Introduction

Adriane Darcy was practically raised in her father's newspaper offices. She can't imagine life without the clatter of the press and the push to be first to write the news that matters. Their Tribune is the leading paper in Louisville in 1855. Then Blake Garrett, a brash young editor from the North with a controversial new style of reporting, takes over failing competitor the Herald, and the battle for readers gets fierce.

When Adriane and Blake meet at a benefit tea, their surprising mutual attraction is hard to ignore. Still, Blake is the enemy, and Adriane is engaged to the son of a powerful businessman who holds the keys to the Tribune's future. Blake will stop at almost nothing to get the story--and the girl. Can he do both before it's too late?

Set against the volatile backdrop of political and civil unrest in 1850s Louisville, this exciting story of love and loyalty will hold readers in its grip until the very last page. Bestselling author Ann H. Gabhart once again delivers an enthralling and enduring tale for her loyal and ever-expanding fan base.

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Excerpt

MARCH 1855

Adriane Darcy’s heart pounded as the darkness
settled down around her like a heavy blanket. Her
eyes were open. Open as wide as she could stretch them, but
she could see nothing. The dark was claiming her. She wanted
to fight it, but what good would it do? The dark always won.
Better to sit quiet as a mouse and accept her punishment.
That’s what her stepmother told her when she pushed her
inside the closet under the stairs and slammed shut the door.
Forcing her hand up through the thick black air, Adriane
dreaded the feel of the rough inside corners of the closet door.
She tried not to make any noise, but something rattled the
door. She jerked her arm back and was suddenly fully awake.
It was only a dream. Adriane kicked free of the bedcovers
and sat up to fumble for a candle. She needed light.
She gripped the waxy candle but stayed her other hand
before she could feel for one of the newfangled matchsticks.
She thought of the welcome flare of light the match would
bring, but she tightened her jaw and turned loose of the
candle. She was no longer a cowering child trapped in dark
fear, waiting for the moment light would spill into the closet
when her father came to rescue her. She needed no rescue
now.
She pulled in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Familiar
shapes began to emerge from the night shadows—the chest
with the blue pitcher and basin on top, her small writing
desk piled with books and papers, and her wardrobe with
the door a bit ajar.
The panic of the dream receded, and she was settling back
on her pillow when something clattered against her window.
That was the sound in her dream.
Adriane popped up in bed again and stared at the window.
For one crazy moment she thought it might be Stanley
Jimson come to propose to her in some foolishly romantic
way. He certainly needed to do something to make amends
to her after totally deserting her at last night’s social, not to
mention asking her father for her hand in marriage without
one word to her first.
Not that she wanted to marry Stanley Jimson. She certainly
did not. She had yet to meet the man she wished to marry,
or more troublesome—her father was wont to say—the man
who wished to marry her. Now it appeared there was such
a man. Her father had scarcely been able to contain his joy
and relief while telling Adriane about her marriage-to-be the
night before as if she had no choice in the matter. As if she’d
be as happy about it as he so obviously was. After all, Stanley
was from one of the most prominent families in Louisville.
It was rumored Stan’s father, Coleman Jimson, planned to
run for state senator in the August election, and money was
certainly not an issue.
“What more could any girl want?” Adriane’s father asked
her.
“A proposal might be nice,” Adriane shot back.
Now Adriane grabbed her wrapper and smoothed her dark
hair back into some reasonable order before she pushed up
the second-story window and peered down at the street.
All thoughts of Stanley Jimson vanished from her mind
when she saw Duff Egan getting ready to pitch another pebble
toward her window.
The young Irish boy stopped his windup and called softly,
“Miss Adriane, they found another body. You told me to be
letting you know soon’s I heard.”
“The river slasher?” Adriane kept her voice low, not much
more than a whisper.
“The same.”
“Wait there. I’ll be right down.”
Adriane eased the window closed to keep from waking
her father. He’d never allow her out on the streets this time
of night for any reason, much less to go to a murder scene.
It would be shockingly improper.
In fact her father had denounced the very stories about
the murdered Irish girls as somewhat scandalous and not
something a respectable newspaper should print. Of course,
he did print the stories. A lot of readers liked scandalous,
as the Herald and its new editor, Blake Garrett, had proven
well enough over the last several months. The Herald’s headline
scoops on the murders were pushing up its circulation
numbers until it was actually beginning to rival the Tribune’s
numbers. Her father’s paper, their paper, had been the leading
newspaper in Louisville for over a decade. She planned
to keep it that way in spite of the winds of change sweeping
through the city.
While her father kept battling against the Herald in his
editorials, Adriane thought the real war would be won or lost
in the headlines. So she’d had Duff on the lookout ever since
the last girl was murdered down in Shippingport.
Adriane yanked on a pair of her father’s old trousers and
a shirt she had stashed in the bottom of her wardrobe for
just this purpose. With a few deft twists, she pinned her thick
dark hair flat against her head.
The clock struck two as she slipped out of her room and
made her way down the stairs, doing her best to avoid the
squeaky boards. Halfway down she caught the acrid smell of
ink from the freshly printed editions of the Tribune stacked
in the pressroom waiting for morning delivery. Soon people
all over Louisville would be opening up the Tribune to find
out the news for March 22, 1855.
Adriane could almost hear the rustling papers and see
the expressions on the faces of the people reading her and
her father’s words. The familiar thrill Beck said all good
newspapermen felt when they put a new issue on the streets
pushed through her.
At the thought of Beck, Adriane held her breath and
stepped even more gingerly on the stairs. Beck, her father’s
right-hand pressman since before Adriane could remember,
slept in a small room just off the pressroom. He would tie
her to a chair before he’d let her out of the building to chase
after a story about a murdered Irish girl. Dear Beck. Like a
favored, fond uncle, he’d probably sent up a thousand prayers
while he worried over her and did his best to protect her.
Mostly from herself.
In the front hallway, she grabbed a hat and jacket off the
rack and slipped silently out the front door.
“Miss Adriane, is that you?” Duff appeared out of the
shadows beside the front stoop, the whites of his eyes shining
as he took in her getup.
“None other,” Adriane said. “I’m ready to go.”
“Could be you shouldn’t ought to be going down to the
river with me. It won’t be no place for a lady.” Even in the
dim light she could see his troubled frown.
“You’re right, Duff, but I won’t be a lady. I’ll be just one
of the fellows.”
“Folks ain’t always that easy to fool.” Duff gave her a hard
look. “You may have on breeches, but you have some to learn
about how a feller walks.”
“Then give me a lesson.”
(Unpublished manuscript—copyright protected Baker Publishing Group)
_Gabhart_WordsSpoken_BB_mw.indd 12 11/18/11 10:32 AM
Ann H. Gabhart
13
“You have to be throwing your legs out free and easy
without worrying about no ruffled petticoats and such.” He
walked away from her with a swagger.
Adriane stifled a laugh as she followed after him, copying
his stride.
“Not bad,” Duff said. “But ye’d best keep to the shadows
and let me do any talking that needs to be done. There be
some things loose clothes can’t hide.”
“Right,” Adriane agreed as the boy turned to lead the way
down the street.
Ever since Duff had shown up on the Tribune’s doorstep
begging a job several months ago, he’d been more like a little
brother to her than a regular hand. It had taken some doing
for Adriane to convince her father to take the boy on since
Duff was only twelve and, even worse, one of the Irish immigrants
her father railed against in his editorials. Her father
worried the rapid increase in the city’s immigrant population
was going to bring them all to ruin. He believed some privileges,
such as running for elected office, should be reserved
for men born in America. Immigrants excluded.
Adriane didn’t always agree with her father’s politics, but
nobody cared what she, a woman, thought. Women were
excluded right along with the immigrant population. Women
weren’t even supposed to bother their heads over such issues.
Too much thinking on serious matters was reputed to be injurious
to the female brain. Nor were women supposed to go
chasing after stories on the wrong side of town in the middle
of the night. Her father would be furious if he found out.
She took another look back at the building that housed the
Tribune offices and their home. No signs of anybody stirring.
With a breath of relief, she hurried after Duff toward the
riverfront. Beyond the pools of light from the gas streetlamps,
the black night lurked and put out fingers of darkness to claim
her. Her heart pounded up in her throat, but she told herself
it was only the dream remnants bothering her.
She hadn’t had one of those nightmares for years. Her
stepmother, Henrietta, was long dead, and no one locked
Adriane in dark places anymore. Nothing in the night was
threatening her. She was only chasing after a story. That by
itself was enough to make her heart beat faster. With excitement.
Not fear.
In front of her, Duff slowed and edged closer to the buildings.
He grabbed her arm to pull her back beside him before he
pointed ahead to where men were milling about in the street.
“Don’t be getting too close to any of the watch,” he warned
her in a whisper. “They favor booting you toward home if
they get half a chance.”
Adriane moved when Duff moved, melted into the shadows
when he stopped as they crept closer to the scene. The quarter
moon slipped out from behind the clouds to reflect a bit of
light off the river beyond them and give the night an eerie
gray look in spite of the streetlamps. It was far too easy to
imagine the poor murdered girl’s ghost in the misty shadows.
A shiver walked through Adriane as her eyes fastened on a
grimy blanket covering what had to be the body. All at once,
it wasn’t just a story for the Tribune she was trying to beat
the Herald to, but a real girl who wouldn’t awaken when the
sun came up to go about her life as she should.
“Did you know her?” Adriane whispered in Duff’s ear.
“No, but one of me sisters did. Kathleen O’Dell’s her name.
She worked down at the Lucky Leaf. The story I heard said
she left early last night, but didn’t give no reason why. Nobody
saw her after that.”
“Nobody but the murderer.” Adriane’s eyes were fixed
on the body. At the sound of footsteps on the walkway, Duff
jerked her back into a dark doorway as a man in a rumpled
suit hurried past them.
The man spoke to a few of the policemen before he slowly
approached the body. He stared down at the covered shape
as though gathering his nerve before he knelt down to lift an
edge of the blanket. After a long moment, he very carefully
let the cover drop back down over the body.
Without proper thought, Adriane stepped out of the
doorway to get a better look at the man’s face. He might
be the girl’s father or perhaps a brother. As if the man felt
her eyes on him, he stood up and looked directly toward
her. The terrible anger on his face made Adriane catch her
breath.
Duff grabbed her arm again and pointed in the other direction
toward one of the watch. “It looks like Officer Jefferson
has spotted us, Miss Adriane.” His whisper in her ear was
urgent. “We’d best make a run for it. Now.”
A large man in uniform was heading their way, swinging
his truncheon menacingly as he yelled, “Hey, you two, get on
out of here. This ain’t no entertainment feature.”
Duff tugged on her arm, but Adriane hesitated. She hadn’t
seen enough yet. That hesitation cost her. The man who’d
been looking at the body covered the space between them
faster than Adriane thought possible. She gasped as he
grabbed her other arm and yanked her out into the light.
Duff pulled her back toward the shadows.
Adriane tried to jerk free of the man’s hold. When he held
on grimly, she kicked his shins. He paid the blows no mind
as he tightened his grip on her arm. “You know something,
don’t you?”
His words so surprised her she ceased struggling and
looked directly into his dark, intense eyes.
Adriane was about to say something when Duff saved her
from her own foolishness by shoving between them to ram
his shoulder into the man’s middle.
“Run!” he yelled.
When the man staggered back, Adriane was finally able to
jerk free. With a worried glance over her shoulder at Duff,
she took off up the street, but she had no need to be anxious
about the boy. He slipped away from the man’s hands as
easily as an eel escaping a net. In a matter of seconds, he
caught up with her.
“Stick close, Miss Adriane,” he said as he passed her.
Adriane didn’t need to be told. She stayed right on Duff’s
heels. It wouldn’t do for her to be discovered down here.
Behind them, the man shouted, “Wait! We won’t hurt you.”
They kept running as Duff led her around and between
buildings. Once they ran right through the middle of a warehouse,
crawling in a window on one side and running out an
open door on the other. After that, they didn’t really have to
worry about anybody catching them, but Duff didn’t slow
down until they reached the street leading up to the Tribune
offices.
“Too close,” Duff gasped as he leaned up against Harrod’s
Dry Goods Store to catch his breath.
Adriane held her side and pulled in deep breaths. She hadn’t
run like that since she was a child playing tag with the neighbor
kids, but now every nerve in her body was screamingly
awake until she was aware of the slightest noises, the depth
of the shadows around the Tribune offices across from them,
and the very air against her skin.
When she caught her breath, she said, “But we made it.”
“Only because nobody but fat old Officer Jefferson chased
us, and he can’t run more than five minutes without taking
the wheezes.” The boy looked at her, and even in the shadows
she could see his concern. “I shouldn’t of ought to have taken
you down there. If Mr. Darcy finds out, he’ll fire me for sure.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let Father fire you, Duff.” Adriane
touched the boy’s shoulder. Behind them, the sky was already
beginning to lighten, so she went on. “Come on in and nap
in the pressroom till time to take out the papers.”
“Can’t,” Duff said. “I got to be going home to check on
me sisters and me mother.” He turned to go but then looked
back, a smile stealing across his face again. “It was some
chase for sure, wasn’t it, Miss Adriane?”
“That it was.” Adriane laughed and gave the boy a little
shove down the street. “Now go on with you. I don’t want to
have to explain to Beck why you’re late to get your papers.”
The minute he took off in an easy jog, Adriane remembered
she hadn’t asked him if he knew the name of the man who’d
grabbed her, but she didn’t call him back. Instead, after noting
how the eastern sky was turning a pale pink, she took
off her shoes and slipped through the front door. Without a
sound, she crept past the pressroom, but she didn’t make it.
Beck grabbed her by the collar.
“Hold it, you scalawag,” he growled. When he spun Adriane
around to face him, her hat fell off. He blinked his eyes
a couple of times and leaned down closer to her face as if
he couldn’t believe what he was seeing in the dim morning
light. “Addie?”
“Shh, Beck. Don’t wake Father.” She looked from Beck to
the stairs and then back at Beck.
The old man took in her trousers and tried to look cross,
though one corner of his mouth twitched up. “I reckon as
how that wouldn’t be a good idea right now.” Beck shook
his head with a heavy sigh. “I’d ask you what you’ve been up
to, but I ain’t all that sure I want to know.”
“I was just trying to beat Garrett to a headline for once.”
“And what headline you been out chasing?”
“They found another Irish girl stabbed to death down on
the riverfront.” Adriane turned her eyes from Beck to the
pile of papers just inside the pressroom that were nothing
but old news now.
All signs of a smile vanished from Beck’s face. “Addie, tell
me you didn’t go down to the riverfront.”
“Oh, don’t look so shocked.” Adriane touched the old
man’s wrinkled cheek. “Nobody knew it was me.”
“What were you thinking, Addie?” Beck frowned at her.
“That maybe we could beat Garrett to that headline.”
“All the headlines in the world ain’t worth you taking that
kind of risk. You’d best be sending up a thankful prayer that
your guardian angel was watching over you.”
“I know, Beck. I will and you’ll be sending them up with
me, won’t you?” She gave him her best smile. She knew Beck
couldn’t stay upset at her.
“It’s a fact you need praying over.” He shook his head
again as his frown faded. “I don’t reckon it’s any use fussing
at you. You’re too hardheaded by far to listen to nothing
nobody says anyhows.”
“I’ve always listened to you, Beck.”
“Then listen to this.” He gave her shoulder a firm shake.
“You’d best get on some decent ladies’ clothes before the boss
catches you in this getup.”
Adriane looked down at the trousers damp from the river
mist. She sighed. “You’re right as always. Father would tell
me I’m ruining my chances for a decent match and here when
someone has at last asked to marry me.”
“What’s this about marrying?”
“You haven’t heard?” Adriane kept her voice light. “Stanley
Jimson asked Father for my hand in marriage last evening.
Father’s ecstatic.”
“You don’t say. Well then.” Beck wouldn’t quite meet her
eyes as he went on. “It’s said the Jimsons are one of the finest
families in Louisville.”
“Richest anyhow,” Adriane said.
“Money comes in right handy at times.”
“So I’ve heard.” Adriane looked at Beck and stopped pretending.
If there was one person she could be honest with, it
was Beck. “You don’t like Stan, do you?”
Beck finally looked back up at her. The wrinkles around
his eyes tightened some as he reached out and laid his hand
on her cheek. “It don’t make no matterance who it is I like,
Addie. What you got to worry about is who it is you can
take a liking to.”
... view entire excerpt...

Discussion Questions

1. Adriane agrees to marry Stanley, a man she doesn’t love, because that’s what her father wants her to do. Her father says romantic love isn’t important to a happy life. Do you think he was right?
2. Adriane keeps reminding herself of how the Bible says to honor her father. That’s why she continues to think she should marry Stanley. When do you think it is okay to go against the wishes of parents?
3. Adriane was mistreated as a child by her stepmother. Do you feel her father should have done more to protect her from Henrietta? Could he have in some way, perhaps subconsciously, liked being her rescuer? Or did he really feel Adriane could have behaved better to avoid being punished by Henrietta?
4. Adriane loved getting out the news and Beck says she has ink in her blood. What do you think that means? Was she born wanting to write, or did she develop a love for writing for newspapers because she was around her father and Beck so much?
5. Everyone keeps telling Adriane she will have a “secure” life married to Stanley. Why do you think it bothered her so much when she heard that? Was it only because she didn’t love Stanley, or do you think it had more to do with her feeling she was being shoved into a closet of conformity?
6. Mrs. Wiggenham was an indefatigable matchmaker. It was obviously her intent to bring Adriane and Blake together in hopes that they would be attracted to one another. Do you think she was regretting her own “safe” life and hoping in some small way to rescue Adriane from the same fate?
7. Adriane and Blake had an instant attraction to one another when they met. Do you believe people can really fall in love at first sight? Were you ever attracted to someone that way, and did the attraction develop into stronger feelings?
8. At first, Blake avoids telling Adriane about his past relationship with Estelle Vandermere. Do you think this was because he was worried that Adriane wouldn’t understand or that he was ashamed he hadn’t been more help to Estelle?
9. Adriane is desperately in love with Blake, but she’s not sure she can trust him. Yet she marries him anyway. Do you think she did the right thing?
10. Words Spoken True is set in Louisville, Kentucky, during a very volatile political era when many immigrants were becoming citizens and gaining the right to vote. Longer-established citizens feared this influx of new voters and tried to keep them away from the polls. Do you see any similarities to the political atmosphere of today?
11. The riot in the story was an actual historical event. Blake tells Adriane that no decent man would be part of such a happening. Do you think that’s true, or do you think a person can be swept away by the emotions of the moment and do things that are against his or her moral standards and beliefs?
12. The editors of the newspapers in the 1800s had a lot of influence on their readers. Do you think newspapers have that kind of influence today? If not, where do you think people look to find out more about what’s going on the world, especially in the political arena?

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