Mistletoe Match
Worried she might lose her teaching job if funding is cut for her boarding school, widow Louise Smythe must consider marriage. But the only prospective groom in town is lighthouse-keeper Jesse Hammond, and he wants children—something she may never be able to provide. While Jesse waits for the ideal woman to make his wife, though, Louise can’t help but long for something more than his friendship.
If he wants to be promoted to head lighthouse keeper, Jesse needs to find a wife suited to his rustic lifestyle. But as he and Louise partner to give the town’s homeless orphans a joyous holiday, he’s drawn to the petite woman. Will the light of Christmas finally inspire them to trust in each other’s hearts?
“I don’t know how to make wreaths.” Jesse’s brow furrowed.
“I do.” Though Louise hated remembering the reason. “I made several funeral wreaths for the fallen.”
Again he stiffened, making her wonder if he’d served in the war. Few soldiers wanted to talk about what they’d seen.
“This will be a festive, cheerful time. People will want to come here, especially if we make it known in Chicago what is happening.” Then she made her plea. “Your knowledge of plants will be invaluable.”
That brought back the smile. “Are you sure you don’t just want me along to carry the boughs?”
“Oh, dear. You deciphered my real purpose.” Louise immediately regretted the playful jab. He didn’t appear to understand her humor, judging from the look on his face. She braced herself.
Instead of chastising her, he roared with laughter. “Of course I’ll help. Anything for a friend who speaks her mind.”
A friend. He’d called her a friend. She should be glad. Yet deep down she wanted more.
A small-town girl, Christine Johnson has lived in every corner of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula. She enjoys creating stories that bring history to life while exploring the characters’ spiritual journeys. Though Michigan is still her home base, she and her seafaring husband also spend time exploring the Florida Keys and other fascinating locations. You can contact her through her website at christineelizabethjohnson.com.
Books by Christine Johnson
Love Inspired Historical
Boom Town Brides
Mail Order Mix-Up
Mail Order Mommy
Mail Order Sweetheart
Would-Be Mistletoe Wife
The Dressmaker’s Daughters
Groom by Design
Suitor by Design
Love by Design
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CHRISTINE
JOHNSON
Would-Be Mistletoe Wife
Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord.
—Psalms 27:14
For my aunties, whose encouragement and support carried me through difficult times and made the good times even better.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from His Frontier Christmas Family by Regina Scott
Chapter One
September 1871
Singapore, Michigan
Louise Smythe spotted her quarry and motioned her students to follow her across the sand dune. The sun shone hot for so late in the year, and the sand reflected the heat, bringing beads of perspiration to her brow.
As expected, her instructions were met with a chorus of complaints from the handful of young ladies currently enrolled in Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies. Ranging from fifteen to eighteen years of age, the students had come to Singapore, Michigan, to better themselves. Louise taught the intellectual courses, such as literature, writing and mathematics, while Fiona Evans covered the arts. In addition, Louise included an occasional class on the sciences in order to improve the ladies’ ability to converse on all topics.
“My feet ache,” whined Linore Pace. The eighteen-year-old had landed in Singapore last fall after their ship foundered. She and five other young women were bound for the utopian colony of Harmony on Low Island. After completing the voyage on another ship, Linore had returned to Singapore in August after finding the island—and the man selected to become her husband—not at all to her liking.
“Mine too,” her cohort, Dinah, seconded. “I can’t figure how all this traipsin’ around is gonna get me a husband.”
“How this will procure a husband,” Louise corrected.
“Huh? Cure a husband o’ what?”
Louise inwardly groaned. A full summer of demonstrating proper grammar coupled with three weeks of formal instruction had failed to improve Dinah’s speech. Her writing was even worse. Suggesting that a man valued a woman who could speak properly was useless, since most of the men in town—including Dinah’s former beau—were lumberjacks and sawyers with even worse grammar.
One of the wealthier girls snorted and whispered to her pair of friends, doubtless to emphasize Dinah’s lowly estate. The three paying students always managed to separate themselves from the orphans, Dinah and Linore, whose tuition was paid by scholarship. No matter what Louise did to pull the ladies together, they always ended up in two distinct groups.
“Enough chatter!” Louise clapped her hands and stopped before her quarry, a rather sad example of the tall wormwood plant. “This is our specimen today.”
The whispers turned to giggles.
Louise was about to reprimand them when Priscilla, her perfectly curled blond hair on full display beneath a tiny straw hat, pointed past her.
“Now, that is a fine specimen.” Priscilla Bennington gave her two friends, Adeline and Esther, a look that cautioned them she had first claim on whatever she’d spotted.
All five girls sighed as one.
Clearly Priscilla was not talking about the wormwood plant. Like the rest, her attention focused on humans, especially the masculine variety. Louise turned just enough to spot what had quieted the girls’ complaints without letting them out of her peripheral vision.
Heading her way was a giant of a man, surely the tallest man she’d ever seen. Her late husband had been tall at six foot. This man must be well over six feet, perhaps even six and a half. The white shirt and navy blue trousers only accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular limbs. It being an overly warm day, he wore no jacket or coat. In spite of sleeves rolled to his elbows, he managed to look proper and formal. Atop his head sat a navy blue cap, like that worn by Mr. Blackthorn, the lighthouse keeper. Louise had heard there was a new assistant at the lighthouse. This must be the man. Neatly trimmed sandy blo
nd hair peeked from beneath the cap on either side of his rugged, clean-shaven face.
If she’d been the girls’ age, she would have sighed too. This man was exceedingly handsome. He was also storming toward them in a most intimidating manner.
“He’s positively the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen,” Adeline sighed. The sixteen-year-old found every man she saw more handsome than the last.
Louise turned, finger to her lips, to hush such untoward comments. “A lady conducts herself with dignity at all times.”
“Even when hiking across the wilderness?” Priscilla, with her matching hats, bags and gowns, managed to irritate Louise on a daily, if not hourly, basis. “There’s sand in my shoes, and my stockings are ruined. That doesn’t even begin to address the damage to my complexion.” She tilted her parasol so it now shaded her face.
The girl came from wealth and no doubt the Evanses needed the income that such a student brought, but she was a handful. The new school had been blessed with a benefactress in Fiona Evans’s mother-in-law, who had helped to get it started and instituted the scholarships, but she could not support its continuing operation. To survive, the school must turn a profit. That meant accepting and enduring spoiled girls like Priscilla Bennington. In three weeks, the eighteen-year-old had thrown nearly a dozen tantrums and refused to follow direction. Louise suspected Priscilla had been refused by or expelled from every school in Chicago. Here, she headed up the haughty trio.
“This is hardly the wilderness,” Louise pointed out for the benefit of the other students, for whom she still had hope. “We are only a short distance from the school.”
She might as well have been talking to herself, for all five girls bunched together whispering and giggling. Louise’s calm temperament frazzled.
“Then perhaps you should return to that school.” The strong bass voice sent a jolt through Louise and brought a sudden halt to the giggling. This man was not pleased. Not at all.
Louise had endured enough opposition for one day. Though he towered over her, she would not let a perfect stranger determine what she would and would not teach her students.
She squared her shoulders. “We will return as soon as we finish examining this example of artemisia campestris.” She pointed to the tall wormwood. “As you can see, the drought has stunted its growth, making it an ideal subject for study.”
The man stared at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language—not an unusual reaction from the men in Singapore. This lumber town didn’t boast many educated men or women. Before Mrs. Elder grew gravely ill and left for Chicago with her husband, Louise had kept house for her and the Captain. Both were well-read and their home boasted a large library, but they’d sent for their books this summer, leaving the town woefully deficient in reading material.
“You’re standing on federal government property,” the man stated. “That’s trespassing.”
“I am a teacher from Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies. We are conducting the day’s study in the field.”
His scowl showed no sign of departing. “I don’t care if you’re Mrs. Evans herself, this is still government property. Regulation states that you must obtain permission to be here. Mr. Blackthorn didn’t tell me he’d given anyone permission to walk on lighthouse property.”
Louise set her jaw. “He has never objected to my presence in the past.”
“He gave you permission then?”
“No one has ever needed permission before. Why, many walk to the lighthouse in order to visit with members of the Blackthorn family.”
“That’s different,” he acknowledged. “The walkways are open to everyone, but you are not on them.”
The man was being most impertinent. “According to the late President Lincoln, our nation’s government is of the people, by the people and for the people. Thus, government property belongs to the people of this country.”
The girls twittered. A most inopportune reaction, for it clearly incensed the man standing before her.
His face darkened. “And the people have elected representatives to put laws in place. Those laws state that the land surrounding a lighthouse is set aside as federal government property. The marking posts and signs are clear.” He pointed to a half-buried post. “You are trespassing.”
“We are a small group of women. What harm can we do?”
“Don’t you know that the previous lighthouse collapsed into the river thanks to erosion?”
Louise did not, but she saw no relevance in this point. “I’m certain a small group of women were not responsible for undermining the structure.”
“Footsteps break down the surface of the dune, making it easier for the sand to slide downhill.”
The hulking man was grasping at straws, and she had no intention of letting him push her from her purpose. Ordinarily she preferred calm to the storm, but this man was utterly unreasonable.
“Fine. I will speak with Mr. Blackthorn, then.” Louise began walking in the direction of the lighthouse, expecting this newcomer, whoever he might be, to stand aside.
He did not. “I will speak to Mr. Blackthorn. If he approves your study, I will personally deliver that news to the school. Until then you may return to your classroom.”
Odious, impossible man! She pointed her magnifying glass at his far-too-broad chest. “There are no plants inside the classroom. That is why we are in the field.”
“Then choose another field outside government property.”
“This happens to be the sole specimen of artemisia campestris within easy walking distance.”
He bent to grab the plant, as if to yank it from the sand.
“Stop!” Louise grabbed his hand and was shocked by its warmth and strength. “Don’t kill it.”
“It’s a plant.”
She removed her hand and felt the heat flood her cheeks. What had possessed her to touch a man she didn’t even know? A handsome man. A man that her students found more than attractive.
The whispering behind her had begun again. She could just imagine what they were saying. Priscilla might consider it a breach of etiquette. The girl could make trouble for her—or for the school.
“Are you all right?” The man peered at her.
She looked at the dune, at the sky, at anything other than the comely visage before her. She pressed a hand to her midsection, though it was her heart that raced.
“Perhaps I did overexert myself.”
His lips twitched, as if a smile wanted to break out. “In that case, let me escort you down the dune. Simply point out the building where your school is housed, Miss...?”
He must be terribly new to town if he didn’t know that Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies was the closest building to the lighthouse, excepting a lumber warehouse and the second sawmill.
He extended an arm. “Miss?”
She cleared her throat, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself. “Mrs., actually. Mrs. Smythe. I’m widowed.”
My, that had come out just as flustered as she felt. And her cheeks must be blazing red. What an outstanding mess of things she’d made.
The twittering behind her had stopped, so she hazarded a glance at the man. He was smiling—no, grinning—as if he thought he’d triumphed by making her blush!
Louise squared her shoulders again. She would not let this giant of a man affect her. “I thank you for your offer, but I am greatly recovered. Once we complete our field examination, we will be off your precious dune.”
She then held up her magnifying glass and turned to the girls, who were huddled together, many of them slack-jawed and more than one starry-eyed. “Ladies!”
The group shot to attention and pulled out their magnifying glasses.
“We will examine the flowers of the tall wormwood first,” Louise instructed. “Use your glasses to determine if it is in bloom
or has gone to seed and then draw a likeness in your field notebook.” She held up her well-worn notebook that contained sketches and notes on each species she encountered.
Not one girl moved.
“Come now, don’t be afraid.” Louise motioned in the direction of the plant and then turned toward it only to find herself looking at the buttons of the man’s shirt not one foot from her nose. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“And you’re still trespassing.”
“As I said, we will be done shortly and then will vacate the property. If you have a problem with that, then I suggest you bring it up with Mr. Blackthorn.” She ducked around the man and began demonstrating the use of the magnifying glass.
Priscilla marched past the man, but not without casting a flirtatious look his way. Since she led, the others followed, with Dinah dragging her feet in the rear. Her gaze lingered on the man, as if he was an oddity. Perhaps one could say he was, for Louise had never seen so tall a man, especially one who looked so perturbed.
“Mrs. Smythe.”
“Sir?” she answered. “I have introduced myself, but it seems you have neglected to do likewise.”
This time his color heightened, bringing giggles from the girls.
“Mr. Hammond. Mr. Jesse Hammond, Assistant Lighthouse Keeper.”
Each word came out so stiffly that a laugh bubbled to her lips. “Are you always so formal?”
He looked affronted. “I am precise, Mrs. Smythe, to the letter of the law, which I have sworn to uphold.”
“Really, Mr. Hammond, this is getting tedious. As I said, Mr. Blackthorn will have no objection to us hiking upon the dune to further our education. I promise we will not go near any of the buildings. You are quite safe.”
His color heightened. “I am not concerned about my safety, madam.” He sniffed the air.
Louise sniffed too. Something was burning.
“Fire,” Mr. Jesse Hammond said even as he scanned the horizon in all directions.
Louise looked back at her students only to discover a dried leaf aflame at Dinah’s feet. “Dinah!”
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