Lorna Seilstad Page 5

  He had been kind.

  Too bad it was a lie.

  Standing, she smoothed the sides of her hair and checked her appearance in the mirror. Before slipping out of the room, she kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the dressing table. She found Mr. Cole’s monogrammed handkerchief and traced the embroidered C. She dabbed her eyes with the fine linen cloth and stuffed it in the pocket of her apron.

  After glancing around the house one last time, she stepped out on the porch. With her heart as heavy as the crate of law books, she closed the door to the Gregory home behind her.

  No, it wasn’t fair, but it was happening all the same.

  6

  “Who are you?” The man in front of Lincoln stood with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

  Lincoln came to a halt, set down the last crate of books in the wagon bed, and extended his hand. “Lincoln Cole. I’m helping the Gregory girls move into the city. And you are … ?”

  “Walt Calloway.”

  Hannah slipped out the front door. When she spotted Walt, her eyes lit up. “Walt!” She hiked up her skirt and hurried down the porch steps. To Lincoln’s surprise, reserved Hannah hugged the lanky young man. She turned to Lincoln. “This is Walt Calloway. He’s been a dear friend since we shared a reader in second grade.”

  “My mother said you were moving today. There was a problem with one of the telegraph lines, so I had to make the repairs before I could come out and help, or I’d have been here earlier.” Walt kept one hand on Hannah’s back as he met Lincoln’s eyes. “But it looks like you have everything well in hand.”

  “Walt works for the Western Union as a lineman.” Hannah moved to pat the back of the wagon. “Mr. Cole’s already taken one load into town, and we’re about to take the other. Can you come and help us unload?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Perfect.” She glanced at his wagon and smiled. “I can ride with you, and that way Charlotte can ride up front in Mr. Cole’s wagon.”

  An unfamiliar knot twisted in his gut. Who was this Walt, and why did his appearance make Lincoln feel so uneasy? He’d been looking forward to the drive into town, but he certainly didn’t have any designs on Hannah Gregory. She might seem like a breath of fresh air to him, but he was barn-lot stench to her.

  He hated that she had such a low opinion of him. Couldn’t she see he was not the kind of man she’d originally pictured?

  All his work today seemed to do little to change her mind.

  Well, that wouldn’t stop him from doing what was right. For whatever reason, God had put this family in his path, and he’d make sure the Gregory sisters were taken care of—even if Hannah killed him in the process.

  Every muscle hurt from the move, but Hannah ignored the pain. Excitement and nerves tangled inside her like the telephone wires crisscrossing the street over her head. Rosie walked beside her. In a few minutes, they would cross the threshold of the operators’ school, and her new career would begin.

  Please, Lord, help me keep my mouth closed.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m as nervous as a turkey before Thanksgiving.” Rosie pressed her hand to her stomach. “What if I can’t remember everything they teach us? What if I can’t remember my own name?”

  “You’re going to do fine.” Hannah hoped she sounded convincing. “And they won’t let us become real operators until they think we’re ready.”

  “I wonder what the inside of the telephone building looks like.” Rosie stopped in front of the Iowa Telephone Company and looked up. The operators’ school was housed next door.

  Hannah compared the two buildings. The school lacked the fancy cornice work and big windows of the telephone building. She, too, wondered what the Iowa Telephone Company held. Perhaps they’d get a tour of the actual switchboard area today.

  Spring scented the air. She drew in a deep breath and smiled at Rosie. “Ready?”

  Rosie smoothed her black skirt and adjusted the collar on her white shirtwaist. “Do I look all right?”

  After eyeing her own matching outfit—the uniform of all the Hello Girls—Hannah nodded. “Remember to breathe.”

  At the front door, they were directed by the plump Mrs. Nesbit, the woman who’d weighed and measured them, to join the others. Hannah took a seat and glanced around the classroom. If this wasn’t the operators’ school, she would have almost been able to convince herself she was back in college. Neat rows of desks filled the room, and a blackboard proclaimed “Welcome” in an elegant script. Charts and maps of the city lined the walls. But where was the switchboard? How could they learn to be operators without that essential piece of equipment?

  All around her, young women chattered until Mrs. Reuff, the woman who’d said she was the school’s supervisor on the day they’d applied, glided to the front of the room.

  “Good morning, ladies.” While her voice was warm and smooth, her crooked nose and long, thin face made her expression sharp. “Today you begin your operator training. In your classes, we will teach you to speak in a low, melodious tone. We will teach you about the mechanics of telephony, and we’ll explain traffic curves by volume of calls.”

  Hannah stifled a smile. Was telephony a real word?

  Mrs. Reuff seemed to pin her with her dark eyes. “Most importantly, you will be trained daily in the proper phraseology to be used with subscribers, and you’ll be allowed to use no others.”

  A young woman in the second row raised her hand. “What if the subscriber says something rude?”

  “You will learn how to be courteous to all callers, no matter how difficult they may be.” Mrs. Reuff dipped her chin, ending the discussion. “And most of all, you will be trained in a separate, miniature operating room on the switchboard apparatus until you meet our proficiency standards.” She swept the room with her gaze. “Then, and only then, will you advance to work as an actual operator.”

  Rosie opened her notepad and began to jot down everything Mrs. Reuff said. The supervisor smiled in her direction, clearly pleased. “As you know, you were selected because you are intelligent, healthy, painstaking, and agreeable young ladies. Only half of the young ladies who applied reached this point. However, if at any point during your month of training we find you do not meet those qualifications, we will not hesitate to dismiss you.”

  Hannah felt as if someone had pulled her corset strings taut. Agreeable? For a whole month?

  “If any of you show an aptitude for operator’s work”—Mrs. Reuff frowned in Hannah’s direction—“which at this point remains doubtful, you may advance prior to the end of the four weeks.”

  Hannah drew in a long breath as the instructor again explained the pay scale. But Mrs. Reuff was quick to emphasize that half of them would prove to be unfit during the training period and would be dropped.

  Quick mental calculations told Hannah she’d make thirty-two dollars a month as an operator but only about twenty during her month as a student. If she could move on more quickly, she’d make more money, and she and her sisters needed those extra funds. She’d do whatever it took to fly through the course work and be one of the first promoted to the actual switchboard.

  Mrs. Reuff walked over to a cream-colored poster hanging on the wall and picked up a long, pointed stick. “A high-class service in an operating room is the fruit of good discipline, so let’s begin with the rules.”

  Hannah bristled. Why did they have to call them rules? Couldn’t they refer to them as guidelines, or better yet, suggestions for conduct?

  She bit back a smile, recalling her mother once teasing her about law being a strange profession for someone with such a dislike for rules. She’d explained to her mother that she liked the order of the law—how black-and-white things were and how the law applied to everyone regardless of station or gender. What she didn’t like about rules was the indiscriminate way they were handled, where women were restricted and men were allowed to do as they pleased. She hated being confined.

  The instructor droned on fo
r nearly half an hour, emphasizing the importance of punctual attendance, mental alertness, and courteous responses to all of the instructor’s directives.

  All of them? Hannah’s tongue was already sore from biting it. She would need to pray extra hard tonight.

  Mrs. Reuff went on to explain that the students would be taking several exams and would need to be diligent in their studies. “You must learn to do all things after a certain set form,” she said, “using the habitual actions we teach you, and making no mistakes in the process.”

  Hannah raised her hand. “But I thought—”

  “Your first mistake, Miss Gregory.” Mrs. Reuff’s brow pinched. “Everything you do will be completed by rote. There will be no thinking done here.”

  She tapped the long pointer against the final rule on the poster. “Because you each now represent Iowa Telephone, Mr. Bradford and I will be checking on your moral character.” Mrs. Reuff tapped rule five. “Church attendance is mandatory, and none of you are to receive male callers during the month-long training period. Ladies, do I make myself clear?”

  A few girls in the room gasped, but Hannah smiled.

  Finally, a rule that would be easy for her to follow.

  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.