Mrs. VanderLeuven gasped slightly before resuming her dusting.
Father glanced at her and then back at Sawyer before ascending the staircase.
Only after Sawyer heard footsteps overhead, indicating Father was in his room, did he let the smile drop.
Mrs. VanderLeuven hurried over. “Is he your father?”
Conscience fought against self-protection. To deny it would be a lie. “Please don’t tell anyone.” He had to hope she would heed his wishes. “I need to work some things out with him before it’s general knowledge.”
From the look on her face, his secret wouldn’t last long.
* * *
“This is Mary Clare,” Fiona told Mrs. Calloway and Louise in the sanctity of the kitchen.
The latter stood promptly. “I’ll move my things from the room.”
“There’s nowhere to go,” Fiona pointed out, “not until the stranded passengers leave tomorrow.”
“Well now, don’t you go worryin’ about that,” Mrs. Calloway said as she removed a couple cookies from the jar where she kept a few aside for herself and Mr. Calloway. “Wouldn’t you like some sugar cookies and cold milk?” she asked Mary Clare, who vigorously nodded. “Then just set yourself down at the table, and I’ll get you a glass of milk.” She bustled across the kitchen, never having finished her thought.
“We could squeeze three into the bed,” Fiona mused. “It would be tight but possible.”
This time Louise shook her head.
Mrs. Calloway clucked her tongue. “Nonsense. We’ll take some pillows and make a nice little bed for Miss Mary right next to yours.”
“Mary Clare,” Fiona’s niece corrected her.
“Mary Clare, is it?” Mrs. Calloway cackled. “Like you’re royalty.”
“I am.” Mary Clare held her chin high. “Mama always told me I was a princess.”
Fiona had heard the same tale from her mother, how they were descended from some sort of Celtic royalty centuries ago. That didn’t do much for any of them now, but on cold nights when her stomach ached from lack of food, it had helped her to dream of a better future.
“Now, don’t you say,” Mrs. Calloway said with a laugh. She patted Mary Clare’s head before turning to Louise. “I’ve got extra pillows in the upstairs linen closet. Top shelf.”
“Maybe I’d better get them,” Fiona said. Though unwilling to leave Mary Clare, Fiona knew that Louise couldn’t possibly reach the top shelf of the closet.
“We can work together and make short work of it,” Louise added. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your niece for very long.”
Fiona would have to tell Mrs. Calloway that Mary Clare was staying, not just visiting, as the boardinghouse proprietress seemed to assume. Fiona had planned to be married by the time her niece arrived. That hadn’t happened. Worse, her tormentor, Winslow Evanston, had arrived in Singapore, of all places. Why? To destroy her reputation here too? Surely he had more important things to do than follow her around the country. Whatever the reason for his arrival, he’d clearly seen her. If he made one move to destroy her reputation here, she must leave. She could not subject Mary Clare to the sneers and taunts that would inevitably follow. If only she’d been able to marry someone prominent enough to ward off Evanston’s lies. That hope was gone now.
Louise led the way up the staircase. Fiona followed, her legs as heavy as lead. At least the young ladies were occupied in the parlor, discussing with their chaperones what would happen tomorrow.
When they reached the closet, Louise turned to her rather than open the door. “What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“Instead of being excited by your niece’s arrival, you’ve been pensive and melancholy. Mary Clare is a dear, and you clearly love her, so that’s not the reason. What happened?”
Fiona closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She was strong. All O’Keefes were strong. Then why this terror? “She wasn’t the only passenger to get off the ship.”
Louise simply waited.
Fiona blew out her breath. “What does a woman do when a man is bent on destroying her future?”
Louise squeezed her arm in sympathy. “Get on your knees and pray. With God, all things are possible. Then rely on those who know and love you. We will stand by you.”
Fiona blinked back a rare tear. She was accustomed to snide comments and exclusion, not kindness. “Thank you.” It came out raw, and she had to take several breaths before she could continue. “I recognized one of the men who got off the ship tonight. I met him in New York over a year ago. He ruined my reputation by spreading vicious lies that the only way I’d gotten on the stage was by—” it hurt to say it aloud “—giving myself to every man who could further my career.”
“Why would he say such things?”
For a moment Fiona wondered if Louise thought her guilty also, but the woman’s expression was open and honest.
“Because I refused him publicly. He expected me to become his mistress. I would not. Though few believe it, I refuse to compromise my morals.”
Louise’s eyes misted. “They misjudge you.”
“Most do. I made the mistake of refusing the man in front of journalists. The newspapers published it, giving his name.”
“So he struck back.”
“By discrediting me.” Fiona rubbed her temples. “And now he’s in Singapore. Why? I’m almost certain he recognized me. And now Mary Clare is here. What a horrible mess. What am I to do?”
“We will stand behind you.”
That was nice but not enough. “Winslow Evanston is rich and powerful. We don’t stand a chance.”
“Of course we do. God can be our strength, just like He helped David defeat the giant.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than a rock and a sling.” Fiona shuddered. “Winslow Evanston is the reason why I came to Singapore, so I could marry respectably and raise Mary Clare away from the malicious gossip.”
“You were wrongly accused. Couldn’t you tell the reporters the truth?”
“Who would the columnists believe? A star of the stage or a respected businessman? I didn’t stand a chance. Leaving New York was my only hope. I thought I had moved far enough away. I thought no one could hurt me here. Oh, why did he have to come to Singapore?”
Louise grasped her hand. “It was dark, and you had a child with you. Maybe he didn’t fully recognize you.”
Fiona shivered at the memory of the look he gave her as she made her way to the boardinghouse. She should have cut across the sand rather than follow the boardwalk, but she didn’t want Mary Clare to stumble. Walking through sand was much different from walking along a city street. Mary Clare had done none of the former. So Fiona stayed on the boardwalks and came too close to Evanston. Lanterns lit the hotel porch so thoroughly that their glow illuminated the villain’s face. Cold and hard and unfeeling, that’s what Winslow Evanston was, as if he had no conscience at all.
“He saw me,” she said dully. “He stared a long while but said nothing, probably because of Mary Clare.”
“He would never hurt a child.”
“I’m not sure of that.”
This time Louise shivered. “Now you’re frightening me.”
“Good. Stay far away from him.”
“What are you going to do?”
That was the question. Normally, Fiona took charge, but this man had rendered her powerless and broken. Now he was within reach of Mary Clare.
“I don’t know.”
Chapter Fifteen
In the dull light of early morning, Sawyer hurried to the hotel after a stop at the sawmill. Upon learning that a southbound ship had stopped during the night to load lumber, he hoped his father would leave today. The moment he arrived, Mrs. VanderLeuven informed him that Mr.
Evanston had paid for another day.
Sawyer frowned. “Does he know that a southbound ship arrived overnight?”
“Wouldn’t know. Neither me nor Lyle had a chance to strike up a conversation, what with cooking and serving breakfast and all.”
Sawyer ran a hand through his hair. “I probably should have stayed through the night.”
“Nonsense. You were tired as a boy after an outing to the circus. When I found you nodding off behind the registration desk, I knew it was time for you to head on home for a spell. Now you’re back, and we can take our rest.”
“You do that. Thank you for taking care of everything while I was gone.”
“That’s what you’re payin’ us to do.” She hesitated. “Things all set at the sawmill?”
“Stopped by there first thing this morning and set up the day’s work.” It was going to cost him a day’s wages, but that was the price he’d have to pay. “Is our guest still in his room?”
“Woke before dawn and wanted breakfast at once. Wouldn’t listen to reason.” She squinted up at him. “Difficult sort, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Sawyer felt for her. Father had probably demanded every detail meet his high expectations. “Tonight I’ll watch the desk.”
She waved off the suggestion. “You need to spend time with your sweetheart.”
Sawyer felt the heat rise to his face. Sweetheart was not a term he’d ever considered in connection with Fiona. She was fiery and strong, determined and confident. All that and more, but not exactly sweet. Moreover, she had turned him down in favor of Stockton.
Mrs. VanderLeuven chuckled. “I was young and pretty once. I know how it feels to catch a young man’s eye.” She winked. “Don’t let this one get away.”
Sawyer opened his mouth but nothing came out. She must have overheard his offer of courtship to Fiona but missed the part where the lady declined.
“No need to say a word. I have eyes.” She pointed to them, winked again and then trundled off to the quarters she and her husband had long shared and would still share for the next week until they crated their belongings and moved to Holland.
Sawyer stood a long moment watching the door behind which she’d disappeared. Once he was managing the hotel, he would live there instead of in the bunkhouse. No more stuffing cotton in his ears to drown out the snores of his bunkmates. No more men coming home at all hours from the saloons, too inebriated to walk straight. It would be quiet. Perhaps too quiet, at least until he finished refurbishing the guest rooms and began renting them again. Until then, he would only have diners—providing he found a cook. Even then, once the diners left for the evening, he’d be all alone.
That thought sent a chill across his skin.
But the voice behind him drove that chill deep into his bones. “So you have a sweetheart, Sawyer.”
The way Father emphasized “sweetheart” made it clear he disapproved. Sawyer could inform Father that Fiona had refused his suit, but even mentioning her name would put her in Father’s sights. She was just the type of woman that he would prey upon. Sawyer could not let that happen.
He turned slowly, shoulders square and jaw set. “That is none of your concern.”
Father stood at the base of the stairs. “You’re my son, my oldest son. Everything you do is my concern.”
“When I enlisted in the Union army, you told me I was dead to you.”
For the briefest moment, Father lost his composure. In that instant, Sawyer saw an older, more fragile man than he remembered, and a wave of pity rose in him. Father had no one. A moment ago, Sawyer had felt alone when he considered running the hotel after the VanderLeuvens left, but he wasn’t truly alone. He knew every man and woman in Singapore. They greeted him by name and with a wave or shout of pleasure. He was part of the fabric of this community. Even if he never regained Fiona’s affection, he had that.
Father had lost Mother’s love long ago. She tolerated him but lived separately. Sawyer had been gone ten years. That left his brother.
“How is Jamie?”
Father flinched at the nickname. “James lost his head and married poorly.”
Sawyer wanted to cheer for his little brother. Long spellbound by Father’s manipulations, Jamie hadn’t once stepped out on his own. Until now. “He’s still with the company?”
Father scowled. “He’s managing a stockyard.”
The distaste was so obvious that Sawyer laughed. “Good for Jamie. How did he ever wander into that field?”
“His wife.”
“Ah. That explains it.” That also explained why Father had come to Singapore. He’d lost Jamie and now wanted to make peace with the son he’d cast aside ten years ago. “How did you know I was here?”
“I intercepted a letter you wrote your mother.”
Sawyer cringed. Poor Mother. She must feel terrible that Father had found him, but it was bound to happen eventually. At least Sawyer had found his place in the meantime.
Father looked him in the eye. “Come home, son.”
“I am home.”
That look of distaste returned as he surveyed the dilapidated lobby in the light of day. “Working in a run-down hotel?”
“Actually, I bought it.”
Father’s jaw dropped for a split second before he snapped it back up. “I thought you were more intelligent than that. Didn’t I teach you the principles of investment?”
“Yes, and I applied them to this purchase.”
“Misapplied is more like it. Fine. Have your fun here.” Father pulled out a cigar and lit it. “Hire a good manager under terms that ensure you make a profit. Then come home where you can run a real business.”
“Under your oversight.”
Father blew out a cloud of smoke. He always did purchase the finest cigars, the most expensive wines and equally expensive mistresses. “There’s no one better to teach you the finer points of turning a business into an empire. They don’t talk about me in the same breath with Carnegie and Vanderbilt for nothing.”
“I’m not interested.” Sawyer pulled a cloth from beneath the desk and began polishing the brass lamp next to the registration book.
“Not interested!” Father leaned close. “A thousand men would like to be in your shoes.”
“Then pick one of them and give him a chance.”
Father’s face darkened. When dark clouds formed on the western horizon over Lake Michigan, it meant a storm was on the way. So too with Father.
Sawyer tried to cut it off. “Let me remind you that the VanderLeuvens are on the other side of that door. They can hear every word.” And if they were like Mrs. Calloway, they were listening intently.
Father drew back, and the storm passed. In its place came sinister calm. “Your sweetheart might think differently. She might prefer a life of ease and distinction. She might want her children to bear a prominent name.”
Sawyer’s heart thudded in his chest. Fiona had grown up in poverty. Her every move indicated she placed wealth and a good name above other virtues. Naturally, she would want everything that Father had just listed. Did Father know that Fiona was his sweetheart? He had watched her intently last night. Mrs. VanderLeuven might have mentioned something to Father.
Sawyer did not want Father anywhere near Fiona. Desire for wealth was her weakness. Father would exploit that desire to get what he wanted from her. The very thought made him ill. Father could never respect a woman like Fiona. Once he’d convinced her to do his will and extracted everything he wanted, he’d cast her away like rubbish.
Sawyer had to keep Father from her, but how?
“All right,” he said slowly, hoping this bought him time. “I’ll listen.”
* * *
“What are you going to do?” Louise whispered the moment Fiona opened her eyes.
; A restless night had finally brought slumber near dawn, but Louise’s stirring had awakened Fiona. Judging from the light streaming between the drawn curtains, they had overslept. Fiona rubbed her eyes and yawned, wondering why Mrs. Calloway hadn’t knocked on their door to wake them up and why Louise was whispering questions in her ear. It took a moment for her to recall what had happened the night before.
Mary Clare!
Fiona sat bolt upright.
The girl was still sound asleep. Winslow Evanston doubtless wasn’t. If he recognized Fiona last night, he was probably searching for her now.
Fiona lay back down, her mind now churning. “I will stay out of sight and see if he leaves this morning. If not, I’m taking her north.”
Louise’s sharp intake of breath told Fiona what she thought of that idea. “And where will you go? Captain Elder said it’s even more remote up north than here. There aren’t any cities. Where would you live?”
Fiona had thought this out during the wee hours of the morning. “I’ll go to Harmony. He would never follow me there.”
“Isn’t that rather drastic? They might not take you.”
Fiona had to hope they would, because she had no other options. She couldn’t wait for an answer to her letters to Mr. Stockton, which might never come. “They seem desperate for women.”
“But what about Sawyer? He likes you a great deal.”
Fiona closed her eyes. That was the part that hurt. Though he wouldn’t give her what she most needed, she couldn’t imagine never seeing him again. “The move would only be temporary.”
“Would it?” Louise sounded doubtful. “Once there, how would you leave? It’s an island, and from what the Adamsons said, it doesn’t sound like they welcome many visitors. Will any ships even stop there?”
That gnawed at Fiona too, but she couldn’t stay here. Evanston would spread the same false stories here as in the New York. He might have already begun the process. Mr. Stockton would never have her. Even Sawyer wouldn’t be seen with her. No one would.
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