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“Collaborate?” she managed to gasp.
“It’s the perfect solution. He plans to stop by the school tomorrow morning, but I’ll be leading music instruction at that time. Since you’ll be free, you can discuss the lecture with him.”
Louise struggled to draw in a breath. The idea was entirely intolerable. She and Jesse Hammond? Working together to present a lecture? “He agreed to work with me?”
“Don’t underestimate your abilities. You have much to offer, and he will be grateful for your guidance.”
“What guidance?”
“For one, you can ensure he doesn’t speak over the ladies’ heads. Help him steer his knowledge into something that will engage the students.”
After the way Jesse Hammond treated her earlier today, Louise would have enjoyed seeing him fail in front of her students. Her conscience pricked. That wasn’t very kind.
“You will do it?” Fiona prodded.
Louise didn’t want to, but this school had given her strength and purpose. Rather than relying on marriage to a man she did not know, she could support herself through teaching. She owed Fiona a great deal.
She nodded her assent. A few minutes with Jesse Hammond couldn’t be that terrible. She would use the time to persuade the man not to give that lecture.
* * *
How had Jesse let himself get talked into lecturing in front of a bunch of girls? Mrs. Evans hadn’t accepted his polite refusal, and then the woman manning the store counter had chimed in with how much a guest lecturer would enrich the ladies’ education. They’d shamed him into it.
Worst of all, he saw no way to avoid Louise Smythe, since she worked at the school. Not that the widow wasn’t pretty, but she was a widow—a childless widow. And both Mrs. Evans and the store clerk had been far too eager to corral him into the lecture for him to believe their motives were strictly educational.
Jesse picked at his food, which drew the notice of Mrs. Blackthorn, yet another matchmaker.
“You feeling all right, Mr. Hammond? You’ve hardly touched a thing on your plate.”
“I’m fine.” To demonstrate, he shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.
“Good trout,” Mr. Blackthorn mumbled between heaping bites of the fried fish and mashed potatoes.
The boys, both adolescents, were too preoccupied with eating as much as possible to pay any attention to the conversation.
Jesse swallowed the potatoes. “Yes, ma’am. It’s very good.”
Mrs. Blackthorn beamed while her daughter sighed and gave him that dreamy look the girls from the boarding school had given him. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to that reaction. Maybe that was why Louise stuck in his mind. She hadn’t fawned and sighed over him. Quite the reverse. Although refreshing, it puzzled him. How does a man respond to a woman who doesn’t show the slightest interest in him? It was easy enough to dismiss the hopeful, but the disinterested presented a new challenge.
“You do seem a little out of sorts, Mr. Hammond,” Mrs. Blackthorn said as she slathered butter on a dinner roll. “You’ve hardly said a word.”
Jesse didn’t usually speak during meals, but there was no use pointing that out. “I’m fine.”
Mr. Blackthorn peered at him. “Did you go and get someone else irritated at you?”
“No, sir.” He still wasn’t accustomed to eating with the family, but board was part of his compensation.
“Good.” Blackthorn pointed a fork at him. “It pays to stay on everyone’s good side.”
Mrs. Blackthorn nodded. “Did you happen to see Louise Smythe when you were at the store?”
“No, ma’am.” Jesse clenched his jaw. He’d have to ask Blackthorn for an hour off tomorrow morning. Now was as good a time as any. “I did meet Mrs. Evans, though. She asked me to give a short lecture on weather to the students.”
Blackthorn peered at him. “You don’t say. Never asked me to do that.”
Jesse wasn’t about to mention his suspicion that Mrs. Evans, like Mrs. Blackthorn, was trying to match him with Louise Smythe. “It just came up in conversation. If you object, I’ll tell her I can’t do it.” He tried not to sound as hopeful as he felt.
“No, no.” Blackthorn waved off the suggestion. “How long can it take? An hour? As long as we don’t have a storm brewing, it’s fine with me.”
Jesse tried not to show his disappointment. “Thank you, sir.”
“It’ll spread a little goodwill.” Blackthorn cocked his head. “Maybe you can have the girls polish some of the brass pitchers.”
“Samuel! The girls are supposed to learn, not do your work for you,” his wife scolded. She then turned a smile in Jesse’s direction. “That means you’ll have a chance to see Louise.”
Jesse was not about to reveal that he wanted as little contact as possible with Mrs. Smythe.
“You should pay her a call,” Mrs. Blackthorn continued, oblivious to his discomfort, “one evening or this weekend.”
“I’m not planning to call on any woman just yet.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Blackthorn looked to her husband.
“I thought you aimed to be head keeper.” Blackthorn’s fork jabbed his way again. “You’ll need someone to watch the light when you’re sleeping, like during a storm.”
“And help with all the cleaning,” Mrs. Blackthorn added.
“Like I told ya, the service looks kindly on those that’re married,” Blackthorn added.
Jesse tried his best not to let on that he knew they were conspiring to get him married. “There’s still plenty of time.”
After all, it had taken over a year for Jesse to wind his way through the political connections needed to get a nomination from the customs collector and then to secure approval from the lighthouse board.
“You’re thirty-one,” Mrs. Blackthorn stated. “Louise’s age. A woman like her won’t wait forever.”
It took herculean effort not to plead an end to this matchmaking. Instead, he focused on fact. “I only have a small room. That’s no place to bring a wife.”
“We began that way,” Mrs. Blackthorn pointed out.
Clearly Jesse was going to lose the argument unless he could come up with a solid excuse. “It would cost the service more in provisions.”
“Not as much as bringing in an assistant,” Blackthorn said. “Take my word. If you want to be appointed head keeper somewhere, get married and have children.”
Jesse had long dreamed of having a large family with children running everywhere, but he’d first postponed it due to the war and then in favor of getting into the lighthouse service. It’d been years since he’d courted anyone.
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he murmured.
“Start with Louise Smythe.” Mrs. Blackthorn returned to her favorite topic. “She’s looking to marry. You’re the same age. Perfect match.”
Except she was a war widow. The nightmares already plagued him. Widows often asked how men died in the war. Even the question brought back painful memories.
“There must be other eligible women.”
Blackthorn shook his head. “Not in Singapore. You won’t find many unmarried women here. Except the girls at the school.”
Jesse blanched. “They’re far too young. I have in mind someone more...mature.”
“Well, if it doesn’t work out with Louise,” Mrs. Blackthorn said hesitantly, “you could always try advertising for a bride.”
Advertising. It sounded perfectly logical and businesslike. No messy emotions involved. And it had apparently worked for three men in town. It would be a simple transaction for the betterment of both parties. The woman could have a family, and he could get a head keeper’s position elsewhere in the district.
That evening, instead of napping before his midnight watch, Jesse stared at a piece of paper, trying to come up with the right words. It felt uncomfortable to advertise for a wife, but he told himself that it was the best solution.
“Wife needed,” he wrote.
What next? He supposed he should list the qualifications any prospective candidate ought to possess. Hardiness, homemaking abilities, skilled with children. All those came into play.
He jotted a few down and tried to picture the woman who might answer. Why did Louise Smythe come to mind?
Frustrated, he crumpled the paper. Then he recalled he only had a few sheets of paper on hand. He’d better draft the wording on this sheet and save the rest for the clean copies of the advertisement to mail out.
So, he smoothed the crumpled paper and tried again. Maybe he should point out his own assets too. So Jesse rewrote the advertisement.
When satisfied, he copied it three times and put those copies into three envelopes addressed to different Chicago newspapers. In the morning, he would put them into the outgoing mail.
* * *
Louise tidied up the classroom late the following morning. If she didn’t know such a thing was impossible, she’d think Priscilla had given her headache to her. Louise had ignored the girl’s countless pleas to be excused from writing and mathematics, too preoccupied with Jesse Hammond’s imminent arrival to deal with anything else. She would let Fiona handle Priscilla.
Louise squared her shoulders. She would not be pushed around. Not by a manipulative girl and not by a demanding man.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of memory. No tears. Please, no tears. That’s the last thing she needed Jesse Hammond to see. She was strong. She’d endured every blow her late husband, Warren, had thrown at her and survived. She instinctively touched her jaw, which still ached on occasion, particularly when the weather was cool and damp.
Weather! What did Jesse Hammond know about the weather that she didn’t? She would demonstrate that knowledge and send Mr. Hammond running back to the lighthouse.
A clearing of the throat indicated the guest lecturer had arrived.
Louise turned and fixed her gaze on him.
My, oh my. The man had seemed large in the open air, but framed by the doorway, he was positively gigantic. He wasn’t heavy or overweight, but was so tall that the top of his head grazed the lintel. He leaned on one jamb, his arms crossed and his hat dangling from one hand.
A boyish grin rested on his lips. “You looked so engrossed that I hated to interrupt you.”
What could she tell him? Certainly not the truth, that she’d relived a harrowing episode from her past. No, she must be strong and secure. God was her strength and her shield. He would protect her from all harm. Though images of the martyrs flashed through her mind, she pushed those aside. She was in a school after all. Nothing could happen to her here.
“I was merely considering how best to approach the topic so the young ladies understand what you’re telling them.” She affixed him with a steady gaze, a technique that she had seen Fiona use to maintain control. “That is my role, as I understand it.”
Jesse Hammond didn’t back down. “Unnecessary. You can continue doing whatever it is you were doing.”
“Then you fully understand what a young woman wants to learn and how best to instruct her. Perhaps you lectured many younger sisters?”
“My sister is older and long married.”
“Then you have no idea.”
He tugged at the neckline of his shirt, though he hadn’t attached a stiff collar or donned a tie. “I will explain cloud formations and how they can tell which ones are likely to bring rain, so they can avoid going out-of-doors. That’s all they’ll care about.”
“Then you think the sole interest of any woman is the condition of her hat and gown. Did it not occur to you that a woman might want to learn? That she is fully capable of any and all intellectual pursuits? Or are you as patronizing as the rest of the men I’ve encountered?”
His jaw actually dropped. Perhaps she’d gone too far. Then again, such ridiculous beliefs had held back progress far too long.
“Once women join the scientific movement in force,” she continued, “advances will come at a rapid pace. Imagine curing disease. Or saving the lives of sailors.”
“That’s my job, ma’am.” He looked like he was struggling not to laugh. Laugh!
“I’ll have you know, Mr. Hammond, that I know as much, if not more than you do on the subject of the weather. Captain Elder, the husband of the dear woman I took care of for many months, spoke with me at great length and let me read his volumes on the subject.”
“Then explain the different types of clouds and what type of weather each signals.”
Though Louise knew this forward and backward, her mind went blank in the face of his challenge.
“Just what I thought,” he said after a short pause. “All empty-headed talk.”
If Louise was not a proper lady, she would have come back with a scathing retort or at least stomped her foot at his insolence.
Instead, she stiffened her spine. “Are you saying that Captain Elder did not teach me correctly? I’ll have you know that he explained cumulous, stratus, nimbus and cirrus clouds.”
His eyebrows lifted and so did the corners of his mouth.
She was not done. “A sea captain must know weather patterns far more intimately than a lighthouse keeper, who is safely ashore. His life and the lives of his crew are at stake.”
“Those same lives are at stake if the light is improperly lit or stays dark.”
“Yes, of course, but your life is not in danger.”
“Except when plunging into the seas to save the lives of others.”
She recalled the rescue effort last spring that had brought many passengers to safety—including Linore and Dinah—from a stranded steamboat.
“True,” she admitted, “but not on as frequent a basis. Moreover, if what I heard was correct, Mr. Blackthorn advised against attempting the rescue of passengers on a stranded ship last spring.”
Judging from his look of distaste, he didn’t think much of that decision. “Saving lives is our purpose.”
Louise’s anger abated. Jesse wasn’t as arrogant and uncaring as he’d seemed. He simply followed the dictates of society and consequently rubbed on her nerves. Society insisted women had lesser intellects. It was only natural that Jesse would believe what he’d been taught since birth. She must show him otherwise.
She strode across the room to the bookshelves. Classroom texts and leisure reading filled the lower shelves, but on top were a few precious volumes.
She dragged a step stool in front of the bookcase. “Captain Elder donated a few of his volumes to the school, including one on the climate.”
