Page 79 of Taming Lady Temperance

Taggert crossed his arms over his chest. “She lugged those buckets around easy enough.”

“But she didn’t pull those up to her shoulder. Look.” James moved close to the wall. “To pour that kerosene through this window, someone would have to prop it on their shoulder, and they’d need to be fairly tall.” James mimicked hefting a large can up to his shoulder. “Seems to me a woman several inches shorter than I am wouldn’t have the right angle. Even if she did manage to get it to her shoulder.”

“She could have stood on something. Used smaller cans.”

James raised his eyebrows. “You think carrying a stool and a bunch of clanging cans around in the dead of night makes sense? Much easier to believe a man did this. In and out in one trip. Quiet. Unnoticed.”

“I did hear a crash. Remember?”

That’s right. What had he heard? James looked around the narrow alley. A long thin tree branch had been snapped in half and kicked aside. Probably the stick Taggert remembered banging on his window. But what had made the crash before that? He glanced the opposite direction, then turned slowly to peer behind him. A stack of paint cans. A couple fallen on their sides. Had the arsonist backed into the stack during his retreat?

There were too many footprints in the mud from all the traffic through here while people had been working to put out the fire to distinguish anything helpful. Still, James bent to examine the can closest to the window. Brown paint ran down the side of the metal cylinder, as if it had poured out when it had been kicked over. Between the water diluting everything and the brown paint blending with the mud, there was no trail to follow.

But maybe he didn’t need a trail. The water and mud wouldn’t have been there when the arsonist set the fire. The ground would have been dry. The paint wet. If the criminal had stepped in the paint, there might be incriminating evidence to be found on the guilty party’s shoes.

It could be a way to clear Noreen’s name! He just had to find a brown needle in a giant shoe stack.

Chapter

37

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.