Читать книгу Would-Be Mistletoe Wife - Christine Johnson - Страница 13
ОглавлениеWhat 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.
