Chapter 37
Chapter
Never had her shift at the hotel felt so long.
Noreen released her grip on the wooden masher handle and shook her arm out.
She’d never get the potatoes smooth before the dinner service at this rate.
Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she tried to rub some life into her limp muscles.
She wasn’t the only tired person in the kitchen today.
Everyone was moving slowly after fighting the fire this morning. Even Mrs. Winslow.
Thank heaven Mrs. Winslow hadn’t witnessed Mr. Taggert’s accusations and handkerchief flaunting after the bucket line disbanded.
Noreen couldn’t afford to lose this position.
Especially with court-ordered damages to pay.
Yet she’d heard whispers among the serving staff and intercepted several suspicious glances from the other cooks and dishwashers.
She tried to armor her heart and pretend she didn’t care.
But she did. She’d come to crave the support and friendship of others.
Spinsters from the society. Fellow temperance advocates from the parade.
Her bucket-wielding partners from the fire.
Passion for reform still blazed inside her, but she’d come to realize that being bold and brave didn’t have to mean being abrasive and unyielding.
Reclaiming the masher, Noreen set back to work. Her sore muscles complained, but idle hands gave her mind too much freedom to roam. And today, her mind seemed determined to roam shadowed paths where gusts of doubt left her hope flickering.
Think positive thoughts, Noreen. Cling to God’s promises.
The Lord was faithful and just. He was mighty to save. With God all things were possible. He would never leave her or forsake her.
Then one of Jane’s favorite verses floated into Noreen’s mind, one that had her grip tightening on the masher’s handle.
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”
How many times had she read that promise?
How many times had she doubted its truth?
All things didn’t work together for good in this world.
Just look at Luella. A sweet, devout believer in Jesus.
And her father nearly beat her to death.
How was that good? Even the author of those inspired words suffered greatly while on earth.
Shipwrecked, beaten with rods, stoned, put in prison. Prison. Noreen’s chest pinched.
She and the Lord must have different definitions of good.
Her mashing slowed as a light dawned inside her. A different definition of good.
She’d always defined good as the absence of bad.
Protection from harm. Healing from sickness.
Restoration of broken relationships. Removal of difficulty.
The only way she’d been able to make sense of that verse from Romans was to assume the promise referred to heaven—a place free from sin, sickness, grief, and pain.
A place where bad did not exist. But a future heaven offered little comfort for a young woman enduring struggles in the here and now.
What if that promise entailed more than heaven? What if God’s good had a power all its own, a power undiminished by the bad that existed around it?
Pausing to add another dash of cream to her potatoes, Noreen scoured her mind for more details from Romans chapter eight in an effort to decode the type of good to which verse twenty-eight referred.
Brother Cowan had preached a sermon on the chapter not long ago, talking about how many beautiful promises lived in that passage.
No condemnation for those in Christ Jesus.
Nothing could separate us from the love of God.
With God for us, who could be against us?
She could think of several people standing against her at the moment, with Mr. Taggert topping the list. But that wasn’t the point, was it? If God stood beside her, her body might not always be protected from harm, but the eternal part of her—her soul—would always be safe.
“Walking not after the flesh but after the Spirit.” Mr. Cowan’s voice echoed in her head as she recalled the theme he’d repeated several times during that sermon.
Her potato mashing resumed with new vigor as her thoughts picked up speed.
Being in Christ meant not walking after the flesh, but after the Spirit.
What if his promises also focused not on the flesh but on spiritual blessings?
What if the good God was working pertained to the spiritual plane, to things of eternal significance?
Bringing people into deeper relationship with him, healing spiritual wounds, opening new hearts to the gospel message?
Hadn’t he accomplished many of those things in her life over the last weeks?
She’d caused her own hardship by vandalizing the saloon, yet God had still worked good from it.
Teaching her humility and reliance on him, healing her guilt over her father’s death, drawing her closer to James.
So much good. One just had to have eyes to see.
Noreen’s hand trembled as she removed the masher from the pot and settled the lid over the mostly smooth potatoes.
I’m sorry I’ve doubted your goodness, God.
For holding a grudge and blaming you for not protecting me and Mama.
Blaming you for Daddy’s weaknesses and my unhappiness.
You’ve been by my side the whole time, haven’t you?
Giving me purpose, giving me friends, giving me compassion for others who have suffered.
I don’t know what my future holds, but I trust you to bring good from it.
Help me to walk after the Spirit and not the flesh.
To see your good and rejoice in it no matter what trials I endure.
“Noreen? Did you hear me?” Mrs. Winslow’s voice yanked Noreen from her prayer.
She turned toward her approaching supervisor. “Sorry. What did you say?”
The head cook raised a brow. “I asked if those potatoes were ready. The first dinner orders are coming in.”
Noreen nodded toward the large pot. “Yes, ma’am. They’re ready.”
“Good. Turn in your apron and take the rest of the shift off.”
“What?” Noreen’s stomach twisted. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you firing me?” She’d just vowed to trust God to bring good from whatever trials came her way, but that didn’t stop the trials from hurting her heart.
Mrs. Winslow shook her head and touched Noreen’s shoulder. “No. You’re one of the best cooks I have. I’m not giving you up without a fight.”
Had that been what she’d been doing when Noreen saw her talking with the hotel manager after the lunch service? Fighting to keep her employed? Noreen’s throat clogged with unexpected gratitude.
“I know you’re tired and have a lot on your mind, though,” Mrs. Winslow continued, “and we have all the prep done for tonight’s dinner service. We can spare you.”
Noreen swallowed and fought to keep her voice steady. “I don’t mind finishing the shift.”
“You might when I tell you that Martha Evans is waiting for you by the back door.”
Martha was here? Noreen’s gaze shot to the rear of the kitchen.
“She said it was important. Something about your mother.”
Mama? Noreen’s stomach cramped.
Mrs. Winslow dropped her hand from Noreen’s arm in order to give her a little push from behind. “Go on. Get out of here.”
“Thank you.” Noreen abandoned the stove and hurried for the back door, untying her apron strings as she went.
She pulled the apron over her head, then traded it out for the straw bonnet currently hanging on her assigned hook.
Without taking the time to pin the headpiece to her hair, she clutched it by the brim and exited the kitchen.
A woman paced across the yard not far from the cistern that had supplied their bucket line last night.
“Martha?” Noreen hurried to intercept her friend. “What’s happened to my mother?”
“I’m not sure. She showed up at Jane’s house with a flour sack bundle and asked to speak to Parson Cowan.
Jane’s mother offered to take her bag for her, but she refused to let go of it.
She was visibly upset and only calmed when the preacher invited her into his study for a private conference.
Before she went with him, though, she asked us to fetch you and Deputy Paxton.
Miss Lockwood and I were at the house going over our findings with Jane when your mother arrived.
Miss Lockwood volunteered to fetch the deputy, and I came after you.
” Martha’s gaze caught on Noreen’s hat. “Are you able to leave?”
“Yes. Mrs. Winslow is covering the rest of my shift.”
“Wonderful. Let’s go. I’ll fill you in on our findings along the way.” Martha headed for the road, and Noreen matched her pace, eager to see her mother.
What had upset her? Had Arthur stepped out of line?
“She didn’t look hurt, did she? My mother?”
Martha shook her head. “No, she looked fine. Just . . . troubled.”
I don’t know what Mama is dealing with, Lord, but take care of her. Bring her peace.
Martha turned east on First Street, taking the most direct route to the parsonage.
“Miss Lockwood and I conducted inquiries all morning, paying calls on our spinsters as well as other ladies of the community, to see if we could ascertain any clues to the real arsonist’s identity.
Most people had been asleep at the time the fire was set, of course, and had little to offer.
However, Wilma Berry recalled hearing someone run down the street past her house while she was up feeding her baby.
She didn’t see anything, but the fact that the perpetrator fled down Jacob Street indicates the arsonist likely lives on the west side of town.
You live on the east and would have had no reason to run past Mrs. Berry’s house had you set the fire. ”
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“We also did our best to solve the mystery of your missing handkerchief. Miss Lockwood and I both recalled seeing it at the courthouse after your sentencing hearing when your stepfather made a nuisance of himself.”
Noreen raised the hem of her skirt to better navigate the train tracks crossing First Street. “Yes, but he gave it back to me.”
“He did, but he also made a point of calling out your dislike of Mr. Taggert in a public place. Someone could have overheard, seen the handkerchief, and concocted a plan to incriminate you.”
She hadn’t considered that. “I suppose that’s possible. But how would this person gain possession of my handkerchief? I keep it in my skirt pocket most of the time. No one would be able to take it from me without my knowledge.”
“Except on wash day.”
Noreen stumbled to a halt outside the yard of the parsonage.
Mrs. Barker came into her room on Mondays to fetch the bed linens and towels.
She didn’t launder her tenants’ personal items, but Noreen had soiled her handkerchief on Sunday thanks to Mrs. Stephens’s heavy application of rosewater.
Noreen had always been allergic to strong floral scents.
She’d washed her handkerchief that evening and hung it up to dry on her washstand.
Had Mrs. Barker accidentally taken it when she’d collected the towels?
Martha backtracked to where Noreen stood.
“We spoke to your landlady. She remembers seeing your handkerchief among the linens while she was washing, but she has no recollection of folding or ironing it. Someone might have taken it from the clothesline. It’s not enough on its own, but hopefully when we combine what we’ve learned with what the deputy has uncovered in his investigation, it will be enough to exonerate you. ”
“Martha, I . . .” Noreen took a breath to steady her shaking voice. “Thank you. This is so helpful.”
Martha smiled. “You’d do the same for me.”
“I would. In a heartbeat. Though I pray there’s never a need. One spinster falsely accused of arson is quite enough.”
Her friend chuckled softly, then her eyes danced as she caught sight of someone coming up behind them. “One spinster who might not be a spinster much longer.”
Noreen knew who she’d find when she turned, but her heart fluttered anyway.
James strode toward her with purpose, his gaze filled with concern as it locked onto hers.
She had no idea how a mere meeting of the eyes could produce such a strong feeling of kinship, but she had to fight to keep from throwing herself into his arms.
“I came as soon as I could.” He drew alongside, his hand finding its way to the small of her back as if she wasn’t the only one craving connection. “Miss Lockwood said your mother was upset, and I needed to come right away. Do you know what happened?”
Noreen shook her head. “No, I just arrived. I’m worried, though.
” Forcing herself to move away from the warmth of his hand, she headed toward the parsonage.
“This isn’t like her. She’s usually home making supper at this time of day.
Something must really be wrong for her to risk Arthur’s displeasure. ”
Jane had the door open by the time they reached the porch. “They’re in the parlor,” she directed.
Noreen hurried to the front room she knew well from their Tuesday Teas and stepped inside. “Mama?”
Her mother rose from the sofa, her face crumpling as she met Noreen’s gaze. “Oh, Reenie, I’m so sorry.” A sob burst from her, and she began swaying on her feet.
Alarmed, Noreen rushed forward, wrapped an arm around her mother, and eased her back down to the sofa. Tossing the hat she carried aside, she took a seat beside her. “Whatever it is, it’ll be all right. You’ll see. We’ve been through worse.”
Her mama clasped her hand and fought to get her emotions under control. “I swore I’d never let him hurt you, but I failed.”
Was she talking about Daddy? “That’s behind us, Mama. Daddy can’t hurt either of us anymore.”
She shook her head. “Not your father. Arthur.”
Noreen stilled. “What do you mean?”
Her mother didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked to Parson Cowan, who gave a small nod of his head. Her gaze shifted to James next, and her body stiffened.
“Deputy Paxton, my daughter did not start that fire.”
James nodded. “I agree.” He pulled his hat from his head and fiddled with the brim. “I don’t suppose you know who did?”
She inhaled a shaky breath, then lifted her chin.
“My husband.”