The Law and Miss Mary. Dorothy ClarkЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“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?”
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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 [email protected].
The Law and Miss Mary
Dorothy Clark
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