The Law and Miss Mary

“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.