Chapter Six
“Two long presses isthe letter I, right?” Beau said, pencil in his hand.
“No, it’s M. Letter I is two short presses.” Faith imitated the clicks and clacks the telegraph machine would make for each type of press.
“Right.” Beau looked at the jumble of letters he’d attempted to translate from Faith’s pretend Morse code. “How long did it take you to remember all of this?”
Faith shrugged. “A few days, I think. I can’t remember. Aaron and I learned it together.”
“Hmm.” It had been only a day. But he hadn’t expected it to be such a challenge to remember.
The machine clicked, and he nearly jumped out of his chair. Faith smothered a laugh. “It’s an incoming telegram. I’ll take it down, but you should try too.”
He nodded and listened intently as a series of clicks came intermittently. Beau wrote down his best guess and handed it to Faith when it finished.
“STNG DLAXED BHYENN,” she read from his piece of scrap paper. “Well. That’s close.”
Beau frowned. “It makes no sense whatsoever. What is the actual message?”
Faith grinned and handed him the paper upon which she’d translated the telegram.
“Stage delayed, Cheyenne.” He looked up. “Well, I suppose that’s a more sensible sort of thing to send over a telegraph wire.”
Faith burst into laughter at that, and Beau crumpled his paper. “How about I refill the inkwells instead?”
“I promise you’ll catch on. It’s like learning another language. Would you like to inform the depot that the stage from Cheyenne is delayed instead?”
Beau nodded gratefully and took the message from Faith. The depot was immediately next door, so the trip took but a few minutes. When he returned, Faith had busied herself with refiling the inkwells she kept on hand for customers needing to pen a letter or write out a telegram.
He watched her a moment, marveling at how much she had done on her own. In the months since her husband had died, she’d kept this place going—not an easy feat for one person.
And now he was her husband.
Beau grinned at the thought. She’d been quiet through the ceremony the day before, so much so that he’d worried something was wrong with her. Faith’s sister, Mrs. Wendler, and her husband Jack had treated them to an evening meal purchased at the diner, and Faith had seemed more at ease while they ate. As soon as they returned home, he offered to make himself up a bed on the settee in the parlor area of the office. She fetched him linens and then made excuses to turn in early. And so Beau had spent his wedding night sitting in front of a fire he’d started more for the company than for the warmth and wondering if he’d done the right thing.
But when morning came, Faith seemed much more cheerful. She’d even made him eggs and fried up bacon as she discussed the intricacies of being the town’s postmaster and telegraph operator. He’d kept up the conversation, happy to see her more comfortable with him, but wondering if her hesitation and pensiveness still lurked underneath the cheer.
