“I’ve prayed for months.”
Months?
“I see it en yer eyes, me love. This is new to ye, perhaps a bit of a shock.”
And how does he read my thoughts so well? And what on earth is wrong with me? Why can’t I talk? Oh, Father, God, give me something to say.
“Please, Fiona, speak to me.”
“I don’t know what to say. Are you inclined to change your occupation?”
Ian rubbed his hands across his face then raked his fingers through his hair. “No, Fiona. I’m a shipbuilder. ’Tis what the Lord gifted me to do.”
“And I’m a lighthouse keeper; it’s what the Lord gifted me to do.”
“I don’t agree. He gifted yer father, an’ ye’ve learned the job, an’ ye do it well. But I believe there is more for ye to do with yer life than to tend the light.”
“I’m responsible for saving lives. What can be more important than that?”
Ian stood up and walked farther away.
Fiona continued. “You heard the men in the house—they’re grateful to me and for what I do. They would have been lost in this storm and possibly have lost their lives if it wasn’t for me. I know God has called me to this.”
“How do ye know, Fiona?” Ian’s sharp words cut into her stream of thought.
She got up from the cot and walked over to him, placing her hand on his. “When I read His Word, verses about not hiding your light under a bushel and others like that just agree with my spirit. I see my call the same as I see my father’s.”
Ian turned and faced her. “I see it a different way.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “I see it as for a season ye’ve been called to serve alongside yer father. But I believe God wants us together, as man an’ wife. I know ye’ve never heard these words from me. Ye’ve never given me the chance to speak with ye. But I love ye. Aye, me love, I love ye, an’ me love for ye is grand in me heart. I told the Lord I would wait for ye, an’ I will wait. But pray, me darlin’. Pray like you’ve never done before. Pray if yer duty in life might be shiftin’.”
Tears burned Fiona’s eyes. Drawn to a man for the first time in her life, she puzzled over the fact that he didn’t share her dream, her call. This couldn’t be right, and yet her body, her soul, hungered to be in his arms. To feel his breath on her neck. To kiss those tantalizing lips. Oh, Lord, is this lust?
His dark eyes scanned hers and softened. “No, me darlin’, yer desires for me are the same as mine for ye. Pray, Fiona. I know I’m bein’ bold, an’ I know I should have waited to share my heart with ye. But holdin’ ye in me arms on the gallery… Our love, ’tis too strong to deny it.”
“I’m attracted to you; I can’t deny it. But love? I can’t be sure.”
“All I ask is for ye to pray, Fiona.” Ian pulled her fully into his embrace once again, kissed her forehead, and slowly lowered his warm soft lips down to her cheek. She’d never felt anything like this. Desire drove her to want more, to have his lips on hers, to run her fingers through his rich mahogany hair. To hold him. To squeeze him. And yet something stopped her. Good common sense, she hoped, because every ounce of it seemed to have left her body.
Ian pulled away. “I’ll leave ye to yer thoughts, me love. I’m goin’ to the house an’ get some sleep. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.”
Fiona reached for his hand. He stopped. He didn’t want to leave her. She’d slept four uninterrupted hours, and if his confused thoughts were equal to hers, she’d have no trouble staying awake.
He gently squeezed her hand. “Tomorrow, lass.”
He pulled the door open and stepped out into the eye of the storm. The air was still, too still, he realized. Nothing moved. He left the rope and marched straight to the house. Inside he found his empty bedroll waiting for him.
Closing his eyes, he prayed, Father, be with Fiona. Keep her safe. And if we’re to be together, give her the same understandin’ in the matter that Ye’ve given me. Amen.
He set his heart’s desires aside and drifted into a deep sleep.
The crash of broken glass jarred Ian from his sleep. His eyes focused on the other men, who were grabbing an old wool blanket and covering the gaping hole.
“Winds blowin’ the other way. Looks like we’re on the back side of the storm,” Fred stammered, brushing his unruly red hair from his face.
“The eye passed over awhile ago,” Ian mumbled as he worked the sleep out of his neck and body.
“Depending on the size of this here hurricane, we might be seeing the end of her strength.”
“Aye, but she’s a bad one.” Ian pulled his boots on and went to the kitchen to retrieve a broom.
After cleaning up the broken glass, he made pancakes for the men, topped with maple syrup.
“I went to the lighthouse during the storm last night,” Ian said to no one in particular.
“What you do a fool thing like that for?” Henry, the oldest of the group, asked.
“Couldna sleep. Thought I’d check on the lady.”
Rance’s thin frame bopped up and down like a rowing oar. “Bet Miss Stemple wasn’t pleased,” he grinned.
Ian didn’t want to go into his personal life with these men and fought the smile that threatened to take control of his lips as he remembered holding Fiona in his arms. Tactfully, he changed the subject. “I came back when the eye was over us. I noticed the chicken coop had been blown to bits.”
“Me and my men can repair that after the storm. That’s a small price to pay for a safe dry place,” Jacques proposed.
“Thanks, I thought we could all lend a hand.” Ian forked another stack of the sweet cakes.
Henry cleared his throat. “Iffen ya don’t mind, I’d like to work on the coop. You younger ones can go chasing the chickens.”
“I imagine more than the Stemples’ chickens are loose after this blow.” Mike stood up and brought his plate to the kitchen. “No doubt they’ll be more than a few days cleaning up from this one.”
A round of “no doubt” circled the room.
Henry sipped his coffee. “Fishing should be great. All that warm water being brought up from the Caribbean ought to bring us a good haul.”
“If a man has a boat left to get back out there.” Mike placed his hands on his hips. “Will you be busy repairing the ships?”
“Aye, canna see how that can be avoided. Unless the good Lord spared the boats.” Ian finished off his pancakes and pulled a couple more from the stack.
“Won’t most of the men try and repair their own?” Fred asked.
“Aye, depends on the damage. No tellin’ if the warehouse is still standing. We might have to rebuild the shop before we can repair the ships.” Ian enjoyed chatting with the fishermen. He’d seen them in passing from time to time but had never gotten to know them. Storms had a way of bringing folks together, of bringing the good out in them, Ian mused.
His stomach full and the conversation waning, he got up to clear the table and begin a pot of fresh stew. He decided on a change of menu and made a pot of vegetable stew with some dried beef thrown in.
“Smells great,” Fred volunteered, coming into the kitchen.
“Thank ye.” Ian stirred the soup and replaced the lid.
“Don’t know how to say this, exactly.” Fred shuffled his feet on the wooden floor. “Are you courting Miss Stemple?”
Ian smiled. “No, but I aim to.”
“You won’t be minding if I try and convince her I’m the better man, would you?” Fred winked.
Ian tossed his head. “I’d be mindin’, but she’s not bound to me. So I canna be tellin’ ye to stay away.” Although that was exactly what he wanted to say.
“Thought I’d let you know my intentions.” Fred extended his hand. “May the best man win.”
“Aye, but ’tisna about winnin’. ’Tis about the best one God fashioned for ye.”
“She’s pretty to look at. A man could do worse.”
Ian couldn’t believe Fred’s attitude toward women, and
particularly Fiona. If the younger man thought he’d win her heart with that attitude, a major shock was headed his way. Ian could see Fiona verbally going up one side and down the other, cutting poor Fred in two.
“Aye, a man could do worse,” Ian agreed. Much worse, in his humble opinion. Fiona represented everything he’d ever wanted in a wife and more, oh, so much more. Loyal, hardworking, and content away from the bustle of the cities. Yes, Fiona Stemple’s beauty paled in comparison to the true woman of character he’d fallen in love with.
Fred rejoined the others in the family area.
Ian paused. Lord, Ye know me heart. Me relationship with Fiona is so fragile, I don’t think I need the competition for her heart. Could Ye possibly turn Fred’s affections toward another?
A selfish prayer? Ian questioned then amended it. Lord, If I’m not supposed to marry Fiona, give me the grace to accept another man in her life.
Fiona scanned the horizon. The black thunderclouds lightened to gray. Lightning continued to dance all around her. She reflected on the awesome power of God as He stirred up the wind and rain. She loved watching the storms from the safety of the lighthouse, high enough so most debris didn’t fly up to her observation windows. The lighthouse itself had a lightning rod so if lightning should strike it, the charge of energy would go harmlessly into the ground.
The dark sky appeared as night, yet daylight peeked through the edge of the horizon. The storm had raged all night, and if she read the sky correctly, the small island of Ocracoke would continue to be hit for several hours to come. The wind whistled through the glass door out to the observation galley, which rattled from the wind’s constant ravaging.
But Fiona’s mind kept going back to being in Ian’s arms, to his tender lips upon her forehead and cheek. How could she respond so easily to his touch? And why would a man bring up marriage the first time they had any encounter at all?
Her senses protested. Life was supposed to be ordered. You court, you fall in love, then you marry. You don’t simply fall instantly in love and marry, do you? Goodness, Lord, this doesn’t make sense. Haven’t You called me to be a lighthouse keeper?
Perhaps Ian would change his mind about his career choice. Fiona paced. No, Ian had emphatically let her know that would not be the case. Fiona paced some more. She peeked into the oil reservoir and checked its contents. “Half full,” she noted.
She placed a hand over her stomach as a deep, rumbling, empty feeling over came her. Must be hungry, she thought. On the other hand, I might just be torn with the confusion of these new emotions and desires for Ian. Of all people, Lord, why Ian? It’s not that he’s an unattractive man to look at, but… Her thoughts trailed off as she worked her way down the various platforms to the lower level where the circular stair casing made its way to the base.
The strong winds prevented her from venturing back to the house. Fiona unwrapped the sandwich she had prepared the day before. Ian’s hot fish chowder sounded really good at the moment. She chomped down on the cold ham sandwich. For the first time in her life she felt truly alone. Never before had it bothered her. She loved, relished, her privacy. The seclusion of her father’s former assignment had been perfect. So, why now? Why during this storm did it bother her to be alone?
Fiona took another bite and chewed it slowly. “Stop fooling yourself. You know it’s Ian…his arms…his words.” She shivered as gooseflesh erupted on her arms. The dry morsel of sandwich caught in her throat. She swallowed and left the rest of her brunch on the cot. The strong wind wailed in its efforts to come in from under the door.
“Get to work.” She reached for a bucket to fill with oil. “It’s the only thing that will keep you sane.”
Chapter 4
Sunlight pierced the shutters, beckoning the men to evacuate their sanctuary. Ian, first outside, hung onto the thin-framed screen door. “The storm is passin’,” he called out to the men.
He fought the wind for control of the screen door, the intense winds turning it into a sail. “She’s still blowin’, but I see white clouds on the horizon.”
“Praise be, we’ve lived through another.” Henry’s thick hand clapped Jacques’s back.
“Aye, we can thank the good Lord for that and for the state putting up this here light. Can’t imagine our getting back if it weren’t here.”
“Amen,” the men agreed, acknowledging the uncertainty of their plight. Ian realized he didn’t have the right to take Fiona away from her call. Was he so selfish as to want a woman who played such an important role in other people’s lives? How could he have been so blind? Her value to the community left him little doubt. If she were his wife…
Ian’s shoulders slumped. As much as he loved the lighthouse, his curiosity ended with Fiona. All these months he’d sought her affection, not her father’s companionship. Granted, a friendship with Richard would be helpful if he ever entertained the thought of asking for her hand.
Ian’s footsteps faltered. He had asked her. He stopped mid-stride on his way to the lighthouse. How could he face her?
No, he reasoned, she felt wonderful in his arms. A connection, bond, possibly something spiritual, flowed between them with the same ease of taking a single breath. Father, lead me. I don’t know what to do, he prayed. Fighting the wind, he pressed on. Last night he’d walked with the wind; today he forced his body forward one careful step at a time.
“Fiona,” he called as he slipped into the protection of the lighthouse. He glanced back at the others still watching from the doorway.
“Fiona.” He raised his voice. She didn’t respond. Filling the reservoir perhaps? Even on the bluest of days, hearing someone enter the base was difficult.
“Ian,” she replied. The sound of her footsteps on the stairs beckoned him. He climbed the first set of stairs to meet her on the first landing.
“Hi. The storm is almost passed.”
Her smile upon seeing him caused his spirit to soar. Yes, he had been right. They were to be together as man and wife.
“Yes.” She placed an empty bucket down on the floor. “We need to talk.”
“Aye lass, we do.” Ian tenderly grasped her hand. Her tiny hand shook in his. He grasped it tighter and pulled her close. “Shh, me love, it’ll be all right.”
“I’m so confused.”
Ian didn’t know what to say. He simply allowed his thumb to gently caress her hand. He wanted to show her tenderness, love, and affection. He wanted to be her helpmate in every decision she would make. But her future, their future, rested in her choices.
“How can I be so attracted to you and yet have avoided you at every possible moment?”
“Could it be that yer soul knew it was meant to be, yet ye have convinced yerself there is only one future for ye life?”
“I know I’ve been called to be a keeper of the light.” Her eyes searched his face.
“Aye, but which light, me love?”
Fiona knitted her eyebrows. Ian clasped her other hand in his.
“The light of the Lord,” he answered her unasked question.
She shook her head and removed her hands from his. Turning her back on him, she moved farther away.
Silently he stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I will not force ye to leave yer call. I know with every ounce of me bein’ we are meant to be together. Just pray, Fiona. Pray an’ ask the Lord.”
A tear fell down her lovely rose-colored cheek.
“I have been praying since you left.” Fiona squared her shoulders. “I’ll not be given to emotions, Mr. Duncan.”
Hearing his formal name from her lips, Ian lifted his hands from her shoulders.
“Very well, Fiona. No emotions, no physical contact. I’ll even stay away an’ I’ll wait upon ye.” Ian stepped back. “An’ Fiona, I will wait.”
Ian slipped down the stairs. He thought he heard her cry. He paused to see if she’d call.
She didn’t.
He left.
Walking back to the hous
e with the wind on his back, he made it in record time. He turned and saw her looking out from the lantern housing. He waved, and she waved back. Ian smiled. “She will come around, Lord. I just know it in me bones.”
Fiona’s raised palm lay on the glass. She stared at her hand as if it belonged to someone else. She’d never before put handprints on the glass, knowing how much work it took to keep the windows clean. Since the age of three, she’d been cleaning lighthouse windows. Of course she was meant to be a lighthouse keeper! She had been trained. She enjoyed her solitude. She didn’t need a man…
Perhaps that wasn’t true. Mr. Ian Duncan had certainly wormed his way into her heart. How could one man’s touch be so intoxicating?
If only Mother were here. She’d explain these feelings. But how could she tell her mother of her intimate moments with Ian—of his kisses. Fiona touched her cheek where his last cherished kiss had landed.
No. Emotions were foolishness. Didn’t the Bible speak of the heart being full of folly? Besides, Ian said he wouldn’t push, that he’d wait for her.
Whatever had happened between the two of them was probably due to the highly charged electricity in the air more than to actual love or compassion. Hadn’t she avoided him? Didn’t his very presence at the house day in and day out annoy her? How could she be so foolish?
No, she had a job to do, and she would do it to the fullest of her abilities. Tomorrow she would pen a letter to the treasury department and ask for a position to serve as a lighthouse keeper. At this point it didn’t matter where, it just mattered that she get her life back on course. She wasn’t about to run aground on Ocracoke.
By late afternoon the winds died down to faint whispers and gentle breezes. The ocean waves continued to churn. The surf, brown with bits of sand and tons of seaweed, hammered at the shore. The men who had stayed in her home had cleaned up the house, boarded up a broken window, and even repaired the chicken coop in some fashion. There weren’t any chickens, but the birds would find their way home when they were hungry, Fiona thought, justifying her lack of desire to scurry around the woods chasing chickens. She needed rest. The sun would set in a few hours, and she would need to tend the light yet again. Her father and mother, no doubt, wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.
Lighthouse Brides Collection Page 3
