Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [66]
Whoo-ett, the female replied.
Georgie smiled. The female liked that first song. But her mate was relentless, singing the new melody over and over until finally she matched him.
In a blur, he dashed across the yard, landing in the top of an elm, looking down his bill at his woman. She was definitely in the buttonbush.
The sun peeked over the horizon, gilding the edges of the cardinal’s brilliant plumage. He hopped across the branch, then spread his wings and glided down to the buttonbush.
He slipped into its crooked branches, the leaves rustling behind him and offering the couple privacy as he gave her a proper good morning. Cardinals mated for life and Georgie knew they spent each day together, foraging for food and nesting material, then looking for the perfect place to raise their young.
She pulled her legs up underneath her. Would Luke repeat his song until she capitulated? What would happen if the female cardinal never sang the male’s song? Would they still be mates for life?
Closing her eyes, she rested her head against her knees and tried not to wish she was the one receiving a proper good morning.
The further into April they went, the more the town emptied as farmers spent all waking hours in their fields. Not to be outdone, Mother Nature dressed the county for Maifest, blanketing the hills and meadows in a kaleidoscope of wildflowers.
On the eve of the festival, Georgie’s switchboard buzzed with excited chatter, and if ever she needed Bettina, it was now, but the girl hadn’t shown her face for over a week. The milliner’s son, Fritz Ottfried, had stopped by to help when he could, but he too had disappeared of late. As a result, messages to nonsubscribers were delayed or not sent at all.
The jangle of harnesses signaled Luke’s return from the field. Placing her earpiece on the switchboard table, she poked her head out the screen door. “Have you seen Bettina?”
Unwinding the breeching from the cart shaft, he shook his head. “I haven’t. She still hasn’t come by?”
She stepped onto the porch, the screen bouncing shut behind her. “No, and I’m beginning to worry. Are you still visiting the saloons in the evenings?”
His head whipped up, his hands stilling.
She crossed her arms, belatedly realizing the personal nature of the question. They’d spoken little over the past month, and when they had it was of nothing but business. “I was asking because I wondered if Bettina’s father was still being served.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, after the election and all.”
He frowned, then comprehension dawned. “You mean because of the passing of the habitual drunkard bill?”
“Yes.” The bill had made it illegal for liquor to be sold to any person who habitually drank.
Resting a hand on Honey Dew’s back, he looked into the distance, searching his memory. “You know, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him.”
“Well, that’s good. I just . . . I can’t help thinking it might have something to do with her absence. It’s simply not like her.”
He returned his attention to her. “You want me to check on her?”
“Would you mind?”
“No. I’ll go over there tonight.”
He didn’t continue unhitching the cart, but remained with his hand resting on Honey Dew, his hat pushed back, his gaze intense. With an effort, she lowered her eyes and turned toward the door.
“Miss Georgie!” Her gate opened, then slammed shut.
She whirled around. “Bettina. For heaven’s sake, we were just talking about you. Where on earth have you—” She gasped. The girl’s left jaw was swollen and her eye black and purple. “What happened?”
“I fell out of a tree, but that’s not why I’m here.” She glanced Luke’s direction, then ran the last few feet to Georgie. “Something bad is fixin’ to happen.”
Georgie squatted down, resting her hands on the girl’s bony shoulders. “What is it?”
“I heard tell somebody’s gonna do somethin’ to yer float.”
“My float?” Georgie’s eyes widened. The von Hardenbergs had delivered the Plumage League’s flower-bedecked Maifest float not an