When Love Calls (20 page)

She eased them from the shelf and set them on the table.
A History of North American Birds
. Opening the first book, she noted
it was first published in 1874. What a treasure! How had this set ended up here in the telephone company’s book room? If it were hers, she would never have parted with it.

Scanning the book, she was amazed at the intricate drawings. She paused when she came to the sparrows. Her Bible reading that morning had reminded her that not one sparrow falls without God caring. How much more did God care about her? A sense of awe captured her as she considered the concept again. In view of the size of the earth and the vast number of common sparrows, it was hard to fathom God would even know when one fell to the earth, let alone care.

And God cared much more for her. Even though she struggled with believing this, especially now that her parents had been taken, she knew it was true. God saw her confusion about Lincoln, and he cared. Now if only he’d give her some answers.

Hannah flipped the page and gasped. It couldn’t be. A Lincoln’s sparrow? She’d never heard of such a bird. It figured he’d be a sparrow. Troublesome birds that nested in places no one wanted them.

But she’d always liked the protective little bird. Once, she had accompanied her father while he was doing his chores. When they neared the barn, a sparrow dove at them, snapping its beak at her and her father. The bird pulled away just inches above her father’s head. Her father told her the sparrow would settle down in a few days. He guessed they had young ones in their nests. He also said he had to admire the little bird’s willingness to go up against a man in order to protect his wife and babies.

She closed the book and sighed. Was God trying to tell her something now by pointing her to Lincoln’s sparrow?

The wall clock in the parlor chimed. She placed the books on the shelf and hurried to join the other women. After lifting her headset from its hook, she strapped the speaker in place around her neck. Over the last few weeks, she’d grown used to its heavy weight resting against her chest, both at the exchange and at the operators’ school.

She eased the headset over her wide pompadour and adjusted
the receiver over her ear. Now, if she could just get her stomach to settle.

A few minutes later, the women filed into the main operating room like soldiers and assumed their stations.

All business, Miss Frogge was waiting for her without so much as a smile of greeting. “Remember, Miss Gregory, every morning the operator must ring up all of her subscribers and make sure their lines are in good working order.” Miss Frogge waved her hand in a circular motion. “Go ahead. It won’t get done with you sitting there.”

Hannah sat up straight and touched the jack to the rim of the first plug on her list of subscribers. She heard a sharp click. Knowing that meant the line was busy, she moved on to the next. “Good morning, Mrs. Wallace. Excuse me for troubling you, but I wanted to know if your telephone is working nicely this morning.”

Miss Frogge nodded approval and stepped away. Hannah relaxed and thanked Mrs. Wallace. In no time, she had her subscribers called. Thankfully, no one was having line trouble.

Telephone traffic surged by ten o’clock, when wives began to place their orders with the butcher, druggist, or grocer, but eased as the clock neared noon.

“Hello, Main. Number, please.” She prayed the callers could hear the smile in her voice.

“Can I have the butcher?”

Hannah recognized Mrs. Connor’s sweet voice and smiled. “One-nine-eight. Thank you.”

After answering several more calls, Hannah noted that Mrs. Connor’s light on the panel again flickered.

“Main?” Mrs. Connor asked. “Do you realize you connected me to the mortician and not the butcher?”

Lowering her voice so Miss Frogge didn’t hear, Hannah said, “I apologize, ma’am. I’ll connect you now.”

“No, wait.” The woman laughed. “You should enjoy this as much as I did. Before I realized the mix-up, I asked him if he had any nice soup bones. He said he had several bones but could not
recommend the ones he had for soup. My dear Hello Girl, I want to thank you. I haven’t had such a good laugh before noon in ages.”

Hannah swallowed a giggle. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

“Miss Gregory, why is that call taking so long?” Miss Frogge again hovered over her shoulder.

“Ringing one-nine-seven. Thank you.” Hannah jabbed the jack into the plug and sighed.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to say the word
ringing
? All you need to say is
thank you
. Anything else wastes valuable time.”

“Yes, Miss Frogge.”

Lunch was over all too soon, and Hannah hurried back to her switchboard. Unlike the rushed morning, the afternoon seemed to drag. Fighting the urge to look around lest she be reprimanded, Hannah picked up her pencil and began to make a few notes on her notebook of things she needed to take care of before Charlotte’s box social tonight.

She connected a call, then leaned back in her chair and smiled. Charlotte had worked past dark on decorating her box with snippets of lace and ribbons. She’d outlined her menu and planned to make everything as soon as she got home from school. If George didn’t rave about Charlotte’s cooking, her sister would be crushed.

A knot tightened in her stomach whenever she thought of George. Maybe she was simply too protective of her sister. Too bad Lincoln wasn’t going to be at the social. She could ask him for his opinion of Charlotte’s suitor. As a man, perhaps he’d have a different perspective.

“Miss Gregory!”

Hannah jumped and sat ramrod straight.

“What is the meaning of this?” Miss Frogge thrust her finger at the tablet beside her board.

Hannah glanced at the tablet, and her cheeks warmed. When had she drawn the sparrow? And worse, how did the heart get drawn around it?

“We do not doodle at the switchboard.”

“Yes, ma’am. I apologize.”

“Apologies will not make up for the lost time. That, you’ll have to do by staying later.”

“But—” She couldn’t stay late. She had planned to see Walt and then get home to help Charlotte.

Miss Frogge hiked an eyebrow, daring Hannah to continue.

Hannah clenched her fists. This wasn’t fair. With her lips pressed together, she lowered her gaze. “I understand.”

How could she have let her mind wander? This job demanded her complete attention. Why couldn’t she have simply followed the rules? Now she’d have to skip seeing Walt, and she hadn’t visited him in days. Would he think she’d abandoned him?

She glanced at the tablet and bit her lip. Maybe she already had—in more ways than one.

 22 

Where was Hannah? Charlotte held the mint dress to her body and looked in the mirror. Yesterday she’d chosen this dress to wear, but perhaps her other Sunday dress would be a better choice. The burnt-orange color might complement her hair, although the mint-green dress was newer. If Hannah was here, she’d help her decide. Hannah never had trouble making a decision.

Charlotte glanced at the wall clock. How odd. Hannah should have been home half an hour ago. Rubbing her chin, Charlotte again glanced between the two dresses. She couldn’t wait any longer to decide. Before she could change her mind again, she grabbed the burnt-orange dress and shimmied into it.

It took several minutes to do up the long line of buttons on the cedar-brown voile trim running down the length of the dress’s front. She carried her hat downstairs, set it on a table in the parlor, and hurried to the kitchen to pack the food.

With the fried chicken wrapped in brown paper, she hoped it would stay warm and crispy. She added a jar of peaches to each box, then her fresh biscuits and some of the crab apple jelly she and her mother had made last year. The crowning glory was the dessert. No one could resist her warm apple charlotte smothered in velvety vanilla cream sauce. Her mouth watered thinking about it. Surely George would love it as much as she did.

She set the lid on the lace-trimmed box and tied it with a brown
velvet ribbon that matched the one on her hat. George knew to be looking for that particular ribbon. She slipped knives, forks, and spoons beneath the ribbon’s bow, then did the same for the other box on the table.

“Tessa, do you see any sign of Hannah?”

The screen door banged open and shut before Tessa hurried into the room. “Not yet. I’m heading on over to Betty’s, okay?”

“Maybe you should wait for Hannah to get here. She might want to speak with you before you go.”

Tessa rolled her eyes. “She’d tell me to listen to Betty’s parents and not to get into any trouble.”

“And to not shock them with that scrapbook of yours.” Charlotte opened the cookie jar and removed two gingerbread wafers. She passed one to Tessa and ate the other.

Tessa took a bite. “They’re just headlines. They probably read them in the paper all the time.”

“But you have a way of finding the ones that give people nightmares.”

Tessa shrugged. “Those are the good ones. Speaking of headlines, do you want to hear my new favorite?”

“If I say no, you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Probably.” Tessa took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. “I’d hate for you to miss it. It’s such a good one.”

Charlotte sighed. “Oh, all right, tell me.”

“‘Surgeon cuts arm during autopsy on rabies victim.’”

“Tessa! That’s awful.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?” Tessa downed her water. “No one could keep from reading that story, could they?”

Charlotte sighed. “Please don’t tell Betty’s parents about your hobby. They’re going to think you’re some kind of ill-bred heathen.”

“I promise to be a perfect lady.” Tessa curtsied and crossed her heart. “Have fun with Georgie Porgie—if that’s even possible.” She giggled and scurried out of the room.

“If you see Han—”

“She’s here,” Tessa called. “Finally. See you both tomorrow.”

Shoes pounded against the hardwood in the parlor before Hannah burst into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry. I got in trouble and had to stay late at work.”

“What happened? Did you look at your neighbor again?”

“I drew something on my notepad.”

“What was it? A heart?” She giggled. Like Hannah would ever do something like that.

Hannah’s cheeks pinked, and Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “You did draw a heart? You were thinking of Lincoln?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to. Your face says it all.” She pointed to the table. “The boxes are packed and everything is ready, except you.”

“Why are there two boxes for the social?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Charlotte removed her apron and hung it on the hook. “Lincoln offered to help you chaperone, so I made you a box too. Since they’re being auctioned for the school’s library, I thought you’d want to do your part. I already told him yours will be tied with the dotted yellow ribbon.”

“Lincoln’s coming? When?”

“He’ll be here any time to pick you up.”

Hannah held out her gored skirt. “Look at me, Charlotte! How will I ever get ready in time?”

Charlotte tsked. “You are a sorry sight.” She picked up the yellow-decked box. “I guess I could give this box to Louisa Jane. I’m sure she’d be happy to share it with Lincoln.”

“That flirt? Don’t you dare. I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Better make it fifteen.” She giggled. “Or I might have to tell Lincoln exactly why you’re late.”

George was late.

Hannah glanced at Charlotte. She fiddled with the buttons on her dress, nervously watching the street in front of the high school. Decorated boxes lined a table the teachers had set up in the school yard, and young men stood before them doing their best to decide
which to purchase. Lincoln walked over to survey the wares. Like Charlotte had done, a girl could give the young fellow she wanted to bid on her box a clue to its identity. Still, they’d have to win the bid in order to have the opportunity to eat with that young lady. If George didn’t hurry, he might miss the chance to purchase Charlotte’s box.

Excusing herself, Charlotte said she wanted to see if she could spot George coming.

Lincoln ambled back to Hannah’s side. “Any sign of him?”

“Not yet. If he doesn’t show—”

“He will.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Look, here comes Charlotte, and I’m guessing the fellow must be George.” He took Hannah’s hand in his. “Listen, before they get back, I want to ask you to join me for a show tomorrow.”

Her body tingled at the thought. “I really need to go visit Walt. I haven’t seen him for days.”

“Then we’ll go see him first, and if you don’t say yes, I may let one of these other young fellows buy your box.” Lincoln sucked in his cheeks to keep from laughing. “I think I saw that pimple-faced boy in the checkered shirt eyeing it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Say yes, or I just might.”

“Do you play this unfair in a courtroom?”

“Me?” He pressed his hand to his heart, feigning innocence.

She rolled her eyes. “All right then, yes.”

Hannah caught sight of Charlotte leading George in their direction. As they approached, Hannah overheard the young man telling Charlotte she should be glad he was here and not pester him about why he was late.

Her sister forced a smile when she joined them. “George, you remember my sister Hannah.”

“Ma’am.” He dipped his head.

“And this is Lincoln Cole. Mr. Cole, may I introduce George Donnelly.”

“Sir.” He nodded.

Hannah fought the urge to frown. Why didn’t he offer Lincoln his hand?

The auctioneer stepped to the table and shouted for all the young men to circle around.

Lincoln laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Come on, George. We’ve got some boxes to purchase.”

As soon as Lincoln and George left, Hannah turned to her sister. Charlotte’s face, so joyful an hour ago, was now lined with concern.

“Are you okay, Charlotte?”

She gave a weak smile. “Yes. I’m just glad George is here.”

“And soon you and he will be enjoying your delicious fare. Did you make your apple charlotte?”

“Naturally.” Her smile returned. “I sure hope George likes it.”

“He’d be a fool not to.” She linked her arm in Charlotte’s. “Come on. Let’s go see who gets stuck with Louisa Jane’s hard-as-a-brick biscuits.”

The first boxes sold for a quarter each. Not a bad start, but Lincoln planned on bidding more for Hannah’s right from the start. He wasn’t taking any chances on someone else trying to steal the yellow beribboned box with its delicious, Charlotte-made contents. If Charlotte was half the cook Hannah claimed, they were in for a treat.

A young man whooped after paying forty cents for his box. He scampered off to claim the box and the girl to go with it. She didn’t look half as pleased, but perhaps God had other plans for them. Lincoln had a greater appreciation for God’s timing than ever before.

He glanced at George. The young man had his hand held out with a splattering of coins on his palm. Fifty-two cents total. What if Charlotte’s box went over that? With all the fanciful decorations she’d put on it, it might.

Nudged by generosity, Lincoln leaned close to the boy’s ear. “If you need any extra money, I’ll be glad to give you some.”

The young man glared at him. “I don’t take charity.”

“It can be a loan—and only if Charlotte’s box goes over what you brought. She’s really looking forward to dinner with you tonight. I’d hate for her to be disappointed.” He glanced toward the two sisters and smiled at Hannah. Charlotte wasn’t the only one looking forward to dinner. He couldn’t wait to have a few minutes with Hannah all to himself.

“If her box is more than this, she’ll be eating with someone else.” George jammed his fist back in his pocket.

This young fellow had a lot to learn, but Lincoln tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. A lot of boys were taught not to accept charity, so he could offer to hire George for something if it seemed necessary when the time came.

“Well, look here, fellows!” The auctioneer’s voice boomed as he held up Charlotte’s box. “Isn’t this about the prettiest package up here? We’d better start it at fifteen cents.”

George let someone else have the first bid. Lincoln turned to see Charlotte with her knuckle pressed against her lips. Jumping into the action, George accepted the volley of bids. It appeared he won the box at fifty cents.

“Going once. Going twice.”

Another fellow raised his hand.

George glanced at Charlotte and shrugged. Even from a distance, Lincoln could see she was crestfallen.

“Don’t be a fool, George. Raise the bid.”

“I told you—”

“Going once.”

Lincoln positioned himself so Charlotte couldn’t see her beau, grabbed George’s arm, and thrust it in the air.

“Sixty cents.” The auctioneer grinned. “Going once. Going twice. Sold to the young man in the middle.”