Would-Be Mistletoe Wife. Christine Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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. СКАЧАТЬ