by Pamela Nowak
What’s more, Daniel had done the unexpected. He’d stood up and voiced his opinion with fire and determination. It was a good first step. She hoped he’d gained from it, that he’d be able to take it home and apply it with his girls.
She concentrated on the debate. There was much more to the issue than she’d realized. One of the grocers was telling the crowd about the number of times the strays had gotten into his produce when a red-faced butcher jumped up and added his complaints. There was a problem with dogs in the city; that was clear. One of the physicians even pointed out the health hazards of so many loose animals.
By now, Daniel sat quietly listening and Sarah wondered what he was thinking. He nodded from time to time, his brow wrinkled in thought.
The audience was growing restless. There were points made from all corners. People were tiring and tempers grew short. Twice the chairman had to bang his gavel and call for order.
Daniel glanced at her. To Sarah’s surprise, he stood.
“I’ve listened to all of you as you’ve added your insights to my concerns and learned a few things. It seems clear that Denver has a problem with strays. I’ll concede that we need to address the problem and that we need to continue to round up the strays from the city streets. I remain unconvinced, however, that offering a bounty for any dog brought in is the best way to address the problem. I’d like to call for the appointment of a committee to explore alternatives.”
Elizabeth started the applause. Sarah sat in amazement, then joined in.
“Excellent idea, Mr. Petterman, excellent idea. I hereby establish said committee and appoint Daniel Petterman to serve as its chair. Mr. Byers, will you serve?”
Bill Byers nodded his agreement as other appointees were named. Elizabeth leaned toward him, whispering.
Daniel glanced at Sarah, uncertainty in his expression.
“You can do it,” she told him.
He sat, wearily. “I’m not so sure.”
“From here on out, it’s as simple as managing a meeting. You won’t even need to push people.”
“I guess you got even, all right, huh?”
“Guess I did,” she said quietly. “Now we can go our own separate ways.”
A few chairs down, Bill was standing. “Mr. Chairman,” he said. “In the interest of being fair to everyone in the community, I’d like to call the appointment of a few women to the committee. My wife Elizabeth has generously offered her services, and I’d also like to nominate our female telegrapher, Sarah Donovan.”
“Point well taken, Mr. Byers. Ladies, consider yourselves appointed.”
Sarah caught Elizabeth’s triumphant grin and saw the move for what it was, an effort to more actively involve women, a further weapon in the suffrage arsenal, a way to show the men of Denver that women could contribute politically.
Beside her, Daniel ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, God, not again.”
Sarah grimaced. Daniel Petterman had a way of messing up her plans. The last thing she needed was his mule-headed concern for decorum getting in the way of her political action.
“You just run the meeting, Daniel, that’s it. Don’t jump in, don’t get involved, don’t even join the discussions.”
Bewilderment flashed across his face. “But, Sarah, I think I rather like this involvement you’ve shoved upon me. People actually respect it. I’m going to do this, Sarah, and you’re going to show me how.”
Sarah dropped her head into her hands. Would she never be rid of the man?
Chapter Five
The events of past week had surprised Daniel more than he thought possible. Whistling, he gathered embalming fluid, a bottle of M. & L. Flesh Tint, and a collection of bulbs and syringes from the cupboard, then headed into the small rear room of the coffin shop to begin his day’s work.
He’d mulled that regrettable kiss over in his mind for several days before finally settling on a shaky conclusion. It happened, it was no one’s fault, and he wasn’t going to feel guilty about it anymore.
The unexpected decision left him feeling rebellious.
That night it had happened, guilt had made sleep difficult. A lifetime of imposed self-restraint told him his actions were ungentlemanly, improper, and immoral. He couldn’t decide what bothered him the most—the impulsive loss of control, the act itself, or his pleasure at the softness of Sarah’s lips.
At one point, he tried to justify the kiss by telling himself Sarah had asked for it. She’d pushed at him to let his emotions take control, after all. But deep down, he knew that was no excuse. Sarah hadn’t behaved seductively. Even her shoulder massage had been innocent, despite how it made him feel.
Then, after he read that damned letter in the paper, he tried to convince himself she’d plotted his downfall. Yet he survived the meeting and had discovered a thing or two in the process.
First, there was Sarah herself, or, more to the point, her view on the kiss. She sat there and lectured him about his behavior all the while smiling and batting her eyes until he finally realized that she wasn’t truly insulted. He suspected she was more pleased by his impulsiveness than angry. He should have expected as much from a suffragist. And if she didn’t care, why the devil should he beat himself up about it?
Then, there was his speech. Sarah and her perky little challenges had goaded him into voicing feelings he hadn’t wanted to reveal. Yet no one considered it the least improper that he’d shared them with a room full of people. In fact, they’d applauded him and made him chairman of a committee.
He’d sinned several times over and no one had been harmed. The world did not look upon him with horror and distaste. He’d garnered respect and he was accomplishing good.
It all made feeling guilty a pretty big waste of time.
He’d made his peace with his impulsivity, forced his father’s voice to be silent on the matter.
“Papa?”
At his daughter’s searching voice, Daniel glanced up. “In here, Molly.” He moved to shield the body he’d been working on from her view.
She entered the back room of his shop and peered at him with wide eyes. “You were whistling. I thought we weren’t supposed to—”
“We’re not,” he confirmed. Had he really been whistling? It was an old habit, long abandoned at his father’s insistence.
“Then why are you?”
Now how in the dickens did she expect him to answer that when he hadn’t even known he was doing it? Sometimes his daughters, especially Molly, vexed him. He shrugged and offered a weak excuse. “I decided to break the rule.”
Molly’s eyes widened again. “You did? But, we’re not supposed to break the rules.”
“No, Molly, we’re not.” He set the embalming syringe on the table and peered at her. “Is there something you wanted?”
“Oh! I’m supposed to tell you Mr. Byers is waiting in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Molly. I’ll be right in.”
She scampered back into the house while Daniel turned, injected the last of the fluid, and covered the body. He wished more families would allow him to embalm. He was convinced the technique was the way of the future and a solid step ahead in the preservation of bodies. Still, many remained skeptical.
Wiping the ill-smelling liquid from his hands, he left the room and moved to the front of the shop, wondering what Bill was doing in the parlor. The carefully lettered “will return” sign hung on a small nail next to the doorframe. He reached for it, noticing that the “closed” sign still hung in the window. He’d never even opened up. No wonder Bill had gone to the house.
He replaced the sign and retraced his steps, through the two-room addition that comprised his business shop, and into the parlor of the house itself.
Bill Byers sat on a neat but well-used sofa, flanked by Kate and Molly. Mrs. Winifred stood in the kitchen doorway, shaking her gray head at the trio. Molly’s tiny china tea set decorated the table in front of the sofa.
Goodness, he hadn’t seen that tea set for ages. His wi
fe, Mary, had bought it for the girls just before she died, some five years ago. He didn’t recall them ever playing with it in the time since. He’d forgotten they even had it.
Bill held a dainty hand-painted teacup between his thumb and forefinger. He grinned at Daniel and raised the cup.
“May we offer you some tea, Papa?” Kate asked in her best grown-up voice. Her hazel eyes glistened with pride.
“Why, thank you, Kate. It was thoughtful of you and Molly to serve tea to Mr. Byers.” Daniel settled into a chair while she poured a second cup, then accepted it on its fragile saucer.
“Of course, we served tea. A good hostess always offers tea. I’m sorry we have no crumpets.”
Molly nodded her brown curls in solemn agreement. “Besides, I never get to use my tea set otherwise.”
The innocent comment hit Daniel squarely in his gut.
When was the last time Kate and Molly had played with other children? They should be having tea parties with other little girls, not entertaining their father’s guests.
Daniel drained his rapidly cooling tea. On the sofa, Bill handed his cup to Kate with a satisfied sigh, his eyes twinkling. Molly collected Daniel’s cup and saucer, placed them on the tiny silver tray, and beamed at her sister. Kate nodded. The girls stood primly and carried the tea set into the kitchen.
“Lovely girls, Daniel, very mature,” Bill praised.
Perhaps more mature than they should be, Daniel thought. Hadn’t Sarah said much the same thing? He shook his head to clear the thought and leaned forward. “Thanks, Bill. What brings you away from the paper?”
“Planning, my good man, planning. I wanted to get a grasp on your vision for the committee. Have you any bright ideas in mind?”
Daniel nodded, more assured than he’d been the last time Bill had been around to prod him. “My mind has been reeling with ideas.”
Bill raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“I think what’s most important here is finding a way to compromise. I listened to the comments at that city council meeting. Denver has a problem here, one of many. Stray dogs are a nuisance to business owners and private homeowners alike. They are also creating a sanitation problem. They become wild and pose a physical danger. All of that impacts the whole community and threatens the children. It’s clear that we need to do something to reduce or eliminate these strays.”
“Well said.”
Daniel released a deep breath. “But offering a dead-or-alive bounty is encouraging hoodlums to shoot dogs without regard to ownership or safety. We need to find another method to solve the first problem or we’ve only created a second one.”
“I thoroughly agree.” Bill stood, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. He turned back to Daniel and anticipation lit his face. “What do you propose the committee do?”
Daniel rose, knowing Bill had likely figured out the answer for himself already. “We need ideas, lots of ideas.” He stated the obvious. “Our first meeting should consist of just that. We need to explore all options. List every conceivable idea then pick each one of them apart until we’ve examined the good and the bad related to each. Once we’ve done that, we pick the best of the bunch, refine it, and present it to city council.”
Bill shook his head and chuckled. “I never would have thought it.”
“Thought what?”
“That you would come up with a plan like that. You’ve got to admit it’s not your usual style.”
Daniel chewed at his bottom lip. It felt good, taking an unexpected step, stating what he felt. He’d always assumed the only respectable way of doing things was the one his father had dictated. “Maybe I’m coming to learn there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I didn’t look for this appointment and never would have placed myself here. But, it seems the fairest, most efficient method, as well as a thoroughly dignified way to get things done, much to my surprise.”
“And you’re not angry about my suggestion to include Sarah Donovan?” Bill crossed his arms and grinned.
“She’s a shrewd woman.” Daniel shrugged his shoulders. “Combine her with your wife’s insight on how to get those ideas in action and we’ve probably got the most powerful committee we could ever hope to have. A week ago, I’d have dismissed both of them. But, now, I’m seeing things a little differently.”
Bill laughed. “Tut tut, do we have a burgeoning suffrage supporter?”
“Hah!” The thought made Daniel shudder. “I might listen a little closer but I wouldn’t let either one of those manipulating females anywhere near a ballot box.”
“Speaking of my dear wife, she’d like me to offer our house as the site of the first committee meeting.”
“Sounds fine. I’ll need to arrange for Mrs. Winifred to stay with the girls. Did Elizabeth set a date and time?”
“She said to tell you to plan for dinner on Friday evening, seven o’clock. She’ll take care of the invitations.”
Dinner? Daniel let the suggestion settle. It sounded more like a social event than a meeting. What was Bill’s wife was trying to finagle this time? He shook the thought off. There was nothing improper about meeting over dinner. Dinner at the Byers’ would be a highly respectable affair.
“Took it for granted I’d agree, didn’t she?”
Across the room, Bill sobered. “Elizabeth takes nothing for granted, Daniel.”
Daniel’s thoughts drifted to Sarah and the surprises a formal dinner might offer. Maybe. As long as no one took anything for granted.
Nodding, he signaled his agreement to the idea, then sealed it. “Then she might make sure Miss Donovan knows she should dress for dinner. Have Elizabeth lend her something if she has to. Otherwise, she’ll show up in that ugly work skirt again.”
* * * * *
“I’m sorry I had to call you in like this, Sarah. You want I should boil up another pot of coffee?”
Sarah stifled a yawn and smiled weakly at Jim. She was more than a little sorry herself. The long sleep-filled morning she’d looked forward to had vanished with Jim’s summons. Still, it was good to be back on day shift. She wondered if Bates could be fired for failing to show up. She yawned widely and thought about Jim’s offer, then shook her head. “More coffee I could use but I think maybe I’ll boil it up this time.”
Jim grinned and had the good grace to look chagrined. “That bad?”
“‘Fraid so.” She dumped the old coffee then filled the pot with fresh water from the pail near the door. She ground a handful of beans and added the new grounds, then placed the pot on the small iron stove in the corner. Eying the growing pile of messages in the delivery basket, she wondered if she’d get stuck distributing them, too.
Jim caught her glance. “The new boy’s a little slow but he should be back soon.” He paused, then issued a benevolent smile. “I sure do miss having you around here, girl. There’s more than one good reason I didn’t willingly put Bates on as primary op. The man might have the experience, but he sure makes a mess out of the wires and he ain’t particularly neighborly. Wouldn’t even have put him on as delivery man if I hadn’t been forced to.”
Sarah couldn’t agree more but she figured it would be best to keep her opinions to herself. “Where is he, anyway?”
Jim shrugged his shoulders. “Haven’t a clue. The man gets more worthless every year.” He paused and shook his head. “Time was, he wanted to take on the world. He just never had the skill to do it, I guess. I hear he lost every job he’s had up to now, and I still don’t know how he passed his primary op test. Probably why he resents you so much.”
“Because it comes easy to me?”
“Yep.” Jim pushed at his glasses. “I imagine he’ll throw another fit when the brownies get tossed into his file, but I’m going to toss ‘em just the same. Far as I’m concerned, failure to report for duty ought to be enough to release him from his position. The superintendent is going to hear about this, you can count on it. I’m running everything through his office, just to be safe.”
Sarah nodded
, knowing Jim hated the administrative layers that existed because of Bates and his uncle. Despite being the stationmaster, his decisions were no longer independent. Without the superintendent’s approval, he left himself open to Bates’s insinuations. But running things up the ladder often delayed action for days at a time.
“You sure you can handle doing a double shift?”
“I told you before, you can count on me. Besides, it’s good to have more to do than simply listen to the depot groan all night, especially since I don’t have to throw any switches.”
Jim’s face paled. “Wish you didn’t have to do that.” He frowned and moved back to his own stool at the ticket counter. Unexpected silence drifted through the station as he sorted through ticket stubs.
Sarah checked the logbook, comparing Bates’s scribbles to her own careful penmanship. Jim should have the superintendent go through the log. Some of the entries were almost illegible. The dispatcher would have a fit if he saw them.
Her slender finger ran down the page, stopping as she came upon gaps in the record. Several times, she noted that he’d neglected to indicate whether or not wires had been delivered. If that kept up, Western Union would take their business elsewhere. He’d even forgotten to record a signal order.
“Jim? Have you seen the log?”
“Sent word up the line yesterday. Shame, isn’t it? You get a bad apple and you can’t even toss him out unless you jump through the hoops like a circus dog.”
Sarah nodded and set the book aside.
“Noticed your log entries are pretty sparse. You ain’t just sitting all night? You practicing like I told you to?”
It was common for night operators to send private messages back and forth, in between official wires. Most were petty correspondences, meant only to keep the fingers active and the ear well trained. Still, it was good practice, and she’d already discovered she needed to work on her translation skills. Some of the operators were rough, but a primary op had to be able to decipher their messages as well as those sent by the more precise operators. “It’s tough to get used to.”