Romancing the Schoolteacher (19 page)

That sounded like something his older sister would tell him to do. If it were only that easy. “What about her father? He told me to forget about her.”

She waved a dismissive hand in the air between them. “Don't let him stand in the way of your love. She is miserable without you.”

And he without her. “She's truly not married? Or betrothed?”

She shook her head.

Thinking she was married had helped him to not go running after her. He'd fueled his anger by picturing her in the arms of another man…married. “I need to get my children settled with my parents or one of my sisters first.”

“Take them with you.”

“But Dora…?

“When can she travel?”

“She's doing well, but I'd like to wait a few more days.”

Fina clapped her hands in much the same way Dora did when she was excited. “Then it's all settled. Early next week, you and your delightful children will come to Anacortes. You will stay with Zachariah and me. We won't tell her you're coming. We'll surprise her.” She touched her gloved index finger to her lips.

“I'll make arrangements for my sister to go back home.”

“Nonsense. Bring her along. So you
will
come?”

“Yes.”

“I won't let her father marry her off before you arrive. I will lay down my life before I will let that happen.”

Fina and his sister Rachel would get along well. Both were hopeless romantics, and now they were rubbing off on him. He was turning into a romantic himself. He guessed that was what true love did to a person.

T
he following Monday, Lindley stood with sweaty palms outside the Grayson mansion. He never would have guessed that Bridget came from this kind of money. If she had stayed here, she never would have had to teach or do work of any kind. Yet, according to Fina, she had been willing to marry him when he was a mere miner. A very hard life.

How could he have not trusted in her love? She hadn't said she loved him in words. But he could see now that her actions yelled it loud and clear. Her sacrifice for his daughter was a debt he could never repay.

He wiped his hands on his trousers and lifted the door knocker once. It sounded with a thud that he could almost hear echo inside.

How could he have thought that arranged marriages were all right? Some perhaps, if both people were willing, but the thought of Bridget being forced to marry a man she didn't want to was—as she had said—archaic and barbaric.

He hoped her father hadn't pressed for a wedding. Fina said she would do what she could to prevent Bridget from getting married before he could plead his case. But when he'd arrived in town, Fina had said that Dr. Grayson refused to let her visit Bridget anymore. And Bridget wasn't allowed to go out until she was married off. She was essentially a prisoner in her own home.

The thick oak door opened slowly. He expected it to creak or give a great bellowing moan. But it did neither. As silent as a whisper.

A white-haired man in a black suit, crisp white shirt and black bow tie stood on the other side of the threshold. “Good day, sir. May I help you?”

“I would like to see Bridget Gree—Grayson.”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Lindley Thompson.”

The man stepped aside. “Right this way.”

As Lindley entered, the marble entry floor seemed to echo even his breathing. A curving staircase of mahogany ascended to the upper floor. At least two of the mining-company shanties could fit in this entry. The vastness and splendor of the house dwarfed his self-confidence. He felt like an errant child trespassing where he shouldn't. He could almost hear his own heartbeat.

The man shut the front door and slid open a pocket door to the right. “Please wait in here.”

Lindley found himself in a large room lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling without space for a single volume more. He heard the door slide quietly closed behind him.

No wonder Bridget made such a good teacher. She'd had all these books to read. Even if she read only a small portion of them, her knowledge would be vast.

He tilted his head and read the titles on the spines. Shelves and shelves of medical books. He stepped across the room to see what other subjects were there and stopped at a volume on mining. He pulled it out. Interesting. What was a doctor doing with a book on mining? He scanned other titles and noted that there were volumes on various topics.

“What are you doing here?” A gruff voice snapped behind him.

Lindley juggled the book between his hands but ultimately lost control, and it careened to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. “I'm sorry.” He hurriedly retrieved it and shoved it back onto the shelf. Then he turned to see Dr. Grayson glaring at him.

“I forbid you to see Bridget. You may leave now. Orvin will show you out.” The doctor turned to retreat.

“Wait.”

Dr. Grayson swung back around, glaring.

In that moment, Lindley knew why he was really here and swallowed hard. “I wish to speak with
you
.”

“About my daughter, no doubt.”

Yes. But he sensed it would be more. “I would like to tell you about your daughter. Shall we sit?”

* * *

Lindley strolled back to Fina and Zachariah's home. He couldn't believe he'd spent several hours the past three days talking to Bridget's father. And not once had he asked to see Bridget. He wanted to see her, hoped the doctor would offer, but never asked. Though each conversation started out about Bridget, it always turned to God.

The poor doctor didn't know the Lord.

Lindley couldn't imagine going through life's trials without the solid foundation his faith brought him. How could he have gotten through Dora's injury, his wife's dying or hanging on for dear life over a cliff at age twelve? It was his night on the cliff that had made God real to him.

Perhaps Dr. Grayson needed his own cliff experience to see his need for the Lord.

As Lindley climbed the steps of the wide porch of the March mansion, the door opened.

The butler dipped his head. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome back.”

Lindley stepped inside. He was not used to people waiting on him. But this was the station Bridget came from. Money, servants and grandeur. Maybe she had been relieved to be done with him. She hadn't said she loved him. But he hoped she did.

Cilla rushed up to him. “Did you talk to her today?”

He shook his head. “It wasn't the right time to ask.”

“Not the right time? Tomorrow is the last day. We leave the following day.”

“I know. I know.” He handed his hat to the butler. “Thank you.”

Cilla didn't let up. “Is her father any closer to letting you see her?”

“It's hard to say. There are times when I'm telling him about God and Jesus that he seems to be really listening and interested. Then it's like a massive door slams shut between us. He told me not to come back.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I'd see him tomorrow.”

“What if he's not there?” Cilla asked.

“He'll be there.” He had to be.

“How do you know?”

“Fear.”

Cilla squinted her face.

“He would be afraid that I'd show up and see Bridget at the house. Or if she wasn't there, that one of his household staff would have pity on me and tell me where she is.”

“Why don't you go to the house when he's not there and see her?”

He shook his head. “It wouldn't be right to go around him. I need his blessing. He needs to see me as honorable.”

Cilla huffed. “Well, at this rate, dear brother, you'll be an old man before you see her again.”

“Tomorrow I'm going to ask to see her.”

“And if he refuses?”

“I can't think that way.” He would see her, one way or another. He had to.

* * *

As Bridget sat on a bench in the rear garden, her father strode out of the house and approached her. “Bridget, why must you wear that dreadful black dress every day?”

“I'm in mourning.” Her father had forbidden her to leave the house or grounds. He'd even put an end to all her visitors. Especially Fina.

“I don't find that humorous. No one has died.”

She hadn't meant it as humorous. “My freedom has. It was murdered.”

He scowled.

Now his expression was humorous. She stood to leave.

“Eat supper with me.”

She gritted her teeth and said, “Our agreement didn't include suppers or polite conversation. Only a perfect son-in-law for you.” She strolled toward the house.

“Don't walk away from me.”

There was a time, not so long ago, she wouldn't have dared to defy that order. Now it only caused the slightest hesitation in her step.

He called after her. “Why are this man and his children so important to you?”

That made her stop, but she didn't turn around right away. When she did, she was slow and deliberate. “I love him and love his children. Something you don't understand.”

“Eat supper with me and plead your case.”

Supplication from her father? Doubtful. More likely manipulation to get what he wanted.

“That would be a waste of my time and yours.” She strode away knowing that no amount of pleading or crying on her part would change his mind.

As the afternoon pushed toward supper, an annoying prompting to eat with her father kept badgering Bridget. She tried to ignore it. But couldn't. She didn't want to sup with the man forcing her into marriage. Wouldn't. She could be as stubborn as him.

But the Lord poked and prodded her until she was spiritually black-and-blue. So when the supper hour arrived, she found herself descending the staircase. She took a deep breath before braving the threshold into the dining room.

Her father sat at the far end of the long table with several folders spread out around his plate. He didn't notice her.

The cook's assistant standing at Father's elbow cleared her throat. “Sir.”

He looked up, and the servant made a pointed look at Bridget.

Her father stood. “Come sit.” He turned to the woman and indicated the seat adjacent to him. “Bring another place setting.”

The woman scurried out.

Bridget was tempted to seat herself at the far opposite end of the table but sat where she was expected to. Why had she come?

He sat again. “I sent Pinkerton detectives all over the country looking for you.”

Not surprising.

“I feared the worst.”

“Well, as you can see, I'm hale and hearty.”

He scowled at her retort. “I never imagined you would go to the islands. You hate traveling by boat.”

That was why she had chosen the islands. She knew it would be the last place he would look. “Still do.”

He was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. “So you have come to convince me to change my mind. I'm interested in what arguments you will use.”

“No, I haven't. If I learned one thing living under your roof, it is that once you have made a decision, there is no changing your mind. Even if you are wrong.”

The servant set a plate, silverware, goblet and all the other unnecessary utensils around her plate. What a waste.

“Thank you, Millicent.”

The woman stared at her a moment. The staff wasn't used to anyone thanking them for the duties they performed daily. Her father certainly never had.

She curtsied and backed away.

Her father waited until the servants had dished up food onto her plate and left before he spoke. “So if you didn't come to petition for your freedom, why are you here?”

He would love for her to beg, probably prefer it if she got down on her knees. “I don't know. I guess I feel sorry for you.” That surprised her. When had she started feeling sorry for him? And for what? He had everything.

He narrowed his eyes. Evidently not approving of her reason.

She took a bite of roast lamb. She hadn't eaten so elaborately in years. Her palate didn't much care for it, but she forced the meat down her throat. Or maybe it was the company that disagreed with her. “Have you chosen…someone?” She couldn't bring herself to say “a husband.”

“I have a few men in mind.” He took a drink of his wine, studying her over the rim of the glass. Looking for a reaction, no doubt.

She would give him none and took a bite of asparagus.

He set his glass down. “So this Mr. Thompson? He's like you? Pious?”

This she did react to. By staring. Her father never spoke of religion and forbade anyone in his presence to speak of it. “Yes…he believes in God.”

“Is this why you care for him?”

“I guess it's part of it because loving God makes him the man he is.”

“No one made me the man I am. I have done everything on my own. This God is nothing more than a crutch for weak men.” He took a bite of lamb.

So her father had brought up the subject so he could criticize God. And criticize her for believing in Him.

He swallowed. “You apparently had the life you wanted and could have married this man. Why did you contact me?”

“A little girl's life was at stake.”

“She would have lived.”

“But Dr. Unger wanted to amputate her leg.”

“She would have learned to get around with an artificial one.”

She couldn't believe he could be so indifferent.

“So why me, and not some other doctor?”

“The only doctors I know are your colleagues, and they would have run to you and told you where I was. You are the best. Why settle for second best when you would find out anyway? And I had no guarantee any of them would have come posthaste.”

“Still, you could have had everything you wanted in exchange for her leg. A rather small price to pay. So why did you choose her over yourself?”

Of course her father couldn't understand. “It was the right thing to do. How could I have lived out my life knowing I cost a little girl her leg? Why should Dora pay the price for my freedom?”