Father, why is Hannah acting … threatened? What should I do?
Had he threatened her in some way? Birds do one of two things when they are threatened—they fight back or fly away. Hannah, of course, would peck, bite, and claw like her life depended on it, but how had he made her feel threatened?
Love is patient. He felt the words press on his heart. But he didn’t want to be patient. He wanted to demand an answer right now.
Love is kind.
Kind? Now? Did God really expect that?
Drawing in a long breath, he spread out his hands in an open gesture and softened his tone. “What’s the real problem?”
She whirled toward him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You didn’t trust me to try to do it myself. If you really believed I was the best candidate, you would have let me handle it.” She jabbed her thumb at her chest. “I could have taken care of it without you.”
“So you feel like I don’t believe in you?” The realization kicked him in the gut.
A tear slithered down her cheek.
He thumbed it away. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I promise you.” Easing his arms around her, he pulled her close.
How was he ever going to negotiate this? How was he going to make her see he wanted to take care of her, not cage her?
Love is patient. He had to remember that. One couldn’t grab a bird, or he might end up with a handful of feathers.
Rosie’s mother appeared more often than the cuckoo on a cuckoo clock. Charlotte almost laughed when the kind woman popped out her door the third time, smiled, and pulled her head back in.
“She’s worse than your sister,” George said from his chair.
According to Mrs. Murphy’s mandates, Charlotte had to sit on the swing alone. George had groused, but so far he hadn’t tried to break the rule.
Charlotte pulled an envelope from her apron pocket and waved it in the air. “I’ve got some good news to share.”
“Someone leave you money?”
“No.” She pressed the letter to her chest. “Better.”
“Are you going to sit there all day keeping me in suspense?” He held out his hand.
Charlotte hurried to hand over the letter. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Murphy to hear George get upset. She should have known better. After all, George hated to wait.
He opened the letter, read the contents, and frowned. “So you want to do this?”
“Yes!” She couldn’t keep a smile from exploding on her face. “I want to learn Fannie Farmer’s scientific cookery more than anything.”
“You’re a good cook already. Why do you need to go to some fancy school?”
“I’m a good cook, but I want to know more. I want to own a fine restaurant.” When his frown didn’t disappear, she went on. “It’s a dream. Like you playing baseball.”
“I’m smart enough to know that baseball is only a dream, and I’m not fool enough to think I could actually play in the majors.”
“You think my dream is foolish?”
“Come on, Charlotte. How many women restaurant owners do you know?” He chuckled, then reached for her hand. “And why do you want to leave me? I thought we had something special.”
“We do, but—”
Mrs. Murphy opened the door. “George, I think it’s time you best said your goodbyes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. He pulled Charlotte to her feet and kissed her hand. “Walk me to the end of the block?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“What could a few steps off the porch hurt?”
“Please, George, that’s her rule. Mrs. Murphy is a family friend. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“What about my feelings?” He wrapped her in a hug and held her tight.
She squirmed free but offered him her right cheek.
He sighed and placed a quick peck on it. “Good night, Charlotte.”
“Good night, George.” She waved to him when he reached the curb. “Oh, wait! I almost forgot.” She raced down the steps and grabbed his arm. “Hannah wants you to join us for Sunday dinner.”
“I dunno. I’m not sure I want to spend the afternoon with your bossy sister.”
She bit her lip. “But you’ll come?”
“Sure. Anything for you.” He laughed. Then, before she realized what was happening, he drew her into the bushes and pressed his lips to hers.
“Charlotte?” Mrs. Murphy called from the porch door.
Not daring to cry out, she jerked away and covered her mouth.
Hot tears pricked her eyes as disappointment flooded over her. This was not the magical moment she’d expected a first kiss to be.
“But Charlotte was off the porch with George.”
Hannah glared at her protesting little sister. Then looked up at the parlor’s ceiling and prayed for God to help her to keep from throttling Tessa. “Pointing fingers at Charlotte doesn’t make you any less guilty.” She read the note from Tessa’s teacher again. What was Tessa thinking?
Setting the note on the table, she turned to her sister seated on the couch. “So, tell me. Why did you cheat on the exam at girls’ club?”
“It wasn’t my fault. Ingrid had her paper out so everyone could see it.”
“Is that so?” This was not going to be easy. Then again, was anything ever easy with Tessa?
Tessa nodded. “Yes, she had her paper right out on her desk.”
“Quite possibly because she was taking an exam!” Hannah crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did you do it, Tessa? Do you realize you cheated on a Bible exam?”
“I wanted my ribbon. Mrs. Devorak said everyone who passed the Bible test got a ribbon to wear, and I didn’t want to be the only girl without one.”
“That’s what Mrs. Devorak thought. She said she’ll give you an alternate, more difficult oral exam tomorrow, so I suggest you start studying.”
“Is that all?” Too late, Tessa sucked in her cheeks to cover the smile erupting on her face.
Charlotte bounced down the stairs, and Hannah glanced at her before pinning Tessa with a glare. “No, that is not all. For the next two weeks, you will be restricted to this house. You’ll have extra chores every day, and you’ll be writing a letter of apology to both Mrs. Devorak and Ingrid.”
Tessa’s eyes widened. “Ingrid? Why her?”
“You stole from her.”
“I didn’t take anything.”
“You took her intellectual property.” Hannah softened her voice. “And I think you already know what you did was wrong. Don’t you?”
Tessa gave a defeated sigh. “Guess I’d better go study.”
“Good idea.”
Tessa jutted out her lip. “And what are you going to do about Charlotte?”
Hannah thrust a finger toward the kitchen. “Go!”
After Tessa slinked away, Hannah dropped to the couch. “That girl.”
“Maybe it will be easier on all of us for you to be home in the evenings again.” Charlotte pulled out the checkerboard. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” Hannah studied her sister as she lined up the checkers on the board. Sneaking off the porch for a few stolen moments with George wasn’t a crime worth addressing, but the subtle changes in Charlotte’s demeanor certainly were. Tonight Charlotte seemed especially quiet, and Hannah thought she’d heard her crying earlier. Still, Hannah’s first night back home hardly seemed the appropriate time for a conversation about George. Maybe, once they’d had a chance to reconnect, she could have a heart-to-heart with her sister and settle this George situation once and for all.
She glanced at the oval frame on the wall. Beneath the curved glass of the photograph, her parents smiled at her. The familiar ache in her chest throbbed. Were they watching her? What would her mother say to Charlotte about George? For that matter, what would she say about Lincoln? Could her mother have helped her make sense of Lincoln’s actions today? Try as she might, Hannah still had difficulty understanding wh
y he felt the need to interfere.
“Hannah? Are you going to play or not?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, sorry.”
Three games of checkers later, Charlotte leaned back in her chair. “Your mind is not in the game tonight. I don’t remember the last time I beat you three times in a row.”
Tessa returned from the kitchen. “Can I play?”
“Are you ready for your exam?” Hannah looked up and stretched the kink in her neck.
Tessa nodded. “Ask me anything.”
“I will.” Hannah stood up. “But first I need a little break. You may play one game, and then I’ll quiz you.”
With a grin, Tessa flopped down on the couch and snapped each checker on its place. “Dear sister, prepare to meet thy doom.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and made the first move.
Hannah watched her sisters’ calculated moves. Tessa, the more offensive player, took control of the center of the board, while Charlotte played more defensively. Tessa jumped two of Charlotte’s black men, and Charlotte returned the effort in kind. Since Tessa was never one to take time to think through any strategy, the game was over in less than ten minutes.
“I won!” Tessa clapped her hands.
Charlotte laughed. “If you skip the part about being restricted to the house, doing extra chores, and writing apologies—then yes, you are absolutely a winner tonight.”
A laugh exploded from Hannah’s lips. Oh, how she’d missed her sisters.
“Did you write the apology notes?” Hannah asked Tessa.
“Do I really have to do that?”
“What do you think?”
Tessa stomped away, and Hannah sighed. Had she been too hard on the girl? But Tessa needed to learn there were boundaries—and so did Lincoln.
His downcast face came to the forefront of her thoughts. Had she been too rough on him? He’d only been trying to help, and it was thanks to him she was now able to be home again.
Maybe Tessa wasn’t the only one who needed to write an apology note.
32
After rapping on the doorjamb, Hannah waited for her new supervisor to turn toward her. “Mrs. Beecher, I’m Hannah Gregory.”
Squeezed into what was once the handyman’s workroom, the courthouse switchboard was a far cry from the central exchange. Hannah eyed the two panels, which served 140 phone lines on the exchange.
Mrs. Beecher smiled broadly. “Do come in, dear.”
Hannah turned the knob on the lower half of the Dutch door and entered. She closed the door behind her and waited until Mrs. Beecher completed the call she was connecting.
Mrs. Beecher stood and gripped Hannah’s hands. “Dear, you are an answer to my prayers. Mr. Bradford telephoned me late yesterday to say you’d be here in the morning.”
Hannah’s mouth gaped. Miss Frogge would never greet anyone in such a familiar manner.
“Come, let’s get you settled.”
“What about the callers?” Hannah asked.
“They can wait a few minutes.” Mrs. Beecher led her to the adjacent smaller room. It had been fitted with a small table and two straight-back chairs. “You may hang your wraps on the hooks there. It isn’t much compared to the parlor at the telephone company, but it’s a nice place to relax if you get a moment or two to eat your lunch.” She moved to the other side of the room and placed her hand on a tall brass item with a glass globe. “And this is our fountain of joy.”
Hannah eyed the brass pot mounted on a solid base. It had a metal tube that appeared to come through its center. Beneath the pot, a tiny flame flickered over an alcohol burner. The glass contained a familiar dark liquid. Realization brought a smile to Hannah’s face. A table coffee machine. Could she really be this lucky? She’d heard of these but hadn’t seen one in person.
“If you tell me that’s a Sternau coffee percolator, I just might kiss you.”
“I knew I liked you.” Mrs. Beecher poured a cup from the spigot and passed it to Hannah, then she poured one for herself. “I guess we’d better get to work. I’ll explain everything as we go. If I go too fast, please tell me to slow down. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in any way. We’re going to have great fun.”
From that moment on, Hannah couldn’t stop smiling. She might have to consider forgiving Lincoln for his interference. While Miss Frogge made Hannah feel ill at ease, Mrs. Beecher’s inherent warmth welcomed Hannah as if she were at home.
When they returned to the board, the lights were lit up like fireflies on a dark night. Mrs. Beecher’s fingers flew as she made the connections. Hannah could scarcely believe the older woman’s speed. In minutes the switchboard’s front was crisscrossed with red cords.
After Mrs. Beecher had caught up on her connections, she turned to introduce all of the numbers and the area or patrons they represented. The exchange served not only the Polk County Courthouse but also the Federal Courthouse across the street. Mrs. Beecher passed Hannah a simple listing she’d made for easy reference until she could memorize all of the connections.
“I don’t know if Mr. Bradford told you, but the hours here are a bit different than the regular switchboard. You’ll arrive at seven thirty and leave at four. You’ll have an hour lunch and a half-hour break. We’ll have to adjust our lunches so the board is covered, but that shouldn’t be too hard. You can either stay here and eat …” Her blue eyes crinkled. “Or you might choose to take your lunch with a certain attorney who spoke to me yesterday.”
Hannah stiffened. “I am qualified. I was in law school before my parents passed, so I’m familiar with the work done here.”
Mrs. Beecher held up her hand to silence Hannah. “Dear, I have no doubt you’re qualified, and I also have no doubt Mr. Cole is smitten with you. Both are fine with me.” She paused and answered a call from the Federal Courthouse, immediately followed by one to the court recorder. She turned to Hannah. “Now, where was I?”
“The rules, perhaps?”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not a stickler for all those silly rules like never crossing your legs or blowing your nose, but I am a stickler about one thing.” Mrs. Beecher looked Hannah straight in the eye. “You will hear a great deal of information here—by accident, of course, but you’ll hear it all the same. It’s important you keep it in the strictest confidence. Don’t even share it with me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Beecher pointed to the other headset and smiled. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”
By midmorning things began to slow down a bit. Hannah rubbed a spot beneath her ear where the receiver irritated the skin, then offered to refill Mrs. Beecher’s cup. After she returned, she pulled the apology note out of her pocket and fingered it absently while staring at her board.
“Something on your mind?” Mrs. Beecher asked.
Hannah turned, surprised her supervisor initiated conversation.
Mrs. Beecher laughed. “Dear, I told you I’m not a stickler for the rules. There’s no harm in the two of us talking between calls. This room is so small, we can’t possibly miss a light on our board.” She pointed to the envelope. “Did you need to go post that?”
“No.” Hannah shook her head. “It’s for—”
“A sweet note for your fellow, Mr. Cole.”
“An apology, actually.”
Mrs. Beecher connected another call and turned back to Hannah. She didn’t ask about the note again, but in between calls, she did ask Hannah other questions. They weren’t nosy ones but were filled with genuine interest. Before long, Hannah had told Mrs. Beecher about the death of her parents from influenza, how she’d dropped out of law school to raise her sisters, and even how Mr. Cole had come to take their farm.
“And then he came to help us move.” Hannah’s insides seemed to glow as she remembered him with his sleeves rolled up, carrying boxes and taking down the beds. “He was a hard man to shake.”
Mrs. Beecher chuckled. “From what I’ve seen, I don’t kno
w why you’d even want to.”
Hannah grinned, and they shared a laugh. “I know I just met you, Mrs. Beecher, but it’s odd, I feel like I’ve known you for years.”
“Dear, call me Jo, and I feel the same way.” She squeezed Hannah’s arm. “The Lord heard my prayers and sent me a friend.”
“Then you must call me Hannah.”
“All right, Hannah, my new friend, why don’t you tell me why you’ve been holding that envelope for the last half hour?” Her gaze settled on the sealed envelope.
Hannah sighed. She needed to talk to someone about Lincoln, and right now, Jo seemed like the best option. But what would her new supervisor think if she knew the whole story?
Drawing in a deep breath, Hannah plunged in. Jo deserved to know how she came to get this job. In between calls, she told the whole story from her miserable failure at the main exchange, to her move to the evening shift, to Lincoln’s visit to Mr. Bradford. She even added her own frustration over the matter.
“Are you a Christian, Hannah?” Jo sipped from her cup.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, then you’re probably familiar with the story of Ruth and Naomi.”
Hannah nodded. “After her husband died, Ruth left her homeland and went with her mother-in-law, Naomi, to her country. She gleaned from the fields there and finally met Boaz.”
“That’s the gist of it.” Jo smiled. “Have you ever thought about how much you’re like Ruth?”
“Me?” Hannah hated to wait for the answer, but she had to connect a call. When she turned back to Jo, the woman appeared to have forgotten the conversation. “You were saying?”
“Oh yes. Ruth left what she loved to care for her family. You left law school and the farm to come into town and care for your sisters. You might not have gleaned in a field, but you took a job beneath you in order to meet their needs. And then your Boaz noticed the love and kindness you showed your sisters.”
“My Boaz?”
Jo nodded. “He couldn’t tell the workers to leave you extra grain, but he came to me, and then he spoke to Mr. Bradford. He saw how hard you worked and wanted to make your life easier.”
Lincoln was her Boaz? She’d never considered him going to Mr. Bradford as an act of kindness. Had she read the situation entirely wrong?
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