Online Dating in the 19th Century???

with guest Karen Witemeyer.

One of the hazards of being an historical writer is getting sidetracked with fascinating research rabbit trails. You open Google looking for specific information on how to harvest sorghum and an hour (or two) later, you've not only learned how to harvest sorghum but how to make sorghum syrup (basically molasses), discovered which living history farms in Pennsylvania can demonstrate this process to you (not very helpful when you live in Texas), found a recipe for beef ribs with a sorghum glaze, and uncovered a whole slew of arguments on why one should never eat refined sugar but use natural sweeteners like sorghum when cooking.

Not that this example actually happened to me recently or anything . . . OK, it did.

Yet, every once in a while one of those crazy rabbit trails leads to a valuable tidbit. Like in 2011 when I started researching telegraph communication for an older book. I stumbled upon a novel written in 1879 by female telegraph operator Ella Cheever called Wired Love.

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Apparently many operators were women in the late 19th century, and they were often identified as such by the delicacy of their “sounding” on the wires. The hero in Miss Thayer’s novel, Clem Stanwood, knows right away that the operator at the “B m” station is female.

Nattie Rogers is intrigued by the mysterious “C” at the “X n” station and seeks out conversations that soon turn flirtatious. These two telegraph operators fall in love over the wire without ever laying eyes on one another.

There is one scene about halfway through the book that served as my inspiration for my latest book, Heart on the Line. A case of mistaken identity had scared Nattie away from “C,” but Mr. Stanwood arranges a visit to her boarding house, and while sitting amongst others in the parlor, he begins tapping out code with his pencil against a marble table top. Nattie recognizes her call name and, taking up a pair of scissors, drums out a reply. They carry on an entire conversation this way with no one in the parlor suspecting their actions were anything more than idle tapping. Until, that is, Mr. Stanwood reveals himself to be the real “C”.

Nattie jumps to her feet and exclaims aloud, “What do you mean? It cannot be possible!”

Hysterical!

Of course everyone else in the room thinks she’s lost her mind except the hero who crosses the room to take her hand.  Awww…

So, online dating in the 19th Century? You bet. On the telegraph line!

In Heart on the Line, I had a great deal of fun creating situations where my two telegraph operators communicated through coded tapping without anyone else being able to understand the significance of their private conversations.

Here's an excerpt from my book where Grace and Amos meet in person for the first time. Grace has been hiding out in a women's colony to escape the man who killed her father and recently learned that her location had been discovered. Amos overheard the information on the telegraph line and immediately hopped on a train to lend his aid. Only Grace doesn't know if the stranger who just arrived in town is friend or foe. The town marshal has locked Amos up in the jail as a precaution.

Grace willed her hand not to tremble as she fit the hairpin over her finger. A difficult task when her insides were jumping about as if she'd swallowed a family of crickets. Straightening her shoulders, she took a step forward, intent on tapping out a message on the cell's crossbar. But a hand grabbed her arm and tugged her backward. 

"Don't get too close, Miss Grace," the marshal instructed as he gently steered her away. "You can do your talkin' from back here." 

Actually, she couldn't, but Malachi obviously didn't know that. And why would he? He wasn't an operator. She glanced around the office, her gaze zeroing on the desk. And the tin cup resting on its surface. Yes. That would work nicely.Smiling at the marshal, she stepped away from his hold and moved toward the desk. "May I?" she asked, indicating the chair. 

Malachi looked at her oddly but nodded. "Be my guest." 

"Thank you." Grace swept her skirt aside and settled herself on the seat before reaching for the coffee cup. She peered inside and frowned. Still half full. She glanced around for a place to dispose of the unwanted beverage, but there were no potted plants or conveniently located knotholes in any of the nearby floorboards.

Without giving herself time to think better of it, she lifted the cup to her lips and chugged down the cold, bitter brew in one long gulp. She grimaced and nearly choked on the awful stuff, but she got it down.

"You . . . ah . . . want a fresh cup?" Malachi asked, the shock on his face rather comical. "I got a pot on the stove in the corner."

"No, thank you." Her reply emerged more as a rasp than actual words, as if the horrid concoction had paralyzed her tongue and throat. How did the man drink that swill? It tasted like boiled shoe leather. "I just need the cup."

She promptly turned the tin cup on its side and hovered her hairpin-covered finger above it. Grace glanced past the befuddled marshal to the man waiting expectantly in the jail cell. He was gripping the edge of the right side of his jacket and holding it away from his body. He'd fitted the bottom button between the first two fingers of his right hand, and held it an inch above the iron crossbar.

Grace turned away and bit the inside of her cheek to contain the smile that was trying to edge its way onto her face.

He knew exactly what she was about and was ready to respond.

Focusing on the silver cup in front of her, Grace began the test. 

Call me like you would on the wire. 

A series of dull raps came from across the room, the cloth-covered button muffling the sharpness of the reply. Dn calling Hs. The sound might be off, but the rhythm wasn't. It only took the first few clicks for Grace to recognize the sender's unique style. To an untrained ear, one tapping pattern might sound like any other, but to an operator, the rhythm, tempo, and phrasing combined to create an outcome as distinctive as a signature.

 Mr. A's signature.

The two continue their coded conversation as Grace digs for more of the truth, but it is here that the fantasy of a mysterious admirer first begins to turn into the reality of true love.

So you see, not all rabbit trails are bad. Following one could lead you to the perfect plot for a new book. At least that's my current justification. Ha!

•  If you are a writer, what do you like least/most about researching?

•  If you are a reader, what is the most interesting tidbit you've learned from reading a novel?

I'll be giving away an autographed copy of my telegraph love story, Heart on the Line, to one lucky commenter. (US addresses only, please.) Winner announced in the next Seekerville Weekend Edition.

P.S. As a fun trivia note – Look carefully at the decorative swirl on my cover. See the pattern of dots and dashes? My very clever designer used Morse code to spell out "love" over and over again in that flourish. Cool, huh?

Heart on the Line

Grace Mallory is tired of running, of hiding. But when an old friend sends an after-hours telegraph transmission warning Grace that the man who has hunted her for nearly a year has discovered her location, she fears she has no choice. She can't let the villain she believes responsible for her father's death release his wrath in Harper's Station, the town that has sheltered her and blessed her with the dearest friends she's ever known.

Amos Bledsoe prefers bicycles to horses and private conversations over the telegraph wire to social gatherings with young ladies who see him as nothing more than an oddity. His telegraph companion, the mysterious Miss G, listens eagerly to his ramblings every night and delights him with tales all her own. For months, their friendship--dare he believe, courtship?--has fed his hope that he has finally found the woman God intended for him. Yet when he takes the next step to meet her in person, he discovers her life is in peril, and Amos must decide if he can shed the cocoon of his quiet nature to become the hero Grace requires.

Christy Award finalist and winner of the ACFW Carol Award, National Reader's Choice Award, HOLT Medallion, and Inspirational Reader's Choice Award, CBA bestselling author Karen Witemeyer writes Christian historical romance for Bethany House, believing the world needs more happily-ever-afters. She is an avid cross-stitcher and makes her home in Abilene, TX with her husband and three children.