Lorna Seilstad

by When Love Calls

  “Miss Gregory.” Miss Frogge was beside her. “Eyes on your board. Hands at the ready. Must I watch you every second?”

  Hannah’s anger burned, and she had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from speaking. If Miss Frogge wasn’t constantly watching her, she wouldn’t have needed to rub her neck in the first place.

  Please, Lord, can you help me get a few Frogge-free moments? I’m afraid I may say something I shouldn’t soon.

  Out of her peripheral vision, Hannah saw a hand shoot up down the line. Miss Frogge darted away, and Hannah let out a long sigh. Finally. Frogge-free.

  The volume of calls had yet to pick up, and her supervisor was occupied. She thanked God for the reprieve as a light on her board lit. The number belonged to hard-of-hearing Mr. Green, and as far as Hannah remembered, he’d not made a single call since she started working there.

  Hannah inserted the jack and spoke more loudly than normal. “Hello, Main. Number, please.”

  “Hello, Main. You’ve got a lovely voice. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Yes, sir. Number, please.”

  “A clear voice too. It’s easy for my old ears to hear. I don’t know if you realize this, but I’m an invalid.” Mr. Green cleared his throat. “It’s been over a week since I talked to another human being, and I thought maybe you could chat for a few minutes.”

  Hannah’s heart ached for the man. How could she tell a lonely invalid she didn’t have time to speak with him? She hadn’t had a call in several minutes, so what would it hurt?

  She cupped her speaker and leaned close to it. “What would you like to talk about, Mr. Green?”

  “What’s the weather like today?”

  “It’s a gorgeous day. Bright and sunny. The crab apple trees are almost finished blossoming, and everything has greened up nicely.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “You’re welcome. Goodbye.”

  She disconnected the call and leaned back in her chair. A tingly feeling surged through her. It was a small thing, but she’d made a difference in Mr. Green’s day.

  “Miss Gregory.”

  Her heart plunged. The voice behind her was deep. Oh no. It had to be the chief operator, Mr. Cayhill.

  She turned. “Yes, sir.”

  “May I see you for a moment? The other girls can handle your calls.”

  24

  With her hands clasped in front of her, Hannah faced Mr. Cayhill. She stared at the puce-colored walls, choosing to focus on a spot where the paint had chipped away rather than on Mr. Cayhill’s solemn face. He didn’t indicate she should sit down, so she remained standing. Was she going to be fired over her phone call with Mr. Green?

  He placed her deportment card on the desk in front of her. “Have you seen this?”

  She glanced downward. “No, sir.”

  “Take a look now, then.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  Hannah picked up the card and studied the comments on it. At the top of the card, her name was written in a scrolling script. Beneath it, every glance at her neighbor, every call that took too long, and every reprimand was recorded.

  “From time to time, we see a young woman who has difficulty conforming to our rules. Miss Frogge feels you are such an operator.”

  “Sir, I will do better. I promise.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will.” He leaned forward. “You’re a very fast learner. That’s why when I was told they needed an operator to fill in on evenings for a week or so, I decided you would be the perfect choice. The pace is slower, and the supervisor is a little more lenient. You may actually find you enjoy working as a Hello Girl during the evening shift.”

  “Evenings, sir?” Her voice warbled, and she swallowed hard.

  “Yes, you’ll work three thirty in the afternoon until midnight.”

  Hannah’s heart grabbed. How would she take care of her sisters? If she left for work at three, she’d not even see them after school. And what about Lincoln?

  Mr. Cayhill picked up a stack of papers and began to thumb through them. “Go home now. Come back this afternoon at three thirty and report to Mr. Grabowski. He’ll be your new supervisor.”

  “My temporary supervisor, sir?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Three thirty, Miss Gregory. Don’t be late.”

  And what if she was? Would they move her to nights? Maybe Charlotte was right. This job was not for her, but it was too late now.

  After grabbing her wrap from the cloakroom, Hannah hurried to the elevator before anyone could ask her where she was going. Even though Mr. Cayhill hadn’t said she was being demoted to the evening shift, Hannah couldn’t figure out another reason for it—especially when he coupled the news with showing her the rather full deportment card.

  One good thing could come of this. She could make Walt’s hearing. But how would she explain her presence to Lincoln? Pride alone wouldn’t let her tell him the real reason why she’d been reassigned. Since she also refused to lie, she’d have to do her best to change the subject whenever it came up.

  On a few occasions, Hannah had visited the Polk County Courthouse simply to walk around and imagine herself presenting a case there. A few times she’d snuck into the galley of the court to watch the proceedings. But today her pulse raced. Back then, court seemed more like a game, but what was happening to Walt was far from any game.

  On her way inside, she glanced at the courthouse’s clock tower. Walt’s hearing was scheduled for eleven, and it was only ten thirty now. She took a deep breath. She didn’t need to rush, but she could use the extra time to pray. Her shoes clicked against the polished marble as she climbed the stairs to the second floor, marveling at the pristine sheen on the brass handrails. She paused beneath the rotunda and glanced upward. It was the perfect spot to petition the Father on Walt’s behalf. She imagined her prayer rising through the ornate stained-glass window.

  She glanced around the rest of the rotunda. In one high alcove, golden goddesses bearing trumpets stood guard over the words of Abraham Lincoln: “Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty.”

  Right makes might? She liked the thought and prayed it was true, but already she’d seen the opposite happen so many times she had difficulty putting her faith in the thought.

  “Hannah?”

  She turned at the sound of Lincoln’s voice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She paused and licked her lips. “I was able to get away after all.” She looked down the hall. “Where’s Walt? Can I see him before the hearing?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He directed her toward the courtroom door. “They’ll bring him over and straight into the courtroom.” He paused as if he were gauging her reaction.

  She gave him a weak smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Then let’s get inside. I believe his parents are already there.” He took her elbow. “They’ll be glad to see you.”

  Lincoln spoke to all three of them, reminding them this was a hearing to see if there was enough evidence to bind Walt over for trial. He explained that although all the prosecution’s evidence was circumstantial, it would probably be enough for his case to go to trial. “Remember, that doesn’t mean the judge thinks he’s guilty. It simply means they expect me to prove he’s not.”

  “We appreciate everything you’ve done for our son.” Mr. Calloway’s voice cracked with emotion.

  Lincoln brushed Hannah’s arm as he strode to his place in the front of the courtroom. The tender gesture made her smile.

  Minutes later, Walt was brought in, bound and shackled. Mrs. Calloway clung to Hannah like a lifeline. Tears pricked Hannah’s eyes. Why hadn’t she remembered prisoners were treated this way from her earlier visits? As hard as it was for her to see her friend treated like a common criminal, how much harder was it for his mother?

  Glancing at the three of them, Walt smiled. He then mouthed the words, “I love you,”
to his mother. The woman sniffed, and Hannah patted her hand.

  Walt seemed pale and gaunt. They needed to get him out of jail before he became seriously ill.

  The judge entered and sat down behind the mammoth mahogany bench. The hearing began, and Hannah’s resolve to see Walt acquitted strengthened with each piece of circumstantial evidence the prosecuting attorney presented.

  Yes, Walt had publicly spoken against the company. Yes, he was upset by the company’s blacklisting the former employees, and yes, he had no alibi for the times the fires were set.

  Guilt kicked Hannah hard. No alibi except for her. She should stand up and say something. As if he sensed her thoughts, Lincoln turned and pinned her in place with a don’t-you-dare stare. His eyes demanded she trust him. But didn’t he see how hard all of this was on Walt?

  In less than twenty minutes, the hearing was over, and all had gone as Lincoln predicted. Walt would be bound over for trial, but when the judge set the date, Hannah gasped. So quickly? Could they prove Walt’s innocence in such a short time?

  Lincoln spoke privately with Walt for a few minutes before Walt was taken away, then he joined Hannah and Mr. and Mrs. Calloway.

  “It’s what we expected.” Lincoln placed his hand on Mr. Calloway’s shoulder. “So don’t lose heart.”

  “How’s Walt?” Hannah glanced at the door he’d disappeared through.

  “He’s doing well, considering.” He looked at Mrs. Calloway. “He’d like you and your husband to visit him. He’s missing his family.”

  “We’ll go over right now.” She linked her arm in her husband’s.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Calloway grinned and squeezed her hand. “You’re the boss.” He turned to Lincoln. “I feel so bad about not being able to post his bail and get him out, so I want to thank you again, Mr. Cole, for helping our boy.”

  They started for the door, and Mrs. Calloway turned back. “Hannah, aren’t you coming?”

  She glanced at Lincoln, who had crossed the room to hand some papers to a clerk. Spending some time with him would be delightful, but if she went with the Calloways, not only would she get to see Walt, but she could also avoid telling Lincoln about the change in her hours.

  “Uh, yes.” She paused. “That is, unless Mr. Cole needs to speak with me.”

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “No, go ahead. I’ll catch you later.”

  Hurt pricked her heart. Didn’t he want to spend time together now that they had this chance? Maybe she shouldn’t have said yes to the Calloways.

  One look back at Lincoln and Hannah almost changed her mind. If he was okay with her leaving, why did he look so disappointed?

  Sometimes he was a fool.

  Lincoln walked into his office and slammed the file in his hands onto the desk. A pile of papers ruffled from the breeze he created. Why hadn’t he asked Hannah to lunch?

  Because he’d let her down. Even though the case had gone as he expected, he would have done anything to get Hannah’s friend off. He wanted to prove to her that she could count on him and lean on him, and he didn’t want her risking her job for the slim chance it would make a difference for Walt.

  Who was he kidding? That wasn’t the only reason he’d not asked her. He’d seen the way Hannah looked at Walt Calloway when he came into the room. He’d witnessed her concern for Walt’s parents, and he’d sensed her worry when the judge announced the trial date. Deep inside, the truth sat like a stone in his gut. He was jealous of a man in jail.

  “Well, well, well.” Cedric Knox swaggered toward Lincoln’s desk. “I heard your arsonist is headed for trial.”

  “I’m not in the mood, Cedric.” Lincoln flipped open the file. No time like the present to start planning Walt’s defense. He’d get Walt off for Hannah.

  “Too bad your firebug will have to find someone else to represent him.”

  Lincoln looked up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Pete and Charles allowed you to continue to represent him because you’d already received some press in regard to the case.” Cedric crossed his arms over his chest. “But do you think they’ll be nearly so agreeable if I happen to have not one but two insurance companies ready to sign with this firm tomorrow if we refuse to represent an accused arsonist?”

  Lincoln’s temples throbbed, but he refused to react to Cedric’s taunting. Two large clients? Would Pete continue to support him against Charles in view of that?

  But he couldn’t let down Walt, or especially Hannah, now. If he quit this case, Walt would never find anyone willing to fight for him as hard as Lincoln.

  Lincoln leaned back in his chair and peaked his fingers. “Cedric, are you finished?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? There’s no way Pete and Charles will let you continue.”

  “I heard you. I simply don’t believe you.” He picked up his fountain pen. “Now, if you’ll kindly remove yourself from my work area, I’ve got a defense to prepare.”

  Cedric sauntered away, and Lincoln rubbed his left temple. How could he convince Pete and Charles to let him see Walt’s case through?

  25

  “When I get out of here …”

  Walt’s breath tickled Hannah’s ear. She pulled away from the goodbye hug inside his jail cell. He didn’t finish the sentence, and for that she was grateful. She should probably set him straight, but right now he needed all the hope he could muster—even if it was misplaced hope.

  She laid her hand on Walt’s whiskered cheek. The beard growth made him look much less like her oldest and dearest friend and more like a man capable of committing a horrible crime. Before his trial, he’d need a shave. She’d have to speak to Lincoln about arranging that.

  “Take care, Walt. Lincoln and I won’t stop until we prove you’re innocent.”

  “And your father and I pray for you constantly,” Mrs. Calloway said.

  Walt turned from Hannah and enveloped his mother in a hug. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. This will all be over soon.”

  His father clapped his shoulder. “We believe in you, son. Remember that.”

  They departed, and the cell door clanged shut behind them, sealing Walt in once again. Guilt nudged Hannah. She’d been spending far too much time at picnics and socials when she should have been addressing Walt’s case.

  Starting today, she’d work harder. With her days free, she could do more research, and if she kept Lincoln at bay, she wouldn’t be distracted. It couldn’t be any other way. Her friend needed her. Lincoln would simply have to understand that any relationship between the two of them would have to come second to Walt’s case right now.

  Now she only needed to get Lincoln to see things her way.

  After saying goodbye to the Calloways, Hannah hurried home. She stopped at Rosie’s mother’s, explained the change in her schedule, and asked her to keep an eye on her sisters, including chaperoning George and Charlotte if necessary.

  “It’d be me pleasure,” Mrs. Murphy said in her lilting brogue. She wiped her hands on her apron. “We’ll have a grand time, pet. And you write those sisters of yours a note that says they should come over here for supper. If that lad comes around, I’ll make it clear to your sister that any sparkin’ better be happenin’ with fireflies and not with the lad.”

  Hannah chuckled, thanked the kind woman, and went home to write the missive. She added she’d be home after midnight, so they should not wait up for her. After placing the note on the kitchen table, she made herself a sandwich and put on a small pot of coffee. She’d earned the second pot after all that occurred this morning, and nothing eased the tension like a warm cup of her favorite brew.

  While it was heating, she located one of her law texts and carried it back to the kitchen. Three cups of coffee and one egg salad sandwich later, she had a better understanding of how most defense attorneys refuted circumstantial evidence. The prosecuting attorney would try to create his case on the basis that it was reasonable to suspect Walt had set the fires. Lincoln would need to show that while
it might be reasonable for Walt to be the arsonist, it could just as reasonably be someone else. That was why Lincoln had tried so hard to get Walt to divulge the name of who he thought started the fires.

  Well, if Lincoln couldn’t get the name out of Walt, she’d have to do it. And one thing she knew for certain—Walt Calloway had a very hard time saying no to her.

  The wall clock in the parlor gonged, signaling it was time for Hannah to leave. She arrived at the Iowa Telephone Company early enough not to feel rushed. She secured her headset and was introduced to her new supervisor. Wiry white hair ringed Mr. Grabowski’s bald head like a victor’s crown. His saggy eyes bespoke of too many years with little happiness.

  “You’ll do.” He sighed, as if the effort to speak took all his energy. “One of the regular girls will be out for a while. Her mother died.” His tone was flat, without an ounce of compassion. “She’s at station thirteen. Are you familiar with the subscribers?”

  Hannah could scarcely believe her luck. “Yes, sir. That’s where I work during the day.”

  He sat down behind one of the desks. “Good. Follow the rules, and don’t make me have to come over there.”

  Was the day shift that different? She couldn’t imagine Miss Frogge ever sitting down. She flitted from one station to another like a hummingbird, slipping her supervisor’s plug into the special jack to monitor the sweet nectar of the operator’s errors.

  During her shift, Hannah discovered it was easy to keep from getting reprimanded by Mr. Grabowski. Once an hour, he made rounds, briefly stopping behind each operator. Not once did he intervene or correct Hannah in any way.

  After her dinner break, she heard a soft snoring noise behind her. She dared look back and smiled. Mr. Grabowski, head propped on his fisted hand, was asleep.