Love on the Line (28 page)

If anyone had told him being a Ranger would require trapping mice in Mason jars, he wouldn’t have believed it.

“Make sure that string’s good ’n’ tight, now,” Duane cautioned, stretching a piece of brown paper over the lid of his jar while simultaneously keeping an eye on Luke.

Luke secured the string around the rim of his, then flicked the paper covering with his middle finger. Tight as a drum.

“Good. Now take yer knife and cut a little
x
right in the center o’ yer paper.”

Opening his pocketknife, Luke did as instructed.

“That’s it. Now start on the next one.”

The two of them sat in the back room of Pfeuffer Feed Store preparing a dozen traps. It was Duane’s job to keep the storage area clear of rodents, and he’d been negligent of late. The overwhelming odor of grain and rodent feces made it difficult to breathe.

Luke repositioned the lantern to better see, its moving flame throwing shadows over bags of feed piled in every available corner like hulking ghosts. A selection of new and old cast-iron feed boxes, feed trays, and feed troughs leaned against the south wall.

“I’m gettin’ mighty tired of Necker always making excuses ever’ time I wanna go night hunting.” With a put-upon sigh, Duane shook his head. “Don’t ever get hitched, Luke. It done ruins yer life.”

Luke had met Necker’s new wife for the first time at Maifest. She was a pretty little thing and clearly thought he walked on water. If he felt the same of her, he gave no indication—other than his reluctance to spend too many evenings carousing with the fellas.

“How long they been married?” he asked.

“He doubled up soon as the harvest was in. Said he didn’t wanna go through another winter without a gal to snuggle up to.”

Luke smiled. “Well, I can appreciate that.”

“I can’t. I don’t want my haunches spurred by no drip-nose of a gal.”

“I imagine you’ll change your mind one of these days.”

“I don’t know. They seem like an awful lot o’ trouble to me. Besides, you ain’t doubled up and yer lots older than me.” Duane looked up from the lid he was slicing. “Or are you thinkin’ on it now that you got yer eye on our hello girl?”

The last impression Luke wanted to give was one which placed any more importance on Georgie than he already had. “I’m not what you’d call the marrying type.”

Tension eased from Duane’s shoulders. “Me neither.”

After finishing the last jar, they bent pieces of thin wire into J-shapes, turned them upside down, and secured one to each jar. From the tip of the wire, Duane hung a piece of toasted cheese. Though Luke recognized immediately how the trap would work, he allowed the boy to demonstrate.

With eyes alight, Duane cycled his fingers as if they were the mouse. “It’ll reach for the bait, see, and fall right through them cuts we made in the paper. Quick as a wink, the paper will flap back into place and wait fer the next mouse to come along.”

Luke watched the boy with a pang of grief. He wasn’t a bad sort and hadn’t done any killing that he knew of, but was simply bored and without direction. From what Luke could tell, his father didn’t interact with him much. He went through the same routine every day of opening the feed store, running the feed store, closing the feed store, then going home. He never kept up with Duane’s comings and goings. Never asked what he did with his time. Never praised, nor criticized.

It was another reason Luke hated going undercover. Under normal circumstances, he went in, made his arrests, and dropped the men off at jail. They had names, of course, and sometimes even faces, but Luke didn’t know them. They were outlaws and scoundrels, not men with parents, wives, children, and a sense of humor.

Duane continued to speak, animated in his excitement over the simple task of catching a few rodents. Luke wanted to interrupt him, talk to him about what he was doing, the direction he was taking, the different choices he had available to him. But his assignment was to become one of them and to cross enemy lines. If he tried to reform Duane or any of the rest of them, he’d never find Frank Comer, much less stop any train robberies.

The constraints left him frustrated and unsettled.

Georgie pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into Ottfried’s Millinery. In the year she’d lived in Brenham, she’d only been inside the shop once. She’d taken one sweeping glance at his inventory, then promptly turned around and left. This time, however, she was determined to stay.

The thick door closed behind her, shutting off sounds from the street. Not another soul was in the room. Lush carpets covered the wooden floor and cushioned her feet. Light-colored walls held drawers with shiny brass knobs, shelves with charming displays, and glass-fronted cabinets packed with merchandise.

Ottfried swept through a curtain in the back, then pulled up short. His face flushed. His breathing grew labored.

“I know you’re about to close for the day,” Georgie said, taking a tentative step forward, “but I saw your display window and couldn’t help but come in.”

That wasn’t exactly true. She had, of course, seen the window display just now. It held a variety of beautifully decorated hats—not a bird part in sight. But she’d come today because the women of town had told her about it.

“He’s completely redone his stock,” Mrs. Patrick had said. “Instead of every hat having a bird part on it, none of them do.”

Georgie had touched the receiver at her ear, ensuring she’d heard correctly. “None? Not a single one?”

“None,” Mrs. Patrick confirmed. “If a woman wants a bird part on her hat, she has to put in a special request.”

“But if he has no bird parts, how will he fill the request?”

“He still has the bird parts he’s stripped from his hats. So he opens the drawers and lets the customer choose what she wants.”

Georgie had collapsed against her chair. “Good heavens.”

With such a momentous show of support, and knowing he’d been wrongfully maligned, she could not stay away. “I’d like to buy a hat, please.”

“Why?” he asked.

She swallowed. The truth was, she couldn’t afford a hat. Especially not one from a place as fine as his. But sometimes, doing the right thing was more important than worrying over the financial implications. “I feel you’ve been treated unjustly and I’m partly to blame.”

He blinked. Clearly, he’d not expected her response. It didn’t take long, however, for his expression to sour. “You’re entirely to blame.”

“Not entirely.” She was willing to call a truce, but she wasn’t willing to shoulder all the responsibility. “Before now, the majority of your products held bird parts. Still, we live in a country where one is innocent until proven guilty. I know you weren’t one of the men who broke into my home. And though I don’t know who instructed them to destroy the hats, I find I can’t condemn you simply because it’s convenient.”

His jaw tightened. “A little late, wouldn’t you say?”

“I hope not.”

He swept his arm to encompass the room. “Do you see how empty this is? It’s been this way since Maifest. Since those men burned your hats.” He looked her up and down. “I have to admit, I’ve wondered if
you
weren’t the one who hired them simply to tilt the scales in your favor.”

She sucked in her breath. “I assure you, I did not.”

“No?” He crossed his arms. “Not very pleasant to be wrongly accused, is it, Miss Gail?”

“No, it’s not.” She cleared her throat. “If you have time, I was hoping to look at some of your toques or maybe something with a straw foundation.”

His eyes took on a smug quality. “I understand you place great store on Nellie Bly.”

Lips parting, she quickly scanned the shop. “Do you have her hat?”

“Matter of fact, I do. It just came in this week.” Opening a cupboard, he removed a Panama hat on a handsome stand and plunked it on the counter. “Here you are, Miss Gail. A genuine Nellie Bly hat on a straw foundation. Would you like me to point out its features?”

She stepped up to it. A miniature bird poised on its crown. Its body was of pure white, its wings a glossy, radiant purple and black. She didn’t know what it was, only that it was tropical. Had Nellie seen the species during her travels around the world?

A wave of sickness swept through her as another idol fell from the pedestal she’d placed it on. First Frank Comer, now Nellie Bly. It wasn’t a fair comparison, of course. Comer was a criminal. Bly was a suffragette.

But to Georgie, they’d both been idols. And by their very nature, at some point or another, they always, always disappoint.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her coins on the counter. “Even without the bird, I’m afraid her hat would be out of my range. This is all I have.”

He glanced at her money. Without a word, he turned around, opened a drawer, pulled out a bare straw hat, and slapped it on the counter. “Here you are, Miss Gail. Thank you for your business.”

Her lips parted. She’d given him seven dollars. A fortune, especially for her. She knew as well as he the frame of a hat didn’t cost seven dollars. More like fifty cents.

She opened her mouth to argue, when a spurt of compassion stopped her. She took another moment before deciding to listen to the prompting of her heart. “Thank you. Would you mind wrapping it for me?”

For the second time, he looked nonplussed before remembering all the ignominy he’d suffered and placed upon her doorstep. With righteous indignation, he wrapped the hat in tissue, then brown paper, and tied it with a string.

Scooping it into her arms, she offered a quiet thank-you and left the building.

The children clamored around Georgie’s window, each trying to peek inside the nest.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is.” Eugene crossed his arms over his overall bib. “She’s just sittin’ there.”

“She has eggs under her, dummy,” Bettina snapped. “The eggs won’t hatch less’n she sits on ’em.”

“I ain’t no dummy.” He dropped his hands, his chest puffing out.

Good heavens, Georgie thought. Did all males inherit a predisposition to that stance? “Bettina, do not call names. Apologize to Eugene.”

The girl jiggled her leg. “Sorry.”

“Listen, Miss Georgie.” Belle turned to her, blue eyes wide, blond curls swinging. “She’s calling for Prince Albert.”

The female cardinal’s soft voice floated over the yard.

“So she is.”

The group quieted.

“What’s she want?” Eugene whispered, his interest captured.

She peered over their heads. “A little snack, I suppose. Or maybe just some company. Try to imagine how you’d feel if you had to sit in one spot for ten days in a row.”

A fate worse than death for a lively group such as this.

“How much longer does she have to sit there?” This from Fritz Ottfried.

Georgie had told no one, other than Luke, of her exchange with the milliner. But two days later, Fritz had attended their Junior Audubon meeting and every one since. They’d been having them more frequently because the children were as excited as she about the cardinals.

She wondered if Mr. Ottfried knew she’d have paid much, much more for Fritz’s attendance. “Only a couple more days. Three at the most.”

“Then they’ll hatch?”