Lorna Seilstad Page 7

  “But … I … It didn’t seem proper to mail it.”

  His brows peaked. “You know what I think? I think you wanted to see me again.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Her face and neck grew warm, and she gathered her handbag and stood. “This is strictly business, Mr. Cole. I apologize for entering your office in such a—”

  “A huff?”

  “No, I was going to say for entering your office in such a way that I drew attention to your nap.” She slapped her napkin beside her plate. “Next week, I can assure you I’ll mail the money.”

  Lincoln heard glass shatter behind him, and Hannah screamed. He grabbed her waist, pulled her to the floor, and covered her body with his own. A second window splintered, and shards rained around them.

  “Hannah?” He rolled off her and reached for her arm. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

  She sat up and brushed herself off. “No. I’m fine. What about the others?”

  He looked around. The two businessmen were being aided by the waitress but seemed mostly unharmed. He carefully drew Hannah to her feet and studied her.

  “Lincoln, you’re bleeding.”

  “So are you.” A long, thin scratch marred her pale cheek. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the blood. He’d deal with his own wound later.

  “What happened?” Hannah looked around the scene.

  Lincoln pointed to two bricks lying on the floor with notes tied to them. “I think someone threw those and broke the windows, and apparently, they were sending a message.”

  “To whom?”

  He picked up one of the bricks and removed the note. He turned to the other restaurant patrons. “Are any of you with the telegraph company?”

  The two men who’d been at the other window nodded.

  “Then this special delivery is for you.” He offered them the notes.

  “Lincoln, what are you talking about?”

  He led her toward the door, glass crunching under their feet. “Apparently, this whole mess is due to a union problem.”

  “Someone from the telegraph company smashed the windows?”

  “According to that note, yes.”

  All color seemed to wash from her face, and she swayed.

  He steadied her. “Are you all right?”

  “I need to get home.”

  “As soon as we speak to the police, I’ll get a hansom cab and take you home.” They stepped outside onto the sidewalk, and he watched her scan the crowd.

  Who was she looking for? Her instructor? A prickly feeling inched up his spine. Or was it someone else?

  Hannah’s sisters would be worried sick by now. She sat in a hansom cab beside Lincoln with the sunlight rapidly fading. She should’ve been home over two hours ago, but by the time they’d bandaged Lincoln’s arm and spoken to the police, her hopes of getting home early had shattered like the restaurant’s windows.

  “You sure you’re not hurt? I tackled you pretty hard.” Lincoln touched her arm.

  “I’m fine.” But she’d be sore tomorrow. “I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  “You make it sound so painful.” His blue eyes teased her.

  “Every time I’m sure I want nothing to do with you, you do something nice and almost convince me otherwise.”

  “Almost?”

  She didn’t answer. Kindness oozed from Lincoln, but he had taken their farm. Did he expect her to forget that? “Can you ask the cab to stop here?”

  “But we’re nearly three blocks away.”

  “Getting out now is for the best. I can’t risk being seen with you escorting me home.”

  He informed the driver, and she adjusted her hat. “Any more glass shards?”

  Gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted her head to one side and then the other. “You look perfect.” He brushed over the scratch with the pad of his thumb. “Except for this.”

  The cab stopped, and Lincoln helped her out. “I’d feel better walking you all the way home.”

  She held up her hand. “Thank you for the offer, but you can’t.” She dipped her head in a brief nod and began to walk away.

  “Hannah,” Lincoln called, “if you need anything, anything at all—”

  “Thanks, but I won’t.” She flipped up her hand without turning around. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  10

  What if he wanted to worry about her?

  Lincoln climbed back in the hansom cab and told the driver to follow Hannah at a distance until she got home. She never turned to see if he was still there, but that didn’t surprise him. When she finally reached the front porch of the tiny rented home, the driver snapped the reins, and Lincoln felt an odd tug at leaving her. Why did he feel so responsible for Hannah Gregory when she seemed so determined to have nothing to do with him?

  He leaned his head back against the cushioned leather seat and closed his eyes. His stomach rumbled, reminding him it was well past dinnertime. He should have insisted on taking Hannah some place nice after the ordeal she’d gone through, but she probably would have declined. He laughed wryly. Probably? No, she certainly would have declined. If he was a smart man, and he was, he’d put Hannah Gregory out of his thoughts.

  Unfortunately, his thoughts didn’t seem to care a whit about his intelligence.

  Charlotte removed another sliver of glass from Hannah’s hair. Even after thirty minutes of picking through her older sister’s tresses, she’d yet to learn anything from Hannah, other than her sister had been at a restaurant where someone had thrown a brick through the front window.

  Rattled—that was the word Charlotte would have to use to describe Hannah, but that seemed strange. Hannah always took chances. A little danger didn’t usually bother her.

  “So you heard the glass break, and then what did you do?” Tessa flopped across Hannah’s bed with a tablet in hand.

  “I screamed. It surprised me, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Aw, come on. This is my first real story.”

  “And you aren’t writing this one either,” she snapped.

  A close call didn’t usually make Hannah sharp-tongued.

  “What did Mr. Cole do after you screamed?”

  Charlotte watched Hannah’s cheeks grow rosy in the mirror’s reflection. Using tweezers, she removed another chunk of glass from Hannah’s hair and dropped it into the china saucer on the dressing table. Oh! The truth dawned on Charlotte, and her cheeks spread wide in a grin. It wasn’t the window breaking agitating Hannah. It was Lincoln’s reaction to it—or perhaps it was Hannah’s reaction to Lincoln.

  Tessa sat up on the edge of the bed. “Did he dive under the table like a coward?”

  “No!”

  Hmm. She’d certainly come to his defense.

  “Well?” Tessa motioned with her hand for Hannah to continue.

  “He pulled me to the floor.”

  “And?” Charlotte couldn’t resist a little prodding of her own. There were things a sister deserved to know.

  “And he shielded my body with his own.”

  “How romantic!” Tessa feigned a swoon and fell back on the coverlet.

  Hannah looked up at Charlotte’s reflection in the mirror. “Why are you smiling? It was an instinctive act.”

  She forced her lips into a straight line. “Whatever you say, Hannah.”

  Tessa bolted upright. “Did Mr. Cole get hurt? Was his handsome face disfigured in any way?”

  “Lincoln got a cut on his arm, but his face is fine.”

  Charlotte picked up the brush and began to draw it through Hannah’s long tresses. “Lincoln, huh?”

  Hannah didn’t respond. Rather, she lifted her hand to touch the scratch on her cheek. From the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes, Charlotte guessed Lincoln Cole was beginning to build an irrefutable case for himself.

  Hannah took a deep whiff. The familiar mixture of old ladies’ perfumes and freshly oiled pews mingled in the air. Home. Well, almost
home. Their church home. Their actual home had been auctioned off, and another family was now filling its rooms. Glad her sisters had agreed to take the streetcar to the edge of town and walk to the church where they’d regularly attended, Hannah shook off her melancholy and began to greet their friends.

  Sally Gerard smiled when she entered. The girl was a few years younger than Charlotte and had her hair done in a grown-up style for the first time. After telling her how pretty she looked, Hannah caught sight of little Tommy Vincent. She hoped the Vincents would end up sitting in front of her. Their freckle-faced boy’s church antics always proved to be great fun. She could still remember the summer when he’d taken a snake out of his pocket right when the preacher brought up Satan’s appearance in the Garden of Eden. Another time, he’d emptied a jar of frogs during an especially long sermon, bringing it to a rapid conclusion.

  The boy certainly had good timing.

  Walt’s angular face lit up when he spotted her. He sidestepped plump Mrs. Witherspoon and made a beeline for her. “What happened to your face?”

  Tessa’s eyes lit up. “She was at a restaurant when a brick was thrown through the window.”

  “You were there?”

  Hannah looked at her sisters, dismissing them with a tilt of her head. Charlotte caught the hint and dragged Tessa away.

  Walt pressed closer. “Why didn’t you listen to me? I told you to avoid that street.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

  “I’m sorry. That came out wrong, but if I knew you were there, I …”

  “Walt, please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”

  Before Walt could answer, Mrs. Reuff entered the foyer, and Hannah jumped. What was she doing here? Of course, she’d warned the girls she would personally check up on each of them and their moral turpitude, but Hannah didn’t know Mrs. Reuff went as far as to visit their churches.

  She glanced Hannah’s way, seemed to take in Hannah’s proximity to Walt, and raised her thick eyebrows. She then glided past Hannah, offering a casual “good morning” on her way.

  Walt leaned toward Hannah’s ear. “Who is that?”

  “Don’t do that!” She pressed her hand against Walt’s chest. “She’s my instructor at operators’ school. She must be here to check up on me. You have to get out of here.”

  “Out of church?”

  “Yes—no—I mean at least away from me.”

  “Hannah, I’m beginning to think you have a few wires switched of your own.” A frown suddenly pulled the corners of Walt’s lips downward. “Why’s he here?”

  She turned. Dressed in a sporty Sack Suit jacket, lemon-yellow shirt, and stiff collars and cuffs, Lincoln Cole breezed through the church doors. He sauntered toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

  He straightened his tie. “Attending church services. I go every Sunday.”

  “But you don’t go here.”

  He faced Walt and tugged on the lapel of his suit jacket. “I may now.”

  Good grief. She didn’t need this. She glanced in the sanctuary and caught Mrs. Reuff watching her. “I’m leaving you both this instant. Don’t either of you dare sit by me.”

  Lincoln held up his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She faced her oldest friend. “Walt?”

  “But we sit together every Sunday.”

  “Walt.” Her voice was firm. “Do you want me to lose my position?”

  “No.” He gave Lincoln a cold look. “But I don’t want to lose mine either.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked away. Men. She’d never understand them. But thanks to Mrs. Reuff and the operators’ school, she didn’t need to—at least for the next few weeks.

  Walt and Lincoln followed her into the sanctuary a few minutes later. They took a seat on either end of her pew, like enormous male bookends. What were these two doing?

  When the service concluded, she brushed past Walt and hurried to greet Mrs. Reuff. She had to wait a few seconds as her instructor had snagged the preacher, and they seemed deep in conversation.

  Little Billy Carstens, who’d only started walking a few months ago, toddled up to Hannah and extended his chubby arms. “Momma! Momma!”

  Hannah lifted the little cherub into her arms, and he hugged her neck. She pressed a kiss to the top of his blond head, surprised by how much she’d missed this little fellow.

  Billy deposited a slobbery kiss on her cheek. “Momma.”

  Mrs. Reuff turned toward her, her eyebrows raised high.

  “I’m not his—he’s not my—”

  “Momma!” He lunged for Mrs. Reuff, but Hannah pulled him back. “Say hi to Mrs. Reuff.”

  “There you are, Billy.” Claire Carstens, clearly in the family way, waddled over. “Thank you for grabbing him, Hannah. He gets away from me so easily these days.”

  He reached for his real mother. She took him and balanced him on her hip. “I’m Claire Carstens, this ornery little fellow’s momma.”

  “I’m Abigail Reuff, one of Miss Gregory’s instructors at the operators’ school.”

  “Operators’ school?” Claire frowned. “What happened to law school?”

  “It’s not in my future anymore.”

  “Oh.” Claire forced a weak smile, then turned to Mrs. Reuff. “It’s nice of you to join us today, ma’am.”

  After Claire had slipped away, Mrs. Reuff adjusted her cape. “As you know, we make every effort to check out the recommendations each of the young women provided. Brother Molden spoke highly of your moral character in his letter.” She eyed Walt and then Lincoln. “It surprised me, as you seem to be a popular young lady.”

  “Those two? Walt is a childhood friend, and Mr. Cole is an attorney.”

  “Oh yes. I’m sure you are still settling your parents’ affairs.” She touched the brooch at the nape of her neck. “You have a bright future with the telephone company. I’d hate to see you let anything—or anyone—damage that. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As clear as the connection on an Iowa Telephone line.”

  Why had Lincoln shown up in her little country congregation yesterday?

  Hannah jotted the question on her tablet as Mrs. Reuff droned on and on and on. Was he possibly interested in her? No, they were from two different worlds. She simply wasn’t in his social class.

  “Miss Gregory?”

  She jerked her head up, her chest coiled tight. “Could you repeat the question, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Reuff’s lips formed a perfect upside-down U. “If I must. How many seconds should each call be limited to?”

  Hannah let out the breath she’d been holding. She knew this. “Six seconds from answer to connection.”

  “And what is the biggest obstacle in reaching that goal?”

  “Inattentiveness on the part of the operator.”

  Mrs. Reuff tapped Hannah’s tablet. “You might do well to remember that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, ladies, I have your scores from the exam Professor Tubman gave on Friday over the science of telephony. I’ll pass the exams out now, but please keep your score to yourself. If your score is below 70 percent, there is no need for you to return tomorrow.”

  Although before the exam they’d been told half of the students would probably not make it beyond this point, Hannah heard a few gasps. The shifting of chairs and the mounting tension in the air told her she wasn’t the only one who was worried. That test, which included the mechanics of the switchboard, had been as hard as any of her college Latin exams, but she was certain she’d passed it. She glanced at Rosie, her complexion pale, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were praying. They’d studied together, and the information hadn’t come easy to her friend. If the test was hard for Hannah, she knew it had been doubly so for Rosie.

  Mrs. Reuff riffled through her stack of papers as she walked down the row, passing a graded exam to each young woman. Rosie accepted
hers, and a slight smile appeared on her face. She cocked the paper so Hannah could see her score of seventy-one. But when Mrs. Reuff reached Hannah, she didn’t hand her a copy of the test. Instead, she skipped her and moved on to the next student.

  Hannah’s stomach twisted like the wires in the back of the switchboard. Had she really failed the exam? Was Mrs. Reuff going to give her the bad news privately? Or had her problems earlier put her in danger of losing her position in the training school?

  With only one paper still in hand, Mrs. Reuff again addressed the class. “Tomorrow we will begin drills on the practice switchboards, so please review the procedure manual. It will be a trying day, so be sure to get your rest. But before you all go, I’d like to announce who received the highest score on Professor Tubman’s exam.” She looked at Hannah. “Congratulations, Miss Gregory. You scored a ninety-six.”

  “A ninety-six? She cheated,” a voice whispered behind Hannah.

  One stern look from Mrs. Reuff silenced the rude speaker.

  Hannah whirled in her seat to see who had uttered the lie and discovered snooty Ginger Smith. Martha Cavanaugh pinned Hannah with a livid glare.

  So much for making friends.

  After the class was dismissed, a few girls congratulated Hannah, but she could tell being publicly recognized had not done her any service. When she spotted tears coursing down one of the girl’s cheeks, guilt jabbed her. Some of these young women would not be returning. She swallowed her joy and put on a somber face.

  Rosie squeezed her arm. “I’m so proud of you!”

  “Thank you.” Hannah picked up her books and nestled them against her hip. “I’m glad we both made it. That wasn’t an easy test.”

  “I really didn’t think I’d pass.” Rosie skirted the desks and walked down the hallway beside Hannah.

  “Take comfort in knowing they said that was the hardest one. The rest should be easy.”

  “Easy for you.” Rosie laughed. “But at least we’re in this together.”

  Hannah tried to hide her joy, but it came out in the bounce of her steps as they left the building. She could never tell her sisters this, but she missed her college studies terribly. Nothing felt better than to know she’d done well on an exam.