When Love Calls (16 page)

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why are we going this way?” She turned to her side to see the street name as they passed a sign.

He pulled up in front of a lovely “painted lady”—a Victorian
home with gingerbread trim and what she guessed was a beautiful stained-glass window. Too bad she couldn’t have seen it in the daylight. “Does Mr. Williams live here?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Pete’s house is three times this size. This little thing is all mine.”

“Little?” With fresh eyes, she looked at the house again. Two stories, possibly three if you counted the attic. Her present home would fit in half of this. How did a single man care for such a monstrosity? Furthermore, how did he possibly have the funds with which to purchase it?

“Was this another birthday present, or did Saint Nicolas put this under your Christmas tree?”

He puffed out his chest. “This one I bought all by myself. Earned every penny.” He glanced at her and smiled. “I think my dad would have wanted it that way, and I wanted to show it to you.”

Hannah regretted her sarcastic words. Naturally, he was proud of his home. “It’s beautiful, and your dad would be proud of you. Now tell me about your aunt.”

For the rest of the ride, Lincoln shared about both his aunt and his uncle. He explained that his uncle had made a fortune in railroading, and the couple had never had any children of their own. Even though his uncle had passed away a few years ago, his aunt seemed to grow younger with each passing year.

“My aunt is quite a character. She says every person has two ages—the one they really are and the one they feel like they are.” He laughed as they hit a dip in the road. “According to Aunt Sam, she’s sixty going on sixteen.”

“Did you ever want for anything?”

He turned onto Hannah’s street. “If you’re asking if I ever wanted for anything tangible, I’d say no. But I longed for other things. I wanted to be at home with my family when I was sent to boarding school. I wanted to study medicine to help people, but my uncle declared I should study law.”

“You help people there too.”

“I realize that now. Another thing I really wanted was brothers and sisters.” He chuckled. “Money can’t buy those.”

“I don’t know. I have two sisters I’d be happy to sell sometimes.” She relaxed into the seat. “If you wanted to study medicine, why didn’t you?”

“My uncle was right. He said my mouth was more gifted than my hands. Eventually, after a lot of prayer, his dream became my own.”

Could her dream change? If she prayed hard enough, would she be content as a switchboard operator instead of becoming an attorney?

The wind blew against her face despite the Roadster’s glass pane. She tightened the silk scarf beneath her chin.

He pulled the Reo to the curb outside her rented home, shut off the engine, and came around to assist her in stepping down. When she reached the front porch, she spotted Tessa’s face pressed against the parlor’s windowpane, eyes wide at the sight of the automobile. Hannah glared at her and then saw Charlotte yank Tessa away.

“Tess will be out here hounding you for a ride if I don’t get inside soon.”

Lincoln laughed, a full, warm sound that made her smile and her insides flutter. “Tell her I’ll give her a ride tomorrow when I bring you home.”

Just like that, he’d anchored himself to her life as if she didn’t have a say in the matter. Even though she’d been excited to see him after work and talk about the case, assuming he’d take her home was another thing entirely.

She stiffened at the idea. She didn’t want anyone telling her how things were going to be, no matter how striking his dove-blue eyes were. The whole evening had had an almost magical effect on her, and she must not have been thinking straight. She must have been wooed by a black cow and a beautiful automobile.

Neighbors began to come out on their porches to catch a glimpse of the Reo Roadster on the street, even though it was difficult to see in the dark. They gawked at it and then at her.

Hannah’s cheeks heated. She glanced at the automobile. When
the Reo sat in front of Lincoln’s fine home, it seemed to fit, but here it looked out of place in front of the little houses. It simply didn’t belong.

Any more than she belonged in his world.

She undid the silk scarf from around her head and held it out to him.

“That’s yours, remember?” He pushed it back toward her.

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “No, Lincoln, the man said this was for your lady, and I’m afraid that can’t be me.”

 18 

The elevator clanked and shook as it rose, and Hannah reminded herself to breathe. It wouldn’t do to faint on the way up to the third floor’s central exchange on her first day as an official switchboard operator. Making a good first impression was imperative.

She stepped off the elevator and scanned the hallway. It wasn’t Drake College, but the building was bright and clean. A few young women stood talking in groups, probably awaiting the beginning of their shift. She glanced at the large wall clock and took a deep breath. Half an hour early. Good. Being late would not accomplish her goal. Mrs. Reuff had told her to report to Mr. Cayhill, the chief operator, well before her scheduled eight o’clock shift.

Hannah slipped down the hallway until it opened into the immense exchange room. She sucked in her breath as she scanned the area. On two sides of the room, switchboards rose to within four feet of the high ceiling. At least fifty operators worked, nimble hands flying, as they connected the calls. Above the boards, sunlight streamed in through the cross-paned windows.

Operators sat crowded elbow to elbow, perched in straight-back chairs, before each switchboard. Crowning the blonde, brown, black, or red hair of each operator was a metal band. Hannah recognized the band that held the receiver in place over the operator’s ear and wondered when and where she’d get her own set.

To her surprise, the only noise in the room, save the rustle of
women’s skirts and the footsteps of supervisors, was the low, buzzing murmur of operators saying, “Number, please” and “Thank you.” The lights on the switchboards twinkled like the stars in the sky as customers placed their first calls of the day.

Overwhelmed by the large room and the number of people, she felt dizzy for a moment. She pressed her hand to her churning stomach. Was she ready for this?

She searched the room for the chief operator and found him busy at the switchboards on the third wall. The sign above these boards indicated they were the long-distance switchboards. On the final, short wall, Hannah noted the three small information operators’ desks bearing books and newspapers as well as a switch box.

A few desks sat in the center of the room on raised platforms. These, Hannah had been warned more than once, belonged to the monitors, operators assigned to listen in on calls and watch the other operators for rule violations. Mrs. Reuff had explained the monitors kept a deportment card on each operator, and these cards were reviewed by the supervisors and the chief operator on a regular basis.

Hannah took a step forward and stopped. How odd it was that none of the operators turned their heads from their boards to see the stranger in the room.

Mr. Cayhill, the only man present, walked from station to station. When he spotted her, he approached and smiled. “Miss Gregory, nice to see you.”

She smiled and dipped her head. “And you as well, sir.”

“I’m glad you arrived early.” He glanced at the wall clock. “As you’ve undoubtedly been told, this isn’t our busiest time, but we’re gearing up for the day. We won’t put you to work quite yet. I want you to meet Miss Frogge. She’ll be your supervisor and in charge of acclimating you to our operating room.”

She followed Mr. Cayhill down the row of switchboards. He stopped in front of a tall woman with spectacles and bulging eyes. Hannah stifled a grin. If this was Miss Frogge, she couldn’t have been more aptly named.

After introductions had been made, Mr. Cayhill excused himself, and Miss Frogge gave Hannah a critical once-over. “I’m too busy to work with you right now, so go sit down at station thirteen, and don’t touch anything, you understand?”

Hannah blinked. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sliding into the chair at station thirteen, Hannah glanced around for other empty stations. Seeing no others, she guessed this one would become hers. While she wasn’t superstitious, being assigned to thirteen was slightly unnerving. She needed all the luck she could get.

No, Hannah. Not luck. God’s blessings.
She sent up another prayer asking him to bless her with a meek and gentle spirit—two qualities God had not given her in abundance.

She turned to the operators on either side of the station. Neither looked in her direction or offered any welcoming words. Their hands continued to jam the white-corded jacks into the plugs at an amazing rate. Hannah’s stomach flip-flopped. How would she ever keep up?

At five until eight, the door to the exchange opened and a line of operators filed in. Each young woman stood behind a currently seated operator. When the bell rang, the two women switched places with clocklike precision. All seated operators moved to their left to exit, and all the fresh operators sat down in the chair from the other side. Hannah doubted a single call was missed during the flawless exchange.

She spent the next half hour watching the workings of the exchange. Finally, Miss Frogge motioned for Hannah to follow her. In the hallway, the supervisor peered over her spectacles. “First in your class?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Just so you know, that doesn’t mean a thing here. You’ll have to prove yourself all over again, and you’ll get no special treatment from me.”

Hannah nodded. “I understand. I’ll work hard.”

“Of course you will.” Miss Frogge turned and marched down the hallway, her shoes clacking on the tiled floor.

Hannah fell in behind her.

The supervisor stopped in front of a large coat closet with a plethora of hangers and hooks. “You may put your wrap here, but leave nothing of value in your pockets. Despite our unparalleled screening process, occasionally we have a young woman with sticky fingers.”

Miss Frogge continued the tour, showing Hannah where to pick up her operator’s headset, where the infirmary was, and where to speak to the clerk to obtain her schedule. She pointed to an oak door with a window in the top half. “This is the operators’ parlor, Miss Gregory.”

She indicated for Hannah to enter. The room held a piano, comfortable seating, and even sewing supplies.

“It’s lovely.”

“The telephone company understands the stress their operators are under and the fragile constitution of most young women.” Miss Frogge ran her finger along a shelf and puffed away the dust she’d collected on her fingertip. “They want you to have the opportunity to relax during lunch and on your breaks.” She swept her hand toward a table bearing scissors, bright paper, and ribbons. “Right now a scrapbook competition is being held for the operators. Many of the girls are quite witty with their prose. The telephone company is providing the prize for the best scrapbook—a new hat from Younkers.”

The thought that the company cared warmed Hannah, but she had a hard time imagining that writing witty prose would fill her free time. She spotted a smaller room off the main parlor, filled with shelves and books. “What is that room for?”

“That’s the reading room. It’s well stocked, and there’s a literary club that meets on Thursdays at five. The telephone company has provided a place for a container garden on the roof as well, if you enjoy that sort of thing.” She started for the door. “Please feel free to use any of these amenities as long as you are not on the clock.”

A library? Hannah fought the urge to race into the room and examine the volumes. Would they have any of the newest books
she’d heard so much about, like Edith Wharton’s
Madame de Treymes
? Perhaps they’d even have a new bird-watching manual. That would be a treat.

“Miss Gregory, are you coming?” Impatience tinged Miss Frogge’s voice, and Hannah hurried to follow the woman.

The supervisor led her to another room, passed through a set of wide double doors, and spread her arms wide. “This is the cafeteria. Coffee, tea, and bread are provided free of charge. Everything else on the menu is less than five cents, so please do not skip meals. The telephone company says healthy operators are important and less apt to be absent from their posts.”

“I suppose that would be true.” Hannah smiled, hoping to win a bit of favor with her new supervisor.

“Of course it is. If Iowa Telephone says it is so, then it is.” With the brisk pace of someone much younger, Miss Frogge marched from the cafeteria and headed back toward the central exchange.

Hannah hurried to walk beside her. “When do I begin working, Miss Frogge?”

“Our busiest time is between ten and noon. We will need you at your board, but there’s no need to fret, as I will be nearby to instruct you.” She stopped outside the door to the exchange and pointed to a poster on the wall bearing the rules for operators. “You will be given a paper copy of these rules as well, but there are a few I’d like to point out to you right now.”

Hannah glanced at the long list of over a hundred rules and swallowed. Mrs. Reuff had said there were many rules, but she hadn’t done the list justice.

“Do not cross your legs or ankles. Both feet should remain on the floor at all times.” Miss Frogge held up her hand and checked off the rule by touching a long, tapered finger. “There is to be no gum chewing, no tardiness, and no asking to leave early.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Miss Frogge glared at her. “There will be no conversing with callers. You are to use only the approved phrases, and local calls should take less than six seconds to complete.”

Hannah only nodded this time, her chest tightening with each new restriction.

“Eyes should be kept forward at all times. There’s no need to glance in the direction of any of the other operators. Your work is in front of you.”

So that explained why no one looked around. At the school, they’d had a similar rule, but she had no idea it would be so strictly adhered to.

Having now used up her first hand, Miss Frogge held up the other to continue. “If you must blow your nose or wipe your brow, raise your hand for permission before you do so.”

Swallowing, Hannah fought the urge to roll her eyes. That was ridiculous. Did they think all of these intelligent young women were children?

“There is to be no union talk. The telephone company treats you well. You have no need of that. And most of all”—Miss Frogge pinned Hannah with her gaze—“there will be no conversing with the other operators while in the exchange. This includes exchanging notes or pictures. I will not tolerate those who do not follow these rules. Do I make myself clear, Miss Gregory?”

A suffocating cloud descended over Hannah. What had she gotten herself into? Maybe her sister was right. Perhaps it was impossible for Hannah to follow these restrictions. Unlike sweet Rosie, it wasn’t in Hannah’s nature to be so compliant. She wanted to argue about the absurdity of it all. Raising your hand to blow your nose or wipe your brow? What were these people thinking?

It wasn’t natural not to look at the person sitting next to you. She wanted to tell Miss Frogge that there were more important things going on in the world than whether a call took longer than the prescribed six seconds.

She should turn around right now and leave. March out that door and back to college where she belonged.

But she couldn’t.

Her sisters needed her.

Like she’d told Lincoln, that time in her life was over, and it was up to her and her alone to see they were taken care of.

She drew in a long breath and dipped her head in a brief nod. “Yes, ma’am. You’ve made yourself quite clear.”