“You’ll help us, won’t you?” Mrs. Calloway squeezed her arm.
She glanced toward her sisters, and Tessa gave her an impatient glare. She was all her sisters had. But how could she let Walt suffer in jail when she knew he was innocent? Please, Lord, help me think of a way out of this for both Walt and me.
No answer came, but she didn’t truly expect one. She turned to the one thing she could always count on—her own ability to think things through. Could Walt have had time to start the second fire and then come see her? It was doubtful, but she’d seen his passion about those men being blacklisted by Western Union. But sweet Walt starting a fire? Did the police have evidence to convict him? Or were they counting on the court’s often poor attitude toward unions?
She needed more time, she needed more information, and most of all, she needed to consider the ramifications of her silence. Surely she could find a way to help him without disclosing where he’d been.
Taking a deep breath, she offered Mrs. Calloway a weak smile. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can.”
Hannah couldn’t sleep. She rolled onto her stomach, and the bed creaked. She bunched the feather pillow beneath her head. If only she could have spoken to Walt, maybe they could have come up with something, but the jailer on duty had refused her request to see him. She wasn’t family, she wasn’t Walt’s fiancée, and she certainly wasn’t his lawyer.
Poor Walt. He had to be scared to death in that jail. How could she even consider not telling the police about his alibi?
The iron bed squeaked again when she rolled on her side.
Charlotte groaned. “Hannah, you’re worse than Tessa.”
A soft snore came from the bed on the other side of Charlotte. At least Tessa could sleep through almost anything. Poor Charlotte could not.
Sharing this one room wasn’t easy, but at least they had a place to live. If she did tell the truth, where would they end up?
After tossing back the covers, Hannah climbed out of bed, grabbed her robe, and padded from the bedroom. She made her way to the kitchen and soon had milk warming on the stove. Warm milk flavored with vanilla, a bit of sugar, and a sprinkle of nutmeg had been her mother’s solution to bouts of insomnia. She’d always tell Hannah the best way to fight the monsters of the night was with warm milk and prayer.
As she waited for bubbles to form around the edges of the milk, she decided to apply the second half of her mother’s monster-fighting advice and again ask God for a solution to this dilemma, because this giant of a problem threatened to consume her.
She absently stirred the white liquid, her mind wandering in the middle of her prayer. What she needed was someone who knew how to fight this giant. She needed her own personal David—someone who could find the right five stones and use only one to take the giant down.
Hannah opened the Hoosier cabinet door to locate the vanilla extract, and her eyes lit on a can of Hershey’s cocoa. She bit her lip. That would most certainly be a treat, but where had the cocoa powder come from? They hadn’t been able to afford those kinds of extras for months.
She lifted the nearly full can from the shelf, and the answer came to her. Lincoln. He’d sent it with the groceries.
Her stomach knotted. Was God pointing her to her giant fighter? No, it couldn’t be. Not him. She’d sworn to herself to never ask Lincoln for help. She’d flatly refused every offer he’d made. Could she now swallow her pride and ask the man who’d taken their home to save her friend?
She stirred cocoa powder into the milk and ladled the hot liquid into a china cup. One sip told her she’d forgotten the sugar.
Frowning, she spooned in two teaspoons of sugar. Sugar made the bitter cocoa easier to swallow, but what could possibly make swallowing the bitter pill of pride easier?
“Miss Gregory?” Lincoln stuffed a folder into his desk drawer and shoved the drawer closed before standing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She didn’t answer but stood before him dressed in a pretty, dark rust-colored dress with her lips pressed together. Her soft amber hair was swept upward. Her wide-brimmed hat, beribboned in plum, sported satin roses.
“I—” She started to speak and stopped, clutching her purse to her waist.
“You aren’t here to make another payment, are you? Because I thought we had that settled.”
“No. No, I’m not.”
Her honey-coated voice washed over him. If ever God had called someone to be a Hello Girl, it was Hannah Gregory. But if she wasn’t here to blister him for sending the groceries, why was she here, and why was she acting so hesitant to speak? Was she in some kind of trouble?
He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Why don’t you please have a seat?”
She shook her head and kept her voice low. “Is there anywhere else we could speak—in private?”
His heart began to beat faster, but he kept his voice calm. “Certainly.” He pressed his hand to the small of her back and directed her toward one of their meeting rooms. A walnut conference table stood sentry in the center of the room, surrounded by leather-covered chairs. After making certain he’d left the door ajar to protect her honor, he stepped to the table and pulled out a chair for her. With the grace of a Boston debutante, she lowered herself into place and laid her hands in her lap. Still, her calm demeanor didn’t match the worry in her eyes.
“Hannah, what’s going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No.”
He released the breath he’d been holding. Whatever it was, if she was all right, it wasn’t as serious as she was making it out to be. She was probably overreacting to some imaginary offense again. He racked his brain for any possibilities. He’d sent no more gifts and made no surprise visits. And after seeing Walt’s interest in her, he’d even attended his own regular church services and avoided hers.
He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what is it? Why did you need to see me in private? What have I done now to step on your pretty little toes?”
13
Hannah fisted the chain of her handbag to keep from hurling it at Lincoln Cole. In a matter of seconds, his apparent concern had transformed into a look of smug satisfaction.
“Hannah?” He impatiently tapped his finger against his forearm. “I don’t have all day.”
Jutting her chin, she met his gaze. “Do you remember meeting my friend Walt Calloway?”
He nodded, and a frown marred the rapscallion’s face. Great. He didn’t like Walt. This was not going well at all.
“Mr. Calloway’s been arrested.” Hannah released her tight hold on the purse and wrapped the dainty chain over her wrist, thankful the news was out at last.
Lincoln stood up straighter. “What’s the charge?”
“Arson.”
“The Western Union fires?” He pulled out a chair and arranged it so he could sit facing her. “I’ve heard about those. But why are you here? If he needs representation, he or his family should be the ones seeking counsel.”
“They don’t have the financial means to do so.” Hannah kept her tone businesslike. “Because I had some law schooling, they asked for my help, and now I’m …”
“You’re what?” The corner of his lips lifted in an irksome manner. Was he enjoying making this difficult?
“I think you already know.”
He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “I have a pretty good guess, but I want to hear it from you. I seem to remember you didn’t need my help.”
She squared her shoulders. Her discomfort seemed to amuse him. The insufferable man! He was not going to unnerve her. Walt needed her help, and that was that.
“Well, I don’t, but he does.”
“Say it.”
“Mr. Cole—” The words stuck in her throat like one of Charlotte’s cooking experiments gone horribly wrong.
He leaned forward, grinning. “Say it.”
Lincoln Cole wouldn’t get the best o
f her—not when Walt’s future hung in the balance. She swallowed hard and clutched her hands together. “Mr. Cole, my friend needs your help, and as I said, his parents don’t have the money for a lawyer.” She exhaled. Surely that would be the end of this.
“I see.” Lincoln pressed harder as if he were driving the point home in a court of law. “I’ve heard the police have a good case against your friend.”
“But he didn’t do it. The first fire was set on the day my sisters and I moved in. Remember, he was with us, so he couldn’t have set that one. And I can promise you he didn’t set the second one either.” Her traitorous voice had an edge of desperation.
His brow furled. “And you know that because … ?”
Hannah pressed her sweaty palms against her dark wool skirt and swallowed again. “He stopped by my house that afternoon, but you and I both know that if it gets out he was there, I’ll lose my position at the operators’ school. Mrs. Reuff wouldn’t believe I didn’t know he was coming.”
Lincoln stood up and walked the floor between her and the door as if he had a jury in the room. “So let me see if I have this correct. As far as I can tell, you need my help as much as he does. If you provide his alibi for the second fire, you lose your job. If you don’t, you have to live with knowing you sent your friend to prison for something he didn’t do.” He turned and met her gaze, a smirk on his face. “I’d say you’re in a pickle, Hannah.”
She shot to her feet and marched to the door. She did not have to take this kind of humiliation. There had to be another way.
Lincoln barred the door with his arm. “Ask me.”
“Ask you what?” She took a step back. “Do you want me to get on my knees to ask the great young lawyer to represent my poor, unfortunate friend?”
“Not exactly.” He quirked an eyebrow. “If I remember right, you said you wouldn’t ask me for help if I was the last man on earth.”
“So?”
His eyes lit with mischief. “I want to hear you say, ‘Lincoln, will you help me, please?’”
“Mr. Cole.” Even she could hear the anger seething through her words. She refused to say his Christian name. This was a business deal. Nothing more. Everything in her wanted to announce she’d take care of Walt’s defense on her own, but she didn’t know enough to gamble with Walt’s future. Lincoln Cole was Walt’s best chance. And her own.
She strangled the chain of her chatelaine purse and ground out the words. “Will you help me, please?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “I’d be happy to.” He motioned her toward the door. So, let’s get started.”
She blinked. “Us?”
“Yes, Hannah, you and I are going to team up. We’re going to work on his defense together.”
A thrill shot through her. She was going to work on an actual case.
Her mind spun. A minute ago she wanted to throttle the man, and now she wanted to hug him. What was Lincoln Cole doing to her?
Defending Walt Calloway was not going to be an easy task.
Lincoln walked beside Hannah toward the jail, mulling over what he’d heard about the charges against Walt. He hated that Hannah had gotten wrapped up in this, and he vowed to himself to ensure she wouldn’t have to come forward.
An ice delivery wagon rolled by, the horse’s hooves clopping on the paved brick. A couple of police officers approached them and tipped their hats to Hannah.
Lincoln glanced at her. Still ramrod stiff, she marched beside him like a soldier. He’d probably toyed with her emotions too much today, but oh, it was fun. He found Hannah’s fierce independent streak fascinating, but it was time for her to realize one thing.
He was on her side.
Walt Calloway’s life was no game. If she cared for the man—and Lincoln thought she probably did since she’d come for his help—he owed it to her to do his best to clear Calloway’s name. He may not like Calloway, but if this made Hannah happy, it was all that mattered. She’d been through enough in the last few months.
Known for his work with the telegraph union, Walt had publicly voiced his opinion of the Western Union managers who’d blacklisted some employees after last year’s strike. Lincoln had no doubt the employees had been wronged, but how far would the disgruntled man go to make his point? Would Hannah’s friend set fire to any number of structures?
They climbed the steps to the jail, and he held open the door for her. She paused and looked at him. “They won’t let me see him. I tried the other day, and they refused because I wasn’t family or his fiancée.”
She’d come to the jail alone? Unescorted? Was there no end to her gumption?
He motioned her inside. “They’ll let you see him today. I promise.”
It took some convincing, but soon the jailer on duty escorted them to a cell in the back of the jail. Lincoln slipped his hand around Hannah’s elbow and felt her shiver. He watched her hazel eyes open wide, taking in the stark surroundings—the rows and rows of bars, the dampness of the brick walls, the iron cots, and the stench of too many unwashed bodies. He remembered his first visit inside a jail. All the law books in the world couldn’t have prepared him for the moment when the laws became about people—some innocent, some guilty, all waiting inside cold jail cells for their day in court.
A barred door clanged to the left, and she jolted. A prisoner whistled as they passed his cell, and Lincoln shot him a silencing glare.
“If you want to go back, I’ll take you.” He’d had more than one client’s wife become hysterical in the jail. Even though Hannah didn’t seem the type, he didn’t want her to feel like she was trapped there.
“No.” She smiled at him for the first time since he’d pressured her in his office. “I want to see Walt.”
The jailer stopped and pointed. “Last one on the right.”
“Can you open it, please?” Lincoln stepped forward. “It’s customary for an attorney to speak face-to-face with his client.”
The jailer grumbled, walked past the other cells, and pushed his key into the lock. “I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time with this one. You can see he’s guilty. Look at his eyes.” He swung the door wide.
Hannah rushed inside, and Walt embraced her. Something unwelcome pricked Lincoln. Jealousy? He shoved the thought aside.
“Step away from the prisoner, ma’am.”
Hannah jumped away from Walt.
The jailer pulled the cell door shut. “Sorry, ma’am. I have to lock the door while you folks are in the cell.”
Hannah scowled. “I don’t think Mr. Calloway is at risk of escaping.”
The jailer clicked the lock and withdrew his key. “Rules is rules. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
Lincoln watched Hannah gather her courage and put on a pleasant expression before turning back to Walt. “Are they treating you well? Do you need anything?”
“To get out of this place.” He sank onto the iron cot and punched the pillow. He stopped and glanced up. For the first time, he seemed to notice Lincoln. “Why are you here?”
Lincoln stepped beside Hannah, wishing he’d have brought a chair in for her. With no place to sit except on the cot beside Walt, she’d be forced to stand while they interviewed her friend. He hoped his nearness eased her discomfort at being locked in the cell with the two men. Then again, he hadn’t exactly made life easier for her in the last hour or so.
“Mr. Calloway, Hannah asked me to represent you. If you agree, we can begin working on your defense.”
Walt raked his fingers through his greasy hair. “Listen, Mr. Cole, I’m sure you’re good, but I don’t have the money to pay fancy attorney fees.”
“I’m doing this pro bono—for free—because Hannah asked.”
“Hannah asked you for help?” Relief washed over the man’s face, and he locked his gaze on Hannah. “Thank you.”
She offered him a weak smile. “I did it for both of us. Please let Lincoln help.”
Walt shifted his gaze to Lincoln and nodded.
&
nbsp; Lincoln pulled out a small notebook and pencil. “First of all, I need to know if you did it.”
“Of course not.” Walt stood and began pacing the tiny cell like a caged lion. Another prisoner two cells over called out to Hannah, asking her to come to his cell and cure what ailed him.
“Shut up, you fool!” Walt called back. He stopped in front of Hannah. “You shouldn’t be here. This is no place for a lady.”
“I’m fine.” She touched his arm. “Now, when you came to my house that afternoon, you warned me about some impending trouble. So, if you had no part in this, do you know who did?”
Walt looked from her to Lincoln. Apparently, she’d said more than Walt thought she would. “No, I don’t know who started the fires.”
Lincoln rubbed his chin. “No, as in ‘absolutely not,’ or no, as in ‘I have a good guess, but I’m not certain’?”
Walt whirled toward Lincoln. “I won’t turn on my union brothers.” His gaze darted to the side. “They don’t deserve that.”
“Walt, please.” Hannah gripped his arm. “We can’t help you unless we know the truth.”
Frustration began to grow inside Lincoln. This wasn’t going well. The way Walt met his eye then looked away told Lincoln the man was guilty of something, but what? And as much as he didn’t want it to be so, he had a niggling feeling Walt had a possible role in all of this. Maybe he didn’t strike the match, but he could easily be covering for the man who did.
Lincoln tapped his notebook with the tip of his pencil. “Why do you think the police believe you started the fires?”
“Good grief, I don’t know!” Walt leaned against the barred door. “I’m an easy scapegoat. I’ve made my feelings known about those crooked managers, but I’m telling you, I didn’t start any fires.”
Lincoln stepped closer. “But you’ve done other things.”
Walt’s gaze jumped to the faint scratch still evident on Hannah’s cheek, and she turned away.
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