Whistler in the Dark Read Online Free PDF Page A

to solicit, advertisements to sell, news to gather. We have stories to write and set, paper and ink to secure, and a small staff to hire. All this, knowing that someone in this town already wants Emma and me to fail. But I assure you, gentlemen, that it will be done.”
    That torrent of assurance left Mr. Spaulding speechless. Mr. Abbott nodded, looking pleased. A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Emma’s mouth. Whoever wanted her and Mother to pack up and leave town was going to be very disappointed.
    Homesickness balled in Emma’s throat that evening as she unpacked the few mementos she’d been able to bring from Chicago. She put her copy of Father’s daguerreotype on her half of the dresser and placed her precious packet of letters from him beside it. She put a little shell-covered box that Judith had given her beside the letters. The box held a mourning brooch made with a lock of Father’s hair. She propped up one of her paintings and pinned a fashion plate from Godey’s on the wall. Only then did she feel ready to slip into her own nightgown and slide between the sheets. They smelled of lye soap.
    Mother was silent as she put on her nightgown and brushed her hair, then opened one window a bit to let some cool mountain air into the stuffy room. She got out her notebook and pencil, but she only stared at the blank page.
    Emma finally broke the silence. “Who do you think could have left that note and stolen the lever? I can’t imagine who would be willing to sacrifice having a newspaper, and all the good it can do, just because the editor is a woman. Who would be so mean?”
    Mother rubbed at a flyspeck on her notebook. “I have to believe it’s just a mischief-maker—someone who thought it would be funny to see if a woman editor would have the vapors at the first sign of trouble.”
    Emma didn’t think it was the least bit funny. Did he have more tricks in mind?
    Mother sighed. “Oh, Emma. Twin Pines is not at all what I expected.”
    â€œMaybe you shouldn’t have taken Mr. Spaulding’s word for everything,” Emma murmured. It was disrespectful, but honestly! Mother prided herself on her business sense!
    â€œYou’re right. I didn’t ask enough questions. After all the rejections, I was just happy to get Mr. Spaulding’s letter. I guess I wanted to believe that everything would work out.”
    Emma stared at the ceiling. She didn’t know what to say.
    Mother turned down the oil lamp, and darkness cloaked the room. Several moments passed before she spoke again. “I’m quite unhappy with Mr. Spaulding for misleading us.”
    Emma was too, but she thought she understood his deception. “He needs you, Mother. It sounds like a lot of people around here need you.”
    â€œThey need us , Emma. I couldn’t do this without you, you know. You kept your wits about you this afternoon, just when I was at wit’s end. I was very proud of you.”
    The unexpected praise made Emma feel guilty for her lukewarm support of this newspaper venture. She was still thinking that over as she heard Mother’s breathing deepen into the rhythm of sleep. She wished she could talk to Judith—
    Suddenly Emma sat bolt upright in bed. Through the open window came the faint but unmistakable sound of whistling.
    Someone was whistling Maggie by My Side … with the same jaunty style, the same pause on the high note, that she’d heard from Father a thousand times before he went to war. Just as she’d heard the tune whistled again in Chicago as she and Mother prepared for the journey west, and again on the road. Exactly the same.
    Emma clutched the quilt to her chest as a shiver whisked down her spine. “Father?” she whispered, wishing she could claw away the darkness. Her heart hammered.
    The last whistled note, held long, seemed to hang in the night air. Then—nothing, except Mother’s even