Lighthouse Brides Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Ian pulled away before passions overtook common sense.

  Fiona’s eyes fluttered open. He watched those clear blue orbs slowly focus. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  “Aye lass, an’ the good Lord has so much more in store for us.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened, and she pulled away. A gentle blush painted her cheeks and neck.

  “I meant to say that I know the Lord has a grand adventure for us in our marriage, that together we will grow stronger in Him an’ in raising our children. Ye’re a fine woman, Fiona…one a man—this man—will be honored beyond words to have as his wife.”

  “What about Father? Do you think he’ll approve?”

  “Aye, I spoke with him a long time back. He said if ye loved me, we would have his blessin’.”

  Fiona smiled. “The day my parents invited you for lunch, that was his first question. ‘Do you love him?’ he asked. I responded yes. How could I deny it any longer? I tried the whole summer to bury our love. You came into my life like that hurricane, fast and furious.”

  “Ah, but unlike the hurricane, I plan on stayin’ around for a very long time.”

  “I noticed.” Fiona chuckled. “Do you suppose there’s room for Highland here?”

  “Of course. Are ye sure ye want to pen him in?”

  “Hmm, I’ve corralled one Scotsman, maybe I don’t need another.” Fiona winked.

  “Ye’ve corralled me, huh?”

  “Let’s compromise and agree we both got snared.”

  Ian knew this wouldn’t be the last compromise they would have to agree upon. “Aye, ’tis a grand compromise. So when shall we wed?”

  Fiona had come over to make peace with her soul and possibly arrange to see him less often. But she knew in her heart of hearts that only when she and Ian were married would she ever be completely calm.

  “I suppose we ought to ask my parents.”

  “Yes, that would be the proper thing to do. Since ye an’ I are to be married, is it all right for me to show ye the house now?”

  “I’d be honored.” Whatever her parents decided, it wouldn’t be too long. Her brothers hadn’t had long engagements.

  They spent the next hour going from room to room, Ian telling her his plans and asking her what she would like. He’d built them a fine house. Through his eyes she could picture all his grand plans.

  When they told her parents, a whirlwind of plans were launched. Ian needed a couple weeks to finish the master bedroom and kitchen. Her father offered to help. They settled on a month away for the wedding. Hurricane season would be past, and it would give her brothers time to come if they were able to leave their posts.

  “Fiona, I need to get back to the house, but could I speak with ye before I leave?”

  “Of course.” Fiona followed Ian out the door after he said his farewells to her parents. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing is the matter, me love, relax.” Ian pulled her against his chest.

  She wound her hands up and around his neck. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of being in your arms.”

  “Aye.” Ian nuzzled his head into her neck.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Fiona whispered.

  Ian straightened and pulled back slightly. “Fiona, ye know I’m Scottish.”

  Fiona giggled. “Of course.”

  “Well, bein’ Scottish an’ from me clan, there is a formal attire for a man to wear when he’s wed.”

  “The skirt?”

  “Kilt, me love, ’tis called a kilt.”

  “You’re going to wear a kilt? For our wedding?”

  “Aye. But let me try an’ make ye understand. The kilt is pleated, with a tartan design on the cloth. The plaid an’ striped design varies from clan to clan. So when I wear the kilt, I’m payin’ homage to me clan an’ to me ancestors.”

  “Ian, if it means that much to you, I’d be honored to see you in your kilt.”

  “I do not wish to embarrass ye, but it does mean a lot to me.”

  Fiona smiled as an image developed in her mind of Ian standing in the front of the church in his kilt.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, I just tried to picture you in your kilt,” she teased.

  Chapter 9

  Fiona’s stomach flip-flopped. Her legs trembled. She tightened her hold of her father’s arm. The noonday sun shone brightly. The trees were colored with rich hues of amber and gold. The gentle flow of the church organ called people to their seats. The day had finally come. Fiona met it with excitement and nervous anticipation.

  Her father stood proud in his dark black suit. Her mother beamed as her eyes misted with tears. Fiona’s father placed a protective hand upon hers as they stood in the vestibule awaiting the moment they had prepared for. Her dress, aged with years, gave a pleasant ivory shading to its white satin. Her mother’s gown. Fiona couldn’t believe how well it fit. A few minor alterations and it slid on her body like a glove.

  “You’re as beautiful as your mother.” Richard kissed her head. His strong arms firmly held her close. His soft hands caressed the top of her own. “He’s a good man, Fiona.”

  “I know, Father. I’m truly blessed.”

  “And you’re a fine woman. You’ll be a good helpmate.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fiona waited for the music to shift. A sea of gasps and murmurs drifted through the open doors to the sanctuary. She smiled. Ian must have come out and stood proudly in the front of the small church.

  Father chuckled under his breath.

  The tempo of the music changed. A heavier tapping of the keys announced it was time.

  Her father eased forward. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  They reached the doorway. Fiona’s eyes sought her love. He proudly stood in the front of the church. His eyes smiled. She glanced down to his dark shoes, then up the white knee socks which covered his muscular legs. His kilt, a delicate blend of plaids and stripes of mostly green and blue with a hint of red, hung on his hips and appeared very masculine. Definitely masculine, she mused.

  The sporran hung in front, a decorative brown, oval-shaped leather,

  with a series of three feathers and a silver covering on top. Goodness, he’s handsome, she thought. A white shirt with a tartan cloth draped over one shoulder finished off the Scottish outfit. He said he wore it for his clan, his heritage, but Fiona couldn’t help but wonder if he wore it for her as well.

  Her gaze stayed with his while her father led her to the front of the church. His rich mahogany hair crowned the wonderful gift the Lord gave her on this day. Her heart raced with excitement.

  Ian couldn’t take his eyes off the vision of purity walking toward him, his bride, coming to join him at the altar. Today they would begin their journey as husband and wife.

  He’d noticed she seemed pleased seeing him in his full Scottish attire. At the last moment he’d considered wearing the brown suit he’d purchased when he came to America. But his parents would never understand why he did not wear the customary costume of his people. It would be hard enough for them not to be at their son’s wedding. But his letter should have reached them by now, so they knew he would be bringing home his bride for a short visit.

  “Who gives this woman to be this man’s bride?” asked the minister, dressed in a full black robe.

  “I do on behalf of her mother and myself.” Richard clasped Fiona’s hand and brought it to Ian’s.

  Ian’s pulse hammered. He focused on two things, Fiona and the pastor. Nothing else mattered.

  He examined the delicate lace that lined her sleeves and bodice. She glowed with a radiant love for him and for her heavenly Father.

  The service continued. He stumbled through. Her words were simple, so powerful, her commitment to him so undeniable.

  “You may kiss the bride.” The bearded smile of the pastor was only glimpsed. Instead, Ian focused on Fiona and her ruby red lips, relishing their sweetness.

  The pounding in his ears stopped
as he captured his bride and escorted her down the aisle.

  “Fiona, ye’re beautiful,” Ian whispered as they entered the vestibule before the others.

  “Thank you. You’re rather handsome yourself. If I’d known how handsome you were in a kilt, I would have encouraged you to wear it ages ago.”

  Ian let out a deep barrel laugh. “Aye lass, ’tis a good thin’ I waited then.”

  People soon gathered with hugs and handshakes, congratulating them. Fiona’s brothers and several others teased Ian about his “skirt,” but all in good humor.

  “Fiona, I love ye with all me heart,” Ian whispered and pressed a kiss gently upon her ear. She shivered from the nearness.

  “I thanked the Lord so many times for you today, Ian, I’ve lost count.” She placed her hand on his and he caressed it with his thumb.

  “Aye, me love, I’ve been doin’ the same.”

  “How long do we have to stay?” she asked.

  “No longer than we must.” Ian winked.

  Their love for each other was a powerful force. God had done a wondrous thing in Fiona’s heart. He’d used Ian, a man with a simple faith, to show her where she had been wrong in her life. To show her joy and love as God intended it for a man and a woman. And to show her the most important lesson of all. She was to be a light in much the same way as the reflector shields of the lighthouse lanterns, to show God’s light, love, mercy, and peace, and that He was the only true shelter during the storms of life.

  “What?” Ian asked.

  “Oh, I was reflecting on God’s patience with me—and yours.” Fiona blushed.

  “Aye lass, but when love waits, its union is sweeter an’ brighter.”

  PHANTOM OF

  MY HEART

  by DiAnn Mills

  Chapter 1

  Summer 1845

  Massachusetts

  Every heart tells a story, even the ones who’ve been wounded.

  Lynette folded the letter and laid it on a small branch. She tucked a cluster of fresh daisies into the splintered limb and pushed it out to sea. With a smile, she blew a kiss to where her loved ones were cradled in the deep. The penned words were symbolic of her love, the mere act bringing her peace. She would not give in to despair. Her father had instilled courage in the midst of tragedy, and she refused to disappoint him.

  The ocean waves of the Atlantic rolling against the shore lulled her, the gray waters offering life in one breath and death in the next. “Home,” she whispered. How could she live her days as the sole inhabitant of the tiny two-acre island, but how could she ever leave?

  The people on the mainland at Sippican Harbor searched for a lighthouse keeper. They needed a knowledgeable man to help those tossed by angry waves find their way safely ashore. But the stories of a female spirit haunting the tower and sightings of an apparition stopped any man from accepting the position. If she were assured of her skills to keep the lights burning, she’d take on the task herself. How admirable to be entrusted to such a noble cause. Surely not every man was afraid of that which was not real.

  Whaley brushed against her skirts. “Yes, my prince. You’re wanting to play, and I’m lost in my musings.” She patted his huge head, and his sorrowful brown eyes searched her face. Many feared the beast of a dog, but he was more gentle than a kitten. And now he was her only companion.

  Except for Amanda’s phantom spirit.

  Lynette looked behind her to the walkway leading to the stone cottage. The surroundings appeared foreign for want of love, but flowers were growing and soon the whole area would be immersed in beauty.

  Whaley wagged his tail and barked. Oh, he was such a persistent friend.

  She laughed. “Let’s walk for awhile, then we’ll play. Perhaps we’ll have visitors by the evening.” So many sought to see the female ghost of Bird Island Lighthouse who stood on the catwalk, casting her gaze to the sea. Yet how could Lynette ever be afraid of dear Amanda?

  McNair Hattchery had never believed in apparitions, and he refused to allow the threat of one to spoil an opportunity. He longed to experiment with whale oil that would not freeze and the countless other ideas that filled his journal about improving lighthouse conditions.

  “I’m sincerely interested in accepting the position,” McNair said to Jonathan Adams, the mayor.

  Mayor Adams walked to the window of his office and looked out to the small island. “Splendid. You come to us with excellent credentials.”

  McNair joined him, immediately captivated by the lighthouse. An apparition was tomfoolery, no doubt the vision of an idle mind. What he needed was a place to work and forget the past. “I’ve committed my life to showing the sea-weary traveler to shore.”

  “A special calling, and this community is grateful.” In the light, Mayor Adams’s bald head gave him an ethereal glow.

  “When can I take residence?”

  “There’s another problem.” Mayor Adams scratched his whiskers. “The previous keeper had a family.”

  McNair nodded. “I understood all perished at sea. A dreadful accident.”

  “Yes, sir. But one of the daughters was not in the capsized boat. She lives in the cottage.”

  McNair paused while he considered the living conditions on Bird Island. How scandalous for a single woman to dwell on the island with him. “Surely she knows she must take residence here in town.”

  Mayor Adams smiled, but melancholy filled his face. “The young woman is a bit odd since the unfortunate incident. She refuses to leave and rarely talks to those who visit the island. I remember her once-lighthearted manner. Kind ways that befit her beauty. But the townspeople who once treasured her company have turned their backs on her.” He sighed. “I’m concerned she might do away with herself.”

  Ah, he saw the mayor’s gloom. “Does she have family here on the mainland? Or friends who would open their home to her?”

  “None who are able, considering her delicate condition.”

  McNair frowned. “I see the problem. Her heart must be broken, possibly clinging to the hope her family will return.”

  “Her family passed on her eighteenth birthday.”

  “How did she learn about it?”

  “When they didn’t return, she rowed at night to inform me.” Mayor Adams drew in a breath. “The next day the constable found the empty boat.”

  “How devastating.”

  “I remember her arrival that night all too clearly. She brought her beast of a dog with her. Guess that’s all she had left.”

  McNair was not fond of animals, except horses. “Is the dog a tyrant?”

  He chuckled. “His bark and size are enough to grind fear into any man’s bones.” The mayor’s eyes watered. “I watched Lynette, Miss Brittmore, grow up into a fine young woman, and I am saddened at how this has affected her.”

  “How regrettable there’s not a benevolent soul to help her.”

  Mayor Adams stiffened. “We desperately need a lighthouse keeper, but this situation makes it difficult.”

  McNair moistened his lips, an idea forming. “Is this not a Christian community?”

  “A strong one, sir.”

  “Is there someone, perhaps an older woman or a couple, who could be a resident chaperone for the woman? How generous if a chaperone could provide solace in her time of grief. Then I could take residence in the home without damaging the woman’s reputation. My nights would be in the lighthouse, and I’d sleep a good bit of the day.”

  Mayor Adams’s eyes brightened. “Brilliant, Mr. Hattchery. I have a candidate in mind, but first I must consult with Miss Brittmore. She must be agreeable to the arrangement.”

  “Shall we visit her this day?”

  “We can leave within the hour.”

  McNair shook the mayor’s hand while warmth swirled in his belly. He had no time for a woman, especially one who was weak with grief. Neither did he want to cause her any more sorrow.

  Chapter 2

  Lynette laid an armful of wood beside the cookstove and n
oted the diminishing stack. The mainland folks were good about bringing firewood, even when she was too deep in her thoughts to thank them. They also brought drinking water. The house was stocked with provisions, and she had a cow and a few chickens. But eating alone was another matter.

  “Whaley, I need to move past what happened and find a way to be myself again.”

  The animal perked his ears.

  “Yes, you heard me. I’m not ready to leave here, and I must plan for the future. I will not disgrace what Mama and Papa taught me, to carry on despite misfortune.” She sighed. From the concerned looks Uncle Jonathan had given her during his last visit, she suspected the rumors were true….Her mind was not as it should be.

  Lynette bent to the dog and lifted his mammoth face. “I’m not mad— do you understand me? I simply prefer your company to those who ask questions and insist upon a response.”

  She didn’t expect an answer, which suited her just fine. Before the afternoon melted into sunset, she wanted to check on the lettuce, onions, and radishes pushing through the soil. The cow needed milking, and eggs had not been gathered. Later on, she’d force herself to eat dinner, and God willing, she’d keep it in her stomach instead of poured out on the ground as a bitter offering to her grief. Then she and Whaley would pick their way along the rocky shore, and perhaps the walk would tire her. Too many nights, sleep had evaded her. Such was her life. She’d gotten into a dull routine when her life used to be full. Very little about these long days and nights resembled the past.

  Stepping into the warm sunlight, she shielded her eyes beneath her bonnet to catch a glimpse of the black-capped seabirds. She envied their freedom to fly wherever they chose. How they seemingly cared for each other. An idea sailed into her mind. She hurried back inside and retrieved a precious sheet of paper and pen and ink.

  Again seated outside, Lynette noted Whaley looking at her curiously. She patted his side. “Not another letter so soon. I’m going to make a list of how I’m going to survive. What I must do now that I’m alone.” She studied the seabirds again. “I am free. Free in the Lord to walk this earth as long as He sees fit.”