When Love Calls (5 page)

“And you think she should have them?” He smiled. In the hours he’d spent with the three sisters, he’d noticed two things. One, stubbornness must be a Gregory family trait, and two, the girls were fiercely loyal to one another. “Don’t worry, Charlotte. We’ll make room.”

They met Hannah and Tessa at the wagon. Somehow, the oldest sister had managed to get the headboard into the wagon without his help. Impressive.

She tucked quilts around the headboards and footboards in the
back of the wagon and then wiped her hands on her apron. “That should be it, right?”

“Except for your crates in the parlor.” Tessa peeked over the top. “But I’m afraid it looks pretty full already.”

Lincoln shifted a set of chairs to the right. “See? There’s still a little room left.” He turned to Tessa. “Why don’t you show me where those crates are?”

“Mr. Cole, those crates aren’t necessary. We can leave—”

Ignoring Hannah’s protests, he followed Tessa inside. Behind him, he heard the click of Charlotte’s and Hannah’s shoes as they crossed the porch, hurrying to join them inside.

Tessa pointed to a corner of the living room. “The crates are really heavy. They’re filled with Hannah’s books.”

“What kind of books?” He picked up two volumes from the top of the pile and read the titles. Tipping his head to the side, he glanced at Hannah as she entered the room. “This is a law book, and this one is on ballooning.”

Hannah’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, they are. You read quite well.”

“Why do you have a law book?”

“She has a lot of them.” Tessa pointed to a second crate. “They’re her schoolbooks—from college.”

He spotted a Drake College pendant sticking out of the side of one of the crates. “You’re a law student?”

“Don’t look so surprised. Weren’t there any women in your law class?”

“A couple, but you have to admit it’s a rare course of study for a lady. I believe there are less than a thousand women practicing law today.”

“Well, you needn’t worry about me adding to their ranks.” Hannah plucked them from his hands. “I’m going to be a switchboard operator now.”

“You aren’t going back to college?”

She glared at him.

He bristled. If looks could kill, he’d be a buried out back in a matter of minutes.

“Actually,” she said, “you and the bank have helped me make that decision, and I find I prefer ensuring my sisters have food on the table to obtaining my law degree. So, as I said, I really don’t need these books any longer.”

“And the book on ballooning?”

She set the books back in the crate. “That’s none of your business.”

Tessa flapped her arms. “Hannah is fascinated by anything that flies—birds, balloons, kites, and especially that new flying machine those brothers made.”

“Mr. Cole isn’t interested in my hobbies, Tessa.”

“Quite the contrary.” He lifted the crate into his arms. “And all of these books are going in the wagon. Who knows what the Lord has planned?”

With Tessa already wedged in the bed of the wagon and Charlotte passing out sandwiches to everyone, Hannah slipped back inside the house to say goodbye. All twenty years of her life had been spent in these walls.

She took a deep breath and wished she could carry the memory with her always. How would she recall the outdoorsy scent of her father after he’d put up hay all afternoon? Or the smell of her mother’s wonderful molasses rolls fresh from the oven?

Running her hand along the fireplace mantel, she recalled their Christmas stockings hung near the fire and how they’d rushed downstairs to discover what they were filled with. Somehow her parents had always managed to get them candy in addition to an apple or an orange. Under the tree, there’d always been a gift—sometimes store-bought, sometimes homemade.

She wandered upstairs to Tessa’s room and then to the room she shared with Charlotte. The view from her window overlooked the fields where she’d so often watched her father plow or harvest the corn crop. Tears burned behind her eyes. Within a few weeks, someone new would be planting rows of corn on his land.

She entered her parents’ room. She and her sisters had taken little from it—a special box filled with Momma’s locket, cameo, and earrings, Papa’s watch, Momma’s silver dresser set, and Papa’s shaving mug, razor, and pocketknife. The fancy oak bedroom set would never fit in the rented house, and they had no need of her father’s clothes. Their mother’s, they’d packed. Some of the dresses could be remade.

Dropping to the bed, she buried her face in the feather tick. The tears she’d been keeping at bay released in a torrent.

Lord, why does this have to be so hard? This isn’t fair. If only I’d have come home when Momma first got sick, maybe—

Mr. Cole cleared his throat.

She rolled over and looked at him, but his back was to her.

“Miss Gregory, are you ready to go? Folks are starting to arrive for the auction, and I don’t think you’ll want to see them.”

She patted her face dry. “Thank you. I’ll be out in a minute.”

What was she doing thanking him? This whole thing had started with him representing the bank. The only reason he’d come today was to ease his conscience. Of that she was certain.

He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and waved it in the air like a surrender flag. “If you need this, I’m putting it on the banister at the top of the stairs.”

He had been kind.

Too bad it was a lie.

Standing, she smoothed the sides of her hair and checked her appearance in the mirror. Before slipping out of the room, she kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the dressing table. She found Mr. Cole’s monogrammed handkerchief and traced the embroidered
C
. She dabbed her eyes with the fine linen cloth and stuffed it in the pocket of her apron.

After glancing around the house one last time, she stepped out on the porch. With her heart as heavy as the crate of law books, she closed the door to the Gregory home behind her.

No, it wasn’t fair, but it was happening all the same.

 6 

“Who are you?” The man in front of Lincoln stood with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

Lincoln came to a halt, set down the last crate of books in the wagon bed, and extended his hand. “Lincoln Cole. I’m helping the Gregory girls move into the city. And you are . . . ?”

“Walt Calloway.”

Hannah slipped out the front door. When she spotted Walt, her eyes lit up. “Walt!” She hiked up her skirt and hurried down the porch steps. To Lincoln’s surprise, reserved Hannah hugged the lanky young man. She turned to Lincoln. “This is Walt Calloway. He’s been a dear friend since we shared a reader in second grade.”

“My mother said you were moving today. There was a problem with one of the telegraph lines, so I had to make the repairs before I could come out and help, or I’d have been here earlier.” Walt kept one hand on Hannah’s back as he met Lincoln’s eyes. “But it looks like you have everything well in hand.”

“Walt works for the Western Union as a lineman.” Hannah moved to pat the back of the wagon. “Mr. Cole’s already taken one load into town, and we’re about to take the other. Can you come and help us unload?”

“I suppose.”

“Perfect.” She glanced at his wagon and smiled. “I can ride with you, and that way Charlotte can ride up front in Mr. Cole’s wagon.”

An unfamiliar knot twisted in his gut. Who was this Walt, and
why did his appearance make Lincoln feel so uneasy? He’d been looking forward to the drive into town, but he certainly didn’t have any designs on Hannah Gregory. She might seem like a breath of fresh air to him, but he was barn-lot stench to her.

He hated that she had such a low opinion of him. Couldn’t she see he was not the kind of man she’d originally pictured?

All his work today seemed to do little to change her mind.

Well, that wouldn’t stop him from doing what was right. For whatever reason, God had put this family in his path, and he’d make sure the Gregory sisters were taken care of—even if Hannah killed him in the process.

Every muscle hurt from the move, but Hannah ignored the pain. Excitement and nerves tangled inside her like the telephone wires crisscrossing the street over her head. Rosie walked beside her. In a few minutes, they would cross the threshold of the operators’ school, and her new career would begin.

Please, Lord, help me keep my mouth closed.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m as nervous as a turkey before Thanksgiving.” Rosie pressed her hand to her stomach. “What if I can’t remember everything they teach us? What if I can’t remember my own name?”

“You’re going to do fine.” Hannah hoped she sounded convincing. “And they won’t let us become real operators until they think we’re ready.”

“I wonder what the inside of the telephone building looks like.” Rosie stopped in front of the Iowa Telephone Company and looked up. The operators’ school was housed next door.

Hannah compared the two buildings. The school lacked the fancy cornice work and big windows of the telephone building. She, too, wondered what the Iowa Telephone Company held. Perhaps they’d get a tour of the actual switchboard area today.

Spring scented the air. She drew in a deep breath and smiled at Rosie. “Ready?”

Rosie smoothed her black skirt and adjusted the collar on her white shirtwaist. “Do I look all right?”

After eyeing her own matching outfit—the uniform of all the Hello Girls—Hannah nodded. “Remember to breathe.”

At the front door, they were directed by the plump Mrs. Nesbit, the woman who’d weighed and measured them, to join the others. Hannah took a seat and glanced around the classroom. If this wasn’t the operators’ school, she would have almost been able to convince herself she was back in college. Neat rows of desks filled the room, and a blackboard proclaimed “Welcome” in an elegant script. Charts and maps of the city lined the walls. But where was the switchboard? How could they learn to be operators without that essential piece of equipment?

All around her, young women chattered until Mrs. Reuff, the woman who’d said she was the school’s supervisor on the day they’d applied, glided to the front of the room.

“Good morning, ladies.” While her voice was warm and smooth, her crooked nose and long, thin face made her expression sharp. “Today you begin your operator training. In your classes, we will teach you to speak in a low, melodious tone. We will teach you about the mechanics of telephony, and we’ll explain traffic curves by volume of calls.”

Hannah stifled a smile. Was
telephony
a real word?

Mrs. Reuff seemed to pin her with her dark eyes. “Most importantly, you will be trained daily in the proper phraseology to be used with subscribers, and you’ll be allowed to use no others.”

A young woman in the second row raised her hand. “What if the subscriber says something rude?”

“You will learn how to be courteous to all callers, no matter how difficult they may be.” Mrs. Reuff dipped her chin, ending the discussion. “And most of all, you will be trained in a separate, miniature operating room on the switchboard apparatus until you meet our proficiency standards.” She swept the room with her gaze. “Then, and only then, will you advance to work as an actual operator.”

Rosie opened her notepad and began to jot down everything Mrs. Reuff said. The supervisor smiled in her direction, clearly pleased. “As you know, you were selected because you are intelligent, healthy, painstaking, and agreeable young ladies. Only half of the young ladies who applied reached this point. However, if at any point during your month of training we find you do not meet those qualifications, we will not hesitate to dismiss you.”

Hannah felt as if someone had pulled her corset strings taut. Agreeable? For a whole month?

“If any of you show an aptitude for operator’s work”—Mrs. Reuff frowned in Hannah’s direction—“which at this point remains doubtful, you may advance prior to the end of the four weeks.”

Hannah drew in a long breath as the instructor again explained the pay scale. But Mrs. Reuff was quick to emphasize that half of them would prove to be unfit during the training period and would be dropped.

Quick mental calculations told Hannah she’d make thirty-two dollars a month as an operator but only about twenty during her month as a student. If she could move on more quickly, she’d make more money, and she and her sisters needed those extra funds. She’d do whatever it took to fly through the course work and be one of the first promoted to the actual switchboard.

Mrs. Reuff walked over to a cream-colored poster hanging on the wall and picked up a long, pointed stick. “A high-class service in an operating room is the fruit of good discipline, so let’s begin with the rules.”

Hannah bristled. Why did they have to call them
rules
? Couldn’t they refer to them as
guidelines
, or better yet,
suggestions for conduct
?

She bit back a smile, recalling her mother once teasing her about law being a strange profession for someone with such a dislike for rules. She’d explained to her mother that she liked the order of the law—how black-and-white things were and how the law applied to everyone regardless of station or gender. What she didn’t like about rules was the indiscriminate way they were handled, where
women were restricted and men were allowed to do as they pleased. She hated being confined.

The instructor droned on for nearly half an hour, emphasizing the importance of punctual attendance, mental alertness, and courteous responses to all of the instructor’s directives.

All of them? Hannah’s tongue was already sore from biting it. She would need to pray extra hard tonight.

Mrs. Reuff went on to explain that the students would be taking several exams and would need to be diligent in their studies. “You must learn to do all things after a certain set form,” she said, “using the habitual actions we teach you, and making no mistakes in the process.”

Hannah raised her hand. “But I thought—”

“Your first mistake, Miss Gregory.” Mrs. Reuff’s brow pinched. “Everything you do will be completed by rote. There will be no thinking done here.”

She tapped the long pointer against the final rule on the poster. “Because you each now represent Iowa Telephone, Mr. Bradford and I will be checking on your moral character.” Mrs. Reuff tapped rule five. “Church attendance is mandatory, and none of you are to receive male callers during the month-long training period. Ladies, do I make myself clear?”

A few girls in the room gasped, but Hannah smiled.

Finally, a rule that would be easy for her to follow.