Romancing the Schoolteacher (8 page)

“You're awfully quiet, Thompson,” Gary Bennett said.

He missed his children. It had been only one night, but he'd felt their absence. He was a sorry sap. “Just listening to you ninnies jabbering.”

The men laughed.

“You're not gonna back out on us, are you?” Jonesy asked.

“Of course not. I'm determined to make all our situations better.”

When the other men moved to head back to work, Marcus put a hand on Lindley's shoulder. “I wanted to thank you. Between what you recommended and the doc looking at him, my boy is improving.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“If there is anything I can do for you, holler.”

Lindley paused. “May I ask you something?”

Marcus furrowed his brow. “Your tone sounds personal.”

“No.” Only personal for Lindley. “How can you tell if a lady likes you?”

Marcus's face relaxed, and he chuckled. “Oh, the schoolteacher's sweet on you, all right.”

Lindley looked at his friend sideways. “How did you know I was talking about Miss Greene?”

Marcus wiggled his fingers next to his big blue eyes. “Moony eyes at her. You wait for her before and after church. And, most days, you talk about her so much, the men are getting tired of it.”

He hadn't realized he was doing all that, but it was true. Back in his school days, he had friends who did those very things when they liked a girl. He supposed it was easier to see it in someone else rather than himself. “So how do you know she likes me?”

Marcus wiggled his fingers next to his eyes again. “Moony eyes. Looking for you in church when she's up there playing the pie-an-oh. Feeding you and your children supper every night. And her cheeks flush pink when you smile at her, which you do a lot.”

He found himself smiling now. He would have to look for her blush.

After work, Lindley washed up and hurried to Miss Greene's. She opened the door, and her cheeks tinged pink. He'd always thought the color was either natural or that it had been from cooking over a hot stove. But he'd watched as the color bloomed and settled nicely on her face.

Once seated at the table and eating, he wanted to ask if he could address her by her first name. Instead, he cleared his throat.

* * *

That was the fourth time Mr. Thompson had cleared his throat. He seemed nervous, the way he was fidgeting. “Is there something wrong with your food?”

“No.” He cleared his throat yet again. “So do you have family? I mean, are they on the island? Maybe a brother or sister?”

Family?
Bridget's insides fluttered. She took her time in swallowing. She had tried to forget she once had a family. It only made her feel guilty. “No. No one on the island. Just me. No siblings. What about you? Brothers and sisters?” Maybe she could distract him.

“Five sisters and one brother. He's the youngest. My sisters doted on him, so he's quite spoiled.”

“All on the islands?”

“All on
this
island.”

“Are you the oldest?”

“Rachel's oldest. She's my half sister. She's the one who married a British officer during the Pig War. They have nine children. I'm next oldest. Alice is married with four children. Winnie just got married. Edith is engaged. Priscilla is almost eighteen and has several admiring suitors flitting around her, and Todd is thirteen.”

Success. He'd forgotten all about inquiring after her relations.

So many siblings and nieces and nephews. He spoke about them with warmth and a smile.

She longed for that kind of closeness. She had left her family behind and now had only herself.

After dessert, Mr. Thompson made his way to the door with his children. “Thank you for another delicious supper.”

“You're most welcome.” She had been an atrocious cook when she'd first arrived in Roche Harbor three years ago. But she had been determined to feed herself edible meals, so she had pored over cookbooks. Though much improved, she still had a lot to learn. With Mr. Thompson and his children dining with her each evening, she prepared only tried-and-true recipes.

Gabe and Dora scampered out onto the porch.

Mr. Thompson hung back and worked the brim of his hat around and around. “I was wondering if I could…I mean…if you'd allow me to…um… Would you like to use my given name? I mean, I'd like it if you used my given name. Lindley.” His ears had turned red.

“Lindley, I'd be honored. And you may call me Bridget.”

His smile broke wide, and he tipped his hat. “Good evening, Bridget. Thank you again. And I'll see you tomorrow.”

Things were progressing quite well with Mr. Thom—Lindley.

* * *

Lindley turned to leave Bridget's porch, but only Gabe stood next to him. “Where's your sister?”

Gabe pointed through the doorway.

Dora stood by the table.

Lindley held out a hand. “Come on.”

His daughter shook her head. “I wanna stay at Teacher's house again. She has a soft bed.”

Lindley couldn't believe his daughter's boldness. He stepped forward with one foot inside and the other still out. “You can't. Now come along.”

Dora grabbed his hand and pulled to keep him in the house. “You can stay, too.”

He couldn't believe Dora said that and jerked his gaze to Bridget. Her cheeks were a pretty shade of pink, and she avoided eye contact. He picked up his daughter. “Time to go.” He would have to have a little talk with Dora about appropriate and inappropriate things to say. “We'll see you tomorrow.”

“Good evening,” Miss Greene said as he stepped off the porch.

On the walk home, Lindley's thoughts remained on Miss Gree— No, he could call her Bridget now.

Dora shifted in his arms. “Why didn't you want to stay at Teacher's?”

“It's not that I didn't want to—I mean, I didn't…” He took an exasperated breath. “Dora, you can't invite yourself to stay at someone else's house.”

“Why not? We stayed before. And you didn't get to. You would have liked it. Her bed—”

“Dora. Stop.” He would push that thought right out of his mind. How to explain it to a four-year-old? “Darling, I can't stay at Miss Greene's house. It wouldn't be right.”

“Why not?”

He took a deep breath. “Well, we aren't married. A man and woman can't live in the same house if they aren't married, unless they are already family.”

“Then we need to marry her.”

We? She obviously didn't understand the concept of marriage. “A man and woman need to be in love before they get married.” Even though he hadn't been in love with Doreen. Not really.

“Don't you love her, Papa?”

“Well, I don't know. I haven't known her very long.” But he knew his feelings were rapidly heading that way.

Dora wiggled, and he had to tighten his hold so she didn't fall. “Why not, Papa? Why not? You should love her!”

Gabe breathed hard. “She's never going to understand.”

Lindley didn't think his son really grasped the concept either, but Gabe liked to act as though he knew more than he really did. “It's not that simple. She would have to love me, too.”

Dora patted his chest. “I'll ask Teacher at school tomorrow to love you and marry you.”

“No!” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Dora, you are not to say one word to Miss Greene about love or marriage or staying at her house. Do you understand?”

“But why? Don't you want to marry her?”

Gabe shook his head. “See.”

Lindley hung his head. “Honestly, I don't know. But you can't say anything to her. It—it…it might…make her feel bad, and then she might not want us to come over. Promise you won't say anything to her, or I won't let you go to school anymore.”

Dora huffed. “I promise. But you should love her.”

He just knew his daughter was going to get him in trouble with Bridget. “Gabe?”

“I'm not going to say anything like that.”

Good.

“Papa?” Gabe kicked a rock on the path. “Why did you talk like that to Miss Greene?”

“Like what?” He didn't know what his son was referring to.

“All jerky.”

Ah, yes. Just before they left. Lindley had sounded like such a fool, trying to ask to use her first name. Fortunately, after he'd made a blundering idiot of himself and still not asked, she had graciously offered him the use of her first name. “I was thinking of other things. I wasn't concentrating. Which is something
you
should never do.”

“Can we call Miss Greene Bridget, too?”

“No. She's your teacher. You must always address her as Miss Greene. Do you understand?”

Gabe nodded as he kicked another rock.

Lindley spoke to his daughter. “Dora?”

“What, Papa?”

Did his daughter not hear and understand? Or had she already learned the feminine art of being coy? “You understand that you must continue to call Miss Greene Miss Greene?”

“But if she says I can call her Bridget, can I? Bridget is a pretty name.”

“No. Not without asking me first.” It wouldn't be proper for his children to accidentally call her Bridget in school.

Dora's words echoed in his head.
Don't you want to marry her? You should love her!

Bridget was definitely a woman he could see himself falling in love with. But how would he know if he was or not? He definitely couldn't ask her to marry him if he couldn't even ask to address her by her first name.

L
indley offered Marcus the chair adjacent to Mr. Keen's desk.

The big man shook his head. “I'd rather stand.” He leaned against the interior door frame.

Was he hoping to make a quick escape if things turned unfavorable?

The mine manager sat behind his desk, with one elbow on a stack of papers, the other on a flat piece of limestone. His sour expression and narrowed eyes told Lindley the man was annoyed with them for interrupting his day. It wouldn't be prudent to try to cajole Marcus into sitting. The manager would rather they just leave.

Lindley wasn't inclined to comply, so he lowered himself into the chair to let Mr. Keen know they weren't going anywhere. “Marcus and I represent the miners and kiln workers.”

Mr. Keen rolled his eyes and sat back, causing his chair to creak. “Thompson, I knew you were going to be trouble the minute I laid eyes on you.”

“We aren't here to cause trouble, just want what's fair.”

“I don't suppose I can just say no, and the two of you will walk out of here?” Mr. Keen waved his hand toward the door.

“No, sir.”

The manager huffed a breath. “Out with it, so I can say no and you two will leave.”

Lindley hoped it wouldn't be so. The miners and kiln workers deserved better. “We have six items on our list.” He unfolded the piece of paper he held, though he doubted he would need it.

“You're a bit big for your britches expecting so much.”

“You're a reasonable man. I'm sure you'll see the merit in what we're asking for.”

“I'm sure higher wages is on that list of yours. Always is. We pay what all the other mines are paying. The investors aren't going to agree to an increase.”

Lindley expected argument on the wages, but he would still try. “We'll get to wages. It's number three. First, the houses the mine company provides. They are in need of repairs. My roof leaks in three places when it rains. It's a wonder everyone isn't sick. The men will work harder, knowing their families are in safe, warm homes.”

Mr. Keen pinched his eyebrows together. “Leaks?”

“Yes, sir. And drafts come in through cracks in the walls. I can see where the previous tenant stuffed paper in mine, but they get wet when it rains and fall out.”

Mr. Keen stared at Lindley for a long time without speaking.

Lindley would wait him out, daring him to refuse to repair the houses.

Mr. Keen's gaze shifted up to Marcus. “Your house leak?”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Not mine personally, but I know of several that do.”

“Roughly how many?”

“I'd say at least half if not more.”

“Make me a list of the houses and what needs fixing and what supplies will be needed. If I get the materials, will the men fix their own houses?”

“Yes, sir,” Marcus said.

“Then I'll see what I can do.”

The men shouldn't have to fix company houses without compensation, but it was better than nothing. And the men would be eager to do their own repairs if it meant better living conditions.

“Second, the miners can see the company doctor, but their families can't. Marcus's boy was real sick, and the doctor wouldn't look at him at first. If—”

Mr. Keen held out his hand to stop Lindley. “Doc's first priority is the workers.”

“Yes, but—”

“If he has time, the families can see him, but the workers come first. I'll talk to him.” Then he quickly added, “But if the families abuse the privilege, it'll be taken away.”

Lindley was pleased with that. “Third, wages.”

“We already covered that.”

“If the men made a little more, they would work harder, and the company could be choosier in whom they hire because everyone would want to work here.”

The manager shook his head. “I'll bring it up to the investors, but I know they won't agree to it. Next.”

Lindley supposed he couldn't ask for more. “Fourth, script. We want part of our pay in real money.”

“No. That won't happen. Next.”

“But—”

Mr. Keen leaned forward. “Next.” His tone left no room for argument.

Lindley consulted his list even though he didn't need to. Should he try to push for real money? Maybe next time. “Shorter workday. The men would have more energy to work if they weren't so tired.”