Lorna Seilstad Page 2

  “Yes, Momma said we should stick together.” Charlotte held up her right hand. “I pledge to help you both however I can, and not to make Tessa marry some old rich guy at the age of fifteen so we don’t have to eat beans every night.”

  Tessa swatted her arm. “For that, I should promise to support Hannah’s dreams and not yours.”

  Charlotte waved her finger in the air. “Uh-uh-uh. We’re sisters. We’re in this together.”

  Setting her napkin aside, Tessa stood. She covered her heart with her hand. “I promise to help you two make your dreams come true, even if I have to push your wheelchairs around when you’re old and gray to do it.”

  Hannah wadded her napkin in a ball and tossed it at her youngest sister. Charlotte followed with her own balled serviette. Tessa caught the second napkin and hurled it back. Soon a volley of white left all three sisters in giggles.

  A knock on the door startled them. Hannah stood and dropped the napkins she’d collected in her chair. “You two stay here and eat. I’ll get it.”

  She pushed aside the drapes in the parlor to catch a glimpse of the visitor. She didn’t recognize the handsome man, whom she guessed to be in his late twenties. Dressed in a gray tweed suit, the man appeared out of place on the porch of their country home. He knocked again and removed his bowler hat, revealing wavy Coca-Cola-colored hair combed straight back.

  After smoothing the sides of her loose bun, she opened the door and spoke through the screen door. “Hello.”

  “Miss, I’m Lincoln Cole. I’m an attorney representing Iowa Bank and Trust. This concerns your father’s estate.”

  His somber voice chilled her. “My father’s estate?”

  “Yes. May I speak to your mother?”

  “My mother passed as well. I’m the oldest heir.”

  He withdrew a paper from inside his suit coat and perused the contents. “You’re Hannah Gregory?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  He glanced over her shoulder. “Miss, would you care to step out here on the porch to discuss some matters with me?”

  Following his line of sight, she spotted her sisters standing in the parlor’s doorway. “Perhaps that would be wise.”

  He pulled the screen door open for her and motioned to the two rockers separated by a small table on the porch. “Please have a seat, Miss Gregory.”

  Hannah settled in the chair and clasped her hands in her lap. Her stomach churned with ominous dread. Why was the bank contacting her? When she’d received their letters, she’d sent them back a letter explaining her family’s circumstances. Since she hadn’t heard from them again, she assumed they’d accepted her terms. But had they?

  Mr. Cole turned the chair a bit in her direction before he sat down. He cleared his throat once, twice, three times, before speaking. “Miss Gregory, are you aware your father took out a second mortgage on the farm?”

  “A second mortgage?” Her heart plummeted. No! Please, God, don’t let this be happening.

  “Last year, your father lost money in the financial panic and again when his crops failed.”

  “But I’ve written the bank and asked for their understanding.”

  Mr. Cole looked down at his hands. “Miss Gregory, banks cannot extend you credit simply because you ask for it politely. I realize you may not understand matters of business—”

  “Go on with what you’ve come to tell me.”

  Anger began to burn from deep within. Did this man believe she was going to let him take their home?

  “Miss Gregory, your father was indebted to the bank for a considerable sum.”

  “How much?”

  “Unless you have other means of which we are unaware, I think—”

  “I said, how much?”

  He removed a paper from his pocket and passed it to her.

  The numbers blurred into a mixture of blue and black ink beneath her watery gaze. “We don’t have that kind of money. We barely have enough to feed ourselves.”

  He glanced around the farm, and Hannah saw his gaze flit from the broken gate near the barn to the chipped paint on the porch railing. “I can see that.”

  “But I have someone who will sharecrop the farm this year. Like I told the bank, they will have to be patient until fall.”

  With a sigh, he folded the paper. “You haven’t made any payments since your father’s death. Do you honestly believe they are going to let you live here without paying a cent toward this rather large mortgage? The bank’s patience has run out, and they are foreclosing on the property. Do you know what that means?”

  “Of course I know what it means.” She snapped her sentence like a cowpoke’s brandishing whip. “But you can’t just take our home away.”

  “It isn’t my choice, Miss Gregory.” He stood and replaced his hat. “You have one week to make other living arrangements. Do you have relatives?”

  “No. No one. Both of my parents were only children.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. Her thoughts spun. How could this man stand there and strip away the last hold she had on her parents?

  Mr. Cole’s lips clamped in a thin, silent line.

  “You have no problem helping the bank take away the only place my sisters and I have ever lived?” The words seethed from her lips. “This is all so easy for you. You probably do it every day. Can you even fathom what this is like? We’ve already lost our parents and now you’re stealing our farm? My sisters don’t deserve to lose everything they love.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Take the basics of what you need from the house to set up your new place—dishes, beds, your personal belongings. Anything you don’t take will be auctioned off.”

  She pressed her hand to her quivering, nauseous stomach. Her head felt like a hot air balloon ready to burst. Moving? Finding a new home? Starting over?

  How could she possibly do it all on her own?

  2

  Marching through the law office, Lincoln shoved open the door in his path, banging it against the wall. Picture frames rattled and heads turned, a sure signal he’d gained the attention of everyone at the prestigious Williams and Harlington Law Firm. But he didn’t care. He’d been thinking about this moment all night long.

  He halted in front of Cedric Knox’s desk and flung an envelope onto the surface.

  Cedric looked up. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a hundred and fifty dollars. Cash.”

  “Why, you shouldn’t have. It’s not even my birthday.” Cedric smirked, his thin, dark brows rising as if he’d said the funniest thing in the world.

  Lincoln clenched his fists at his sides. Why did everything about this man, from his weaselly eyes to his prematurely balding head, irritate him so? “It’s the money for the Gregory girls’ household belongings.”

  Cedric opened his top drawer and deposited the envelope inside. “If they have that kind of cash, it goes into paying off their father’s debt, not to buying back their beds and lamps.”

  Lincoln felt the eyes of onlookers on his back. How many of them had gathered at the door? “The money’s mine. I’m buying their things.”

  A slow smile spread across Cedric’s face. “Well, well, you’re finally learning to take advantage of some of the benefits we attorneys enjoy.” He chuckled. “Too bad. I can’t let you pay for their things.”

  Slamming his hand onto the desk blotter, Lincoln leaned over him.

  “Lincoln!”

  He recognized the heavy bass bark of the man behind him as sure as if it were his own father’s voice. After giving Cedric a final glare, Lincoln turned. Pete Williams, his mentor, his friend, and the senior partner, scowled at him but said nothing.

  “They were orphans, Pete! He sent me to foreclose on three helpless girls. The eldest daughter honestly thought she could get the bank to extend their loan by writing them a letter.”

  Pete drew in a long breath, extending his thick waist until the buttons of his double-breasted suit appeared ready to burs
t. He turned to Cedric and raised his eyebrows. “Really, Cedric? You sent Lincoln?”

  The bald man shrugged. “According to Mr. Harlington, I can assign the bank’s foreclosures to whomever I want, which means I can choose Lincoln whether he’s your pet or not.”

  Lincoln took a step forward, but Pete held out a restraining arm. “There’s no room in this firm for petty jealousies. In the future, Mr. Knox, I expect you to use better judgment if you hope to make full partner.”

  “Then maybe you can explain to Mr. Perfect why he has to wait until the auction to buy their household items.”

  Lincoln released an exasperated breath. “Can’t we at least spare those girls the indignity of having their things put on the auction block? I gave him a hundred and fifty dollars, Pete. We all know that’s more than double what they’d get for the things inside the house.”

  “Normally, yes, the items would need to be auctioned.” The corners of Pete’s mouth curled beneath a cloud of white mustache. “But I think the bank will have no problem with that sum for the purchase of the household goods, and if I remember correctly, Cedric, you made a similar purchase when you discovered a rather attractive Widow Glidden a few years ago. Lincoln’s reasons are a bit more altruistic, don’t you agree?”

  With a flick of his wrist, he motioned to the hovering clerks, who quickly dispersed, then glanced from Lincoln to Cedric. “Now, I expect the two of you to play nice from now on. I meant what I said about petty jealousies. If they continue, someone won’t be remaining in my employ.”

  Despite the cool April morning, the small room at the Iowa Telephone Company felt stuffy. Hannah ran a finger beneath the collar of her white shirtwaist and looked around at the number of girls who’d come to apply for a position as a switchboard operator. There must be at least two dozen girls present. Did they need the job as much as she?

  Hannah fingered the reference letters in her hand. Perhaps securing one from Dean Ackenridge from Drake College would have been helpful. But taking time to do so would have made her miss today’s interviews.

  A middle-aged woman with a long, angular face stepped to the front of the room. “Girls, please take your seats.”

  Hannah sat down in the third row of wooden folding chairs beside a young woman with a mass of strawberry curls. The young woman seemed intent on examining the seam of her skirt.

  When she glanced up, Hannah smiled and whispered, “Hi, I’m Hannah.”

  “Rosie.”

  The woman at the front held up her hand, and the room grew silent. “My name is Mrs. Reuff, and I’m the chief instructor at the operators’ school.” Her smooth voice contrasted sharply with her severe looks. “I want to welcome all of you and give you some information about this position and the selection process for all of our Hello Girls.”

  Mrs. Reuff swept the room with a critical gaze. “Over half of you will not make it through the selection process. Of the half admitted to the school, only a fourth will finish and advance to positions as Iowa Telephone operators.”

  Muffled voices in the room mirrored the surprise Hannah felt. Only a fourth of them would be hired?

  “Our selection process is unparalleled. Naturally, we choose only girls with good health, good hearing, and good eyesight. However, we are also looking for young women who possess natural intelligence and outstanding moral character. Our operators must follow stringent guidelines, and we want only those young ladies who will comply with the rules under all circumstances.”

  Hannah swallowed hard and rubbed her damp hands on her striped skirt. Rosie shifted beside her.

  Another woman handed Mrs. Reuff a piece of paper. “Our vice president is ready to begin. Please wait here until your name is called.”

  “I don’t think I can do this,” Rosie breathed. “But I so want to become an operator.”

  “Of course you can. Simply go in there and be yourself.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do?”

  Hannah smiled. “More or less.”

  “Rosie Murphy?” a woman called from the front. “Hannah Gregory?”

  Hannah squeezed Rosie’s hand. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  “I’ll be praying for you too.”

  Once she reached the front, Hannah was directed to a room down the hall. Hannah stepped onto a scale and waited while a plump woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Nesbit shifted the weights on the scale. She then directed Hannah to stand against the wall. Mrs. Nesbit placed a ruler on top of Hannah’s head and eyed the marks on the wall indicating Hannah’s height.

  “You’ll do,” Mrs. Nesbit said, marking Hannah’s measurements on a tablet. “Next.”

  She looked up at Rosie and frowned. “Miss, I can tell by looking at you that you’re not tall enough.”

  “What does that have to do with being an operator?” The words were out of Hannah’s mouth before she could stop herself.

  The plump lady scowled. “Operators must be able to reach the top of the board, and Miss Gregory, you’d do well to keep your questions under your hat.”

  Tears filled Rosie’s eyes, and Hannah’s heart squeezed for the girl. “Can you please measure her anyway?”

  Mrs. Nesbit reluctantly indicated for Rosie to step on the scale. Once finished, Rosie moved to the wall and stood beneath the heavy markings.

  Hannah shoved a stack of papers from Mrs. Nesbit’s desk. “Oh no! Look what I’ve done.”

  As she expected, the plump woman bent to retrieve the papers with an aggravated huff. Hannah knelt beside her but motioned with her hand for Rosie to stand on tiptoe.

  Once the papers were back in hand, Mrs. Nesbit returned to measure Rosie. Leaning over her round belly, she eyed the mark on the wall. “Well, I’ll be. You made it. Barely, but you did.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not on your tiptoes, are you?”

  As she pulled back Rosie’s skirt to check, Hannah began to fiddle with the model telephones on the desk. “Is this one of the practice telephones?”

  Mrs. Nesbit grabbed it out of her hand. “You are not here to play around, Miss Gregory.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Nesbit turned to list Rosie’s height on her card, and Hannah grinned.

  This was going to be easier than she thought.

  After Hannah had her hearing and eyesight tested, Mrs. Reuff returned and made Hannah read a selection from First Lessons in Telephone Operating. Then, without giving Hannah so much as a smile, Mrs. Reuff led her to an office. Gold letters adorned the door of Vice President Victor Bradford.

  Mrs. Reuff knocked softly, then opened the door and laid Hannah’s paperwork on Mr. Bradford’s desk. “Miss Hannah Gregory, sir.”

  Hannah took a deep breath and waited for the door to click shut behind her, signaling Mrs. Reuff’s departure.

  An impeccably tailored Mr. Bradford stood and nodded to a chair across the desk from him. “Miss Gregory, please have a seat.” When she’d complied, he picked up her paperwork and a pen. “I’ll need the name of your druggist, your physician, and your grocer.”

  Hannah gulped. “My grocer, sir?” So much for things going well.

  “Yes, yes. For references.”

  “Will you speak to each of these people?”

  “Generally that’s what one does with references.” Impatience tinged his voice. He looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “Do you have a reason for not wanting us to speak to your grocer? Outstanding debt, maybe?”

  “No, sir.” She rattled off the names and watched Mr. Bradford record them in a heavy script on her application, then he gave the document careful perusal. “Everything seems to be in order. I see you have attended college, and your marks were excellent. What were you studying?”

  “Law, sir.”

  “Unusual course of study for a woman.” He quirked an eyebrow and made a note on the paper. “Tell me about your family.”

  “There are only my sisters and myself, sir. My parents died earlier this year.”

  “Good, good.” He no
ted it on the form.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He looked up. “I’m sorry. What I meant was we’ve learned that young ladies who need employment are more conscientious workers.” He cleared his throat. “Have you letters of reference?”

  She passed the letters to him and waited while he perused them. “Your preacher speaks highly of you, as does your former teacher. They mention your intelligence and your excellent character, but I also notice they both mention you are quite affable.”

  “Is friendliness not an asset as an operator?”

  “Of course it is, but talkativeness is not.”

  “I can be verbose, but I also know the value of silence.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Sir, I need this position. I learn quickly, and I assure you I can do this.”

  He seemed to study her for a moment. “Miss Gregory, I believe we’ll give you a try. School begins next Monday.”

  3

  Hugging herself, Hannah leaned against the wall at the top of the telephone company stairs and waited for Rosie to leave the building. Not only had she been chosen, but she’d learned she’d make five dollars a week while in the operators’ school and eight when she became a full-fledged operator. I know I don’t deserve it, but thank you, Lord, for your provision.

  The steady clack of hooves on the paved brick street drew her attention. A delivery wagon lumbered along. Soon a couple of carriages passed in the opposite direction. If it were later in the day, the city street would be bustling.

  “Rosie!” she called as her new friend stepped through the doors.

  Rosie spun and pressed a hand to her chest. “You startled me. Were you waiting for me?”

  “I was. I couldn’t leave until I knew how you did.”