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“Well?” she demanded.
He 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?”
Chapter Two (#u9e080044-721e-5be4-b3e2-1cb872c51049)
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 to Pearl. She’ll know which students need extra help—and which parents can afford to pay for it.”
“Thank you.” Louise leaned close and lowered her voice. “You don’t need to resort to marrying a man you’ve never met. You could give vocal lessons.”
Fiona laughed. “Have you noticed the type of families in the area? Farmers. Mill workers. Lumberjacks. None of these place a high value on musical prowess, not enough to pay for lessons. No, my course is set. I must marry.”
“Why not go back to New York?”
No doubt that was the question all the women had wanted to ask her since they first arrived in August, but only quiet little Louise Smythe had actually done it. Maybe that woman had more gumption than Fiona had credited to her.
“There is only heartache in New York.” Fiona wasn’t ready to reveal more. The men there had courted her either for show or for their own purposes, never with marriage in mind. Fortunately, she always discovered the truth before it was too late, but rumors still threatened. By active involvement with her church and charity, she’d managed to stop most of them. Until last spring. Mr. Winslow Evanston wooed her with gifts and charm that blinded her for a time. When she discovered his lies and refused to become his mistress, he vilified her in the newspapers. Never again would she trust a man without a ring on her finger. “I doubt I’ll ever go back.”
“Me either.”
Fiona really looked at Louise. Her features were nondescript, but she had a strong chin and surprising inner fortitude. “Your husband died in the war, right?”
Louise looked away. “Yes.”
Heartache. Fiona could recognize that from miles away. And it wasn’t just because he’d died. No, that marriage hadn’t been a happy one. It couldn’t have been, or the family would have taken her in.
“Well, then. We both need a good husband.” Fiona ran her finger down the second column. “Here’s one—‘Handsome man seeks pretty, vivacious wife. Must cook.’”
“That fits you but not me.”
“You can cook.”
“Not as well as you. The bread and rolls you make melt in my mouth.” Louise shook her head. “I don’t fit one single criteria. Besides, I’d rather not marry a handsome man.”
“Why on earth not?”
“They tend to think too highly of themselves.”
Fiona snorted out a laugh. “Honey, they all do, and I can guarantee you’ll never find an advertiser that admits he’s homely.”
“Maybe I won’t turn to an advertisement.” Once again Louise had squared her shoulders and set her jaw. “Maybe God will send the right man here.”
“To Singapore? You’ve seen the kind of men who come here. Rough lumberjacks and mill workers. There’s not a one who cares about book learning. I doubt many of them can read. You’ll never find a gentleman here.”
Louise looked crestfallen.
Fiona regretted her rash words. “Then again, you never know. Anything could happen.”
“It is possible. Roland and Garrett Decker are gentlemen.”
“Married gentlemen.”
“Yes, but not when we first arrived. Another might step off the next ship. I must hope for it.” Louise trembled as she picked up her book. “I believe I’ll go to the parlor and read. Best wishes on your search.” She rose.
The windows rattled, drawing both ladies’ attention. They’d heard it often enough since arriving. First the wind. Then the rain or snow. But this was particularly vicious, considering the calm earlier that day.
Louise left for the parlor, and Fiona tackled the advertisements again. She circled the one she’d read to Louise, even though the part she hadn’t read aloud wasn’t nearly as promising. ‘Willing to work hard to build a new life.’ That sounded like a homesteader. Fiona wasn’t opposed to hard work, but she couldn’t bring Mary Clare into that sort of life, not when the girl displayed such vocal talent.
She crossed that one off and resumed the hunt.
* * *
Sawyer noted the increased wind when he left the boardinghouse kitchen after getting an early supper. He trudged to the mercantile, still irritated over Fiona’s jab. She clearly didn’t think him worthy of her, but she knew nothing about him. He would have defended himself if she’d stayed in the room. Then again, what could he say? He couldn’t admit his past. He’d broken all contact with his manipulative, philandering father. Even though he ached for his mother, Sawyer would never return home. He wrote his mother and prayed for her, but he wouldn’t risk encountering Father. Without that parentage, he could never impress Fiona. She wanted a man with money. He didn’t want a woman to love him for his father’s money. He wanted a woman to love him. But not yet. That’s why he had to talk to Roland.
The wind tore at his open coat and bit into his neck. He hopped up the steps to the mercantile and pushed open the door. The bell rang. He looked around. The place was empty except for Pearl Decker, who stood behind the sales counter.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Evans. May I help you?”
Pearl had come to Singapore as the new schoolteacher, but it didn’t take long for Roland Decker, the mercantile manager, to fall for her. The big fire last November that leveled the schoolhouse had sealed things between them. He proposed. She accepted. And in January, when the itinerant preacher came around, they married.
Sawyer stepped a little farther inside and looked toward the back. No one was gathered around the stove. No one was shopping. “Where’s Roland?”
“He headed up to the lighthouse. Word arrived that there’s a ship headed for trouble. Mr. Blackthorn lit the light early, trying to warn them off. Naturally, every able-bodied man went to have a look.”
“You don’t say. Maybe I ought to go too. But first I need to ask you something.”
“Oh?”
His palms sweated. Why did he get nervous around women? It had been that way ever since his fiancée, Julia, rejected him.
He cleared his throat. “That, uh, advertisement we were joking about earlier this afternoon... I, uh, wondered if I could have it?” The few scraps of paper in his pocket didn’t contain any of the words.
Pearl blinked. “Oh! Of course.”
She moved the ledger, then looked under the counter. Then she disappeared from view.
Sawyer moved to the counter and peered over. She was on her hands and knees.
“What are you doing, Mrs. Decker?”
She looked up, her faced flushed. “I don’t know where it went.”
“It? There were just scraps.” He pulled the few he had from his pocket.
“Well, uh, not exactly.” She stood, squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I owe you an apology, it seems. I rewrote the advertisement, hoping to persuade you, but now it’s gone.”
Sawyer got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Gone where?”
