Love on the Line

by Deeanne Gist

  Luke headed toward the Langkwitzs’, hoping Georgie would have sense enough to stay put. Slowing Honey Dew, he scanned the area for her cap. The moonlight made a shadow of a bump in the road, tricking him into thinking he’d found it, but it was only a clump of debris.

  Voices of young men filled with bluster came from just ahead.

  “You’ll spoil her, Fred.”

  “It’s only a Mai tree.”

  “Only a Mai tree, he says.”

  A round of masculine laughter.

  Luke squinted. Silhouettes of five men carrying a twenty-foot tree emerged at the bend in the road. Adjusting his hat, he moved Honey Dew into the light so as not to startle them.

  “Hello!” he shouted.

  The boys, armed with axes and a pull-wagon full of empty beer bottles, waved. “Hallo.”

  “Who’s the lucky girl?” Luke asked.

  They stopped next to him, one of them stroking Honey Dew’s nose.

  “Fred’s gal.” A young man indicated another with the nod of his head.

  Of the five, Fred seemed to be the only sober one of the bunch.

  “What about you?” Fred asked. “You’re getting a late start.”

  Luke nodded, allowing them to misinterpret his reason for being out. “I’m fairly new to town. Any particular spot you recommend?”

  All talking at once, the boys offered locations for the best crop of Mai trees—each contradicting the other.

  “Who’re you leaving a tree for?” Fred asked.

  “Georgie Gail,” Luke answered, without hesitation.

  The boy whistled. “Best of luck with her. She’s not one to give her favor easily.”

  “That a fact?” Honey Dew shifted her weight beneath him.

  “Yep.” Fred removed his hat, revealing a severely receded hairline for one so young. “Plenty tried when she first arrived last year, but she rebuffed every-a-one of ’em.”

  Several yards back, two more men came around the bend, the glow of a cigarette briefly flashing. Neither had a tree.

  Luke tipped his hat to the boys. “I guess I better get started, then. Sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  “Don’t ya need an ax?” the boy pulling the wagon asked.

  Luke looked at his empty hands. “I guess I do.”

  Fred offered his. “Hall’s the name. I live on Jackson Street.”

  “Luke Palmer and I’m much obliged. I’ll return it first thing.”

  “Take your time.”

  Tipping his hat, Luke lay the ax across his lap and nudged Honey Dew forward.

  The boys continued on, the discarded bottles clinking in their wake. It took only a moment for Luke to recognize Duane’s skinny silhouette and Necker’s more muscular one.

  “There ya are,” Duane said. “We been lookin’ all over fer ya.”

  Over the past month, Luke had spent every spare moment available with them, hunting, fishing, and visiting the saloons. In order to avoid drinking, he’d splattered himself with gin before going out and carried his own flask filled with water.

  “Well, I’ve been looking for you, too.” A waft of cigarette smoke touched Luke’s nose. “You scouting around for Mai trees?”

  Necker shook his head. “I got me a wife now. No need to deliver dead trees decorated with a bunch of paper streamers to her.”

  Grinning, Duane took a swig from a beer in his hand. “Did I hear right, Luke? Ya thinkin’ ta put a Mai tree at the switchboard operator’s window?”

  Honey Dew gave a quiet nicker.

  Luke stroked her neck. “I’m thinking on it.”

  “Well, ain’t that a coincidence?” Sliding a hand in his pocket, Duane rocked on his heels.

  “Coincidence?” Luke kept his voice casual.

  “Why, sure. Miss Georgie’s place is where we’re headed, too.”

  Honey Dew stepped backward in reaction to Luke’s sudden tensing. He pulled her still. “You fellows plan on giving me a little competition?”

  “Nah,” Duane said. “We ain’t leaving somethin’, so much as we are takin’ somethin’. Ain’t that right, Necker?”

  Necker kept his own counsel.

  “What’re you taking?” Luke asked.

  Duane looked at his feet, then over at Necker.

  After one last pull, Necker flicked the cigarette to the ground. “The float them bird ladies made fer tomorrow’s parade.”

  “Why?”

  Duane took a long drink, then scraped his sleeve across his mouth. “Some of us don’t like the uproar she’s causing over our birds. Heard tell she’s sending our women’s signatures to that bird society she belongs to. The same society what instigated them new bird laws in Tennessee.”

  Luke adjusted the ax on his lap. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Well, it’s true and I don’t know why you’d wanna be with a woman like that.”

  Necker tipped his hat back. “Now, Duane, you’ve seen our little operator. I don’t think it takes much imagination to figure what Palmer here wants with her.”

  Duane gave a low laugh. “Yeah, I guess even I could forget about her birds long enough to amuse myself with her.”

  Throwing his leg over the horse, Luke dismounted, gripping the ax. “I don’t like sharing, Duane.”

  Duane tapped his beer bottle against his leg. “That a fact? Well, maybe when you’re done with her, ya can let me know.”

  Luke ground his teeth. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  With a bark of laughter, Duane clapped him on the back. “Oh, ya got it bad, brother, ain’t ya?”

  Before he could respond, Duane pointed to Honey Dew with his beer bottle. “Hey, Neck, if we use his horse, we won’t have to go round up one of our own.”

  “I’m not sure he’d be interested in comin’ along, Duane, him making claims on Miss Georgie and all.”

  Luke forced himself to shrug. He was unsure of what their reaction would be when they discovered the float missing, but whatever it was, he wanted to be there when it happened. “I’m not opposed to playing a prank now and then.”

  The more time he spent with Duane and Necker, the more they took him into their confidence. Never, however, had they involved him in their escapades or betrayed their involvement with Comer.

  Pursing his lips, Necker nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

  Luke grabbed Honey Dew’s reins and the three headed toward Cottonwood Lane. He hoped Georgie had gone to bed like he’d told her. If she was on that porch with her broom, he just might strangle her pretty little neck.

  A few minutes later, the outline of her picket fence and tiny cottage came into view. They circled round to the back, but of course the decorated carriage was missing.

  “What the devil?” Duane turned in a circle, scratching the back of his head and knocking his hat askew. “It was here earlier. I helped the doc deliver it myself.”

  “You know anything about this, Palmer?” Necker asked, his voice low.

  Nodding, he propped the ax against a tree. “Georgie was fretting about the float when I returned from repairing a line on Main Street. I didn’t pay much attention, though.”

  Finishing off his beer, Duane flung it into the foliage. “Had yer mind on other things, huh?”

  Luke shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Necker sighed. “Well, come on. She couldn’t have taken it far. Let’s spread out.”

  They searched for thirty minutes, looking behind every house and shed, down every alley within easy walking distance, but of course didn’t find it. As Luke had predicted, they weren’t willing to extend their search any further than the immediate area.

  “What’re we gonna do?” Duane asked, the three joining up at the corner of Georgie’s property.

  Necker pulled his lips into a thin line. “I’m thinking.”

  Duane picked something off his tongue, then wiped it on his trousers. “What if we go inside and give her a little scare?”

  Luke tensed. Exactly what constituted “a little scare�
�? he wondered.

  “Those weren’t the instructions,” Necker replied. “We’re to destroy the float.”

  “But the float ain’t here.”

  Much as Luke wanted to ask whose instructions they were following, he kept quiet.

  Necker sighed. “Scaring her won’t do any good if she don’t know why.”

  “What about them hats?” Duane asked. “We could burn up them hats all those ladies made.”

  Luke stilled.

  Necker lifted one corner of his mouth. “We could at that.” He looked at Luke. “Where does she keep the hats?”

  “Inside,” he answered.

  “Where?”

  He hesitated. “Her bedroom.”

  Duane cackled, rubbing his chest. “Well, ain’t that a pretty thought.”

  Luke grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward. “She’s mine, Duane. And until I say otherwise, nobody goes into her bedroom unless it’s me.”

  Duane snarled. “Listen, Palmer, we only included you ’cause we needed your horse. We don’t need ya no more, though.”

  Necker gave Luke a speculative look. “Ya willing to burn those hats, Palmer?”

  He wasn’t about to leave Georgie at their mercy, even if it meant burning the hats himself. “I am.”

  “Well, let go o’ Duane, then.”

  He released the boy.

  Duane stumbled back, catching himself before falling. “What about me? What if I wanna burn ’em? What if I wanna go into her bedroom?”

  “You ain’t man enough to handle her,” Necker said, dismissing the sputtering boy. He pinned Luke with his gaze. “Every last one of ’em has to be burned.”

  “That’ll take a while,” Luke said. “There’s more than you can count.”

  “He just wants to linger in her bedroom,” Duane complained.

  Luke refused to let himself be riled. He needed to protect Georgie. If that meant putting up with Duane and demolishing Georgie’s pet project, then that’s what he’d do.

  “Children, children,” Necker crooned.

  “Well, I don’t wanna stand out here twiddlin’ my thumbs while he has all the fun.”

  “No, I don’t suppose ya do.” Taking a bandana out of his pocket, he began to tie it around his nose. “And neither do I. We all go in.”

  Luke kept his voice level. “I need to borrow your belt and jacket.”

  Necker paused. “Belt?”

  “For my overalls. If I belt them and cover them with a jacket, she won’t recognize them for what they are. But if I simply put a neckerchief over my face, she’ll know me the moment she sees my clothes.”

  Necker pulled his belt through his loops, then handed it and his jacket to Luke.

  Luke cinched his waist. “Hats, too. We need to exchange hats.”

  “Change out with Duane, then,” Necker said. “No chance of her mistakin’ him fer you.”

  When all was ready, Necker made a follow-me motion, and the three slipped through her unlocked back door.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Georgie woke with a start. A large, looming man glided toward her, his body fluid. Terror crushed her voice box, cutting off the scream at the back of her throat.

  The sound of footsteps, quick and fast, reached her ears, yet the man had stopped to hover at the edge of her bed.

  There’s more than one.

  She tried to turn her head, to throw up her arms, but her body wouldn’t move. Paralyzed, eyes wide, she couldn’t think. The Twenty-third Psalm jumped into her head.

  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

  A second man appeared beside the first, this one skinnier, smaller than the other. He reached out as if to touch her, his action freeing her scream, the sound high and shrill, as if it came from someone other than her.

  Both men jumped. The larger one reached for her head. She came alive, flying to her knees, swinging her arms. Screaming. Screaming.

  But the man didn’t touch her. Instead he jerked up her pillow and whisked off the pillow slip.

  “Shut her up.” A third man. This one arranging wood in her fireplace.

  She surged to her feet on the bed, scrambling toward the foot of it.

  The smaller one grabbed her ankle and pulled. She fell facedown onto the mattress, then flipped over, her nightdress twisting about her legs. She kicked with her other foot, landing a solid hit.

  Letting out a grunt, the man cursed and reached for her again.

  She screamed, pressing herself against the wall.

  “Shut her up!”

  Gripping her cheeks, he squeezed her mouth open. She yanked at his arm, but even skinny, he was much stronger than she. He stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth. She bit him.

  Howling, he lifted his hand as though to strike her.

  The larger one grasped him by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants, then hurled him aside. Windmilling his arms, he collided into her commode, the bowl and pitcher crashing to the floor.

  He cursed again.

  “Shut up and help me with this,” the third man said.

  A spark. They were lighting a fire in the fireplace. Her breath froze. Were they wanting to watch as they did their wicked deeds?

  He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul.

  She yanked the handkerchief from her mouth. Before she could scream again, the large one clapped a hand across her mouth and pushed her back onto the mattress. She struggled and fought. Kicked and flailed.

  He easily overpowered her, yet without hurting her the way the other man had. He poked the handkerchief back into her mouth before she had a chance to bite again. Placing a knee against her torso, he pinned her to the bed while he secured the pillow slip to the wrought-iron headboard.

  She struggled anew, shoving, bucking, squirming, beating.

  He didn’t budge.

  He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

  Capturing her wrist, he secured it to the pillow slip. He was tying her to the bed. She renewed her struggles, pounding him with her free hand. Pushing him with her legs. He acted as if she were no more than a pesky fly.

  The moment the knot was secure, he released her and moved to her chest of drawers. She yanked the handkerchief from her mouth, but held back her scream. No one would hear and it would only serve to make them angry. Instead, she concentrated on the knot. It was tight and secure.

  The fire took hold, the smell of wood smoke filling the room. The fire maker continued to feed the flame. The small man touched his chin beneath the neckerchief, then looked at his fingers.

  They’d all hidden their faces behind bandanas, their hair beneath hats. Yet the large one sparked a familiar chord. She’d seen him before. She was sure.

  He pulled open drawer after drawer until he found her night wrap and stockings. In two strides, he returned to her side, tossed her braid behind her, and put the wrap on her backward, threading its left sleeve up her right arm, then draping its back across her front and tucking it about her.

  Though she was still completely indecent, the extra layer of nainsook was far better than the translucent cotton of her nightdress. He reached for her free arm.

  “No.” She pressed it against her back. “Please.”

  The skinny one lifted the edge of his neckerchief and spit on her floor. “Tie her up good. Then maybe if we have time, we can have us a little extra fun.”

  In a move so fast she’d have missed it had she blinked, the large man laid a fist across his jaw. The recipient skidded across the floor and into the wall of hatboxes. Boxes shot in all directions, hats tumbling out. The man crumbled to a lifeless heap.

  Hands and body trembling, she clawed at the pillow slip.

  The fire maker sighed, flames filling the room with light. “Was that really necessary?”

  Though she’d made a career of listening to voices over the phone, she always knew in advance who was on the line according to what numbe
r dropped. Still, she’d swear these men didn’t have phone service. If they had, she felt sure she’d have recognized them.

  The large one returned to her side.

  She scrambled onto the bed, crouching into a ball and pressing her back against the headboard. “Please, please. Don’t do this.”

  He looked at her full on. His eyes filled with concern and remorse.

  She sucked in her breath. They were blue. Blue with thick brows above each. Recognition shot through her like an electrical shock.

  It was Frank Comer. The same man who’d robbed their train. The same man who’d let her keep her money. The same man who’d been so generous with the widow.

  The pillow slip securing her to the headboard chafed at her skin. Her eyes filled. How could she have ever thought him to be a kind, benevolent man? “Why are you doing this?”

  Alarm briefly touched his eyes. Had he guessed she knew who he was?

  Reaching behind her, he withdrew her other hand.

  “No, no!” She yanked and kicked, but nothing fazed him.

  “Either shut her up or I will.” The fire maker’s sharp command sliced through the air, cutting off her cries and her struggles.

  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

  Releasing her wrist, her captor picked up the handkerchief and held it in front of her, a question in his eyes.

  She pressed her lips together.

  Relaxing his shoulders, he tossed the handkerchief aside, then reached for her hand again.

  She shook her head, pressing it against her back.

  Please, she mouthed, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead he found her wrist and secured it to her other with the pillow slip, then clamped her ankles together and tied them with one of the stockings.

  With a penetrating gaze, he touched his finger to his neckerchief in the vicinity of his lips. Be silent.

  Swallowing, she nodded. He squatted down next to the skinny man, slapping him awake. She shifted her attention to the fire maker and gasped. He’d not used wood to stoke the fire, but hats. The hats women all over the county had labored over and submitted for tomorrow’s Maifest contest. The hats which were to raise money for the Audubon Society. The hats which were to help preserve the lives of countless birds.