The Telegraph Proposal Page 3

  Couldn’t be helped.

  Hale stuffed his notes inside his leather satchel as he walked outside. Even though City Hall was a good mile away from the charred remains of The Resale Co., the scent of burned wood carried on the breeze. Thin clouds stretched across the sky like cotton pulled into wisps. No rain in the near future, unfortunately. The city could use a good dousing to get the smoky smell out of the air.

  Hale lowered his gaze to the boardwalk a few feet in front of him so people wanting to chatter wouldn’t interrupt him. He reached his aunt and uncle’s house quickly.

  He loved this house ... or had come to love it in the last five years. Aunt Lily always had cookies or cake on hand for whoever dropped by, and Uncle Jonas—when he was in town—dispensed wise, fatherly advice. Ten years ago, when Hale’s world fell apart, he barely knew his mother’s elder brother and wife. Now they were dearer to him than his own parents.

  After a couple of knocks, he opened the door. The scent of baking bread greeted him. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  Aunt Lily’s voice came from the back of the house. “Is that you, Hale? I’m in the kitchen.”

  Hale closed the front door behind him. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on the stand before strolling through the dining room toward the kitchen. This was the type of house he was looking to buy. Big enough to hold a family but not ostentatious. Tastefully decorated with comfortable, quality furniture. And filled with memories of holidays, meals shared with friends, and good conversation.

  Uncle Jonas once said that while it was the husband’s job to provide a house, a wise one allowed his wife to make it her home. Hale had plenty of money saved so his future wife could determine which house within his budget she wanted to turn into her home.

  A decision that seemed to be drawing closer.

  Smiling, he pushed open the door to the kitchen. The delicious bread smell was strong. “Mm. What are you baking?”

  Aunt Lily held up a crescent-shaped roll. “It’s a croissant. Zoe taught me how to make them when she . . .” Aunt Lily turned her head and wiped at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a watering pot, but I’m still upset about Zoe leaving town this morning after yesterday’s . . . events.”

  Hale changed the subject to give her something else to think about. “Are these the rolls Mrs. Hollenbeck can’t stop raving about? The ones you served at her welcome-home breakfast?” He picked up a still-warm croissant and took a bite. “Mm. Heavenly.”

  The compliment worked as he hoped it would. Aunt Lily turned back toward him with a tentative smile and nodded. “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Hale?” Uncle Jonas walked into the kitchen. “I was just about to tell your aunt about the meeting. Why don’t you go ahead.”

  Mouth filled with flaky, buttery goodness, Hale turned to his aunt for help.

  “Give the boy a moment to finish his bite, darling.” She picked up another croissant and handed it to her husband. “Here. Now go on out to the dining room. I’ll bring coffee in a few minutes.”

  Uncle Jonas winked at her. “You are a ruby beyond price, my dear.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” She placed two more croissants on a china plate and held it out. When Uncle Jonas took it from her, she waggled her hands at him and Hale. “Now run along, boys.”

  Laughter and loneliness vied for the same space inside Hale’s chest at the loving banter. This was the kind of marriage he wanted, one in which a husband and wife teased and laughed and enjoyed each other. He hated that he might have to put his own happy ending on hold—yet again—because of someone else’s actions. Isaak, however, had a much better reason than Yancey Palmer ever had. Hale swallowed down his bitterness. Why, after all these years, did her interference in his courtship of her sister still bother him? Luanne was now married to a fine man, and—in retrospect—Hale understood that his pursuit of her was more about wanting a home than wanting Luanne. He liked to think he would have come to the conclusion they weren’t suited before he proposed marriage, but he never got the chance.

  Because of Yancey Palmer.

  Had that been the end of her meddling, he’d have forgiven her. But no. She made it clear to every eligible woman in Helena under the age of thirty that Hale was hers. No woman would have him for fear of going against her.

  Well, he’d figured out a way around that.

  News for later in the conversation. Hale swung open the door between the kitchen and dining room. “Actually, if you don’t mind, there’s something else I need to discuss with both of you.”

  Uncle Jonas’s smile faded. “That sounds serious.”

  “It is, but it’s a good serious.” Hale glanced at his aunt to gauge her reaction. She held both hands to her chest. Hale reached out to touch her shoulder. “I promise. It’s . . . it’s about my future plans.” He tipped his head toward the dining room. “Shall we?”

  Aunt Lily lowered her hands and smoothed her apron. She eyed him as she passed by. “You’re sure everything is all right?”

  “Yes.”

  After piling three more croissants on the plate he held, Uncle Jonas winked at Hale on his way past. “A bit of sustenance while we talk.”

  Grinning because he was about to suggest the same thing, Hale followed his uncle into the dining room. He waited for his aunt to set out three china plates and then for her and Uncle Jonas to sit before beginning. “I have three things to tell you. Which would you like to hear first—personal, professional, or political?”

  The older couple stared at each other for a full second—a silent conversation passing between them—before Uncle Jonas leaned against the back of his chair. “As it appears you’ve already thought about what you want to tell us enough to apply alliteration, why don’t you go in the order that makes the most sense to you.”

  Hale’s lips twitched. “As I was planning to do that anyway, I agree to your request.”

  Aunt Lily huffed. “You two and your humor. Just tell me already. Are they all about the meeting today?”

  “The political one is.” Hale sat down. “I researched the legality of putting off the selection of a capitol city and still being able to apply for statehood.”

  “And?” Aunt Lily reached for a croissant and set it on her plate.

  “It’s legal.”

  “I take it that because both of you are here”—she looked between her husband and Hale—“instead of in another five-hour delegates’ meeting that accomplishes nothing, you proposed a motion to that effect and it passed?”

  “Yes. Twenty-five to five.” A proud smile softened what were the otherwise stark features of his uncle. “I had to refrain from standing and applauding, Son.”

  The praise and endearment warmed Hale’s chest. “I’m glad you approve. Harold Kendrick—”

  Aunt Lily harrumphed. “Don’t tell me. He was one of the five dissenting. That man would oppose peace on earth and goodwill toward men if an Adams or Forsythe proposed it.”

  Hale took a croissant from the plate centered on the table. “Actually, he was so outnumbered, he not only voted for the motion but also said it was a brilliant solution.”

  The look of shock on Aunt Lily’s face was as readable as the glee on Uncle Jonas’s.

  “Which brings me to my professional news.” Hale took a steadying breath. Now for the I-told-you-so part of the discussion. “Isaak came to see me yesterday.”

  “Before or after the fire?” Uncle Jonas took a croissant and tore it in two.

  “After.” Hale added butter to his croissant, took a bite, and lost his ability to think about anything except the flavor filling his mouth. But the news he’d come to share could only be put off so long. Hale swallowed ... and swallowed again. “Isaak talked me into running in his place.”

  Aunt Lily clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Hale.”

  “It certainly is.” Uncle Jonas had an I-told-you-I’d-make-a-politician-out-of-you gleam in his eye. “And as soon as you tell us your personal bit of
news, you and I are going to have a long talk about what you need to do to defeat Harold Kendrick.”

  “Oh, yes.” Aunt Lily turned to Hale. “But first, what’s your personal news?”

  Chapter Two

  Hale felt his cheeks warming. He lowered his eyes, staring at the half-eaten croissant on his plate until he regained his composure.

  “You’ve met a girl, haven’t you?” Aunt Lily’s voice was full of excitement.

  Hale cut a look at her. “How did you know?”

  She smiled with matronly warmth. “A woman can tell. What’s her name?”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Miss Portia York.”

  “I don’t recognize the name. Do you, darling?” she addressed her husband.

  “No.” Uncle Jonas’s forehead creased. “Is the York family new in town?”

  Hale shook his head. Now for the part they might not like—although they liked Zoe well enough. So there was no need to be nervous. Yet he was. He wanted them to like Portia. To welcome her. Which was more likely to happen if he didn’t surprise them with her sudden appearance.

  Hale pushed his glasses higher on his nose and lifted his chin a bit. “Miss York and I were connected through the Archer Matrimonial Company.”

  Aunt Lily’s eyes widened. “The same ones who brought Zoe to Helena?” She didn’t sound upset.

  Hale breathed a little easier. “Yes. Jakob asked me to research the agency when I was in Denver last October for that legal convention regarding new bankruptcy laws. I was impressed by their vetting process and decided to sign up as a client.”

  “How long have you been corresponding with Miss York?” Uncle Jonas sliced butter out of a clay crock and began slathering it onto one half of his croissant. His tone was noncommittal, a lawyer getting all the facts.

  “Since mid-February.” Hale cleared his throat. “And I very much wish to bring her to Helena for a sixty-day courtship period as a precursor to marriage.”

  Aunt Lily clapped her hands again. “Oh, Hale. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Jonas, why are you frowning?”

  “Because there’s something the boy isn’t telling us.” Uncle Jonas took a bite of his roll, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “Well”—Aunt Lily leaned forward in her chair, her attention solely on Hale—“don’t leave me in suspense.”

  “It’s nothing bad, I assure you.” Hale picked up his croissant. “I simply need your advice about whether now is the time to bring Miss York to Helena. It will come as no surprise to either of you that campaigning will be difficult for me.”

  Uncle Jonas harrumphed. “I am more than happy to help, as I’ve told you several times.”

  More like a thousand and one times.

  “We can discuss that in more detail later.” Hale added butter to the warm roll. “Right now, I’m concerned about Miss York. I might be rather busy”—and rather grouchy, given how much he anticipated hating campaigning—“and I don’t wish to give her the wrong impression of me.”

  He’d finally found a woman he thought he could build a life around. He didn’t want anything to ruin his chances of success with her.

  Aunt Lily reached over and put her hand on his arm. “I know this isn’t going to be easy for you, but your uncle isn’t the only one who will rally to your cause. I can think of at least a dozen women who will work tirelessly for you. Women might not be able to vote—”

  “Yes they do.” Jonas grinned at his wife before turning to Hale. “Indirectly, of course, but never underestimate the power of the woman behind the man.”

  A snicker came from Aunt Lily. “Now, Jonas dear, don’t give Hale the wrong impression of marriage just when he’s about to bring his girl to town.”

  “The boy is twenty-eight, darling.” Uncle Jonas wiped the corners of his mouth. “And he’s seen his fair share of both marital bliss and misery.”

  True. Too true. Hale set down his croissant, wiped his fingers on the napkin in his lap, then placed his hand over his aunt’s. “So you think I should bring Miss York to Helena despite the campaign?”

  Aunt Lily nodded. “As your uncle has said repeatedly, married men get more votes. We don’t wish to rush you into marriage—at least not until you’ve had a chance to meet this young lady—so the next best thing is a serious courtship.”

  “I agree.” Uncle Jonas buttered the other half of his croissant. “And now, I’m going to forgo further questions and advice—although only for the next few minutes—so this little piece of heaven doesn’t grow stale in my hand.”

  * * *

  Directly after leaving his aunt and uncle’s house, Hale headed to his office where he wrote, edited, and revised a letter to Miss York in pencil before recopying it in ink. It took almost an hour, so it was after six by the time he was finished telling her his latest news. He ended with:

  Miss York, we have shared our hearts and lives through paper and pen. These poor tools are no longer up to the task. If you are not put off by my decision to run for mayor and all the public scrutiny it will bring, I humbly request that you come to Helena. I earnestly desire to see your face and hear your voice as we commence the next stage of our courtship.

  Your devoted servant,

  Hale Adams, Esq.

  His heart pounded at the addition of “devoted” in the closing, but it was truth. He felt devoted to her even though they had yet to meet.

  He looked over his desk into the waiting area. The Persian carpet and tufted sofa were leftovers from his aunt’s redecoration of her parlor five years ago. He accepted them because his clients needed someplace to sit while waiting. He’d meant for a wife to finish decorating his office, but then came Yancey Palmer. Tired of hearing he’d eventually get around to purchasing curtains, Aunt Lily bought the blue-and-white ones hanging in the waiting room and in his office as a Christmas present eighteen months ago.

  When Miss Portia York arrived, he’d give her the freedom to redecorate his office, his apartment upstairs where they could live until children came along, and anything else in his life she found too boring.

  Including him.

  When he’d first arrived in Helena, his excuse for sticking to nothing but work and church had been the demands of setting up his practice. After he established himself, he set about the business of making the city his home by the usual route: a wife and family. Ever since Yancey Palmer had ruined that plan, he found it too exhausting—and too lonely—to make significant changes to the patterns of his life.

  Then he’d met Mrs. Archer, agreed to become a client, and was introduced to Miss Portia York. Now he was eager to get on with the life he’d always wanted.

  He wrote a letter to the matrimonial company, telling them he’d asked Portia to join him in Helena. There were some procedural things the agency needed to handle in order to satisfy the contractual obligations to both parties.

  He checked the time. The post office would be closed, but he could slip the letters into the overnight box. And, with any luck, there might be another letter from Portia. She usually wrote twice a week, as did he.

  He hurried out the door, smiling as he walked. He’d begun to think of her as Portia rather than Miss York. If she agreed to come to Helena, he’d forgo using her Christian name until she gave him permission to do so because that was right and proper, but he would allow himself the privilege of that intimacy in the privacy of his thoughts.

  When he entered the post office, he stopped on the threshold. Yancey Palmer was there with her best friend, Carline Pope. Both blond and blue-eyed, they looked like sisters. They certainly acted like it. But then, Miss Palmer adopted everyone as family ... whether a person wanted it or not.

  She smiled with cool civility. “Good afternoon, Mr. Adams.”

  How very odd. She usually greeted him as Hale. It was her way of claiming a closer connection between them. To hear her use the more formal, proper Mr. Adams was ... unsettling, though he couldn’t figure out why. He took off his hat and dipped his chin in polite
acknowledgment. “Miss Palmer. Miss Pope.”

  Miss Pope smiled. “Mr. Adams, very nice to see you. We were just leaving.” She wrapped her arm around Miss Palmer as the two of them approached the exit.

  He stepped back to let them pass through the door, hiding his letters behind his back until they were safely past. Not once did Miss Palmer turn her head to give him that look he hated, the one declaring he would be hers one day and everyone knew it.

  What was different about her today?

  Vexed at himself for giving her a second thought, he entered the post office and closed the door behind him. He slipped his letters to Portia and the agency through the slot, then went to check his box. There was a stack of mail waiting for him. Most was business correspondence, but two were personal. One was from Portia and the other from Isaak Gunderson. Wanting to read Portia’s letter in private, he slid it to the bottom of the stack and ripped open Isaak’s. Inside was a page torn from the notebook he always carried with him and a typewritten list. The note read:

  Hale~

  I’m going after Zoe. I’m not sure when—or even if—I’ll be back. In the meantime, here’s the schedule of all the planned campaign events. Before I leave town, I’ll make sure Yancey will continue helping with the campaign—she really is the best at planning events—on the condition that her days of chasing after you are over. If she can’t make that promise, I’ll tell her to drop out of helping. She’s also great at keeping secrets. Even if she can’t promise to help with your campaign, I know she’ll agree to say nothing about you taking my place until you announce it yourself on Saturday. So there’s nothing for you to worry about. Just run the best campaign you can and WIN!

  Best of luck to you,

  Isaak