Mail Order Sweetheart

by Christine Johnson

  She gave him a peculiar look, as if he’d just said something odd, but he’d only explained what he’d done. Then it struck him. He’d spoken like his father, like an insider to the business world, not like a lumberman and sawmill operator. But there was no way to take it back.

  He forced a smile and glossed right past the mistake. “I can make a lot of the repairs myself, but I couldn’t pick out rugs and draperies that match. You have a good eye for color. Will you help?”

  The plea successfully shifted her attention from his finances.

  Her eyes sparkled again. “Are you offering me employment, Mr. Evans?”

  He coughed. He hadn’t planned to pay her. “Mister? I thought we were on a first-name basis after all the concerts we’ve done together.”

  That coy smile returned. “Sawyer, then.”

  “Actually, it’s Paul.”

  “Paul?” Her eyes widened.

  What had possessed him to say that? With a little effort, anyone could now trace him to his father, Winslow Evanston.

  He leaned close and whispered. “Just between us. All right? Wouldn’t want any of the guys at the mill to find out.”

  Her tight smile told him she both understood and appreciated the confidence. “All right, Sawyer. But my question still stands. Are you hiring me?”

  He’d hoped to gain her assistance without charge. “It’s not a position, more of an opinion.”

  “I see.”

  Her frown told him she saw nothing except that he wasn’t willing to pay. Once again he wondered how dire her financial circumstances were.

  “I could offer a small commission,” he told her, hoping he could cut expenses short in another area in order to afford it.

  Fiona’s smile blossomed. “Why of course. I would be delighted to offer my assistance.” Her smile faded. “Will it be soon?”

  For a moment he wondered why the rush. Then he remembered. “You expect your niece to arrive any day now?”

  She stiffened, and her color heightened. “Yes, of course.”

  But that wasn’t her real concern. Over the years, Sawyer had learned to read the unspoken message in a woman’s reactions. She wasn’t thinking of her niece at all. She expected a response from Stockton. Again, he considered revealing the truth, but that would only make her angry.

  “All right,” he said slowly. “Shall we meet Monday after the mill closes?” He hoped a rush of logs didn’t arrive tomorrow, or they’d be running the mill around the clock.

  “That would—” Fiona stopped abruptly as her gaze rose to look over his shoulder. “Dinah, what are you doing here?”

  Dinah? Sawyer turned to see the blonde from the shipwreck.

  She blushed furiously. “I was hopin’ to speak to you, Mr. Evans.”

  “All right.” Sawyer glanced at Fiona, who did not look pleased. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Oh, nothin’s botherin’ me,” Dinah said with a gasp, “’cept I can’t get you off a my mind. I’m in love with you, Mr. Evans, and I has to tell you. Miss Fiona said so.”

  Fiona choked and coughed on the tea she’d been sipping.

  Sawyer felt like he couldn’t draw a breath. The girl was in love with him? Why, she couldn’t be more than seventeen, more than ten years his junior. This must be the infatuation of youth, but how did a man disappoint a girl without crushing her? He glanced again at Fiona, hoping for a clue as to what to say. Her taut expression gave him no ideas. All it told him was that she’d be furious if he said the wrong thing.

  Sawyer turned back to the girl and cleared his throat. “I’m, well, flattered that you would consider—”

  Before he could get to the part where he let her down gently, the girl threw her arms around his neck and began sobbing hysterically.

  Sawyer froze. What was he supposed to do?

  “Now, there’s no need for tears,” he said awkwardly.

  “But I can’t do it,” the girl said between sobs. “Not now. Not after what you said.”

  Can’t do what? What had he said? Sawyer scoured his memory. He hadn’t said much of anything to the girls. He couldn’t recall being alone with Dinah for one moment.

  “I, uh,” he stammered.

  Fiona pushed away from the table, her eyes blazing with fury. She threw her napkin on the table and stormed away.

  “Fiona!” He extricated himself from Dinah’s arms and stood, intending to chase after the woman he loved.

  The girl’s sobs grew louder. “You don’t like me.”

  Everyone in the dining room stared at him, and not one look was friendly.

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s all a big mistake.” Sawyer had managed to shake Dinah and catch up to Fiona, but the songstress was doing her best to outpace him en route to the boardinghouse.

  “It’s a mistake all right. She is engaged.” Fiona veered to the right.

  Sawyer had to step off the boardwalk and into the sand, slowing his pace. “Believe me, I know that. I have no idea what she’s talking about. I never said anything that would lead her to think I had feelings for her. Why, you were in the room whenever she was present and heard every word.”

  Fiona whirled to face him. Light from nearby cabin windows illuminated her anger. “I left the parlor, if you will recall. Or maybe you were too preoccupied playing songs and soaking in the ladies’ attention to notice. Or just one lady in particular, whom you treated cruelly tonight.”

  “If you hadn’t stormed out of the hotel, you would have heard me apologize for giving her a false impression.”

  “And then you left her.”

  “In the care of Louise Smythe, who was listening to the concert from the lobby.” He’d done everything he could. Surely Fiona would forgive him.

  “Men!” Instead of accepting his explanation, Fiona turned her back on him and resumed her torrid pace.

  This was too much like the fits Julia used to throw, except in that case, he was engaged to her. Moreover, her fits of temper hid the fact that her eye had wandered. He had remained true. She broke the engagement and wed another. His relationship with Fiona was entirely different, and she had no reason to get upset over a girl’s infatuation with him.

  He made up the distance between them by the time she reached the boardinghouse steps. There she slowed just enough for him to catch her attention.

  “We are not engaged,” he pointed out.

  She met his gaze. “We certainly are not.”

  “Then you shouldn’t care which ladies are interested in me.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “Is that what you think? That I’m jealous?” Her laugh sounded forced. “I simply care about the reputation of a defenseless and innocent seventeen-year-old girl.”

  So Dinah was just seventeen. That made the difference between them a dozen years. More importantly, Fiona’s reaction was far too pronounced to be explained away by the excuse she’d offered. Perhaps she was the tiniest bit jealous after all.

  “Then you’re saying that you think the worst of me,” he pointed out, “even though we’ve known each other for months, and you’ve known her just a few days.”

  “I know men,” she huffed, arms crossed.

  “That’s not fair.” Her statement saddened him, for it meant she’d suffered at the hands of men. “This isn’t about Dinah, is it?”

  She spun away from him but held on to the railing a bit too tightly for someone completely in control of her emotions. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing. I can only say how sorry I am for what you went through. I promise I’ve done nothing to encourage Dinah. In fact, I would like your help finding a way to discourage her.”

  Fiona’s shoulders trembled ever so slightly. “You would?”

  “I’m at a loss. I had no idea I’d inspired s
uch thoughts.”

  “Even though she hangs beside you when you play piano for the choir practices?”

  “I should have realized, but it never occurred to me. You told me they’re engaged. She’s so young. Why would she give someone my age a second look?”

  “Because you’re handsome.”

  Fiona’s whispered words sent warmth through him nearly to the tips of his frozen fingers. It was the most she’d ever admitted to him.

  “And she’s met you.” Fiona finally looked at him. “She’s never met the man she’s to marry. She knows almost nothing about him except his hair color and age. Apparently the Adamsons matched the couples by their hair color.”

  Sawyer was appalled. “Why would anyone agree to such a thing?”

  “Because they have little choice.” The passion rose in her. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. They can’t earn a living wage, even working sixteen hours a day at the shirtwaist factory. They’re orphaned and have no inheritance or family. Only the poorest of men would consider marrying them. In Harmony, they envision the sort of life they read about in storybooks, with a house and a family to call their own. Dreams are powerful, Sawyer, and they aren’t exclusive to men.”

  He felt like a fool, for he’d never once considered what a woman might dream about beyond marrying a handsome and wealthy man. Fiona’s dreams were deeper. Moreover, she had revealed her cherished dream to him—to provide schooling so women could rise above their circumstances—and he had dismissed it. He’d been too enamored of his own vision to fully consider hers.

  “Thus, your school.”

  “My school.”

  “I wish I had the means to provide it.” Guilt bit into him, for he could have the means. He simply wouldn’t accept the terms that came along with the money. Though he sympathized with her and the plight of the stranded ladies, he couldn’t throw his future away on a losing proposition, for a boarding school for ladies established here in Singapore had no chance of attracting students. Her insistence on helping the indigent meant those students who would attend couldn’t pay a cent toward their tuition. Only the wealthiest philanthropists could make such a dream reality. The wealth Sawyer knew did not come with any philanthropy attached. His father would rather burn a mountain of cash than invest it in a profitless venture. “You do realize it wouldn’t support itself unless the students can pay.”

  She turned her face from him. “Of course.”

  But she didn’t. He could hear it in the tone of her voice.

  “I wish I had the sort of money it would take to open a school for the poor.”

  Fiona sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I know you’re just a sawmill worker. It’ll take everything you have to redo the hotel. I wish you well, Sawyer.”

  That sounded too much like farewell, especially with the resignation in her voice. Desperation seized him. This couldn’t be the end. Not now, when he had her letter in hand and a chance to prove himself worthy of her.

  “We will still see each other.” He had to remind her of that. “You agreed to help me select furnishings, and once I own the hotel I will hire you for the Saturday concerts.”

  A faint smile touched her lips for a moment before fading. “After your renovations are done.”

  “Yes.” He should have realized she would figure out the inevitable delay. A thought occurred to him. “Those renovations will begin with the dining room so it can open first.” The income from meals for the mill workers would help fund the rest of the repairs. “Let’s come up with design ideas for that room on Monday. The mill might run late, so let’s get together a little later, say around eight o’clock? We can meet at the hotel and discuss how to transform the dining room into an elegant room worthy of the finest hotels in New York.”

  The brief smile told him he hadn’t succeeded in cheering her.

  “A fine idea.” She looked toward the parlor with its glowing windows. “I should get indoors. I want to be there when Louise and Dinah arrive.”

  The words proved where her loyalties lay.

  * * *

  Fiona’s choir sang beautifully at Easter Sunday service, no thanks to her. She couldn’t keep her mind on the music. Thankfully, they had rehearsed so much that the girls knew the songs by heart.

  Fiona’s heart ached—not because she believed Sawyer had any attachment to Dinah. His explanation swept that idea away. No, she could not believe he would in one breath condemn her idea as impractical and the next say he intended to make the hotel into something that would rival its grand namesake in New York. That was impractical. What visitor to a sawmill town could afford a grand hotel?

  Only Mr. Stockton. And that got her to thinking about her letter and the step she was about to take. With Mary Clare due to arrive any day, she had no choice but to move forward with her plan and hope that this time the groom would select her for his bride. Marriage would solve all the problems she faced. Then why was she so despondent? Why had she hoped Sawyer would build on his statement that he found her beautiful by then declaring some sort of affection for her? A hotel owner was a great deal different from a saw operator. She could convince him to scale back his grandiose plans to something more fitting for Singapore.

  She had tried to provoke him into saying something with all that talk about the naming of Stockton’s ship, but Sawyer had just sat there like a fool. She’d given him the opportunity. He hadn’t seized it.

  Fiona couldn’t wait any longer. Her niece needed a home. Fiona had almost no money left. She must marry as soon as possible. There was no other choice.

  “This is for you, Maeve,” Fiona whispered.

  She would do anything for her late sister, who had suffered terribly, first at the hands of a violent husband who thankfully disappeared when she birthed a girl and then from the consumption that took her life. Every day the family lived in fear that Mary Clare’s father would return. He’d appeared at the burial but vanished again after Ma upbraided him. Still, he could return at any moment. Lillibeth had promised both Maeve and Fiona never to give the girl to him, but each day brought a rush of fear that Fiona only managed to push down by entrusting Mary Clare to God.

  She needed a husband now. As much as she wished it could be Sawyer, she couldn’t wait until he was ready.

  When Mr. Stockton appeared in the back of the church at the end of the service, every female eye had turned his way. He’d nodded curtly and left.

  Peculiar. He hadn’t attended the entire service but had arrived only long enough to scan the congregation and leave. It was as if he was looking for someone. Her? Then why not wait for her or greet her? Unless he preferred to wait until a more private moment. A prominent businessman couldn’t afford idle rumors. That must be it. He would probably pay a call later that day.

  Easter dinner with its smoked ham and buttery rolls, preserved green beans and almond cake should have been a delight, but Fiona could barely eat a few mouthfuls. She dreaded hearing a knock on the door. She’d hoped Sawyer would join them, but Mrs. Calloway said he’d told her he was spending the day at the hotel. A knock could only be Mr. Stockton. Fiona would be forced to face an unpalatable marriage.

  “Are you feeling poorly?” Mrs. Calloway asked, pressing a hand to Fiona’s forehead right in the middle of the meal. “No fever, praise God.”

  “I’m all right, simply preoccupied.”

  “With what? It’s a day for rejoicing that the Lord is risen.”

  Joyful affirmations greeted the boardinghouse proprietress’s proclamation. Fiona smiled, but her mind was far away. She couldn’t bear the wait. How she wished she was at the hotel talking over designs with Sawyer.

  She set down her napkin and was about to excuse herself when the ladies in her choir began to praise her teaching. She couldn’t very well leave.

  Perhaps that was for the best. She should
focus on Mary Clare’s needs, not on feelings that Sawyer Evans didn’t have in return. He’d made it perfectly clear that he did not want to marry. She needed to forget him and the emotions that bubbled to the surface whenever she was near him.

  She would resign herself to her fate and wait for Stockton to call on her. The remainder of that afternoon and evening she lingered in the parlor. Perhaps Stockton hadn’t received her letter or hadn’t had time to read it. The thought buoyed her for a moment until she realized he would inevitably read it, sealing her fate. She tried to read but couldn’t focus her attention. She paced to the window and back a dozen times. Bored, she sang, but that only made her miss Sawyer. Once married, she wouldn’t ever sing again. A husband like Mr. Stockton wouldn’t want her to spend any time around a handsome man like Sawyer. Her heart ached. If only...

  The following morning, she awoke with greater resolve. It was best to get things settled as soon as possible, before her heart hurt even more and before her niece arrived. She wandered to the hotel, where she spoke with Mrs. VanderLeuven. Sawyer was working at the sawmill, and Mr. Stockton had gone to the shipbuilding site to discuss the progress on the schooner with Garrett Decker.

  Fiona chided herself. Naturally, both men would attend to business.

  By late that afternoon, she could bear the wait no longer. The moment school ended, and the children streamed past on their way home, she headed for the church building, which was used as a schoolhouse until the new school building was finished. Pearl Decker, the teacher, would know if her letter had been delivered. No small part of her hoped it hadn’t, but that was her foolish side. Mary Clare needed a good home that could provide anything she ever needed or wanted. It could be years before Sawyer made a profit at the hotel.

  Fiona knocked on the door frame, though only Pearl was left in the building. The schoolteacher was seated at her desk, making notations in a book. Probably marking the children’s grades. Fiona hesitated, but Pearl waved her into the room.

  “I’ll be just a moment.”

  “Take your time.” Fiona noted the pile of slates, which could use a good cleaning. Spotting a rag and pail of water, she dampened the rag and began wiping them down.