“Papa’s never going to change, but that doesn’t mean we can’t,” Amanda said with a toss of her head. “Those weeks of feuding between you and Mr. Wade were all that anyone talked about.”

  Josie couldn’t help but smile. “I have to admit it was kind of fun.” She blushed at the thought.

  Amanda studied her. “At first I was shocked by the awful things you wrote about Mr. Wade—”

  “And he about me.”

  “Actually, he never said anything awful about you, personally.”

  “He called my writing ‘insipid.’ I heard it with my own ears.”

  Amanda shook her head. “I’m talking about what he writes in his columns. In any case, I kind of liked seeing a different side of you.”

  Josie looked away. Amanda had no way of knowing that the crux of the editorials had been written by Brandon Wade himself with only some slight editing on her part. Still, her sister was right about one thing: Wade did bring out a new side of her—a side she hadn’t known existed. The funny thing was she liked the new feistier, more assertive, self.

  When Josie remained silent, Amanda continued, “You used to be so . . . I don’t know what the word is.”

  Josie met Amanda’s probing gaze. “Unexciting. Boring?”

  A look of alarm crossed Amanda’s face. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean to imply you were boring. But you were always the peacemaker in the family. I can’t count the times you kept Meg and me from killing each other. I never thought you had it in you to hold your own against the likes of Mr. Wade.”

  “He’s . . . a very good businessman. I’ll grant him that. He knows what the public wants.”

  Amanda folded her arms. “I think you do too. The question is are you brave enough to give it to them?”

  ***

  Later that day Josie stood peering through the tiny opening of the tent flap. Dusk had fallen, and the lamplighter had already made his rounds. The conversation with Amanda still on her mind, Josie stared at the newspaper office across the street.

  The windows were dark. It irritated her that Mr. Wade had already closed up shop and gone home. Due to the numerous interruptions from disgruntled readers, she and Hank were still trying to put Friday’s paper to bed.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Amanda was right. Her choices were to bury the Gazette or do something she was utterly opposed to doing: resume the editorial wars. Was she brave enough to go that route? That question kept her very much on edge.

  Poor Papa would have a conniption, but what else could she do?

  She called to Hank. “What did Mr. Wade write in his editorial last week?” She knew Hank read the competitors’ paper.

  Hank looked up from his desk where he was setting type. “School books.”

  She dropped the flap and returned to her desk. “School books? You’re kidding, right?”

  Hank shook his head. “Nope, that’s what he wrote about. He took issue with pupils having to purchase different textbooks whenever a new teacher takes over. Said it creates a grievous hardship on families. He suggested that the County Commissioner’s Court adopt a uniform series of books and stick with it.”

  Blast it all! How could she disagree with that? Teachers didn’t last long on the job. Most got married within a few months. Since that was against school policy, married teachers were forced to resign. Last year, the school had lost three teachers in quick succession, and that meant three text book changes.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Wade’s opinion made perfect sense. She drummed her fingers on her desk, her mind in a whirl.

  Until a thought occurred to her. Running a newspaper had made her aware of just how quickly things changed. Hardly a week went by when some new medical or scientific discovery didn’t make headlines. Just that week a large city paper had printed a story about a Frenchman taking out a patent on artificial silk, stating that it was likely to change the fashion industry forever.

  “Wait,” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “Keeping the same textbooks over a period of time could result in children learning outdated material.”

  Hank considered this a moment before nodding. “I suppose.”

  Elbows on her desk, she folded her hands beneath her chin. “And why should county commissioners decide which books must be used? Why not a convention of public school teachers? They’re the ones who should have the say as to what is taught in the classroom.”

  Hank shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

  Her mind raced. “Textbooks should last at least a year, maybe two.” That would certainly cut down on expenses.

  With a surge of inspiration, she reached for pen and paper and started writing. Once started, she was surprised how quickly the words flowed.

  While the editor of the paper-wasting Lone Star Press brought up a good point regarding the adoption of uniform school books, she wrote, Mr. Wade was, as usual, short-sighted and . . .”

  Her pen paused as she searched her brain for the perfect words that would get her message across without sending Papa into a frenzy.

  Chapter 15

  Miss Nancy Hamilton left her corset on the clothesline during last week’s surprise storm and the metal ribs were severely demoralized by lightning. —Two-Time Gazette

  Josie spent that Monday morning trying to secure a temporary place for her newspaper office, but had no luck. What few empty buildings were available cost an arm and a leg to rent.

  Though she could do the editorial work at home, she still needed a place for the noisy printer. Maybe the blacksmith would let her rent out a corner of his place. No sooner did the idea occur to her than she changed her mind. It wouldn’t be fair to make Hank work around all that heat and noise.

  A better idea might be to ask Mr. Gardner if she could work behind his shop where he kept the chickens. But after their last unpleasant encounter involving the little girl Haley, she doubted he would comply.

  Such were her thoughts that she failed to see Mr. Wade until she plowed straight into him.

  “Whoa,” he said, steadying her with a hand to her elbow. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  She looked up and was once again reminded of his height. Though she stood at five feet eight, he topped her by a good five or six inches. But it wasn’t his height that made her heart take a perilous leap, but rather his winning smile.

  She struggled to find her voice. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m due back at work.” She pulled her arm away and continued along the boardwalk.

  He fell into step by her side and his smile vanished. “‘Shortsighted’?”

  She slanted a sideways gaze at him, but said nothing.

  “‘Paper-wasting rag’?”

  She tossed her head. “I take it that you read my editorial.”

  “I read it. Not bad,’ he said. “Except for the part where you called me a snollygoster.”

  “I meant it as a compliment.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You think being called unprincipled is a compliment?”

  “I said that your concern for our schools proved you weren’t a complete snollygoster.”

  “I don’t know which is worse, your compliments or your insults.”

  She stopped to face him. “If I recall, editorial combat was your idea.”

  “And I seem to recall you decided against it. So, what changed your mind? Ah, don’t tell me. Your little foray into the matrimonial business didn’t work.”

  He knew darn well it hadn’t worked. Everyone in town knew. “We found it difficult to control the integrity of the advertisers,” she admitted. “Some people exaggerated their good qualities.”

  He burst out laughing. “You mean Two-Time isn’t brimming with handsome millionaires and stunning beauties?”

  She joined him in laughter. She couldn’t help it. “It was a bit much, wasn’t it?”

  His eyes filled with warm humor. “It did make for entertaining reading. As for your editorial, you’re right about teachers choosing textbooks. I should have thought of that myself. Of course, I would never admit that to my readers.”

  “Of course not,” she said, though his unexpected compliment gave her a jolt of pleasure. She started along the boardwalk again, and he walked by her side.

  “Two people agreeing with each other is deadly boring,” he said. “Especially in print.”

  “Is that why you never admit that you’re wrong?” she asked lightly to downplay his effect on her.

  “I always admit when I’m wrong,” he said.

  “Do you, now?” Upon reaching the Gazette tent, they stopped and faced each other. “Would you also admit you’re wrong about my writing?” she asked. “About it being insipid, I mean.”

  “Still dwelling on that, are we?”

  She glanced askance at him. “Just want to set the record straight.”

  “After reading your last two editorials, including the one about the arsonist, I’d say your writing is as sharp as an arrow.”

  She turned her head away to hide the heat rushing to her face. “Thank you.”

  “While we’re setting the record straight . . . I didn’t set your place on fire.”

  She gave him an arched look. “I never said you did.”

  His gaze locked with hers, his eyes sparkling with the love of combat. “But you suspected it. Suspected it so much that you even went to the sheriff. Admit it.”

  She lifted her chin. “I might have given the sheriff that impression,” she admitted.

  “A-ha, I knew it!” he crowed. After a moment he added, “For your information, I’m perfectly innocent.”

  “Oh, I sincerely doubt that,” she said.

  His mouth quirked. “I’m referring to the fire.”

  She studied him. He certainly sounded sincere. Had she misjudged him? It certainly seemed that way. Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

  Hoping his good looks and charm hadn’t blinded her to the truth, she said, “In that case, I apologize for suspecting you.”

  “Apology accepted,” he said with a tip of the hat and slight bow. “And I also apologize for calling your writing insipid. Now that we’ve cleared the air between us and made nice, do you think we can write despicable things about each other for next week’s editions? I’m thinking about taking issue with your stance on barbed wire.”

  “In that case, I’ll take you to task for suggesting that shops should be allowed to open on the Sabbath,” she said.

  He grinned. “Sounds like war.”

  “Yes, doesn’t it?” she said, surprised to find herself eager to get started. Since his crooked smile was doing strange things to her insides, she turned abruptly and headed for the safety of the tent.

  He called after her. “May the best man win!”

  “Oh, she will,” Josie called back. “Count on it.”

  ***

  Becky-Sue Harris was waiting when Josie stepped through the canvas flap.

  Hoping her friend had some positive news to share about her relationship with Scooter, Josie sank into the chair behind her desk. “What brings you here?”

  Becky-Sue watched her from beneath a poke bonnet. Wisps of blond hair feathered her forehead. “I’m here to apply for a job.”

  Josie sat forward. “What kind of job?”

  “A writing job.”

  Josie’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know you liked to write.” Becky-Sue didn’t strike her as the serious type, which was why she made a good match for Scooter. He tended to be too serious at times and needed someone like Becky-Sue to get him to relax and lighten up.

  “I’ve always liked to write,” Becky-Sue said. “Mostly letters. But I’ve also written some stories and would like to do a column on fashion.” She gave her head an emphatic nod. “Did you know that the bustle is back in style?”

  “God have mercy,” Josie murmured. She picked up a sheet of paper and fanned herself. It was hot and getting hotter by the minute

  Becky-Sue giggled. “I thought I’d start by interviewing Mrs. Gilbert. Everyone is dying to know how she manages to dress so fashionably on a bank clerk’s salary. So what do you say?”

  Josie hated turning the girl down. Especially since Scooter was such a good friend. Did her wanting a job mean she’d given up on the idea of marriage?

  “My goal is to report the news and other matters of importance to my readers.” Not wanting to hurt Becky-Sue’s feelings, Josie tried to be as tactful as possible. “I’m afraid fashion is of interest to only a few. In any case, I would prefer that any such fashion news include health issues.”

  Becky-Sue looked perplexed. “Health issues?”

  “Yes. For example, women should be warned of the dangers of wearing whalebone or metal-rib corsets instead of the healthier cord. They should also be aware that letting skirts drag on the ground is unsanitary.”

  Becky-Sue looked as deflated as a flat rubber balloon. “I don’t have to write about fashion. I can write about other things. I know a lot about the events in town.”

  By events, Josie guessed she meant gossip. Unfortunately, that was something both men and women were interested in, though no one would admit it.

  When Josie remained silent, Becky-Sue continued, “I can even write an advice column. I’m a good writer. You won’t be sorry.”

  Josie wasn’t opposed to the idea of hiring a reporter. If only the paper’s financial situation wasn’t so up in the air. “I’m really not looking to hire anyone right now.”

  “Please.” The girl gave her a beseeching look. “The job means a lot to me.”

  “I’m sorry, but to be perfectly honest, I can’t afford to hire anyone.” Right now, she couldn’t even afford to stay in business.

  “You don’t have to pay me.”

  Josie sat back. “You want to write for free?”

  “No significant newspaper will hire me without experience. I’m looking to gain some. That’s all.”

  Ignoring the subtle affront, Josie hesitated as she considered the pros and cons of taking her on. Training the girl would take time, but she did seem eager to learn. Having another pair of eyes and ears around town couldn’t hurt.

  “Okay, we’ll give it a try. Like I said, I can’t afford to pay you. But if it’s just experience you want, I can give you that.” Josie thought a moment and decided to start the girl off with something easy. “You can report on the Independence Day celebration. That’s your first assignment.” The town was planning a big picnic and fireworks display for that Friday. “Also, next Thursday the circus is coming to town.” If Becky-Sue covered those activities, that would give Josie more time to find a place for her office.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Becky-Sue gushed and broke into a wide smile.

  “You should be advised that I require good writing with no weasel words,” Josie said. Nothing peeved her more than journalists giving their articles more credence than they deserved. Such vague terms as “people say” or “a recent study shows” were meaningless. Good journalism required naming reliable sources.

  Josie went through a list of dos and don’ts. “Always be sure to spell the names of your resources correctly. And be sure to end your articles with the numeral ‘30’ to indicate end of story. You should also know that I’m particular about punctuation.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I’m never late,” Becky-Sue said and giggled.

  Josie sighed. Already she was beginning to regret her decision to hire the girl.

  ***

  The circus train arrived in town early that Thursday morning to a cheering crowd. No circus had ever before traveled to Two-Time, and the air was thick with excitement. Little Davey kept trying to pull away, and it was all Josie could do to hold onto him.

  Laughing at her son’s exuberance, Meg parked Carolyn’s baby carriage in the shade of a tree. “It’s hard to know who’s more excited, me or Davey. I’ve never seen a circus.”

  “Me either,” Josie said, tightening her grip on her nephew’s small hand. Spotting her other sister in the crowd, she waved. “Amanda, over here.

  “Hurry, Aun’ ’Manda,” Davey shouted, jumping up and down.

  Acknowledging them with a smile, Amanda threaded her way through the thong of people and squeezed between Josie and Meg, her infant son, Jerrod, cradled in her arms.

  Businesses were closed for the day in honor of the occasion, and Josie searched the spectators for Haley. She’d searched for the girl at the Fourth of July picnic and later, during the fireworks display, but didn’t see her. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Haley for a while and missed her.

  Spotting her now across the street, Josie waved. It seemed that they’d made eye contact, but maybe not. For Haley abruptly turned and vanished from sight.

  Hoping to pick the girl out again in the crowd, Josie craned her neck. Instead, she spotted Brandon Wade, and her breath caught in her lungs. Even with all the colorful circus pageantry, he stood out and commanded the eye. It was downright annoying.

  Their gazes met, and he tipped his hat.

  Cheeks flaring, she returned his greeting with a slight nod. Last week’s editorials had been received with great enthusiasm. It hadn’t taken long for word to spread that the feud had resumed. It was all everyone had talked about at the picnic. People left early to purchase both papers, leaving the mayor’s annual Independence speech poorly attended.

  The sudden oohs and aahs rising from the crowd drew Josie’s attention away from Wade. All eyes were riveted upon a crimson-and-gold boxcar sitting on the track with the words “Jumbo’s Palace Car” painted on the side in big, bold print. The double doors of the private railroad car slid open to loud trumpeting sounds. A moment later the star attraction, an elephant named Jumbo, appeared in the opening. The pachyderm’s seven-foot trunk swung from side to side as he was led out of the car and up a ramp.

  The crowd went wild. The animal was huge. Standing at twelve feet tall, he was said to weigh more than six tons.