“What utter lies,” Lynette whispered, her knees weak. “How did she explain George’s disappearance?”
Uncle Jonathan moistened his lips. “George refused to go along with the plan, and you killed him, too.”
Her stomach twisted. “Am I to be charged with murder?”
“I hope not. Constable Smythe is talking to others about your character…and George’s.”
“He was the more congenial.” She shrugged. “Of course, you know his mannerisms. Why is this happening?”
“I have no idea. Wilda will not let the notion rest.” Uncle Jonathan walked closer to the water, but she saw him swipe at a tear.
Instantly she was at his side and touched his back. “There’s more, isn’t there, Uncle.”
He gave her a grim smile. “There is.”
McNair joined them. “What is the rest of the news?” he said. “Surely it can’t be any worse.”
Uncle Jonathan focused on McNair. “It concerns you. My wife claims Mrs. Creed is too old to be a fit chaperone. The old woman is interested only in her stitchery and sleeping. Her mind drifts in and out of reality. My wife claims you and Lynette have ample opportunity to—”
“I’ve heard enough.” McNair’s voice thundered. “If you can’t control Mrs. Adams, then I shall speak to her myself.”
“Wait, sir.” Uncle Jonathan’s face flushed. “I’ve attempted to stop her meddling, but it continues.”
“Has she spread this second lie among the community?” McNair’s voice resembled Whaley’s low growl.
“A petition has been circulated within the church. It’s on my desk. I’ve refused to act on it, but she’s encouraging others to pressure me.”
For once Lynette was speechless. Why would God allow the tragedies to continue? And to think her new friends were involved.
“Then I shall inform her of what the Good Book says about lying.”
McNair heard Lynette calling after him, but fury stopped him from heeding her call. How could Wilda Adams be so vile? He’d known Lynette for only a short while, but one would be a fool not to see her good heart.
Murder?
Inappropriate behavior?
And what of Mrs. Creed?
How could an intelligent woman listen to George’s lies?
Lynette tugged on his arm. “Please, Mr. Hattchery.”
“McNair. The name is McNair. If we’re being accused of such…well, we should be on a first-name basis.”
“All right.” Her tender voice brought him to a halt, and he refused to look into her blue eyes. “But think about your actions,” she said. “Please, give me one minute of your time before you burst in there like…Whaley when he thinks I’m threatened.”
“Glad to see I’ve now risen to the status of a dog.” He remembered the times his temper had caused him regret. “What is it you’d have me say? My good name is at stake here, too.”
“If you cross Uncle Jonathan’s wife, she will use it against us. She’ll interpret your righteous anger for a denial of the truth.”
Her words made sense. Taking a few deep breaths, he regained his logic. “I see your point, but I will have a few—”
“Oh, Mr. Hattchery,” the object of his fury called from the cottage doorway. “Mary Elizabeth has a song for you about the sea. I’ve heard it, and the words and tune are most enjoyable.”
Lynette tilted her head. “How can you refuse the entertainment?”
“By stuffing cotton into my ears?”
“You’ll need it. Singing isn’t one of Mary Elizabeth’s finer gifts.”
“I have work to do in the lighthouse. Mrs. Adams would want me to earn my pay.”
“Mercy. I’ll send her and Mary Elizabeth up there to keep you company.”
“You wouldn’t do me such an injustice.”
“Mind your tongue and act like Uncle Jonathan who didn’t reveal a thing. We’ll find a way to let the truth rise like rich cream.”
He warmed with her words. “How can you be civil to her after all she’s done?”
“I’m not sure. Mrs. Creed must be praying for both of us. I do know it’s wrong to return evil for evil.”
He’d once done that very thing, and his actions had nearly destroyed him and his family.
Chapter 11
Long after midnight, sleep still escaped Lynette. She stood in the doorway of the cottage and studied the flickering lights on the mainland. Before McNair had taken his post in the tower and Mrs. Creed had retired for the evening, the three had prayed together. In the morning they’d discuss the situation.
Dear Papa, I miss your wisdom. How wonderful if all of you would appear and put these rumors to rest. But Constable Smythe had found the empty boat…with a hole.
She touched her neck. The constable could use it as evidence against her. Murderers were hung. At least she’d be in heaven with her family. Could she take the punishment for a crime she didn’t commit? Running held a glimmer of hope. Out West no one knew her, and she could begin again. Was living a lie worth freedom from a hangman’s noose?
Yet her life had taken a better turn before today’s news. Friends…how could she be so blessed? Papa would have enjoyed McNair. A tingling at the thought of using his given name spread through her, and it wasn’t the first time she’d felt a stirring for him. If her feelings ever surfaced, Uncle Jonathan’s wife would have plenty to tell others.
Leaving the island and talking to Constable Smythe might be the best solution. Then Mrs. Creed and McNair would be spared more injustice. What did she have to live for with everyone she touched falling into a sea of pain?
For a moment she allowed herself to dwell on McNair and a relationship growing between them. She adored his temperament and the way he challenged her thoughts. Maple-syrup eyes laced the sweetness she felt when he gazed her way. A life with him would never be dull. She’d seen his glances and knew what they meant.
“Dear, why not talk to Mr. Hattchery?” Mrs. Creed’s voice calmed her worried thoughts. “His nighttime hours are lonely in the tower. And there’s no point in both of you being robbed of sleep.”
“He may enjoy the solitude.”
“Or he may welcome the company.” The woman touched Lynette’s shoulder. “You don’t know until you try.”
“I’m uncertain of my role with him.”
“You two are blind to what God is doing.”
“What if he doesn’t share in the same feelings?”
“He had them first.”
Lynette smiled into the darkness. “I know little about Mr. Hattchery.”
“There’s always a beginning. Most men don’t reveal much about themselves willingly, so we women need to ask questions.”
Lynette listened to the waves’ rhythm, God’s comfort to a struggling soul. “I’ll take him a cup of tea.”
“And I’ll continue in my role as a prayer warrior. My list gets longer as I breathe.”
Lynette hugged the dear woman. “Thank you for being here.”
“This is one test of faith I didn’t wish for you. Wilda’s lies have me baffled.”
Lynette sensed the heaviness in her chest. “It will get worse, I fear. Much worse.”
McNair questioned the footsteps approaching the top of his domain. Could it be George Zimmerman? Normally McNair took a break to walk off the sleepiness that occurred at this hour, giving the fellow a moment to invade the tower. But he soon recognized the lightness in step came from Lynette.
Whaley wagged his tail. “We welcome the company,” he whispered to the animal. He’d grown fond of Lynette in a short time. Very fond.
As the footsteps grew closer, his pulse quickened. Where were these unexpected emotions leading him?
“A cup of tea for your evening?” she said in the doorway. Her dark hair hung about her shoulders, and he could envision her ocean-blue eyes.
“Splendid.” How easy it was to smile into her angelic face.
“I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d help you keep watch for
George.”
He chuckled. “If he appears, we could subdue him together.” Now why had he used the word together?
“You already know how I wish to deal with him.” She handed him the tea.
“For shame.” He lifted the steaming cup as a toast. “Thank you. It will keep me awake. Today was strenuous.”
“Which is why I’m not sleeping.” She touched a finger to her lips. “My heart goes out to Uncle Jonathan. He’s torn, and I never wished misfortune to address him.” She sighed. “But I’m not here to discuss today. I want to talk about you.”
He raised a brow. Did she know? “What about? I’m a boring fellow.”
“Since we’re using our given names, then we should be more than mere acquaintances.”
“Oh, I think we long since entered the world of friendship.” He caught himself before saying more. “Carry on, and let me hear what’s on your mind.”
“You’ve stated your mother’s a widow, and you have six sisters. Are they all married?”
“One is also a widow.” He hesitated with a pang of regret for his sister. “And I have nineteen nieces and nephews.”
“A large family. How nice. And where do they live?”
“In Maine, near my mother.”
“I suppose you miss them?”
He took a sip of the tea. “It was time for me to leave. Living with Mother caused me to grow lazy.” Answering personal questions was not his favorite pastime. “My turn. How long have you lived here?”
“Since I was eight and Amanda was nine. Mama schooled us, and Papa taught me about the lighthouse.”
He startled. “You know how to operate the lenses?”
She nodded. “I wanted to ask Uncle Jonathan for your position, but grief paralyzed me. If you ever do need help—other than to use the fire in my eyes to light the way—I’m available.”
How enchanting. “I’m surprised and pleased.” How fetching she looked in a pale green frock that accented her creamy complexion. “Tell me why you’re not married or being courted?”
In the light, she blushed, and he found the sight refreshing. “I was being courted, but after the tragedy, he chose to see someone else.”
“The man was a fool.”
She tilted her head. “Or possibly intelligent enough to see the road ahead would be rocky…with the suspicions. Do you think women are to keep the home tidy, cook, clean, keep children in tow, and not be studious?”
An unusual question, but he’d be honest. “From my experience, a woman who is devoted to house and children is separated from a man who would welcome stimulating conversation.”
“My papa thought the same,” she said. “What books shall we discuss? I have Plato, Shakespeare, and of course the Bible.”
Would this woman ever cease to amaze him?
Chapter 12
Two days later, on Sunday morning, McNair announced he wanted to escort Lynette and Mrs. Creed to church. No point in hiding on the island while rumors simmered like hot tallow. “It’s time we worshipped in church instead of here,” he said. “After all, the mayor’s wife invited us to hear Mary Elizabeth play for the service.”
“She invited you, not me.” Lynette clenched her fists.
“We’re a threesome,” he said. “I’d like for you ladies to consider the venture. None of us want to face God one day and be accused of not worshipping Him properly.”
“We’d be brave souls to step into church,” Mrs. Creed said. “And yet our appearance would show we’re not cowards.”
“Will you accompany us?” he said to Lynette.
“I haven’t been to church since shortly after the funeral.” She lifted her chin. “I can’t hide forever.”
In less than an hour, McNair rowed the three to shore. A gentle breeze cooled their faces from the warm day. He watched the tall steeple of the white church grow larger. It stood as an anchor to the community, the center of life. If he could convince Lynette and Mrs. Creed, they’d return each Sunday, establishing their credibility as Christians and showing God their devotion.
By the time they entered the church, bells were ringing and Mary Elizabeth was playing a prelude.
“Near the front,” McNair said. He took each woman’s arm and escorted them to a pew. “I won’t let anyone tarnish either of your reputations.” Mrs. Creed whispered her thanks, but Lynette trembled.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
After a robust sermon based on purging the church of evildoers, McNair questioned the logic of exposing himself and the women to scrutiny.
We live a virtuous life on the island. It’s not us who need to be cleansing our hearts.
The last amen spoken, McNair glanced at Mrs. Creed and Lynette. He’d ignored the people when they entered. Departing the church would be more uncomfortable than entering it.
“Dignity, ladies,” he whispered.
In the rear stood Wilda Adams and three other women. All glared.
“The woman on the left who looks like she kissed a lemon is the reverend’s wife,” Mrs. Creed said. “Oh, watch me heap burning coals on her head.” She broke away from McNair and strode toward the women.
“This should be interesting,” Lynette said. “We may receive an ultimatum never to return.”
McNair hoped not. If he were to live among these people, mutual respect needed to accompany both sides.
“How wonderful to see you, Sarah,” Mrs. Creed said to the woman and took her hand. “I thought you’d come to see me on the island.”
“I’ve been busy.” Sarah pulled from the grasp.
“Isn’t it time to make quilts for the needy? What of the orphans and widows? Do Lynette and I not qualify for Christian charity?” Mrs. Creed startled. “I declare, only one of you have visited us.”
McNair held his breath. Lynette gripped his arm.
“Let me introduce you to our lighthouse keeper,” Mrs. Creed said. “He’s quite a savior, you know. When your loved ones are out to sea on a starless night, he will light the way.”
She made the introductions, and the women responded…stiffly.
“We’d love to have you for tea,” Lynette said. “It’s quite peaceful on the island.”
Wilda Adams lifted her nose. “We don’t want to associate with those who romp with the devil.”
McNair sensed the blood pouring into his brain. “Then why do these good women associate with you?” He nodded at the other three. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”
He no longer cared if he offended the mayor’s wife.
On the way out, the reverend did not offer to shake any of their hands. Nothing was said until they were midway across the water.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Lynette said. “I will not run. Those who oppose me without cause have no idea how hard I can fight. I’m ready, McNair. I will move to town until this is settled.”
“I disagree,” he said. “The three of us are in this war together.”
Less than a week later, Harley Smythe, the constable, rowed to Bird Island. Mrs. Creed saw him first, relaying the news to Lynette about the arrival.
“We expected it,” Lynette said, although she’d hoped the constable would have disregarded the gossip. She patted Mrs. Creed’s hand. “Never you mind. I’m sure he’s here only to ask a few questions.”
“I shall find Mr. Hattchery.”
“He’ll learn soon enough.” She forced a smile. “Constable Smythe could be bringing good news.”
“Have you ever known Harley Smythe to be a messenger of pleasant tidings?” Mrs. Creed’s eyes moistened. “I’ll put on water for tea.”
From the cottage door, she watched McNair help Constable Smythe bring his boat onto the shore. They shook hands, and it occurred to her the two hadn’t met.
She hesitated, evaluating the situation. Calmness settled on her, and she knew God would give her strength to withstand whatever the future held.
The two men talked on the way
to the cottage, and she breathed relief. Perhaps her fears were not warranted.
Lynette stood in the doorway. “Greetings, Mr. Smythe. Mrs. Creed has just heated water for tea.”
Mr. Smythe’s solemn face should have frightened her, but she rejected any signs of intimidation. “This is not a social visit, Miss Brittmore. I have many questions for you.”
Lynette gestured for him to sit. “Whatever you have to ask can be voiced over tea and in the company of my friends.”
“I hope the inquisition will be short,” Constable Smythe said. “Your father was a respected man in the community, and I trust he raised you to be the same.”
“He instilled in me truth and the precepts of God.” She seated herself across the table from him. McNair and Mrs. Creed joined them.
“As constable, I must establish the truth of what happened to the Brittmores and Mr. Zimmerman. Why weren’t you with your family the day they disappeared?”
How many times had she gone over this story? She responded with the same details that she’d provided more than two months ago.
“Were you involved with your sister’s husband?”
“No,” she said and forced down her ire. “I detested him.”
Mr. Smythe frowned. “Why?”
Lynette repeated what Mrs. Creed and McNair had heard before.
“Did you kill them?”
Lynette leaned in to him. “I’m not the person you are looking for. George Zimmerman is, and I believe he is alive.”
“Where is he?”
She pressed her lips together. “Close by. Probably on the mainland.”
“You tell me where to find him, and I’ll discuss his involvement with the deaths of your family.”
If necessary she would find the man.
“Do you understand you’re under suspicion for murder?” Constable Smythe said.
“I do. God will render me innocent. Tell that to those who are spreading lies about me and my friends.”
Lighthouse Brides Collection Page 11