The Lightkeeper's Daughter

by Colleen Coble

  Mr. Driscoll turned toward the carriage. “Might I offer you a ride to the manor?”

  His dark eyes never left Addie. “Thank you, but no. I have business at the bank to attend to before I leave town. Henry offered me a ride.” He tipped his hat to her. “I’m sure we’ll get a chance to get better acquainted tonight,” he told her.

  “Of course,” she said faintly. She watched him walk away and wished she could stop him. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the onslaught of emotion that churned inside her from the first moment she’d seen him.

  Mr. Driscoll offered his arm, and she took it. The streets were a muddy quagmire after the rain, and she lifted her skirt to clear the muck. A driver helped her into the carriage. She let herself imagine she was Elizabeth Barrett Browning about to embark on a journey. Or maybe Alice Roosevelt. She so admired the president’s courageous daughter. Someday she wanted to see far-off places like Alice did, and dig her bare toes into distant sands. In her daydream, the man at her side matched the man who had just left her.

  Josephine had worked to squelch Addie’s romanticism, but Addie couldn’t help it anymore than she could help the color of her eyes. “How far to the estate?” she asked Mr. Driscoll.

  “At the edge of town. Five minutes,” he said, settling onto the leather seat beside her. He cast a doubtful glance at Gideon. “You should have left that dog behind. I don’t know how I’ll explain it to Henry.”

  She tipped up her chin. “I wouldn’t come without him.”

  “Which is the only reason I finally agreed. But it was most unfortunate. Henry is sure to be put off.”

  “I thought Lieutenant North was my employer.”

  “He is, but Henry’s wishes are generally considered.”

  She watched the scenery as the carriage rolled through town. A drugstore and ice-cream shop looked interesting. She noticed a sign that said Mercy Stagecoach Company. Before she could ask, Mr. Driscoll pointed it out as belonging to her father. There were several dress shops and haberdasheries in town.

  “Henry owns half the town,” Driscoll said. “The bank, the creamery too.”

  Addie shrank back against her seat. “I fear I’ll be out of place.”

  “You’ll be fine. As my ward, you’ll be treated like one of the family.”

  The carriage slowed at two large stone columns that anchored a wall taller than Addie’s head. A massive iron gate barred the way. The vehicle stopped until the guard opened the gate, then it turned into a long driveway.

  “Why is it gated?” she asked. “Are they in danger?”

  He laughed. “You have much to learn, Adeline. The Eatons don’t mingle with the lower class other than to employ them. It’s better that way.”

  “Better for whom?”

  His smile faltered and he turned away. “There’s your new home.”

  Addie caught her breath at the sight of the mansion. Three stories high, it rambled in so many directions she had to crane her neck to take it all in. Five or six colors of paint emphasized the architecture’s features. The porch encased two sides of the manor, and the railing made her think of toy blocks. The red trim accented the medium gray-green siding. The door and shutters were black. The home had so many gables and dormers, it made her dizzy to take them all in. Numerous outbuildings peeked from the coastal redwoods that shaded the yard. The forest began barely ten feet from the back corner of the house.

  “It’s quite lovely,” she said.

  “Henry attends to every detail,” Mr. Driscoll said. “You’ll see many homes such as these in town. We call them butterfat palaces, since most were constructed from money made from dairying. Henry’s is the grandest by far.”

  “Did Mr. Eaton make his money in dairying too?”

  “In the beginning. He owns many other businesses now, as I mentioned.” He stepped from the carriage and helped her down. “Remember, mention nothing to anyone. It might be dangerous to reveal your identity.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Someone took great care to keep you from Henry. Whoever did this must hate him very much. That level of hatred might be dangerous. If Henry finds out who has done this, that person’s life would be ruined. Henry would see to that.”

  “My father sounds formidable.”

  “He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and he expects those around him to be loyal.”

  She accepted the arm he offered, and they walked past banks of blooming goldenrod and salvia. Gideon followed at her heels. “How about you, Mr. Driscoll? How do you feel about Mr. Eaton?”

  “He’s a loyal friend to those he trusts. He’s been good to me for my sisters’ sakes, and I’ve made my home in the manor for many years.” They reached the front door. He opened it and motioned for her to enter. “Stay,” he told the dog.

  She repeated the command and stepped into the entry. The first thing she noticed was the scent of something baking. A berry pie, perhaps. Then she saw the opulence of the hall. Her mouth dropped as she took in polished walnut floors and woodwork, richly colored wallpaper, and an Oriental runner down the entry and up the six-foot-wide staircase. Through a doorway lay a parlor with lovely red upholstered furniture and fine pictures.

  She craned her head to look at the art that lined the walls. A woman’s portrait caught her eye. “My mother? I’d like to know more about her.”

  “That’s not her. It’s your grandmother Vera.”

  She clutched her necklace. “The one in my locket. She’s much older in this portrait.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced at her shoes and realized she was tracking mud on the carpet. “Oh, dear me,” she muttered. She quickly retraced her steps to the porch and removed her shoes. “Might I have a rag to clean up the mess?”

  “Molly shall get it. Come along,” Mr. Driscoll commanded. “I’ll show you to your room, then introduce you to your charge.”

  Her pulse leaped at the thought that her new life was about to begin.

  FIVE

  ADDIE STEPPED INTO the room at the end of the long hall. The tiny space held only a dresser and a single bed covered with a blue and yellow quilt. A bowl and pitcher had been placed atop the doily on the dresser. Beside the bed lay a plain rag rug on the oak floors. The scent of beeswax hung in the air. Pleasant. And lavish compared to her stark bedroom at the lighthouse. The window in this room looked out into the deep shadows of redwood forest, and she shivered at their imposing height.

  She dropped her valise on the floor. “What about my trunk?”

  “The driver will bring it up. Will this suit?”

  “Of course. Where is my charge’s room?”

  “Across the hall. I shall show you.” Mr. Driscoll stood aside for her to exit, then stepped in front of her and led the way. Her slippers sank into the plush runner in the hall. The green wallpaper appeared new. Portraits of people lined the walls, and she longed to linger over the images to see if she could find a woman with red curls.

  He motioned to her, and she followed him into the room opposite hers. Tin soldiers, a wooden train, and a stack of books on a small shelf proclaimed the space to be a child’s room. A small table with two chairs was under the window. The other furnishings included a cot, a chest of drawers, and a chifforobe. This room had wallpaper in a tiny blue print that matched the blue quilt on the bed. A rug covered the unpainted floor.

  “He’s not here” she said.

  “He’s likely in the side yard with his nurse.” He motioned to her and exited the room.

  She hurried to fall into step. “If he has a nurse, does he really need me?”

  “He’s five. It’s time he began to receive instruction in reading and sums. Come along, my dear.” His clipped words urged her to hurry.

  She quickened her pace. So many new relationships to learn. After a lifetime of loneliness, she was about to discover a family. Her pulse stuttered, and she wasn’t sure if it was fear or anticipation. She followed him down the steps.

  Gideon greeted her on the porch an
d pressed his cold nose against her hand. She rubbed his ears. “What about Gideon? He’s used to sleeping with me.”

  “Gideon will sleep in the barn. It’s clean and dry.”

  “Yes, sir.” She stepped across the spongy grass to the side yard. A small boy gripped a baseball bat in his hands and squinted into the sun. An older woman in a gray dress prepared to pitch a baseball at him.

  Addie drank in the curly dark hair and his quite adorable cowlick. He was a miniature version of his striking father. He wore knickers and a white shirt. He bit his tongue as he concentrated on the nurse preparing to pitch the ball. She wanted to run to him and scoop him into her arms. She longed to hear him call her Auntie. After a lifetime of wanting a large family, here was part of all she’d longed for.

  The child saw Gideon. “A dog!” He dropped the bat and called the dog to him.

  Gideon trotted forward, and the boy rubbed his ears. “He likes me,” Edward said, his voice eager.

  “Of course he does,” Addie said. She knelt beside him. Her fingers itched to bury themselves in his curls. She wanted to put her nose in his neck and smell his little-boy scent. He was adorable, and she was already in love.

  “Does he like to play ball?” he asked.

  “I’m sure he’d like that very much,” she said. She stood and watched the boy throw the ball to Gideon for a few minutes. Then Edward dropped the ball and stood staring. “Edward, are you all right?” she asked.

  Gideon lunged toward the boy. When he reached him, he grasped Edward’s sleeve in his teeth. “Gideon, down,” Addie called, starting after him. The dog tugged the child down to the grass. She gasped and put on an extra burst of speed. She’d never known her dog to attack. He was the most mild-mannered canine. Edward slumped to the ground. His limbs began to twitch.

  The nurse reached him. “He’s having a seizure!” She pulled a hankie from her pocket, rolled it up, then thrust it between the child’s teeth as though she’d done it before. “He has the falling sickness,” she said, peering up at Addie.

  “Epilepsy,” Mr. Driscoll said, his tone sharply corrective.

  The nurse inclined her head and glanced at Gideon. “What a blessing your dog pulled Edward down so he didn’t fall, Miss.”

  “I have never seen him act that way,” Addie said. “It was almost as if he knew what was coming.”

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Driscoll said. “He was practically attacking the boy.”

  “Gideon has never attacked anyone.” Addie petted the dog’s head. “Look at him, Mr. Driscoll. He’s worried about Edward.” Gideon lay near the child. His dark eyes never left Edward’s face. He whined and licked Edward’s cheek.

  The man studied dog and boy. “Nonsense,” he said again, but his tone lacked conviction.

  A putt-putt from behind caused her to turn. A most unusual contraption came rolling up the drive. It resembled a buggy, but there was no horse pulling it. The sun glimmered on shiny red paint and black leather seats. The wheels turned around red spokes. An oily stink roiled from it. The man in the seat behind the wheel wore a leather coat and beret, and a scarf around his neck. And a huge smile. Beside him sat a familiar set of wide shoulders encased in a navy uniform.

  “Is that my father?” she whispered.

  “It most certainly is. In his new Cadillac.”

  Henry. Her father. Her legs twitched and adrenaline surged, but she forced herself to remain still and watch him maneuver the vehicle over the potholes until it stopped with a final putt. Lieutenant North leaped out, then the automobile rolled on to the carriage house. Neither of the men noticed the boy on the ground.

  John spotted Miss Sullivan the moment he dismounted the automobile. She stood to one side with Driscoll, and he caught a gleam of auburn hair under her large hat. She was just as attractive as she’d been in town and inspired the same leap in his pulse. He’d hoped his reaction had been a temporary insanity.

  She and Driscoll and Edward’s nurse, Yvonne, faced a form on the ground, and it took a moment for the scene to register. When he recognized his son, he ran toward his boy. “Edward!” He knelt beside him.

  The boy’s eyelids moved, but he didn’t awaken. At least no seizure contorted his features. “He had a seizure?” he asked, glancing up at Yvonne. She nodded. He touched Edward’s forehead. “Edward. Wake up, son.”

  There was still no response and likely wouldn’t be for a few more minutes. Edward would be tired for hours. John clenched his fists. If only he could fix this for his son. He took a deep breath, then smoothed his son’s hair. “It’s all right, Edward. I’m here.”

  “He collapsed so quickly,” Miss Sullivan said in that compelling, husky voice.

  He rose and nodded. “Were you here when Edward’s attack occurred?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant North.” Her worried eyes never left the boy. “We’d just come out to meet him when he fell.”

  He lifted his son in his arms and carried him toward the house. The young woman fell into step beside him. The dog started to follow her, and she made a hand gesture that stopped it in its tracks.

  “Is there anything I can do? If I’m going to be with him most of the day, I need to know how to handle this when it happens.”

  At least she wasn’t flustered by the incident. She’d taken charge here the same way she’d done in the sweatshop. His deceased wife had dissolved into hysterics every time Edward had a “fit,” as she called it. She’d never reconciled herself to the idea that her son had a chronic problem.

  “Come with me,” he told her.

  He carried his son into the house and up the staircase to his bedroom. He laid the boy on top of the quilt and stood staring down at him. He ached to take the ailment on himself, but all he could do was stand by.

  Miss Sullivan stepped closer to the bed. “Why isn’t he waking?”

  “He’ll be up and around soon. But he’ll be tired. He had a seizure.”

  “What can be done to help him?”

  “I’ve had him to the best neurologists in the country, but there is no treatment for it.”

  “So he’ll always have to deal with this?” Her gaze softened even more.

  He nodded. “The main thing to remember when he has a seizure is that he needs to be kept safe. Help him to lie down, and put something soft between his teeth so he doesn’t bite his tongue, then wait it out.”

  She caressed Edward’s hair. “Poor child.”

  John warmed to her empathy. He thought it was sincere. “He’s a good lad. Never lets it get him down.” He folded his hands across his chest. “You were most confident in the sewing factory. I think it would be difficult for anything to get the better of you. I liked that.”

  Color stained her cheeks. “Thank you, sir. I was thankful for your protection.”

  “You’re much younger than I expected.” And prettier, he could have added.

  Her green eyes held a challenge. “I’m nearly twenty-five.”

  “I merely remarked on your youth. If Walter thinks you are suitable, I’m sure that’s the case.”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor, and her cheeks went rosier. “I’m sorry for my tone, Lieutenant North.”

  It wasn’t his fault he liked her appearance entirely more than was proper. “Forgive me, Miss Sullivan. I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable in your position. Take care of my son, and teach him well, and you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

  “I will do my very best,” she said. She turned toward the bed. “He’s awakening.”

  Edward yawned, and his eyelids fluttered, then opened. “Papa? I did it again.”

  John sat on the edge of the bed and slipped his arm under his son’s head. “It’s all right, little man. You’re fine now.”

  Edward bolted upright. “Where’s the doggy?”

  “What dog?”

  “The one that helped me,” the boy asked Miss Sullivan. “Was it your dog?”

  “Yes. That’s Gideon.”

  “He knew I was getting sick a
nd helped me sit down.”

  John hid his smile. And his skepticism. “What did he do?”

  “He jerked on my arm until I sat,” Edward said.

  John glanced at the woman. Her expression was soft as she stared at his son. “Did you know the seizure was coming?”

  Edward shook his head. “I was going to toss the ball for him. Can the dog sleep on my bed?”

  “You know your grandfather doesn’t allow dogs in the house.”

  “But this is a special dog. He helped me. I’ll ask Granddad myself.” Edward scooted to the edge of the bed. He staggered when he gained his feet but quickly straightened.

  “You’re the only one Granddad might listen to,” John muttered after his son disappeared through the doorway.

  Glancing at the new governess, he wished he would quit feeling as though the undertow were carrying him out to sea.

  SIX

  ADDIE COUNTED EVERY tread as she walked back to the entry. Twenty-one. She kept track of every time she put her foot down on the entry and porch, and on each of the front steps. Thirty. And she prayed. The austere man she’d glimpsed sitting in the automobile next to the lieutenant wasn’t what she’d expected.

  The yard was empty except for Gideon and Edward. Smiling, she approached the boy and dog. “He likes you, Edward.” She couldn’t resist touching his hair again. The soft locks curled around her finger.

  “Can I have him?” The question was asked with the innocence of a child who had never been denied.

  Addie inhaled as she tried to decide how to answer. She’d raised Gideon from a puppy and would never give him up. “I’ll be happy to share him,” she said finally. “But he’s my dog.”

  Edward’s lip thrust out. “I want him to be my dog.” He began to sob.

  Addie wanted to gather him in her arms and soothe his cries, but she knew it wasn’t wise to give in to every demand.

  “How did you get him to do that?” a gruff voice demanded from behind her. “The dog, I mean. Yvonne informed me the canine appeared to have anticipated my grandson’s fit.”

  She turned to see Henry Eaton approaching. He’d removed his cap and scarf. Flecks of mud dulled the sheen of his boots. “I don’t know, Mr. Eaton. I’ve never seen him do anything like this before.”