Mail Order Sweetheart. Christine Johnson
cleared his throat and said a quick prayer that he didn’t botch this. “Uh, word about Mr. Blakeney arrived at the store.”
“Word.” Any hint of merriment drained from her voice.
“Uh. Yes.”
“And they sent you to tell me.” She let go of his arm.
He nodded, his throat as dry as sawdust.
“It’s not good news, is it?”
Sawyer blew out his breath. Best to get it out. “He’s gone. He headed upriver to Allegan.”
He couldn’t miss the dots of color on her cheeks.
“Carson left,” she said bluntly.
“I’m afraid so.”
“When will he return?”
“Uh, he didn’t leave word about that. He just paid his hotel bill and left.”
It took a moment for understanding to settle in. Then her eyelids blinked rapidly. Oh no, she was going to cry. She never cried. That was one thing Sawyer loved about Fiona. She was a strong woman not prone to fits of emotion.
“Well, then. That’s that.” But there was bitterness in her voice. “I should have known.”
Sawyer wished he could find the right words. Blakeney was all wrong for her. Fiona needed a strong man who could match her energy and wits. Blakeney was one of those slippery types who made promises he never kept. It had taken all of Sawyer’s will to hold his tongue around them.
“You deserve better,” he said.
She gave him a sharp look. “Who? You?” Her hands braced her hips. “Why should a woman set her sights on a man who hasn’t two pennies to rub together?”
Fiona was left empty-handed with her niece due to arrive any day. She couldn’t raise the girl in a boardinghouse. Without a reliable income, she couldn’t raise Mary Clare at all. Though she fumed at Blakeney’s cowardice, she did so in the privacy of her room. By evening, she was able to set aside her anger and work on a solution.
She spread out every newspaper she could find on the dining-room table. Chicago. Holland. Grand Rapids. Even one very old paper from New York that must have been brought in by a lumberjack stopping on his way upriver to the camps. Even though it was almost three months old, she couldn’t discount any possibility.
“What are you doing?” Louise ducked in, book in hand.
“What I should have done long ago.” Fiona shot the widow a forceful glance. “Something we both should have done. Find a husband.”
“Oh.” Louise dropped her book on the table.
“Pride and Prejudice?” Fiona had heard of that novel. “I would have thought you’d read that one by now.”
“Several times. It’s one of my favorites. Elizabeth misjudges Darcy so.” Louise sighed. “And yet it all works out in the end. Love conquers all.”
Fiona raised her eyebrows at Louise’s romantic wistfulness. The quiet widow apparently still harbored hope for a loving marriage. She had shown no interest in Garrett Decker, the man looking for a bride, but had swooned over Garrett’s younger brother, Roland. They all had, but Roland had settled on the schoolteacher, Pearl, putting an end to their hopes. When the Decker brothers married Pearl Lawson and Amanda Porter in January, the most eligible bachelors in Singapore were taken.
Only lumberjacks and mill workers were left until Carson Blakeney made an appearance. He’d seemed the perfect gentleman with his fine manners and expensive suits, but he’d turned out to be a coward. Once again, the area offered only unsuitable bachelors. Sawyer Evans was intriguing. She’d never met anyone with more natural musical ability, but he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—provide the sort of future she had in mind for Mary Clare. That was proved by his shocked expression when she flatly suggested it. Then he’d gone and spit out some nonsense about it having to be the right time. Yet another coward!
“Love might win out in storybooks, but real life isn’t nearly as tidy,” Fiona pointed out. “Now that the Decker brothers are married and Carson left town, there isn’t a decent prospect in the area.”
“Mr. Blakeney left town?”
“Isn’t that what I just said? He apparently had business to attend to elsewhere.” Fiona pretended to search the newspaper, though it was not opened to the advertisements.
“I’m terribly sorry.”
Louise truly was. Fiona wasn’t accustomed to sympathy. Most women held her at arm’s length, as if she wasn’t good enough to associate with them.
“Well, what’s done is done,” Fiona asserted, “and there’s nothing that will change it.”
“Thus the newspapers.”
“Thus the newspapers.”
“Mr. Evans likes you,” Louise stated.
“Humph.” The memory of Sawyer’s stammered response still hurt. She’d practically asked him to marry her. “Well, I’m not interested in him.”
“Oh.” Louise sank into the chair beside her. “He’s doing well. Amanda said he’s now the manager at the sawmill.”
“That’s what he told me.”
“And you’re still not interested? Garrett Decker was mill manager when he advertised for a wife.”
“He didn’t advertise,” Fiona pointed out. “His children—with the help of Mrs. Calloway—placed the notice in the newspaper. Speaking of which, I intend to locate another prospect at once.” She scanned the first column. No personal advertisements.
“Because the hotel hasn’t reopened yet?”
“That’s part of it.” The occasional concerts at the boardinghouse this winter reduced the cost of her room and board but didn’t give her money to send home. When the hotel closed in January, they’d all been shocked, but Mrs. VanderLeuven told Fiona that she couldn’t make ends meet in the winter once the lumberjacks left for the camps. “It will reopen soon.” It had to.
“I hope so.”
Fiona looked to Louise. The widow had been out of work all winter also. That’s why they were now sharing a room—which would soon include Mary Clare. Three wouldn’t do, not with one being a child. Another room would be required, preferably for Louise. “Did you plan to seek employment there?”
Louise lowered her gaze. “It was a possibility.”
“You could also remarry. That was your plan when you came to Singapore.”
Louise shook her head. “It was the only option at the time. Now?” She sighed. “I still hope for a loving husband who follows the Lord. I can only marry a man of strong faith.”
Fiona mulled that over. She had once felt the same, but circumstances had destroyed that hope. No man of faith who heard the vile and unfounded rumors about her in the New York newspapers would ever accept her for a wife.
“I hope you find him.” But the issue of Mary Clare’s pending arrival weighed on Fiona. Neither she nor Louise could wait for a husband to drop in her lap.
“It’s just a dream.” Louise’s eyes misted, and Fiona wondered what had happened in the widow’s marriage to leave her so reluctant to reenter the institution. Direct inquiry had gotten Fiona nowhere, so she stated the obvious.
“Then you must find employment. You might tutor students, I suppose.”
Louise brightened. “I would like that.”
“Talk