Chapter Thirteen
Delilah glanced around the backyard, quite pleased with the progress she’d made. So far, she’d not lost a single plant and the grass she’d seeded sprung up with tiny green shoots.
Beside her, Oliver amused himself with a bit of colorful ribbon she’d given him when he wandered into the yard earlier. He’d woven it around his fingers, tugged on it with his teeth and dragged it back and forth like he wanted to engage in a game of chase.
Charmed by the raccoon, Delilah had played with him for a few minutes before her grumbling stomach assured her it was past time for lunch.
She fixed a simple sandwich of cheese and leftover beef roast, and carried it, along with a glass of milk and several cinnamon cookies outside to enjoy in the sunshine.
Oliver raced over to her and stood on his back legs, holding out his paws, eager for a treat. She gave him a bit of bread and cheese, which he greedily devoured. When she turned her back to watch a bird descend into a nest in the cottonwood tree in the corner of the yard, the furry little thief snatched a cookie.
“That was a sly, clever, and entirely naughty thing to do, Oliver,” she admonished, then grinned at his antics as he nibbled the cookie.
When he came back for another, she held the plate beyond his reach. “Sit.”
He plopped back on his hind legs.
“Ask nicely,” she commanded.
The raccoon held out one paw and placed the other on his face, pretended to look shy.
Delilah grinned. “Good boy, Oliver. You may have a cookie.”
She set the cookie on the step beside her and watched as he snatched it and gobbled it down. Everyone had cautioned her about feeding him from her hand, so she’d been careful to set the food out for him, rather than give him an opportunity to accidentally bite her.
Mindful of Oliver’s sweet tooth, she’d come prepared to share the cookies with him. After his third, though, she placed the last one on her plate and shook her head. “That’s enough for now, you greedy little raccoon. At this rate, your belly will get so round, you won’t be able to crawl over the fence.”
Happy and content with a tummy full of treats, Oliver rolled in the grass, chattering at her.
She watched him play as she finished her lunch and drained the glass of milk, then rose to her feet. “I won’t be home this afternoon, Ollie, so you’ll have to entertain yourself. And stay out of trouble.”
He sat up and looked at her with a curious expression as she hurried inside the house.
Delilah took care of the dishes then washed up after her morning work in the dirt before changing into an afternoon dress meant for sipping tea in a parlor. She quickly combed her hair, tugged on a pair of gloves to hide the rich soil embedded beneath her fingernails, and pinned on a stylish hat.
Out of habit, she grabbed a parasol on her way out the door. With her skin already tanned from the many hours she’d spent in the sun without a hat, she didn’t care a whit about maintaining an alabaster complexion. But she always carried a parasol when she went calling and today was no different.
Eager to visit Jemma and baby Bolton, she’d gone to see them three times in the past four days. Delilah joined many of the women in town paying call to the new mother. Jemma looked like a queen presiding over her court from her bed at the boardinghouse. Thane appeared as restless as a caged bull, but he welcomed the women with a gracious nod and warm smile.
Delilah was nearly to the boardinghouse when the door swung open and Thane strode out with Jemma in his arms.
Jemma smacked his broad shoulder and scowled at him. “Put me down this instant, Thane Jordan! I can walk without assistance. Put me down!”
Thane ignored her heated protests and gently settled her in the bed of a wagon parked at the end of the walk. Lined with blankets and soft pillows, it looked as though Jemma would have a cushioned, comfortable ride back to the ranch.
Delilah smiled at Allie and Ben Amick as they watched Thane try to soothe Jemma’s ruffled feathers.
“I’m not an invalid, you barbaric cavedweller,” Jemma said, slapping at Thane’s hand when he tucked a light blanket around her.
He smirked at her and grabbed her hands, kissing her fingers. “I know you aren’t an invalid, my lady, but the doctor said you needed to take it easy for another week, even if he did say we could go home. Now, sit back against those pillows like a good girl and enjoy the ride.”
The moment Thane had kissed Jemma’s fingers, she’d quieted. When he called her “my lady,” the woman had practically melted.
In spite of their fighting and fussing, Delilah was reassured to see the love and affection the two of them shared.
Everyone watched as Hattie came down the walk carrying Bolton, simultaneously cooing at him and sniffling. Edwin walked behind her with Thane and Jemma’s bags.
“I take it everyone is going back to the ranch today,” Delilah said, stepping beside Hattie and looking over her shoulder at the sleeping baby. Bolton rarely fussed and seemed good-natured. She reached out a finger and traced his little cheek that already looked fuller than it had a few days ago.
“We are,” Thane said, grinning as he loaded the bags in the back of the wagon. “I’ve had about all I can take of staying in town.” He turned to Hattie and Edwin. “Not that the accommodations aren’t topnotch and the company exceptional, but I need to get back to the ranch and I’m not going home without Jem and Bolt.”
Jemma released an exasperated sigh. “I suppose my frequent and insistent requests he be called Bolton will be ignored.”
Ben chuckled. “They sure will. What did you expect when you named that boy Bolton?”
Allie playfully smacked his arm. “If Jemma wants him to be known as Bolton, then that’s what we should call him.”
“Bolton Bryan Jordan,” Ben said, leaning over Hattie’s other shoulder to study his nephew. “Quite a name for a handsome little fella.”
Hattie handed the baby to Delilah. “I assume you were coming to pay a call?”
“I was,” Delilah said, letting the parasol drop to the ground as she held the baby and breathed in his incredible scent. She’d never admit it to anyone, particularly her father, but she loved holding Bolton. She loved the feel of such a tiny little being in her arms and the sweet fragrance of him. Just one little coo from him and her heart felt like it might turn into a syrupy puddle.
Never had she imagined the splendid awe she’d experience holding a baby this new and so wondrously made. “I shall miss you, Bolton Bryan Jordan,” she whispered, kissing the baby’s forehead. She drew in one last lungful of his delicious baby scent before giving him to his aunt.
Allie carried the baby over to the wagon and settled him in Jemma’s arms then climbed in beside her.
Ben tipped his hat and swung onto the wagon seat and lifted the reins as Thane shook Edwin’s hand then engulfed Hattie in a hug. “Thank you both for everything,” he said, giving them smiles full of gratitude.
“It was our pleasure, Thane. We’ll be out to visit on Saturday,” Edwin said, pulling Hattie back against him when her sniffles turned to tears.
“We’ll look forward to seeing you.” Thane gave Hattie’s arm a gentle pat then turned to Delilah. “You know you’re welcome to come anytime you like to visit us. We’d be pleased to have you.”
“Thank you. I might just ride out there sometime.” Delilah looked forward to the opportunity to explore the sage-covered hills south of town. A trip out to the Jordan Ranch would give her a perfect reason to go.
“I hope you will. Jemma and I have enjoyed your visits and I know Jemma would love to have you for tea, once she’s back on her feet.”
“I’ll plan to come.” Delilah waved at Jemma and Allie, reclaimed her parasol, and gave Hattie an encouraging pat on her arm as the wagon creaked and rolled down the street.
“I know you’ll miss them terribly, Hattie. I’m sorry you have to say goodbye.” Delilah had no idea what to say to the distraught woman.
Hattie sniffled and smiled. “Oh, I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that Jemma is like the daughter we never had and always wanted. And Thane told us he thinks of us as grandparents to the young ones. He’s become like a son to us, too.”
“It’s quite plain that you all share a strong bond of affection. At least you’ll see them in a few days and I’m sure Jemma will be at church on Sundays, once she’s fully recovered.”
“Quite right,” Edwin said, giving Hattie a hug. “Now, come on, wife. No need to salt the sidewalk with those tears of yours.”
Hattie sighed and took the handkerchief Edwin held out to her, drying her tears. She turned a watery gaze to Delilah. “Would you like to come in for a while, dear?”
“I think I’ll go for a little stroll, Hattie, but thank you for the invitation. Perhaps another day?”
“You’re most welcome any time at all, Delilah.” Hattie patted her cheek then leaned on Edwin as they made their way down the walk and inside the house.
Delilah would miss her visits with Jemma and the opportunity to see the baby frequently, but she knew Thane needed to get back to the ranch and it was time for their family to be together again. Lily had not yet met her little brother, although Jack had ridden into town with Ben and Allie twice to visit.
The vision of Lily greeting the baby with her usual exuberance made Delilah smile as she walked through town and out to the weather station. Since she was out and about, Delilah decided to check the equipment and write a report in the journal her father kept. While he jotted notes in it several times a day, Delilah tended to only write notes when she was there to gather the information needed to send the reports back to the home office in the morning and evening.
She opened her reticule and removed the key to the weather station door as she walked around the side of the brick building. Abruptly, she stopped.
The door stood ajar and slightly off kilter, as though someone had pried it open. Hesitant, she quietly edged closer and peeked around the door into the weather station. The room stood empty, but papers littered the floor and several pieces of equipment had been knocked over. Shattered glass bore witness to broken thermometers.
Delilah spun around and ran into town, wishing she had on her britches, or at least the split skirt she’d purchased from Maggie’s dress shop. Either would have provided freedom of movement and allowed her to hasten her step.
With her tightly-laced corset altering her air supply, she panted from the exertion as she sailed up the steps of the sheriff’s office and pushed open the door.
Tully sat behind his desk writing a report while Dugan stood at a filing cabinet with a handful of papers in his hand.
“I need help,” Delilah said, dropping into one of the chairs in front of Tully’s desk and attempting to draw air into her lungs. The action made her dizzy and nauseous. Rather than cast up her accounts or faint, she bent over until the ribbons on her hat brushed the floor.
“What’s wrong, Delilah?” Dugan asked, dropping the papers on top of the cabinet and coming to her side. He hunkered down next to her and placed a hand on her back. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“Weather station,” she wheezed, still feeling lightheaded. “Break in.”
“Someone broke into the weather station?” Tully asked, glancing from her to Dugan.
Delilah slowly sat upright and nodded.
“Did they steal anything?” Tully asked, whipping a form out of a drawer and jotting down notes.
“Don’t know,” she said, slowly beginning to feel more like herself as the dizziness faded. “Didn’t go in.”
“Okay. How do you know someone broke in?”
“Door pried open. Broken equipment. Papers everywhere,” she said, closing her eyes and seeing the mess. She inhaled a long breath and expelled it before straightening her spine.
“Better?” Dugan asked, still holding a hand against her back. The heat from his palm threatened to sear right through the silk of her gown, but she liked the weight and warmth of it, the comfort she received from his touch.
“Much, thank you.” She looked back at Tully, now that she’d regained the ability to breathe normally and speak in complete sentences. “I went to write a report and when I stepped around the corner of the building, I noticed the door standing open. Upon closer inspection, it looked as though someone had forced it open. Inside, it appeared someone was searching for something because they scattered files, emptied drawers, knocked equipment to the floor, broke thermometers, and who knows what else. I thought it best to come straight here rather than wade into the midst of it before you had a chance to take a look.”
“Let’s go see what damage has been done,” Tully said, rising from his chair and tucking a small notepad and pencil into his pocket.
Dugan offered Delilah his hand and helped her to her feet as Tully walked around the desk and fetched his hat from a hook near the door. “You might as well come along, Dug,” Tully said as he opened the door and waited for Delilah to step outside.
Dugan merely nodded then cupped Delilah’s elbow as the three of them walked out to the weather station.
Once there, Dugan left her standing beneath the shade of a maple tree while he and Tully walked all around the building. Made of brick with a thick plank floor, the theory was that if lightning ever struck the weather station, the building would remain intact even if the contents would most likely burn.
Delilah watched as the two men studied tracks around the building and outside the door before stepping inside.
“Thunderation, they did a dandy job of wrecking this place,” Tully said in shocked surprise.
She couldn’t hear Dugan’s response, just the low rumble of his voice.
When they stepped outside, Dugan paid particular attention to a footprint near the door before he straightened and motioned her over.
“Can you think of anything someone might want to steal from here?” Tully asked as he wrote notes on his pad.
“No, sir. My father doesn’t keep any money or anything here of particular value, other than the equipment, of course.” Delilah stepped into the room and picked up a barometer that had been knocked to the floor. The glass on the front of the case was cracked, but it appeared to be functional.
Several thermometers had been broken, though, and the metal on the end of a snow gauge was bent, but repairable.
Mostly, it was the scattered papers and glass littering the floor that gave the room such a look of upheaval.
“Is there anyone you can think of that would do this? Someone just for spite?” Tully questioned as Dugan set two chairs upright in front of a big wooden desk.
“No. I can’t think of anyone who would create such havoc out of spite. The only one who might do such a thing would most likely be a former employee. However, I’ve heard the last three men at this post left of their own will.”
“True, but Mr. Sutler left under questionable circumstances.” Tully glanced around the room again. “I’m gonna have me another look outside then head back to the office. Dugan, you stay and help Delilah with this confounded disaster.”
“Yes, sir,” Dugan said, tossing Tully a grin that didn’t escape Delilah’s notice.
“Thank you for coming, Tully.” Delilah walked him to the door.
“We’ll do our best to figure out who did this. In the meantime, I think it’s best you not come out here all alone.” Tully gave her a studying glance. “I could find a few men willing to escort you.”
Delilah blushed and Tully chuckled before he walked outside.
“Looks like you’re stuck with my assistance,” Dugan said as he began picking papers off the floor and stacking them on a corner of the desk.
“Here, let me do that. I’ll have to sort through them anyway,” she said, taking the papers from his hand. “If you wouldn’t mind setting the equipment upright, I’d appreciate it.”
“Tell me what this does again?” Dugan asked, holding a walnut-cased piece of equipment. One end held a spool of paper about four inches wide that was pre-printed with the days of the week and each day was broken into twenty-four hour segments. Resting against the paper were two metal arms that attached to a coiled gauge and inkwells, one black and one blue. The whole thing was encased in glass, which thankfully had not been broken, although by the dirty fingerprints covering it, someone had definitely touched the glass.
Delilah stepped over to him and pointed to the spool of paper. “This is a combination barograph and thermograph. It has double arm readings for pressure and temperature.” Her finger trailed the wavy line of blue ink on the paper. “The blue ink shows us the barometric pressure. When a storm is building, the pressure drops down low. Sometimes, people will complain of sudden headaches or aches in their joints from that sudden loss of pressure. The thermograph tracks eight days of temperature variations. The center line there marks a median temperature then the marks above or below let us know the temperature by hour.”
Dugan looked at the machine in his hands. “So the black line is saying it’s…” He tipped his head sideways to read the markings. “Sixty-seven degrees outside.”
“That’s right,” she said, giving him a nod of approval. “And the barometric pressure is dropping. The lines here show the pressure steadily decreasing.”
He glanced outside the open door at the blue sky. “It doesn’t look stormy.”
“The pressure can drop hours before you notice clouds rolling in.” She turned away and resumed picking up papers and sorting them into stacks to place back into files.
Dugan set the piece of equipment on the shelf where he’d seen it on previous visits then used a wicker basket he found beneath the desk to gather the pieces of glass.
“I know you report the weather twice a day to the office back in Washington, D.C., but what exactly do you and your father study besides the temperature and air pressure?” he asked, giving her an interested look.
Delilah retrieved a broom, mop, and a box of cleaning supplies from a small closet. She removed a rag and started wiping off shelves, removing broken shards of glass and clumps of dirt. It appeared someone had used the lower shelves as a ladder to reach the higher shelves and left behind mud and dirt from their boots. Most of what was stored on the shelves was equipment or books about the weather.
“Our observations include, as you said, the pressure of the air and the temperature. In fact, our evening reports include both the high and low temperature for the previous twenty-four hours. We also observe the level of moisture in the air, the wind direction and the velocity of the wind. That’s why we have the anemometers.”
“The whats-it-meters?” Dugan asked with a baffled expression.
“Anemometers. The name is derived from the Greek word anemos, which means wind. We have several styles, but the one I use the most is outside. It has the four cups attached to horizontal arms. The arms are attached to a vertical rod and as the wind blows, the cups rotate, making the rod spin. The stronger the wind blows, the faster the rod spins. The anemometer counts the number of rotations to calculate the wind speed. That speed is averaged over a short period of time, since wind speeds are not particularly consistent, to arrive at a reportable number.”
“I’ve watched that thing whirling around and wondered what it did,” Dugan said, glancing over at her as he continued picking up pieces of glass. “What else do you do here?”
“We observe whether it is clear, raining, snowing, foggy, or hazy. We note if the sky is cloudy, and types of clouds, the direction they are moving, and the proportion of sky covered.” Delilah picked up a rock, studied it a moment and set it back on the shelf after she dusted it.
She looked over her shoulder at Dugan. “As you know, we send reports twice a day at five in the morning and five in the evening. Reports are sent from around the country at the exact same time using a ciphered code. Generally, we send about six words. The cipher is constructed so a person familiar with it can quickly translate the message and include the report with the others being received to get a nationwide glance at the weather twice a day. Our hope is to be able to better predict storms and give advanced warning to those in dangerous areas, such as hurricane or tornado zones.”
“Ciphers? You send coded messages?” he asked, rocking back on his heels as he hunkered down to pick up several splinters of glass. “Like a spy?”
Delilah laughed. “Not like a spy in the least, but yes, the messages are coded for simplicity’s sake. The ciphers make it simple to report several details with the fewest words.”
“Is there a possibility someone saw you sending a coded message and decided to see what you were hiding up here?” Dugan righted a tipped over table and gathered the maps that had been spread across the top of it.
“Possibly, but the telegraph agents have been discreet. Unless someone happened to be standing close behind me in line or they watched me write the messages, I don’t know how they’d have any inkling about the ciphers.”
Grooves deepened across his brow. “Have you noticed anything strange here at the weather station, anything out of place? Any footprints outside?”
Delilah shook her head. “Not before today. Unless you’d like me to count the deputy who follows me here each morning and evening?” She tossed him a teasing grin.
“No, don’t count him.” Dugan gave her a heated look.
It took them another hour to clean up the mess, sort the papers and file them, and set the office back in order.
Delilah stood at the doorway and glanced around when they finished. “It probably needed a good cleaning, anyway.”
Dugan smirked. “I doubt that, but everything is all spit and polished again.”
The large room held, in addition to all the weather equipment, a floor-to-ceiling cabinet for supplies, a broad oak desk with a wide leather chair behind it and two straight-backed chairs in front of it. Shelves behind the desk and along one wall held more equipment, books, and interesting things Delilah and her father had collected including odd-shaped rocks, abandoned nests, and even a rock with a fossilized plant.
Come to think of it, Delilah didn’t recall seeing the piece of ore she’d found on one of her walks. Her father said it had a vein of gold in it, although he wasn’t sure how much it was worth.
“Dugan, I think I can report a theft,” she said, quickly going back over the shelves. She looked over each one then made sure the chunk of ore hadn’t fallen to the floor and been missed when they swept and mopped.
“What’s missing?” he asked, stepping beside her as she stood in the middle of the floor and looked around the room.
“Papa and I had only been here about a week when I decided to take a walk in the woods. I found a fist-sized piece of ore. Papa said it had a good vein of gold in it. I left it here with him and he kept it on the shelf near the brass barometer. It’s gone.”
“I don’t recall seeing it today, either,” he said, walking with her around the room one more time.
“It’s going to rain,” she said, hurriedly gathering the information she needed to send the evening report. It was close enough to five she could gather the details a little early.
“Which piece of equipment says that,” he asked, looking from the barometer to the thermograph.
“This one,” she said, picking up a pine cone from the end of the desk.
Dugan narrowed his gaze and gave her a doubtful glare. “I know I look stupid, but how dumb do you think I am? With all these fancy whizamadoos, you’re basing your weather predictions on a pine cone?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Delilah said, holding the pine cone out in her hand. “You know how pine cones have seeds inside them?”
He nodded.
“Well, when the weather is dry, the pine cone opens up and the wind can catch the seeds and disperse them away from the original tree. But when the humidity rises and rain is likely, the pine cone closes up to prevent the seeds from escaping because they’d get water logged and fall too close to the original tree. If it grew in proximity to the parent tree, it would always be a battle of resources for the seedling.”
She tossed the pine cone to Dugan. “That, and the barometer is showing a severe drop in pressure and the clouds outside are loaded with moisture.” She glanced skyward. “And there’s…”
A loud boom shook the sky.
“Thunder,” she said with a grin.
“Here I was, set to be dazzled by your ability to study all your gadgets and give me a scientific reading on the rain. Instead, you’re observing the habits of a pine cone.” Dugan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the desk as she jotted down notes for the evening report.
“You can still be dazzled. I don’t mind in the least if you are.” She shot a flirtatious grin his direction as she hurriedly checked the equipment and wrote more notes.
Dugan set the pine cone back on the desk and moved to the doorway. “The temperature’s dropping fast and the sky is dark.”
Delilah felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. “Lightning’s coming,” she said, just as a streak bolted through the sky followed by a crack of thunder.
When Dugan ducked back inside, she laughed. “Don’t tell me you suffer from keraunophobia.”
“From what?” he asked, flinching when another jolt streaked closer to them.
“Keraunophobia is a fear of lightning and thunder.” She finished logging the data she needed and quickly wrote her ciphered message.
After tucking the log book back into the desk and shutting the drawer, she motioned for Dugan to follow her outside.
“Are you crazy?” He pulled her back inside. “I don’t need to be struck by lightning and you sure don’t need to be out there in a storm.”
“If we hurry, we can be safely in town before we need to worry about it.” She took his hand in hers and pulled him outside. He tugged the door closed, having to jimmy the bottom left corner to get it to latch.
Delilah locked it then took his hand in hers again, pulling him toward the path that led into town. “You never answered my question. Are you afraid of lightning and thunder?”
“No more than anyone else,” he said, tightening his grip on her hand when lightning flashed again followed by a dramatic boom.
“Did you know lightning forms when the top of a cloud acquires a positive charge while the bottom acquires a negative charge, thus creating an electric field?”
Dugan continued to stare at the ever-darkening sky as he hurried her down the hill.
“Have you ever tried to push the negative ends of two magnets together?” she asked, amused by his need to rush.
“Sure, hasn’t every kid done that?” he asked, glancing down at her.
“What happens when you do that?”
“They push each other away,” he said, grasping her waist and swinging her over a snake slithering across their path.
Delilah tried not to shudder as he took her hand in his again and they resumed their trek into town. “Like those magnets pushing each other away, the same sort of thing happens between the charged base of the clouds and the charged electrons along the surface of the Earth. The electrons travel toward the Earth’s core, away from the clouds, creating a positive charge on the surface, resulting in an electric field between the clouds and the Earth. If the field becomes strong enough, the electrons in the air conduct electricity, providing a path for lightning to move from the clouds to the Earth’s surface.” She stopped and watched as another bolt of lightning arced through the sky. “Lightning can travel many miles horizontally before striking the ground. Amazing discoveries are made through work just like Papa does that enable us to learn more and, thusly, predict more about the weather and storms.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but the one thing I know about the weather, lightning in particular, is that it’s unpredictable. Before we become human lightning rods, let’s get to some shelter,” Dugan said, setting a fast pace as they hurried to the telegraph office.
Another roll of thunder shook the building as the telegraph agent sent the message. Delilah thanked him then turned to go.
“Can’t we wait it out here?” Dugan asked, clasping her arm in his hand, keeping her inside the building.
She opened the door. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan to spend the evening cowering in the telegraph office.”
Dugan grumbled something she couldn’t hear, but he took her hand in his and began running toward her house. They’d just reached the front gate when lightning streaked so close to where they stood, Delilah felt the current around her.
“Inside, now!” Dugan shouted above the boom of the thunder.
She unlocked the door and hastened inside with him right behind her.
They both stood in the entry, chests heaving, electricity crackling in the air surrounded them.
One moment, she was unpinning her hat, the next, Dugan’s hands were buried in her hair while his mouth captured hers in a scorching, demanding kiss that sent sparks sizzling throughout her entire body.
For long, glorious moments, his lips tantalized hers; teasing, tempting, testing. The sound of rain pinging off the roof finally drew them from their amorous interlude.
Dugan lifted his head and gave her a sheepish grin, although he kept his hands buried in her hair. At some point unbeknownst to her, he’d managed to remove all the pins and held her wavy tresses wound around his hands.
“I reckon I ought to apologize for that,” he said with a cocky smile that appeared anything but apologetic. “But I’m not a bit sorry, Dilly. You stay inside out of this storm and I’ll see you later.”
With that, he opened the door and was gone.
Delilah moved onto the porch, breathing in the fresh, crisp air and watched the rain drench Dugan as he ran down the street.
Allowing him to kiss her like that offered more danger than any lightning strike potentially posed. Not a doubt existed in her mind that falling in love with Dugan Durfey would be the end of her freedom and the destruction of her heart.