Full Steam Ahead by Karen Witemeyer

twisted her head to look through the window behind her. She could write to her father. But that would mean giving up her plan—because her father would surely demand she return home. Worse, it would announce her location to Jenkins. The man’s second cousin ran the Galveston post office and could easily be convinced to hold on to a letter addressed to Anton Renard long enough to give Jenkins a head start in tracking her down.
    No. It was too soon to give up. She could still make this work. All she needed was a job to . . .
    Help Wanted. Nicole squinted at the lettering barely visible on the back wall by the postmaster’s counter. Sucking in a breath, she shamelessly pressed her face to the window glass. A notice hung beneath the narrow sign. Several notices. Tacked to the wall. Small scraps of paper curling at the edges. Some fresh and new, others faded and tattered.
    They were the most beautiful wall decorations she’d ever seen.
    Her hunger forgotten, she sprang from the bench on reenergized legs and dashed to the door. At the last minute she remembered to brush out her skirt and straighten her undersleeves before entering.
    “Afternoon.” The man behind the counter set aside the papers he was sorting and smiled at her.
    “Hello.” Nicole dipped her chin. “Would you mind if I peruse the employment listings on your wall?”
    “Help yourself, though I don’t think any of those will suit you.” He straightened his spectacles and turned back to his papers, dismissing her.
    Nicole swept past him and approached the back wall.Suitability was in the eye of the beholder. And her eye was desperate.
    Her gaze brushed the first advertisement. Sawmill operator. Not exactly a position amenable to full skirts and bell-shaped sleeves. Farmhand. Probably not. Several workers were needed at the beef-packing plant at Liberty Landing. The gristmill needed repair. Nicole’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. Surely there was something here that required brains over brawn.
    Cow puncher. Stage driver. Ferry operator.
    Angry tears pooled in Nicole’s eyes. No. No . No! There had to be something here she could do. There had to be.
    Her search came to rest on the last item, tacked high and nearly out of reach over the counter.
    Wanted: Secretary .
    Secretary? Nicole snatched the notice from the wall, tearing it straight off the nail. Clutching it to her breast, she sent a prayer of thanks heavenward, then held it up and scanned it for pertinent information. It specified the employer was looking for male applicants, but the advertisement was yellowed from age. Obviously none of the local males were interested in or qualified for the position. That could work in her favor.
    She marched up to the counter. “Excuse me? Can you give me directions to—” she glanced back at the paper—“Oakhaven?”
    The postmaster looked up from his papers, an expression of true alarm on his face. “Oakhaven? You don’t want to go there, miss. Trust me.”
    “Oh, but I do.” Nicole gave him her best lady-of-the-manor stare. “However, if you don’t feel comfortable directing me, I’m sure someone else will supply the information I need.”
    “It’s not that. I can tell you how to get there.” He tugged his spectacles off his nose and began shining the lenses on the tail of his vest. “It’s just that I can’t recommend the position to you. Not with a clear conscience.” He leaned forward over the counter, as if pleading. “He’s mad, miss. If you go out there, you’d be taking your life in your hands.”
    She brushed aside his concerns. “What would a madman want with a secretary? Surely you exaggerate.”
    “No, ma’am.” He shook his head violently. “The fellow moved onto that vacant plantation over a year ago, but he’s never farmed a single acre. As far as I can tell, he’s never done anything to earn an honest living. All he does is blow things up. None of the merchants will deliver inside the gates after Connor