Lorna Seilstad Read online

  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.”

  “Do what?”

  Slowly she raised her hand over his desk blotter. First one coin and then the other fell with a ping, rolled in a circle, and came to a rest.

  Lightning fast, he snatched up the coins and rounded his desk. “I am not accepting these.” He grabbed her wrist and shoved the coins back in her hand.

  “Yes you are!”

  Laughter from his officemate tickled his ears, and his face heated. The pulse in his jaw thrummed. He leaned closer to her and forced the words to come out calm. “Let’s talk about this in private.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Well, I am. You can stand here all day if you want.” With that, he headed out of the office and toward the elevator, praying she’d follow. What if she stayed in the office and made a scene?

  After reaching the elevator, he punched the button and forced himself not to turn around to see if Hannah was behind him. His patience was rewarded when he heard the telltale click of her pounding heels on the hardwood floor, and from the speed of the clicks, he guessed her anger still ran red-hot.

  The elevator rumbled to a stop, and Mr. Welch, the white-haired elevator operator, pulled open the wire-cage door. Lincoln motioned toward the entrance, and Hannah marched inside. He followed.

  “Where can I take you, Mr. Cole?” Mr. Welch asked.

  “First floor, please. We’re going for a walk.”

  Hannah shot him a fiery glare.

  Mr. Welch chuckled and shoved the brass lever to the side. “Pardon my saying, but the lady doesn’t look like she cares for your idea.”

  Hannah crossed her arms over her chest as if to punctuate her agreement with Mr. Welch’s observation. Lincoln grinned and counted the floors of the office building as they descended.

  Nine, eight, seven. Ramrod straight, Hannah pressed her back against the wall. What was she thinking? As an attorney, he’d been trained to anticipate the enemy’s next move, but she wasn’t an easy woman to read.

  Five, four. He chuckled. Even as clearly irate as she was, he found it hard to think of her as the enemy. Still, he was willing to bet a week’s worth of paperwork that she was preparing to deliver an earful of ugliness at her earliest convenience. Well, if she wanted a fight …

  Three, two. The elevator jolted and came to a halt. Caught off balance, Hannah stumbled into him. Lincoln caught her, and her cheeks filled with color.

  “Hmm.” Mr. Welch rubbed his beard. “Looks like she’s warming up to you already, Mr. Cole.”

  9

  Despite Hannah’s best efforts to break free without causing a scene, Lincoln Cole kept hold of her elbow and directed her out of the building. He didn’t slow at the sidewalk but led her across the paved brick street to the green space of Court House Square.

  “Unhand me.”

  He yanked his hand away as if he didn’t realize he’d still been holding on to her. “I apologize.”

  “Now, if you’ll kindly take this”—she held out the money again—“I can be on my way.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you I’m not accepting that. Those groceries were a gift.”

  “It’s not appropriate for me to accept a gift from you.” Even though she’d planned this moment for days, it was not going the way she wanted.

  He hiked a shoulder. “Well, they weren’t for you. They were for Tessa. Is it wrong to give a gift to a starving orphan?”

  “I would never let my sister starve!”

  “That’s not how she makes it sound.” He straightened his tie.

  Had Tessa truly told him that? She was going to give her sister a thorough tongue-lashing for her tall tales as soon as she got this infuriating man to accept her payment. “Tessa is melodramatic. She makes everything sound like it’s the end of the world.”

  “That may be, but I was doing my Christian duty. The Scriptures say taking care of widows and orphans is pure and undefiled religion. So if you have a problem with it, you’ll have to take it up with God.”

  Oh, he knew he had her, and it irked her to the very soles of her feet. Why couldn’t he understand she didn’t want anyone’s help, but especially his?

  She took a deep, cleansing breath and glanced around the open area. Some businesses closed early on Fridays, so the streets already bustled with activity.

  The streetcar jingled its bell as it approached. It stopped at the corner, and the passengers hurried off. Mrs. Reuff, the supervisor of the operators’ school, stepped from the streetcar bearing a package. Hannah’s breath caught. What was the instructor doing here? Apparently, mailing a package, as the post office was in the Federal Building. But what if she spotted Hannah?

  “Hannah, is something
wrong?”

  She turned away from the streetcar. “I can’t be seen with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “See that woman over there in the big peach hat? It’s Mrs. Reuff, one of the instructors at my operators’ school.” Hannah glanced back at Mrs. Reuff.

  “And?”

  “The operators’ school has rules about gentleman acquaintances.” She held out her hand. “Please, take this so I can go home. I can’t afford to jeopardize my position.”

  “Mrs. Reuff can’t say anything if you’re consulting your attorney.”

  “But you’re not my—”

  He inclined his head toward the approaching instructor. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  A few minutes later, Mr. Cole had secured a table near the window at one of the small restaurants on Mulberry Street. He signaled the waitress and ordered them each a cup of coffee.

  “I shouldn’t be here, Mr. Cole.” She sipped from her porcelain cup. The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air, and she wondered if a pie had recently come out of the oven. Her mouth watered at the thought.

  Two businessmen at the window table behind them must have had the same idea and called the waitress over to add to their order. Mr. Cole did likewise.

  “I don’t need any pie, Mr. Cole.”

  “Please call me Lincoln.” He peeked over his own cup. “Remember, that’s my name.”

  “If Mrs. Reuff sees us—”

  He set the cup down. “Then you’ll explain we were dealing with matters of your parents’ estate.”

  “But we aren’t.”

  “Did your parents have any life insurance?”

  “You know they didn’t.” She pressed her cold hands to the sides of the warm cup.

  “See? We’ve already addressed one facet of the estate.” His blue-gray eyes flickered as though he were pleased with his own subterfuge.

  “Does lying always come so easily to you?”

  His scowl made her regret the sharpness in her words. “No. In fact, honesty is a trait I greatly admire. And as long as we’re on the subject, why don’t we start with you telling me the truth about why you came to see me today?”

  “I came to pay you back for the groceries.”

  “But that’s not why you personally came when you could have easily mailed me the money and saved yourself the trip.”