Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [25]
A bluebird winged into the yard, landing on Georgie’s starch-box-turned-birdhouse. She held her breath. Bluebirds were among the first to nest in the spring and she’d hosted three separate hatchings last year. This particular male had gone in and out of the house numerous times throughout the day, singing to his mate in an appeal for her opinion and stamp of approval.
He jumped across the roof, peering down at the entry hole below, then whistled cheer, cheer, cheerful, charming . . . cheer, cheer, cheerful, charming.
Seconds later his female settled on the perch and slipped through the entrance inspecting the home’s interior. The hole was small, just roomy enough for a bluebird or sparrow to fit through. But not big enough for starlings or large birds to sneak in and abscond with the eggs or attack the babies.
The female emerged from the house and flew off. The male soon followed. Georgie’s spirits soared at the prospect of filling her starch box so soon.
Returning her attention to the switchboard, she realized Mr. Bittle had long since hung up. Unplugging the cable, she reached again for her writing box.
Bettina clomped across the porch and pulled open the screen door. “What’s that smell?”
“Pea soup,” Georgie answered, dipping her pen in the inkwell. “I have a pot simmering on the stove. You’re welcome to take your supper with me if you like.”
“Can’t. I caught me a shell cracker in Hog Branch River and I’m frying it up fer me and Pa.”
Georgie kept her expression carefully blank. Even though she was only nine, Bettina cooked supper most every night, but Mr. von Schiller rarely shared it with her. Instead, he wore his boot soles out on the brass rail at Charlie’s. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re always welcome here.” She indicated the tin in the girl’s hand. “What do you have there?”
“Mrs. Chadaz gave me some cookies fer bringing her a phone message. These ones are fer you.”
Smiling, Georgie pointed her toward the office desk. “What kind are they?”
“Molasses.” Bettina set the tin on the desk, then leaned against the switchboard.
“Did you tell her thank you?”
“Sure did, but she still made me wash up ’fore I ate.” She gave her head a vigorous scratch, loosening her braid.
“Speaking of which, I thought we’d do a hair wash tonight after supper.”
Bettina began to back away. “My hair ain’t dirty. I done washed it three weeks ago.”
“Hair washing is a weekly affair, at the very least.”
“Well, I don’t rightly know if I’ll be able to come over after supper. I got things to do, ya know.” She eyed the stack of finished invitations. “Ya want me to start deliverin’ some of those?”
Allowing the change of subject, Georgie bit her lip. “They’re not really phone business, but I can’t get Mr. Crump to answer his line and I was hoping you’d run out to the depot to see if anyone came in on today’s train. Maybe you could drop off a few of these on your way?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Georgie sorted through her stack, picking out the households Bettina would pass. “When you deliver Mrs. Kendall’s, tell her Mrs. Krauss was asking if she’d finished reading Tempest and Sunshine. It’s this month’s book for the reading circle and she was hoping to have it next.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell her.” The girl scooped up the envelopes and banged out the door.
Georgie didn’t know what she’d do without Bettina. The girl delivered messages to those who didn’t have phones and returned with happenings from town. Yet the townsfolk either looked through her or, worse, looked down on her. All because of her father. Very few of them took the time to thank her the way Mrs. Chadaz did.
Her gaze veered to the tin of cookies. Molasses were her favorite. Being tethered to the phone all day didn’t allow much time for baking. Still, she’d need to do something for her Plumage League meeting. Most everyone would bring a dish, but the hostess was expected to lead the way.
She wondered how many women would come, mentally counting the number of chairs she owned. If she utilized every seat, including the ones on the veranda, she should have enough. The