Mail Order Sweetheart. Christine Johnson

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       Chapter Five

      Louise had dressed and gone downstairs by the time Fiona awoke. She’d stayed up late making sure each survivor had enough to eat and a place to sleep. None of them could tell her if Sawyer lived. Guilt gnawed at the back of her mind even while she helped with blankets, nightgowns and hot tea.

      Only when Mrs. Calloway returned in the wee hours of the morning did she get her answer.

      “Chilled to the bone,” the boardinghouse proprietress had said. “Won’t surprise me if he catches a cold.”

      “But he’s alive.” Fiona had leaned against the wall, exhausted.

      “That he is.” Mrs. Calloway had said that with a twinkle in her eye. “No doubt he’ll come a callin’ soon as he can.”

      Fiona had made a flippant comment, trying to allay the woman’s matchmaking efforts, but deep inside she was truly grateful. At least she hadn’t caused his death by insisting he rescue her niece, who wasn’t even on the ship.

      “But they did manage to rescue everyone,” she’d commented.

      “That they did. My Ernie was right there at the forefront, bringin’ them up the dune to safety.”

      That must be why she was so relieved. Everyone was safe. Not just Sawyer. Then why did his face keep popping into her mind? Why recall the grace of his fingers moving across the piano keyboard? He never hit a sour note and never touched a piece of music. The first time she’d hummed a tune, and he then played it with harmony and bass notes included, she’d called him a modern-day Mozart. His face had actually gotten red.

      She smiled at the memory, but that’s all it was—a pleasant memory between two friends. Nothing more than that.

      Reassured, she had retired to the comfort of her stiff and somewhat lumpy mattress. It didn’t even bother her that Louise was already asleep and snoring softly.

      This morning, Fiona stretched her arms with a big yawn. Once she’d dressed and completed her toilette—all without seeing a soul—she headed downstairs. Just how long had she slept? The six ladies, who had received the upstairs rooms, were either still sleeping, or they’d been awake for some time.

      She got her answer the moment she set foot on the main floor. Giggling and excited exclamations came from the direction of the parlor. They were definitely awake.

      “Good morning, Miss Fiona.” Mrs. Calloway breezed from the kitchen with a platter of cinnamon rolls drizzled with sugar icing.

      Fiona’s stomach rumbled. “You’re serving breakfast?”

      “More like morning tea at this hour, but everyone woke at different hours. You’re the last.”

      The last. With a sigh, Fiona followed Mrs. Calloway into the dining room. An older gentleman—perhaps forty or so—and his wife sat across from each other at the table. Otherwise the room was empty.

      The man rose. “Good morning, Miss O’Keefe. You look lovely this morning.”

      Fiona accepted the compliment with a smile, though she scrambled to recall their names. They had arrived at the boardinghouse not long after she’d settled the young women in rooms.

      “I’m sorry I didn’t save a room for you,” she said as she took a seat. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

      “Understandable.” The gentleman settled back in his chair. “The situation was soon rectified. Miss Eaton and Miss Geneva agreed to share.”

      So he had taken care of matters himself. Fiona had never excelled as a hostess. Her talents lay elsewhere. Her mother would have realized the need from the start and doubled up everyone. Pearl and Amanda would likewise have assessed СКАЧАТЬ