Page 11 of Taming Lady Temperance

Not trusting herself to say anything that wasn’t dripping in vitriol, Noreen set the bowls on the table, turned to face her stepfather, and braced for whatever disparaging remarks he considered his duty to impart.

“Edward Thompson threatened to take his business to Wilson’s Mercantile this morning. Thompson’s one of my most loyal customers, and he’s leaving because you keep accosting him outside the Salt Fork. That little stunt you pulled on Thursday night was the last straw. He says he’ll no longer do business with a man who continues to allow his daughter to cast aspersions on his character.”

“Oh, Noreen.” Mama brought in a platter of ham and placed it at the head of the table. The disappointment in her voice hurt more than Arthur’s overblown complaints. “Tell me you didn’t go back to that saloon.”

Her mother, of all people, should understand why she felt so passionately about the cause of temperance. Yet she’d never supported her mission. She’d taken Arthur’s side from the beginning, pleading with her to stay out of trouble and quit making herself a target.

“She most certainly did.” Arthur jabbed an accusatory finger in Noreen’s direction. “Not only did she risk her reputation—and ours—by visiting an unsavory part of town in the evening, she saw fit to harangue several prominent members of the community. Edward Thompson related to me that Noreen called him a criminal and accused him of destroying his family.”

Mama moaned softly, her shoulders curling in on themselves.

“For pity’s sake.” Noreen crossed her arms over her chest. “I did not call Mr. Thompson a criminal. I simply stated that liquor is the beverage of criminals, and that truly respectable men would not seek to imitate the behavior of felons.”

“So you insinuated that he was not respectable. Marvelous.” Arthur exhaled loudly, his disgust evident. “Thompson sits on the city council, Noreen. He’s one of the most respectable men of our community.”

Noreen jutted her chin. “Not in my estimation.”

“Well, your estimation isn’t worth a hill of beans. You insist you’re not a child, yet you’re incredibly naïve about how the world works. Making enemies of people in power has consequences. What if Thompson not only removes his patronage from my shop but encourages his friends and colleagues to do the same? I’ll be ruined! The emporium will fail, and we will be destitute. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not. But someone has to take a stand against Goliath. We can’t all cower on the sidelines hoping the giant will simply tire of his taunting and go home. Someone must confront the evil of strong liquor and cut off its head before it destroys civilization. Families are suffering. Children are suffering.” Children like Luella. And like Noreen had once been. “I can’t ignore them. I won’t.”

“‘Before it destroys civilization’? What rot. Liquor has been around since the time of Noah, and civilization is still here. It doesn’t need your paltry efforts to keep it from collapse. It will survive just fine on its own.”

“Will it?” Noreen uncrossed her arms and advanced on her stepfather, too full of righteous indignation to proceed with caution. “Let’s look at Noah, since you brought him up. A righteous man. Chosen by God to save humanity and every animal that walked upon the earth. What became of him when he drank the wine of the vineyard he planted? He became drunk and shamed himself with nakedness. And when his son happened upon him and told his brothers, did Noah take responsibility for his nakedness and repent? No, he cursed his son for not covering him. And not only his son but his grandson and all future descendants of that line. Where is the righteousness in that? It was Noah’s sin, yet his son bore the brunt of his curse. Is it not the same today? Parents drink, they behave poorly, then take their shame and anger out on their children. Cursing them. Beating them. Destroying their future.”

“Worthless brat! You’re nothin’ but a millstone around me neck.” Her father’s voice rang through Noreen’s head, and an ache throbbed in her jaw at the memory of the backhanded blows that had sprawled her upon the floor.

Tears flooded her eyes, but she was too angry to bat them away. “Liquor is a poison that corrupts righteousness and manufactures cruelty. Civilization is already broken. I’m just trying to fix it.”

“You’re an unhinged fanatic.” Arthur took a step back, shaking his head. “There’s no reasoning with you. You’re the poison, Noreen. Slowly killing this family with your radicalism. Our only chance to survive is to cut you off like a gangrenous limb.” He sighed, then squared his shoulders and braced his legs apart. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re no longer welcome in this house.”

Mama gasped. “Arthur, no.”

But he paid his wife no attention. Caring only for his own desires. As usual.

Noreen hesitated, the little girl inside of her hoping her mama would say something, do something to support her daughter.

However, Ramona Clevenger said nothing. Did nothing. Just let her head droop forward in defeat, her surrender nearly rending Noreen’s heart in two.

It seemed liquor wasn’t the only thing with the power to destroy families. Betrayal did a bang-up job, too.

Chapter

6

James scraped charred potato from the edge of the skillet, then hissed when grease popped from the pan to the back of his hand. Sucking in a breath, he released the handle of the frying pan and swiped the burning spot against his shirt. Maybe Henry had a point about his cooking skills. He’d just wanted something warm to go with the ham sandwich he’d picked up from the café after walking Miss O’Sullivan to her mother’s house.

With Sheriff Adair investigating a string of cattle thefts down near Moran, James was currently the only lawman in town. And since the sheriff wasn’t a fan of night duty, James had volunteered to take up residence at the jailhouse, leaving him in charge of his own meals.

He raised a brow as he considered the sliced potatoes and bits of onion littering his cast-iron pan. Mmmm. Half raw and half burnt, just the way he liked them. James shook his head, the lie as impossible to swallow as his supper was bound to be. Even for him, this was abysmal. That’s what happened when a fella spent too long pondering a certain curly-haired woman, her request for assistance, and the political quagmire sure to follow should he agree.

With a sigh, James pushed the pan of pitiful potatoes to the back of the stove to keep them from fossilizing further. Maybe he should just give up on the troublesome mess and be content with his sandwich.

Movement in the street beyond the open jailhouse door caught his attention. Was that—?

Potatoes forgotten, James grabbed his coat from the back of his office chair, shoved his arms into the sleeves, then snatched his hat from the coatrack by the door and fit it to his head as he jogged into the sunlight.

Noreen O’Sullivan. He recognized the dark green calico she’d worn to church that morning. What was she doing running down the road on this side of town? He’d thought she was eating with her folks. There was nothing out this way except the grist mill.