Lighthouse Brides Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Good to know I haven’t lost my gift for cooking.”

  They finished in silence, but she noted a few times he started to say something then obviously changed his mind. “I haven’t teased you since our first moments when you arrived,” she said.

  “The incident in the tower provided you with much fodder. And Mayor Adams warned me of your wit.”

  She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You were fast becoming a fixture with the lenses.”

  “Your rescue was rather humbling.” He glanced at her, and reassurance from the Divine told her she had nothing to fear.

  “In your defense, Whaley is a large dog.”

  “I appreciate your not revealing my embarrassment to the mayor.”

  She tilted her head. “Why do you want my lighthouse, or should I say this lighthouse?”

  He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “My father, gone now ten years, loved the sea and he passed that admiration on to me. Rather than be a seaman and break my mother’s heart, I chose to be a lighthouse keeper.”

  “Even then, the sea can be dangerous. Papa spoke of a few poorly constructed lighthouses that fell prey to an angry sea.”

  “I agree.” He leaned forward. “I want to make a difference, Miss Brittmore. I want to discover new and better methods for sailors to find the shore. One goal is to find whale oil that won’t freeze in the winter.”

  “Admirable, sir.”

  He shrugged. “I’d like to see if the light can be brighter or seen farther away. I’ve followed the work of a Frenchman, a physicist by the name of Augustin Fresnel, who has developed glass prisms and lenses which would be valuable in showing sailors the hazards for their vessels.”

  “My father would have loved to hear about Mr. Fresnel’s work,” she said. “I pray you’re successful in your endeavors.”

  He resumed eating. Oddly enough, Whaley moved to sit at his feet.

  “Shall I have him removed?” she said. “He’s already eaten, so I doubt if your leg would appeal to him.”

  He chuckled then slowly patted Whaley’s head. “I think we’re fine. Aren’t we, sir? Has he always had a dislike for others?”

  Lynette barely knew Mr. Hattchery, and explaining the nightmarish circumstances surrounding her family’s disappearance was impossible. How could she tell him Whaley had warned her…warned them all by never making friends with George?

  “Whaley is my dog, but he was also the family pet. However, he seems to have premonitions.”

  He studied the dog. “He does have an interesting face—when he isn’t barking or growling. You think he knew your family’s end was coming?”

  Her heart ached. “Possibly so.”

  McNair pulled Miss Brittmore’s boat close to the shore of the mainland and secured it. His thoughts stayed fixed on the enigma of a young woman. He’d left her behind on the island, but he felt as though she’d shared the boat with him. Miss Brittmore…strangely alluring, not as a man views a woman but as a man who’s intrigued by a woman’s mind.

  Before night set, he’d visit with Mayor Adams and learn of the man’s progress since the afternoon.

  The mayor strode in front of his cottage smoking a pipe when McNair arrived. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said. “And I have good news.”

  McNair shook his hand and followed Mayor Adams inside where he was introduced to his wife, Wilda, a straw-thin woman with a pursed mouth. “Would you like bread and tea?” she said.

  “Only tea, thank you. Miss Brittmore prepared an excellent meal.”

  “I’m sure she did.” The woman didn’t smile.

  “She’s a quite capable cook,” Mayor Adams said. “My wife and I have enjoyed many a fine meal on the island.”

  “Lest I remind you that was before the untimely deaths of her family,” his wife said.

  Once seated and sipping tea, McNair caught Mayor Adams’s attention. “Your news? I’m most anxious.”

  “A woman from our church, a saintly widow by the name of Mrs. Creed, has consented to move to the island. She can do so tomorrow. The cottage’s three bedrooms are small, but I believe the arrangement will work nicely.”

  “Mr. Hattchery, what of the apparition?” Wilda Adams said. “Are you not fearful?”

  “Tsk.” Mayor Adams frowned. “Tis but a rumor. Miss Lynette has not spoken of it, and she would inform me.”

  “Husband,” Mrs. Adams said. “Miss Lynette is a peculiar one, and Mr. Hattchery needs to be aware of the repercussions of associating with her.”

  McNair raised a brow. “I found her congenial, and I enjoyed her wit.”

  “She’s been called a witch.”

  “Wilda!” the mayor said. “I forbid such talk.”

  “Then why is her sister seen walking the shore? Miss Amanda must know the accident was due to foul play. Miss Lynette wanted her husband.”

  “Enough.” Mayor Adams’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I despise gossip, and the dear girl had nothing to do with the deaths of her family. Neither did she have any interest in George Zimmerman.”

  “You’d believe anything she said.”

  “I would, and I do.” The mayor’s voice rose. “Lynette walks the shore because of her grief. Not Amanda.”

  “Then we’ll see how long Mr. Hattchery survives.”

  A knot formed in McNair’s throat. He despised witnessing the couple’s confrontation. “I appreciate your concern, ma’am. But I don’t believe in anything I can’t see or touch, except faith in our Lord. If I detect a problem, I’ll act upon it.”

  Mrs. Adams huffed. “When you and Mrs. Creed no longer walk among the living, then you’ll know my words were true.”

  He’d barely met Miss Brittmore, but he liked her mannerisms. He’d always prided himself as a good judge of character and had no reason to doubt his intuition now. For certain, one of his duties over the next several weeks was to restore the young woman’s honor.

  Too bad Whaley couldn’t speak.

  Chapter 6

  Lynette watched Mrs. Creed embroider a tea cloth. The white-haired woman hunched over her work, rarely speaking. Her language was in her artful creations.

  Three weeks had passed since the arrangement began, and it was working well with Mrs. Creed as a proper chaperone for her and Mr. Hattchery. He tended to the lighthouse while Mrs. Creed labored over her stitching. The older woman was good company, and when she did choose to converse, pure wisdom poured from her lips. The lines in her face reminded Lynette of victory over tragedy, and Mrs. Creed had lived through many tragedies. Her husband had died unexpectedly of a heart ailment, and her three sons had journeyed west, never to be heard from again.

  This evening, darkness had settled on the tiny island and dinner long since cleared. McNair was in the tower with Whaley, and Mrs. Creed continued to stitch by candlelight. But Lynette paced the floor of the cottage.

  “Do you need to talk, child?” Mrs. Creed set her work aside. “I’m here for you.”

  What a sweet woman. “I’m fine. Simply restless.”

  “Is Mr. Hattchery in your thoughts?” Even in the faint light, her eyes twinkled.

  “Mercy, no.” How odd. “Do you think I’m displeased with his presence here?”

  “Quite the opposite.”

  Lynette frowned, not sure what Mrs. Creed meant. “I’m confused.”

  She sighed. “You will see soon enough.”

  Rather than question the woman further, Lynette gathered up her writing material. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Ah, the physical exertion might help you sleep better.”

  “How did you know that I have problems sleeping?”

  “I hear you pacing your room, and sometimes you leave the cottage. During those times I pray for your peace of mind.”

  Lynette hugged the frail woman. “You’re a blessing. Thank you.”

  “Grief can be a friend or foe,” she said.

  “How so? Losing my family pains me. Sometimes I’m physically ill.”


  “Memories are healing. You remember the good times, cry, and sometimes laugh. But when you dwell on them and make yourself ill, then you’re not honoring God.”

  Lynette startled. “How am I not honoring God?”

  “When you fail to accept that God called your family home, then you’re disrespectful of His sovereignty.”

  Lynette hadn’t considered her grief as sinful, but perhaps she had been. “I’m trying to understand why they’re gone.”

  “My child, God expects you to miss your family, and He knows you need to shed tears. But don’t let their absence send you to an early grave. Dwell on those treasured moments and find the blessings of healing.”

  She didn’t think she could try much harder. “I’ve been leaning on God since it happened.” She took a deep breath. “But I will concentrate on my relationship with Him.” She gave the woman a kiss on the cheek. Tonight’s letter to her family would be a little different than she had originally intended. Not that she planned to write them forever, but until she came to terms with their deaths, it seemed like the right thing to do.

  Outside, seated on her favorite rock and the lantern by her side, she began….

  Dear Papa, Mama, and Amanda,

  I’m trying not to be angry with God for taking you away from me. Some days are easier than others, but I’m doing much better. I wanted you to know about the new people in my life. Mrs. Creed is staying here because Uncle Jonathan has hired a lighthouse keeper. His name is Mr. Hattchery. He’s a single man, and so Mrs. Creed is my chaperone. I’m enjoying her company, and her wisdom.

  I’m cooking again, which I love. Mr. Hattchery loves to eat, and he’s also fun to tease. I’m being respectful, and I do enjoy his company. Whaley has warmed up to him, and they’ve become friends.

  I feel safe. God is with me.

  Your loving daughter,

  Lynette

  McNair watched Miss Brittmore labor over something near the shore, either reading or writing. By the lantern light, her small frame gave her an angelic appeal. Oh, he’d compared her to many beautiful creatures.

  She was such a kindly woman…gentle, a loving spirit, beautiful, kept his clothes clean and in good repair, and a grand cook. In fact he should tell her how much he appreciated her friendship and all she did for him. Since the moment they’d met, she’d not once spoken a harsh word.

  He chuckled. She did have an impish glint in her eyes whenever she planned to tease him a bit. No harm done. He rather enjoyed it, and her wit kept him on his toes.

  No signs of an apparition had appeared. Utter nonsense. Evil didn’t exist on this small paradise.

  McNair looked at Whaley, who’d become a good companion. “Come along, chap. Let’s see what Miss Brittmore is doing. We won’t take much of her time. Then back to work.”

  Good heavens. He was conversing with a dog.

  The two made their way down the winding staircase with Whaley in the lead. How his life had changed, and he loved every minute of it. Dear Mrs. Creed and of course Lynette. Dare he refer to her by her given name in his thoughts?

  In the darkness, all he could see was the young woman….Had he gone daft, or was this stirring in his spirit the beginnings of something he’d never thought possible? He couldn’t let his heart fall prey to the charms of an honorable young woman.

  Lynette glanced over her shoulder. “Mr. Hattchery.” She started to stand, but he stopped her.

  “Please, you look so comfortable. May I join you for a moment?” He saw the paper and inkwell. “Excuse me. I’m interrupting your correspondence.”

  “I’m finished.” She patted a rock beside her. “I relish sitting here at the end of the day, listening to the waves slap against the shore.”

  “Like a lullaby.” He took a place beside her and found her closeness unnerving. Grasping his senses, he pointed to her letter. “Would you like me to post this for you? I’m headed to the mainland in the morning.”

  “I think not. I have my own way of posting it.”

  Was a boat expected on the morrow?

  She folded the letter into a child-size boat. “Sir, this is a missive to my parents and my sister. I write them on occasion to…tell them I miss them. It soothes me.” She sighed. “But this letter tells them about Mrs. Creed and you. And that I’m doing better.” She walked to the water’s edge and sent the missive on its way. “I pray God tells them the contents.”

  How lonely her life must have been before he and Mrs. Creed arrived. “I’m sure it has helped to send your feelings to them.”

  She stared out across the dark waters. “Do you think I’m touched for doing so?”

  “Absolutely not. I find your method of healing commendable.” Perhaps he should consider it for his own grief.

  “Some people on the mainland believe I’ve lost my sanity. Uncle Jonathan’s wife included.”

  He reserved his thoughts of Wilda Adams. “Rubbish, Miss Brittmore. I don’t listen to gossip. And you’re certainly sane. Intelligent, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The reason I joined you was to express my appreciation for all you’ve done since my arrival.”

  “You and Mrs. Creed have given me purpose.” Her gaze focused above him, and she touched her heart. “Mr. Hattchery, who is in the lighthouse?”

  His attention flew to the tower. Standing on the walkway was a man holding a lantern, his frame silhouetted by the lighthouse’s flame.

  “I used to think it was Amanda,” she whispered. “Whatever it is, ’tis evil. Don’t you feel it?”

  Indeed he did. He shivered from his head to his toes. “Shall I investigate with Whaley?”

  “No, sir. I fear something might happen to you like Mama, Papa, and Amanda.”

  “What of your brother-in-law?”

  “I fear he is who we see.”

  Chapter 7

  Lynette studied the apparition, the familiar stance…the way he leaned onto his left hip, the tilt of his head. In the past, she hadn’t seen the figure clearly enough to note if it were a man or a woman, wanting to believe Amanda had risen from the depths of the sea. Now she knew the ghost to be George. Only his sinister ways could produce the fear coursing through her soul. Only George, who’d once said he wished they all were dead, could manifest himself as Satan.

  “I’m afraid,” she said. “George is a killer. I feel it in my soul.”

  “Tell me about this fellow.” Mr. Hattchery joined her at the water’s edge. “No need to convince me of your fear. I see you’re trembling.”

  Could she trust this man?

  “I’m foremost your friend, Miss Brittmore. Aye, before being a lighthouse keeper.” Sincerity breathed into his every word.

  “When George first came to the lighthouse, he was charming. Polite. Uncle Jonathan said he had excellent recommendations, but no lighthouse experience. Papa’s health had deteriorated, and he could no longer climb the tower steps, but he could teach. We were going to stay only until George had learned from Papa’s years of tending lighthouses.”

  “But George was here two years.”

  Lynette nodded. “He said he didn’t trust himself alone with the lighthouse, a statement I’ve often questioned because he grew to despise us. In the beginning, he favored me, but I wasn’t interested.” She remembered George’s anger when she refused his advances. “Then he sought Amanda’s affections. My sweet sister was smitten.” She hesitated. How much dare she tell? Certainly not all. “He still wanted my affections while he courted her.” She held her breath….Oh the memories. “A short while later, he asked Papa for Amanda’s hand. He also requested we stay on longer so he and Amanda could have family close by.”

  “The arrangement should have made him a happy man.”

  Lynette recalled the times he’d found her alone….His hot breath tasting of spirits. “He changed, Mr. Hattchery. His temper worsened, like a demon possessed him. My dear sister suffered the most.”

  “You don’t have to tell me more if it pains you.”


  “I need to tell someone. I confided in Uncle Jonathan’s wife, but she turned against me. I think because George was kind to her.” Lynette swiped at the wetness beneath her eyes. Enough tears had been shed for something that could not be changed. “He hit Amanda. Papa tried to talk to him, but to no avail. I went to Uncle Jonathan, and he spoke to George, too. But the abuse continued until the day of my birthday.”

  “What happened then?”

  “George apologized for all he’d said and done. He wanted things to be different and for Papa to give him another chance. He asked to take my parents on the boat while I prepared dinner. He and Amanda had a surprise for them.”

  “I’m sorry.” He pointed to the tower. “I’m going up there and facing whoever it is.”

  Lynette touched his arm. “Please. Don’t. You could be hurt.”

  “I’m not a coward, Miss Brittmore.”

  “Take Whaley with you. George is afraid of him.” She drew in a breath. “My dog can be fierce.”

  “Very well. Come along, Whaley,” he said. “You and I have business with the man in our tower.”

  She tried to laugh, as though they discussed a game, but a knot in her stomach stopped her. “Is your rifle up there?”

  “It is. But if he is a true apparition, a firearm would not protect me or rid this island of the evil.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “I think not.” His authoritative voice surprised her. “I protect sailors, and I protect you. Like Whaley.”

  “But I could talk to George. Perhaps convince him to leave.”

  “From what little I know of apparitions or your brother-in-law, there is no talking sense to either of them.” He tipped his hat. “Perhaps you should see to Mrs. Creed and wait for us.”

  “Mr. Hattchery!”

  He chuckled. “Oh, the lady is upset with me. For once I have the last laugh.”

  But she was not amused, not with her heart aching in fear. “Would you like the lantern?”

  “No thank you. I like the element of surprise.”

  McNair had voiced more courage than he truly felt. But Lynette’s story of how the previous lighthouse keeper had treated her family made him furious. What kind of man threatened others who were powerless? The tremor in Lynette’s words told him more had happened, but McNair would not pry. He could only imagine the depravity of the fellow.