Lorna Seilstad

by When Love Calls

  The screen door rattled, and Charlotte heard Tessa step onto the porch.

  “Not again.” Tessa groaned and plopped onto the swing. The chain rattled, and then the familiar squeak, squeak of swinging began. “So, what do you want to do today?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You know what I think?” Tessa paused, then continued when Charlotte didn’t respond. “I think you’re the luckiest girl on earth.”

  Charlotte lifted her head. “And how do you figure that?”

  “Georgie Porgie doesn’t care about you as much as he cares about having you. At least you’re seeing him for who he is now rather than later.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Think about it. He likes having you on his arm, but does he care about what makes you you?”

  Charlotte scowled. What did Tessa know? She was only fourteen years old, and she was hardly an expert on relationships. “He cares.”

  “How do you know?” Tessa pushed off the porch floorboards and made the swing go higher. “You’ve seen what real love looks like. It’s buying a bicycle so your girl can fly. It’s treating her sisters like they’re your own. It’s not letting a day go by without making her smile. I may be fourteen, but I’ve got eyes. When has George ever put what you want before what he wants?”

  Charlotte’s mind whirled, seeking an answer. It was a simple question, so why couldn’t she come up with an answer? He walked her home every day. They talked about his day. He told her he wanted her with him, by his side, but none of that answered Tessa’s question.

  The slow burn at finding the mailbox empty flamed. Why hadn’t he written? She could use that as proof he cared. She could show the letter to Tessa and say, “See? This is why.”

  But she didn’t have a letter.

  “You’re too young to understand. You’re just a baby.” The words, like acid on her tongue, sliced at her sister.

  “I’m not a baby, and at least I can see George for what he is. You’re the one who’s being a baby. It’s like he pulled you in and kept criticizing you and changing you until you didn’t know who you were anymore. ‘Charlotte, come here.’” Her voice took on a singsong quality to mimic George. “‘Charlotte, I hate it when you make me wait.’ ‘Charlotte, stay. I don’t want you to go.’” She jumped off the swing. “And what did you do? Followed along like Georgie Porgie’s puppy.”

  “I am not his puppy.”

  “Oh really? When was the last time you did what you wanted to do?” She opened the screen door. “Like I said before, love makes you stupid, and you’re all the proof I need.”

  The screen door banged shut, and emotions somersaulted through Charlotte. Anger mixed with pain and humiliation. Tears burned her eyes. Had she been blind to the truth? Had she wanted George’s affections so much she’d only seen what she wanted to see?

  Lord, please help me see the truth.

  Hannah leaned the bicycle against the rack and hurried inside the courthouse. In the last week, she’d become quite accustomed to using the bicycle instead of walking the short distance to work. When Charlotte secured a position, she’d probably relinquish the two-wheeler to her, but in the meantime, she needed to learn to ride well enough to ride with Lincoln’s aunt.

  “Good morning, Jo.” Hannah removed her hat and placed it on the hook. “Anything new?”

  “There was another fire last night.”

  Hannah gasped. “Where?”

  “Outside of town.” She paused to connect a call. “Mr. Cole stopped in to tell you about it. He said he’d stop by later.”

  Hannah took her seat at the switchboard, and her fingers trembled as she adjusted the headset over her ear. What if Albert had been involved? Could she have prevented this fire by saying something? She shook her head. No, Lincoln said he’d done a little damage, not that he’d started any fires. If he were concerned about Albert, he would have said something.

  Jo pointed to a light on Hannah’s switchboard. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  Hannah startled. “Oh yes. I’m sorry.” She inserted the plug into the jack. “Number, please.”

  The man barked out the number, and Hannah tried to respond as sweetly as possible. “Three-eight-five. Thank you.” When she touched the tip of the circuit plug to the jack, she heard a sharp click. She returned to her caller. “I’m sorry, sir, that number is busy. Please try again later.”

  He let out a string of rude words. Hannah fought to contain herself. “Sir, I’ll be forced to report you to my supervisor if you don’t calm down.”

  “I am calm. Just keep your shirt on.”

  “Well, I never …” She disconnected the call and took a deep breath.

  Jo touched her arm. “Did you get a rude one? What did he say?”

  Doing her best to relay the gist of the conversation without repeating the colorful language, Hannah told Jo what the man had said.

  “That young man needs to learn some manners. What caller was it?”

  Hannah showed Jo the number and then watched her supervisor insert her seldom-used special plug into the top of Hannah’s switchboard and ring up the young man.

  “Sir,” Jo said, “this is the chief operator at the courthouse. On behalf of my operator, I must demand you apologize to her immediately, or I shall have your telephone removed.”

  She indicated Hannah should connect to the line. “Hello.”

  “Are you the girl I told to keep her shirt on?” His voice had softened, and he seemed contrite.

  “Yes, sir, I am the one.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, obviously flustered. “You can take it off now.”

  Hannah glanced at Jo as they shared a knowing grin. Laughter threatened to explode, so she hurried to disconnect the call. As soon as she had, the two of them collapsed into a fit of giggles.

  Hannah wiped the tears from her eyes. “You scared the poor man so badly, I don’t think he knew what he was saying.”

  A rap on the doorjamb drew their attention. Lincoln leaned over the Dutch door. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Just a man telling Hannah to keep—”

  “Jo! You can’t tell him that.” Hannah’s cheeks burned under Lincoln’s amused gaze.

  “If I need to go defend your honor, I should at least know why.”

  Jo waved her hand in a dismissive motion and giggled. “You can put your sword away. I took care of the insult.” She turned to Hannah. “Go have a word with Boaz. I’ll handle the switchboard.”

  Hannah nodded and moved to meet Lincoln at the Dutch door.

  “Boaz?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I think it’s one I’d like to hear.” His dove-blue eyes bore into hers as if they alone could extract the information.

  “And I think I might tell you someday, but not today.” She flashed him a cheeky grin before slipping her headset off and setting it on the flat surface of the Dutch door. After patting her hair to make sure she’d not mussed it, she asked, “What brings you here?”

  He stared at the headset. “Perhaps what I came to tell you can wait until you get off. You’re having such a pleasant day.”

  “Don’t coddle me.” She stiffened her backbone. “You came down here for a reason. What is it?”

  “There was another fire.”

  “I know that. Jo told me. She said it was outside of town.”

  “At a Western Union repair shed.” He swallowed. “On Walt’s old line.”

  Her breath caught.

  “He’s been arrested again.”

  “Oh, Lincoln, please tell me he has an alibi.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “He does. Until his parents went to bed. The trouble is the fire began in the middle of the night.”

  “You believe him, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but the prosecutor will argue he could have snuck out and tossed the dynamite.”

  She cocked her head. “Dynamite again? Walt’s never used dynamite. His dad doesn’t even u
se it to remove stumps like some farmers. He had a brother who was killed with the explosive and refused to keep it around. So why would Walt have it, and where would he get it?”

  Rubbing his jaw, Lincoln smiled. “It bears looking into.”

  “So you’ll do it right away?”

  He took her hand. “The senior partners aren’t sold on me taking his case again.”

  “Pete too?”

  He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to do it anyway, Hannah, but I won’t be able to work on it during the day like I did before. What we need is the name of the person he thinks is doing this.” He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. “Try not to worry. We’ll go see him later tonight.”

  “No, I’ll go see him before I go home.” When Lincoln frowned, she added, “I think I can get him to talk to me if we’re alone.”

  Reluctantly, Lincoln agreed. After arranging to meet for dinner at her home, he reminded her to pray about Walt’s defense. He squeezed her hand and departed.

  She watched him go, his broad, square shoulders not bending beneath the burden he carried for her and for Walt.

  Someone was starting these fires, and if it wasn’t Walt, was it Albert?

  Even though she wasn’t sure how to do it, one way or another, she had to uncover the truth.

  The dampness of the jail crept beneath the sleeves of Hannah’s shirtwaist, making her skin prickle. She longed to pinch her nose and shut out the odor of unwashed bodies and musty brick walls that mingled in the air. The jailer didn’t seem to notice. Did one get used to such a stench?

  Since she was alone, the jailer insisted she remain outside of Walt’s cell to speak to him. Only because the jailer knew she was working with Lincoln did he even allow her that far. She considered making a fuss but decided that perhaps it was better she remain in the hallway.

  As she made her way down the aisle between the cells, she kept her eyes focused on the jailer in front of her, despite the whistles and the requests for her to stop and visit. She sent up a silent prayer on behalf of these men. God knew what they needed even if she did not.

  Walt met her at the bars. “You shouldn’t be here alone. Where’s Lincoln?”

  “He couldn’t come today.” Her hands ached to hold his, but after his declaration, she didn’t want to encourage him. “But I had to see you because I have something I need to ask you.”

  A smile flitted across his face, then vanished. “Me first.”

  Nerves tingled inside her. Why hadn’t she prepared an answer to the question she knew he’d ask?

  She licked her dry lips. “All right.”

  “Have you thought about what I said?”

  She studied his expression. Cautious expectation flickered in his eyes. She hated to dash his hopes—especially here, especially now. Still, was it fair not to tell him the truth? If Brother Molden was right about love demanding tough choices, this had to be one of the hardest.

  “You don’t need to say anything.” He clenched his jaw, betrayal lacing his words. “I’ve known you long enough to read the answer on your face.”

  “I do care about you, but I—”

  “Love him.” He forced a smile. “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t say that.” He gripped the bars so hard his knuckles whitened. “You should never be sorry for loving someone, and I want you to be happy.”

  “And you deserve to be free.” She swallowed hard. “Now, answer my question. I know you feel like you have to be loyal to your fellow union members, but this man is starting fires all over the city. Will you please tell me who you think is most likely the guilty party?”

  “I won’t betray those men. I understand what it means to be loyal.”

  The barb stung, but their dear friendship forced her to focus on the situation at hand. “There’s no one who is more loyal than you, but whoever this is, he has no trouble betraying you.” She stepped closer. “Good grief, Walt, he started a fire on your old line. He wants this pinned on you.”

  Stepping back from the bars, Walt paced the room, rubbing the back of hisneck. Pressing him had never done any good, so she gave him space to sort through the decision.

  Finally, he dropped his hand to his side and approached her. “His name is Donnelly. Joe Donnelly,” he whispered. “He’s one of the blacklisted men. He works at the quarry now.”

  Hannah’s knees jellied, and she reached for the cold, iron bars to steady herself. What if this was George’s father?

  Taking a deep breath, she ran a finger along the neck of her shirtwaist and smiled at Walt. “Thank you. I’ll check into it.”

  “Let Lincoln take care of this. That man’s a hothead.” He narrowed his eyes. “I mean it, Hannah.”

  “Do you honestly believe I’d interrogate a suspected arsonist all by myself?” She laughed lightly. He did know her well.

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.” He reached through the bars and grabbed her wrist. “Promise me you’ll let Lincoln know his name.”

  His fingers dug into her arm. “I will. I promise.”

  She’d tell Lincoln as soon as she saw him, but first she needed to know if Joe Donnelly was George’s father, and there was only one way to find that out.

  41

  Uneven paved bricks bounced Hannah’s bicycle. One call to the information operator at central had given her Joe Donnelly’s address, and she hadn’t hesitated to search out the home despite its questionable location near the tracks. Donnelly was a fairly common name, so the man may have nothing to do with George. But for Charlotte’s sake, she had to find out. If George’s father was somehow mixed up in all of these fires, did George know? What if he, too, was involved?

  A barking dog ran out in front of her, and she swerved to miss him. A couple of towheaded children with dirty faces stared at her two-wheeler. Maybe they’d never before seen a bicycle in their neighborhood.

  If Lincoln knew where she was, he’d not be happy, and she didn’t really blame him. For his own good, she had to do this. If she could attach this Joe to the fires, then she could also dismiss her fears about Albert. How would Lincoln feel if he knew Pete had kept the truth from him about Albert?

  Hannah wasn’t blindly headed to the Donnelly address. From the time she’d left work until she’d gotten home to check on her sisters, she’d considered the possibility of Joe being the arsonist, and the fact that she was an unmarried woman visiting a man. She could easily pass off the visit if George were indeed the son. All she had to do was say she was checking on the young man since he’d not written Charlotte. But what would she use for an excuse if George wasn’t there?

  Hannah turned the corner and located the Donnelly house. The wood-sided house, in need of a fresh coat of paint, was flanked by two small but tidy homes. Unlike the other two houses beside it, the Donnelly home lacked any flowers to decorate the stoop.

  After leaning the bicycle against the iron mailbox, she hurried up the walk before she lost her nerve. She raised her hand to knock on the door but heard giggling around the side of the house. If the man’s daughters were there, then she’d have her answer that this wasn’t George’s father. She stepped off the stoop and peeked around the corner.

  Her cheeks warmed at the sight of a young man and young woman in an embrace. The girl spotted her and jumped away, her face filled with color. The young man whirled in Hannah’s direction.

  She gasped. “George!”

  “What are you doing here?” He stepped between Hannah and the girl as if he could shield her presence with his body. “Libby, go on home. We’ll talk later.”

  The girl dashed away like a frightened deer.

  George glared at her. “Like I said, why are you here?”

  Eyeing the departing young woman, she said, “I might ask you the same thing.”

  “It’s your fault. Yours and Mr. Cole’s. If you’d let me see Charlotte, none of this would have happened.”


  “You couldn’t remain faithful to her for two weeks, and that is our fault?” Hannah’s voice grew louder. “She’s pining away for you, and you’re out kissing other girls in the bushes?”

  “What’s all the commotion?” a man bellowed behind her.

  Hannah turned to face Joe Donnelly. Her pulse raced. The man’s size dwarfed hers. He had to be well over six feet tall, and his arms were the size of railroad ties. As if his bulk wasn’t intimidating enough, he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled disdainfully at her.

  Hannah refused to be bullied, and she knew better than to air George’s indiscretion first thing. She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “You must be George’s father.”

  He grabbed George’s arm and yanked him to his side. “Whatever the boy’s done, I’ll take care of it with my belt.”

  “No, sir. You misunderstand my presence. I’m Charlotte’s sister, Hannah Gregory.”

  “I don’t know no Charlotte.”

  “Well, your son does. He’s been courting her for a couple of months.”

  “Has he now?” His frown deepened. “And when were you going to tell me you been out sparkin’?”

  “I don’t think he’ll be seeing her anymore.” She paused and looked at George. Her heart squeezed for the young man and his situation, but she couldn’t let Charlotte continue associating with someone so untrustworthy. “I came to tell him that.”

  “You said it. Now you can be gone.” Mr. Donnelly stepped aside and motioned toward the street.

  Should she ask him about the fires or about the union problem? As it was, she’d received the answer she came for, but the opportunity to find out more dug at her.

  She waited until she was several feet away to turn and ask her final question. “Mr. Donnelly, did you by chance work at the Western Union?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I’m friends with Walt Calloway. Your name sounded familiar. I believe he’s mentioned you. Do you know he’s in jail for some fires related to Western Union?”

  George’s eyes became as wide as pie plates, and Mr. Donnelly launched into a tirade about the company who’d treated him so unfairly.