The Telegraph Proposal

  Only ... maybe he ought to bring a present to Yancey as well.

  A picture of the letters bundled together in his safe flashed into his mind. He wouldn’t have time to get them and the flowers, but he suspected Mrs. Palmer wouldn’t mind the lapse in bringing her a hostess gift if bringing the letters instead made her daughter smile.

  He hurried home, gathered up the letters, and rushed back outside. A flower seller was rolling her cart along Sixth Street just as he turned the corner, so he purchased a bouquet of mixed blooms in yellows, blues, and deep reds. He arrived at the Palmers’ house a little out of breath with the flowers in one hand, the letters in the other, and a dribble of sweat trickling its way down his neck.

  Mr. Palmer opened the door. “Good evening, Hale. It’s been too long since we’ve had the pleasure of hosting you in our home.”

  Over four years, to be precise.

  He stepped across the threshold, the scents of roasting meat, baked bread, and sweet cherries in a competition to see which one could make his mouth water the most.

  “Are those for my wife?” Mr. Palmer dropped his gaze to the flowers.

  Hale handed them over. “A small token of my appreciation for her kind invitation.”

  Mrs. Palmer appeared. “Hale. We’re so happy to see you.”

  She might be, but behind her, Yancey had a confused frown on her face. “Hale? I didn’t realize you were joining us tonight.” The last was said with a sidelong glance at her mother.

  “Miss Yancey.” He bowed and then held out the letters. “I thought you might wish to have these back.”

  She stared at them, the expression on her face difficult to read. “Are those ... ?”

  “Both yours and mine,” he answered her unfinished question.

  She scratched her eyebrow. “I thought you would have burned them by now.”

  He extended his hand a bit farther. “You are welcome to do so. I’ve read them and am satisfied that Miss Archer told the truth. I don’t remember precisely what I said, of course, but these match my memory well enough. She told no lies other than about living in Denver and using a typewriter because my handwriting was illegible.”

  Yancey nodded. “I asked why they were typed.”

  “I know.” That jolted her attention to him. “As I said, I read them all.”

  After another nod, she took the packet. “I’ll just take these back to my room.”

  “Don’t be too long, dear,” Mrs. Palmer called after her. “Dinner is ready.”

  Geddes passed his sister on his way into the living room. “Hale. Good to see you.” He stuck out his hand in greeting.

  Hale shook it. “Good to see you too, Geddes.”

  They wandered through the living room and into the dining room, where the table was set with plain white china and a floral tablecloth in pale pinks and greens. Mrs. Palmer took a vase from her corner cabinet and disappeared with it and the bouquet. A few minutes later, during which Hale and the Palmer men talked politics, she reappeared with the vase and bright flowers, placing it in the center of the table.

  Yancey entered the room, then followed her mother into the kitchen. They brought out bowls of mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, pickled beets, a basket of golden brown rolls, and a platter with a whole roasted chicken.

  Hale stood behind the chair appointed to him until the ladies both sat, Yancey choosing the chair directly opposite him.

  “Everything looks delicious, darling.” Mr. Palmer smiled at his wife. “Let’s give thanks, shall we?”

  All through the prayer, Hale battled to focus on Mr. Palmer’s words because the phrase that kept getting in his way was, I come from a happy family. And suddenly he realized why he’d declined every invitation to sit at this table after his courtship of Luanne ended. It wasn’t because Yancey had come between him and her sister but because this family was everything he’d ever wanted. It hurt to watch.

  “Amen.”

  Hale failed to add his amen to the rest of the family’s but had kept his head bowed, so it was unlikely any of them noticed.

  Mrs. Palmer picked up the bowl of potatoes and handed it to Hale. “There’s plenty more in the kitchen, so take as much as you like.”

  Conversation was plentiful, and the food was delicious. Geddes and Mr. Palmer drew Hale into their concerns that Helena would fade into a “once was” city if it didn’t retain the title of capitol once Montana became a state. The topic moved to the impact the telephone would have on the telegraph business Mr. Palmer had spent twenty-three years building. By the time the cherry pie was served, they all were laughing and poking fun at one another like old friends.

  No, like family.

  Hale stared at Yancey Palmer across the table from him and realized this was what he wanted. Her. On the opposite side of the dinner table from him. Friends and family filling in the chairs to their left and right. Him at the head like Mr. Palmer. Her at the foot, like his wife. He should be startled, but instead he was delighting in the irony of his stubborn refusal to yield to what he now recognized as both inevitable and extraordinary.

  He loved Yancey Palmer.

  She looked up at him. Her eyes went wide an instant before she tossed her napkin to the side of her dessert plate. “I’ll clear the dishes.”

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Palmer responded. He turned to Hale. “In our house, the men do the dishes. As you are our guest, you are free to either join Geddes and me in the kitchen or join my wife and daughter in the living room.”

  Knowing he should use the time to request Yancey’s assistance with the campaign, Hale nonetheless chose to join the men. He needed time to think. It was absurd—wasn’t it?—that he wanted to spend every minute of the rest of his life with Yancey.

  * * *

  As soon as Hale left, Yancey sprinted to her bedroom, locked the door, and sat on her bed, panting as though she’d run a mile. The look he’d given her across the table ...

  She pressed the heel of her hand against her racing heart.

  How many times had she longed to see that exact expression on his face? A thousand? Ten thousand?

  She closed her eyes.

  Lord, You know my heart better than I do, and You know I haven’t always been wise with it. Help me now, I beg You. She reached for the letters, feeling her way across the quilted bedspread until her fingers touched the tightly wrapped bundle. She lifted it into her lap. What should I do with these, Lord? If I read them, I’ll fall in love with Hale again. I know I will. And I don’t want to. I don’t. Tears squeezed between her eyelids. She let them fall, unwilling to let go of the letters until she heard God tell her what to do with them. Please, Lord. Please tell me what to do.

  She waited, listened, and prayed some more, but she couldn’t hear past the desires of her heart. To make matters more difficult, she kept picturing Hale sitting across the table from her tonight with love shining from his brown eyes.

  After what seemed an hour—but was probably no more than a minute or two—Yancey whispered, “Amen.” She wiped her cheeks with one hand as she stood. The wooden box she’d used for her Hale treasures was still under her bed. She pulled it out, put the letters inside, and shoved it back into place. Until she heard clear direction from God, that’s where they’d stay.

  Oh, how she wanted Carline. If only telephone lines stretched between Helena and Butte.

  Yancey sat down at her desk. It was topped with stationery she’d failed to put away after her last letter. She reached for the pen and dipped it in ink.

  Should she mention that Windsor Buchanan had asked after Carline for the past three Sundays? He’d even admitted she was the girl he’d wanted to ask on the buggy ride.

  Yancey held the pen over the inkpot. She’d not mentioned it in her prior letters to keep from manipulating her friend into crying, begging, or otherwise making her Uncle Eugene’s life miserable until he agreed to bring her back to Helena. But was withholding information an even greater transgression?

  Perhaps it was
time for a little truth.

  Yancey dipped her pen and wrote everything Windsor had said and how miserable he’d appeared since Carline left town.

  Satisfied she’d been as honest as possible, Yancey blew on the ink. After testing it with a tentative finger to assure it was dry, she folded the letter and stuffed it inside an envelope. She knew the address by heart. When she’d finished writing it on the front, she turned the envelope over and sealed it with wax.

  There.

  She felt better.

  For now.

  But as she suspected, the moment she entered Hale’s office the following day, the tightness in her chest made breathing difficult. “Reporting for duty as ordered, sir.” Her attempt at teasing fell flat to her own ears.

  If Hale was offended, he kept it from showing. He stood to greet her, a smile on his face. “I’m glad you’re here. Please have a seat.” He pointed to the chairs across from his desk.

  Wonder of wonders, both were clear of files and books.

  Rather than risk another teasing comment coming out wrong, she remained silent as she settled into the chair.

  Hale waited for her to sit before coming around the desk and perching on the edge. “I’m glad you’re here.” He’d said that already, and both times it had made swallowing difficult.

  Yancey squeezed her gloved fingers together. “How can I help?”

  He put one hand on the desk and leaned on it. “I think another major event is in order. I checked at the grange hall to see if I could book a date and they only had a few. I booked the nearest one, but I need someone with your talents and abilities to make it less boring. Otherwise it will be up to me, Uncle Jonas, and Isaak.”

  Yancey laughed despite her resolve to keep herself from responding to him. “I can only imagine what the three of you would plan.” She shuddered for effect.

  “Whatever you’re imagining, I can almost guarantee the reality would be worse.” Hale took a piece of paper from the top of his desk and handed it to her. “I drew this up and showed it to Mr. Wiggans. He’s printing flyers as soon as he can.”

  She glanced at the date. “But this is in two weeks.”

  “The grange hall opened up unexpectedly and we thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I know it’s a short amount of time, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

  She stared at the date. Her birthday. The one she’d planned as the celebration of the century. In light of the tragedies and with Carline gone, Yancey hadn’t wanted to celebrate much of anything. But Mother kept saying life had to go on. She was right, but it hurt to think how different the night would be compared to the way she’d originally planned it. But that was another one of life’s little lessons.

  Yancey took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  The smile on Hale’s face almost made up for the pang of losing her birthday celebration.

  She spent the week in a flurry of activity, enlisting help from everyone she knew in order to make Hale’s event memorable. She met with him daily to be sure her plans were in keeping with his wants.

  And her mother was right. Getting out of the house and moving forward with life was good for her. She took on some extra campaign work, going door-to-door to distribute flyers and talk about why Hale was the best man for the job of mayor.

  On Monday, before the big event, she was in the downtown office when a telegram came through that made her whoop with joy. “It’s a girl.”

  Her father dropped the papers on his desk and came close to the telegraph machine as it tapped out specifics on the birth of his first grandchild. Luanne had jokingly promised Yancey to deliver on her birthday, but two days ahead of time was close enough.

  GRACE HARLOWE. STOP

  11:28 AM. STOP

  MOTHER AND BABY FINE. STOP

  Papa beamed. “Can you handle things here while I go tell your mother?”

  “Of course.”

  He rushed out the door. “It’s a girl!”

  She laughed at his enthusiasm, then tapped out the news to Carline, marking it urgent and including an address for delivery. Yancey withdrew some coins from her purse and put them in the till to pay for the message, then sat in the silent office wishing she could also tell Hale.

  Her jaw dropped when the next instant he walked through the door. “I was just thinking about you.” Oh, goodness. That came out too enthusiastically.

  But Hale didn’t seem to mind. His face brightened. “May I ask why?”

  “Luanne and Roy had their baby. It’s a girl.” Yancey’s cheeks hurt she was smiling so big. “I just wanted to share the good news. I already sent a message to Carline.”

  He smiled. “And I was next on your list. I’m flattered.”

  Yancey’s breath hitched. Oh dear. That look was in his eyes again.

  His expression grew more serious. “Yancey, may I ask you for a favor? A personal one?”

  She gripped the armrests of her wooden chair before responding. “What is it?”

  He took out his pocket watch and began winding the stem. Which meant he was nervous. Was he going to ask her out to dinner? Or on a buggy ride? “Do you still have our letters, or have you burned them already?”

  “I have them.” Locked inside a box and shoved to the wall under her bed.

  He popped the cover of his pocket watch open, clicked it shut, repeating the action as he spoke. “I was wondering if we could get rid of them. Together. A symbol of putting the past behind us so we can move forward as friends.”

  Was it her imagination, or had he paused for a fraction before saying friends? Like he wanted to say something different or wanted more than that.

  No. She wasn’t going to read anything into his request.

  Hale liked to craft words instead of speaking extemporaneously, a preference he’d shared—like she didn’t already know—when they were discussing how to best thank the many volunteers helping with his campaign. Yancey said he needed to express his appreciation aloud, and he’d countered with the idea of writing thank-you notes. Because words mattered. He wanted to be clear. Just as he’d done now.

  He’d chosen the word friend, so that’s what he meant.

  “I would like to be friends . . . again. Because we already agreed to that ... at the brunch.” Could she sound any more flustered? “But perhaps we should hold off burning our correspondence until next week when all this craziness is over. With the rally in a couple of days, I mean.”

  “Agreed, although”—he shook his head—“somehow I think we will find even more craziness awaits us on the other side.”

  No, Lord. Please, no. Oh please, oh, please, oh please.

  Yancey repeated the prayer, this time with a different connotation, when she pulled out the letters to reread them later that night. The Lord knew how much she feared turning back into a mushy-headed girl over Hale Adams. She needed miraculous strength because the feelings inside her chest were threatening to boil over like soup left too long on the stovetop.

  And praise be, once she got over the initial disquiet of seeing her words written in someone else’s handwriting, the answer to her prayer was peace within her soul. As she’d said, Antonia had changed Yancey’s name to Portia, her hometown to Denver, Colorado, and deleted specifics like the names of her family members and best friend.

  Which meant Hale had fallen in love with her, just as she had with him. So why did he only want to be friends now? She must have misinterpreted the look in his eyes when he came to dinner.

  Something Carline said when they’d planned Operation Mrs. Buchanan replayed inside Yancey’s mind. I will be a wonderful wife and—should God bless me with children—mother. If some man doesn’t recognize as much, that’s his loss, not mine.

  Yancey straightened the stack of letters and retied the string around them.

  She refused to fall back into the trap of thinking Hale Adams determined her value as a woman. Tomorrow was a new beginning. She’d show everyone—including herself—that her days and worth wer
e determined by God. No one else.

  The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

  She had memorized the Bible verse in Sunday school years ago, although she couldn’t remember the reference. Somewhere in Psalms? She’d look it up later. For now, she returned the letters to the former treasure box, but instead of shoving it back under the bed, she placed it on her desk as a reminder of her resolve.

  But no matter how many times she repeated the verse the following afternoon, her hands were shaking when she knocked on Hale’s door at five ten the following afternoon for her final report before the rally tomorrow.

  He opened the door, pocket watch open. “You’re here.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s five ten. On the dot.”

  She shook her finger at him, smiling over his teasing at her surprising promptness. “None of your cheek, Mr. Adams, or I’ll deliberately keep you waiting a full fifteen minutes next time.”

  His grin set her heart to fluttering.

  The Lord is my light. The Lord is the strength.

  “Come in.” He stepped back to allow her to enter.

  As soon as she turned to walk through the double doors open between his foyer and office, she gasped. “Mac. It’s so good to see you.” She hurried to his chair, laying her hand on his arm. “Don’t get up. Hale can be gentleman enough for both of you.”

  Mac smiled, but pain pinched the edges of his lips. “Yancey. Good to see you, too.”

  Hale walked over to pull out the second chair. It was still free of piles. Even more surprising was the neatness of his desk.

  Yancey sat down beside Mac, grateful for his presence as it had quieted her nervousness. Except ... he and Hale shared a look that kicked her heart back into double speed. “What’s wrong?”