The Lightkeeper's Bride

  The new lightkeeper glanced at the sleeping baby on the floor.

  “What did you hear on the telephone that made you rush here?”

  The impersonal tone in his voice reminded her of the constable’s.

  Dispassionate, analytical. “Who is going to care for that baby?” she asked, ignoring his question. “She needs a bath. The urine will irritate her skin. And she might still be nursing. What will you feed her?

  She can’t live on toast.”

  To her relief, a touch of uncertainty twisted his mouth and he abandoned his persistent questions. “Perhaps you could give me some advice. I’ve never cared for a baby before.”

  “Then why did you insist on taking responsibility?” she asked.

  He lifted a brow. “You want to believe it’s because I did away with Miss Bulmer, but nothing could be further from the truth, Miss Russell.

  My brother admitted to a relationship with the woman just this afternoon. Then I arrived here and actually saw the child. She favors my brother a great deal.”

  “I want to believe you,” she said. “Otherwise, I don’t know how I can stand back and let you take this darling child.”

  “I don’t see how it’s your choice. The constable has already made his decision.”

  She bristled at the finality of his tone, even though what he said was quite true. “I shall draw a bath for Jennie in the kitchen sink. You can finish the packing.”

  “I thought we had everything.”

  “I’d suggest you poke through the kitchen and see if you can discover any pap feeders or a banana bottle. That will tell us what she’s been eating. If you find none, you will need to purchase some. Some pap too.”

  The glance he cast toward the baby held doubt. “Pap feeder?

  Banana bottle? What do they look like?”

  She sighed. “You really are a complete neophyte at this, are you not? Take the suitcase and come along. I shall look myself.” She scooped up the little one and carried her down the steps. “Hello there, sweet girl,” she said, smoothing the curls back from the baby’s face.

  Jennie struggled and Katie put her against her shoulder. “Ma-ma?” Jennie asked.

  Katie patted the baby’s back. “Mama isn’t here right now. We’re going to have a bath. Do you like your bath?” She reached the dry sink. Addie was on the telephone with her husband, John. Katie stopped the drain and pumped water into it. “Could you bring me some hot water from the stove?” she asked Will.

  Mr. Jesperson grabbed the kettle of hot water and poured it into the sink. Katie tested the temp with her hand until it had cooled enough. “That’s perfect,” she said. She laid Jennie on the counter and stripped the clothes from her tiny body, then plunked her into the water. The child gasped then giggled and began to splash the water. “I shall need a towel and washcloth,” she said.

  “I’ll check the bathroom upstairs.” Mr. Jesperson left the kitchen and his footsteps pounded up the stairs.

  “I need to head home for a bit to calm John,” Addie said. “Edward had another seizure and is calling for me.”

  “Oh, of course!” Katie said. Addie’s stepson had epilepsy, and he was especially clingy to his new mother after a seizure. She smiled good-bye at her friend and rinsed the baby. Already, the stench of urine was fading.

  When she first heard the creak behind her, she assumed Mr. Jesperson had returned with the linen items. She flicked a glance behind her and saw a man in a brown tweed suit. A handkerchief covered his face like some kind of bank robber. It took a moment for her confused brain to recognize this man was smaller than Mr. Jesperson and his suit was a different color.

  “Get the kid and come with me,” the man said, his voice muffled by the cloth covering most of his face. His dark eyes glittered above the red handkerchief.

  Katie gasped and stepped between him and the wet baby. She seized a frying pan and whirled to face him. “Get back!” She swiped the air with the frying pan and barely missed the man’s head. His hand went to his pocket, and he withdrew a gun that appeared no bigger than a toy. Before she stopped to think, she swung the skillet again and it connected with the man’s wrist. The pistol dropped from his fingers and skittered across the floor. The baby jabbered something unintelligible behind her, and Katie glanced back just long enough to assure herself that the baby was still sitting in the water.

  The man dived toward the gun, but she threw the skillet at him. It hit him in the head and knocked him to the linoleum. “Mr. Jesperson!” she screamed.

  The attacker sprang to his feet and ran for the back door as Mr.

  Jesperson’s footsteps pounded down the stairs. The man left the kitchen door gaping open behind him, and Jesperson skidded into the room.

  He glanced toward the baby splashing in the water. “What’s wrong?”

  “A man,” Katie gasped. “That way.” She pointed to the open door.

  “He tried to take Jennie.”

  Mr. Jesperson dashed through the door. Katie turned back to hang onto the side of the sink. Her knees were wobbly, and her hands shook now that the danger was past. The gun still lay on the linoleum. She normally tended to run rather than fight, and her reaction had surprised her.

  Mr. Jesperson came back inside. “He’s gone.” He picked up the towel and washcloth he’d dropped and laid them on the counter.

  “What happened? Tell me everything.”

  Katie recounted everything from the moment she realized the house held an intruder. “There’s the gun,” she said, pointing it out to him. She dipped the washcloth in the cooling water and with a trembling hand, quickly finished rinsing the baby.

  He stooped and picked it up. “A Derringer.”

  She shuddered and rinsed the soap from Jennie’s tender skin. “It’s an evil little thing.”

  He nodded. “It might be small, but it could have killed you. Are you sure he wanted the baby? What did he say?”

  “He instructed me to pick up the baby and come with him.”

  “He might have wanted you.”

  “I’m quite certain his intent was to take her, and he wanted me to come along to care for her.” She lifted the dripping child from the water. Jennie howled until Katie wrapped her in the towel. As she turned around, she spied a pap feeder. A nice one in blue and white. “That’s what we were looking for,” she said, pointing to it.

  “Looks like a gravy bowl,” he said.

  “It’s not.” When the baby saw him pick it up, she began to cry and point to it. “I think she’s still hungry. Check the cupboard and see if there is any pap formula.”

  “I have no idea what I’m looking for,” he said, pushing aside the blue and white gingham over the shelves.

  “Look for Nestlé. That would be the most likely formula,” she said.

  “I see nothing like that.”

  “Is there milk in the icebox? I can make it with flour and milk.” She began to dress the baby in a white gown.

  He peered into the icebox. “Yes, there’s milk.” He took it out and sniffed it. “Smells okay.”

  “Here, you take her.” She thrust the baby into his arms then took the milk and measured out a pint into a pan. She added a pint of water and a tablespoon of flour and put it on the stove. When the bubbles began to roll, she stirred it and put it in the pap feeder. “I’ll feed her as soon as it cools.” She nodded toward the high chair by the table. “Make sure you take that with you.”

  Jennie continued to wail and reach for her, so she took the baby from Mr. Jesperson’s awkward grip and tried to soothe her, but the baby refused to be consoled.

  Her cries—the cries of a little girl, lost and abandoned—twisted Katie’s heart, bringing forth memories she wasn’t quite ready to face.

  FIVE

  THE WIND RUSHED past Katie’s ears as she skated home in the twilight. She quite disliked being forced to leave little Jennie in the care of the lightkeeper, but Bart would be waiting for her by the time she got home. She crested Mercy Hill, and then he
r skates rolled faster down the slope toward the house. The sea foam hurtled toward the shore on the crest of the waves, dark blue in the dim light. The salty scent lifted her mood. She loved living by the ocean.

  Gaslight glimmered through the windows and she smelled the pot roast their cook had put in the oven this morning. Katie sat on the bottom step, removed her skates, and then hurried to the front door. The first thing she noticed when she stepped inside the house was the scent of liquor. A pool of liquid ran between broken pieces of glass on the floor. Someone had dropped a bottle of whiskey. Or thrown it.

  She dropped her skates in the corner by the bench. “Mama?” she called, her voice quivering. Something was very wrong. Her mother would never allow a liquid to mar her redwood floors. She rushed down the hall to the parlor and found her father bending over her mother, who reclined on the davenport. Bart, a grave expression on his face, stood off to one side with his hands behind his back.

  “Mama?” Aware of the accusation in the glare she tossed at her father, she lowered her eyes. He adored Mama. He would never hurt her. “What’s happened?”

  Her father lifted a brow. “Don’t raise your voice, Katie. You’ll hurt her head. Someone struck her with a whiskey bottle.”

  She stepped to her mother’s side. Her mother attempted a smile, then a moan issued from her mouth. Katie laid her hand on her mother’s forehead. “Did you call the doctor?” she asked her father.

  “I did,” Bart said, stepping toward her. “He’s already come and gone.”

  She didn’t want Bart here. This was a family matter. When he tried to grasp her hand, she stepped away. “What did he say?”

  “The doctor assured me Inez will be fine,” her father said, his voice trembling. “It appears worse than it is.” He stepped back so Katie could kneel at her mother’s side.

  The maid hurried in with a wet cloth. Katie took it and pressed it to the lump on her mother’s forehead. “Who attacked her? A thief?”

  Bart cleared his throat. “I came up the porch steps with your father as a man rushed out the door. He had a kerchief around his face and I didn’t recognize him. Of course, I hurried inside to check on you and your mother.”

  Her father nodded. “I found your mother lying on the entry floor with the maid caterwauling over her.”

  A kerchief. Katie started to ask the color then shut her mouth. How silly to think it might be the same man who attacked her at Eliza’s. Her father’s voice shook as he went on, and Katie realized he was more upset than he was letting on. Whatever his faults when he was drinking, she knew he loved her mother.

  She lifted the cloth from her mother’s forehead. “The bleeding has stopped.” The doorbell rang.

  “That must be the constable. I called him.” Her father strode out of the room. His voice floated back as he greeted the lawman at the door.

  “Is there anything I can do, Katie?” Bart asked, his voice like velvet.

  She shook her head. “You’ve done so much already.”

  “I’ve been waiting nearly forty-five minutes.” His voice held reproach.

  “I’m sorry. I was held up.”

  “I wanted to talk to you—”

  She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything but Mama right now. Please, go on home. We’ll discuss this all another day.”

  He frowned and his eyes searched her face. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “It’s clear that you’d rather be alone. I’ll leave you.”

  She reached toward him as he stalked toward the hall, then dropped her hand. Her emotions were in too much turmoil to deal with him now.

  Her father led Constable Brown into the parlor, glancing back at Bart and then to Katie in dismay.

  Katie ignored him and moved away from the davenport to allow the constable to kneel with her mother. She stood by her father with her hands clasped in front of her. Questions hovered on her tongue, but she couldn’t ask them if there was a chance her mother would overhear.

  “Well now, Mrs. Russell,” the constable said. “What’s happened here?”

  He glanced at Katie. She shook her head, and he said nothing about having seen her earlier.

  Katie’s mother struggled to sit up then gave up the effort and lay back against the pillow. “Where’s Katie?” she asked.

  Katie moved back into her mother’s line of vision. “I’m right here, Mama.”

  Fear lurked in her mother’s eyes. “Don’t go anywhere, darling. That man was looking for you.”

  Katie put her hand to her throat. “For me?” She shouldn’t have ignored her misgivings earlier, but she hadn’t wanted to worry her parents. The constable’s eyes sharpened. She would have to tell him about the man as soon as possible. It was possibly the same intruder.

  Her mother pressed her hand to her forehead and winced. “I heard something in your room and called out, thinking it was you. When you didn’t answer, I went to investigate and found that man exiting your bedroom. He ran down the steps when he saw me, and I foolishly chased after him.”

  Katie’s father shook his head. “Very foolhardy, my dear.”

  “I realize that, Albert,” she said, her voice soft. “I didn’t stop to think.

  I caught at his sleeve when we reached the front door. He grabbed the whiskey that had just been delivered and struck me in the head with it.

  That’s all I remember until I found myself lying here. I assume you put me here, my dear?”

  Her husband nodded. “You were frightfully pale and had blood all over your face. I feared you were dead.” His voice broke.

  Katie’s mother patted his hand. “I’m fine. You mustn’t fret.”

  “So you have no idea who this man was?” the constable asked.

  “Not at all. He wore a brown tweed suit, and his face was hidden with a handkerchief.”

  Katie gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “It is the same man.”

  Brown looked at her. “Does that mean something to you?”

  She nodded. “After you left, a man came in the back door and tried to make me and the baby go with him. He was dressed that way too. Mama, what time was this?”

  Her mother raised up. “About an hour ago. What baby, Katie? You’re not making any sense.”

  “Eliza Bulmer’s baby.” She saw her father jerk and his eyes widen.

  “Eliza is missing, and the baby was alone in the house.”

  “How did you happen to find the child?” her father asked. He picked at a piece of lint on his trousers.

  There was no easy answer to that question. Not with her mother and the constable listening. “I think I’ll fix some tea. Would you care for some, Constable?”

  “No, thank you. My wife is keeping supper warm for me, so I’d best hurry home. But Miss Katie, why would someone be looking for you? What have you stuck your nose into now?”

  “Perhaps he dislikes telephone operators,” she said, forcing a smile. “Eliza is missing, Constable. Maybe she’s reluctant to help them and they came back for the baby to . . . encourage her.”

  Brown pursed his lips. “The argument you overheard. Perhaps it was the same man, and he wants to know what you heard.”

  “I heard nothing that would tell me who he was.”

  “He might not know that,” the constable said. “I have a man combing the waterfront for Eliza. Until we sort this out, please, Miss Russell, stay in public places, will you? I don’t like how reckless this man has already been, trying to get to you.” The constable clapped his bowler back onto his head and headed for the door.

  Katie left the room before anyone could ask more questions. Even pouring hot water into the teakettle didn’t settle her shaking hands. So the man was looking for her, not the baby. What could that mean? Her hands shook as she filled the tea caddy with loose tea. She poured hot water from the teakettle on the stove into the teapot then retrieved the cups from the cupboard. Her stomach growled and she felt a little sick. Perhaps a tea biscuit would settle her nerves.

  “Katie?” H
er father stood in the doorway with his tie askew and his vest unbuttoned. “Do you know more than what you told the constable?”

  She turned back to the tea and poured it into her cup. “Do you want tea, Papa?”

  He blew out a sigh. “Yes, please.” She put sugar in his tea then handed it to him. His gaze probed her face. “Are you ready to tell me?”

  She nodded. “I was on the phone with Eliza. A problem with the lines caused her phone to ring when I was calling another customer. She let the phone dangle, and I heard her speaking with a man.”

  “What man?” his voice trembled.

  Something about his voice . . . She stopped and replayed in her head the conversation she’d heard. That’s why the man sounded familiar. He sounded like her father. But it couldn’t have been. Her father would never betray Mama.

  “Katie, you’re beginning to alarm me.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “It sounded like you, Papa,” she said.

  “Eliza told the man she needed money from him to raise the baby or she would go to his wife and daughter.” She licked dry lips. “Is little Jennie your child?”

  Tea sloshed over the edge of the cup and into the saucer as he put the cup on the counter. “This is not an appropriate subject to discuss with you, Katherine.”

  His use of her full name betrayed his agitation even more than his shaking hands. “I have to know, Papa,” she whispered. “Another man took Jennie with him because he wondered if the child might be his brother’s.”

  “What man?”

  “The new lightkeeper. Will Jesperson.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “He arrived in town today.”

  He stroked his mustache. “He took the child?”

  She nodded. “But if this baby belongs to you, we must tell Mama.