The Lightkeeper's Daughter

by Colleen Coble

  Addie extended her hand. “I realize it’s confusing, Mrs. Gleeson. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. My father thought I’d drowned some years back, but as you can see, I’m quite well.”

  The woman’s mouth gaped. “Oh my stars.” Mrs. Gleeson took Addie’s hand as the customer in front of her took her packages and exited the store. Mrs. Gleeson made an obvious struggle to recover her aplomb. “Is that your boy?”

  From the way she eyed Addie, the story would be all over town by lunchtime. Addie stepped back and dropped her hand to her side. Would her father be upset? But no, he’d been introducing her last night as his daughter.

  John put his hand on his son’s head and pulled him away from Addie’s skirt. “This is Edward.”

  “What a fine lad. He’s the spitting image of you. Your mother and father must be so proud. Isn’t that so, Leo?” she called to the butcher, who stood watching them with a cleaver in his hand.

  “That’s right, Evelyn,” the man said.

  Addie studied him and realized he was John’s father. They shared the same ears, finely formed and close to the head. She sent a tentative smile his way, but he remained focused on his son.

  Mrs. Gleeson turned back to the counter. “I’ll have two pounds of that pork loin you mentioned, Leo. Then I’ll let you visit with your boy.”

  Addie waited for John to address his father, and when he merely moved to a corner of the room and waited, she shuffled out of the way of the door and studied the meat in the display case. Flies buzzed above it, but the glass kept them out. Fresh steaks, ground beef, and lamb lined the trays inside. The air was heavy with the smell of meat, and she understood Edward’s reference to the odor in the place, though it wasn’t offensive to her.

  Mrs. Gleeson took her purchases wrapped in white butcher paper, then placed a final pat on Edward’s head. “Don’t be a stranger, Johnny,” she admonished. The bell tinkled over the door, and she was gone.

  “Lock the door there, Johnny, there’s a good boy,” his father said. He transferred the meat to an ice chest while his son complied with his request, then beckoned to them. “Your ma is upstairs. She’ll be glad to see you. Supper should be on the table shortly.”

  “We can’t stay for supper, Pa. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and bring Edward over to say hello.”

  “It’s your loss, boy. Your ma is making beef stew, your favorite.” Mr. North wiped his hands on the bloody apron that swathed his generous chest and stomach, then whipped it off and rolled it into a ball.

  “Edward might have a taste. I don’t believe he’s ever had beef stew.” John took his son’s hand and glanced at Addie as if to say, Come along.

  She was eager to meet the people who had raised this man she was coming to love.

  John had walked these narrow back steps a thousand times. His mother made sure they were spotless, and the aroma of beef stew wafted down the hall. Edward’s feet dragged, and John tugged on the boy’s hand. “Come along, Edward. I bet your grandma has cookies. There are always cookies in the jar.”

  His son’s expression lifted. “Oatmeal?” he asked.

  “Probably. And with raisins.” He led the way through the parlor to the doorway into the kitchen, then paused and listened to his mother sing the words to “Shoo, Fly, Don’t Bother Me!” The tune brought his childhood rushing back.

  His mother turned from where she stood at the stove, and her ready smile came. “Johnny!” Her smile widened when she saw the boy. “And Eddie. Come give your granny a kiss.”

  “My name is Edward,” the child said, but he tugged his hand from John’s and went to give his grandmother a kiss.

  John’s heart swelled at the sight of his mother clasping his son to her bosom. He joined them and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Hi, Ma.”

  She released Edward, who dashed to the cookie jar sitting on top of the icebox. “Can I have a cookie, Grandma?”

  “I just baked them. Help yourself. I’d rather you call me Granny, sweetheart.” Her bright blue eyes etched with lines caught sight of Addie. “And who is this, Johnny? Your girl?”

  Heat encased his neck. “This is Miss Addie Sullivan, Ma. She’s been teaching Edward his numbers.” He hesitated, uncertain how to explain her real identity.

  His mother’s eyes sharpened. “This is the long-lost Eaton daughter? Julia Eaton?”

  The news must have traveled already. “That’s right.” He turned to Addie. “Addie, this is my mother, Mrs. Ursula North.” He watched his son open the cookie jar. “Just one for now, Edward.”

  Addie pulled her hands from behind her back and came forward to take his mother’s outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. North.”

  “What a pretty little thing you are,” his mother said. “We need to fatten you up some though. Would you like a cookie?”

  “I’d love one, thank you.” Addie dug a cookie out of the jar, her eyes roving the dining room. “You have a lovely home.”

  John took another look at the room he rarely noticed anymore. His grandfather had made the maple table in the middle of the room. A red and white tablecloth hid the initials he’d carved into the top when he was five, and matching fabric covered the fronts of the base cabinets along one wall. The rose wallpaper was starting to fade, and the linoleum counter as well. But everything was spotless, including the rug on the painted wood floors under the table. The old pie safe was packed with dishes and pots. He noted the new wood cookstove.

  His mother smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I’ve been telling Johnny’s father that I want to redecorate. He hasn’t agreed yet, but I’m wearing him down. Where’s your father, Johnny?”

  “He came up ahead of us. I think he’s cleaning up.”

  “Good. I’m about to put supper on the table. Oh, and Mrs. Eaton called. She’d like you to stop by the mercantile and pick up an order for her. Something about hats.”

  “It’s a good thing Addie is with me, then.” John heard footsteps in the hall and tensed. “Here he comes now.”

  His father joined them in the kitchen. “Supper about ready, Ma? I’m starving.”

  “Sit down, Pa. John, you and Miss Sullivan sit down. Eddie, come help your granny get the food.” She took the boy by the hand. “I’ve got apple pie afterward.”

  John didn’t know how to get out of the meal without hurting his mother, so he did as he was told and pulled out a chair for Addie. Her green eyes were wide, and he knew she wondered why they were here. He had the same thought as his father took the head of the table. His dad would be needling him before an hour was up.

  His mother set steaming bowls of beef stew and dumplings in front of both of them. Edward carried the freshly baked bread to the table. John’s father lifted the boy to his lap once Edward completed his task.

  “You’re a fine boy, Eddie. You should have your papa bring you over for the day, and I’ll show you how to carve up a chicken. That’s the first thing you need to know if you’re going to be a butcher like Grandpa.”

  Edward stared into his grandfather’s face. “I’m going to be in the navy like Papa and go on the submarines. It smells funny here, Granddad. I don’t like the butcher shop.”

  John’s gut clenched, and he rushed to intervene before his father exploded. “Great stew, Ma. The dumplings are perfect.”

  “Thank you, son.” His mother slid into her seat at the other end of the table. “Pa, let’s not have any arguments at the supper table.”

  Her plea had no effect. John’s father’s brows lowered. “Always gone, never home with your family. Parenting is more than begetting a child, Johnny. You need a trade that takes you home to your wife and kids every night.”

  John set Edward down. “Go eat your stew.”

  John took a bite but barely tasted it. He heard Addie put down her spoon.

  His mother’s smile had faded, too, and her face bore signs of strain. “Leo, please,” she said.

  His father said nothing and began to eat his stew.
The air thickened, and it was all John could do to continue to lift his spoon to his lips.

  His father eyed Addie. “You’re teaching the boy?” he asked.

  She put down her bread. “Yes, sir. Just the basics, like his numbers and letters.”

  “He learning them all right? I mean, his—” He broke off and glanced at his son.

  “Edward is a smart lad,” John said, louder than he’d intended. “He’s picking it up quickly.”

  “I’ve got a dog now, Granddad,” Edward said. “His name is Gideon, and he lets me know when I’m going to fall.”

  The older man’s brows rose. “Is that right?”

  “Well, I’m sharing the dog,” Edward said. “He belongs to Teacher too.”

  “What’s this about, Johnny?” his dad asked.

  “Ever since Miss Eaton arrived, he’s been fixated on her dog. He thinks the dog warns him before an . . . episode,” John said.

  “That so?” His father turned curious eyes on Addie.

  “I’ve seen it. Gideon does seem to sense when Edward might be having a problem,” Addie said.

  “Don’t that beat all,” his father murmured. “What about school?”

  “He’s not ready yet,” John said.

  “It’s a mistake to coddle the boy,” his father said. “If people are going to make fun, he needs to learn it and toughen up.”

  John gritted his teeth to keep back the retort. He took the last bite of his stew. “Great supper, Ma. We’d better go.”

  “I want my apple pie,” Edward protested.

  “Maybe next time.” He grabbed his son’s hand and escaped the censure.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  JOHN TURNED THE horse into a lot by the mercantile. “Here we are. It’s nearly closing time.” He alighted and held out his hand to help her down. His broad shoulders and bowler towered over her when he set her onto the street. She took his arm, and they entered the side door of Oscar’s Mercantile. John removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. The scent of cinnamon, coffee, candles, and leather tickled her nose as soon as they were inside. A counter of fabric bolts caught her eye first, and she stopped to examine them. The quality ranged from common gingham to nicer satins and wools. She picked up a thimble painted with a rose and exclaimed over it, but John’s interest had been caught by a display of saddles along the opposite wall.

  A middle-aged woman approached John. Her skirts rustled, and the harsh black dress she wore did nothing for her pale skin. Her yellowish-white hair had been arranged in a thin pompadour that exposed her scalp in places.

  “Lieutenant North, I assume you’re here to pick up Mrs. Eaton’s order?” she asked in a gravelly voice.

  “I am,” he said. He nodded toward Addie. “This is Miss Julia Eaton. Miss Eaton, this is Mrs. Silvers.”

  “Oh my,” the woman said, her eyes widening. “Mr. Eaton’s longlost daughter! The news of your return has spread through town. What a wonderful surprise for your father.”

  Addie smiled. “A wonderful surprise for me as well, Mrs. Silvers. I’ve longed for an extended family all my life.”

  “And Mrs. Eaton raved about your dressmaking ability before your identity was known,” Mrs. Silvers said, taking Addie’s hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  Addie extricated her palm from the woman’s overenthusiastic pumping. “I’m sure whatever she said was an exaggeration of my poor skills.”

  Mrs. Silvers’s gaze roamed Addie’s gown and hat. “If you created what you’re wearing, I must say Mrs. Eaton didn’t praise you enough.”

  Was this how everyone would react to her now that she was known to be an Eaton? “Thank you, Mrs. Silvers.”

  The older woman turned. “I expect you want to see the items. Come this way.”

  She led them from the dry-goods department past rows of jams and jellies until she reached the wooden counter. “Here we go.” She lifted a box from the back counter and placed it by the ornate cash register.

  Addie peeked inside and nearly gasped. “Are those egret feathers?” She saw a flash of red. “And is that a cardinal?”

  Mrs. Silvers beamed. “Yes indeed. Aren’t they lovely?”

  Addie put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, but I don’t use bird feathers on my hats. Especially not egrets and certainly not stuffed cardinals.”

  She couldn’t look away from the poor dead cardinal until John took her shoulders and pulled her away from the counter. Her eyes burned, and she gulped. “I’m so sorry for your trouble, Mrs. Silvers, but I could not bear to touch them.”

  Mrs. Silvers drew herself upright. Her lips were pressed in a tight line. She lifted the box and put it on the back counter. “I went to great trouble to meet Mrs. Eaton’s specifications.”

  “I’m sorry,” Addie said again. “I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Eaton the reason we return empty-handed.”

  She wanted to rush from the store so she didn’t have to look at the box, but if this was what Mrs. Eaton had referred to when she said she’d ordered the final trim, an alternative must be found. Addie searched the shop, sighing in relief when she spied a fitting substitute. “The velvet rosettes are beautiful. I’ll take three of them. And some of that tulle.”

  Neither would come close to what the woman had spent for the bird and feathers. John stood with his hands behind his back, obviously clueless to what had just happened.

  “No matter. I shall be able to sell the feathers to other, less sensitive, women,” Mrs. Silvers managed an ingratiating smile. “Is there anything else?”

  Addie shook her head, miserably aware her aunt would be unhappy. John took the bag, and she followed him outside. With the purchases stowed in the back, he helped her board the buggy.

  “What was the problem?” he asked as the horse pulled them onto the street.

  Addie shuddered. “I never use birds on my hats. Have you read about the bird hunts? They trap the birds, kill them, then pluck out the feathers and discard the carcass. They’re slaughtered merely to adorn a vain woman’s hat.”

  “Some women often don’t care who is hurt as long as they have what they want,” he said, a slight smile lifting his lips. “I fear Mrs. Silvers will never get over the affront.”

  Heat swept up her chest to her neck. “I’m sure it’s my fault. I’ve grown up among seagulls and fish. They’d done little to teach me proper manners.”

  He laughed, a short bark full of genuine delight. “I like never knowing what you’re going to say next.” He slapped the reins on the horse’s rump. “You realize you won’t be allowed to teach Edward when Henry has a chance to think about it. I’ll have to find another tutor to go with me to San Francisco.”

  She smoothed the glove on her hand. “I’d wondered about that. I could ask to continue, but he might say no.”

  “He’ll certainly say no to allowing you to accompany me to the city.”

  “I want to get to know my family better,” she admitted. “But I find I want to know you better even more than that.”

  The buggy exited town and entered the shadow of the redwoods. “We must see what we can do about that,” he said.

  The painted columns of the manor glistened in the sunshine, but the view of the massive structure made Addie shudder. She had to go in and tell Mrs. Eaton she had refused the bird and feathers the woman wanted on her hat and gown.

  “Are you cold?” John asked, stopping the carriage. He stepped down and held up his hand to help her.

  “Not at all.” She accepted his assistance. “I’m dreading telling Mrs. Eaton about the feathers.”

  He set her on the ground, but his hands stayed on her waist. “I assumed you’d already prayed about it.”

  “I did. She might not be paying attention to God.” She smiled to show him she was joking. “I enjoyed the jaunt very much.”

  He glanced at the house, then stepped back with obvious reluctance. “Not half as much as I did.” He handed her the purchases. “We could search the attic later. Or the labyrinth.”<
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  More hours spent in his company. “It’s won’t be dark for several hours yet. Let’s examine the labyrinth.”

  “I think we’d better face Clara first.”

  She walked toward the towering porch columns, whispering another prayer that Clara would accept her decision. She sensed John staring at her. Taking courage from his concern, she carried her box of tulle and flowers inside.

  The grandfather clock in the grand hall struck six. At this time of day, Clara would likely be in her study poring over menus for tomorrow. Addie navigated the labyrinth of halls to the room. The door to the study was shut. She took a deep breath and rapped on it.

  “Come in,” Clara called.

  Addie twisted the brass knob and pushed open the door. Clara looked up from where she sat at her rosewood desk. She wore a white serge dress with blue silk piping. “Ah, Julia, you have the things I ordered? Let me see!”

  Addie stepped nearer. Her tongue refused to form the words she needed, so she let Clara take the box and withdraw the items from inside.

  Clara frowned and looked up at Addie. “Where are the feathers? And the bird? I ordered a cardinal. The bright splash of color will be most becoming with my skin tone.”

  Addie wet her lips. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Eaton. I should have mentioned it sooner. I know bird feathers and stuffed birds are quite the fashion, but I can’t in good conscience use them on my creations.”

  Clara’s delicate brows rose. “What nonsense is this? Those egret feathers cost the earth! And I ordered the size of the bird most specifically.”

  “The mercantile had them in, and I saw them,” Addie said. “But the willful destruction of birds for vanity’s sake is something I can’t endure. I bought these other things instead.”

  Clara stamped her foot. “I don’t want other things!” She tossed the tulle and ribbon flowers back into the box. “I’ll be a laughingstock to go out in plain tulle.”

  “I keep up on all the styles. The simpler things are all the rage in Paris. If you allow me to follow my vision, you’ll be on the cutting edge of fashion.”

  The red in Clara’s face began to soften to pink. “Simpler things? What do you have in mind?”