When Love Calls (6 page)

 7 

Smoke hung in the air.

Lincoln stepped off the streetcar on Grand Avenue and scanned the sky. Thick, gray billows formed in the air two blocks down, not far from Pete Williams’s home. His chest tightened. Pete had gone home from the law office early. What if this was his house?

Jogging down the sidewalk, he zigzagged around the people crowding the sidewalk, all of them trying to determine the fire’s location. He nearly tripped over a little girl who stepped into his path, but caught himself and raced on. A bell clanged to his right. He halted. A hook and ladder cart, pulled by three massive-necked, dapple-gray horses, whipped around the corner.

Lincoln passed the first three houses on the blocks, ticking off the names of their owners in his mind—the Kauffmans, the Walkers, the Mennigs. Smoke belched from behind Pete’s house.

He finally drew near enough to see the flames. The crowd of gawkers grew so thick he had to slow.

“I heard the whole thing.” An elderly woman pointed with her cane toward the smoke. “There was a boom, and then all that smoke filled the air.”

Lincoln skirted around her. A gas explosion, maybe? If so, no one was safe around here.

He came to a stop in front of Pete’s palatial mansion and breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever was on fire was behind Pete’s house,
perhaps even in the neighbor’s house or yard. He pushed his way through until he was in front of the crowd and then scanned Pete’s yard for any sign of his friend. Pete and his grown son, Albert, stood beneath the side portico watching the action behind their house.

“Pete!” Lincoln jogged up the steps of the portico, and Pete and Albert turned. “What’s going on? Are you all okay?”

“We’re fine. The windows sure shook, but nothing broke.” He pointed to the roaring blaze in the back of the house behind him. “Elias Ferguson’s carriage house is going up like a piece of kindling.”

Lincoln stared at the flames licking the trees around the carriage house, trying to recall the name Elias Ferguson. “The division manager of the Western Union?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“How do you think it started?”

Pete looked first at Lincoln and then at his son. “There was an explosion of some sort. I’m sure of that.”

Albert didn’t take his gaze from the blaze. “With all the talk about striking again, there’s sure to be an investigation of this.”

“You think it was deliberately set?” Lincoln asked.

Albert, the studious type, shrugged. He seldom spoke more than a few words to Lincoln. For some reason, the young man had a chip on his shoulder when it came to Lincoln.

Pete laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, Albert’s probably right. With all the union problems, this doesn’t look good.”

Lincoln heard the snap of a beam from inside the burning structure. If the union wanted things to change, setting a fire at the home of the manager hardly seemed the best way to gain the man’s cooperation. Then again, frustrated men didn’t always think straight.

What was Walt doing on the front porch of her new home?

After a quick glance about her to see if anyone from the school was around, Hannah quickened her pace. Thankfully, Rosie had made a stop at the drugstore on their way home.

Her heart thudded against her rib cage. What if anyone saw him there, especially with the new rules by which she had to abide?

Walt was bent over with his hands on his knees, his chest rapidly rising and falling. Clearly, he’d run to get there.

Please, Lord, don’t let there be any more trouble.

She climbed the steps, and he straightened, pulling the hat from his head. A smile lit his familiar face. “I’m glad you’re home. I—”

She held up her hand to cut him off. “We can’t talk here. What if someone sees?”

“Sees what?” He held his palms faceup in a perplexed gesture.

“You’ve got to go.” Pressing both hands against his back, she started to push him toward the steps.

“Stop shoving me. I just got here.” He turned and frowned. “Why are you acting so crazy? Did you put your finger in one of those switchboard holes?”

She fired an exasperated glare at him. “I can’t have gentleman callers while I’m in school, so you have to leave.”

“Not until I say my piece. You’ve known me my whole life, so I don’t need to tell you I didn’t run all the way here for the exercise.”

Hannah bit her lip. If her oldest friend needed to talk to her, why should she let rules stand in her way? A few months ago, that would never have happened.

She started to unlock the door. “Let’s go inside.”

“Inside? We can’t do that. Your sisters aren’t home yet. I know because I’ve been knocking for at least a minute.”

“Move it. Now.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a bossy lady?”

“Yes. Frequently.” She stopped inside the front parlor, closed the door behind them, and spun toward him. “So, what’s so important you’d risk my job?”

“That job is exactly why I’m here.” Without being asked to do so, he crossed the room in three long strides and sat down on the tapestry-covered sofa.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

“Thank you. I don’t mind if I do.”

“You are as annoying as a brother.” Hannah went to the window and closed the inch-long gap in the lace curtains as if doing so would keep out any prying eyes. “Get on with it. Why are you here?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Why?” She sat down on one of the matching parlor chairs, folded her hands in her lap, and studied Walt. The way he casually crossed his ankle over his knee didn’t fool her. His green eyes, always so easy to read, said he’d come because of genuine concern.

He placed his hand on his knee. “You know, when you become a full-fledged operator, you’ll have a choice of whether to join the union or not.”

“I hadn’t thought about that, but I suppose you’re right. Why is that a problem? I know how active you are in the telegraphers’ union. Last year’s strike lasted for weeks.”

He ran his hand over his chin. “There may be another strike. That’s why I’m here.”

“What does that have to do with me? I’m sorry, Walt, but I am not following you.”

“After last year’s strike, six telegraphers—four men and two women—were fired and blacklisted by Western Union management because of their union involvement.”

Hannah pressed her back against the chair. Since second grade, she’d been beside him, and she’d never heard him speak with as much venom as when he spoke about the management. The sound unnerved her, but she remained silent to let him finish.

“Those six telegraphers deserve their jobs back, and we’re willing to strike to get that done. That is, if our other plans fail.” He paced the small room. “Hannah, if we strike, the telephone operators might have to join us. They’d have to honor our strike. Union power lies in stopping the work, or in this case, all communication.”

“Then I won’t join. I need this job to support my sisters.”

“I know, but haven’t you heard of some of the things that can
happen to folks who break union lines? For your own safety, you have to join or at least honor any strike lines.” He stopped and pulled her to her feet. “Please.”

“I’ll do the best I can.”

“I know you will. There’s one more thing.” Walt removed his hat and raked his hand through his sandy hair. “There may be some trouble. Stay clear of Mulberry Street.”

Her stomach cinched tight. She laid her hand on his arm. “Please, don’t do anything you might get in trouble for, or anything dangerous.”

“Me?” He gave her an impish grin. “You should know better than anyone I’m good at not getting caught.” He tapped her nose. “Should I sneak out the back door now?”

She giggled. “How about I dress you up like Charlotte and you can come and go as you please?”

“Don’t tempt me, Hannah. We’re not in grade school anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave her was far from brotherly.

 8 

What had Walt truly meant by his last few comments?

Hannah set a crate they’d yet to unpack on the kitchen table, her thoughts spinning from Walt’s words. Was he implying he wanted to court her? No, she had to be reading too much into his words. They were friends. More like brother and sister. Not once had she looked at Walt that way. Well, maybe once or twice, but she’d still been wearing braids then.

She pulled a cake pan from the crate. Walt loved cake. All kinds, but plain white cake was his favorite. She’d made him one for his birthday last year, and he’d grinned for half the day.

Tessa bounced in, plopped into one of the straight-backed dining chairs, tossed a tablet on the table, and snapped open a newspaper. “‘City may be cut off from the rest of the world.’”

“What are you talking about?” Hannah shook the thoughts of Walt from her mind.

“It’s the headline in today’s paper. I’ve decided to become a journalist, so I’m keeping track of the best headlines. This story is about the Chicago telegraph union considering another strike, which would cut off Chicago from receiving any communication.” Tessa set down the paper.

So this strike talk went beyond Des Moines.

“But I could do a better job writing the story. This is boring.”

Hannah smiled at her sister. Lately Tessa wanted to do something different nearly every day. “What would you put in it?”

“Blood. Turmoil. Rioting. People are fascinated by that stuff.” Tessa pointed to another headline. “This one is good. ‘Victims roasted alive in train wreck.’”

“Tess, that’s horrible!”

“But it gets your attention, doesn’t it?” Tessa tapped her pencil against the tablet. “So, now I’m going to interview you. Ready?”

With an eye roll, Hannah removed a plate from its wrappings. “Sure.”

“Was spending a whole day in classes at operators’ school as boring as it sounds?”

After wiping the plate with a towel, Hannah set it in the cupboard, looked at Tessa, and chuckled. Naturally, her younger sister would think spending a full day in classes would be less than exciting.

“It was actually quite fascinating, Tess.” Hannah freed another plate from its wrappings. “Professor Phillip E. Tubman came in to teach us about how the telephone works. Did you know a telephone has 201 parts?”

“Do I need to know that?” Tessa jotted the information down. “Did this professor talk all day?”

“No, his class lasted for an hour. Besides the introduction this morning, we had his class on the mechanics of telephony, and Mrs. Nesbit gave us our first voice lesson.”

“Why do you have voice lessons? You aren’t learning to sing.”

“We are learning how to breathe.”

Tessa cocked an eyebrow. “You seem to be doing that just fine.”

Hannah straightened and pressed a hand to her stomach. She took a deep breath and felt her stomach expand beneath her palm. “See? There’s a way to breathe that allows you to project your voice more effectively. You must expand your diaphragm.”

“If you say so.”

Charlotte strolled into the room. “If you say what?”

Hannah lifted the next crate onto the table and passed Charlotte
the heavy cast-iron skillet from within. “I was telling Tessa about what I learned today.”

“She learned to breathe.” Tessa grinned. “And she says it was fascinating. Makes you want to run out and apply to join her, doesn’t it?”

“Tess.” Hannah frowned.

“What? That’s what you said.” She held up her tablet. “See? It’s right here. I quoted you.”

Charlotte giggled and set the skillet on top of the stove. “I’m afraid it doesn’t appear you impressed our little sister.”

“But Lottie, you could impress me.” Tessa opened the door to the icebox, and cool air whooshed into the room. “By making a delicious supper. I’m starving.”

“It’s hard to make something delicious when our cupboards are bare.” Nudging her younger sister aside, Charlotte opened a cupboard door and held up a can of beans. “Anyone interested in beans du jour?”

“Beans again?” Tessa moaned.

“Sorry. It’s all there is.”

Guilt tugged on Hannah, and she sank onto a chair at the table. “I know it’s hard, but we’ve used up everything Mother had canned except for a half dozen jars of jelly. And if you recall, we haven’t had beans every day. We had fish last week, remember? And Mrs. Murphy brought a housewarming supper over when we moved in. I’ll get paid at the end of the week, and we can get some groceries then.”

Tessa folded her hands. “Lord, please send us something other than beans to eat. Please, please, please.”

A knock on the door interrupted her dramatic prayer and made all three of them turn. Hannah pushed up from the table. “I’ll get it.”

The oak door groaned as she opened it. Before her, a freckle-faced boy stood, his checked cap askew atop his chestnut hair. In his arms he held a crate with “Zenith Oats: Iowa’s Choicest White Oats” displayed across the front.

Hannah smiled at the boy. “Hello, may I help you?”

“This is your delivery from Maxwell Grocery.”

“There must be some kind of mistake. I didn’t place an order.”

He shifted the crate under one arm and pulled out a sheet of paper from the top. “Are you Miss Hannah Gregory?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s for you. My paper says it’s a housewarming gift for you and your sisters from a Mr. Lincoln Cole.”

Him again. Her blood boiled. How dare he try to appease his guilt by sending them food? Did he think they wanted his charity? She ought to march down there right now and give him a piece of her mind.

The boy shifted the crate. “So, where do you want it? The kitchen?”

“We can’t accept the order.” She took a step back, ready to shut the door.

“Lady, wait! What am I supposed to do with all this?”

“Take it back to the mercantile, please, and explain to Mr. Becker I refused it.”

The boy shifted the box again. “But it’s my last delivery, and then I can go home.”

Hannah took a deep breath. Perhaps she should return it herself. After all, it wasn’t fair to make this boy go out of his way because Lincoln Cole thought he could buy his penance.

Tessa stepped between her and the door and slipped outside. “I’ll take the box.”

“Tessa Gregory, you will not!”

“Hey, I prayed and the Lord answered. Are you gonna argue with God?”

The boy passed the groceries to Tessa’s waiting arms in the blink of an eye and was gone down the steps before Hannah could say another word. She glared at her sister. “Now what are we going to do with it?”

“I have one suggestion.” Tessa balanced the crate on her right arm, reached inside, and pulled out an apple. She bit into it with a loud crunch. With her mouth still full, she mumbled, “Let’s eat.”

Hannah tried to remove the crate from her sister’s arms, but the girl was too fast. Tessa hurried inside and deposited the groceries on the kitchen table.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Where did all this come from?”

“Mr. Cole.” Tessa took another bite from her apple and swiped the juices from her chin.

“And before you start making menus, we can’t keep it.” Hannah laid her hand on the box’s rough wood slats.

“Why not?” Tessa asked. “I heard the boy say it was a housewarming gift.”

“Because it’s not right.” Hannah sighed. “Mr. Cole shouldn’t be sending us gifts.”

“But Daddy always said you never know how the Lord is going to provide when you pray.” Tessa raised a can of Folgers coffee beans in the air and shook it with fire-and-brimstone furor. Beans rattled inside. “Well, I prayed and the Lord provided.” She shook the tin again. “How long has it been since you had any coffee? We all know how much you love it.”

Hannah’s mouth watered at the thought of sipping a cup of the dark brew enhanced with sugar and cream, but they couldn’t keep this gift. It simply wasn’t right.

Charlotte moved some items around in the box. “There’s a quart of milk and a couple packages from the butcher in here too. We should probably get those in the icebox.”

“You think we should keep this too?” She glared at them. Had they all gone mad? “Need I remind you it was Mr. Cole who made us lose our home? He’s an egotistical, arrogant, know-it-all man who feels guilty about putting out three orphans.”

“Mr. Cole’s been nothing but kind, Hannah. I don’t think it’s fair to read other things into his thoughtful gesture.” Charlotte picked up the quart of milk and set it in the icebox. “Besides, he didn’t take the house. The bank did. He was simply the messenger, and it isn’t fair to shoot the messenger.”

“I’d like to shoot this one with Daddy’s shotgun,” Hannah mumbled.

Charlotte shook the butcher’s package in her direction. “I’m surprised at you. Besides, it is a gift, and Momma wouldn’t want us to be rude and turn it away.”

“Fine.” Hannah crossed her arms over her chest. “It might take a while, but I’ll pay him back for every crumb.”

Charlotte took the Folgers tin from Tessa and pried open the lid. She waved the tin beneath Hannah’s nose. “In the meantime, what do you say to a cup of coffee provided by the egotistical, arrogant, know-it-all man who was thoughtful enough to include coffee?”

The scent filled Hannah’s nostrils, and she licked her lips.

One cup couldn’t hurt.

He owed her for everything he’d put her through.

One more set of contracts to process, and Lincoln could call it a day. It had been a long week, and he couldn’t wait to spend some time on the golf course. Holding the stack in his hands, he tapped the edges against the surface of his desk to line up the papers, then began reading the first page. By page two, the words blurred beneath his gaze.

He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the edge of his desk. Lulled by the rat-a-tat of the stenographer’s typewriter, the low, steady hum of conversation, and the crinkling of paper, he closed his eyes. He gave in to the urge for a quick nap. A few minutes of sleep couldn’t hurt.

A blow to his feet startled him, and he jerked upright, nearly toppling from the chair.

“Here!”

He grabbed the desk to regain his balance and looked up to see Hannah Gregory thrusting her palm toward him with two shiny quarters in the center.

“Take it.” She pushed her upturned hand forward. “I know it doesn’t cover the groceries, but it’s a start.”

He shook his head, feeling more muddled than awake. How long had he been dozing? He heard snickering and glanced around
the office. Cedric. He imagined the weasel was enjoying this scene far too much.

Lincoln lowered his voice. “Hannah, what are you talking about?”

“It’s Miss Gregory to you.” She jammed her fists onto her hips. “And I’m referring to the gift you had delivered to my sisters and me after we moved in.”

“The food?”

“Yes.” She extended the coins toward him again. “I intend to pay you back.”

He scowled and pushed her hand away. “Sit down.”

She didn’t budge.

“Please, have a seat, Miss Gregory.” He sighed. “I’d prefer to talk to you face-to-face rather than have you hover over me like my overbearing grade-school teacher. A woman, as a matter of fact, I didn’t much care for.”

“The best I can promise is not to rap your knuckles with a ruler.” She squared her shoulders. “Besides, I prefer to do this standing.”