The Telegraph Proposal

  Hale glanced at his half-eaten meal, his appetite gone. “Do you think Harold Kendrick could have set it? To drive Isaak out of the race?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But it seems rather extreme.” Jakob didn’t seem surprised or offended by the suggestion, unlike Uncle Jonas.

  The waitress delivered Jakob’s second dinner, the meat loaf and mashed potatoes drowning in dark brown gravy. While he flirted with the girl, Hale took time to think.

  He was trained to pay attention to clients, to judge whether they were telling the truth or trying to conceal information. When he’d suggested Kendrick was guilty of arson to Uncle Jonas, his reaction seemed rehearsed. The enmity between him and Harold Kendrick was no secret. The most logical explanation for the feigned surprise was that Uncle Jonas had thought through all the ramifications of the fire—including the possibility that Kendrick set it—but wanted to keep his suspicions to himself rather than outright accuse his rival without solid proof.

  An explanation that didn’t quite satisfy Hale. Keeping suspicions from the general public was one thing, keeping them from family was another.

  “Do you think Kendrick set it?” Jakob held a forkful of meat loaf over his plate, gravy dripping down the sides.

  Hale wiped his mouth with the red cotton napkin and returned it to his lap. “If he did, I have underestimated my opponent.”

  And it was a good thing Miss Portia York was a myth. He didn’t want someone he loved within reach of Harold Kendrick, a man who may have set fire to a building while women were inside it.

  Chapter Eight

  Friday, May 11, 1888

  Yancey glimpsed the unmistakable form of Isaak Gunderson through the windows overlooking the train platform. Her heart bumped against her sternum. She laid Mrs. Abbott’s message on the counter. “Will you excuse me? I’ll just be a moment.”

  While Mrs. Abbott was still saying, “Of course, dear,” Yancey raced out of the telegraph office.

  Was Zoe back? Or had Isaak been unable to persuade her to come home with him?

  Yancey had ached for both of them, wondering how their love story would end.

  By the time she crossed through the depot waiting area and onto the wooden platform, Zoe was beside Isaak, both of them glowing with love for each other. They were a remarkably handsome couple. His muscular frame, blond hair, and rugged features were the perfect complement for her willowy frame, near-black curly hair, and delicate skin. How she managed such a fine figure when she made the most incredible food was a mystery.

  “I’m so glad you’re back.” Yancey pulled Zoe into a hug, then reached out with her right hand to grip Isaak’s arm. “You simply must tell me everything that’s happened since I saw you last.”

  Zoe held up her left hand. A plain gold band graced her ring finger. “Zis is what happened.”

  Squealing with delight, Yancey pulled Zoe back into another hug. “An elopement? How exciting.”

  Isaak shook his head, but the scowl on his face was ruined by the twinkle in his eyes. “Same old Yancey, I see.”

  She stiffened and took a step back. Had Isaak been in communication with Hale? Or heard about Antonia Archer’s deception? Silly her. A man on his honeymoon spent all his time with his bride. He didn’t leave her to send a telegram home to check on a campaign he’d given up. Did he?

  Before Yancey could ask what he meant by his comment, Zoe wrapped an arm around her husband’s waist and snuggled next to him. “Isaak is as happy to see you as I am.”

  Yancey relaxed. “And I’m glad you are both back home where you belong.” She glanced through the windows on her left into the telegraph office. Two people were waiting. “I should get back to work.”

  A young man with dark hair and bright blue eyes stepped close to Zoe. He seemed familiar, but Yancey couldn’t recall his name. He stuck out his right hand. “Hi. I’m Nico, Zoe’s brother.”

  “Miss Yancey Palmer.” She shook his hand. “Have we met before, Nico?”

  Isaak tugged at his shirt collar. “I don’t think you’ve been formally introduced.”

  She was missing something. Some connection or memory that tied Isaak, Zoe, and Nico together. But wasn’t Zoe an only child?

  “Nico is not my actual brother,” Zoe answered Yancey’s unspoken question. “But he is family in ze same way ze Forsythes are Uncle Jonas and Aunt Lily.”

  “Speaking of Mrs. Forsythe, she’ll be thrilled to have you home.” Yancey shot another look into the telegraph office. Three people were waiting. “I really must go, but I hope we can all get together very soon.”

  “Soon,” Zoe echoed.

  Isaak and Nico both dipped their chins in identical gentlemanly bows. They were as opposite in physical appearance as two men could be, but Nico apparently had decided to take Isaak as his model for gentlemanly behavior. An excellent choice.

  Much better than Mr. Hale Adams.

  Yancey offered a small wave, then hurried back into the telegraph office where Mrs. Abbott waited with a smile on her face. “Was that Isaak Gunderson and the Frenchwoman who rejected his marriage proposal?”

  “And who was the boy with them?” Mr. Krenshaw asked before Yancey could answer the first question.

  Mrs. Abbott turned around, taking the slip of paper she’d started to hand over the counter with her. “I know I’ve seen his face before.”

  Mr. Dickenson—who was the third in line—joined in the conversation. “He’s the boy who punched the twins after they proposed to Miss de Fleur.”

  “It’s Mrs. Gunderson now,” Yancey announced, as gratified to share the good news as she was to figure out why Nico had seemed familiar. She held out her hand to Mrs. Abbott. “I can take your message now.”

  The remainder of the day passed in much the same way, with people coming in to send or receive messages. Those who were residents of Helena were full of news about Isaak and Zoe Gunderson’s return.

  When Yancey’s shift ended, she rode Judith straight to Carline’s house. Judith was a six-year-old bay mare with a gentle disposition and a penchant for cold cooked carrots. She plodded through easy trips from home to the telegraph office and back—never startled at the sound of the steam trolley or when children who didn’t know better waved their hats in greeting—but would leap to a gallop whenever an urgent telegram needed delivering. She was a family horse, but she loved Yancey best.

  Yancey waved to friends and acquaintances, stopping every few minutes to hear their latest news. Mr. Babcock’s new plow was working better than he could have hoped for, Mrs. Lightman’s latest grandchild was teething, the Snowes had just signed papers to purchase a ranch on the east side of Helena, and Miss Rigney was questioning whether or not to return to teaching in the fall.

  As female teachers were forbidden to have any relationships with men—and Deputy Nick Alderson had begun paying particular attention to the attractive young teacher—Yancey expected Miss Rigney’s decision to leave the classroom meant there would be another wedding at church soon. Wouldn’t that be lovely? She did love a happy ending.

  And everyone was bursting to tell Yancey that Isaak Gunderson had come back to Helena a married man. It took twice as long to reach the Popes’ house as usual.

  Carline opened the door and stepped onto the full-length front porch before Yancey finished tying Judith to the hitching post outside the white, two-story home. “Did you hear that Isaak’s back?” Carline waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. Of course you did. You probably were the first to know.”

  Yancey grinned and started to climb the five steps going up to the house. “Probably. I saw them when they got off the train. They are both glowing.”

  Carline sighed. “I love a happy ending.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing, but”—Yancey looked through the open door to see if Mrs. Pope was within earshot—“I have to say, it’s nice that people are talking about someone other than Hale Adams and me.”

  Carline laughed. “I can understand that. Come on in.”
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  Yancey unpinned her wide-brimmed straw hat from her hair and stepped into the house. The scent of roasting beef made her stomach gurgle.

  “Hello, Yancey dear.” Mrs. Pope walked into the living room. Her blond hair was coming loose from the bun at the base of her neck, the curling tendrils clinging to her damp skin—her appearance still better than how frazzled Yancey looked when she cooked. “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “If it won’t be too much trouble.” With Carline’s Uncle Eugene still in town and making life miserable for the entire Pope family with his overbearing demands, Yancey didn’t want to assume she’d be welcome as usual.

  “You’re no trouble.” Mrs. Pope added a slight emphasis to you’re, although not so much as to be outright rude.

  Carline gave Yancey a significant look and shook her head as if to say, Don’t ask. To her mother, she said, “Do you need help with dinner, or may I take Yancey back to my room and show her the new dresses Uncle Eugene bought me?”

  Mrs. Pope glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall. “I could use some help, but not for another twenty minutes or so.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Carline took Yancey by the hand and pulled her toward her bedroom. Once inside, she flung open the door to her closet. Like most girls, Carline’s wardrobe consisted of four dresses: two for everyday wear, one for church and special occasions, and one for gardening or other messy work. Four new dresses hung in the closet, the shiny fabric gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. Carline pulled out the pale peach one and held it against her chest. “Isn’t this the most ridiculous lot of frills you’ve ever seen?”

  Yancey pressed her palm against her cheek. “I’m so relieved you think so. I was trying to come up with something nice to say and couldn’t think of a thing other than that the color is pretty.”

  “On someone with a different skin tone, maybe.” Carline held the dress away to stare at it. “If it weren’t for all the ruffles, I’d look like I wasn’t wearing anything.”

  Yancey burst into laughter. “Show me the others.”

  Carline tossed the frilly peach thing on her patchwork bedspread and reached for a mint-green one. This one was also made of a shiny fabric, likely satin. She held it up to her chin. “Better, but still too many ruffles for my taste.”

  Yancey eyed the dress from top to bottom. “If you took off the one around the neck, it would be better.”

  Brightening, Carline looked down. “Yes. That’s exactly what it needs.” She tossed it on the bed on top of the peach dress, then reached for the yellow one.

  The moment she held it near her face, Yancey let out a gasp. “Oh goodness. It makes you look ill.”

  Carline chuckled. “That was my exact thought. I hope Uncle Eugene never insists I wear it in public. People will think I have consumption.” She tossed it on the growing pile. “But at least it’s not frilly.”

  “Too bad you couldn’t have the same style in the green fabric.”

  “Yes. Between the two, there’s one good dress.” Carline pulled out the pale blue one and held it up.

  Yancey gasped. “Oh. Oh. It’s beautiful.”

  The color complemented Carline’s skin tone, brought out the blue in her eyes, and there wasn’t a ruffle in sight. Instead, the bottom of the skirt had pleats that gave the dress interest without flounces.

  “I saved the best for last, although”—Carline tucked her chin to look down—“I’d prefer to save it for my wedding. Not that I’m ever going to have one.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Yancey regretted the instinctive words the moment she saw her friend flinch. She wrapped her arm around Carline’s waist. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Uncle Eugene’s visit was supposed to last three days. He keeps extending. Pretty soon, he’s going to wear down my parents so they’ll convince me to go to a finishing school back East.”

  Which had nothing to do with getting married, but Yancey remained silent.

  “With you not leaving for Denver”—Carline hugged the dress close, crushing the blue satin under her fingers—“I don’t want to leave Helena. I never did. I just said so because I didn’t want you to worry about me when you left. Can you imagine me at some hoity-toity school for millionaires’ daughters? I’ll be a laughingstock. The girls will all shun me, and even if I have the opportunity to meet any men, they will most likely find me stupid and provincial.”

  Yancey squeezed her friend’s waist. “Then don’t go.”

  Carline shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ll have a choice. Uncle Eugene is so insistent, and Mother’s already starting to be swayed. Last night, she sat right there”—Carline pointed to her dress-covered bed—“and listed all the advantages of getting a broader view of the world.”

  Yancey turned and took the blue dress from Carline’s fingers. After tossing it atop the others, Yancey held out both hands and waited for Carline to grip them. “As much as I hate to admit it, your mother might have a point.”

  “Not you, too,” Carline whined.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, I think you should do whatever is best for you. I’m just not sure staying in Helena is what’s best.” Yancey pulled one hand free and used it to push aside the dresses so she and Carline could sit side by side. “My mother gave me some advice about Hale that I think applies to you. She told me I needed to help Hale win the mayoral election not because of what it will get me, but because he’s the best candidate for the job. And that’s precisely what I’m going to do. Not because I want to, but because I need to.”

  The look on Carline’s face said she didn’t understand the connection.

  Yancey took a deep breath and tried again. “You are going to inherit ten million dollars. It might be next week or twenty years from now. Like me, you’ve grown up in a nice but not opulent home with ordinary parents and ordinary friends.”

  Carline huffed. “No one has ever called you ordinary, Yancey Palmer.”

  The compliment made her smile. “You know what I mean. You haven’t grown up prepared to handle that kind of wealth. I’m no expert, but I imagine there’s a trick to it. All you need to do is look at the difference between Mrs. Gibbon and Mrs. Hollenbeck.” Yancey named the two wealthiest women in all of Helena. One was mean as a snake, the other as kind and generous as God ever made a woman.

  “Then why can’t I learn the trick of managing wealth from Mrs. Hollenbeck?” Carline reached out a hand to toy with a blue-satin pleat.

  “You probably can.” Yancey waited for Carline to turn so they were eye to eye. “But who knows? If you go to finishing school, you might meet a wonderful man who is tired of silly rich girls and wants one who was raised like an ordinary person.”

  Carline’s smile was tenuous. “I’d rather Windsor Buchanan run after me so we can elope like Isaak did with Zoe.”

  “So would I.”

  Carline stood and hung the blue dress back in her closet. “I’ll have to think about it. Whether I go or remain here, there’s a lot I need to learn.”

  “Me, too.” Yancey held up the yellow dress.

  Carline took it and hung it next to the blue one. “Are you really going to help Hale Adams get elected for no other reason than because he’s the best candidate for the job?”

  Yancey huffed. Why was it that every topic always came back around to that man? Too much of her life centered on him.

  And frankly, why did she care what he thought of her?

  She didn’t!

  A laugh bubbled up. “Do you know what I just realized?”

  “What?”

  “I no longer need Hale’s smile or approval to tell me whether I’m worthwhile as a woman.” Yancey looked around the room, seeing the yellow walls, white curtains, and cheerful rag rug as though for the first time. “My future no longer depends on him. I’m free. And in a very strange way, I have Nathan St. John to thank for it.”

  “But they’re the same man.”

  “That’s irrelevant.” Yancey picked up the last dre
ss and held it out. “The important thing was letting go of Hale and all the dreams I’ve foisted upon him over the years.” A sudden idea made her heart pound. “What if I return Nathan’s letters to Hale? I certainly don’t need them anymore.”

  “Getting rid of your Hale treasures helped.” Carline hung the frilly peach dress next to the green one. “Perhaps getting rid of your Nathan treasures will do the same.”

  And if Hale was inspired to return “Portia’s” letters, so much the better. Unless he’d already burned them. That was fine by Yancey. She wanted them gone—either by his hand or hers.

  The days of wasting her time over Hale Adams were over.

  Across town

  After work, Hale snapped the lock on his front door in place and fixed a smile on his face as he sauntered—not raced but sauntered—in the direction of the Palmers’ house. The Yancey effect had invaded his private sanctuary, also known as his office. The two most galling visits had come from Mrs. Hollenbeck and his uncle. Mrs. Hollenbeck used her quarterly appointment not to discuss the current balance of her various investments and an accounting of her charitable giving but to lecture him about why Yancey Palmer was an asset to anyone running for office. Uncle Jonas, who was on his way out of town for another three weeks to fulfill his duties as territorial judge, only stayed for five minutes, but his words still rang in Hale’s ears. You will invite Yancey to help you plan an additional event—preferably one in the next two weeks—in which she will very publicly support your candidacy. You will saunter—not race but saunter—through town with a smile on your face and stop to greet people all the way from here to the Palmers’ house. Your apology was not enough. You must make that girl like you. Have I made myself clear?

  If Hale had another home to go to, he’d have packed his bags and headed out within the hour. He was twenty-eight, yet in the last four hours he’d been made to feel ten years old more times than when he actually was that age.

  The streets of Helena were bustling with people going home from work or hurrying from one store to another before the shops closed in an hour. Hale purposefully smiled at everyone whether he knew them or not, stopped to assist three different ladies with their parcels, and stood outside Babcock’s Hardware Store chatting with Mr. Lombard, who was a fixture on that particular porch.