On the Trail of the Truth by Michael Phillips

Author:Michael Phillips
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030;FIC042000;FIC026000
ISBN: 9781441230775
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2016-11-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

The Campaign Heats Up

I tried hard to enjoy the city the next day. Miss Bean told me some things I ought to see, and I walked around a little, and took one cab. But I was afraid I’d run into Robin O’Flaridy around every corner. So it was with a great sigh of relief that I boarded the steamer the next morning back to Sacramento. And I was so glad to see Zack and Little Wolf later that afternoon that I gave them bigger hugs than I ever had before.

“What’s that for?” asked an embarrassed Zack as he half returned my embrace.

“Just to remind me how much I love you,” I answered. He was satisfied, in the boyish sort of way that avoids talking about such things, and I wasn’t inclined to explain any further.

Little Wolf hugged me back, smiled, and pretended to give my face a little slap. Even though we were two days from Miracle Springs, I already felt like I was home! Without people to love, you can get awfully lonely in a big hurry!

Back in Miracle, the mayor’s campaign had started to heat up. While I had been gone, Almeda had gotten the box of completed handbills back from the printer in Sacramento—one thousand copies printed on bright colored paper. Already Tad and Becky and Emily had been putting them around town, and Almeda had begun to call on some of the leading townsfolk, both to take them a handbill and to explain what she was doing and why. With the excitement over seeing the handbill, and then telling Pa and Almeda about my trip and the incident with Robin O’Flaridy, it was late in the evening before I remembered my most important news of all.

“But guess what?” I said. “Mr. Kemble said he’d print three articles on the election if I’d write them!”

“The state election?”

“No—Miracle Springs . . . you and Mr. Royce.”

“That is something—and three! My goodness, you are turning into a genuine newswoman, Corrie!”

“For pay?” asked Pa.

“More or less,” I answered. “A dollar each.”

“Three dollars!” exclaimed Almeda. “They paid you four times that just two weeks ago for that countryside article.”

“That was before he found out I was a girl.”

“Why—why, that is the most despicable, low—”

“Now hold on to your breeches, Almeda,” said Pa. “Don’t get all riled. You know how the world is. If Corrie’s gonna try to do a man’s job, she’s gonna have to expect this kind—”

“A man’s job! Drummond Hollister, not you too! Corrie can write just as well as any man her age, and better than some a lot older, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t be paid according to her ability.”

“Maybe you’re right, but then I figure that’s Corrie’s decision, not yours or mine. And if she doesn’t want to write an article for a measly eight bits, she don’t have to. And if she does, then it ain’t nothing for you or I to stick our noses into.”

Pa’s practicality silenced Almeda for a minute, then she smiled broadly.

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