Christine Johnson - Would-Be Mistletoe Wife

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.