Words Spoken True by Ann H. Gabhart

with Blake. If he could draw only one card as a newspaperman, then luck might be the best card to draw. It had served him well that day. Made Chesnut give him a second look. Ended up with him being an editor, the one who could decide what would be printed and what would not. A level of newspapering it might have taken him years to rise to in New York.
    At last he saw Mrs. Wigginham’s stately brick house down the street. Carriages surrounded it, but a quick check of his watch told him he wasn’t overly late. He shoved the watch back in his pocket and straightened his lapels before he ran his fingers through his dark hair again. His last-second grooming did little good as his hair fell back into the same lines with a few curls lapping down on his forehead. He brushed at a bit of dirt on his trousers, checked his shoes for mud or worse, and bounded up the steps where a black servant opened the heavy wooden door before he had a chance to lift the brass knocker.
    Mrs. Wigginham’s large double parlor was full of ladies in frothy yellow, pink, and blue dresses with here and there the dark suit of a gentleman among them.
    Mrs. Wigginham advanced on him the moment he stepped through the door. “Ah, Mr. Garrett, I’m so pleased you managed to work my little benefit into your busy schedule.”
    “Never too busy for you, madam,” he said as took the old lady’s hands. When she held up her cheek for Blake’s kiss, he caught a whiff of perfume that reminded him of roses beginning to wilt.
    With the obligatory kiss out of the way, she stood back and looked at him knowingly. “But you bring the odor of the riverfront with you.”
    Blake looked down at his clothes in embarrassment. “I do apologize if I’m offensive.”
    “No, my dear boy. You could never be that. I rather like the breath of fresh air you bring into my parlor, and I must confess that I guessed about the riverfront. I read of the latest tragedy in your newspaper this morning.” She took his arm and led him across the long parlor. “Come, sit with me and tell me all about it.”
    He followed her meekly enough, glancing around a bit warily to see which young lady was bearing down on them.
    Mrs. Wigginham noticed him surveying the room and laughed softly as she perched on one of the settees and patted the spot beside her. “Do sit with me a moment.” Once he was seated, she went on, an amused smile lingering in her eyes. “I regret you’ll have to pick your own young lady today. I did plan for sweet Mary Sutcliffe to entertain you with her charms, but alas, her mother sent word Mary was not quite herself this afternoon.”
    “That is regretful.” Blake remembered sweet Mary Sutcliffe from other occasions and felt no regret at all. She was a vapid little girl of a woman with a nervous giggle and a clinging hand he was never able to escape once she’d placed it on his arm.
    “Perhaps you could call and leave your card so she will know you missed her.”
    “Perhaps,” Blake said with a noncommittal smile. “But now you have my undivided attention, so please tell me about this latest cause of yours.”
    “Oh my dear boy, please. You make me sound like one of those Northern reformers who take up their causes.” She held up her hands as though to ward off his words before picking up her folded fan to tap a slim volume of poetry on the table beside them. “I’m only attempting to interest the local citizenry in expanding the library’s book collection.”
    “Of course. A very worthy endeavor and one that seems to have considerable support, especially among the ladies.” Blake glanced out at the people around them and then back at the woman beside him.
    “I’ve found our local ladies sincerely eager to help broaden the interests of the community in proper ways. I do hope your newspaper will see fit to join in support.”
    “You need not worry on that account, Mrs. Wigginham. The Herald stands ready to support any worthwhile community