Lighthouse Brides Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  But as the vessel neared the river entrance, the roustabouts and other crew stood at the ready with their “grasshoppers.” The long sturdy wooden spars could be lowered into mud and used like giant crutches to walk the boat over sandbars that couldn’t be steered around, slid over, or smashed through.

  Thankfully, none of those extremes were called for on this trip, and the sternwheeler glided smoothly into the Coquille. Dane removed his cap and wiped a sleeve across his forehead as he eased the vessel between the inbound buoys, red ones to the right and black to his left. He calculated the hours it would take for the Solitude to be loaded to the guards with prime Oregon lumber before he could shove off for Seattle.

  Just beyond the light, he glanced back toward the paddle wheel’s wake.

  His eyes fell upon a vision.

  She stood on the parapet, hands resting lightly on the railing as she watched his boat pass by. A rare treat for Dane’s eyes, she was slender, bewitching, her tawny hair ablaze in sunlight…like a princess surveying her kingdom.

  He smiled to himself. The indigo vest she wore over a white shirtwaist and dark skirt appeared styled after the regulation uniforms he’d seen on other lighthouse keepers—except men wore double-breasted jackets with gold buttons. But she couldn’t be the tender, or surely he’d have seen her before. Nevertheless, she did appear to belong there. His arm raised unbidden in a salute as the Solitude chugged on toward the port at the bend of the river.

  She lifted a hand in answering wave then turned and retreated into the lantern room, where she extinguished the flame and drew the curtain.

  “Whew!” Riley Baker whistled under his breath as he sauntered up the steps of the wheelhouse. “Some looker, eh? Wonder where she’s been all this time.”

  Dane gave an unconcerned shrug to his first mate and friend, whose slack-jawed expression added a gleam to deep-set hazel eyes. The guy could pick out the prettiest gal in a crowd at a hundred paces.

  “A definite improvement over Rutherford, that’s for sure. Go ready the deckhands for docking, huh? We’re coming up on Bandon.”

  The redhead snapped to. “Aye, aye, sir.” But partway down the steps, he turned back and looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “That’s the problem with you, man. You ain’t never been the curious type.”

  Ignoring the remark, Dane tightened his lips. Oh, he was curious, all right. He just wasn’t sure why.

  On previous trips past Coquille Light, he’d glimpsed men tending the flame. Thin, balding Rutherford, with a hook nose and bony frame, and the assistant, a wiry, muscular chap with dark hair and a mustache. Wiles, Miles—something like that. He’d make a few inquiries at port, see what he could find out. After all, one liked to keep up on the lighthouse keepers who provided valuable service to men of the sea.

  Steering his thoughts to a different course, he let out a long, slow breath, wondering how many more years he’d fall into that category. The Solitude was nigh unto seven years old and living proof of her workhorse existence. All the gimcrackery around the cabins and pilothouse, which originally had made her a delight to behold, stood diminished now that it was surrounded by peeling paint, a cracked roof, and warped decks. She’d been patched so often with materials salvaged from other ill-fated vessels, she was practically chugging along on borrowed time.

  Part of him wondered if his late brother would be satisfied that he’d kept her running all this time, an attempt to fulfill the dream that had perished with him that stormy night. Then, noting an outbound steamer making its way toward the ocean, he gave a greeting blast on the five-note horn and waved.

  Bandon, one of the most beautiful towns in western Oregon, sported long cypress hedges, gleaming white lily beds, and gnarled pines. The port bustled constantly with typical river traffic. Along its wharves, at least a dozen ships of assorted sizes and makes were in the various phases of loading or unloading passengers and cargo, and the familiar cacophony such activity created grew louder as the Solitude’s engines cut off. The crew tossed heavy docking ropes to workers on the wharves, who looped them around the stout posts.

  Dane left the first mate in charge of overseeing the loading of their lumber shipment while most of the crew got off to stretch their legs and partake of a meal ashore. Then he went to take care of the required permits and bills of lading. Once the official business had been concluded, he headed straight for the gangplank to relieve his friend Riley.

  “Ho! Bradbury!” came a booming voice from behind him.

  Turning, Dane spied the friendly, lantern-jawed face of one of the men who kept things running smoothly at the wharves. “Jeffries. How’re things?”

  “Not too bad.” The beefy fellow approached, a calloused hand held out in welcome, and the two men greeted each other warmly. “Things have been hopping here, but I s’pose that’s normal for this time of year.”

  Dane nodded. “I noticed there were more tubs around than usual. And the new warehouse is up and running already.”

  “Yep. Town’s growin’, all right. New folks movin’ into Bandon right and left, wantin’ to get in on the boom in the lumber and coal trade.”

  “It’s like that up and down the coast,” Dane said. “All the settlements are filling up, spreading out. Speaking of filling up, guess I should see to my load. Always good to see you, pal.”

  “Same here.”

  But before either of them had taken more than a few steps, Dane turned back. “Say, Jeffries.”

  The man halted. “What can I do for ya?”

  “Did I see a new keeper at the light? Rutherford retire or something?” Dane asked, assuming a nonchalant stance.

  An offhanded grin widened the man’s whiskered cheeks. “Oh, I reckon you mean Mrs. Miles. Nope, she’s been here all along, only she’s a widow now. Her husband drowned couple o’ months ago.”

  The news stunned Dane.

  “Matter of fact,” Jeffries went on, “there’s a load of supplies for the lighthouse that just came in. Rutherford’s away on family business this week, or he’d be pickin’ them up.”

  Dane checked the progress of the lumber being loaded and knew he’d be sitting around for a good spell before pulling out of port. “I, uh… reckon I could row ’em out there.” He kneaded his jaw, assuring himself he was merely helping out. “Unless somebody else is planning to get them to her, that is.”

  Jeffries smirked. “Heaven knows, there’s a passel of guys here who’d like nothin’ better than to go out just to gawk at that pretty lady, but I don’t trust none of ’em enough to go there alone. Her husband kept a pretty tight rein on her, never lettin’ her get friendly with the townsfolk.”

  “All the more reason,” Dane said, clapping a hand on the stout shoulder, “to make sure she doesn’t run out of something. I’ll get that stuff to her, for her dead husband’s sake.”

  But as he followed the townsman up the rise, he wondered if that was his whole reason.

  Chapter 2

  Eden stifled a yawn as she saw to the morning routine of trimming the wicks for night and polishing the hundreds of glass prisms on the Fresnel lens. Then she checked and reset the clockwork mechanism which revolved around the lamp before sweeping her way down the stairs of the lighthouse. She’d washed the walls and floors two days ago, plus scrubbed the windows and their recesses, so today’s chores would be fewer. She opened the log and recorded the current weather conditions and duties she’d performed since her last posting. Usually she didn’t have sole responsibility for the light for two entire weeks in one stretch, so the principal keeper’s expected return in a few days would come as a welcome relief.

  Upon reaching the landing, she heard a knock at the door. She untied her linen work apron and hung it on its hook on her way to answer the summons.

  A stranger stood there, tall and dark, with a trim muscular frame. He might have seemed imposing if his weathered face had not crinkled into an amiable smile…one somehow familiar, though she couldn’t quite place him.

  His grin
broadened, lending a friendly twinkle to eyes gray as dusk. He removed his cap. “Mrs. Miles? Haydon Jeffries at the docks asked me to bring you some supplies. With Rutherford being away, we didn’t want you to run low on anything. Dane Bradbury’s the name.”

  “Y–yes,” Eden stammered, suddenly finding her voice. “That’s good of you, Mr. Bradbury. You can bring them right in here.”

  With a nod, the man plunked the hat atop his thick sable hair. He jogged down the outside steps and returned to the small boat he’d beached on the jetty. Moments later he came back with an armful of cartons, then made another two trips for the crates. Well-honed muscles in his back rippled as he set everything along one wall of the fog trumpet room. One crate bore the markings of the rotating library.

  “Oh, splendid! New books!” Eden exclaimed, already prying open the lid to peruse the titles.

  He chuckled. “A reader, are you?”

  “Oh, yes. When we have a lot of empty hours to fill, books help us stay awake and alert to sudden changes in the weather. Every six months the Lighthouse Board sends out a new set of histories, novels, biographies, and magazines—sometimes even a few religious works. I read them all cover to cover.” Realizing she was babbling to the poor man, Eden diverted her attention momentarily to the spines of the various volumes. When he didn’t respond, she glanced up at him.

  His sun-bronzed face bore a peculiar expression, but it vanished so quickly, she almost thought she’d imagined it. His dark brows raised and he grinned. “I’d imagine you want the kerosene in one of the sheds.”

  “Oh. Of course. I’ll show you the way.”

  For no reason she could fathom, Eden felt keenly aware of the man following her down the steps and over several yards of the jetty’s uneven rock surface. Even as she led him up the ramp to the kerosene building nearby, she tossed off her curiosity, figuring that sooner or later she’d remember where she’d seen him. “You can leave it in here,” she said, opening the door of the shed.

  “Will do. I’ll tote it up from the boat.”

  But before he’d taken more than three steps, the sound of pattering feet on the footbridge from the mainland brought Christian scampering up to them. “Mama! Come see!”

  Eden smiled. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “A baby bird fell out of its nest. Mrs. Hastings wrapped it up in a cloth and climbed on a chair to put it back. You have ta come see.”

  “Oh, how exciting. I’ll be there soon, honey. I’m busy just now.”

  As if only now becoming aware of another person’s presence, her son nibbled his lip and tilted his head back to look up at the stranger.

  “Ahoy there, young man,” the man said, lowering himself to one knee. The skin at the corners of his eyes pleated with his smile, as if he’d spent years squinting against the sun’s glare. “You must be the assistant keeper here.”

  A slow grin widened the spaces between the boy’s freckles. “Naw, that’s my mom. I’m Chris.”

  “Well, I can tell a fine lad like you must be a help when a lady needs a hand, right?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Good. Good. It’s a lot of work tending a lighthouse. Your mom’s real lucky to have you around.”

  Christian didn’t answer, but a subtle puffing out of his chest revealed his four-year-old heart was taking it all in.

  Eden’s heart swelled just watching the exchange.

  “I was pleased to meet you, buddy,” the man said, standing and tousling the flaxen hair with a big roughened hand. “You be sure and look after your mama. She has a very important job here. She helped me sail into harbor this very morning.”

  Of course! Eden thought, feeling like a dunce. That’s why he looked familiar. Dane Bradbury had sailed right past her nose a little while ago.

  Christian merely stared at the newcomer for a few seconds before glancing at his mother. Then he skipped happily off in the direction of the house.

  “Fine-looking boy you have there, Mrs. Miles.”

  “Thank you. He’s a lot of company.”

  “Undoubtedly.” He switched his attention back to her as Christian disappeared around the side of the brown-roofed duplex in the distance. “Well, I’d best leave the kerosene and be off.”

  She studied him as he spoke. “It was you, this morning, wasn’t it? The sternwheeler.”

  “Yep. The Solitude’s my gal. Faithful, hardworking…”

  “But why would you, a ship’s captain, go to the trouble of delivering our supplies?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Just being neighborly. Of course, it wouldn’t be too handy for me or my pals to run aground on the bar or pile up on the jetty because you ran out of fuel.”

  She had to smile. “Well, I do appreciate that. And so will Mr. Rutherford.”

  “Anytime.” He touched a finger to the beak of his cap. “Take care, ma’am.”

  “Captain.”

  Restraining herself from watching him make the trip to the supply boat and back, Eden returned to the lighthouse and went inside to finish up. It had been decent of the man to take time out of his own responsibilities in order to bring those things to her. And nice of him to talk to Chris that way, making him feel important. The boy missed his father and rarely had occasion to be around a man other than Sherman Rutherford.

  And the principal keeper purposely kept his distance—from her child, anyway. Eden wrinkled her nose. Time to get back to work.

  After hauling the last of the kerosene kegs to the shed, Dane closed the door and headed back to the boat. This was the first time he’d had the occasion to set foot inside a lighthouse—even if it did happen to be only the lower portion of this particular structure. He always blew the whistle or nodded to one keeper or the other in passing, though. He realized he was looking forward to waving to this fetching one again on his way out of Bandon.

  Recollections of Eden Miles played over his mind while he left the island and rowed upriver toward his sternwheeler. For someone recently widowed, she didn’t appear to be one of those weepy, helpless sorts he encountered at times. Nor was she especially unfriendly. In fact, she’d been just the opposite. Not only did she exhibit strength of character and complete acceptance of her fate, but she appeared to fit right in at the light and exuded competency and assurance in her ability to perform well.

  She was more than just pleasing to the eye, too, with those soft feminine curves and her silky hair. Allowing himself the luxury of dwelling on those alluring features for a few seconds, he smiled, then directed his course to a safer channel. He had more than enough concerns of his own to occupy him for some time.

  Interesting, though, was her fondness for books…so unlike other women he’d met. An avid reader himself, Dane often purchased fine works for his own personal library. He devoured them in quiet moments at sea, reflecting upon the treasured thoughts and ideas that enriched his often mundane existence. Perhaps one day he’d see about getting involved once more in his real dream—shipbuilding. He’d apprenticed for a few years with one of Seattle’s finest shipbuilders and sailed at length on a variety of ocean craft. Those experiences had provided him with a few ideas of his own he hoped to develop one day.

  But right now, he had obligations to his older brother’s memory, including paying off Paul’s debts and supporting his widow and her four youngsters. That responsibility excluded the luxury of more personal desires.

  Mentally switching from thoughts of his late brother to a cheerier subject, Dane focused on the young boy he’d just met. Christian. What a keen lad he appeared to be, with his mother’s huge, inquisitive eyes and expressive face, perhaps her pleasant nature as well. A shame he’d be growing up without a father’s guidance. “Ah, soon enough some man will come along and snatch those two up, no doubt of that.”

  Surprised that he’d spoken aloud, Dane shook his head. “Great. Now I’m talking to myself.” Filling his lungs with a great quaff of air, he chuckled, then concentrated on the activities ahead.

  “You’ve har
dly touched your supper,” the motherly housekeeper chided. Birdie’s good-natured tone revealed true concern as she filled a china teapot with steaming water, then removed cups and saucers from the cupboard. “Lost your appetite while you slept?”

  “Hmm?” In the cozy surroundings of the duplex’s dining room, Eden glanced at the older woman. “Oh, sorry. It’s delicious. I guess I was thinking about the new books that arrived today.” Returning her attention to the roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and spiced applesauce, the delicious smells of which had grown increasingly tantalizing on her way over from the lighthouse, she sampled another portion with relish. Birdie Hastings had proved to be as wonderful a cook as she had a friend in the short time she’d been with them.

  Beside Eden at the table, Chris swallowed a gulp of milk and set down the glass. “I liked that big man. He was nice.”

  “Yes, wasn’t he?”

  “What man is that?” Birdie brought over the tea and joined them. Claiming a vacant chair, she poured the hot liquid into two fragile cups, passing one across the crisp damask tablecloth to Eden before stirring sugar and cream into her own. With her index finger she tucked a loose wisp of salt-and-pepper hair into her topknot.

  “Actually it was the captain of one of the vessels that sailed in earlier,” Eden said, meeting the housekeeper’s gaze. “Mr. Jeffries imposed on him to bring over some supplies, since Sherman’s not around to collect them.”

  “A ship’s captain, now. How odd.” A frown etched a tiny V into Birdie’s forehead as her round hazel eyes clouded over.

  “Yes, I thought so myself.”

  “He was real nice,” Christian added.

  Eden felt a subtle warmth beneath the collar of her shirtwaist and gazed off to one of Birdie’s floral needlepoint wall hangings while sipping the tea—homey touches which did much to soften the otherwise stark interior Winslow had preferred. They looked especially dainty against the newly-painted walls, another of Birdie’s accomplishments. There was no reason on earth to feel unease over something so inconsequential as a stranger who’d performed a kindness out of the goodness of his heart. And even though Eden couldn’t explain why, she sensed somehow that Dane Bradbury possessed a good heart.