Shaken to the Core Read Online Free Page B

own—a world that she wanted to be part of.
    As soon as she entered, a cacophony of sounds engulfed her. The large room resounded with the clatter of typewriters. Telegraph wires clicked, and a telephone rang somewhere. Messengers and telegraph boys rushed in and out, weaving between the rows of desks spread through the newsroom. A few were still empty at that time of the day, but about ten reporters and copy editors were already bent over their typewriters, hammering away at the silver-rimmed keys. Cigarette smoke curled up, filling the room with a haze. The smell of tobacco and smoke mixed with that of ink and paper.
    Most of the reporters were men, who worked with their shirtsleeves rolled up and their ties loosened. Kate saw just one woman.
    Well, hopefully that will change soon. With her head held up high, she walked past the desks and knocked on a door that said EDITOR written in large block letters. The clacking of the typewriters drowned out any other sound. Had there been a “come in”? She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t very well press her ear to the door.
    After one last fortifying breath, she reached for the brass door handle, monogrammed with CS for Claus Spreckels, who owned the building. She opened the door and peeked in.
    A large man sat behind a desk that seemed to groan beneath stacks of paper. He puffed on a cigar, making his graying handlebar mustache twitch.
    “Good morning, Mr. Fulton. I’m Kathryn Winthrop. Could I have a minute of your time?”
    The Call’ s editor looked up from his cluttered desk. “If this is about an ad or your subscription—”
    “It’s not.” Kate stepped into the office and closed the door behind her, shutting out the noise from the newsroom so she wouldn’t have to keep shouting. She looked around for a moment, taking in the filing cabinets and the framed newspaper editions on the walls before returning her attention to the man behind the desk.
    He frowned, rolled his cigar into the opposite corner of his mouth, and regarded her through the haze of smoke. “Aren’t you Cornelius Winthrop’s youngest daughter?”
    “His only daughter,” Kate said. “But that isn’t why I’m here.” She wanted him to employ her, but not because her father owned the biggest shipping company on the West Coast. “I’m here because I’d like to work for the Call .”
    “Well, I’m not sure we need another secretary at the moment, but I can certainly make inquiries on your behalf and let you know if there are any openings.” He looked down, his attention already returning to his work.
    Kate took another step toward him and stopped directly in front of his desk. “You misunderstand my intention, Mr. Fulton. I’m not looking for secretarial work. I’d like to join your staff as a photographer.”
    Now he took his cigar out of his mouth for the first time and held it between his thick fingers while he stared at her. His bushy brows bunched together. “A photographer?” he repeated as if she’d just told him she wanted to grow wings and fly to the moon.
    Kate stood up straight. “That’s right. I’ve experimented a little with cut film and roll film, but I mostly work with dry plates. I develop my own prints. I brought you some examples of my work so you can see for yourself.” She opened the embroidered bag, took out the stack of her best photographs, and held it out to him.
    Mr. Fulton didn’t take it, nor did he spare a glance at the picture on top. “Miss Winthrop…” As he lifted his hand, ash rained down on his desk. He brushed it away with an absentminded swipe of his large hand. “I’m sure your photographs are quite pretty.”
    Pretty? Something about the way he said it made Kate frown.
    “While photography makes a wonderful pastime for a lady like yourself, I hardly think it would be appropriate for you to take photographs of the sort of things we report on,” Fulton said. “A lady doesn’t need to involve herself with such concerns.”
    Kate