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Would-Be Mistletoe Wife
Christine Johnson
Mistletoe MatchWorried 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 dainty woman. Will the light of Christmas finally inspire them to put their trust into each other’s hearts?Boom Town Brides: Taking a leap of faith for love
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.
Dear Reader (#u3db65dda-27ba-5336-8e92-9dd687141e7f),
Lighthouses have always fascinated me. When I was growing up, I would watch the light from the offshore lighthouse come on at dusk. Later, in travels, I’ve been able to tour many a lighthouse. Researching how they operated in the 1870s was a joy. The Great Lakes have many remote and island lighthouses. I always wondered how a keeper and his family endured the isolation. Perhaps that will be another story.
The real-life story of Singapore, Michigan, fascinated me for many years. Sadly, it’s a familiar tale for lumber boom towns. Many disappeared, though not as literally as Singapore, which ended up buried beneath the sand dunes. I’ve loved setting a series there, and hope you have enjoyed the stories of Louise, Pearl, Amanda and Fiona.
That’s why from the start I envisioned these characters moving on together to begin anew. You will see familiar names in my early 20th-century books set in Pearlman, Michigan. The first of those books is Soaring Home, set in 1919. See my website at christineelizabethjohnson.com (http://christineelizabethjohnson.com) for a full list of the “Pearlman” books and more about how the characters in this series became the founders of Pearlman. You can also contact me through the Connect page on my website. I do love hearing from you!
I wish you a joyous Christmas.
Blessings,
Christine Johnson
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 (http://www.christineelizabethjohnson.com).
Would-Be Mistletoe Wife
Christine Johnson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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
Cover (#ud485fee3-6653-5e2f-aa47-2de0d76c4d8d)
Back Cover Text (#uc5965ee3-cd0a-558e-bf6d-24db59327520)
Introduction (#u4ee485e4-3a8f-5864-9b4d-0a361a24486a)
Dear Reader (#ua0a7e6b8-1bc4-569f-9d72-c9e76646c536)
About the Author (#u7668b5ec-dd3f-52de-9d80-404460a2c82c)
Title Page (#uabae2cc8-7814-5d2a-b3e2-ea12f4b057d2)
Bible Verse (#ue9911217-cd8a-56db-85df-1e2d35c9d863)
Dedication (#udf52a0ed-4053-5b55-91cb-2a4d307d0fc5)
Chapter One (#u2ef0a8e3-4ab4-5a63-8b5d-954bc8b18d45)
Chapter Two (#uf04c497a-3eba-5056-9277-cc5561b16f1d)
Chapter Three (#ud853b3ac-ea00-58b3-b520-0613014a809f)
Chapter Four (#u2551c9f2-efe6-501c-8529-ae6ff9810dce)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u3db65dda-27ba-5336-8e92-9dd687141e7f)
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 blond 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.”
