Page 31 of Taming Lady Temperance

“Miss Noreen.” Luella chuckled. “The soup!”

Freeing the girl’s arms, Noreen stepped back. “If the temperance movement had a dozen supporters as brave as you, we could make real change in this town.”

Luella’s shy smile went straight to Noreen’s heart. This girl was so hungry to belong and to make her world better. Just as Noreen had been at that age. But there was a key difference. Noreen’s father had already been out of the picture by then. Luella’s father, on the other hand, was very much alive and in a position to retaliate against a daughter who denounced a way of life he embraced.

“Nothing would please me more than to have you march at my side, Lu, but I don’t want you to do anything that might cause trouble at home.”

Luella’s eyes glistened with tears, yet an undeniable determination glowed beneath the gathering moisture. “I want to march with you, Miss Noreen. Because you’re my friend, but also because I know how important this cause is. Not just for the people who are hurt by those who drink, but for the drinkers themselves. I love my father, and it breaks my heart to see what the liquor is doing to him. It controls him. Cripples him. I’m afraid that one day it will kill him.” She rubbed her eye with the back of one hand. “He’ll never get better until he puts down the bottle for good. I want to help him do that. Even if it makes him angry. He’s worth the risk.”

Noreen blinked away the image that sprang to mind of her own father lying on the cold ground of the barn floor. Not moving. Regret choked her. How many things would she change if she could go back in time? Could she have helped her father turn away from strong drink, helped him find his way back from the abyss?

No. She’d not tear open old wounds with pointless what-if games. She’d been a child. Her father had made his choices and paid the consequences. Yet Luella’s situation was different. Luella was different. She was nearly a woman. A woman with her own mind, her own ability to choose her life path. How could Noreen consider herself a proponent of women’s suffrage and not respect another woman’s right to make her own decisions?

“All right. If the society approves the march, you can join. But why don’t you ask your mother if you can stay with me that night? You can meet back up with your family at church on Sunday.” Best to keep her away from her father in case his temper flared over her involvement with the rally. Hopefully, his ire would cool overnight and lower the risk of him striking out at her.

Luella’s eyes brightened. “Could we make shortbread cookies and dunk them in hot cocoa?”

Noreen laughed. “Absolutely!”

Luella might be on the cusp of womanhood, but there were some delights that could never be outgrown.

“Luella Templeton! You better not let that soup scorch.” Mrs. Winslow came in from the larder carrying a large crate overflowing with carrots in want of peeling, chopping, and glazing for tonight’s dinner.

“No, ma’am.” Luella straightened and increased her stirring speed.

“And you,” the head cook said with a jerk of her chin in Noreen’s direction. “I agreed to let you come in to use the old stove, not to distract my other staff. I’ll thank you to keep your conversation to yourself.”

“Yes, Mrs. Winslow.” Noreen dipped her head. “I’ll just put these dishes away and banish myself to the corner.”

“See that you do.” She pivoted to address the young woman who’d followed her in from the larder. “Nellie, get those potatoes peeled, chopped, and in a pot of water,” she said with a nod toward the sack of potatoes cradled in the girl’s arms, “then start in on these carrots. I’ve got to season and tenderize the beefsteak and check on the pork roast.”

Noreen shot a smile at Luella, then busied herself with putting away the dishes she’d finished drying. Activity in the kitchen would only increase from now through dinner service so there’d be no more opportunities to talk. Yet as she moved to where the old stove stood in the back corner and contemplated the basket of groceries she’d brought with her, Noreen still didn’t have an answer for Luella’s original question.

Was she taking a meal to James tonight, or wasn’t she?

Chapter

16

James paced the jailhouse floor, casting a glance into the street every few strides. He stopped and checked the time on his pocket watch. Again. Six eighteen. Noreen might just be running behind schedule, but his instincts made a mockery of that hopeful thought.

She wasn’t coming.

She was hiding.

The question was why. Was she feeling embarrassed? Did she wish to avoid the awkwardness that inevitably followed a disagreement? Did she fear he was angry with her? Those motives he could deal with. He could put her at ease with a humorous anecdote—he had one picked out already involving a goat and a pair of underpants. He’d gladly offer reassurance that their conversation had done nothing to taint his opinion of her, that he still found her quite remarkable. If anything, learning more about her history only intensified his respect for how much she had overcome.

On the other hand, if she resented him for overstepping and interfering in private spiritual matters, things would be trickier to smooth over. There were plenty of people he’d upset over the course of his adult life, especially in the line of duty, and he did his best to mend the damage that resulted from those interactions. However, he’d learned the importance of letting things go when folks gave no indication of being willing to forfeit their grudges.

The situation with Noreen was different, though. He didn’t want to let things go. He wanted to repair what had been broken. Regain her good opinion, if it had, in fact, been lost. Her opinion mattered to him. A lot. Enough that he couldn’t just let her slip away without trying to fix whatever he’d broken.

James shoved his watch back into his trouser pocket, strode for the door, and collected his hat from the nearby coatrack. If she wasn’t coming to him, he’d just have to go to her.

He ducked into the narrow alleyway that ran along the west side of the jail, choosing the privacy it afforded instead of strolling down Walnut past the courthouse. What he was about to do could technically be categorized as calling upon a lady, and while he wasn’t ashamed to be seen paying a call on Noreen, he’d rather keep his intentions to himself in case she sent him packing. Besides, his insides were in enough knots already without having to stop and converse with whoever might be out and about at dinnertime.

The walk to Third Street proved too short for him to unwind any of the kinks in his gut or come up with a plan for what to say to her. He managed to squeeze in a petition asking God to guide his words, but all too soon he found himself ascending the boardinghouse front porch steps, feeling as ill-prepared as a barefooted cactus farmer.

Giving his shoulders a roll to alleviate the tightness brought on by a coat that seemed to shrink in size with each heartbeat, he cleared his throat, then rapped the door with his knuckles. He rocked from bootheels to toes as he waited for a response. It was the dinner hour. Not the most neighborly time to visit. Starting to regret the impulse that drove him from the jailhouse, James backed away from the door a pace and began an inner debate regarding how long politeness dictated he cool his heels on the porch before making his escape. He hadn’t knocked that loud. Perhaps with the dinner commotion, no one had heard—