Would-Be Mistletoe Wife. Christine Johnson
and refunded her entire tuition. Do you recommend we do that too?”
Louise blanched. That solution would surely shut down the school; Priscilla would doubtless take the other girls with her, for the parents were all acquainted.
“No,” Louise said slowly. “She shouldn’t pay for my mistake. I should have been more careful. I hope we can convince her not to turn this incident into a complaint.”
“How would you suggest doing that?”
Louise hadn’t expected to have this tossed back at her, but an idea rushed into her mind. “I don’t think she wants to leave. Not deep down. I’ve known girls like her, and what they want most of all is attention.”
“You could be right.” Still, Fiona shook her head. “I’ve known girls like Priscilla. They could never get enough attention and would take down everyone around them in the effort.”
“But I must try,” Louise whispered. “I just don’t know how.”
“Try encouraging her more. Give her praise when she deserves it.”
That would be difficult. Priscilla seldom did anything praiseworthy. “I’ll try.”
Fiona rose. “If there is nothing else, I would like to speak with my husband before voice lessons.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
Fiona cast her a knowing smile. “Don’t worry so much about reputation. It’s perfectly natural for a woman to find Mr. Hammond attractive. You do want to marry, after all.”
Louise hadn’t the heart to tell her friend that she no longer wished for marriage. The kind of gentleman she sought could only be found in novels. The men of real life never measured up. Mrs. Evans’s School for Ladies had given her a means to support herself without the assistance of a husband. That was far safer than risking marriage, especially to a man whose strength and need for control was just like that of her late husband.
* * *
Jesse had expected Louise Smythe to accept his offer to step aside from the lecture. Her refusal left him unsteady, as if trying to get footing on the heaving deck of a ship. He’d offered exactly what she wanted. Why turn it down? Was she trying to force him into something? If she considered her reputation compromised, would she expect marriage? Blackthorn had mentioned she came to Singapore to marry, but the groom chose another woman. Perhaps she was desperate. Had he just stepped into her snare?
He couldn’t marry Louise Smythe. Even if she came from a privileged background, which her education indicated she did, a lumber town wouldn’t care about a woman’s reputation.
The memory of Louise in his arms flitted through his mind.
He shook it away. A momentary feeling had no bearing on choosing a lifetime partner. Jesse must select wisely. He would not make the mistake his father had made in marrying a woman unable to bear the rigors of the life she’d married into.
Etta Webber had been born into society with all its manners and protectiveness. The fragile girl had fallen in love with his father and, ignoring her family’s protests, wed him and moved to Chicago. Pa worked the wharves. Life was rough. Ma had to make do in a tiny apartment with no servants. First came Beatrice and then ten years later Jesse. But it was the stillborn baby that sent her into that dark place from which she never returned.
Intense sorrow threatened to flood in, but Jesse pushed it away. He’d been just seven when his mother died. Died! Bitterness twisted a soul worse than the deepest grief. Etta Hammond hadn’t just died. She’d walked out of the house and into the path of an oncoming train.
No, Jesse would choose a sturdy, solid woman for a wife. Preferably without emotional attachment. That ruled out Louise Smythe.
As he polished brass filling pitchers, funnels and measuring cans at the little table at the base of the tower staircase, he considered how best to get out of this lecture. Approaching Louise wouldn’t work. He couldn’t think straight around her. He would tell Mrs. Evans that he needed to withdraw from the lecture and recommend Louise give it instead. Louise wouldn’t be able to refuse her employer.
If that didn’t work... Jesse blew out his breath. It had to work.
Blackthorn pushed open the door. “Done with that pitcher? It’s time to fill the lamps.” He rotated his shoulder with a groan. “Gets heavier every day.”
Jesse gave the pitcher a final swipe. “I could haul the first batch of oil up the stairs.” Best to give up his quest to refine procedure until Blackthorn was more receptive. “You carry the pitcher and funnel.”
Blackthorn hesitated. For a moment he looked ready to agree, but then he shook his head. “I’ve got it.”
Jesse suddenly realized what an opportunity stood before him. Blackthorn was the answer. If Louise refused to give the lecture, maybe the light keeper would. He had complained about not being asked. If Jesse did this right, he could learn a little about preparing the light at the same time.
“Actually, I’d like your advice...on a personal matter.” Jesse nodded his head toward the house. “Away from female ears.”
“Oh?” That definitely caught Blackthorn’s attention. “In that case, why don’t you carry the oil while I bring the rest of the stuff? You can bring the large can up to the lantern.”
“Yes, sir.” Jesse bit back the impulse to point out that this was exactly what he’d just suggested.
He lifted the large transfer can. It could hold up to five gallons, but Blackthorn had only filled it halfway. Jesse could easily carry double the weight, but Blackthorn wasn’t young anymore. No wonder he preferred to pour the oil into the smaller cans and make multiple trips up the tower staircase. Maybe he let his sons help when they were home from school.
A son. What a blessing that would be! An intense longing sprang up in Jesse. He would do things differently from his father. No threats. Jesse would be there for his sons. He could imagine skipping stones across the waves, tossing a ball and teaching his boys all the duties of a lighthouse keeper. At meals, the large family would settle around the table as his wife...
Jesse shook his head. Why on earth had he pictured Louise carrying a roast to the table? She was completely unsuited to be a keeper’s wife, and no amount of bravado could compensate for her slight frame.
By the last turn of the circular staircase, Jesse was panting from the exertion. He’d switched hands several times, but they still burned from hefting the weight. No wonder Blackthorn favored the smaller cans. Jesse had been wrong, but he didn’t care to admit it. Not yet. The last segment of the climb was a nearly vertical ladder.
“Let me go first,” Blackthorn said, “and then hand me the oil can.”
It was a sensible solution. When Blackthorn took the can from Jesse’s hands at the top of the ladder, Jesse rolled his shoulders to loosen the tight muscles. He then climbed into the lantern.
By the time Jesse stepped into the glass-enclosed room, Blackthorn had already begun filling the pitcher. Apparently that duty couldn’t be entrusted to Jesse yet.
“What’s bothering you?” Blackthorn asked.
Jesse blew out his breath. He would begin with the personal situation as the reason why he needed Blackthorn to give the lecture. “A situation came up when I was at the school this morning.”
Blackthorn peered at him. “Speak plainly, son.”
Jesse warmed to the familiar appellation. Blackthorn hadn’t used that term before.
“All right.” Still, he had to say this carefully. “Mrs. Smythe slipped off a step stool, and I caught her before she got hurt.”
“That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”
“One of the students saw us while I was still holding on to Mrs. Smythe.”
“And