Whistler in the Dark Read Online Free PDF

breathing and faint shouts from the saloon across the street.
    Emma finally lay back down. But a long time passed before she stopped trembling and fell asleep.

C HAPTER 4
    M EETING THE B OARDERS

    The next morning, Emma woke to the noise of male voices and heavy footsteps in the corridor—the other boarders. She kept her eyes closed, remembering the threatening note and the stolen press lever, the whistled tune and the icy ball of fear she’d felt, wondering if Father’s ghost was near. Emma wished she could stay in bed. Should she tell Mother she’d heard Maggie by My Side again? Surely she could convince Mother that she hadn’t imagined it—
    â€œGood morning, Emma.” Mother’s cheery voice punctured Emma’s thoughts. Her spirits lifted as she splashed some water into the bowl on her nightstand and washed her face. The aroma of frying bacon beckoned beneath the door. Sunlight streamed through Mrs. Sloane’s starched muslin curtains. The last shreds of Emma’s fear faded. If Father … well, if his spirit could come back, he wouldn’t want to frighten her! The whistler was surely a real man. Maggie by My Side had been a popular tune. Probably every man in Colorado knew it.
    â€œWell, Emma? Do you want to wear your Reform Dress today?”
    Emma looked up from the towel. Mother had insisted on making her one of the horrid trouser costumes. It hung now from a peg on the wall, cranberry red with white spots. “Mother, I told you I wouldn’t!”
    â€œI had hoped you might change your mind,” Mother said quietly. “I thought it would be a fitting way to start our new venture together. But it’s your choice. That’s what dress reformers want to do—encourage women to make their own choices.”
    Emma hesitated. “Mother, maybe you should wait a day or two. What if … what if Mr. Spaulding isn’t comfortable having a dress reformer in charge of his town newspaper?”
    Mother raised one eyebrow. “I mentioned my interest in dress reform in my introductory letter. It didn’t stop him from hiring me.”
    Crackers. Emma tried to think of a new argument. “But someone in this town is already unhappy because Mr. Spaulding hired a woman. Maybe—”
    â€œ Emma . I’ve already said I’d accept your decision. Now I’m asking you to accept mine.”
    I can’t , Emma thought, remembering the thrown egg, and Mrs. Littleton’s scorn, back in Chicago … and Mrs. Sloane’s proper air … and how beautiful Miss Amaretta Holly had looked riding sidesaddle, her skirt draped and flowing. I simply can’t .
    Emma dressed slowly, hoping Mother would go downstairs without her. She chose her good wheat-colored dress with braid trim and took special care arranging her hair. Perhaps if she dressed well, people would be less judgmental about Mother’s attire. She studied herself in the mirror. Perhaps the mourning brooch would help as well—
    â€œEmma Catherine Henderson!” Mother stood by the door. “I—am—waiting.”
    â€œI’m coming!” Emma said, but she couldn’t help adding, “Mother, aren’t you at all afraid of what people will say? What if—what if someone throws an egg at you?”
    Mother lifted her chin. “I believe in what this costume stands for. My husband went to war because of something he believed in. How can I be afraid of a few taunts, or even an egg or two? Come along, now.”
    Emma followed Mother down the stairs, wrestling with guilt and embarrassment. Through the open dining-room door she could hear a cheerful babble of voices—
    Which fell utterly silent as Mother walked into the room.
    As Emma followed, she saw Mrs. Sloane, standing rigid with a steaming coffeepot in one hand. She saw astonishment on the faces of the two men seated at the table … and on the face of Miss Amaretta Holly.
    Miss