Romancing the Schoolteacher (14 page)

Troy ran off toward the housing.

Lindley stepped back inside the office. “About the boy. I wired the investors about hiring an assistant for you. The telegram is in the center drawer.”

Keen opened it and pulled out the sheet of paper. “This pays better than breaking limestone.”

“He's worth it, sir. He can enter the numbers in the ledgers, keep the office in order and run errands for you. But it'll be up to you. He'll make your job a whole lot easier.”

Keen clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair. “I like the sound of that. I suppose I'll have to keep him around if I want to find anything around here.”

Once Troy and Marcus had officially accepted their new positions—on a trial basis—Lindley strolled home, pleased with his accomplishments. Gabe and Dora greeted him with hugs.

His house smelled of roasting chicken, fresh bread and something sweet and cinnamony. Priscilla had grown into an exceptional cook. He knew that everything would be delicious.

But the aromas left a hollow place in the pit of his stomach. And he knew why. Bridget. She wasn't the one here cooking. Though her meals were quite tasty, Cilla was the better cook. But he didn't care. He just wanted Bridget in his kitchen.

Cilla called the children to the table, sat and waited. Everything was delicious but left a strange, empty aftertaste in his mouth. All through the meal and afterward, Cilla didn't speak to him. She spoke to the children and smiled at them, but not to him.

It was bad enough having one female angry with him, and now he had two. At least with Bridget, he kind of knew why even if he didn't understand or know how to fix it. Cilla? He hadn't a clue where to start.

He put his children to bed and came back out into the kitchen.

Cilla sat at the table, twisting a half-full glass of water around and around.

He took a deep breath. “All right. What did I do?”

She raised her lashes slowly, giving him an innocent look. “Do? You've done nothing.”

He could take the easy way out and leave it at that. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “I can tell you're angry with me. So I must have done something to upset you.” Though he couldn't think what.

“If you had done something, I wouldn't be mad at you. But you have done
nothing
. Absolutely nothing to reconcile with Bridget. You go to work and come home. It's as though you don't even care.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I don't know what to say to fix things with her.”

“That is the problem with men. If you can't pick up a hammer and nail to
fix
something, you're at a loss.”

A hammer and nail? He was smart enough to know that wasn't the answer, but Cilla wasn't talking about literal tools. He wished she were. He turned his hands palms up on the table. “Then help me.”

“Apologize. Tell her you aren't just looking for a mother for your children.”

“She doesn't think that.” But what if she did? “Does she?”

“When I talked to her, she said it was about Doreen. She wouldn't say any more than that, but what else could it be?”

Oh, it was about Doreen, all right, but not what Cilla thought. “She thinks I was wrong to enter into an arranged marriage.” Had he lost her over this petty difference? He hoped not. Somehow he needed to make amends with Bridget and make her see that all arranged marriages weren't bad.

“I keep forgetting Papa orchestrated your marriage.”

“As was our parents'. She only sees the bad in arrangements.”

“Oh, dear.” Understanding washed over Cilla's face like a wave upon the beach. “That's why she was asking if Papa would force me or any of us to marry someone we didn't want to. I thought it was just an idle conversation. But she had looked quite concerned.”

“I can't change what is done. She will always see me as doing something deplorable. She will never look at me the same.”

“I can't believe that. Your fight… Tell me exactly what you said and what she said.” She pointed her index finger at him. “Don't leave out a word.”

Lindley didn't relish verbalizing every detail. He had gone over it word for word in his head at least a dozen times a day. But to say it aloud to his baby sister was a different matter.

Cilla covered his hand with hers. “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me, so you can
fix
this.”

He drew in a deep breath and recounted the conversation.

Cilla gaped at him in horror. “
‘Maybe I will find a good husband for Dora.'
You said that? Out loud? To her?”

He had. All he could do was stare and continue to let his distress eat away at him.

Cilla propped her elbows on the table, buried her face in her hands and shook her head. She straightened. “How could you grow up in a house with four—no, five—sisters and a mother and know absolutely nothing about women?”

He had often wondered that, as well. He'd always counted himself fortunate for having escaped the turmoil of female emotions.

Doreen had explained it to him. He'd been twelve and uninterested in girls when Rachel, his oldest sister, had married. He hadn't been interested in the nuances of the female heart. Then he had been suddenly betrothed, so feminine emotions had become irrelevant. Something he no longer needed to work at learning. Doreen had understood him better than he understood himself.

Alice, one year younger than him, would tell him he was a stupid boy who wasn't worth explaining anything to. He was always tempted to argue the
stupid
bit with her, but then he risked her explaining things he had no interest in.

He wished he had.

Now he needed to work at figuring out the female heart. “So if I apologize for saying I'll choose Dora's husband, that will fix things with Bridget?” Hadn't he tried that, and it hadn't worked? “I thought she was upset because I entered into an arranged marriage.”

“Neither, dear brother. It's about her feelings.”

“She's angry at me. That's how she's feeling.” That much he'd figured out.

Cilla shook her head and glanced heavenward. “That's not what I mean. Just because your marriage was good and Mama and Papa's is good doesn't mean they all are.”

“I know that.”

“But that's not what you were telling her. You were telling her that women's feelings don't matter and men know best.”

“I never said that!”

“Read between the lines, dear brother. Women have few options but to do what men tell them. So you were telling her women are unimportant. Therefore,
she
is unimportant.”

“Really?” The workings of the female mind were boggling. “I don't think that at all. She's very important.”

She leaned toward him over the table. “Then you must make sure she knows that.”

“So what am I to do? Apologize for not considering her feelings? Tell her she's important?”

She nodded. “Grovel. And it wouldn't hurt to get her a small gift. A bottle of perfume or something that makes her feel feminine.”

Lindley remembered something at the general store that he had wanted to purchase for Bridget, but couldn't when people thought he was a simple miner. Everyone would have known he couldn't afford anything beyond basic provisions and would have wondered who he really was. He hadn't been able to take the risk then, but now he could make the purchase. “So what
exactly
should I say?”

“I can't tell you what to say. The words would never come out right, and Bridget would know they weren't real. She would feel it.” Cilla reached across the table and touched his chest. “Speak from your heart. If she says something that doesn't make sense to you, tell her you don't understand but you're trying to. You want to.” She stood and walked toward the hall but stopped and turned. “And don't forget to kiss her.” She gave an impish smile and headed off to the bedroom she was sharing with Dora.

Kiss her? Gladly!

But first he had to beg her forgiveness.

He'd been praying all week for a solution to his dilemma with Bridget. Never would he have guessed that his baby sister would hold the answers. The Lord did work in mysterious ways.

T
he week sailed by, and Friday came, the last day of the school year. A sadness settled on Bridget to be turning her students out into the world. Of course, she would see them around town, and most of them would be back in the fall.

“Before I let you all go, I just want to say that I have enjoyed teaching you. Have a pleasant summer.”

The students rose in excited chatter and a clatter of boots scuffing on the worn wooden floor. Only Dora and Gabe remained seated. They would wait inside for their aunt.

When the other children had all left, Cilla entered but stayed at the back of the room. “Dora, Gabe, time to go.”

Dora ran to her aunt, who scooped her up in her arms.

“Come on, Gabe.”

Gabe had his head down, rolling his forehead back and forth on the desk.

Cilla moved up beside him and wiggled her hand. “Come on.”

Gabe stared at her a moment, scooted out from his desk and ran, but not to the back of the room. He headed straight for Bridget and threw his arms around her waist. He didn't say a word.

Bridget patted his back. “What's wrong?”

He shook his head, rubbing his face against her waist.

She loosened his grip and knelt. “Gabe?”

The boy hooked his arms around her neck and held her tight. “I don't want school to be over.”

She hugged him back and then pulled him away so she could look him in the eyes. “It'll be all right. You'll have a nice summer and be back in school in the fall.” But not likely her classroom. He would go back to his home on some other part of the island. She grabbed a volume about animals from the corner of her desk. “Would you like to take this with you and look at it over the summer?” She knew he wouldn't be able to read most of the text, but he would try. And he and Dora could enjoy the drawings.

Gabe nodded and hugged the book to his chest.

Cilla wiggled her free hand at Gabe. “Come along now.”

Bridget used the corner of her desk to pull herself up. “You aren't going to stay awhile?”

Lindley's sister had visited with her every afternoon this week. But wasn't going to today?

“Not today.”

Bridget's heart contracted. She liked the young woman.

Cilla tilted her head to the back of the room. “You have another visitor.” She gave Bridget a brief hug and left with the children.

Bridget's heart nearly stopped at the sight of Lindley standing at the back of the room. She had worn a plain white shirtwaist and hunter green skirt. If she had known Lindley would be calling, she would have worn something nicer. She had prayed for an opportunity to speak with him.

He strode up the aisle, working the brim of his hat. He looked nervous, as if he didn't know what to say.

She hoped he hadn't come to tell her goodbye. “I'm sorry for getting so upset about the whole arranged-marriage business. I misspoke. It wasn't my place.”

He blinked several times before he found his voice. “You really shouldn't make an apology this easy for a gentleman. Don't you know you're supposed to make the man grovel? Now I'm at a loss for words.”

That meant he hadn't come to say farewell. She breathed easier. “Is that what you came to do? Grovel?”

“If need be.”

Her heart danced. “By all means, don't let me stop you.”

“I came to beg for your forgiveness for getting defensive. Some arranged marriages can be horrendous. I was one of the fortunate ones. I didn't consider your feelings. And you
are
important to me. I never meant to suggest otherwise.”

“I accept your gracious apology and happily grant you forgiveness.”

He fumbled in his coat pocket. “I brought you a peace offering.” He held out a gift wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief, tied with a pink ribbon. “The wrapping is part of the gift, too.”

She accepted the present, pulled the ribbon free and folded back the corners of the cloth. A tortoiseshell hair comb with sterling-silver adornment. “It's beautiful.” She turned it over in her hands.

“Why don't you put it in your hair?”

She raised her gaze to him. “Would you?” Her skin prickled at the intimacy of the request.

He took the comb and poked it several times at her hair but never well enough for it to stay.

So she covered his hand with hers and helped him work the comb in on the side of her head. When it was in place, she let her fingers slide across the back of his hand as she lowered hers. “Does it look all right?”

He drew in a quick breath. “Beautiful.” He shifted his gaze to her eyes and then her mouth. “Very beautiful.”

Her breathing came in irregular puffs as he leaned closer.

Finally, he pressed his lips to hers.

She looped her arms around him, and he held her, as well. She felt safe in his embrace. She couldn't think of any other place she would rather be.

He pulled away. “Cilla told me I had to do that.”

“Cilla? And no other reason?”

His mouth pulled up on one side. “Oh, I had my own reasons.”

“I should hope so.”

“And just so you know, I have no plans to choose Dora's future husband. The thought of Dora marrying someday is hard to imagine. So I may not let her marry at all.”

“When she bats those big brown eyes of hers and tells you she's in love—”

“I'll lock her in her room.”

She bit her lip between her teeth to tame her smile. “When was the last time you denied your daughter anything? You are like bread dough in her hands.”

He took Bridget's hand. “I recall putting her off when she demanded I love you and marry you.”