Page 13 of A Secret Heart
“Nope. Answer it. We need him back.” Turning on his heels, Drew moved to the other end of the barn and began rummaging through the tools. “Kaitlyn left a plate on the table for you some time ago. Better go eat it. We need to get an early start in the morning if we plan to replace that section of rotten fence.”
Ed slipped the letter back in his pocket as he trudged to the house. If Drew wanted this done, Ed didn’t have much choice. But his brother had a point. Maybe it’d bring Isaac around.
Once inside the house, the soft sounds of Kaitlyn reading upstairs told him the children were getting their nightly story. Rather than risk disturbing them, he wrapped the plate of food in a kitchen towel and slipped back out into the night air. A chorus of crickets greeted him.
“You leaving?” Drew approached from the direction of the barn.
“Didn’t want to wreak havoc on Kaitlyn getting the children to bed.”
Drew nodded. “See you bright and early.”
Always bright and early. Ed trudged the well-worn path to his small cabin, chafing under the constant demands. Drew loved this land, and the never-ending chore list didn’t seem to bother him at all. Not that Ed didn’t love the land too, the legacy it represented. He just wanted…more.
He swung open the cabin door. The moonlight offered enough illumination for him to set down his plate and light a lamp. Once seated, he slipped the letter from his pocket. His fingers worked to pull the letter out, then he shook it open. He couldn’t help glancing at it, sitting next to his plate, as he ate the cold supper.
If his answer succeeded in getting another reply, he could pass the rest of this off to Isaac to finish wooing her. A marriage meant having Isaac back near the family. Back here to help. A glimmer of hope sparked. If things went according to plan, Isaac’s mail-order bride should arrive before winter set in.
Chapter4
The bell above the office door chimed.
“Give me one minute, Billy.” Rebekah didn’t look up as she worked the twine to tie a bundle of newspapers together. She hadn’t counted on having to prep the papers for distribution by herself before the delivery boy, Billy, arrived. But Mr. Sullivan’s rush to see his daughter, who’d been ill, had seen him racing off to catch the one o’clock train. “I just have to tie off this last stack.”
A man cleared his throat, causing her to jump. Definitely not Billy. The twine fell from her fingers, leaving the papers to slide into a heap on the floor.
“Sorry to startle you.” Mr. Jameson’s figure blocked one whole section of the front window. The local rancher wore a big Stetson that reached nearly to the ceiling. “I have an envelope for Mr. Sullivan. Is he here?”
The man scanned the front office. Rebekah stepped from behind her desk, dodging the misshapen stack of fallen papers. Her green sprigged calico skirt rustled as she moved.
“He has gone out of town for a few days. I’ll be happy to deliver it to him when he returns.” She held out a hand, tilting her head as she smiled.
Mr. Jameson eyed her. Didn’t he trust her? Rebekah had babysat the man’s daughters when they were little, after all. “Be sure it’s kept in a safe place.”
“And what is so mysteriously important?” Rebekah teased. She clasped the envelope with both hands as the man handed it over.
“List of candidates for president of the Cattlemen’s Association.” He tipped his hat and winked. “Don’t want them getting out before next week.”
“Don’t you worry. This newspaper has a spotless reputation.” At least, it would keep that spotless reputation as long as she got the rest of the papers ready on time.
Mr. Jameson turned to go, the bell jangling as the door closed behind him a few seconds later.
Rebekah studied the envelope in her hand. This week, when she’d taken care of the matrimonial ads, they’d all fit into the paper without a problem. Not a good sign. Not if they wanted more papers to sell. If only they’d been able to print this list of the candidates for president of the Cattlemen’s Association this week. Even with the list, if Mr. Sullivan didn’t get back soon, they might not have time to work anything up to print next week.
Rebekah gripped the envelope in her hands as she stepped toward her desk, then stuffed it in a pocket of her skirt before picking up the fallen papers. This could be her big break. She flopped the last of the folded papers on the stack, then ran the twine beneath the lot of them and pulled the cord up to tie it. If she reported on the men running in the election, things might pick up around here. What if this was her chance to make a difference with her reporting?
With both hands, she hoisted the stack of newspapers onto the front counter for when the delivery boy came by. Then she patted the pocket where she’d stuffed the list of people running in the election. One little peek at the list would give her enough information to get a story or two. A story that would sell more papers…
Her conscience pinged. Mr. Jameson had insisted it go to Mr. Sullivan.
She turned and made her way to Mr. Sullivan’s desk, her steps echoing off the floorboards, then took the envelope from her pocket. The folded paper pulled at her with a magnetic sort of draw. What good did it do for her to sit around working up more matrimonial ads when the story of the year rested inside that envelope? Did she dare?
Her hand trembled slightly as she fingered the seal.
On the other side of the window, a wagon kicked up dust as it careened past the newspaper office, nearly hitting the hitching post out front. Shouts rose amidst the dust. Rebekah left the envelope unopened on Mr. Sullivan’s desk in her rush to the window. Voices—worried voices—came from the direction of the doctor’s office, where a crowd was already gathering. Rebekah pushed against the front door, her heart pounding against her ribs. The jangling bell rang in her ears as she sped down the rough boardwalk toward what must be the makings of a story.
She excused herself as she hurried past a group of women near one of the shops.
“Rebekah?” Merritt, a good friend and cousin to the McGraws, called out to her hesitantly. “Where are you going?”
