When Love Calls (8 page)

 10 

What if he wanted to worry about her?

Lincoln climbed back in the hansom cab and told the driver to follow Hannah at a distance until she got home. She never turned to see if he was still there, but that didn’t surprise him. When she finally reached the front porch of the tiny rented home, the driver snapped the reins, and Lincoln felt an odd tug at leaving her. Why did he feel so responsible for Hannah Gregory when she seemed so determined to have nothing to do with him?

He leaned his head back against the cushioned leather seat and closed his eyes. His stomach rumbled, reminding him it was well past dinnertime. He should have insisted on taking Hannah some place nice after the ordeal she’d gone through, but she probably would have declined. He laughed wryly. Probably? No, she certainly would have declined. If he was a smart man, and he was, he’d put Hannah Gregory out of his thoughts.

Unfortunately, his thoughts didn’t seem to care a whit about his intelligence.

Charlotte removed another sliver of glass from Hannah’s hair. Even after thirty minutes of picking through her older sister’s tresses, she’d yet to learn anything from Hannah, other than her
sister had been at a restaurant where someone had thrown a brick through the front window.

Rattled—that was the word Charlotte would have to use to describe Hannah, but that seemed strange. Hannah always took chances. A little danger didn’t usually bother her.

“So you heard the glass break, and then what did you do?” Tessa flopped across Hannah’s bed with a tablet in hand.

“I screamed. It surprised me, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Aw, come on. This is my first real story.”

“And you aren’t writing this one either,” she snapped.

A close call didn’t usually make Hannah sharp-tongued.

“What did Mr. Cole do after you screamed?”

Charlotte watched Hannah’s cheeks grow rosy in the mirror’s reflection. Using tweezers, she removed another chunk of glass from Hannah’s hair and dropped it into the china saucer on the dressing table. Oh! The truth dawned on Charlotte, and her cheeks spread wide in a grin. It wasn’t the window breaking agitating Hannah. It was Lincoln’s reaction to it—or perhaps it was Hannah’s reaction to Lincoln.

Tessa sat up on the edge of the bed. “Did he dive under the table like a coward?”

“No!”

Hmm. She’d certainly come to his defense.

“Well?” Tessa motioned with her hand for Hannah to continue.

“He pulled me to the floor.”

“And?” Charlotte couldn’t resist a little prodding of her own. There were things a sister deserved to know.

“And he shielded my body with his own.”

“How romantic!” Tessa feigned a swoon and fell back on the coverlet.

Hannah looked up at Charlotte’s reflection in the mirror. “Why are you smiling? It was an instinctive act.”

She forced her lips into a straight line. “Whatever you say, Hannah.”

Tessa bolted upright. “Did Mr. Cole get hurt? Was his handsome face disfigured in any way?”

“Lincoln got a cut on his arm, but his face is fine.”

Charlotte picked up the brush and began to draw it through Hannah’s long tresses. “Lincoln, huh?”

Hannah didn’t respond. Rather, she lifted her hand to touch the scratch on her cheek. From the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes, Charlotte guessed Lincoln Cole was beginning to build an irrefutable case for himself.

Hannah took a deep whiff. The familiar mixture of old ladies’ perfumes and freshly oiled pews mingled in the air. Home. Well, almost home. Their church home. Their actual home had been auctioned off, and another family was now filling its rooms. Glad her sisters had agreed to take the streetcar to the edge of town and walk to the church where they’d regularly attended, Hannah shook off her melancholy and began to greet their friends.

Sally Gerard smiled when she entered. The girl was a few years younger than Charlotte and had her hair done in a grown-up style for the first time. After telling her how pretty she looked, Hannah caught sight of little Tommy Vincent. She hoped the Vincents would end up sitting in front of her. Their freckle-faced boy’s church antics always proved to be great fun. She could still remember the summer when he’d taken a snake out of his pocket right when the preacher brought up Satan’s appearance in the Garden of Eden. Another time, he’d emptied a jar of frogs during an especially long sermon, bringing it to a rapid conclusion.

The boy certainly had good timing.

Walt’s angular face lit up when he spotted her. He sidestepped plump Mrs. Witherspoon and made a beeline for her. “What happened to your face?”

Tessa’s eyes lit up. “She was at a restaurant when a brick was thrown through the window.”

“You were
there
?”

Hannah looked at her sisters, dismissing them with a tilt of her head. Charlotte caught the hint and dragged Tessa away.

Walt pressed closer. “Why didn’t you listen to me? I told you to avoid that street.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong, but if I knew you were there, I . . .”

“Walt, please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”

Before Walt could answer, Mrs. Reuff entered the foyer, and Hannah jumped. What was she doing here? Of course, she’d warned the girls she would personally check up on each of them and their moral turpitude, but Hannah didn’t know Mrs. Reuff went as far as to visit their churches.

She glanced Hannah’s way, seemed to take in Hannah’s proximity to Walt, and raised her thick eyebrows. She then glided past Hannah, offering a casual “good morning” on her way.

Walt leaned toward Hannah’s ear. “Who is that?”

“Don’t do that!” She pressed her hand against Walt’s chest. “She’s my instructor at operators’ school. She must be here to check up on me. You have to get out of here.”

“Out of church?”

“Yes—no—I mean at least away from me.”

“Hannah, I’m beginning to think you have a few wires switched of your own.” A frown suddenly pulled the corners of Walt’s lips downward. “Why’s he here?”

She turned. Dressed in a sporty Sack Suit jacket, lemon-yellow shirt, and stiff collars and cuffs, Lincoln Cole breezed through the church doors. He sauntered toward her.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

He straightened his tie. “Attending church services. I go every Sunday.”

“But you don’t go
here
.”

He faced Walt and tugged on the lapel of his suit jacket. “I may now.”

Good grief. She didn’t need this. She glanced in the sanctuary and caught Mrs. Reuff watching her. “I’m leaving you both this instant. Don’t either of you dare sit by me.”

Lincoln held up his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She faced her oldest friend. “Walt?”

“But we sit together every Sunday.”

“Walt.” Her voice was firm. “Do you want me to lose my position?”

“No.” He gave Lincoln a cold look. “But I don’t want to lose mine either.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away. Men. She’d never understand them. But thanks to Mrs. Reuff and the operators’ school, she didn’t need to—at least for the next few weeks.

Walt and Lincoln followed her into the sanctuary a few minutes later. They took a seat on either end of her pew, like enormous male bookends. What were these two doing?

When the service concluded, she brushed past Walt and hurried to greet Mrs. Reuff. She had to wait a few seconds as her instructor had snagged the preacher, and they seemed deep in conversation.

Little Billy Carstens, who’d only started walking a few months ago, toddled up to Hannah and extended his chubby arms. “Momma! Momma!”

Hannah lifted the little cherub into her arms, and he hugged her neck. She pressed a kiss to the top of his blond head, surprised by how much she’d missed this little fellow.

Billy deposited a slobbery kiss on her cheek. “Momma.”

Mrs. Reuff turned toward her, her eyebrows raised high.

“I’m not his—he’s not my—”

“Momma!” He lunged for Mrs. Reuff, but Hannah pulled him back. “Say hi to Mrs. Reuff.”

“There you are, Billy.” Claire Carstens, clearly in the family way, waddled over. “Thank you for grabbing him, Hannah. He gets away from me so easily these days.”

He reached for his real mother. She took him and balanced him on her hip. “I’m Claire Carstens, this ornery little fellow’s momma.”

“I’m Abigail Reuff, one of Miss Gregory’s instructors at the operators’ school.”

“Operators’ school?” Claire frowned. “What happened to law school?”

“It’s not in my future anymore.”

“Oh.” Claire forced a weak smile, then turned to Mrs. Reuff. “It’s nice of you to join us today, ma’am.”

After Claire had slipped away, Mrs. Reuff adjusted her cape. “As you know, we make every effort to check out the recommendations each of the young women provided. Brother Molden spoke highly of your moral character in his letter.” She eyed Walt and then Lincoln. “It surprised me, as you seem to be a popular young lady.”

“Those two? Walt is a childhood friend, and Mr. Cole is an attorney.”

“Oh yes. I’m sure you are still settling your parents’ affairs.” She touched the brooch at the nape of her neck. “You have a bright future with the telephone company. I’d hate to see you let anything—or anyone—damage that. Do I make myself clear?”

“As clear as the connection on an Iowa Telephone line.”