Footsteps echoed on the wooden steps as they came up them and crossed the porch. The wooden door squeaked on its hinges.
Will and the two women stepped inside and Carrie rose to meet them.
“Hello,” he said, introducing the ladies.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Carrie said. “This is my friend, Martha Johnson. Please sit down.”
“Could we bother you for some cool drinks, Miss Banks?”
“I’m afraid lemonade is all I have at the moment.”
“That sounds good,” Agatha said with a smile. She and Evelyn took seats in the wooden chairs at the table and carefully pulled off their white gloves, one finger at a time. Evelyn frowned as she looked around the plainly furnished dining room.
Carrie glanced around too, wondering how their flowered wallpaper, oak furniture and a picture of George Washington and his family stacked up to whatever these ladies were used to in Stillwater. Probably not very well, she thought.
But why did she care? She turned back to Will, asking, “How did you get hurt?”
Will grinned at her. “Just a little disagreement.”
He’d been fighting again, like he had in the bar the first time she’d seen him. Honestly, these men. “Would you like some ice for your lip?”
“That would be nice,” he agreed. “And I’d better wash up a bit.” He stepped out to wash his hands in the basin near the entrance.
Carrie left the women admiring the knick-knacks on the whatnot shelves in the corner of the room and asking Martha about them. Carrie went to the kitchen for the pitcher of lemonade and more glasses. With an ice pick, she chipped some ice from the block in the icebox and wrapped it in a dish towel. She put it all on a serving tray and went back to the dining room.
When she returned, Martha was enthusiastically telling their visitors about the upcoming church social.
“I’m sure the events in Stillwater are much more exciting than our small affairs,” Carrie said apologetically, pouring the cool lemonade into glasses and setting them in front of the ladies.
Will glanced at her sharply, making her almost spill the glass she was filling for him. He reached a large hand up to take it from her. She caught her breath as their hands touched and their eyes met. His sharp blue ones seemed to bore into her very soul. She swallowed and handed him the makeshift ice-pack. He was such a big, exciting man, so different from the few men from church who had called on her from time to time. He was strong, muscular, virile. And very dirty and sweaty. And tall. He stood a full four inches over her and was one of the few men she knew who could make her feel petite and feminine. She couldn’t help liking that very much. His face was darkly tanned from working outdoors and his eyes as blue as the sky. She felt she could drown in them.
“Honestly, Will,” Evelyn put in frostily, breaking the spell and bringing their attention back to her. “You really need to go change clothes and clean up. And you should have a doctor look at that hand.”
“A doctor?” Will stared at her. “It’s just a scrape.”
“It’s better to be safe than sorry. Your mother brought you some proper clothes. And take off those spiked boots. I’m sure the boarding house doesn’t like all this dirt tracked in.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“I’m sorry, Evelyn, but I don’t have time for that now. And I have no need for fancy clothes when I’m working on the logs,” Will answered, downing the cool lemonade. He held the ice pack against his swollen, bloody lip.
“It’s all right,” Carrie put in quickly, refilling Will’s glass. “We’re used to loggers in working clothes. They don’t have time to change for meals when they’re working. And we’re really pretty informal here.” Evelyn probably thought of them as barbaric and uncivilized. So be it.
For some reason, Carrie resented the attractive young woman’s criticism of Will. He was very sweaty and dirty, of course, but no more than usual when he was working out on the jam. Logging was hot work, especially in this muggy weather.
What was Evelyn to Will? Carrie wondered. Why had she come here with his mother and why did she feel entitled to criticize him and order him about like that?
“Besides, I have to go right back to work,” Will said.
“You’re going back out there?” Evelyn said, her voice rising to a disbelieving squawk. “But...we’re here. Aren’t you going to visit with me and your mother?” Her lips pursed in a pout.
Will sighed and looked at his mother, who merely smiled at him calmly and said, “It’s all right, son. I know you have to work. I didn’t come to interfere. We just wanted to come see for ourselves what all the excitement was about.”
He gave a quick laugh, pleased at her answer. “I’d hug you if I was cleaner. It is good to see you again, Ma. But we’ve got to break this jam, and it takes every man we can find. We’ll catch up on visiting when I finish here and get home again.”
“I understand. We’ll just book a room and freshen up a bit, then maybe come down and watch you work a while.”
Carrie gasped and stared at her. “Book a room? But...” She turned to Will. Surely, he understood…
Will met her gaze. “I know you’re full here, but maybe you know of someone else in town who has rooms left?”
Carrie shook her head.
“A room in a private home, perhaps?” Will looked at Martha.
Martha also shook her head. “Everyone I know has already rented out their extra bedrooms. I’ve never seen this town so full of people. The jam has gotten widespread attention. Our little town doesn’t have accommodations for so many people at once.”
Evelyn gasped. “But…then what will we do? I was sure you’d take care of that for us, Will.”
“I only got your telegram an hour ago,” he explained patiently. “I haven’t had time to look for a room.”
“Maybe we should take the train back tonight, then?” Agatha asked.
“You can’t do that,” Carrie said, shaking her head. “The one you came on was the last train today. It unloaded freight, turned around and went back already.”
“But then, what’ll we do?” Evelyn whimpered.
Carrie bit her lip and looked at Martha, who’d sat quietly listening. Whatever Evelyn did, Carrie hoped it was somewhere else. The woman’s helpless act was getting on her nerves.
Will sighed and finished off his lemonade. He stood, his tall body towering over them. “You can have my room here, Ma,” he said, “and perhaps you’ll share it with Evelyn?”
Carrie choked on her lemonade and stared at him. His room? Here at the Falls House? She’d have to put up with these two women after all?
“Your room?” Agatha protested. “But then, what’ll you do, Will?”
He shrugged. “I’ll take my things and sleep in the tents with my men.”
Agatha gasped, “Oh, but I hate to put you out, son. I’m sure you were enjoying sleeping in a proper bed after roughing it in the logging camp all winter.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ma,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m used to it.”
“Well, all right then, and of course we can share one room.”
“That’ll be okay with your aunt, won’t it?” Will asked, turning to Carrie. “And you can handle a couple extra people for meals?”
No, she wanted to shout. I won’t allow it. But of course, instead, she politely nodded.
“Good. Then I’ll leave you in Carrie’s capable hands and see you here at suppertime. Put their meals on my bill, too, Miss Banks.” He turned toward the door.
“Will?” Evelyn called.
“Yes?” Will asked, turning back to them.
“Would you invite Daddy to come up here to have supper with us? I’m sure your mother and I would like to hear all about their work on the jam.”
“Oh, but…” his mother began, then stopped.
Will glanced at her. Agatha’s face had turned suspiciously pink. “Sure. I’ll do that. See you tonight.”
“Will?”
“Yes, Ma?”
“We need to talk…about some family business.”
“Sure, Ma. We’ll have plenty of time for that after supper tonight.” He sent a crooked grin at Carrie and walked out.
Carrie watched him leave, wondering why his mother was looking embarrassed.
Dismay sent a cold lump into the pit of her stomach as she heard him mount the stairs to his room. She imagined him putting his few belongings back into his “turkey” and hoisting the heavy bag onto his shoulder.
She didn’t want these elegant women to stay here, but what could she do? Business was business, as Aunt Louise often said. And surely Will had the right to give his room to his mother if he chose. And if Agatha shared it with Will’s young “friend,” who was Carrie to object? It was no business of hers.
Carrie heard Will’s boots on the steps as he came down again and left the boarding house. Swallowing her resentment, she sipped her lemonade, returning her attention to her guests.
“Well,” Martha was saying enthusiastically, “maybe you’ll be here for our pie social after all, then?”
“I’d enjoy that,” Agatha said.
Evelyn looked pained and rose to her feet. “If you’ll show us our room,” she said pointedly to Carrie,” I’d really like to freshen up after that long, hot train ride.”
“Of course.”
“I’d better be going, too,” Martha said. “I’ll see you later, Carrie.”
Waving a goodbye to Martha, Carrie led the other two women through the lobby and up the narrow stairway.
“Goodness, it’s dark,” Evelyn said.
“Dark? But it’s daytime.”
“I meant the stairway,” Evelyn said.
“Oh. Well, it’s a bit darker than usual today because it’s cloudy. I think it’s about to rain. You can feel how muggy the air is. Here we are.” Carrie opened one of the doors on the long hallway and stepped inside, leaving the door open for the other women to follow her.
The room was stifling in the afternoon heat and humidity.
“Oh, my! How primitive,” Evelyn exclaimed. “And hot.”
“It’ll be fine,” Agatha said, frowning at Evelyn.
“I’ll open the window for some air, though you’ll have to close it again if it begins to rain in. It cools off at night, usually,” Carrie said through tight lips. The room was a bit stuffy. It held the scent of Will’s manly sweat. To her, a man’s sweat meant he’d been busy at honest labor. She certainly saw no shame in that. Hard work was a virtue.
She crossed the room and raised the sash. “There won’t be many mosquitoes out in the daytime so I suppose we could open up for a bit. But the horses and the loggers’ outdoor cooking and garbage do attract flies, so we don’t leave the windows open as a rule.”
A flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder made her jump. It began to rain hard. She could see Will hurrying to the tent on the riverbank with his turkey on his shoulder. As she watched, he disappeared inside the tent, then reappeared without the pack and strode onto the logjam.
“It’s raining,” Evelyn exclaimed, pleased. “Won’t they stop work now? Will can come back inside, surely?”
Carrie shook her head. “They work in all kinds of weather. Nothing seems to faze them.” She didn’t even attempt to keep her admiration for these tough men out of her voice.
Evelyn sniffed disdainfully at her pronouncement. She looked at the plain iron bed with its colorful patchwork comforter. A carved wooden chest of drawers and a walnut washstand with a round mirror and white china pitcher and basin completed the furnishings of the bedroom.
“Is this all? But where’s the necessary?” Evelyn asked.
Carrie flushed and pointed to the china commode under the bed.
“That’s it? No indoor plumbing? It’s not even in a separate room for some privacy?”
“We’re not a luxury boarding house,” Carrie said, noticing her disapproval. She moved to the doorway and tried to keep her tone polite. “Mainly we get loggers or tourists who want low prices and plain food.”
“It’s quite adequate, my dear,” Agatha said firmly, sending a quelling glance at her companion. “We’ll be fine.” She smiled kindly at Carrie.
Carrie nodded. “I’ll have our man bring up your luggage.”
“Thank you.”
“After you’re rested, perhaps you’d prefer to sit outdoors where it’s cooler,” Carrie said. “The rain should stop soon. These summer showers usually don’t last long. There are benches on the porch for our guests. You can see some of the work on the jam from there without getting wet.”
“Thank you,” Agatha said. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”
“I’ll send up the girl with fresh sheets and towels and more water for your pitcher,” Carrie said and hurried off.
Maybe if they think our small town is hopelessly inadequate, they’ll go back home, she thought irritably. And Will could have a dry, comfortable bed again instead of having to sleep on the hard ground in a damp tent.
The thought of him trying to get some rest that way after a hard day’s work made her sad. Yet she knew all the loggers did it and seemed to thrive on the hardship. Another loud crack of thunder made her jump. Glancing out the window in the front door, she could see rain pouring down. Well, maybe the thunderstorm would cool things off a bit.
Returning to the kitchen, she found Aunt Louise up from her nap and busy mixing up a cake batter.
Tom sat on a stool beside her, busily peeling apples. “Hi, Sis,” he said, grinning at her. “Look at this. I got almost the whole apple in one long peel.”
He tipped his head back, held up a long curl of apple peel and lowered it into his mouth, chewing as it dropped.
“He makes a game of it,” Aunt Louise said, shrugging indulgently.
“That’s good.” Carrie ruffled his hair, wishing she dared give him a hug, but knew he’d be embarrassed if she did. She was glad he could find a way to make the hated kitchen work fun.
She explained the situation with their new guests to Aunt Louise. “He said to put their meals on his bill, too. So I didn’t know what else to do, other than agree that Will could let them stay in his room.”
“Well, it can’t be helped,” Louise said.
“And someone will need to take more water and fresh linens up for them.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it. I’ll send one of the girls upstairs right away.”
“That means three extra people for supper tonight because besides her and Agatha, Evelyn invited her dad for supper.”
“All right,” Louise said and nodded.
The back door opened and Jack, their handyman, stepped inside, a large bag of flour on his shoulder and his coat thrown over his head and the flour to protect them both from the rain. Carrie tried not to smile at the incongruous picture the small, wiry man made. The bag of flour was almost as big as he was, yet he carried it with ease. He slid the bag forward to his arms and set it down in the pantry. Pulling the metal cover off the flour can, he pulled the string to open the cloth bag, then emptied the flour into the can. He rubbed the muscles of his arm and hung up his coat. He cast a glance toward Louise and said, “I’ll get the rest of the groceries after the grocer puts up your order.”
“Thank you, Jack,” Louise said, nodding. “Did he have any fresh eggs?”
“Yes, he said some had just come in from the farm. Fresh strawberries and peas, too. You need anything else right now, Miss Louise?”
“I’ll need some potatoes, onions and carrots from the root cellar, and another block of ice from ice house, Jack.” She sent him a smile. “Oh, and some more ladies’ luggage has arrived from the train station. The ladies are in the second room on your left at the top of the stairs. Would you take the luggage up to their room, please?”
Nodding, Jack turned to put his coat back on. He opened the door to go back outside into the rain to get the ice and vegetables, then turned back to comment, “Those crazy coons have been at your bird feeder again. It’s empty.”
Louise sighed. “I’ll put out more bread crumbs later.”
“Waste of time,” Jack mumbled as he turned to leave.
Carrie tried not to laugh at Jack’s running battle with the coon. “Oh, but they’re such cute wild creatures,” she said, half to tease him. She winked at Tom, who pulled a funny face, then hid his smile and industriously kept on peeling apples.
Jack tossed Carrie a dirty look over his shoulder for her trouble and left.
Carrie knew Jack hated the raccoons that came nightly to raid the town bird feeders or garbage pails for whatever scraps of food they could find. They seemed to be able to open almost any container and climb onto roofs or poles to get into any hanging feeder in spite of all his efforts to thwart them.
Louise shook her head at Carrie and Tom’s antics and sighed. “You’d better go back to Joe’s, Carrie,” she said. “He’ll be chomping at the bit for the latest goings on.”
* * * *
Carrie picked up her umbrella from the stand beside the door and stepped outside. Patches of blue sky peeked out between the clouds to the east over the river. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and a bright rainbow arched over the wet men working on the logjam.
The crowds of people watching the work on the logjam were mostly huddled under the trees along the bank or under the awnings of the businesses along main street and sitting on the benches on the Falls House porch.
Ignoring them, Carrie stopped on the boardwalk for a moment to admire the brilliant colors in the rainbow. Then she opened her umbrella and hurried down the boardwalk to Uncle Joe’s newspaper office.
There she found Uncle Joe red-faced and furious. He stood over Hank who cowered over his table at the rear, writing and trying to appear undaunted by Joe’s tirade.
“What’s the matter, Uncle?”
“That worthless devil across the bridge is what’s the matter,” Uncle Joe stormed. He came back to the front desk and stomped his cane loudly on the wooden floor for emphasis. “He has the nerve to criticize my language, even calls me incompetent, and the fool has even spelled Commodore Collin’s name wrong. The nerve of the worthless jackass!” He waved a copy of his rival’s newspaper at her.
Carrie took the offending paper and read the public insults. They were no worse than ones Uncle Joe had leveled at the other man in the past, but she didn’t dare say so.
“Remember your health, Uncle. It’s bad for you to get so excited. I’m sure the educated people in town who read it will see his mistakes and know you are right,” Carrie soothed.
“Humph.” He grabbed the newspaper from her hand and said, “Listen to this: ‘Captain Wheeler brought the tug W. B. Trow around from Saint Paul to work on the jam.’”
Carrie frowned. “I thought the Trow was Captain Haycock’s boat?”
“See!” Uncle Joe roared and waved his cane at Hank. “Even a woman knew the difference. How come you didn’t see that when I asked you?”
Hank reddened and Carrie laughed. “Go easy on him, Uncle Joe. I knew because I hear the loggers talk about these things while I serve them their suppers. Hank doesn’t have that advantage.”
“I suppose,” Joe conceded. “But if he’s gonna write for me, he’s gonna have to stay on top of this stuff. Details, man, details. I want the correct details.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What are you writing there? I need to get this stuff set up.” He hobbled over and picked up the copy off Hank’s table. “Hmm. ‘A party of ladies came up from Stillwater, but the one who rearranged her garters as the party was getting off the train shocked the modesty of our reporter so that he neglected to get their names.’ You didn’t even get their names? What am I paying you for?”
“I...I thought it better not to ask their names after the embarrassing action I witnessed.”
“Uncle,” Carrie put in, trying not to smile as Hank cringed. “In this case, I think Hank is right. The ladies in question won’t want their names revealed.”
“Huh. Well, the idiot across the river will probably print their names,” he snorted.
“Then he’ll have to listen to their complaints, not you.” Through the wavy glass pane in the door, Carrie caught sight of a customer arriving. She hurried on back to her worktable.
The door opened and a stout lady stepped in, closing her umbrella. Carrie recognized her as the owner of the clothing store on Main Street, one of their best customers.
Uncle Joe managed to calm himself enough to give her a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Johnson. What can I do for you, today?”
“Hello. My, but it’s humid out there. I’d like to place this ad. And, Joe, try to get the prices right this time. Last week, you exchanged the prices of the ladies’ kid gloves and the boys’ coats. I had to correct ladies all week long.”
“I’ll take extra care with it this week, Mrs. Johnson.”
“See that you do. Some local boys have been snitching candy again. Right out from under my nose.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want me to print that in the local news column?”
Mrs. Johnson considered, and finally said, “No, you’d better not. It’d just give more of them the idea. Oh, and here is my receipt for gingerbread. Be sure you list all the ingredients correctly.”
“I will.”
With a snap of her umbrella, the lady lifted it over her topknot and strode back outdoors.
After the door closed behind her, Uncle Joe grumbled, “Finicky old hen.” He moved on back to Carrie and picked up the sheet of paper she’d been writing on.
“Work is prosecuted Day and Night. The Dalles being illuminated at night with powerful electric light and large reflectors similar to those used for headlights on locomotives. It does not require a too-imaginative person to convert the night scene into a fairly good representation of Sheol. The fantastic costumes of the workmen, who are shaking up the logs with long poles and grab hooks, in the weird, blue light cast between the ragged, towering cliffs, the fires in the furnaces on the boats, noise of the escaping steam, and the clangor of iron hooks and cog wheels, mingled with the demoniac yells of the men, combine to form a panoramic view wonderful to behold, and cause many to shudder for fear of the future.”
“Is it too flowery, do you think?” Carrie asked anxiously.
“Well, yes, a bit, but I like it,” Uncle Joe said gruffly. “I’ll leave it in. What else have you got, Hank?”
“This is about the great expense of the jam,” Hank said, handing over the paper. “They’re estimating the cost, but best I got was seven hundred to eight hundred dollars per day.”
“Who’s paying for all that?”
“About a hundred log owners. They’re supposed to meet and decide how to divide it up according to the number of logs each is sending to the sawmills.”
“That’s right,” Carrie said. “I heard Will Tellers mention it when I was serving the men supper last night.”
“When are they meeting?”
“I’m not sure. Will’s mother and another woman arrived today, so he may want to visit them instead.”
“Agatha Tellers is here? Why didn’t you say so? She’s one of Stillwater’s society ladies. Put that in the society column. The local women will be excited to hear that news.”
“Yes, Sir,” Carrie said. No doubt about it. Those women were trouble. Society, indeed. Helpless ninnies who needed to be waited on hand and foot. Probably couldn’t do a thing for themselves and they’d brought enough clothes to last weeks. She sure hoped they weren’t planning to stay that long, or Aunt Louise and her helpers would be worn to a frazzle.
On the other hand, maybe Will liked his women helpless, rather than a working woman like herself. And what did she care what he liked, anyway? He’d be gone as soon as they cleared the logjam, and she wouldn’t see him until next year. Or maybe she’d never see him again.
Somehow that thought didn’t reassure her as it should have. Instead, it sent a painful, lonely ache through her heart.
Sighing, she went back to writing. The bell over the front door jangled again and Carrie looked up to see Martha come in, folding her umbrella.
“Watch the front counter for me for a while, will you, Carrie?” Uncle Joe asked, heading for the back of the shop. “I’ll never get this all typeset if I don’t get at it.”
As Carrie went to wait on Martha, Will Tellers came into the shop. He was soaking wet, his black hair plastered to his head. He wiped the rain from his forehead with a large hand and grinned at her from behind Martha.
“I brought the details of the ice cream social for the paper,” Martha said with a smile, handing her a slip of paper.
Carrie took it and glanced at Martha’s neat handwriting. Uncle Joe would have no problem deciphering that.
“If you can get it in tomorrow’s paper, we’ll have a chance for a good crowd tomorrow night. I’ve got lots of ladies baking pies and some of their husbands are making the homemade ice cream. Remember, I’m counting on you to come.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Homemade pies?” Will said. “My mouth is watering already. Can you sell some whole pies if I come up to buy a treat for my men?”
“We’d be delighted, Mr. Tellers,” Martha said.
“Better tell the ladies to bake extras,” Will said. “I’ve got a big crew.”
“All right. See you tomorrow.” Tossing a wink at Carrie, Martha left.
Carrie flushed under Will’s gaze. “May I help you, Mr. Tellers?”
“When and where is that pie sale?”
“Tomorrow evening, at the Lutheran Church, up on top of the hill.”
“Will you go with me and my mother? And would you introduce Ma to the ladies?”
She stared at him in consternation. Her? Introducing Stillwater society ladies to the local church ladies? Well, why not? Her father would have been pleased and so would Aunt Louise. Martha would say it was all right, too.
She nodded. “If you’d like.”
“It’ll give Ma and Evelyn something to do while they’re here. I can’t take time off work to entertain them.”
“Of course you can’t. Your work has to come first.” The thought of snobbish Evelyn making Will feel guilty for not entertaining her made Carrie’s blood heat with anger.
Will smiled at her comment. “Here’s a notice for the logger’s meeting on Saturday. I sent a telegram to the owners at Stillwater who aren’t here. We’re supposed to publicly announce the meeting, so I’m putting it in your local paper.”
“All right,” Carrie said. She stared down at the paper, expecting poor handwriting. Instead, she was surprised to see handwriting almost as neat as Martha’s.
“Can you read it okay?”
“Oh. Yes, yes, it’s fine,” she stammered, embarrassed that he’d guessed her thoughts.
Joe came back to the front desk to greet him. “Hello, Mr. Carter,” Will said. “Did you hear that one of my sawmills burned last week?”
Joe nodded. “Yes. Henry, one of the other log owners, stopped in with that news earlier. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure you didn’t need another financial setback. Will you be rebuilding it?”
“I hope so. We really haven’t had time to assess the situation yet.”
Joe harrumphed. “It’s a big loss. Have they found the cause of the fire, yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard. It sounds suspicious, though.”
“Arson?” Joe asked, fiddling with his pencil. His eyes lit up at the thought of another news story.
“Probably. But don’t quote me. The authorities there are investigating.”
“Let me know when you hear the results. What is the world coming to?” Joe asked. Shaking his head, he hobbled back to his workbench.
Carrie gasped in dismay at the awful idea. “I can’t imagine anyone starting a fire on purpose, especially in a sawmill with all that sawdust around,” she said.
“Some people enjoy making trouble for others,” Will said.
“That’s terrible.”
“Yes, it is. But true. I’ll see you at supper, Carrie.” Giving her another grin, Will walked back out into the rain.
Carrie stared after him, her hand at her throat. Did his asking her to go with him to the pie social mean anything? Or was it, as he’d hinted, only an excuse to keep his women busy so he could get on with his work?
She took the new notices back to Uncle Joe for typesetting. “Good job,” he said when she told him she was going to the pie social. “You can write it up for the next edition of the paper. Be sure to mention the names of the Stillwater ladies who attended.”
“Yes, Uncle Joe.” Carrie grimaced at the idea, resigned to her fate. Would she ever get to write much more than the society news in this town?
“Well, it’s stopped raining. I’m off to collect the names of the people who came from Stillwater today to see the jam,” Hank said, coming up behind her.
“Only name the most important log owners,” Uncle Joe grumbled. “I don’t have room for everybody. It would be easier to list who hasn’t been here than who has, anyway.” He adjusted his spectacles and bent back to his task.
“Yes, Sir. But how am I going to know which ones are important?” he asked timidly.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Don’t you know anything? Well, never mind, just list them all and I’ll choose which ones to include.”
“Yes, Sir,” Hank mumbled and ambled out the door.
Carrie rolled her eyes in frustration and bit her lip to keep from speaking her mind. It was obvious that Hank knew far less than she did about the current news situations, yet her uncle insisted on having Hank write the news stories. It made her so angry that he got the good story assignments just because he was a man. From past experience she knew complaining about that would only make Uncle Joe more stubborn.
“I’ve got to go, now, too,” she told Joe. “We have extra guests at the boarding house and Aunt Louise will be needing me. It’s almost supper time.”
“Sure. See you tomorrow.”
Carrie opened her umbrella and hurried out.
What would the evening be like at the Falls House with those Stillwater women there?