The Telegraph Proposal

  Hale’s eyes narrowed. “Any chance he set that fire last week to scare Isaak out of the race?”

  Jonas feigned shock. He’d been prepared for this question.

  Hale waved his hand back and forth as if he was erasing the comment. “Forget I asked. Even Kendrick isn’t that reprehensible.”

  The revulsion in his nephew’s voice made Jonas blink. Had he sunk lower than his arch rival? Was he, in fact, reprehensible? Jonas stood before his uncertainty showed on his face. “Now we must get back to the grand opening. You’ve a great deal of campaigning to do.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday, May 6, 1888

  “Yancey? It’s almost time for church.” Mother’s voice came from the hallway.

  Yancey rolled onto her side and folded the pillow over her head. She wasn’t going anywhere today. She was staying in bed until she figured out a few things. Did she want Jakob to pummel Hale Adams after all? Did she bear a smidgeon of responsibility for his misunderstanding? And how long would it take before all the people in Helena who’d witnessed her humiliation—or heard about it from Mrs. Watson—either moved away or were too old to remember it?

  A knock was followed by the click of the door opening.

  “Yancey? Why aren’t you ready?” Mother’s voice was full of gentle concern. The bed dipped and Yancey felt a hand on her arm. “Are you unwell?”

  “I feel awful.” Yancey enunciated clearly so her words would penetrate the pillow hiding her face. And it was the truth. She might not know how she felt about Hale or Mrs. Watson or the anonymous person who called her laughable and pathetic, but she knew one thing for certain. She felt awful.

  Mother tsked. “I thought something was wrong yesterday when you left the grand opening so early.” She tugged at the edge of the pillow. “Let me feel your forehead for a fever.”

  Knowing she wasn’t going to get away with saying no, Yancey let go of the pillow and allowed it to fall open. “I’m not sick, but I’m not going to church today either.”

  “Why not?” Mother placed a cool hand on Yancey’s forehead. Did all mothers check for illness anyway, or was it just hers? “You don’t feel feverish.”

  “I’m not sick.” Just laughable and pathetic. Yancey pulled the pillow back over her head. “Am I really nothing but a manipulative schemer?” She hadn’t been able to get Hale’s accusation out of her head since he’d leveled it.

  “What did you say, dear?”

  Yancey let the pillow flop flat and repeated her question.

  A sad smile lifted Mother’s lips. “Who said that about you?”

  “Hale.” Yancey blinked back tears, wishing she knew if they were of anger or sorrow.

  “Oh, dear.” There was no comfort in her mother’s voice, which could only mean one thing.

  “You agree with him, don’t you?”

  Mother shook her head. “Don’t go putting words into my mouth. I didn’t say that, nor do I believe it.”

  Afraid of the truth but needing to hear it anyway, Yancey asked, “Then what do you believe?”

  This smile was full of matronly love. “You are a treasure, Yancey dear. There is no one else I know who can brighten up a room the way you do simply by walking into it.” She stroked Yancey’s hair. “There’s a reason your father and I call you our joy.”

  The endearment struck her in the heart.

  “And we”—Mother placed a hand on her chest—“aren’t the only ones who know it. People flock to you because you make them feel good. And because of that, they will follow you wherever you lead. It’s a gift, really.”

  A “but” was coming.

  “But”—Mother fulfilled Yancey’s expectation—“it’s a gift you must treat with care.”

  After wriggling out from under the bedcovers, Yancey leaned her shoulder blades against the headboard. “What do you mean?”

  Mother shifted on the bed so the two of them were facing each other. “When you use your great enthusiasm to motivate people to good works, as you have with the Ladies’ Aid Society, you honor how God created you.”

  “But”—Yancey beat her mother to the next thought—“sometimes I’m a little too enthusiastic about winning people to my side. I need to honor a person’s no.”

  Mother nodded. “As you should have with Hale for all these years.”

  Yancey toyed with a loose thread atop a pink rose quilted into her bedspread. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

  A soft huff left her mother’s lips. “My dear girl, what more could I or your father have said or done?”

  “Probably nothing.” The truth stung. “But I wish you had tried harder.”

  “As I wish you had listened the first time.”

  Ouch.

  Mother put her hand on Yancey’s foot. “I hope you will listen to my advice regarding what to do about Hale now.”

  She didn’t want advice. She wanted to ignore yesterday as though it had never happened. Regardless of who was right or wrong, her hopes and dreams had been torn out of her chest.

  But she couldn’t hide in her bedroom forever. She’d promised to help with both the kickoff and the Independence Day picnic.

  She pulled the covers tight against her waist. “I guess I could use some advice.”

  Mother smiled her approval of the decision. “Helena needs a good mayor, and Hale Adams is the best candidate for the job. Do you agree with that?”

  “Yes.” But only because Harold Kendrick was the other option. No, that wasn’t fair. Hale was a good candidate. Yancey just didn’t know how to act the next time she saw him.

  “Then keep your promise to Isaak and help Hale get elected. Not because it will impress him or make him like you or any of the other emotions you’ve tried to elicit from him over the years. Help him because it’s the right thing to do and because you have the skills he lacks.”

  After her mother left, Yancey pondered the advice. She’d been helping Hale without chasing him regardless of what anyone else thought. And going forward, she would continue helping him. Not because she’d promised Isaak, but because she—Yancey Marilyn Palmer—was so over her infatuation with Hale Adams that nothing would ever make her the laughable, pathetic girl she’d been until now.

  She flung back the covers. She’d go to church, hold her head high, and make sure she smiled at Mrs. Watson and her little group of gossiping biddies.

  Resolve in place, Yancey rushed to dress in her blue calico. She pulled her hair over her shoulder, braiding it as she ran down the hall. She made it to the carriage room in back of the house just as she secured the end in a band. Her father was lifting the reins to set the surrey in motion. She slowed her pace to keep the horses from spooking.

  As soon as she was settled in the back seat, Mother looked over her shoulder. “Good girl.”

  The praise sustained Yancey until they arrived at church. Hale Adams was among the congregants who were milling around in the open lot waiting for the doors to open. The moment he saw her, he made a beeline for the surrey.

  Every head turned.

  Mother shot another glance over her shoulder, this one a mix of surprise and confusion.

  Yancey lifted both shoulders. She had no idea why Hale Adams—who regularly attended Carline’s church across town—was marching straight toward them.

  When he reached the surrey, he held out his hand. Yancey wanted to slap it away and tell him she was quite capable of climbing out of a carriage—and living her life—without him. But the rude gesture went against her resolve. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her down.

  The instant her feet touched the ground, he dropped her hand. “Miss Palmer”—he bent his neck in a stiff bow—“allow me to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I wasn’t in possession of all the facts and accused you unjustly.”

  She snuck a glance over his shoulder to see the reaction of those close enough to hear. Mrs. Watson was wide-eyed, a gloved hand cupped around her mouth, the tall ostrich feather poking out of her hat intertwine
d with a nearly identical feather in Mrs. Hess’s hat because their heads were so close together.

  Yancey curled her fingers into fists. Knowing she’d be whispered about and seeing it happen in front of her eyes were two different things.

  She would not cry. She would not even sniff.

  She lifted her chin and returned her attention to Hale. With a regal head tilt—at least she hoped it was regal—she acknowledged his apology. “Thank you, Mr. Adams. I hope we can both put this entire incident behind us.”

  For the good of the campaign.

  He bowed again, this one a fraction deeper. “You are too good, Miss Palmer.”

  She was. Too bad he’d not figured that out before yesterday.

  Or five years ago.

  May 7, 1888

  Monday, after a quiet day at work, Hale went to his favorite restaurant for dinner. Gibbon’s Steak House was a mere two blocks from his home and office, and they served their own beef from cattle specially bred and fed. The restaurant was usually busy, but the headwaiter knew Hale’s routine and always saved him a table at seven in the evening.

  Hale entered the restaurant at precisely five minutes to seven. “Good evening, Malachi. It smells delicious in here, as always.”

  Instead of answering with his usual, And as always, we’ve saved a special cut of meat just for you, Mr. Adams, Malachi smiled with cool civility. “Good evening, Mr. Adams. How may I help you?”

  Taken aback by the coldness in his tone, Hale cleared his throat to give himself a moment to think of a suitable response. “I’m here for dinner.” He felt foolish stating the obvious.

  Malachi looked down at the reservations list. “What time would you like to eat? My earliest opening is eight thirty.”

  “But—”

  “On Wednesday.”

  Hale felt his cheeks fill with heat. Why was Malachi being so inhospitable?

  “Did you know my wife has been ill of late?” The maître d’ lifted his chin as though he expected Hale to dispute the statement of fact.

  “No.”

  “Miss Palmer has come every week with a basket of fresh-baked goods.” Malachi eyed Hale up and down. “She’s a gem of a girl, that Yancey.”

  Someone behind Hale snickered. He scratched the back of his itching neck. As usual, Uncle Jonas was right. People were choosing sides in what would have been a private matter if Hale had handled himself with more circumspection. Galling, to be the center of attention for something so trivial.

  No . . . not trivial. Personal. Embarrassing. And unnecessary.

  If only Mrs. Archer had done as she promised and vetted every female candidate herself. Or if she’d exercised more control over her daughter. Or if he’d spoken calmly to Miss Palmer in front of witnesses. Or if his very public apology at church yesterday had sounded more sincere—but it was all he could do to force the words out of his mouth with her standing there looking at him like he was a slug she wanted to crush beneath her boot.

  Too many regrets, none of which helped him now.

  He smiled at the maître d’. “Please put me down for eight-thirty on Wednesday.”

  Malachi bent over his reservations list, the pencil in his hand scraping against the paper. “Until then, Mr. Adams.”

  “Until then.” Hale placed his hat on his head and left the restaurant. What now? Would he receive the same cold shoulder at other restaurants? His icebox was empty at home, so he had no choice but to try a different restaurant. He ended up at Last Chance Café. He’d never eaten anything but lunch at that establishment. He was surprised to find they served the same menu for dinner.

  He ordered his usual ham and cheese sandwich with black coffee. His food was delivered at the same time Jakob Gunderson walked through the café doors.

  Hale braced himself for a lecture.

  Jakob stopped at the table and dropped a look at the empty chair. “May I join you?”

  There were plenty of open spaces where he could sit, but to be polite, Hale pointed his open palm at the chair. “Of course.”

  Jakob sank into it with a sigh. “I think this is the first I’ve been off my feet all day.” He waved at someone across the room. “I’ve never seen you here for dinner. I thought you usually went to Gibbon’s.”

  “They were”—Hale searched for a suitably ambiguous yet still honest explanation—“unable to accommodate me.”

  Jakob smirked. “The Yancey effect?”

  Before Hale could ask what that meant, Jakob turned his attention to the pretty young waitress who’d rushed to the table. She smiled at him like he was the answer to whatever dreams she had for her future.

  Ten minutes ago, she looked down on Hale like his presence was an affront.

  Jakob waved off the menu she held out to him. “I’ll take the meat loaf and the pot roast dinners with extra gravy. And I’ll have both an apple pie and some chocolate cake for dessert.”

  The waitress didn’t seem fazed by the huge order. “Coffee or tea, sir?”

  “Coffee, please, and lots of it.”

  The girl giggled and hurried off to the kitchen.

  “The what effect?” Hale asked as soon as she was out of earshot.

  “You’ve never experienced it because you’ve never been on her bad side before.” Jakob scratched his jaw. “When we were thirteen or fourteen, Yancey and I got into a public disagreement at school. I forget now why we were at odds, but within two days of hurting her feelings, everyone in school hated me. I do remember feeling justified in whatever it was I said or did to make her angry, but that didn’t stop me from being the villain at school.” He paused and looked Hale in the eye. “Even after I apologized.”

  Hale bit into his ham and cheese. What Jakob was describing and what happened at Gibbon’s Steak House were eerily similar.

  “She told me about the debacle with Miss Archer.” Jakob lowered his chin.

  Hale swallowed. “I’ll admit I jumped to a conclusion.”

  “It made her the subject of gossip. Do you realize how much that bothers Yancey?”

  “I think I have an inkling.”

  Jakob shook his head. “Why? Because it bothers you some?”

  Hale took another bite of his sandwich. The lecture from Uncle Jonas was bad enough, he didn’t need another one.

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” Jakob picked up his napkin and unrolled it to reveal the silverware. “Yancey loves people. Loves them. And when someone doesn’t love her back—or is at least friends with her—it eats at her.”

  The waitress came back to the table and filled Jakob’s coffee cup. She left without refilling Hale’s.

  Jakob’s eyes crinkled with mirth.

  Hale dropped his sandwich on his plate, the cheese falling out. “And you think that”—he jerked his chin toward the retreating waitress—“doesn’t bother me?”

  “I didn’t say Yancey was bothered by gossip, I said it eats at her.” Jakob placed his napkin in his lap. “You didn’t stick around after you apologized yesterday—”

  “I went to my own church.” As was right and proper.

  “—so you didn’t see all the looks and whispers Yancey endured from the gossip biddies.” Jakob picked up the red mug filled with coffee and held it close to his lips.

  Hale sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry for that. Truly. And I admit my behavior to Miss Palmer has been less than gentlemanly in the last forty-eight hours.”

  “I offered to pummel you for it.” Jakob took a sip, his eyes never leaving Hale’s face.

  Hale looked down and brushed crumbs from the napkin in his lap. “As you have failed to accost me, I take it she declined your offer.”

  “She did, but she thought about it for a long time.” There was a short pause before Jakob said, “I also told her your reaction wasn’t all that surprising, given your past with her.”

  “That’s what I told Uncle Jonas.” Hale winced. He sounded like a child caught stealing candy but trying to justify it with hunger. “Howe
ver”—he took a breath and looked Jakob in the eye—“I shouldn’t have confronted her in front of your customers. I apologize, Jakob.”

  “Apology accepted.” Jakob leaned back to allow the waitress to place a plate of steaming pot roast and an enormous mound of mashed potatoes covered with brown gravy in front of him. She’d brought a coffeepot with her and added a splash to Jakob’s almost overflowing cup.

  She eyed Hale’s empty cup for a long moment before refilling it halfway.

  Jakob’s shoulders shook, but he managed to keep from laughing outright until the girl turned and left. “I should warn you, it will take several weeks for the Yancey effect to wear off. And that’s only if she truly forgives you.”

  Meaning she hadn’t yet. Hale picked up his sandwich and took a bite. To be fair, his apology had been rather stiff ... and maybe just a touch forced.

  He didn’t want to talk about Yancey Palmer or his own shortcomings anymore. When he’d finished his bite of ham and cheese, he changed the subject. “Has the fire marshal determined the cause of the fire at The Resale Company?”

  Jakob dipped his chin, an acknowledgment that the subject was now closed. “Not conclusively, but he said it was suspicious. Something about the smoke pattern on the walls and the charred edges on the floor being wrong.” Jakob picked up his fork and poked it into the potatoes and gravy. “I confess I stopped paying attention when Ma grilled him on the technicalities.” He took his bite of potatoes, closed his eyes, and sighed as he chewed.

  Hale waited for Jakob to swallow. “Does he know where it started?”

  “The back office, which doesn’t make sense. If anything, the fire should have started on the other side of the building where we keep”—Jakob shook his head—“kept turpentine and varnish. I’m not sure if I feel better or worse that it wasn’t Isaak’s or my fault for improperly storing chemicals.”