Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [99]
“Goodness. I’ll make sure it’s elevated, then. Thank you, dear.”
Ding.
“Hello, Central.”
“Hello, Georgie. It’s me.”
“How’s the baby, Mrs. Bargus?”
“Still keeping me up at all hours, I’m afraid. But listen, Mart said he’d build me a birdhouse. I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened to you. Imagine Mr. Ottfried doing such a thing. But don’t you worry, Georgie. Us women are banding together. We want to send a clear message to anyone who thinks they can take advantage of a woman simply because she lives on her own. Now, I heard you have baby bluebirds in your yard. Is it true they’re in a starch box?”
Ding.
With the switchboard alive as it was, she simply answered the question. “Yes, but a short log sawed in two will work just as well. Have Mr. Bargus hollow out the halves and nail them together again. He’ll need to include an entrance, of course, on one side of the cavity.”
“Yes. I’m writing this down. Excellent.”
Ding.
“Did you have anyone you wanted me to connect you with?”
“No, no. I did have another question, though.”
Ding.
“One moment, please.” She placed the toggle key to neutral, then plugged in number thirty. “Hello, Central.”
“I’m lookin’ fer Luke. He there?”
She glanced again at the desk. With it being the first of the month, Luke had been preparing invoices all morning.
“He is, Mr. Ragston. Can I give him a message?”
At Mr. Ragston’s name, Luke whipped his head up.
“I’m havin’ trouble with my telly-phone,” the farmer said. “I need him to come out.”
She lifted her brows. “But you’re on your telephone right now and you’re coming through loud and clear. What seems to be the problem?”
Putting down his pen, Luke slowly straightened. The wavy curls on his head scattered in every direction. The bib on his overalls flattened against him.
“How’s I supposed to know? Just tell him to get out here.”
“That’s an awfully long way for him to go if everything is working properly, which it certainly sounds as if it is.”
Luke rose. “Let me talk to him.”
She lifted a finger.
“Is he there or not?” Mr. Ragston barked.
Ding.
“He is, but the switchboard is—”
“What’s the use o’ this thing if’n I can’t talk to the fella I’m callin’? Now, put him on.”
“One moment, please.” Tightening her lips, she flipped the key and looked at Luke. “He wants to talk to you, but the switchboard is going crazy.”
Ding.
“Sounds as if they’re all calling you, though. This should only take a minute.”
“Let me at least answer this, then. It’s the doc’s house.” She plugged in number twelve. “Hello, Central.”
“Georgie, it’s Julia. Do birds prefer big airy yards or dense, tree-filled yards?”
She drew a deep breath. “They like plenty of open sky for flying and chasing.”
“Thanks.”
Flipping the switch to neutral, she pulled off her earpiece, handed it to Luke, then rolled out of his way.
He pushed number thirty’s key forward, then bent down to talk into the mouthpiece. “Hey, Clem. Georgie said you wanted to talk to me?” He looked at her and winked.
They’d not had a minute to do more than wave across the room at each other. He’d arrived just as the phones began to ring. But instead of coming in, he’d chopped her Mai tree into firewood and stacked it neatly beneath her side windows. Time and again, her attention had strayed to the sight he made sawing the tree into sections, then splitting each log into manageable pieces.
She’d barely had time to thank him, though. With the overwhelming success of the Plumage League’s booth yesterday, it seemed every woman who’d signed a pledge now wanted a bird garden.
Her gaze moved to the vase of roses atop her switchboard, their blooms full open, their sweet fragrance perfuming the air. Her pleasure with them and him swept through her again.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Luke unplugged the cable, allowing it to retract into the table.
“What’s wrong with his phone?” she asked. “It sounded fine to me.”
Instead of answering, he leaned over and kissed her flush on the lips, making her chair