She blinked. “Yes, brother. I blamed you for Robbie’s death when you did all you could to save him.”
He started to speak, but she touched a finger to his lips.
“One hour before the accident, I asked you to help me stop him from shouting danger when nothing was wrong. He needed to work through missing his father, but not by lying and worrying others with his constant need for attention.”
McNair hadn’t thought about their conversation since before the drowning. “But that’s no excuse.”
“I…I would have done the same. I’d have let him drown, thinking he was only wanting someone to notice him. No one is to blame. It was an accident.”
McNair drew his sister into an embrace, the sister who’d been closest to him, the sister he’d protected and treasured. He’d never been one to shed tears, but these were a blend of sadness and joy.
“I told Mother I wouldn’t return without your forgiveness,” she said.
“And you have it.”
Rachel lifted her chin, the stubborn stance he remembered from their childhood days. “One more thing. Mr. Adams tells me you’ve met a young woman of whom you’re quite fond.”
He frowned. “I sent her away.”
“So I heard.” She wagged a gloved finger at him. “Don’t let happiness escape you because of your pride. Go to her. Make things right.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I doubt if she’ll speak to me after the way I treated her.”
“Try, brother. For me.” She batted those huge brown eyes, just like she’d done when she was a girl.
“All right.”
“Today?”
“You and I need to spend time together.”
“We have. I’m going home so I can report to the family that you’re well. Write me tonight and mother also. Tell us all about this young woman who’s snatched your heart.”
McNair glanced at the harbor and the houses dotted on the mainland. Fishing boats bobbed in the water. “Today I’ll talk to Lynette, and tonight I’ll write no matter what she says.” He smiled. “She’s beautiful… inside and out.”
“Good!”
“I have water on for tea. A few minutes with your favorite brother?”
She laughed, and he heard the girl in her. “You’re my only brother.”
An hour later, he hugged Rachel good-bye and shook hands with Jonathan. God was good, sending him what he needed at just the right time.
He walked back to the cottage and tidied up. Hidden in a drawer was his mother’s wedding ring. If only Lynette would believe his words of love.
At the shore, he bid Whaley to wait for him. “I’ll return before dusk,” he told the dog. “Wish me luck.” McNair chuckled at talking to the animal. Maybe he was really talking to God.
Chapter 19
Lynette watched the chicken turn in the fireplace, its juices spitting into the fire and the aroma filling Mrs. Creed’s home. While the woman slept, Lynette kneaded bread to rise. She recalled how McNair had said the smells of her cooking would call a wayward sailor to shore long before the lighthouse. Memories of loved ones always soothed her. Her last letter to her family had been sent the day she left the island. Mama, Papa, and Amanda lived inside her…just like McNair.
A knock at the door captured her attention. Probably Uncle Jonathan needed to see a kind face. The past few weeks had been horrible for him, and she wanted to be a listening ear.
She opened the door to McNair, standing with his hat in hand. Startled, she hoped he couldn’t see how his presence affected her.
“Do you have time to speak with me?” he said.
“Yes…please come in.” She gestured for him to sit at the table while bidding her body to cease trembling.
“How is Mrs. Creed?”
“Doing well. And you?”
“Better now.” He told her about his sister’s visit, but he seemed extremely nervous, shuffling his hat from hand to hand.
“Thank you for telling me.” The brother-sister reunion helped fill the void in her.
“There’s more.” He took a deep breath. “Can I have a glass of water?”
“Surely.” Lynette gasped. Where were her manners?
Once he took a long drink, he stared at her. “My sister heard about you from Jonathan.”
How curious.
“I told her how I’d turned you away. How I felt I could never be the man you deserved.” He took another drink of water while her heart might just burst from her chest. “I’m here because I want to make things right between us. Your poems have touched me so.” He pulled them from his pocket…wrinkled and obviously well read.
“What is it, McNair?” She smiled. “How can I help you?”
He took her hand. “I love you, Lynette. Can you forgive me for hurting you?”
The world seemed to stop. “Of course.” The words were spoken, but she didn’t know how they’d come.
“And if I’ve not destroyed your feelings for me, would you consider being a lighthouse keeper’s wife?”
She giggled. “Only if the lighthouse keeper is you.”
“Oh, it is.” He squeezed her hand then reached into his pocket. “This was my mother’s ring. I’d be honored if you’d consider it your own.”
“So you’re asking me to marry you?”
“I am.”
“And you can take my teasing, my cooking, Whaley, and my love for a lifetime?”
McNair took both of her hands and drew her close. He kissed her tenderly as though she were fragile as porcelain. “Does that answer your question? I’m yours, Lynette, and I will spend the rest of my life proving how much I love you.”
A BEACON
IN THE STORM
by Andrea Boeshaar
Dedication
Brightly beams our Father’s mercy
From His lighthouse evermore,
But to us He gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore.
Let the lower lights be burning!
Send a gleam across the wave!
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.
“Let the Lower Lights Be Burning”
by PHILIP P. BLISS, 1838–1876
Chapter 1
November, 1868
The frigid north wind slapped at Captain Cade Danfield’s numb face while the icy waters of Lake Michigan tossed his three-masted schooner, Kismet, as though it were a child’s bath toy. The pelting sleet had taken up a collection on his bushy, blond mustache, and Cade tasted blood from his cracked lips.
“Cap’n! This is some kind of storm,” Hosea Benkins, the first mate, hollered over the din of the gale. “Came out of nowhere.”
Cade nodded a reply. However, truth be known, he had weathered worse squalls off the eastern shores during the war. From ’62 to ’64, he had manned a federal gunboat and patrolled the rough, uncertain waters of the Atlantic.
The war. The awful, bloody Civil War.
As always, its memories were suffused with images of his beloved wife, Isabelle. Would she be alive today if he had been home to care for her instead of out at sea? He’d never even gotten the chance to say good-bye….
“Papa?”
Cade swung around in horror at the sound of his daughter Jenny’s voice. “What are you doing out here?” he asked more gruffly than intended. “Get down below where it’s safe!”
“But Papa,” the ten-year-old argued as she clung to the handrail near the wheelhouse, “people are vomiting because of the roll of the water, and it’s a ghastly sight, and everyone is so frightened. I tried to tell them that my father is the captain of this ship and he has a good mind for what he’s doing, but they won’t listen.”
Cade almost grinned. Almost. In another place, at another time, he would have found his daughter’s courage amusing. From the determined set of her slender chin to the adventurous twinkle in her blue eyes, it was obvious that Jennifer Leigh Danfield wasn’t scared a wit of this temp
est. What’s more, she was as sure-footed as the best sailor on board. And why not? Cade had taken her with him everywhere for the past four and a half years. He scarcely let the golden-haired girl out of his sight for fear the Almighty would take her too—like Isabelle. But if God didn’t snatch his precious Jenny from him, this storm might well take her life.
“Back to your cabin, and that’s an order!”
She pouted but acquiesced. “Yes, Papa.”
Cade stared hard into the blinding wind to be certain the little imp made it safely into the hull. He sighed with relief when the last of her yellow oil slicker disappeared below.
His first mate’s chortles reached Cade’s ears as another gust cuffed his face. “What are you laughing at, Benk?” he growled, more at the inclement weather than at his longtime friend.
“Your little princess, that’s what. Are you raising a seafarer or a daughter?” The man chuckled again.
Cade shot him a dubious glance. Benkins was aware of Cade’s plans to sell the Kismet and put the maritime life behind him forever. Hadn’t he secured a position at Milwaukee’s Grain Exchange? Hadn’t he bought a house for the two of them on Newberry Boulevard? It was all for Jenny’s sake. Cade knew she needed proper schooling and training in the fine arts of becoming a lady. He knew his Jenny needed so many things he couldn’t provide as a single father, and it caused him many a sleepless night. But one thing he had settled in his heart for sure: His shipping days were over. This was his last voyage.
He only hoped they would make it to shore alive.
Suddenly the wind blasted its fury down upon the schooner again, and a sickening, splintering of wood shook Cade from his reverie.
“It’s the main topmast, Captain!” the lookout bellowed from the bow. They watched it topple into the seething lake like a dead tree limb.
“We can sail without it,” he assured his crew. He had been forced to navigate ships in worse conditions.
The wind howled, and the ship pitched violently. Cade’s frozen hands refused to hang onto the wheel another moment, and he was thrown backward. Benkins took his place in an instant while Cade fought for a handhold, lest he get hurled into the angry waves. The biblical story of Jonah flittered through his mind. Was he, Cade Danfield, like that prophet of old, running from God?
He knew the answer: He most certainly was!
“Mother, please sip just a bit of this hot tea,” Amanda urged, putting the spoon to the dying woman’s lips. “Please.”
“The light,” Evelyn Lewis rasped, “I must tend the light.”
“No, Mother. It’s well past dawn and the storm has blown over. I cared for the light all night long. I didn’t let it go out. And now,” Amanda said, setting the teacup on the tray beside her mother’s bed, “I’ve covered the Fresnel lens so it will not magnify the sun’s rays and start the lighthouse on fire.”
“Did you clean the lens first, child? You must clean the lens—”
“Yes, Mother. The windows and lenses are spotless. Everything is fine. Now, won’t you please eat a tiny bite of this poached egg?”
Evelyn gestured with her hand in a feeble protest.
Amanda sighed with frustration and growing concern. Perhaps she should call for Dr. Edwards again. No, she decided, it wouldn’t do any good. Dr. Edwards had said Mother was dying and suggested Amanda begin “making arrangements.”
Gazing down at the woman’s pasty complexion, Amanda knew what the doctor said was true. Each breath her mother took seemed labored. Her limp, brown, gray-streaked hair was parted in the middle, shrouding the sides of her gaunt face.
“Oh, Mother, please don’t die,” she whispered in desperation.
The sick woman’s eyes fluttered open, and she smiled weakly. “Death is inevitable, child, and I long to be in the arms of my Savior.”
But what about me? Amanda wanted to shout.
As if guessing her thoughts, her mother reached out a cold, thin hand. Amanda grasped it at once. “You’re nineteen years old,” the woman whispered. “You’re smart and strong. You will find your way in this world without me.”
“But Mr. Sloan—”
“Let him take over the lighthouse.”
“No!”
Amanda watched as her mother’s lips trembled in sallow amusement. “The North Point Light is not ours. I was fortunate to get the commission. But when I’m gone, you must give it up.”
“This is my home,” Amanda protested, “and I won’t give it up without a fight.”
“God has another home for you somewhere. Go to Chicago and live with your older brother and his family.”
Amanda swept her gaze heavenward. The idea seemed absurd. Her brother, David, was twenty years older than she, and Amanda scarcely knew him, his wife, and their daughters. She only saw them once, maybe twice, a year, and she hadn’t found any reason to take up written correspondence, although they seemed like decent, Christian people.
“David will take care of you,” her mother murmured.
“He’s got four girls of his own. I’ll only be a burden.”
“A blessed burden.”
“A burden nevertheless.”
Her mother looked pained at the retort, so Amanda quickly changed her tone. “Oh, you’re right, of course. I’ll be just fine. But please, will you eat some breakfast before you rest?”
The woman moaned and closed her eyes. “I cannot eat a bite.”
Nibbling her lower lip in consternation, Amanda decided not to push the issue. She kissed her mother’s tissue paper-thin cheek and collected the bedside tray before leaving the room. She felt exhausted from tending the beacon all night, yet it was a job she knew well and one she’d lived with for the past thirteen years.
She scarcely remembered her father, who had died when she was five. A year later, her mother had been commissioned to be the keeper of the North Point Light—Milwaukee’s first lighthouse. It was a life Amanda had grown to love. How was she ever going to give it up? But she would have to leave the stout, octagonally-shaped lighthouse and its neighboring white clapboard home if her mother died—and all because of that blackheart, John Sloan.
Entering the spacious kitchen, she set the tray on the counter, stoked the fire in the stove, then peered out the long window. The sun glistened on the new-fallen snow, and just beyond the bluffs, Lake Michigan’s white-capped waves rolled toward the shore. During the storm the night before, Amanda had prayed for the safety of any ships on the water as she kept the beacon burning bright.
A hearty knock startled Amanda from her musings. Collecting her wits, she pulled the apron off of her calico dress, patted the loose knot of light brown hair at the back of her head, and went to answer the call. When she pulled open the front door, she found Will Trekman standing on the covered porch, wearing a broad smile.
“Good morning, Miss Lewis,” he began. His brown eyes sparkled with interest the way they always did when he came to visit. But Amanda found it odd that he could never seem to work up the gumption to ask to court her. She didn’t force the matter, either, since she wasn’t all that taken with Will. But he was nice, if not downright entertaining.
She gave him a polite nod. “Mr. Trekman.”
“Quite a storm we had last night. I suppose it kept you and your mother busy.”
“Yes, sir, it did.” Amanda refrained from telling Will that her mother lay deathly ill. No one knew, save Dr. Edwards, but of course, Reverend Reed would be added to the list soon enough, and then all of Milwaukee City would learn the news.
Amanda cringed inwardly.
“You’re cold,” Will noticed.
“Oh, where are my manners? Please, come inside. I’m terribly sorry.”
His grin broadened. “Aw, nothing to be sorry ’bout, Miss Lewis. Fact is, I’m not making a social call…although, well, you know I wouldn’t mind it being such.” Will’s face flamed with the admission, and Amanda couldn’t hide a little smile.
He took off his cap, exposing shaggy, blond curls. “Mr. Har
ringer sent me today,” Will informed her. “Seems the hotels in town are all full with that convention here for the next few days, and there’s some folks he’d like to find rooms for. Since you and your mother have been known to take in boarders, Mr. Harringer wondered if you might consider the undertaking once more.”
Amanda opened her mouth to refuse but then thought better of it. She’d have to explain to Will about her mother’s diminishing health, and inevitably John Sloan would hear the news. The wicked man would be upon her doorstep in no time, demanding the details and ordering her to pack her bags. Well, Sloan had another thing coming. Amanda wasn’t going to give into his whims so easily. He might associate with important people in the city, but Amanda knew her job, and she would prove herself competent and get the commission to stay on at the lighthouse one way or another.
She cleared her throat. “How many people did you say?”
“Three. A ship’s captain, his daughter, and their family friend, another man.”
“Three, you say?”
“Yes. And the little girl, bless her heart, said she would love to meet you. She credits you and your mother with saving her life. Apparently, she was on a schooner with her father and his crew during last night’s storm. The vessel is badly damaged, but it made it to shore intact, thanks to your keeping the light.”
Amanda could scarcely decline the request now. “Yes, of course. We’ll take them in. Poor child, she must have been scared out of her mind.”
Will looked doubtful. “I don’t think so. She’s a spirited little thing. Reminds me of you.” He caught himself. “Oh! I didn’t mean that as an insult, Miss Lewis. Please forgive me. I just meant…well, I admire your tenacity greatly, and—”
“It’s quite all right,” Amanda replied, smiling. “I’m sure your intentions were above reproach.”
“Thank you.” He bowed slightly but still seemed flustered as she showed him to the door.
“I’ll expect three guests shortly, then.”
“Thank you. And Mr. Harringer said he’ll see to it you’re well paid. He and the captain have important business.”
Amanda nodded, thinking the extra money would pay for Dr. Edwards’s visits and perhaps fund her mother’s funeral also. She pushed the dark notion aside. No! This can’t be happening. Not my mother. Please,
Lighthouse Brides Collection Page 14