Would-Be Mistletoe Wife

by Christine Johnson

  Naturally, Fiona objected to Louise’s offer. “You go to the supper. I will stay with Priscilla.”

  “Nonsense. You need to be with your family. This school consumes too much of your time. This is a chance for you all to do something together.” She added the crowning blow. “I’m sure Mary Clare would love to go.”

  Fiona looked like she was going to protest, but the thought of pleasing her niece, whom she was raising, ended the matchmaking effort. A sigh of resignation issued from her lips.

  Louise took advantage. “I insist.”

  At that moment, the four girls descended the staircase, giving Louise the opportunity she needed. She hurried upstairs before Fiona could summon a protest.

  Priscilla’s bedroom door was closed. Though the rest of the girls doubled up in a room, the Benningtons had insisted on a private room for their daughter. At the time, Louise had viewed that request as arrogant, but perhaps it was intended to protect the other girls from Priscilla’s manipulations. Perhaps her parents had tired of retrieving their daughter from school after school. Then again, at eighteen—even though just barely that age—Priscilla ought to be receiving suitors at home. Louise could not imagine why her parents insisted on sending their daughter to a ladies’ school against her wishes.

  Louise rapped lightly on the door, not wanting to wake Priscilla if she was dozing. Mrs. Calloway had insisted on giving the girl a dose of laudanum. Louise didn’t think that wise, especially before supper, but Mrs. Calloway brushed away her objections.

  When Priscilla did not answer, Louise quietly turned the door handle.

  “Mr. Hammond?” The somewhat slurred words trailed off.

  The poor girl was dreaming. She must be. Jesse wouldn’t have promised to return that evening. Surely he had duties to perform at the lighthouse. Dusk was the crucial hour when the light began its daily vigil. Then again, perhaps he intended to go to the church supper after the light was lit. Between Mr. Blackthorn and Jesse, they could take turns tending the light. That would explain Fiona’s insistence that Louise attend but not Priscilla calling out Jesse’s name.

  Louise gently pushed open the door to the girl’s room. The hinges creaked slightly, something that a little oil would remedy. She must tell Fiona’s husband, Sawyer, the next time she saw him.

  Priscilla lay atop the bed, the bedclothes disheveled, as if she had tossed and turned through a night of terrors, yet she could have slept but a few minutes. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her face was flushed.

  Louise caught her breath. Something truly was wrong with Priscilla. She crossed the room and placed a hand on the girl’s forehead. It was warm but not overly hot. Still, something had caused this thrashing about. Louise poured water from the pitcher into the basin on the washstand and then dipped a cloth in it. A cool compress wouldn’t hurt. After wringing out the excess water, she placed it on Priscilla’s forehead. The girl moved her head from side to side and murmured something unintelligible, but she didn’t wake.

  Louise then took the chair from the table that had been intended as a writing desk but had been transformed into a vanity. She set it beside the bed and sat down. Priscilla’s uneaten supper lay on a table opposite. Her glass of water was also untouched. Louise watched the girl intently, but she did not thrash about again. Perhaps the compress was helping. The delirium might be caused by the laudanum, or it might be the beginning of a fever. Either way, someone must watch Priscilla carefully.

  She would hold vigil tonight and as long as necessary.

  Outside, dusk had settled into the early gloom of night. A beam of light flooded the room. The lighthouse! Louise hadn’t realized the light’s beam reached these windows. Her room faced opposite. The other girls had rooms that faced toward the river. Only Priscilla’s room had this vantage.

  Louise hurried to close the blinds. The room ought to have shutters. She grasped the thick velvet curtains, ready to pull them shut, when she noticed a figure on the dune opposite, the dune where she’d first encountered Jesse. From the size of this figure, it must be the assistant lighthouse keeper. Mr. Blackthorn was considerably smaller. Pearl Decker said Jesse had been in town nearly a week. Priscilla might have seen him many times before their encounter on the dune. That was more than enough time for a lonely girl to fantasize about a handsome man walking across the dune outside her window.

  Jesse headed downhill toward the hotel side of the building that housed both the school and the hotel. Priscilla’s delirious mutterings echoed in Louise’s mind. Had she expected Jesse to return? Was that the reason for the fall or feigned fall? That awful twinge of jealousy returned. What was wrong with her? She had no interest in Jesse beyond the professional. One way or another, she must gain control of her emotions.

  So she began to close the drapes. Then she spotted Jesse moving past the hotel in the direction of the church. He must be going to the supper. Late, certainly, but there would still be food. There was always more than enough. Nothing else was located in that direction—except the saloons.

  She drew in a sharp breath and pushed the curtain open again.

  What if he frequented drinking establishments? The terrible thought gave her pause. Jesse didn’t seem like that sort, but what did she truly know of him? She had only seen him on the dune and in school. He hadn’t attended the worship service last Sunday. He might well be a drinking man. Many in town were.

  She shifted so she could watch his progress. He would not see her, since she had not lit a lamp in the room, and the door was closed. In the light from the waxing half-moon, she could make him out. He stepped onto the boardwalk beyond the hotel. From there he could cross the street to the saloon or walk up Oak Street to go to the church building. Granted, he could also get to the church by staying on Cedar, but it was less direct. If he crossed at the intersection, it would prove he wasn’t going to a saloon.

  She held her breath.

  He looked toward the wharf and then crossed the street right where the saloon was located.

  She let the curtains drop even as memories of Warren crashed into her mind. The drunken binges. The inevitable fights. The torrent of painful blows to face and body. The terror that he would go too far.

  It wasn’t fair to put Jesse in that category. He might have had a perfectly good reason to cross at that particular point. Maybe someone called out to him. He might be going elsewhere, though the store would be closed and he had no business at the boardinghouse that she knew about. No, try as she might, she could find no reason he would head in that direction.

  A strangled sound drew her away from the window.

  Priscilla thrashed wildly.

  Louise ran to the bedside. The compress was gone. She pressed her hand to the girl’s forehead. It was on fire.

  Louise panicked. Guilt followed on its heels. Why had she let Jesse’s movements draw her from her charge? She must help Priscilla, but how? No one else was at the school. They’d all gone to the church supper. She couldn’t leave Priscilla, yet to get help she must leave. What if a doctor was needed? What if time was crucial?

  She started for the door, but the girl’s murmuring changed her mind. First she must calm Priscilla.

  Louise found another cloth and dampened it in the cool water. She placed it on the feverish girl’s forehead with little hope that it would remain.

  Lord, watch over Priscilla. Heal her of this fever. And show me what to do.

  The distant bang of a door woke her from the panic.

  Of course. She would go to the hotel. Whoever was on duty would be able to fetch help.

  Louise took Priscilla’s hand. “I must leave for a few minutes so I can send for the doctor, but I’ll be right back.”

  The girl gripped her hand with desperation. Her eyes opened a slit. “Don’t!”

  The plea reached deep in Louise’s heart, but there was no other way.
She pried Priscilla’s fingers from her hand.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Priscilla’s wail followed her out of the room and down the stairs.

  * * *

  Though Jesse was hungry, he was not going to attend the church supper. Mrs. Blackthorn had insisted too strongly that he attend. Every excuse he could devise—didn’t have a dish to pass, wouldn’t know anyone, didn’t want to deprive the Blackthorns—was met with an answer. She had sent a dish ahead with her daughter. Mr. Blackthorn must attend the light. Jesse would know Mrs. Evans and Roland at the very least, and it would give him an opportunity to get to know others in the community.

  He knew perfectly well who she had in mind. Louise Smythe.

  So he headed in the direction of the church but cut back toward town when he was out of sight of the keeper’s quarters. First he headed for the hotel. The dining room should be serving. Yet it looked dark when he stepped into the lobby.

  “Closed,” said the lad at the desk. “Everyone’s gone to the church supper.”

  Everyone likely meant the Evans family. Had the entire town conspired against him? Jesse put up his collar against the cool evening breeze and stepped back out on the porch. Darkness had set in. A few buildings had a light or two, and the hotel burned a lamp outside the door, but to make his way along the boardwalks without stumbling, he needed to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

  With the hotel dining room closed, that left the boardinghouse or no supper at all. His stomach growled. Jesse could go without. He had often enough during the war, but hunger had a way of eating at the mind as well as the body. He loped down the steps and nearly ran into a woman hurrying toward the hotel with her head down.

  “Oh!” She started and jumped backward, losing her footing.

  Jesse grabbed the petite woman’s shoulders to steady her, and knew at once that all the matchmaking efforts in the world couldn’t have planned this better. Once again he’d ended up holding on to Louise Smythe.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, stepping out of his grasp. “But I need to get help.”

  She rushed up the steps and flew across the wooden porch. Before he’d turned around, she burst through the doorway and entered the lobby.

  Jesse shook his head. She was likely looking for Mrs. Evans. She wouldn’t find her here. Though getting entangled with Louise once more was not at all in his plans, she seemed unusually agitated. Perhaps this wasn’t just a momentary crisis, like where to find a clean blanket. Maybe the girl who had fallen earlier needed a doctor.

  So he climbed the stairs and entered the lobby.

  “But I need help,” Louise was pleading.

  The lad of perhaps fourteen or fifteen shook his head. “Mr. Evans said I wasn’t to leave my post for any reason.”

  Louise blew out her breath and rubbed her forehead, eyes closed. “I need someone to fetch a doctor.”

  Just as he’d thought.

  Jesse stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

  Louise lifted her gaze. Concern melted into relief. “Thank you. It’s Priscilla. She has a fever.”

  Jesse racked his memory for what Mrs. Evans had said and, surprisingly, came up with the peculiar town name. “Where in Saugatuck can I find the doctor?”

  He must have pronounced it reasonably well, for Louise didn’t give him an odd look.

  “Mrs. Calloway will know.” Louise paced before him. “I will run over there and ask. She can send her husband to fetch the doctor.”

  “They might be at the church supper too.”

  “Not with guests at the boardinghouse.” Louise pushed past him, all business once again.

  Yet Jesse could only see delays. He looked to the lad. “Do you know where to find the doctor?”

  Louise paused at the door.

  The lad hesitated. “Aye, but I’m not supposed to leave the hotel.”

  “How about if I take over for you here, and you run to get the doctor?”

  Jesse could see the tension release from Louise’s shoulders.

  “A perfect solution. Will you, Charlie?” She gave Jesse a grateful look before stepping toward the registration desk. “It would save a lot of time and could save Priscilla’s life.”

  Charlie looked uncertain. “But Mr. Evans—”

  Louise had regained her confidence. “If Mr. Evans gives you any trouble, you tell him to talk to me.”

  Instead of continuing to resist, Charlie grabbed his jacket and was out the door before Jesse could say anything.

  Louise then turned to him. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond. That was an excellent idea.”

  He warmed in her smile of gratitude. It had been a while since a woman looked at him with such appreciation. It felt good. It felt almost normal. Maybe the nightmares wouldn’t return tonight.

  “Glad to help. But please call me Jesse. We are going to work together, after all.”

  The familiarity made her blush. “I thought I only needed to take attendance and monitor from the back of the room.” She brushed a hand over her hair, though it was perfectly in place, still pulled back in that dour bun. What he wouldn’t give to see it loose. But a widow, especially one like Louise Smythe, would never wear her hair down.

  Now he was at a loss for words. “I, uh, suppose I should get to work.” He eyed the registration desk.

  “Can you handle things here?”

  “How difficult can it be? There don’t appear to be many guests.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She glanced toward the door but didn’t move. “I suppose I should get back to Priscilla.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No.” She backed away, her cheeks aglow. “Not at all.”

  “I’ll let Mrs. Evans know what happened the moment she and her husband return.”

  “Thank you.” She lifted her face then and offered a grateful smile that made him feel like the noblest man alive. As if he had solved the problem. As if he was somehow a hero.

  In the quiet emptiness that followed after she walked out the door, he knew without a doubt that he was not that man.

  Chapter Five

  Though the fever lessened by Sunday morning, thanks to the doctor’s ministrations, Priscilla was still too weak to leave untended. Louise volunteered to remain.

  “You have been here since Friday night,” Fiona pointed out. “At least attend worship this morning.”

  “It’s Sunday?” Louise rubbed her swollen eyes. “So it is. You go with Sawyer and Mary Clare. I will read the Bible right here. Perhaps Priscilla will wake, and I can read aloud.”

  Fiona shook her head. “When I return, you will rest. No debate.”

  Louise conceded and sometime later watched her friend and employer walk out of the hotel with her husband and niece and head toward the church. Movement on the dune caught the corner of her eye. She looked, expecting to see Jesse, but it was the Blackthorn family. The parents and the three children still at home trailed along the surface of the dune, with Mr. Blackthorn bringing up the rear. For a moment she wondered why Jesse wasn’t with them, but he might have gone ahead of the family.

  Perhaps she had misjudged him again. Earlier she had assumed he wanted the attention that would be lavished upon him as a lecturer, but he had tried to step aside. Then again, he’d let Fiona talk him into more lectures. Fiona could be persuasive—intimidating even—but Jesse was too substantial a man to let any woman boss him around.

  Goose bumps dusted her arms.

  “Jesse is not Warren,” she said softly to herself.

  Priscilla murmured, and Louise drew her attention from the window to her patient. Surely she had not heard what Louise had just whispered. No, the girl looked sound asleep, her chest rising and falling regularly now.

  Did the girl real
ize that the teacher she despised had spent nearly two days at her side? Though Louise’s eyelids had dropped many a time during the quiet hours, she had jolted awake at each sound or movement. Even though she’d never had children of her own, she suspected that was how a mother would react when her daughter ailed. Concern and love kept her ever vigilant, like the wise virgins tending their lamps in Jesus’ parable.

  She leafed through the book of Matthew until she located that passage. All ten virgins waited for the bridegroom to appear, yet only five were prepared and vigilant. Was Louise prepared? She had leapt into teaching as a means to support herself after failing to marry a man who had advertised for a wife. She was educated beyond most women, but prepared to teach? Certainly not.

  Though she possessed knowledge on many subjects, she knew little about young women. Their wildly fluctuating emotions left her at a loss. She could recall clinging to foolish dreams only to be forced to discard them, but not with the rapidity of these girls. They seemed to pine for something one day and consider it inconsequential the next.

  Louise sighed. A mother brought love to the equation. Louise had only affection for her students. And not for all. Priscilla. The girl slept peacefully now, but soon she would wake and Louise must again face the girl’s opposition and manipulation. She struggled to muster love for someone who worked against her.

  She turned back to the reading, but the words swam before her eyes and she felt herself drifting off to sleep...

  She was in the parlor. Five young ladies stood before her, each with a lamp. None were lit, and they all looked to her for a match, but Louise didn’t have any. She searched her apron pockets and the fireplace mantle. None could be found. The fireplace was cold, so they could not light a taper in it. There was no flame anywhere. How could she tell them that they wouldn’t be able to light their lamps and thus would miss the bridegroom?

  “Mrs. Smythe?”

  The faint words pierced through the heavy fog. Louise started. She’d fallen asleep. Blinking her eyes, she took in the surroundings. Not the parlor. A bedchamber. Priscilla!