Would-Be Mistletoe Wife. Christine Johnson

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.”

      She climbed one step but still could not reach the shelf.

      “Allow me.” Jesse Hammond crossed the room. “I can easily fetch the volume for you.”

      She could feel him uncomfortably close. “I can get it.” She climbed another step and reached.

      She must have set the stool on one of the uneven floor planks, for it tilted beneath her. She cried out as the whole thing gave way. Then, before even one foot touched the ground, strong arms caught her and held her close.

      Oh,