Czytaj książkę: «Would-Be Mistletoe Wife»

Chapter One

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.”