Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [68]
“What about the cemetery? No one would think to look there.”
“Too wide open. They’d be able to see it from the road.” He rubbed his mouth. “What about that abandoned place about a mile north of here?”
She furrowed her brows. “The old Langkwitz place?”
“I don’t know. It’s a run-down, two-story with a giant birch too close to the house.”
She nodded. “I know exactly where you mean. That road dead-ends now. Nobody even lives that direction anymore. If I pulled the float behind their house, it would be completely hidden.”
“That’s as good a spot as any, I guess.”
She smiled. “I can borrow your horse, then?”
“No.”
She blinked.
“I’ll take the float out there myself,” he said. “No woman should be driving a carriage, much less one all decked out like this. No telling what Honey Dew’s reaction is going to be.”
She stiffened. “Being a woman has nothing to do with whether or not I can drive a carriage.”
“It has everything to do with it.”
Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth to protest.
He held his hand up in a stop position. “Don’t get yourself in a snit. It’s my horse, and if anyone drives her anywhere, it’s going to be me. Besides, it can’t be moved until after dark or your secret would be up. I’m not about to let you take this thing out in the dark.”
She released a huff of breath. “Fine. You drive. But I’m going with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She took a step toward him, her head jutting forward. “Either I go with you or I borrow someone else’s horse and do it myself.”
He didn’t want her going to anyone else. Not until he knew whom to trust and whom not to. But if she went with him, she’d hinder the operation. He rubbed his forehead. He’d just have to make the best of it. “I’ll pick you up around ten.”
“Ten? Don’t you think that’s a bit late?”
“If anyone decides to do anything, they won’t venture out until after midnight when the town is well and good asleep.” He raked his gaze over her white shirtwaist and blue polka dot skirt. “You’ll need to wear black.”
She gave him a curt nod. “I’ll be ready.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Georgie sat on her back porch steps, broom in hand. She’d followed her normal evening routine, but instead of donning her nightdress, she’d wrapped her bosom, then pulled on a simple black shirtwaist and a pair of boy’s britches, leggings, and boots. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. It had been years since she’d dressed like a boy and the trousers were a bit tight.
Trapping the broom handle between her knees, she adjusted the stocking cap on her head, its tassel tickling her cheek. She’d had no trouble locating the pants at the back of her bottom drawer, but she couldn’t find her old cap anywhere and had used the only thing available—a night stocking her mother had knitted when Papa was still alive. Though Georgie’s head wasn’t much bigger than it used to be, she had a great deal more hair, and the base of the cap kept creeping up.
Tugging it into place, she settled against the porch railing and listened to the night sounds. Her birds had long since turned in, but the crickets and cicadas kept up a steady conversation. A coyote far away let out a long, sorrowful howl.
Placing the broom across her lap, she gripped its handle, closed her eyes, and concentrated on anything out of the ordinary—a snapping twig or a lull in the katydids’ banter.
A few minutes later, her head bobbed. She jerked awake. Nothing but blackness stretched before her. Stifling a yawn, she wished she could check the time. Tomorrow was sure to be a full day and she had no wish to be up all night. Hopefully, Luke would arrive soon.
It took Luke a moment to realize the boy curled up on the porch was, in fact, Georgie. What the blazes was she doing in britches?
Treading quietly, he almost had Honey Dew hitched up when Georgie stirred.
“Who goes there?” Though her voice was scratchy with sleep, it held a warning.
“It’s me,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down.”
He went around the float, then stopped. “What are you doing?”
Crouched on