Romancing the Schoolteacher (18 page)

“Sit and rest.”

“I can't. I need to move.” He strode back across the room. He wished he had a sledgehammer and could pulverize some limestone.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” she said as she left.

He was alone. An empty ache opened up inside him.
Lord Jesus…Jesus…Jesus.
No other words would come.

He slumped down onto the bench, put his head in his hands and cried.

Within the hour, Bridget returned, not only with food, but Cilla and Gabe, as well.

Gabe ran to him and threw his arms around his waist. “I'm sorry.”

Lindley picked up his son and held him close. “It's not your fault. Everything is going to be all right.” He coaxed Gabe into eating and ate a little himself. Bridget had been right; it did make him feel better. As did having Gabe, Cilla and Bridget near.

Sometime later, the door opened, and Dr. Unger emerged. “Mr. Thompson, you may go in.”

Lindley crossed the room in a few quick strides. “How is she?”

“She came through fine.”

Cilla and Gabe followed but the doctor held up his hand. “Only the father.”

Lindley nodded to his sister and entered the room.

Dr. Grayson had a stethoscope pressed to Dora's chest.

His little girl appeared to be sleeping peacefully, her leg wrapped and splinted again. He stepped softly over to the exam table and whispered, “How is she?”

Dr. Grayson pulled the earpieces away from his head. He spoke in a normal volume. “She's too medicated to hear you. She'll be fine. Her leg should heal without trouble.” He moved to the door and opened it. “Bridget.”

The rush of scuffling feet and then a soft reply. Bridget and the doctor spoke in low voices, and Lindley couldn't hear what they were saying. Bridget shook her head and appeared to be upset.

Lindley crossed the room to where they were standing. “What is it?”

Dr. Grayson said to Bridget, “I did as you asked. Now go.”

Lindley took controlled breaths. “If it concerns my daughter, I have a right to know.”

The doctor and Bridget had their gazes locked.

Though Dr. Grayson spoke to him, his focus stayed on Bridget. “This doesn't concern you, Mr. Thompson. Go back to your daughter. Make sure she doesn't stir and fall off the table.”

Lindley jerked his attention back to Dora and returned to her side. He wanted to call Bridget in, but when he looked up, she was gone.

Dr. Grayson moved to Dora's side, as well. “I've sent Dr. Unger to procure a bed and have it brought here. The child should be moved as little as possible for the next two days.”

“I appreciate you coming at Miss Greene's request. I can't thank you enough.”

Dr. Grayson narrowed his eyes. “Miss Greene? Bridget?”

“Yes.”

The doctor squared his shoulders. “It's time you knew the truth. Her surname is not Greene. It's Grayson.” He turned and marched away.

Grayson? Couldn't be. The doctor had seemed a bit possessive toward Bridget. And Bridget obeyed his orders. But what was their relationship? Was he husband or father? Men like Dr. Grayson often took a much younger wife. Lindley hoped he was only her father. If he was very fortunate, he was a much older brother or uncle.

* * *

Lindley sat at his daughter's bedside at his home.

Dr. Grayson stayed in town for two more days to make sure Dora's recovery was on track, to fashion a plaster cast on her leg and to oversee her being transported home. Once Dora was settled in her bed, he listened to her heart through his stethoscope one last time.

Dora put her tiny hand on his cheek. “Where is Miss Greene?”

He pulled away and scowled. “She's gone.” He closed his medical bag and then spoke to Lindley. “She should be carried the next few days. Then crutches. No weight on that leg. That's important.” He strode out of the room and went to the front door.

Lindley followed.

“Let me know your fee, and I'll pay you now.”

“No need. My fee has been sufficiently paid.”

“Where's Bridget?” No matter how many times Lindley had asked, the doctor wouldn't tell him anything more about Bridget or where she was. Lindley hadn't seen Bridget since just after Dora's surgery. She hadn't even said goodbye.

“She's none of your concern.”

“You sent her away, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

Lindley took a deep breath. “Are you her father or husband?”

“What does it matter? Either way, she belongs to me.”

Belonged to him? He made it sound as if she were a slave. “It matters.”

Dr. Grayson studied him a moment. “If you must know, she's my daughter. When she ran away three years ago, she was betrothed to a very wealthy man. She disgraced me and my good name. She had a responsibility to family and failed to honor her promise. She left the poor man waiting. But she's returned to where she belongs. To fulfill
all
her promises. You had best forget all about her.”

Lindley stared in disbelief. Bridget was betrothed? She had gone back on her word? How could she? “But…?”

The doctor heaved a breath. “She is promised to another man.”

Zachariah March, no doubt. He wished he'd never taken her to that party. He wished he could go back to the life when he was a lowly miner and she a simple schoolteacher. Back to a time when he ate supper at her table every night, as though he and Bridget and the children were a family. An empty place opened up inside him where his heart once was.

“She will marry as soon as it can be arranged. I advise you again to forget all about her. Good day.” The doctor turned abruptly and left.

If only Lindley
could
forget her.

* * *

It had been a week since Dora's accident. She no longer required medicine for pain, and her leg was healing.

Lindley's heart was another matter. Bridget had been engaged the whole time. She had run out on her family. And she had let him fall in love with her when she was not free to do so. How could he ever trust her again? He let the hurt and anger fester every minute of every day.

After putting Gabe to bed, he checked on Dora. She lay asleep on her back with both arms wrapped around Bridget's fancy porcelain clock she'd left for his little girl. He freed it and set it on the bedside table, trying not to look at it or think of the woman it once belonged to. He kissed Dora's forehead. Slipping out, he pulled the door almost closed so he could hear if she woke, and returned to the parlor.

But before he could sit, his sister planted herself in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Lindley?”

“Don't, Cilla. Don't even speak her name.”

“You're just going to let another man make her his wife?”

“It's probably already done. There is nothing I can do.” He just wanted to forget all about her so the ache inside him would go away.

“You're not even going to fight for her?”

He had no fight left in him. “Stop. You'll only upset the children.”

“Too late. Bridget's absence and your behavior already have.”

Lindley cringed at the mention of her name. “Cilla, if you don't refrain from speaking of her, I'll send you back home.”

She folded her arms. “Then who will look after your children?”

“I don't know!” He couldn't think. He just wanted her to stop pestering him about something he could do nothing about.

L
indley wanted to return to his home in the middle of the island. A week and a half had passed since Bridget left, and he still hadn't been able to banish her from his head. If he could leave Roche Harbor, maybe he could forget about her. But he needed to remain a few days longer before Dora could travel. She had a cast and had started using crutches to get around, and she was back to her old, happy self.

He left the mining office and strode toward the house he was forced to continue living in until he could move back home. His work here was completed for the time being and all he wanted to do was go.

A stunning brunette shaded by a parasol approached him. She wore an expensive pink gown. The same color Bridget had worn to the party.

No. Stop thinking of her.

“Are you Mr. Lindley Thompson?”

“I am.”

She halted in front of him. “How is Dora healing?”

Who was this woman? How did she know about Dora? “She's healing fine. Thanks to Dr. Grayson. And you are?”

“Where are my manners?” She held out a gloved hand. “I'm Mrs. Delfina March.”

Lindley stared at the woman's hand a moment before taking it and nodding over it. “Mrs. March, pleased to meet you. How do you know of my daughter?”

“Please call me Fina.”

“Ma'am, we've only just met. It would be inappropriate for me to use your given name.” It was more because he didn't like the advantage this woman had knowing who he was and about his daughter.

Her wide mouth pulled up at the corners. “She said you were polite.”

Who had been talking about him to this woman? Certainly she hadn't come to inquire about his daughter, a child she'd never met. “What can I do for you?”

“I have news of Bridget, but if you want to hear it, you must call me Fina.”

His heart beat faster at the mention of Bridget. He whispered her name. “Bridget? Is she well?” He had no right to ask. She was engaged to another, probably married, and he couldn't trust her. But at the same time, he found he couldn't resist. He needed to know how she was. “Would you care to join me in the hotel dining room for a lemonade…Fina?”

Her mouth broke into a wide smile, and she hooked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I would love to.”

There was something familiar about this woman, but he couldn't figure out what. He couldn't say that he'd ever seen her before. What was it?

Once they were seated and the lemonades served, he waited for the woman to speak. She had obviously come wanting to impart information. Not wanting to seem eager, he feigned contentment and sipped the tart drink.

She gave him a sympathetic look. “You poor dear. You look like a thirsty man in the desert, yearning for water he can see but not drink.”

That could describe how he felt. “Mrs.—Fina, you sought me out. If you have something you wish to tell me, then please do. I have work to attend to.” Not really, but he was hoping to hurry her along.

She took a sip and then set down her glass. “Bridget is not faring well.”

He sat up straighter. “Her husband-to-be isn't mistreating her, is he?” Zachariah. He had seemed like a decent fellow. But obviously not.

“Husband-to-be? Oh, no. There is no future husband. At least, not yet. But there is no time to waste.”

“Wait. Zachariah March. Then who…?”

“My husband? He said he'd met you and hoped you would make Bridget happy. Because that would make me happy.”

March. It wasn't this woman who was familiar; it was her name. It had taken his brain long enough to connect the two.

She took another sip of lemonade. “But we were talking about Bridget.”

“Her father told me she is betrothed.” If not to Zachariah, then someone else. “That's why she left…”
…me.

“Yes, a colleague of his who could further his career. A man old enough to be her father. That was three years ago. He has passed away. Her father is seeking out another suitable match for her. I think you should apply.”

Apply? She made it sound like an employment solicitation. A tingle of joy leaped to life at the news she wasn't already married.

“She loves you. You are the only person who can pull her out of her despondency.”

“She lied to me. How can I trust her? Or even believe she loves me?” She hadn't said so. But then, he had stopped her.

“After what she did for your daughter, you doubt her love?”

“She asked her father to perform surgery and then left without a word.”

“Is that what you really think? She exchanged
her
life for
your
daughter's. She gave up
her
freedom and a happy future so
your
daughter would walk. She had to beg her father to do the surgery. In exchange, she agreed to return home and marry the man of his choosing. Those were his terms, not hers.

“She loves you and your children so much, she gave you all up so Dora could walk. That is the depth of her love. ‘Greater love hath no man—or woman—than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' Indeed, I wonder if you ever truly loved her.”

“I do love her—did love her. But she lied about who she was. She led me to believe she was a simple schoolteacher when she was in fact some heiress.”

“I wouldn't call her an heiress, but she does stand to inherit a considerable amount of money now that she has gone home and promised to do her father's bidding. When you met her, she
was
a simple schoolteacher. She had given up the money, the lavish home, the servants, the fancy dresses and the extravagant parties to teach children. She wanted to marry you when she thought you were just a miner. You are a man of duplicitous standards.”

“How so?”

“When you met her, weren't you pretending to be a poor miner when in fact you were working for management? Not only did you lie to Bridget but all the men you worked with, as well.”

“That was for my job. I helped make conditions better for the miners and their families. Better homes to live in and safer conditions on the job. The men would not have trusted me if they'd known who I was.”

“But still it was deception, was it not? The very thing you're criticizing her for. How is she to trust you?”

He didn't want to admit that Fina was right. He'd behaved abominably. “But what am I to do?”

Fina smiled and clasped her hands together. “I knew you had to be a reasonable man. Go to Anacortes, declare your love for her and steal her away.”