When Love Calls (14 page)

After snagging a straight-back wooden chair from the hallway, Lincoln waited for the jailer on duty to open Walt’s cell door. Once inside, he set the chair down and straddled it. Across from him his client sat on the iron cot. Walt cocked his head to one side and then the other, stretching his neck. He avoided Lincoln’s probing gaze and began cracking his knuckles. If Walt had any idea how hard Lincoln had had to fight to convince Pete and Charles to let him keep this case, he might be more cooperative.

Cedric had gotten to Charles first thing in the morning and built quite a case as to why Lincoln should forego representing Walt to smooth the way for better relations with their potential paying clients. The whole idea made Lincoln’s blood run hot.

Pete intervened, explaining how important it was to follow through since the firm’s name had already appeared in the newspapers in relation to the case. Then privately, he’d quizzed Lincoln on why he was so determined to hold on to this case.

Like Cedric, Pete pointed out that representing a disgruntled union employee could have dire consequences for Lincoln’s future political career. He added that the men who had the most influence in the city often saw unions as their enemy, and if Lincoln wanted to get a representative’s position next term, he, too, should start thinking of Walt as just that.

Was he representing his enemy?
Enemy
was a strange word.
Lincoln’s competitive instinct embraced the word, but his heart told him it was wrong to do so.

He studied Hannah’s friend sitting across from him. A shave would do the man wonders. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he seemed paler than he had only weeks ago at the Gregory farm.

Lincoln let the silence lengthen between them, a technique he’d learned from his aunt when she was probing for the truth.

Walt rubbed his hand over his whiskered chin. “So?”

“So, are you ready to tell me the truth?”

Walt met his eye. “I told you the truth. I didn’t start any fires.”

Impressive. Straightforward. Not overly defensive. Yes, the man was telling the truth.

“But you know who set the fires.”

Walt looked to the corner of the cell and finally sighed. “There are a couple of fellows who might do something like that. They’re real hotheads, but I don’t know anything for certain.”

“I’ll need their names.”

“I can’t tell you.” He lifted his eyes and met Lincoln’s gaze. “I won’t tell you.”

“You’re willing to go to prison for these men?”

“I don’t think it will go that far. I’m innocent.” Walt drew his hand through his oily hair. “If Hannah will just—”

Lincoln stood up. “No. I won’t let her do that.”

“I doubt you can stop her, and I think I know her a little better than you.”

“You’ve known her longer, but that doesn’t guarantee you know her better.”

Anger flickered in Walt’s eyes. “When this is over . . .”

Lincoln glared at the man.
Friends, my eye!
Friends didn’t react so possessively. Did Hannah really have no idea how Walt felt? Despite her claims to the contrary, did she harbor feelings for Walt as well? She’d certainly gone to great lengths to get her “friend” legal assistance. Maybe she simply hadn’t come to realize her own feelings ran so deep for Walt.

The thought felt like a burr under his skin. He didn’t trust Walt,
but if he were truthful, it was more than that. He had feelings for Hannah.

Lincoln shook his head. Right now, he needed to focus on Walt as his client, not as his competition for Hannah’s affection.

“Listen, we both want what’s best for her,” Lincoln said. Walt needed to understand they were on the same side if he was going to get him off this charge. “If word gets out she’s your alibi, she’ll lose her job, and we both know she needs that job too much to do that unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Walt took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“I need one name, Walt. One person I can do a little research on. If this goes to trial, which I’m hoping it won’t, all we have to do is create reasonable doubt. We won’t be trying him.”

“But you’ll be pointing the police in his direction.” Walt stood and walked to the cell door. He wrapped his hands around the bars. “No thanks.”

Lincoln clenched his fists. Why was Walt fighting him? Didn’t the man see that Lincoln was his only hope? He forced his voice to show a calm he didn’t feel. “All right, why do you think they arrested you?”

Walt turned and shrugged. “How would I know?”

“What kind of questions did they ask you?”

“They asked me a lot about what I do for Western Union.”

Lincoln held out his hand, palm up. “And you said . . . ?”

“I told them I mainly repair the wires.”

“What else?”

For the next half hour, Lincoln began to get an inkling of the case the prosecution was most likely building. Walt, a disgruntled employee, had ample motive and opportunity. He’d been identified as one of the men who threw the bricks through the restaurant window, and he’d been quite vocal about his blacklisted friends. As for means, Lincoln imagined the detective suspected that with Walt’s lineman abilities, he could design and install any number of incendiary devices.

Lincoln stood up. “That about covers it.”

“So what happens next?”

“There’s a hearing to be held next Monday to see if there’s enough evidence to hand you over for trial.” Lincoln stood and called to the jailer. “I won’t lie to you, Walt. Without another possible suspect, I think we have our work cut out for us. Hannah and I will speak with the city fire marshal and see what we can learn about the fires.”

“Hannah?”

“She’s helping me with your defense.”

“
She’s
helping you?” Walt’s eyes widened, his jaw tensed.

The jailer unlocked the door, and Lincoln picked up the chair he’d brought in. “Actually, she’s helping me help you.”

“Just don’t put her in any danger.”

Lincoln snorted. “No, you’ve done enough of that already.”

 16 

Seven church spires rose on Piety Hill, strong and constant against the mellowing sky. Hannah’s cheeks burned from smiling too much as the streetcar lumbered down Mulberry Street. She’d stopped by home to share the news of her graduation with her sisters, and they’d both been thrilled for her.

Taking the streetcar was a luxury she didn’t usually allow herself, and from now on, she would walk the few blocks from the Iowa Telephone Company to Lincoln’s office.

What was she saying? That was only
if
she met Lincoln again after work. If they were soon able to secure Walt’s freedom like she hoped, she’d have no reason to frequent Lincoln’s workplace.

An odd melancholy washed over her, but it was followed by a faint whisper of hope deep in her heart. Did Lincoln feel this strange pull too? No. She mustn’t think that way. She and Lincoln were volatile together. Even if there was a remote interest on his part, she was not a good fit for a man with political aspirations. She couldn’t follow the rules of society any better than she could those of the telephone company—she was worried enough about that.

The streetcar stopped at the grand Polk County Courthouse to let the patrons get off. On the sidewalk, she shook out the folds of her walking-length spring cloak. The brown-checked mohair had been her mother’s selection, not her own, but she was grateful she
had the longer cloak on these nippy spring days, even if it lacked the flair of the latest fashions.

A man bumped into her from behind, and she nearly lost her balance. He apologized and moved on. After adjusting her wide-brimmed, ostrich-plumed hat, she headed toward the building that housed Lincoln’s law office.

“Hannah?”

She turned to see Eleanor Goodenow, her former Drake classmate, approaching. Eleanor sported a lovely walking suit in lavender, which made her moon-sized brown eyes stand out even more.

“Eleanor!”

The two women embraced, and Eleanor kept hold of Hannah’s arms as she stepped back. “We’ve missed you so much. How are you doing? I was so sorry to hear about your parents. Will you be returning to classes in the fall?”

“I’m afraid not.” Hannah forced a smile. “I’m working as a switchboard operator now, and my sisters and I have moved into the city.”

“Can you sneak away for lunch so we can catch up?”

“I’m afraid she already has plans.”

She jolted and whirled toward the male voice behind her. “Lincoln! You startled me.”

“Sorry about that.” His dove-blue eyes held a half-excited, half-mischievous glint in them that said he was anything but apologetic.

“Miss Eleanor Goodenow, may I introduce Mr. Lincoln Cole.” She squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “Eleanor and I were coeds at Drake.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Goodenow.” He tipped his hat in her direction. “And Hannah, if you’d rather spend some time with your friend, I can speak with the fire marshal alone.”

“The fire marshal? No, I need to be there.”

Eleanor smiled. “Well, my friend, I can see you are in good hands. Ring my parents’ house sometime so we can get together.”

“I’ll do that. It was so nice to see you.” Hannah hugged Eleanor again and watched her walk away before turning back to Lincoln.
Her gaze dropped to his attire. Why was he wearing a full-length driving coat?

“I wanted to save you the trip of walking to our building. I made us an appointment to speak with the fire marshal at his home. I telephoned him and he’s expecting us.” He swept his arm toward the street, where a shiny, rooster-red automobile was parked. The sun glinted off the brass trim, and the two gas lamps on each side of the automobile seemed to wink at her.

She gasped. “Is it yours?”

“It is. A birthday gift from my aunt. I picked it up from the automobile dealer this afternoon.” His grin widened even more. “She told me she ordered it months ago, but it arrived today. I wanted you to be the first to ride in it.” His brow suddenly furled. “Wait a minute. Will this get you in trouble with the operators’ school? To be seen with me?”

She dropped her gaze to the sidewalk. “Not anymore.”

His excitement crumbled. “No, it can’t be. Hannah, what happened?”

She tried to maintain her somber expression, but a smile exploded on her face. “I graduated today. The first one in my class to be promoted to the real switchboard.”

Lincoln grabbed her waist and hoisted her in the air. She squealed, and he lowered her back to the ground. One woman glared her disapproval, but an older couple approaching them chuckled. Hannah’s cheeks flamed, both from the public spectacle and from the electricity that surged through her at Lincoln’s touch. He, however, didn’t seem to notice her reaction or that of any onlookers.

“We need to celebrate!” He slipped his fingers under her elbow and led her toward the car. “After we see the fire marshal, we’re going for ice cream, and I won’t take no for an answer this time.”

Another lightning strike passed through her. If she did agree to a social outing like this, was she starting down a road that would only bring her grief? She’d had enough of that in the last few months. But when she was with Lincoln, she forgot about the loss
of her parents. She might be wanting to kill him, but at least she didn’t think about what she no longer had.

Hannah glanced at the automobile. Lincoln, obviously thrilled with his new toy, nearly bounced with excitement. Her fingers tingled at the thought of touching the red automobile. Since she’d first laid eyes on one of the contraptions, she’d wanted to ride in it.

“Lincoln, what about my sisters?”

“We’ll telephone them.” He flashed her a grin that said he’d won this battle. “You’re a graduate now. You officially know how to use one of those.”

She swatted his arm. “You’re as bad as Tessa.”

“No, I’m good for you.” He helped her step into the automobile.

“Is that a fact, counselor?”

“Yes, miss, I believe it is.” Seriousness flitted across his face, and then the grin bounced back. “But you’ll have to give me the chance to prove it.”

She swallowed.
Oh my.
What was she doing? She was with a man who, a few weeks ago, helped the bank take her family’s farm. Now he was about to take her out in an automobile, of all things, to who knows where. She’d always prided herself on her ability to take risks, but perhaps this was going too far.

Lincoln went to the back of the automobile and opened the trunk. He donned a leather cap, pulled on a pair of long, leather driving gloves, and reached inside the vehicle to flip a switch. Then he moved to the side of the automobile and, bending low, heaved a crank. The engine rumbled to life. As if he’d done it a hundred times, he climbed in behind the wheel. With a flourish, he pulled a wide silk scarf from his coat pocket. “The dealer recommended I purchase this too, so the lady in my life could secure her hat.”

The lady in his life?
Calm down. It’s just a phrase. He meant nothing by the statement.
Still, her stomach rippled like a buggy on a rough road. Another gift? She couldn’t accept this one or any other. Didn’t he remember her feelings about the groceries he’d provided?

The automobile vibrated, itching to take off. Unless she wanted
her hat to fly down Court Street like tumbleweed in the desert, she needed to use the scarf he offered. Besides, he bubbled so with excitement, she didn’t want to do anything to squash it.

She accepted the ivory scarf from his gloved hand and ran her hand along the scarf’s soft length. It was truly a fine piece of fabric. Maybe if she borrowed it just for the afternoon, it would be all right.

He adjusted his driving goggles. “As soon as you put it on, we can go.”

With a deft swoop, she draped the scarf over her hat and tied it beneath her chin. “Please tell me you know how to drive this?”

He chuckled. “I guess you’re about to find out.”

With a jolt, the automobile lurched forward, but soon they were puttering along, navigating around carriages, streetcars, delivery wagons, and pedestrians. She relaxed into the cushion of the black leather seats.

“What kind of automobile is this?” Hannah asked as the automobile slowed.

“It’s a Reo Gentleman’s Roadster.” He adjusted something on the steering column. “It has a two-cylinder engine and can reach up to forty-five miles per hour.”

“Forty-five miles in one hour? Can a person even breathe going that fast?”

He laughed. “Mr. Vanderbilt himself broke the record a few years ago by driving ninety-two miles an hour at the Daytona Beach Road Course in a Mercedes. What do you think of that?”

“I think I’m glad you have a Reo and not a Mercedes.”

Conversation came easily to the two of them as he parked the Reo, and Hannah discovered Lincoln’s favorite foods were sugar cookies, mashed potatoes, and beef steaks—in that order. He forced her to admit her affection for coffee, and she happened to mention being partial to chocolate as well.

Since the distance to the fire marshal’s home wasn’t far from the street, she didn’t have time to ask the questions burning inside her about Lincoln’s aunt. And how did one ask how wealthy his aunt
was without sounding rude? A person could probably buy twenty fine carriages for what this Reo cost.

Jealousy pinched her. Life didn’t seem fair. She and her sisters had to scrounge for every cent, and Lincoln was being given extravagant gifts.

Lord, forgive me. What an ugly thought. You and you alone choose who to bless and how to bless them, and I thank you for all of the provisions you’ve made for me and my sisters.

By the time they reached the fire marshal’s home, all jealousy had dissipated like a puff of smoke. Instead, Hannah’s heart was filled with thankfulness for this opportunity and this man who was going out of his way to help her friend.

The fire marshal introduced himself as Samuel Stock and led them to his parlor. His wife slipped in with a pot of tea and deposited it on the table before leaving. Hannah’s gaze fell on the plate of cookies the woman had left as well. Sugar cookies. Glancing at Lincoln beside her on the couch, she shared a smile and watched him lick his lips.

Hannah surveyed the modest home. The parlor furniture and carpet were worn, but the tidiness of every dust-free corner told her the Stocks were quite proud of their home.

Mr. Stock snagged a cookie, then leaned back in his tapestry-covered chair. “What can I tell you, counselor, that I haven’t already told the police?”

Lincoln leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. “Sir, I read your excellent report, but would you mind walking us through your findings?”

“In front of the lady?” The fire marshal’s voice was gravelly.

“I find the study of fire investigation quite fascinating.” Hannah poured the tea and passed the fire marshal a cup.

“In that case, let me get a piece of paper, and maybe I can sketch it out for you.” He looked at Hannah. “It’s easier for you ladyfolk to understand with pictures.”

When the fire marshal went to his rolltop desk to retrieve paper, Lincoln snickered. “Apparently, he doesn’t realize how intelligent you are.”

“It’s so frustrating! He assumes I’m not able to understand because I’m a woman.” She scowled at the man, whose back was still to them. “And by the way, how do you know if I’m intelligent? You barely know me.”

“I knew the first day we met. You challenge everything.” He broke off a piece of sugar cookie. “For the record, I’m not stupid either.”

Mr. Stock returned with a pad of paper and set it on the table in front of him. “A fire will talk to you if you let it.”

“Excuse me?” Hannah set down her cup.

He repeated the statement more slowly, as if that would help her “inferior” womanly mind grasp what he was saying. She wanted to throw her tea right in the lap of the condescending man, fire marshal or not.

Lincoln laid a hand on her arm as if reading her mind. “You mean the remains of the fire will tell you how it was started?”

Mr. Stock beamed at him. “Yes, my boy, you got it. First thing I do is dig through the ashes when I get to a scene. I’m looking for various signs and patterns formed by the fire.” He drew a box on the paper. “Let’s say this is a wall and the fire started on the floor in front of it.”