“He said maybe.” Jo huffed. “That’s how people say no when they don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
The amusement on Beatrice’s face instantly faded. “Well, it’s his loss. That’s what I say. Did he tell you why not?”
“Not really. Just some nonsense about things in his past that I wouldn’t understand.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad.” Beatrice tugged her lower lip between her teeth and studied Jo. “Maybe we just need to butter the biscuit a little.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You know.” Beatrice touched Jo’s sensible bowler hat. “Put a little sauce on the pudding. A little gravy over the turkey. Sweeten the pot a little.”
Certain her friend had lost her senses, Jo stared blankly.
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Fix yourself up. Buy a new dress and let me cut your hair. We’ll have a wedding in no time.”
“No.” Jo huffed with dawning understanding. “Absolutely not. He likes me the way I am or not at all. I didn’t let Percy win at marbles so he’d like me better, and I’m not changing for Marshal Garrett Cain. He likes me the way I am or not at all.”
“I’m not saying you need to change. Just spruce up the package a bit.”
“The package is just fine the way it is.” Jo tapped her foot. “Now, I’d best go. I don’t want to be late.”
The older woman shook her head. “Suit yourself.”
“My mind is made up.” Jo adjusted her hat. “Besides, he’s the one who needs me. Not the other way around.”
Beatrice lifted an eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”
Jo kept her silence.
“Ah, don’t be sore,” Beatrice pleaded. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I’m not sore. I’m just—” Jo heaved a sigh “—confused.”
“Men will do that.” Beatrice yanked Jo into a quick embrace. “And thank you. For the lessons. A lot of people wouldn’t go to the trouble for someone like me.”
“And that’s their loss. I’ll see you at six,” Jo replied with no hard feelings. “There should even be some apple cobbler left.”
Beatrice flashed a relieved grin and set off in the opposite direction.
Jo caught sight of the marshal and Cora on the boardwalk outside the sheriff’s office.
The cool morning air was burning off with the rising sun. The marshal had whitewashed the front of the sheriff’s office, and the building appeared too cheerful for prisoners. They’d even etched the oval front window with his name. The marshal kept an open-door policy, and the shades were always raised.
“Good morning,” Jo called, her voice a touch too loud.
“Mornin’.”
His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. He studied the tips of his boots. “Nice weather we’re having.”
“Seasonal.”
“Could be worse.”
“Yep.”
The knotted muscles in Jo’s neck tightened. This wasn’t going quite as smoothly as she’d hoped.
He cleared his throat and focused his attention on his niece. The marshal hovered behind Cora, and Jo’s pulse trembled. His dark hair hung low over his forehead, and his coffee-colored eyes flashed with worry. “Are you sure you’re gonna be all right?”
The little girl leaped up and launched herself at Jo, gripping her around the waist. “You’re here!”
Jo mocked an exaggerated stumble. “Easy there.”
“I guess that answers my question,” the marshal declared.
Cora glanced over her shoulder. “Jo is teaching me how to be a telegram operator today.”
“Telegraph operator,” Jo corrected.
Garrett crouched and handed her a pail. “This is Cora’s lunch. If you need anything, I’ll be at the lawyer’s office. He’s got some information from Missouri.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“And after that I’ll be in my office going over some paperwork. The judge is coming through town next week.”
“Okay.”
“I might have lunch at the hotel. If you can’t find me at my office or with the lawyer, check over at the hotel.”
Jo rolled her eyes. The man was circling like a mother hen. “Relax. I’m taking her to the telegraph office, not a wolf den. Cora and I have developed our own routine. Don’t forget, we’ve already been doing this for a couple of days.”
Remorse flitted across his bold features, and once again her conscience pricked. How come she never said the right thing?
Hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, Marshal Cain glanced down the street. “I reckon you’re right. This business with my cousin, Edward, has me shook up. I’d best let you two get to work.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe.”
“I know you will.”
“I promise.”
“Okay, then.”
The marshal tipped his hat with a murmured “Ladies,” and set off.
Jo and Cora watched his receding steps before strolling along the boardwalk. So much for all her previous resolutions. She’d blown it on their very first conversation after her staunch resolution only moments before. Her feet slowed.
Cora stared at her expectantly, and Jo plastered a smile on her face. “Ready?”
“Ready!” Cora declared.
Tapping her foot, Jo paused a moment. “I give him an hour before he comes and checks on you.”
Cora giggled, and together they crossed the short distance, passing the depot and the platform.
Because telegraph lines followed train tracks, Jo’s office sat near the station. Upon arriving, she unlocked the door and flipped over the sign reading Open. The office was little more than a lean-to jutting from the depot. The government had provided a single desk, swivel chair, a brass lamp with a bottle-green shade and a small table. A storeroom had been portioned off along the back. If someone left a package unclaimed at the station, Jo locked it up or delivered the parcel herself when she found time.
The space was cozy, but two windows on opposite sides gave her a cross breeze in the summer. A squat, potbellied stove provided heat in the winter.
She’d put Marshal Cain out of her mind and concentrate on her job. Work was the best balm and the ultimate distraction.
Despite Jo’s resolve, her thoughts wandered as she spun around on her chair and arranged her supplies. Outside, a train whistle blew.
She met Cora’s frightened gaze. “That’s the eight-thirty from Wichita. She’s half an hour early.”
As was her routine, the little girl scooted beneath the desk and stuck her fingers in her ears. The train rumbled past, rattling the windowpanes and vibrating the floorboards.
When silence descended once more, Jo ducked her head beneath the desk. “That was a coal train. Those trains are the longest, but they usually travel the fastest.”
“They’re loud.”
“You get used to it. When I first moved to town, I woke up with the five-fifteen every morning. Now I don’t even notice.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Cora had arrived in Cimarron Springs ready for adventures—as long as that adventure didn’t involve the teeth-jarring clatter of a passing train.
A moment later Cora emerged from her hiding place and returned to the makeshift play area Jo had set up for the little girl. There was a square of slate board and chalk, several rag dolls and a set of marbles.
An hour later, her busywork finished, Jo tipped back in her chair and considered the child. Cora drew flowers, trees and stick figures on her slate board, but never words. “You said you know your letters, didn’t you?”
“Some.”
Jo remembered being a child and how much she loathed being forced into learning. Perhaps if she couched t
he lesson in another way, Cora would show interest. “You want to see what I do?”
Cora danced on the balls of her feet. “Yes, yes, yes!”
Jo laughed. “Okay, pull your chair over here and I’ll show you.”
They settled side by side, and Jo dug out a sheet of paper.
The bell above the door jingled. Marshal Cain stuck his head in. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
Jo suppressed a grin. He’d gone a whole hour without checking on them, and it had obviously taxed him. “Of course you were.”
“What are you ladies up to?”
Frowning, Jo studied his expression. That was the second time today he’d used the formal term. No one had ever referred to her as a “lady” and she wasn’t sure if she was being mocked.
Then again, he’d never shown any other signs of mockery, and he’d had plenty of opportunity. Especially when she’d bluntly asked him to marry her.
Her cheeks heated at the memory.
“I was about to show Cora how Morse code works. What are you doing, other than checking up on us?”
The marshal glanced around, his gaze innocent of mischief. “Mr. Stuart at the mercantile said he’s having problems with a group of boys. I have a bad feeling it’s that bunch we saw the other day. One of them is Tom Walby’s son. Thought they might have come this way.”
Jo quirked a questioning eyebrow.
Marshal Cain set his hat back on his head and revealed an abashed grin. “Okay. I was checking on Cora. But as long as I’m here, I might as well brush up on my skills. It’s been years since I’ve used Morse code. I used to know my letters. Can I look at your cipher sheet?”
Not many people in town understood her work, and Jo appreciated having someone she could talk with other than Beatrice. “You’re a man of many talents.”
He shrugged. “It’s a good tool if you’re in a pinch. I’ve heard of men signaling each other at night.”
“How do they do that?” Cora asked.
“They use a lamp.”
Jo tapped her pencil. “I’ve heard of blasting crews sending signals down the mountain with mirrors reflecting the sunlight. Doesn’t seem too efficient to me.”
“I guess you learn ‘take cover’ pretty well.”
Jo giggled. She pinched the worn and ink-stained edges and slid her alphabet cipher sheet across the table. Cora and Marshal Cain flanked her, and Jo’s heart did a curious ripple. She cleared her throat and scooted her chair tighter toward the desk, then pointed at the sheet, surprised by the tremble in her finger.
She fisted her hand a few times and pointed again. “Each letter has a corresponding set of dots and dashes. You put the dots and dashes together to form letters. For example, the letter s is three dots.” Jo quickly tapped her finger three times on the desk. “And for an o, it’s three dashes.” She tapped her finger slower.
The telegraph machine whirred, and the twitter of an incoming message filled the room. “Here comes one now.”
“Yeah!” Cora leaped off her chair and dashed across the room.
Using her heels, Jo twisted her chair and scooted across the floor. She needed distance between her and Marshal Cain. Talking with him left her as breathless as though she’d run the length of a field.
After setting out a pencil and paper, Jo acknowledged her station by typing in her call numbers. The telegraph operator on the other end of the line began transferring his message. Jo quickly jotted down the letters, transcribing a rapid-fire series of dots and dashes into words on a neat square of paper.
Cora danced around the table. “What does it say? What does it say?”
“I have a strict rule against gossip.” Jo folded the paper with the words facing inside. “Luckily, I have a terrible memory. I couldn’t tell you most of what came through yesterday, let alone last week.”
Marshal Cain and Cora tipped their heads, their expressions twin mirrors of confusion.
“It’s hard to explain... ah ...” Jo stalled. “But I try to write things down without paying much attention. It’s easier that way.”
After only a short time on the job, Jo had trained herself until the Morse code she translated into words bypassed the part of her brain that remembered details. If she didn’t, the tales rumbled through her memory and interrupted her sleep with dots and dashes clicking in her dreams. People sometimes forgot their words were read by others, and they wrote of deeply personal tribulations. Deaths and births, marriages and broken hearts, a deluge of human emotions filtered down into an economy of words.
Marshal Cain rubbed his chin. “That’s amazing. I know a little bit of Morse code, but I only translated about three of those words. You’re really good. And you just do that automatically?”
“Yep. I hear the dots and dashes like they’re words. I remember when the rail line came through town, listening to the Chinese workers talking together, then switching back to English with the foremen. It’s like that. It’s like learning a foreign language.”
“Except not many people have the gumption to learn another language,” the marshal said, his voice flush with admiration.
Jo’s chest expanded. Most folks took her skill for granted. Certainly no one had ever once asked if learning the process had been difficult.
The marshal glanced around the sparse office. “How did you learn?”
“I left the farm a couple of years ago.”
Jo twisted her lips. Her ma had wanted her to take over the midwife duties, and Jo’s refusal had driven a wedge between them.
Her ma saw every birth as a marvel of life while all Jo could think about were the potential dangers. The calls they made on laboring mothers filled her ma with anticipation, but Jo felt only dread.
Moving to town had been easier than arguing. “That was around the time the Western Union office arrived. They posted an ad on the building and I applied.”
Western Union had specifically requested female operators. The men in town had scoffed, saying they wanted women so they could pay less. The company’s motivation hadn’t mattered. The job was perfect for Jo. Her boss only came through town every few weeks, and the telegrams kept her busy, but not too busy. If the office walls sometimes felt confining, she volunteered for delivery duty or helped out with the ticket counter.
And the job gave her independence. She wasn’t beholden on a man to take care of her. She had freedom and security, two things most women could only dream about. Her life was perfect, wasn’t it?
Cora touched the telegraph machine. “Is it hard to learn?”
“At first.” Jo grimaced at the recollections. “For a while, I was so frustrated I felt like screaming. All those dots and dashes sounded like a bunch of gobbledygook. Eventually, though, things started making sense. At first I could pick out a few words, then sentences, then everything just made sense all of a sudden. It’s almost like listening to people talk now.”
Marshal Cain absently picked up an envelope. “But you don’t pay attention to what they say?”
“Everyone has secrets, and keeping them is a powerful responsibility. I don’t dwell on the messages. It doesn’t seem right, you know?”
Marshal Cain kept his gaze focused on her, his brows knit in a frown. Once again she had that same feeling he was sizing her up, gauging her answers as though he was cataloging her responses for future reference.
Had she passed the test? She couldn’t tell by his expression. The longer he stared, the more self-conscious she became. As the moments ticked by, Jo itched to reach up and smooth her braid. Did she have pear blossoms in her hair again? Was he noticing the blueberry stain on her lapel? A scuffle sounded from the train platform, and she broke his gaze.
Marshal Cain straightened and peered out the window. “I sure do hate being right sometimes. It’s the boys again from the other day,
stirring up trouble. They’re chasing something. Probably an animal. I better see to it.”
He set his hat on his head and tipped the brim. “Ladies.”
Jo inclined her head as he turned and strode out the door. Relieved his attention was no longer focused on her, she released her pent-up breath. She’d never actually seen him at work, and she wondered how he’d deal with the boys. You learned a lot about a person from how they handled conflict, and for some reason, she wanted to know everything she could about the marshal.
She faced Cora and planted her hands on her hips. “You want to follow him?”
With a mischievous grin, the little girl nodded.
Jo threw back her shoulders. She’d survived one conversation without sticking her boot in her mouth. She was on a roll. What could possibly go wrong now?
Chapter Eight
Marshal Cain rounded the edge of the building, and Jo and Cora angled closer until they could peer around. When he glanced over his shoulder, they scurried into the shadows, stifling nervous laughter.
The noonday sun had dried the rain from the previous days, and the streets were mud free for the first time in weeks. Cora appeared lighter, her face less shadowed with their silly antics. Seeing her happy was worth a little skulking around in the afternoon sunlight. They joined hands and followed the marshal from a safe distance.
Jo glanced up and down the deserted street, relieved there were no customers approaching. Observing the marshal sounded a lot more fun than typing out Mrs. Babcock’s travel itinerary with the fewest possible letters while the frugal woman huffed and criticized Jo’s every choice of word.
A crowd of boys greeted their curious stares. Jeering and jostling each other, the four young mischief makers flocked together. Two of the boys held sticks and poked at something from a jumpy distance. They kicked up dust motes with their boots, obscuring Jo’s view of their target. Marshal Cain blew out a piercing whistle. The raucous horseplay ceased in a rolling wave as each boy in line caught sight of the marshal in turn and elbowed the next boy into attention.
From the corner of her eye, Jo caught one of the boys slinking along the wall, his gaze darting between the marshal and freedom. Not fooled for a minute, the marshal cleared his throat, halting the sly escape. Effectively snared, the boy innocently shrugged his shoulders and attempted another step away. The marshal crooked his finger, his expression brooking no refusal. Resigned, the boy dragged his feet into line with the others.
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