze on the scene behind her. Botheration! She had wanted a chance to explain before he saw Ben. Especially since the boy was wearing a shirt that had been in James’s dresser drawer when he left the house that morning. Her heart sank as he frowned at her.

“Mary, what—”

She squeezed his arm, sent him the silent “don’t ask questions” command with her eyes that she had perfected during their childhood years. Of course, that was when her demand usually involved keeping a secret from their parents. It was different now. He would probably ignore her signal. “I am finished here, James.” She gave him another tiny push, then looked over her shoulder. “Edda, if you will launder Ben’s clothes, please.”

“Ja.” The plump woman turned, lifted the small pile of filthy garments off the floor and plunged them into the tub of Ben’s bathwater.

James’s frown deepened to a scowl. Mary gave him another pinch. “Shall we go into the parlor and chat while Ivy prepares our dinner, James?”

His gaze fastened on hers. “That is an excellent suggestion.”

This time he yielded to her pressure against his arm and stepped back. She sailed past him, hurried to the small parlor and turned to face him. The scowl was still on his face.

“All right, Mary. Why is our cook’s son wearing one of my shirts?”

“Our cook’s son?” She laughed and relaxed into one of the Windsor chairs. “Ben is not Ivy’s son, James. He is a boy from the streets who carried my basket home from the market. And as for your shirt…what else had I to dress him in while his clothes are being laundered? I could hardly give him one of my gowns.”

“An unknown, dirty boy from the streets is wear—”

“Hush, James! He will hear you.” Mary surged to her feet, then closed the parlor door and whirled to face him. “And Ben is not dirty. I had him bathe as soon as we fed him and he agreed to stay awhile—Ivy even scrubbed his hair clean.” She glared up at him. “And shame on you for your lack of compassion! What—”

“Whoa! Hold on.” James held his hand up palm forward. “Before you castigate me for my attitude, I think you should at least tell me what is going on. How that boy got into our house and—”

“I have told you, James.”

“No, you have not. You told me that he carried your basket home.” He frowned at her. “I cannot believe the grocer would have a boy that dirty and unkempt working for—”

“James!” Mary launched herself through the intervening space into his arms. “James, you are a genius! What a wonderful idea.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek and spun out of his grasp. “I have been trying to think of what to do to help Ben. He is such a proud young boy, and you—” She stopped, frowned. “Of course, Mr. Simpson will not care for your idea. At least, not at first.” She paced the short distance across the room, turned and headed back. “But Mrs. Simpson…Yes, I am almost certain she—”

He reached out and caught her by the shoulders. “Mary, what you are talking about? What idea? And who are Mr. and Mrs. Simpson? What have they to do with this boy from the streets? And what has he to do with us?”

“Nothing. And everything.” She locked her gaze with his. “Ben is an orphan, James. And half-starved. Would you have let him be arrested and taken to jail for stealing bread to eat?”

Her words were soft, but challenging. James released his grip on her shoulders and straightened.

“You ask that question of me, Mary? You know I would not.”

She placed her hand on his arm. “I do know, James. And I meant no offense. I asked only so you would place yourself in my position.” She gave him a wry smile. “Neither one of us would be able to face Aunt Laina again if we allowed such a thing to happen in our presence.”

He nodded, and his lips curved in a smile that matched her own. “True. Nor Mother and Father, either.” His smile faded. “But you still have not told me how you met Ben. Or—”

“Or what?”

He shook his head. “My questions will wait until after I hear your story.” He draped his arm around her shoulders, then led her to the settee and sat down beside her. “I am all ‘at sea.’ Begin.”

“Yes, of course.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair in the loose knot on the crown of her head and looked over at him. “You know I had marketing to do this morning—food stores and such?”

He nodded, then grinned at her. “It will take some time for me to get used to the idea of you doing household tasks, but…yes, we discussed that last night, Miss Housekeeper.” His grin widened.

She gave him her “big sister” look. “If you wish to hear the story, James, be serious!”

He tamed his grin to a smile and dipped his head in agreement. “I shall be.”

“Very well, then.” She angled her body toward him. “I was nervous about going to the levee alone—because of the Indians and mountain men—so I decided to go to your office and ask you to accompany me.”

His levity fell away. He frowned. “Goodwin did not tell me that you came to see me.”

“Because I did not.” The memory of Captain Benton’s grinning face flashed. Warmth crept across her cheekbones.

James stared.

Bother! Mary lifted her chin and gave him a look that dared him to comment about her blush.

He passed on the challenge. “Go on.”

“At the front door, I chanced upon Captain Benton, who had called and found you busy in a meeting with some other gentlemen.” She looked down at her hands. “He inquired as to my dismay at your unavailability and, when I explained, offered to accompany me to the grocer’s.” In spite of her effort, there was a tinge of defensiveness in her voice. She looked up.

James grinned. “So the captain is the cause of that heightened color in your cheeks. I shall have to remember to thank him for his kindness to you when next I see him.”

She gave a little huff. “Stop teasing, James! It was duty, not kindness that prompted the captain’s actions. Now…as I was saying. The captain and I were walking along Front Street when Ben came running toward us, with the grocer giving chase. He caught the boy and told Captain Benton to throw him in jail with the rest of the thieves.” She paused, taking a breath.

“And you intervened?”

“Well, of course I did! It was obvious the boy was half-starved and frightened out of his wits. I thought surely the captain would show mercy, but when I protested the arrest, he said the boy was guilty of theft and he had no choice but to take him to jail.” She jutted her chin into the air. “So I told him I would pay for the roll, struck a bargain with Ben to carry my basket and informed Captain Benton I had no further need of his services!”

She expelled her breath in another huff, then gave him a smile of pure satisfaction. “And that is how I met Ben and enticed him to come home with me. I suspected from his condition he was an orphan. On the way home I managed to get him to talk about his past.” She sprang to her feet.

James rose. “And did you find out about his parents? Is he an orphan?”

“Yes. Ben’s mother died two years ago. And last fall his father sold their farm and made plans to come west in the company of some friends. They started their journey this spring. Ben’s father was killed fighting river pirates on their way down the Ohio.”

“Poor Ben!”

“Yes. Poor Ben. The friends brought him downriver with them to St. Louis, took his father’s possessions as payment, then told him there was no room for him in their wagon.” Anger surging, she paced across the room, then headed back. “They left him here with no one to care for him while they joined a wagon train and traveled on.” She stopped in front of him. “How could they do that, James? How could they rob a child, then simply leave him like that?”

He shook his head. “I have no answer for such unconscionable behavior, Mary. But I know Aunt Laina would be very proud of you. As would Mother and Father. As am I.”

“But?” She gave him a quizzical look.

“But…I see some difficulties we must find solutions for. What do we do with Ben now?” He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, peering down at her. “Have you given thought to that? Is there an orphanage—”

Mary threw her arms around his neck and squeezed with all her might.

He returned the squeeze, giving her a puzzled look when she stepped away. “Thank you. But what was that for?”

“The ‘we.’” She smiled up at him. “There is no orphanage, James. But the most wonderful thing has happened! Ivy is going to take Ben home to live with her. She is recently widowed and her children are grown and gone from home. It is perfect. Ben will be well cared for, and Ivy will not be lonely.”

“That is a happy solution.”

“Yes. And now you have solved the other problem.” She whirled away, turned back and clasped his hands. “I have been concerned over the cost to Ivy for Ben’s care. And over Ben’s feelings. He is a very honorable and proud little boy who wants to earn his way. Why, hungry as he was, he would not eat the roll and cheese I promised him as payment for his help until he had carried my basket home, for that was our agreement. Anyway…” She squeezed his hands. “Oh, James, I am certain your idea will work!”

“What idea?”

“Why for Ben to work at Mr. Simpson’s store.” She let go of his hands and whisked away again, her long skirts whispering as she moved across the floor. “Marketing baskets can become very heavy when you carry them for any distance. And I am certain ladies would be willing to pay for Ben to carry their baskets home. Oh, it is a lovely idea!”

“So is dinner.” James laughed and slapped his growling stomach. “And I believe I hear Ivy carrying our meal in from the kitchen.” He made a formal bow and offered Mary his arm. “Shall we discuss this situation further while we partake of whatever it is that is creating such a delicious smell?”

“La, it shall be as you wish, good sir.” Mary lifted her skirts slightly, made him a deep curtsy, then laughed and slipped her arm through his.

James chuckled and opened the door. “I do not know if I have Ben or the captain to thank, Mary. But it is good to see you so animated again.”

Chapter Five

“We are in agreement, gentlemen?”

Sam glanced around the table, noting the response to the mayor’s question. All nine of the aldermen nodded.

“Excellent!” The mayor smiled his satisfaction. “Let the record show that final plans for the addition to the courthouse have been unanimously approved and we hereby direct the work move forward with all dispatch. Now then, on to the next piece of business. It is for this that I invited Captain Benton’s attendance on our assembly this afternoon.”

Sam gave a brief nod as the aldermen glanced his way.

The mayor cleared his throat. “Captain Benton, all of us here are aware that our city has enjoyed significant growth in the past two years. We now have a theater, a hotel, banks. A water company is in the works. And the long-delayed plans for a public school are being drawn. The vast numbers of new buildings and the cobblestone paving of many of our streets have changed the complexion of our city from that of a wilderness town. And the increased safety of our citizens is also a factor in achieving that goal. I wish to commend you, Captain Benton, on the excellent job you are doing in taming the wilder elements among us.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor.” Sam acknowledged the commendation and waited. He had not been called to this meeting only to receive a compliment.

“Because of all this, there is much to recommend St. Louis to men and women of substance and refinement who are considering moving west, not to the frontier, but to an established place. We want to attract those prosperous elite to our city.”

There was another murmur of agreement.

“However…”

Sam braced himself.

“There is a problem that must be addressed if we are to be successful in our pursuit of that objective.” A frown drew the mayor’s thick brows together. “The lowborn and penurious people pouring into our city in the hopes of joining a train heading west are becoming greater in number every year. And while the monies they spend to buy wagons and supplies, or for repairing or restocking their wagons, are prospering our businessmen, the orphans and runaways they leave behind are becoming a plague, a blight on our fair city’s image. You can scarcely walk down the streets without seeing the dirty ragamuffins skulking around. Why yesterday, one of them made so bold as to walk right past my wife into Simpson’s grocer!”

Sam stiffened. The boy the Randolph woman had saved from arrest! It had to be him. Most youngsters were too frightened to go into a store alone.

“The experience was too much for my wife’s sensitive nature. She was quite undone when she reached home. Levinia had a time calming her.” The mayor scowled down the table at him. “This cannot be permitted to go on, Captain Benton! No person of wealth and culture will wish to set up business and make his home in a city that cannot keep its streets clean of such an ugly blemish. You do an excellent job of controlling the gamblers, drunks, mountain men, boatmen and others who frequent the more disreputable establishments on the levee. Yet these…these street urchins run amok among their betters. Have you an explanation for this deplorable situation, Captain?”

“I do, Mr. Mayor.” Sam glanced around the table at each of the aldermen, trying to get a sense of where they stood on the issue. “The explanation is a simple one. I arrest lawbreakers. And there is no law against children walking the streets of St. Louis. Thus, unless one of these ‘urchins’ is caught stealing, or otherwise breaking the law, there is nothing I can do about their presence on our streets.”

The mayor scowled, drumming his fingers on the table. “That is a most distressing answer, Captain.”

Sam held his face impassive, tightening the grip on his hat that rested on his knee. If this ruined his chance to court Levinia—

The mayor stopped his drumming, glanced around. “Gentlemen, we must find a way to get these ragamuffins off our streets. We can hardly pass a law denying all children that right—we have children of our own. And the people we are trying to attract for permanent settlement must be made to feel St. Louis is an ideal place for them to rear their children. They must feel we welcome their children as future productive citizens of St. Louis society. Have any of you a solution to offer?”

The aldermen shifted in their chairs, knit their brows and studied the table. Silence fell.

Sam held back a scowl. It seemed Miss Randolph’s interference with that boy’s arrest had stirred up a pile of trouble. He turned his hat in his hands and waited.

Alderman Field cleared his throat, leaned forward and looked toward the mayor at the head of the table. “What if we pass a law to the effect that any child under the age of twelve who is not a citizen of St. Louis must be accompanied by an adult when in town?”

The mayor leaned back in his chair, rested the heels of his hands on the table and drummed his fingers. After a moment he nodded. “That might work, Arthur. If any outsider questions the law, we will explain it is for the children’s safety. Yes. That might work.” The mayor’s gaze shifted.

Sam straightened.

“Would that law give you the authority you need to get these dirty, unkempt jackanapes off our streets, Captain?”

“It would. As long as they are not accompanied by an adult, Mr. Mayor.”

“Excellent! Excellent! All in favor of such a law?” The mayor smiled at the affirmative chorus. “Let the record show the law passed by unanimous vote. Captain Benton, you are hereby instructed to procure posters giving notice of the new law and post them in plain sight at the fields outside of town where these wagon trains form. And that, gentlemen, should settle our problem.”

“And create another, Mr. Mayor.”

The mayor’s smile dissolved into another frown. “And what problem is that, Captain?”

“What do I do with the children I arrest? Our jail is meant for adults. There are no provisions for young—” Sam stopped, stared at the mayor’s uplifted hand and held his silence.

“Your concern is misplaced, Captain. Those urchins are accustomed to rough conditions. They need no special provisions. Jail will likely be an improvement on their present living conditions. Now…you have heard the law, and you have your instructions. I am certain you will carry them out in your usual exemplary fashion. And that concludes our business. This meeting is adjourned.”

Sam unlocked the cell door and pulled it open. “All right, Larkin, time’s up. You’re free to go. And stay sober. You cut up another man and I’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

The large, bearded man rose from the cot and swaggered toward him. “Your threat don’t scare me, Captain.”

“That’s a shame. Because it should.” Sam smiled, a quiet smile that carried a promise, and stepped back to let Larkin pass. The big man’s boots thudded against the plank floor, fading as he crossed the outer room. The outside door opened, then slammed shut.

The jail was empty again. But for how long? Sam glanced into the vacant cells. Thanks to the mayor’s ridiculous law they would soon be filled with children. And what would he do with them? Grown men he could handle. But youngsters?

He frowned, strode to the outer room and dropped into his chair. One of those cells would already be occupied by a boy if Miss Randolph had not interfered.

He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, then shoved his heels against the floor and rocked back on the chair’s hind legs. The look in those brown eyes of hers when he had been about to arrest that little thief had made him feel lower than a worm’s belly. But when she had looked at the boy…

Sam shook his head, laced his hands behind his neck and stared up at the crack in the ceiling. Why had she been so concerned about a boy she didn’t even know? And what was she hiding? Why didn’t she want him to know where she was from? Not that that was rare on the frontier. Plenty of people who came west didn’t want their past known. Still, if it had anything to do with her brother and the M and M line…

Sam shifted his weight, rode the chair forward till the front legs hit the floor. It was time to pay that call on James Randolph. Maybe he would be more forthcoming than his sister.

Mary stepped back toward the edge of the street and scanned the storefronts. Shoes…candles…cigars…

“You look a little lost, Miss Randolph.”

She gasped, and spun around to stare at a blue shirt. One with a badge pinned to it. She lifted her gaze to Samuel Benton’s face. Blue eyes gazed down at her.

“I did not mean to startle you, Miss Randolph. Only to assist you—if I am able to do so.” He smiled and indicated the package in her basket. “I see you are doing some shopping. I hope you are finding our stores compare favorably with the ones you left behind in…”

“I have only been in one shop thus far, Captain Benton. That is hardly enough to make any comparisons.” Mary looked again at the storefronts. The man’s presence scattered her wits, and she needed to keep her senses about her. That was the second time he had tried to find out where she had lived back east. “I was searching for an emporium. Or a haberdasher.” She glanced up at him. “I need to buy some items for Ben. Suspenders and such. If you would be so kind as to direct me?”

“Miss Mayfield’s Emporium is five stores down, just before the corner.” He stepped out of the way of shoppers passing by. “I’m glad I happened upon you, Miss Randolph. You have saved me an embarrassment. I’m on my way to speak with your brother and I thought his name was James, not Ben.”

“My brother’s name is James, Captain Benton. Ben is the young boy I took home yesterday.” She gave him a cool look. “The boy you wanted to arrest.”

“You took that boy home with you?”

Mary stiffened. “You need not look so shocked, Captain. Indeed, I find it offensive that you deem me the sort of person who would leave a child to roam the streets starving and uncared for.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “What else was I to do but take him home with me? Let him be jailed?” Her challenge hit the mark, judging from the darkening of his blue eyes.

“What else—” He stopped, stared at her and sucked in air.

A surge of satisfaction flooded her. The man looked quite nettled. Good. Perhaps he would not be so eager to arrest another helpless child. She peered at him and waited.

“I assure you, Miss Randolph, I meant no offense.”

Her hope flattened. So he was not going to change his mind about arresting children. She gave him a curt nod. “If that is so, Captain, then I accept your apology. Good day.” She whisked about with a swirl of her long skirts and started down the street, focusing her attention on the storefronts. She refused to acknowledge her disappointment or to look back in spite of the tense feeling between her shoulder blades that told her he was staring after her.

Sam fisted his hand and rapped on the partially open door. This interview should be interesting if James Randolph was half as exasperating as his sister. That woman was undeniably the most sharp-tongued, irritating—

The door opened. Sam wiped the scowl from his face.

“Ah, Captain Benton. Come in.”

“Mr. Randolph.” Sam closed the door of James Randolph’s office, shut all thought of the man’s sister from his mind and extended his hand. Randolph’s gaze was straightforward and friendly, his grip firm.

“How may I be of service, Captain?”

Sam shook his head. “There is nothing in particular, Mr. Randolph. I am sure Goodwin has informed you of all the regulations concerning businesses and steamboats in St. Louis. I am here because I make it a practice to call on new businessmen in town to let them know who I am, and that I am ready to assist them if they have any problems of a legal nature.”

“An excellent idea, Captain. I appreciate the gesture. I shall certainly call on you should the need arise.” James Randolph smiled and indicated the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Sam noted the openness in Randolph’s face and gesture. It was not indicative of a man with something to hide from the law. But appearances could be deceiving. He removed his hat and folded his long frame into a Windsor chair. “I stopped by yesterday, but you were engaged in a meeting. You want to be careful who you deal with, Mr. Randolph. St. Louis sits on the edge of the frontier, and that creates problems unknown in the cities back east. It is easy for a man to cheat someone, then simply up and disappear—though we have ways of tracking them down eventually.”

Sam watched James Randolph carefully, hoping to detect the slightest change in expression or demeanor as he talked. The veiled warning seemed to have no effect on the man. Randolph was either dense, honest—or a good actor. He pushed on. “We are doing our best to tame the less restrained who come to town to celebrate after months in the mountains or a long and successful journey upriver. And, also, to maintain some control over the establishments they frequent and the undesirable…er…shall we say, residual effects of those visits. And then, of course, there are the Indians. They are usually quite a shock to those who come to St. Louis from the eastern cities.” He stared into James Randolph’s eyes. “I assume you had no Indians freely roaming the streets of your city?”

“Nary a one, Captain. And you are right—they were quite a shock. Especially to my sister. Mary was reluctant to face them on her own. As was I, to have her do so.” James Randolph rose, stepped around the desk toward him and extended his hand again. “Thank you, Captain Benton, for your kindness in escorting Mary to market yesterday. You have my deepest appreciation.”

Sam rose and grasped the offered hand. “No thanks are needed, Mr. Randolph. It is my duty to see to the safety and comfort of St. Louis’s citizens.” He quirked his lips in a wry smile. “And I am not at all sure your sister shares your gratitude. My services as her escort were summarily dismissed after an encounter with a young thief.”

“Yes, I heard of that.” James Randolph’s smile matched his own. “Mary can be a little autocratic when riled. And she has a soft heart for those who are downtrodden. Nonetheless, she is grateful for your assistance.” The smile faded from Randolph’s face. “Now, as you say there is nothing we need discuss, I must beg your pardon, Captain. The Mississippi and Missouri steamer line seems to have been run in a very slipshod manner by the previous owner and his manager, and I have much to do to set it aright.”

Sam nodded. The disquiet was back. He filed away the two pieces of information he had learned from the visit. Thomas had run the steamer line in a careless manner, and James Randolph was hiding something. He had adroitly avoided the invitation to divulge the name of the eastern city of his origin—as had his sister. Perhaps it was time to tip his hand and shake Randolph up a bit, see what fell out into the open.

“I understand.” Sam tugged on his hat and moved to the door. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Randolph. I make it my business to find out about the people who take up residence in St. Louis. And, if in the course of your familiarizing yourself with this business, you find that need for my services, do not hesitate to call upon me.” He dipped his head and walked from the room, leaving James Randolph staring after him.

A steamship’s horn pierced the silence. Another answered. Mary turned onto her back and sighed. She tossed the sheet aside, slipped her feet into her silk slippers and used the brilliant starlight to guide her to the window. Sleep was impossible. She was supposed to be in Philadelphia planning her wedding. Instead, she was at the edge of a wilderness in St. Louis, Missouri, facing an unknown future. How could she sleep when her whole life had gone topsy-turvy?

Her stomach cramped. She pressed her hands against her abdomen and took a long, slow breath to ease the pain of the nervous spasm. What would life hold for her? It was true she would rather be a spinster than some man’s bargain. But that did not mean her desire to love and be loved, to marry and have children, to grow old with a beloved husband beside her was gone. It was all in her heart, and stronger than ever.

Tears welled. Poor little Miss Mary. She’ll have a hard time findin’ herself a husband, bein’ plain like she is. Now, if she was blessed with the beauty of Miss Sarah… Oh, how true her nanny’s words had proved to be.

Mary blinked the tears away and lifted her face toward the dark sky, the same questions that had plagued her all her growing-up years swirling in her mind. Why had God made her tall and thin and dark-haired? And, what was worse, given her the bold, forthright nature that was off-putting to men? Why had He not made her small and blond like her sister, with a golden beauty and gentle sweet nature that drew men the way nectar drew bees? The way Victoria drew Winston. Why did God not love her as much as He did others?

The familiar hurt squeezed her chest, made it hard to draw her breath. She opened the sash, then went to her knees, crossed her arms on the sill and rested her chin on them to catch any movement of air. Muffled sounds of revelry, from the direction of the levee, floated in on a warm breeze. A steamboat blasted its whistle. Another answered. The noise of the levee continued day and night. And it was all so strange and new.

Fear nibbled at the last shreds of her composure. The tears she had held back slipped down her cheeks. What had she done? Was her decision to leave Philadelphia a right or wrong one? Should she have swallowed her hurt and her pride and accepted Winston as her husband even though she knew it was only her father’s money he wanted? Was he her last chance for a family of her own? Was the pretense of love better than a life alone?

“Twelve o’clock and all is well.”

The words came, muted but distinct. She grasped on to them like a lifeline. Twelve o’clock—the beginning of a new day. And all is well. Pray God it might be so.

Sam leaped back from the slashing blade, grabbed the mountain man’s thick wrist and twisted. The double-edged skinning knife clattered to the floor. He grabbed a fistful of the cursing drunk’s buckskin shirt and shoved him toward his deputy. “Take him to jail and let him sleep off his meanness. I’ll run him out of town in the morning.” He picked up the weapon and walked outside.

A roar of voices calling for whiskey or beer erupted behind him. Music started playing. The din mixed with the noise coming from the other saloons, the lapping of river water, the churning of paddle wheels and the blasting of steam whistles to make St. Louis’s own peculiar sound of revelry.

“Twelve o’clock and all is well.”

Twelve o’clock. Time to go home and let his lieutenant and the night guards take over.

Home. Sam snorted, adjusted his hat and started up the road. Home was a room in Mrs. Warren’s boardinghouse on Walnut Street, handy to the jail and courthouse. True, it was a vast improvement over the broken-down hovels he had lived in as a kid. Or the open fields, hay mows and sheds that had been his only shelter after he had run away from his drunk of a father. But it was far from what he had planned. Still, he was getting close. He had made some smart investments that were swelling his bank account. And now, he was gaining entrance to St. Louis society by courting the mayor’s daughter. Yes, he was getting close.

He turned onto Walnut, glanced up at the dark, star-littered sky and smiled with grim satisfaction. Remember when I was seven years old and I begged You for some warm clothes for Daniel and Ma and me, God? Remember how I begged You for a house without holes in the walls and roof so we could be warm and dry? For somebody to come and help us? A hard knot of resentment twisted in his stomach. Remember how Danny and Ma sickened and died from the cold? I told You then I would make it without You. That I would be “somebody” someday, and no one would sneer at me ever again. Remember, God? Well, keep watching, because I am almost there.

He threw a last disdainful look at the sky, took the porch steps two at a time, pulled open the door and went inside.

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