Page 64 of A Secret Heart
“Go away. You’re not supposed to be here.” Mr. Sullivan spat out the words, not even stopping his mad rummaging through his desk.
She stood, jutting her chin. “I love this job, you know.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “What job? There’s no paper anymore. See this mess?”
“You can rebuild.” Hadn’t Ed said the press could be repaired?
Sullivan shook his head. He found the ledger in the drawer.
Desperation rose inside her. “You can’t just give up.”
He fixed her with a wild stare, making her glad for the desk between them.
“It’s not safe,” he rattled. “This—this was just a warning.”
“Whose warning?”
He shook his head, moving around the desk, heading for the door.
“Quade?” She caught the truth in his eyes as he moved past her. “If he threatened you?—”
“Remember Frank Jones? I can’t go to the marshal. Even if I could repay the money, everything I’ve worked for is ruined.” His expression wore both fear and resignation. “I’m leaving. Going to live with my daughter. Start over.”
“You mean take the coward’s way out.”
“Watch yourself,” he said sharply. “Words can get you into trouble.”
The door slammed behind him. He was gone. Out the door and past the large window overlooking the boardwalk. She stared after his retreating figure until she lost track of time.
But you can’t control everything. You’ll end up miserable, and it won’t work.
Kaitlyn’s words from weeks ago ran through her head.
Rebekah had tried, hadn’t she? Written that article, chased leads. And look what had become of her job. The paper.
There had to be something here she could do.
Her foot rolled over a piece of metal on the floor as she took a step forward. A letter she used for typesetting reflected the stream of sunlight from the window. She bent to grasp it from the dust, dropping it in her pocket. Then grabbed up a handful close to the other. They were scattered all over.
She held up her skirt in front of her to create a fold to place more letters in. Rebekah dropped to her knees in the dust and grime, running her hands along the floor in search of her beloved letters. Silent tears of exhaustion flowed as she scoured the wooden floorboards. Finally, she rocked back on her knees to swipe at her face. Holding up the fold in her skirt, she began sifting through the letters. There were so few compared to what she needed. She’d never be able to make the words with these.
She pushed up to place what few letters she’d salvaged in their tray, which lay on the desk close to the press. As she rose, the fabric of her skirt moved, allowing letters to spill out. They hit the floor with a clink.
Tired and spent, Rebekah gripped the edge of the desk. All her letters, her dreams, lay broken and scattered. Just like her relationship with Ed.
A loud bang from outside made her jump. She shouldn’t stay here.
She needed to write to Aunt Opal and Uncle Vess to tell them all that had happened. Without the paper, her income was gone. She might have to go back east after all. Surely they’d insist on it. And to think of all she’d done to get here in the first place.
The ache in her heart ran so deep that her tears dried up. She stumbled forward to grasp the tray for what letters were left. In a desperate move, she splayed them in their tray. None of them organized, just heaped in the slots.
“I can’t fix any of this.”
She’d been believing a lie. She’d never really been in control of her life. But even if she had been, she certainly wasn’t now.
* * *
Ed slammed the posthole auger into the dirt and twisted.
