When Love Calls (33 page)

Walt met her at the bars. “You shouldn’t be here alone. Where’s Lincoln?”

“He couldn’t come today.” Her hands ached to hold his, but after his declaration, she didn’t want to encourage him. “But I had to see you because I have something I need to ask you.”

A smile flitted across his face, then vanished. “Me first.”

Nerves tingled inside her. Why hadn’t she prepared an answer to the question she knew he’d ask?

She licked her dry lips. “All right.”

“Have you
thought about what I said?”

She studied his expression. Cautious expectation flickered in his eyes. She hated to dash his hopes—especially here, especially now. Still, was it fair not to tell him the truth? If Brother Molden was right about love demanding tough choices, this had to be one of the hardest.

“You don’t need to say anything.” He clenched his jaw, betrayal lacing his words. “I’ve known you long enough to read the answer on your face.”

“I do care about you, but I—”

“Love him.” He forced a smile. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that.” He gripped the bars so hard his knuckles whitened. “You should never be sorry for loving someone, and I want you to be happy.”

“And you deserve to be free.” She swallowed hard. “Now, answer my question. I know you feel like you have to be loyal to your fellow union members, but this man is starting fires all over the city. Will you please tell me who you think is most likely the guilty party?”

“I won’t betray those men. I understand what it means to be loyal.”

The barb stung, but their dear friendship forced her to focus on the situation at hand. “There’s no one who is more loyal than you, but whoever this is, he has no trouble betraying you.” She stepped closer. “Good grief, Walt, he started a fire on your old line. He wants this pinned on you.”

Stepping back from the bars, Walt paced the room, rubbing the back of his
neck. Pressing him had never done any good, so she gave him space to sort through the decision.

Finally, he dropped his hand to his side and approached her. “His name is Donnelly. Joe Donnelly,” he whispered. “He’s one of the blacklisted men. He works at the quarry now.”

Hannah’s knees jellied, and she reached for the cold, iron bars to steady herself. What if this was George’s father?

Taking a deep breath, she ran a finger along the neck of her shirtwaist and smiled at Walt. “Thank you. I’ll check into it.”

“Let Lincoln take care of this. That man’s a hothead.” He narrowed his eyes. “I mean it, Hannah.”

“Do you honestly believe I’d interrogate a suspected arsonist all by myself?” She laughed lightly. He did know her well.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” He reached through the bars and grabbed her wrist. “Promise me you’ll let Lincoln know his name.”

His fingers dug into her arm. “I will. I promise.”

She’d tell Lincoln as soon as she saw him, but first she needed to know if Joe Donnelly was George’s father, and there was only one way to find that out.

 41 

Uneven paved bricks bounced Hannah’s bicycle. One call to the information operator at central had given her Joe Donnelly’s address, and she hadn’t hesitated to search out the home despite its questionable location near the tracks. Donnelly was a fairly common name, so the man may have nothing to do with George. But for Charlotte’s sake, she had to find out. If George’s father was somehow mixed up in all of these fires, did George know? What if he, too, was involved?

A barking dog ran out in front of her, and she swerved to miss him. A couple of towheaded children with dirty faces stared at her two-wheeler. Maybe they’d never before seen a bicycle in their neighborhood.

If Lincoln knew where she was, he’d not be happy, and she didn’t really blame him. For his own good, she had to do this. If she could attach this Joe to the fires, then she could also dismiss her fears about Albert. How would Lincoln feel if he knew Pete had kept the truth from him about Albert?

Hannah wasn’t blindly headed to the Donnelly address. From the time she’d left work until she’d gotten home to check on her sisters, she’d considered the possibility of Joe being the arsonist, and the fact that she was an unmarried woman visiting a man. She could easily pass off the visit if George were indeed the son. All she had to do was say she was checking on the young man since he’d not written Charlotte. But what would she use for an excuse if George wasn’t there?

Hannah turned the corner and located the Donnelly house. The wood-sided house, in need of a fresh coat of paint, was flanked by two small but tidy homes. Unlike the other two houses beside it, the Donnelly home lacked any flowers to decorate the stoop.

After leaning the bicycle against the iron mailbox, she hurried up the walk before she lost her nerve. She raised her hand to knock on the door but heard giggling around the side of the house. If the man’s daughters were there, then she’d have her answer that this wasn’t George’s father. She stepped off the stoop and peeked around the corner.

Her cheeks warmed at the sight of a young man and young woman in an embrace. The girl spotted her and jumped away, her face filled with color. The young man whirled in Hannah’s direction.

She gasped. “George!”

“What are you doing here?” He stepped between Hannah and the girl as if he could shield her presence with his body. “Libby, go on home. We’ll talk later.”

The girl dashed away like a frightened deer.

George glared at her. “Like I said, why are you here?”

Eyeing the departing young woman, she said, “I might ask you the same thing.”

“It’s your fault. Yours and Mr. Cole’s. If you’d let me see Charlotte, none of this would have happened.”

“You couldn’t remain faithful to her for two weeks, and that is our fault?” Hannah’s voice grew louder. “She’s pining away for you, and you’re out kissing other girls in the bushes?”

“What’s all the commotion?” a man bellowed behind her.

Hannah turned to face Joe Donnelly. Her pulse raced. The man’s size dwarfed hers. He had to be well over six feet tall, and his arms were the size of railroad ties. As if his bulk wasn’t intimidating enough, he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled disdainfully at her.

Hannah refused to be bullied, and she knew better than to air George’s indiscretion first thing. She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “You must be George’s father.”

He grabbed George’s arm and yanked him to his side. “Whatever the boy’s done, I’ll take care of it with my belt.”

“No, sir. You misunderstand my presence. I’m Charlotte’s sister, Hannah Gregory.”

“I don’t know no Charlotte.”

“Well, your son does. He’s been courting her for a couple of months.”

“Has he now?” His frown deepened. “And when were you going to tell me you been out sparkin’?”

“I don’t think he’ll be seeing her anymore.” She paused and looked at George. Her heart squeezed for the young man and his situation, but she couldn’t let Charlotte continue associating with someone so untrustworthy. “I came to tell him that.”

“You said it. Now you can be gone.” Mr. Donnelly stepped aside and motioned toward the street.

Should she ask him about the fires or about the union problem? As it was, she’d received the answer she came for, but the opportunity to find out more dug at her.

She waited until she was several feet away to turn and ask her final question. “Mr. Donnelly, did you by chance work at the Western Union?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m friends with Walt Calloway. Your name sounded familiar. I believe he’s mentioned you. Do you know he’s in jail for some fires related to Western Union?”

George’s eyes became as wide as pie plates, and Mr. Donnelly launched into a tirade about the company who’d treated him so unfairly.

More than once, Hannah almost ducked as he swung his massive arms about. “Given the events of late, I imagine a disgruntled employee might draw the attention of the investigators. Have you been questioned?”

In one stride, he stepped so close she was within arm’s reach. He glared down at her. “Are you accusing me?”

“No, sir, why would I do that? Walt’s the one who’s been charged.”

“Good, ’cause he’s the one who did it.” He motioned with his hand. “Go on. Git out of here and leave us be.”

Hannah hurried to her bicycle and turned it toward the path.

George stepped in her way. “You best keep your mouth shut, Hannah, and not stir up any trouble, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Are you speaking for yourself or your father?”

He looked back toward his father and then at her. “Both.”

She mounted the velocipede. “In case you haven’t noticed, George, keeping my mouth shut isn’t one of my strong suits.”

“Charlotte won’t believe you even if you tell her about me.”

She gave a wry laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

Where was Hannah?

Lincoln walked to the end of the block and looked both directions. An uneasy feeling tugged at him. When he’d arrived around six, Charlotte had told him Hannah had taken the bicycle about an hour earlier, saying she had an errand to run. She’d never been late to any of their planned activities before, so what was keeping her now? Did she have an accident on the bicycle somewhere? He could go look for her, but where would he start?

A dot in the distance appeared and took shape. She rode in his direction, and the closer she came, the more he relaxed. She’d probably lost track of time while shopping, or her errand took longer than she’d planned.

She pulled up beside him and stopped. “Is it supper time already? What are you doing all the way down the block from the house?”

“Looking for you.” He cocked his head to the side. “I was getting worried. Is everything all right?”

“Yes and no.” She dismounted and glanced toward the house. “Can we talk about it after supper? I’m sure the girls are starving.”

Everything in Lincoln wanted to make her stay and explain what she meant, but he kept reminding himself that love is patient. He took the two-wheeler from her to push it home while they walked.

“Did you see Walt?” he asked.

“I did.”

“And?”

“That’s what we need to talk about.”

Even though Charlotte had made a delicious supper of chicken and dumplings, spinach, and strawberries for dessert, Lincoln scarcely thought of what he was eating. The possibilities Hannah had implied kept tumbling in his mind.

He prayed Walt had given her a name. Although Lincoln hadn’t said anything, he had other fears about whom it might be. He’d considered sharing his concerns with Hannah but decided he didn’t want to frighten her with doubtful possibilities.

Ever since their night at the Williamses’ home, he’d been second-guessing the fire. Both Cedric and Albert had departed before the fire started, and given Albert’s history, anything was possible. He pushed the thought aside. If Pete was concerned about Albert’s involvement, he’d say something, and Pete knew his son better than anyone.

After washing up the supper dishes, Lincoln suggested he and Hannah go for a drive. Once they reached Ingersoll Park, he took her hand and directed her down the path leading to the lake. They walked in silence for several minutes.

When they reached the lake, he drew her toward the white bridge that spanned the still, blue waters. Their shoes clattered against the bridge’s wooden slats, the only noise save the honking of some geese nearby.

“You’ve kept me in suspense long enough, I think,” Lincoln said. They stopped beneath a latticed cover at the center of the bridge, and he turned to her. “What did Walt tell you? Did he give you a name?”

“He did.” Tears filled her eyes.

Lincoln’s heart stuttered. “Hannah, who is it?”

“One of the men who’d been blacklisted by Western Union—Joe Donnelly.”

“And?” He kept his voice calm, as he’d learned to do when a reluctant witness was on the stand. But why did this upset her to the point of tears?

“He’s George’s father.”

“There are other Donnellys in the city. Are you sure?”

She nodded and turned toward the lake. Placing her hands on the railing, she stared out an arched window in the bridge’s covering. “I know because I went to his house and checked.”

“You went there? Alone?” A vice gripped his chest. How could Hannah do something so dangerous? His voice rose. “He could be the arsonist. What were you thinking?”

“For Charlotte’s sake, I had to know if he was related to George.” She let go of the railing and crossed her arms over her chest.

“And you didn’t think I would go to his house to find out if it was George’s father, or even that we could go there together?” His chest heaved, and he struck the railing with his fist. The lattice overhead vibrated. “No, of course you didn’t think that, because you’re so all-fired determined to do it all on your own. Like always. When are you going to realize you’re not on your own anymore? How are we ever going to have a relationship if you keep living as if I’m not there for you?”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Am I?” He held her shoulders. “Don’t you realize the kind of danger you put yourself in? If he’s the arsonist, he likes to blow things up for fun, and now he knows you suspect him.”

She turned, lips drawn tight like the strings of a purse. “I’m not ignorant. I let Mr. Donnelly believe I was there because of Charlotte and George’s relationship.”

“Then you said nothing about the fires?”

“I only asked if he once worked for Western Union, as Walt had said he did, and pointed out that a disgruntled former employee might draw some attention in a case like this.”

“You didn’t.” He rubbed his aching temple. “Hannah, you might as well have accused the man.”

She stiffened. “But I didn’t accuse him.”

“Then what did he say?”

“He said Walt was guilty.” With steely determination, she met his gaze. “And he suggested I leave.”

“That’s all?” He narrowed his eyes. Hannah was hiding something. “Did George add anything?”

Her eyes flicked downward, then back at him. “He might have told me to keep my mouth shut—but I believe he was mostly referring to what I’d seen involving him and not the fires.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I arrived.” Her cheeks reddened. “I found him kissing a girl outside the house.”