When Love Calls (32 page)

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After once again checking the cast-iron mailbox in their front yard, Charlotte slammed the tiny door. It had been a week. Why hadn’t George written her?

She dropped onto the porch steps, crossed her arms over her knees, and buried her head. It was all Hannah’s fault. If she hadn’t interfered, then everything with George would be fine. And Lincoln—what right did he have to tell George not to come around for two weeks?

The screen door rattled, and Charlotte heard Tessa step onto the porch.

“Not again.” Tessa groaned and plopped onto the swing. The chain rattled, and then the familiar
squeak
,
squeak
of swinging began. “So, what do you want to do today?”

“Nothing.”

“You know what I think?” Tessa paused, then continued when Charlotte didn’t respond. “I think you’re the luckiest girl on earth.”

Charlotte lifted her head. “And how do you figure that?”

“Georgie Porgie doesn’t care about you as much as he cares about having you. At least you’re seeing him for who he is now rather than later.”

“Excuse me?”

“Think about it. He likes having you on his arm, but does he care about what makes you
you
?”

Charlotte scowled. What did Tessa know? She was only fourteen years old, and she was hardly an expert on relationships. “He cares.”

“How do you know?” Tessa pushed off the porch floorboards and made the swing go higher. “You’ve seen what real love looks like. It’s buying a bicycle so your girl can fly. It’s treating her sisters like they’re your own. It’s not letting a day go by without making her smile. I may be fourteen, but I’ve got eyes. When has George ever put what you want before what he wants?”

Charlotte’s mind whirled, seeking an answer. It was a simple question, so why couldn’t she come up with an answer? He walked her home every day. They talked about his day. He told her he wanted her with him, by his side, but none of that answered Tessa’s question.

The slow burn at finding the mailbox empty flamed. Why hadn’t he written? She could use that as proof he cared. She could show the letter to Tessa and say, “See? This is why.”

But she didn’t have a letter.

“You’re too young to understand. You’re just a baby.” The words, like acid on her tongue, sliced at her sister.

“I’m not a baby, and at least I can see George for what he is. You’re the one who’s being a baby. It’s like he pulled you in and kept criticizing you and changing you until you didn’t know who you were anymore. ‘Charlotte, come here.’” Her voice took on a singsong quality to mimic George. “‘Charlotte, I hate it when you make me wait.’ ‘Charlotte, stay. I don’t want you to go.’” She jumped off the swing. “And what did you do? Followed along like Georgie Porgie’s puppy.”

“I am not his puppy.”

“Oh really? When was the last time you did what you wanted to do?” She opened the screen door. “Like I said before, love makes you stupid, and you’re all the proof I need.”

The screen door banged shut, and emotions somersaulted through Charlotte. Anger mixed with pain and humiliation. Tears burned her eyes. Had she been blind to the truth? Had she
wanted George’s affections so much she’d only seen what she wanted to see?

Lord, please help me see the truth.

Hannah leaned the bicycle against the rack and hurried inside the courthouse. In the last week, she’d become quite accustomed to using the bicycle instead of walking the short distance to work. When Charlotte secured a position, she’d probably relinquish the two-wheeler to her, but in the meantime, she needed to learn to ride well enough to ride with Lincoln’s aunt.

“Good morning, Jo.” Hannah removed her hat and placed it on the hook. “Anything new?”

“There was another fire last night.”

Hannah gasped. “Where?”

“Outside of town.” She paused to connect a call. “Mr. Cole stopped in to tell you about it. He said he’d stop by later.”

Hannah took her seat at the switchboard, and her fingers trembled as she adjusted the headset over her ear. What if Albert had been involved? Could she have prevented this fire by saying something? She shook her head. No, Lincoln said he’d done a little damage, not that he’d started any fires. If he were concerned about Albert, he would have said something.

Jo pointed to a light on Hannah’s switchboard. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Hannah startled. “Oh yes. I’m sorry.” She inserted the plug into the jack. “Number, please.”

The man barked out the number, and Hannah tried to respond as sweetly as possible. “Three-eight-five. Thank you.” When she touched the tip of the circuit plug to the jack, she heard a sharp click. She returned to her caller. “I’m sorry, sir, that number is busy. Please try again later.”

He let out a string of rude words. Hannah fought to contain herself. “Sir, I’ll be forced to report you to my supervisor if you don’t calm down.”

“I am calm. Just keep your shirt on.”

“Well, I never . . .” She disconnected the call and took a deep breath.

Jo touched her arm. “Did you get a rude
one? What did he say?”

Doing her best to relay the gist of the conversation without repeating the colorful language, Hannah told Jo what the man had said.

“That young man needs to learn some manners. What caller was it?”

Hannah showed Jo the number and then watched her supervisor insert her seldom-used special plug into the top of Hannah’s switchboard and ring up the young man.

“Sir,” Jo said, “this is the chief operator at the courthouse. On behalf of my operator, I must demand you apologize to her immediately, or I shall have your telephone removed.”

She indicated Hannah should connect to the line. “Hello.”

“Are you the girl I told to keep her shirt on?” His voice had softened, and he seemed contrite.

“Yes, sir, I am the one.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, obviously flustered. “You can take it off now.”

Hannah glanced at Jo as they shared a knowing grin. Laughter threatened to explode, so she hurried to disconnect the call. As soon as she had, the two of them collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Hannah wiped the tears from her eyes. “You scared the poor man so badly, I don’t think he knew what he was saying.”

A rap on the doorjamb drew their attention. Lincoln leaned over the Dutch door. “What’s going on in here?”

“Just a man telling Hannah to keep—”

“Jo! You can’t tell him that.” Hannah’s cheeks burned under Lincoln’s amused gaze.

“If I need to go defend your honor, I should at least know why.”

Jo waved her hand in a dismissive motion and giggled. “You can put your sword away. I took care of the insult.” She turned to Hannah. “Go have a word with Boaz. I’ll handle the switchboard.”

Hannah nodded and moved to meet Lincoln at the Dutch door.

“Boaz?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I think it’s one I’d like to hear.” His dove-blue eyes bore into hers as if they alone could extract the information.

“And I think I might tell you someday, but not today.” She flashed him a cheeky grin before slipping her headset off and setting it on the flat surface of the Dutch door. After patting her hair to make sure she’d not mussed it, she asked, “What brings you here?”

He stared at the headset. “Perhaps what I came to tell you can wait until you get off. You’re having such a pleasant day.”

“Don’t coddle me.” She stiffened her backbone. “You came down here for a reason. What is it?”

“There was another fire.”

“I know that. Jo told me. She said it was outside of town.”

“At a Western Union repair shed.” He swallowed. “On Walt’s old line.”

Her breath caught.

“He’s been arrested again.”

“Oh, Lincoln, please tell me he has an alibi.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “He does. Until his parents went to bed. The trouble is the fire began in the middle of the night.”

“You believe him, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes, but the prosecutor will argue he could have snuck out and tossed the dynamite.”

She cocked her head. “Dynamite again? Walt’s never used dynamite. His dad doesn’t even use it to remove stumps like some farmers. He had a brother who was killed with the explosive and refused to keep it around. So why would Walt have it, and where would he get it?”

Rubbing his jaw, Lincoln smiled. “It bears looking into.”

“So you’ll do it right away?”

He took her hand. “The senior partners aren’t sold on me taking his case again.”

“Pete too?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to do it anyway, Hannah, but I won’t be able to work on it during the day like I did before. What we need is the name of the person he thinks is doing this.” He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. “Try not to worry. We’ll go see him later tonight.”

“No, I’ll go see him before I go home.” When Lincoln frowned, she added, “I think I can get him to talk to me if we’re alone.”

Reluctantly, Lincoln agreed. After arranging to meet for dinner at her home, he reminded her to pray about Walt’s defense. He squeezed her hand and departed.

She watched him go, his broad, square shoulders not bending beneath the burden he carried for her and for Walt.

Someone was starting these fires, and if it wasn’t Walt, was it Albert?

Even though she wasn’t sure how to do it, one way or another, she had to uncover the truth.

The dampness of the jail crept beneath the sleeves of Hannah’s shirtwaist, making her skin prickle. She longed to pinch her nose and shut out the odor of unwashed
bodies and musty brick walls that mingled in the air. The jailer didn’t seem to notice. Did one get used to such a stench?

Since she was alone, the jailer insisted she remain outside of Walt’s cell to speak to him. Only because the jailer knew she was working with Lincoln did he even allow her that far. She considered making a fuss but decided that perhaps it was better she remain in the hallway.

As she made her way down the aisle between the cells, she kept her eyes focused on the jailer in front of her, despite the whistles and the requests for her to stop and visit. She sent up a silent prayer on behalf of these men. God knew what they needed even if she did not.