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Would-Be Mistletoe Wife
Christine Johnson
Mistletoe MatchWorried she might lose her teaching job if funding is cut for her boarding school, widow Louise Smythe must consider marriage. But the only prospective groom in town is lighthouse keeper Jesse Hammond, and he wants children—something she may never be able to provide. While Jesse waits for the ideal woman to make his wife, though, Louise can’t help but long for something more than his friendship.If he wants to be promoted to head lighthouse keeper, Jesse needs to find a wife suited to his rustic lifestyle. But as he and Louise partner to give the town’s homeless orphans a joyous holiday, he’s drawn to the dainty woman. Will the light of Christmas finally inspire them to put their trust into each other’s hearts?Boom Town Brides: Taking a leap of faith for love


Mistletoe Match
Worried she might lose her teaching job if funding is cut for her boarding school, widow Louise Smythe must consider marriage. But the only prospective groom in town is lighthouse-keeper Jesse Hammond, and he wants children—something she may never be able to provide. While Jesse waits for the ideal woman to make his wife, though, Louise can’t help but long for something more than his friendship.
If he wants to be promoted to head lighthouse keeper, Jesse needs to find a wife suited to his rustic lifestyle. But as he and Louise partner to give the town’s homeless orphans a joyous holiday, he’s drawn to the petite woman. Will the light of Christmas finally inspire them to trust in each other’s hearts?
“I don’t know how to make wreaths.” Jesse’s brow furrowed.
“I do.” Though Louise hated remembering the reason. “I made several funeral wreaths for the fallen.”
Again he stiffened, making her wonder if he’d served in the war. Few soldiers wanted to talk about what they’d seen.
“This will be a festive, cheerful time. People will want to come here, especially if we make it known in Chicago what is happening.” Then she made her plea. “Your knowledge of plants will be invaluable.”
That brought back the smile. “Are you sure you don’t just want me along to carry the boughs?”
“Oh, dear. You deciphered my real purpose.” Louise immediately regretted the playful jab. He didn’t appear to understand her humor, judging from the look on his face. She braced herself.
Instead of chastising her, he roared with laughter. “Of course I’ll help. Anything for a friend who speaks her mind.”
A friend. He’d called her a friend. She should be glad. Yet deep down she wanted more.
Dear Reader (#u3db65dda-27ba-5336-8e92-9dd687141e7f),
Lighthouses have always fascinated me. When I was growing up, I would watch the light from the offshore lighthouse come on at dusk. Later, in travels, I’ve been able to tour many a lighthouse. Researching how they operated in the 1870s was a joy. The Great Lakes have many remote and island lighthouses. I always wondered how a keeper and his family endured the isolation. Perhaps that will be another story.
The real-life story of Singapore, Michigan, fascinated me for many years. Sadly, it’s a familiar tale for lumber boom towns. Many disappeared, though not as literally as Singapore, which ended up buried beneath the sand dunes. I’ve loved setting a series there, and hope you have enjoyed the stories of Louise, Pearl, Amanda and Fiona.
That’s why from the start I envisioned these characters moving on together to begin anew. You will see familiar names in my early 20th-century books set in Pearlman, Michigan. The first of those books is Soaring Home, set in 1919. See my website at christineelizabethjohnson.com (http://christineelizabethjohnson.com) for a full list of the “Pearlman” books and more about how the characters in this series became the founders of Pearlman. You can also contact me through the Connect page on my website. I do love hearing from you!
I wish you a joyous Christmas.
Blessings,
Christine Johnson
A small-town girl, CHRISTINE JOHNSON has lived in every corner of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. She enjoys creating stories that bring history to life while exploring the characters’ spiritual journeys. Though Michigan is still her home base, she and her seafaring husband also spend time exploring the Florida Keys and other fascinating locations. You can contact her through her website at christineelizabethjohnson.com (http://www.christineelizabethjohnson.com).
Would-Be Mistletoe Wife
Christine Johnson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord.
—Psalms 27:14
For my aunties, whose encouragement and support carried me through difficult times and made the good times even better.
Contents
Cover (#ud485fee3-6653-5e2f-aa47-2de0d76c4d8d)
Back Cover Text (#uc5965ee3-cd0a-558e-bf6d-24db59327520)
Introduction (#u4ee485e4-3a8f-5864-9b4d-0a361a24486a)
Dear Reader (#ua0a7e6b8-1bc4-569f-9d72-c9e76646c536)
About the Author (#u7668b5ec-dd3f-52de-9d80-404460a2c82c)
Title Page (#uabae2cc8-7814-5d2a-b3e2-ea12f4b057d2)
Bible Verse (#ue9911217-cd8a-56db-85df-1e2d35c9d863)
Dedication (#udf52a0ed-4053-5b55-91cb-2a4d307d0fc5)
Chapter One (#u2ef0a8e3-4ab4-5a63-8b5d-954bc8b18d45)
Chapter Two (#uf04c497a-3eba-5056-9277-cc5561b16f1d)
Chapter Three (#ud853b3ac-ea00-58b3-b520-0613014a809f)
Chapter Four (#u2551c9f2-efe6-501c-8529-ae6ff9810dce)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u3db65dda-27ba-5336-8e92-9dd687141e7f)
September 1871
Singapore, Michigan
Louise Smythe spotted her quarry and motioned her students to follow her across the sand dune. The sun shone hot for so late in the year, and the sand reflected the heat, bringing beads of perspiration to her brow.
As expected, her instructions were met with a chorus of complaints from the handful of young ladies currently enrolled in Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies. Ranging from fifteen to eighteen years of age, the students had come to Singapore, Michigan, to better themselves. Louise taught the intellectual courses, such as literature, writing and mathematics, while Fiona Evans covered the arts. In addition, Louise included an occasional class on the sciences in order to improve the ladies’ ability to converse on all topics.
“My feet ache,” whined Linore Pace. The eighteen-year-old had landed in Singapore last fall after their ship foundered. She and five other young women were bound for the utopian colony of Harmony on Low Island. After completing the voyage on another ship, Linore had returned to Singapore in August after finding the island—and the man selected to become her husband—not at all to her liking.
“Mine too,” her cohort, Dinah, seconded. “I can’t figure how all this traipsin’ around is gonna get me a husband.”
“How this will procure a husband,” Louise corrected.
“Huh? Cure a husband o’ what?”
Louise inwardly groaned. A full summer of demonstrating proper grammar coupled with three weeks of formal instruction had failed to improve Dinah’s speech. Her writing was even worse. Suggesting that a man valued a woman who could speak properly was useless, since most of the men in town—including Dinah’s former beau—were lumberjacks and sawyers with even worse grammar.
One of the wealthier girls snorted and whispered to her pair of friends, doubtless to emphasize Dinah’s lowly estate. The three paying students always managed to separate themselves from the orphans, Dinah and Linore, whose tuition was paid by scholarship. No matter what Louise did to pull the ladies together, they always ended up in two distinct groups.
“Enough chatter!” Louise clapped her hands and stopped before her quarry, a rather sad example of the tall wormwood plant. “This is our specimen today.”
The whispers turned to giggles.
Louise was about to reprimand them when Priscilla, her perfectly curled blond hair on full display beneath a tiny straw hat, pointed past her.
“Now, that is a fine specimen.” Priscilla Bennington gave her two friends, Adeline and Esther, a look that cautioned them she had first claim on whatever she’d spotted.
All five girls sighed as one.
Clearly Priscilla was not talking about the wormwood plant. Like the rest, her attention focused on humans, especially the masculine variety. Louise turned just enough to spot what had quieted the girls’ complaints without letting them out of her peripheral vision.
Heading her way was a giant of a man, surely the tallest man she’d ever seen. Her late husband had been tall at six foot. This man must be well over six feet, perhaps even six and a half. The white shirt and navy blue trousers only accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular limbs. It being an overly warm day, he wore no jacket or coat. In spite of sleeves rolled to his elbows, he managed to look proper and formal. Atop his head sat a navy blue cap, like that worn by Mr. Blackthorn, the lighthouse keeper. Louise had heard there was a new assistant at the lighthouse. This must be the man. Neatly trimmed sandy blond hair peeked from beneath the cap on either side of his rugged, clean-shaven face.
If she’d been the girls’ age, she would have sighed too. This man was exceedingly handsome. He was also storming toward them in a most intimidating manner.
“He’s positively the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen,” Adeline sighed. The sixteen-year-old found every man she saw more handsome than the last.
Louise turned, finger to her lips, to hush such untoward comments. “A lady conducts herself with dignity at all times.”
“Even when hiking across the wilderness?” Priscilla, with her matching hats, bags and gowns, managed to irritate Louise on a daily, if not hourly, basis. “There’s sand in my shoes, and my stockings are ruined. That doesn’t even begin to address the damage to my complexion.” She tilted her parasol so it now shaded her face.
The girl came from wealth and no doubt the Evanses needed the income that such a student brought, but she was a handful. The new school had been blessed with a benefactress in Fiona Evans’s mother-in-law, who had helped to get it started and instituted the scholarships, but she could not support its continuing operation. To survive, the school must turn a profit. That meant accepting and enduring spoiled girls like Priscilla Bennington. In three weeks, the eighteen-year-old had thrown nearly a dozen tantrums and refused to follow direction. Louise suspected Priscilla had been refused by or expelled from every school in Chicago. Here, she headed up the haughty trio.
“This is hardly the wilderness,” Louise pointed out for the benefit of the other students, for whom she still had hope. “We are only a short distance from the school.”
She might as well have been talking to herself, for all five girls bunched together whispering and giggling. Louise’s calm temperament frazzled.
“Then perhaps you should return to that school.” The strong bass voice sent a jolt through Louise and brought a sudden halt to the giggling. This man was not pleased. Not at all.
Louise had endured enough opposition for one day. Though he towered over her, she would not let a perfect stranger determine what she would and would not teach her students.
She squared her shoulders. “We will return as soon as we finish examining this example of artemisia campestris.” She pointed to the tall wormwood. “As you can see, the drought has stunted its growth, making it an ideal subject for study.”
The man stared at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language—not an unusual reaction from the men in Singapore. This lumber town didn’t boast many educated men or women. Before Mrs. Elder grew gravely ill and left for Chicago with her husband, Louise had kept house for her and the Captain. Both were well-read and their home boasted a large library, but they’d sent for their books this summer, leaving the town woefully deficient in reading material.
“You’re standing on federal government property,” the man stated. “That’s trespassing.”
“I am a teacher from Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies. We are conducting the day’s study in the field.”
His scowl showed no sign of departing. “I don’t care if you’re Mrs. Evans herself, this is still government property. Regulation states that you must obtain permission to be here. Mr. Blackthorn didn’t tell me he’d given anyone permission to walk on lighthouse property.”
Louise set her jaw. “He has never objected to my presence in the past.”
“He gave you permission then?”
“No one has ever needed permission before. Why, many walk to the lighthouse in order to visit with members of the Blackthorn family.”
“That’s different,” he acknowledged. “The walkways are open to everyone, but you are not on them.”
The man was being most impertinent. “According to the late President Lincoln, our nation’s government is of the people, by the people and for the people. Thus, government property belongs to the people of this country.”
The girls twittered. A most inopportune reaction, for it clearly incensed the man standing before her.
His face darkened. “And the people have elected representatives to put laws in place. Those laws state that the land surrounding a lighthouse is set aside as federal government property. The marking posts and signs are clear.” He pointed to a half-buried post. “You are trespassing.”
“We are a small group of women. What harm can we do?”
“Don’t you know that the previous lighthouse collapsed into the river thanks to erosion?”
Louise did not, but she saw no relevance in this point. “I’m certain a small group of women were not responsible for undermining the structure.”
“Footsteps break down the surface of the dune, making it easier for the sand to slide downhill.”
The hulking man was grasping at straws, and she had no intention of letting him push her from her purpose. Ordinarily she preferred calm to the storm, but this man was utterly unreasonable.
“Fine. I will speak with Mr. Blackthorn, then.” Louise began walking in the direction of the lighthouse, expecting this newcomer, whoever he might be, to stand aside.
He did not. “I will speak to Mr. Blackthorn. If he approves your study, I will personally deliver that news to the school. Until then you may return to your classroom.”
Odious, impossible man! She pointed her magnifying glass at his far-too-broad chest. “There are no plants inside the classroom. That is why we are in the field.”
“Then choose another field outside government property.”
“This happens to be the sole specimen of artemisia campestris within easy walking distance.”
He bent to grab the plant, as if to yank it from the sand.
“Stop!” Louise grabbed his hand and was shocked by its warmth and strength. “Don’t kill it.”
“It’s a plant.”
She removed her hand and felt the heat flood her cheeks. What had possessed her to touch a man she didn’t even know? A handsome man. A man that her students found more than attractive.
The whispering behind her had begun again. She could just imagine what they were saying. Priscilla might consider it a breach of etiquette. The girl could make trouble for her—or for the school.
“Are you all right?” The man peered at her.
She looked at the dune, at the sky, at anything other than the comely visage before her. She pressed a hand to her midsection, though it was her heart that raced.
“Perhaps I did overexert myself.”
His lips twitched, as if a smile wanted to break out. “In that case, let me escort you down the dune. Simply point out the building where your school is housed, Miss...?”
He must be terribly new to town if he didn’t know that Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies was the closest building to the lighthouse, excepting a lumber warehouse and the second sawmill.
He extended an arm. “Miss?”
She cleared her throat, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself. “Mrs., actually. Mrs. Smythe. I’m widowed.”
My, that had come out just as flustered as she felt. And her cheeks must be blazing red. What an outstanding mess of things she’d made.
The twittering behind her had stopped, so she hazarded a glance at the man. He was smiling—no, grinning—as if he thought he’d triumphed by making her blush!
Louise squared her shoulders again. She would not let this giant of a man affect her. “I thank you for your offer, but I am greatly recovered. Once we complete our field examination, we will be off your precious dune.”
She then held up her magnifying glass and turned to the girls, who were huddled together, many of them slack-jawed and more than one starry-eyed. “Ladies!”
The group shot to attention and pulled out their magnifying glasses.
“We will examine the flowers of the tall wormwood first,” Louise instructed. “Use your glasses to determine if it is in bloom or has gone to seed and then draw a likeness in your field notebook.” She held up her well-worn notebook that contained sketches and notes on each species she encountered.
Not one girl moved.
“Come now, don’t be afraid.” Louise motioned in the direction of the plant and then turned toward it only to find herself looking at the buttons of the man’s shirt not one foot from her nose. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“And you’re still trespassing.”
“As I said, we will be done shortly and then will vacate the property. If you have a problem with that, then I suggest you bring it up with Mr. Blackthorn.” She ducked around the man and began demonstrating the use of the magnifying glass.
Priscilla marched past the man, but not without casting a flirtatious look his way. Since she led, the others followed, with Dinah dragging her feet in the rear. Her gaze lingered on the man, as if he was an oddity. Perhaps one could say he was, for Louise had never seen so tall a man, especially one who looked so perturbed.
“Mrs. Smythe.”
“Sir?” she answered. “I have introduced myself, but it seems you have neglected to do likewise.”
This time his color heightened, bringing giggles from the girls.
“Mr. Hammond. Mr. Jesse Hammond, Assistant Lighthouse Keeper.”
Each word came out so stiffly that a laugh bubbled to her lips. “Are you always so formal?”
He looked affronted. “I am precise, Mrs. Smythe, to the letter of the law, which I have sworn to uphold.”
“Really, Mr. Hammond, this is getting tedious. As I said, Mr. Blackthorn will have no objection to us hiking upon the dune to further our education. I promise we will not go near any of the buildings. You are quite safe.”
His color heightened. “I am not concerned about my safety, madam.” He sniffed the air.
Louise sniffed too. Something was burning.
“Fire,” Mr. Jesse Hammond said even as he scanned the horizon in all directions.
Louise looked back at her students only to discover a dried leaf aflame at Dinah’s feet. “Dinah!”
The girl shrieked and jumped, thankfully in the right direction. The other girls followed suit.
“Put it out, Mr. Hammond,” Priscilla pleaded with several well-timed bats of her eyelids.
Before the man could issue yet another reprimand, Louise strode over, lifted her skirts slightly and stomped on the leaf until the flame was extinguished.
“There,” she noted, spinning to face Mr. Hammond. “The problem is solved.”
“This time, but it demonstrates why you shouldn’t be here.”
My, that man could aggravate! Louise focused on Dinah. “How did this happen?”
The girl had gone pale as snow. “I—I was just lookin’ at things like you told us to do.”
“Looking?”
“Aye.” Dinah demonstrated holding out her glass.
“Your magnifying glass!” Louise turned so she stood in the same direction Dinah had been standing when the leaf caught fire. She held out her own magnifying glass. Sure enough, the sun’s rays reflected and concentrated on the surface in a bright dot. “That’s what happened. The sun must have reflected off the glass at just the right angle to set the leaf ablaze.”
“Carelessness,” Jesse Hammond stated. “Unchecked, it could have damaged one of the outbuildings or even spread toward town.”
Louise was about to counter that statement with the obvious truth that a sea of dry sand lay between the burnt leaf and any building, but the girls had begun murmuring amongst themselves again.
Priscilla smiled coyly at Mr. Hammond. “What would we have done without your assistance, Mr. Hammond? We are ever so grateful.”
Louise gritted her teeth. Pointing out that she had put out the fire would not endear her to Priscilla or Mr. Hammond. Since the girls’ attention was lost, nothing more could be learned today.
“Very well, ladies, we shall shorten our study today.”
That drew a grudging nod from the man. “I will hold you to that, Mrs. Smythe.”
“And I will speak with Mr. Blackthorn at first opportunity.”
He nodded again. “Please excuse me, ma’am. Ladies.” He then strode off toward the lighthouse without a single backward glance.
Louise didn’t know what she’d expected. The warmth of his hand and moment of compassion had vanished under the weight of his adherence to regulation. Jesse Hammond was a most unreasonable man.
“Isn’t he about the most handsome man you ever saw?” Linore sighed.
“Too tall,” Priscilla noted, as if she hadn’t done her best to attract his attention.
Certainly he had towered over Louise. Now that he was gone, her limbs set to trembling. The sheer force of the man brought back terrible fear. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, telling herself to forget the past. Jesse Hammond was not her late husband. Other than stature, they likely shared nothing else. Moreover, she had no connection to this man. She need have no dealings with him.
In the future she would avoid any possibility of crossing Jesse Hammond’s path.
* * *
Jesse had never been so skillfully outmaneuvered, especially by a tiny slip of a woman. He could appreciate that she’d stomped out the burning leaf rather than cry out like the girls, but that sensible act had only reminded him of his failure. He hadn’t leapt into action—not six years ago and not now.
Moreover, Louise Smythe had managed to counter every argument he put forth. She was probably right that the keeper wouldn’t mind. Blackthorn didn’t follow every regulation exactly as written. Sometimes, he didn’t follow them at all. That was a problem. A keeper was responsible for lives.
The smallest missed detail could lead to disaster, as Jesse well knew from that horrible night on the Sultana. The steamboat had left Vicksburg and then Memphis severely overloaded with soldiers eager to return home. They’d ignored the crowded conditions and sagging decks. After all, they’d endured the horrors of the prisoner of war camps. What was a little temporary discomfort when they soon would be home? Then came the explosion.
The memory still shook him from deep sleep, drenched in perspiration. Why had he survived when so many had died? He, above all, should have perished. Jesse asked God for an answer, but he’d received none. The best he could do was save others. In the lighthouse service, he could warn ships of danger and rescue people from foundered vessels.
Blackthorn’s indifference to regulation rubbed him wrong. Such callous disregard had cost lives six years ago. Jesse would make sure that never happened again. So, even though allowing a few ladies to walk across government property seemed innocuous, that burnt leaf pointed out how something small could lead to disaster.
Jesse located the keeper in the oil shed, drawing oil for the lamps. There wasn’t enough room for two small men inside the shed, least of all someone his size, so he waited outside.
Blackthorn capped the brass transfer can he used to transport oil. “What can I do for you, Jesse?” He rose with the exaggerated groans of a timeworn elder. “Bones are getting creaky.”
Jesse hoped that meant Blackthorn was considering retirement. It had surely led to the placement of an assistant, though Blackthorn had refused to relinquish many duties thus far.
Jesse returned his attention to the matter at hand. “I found some women walking on the dune just below the lighthouse.”
“Any pretty ones?”
Jesse felt the heat rise and coughed to hide his discomfort. “They’re young. Students.” And thus far too young for him. Mrs. Smythe, on the other hand, was rather attractive, though he could never condone her disregard for rules.
“Must be the girls from the boarding school.” Blackthorn exited the oil house and pulled the door shut. He then reached above the door, where he kept the key on a hook, and locked the door before putting the key back on its hook.
Jesse had tried to change this procedure, saying it didn’t do much for security to keep the key within reach. By now, the whole town must know it was there. But his pleas had been met with a laugh and an assurance that “we’ve always done it this way.” Blackthorn was too set in his ways. The lighthouse needed fresh eyes willing to see things in safer and more efficient ways.
“Was their teacher with them?” Blackthorn asked.
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Smythe.” Blackthorn shook his head. “Odd sort, that one. She’ll spend hours staring at a clump of dune grass, making notes in some book of hers.”
No doubt that was the journal she’d waved at her students. It looked well-used. Louise Smythe was not the type of woman he’d expected to find in a town like Singapore.
“She has an unusual interest in science.” That had intrigued Jesse.
Blackthorn squinted at him. “You don’t say. The lady hardly says a word.”
“That’s not my experience. She said plenty to me.”
“Maybe she’s getting more like the rest of the women she came here with.”
“The rest? There’s more like her?”
Blackthorn chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. Back, oh, I’d say a year ago, Mrs. Smythe arrived in town with Pearl Lawson, Amanda Porter and Fiona O’Keefe. They were answering an advertisement for a bride.” Again he laughed.
“That’s humorous?”
“It was at the time. Seems they all thought Roland Decker was the prospective groom when in fact it was his brother Garrett. You should’ve seen them running from one man to the other. Fact was, neither brother wanted to get married.”
“Then why place an advertisement?”
“They didn’t.” Blackthorn began walking back to the tower. “Turns out Garrett Decker’s children did. They wanted a new mama. Got one too. And Roland Decker and Sawyer Evans claimed two of the other three. There’s only Mrs. Smythe left. Of course, she’s the oldest. Must be around thirty.”
Then Jesse hadn’t been mistaken about her age. “What else do you know about her?” When Blackthorn gave him a quick look, Jesse regretted his question. “I need to know how to deal with her,” he added, feeling the heat again creep up his neck. “She’s...difficult.”
“Is she? Always seemed quiet as a mouse to me. Would rather poke her nose in a book than speak to anyone. Skips most of the church suppers and the like. Maybe the missus knows more.”
They’d reached the lighthouse. Rather than enter the tower, Blackthorn stuck his head into the door to the keeper’s quarters.
“Jane!”
Jesse waved his hands, trying to get Blackthorn to stop. He did not want Mrs. Blackthorn involved. She would start matching him to every eligible girl in town.
Blackthorn came out of the open doorway. “Go on in, Jane’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Uh, that’s not what I wanted.”
“Ambitious young man like you oughta be lookin’ for a wife.”
Jesse squared his shoulders. “First I need to be able to provide.” Unlike his father and mother, whose impetuous decision cost dearly. “Maybe when I’m head keeper I’ll be able to consider a wife.”
Blackthorn shook his head. “You got a lot ta learn, son. A man’s got a leg up on gettin’ the head job if he’s got a wife and family.”
“He does?” That was news to Jesse, troubling news, for he couldn’t afford a wife.
“Oh, you won’t catch anyone sayin’ it right out, but you just look around, especially at them remote lights, and you’ll see what I mean. One man can’t run this place. Not when the service expects you ta be on duty twenty-four hours a day.”
Now Jesse understood. The man was back to his favorite annoyance—Jesse’s arrival. “That’s why there are assistants.”
“Assistants! Bah!” Blackthorn waved off the idea as he headed for the tower.
Jesse followed, his thoughts drifting back to the earlier conflict on the dune. “What I really need to know is if you approve of Mrs. Smythe trespassing on government property.”
Blackthorn shook his head. “You gotta get your head out of those books of yours and into real life. Those ladies aren’t doing no harm. This here’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. It pays to be on people’s good side.”
“But the property—”
“This isn’t a fort. It’s a lighthouse. People are curious. They stop by all the time. Treat ’em like a neighbor, and they’ll do the same for you.”
Blackthorn then opened the door to the tower. Each day he poured some of the oil into a smaller filling can and then carried it up the circular iron staircase to begin filling the lamps. The process took several trips up and down the tower staircase. According to Article IV of the manual, the filling of the lamps was supposed to be done as soon as the lamps were cleaned except when cold weather would make the oil too thick to flow. That meant late morning, but Blackthorn didn’t keep a regular schedule. Moreover, today’s warm temperatures offered no excuse for tardiness. If Jesse was head keeper, he’d follow the manual’s instructions to the letter. As assistant, he could only stand by.
“Let me help you.” Jesse stooped slightly to get through the door.
“No need.”
Jesse swallowed frustration. The keeper hadn’t let him touch anything in the lantern. If Jesse was ever going to be head keeper, he had to know more than could be gleaned from the manual. He needed experience. Even without that experience, he’d discovered some inefficiencies that could be rectified. “I could show you a faster way to handle the oil.”
Blackthorn practically glared at him. “I’ve been tending lighthouses for more than twenty years. Don’t you think that I know what works best and what doesn’t?”
Jesse choked back the retort that clearly Blackthorn didn’t. If he would carry the large can up the stairs and transfer the oil to the smaller filling can when he reached the top, he wouldn’t have to go up and down the staircase so many times. Since pointing this out had gotten Jesse nowhere, he wouldn’t rankle the keeper again.
So Jesse swallowed his pride. “I suppose you do, sir.”
“That’s right. Jane said she needed something from the store. Find out what it is and go fetch it.” The man finished pouring the first batch of oil into the filling can and began the long climb up the circular staircase, the soles of his boots ringing against the iron steps.
Jesse backed out. Though he’d only been here six days, he was sick of being nothing more than an errand boy. Other than polishing lamps, which the children could do, Blackthorn hadn’t let him near any of the equipment. Jesse closed the tower door against the ever-drifting sand.
“What do you want to know about Louise?” Mrs. Blackthorn’s voice made him jump. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you were expecting me.”
“I was?”
“Samuel said it was something about Louise Smythe?”
“Oh. I suppose I did, ma’am.” Jesse couldn’t recall what he’d intended to ask about Louise. Since Blackthorn approved her climbing all over the dunes, Jesse had lost that argument. He searched for something else. “I, uh, understand she’s a teacher.” That sounded pretty feeble.
“Down at the boarding school in the west wing of the hotel.” Mrs. Blackthorn pointed it out, as if he hadn’t noticed the place before.
It hadn’t taken long to ascertain that Singapore was tiny. It boasted few businesses beyond the general store, the boardinghouse and the hotel. There were a few saloons, but Jesse didn’t frequent those, and the church looked like the rest of the bunkhouses used by the lumberjacks and saw operators when they came to town. Boardwalks stretched between businesses so people didn’t have to walk through the sand. The streets served more pedestrians than wheeled transportation. Jesse had yet to see a buggy or horse other than the wagon down at the docks. Then again, the town was only a few blocks long and even fewer deep.
It was a good place to begin remaking his life.
“I hear tell she’s a war widow,” Mrs. Blackthorn said.
The words shot through Jesse like lead. Not the war. He’d done all he could to escape the harrowing memories. A lighthouse offered a chance to get away from the endless war stories and sorrow. He’d hoped to land at a remote island lighthouse but instead was assigned here.
“You all right, Mr. Hammond?”
Jesse managed a smile. “Just lost in thought.”
“Just like her.”
“Like who?”
“Like who?” Mrs. Blackthorn shook her head. “Like Louise. That’s who we’ve been talking about, isn’t it?”
Jesse had to agree that it was, but Mrs. Blackthorn’s description of her didn’t match his experience. “She didn’t seem very quiet to me.”
That made Mrs. Blackthorn smile. “Well now, isn’t that interesting. Might be you managed to catch her eye. She is looking to marry, you know.”
Jesse grimaced. “That’s what your husband said. But I’m not. I need to get established as a keeper first.”
“Isn’t that just like a man.”
Jesse stiffened. “A man needs to be able to provide.”
“Love doesn’t wait for our schedule. Neither does the lighthouse service.”
That was the second Blackthorn who had mentioned marriage in connection with being a keeper. “Why do you say that?”
“Samuel would never have been named keeper if he hadn’t had a wife and family.”
Jesse was still skeptical. The woman could be using it as an excuse to match make. “Are you certain?”
“As certain as day and night. Why, they came right out and asked him if he was married.”
Jesse’s heart sank. He wasn’t ready for marriage. He hadn’t saved nearly enough to support a wife, but if he wanted to get promoted to head keeper, he was going to have to set aside his reservations. This town didn’t look big enough to offer much of a choice, not if men were willing to advertise for a wife.
“Louise would make a fine catch. Did you notice the cut of her clothing?”
Jesse couldn’t say he had.
“Quality,” Mrs. Blackthorn said. “Pure quality. That says something.”
So did the fact that she was a war widow. If he must marry, he would look anywhere else for a wife.
Chapter Two (#u3db65dda-27ba-5336-8e92-9dd687141e7f)
The remainder of the day, Priscilla had remained smugly silent, her gaze boring into Louise with such intensity that she feared the girl was up to no good. To cut off possible problems, Louise went to the headmistress’s office once classes had ended and the girls were upstairs freshening up before supper.
Fiona Evans sat at the desk perusing what appeared to be a ledger. Her brow was furrowed, and she rubbed her temple while eliciting a sigh.
Dread settled in the pit of Louise’s stomach. She’d heard rumors that Fiona and Sawyer’s hotel was not doing well. Since the school was in the same building, her livelihood could be at risk, especially if Priscilla said anything negative to her parents. Though nothing untoward had happened on the dune, Priscilla could twist the truth into something ugly. The Benningtons could do great damage to the school’s reputation. Their approval of the new school had led to Adeline and Esther’s enrollment. At their word, every paying student could leave. That made this conversation both important and difficult.
Louise rapped on the door frame. “You seem worried.”
Fiona looked up and closed the ledger. “More like perplexed. I don’t have a mind for figures. Please come in.” The beautiful redhead motioned to the chair positioned at the side of her desk. “My apologies for the hot room. I had hoped autumn would bring cooler temperatures. I don’t know when I’ve seen so many hot, dry days this time of year.”
“It is unusual.” Louise’s shoes rapped on the waxed wood floor as she crossed the room.
She then settled on the chair. Though she and Fiona had become friends before the school came into existence, it didn’t make this conversation any easier. She searched for a way to begin.
Fiona gave her the opening she needed. “What’s bothering you? Trouble with one of the students?”
“I hope not, but I’m afraid something happened today that might give them a reason to complain.”
“Oh?” Fiona arched one of her perfect eyebrows.
The former star of the New York stage was the most beautiful woman Louise had ever seen. That she chose to marry a lumber mill sawyer and settle in Singapore was surprising. That she called Louise her friend was just as unlikely, but they’d formed a bond during the hardships of last spring, when a steamship foundered on an offshore sandbar and they joined together to care for the stranded passengers.
Louise began slowly, feeling her way through what had happened. “I brought the girls on the dune to survey a particular plant for our science class, but the assistant lighthouse keeper told us we had to leave the property.”
“The assistant keeper joined your class?”
“Unexpectedly.” And unwelcome, Louise thought as she recalled his inflexibility. “He objected to our presence.”
“Go on.”
“I...saw no reason to interrupt our studies. Mr. Blackthorn never objected to my crossing the property in the past, and I told him that.”
Mirth sparkled in Fiona’s eyes. “I see. Was this man handsome?”
Louise felt her cheeks heat. “That is not the point. I...well, I inadvertently touched the man.”
“Touched?”
“Well, more like grabbed onto him. He was going to pull out the plant, and I had to stop him. He was going to kill it.”
“Kill it.” Fiona’s lips twitched. Was she going to laugh?
Louise explained, “I couldn’t let him needlessly destroy a living thing, so I stopped him.”
“He must have been surprised.”
That was not the half of it. “I believe some of the girls found my reaction a bit too forward and not becoming a teacher.”
“It was innocent.”
“Exactly.” Louise was relieved that Fiona saw it that way. “However, I wanted to let you know what happened in case anyone complained.”
“I see.” Fiona rose. “Is that all?”
It wasn’t. “There might be another complaint. From the man.”
“Oh?”
Louise could see a spark of excitement light up Fiona’s eyes. Now that Fiona and the rest of the women who’d come to Singapore were married, they’d taken it upon themselves to match Louise with every eligible bachelor. Though she had no idea if Mr. Hammond was married or not, he could never be her match.
“He’s more than a little rude. He threatened to remove my students and me from the dune.”
Fiona’s lips twitched. She was going to laugh!
“And then there was the fire.”
That sobered Fiona. “The fire?”
“Dinah’s magnifying glass accidentally caught a leaf on fire, but I stomped it out at once.”
“I’m sure that impressed him. What did you say his name was again?”
“Mr. Hammond. Mr. Jesse Hammond.”
“Oh! Mr. Hammond.” Fiona beamed. “I met him this afternoon at the store. He arrived less than a week ago and is unmarried.”
Naturally Fiona would ask about that. Louise pretended indifference. “So are most of the sawyers and lumberjacks.”
Fiona laughed. “True, but Mr. Hammond seems unusually intellectual. He talked at great length about the weather.”
“The weather.”
“Yes. He explained in great detail why it’s been so hot and dry this year. I found it fascinating and believe our students will also, so I asked him to give a lecture.”
“Here?” The word barely squeaked through Louise’s constricted throat.
“Of course it would be here.” Fiona peered at her. “Is that a problem?”
Louise couldn’t begin to articulate all the reasons why this was a bad idea, starting with the fact that the girls wouldn’t hear one word he said. Oh, they’d be quiet as mice. They’d be busy daydreaming over the handsome lighthouse assistant. But that was a petty objection. Young ladies would always sigh over a man before listening to him.
Louise had a more personal reason. “I too know a great deal about the weather, thanks to Captain Elder’s instruction. I can prepare the lecture.”
“Splendid! Since it’s also an interest of yours, I suggest you collaborate with Mr. Hammond.”
The room grew intolerably hot. Louise couldn’t draw a breath, could barely think. All that came to mind was the impossibility of Fiona’s plan. Jesse Hammond was large and demanding. He would not listen to a word she had to say. He would counter and crush her every suggestion.
“Collaborate?” she managed to gasp.
“It’s the perfect solution. He plans to stop by the school tomorrow morning, but I’ll be leading music instruction at that time. Since you’ll be free, you can discuss the lecture with him.”
Louise struggled to draw in a breath. The idea was entirely intolerable. She and Jesse Hammond? Working together to present a lecture? “He agreed to work with me?”
“Don’t underestimate your abilities. You have much to offer, and he will be grateful for your guidance.”
“What guidance?”
“For one, you can ensure he doesn’t speak over the ladies’ heads. Help him steer his knowledge into something that will engage the students.”
After the way Jesse Hammond treated her earlier today, Louise would have enjoyed seeing him fail in front of her students. Her conscience pricked. That wasn’t very kind.
“You will do it?” Fiona prodded.
Louise didn’t want to, but this school had given her strength and purpose. Rather than relying on marriage to a man she did not know, she could support herself through teaching. She owed Fiona a great deal.
She nodded her assent. A few minutes with Jesse Hammond couldn’t be that terrible. She would use the time to persuade the man not to give that lecture.
* * *
How had Jesse let himself get talked into lecturing in front of a bunch of girls? Mrs. Evans hadn’t accepted his polite refusal, and then the woman manning the store counter had chimed in with how much a guest lecturer would enrich the ladies’ education. They’d shamed him into it.
Worst of all, he saw no way to avoid Louise Smythe, since she worked at the school. Not that the widow wasn’t pretty, but she was a widow—a childless widow. And both Mrs. Evans and the store clerk had been far too eager to corral him into the lecture for him to believe their motives were strictly educational.
Jesse picked at his food, which drew the notice of Mrs. Blackthorn, yet another matchmaker.
“You feeling all right, Mr. Hammond? You’ve hardly touched a thing on your plate.”
“I’m fine.” To demonstrate, he shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
“Good trout,” Mr. Blackthorn mumbled between heaping bites of the fried fish and mashed potatoes.
The boys, both adolescents, were too preoccupied with eating as much as possible to pay any attention to the conversation.
Jesse swallowed the potatoes. “Yes, ma’am. It’s very good.”
Mrs. Blackthorn beamed while her daughter sighed and gave him that dreamy look the girls from the boarding school had given him. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to that reaction. Maybe that was why Louise stuck in his mind. She hadn’t fawned and sighed over him. Quite the reverse. Although refreshing, it puzzled him. How does a man respond to a woman who doesn’t show the slightest interest in him? It was easy enough to dismiss the hopeful, but the disinterested presented a new challenge.
“You do seem a little out of sorts, Mr. Hammond,” Mrs. Blackthorn said as she slathered butter on a dinner roll. “You’ve hardly said a word.”
Jesse didn’t usually speak during meals, but there was no use pointing that out. “I’m fine.”
Mr. Blackthorn peered at him. “Did you go and get someone else irritated at you?”
“No, sir.” He still wasn’t accustomed to eating with the family, but board was part of his compensation.
“Good.” Blackthorn pointed a fork at him. “It pays to stay on everyone’s good side.”
Mrs. Blackthorn nodded. “Did you happen to see Louise Smythe when you were at the store?”
“No, ma’am.” Jesse clenched his jaw. He’d have to ask Blackthorn for an hour off tomorrow morning. Now was as good a time as any. “I did meet Mrs. Evans, though. She asked me to give a short lecture on weather to the students.”
Blackthorn peered at him. “You don’t say. Never asked me to do that.”
Jesse wasn’t about to mention his suspicion that Mrs. Evans, like Mrs. Blackthorn, was trying to match him with Louise Smythe. “It just came up in conversation. If you object, I’ll tell her I can’t do it.” He tried not to sound as hopeful as he felt.
“No, no.” Blackthorn waved off the suggestion. “How long can it take? An hour? As long as we don’t have a storm brewing, it’s fine with me.”
Jesse tried not to show his disappointment. “Thank you, sir.”
“It’ll spread a little goodwill.” Blackthorn cocked his head. “Maybe you can have the girls polish some of the brass pitchers.”
“Samuel! The girls are supposed to learn, not do your work for you,” his wife scolded. She then turned a smile in Jesse’s direction. “That means you’ll have a chance to see Louise.”
Jesse was not about to reveal that he wanted as little contact as possible with Mrs. Smythe.
“You should pay her a call,” Mrs. Blackthorn continued, oblivious to his discomfort, “one evening or this weekend.”
“I’m not planning to call on any woman just yet.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Blackthorn looked to her husband.
“I thought you aimed to be head keeper.” Blackthorn’s fork jabbed his way again. “You’ll need someone to watch the light when you’re sleeping, like during a storm.”
“And help with all the cleaning,” Mrs. Blackthorn added.
“Like I told ya, the service looks kindly on those that’re married,” Blackthorn added.
Jesse tried his best not to let on that he knew they were conspiring to get him married. “There’s still plenty of time.”
After all, it had taken over a year for Jesse to wind his way through the political connections needed to get a nomination from the customs collector and then to secure approval from the lighthouse board.
“You’re thirty-one,” Mrs. Blackthorn stated. “Louise’s age. A woman like her won’t wait forever.”
It took herculean effort not to plead an end to this matchmaking. Instead, he focused on fact. “I only have a small room. That’s no place to bring a wife.”
“We began that way,” Mrs. Blackthorn pointed out.
Clearly Jesse was going to lose the argument unless he could come up with a solid excuse. “It would cost the service more in provisions.”
“Not as much as bringing in an assistant,” Blackthorn said. “Take my word. If you want to be appointed head keeper somewhere, get married and have children.”
Jesse had long dreamed of having a large family with children running everywhere, but he’d first postponed it due to the war and then in favor of getting into the lighthouse service. It’d been years since he’d courted anyone.
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he murmured.
“Start with Louise Smythe.” Mrs. Blackthorn returned to her favorite topic. “She’s looking to marry. You’re the same age. Perfect match.”
Except she was a war widow. The nightmares already plagued him. Widows often asked how men died in the war. Even the question brought back painful memories.
“There must be other eligible women.”
Blackthorn shook his head. “Not in Singapore. You won’t find many unmarried women here. Except the girls at the school.”
Jesse blanched. “They’re far too young. I have in mind someone more...mature.”
“Well, if it doesn’t work out with Louise,” Mrs. Blackthorn said hesitantly, “you could always try advertising for a bride.”
Advertising. It sounded perfectly logical and businesslike. No messy emotions involved. And it had apparently worked for three men in town. It would be a simple transaction for the betterment of both parties. The woman could have a family, and he could get a head keeper’s position elsewhere in the district.
That evening, instead of napping before his midnight watch, Jesse stared at a piece of paper, trying to come up with the right words. It felt uncomfortable to advertise for a wife, but he told himself that it was the best solution.
“Wife needed,” he wrote.
What next? He supposed he should list the qualifications any prospective candidate ought to possess. Hardiness, homemaking abilities, skilled with children. All those came into play.
He jotted a few down and tried to picture the woman who might answer. Why did Louise Smythe come to mind?
Frustrated, he crumpled the paper. Then he recalled he only had a few sheets of paper on hand. He’d better draft the wording on this sheet and save the rest for the clean copies of the advertisement to mail out.
So, he smoothed the crumpled paper and tried again. Maybe he should point out his own assets too. So Jesse rewrote the advertisement.
When satisfied, he copied it three times and put those copies into three envelopes addressed to different Chicago newspapers. In the morning, he would put them into the outgoing mail.
* * *
Louise tidied up the classroom late the following morning. If she didn’t know such a thing was impossible, she’d think Priscilla had given her headache to her. Louise had ignored the girl’s countless pleas to be excused from writing and mathematics, too preoccupied with Jesse Hammond’s imminent arrival to deal with anything else. She would let Fiona handle Priscilla.
Louise squared her shoulders. She would not be pushed around. Not by a manipulative girl and not by a demanding man.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of memory. No tears. Please, no tears. That’s the last thing she needed Jesse Hammond to see. She was strong. She’d endured every blow her late husband, Warren, had thrown at her and survived. She instinctively touched her jaw, which still ached on occasion, particularly when the weather was cool and damp.
Weather! What did Jesse Hammond know about the weather that she didn’t? She would demonstrate that knowledge and send Mr. Hammond running back to the lighthouse.
A clearing of the throat indicated the guest lecturer had arrived.
Louise turned and fixed her gaze on him.
My, oh my. The man had seemed large in the open air, but framed by the doorway, he was positively gigantic. He wasn’t heavy or overweight, but was so tall that the top of his head grazed the lintel. He leaned on one jamb, his arms crossed and his hat dangling from one hand.
A boyish grin rested on his lips. “You looked so engrossed that I hated to interrupt you.”
What could she tell him? Certainly not the truth, that she’d relived a harrowing episode from her past. No, she must be strong and secure. God was her strength and her shield. He would protect her from all harm. Though images of the martyrs flashed through her mind, she pushed those aside. She was in a school after all. Nothing could happen to her here.
“I was merely considering how best to approach the topic so the young ladies understand what you’re telling them.” She affixed him with a steady gaze, a technique that she had seen Fiona use to maintain control. “That is my role, as I understand it.”
Jesse Hammond didn’t back down. “Unnecessary. You can continue doing whatever it is you were doing.”
“Then you fully understand what a young woman wants to learn and how best to instruct her. Perhaps you lectured many younger sisters?”
“My sister is older and long married.”
“Then you have no idea.”
He tugged at the neckline of his shirt, though he hadn’t attached a stiff collar or donned a tie. “I will explain cloud formations and how they can tell which ones are likely to bring rain, so they can avoid going out-of-doors. That’s all they’ll care about.”
“Then you think the sole interest of any woman is the condition of her hat and gown. Did it not occur to you that a woman might want to learn? That she is fully capable of any and all intellectual pursuits? Or are you as patronizing as the rest of the men I’ve encountered?”
His jaw actually dropped. Perhaps she’d gone too far. Then again, such ridiculous beliefs had held back progress far too long.
“Once women join the scientific movement in force,” she continued, “advances will come at a rapid pace. Imagine curing disease. Or saving the lives of sailors.”
“That’s my job, ma’am.” He looked like he was struggling not to laugh. Laugh!
“I’ll have you know, Mr. Hammond, that I know as much, if not more than you do on the subject of the weather. Captain Elder, the husband of the dear woman I took care of for many months, spoke with me at great length and let me read his volumes on the subject.”
“Then explain the different types of clouds and what type of weather each signals.”
Though Louise knew this forward and backward, her mind went blank in the face of his challenge.
“Just what I thought,” he said after a short pause. “All empty-headed talk.”
If Louise was not a proper lady, she would have come back with a scathing retort or at least stomped her foot at his insolence.
Instead, she stiffened her spine. “Are you saying that Captain Elder did not teach me correctly? I’ll have you know that he explained cumulous, stratus, nimbus and cirrus clouds.”
His eyebrows lifted and so did the corners of his mouth.
She was not done. “A sea captain must know weather patterns far more intimately than a lighthouse keeper, who is safely ashore. His life and the lives of his crew are at stake.”
“Those same lives are at stake if the light is improperly lit or stays dark.”
“Yes, of course, but your life is not in danger.”
“Except when plunging into the seas to save the lives of others.”
She recalled the rescue effort last spring that had brought many passengers to safety—including Linore and Dinah—from a stranded steamboat.
“True,” she admitted, “but not on as frequent a basis. Moreover, if what I heard was correct, Mr. Blackthorn advised against attempting the rescue of passengers on a stranded ship last spring.”
Judging from his look of distaste, he didn’t think much of that decision. “Saving lives is our purpose.”
Louise’s anger abated. Jesse wasn’t as arrogant and uncaring as he’d seemed. He simply followed the dictates of society and consequently rubbed on her nerves. Society insisted women had lesser intellects. It was only natural that Jesse would believe what he’d been taught since birth. She must show him otherwise.
She strode across the room to the bookshelves. Classroom texts and leisure reading filled the lower shelves, but on top were a few precious volumes.
She dragged a step stool in front of the bookcase. “Captain Elder donated a few of his volumes to the school, including one on the climate.”
She climbed one step but still could not reach the shelf.
“Allow me.” Jesse Hammond crossed the room. “I can easily fetch the volume for you.”
She could feel him uncomfortably close. “I can get it.” She climbed another step and reached.
She must have set the stool on one of the uneven floor planks, for it tilted beneath her. She cried out as the whole thing gave way. Then, before even one foot touched the ground, strong arms caught her and held her close.
Oh, my!
She could feel his heart beating. His breath tickled her cheek. Every nerve ending inside her came to life.
Oh, my!
If she was the fainting sort, she’d have swooned at once. Instead, an incredible warmth rushed through her, as if she had spent too much time in the summer sun. She had never once felt that way with Warren. What was happening to her?
He set her on the ground but did not release her. She looked up at him. A strange expression was on his face, and she caught her breath. He felt it too! She looked away, her heart racing. This was wrong, terribly wrong. Then why did she feel like a schoolgirl hoping he would continue to hold her close and even kiss her?
She could not breathe, could not speak, could barely think.
“You should be more careful.” His voice was rough.
She recognized all too well the signs of attraction. For all his faults, Warren had once been smitten with her. She hesitantly looked up. He looked down at her, his sky-blue eyes darkening as his pupils dilated. His expression softened.
Her pulse raced. Her limbs shook.
He leaned close, lips brushing past her forehead.
“Mrs. Smythe?” The girl’s voice pierced through the cloud of emotion.
Priscilla! Louise shot out of Jesse’s embrace and smoothed her skirts.
The girl stood in the doorway, smirking and apparently free of the headache she’d claimed all morning.
Louise hurried to control the damage. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond, for saving me from a terrible spill.” She picked up the stool. “How careless of me to place it on a wobbly board.”
She hoped that would spare her from Priscilla’s manipulations.
“You are excused, Miss Bennington.”
“Of course, Mrs. Smythe.” But that smirk didn’t leave her lips as she flounced off toward the dining room.
“I hope I didn’t get you into trouble,” Jesse said.
Louise closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Too late. If only he’d risen to Louise’s defense, Priscilla might have believed her story. Instead, this little episode could prove costly, if not for her personally then for the school.
Chapter Three (#u3db65dda-27ba-5336-8e92-9dd687141e7f)
What had he been thinking? That was the trouble. Jesse wasn’t thinking. If he had been, he would never have remained so close to Louise Smythe.
It had begun innocently enough, saving her from a fall, but he’d held on too long. Then, overwhelmed by the feel of her in his arms, he’d considered kissing her. Louise’s long eyelashes swept to her eyebrows, and her gray eyes, which could be severe, had softened to the color of a gentle rain. She’d drawn in her breath, and her cheeks turned the most delightful shade of pink.
Her reaction was so unexpected that it had caught him off guard. She’d been the one woman who didn’t sigh and stare at him. She’d seemed completely unaffected until that moment. Maybe that was what had tempted him. The immoveable had become irresistible.
Why had he succumbed to temptation?
That prissy girl with the blond curls had noted the near-embrace with a smug grin of triumph.
Jesse had stepped back the moment Louise leapt from his arms. Her explanation might have succeeded if she wasn’t blushing the entire time. Then she demanded the girl leave them.
This would not end well.
“Perhaps I should go,” he offered. “We could discuss the lecture another day. Or not at all.”
“Are you suggesting I don’t know enough about the subject to even assist you? I’ll have you know that I could give that lecture.”
Jesse put up his hands in surrender. “I’m sure you could. I’m just offering to step away if it’ll make matters better for you.”
“Things will go just fine, no thanks to you.”
Jesse wasn’t used to receiving reprimands from a feminine quarter. His sister, Beatrice, had been more interested in her own trials than in disciplining her little brother. His father...well, he’d never quite been himself after Ma’s death. “Forgive me. Next time I’ll let you fall.”
Louise flushed even more furiously. “That’s not what I meant. I was referring to...to...well, you know.” She brushed at her hair, though it was in perfect order. “Priscilla probably got the wrong impression.”
No doubt she had. Jesse’s lips had brushed against Louise’s forehead. Preventing her fall could be explained away, but not holding her in such an intimate way. “I will talk to Mrs. Evans.”
For a brief second, she looked hopeful, and then a shadow clouded her eyes. “That won’t be necessary.” Yet she stepped a little farther away. Her gaze drifted downward and then she exclaimed, “The book!”
She bent to pick up the fallen volume.
Jesse hurried to lift the heavy tome first. His hand collided with hers.
“Oh!” She jumped back and rubbed her hand as if it had been stung.
“I’m sorry.” He seemed to be saying that a lot. “Maybe I’d better leave.”
“Yes, perhaps you should.” Yet that admission came with surprising wistfulness.
“I can cancel the lecture.” Had those words really come from his mouth? Yet it was the perfect solution. “Since you are very knowledgeable about the weather, I’ll leave the lecture to you.”
Something like a smile flashed across her lips, only to vanish the next instant. “Thank you for your confidence, but Mrs. Evans asked you to give the lecture. I am only here to answer your questions and offer support.”
Jesse ignored the irony. Moments before they’d argued bitterly over just that.
“I might like to hear what your Captain Elder told you,” he suggested.
The smile returned, this time to stay.
“He was well-read and experienced, a dear man, and highly acquainted with the sea.”
“I have no doubt,” he murmured.
She gave him a sharp look.
“As you said,” he added, “ship masters need to understand the weather.”
Again she beamed, and he had to admit it felt good. He would much rather be on Louise Smythe’s good side than endure her scathing tongue. Not that he was interested in courting her. Not at all.
* * *
“It was completely innocent.” Louise reported to Fiona Evans just after the midday meal. “I slipped, and he—Mr. Hammond—caught me. I tried to explain that to Priscilla, but I don’t think she believed me. I’m afraid that this time she will make trouble.”
Fiona arched an eyebrow. “I would never dismiss you.”
“Thank you.” It was the other possibility that had made it impossible for Louise to eat more than a few spoonfuls of soup. “I’m worried that she will disparage the school. Priscilla could tell her parents that the school allows improper behavior.” That could then force Louise’s dismissal. Since her purse was empty, she would be in a terrible predicament.
“How exactly is a gentleman coming to your rescue improper?” Fiona brushed back a red curl. “I’d call it gallant.”
“I, uh, might have lingered too long after he steadied me. Priscilla could have interpreted that as...attraction.” Heat flooded Louise’s cheeks.
“Oh?” The single word clearly carried an additional inference.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Actually, it probably was exactly what Fiona was thinking. That man had a way of taking away Louise’s good sense. “I—I was too flustered to think clearly. The point is, Priscilla doubtless thought there was more to the situation.”
“Is there?”
“No!” Yet Louise’s burning cheeks refuted her statement. “I don’t know. I just met him.” She squared her shoulders and looked Fiona in the eye. “But I can tell you that Jesse Hammond is the last man I would let court me.”
Fiona’s eyebrow lifted again. “Why is that?”
It was so difficult to explain. Or was it? “He reminds me too much of my late husband.”
“Oh. I see.”
Last spring, Louise had shared with Fiona a little of what she’d endured during her marriage, but she didn’t care to explain further.
“That’s neither here nor there.” Louise tried her best to sound cheerful. “What matters now is how to address the situation with Priscilla. I don’t want the school to suffer. The Benningtons are influential enough to drive away prospective students.”
Fiona sighed. “I’m afraid this is a problem she’s had at the other schools she attended.”
Though that news was not surprising, Louise wished her friend had passed that along before now. “What did the schools do?”
“Sent Priscilla home and refunded her entire tuition. Do you recommend we do that too?”
Louise blanched. That solution would surely shut down the school; Priscilla would doubtless take the other girls with her, for the parents were all acquainted.
“No,” Louise said slowly. “She shouldn’t pay for my mistake. I should have been more careful. I hope we can convince her not to turn this incident into a complaint.”
“How would you suggest doing that?”
Louise hadn’t expected to have this tossed back at her, but an idea rushed into her mind. “I don’t think she wants to leave. Not deep down. I’ve known girls like her, and what they want most of all is attention.”
“You could be right.” Still, Fiona shook her head. “I’ve known girls like Priscilla. They could never get enough attention and would take down everyone around them in the effort.”
“But I must try,” Louise whispered. “I just don’t know how.”
“Try encouraging her more. Give her praise when she deserves it.”
That would be difficult. Priscilla seldom did anything praiseworthy. “I’ll try.”
Fiona rose. “If there is nothing else, I would like to speak with my husband before voice lessons.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
Fiona cast her a knowing smile. “Don’t worry so much about reputation. It’s perfectly natural for a woman to find Mr. Hammond attractive. You do want to marry, after all.”
Louise hadn’t the heart to tell her friend that she no longer wished for marriage. The kind of gentleman she sought could only be found in novels. The men of real life never measured up. Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies had given her a means to support herself without the assistance of a husband. That was far safer than risking marriage, especially to a man whose strength and need for control was just like that of her late husband.
* * *
Jesse had expected Louise Smythe to accept his offer to step aside from the lecture. Her refusal left him unsteady, as if trying to get footing on the heaving deck of a ship. He’d offered exactly what she wanted. Why turn it down? Was she trying to force him into something? If she considered her reputation compromised, would she expect marriage? Blackthorn had mentioned she came to Singapore to marry, but the groom chose another woman. Perhaps she was desperate. Had he just stepped into her snare?
He couldn’t marry Louise Smythe. Even if she came from a privileged background, which her education indicated she did, a lumber town wouldn’t care about a woman’s reputation.
The memory of Louise in his arms flitted through his mind.
He shook it away. A momentary feeling had no bearing on choosing a lifetime partner. Jesse must select wisely. He would not make the mistake his father had made in marrying a woman unable to bear the rigors of the life she’d married into.
Etta Webber had been born into society with all its manners and protectiveness. The fragile girl had fallen in love with his father and, ignoring her family’s protests, wed him and moved to Chicago. Pa worked the wharves. Life was rough. Ma had to make do in a tiny apartment with no servants. First came Beatrice and then ten years later Jesse. But it was the stillborn baby that sent her into that dark place from which she never returned.
Intense sorrow threatened to flood in, but Jesse pushed it away. He’d been just seven when his mother died. Died! Bitterness twisted a soul worse than the deepest grief. Etta Hammond hadn’t just died. She’d walked out of the house and into the path of an oncoming train.
No, Jesse would choose a sturdy, solid woman for a wife. Preferably without emotional attachment. That ruled out Louise Smythe.
As he polished brass filling pitchers, funnels and measuring cans at the little table at the base of the tower staircase, he considered how best to get out of this lecture. Approaching Louise wouldn’t work. He couldn’t think straight around her. He would tell Mrs. Evans that he needed to withdraw from the lecture and recommend Louise give it instead. Louise wouldn’t be able to refuse her employer.
If that didn’t work... Jesse blew out his breath. It had to work.
Blackthorn pushed open the door. “Done with that pitcher? It’s time to fill the lamps.” He rotated his shoulder with a groan. “Gets heavier every day.”
Jesse gave the pitcher a final swipe. “I could haul the first batch of oil up the stairs.” Best to give up his quest to refine procedure until Blackthorn was more receptive. “You carry the pitcher and funnel.”
Blackthorn hesitated. For a moment he looked ready to agree, but then he shook his head. “I’ve got it.”
Jesse suddenly realized what an opportunity stood before him. Blackthorn was the answer. If Louise refused to give the lecture, maybe the light keeper would. He had complained about not being asked. If Jesse did this right, he could learn a little about preparing the light at the same time.
“Actually, I’d like your advice...on a personal matter.” Jesse nodded his head toward the house. “Away from female ears.”
“Oh?” That definitely caught Blackthorn’s attention. “In that case, why don’t you carry the oil while I bring the rest of the stuff? You can bring the large can up to the lantern.”
“Yes, sir.” Jesse bit back the impulse to point out that this was exactly what he’d just suggested.
He lifted the large transfer can. It could hold up to five gallons, but Blackthorn had only filled it halfway. Jesse could easily carry double the weight, but Blackthorn wasn’t young anymore. No wonder he preferred to pour the oil into the smaller cans and make multiple trips up the tower staircase. Maybe he let his sons help when they were home from school.
A son. What a blessing that would be! An intense longing sprang up in Jesse. He would do things differently from his father. No threats. Jesse would be there for his sons. He could imagine skipping stones across the waves, tossing a ball and teaching his boys all the duties of a lighthouse keeper. At meals, the large family would settle around the table as his wife...
Jesse shook his head. Why on earth had he pictured Louise carrying a roast to the table? She was completely unsuited to be a keeper’s wife, and no amount of bravado could compensate for her slight frame.
By the last turn of the circular staircase, Jesse was panting from the exertion. He’d switched hands several times, but they still burned from hefting the weight. No wonder Blackthorn favored the smaller cans. Jesse had been wrong, but he didn’t care to admit it. Not yet. The last segment of the climb was a nearly vertical ladder.
“Let me go first,” Blackthorn said, “and then hand me the oil can.”
It was a sensible solution. When Blackthorn took the can from Jesse’s hands at the top of the ladder, Jesse rolled his shoulders to loosen the tight muscles. He then climbed into the lantern.
By the time Jesse stepped into the glass-enclosed room, Blackthorn had already begun filling the pitcher. Apparently that duty couldn’t be entrusted to Jesse yet.
“What’s bothering you?” Blackthorn asked.
Jesse blew out his breath. He would begin with the personal situation as the reason why he needed Blackthorn to give the lecture. “A situation came up when I was at the school this morning.”
Blackthorn peered at him. “Speak plainly, son.”
Jesse warmed to the familiar appellation. Blackthorn hadn’t used that term before.
“All right.” Still, he had to say this carefully. “Mrs. Smythe slipped off a step stool, and I caught her before she got hurt.”
“That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”
“One of the students saw us while I was still holding on to Mrs. Smythe.”
“And the girl thought the worst.”
“I’m afraid so. Mrs. Smythe explained the situation, but the girl didn’t look like she believed it.” Jesse gathered his courage. “I need to know if Singapore’s the kind of town that would hold something like that against a lady’s reputation.”
Blackthorn shook his head. “Not likely to cause even a ripple. Unless Mabel Calloway gets ahold of it.”
“Mabel Calloway?”
“Runs the boardinghouse. Louise Smythe used to stay there, so they’re well-acquainted. Ain’t never seen a bigger matchmaker in my life.”
Jesse’s heart sank. “Surely coming to a woman’s aid isn’t a crime.”
Blackthorn chuckled. “Mabel Calloway saw three women married this year. You can be sure she’s set her mind to marrying off Louise Smythe. Seems to me, you’re the most likely candidate, even if you hadn’t caught her during a fall.”
“Then I need to break off all contact.”
Blackthorn positioned the funnel in the lamp. “Or you could court her.”
“I’m not courting her. I have no interest in Mrs. Smythe.”
“Don’t care for the lady, eh?”
Jesse recalled the feeling of her in his arms, the softness of her skin when his lips had accidentally brushed across her forehead. He did care, and that was the problem. She was entirely unsuitable, just like his mother hadn’t been suited to the harshness of life without servants. Jesse had learned one truth well. The people you cared about most always left you. His mother. Fellow soldiers. Even Clarice, the only woman he’d seriously courted. That’s why a mail-order marriage was the perfect solution.
“Not my type,” he answered simply. “I sent an advertisement for a wife to the Chicago newspapers.”
“You don’t say.” Blackthorn scratched his jaw. “Better a woman you’ve never seen than one you’ve met?”
“Yes. But in case Mrs. Smythe gets any ideas, I need to stay away. It’ll help squash any rumors too.” This was the moment of truth. “That means not giving that lecture on the weather. Would you be willing to do it?”
Blackthorn stared. “Speak to a bunch of girls?”
“You did say you should have been asked.”
The keeper muttered something about fools, laced with a little colorful language.
“You’ll do it then?” Jesse said as confidently as he could.
“Too busy for such nonsense.” Blackthorn pointed a finger at him. “You got yourself into this. A true lighthouse keeper don’t go back on his promises.”
Jesse stifled a groan. If Mrs. Evans didn’t let him out of the lecture, he was stuck spending more time with Louise Smythe. That was a definite problem.
* * *
The afternoon’s class had left Louise exhausted.
For a change of pace, she had brought her favorite novel, Pride and Prejudice, and asked each girl to read a page aloud. Dinah burst into tears when it was her turn. That led Priscilla to comment that “someone” clearly couldn’t read, followed by snickers from her cohorts.
Louise had been livid and made Priscilla stay in the classroom after the remainder of the class was dismissed.
Now she faced the girl, who gazed steadily at her without a trace of remorse.
“I expect you to encourage those who haven’t had the same privileges as you,” Louise began, growing more and more uncomfortable under Priscilla’s unblinking stare. “Do you understand?”
The girl tilted her head slightly, her lips pinched into a smirk. “Of course I understand. I am not illiterate.”
Louise gritted her teeth. Every instinct prompted her to chide the girl, but Fiona’s advice came to mind. Encourage and praise her. Impossible. The girl did nothing worthy of either praise or encouragement. If anything, she’d been even more troublesome after seeing Louise in Jesse Hammond’s arms. That smirk was intended to convey that if Louise threatened to punish her, she would tell tales destined to end Louise’s employment.
A cold chill shook her. She had nowhere else to go, but she would not let a spoiled girl dictate her life. Not this time.
“You were fortunate enough to be born to wealth,” Louise said slowly. “Few are.”
“That’s the way God ordained it should be.”
The girl’s answer raised Louise’s hackles. Compassion, not privilege, was a cornerstone of Christian life. Though a retort rose to her lips, she took a deep breath and offered a silent prayer for restraint and understanding. Christ acted in truth and love. Louise must attempt to emulate that. Only then did she realize that Priscilla’s words sounded too pat, as if she was just repeating what her mother had told her. That gave Louise an idea.
“America is a land of opportunity. Everyone deserves a chance to make a new life.”
“Like you?” Priscilla asked without batting an eyelash.
Louise felt vulnerable. Just how much did the girl know about her? Though born to slightly less privilege than Priscilla, her past had its ugly chapters, with wounds that had just begun to heal. Priscilla couldn’t possibly know what had happened in New York. Even though the Benningtons ran in the same sphere as Warren’s parents, the Smythes were intensely private and protective. Anything they might have communicated would disparage Louise, not reveal the truth.
She took a shaky breath and redirected the conversation. “You have much to offer Dinah. Instead of pointing out her deficiencies, you could help her.”
Priscilla stared. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? You are the teacher.”
Louise wanted to wipe the smirk off the girl’s face, but that would only increase the animosity. No, to gain Priscilla’s confidence, she would have to give her a role that she would relish. She quickly went through the possibilities.
“Until next week, then.” The booming masculine voice in the hallway could only belong to Jesse Hammond. “Good evening, Mrs. Evans.”
Priscilla’s attention shifted to the doorway and its closed door. No doubt the girl would have sought out Jesse. He was by far the most handsome bachelor in Singapore. In spite of the difference in their ages, the girls clearly thought him attractive. It was a good thing she hadn’t begun reading Jane Austen’s Emma, which described just such a romance between a much younger woman and an experienced man.
Louise shook herself. Jealousy was not only wrong, it did no good for anyone. To show she could not be held in its bonds, Louise addressed her student.
“You are gifted in literature.” She hoped the compliment helped. “Are you willing to assist Dinah with her reading?”
Priscilla glanced at the closed door before blinking her impossibly long lashes. “Yes, Mrs. Smythe.”
Was it Louise’s imagination or had the girl stressed Mrs.?
“Very well, you may go then.”
Priscilla scrambled from her seat and rushed out the door.
Unwelcome disappointment flooded into Louise. To counter it, she whistled a cheerful tune, the first that came to her, the carol “We Three Kings.” She then began entering the day’s marks into her record book.
“Isn’t it a little early for Christmas carols?” Jesse’s deep voice knifed through her.
She didn’t dare look up, lest she lose her composure again. “It’s never too early to celebrate the Savior’s birth.”
Though distracted, she managed to place Adeline’s arithmetic score in the proper column.
“Mrs. Evans would like me to give the lecture next Monday,” he said. “If that’s all right with you, that is.”
Naturally it would be on Monday, her usual day for a class on the sciences. At least it would only be once.
“If she approved it, then it’s fine with me.” She began to place another score in the record book but forgot whose it was. “If you don’t mind, I am busy.”
“I can see that.”
Yet he didn’t leave.
Louise looked up, prepared to scold him. He cast a sheepish grin her way, and her irritation evaporated. She shook herself. This sympathy for him was dangerous. It had gotten her into all sorts of trouble. She resumed entering grades.
“She asked me to do five more lectures,” he said.
“Five!” Louise’s blood boiled. Five additional lectures would eliminate her science lessons for the entire month of October and half of November. By then, they would no longer be able to go outdoors to examine plant life.
“She insisted.”
Louise swallowed her anger. It wasn’t Jesse’s fault that Fiona was trying to match him to her, just as it wasn’t Priscilla’s fault that Louise had lingered too long in Jesse’s arms. Oh, dear. How was she going to manage six lectures with him?
“I didn’t realize there was that much information to reveal about the weather.”
He looked even more sheepish. “Mrs. Evans suggested I tell your students about the working of the lighthouse.”
Wonderful. Fiona thought science was too obscure for the girls. It had taken all of Louise’s persuasive abilities to convince her to allow a single class each week. Now she was throwing an entire period to Jesse, and for what? Talking about the lighthouse? What possible good would that do the students?
“I thought you didn’t want to lecture,” she pointed out. “You did offer to withdraw and let me do it.”
“Mrs. Evans has a way of persuading a person. She did say we wouldn’t have to work together. You can simply introduce me and monitor from the back of the classroom.”
Didn’t he know how difficult that would be? She could only get rid of these unwanted feelings by distancing herself from Jesse, not putting herself in his path each week.
A piercing scream sent Louise to her feet and Jesse into the hallway.
“One of the girls,” she cried, rushing past him.
He followed and soon ran past her. Then, when he reached the parlor, he halted. Right in the doorway. Louise skidded on the wood floor and nearly bumped into him. Only the door frame spared her from another embarrassing encounter.
Then she spotted Priscilla, who lay at the base of the staircase, moaning and grasping her ankle.
“Mr. Hammond,” Priscilla sobbed. “Help me.”
He hurried toward her and knelt.
Louise wrestled with unseemly thoughts—that Priscilla hadn’t fallen at all and that this was all a ruse to attract Jesse. The jealousy welling within was wrong.
Fiona pushed past Louise. “What happened?”
“I tripped and fell,” Priscilla cried. “My ankle.”
Fiona took charge. “Louise, fetch Mrs. Calloway. She’ll know whether or not to get the doctor from Saugatuck. Mr. Hammond, let’s get Priscilla to the sofa.”
Jesse didn’t need Fiona’s help. While Louise donned her hat, he scooped up Priscilla, who draped both arms around his neck and leaned her head against his shoulder. Whether or not Priscilla had really tripped and hurt her ankle, she was definitely taking advantage of the situation.
Louise yanked open the door and stepped outside. She would not battle an eighteen-year-old for the attentions of a man. She took a deep breath of the late afternoon air.
Louise Smythe was a teacher. She could stand on her own. No man was required.
Chapter Four (#u3db65dda-27ba-5336-8e92-9dd687141e7f)
From the look on Louise’s face, Jesse had the distinct impression that he’d done something wrong. Yet he’d just gone to the aid of an injured student. Yes, it was the same girl who could make trouble for Louise, but he didn’t see how setting her on the sofa was a problem.
Even so, Louise had stormed out of the school. True, she’d gone for help, but that didn’t explain the look of fury she’d cast his way. It was a good thing she didn’t see him carry the girl upstairs to her bedroom under the guidance of Mrs. Evans. Though he’d retreated to the parlor at once, the sense that he’d done something wrong still gnawed at him. Trouble was, he couldn’t figure out exactly what that was.
True, the girl had given him the sort of coy smile that debutantes had cast his way before the war. Her thanks were overly profuse, and she’d hung on to his neck far too intimately, but she was just a girl. Louise knew that. Besides, she was gone for most of that. No, her irritation had begun while they were still in the classroom. She’d been somewhat cool but cordial until he’d mentioned the additional lectures.
He raked a hand through his hair. He must have offended her by agreeing not only to the lecture on the weather but to five more. Yet hadn’t Louise refused his offer to step down? It wasn’t as if he’d asked to give more lectures. Mrs. Evans had proposed them and then refused to accept his no. He’d only accepted when she agreed that Louise did not have to be involved in the lectures—and when he realized they gave him the perfect opportunity to get Blackthorn to show him the workings of the light. He’d been about to tell her that when the screams interrupted them.
The sound of footsteps on the staircase drew his gaze upward.
Mrs. Evans descended a few steps. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond, that will be all.”
Jesse gripped his hat between his hands. “Is she hurt badly?”
“I suspect it’s nothing more than a sprain. Mrs. Calloway will help me examine her.”
“The doctor is far?”
“Less than a mile upriver.”
Jesse hadn’t taken time to explore the area yet. “The town’s that close?” From what he’d seen, when two towns sprang up next to each other, they either merged into one or the smaller one died out. Fortunately, the lighthouse location wouldn’t change. It marked the entrance to a port that saw a decent amount of traffic, thanks to both the lumber trade and the produce that was still being shipped out this time of year.
“Peculiar, isn’t it, when Singapore holds the river mouth. Sawyer—that’s my husband—says all incoming ships stop here. That virtually ensures Singapore will outlast Saugatuck, even after the timber runs out.”
Jesse didn’t comment. His thoughts still ranged over Louise’s departure. “If a doctor is needed, I can fetch him. I assume there’s a road between the towns.”
“Of course, though you’ll need to walk it unless you have a mount.”
Jesse did not. It seemed virtually no one here did. He’d seen only the wagon horses at work on the wharf.
“I can walk. I’ll be at the lighthouse if needed.”
Jesse stepped toward the front door at the moment it burst open. Louise flew inside, almost running into him. She hopped aside at the last minute.
“Oh! Excuse me.” She then focused on Mrs. Evans. “Is Priscilla any worse? I checked everywhere, but no one has any ice left.”
An older woman bustled in after Louise. “Too late in the season.” She tugged a bonnet off and headed for the staircase. “I assume she’s upstairs?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Evans extended a hand. “I’m glad you came, Mrs. Calloway. I’ll tell you what happened the best I can.”
The two ladies ascended the staircase, talking the entire way. That left him with Louise.
“Well, I suppose that’s that,” she said.
For a woman of words, that statement was unusually vague, but Jesse was more drawn by the flush of her cheeks and brightness of her gray eyes. At this hour, they ought to be dark, but they sparkled with life and drew him irresistibly toward her.
“I hope she’s not injured badly,” he said softly.
“I doubt it.” The uncharacteristic statement sent another flush of red to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”
Jesse couldn’t help but come to her defense, even though the only battle she fought was with herself. “I suspect you’re right. A break would have caused a great deal more pain.”
Louise gave him a grateful smile, just for a moment. Then the wall went back up between them. “Well, I should check in on the patient. Good evening, Mr. Hammond.”
“Mister? Maybe we should move beyond formality if we are working together.”
Her lips moved, as if she was about to say his given name and then thought better of it. “I must go upstairs. Good night.”
“Good night.”
But she hadn’t waited for his answer. She hurried up the stairs, her gaze averted. A moment later, Jesse stood alone in the parlor. Any hint of affection died in the coolness of her response.
Best concentrate on the opportunity set before him. Tonight he would convince Blackthorn to show him how to work the light. Thanks to Mrs. Evans, he had the perfect reason.
* * *
Naturally nothing was wrong with Priscilla. Louise lingered outside the girl’s room long enough to learn that. Under the crowded supervision of Fiona and the other four students, Mrs. Calloway had declared there was no swelling or bruising. Priscilla would be up and about by Monday. However, she would miss tonight’s church supper.
Louise and Fiona stood in the parlor after Mrs. Calloway departed and the girls returned to their rooms to freshen up before walking to the church.
“I will stay with Priscilla,” Louise volunteered.
As combative as her relationship was with the girl, she preferred an evening with Priscilla to the gossip and matchmaking that took place at all community functions. Her position as a widow who’d arrived in town hoping to marry opened the gate for constant suggestions of a suitable match. Not a one of them came close to the type of husband she craved. That included the latest resident, Jesse Hammond. Yes, his handsome features and the way he looked at her made her blush, but that was purely a biological reaction without one iota of sense, common or otherwise.
Naturally, Fiona objected to Louise’s offer. “You go to the supper. I will stay with Priscilla.”
“Nonsense. You need to be with your family. This school consumes too much of your time. This is a chance for you all to do something together.” She added the crowning blow. “I’m sure Mary Clare would love to go.”
Fiona looked like she was going to protest, but the thought of pleasing her niece, whom she was raising, ended the matchmaking effort. A sigh of resignation issued from her lips.
Louise took advantage. “I insist.”
At that moment, the four girls descended the staircase, giving Louise the opportunity she needed. She hurried upstairs before Fiona could summon a protest.
Priscilla’s bedroom door was closed. Though the rest of the girls doubled up in a room, the Benningtons had insisted on a private room for their daughter. At the time, Louise had viewed that request as arrogant, but perhaps it was intended to protect the other girls from Priscilla’s manipulations. Perhaps her parents had tired of retrieving their daughter from school after school. Then again, at eighteen—even though just barely that age—Priscilla ought to be receiving suitors at home. Louise could not imagine why her parents insisted on sending their daughter to a ladies’ school against her wishes.
Louise rapped lightly on the door, not wanting to wake Priscilla if she was dozing. Mrs. Calloway had insisted on giving the girl a dose of laudanum. Louise didn’t think that wise, especially before supper, but Mrs. Calloway brushed away her objections.
When Priscilla did not answer, Louise quietly turned the door handle.
“Mr. Hammond?” The somewhat slurred words trailed off.
The poor girl was dreaming. She must be. Jesse wouldn’t have promised to return that evening. Surely he had duties to perform at the lighthouse. Dusk was the crucial hour when the light began its daily vigil. Then again, perhaps he intended to go to the church supper after the light was lit. Between Mr. Blackthorn and Jesse, they could take turns tending the light. That would explain Fiona’s insistence that Louise attend but not Priscilla calling out Jesse’s name.
Louise gently pushed open the door to the girl’s room. The hinges creaked slightly, something that a little oil would remedy. She must tell Fiona’s husband, Sawyer, the next time she saw him.
Priscilla lay atop the bed, the bedclothes disheveled, as if she had tossed and turned through a night of terrors, yet she could have slept but a few minutes. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her face was flushed.
Louise caught her breath. Something truly was wrong with Priscilla. She crossed the room and placed a hand on the girl’s forehead. It was warm but not overly hot. Still, something had caused this thrashing about. Louise poured water from the pitcher into the basin on the washstand and then dipped a cloth in it. A cool compress wouldn’t hurt. After wringing out the excess water, she placed it on Priscilla’s forehead. The girl moved her head from side to side and murmured something unintelligible, but she didn’t wake.
Louise then took the chair from the table that had been intended as a writing desk but had been transformed into a vanity. She set it beside the bed and sat down. Priscilla’s uneaten supper lay on a table opposite. Her glass of water was also untouched. Louise watched the girl intently, but she did not thrash about again. Perhaps the compress was helping. The delirium might be caused by the laudanum, or it might be the beginning of a fever. Either way, someone must watch Priscilla carefully.
She would hold vigil tonight and as long as necessary.
Outside, dusk had settled into the early gloom of night. A beam of light flooded the room. The lighthouse! Louise hadn’t realized the light’s beam reached these windows. Her room faced opposite. The other girls had rooms that faced toward the river. Only Priscilla’s room had this vantage.
Louise hurried to close the blinds. The room ought to have shutters. She grasped the thick velvet curtains, ready to pull them shut, when she noticed a figure on the dune opposite, the dune where she’d first encountered Jesse. From the size of this figure, it must be the assistant lighthouse keeper. Mr. Blackthorn was considerably smaller. Pearl Decker said Jesse had been in town nearly a week. Priscilla might have seen him many times before their encounter on the dune. That was more than enough time for a lonely girl to fantasize about a handsome man walking across the dune outside her window.
Jesse headed downhill toward the hotel side of the building that housed both the school and the hotel. Priscilla’s delirious mutterings echoed in Louise’s mind. Had she expected Jesse to return? Was that the reason for the fall or feigned fall? That awful twinge of jealousy returned. What was wrong with her? She had no interest in Jesse beyond the professional. One way or another, she must gain control of her emotions.
So she began to close the drapes. Then she spotted Jesse moving past the hotel in the direction of the church. He must be going to the supper. Late, certainly, but there would still be food. There was always more than enough. Nothing else was located in that direction—except the saloons.
She drew in a sharp breath and pushed the curtain open again.
What if he frequented drinking establishments? The terrible thought gave her pause. Jesse didn’t seem like that sort, but what did she truly know of him? She had only seen him on the dune and in school. He hadn’t attended the worship service last Sunday. He might well be a drinking man. Many in town were.
She shifted so she could watch his progress. He would not see her, since she had not lit a lamp in the room, and the door was closed. In the light from the waxing half-moon, she could make him out. He stepped onto the boardwalk beyond the hotel. From there he could cross the street to the saloon or walk up Oak Street to go to the church building. Granted, he could also get to the church by staying on Cedar, but it was less direct. If he crossed at the intersection, it would prove he wasn’t going to a saloon.
She held her breath.
He looked toward the wharf and then crossed the street right where the saloon was located.
She let the curtains drop even as memories of Warren crashed into her mind. The drunken binges. The inevitable fights. The torrent of painful blows to face and body. The terror that he would go too far.
It wasn’t fair to put Jesse in that category. He might have had a perfectly good reason to cross at that particular point. Maybe someone called out to him. He might be going elsewhere, though the store would be closed and he had no business at the boardinghouse that she knew about. No, try as she might, she could find no reason he would head in that direction.
A strangled sound drew her away from the window.
Priscilla thrashed wildly.
Louise ran to the bedside. The compress was gone. She pressed her hand to the girl’s forehead. It was on fire.
Louise panicked. Guilt followed on its heels. Why had she let Jesse’s movements draw her from her charge? She must help Priscilla, but how? No one else was at the school. They’d all gone to the church supper. She couldn’t leave Priscilla, yet to get help she must leave. What if a doctor was needed? What if time was crucial?
She started for the door, but the girl’s murmuring changed her mind. First she must calm Priscilla.
Louise found another cloth and dampened it in the cool water. She placed it on the feverish girl’s forehead with little hope that it would remain.
Lord, watch over Priscilla. Heal her of this fever. And show me what to do.
The distant bang of a door woke her from the panic.
Of course. She would go to the hotel. Whoever was on duty would be able to fetch help.
Louise took Priscilla’s hand. “I must leave for a few minutes so I can send for the doctor, but I’ll be right back.”
The girl gripped her hand with desperation. Her eyes opened a slit. “Don’t!”
The plea reached deep in Louise’s heart, but there was no other way. She pried Priscilla’s fingers from her hand.
“I’ll be right back.”
Priscilla’s wail followed her out of the room and down the stairs.
* * *
Though Jesse was hungry, he was not going to attend the church supper. Mrs. Blackthorn had insisted too strongly that he attend. Every excuse he could devise—didn’t have a dish to pass, wouldn’t know anyone, didn’t want to deprive the Blackthorns—was met with an answer. She had sent a dish ahead with her daughter. Mr. Blackthorn must attend the light. Jesse would know Mrs. Evans and Roland at the very least, and it would give him an opportunity to get to know others in the community.
He knew perfectly well who she had in mind. Louise Smythe.
So he headed in the direction of the church but cut back toward town when he was out of sight of the keeper’s quarters. First he headed for the hotel. The dining room should be serving. Yet it looked dark when he stepped into the lobby.
“Closed,” said the lad at the desk. “Everyone’s gone to the church supper.”
Everyone likely meant the Evans family. Had the entire town conspired against him? Jesse put up his collar against the cool evening breeze and stepped back out on the porch. Darkness had set in. A few buildings had a light or two, and the hotel burned a lamp outside the door, but to make his way along the boardwalks without stumbling, he needed to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
With the hotel dining room closed, that left the boardinghouse or no supper at all. His stomach growled. Jesse could go without. He had often enough during the war, but hunger had a way of eating at the mind as well as the body. He loped down the steps and nearly ran into a woman hurrying toward the hotel with her head down.
“Oh!” She started and jumped backward, losing her footing.
Jesse grabbed the petite woman’s shoulders to steady her, and knew at once that all the matchmaking efforts in the world couldn’t have planned this better. Once again he’d ended up holding on to Louise Smythe.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, stepping out of his grasp. “But I need to get help.”
She rushed up the steps and flew across the wooden porch. Before he’d turned around, she burst through the doorway and entered the lobby.
Jesse shook his head. She was likely looking for Mrs. Evans. She wouldn’t find her here. Though getting entangled with Louise once more was not at all in his plans, she seemed unusually agitated. Perhaps this wasn’t just a momentary crisis, like where to find a clean blanket. Maybe the girl who had fallen earlier needed a doctor.
So he climbed the stairs and entered the lobby.
“But I need help,” Louise was pleading.
The lad of perhaps fourteen or fifteen shook his head. “Mr. Evans said I wasn’t to leave my post for any reason.”
Louise blew out her breath and rubbed her forehead, eyes closed. “I need someone to fetch a doctor.”
Just as he’d thought.
Jesse stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
Louise lifted her gaze. Concern melted into relief. “Thank you. It’s Priscilla. She has a fever.”
Jesse racked his memory for what Mrs. Evans had said and, surprisingly, came up with the peculiar town name. “Where in Saugatuck can I find the doctor?”
He must have pronounced it reasonably well, for Louise didn’t give him an odd look.
“Mrs. Calloway will know.” Louise paced before him. “I will run over there and ask. She can send her husband to fetch the doctor.”
“They might be at the church supper too.”
“Not with guests at the boardinghouse.” Louise pushed past him, all business once again.
Yet Jesse could only see delays. He looked to the lad. “Do you know where to find the doctor?”
Louise paused at the door.
The lad hesitated. “Aye, but I’m not supposed to leave the hotel.”
“How about if I take over for you here, and you run to get the doctor?”
Jesse could see the tension release from Louise’s shoulders.
“A perfect solution. Will you, Charlie?” She gave Jesse a grateful look before stepping toward the registration desk. “It would save a lot of time and could save Priscilla’s life.”
Charlie looked uncertain. “But Mr. Evans—”
Louise had regained her confidence. “If Mr. Evans gives you any trouble, you tell him to talk to me.”
Instead of continuing to resist, Charlie grabbed his jacket and was out the door before Jesse could say anything.
Louise then turned to him. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond. That was an excellent idea.”
He warmed in her smile of gratitude. It had been a while since a woman looked at him with such appreciation. It felt good. It felt almost normal. Maybe the nightmares wouldn’t return tonight.
“Glad to help. But please call me Jesse. We are going to work together, after all.”
The familiarity made her blush. “I thought I only needed to take attendance and monitor from the back of the room.” She brushed a hand over her hair, though it was perfectly in place, still pulled back in that dour bun. What he wouldn’t give to see it loose. But a widow, especially one like Louise Smythe, would never wear her hair down.

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