Mail Order Sweetheart Page 13

  “You don’t need to do that,” Pearl said. “The Bailey brothers were supposed to wipe them.”

  “They didn’t do a very good job.”

  Pearl laughed. “They weren’t here today. Either Easter dinner didn’t settle well or they came down with a case of chore fever.”

  Fiona chuckled, recalling the times she had pleaded a sore throat to get out of an onerous chore. Her mama didn’t stand for that. If there wasn’t a fever, a child was well enough to do chores.

  “Perhaps they’re really sick.”

  A smile tugged at Pearl’s lips as she shut the grade book. “Every time it’s their turn to clean the slates?”

  “Oh, it’s a recurring illness, then.”

  “Very much so.” Pearl joined her and dampened another rag. “What brings you here today? I suspect it wasn’t to clean slates.”

  “I wondered if the letter I gave you reached the gentleman in question.” Fiona couldn’t quite bring herself to call him a groom or even a suitor. Not yet.

  Pearl’s grin was almost as infectious as Roland’s. “It did, to my knowledge. I gave it to Roland, who would have ensured it was delivered to the man who placed the advertisement.”

  Fiona slowly let out her breath. Then Mr. Stockton had her letter. The next question was even more difficult. “Do you know if he replied to anyone?”

  “You can check for incoming mail addressed to you at the mercantile.”

  “I did already. I wondered if he wrote anyone else.”

  “I can’t divulge what others have received even if I knew. Correspondence must be private.”

  Too often, from her experience in New York, it wasn’t. Anything that arrived at the theater was opened by the house manager. At the boardinghouse, the proprietress often opened the mail, claiming it was her right as owner. Fiona had hoped to hear that Mr. Stockton had written to someone else. It wouldn’t help her make a home for Mary Clare, but it would ease the pain in her heart.

  She felt uncharacteristically vulnerable. Her funds had dwindled to the point that she would have to beg Mrs. Calloway to let her work off her room and board. And then, with her niece’s imminent arrival... “I don’t know how I will make ends meet.”

  Pearl enveloped her in an embrace. “If it’s any consolation, I believe you have a fine chance of attracting his undivided attention.”

  Fiona should be glad, but she struggled to muster a thank you. “Now if he would just pay a call.” At Pearl’s puzzled expression, she added, “Or write. Anything to end this suspense.”

  “I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.”

  That reassurance only made the pain worse. Too soon she would step into a marriage as barren of love as the ones facing the ladies headed to Harmony.

  * * *

  All day Sawyer looked forward to his meeting with Fiona. In the morning, Stockton breezed through the sawmill listening to Garrett Decker’s report. When Sawyer was introduced as the new foreman of mill operations, the man peered at him so long that Sawyer began to worry that he’d been recognized. After all, Stockton could easily have run into Father in Chicago. When Stockton finally moved on without comment, Sawyer breathed easier.

  The rest of the day dragged but passed without incident. Just before seven o’clock, Mrs. VanderLeuven showed him into the empty dining room.

  Sawyer was surprised. “No diners tonight?”

  “The only guest is Mr. Stockton, and he takes his meals in his room,” Mrs. VanderLeuven said with a harrumph. “No one else came by. Probably because it’s the day after Easter.”

  Sawyer hadn’t considered that—or the imposition he’d put on the VanderLeuvens. “Thank you for staying open for me. I’d love some of whatever dessert you prepared today.”

  That brightened the hotel owner’s outlook, and she bustled off toward the kitchen. “Will Miss O’Keefe be wantin’ any?”

  He didn’t know, but he was hungry enough to eat both if necessary. “Bring two.”

  The woman whistled a tune as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  A moment later, the front door opened with a gust of wind. It had increased steadily all day until it was now blowing a gale.

  Sawyer helped Fiona from her cloak. “Blustery day.”

  “Too blustery.”

  She was clearly cross about something. Sawyer need only wait, and Fiona would tell him why. Sure enough, before Mrs. VanderLeuven reappeared with dessert, she noted how the weather would likely cause yet another delay of the ship that would take the Adamsons and their six charges to the community of Harmony.

  “They are still here for who knows how long.”

  “That must be a boon to the Calloways’ business,” Sawyer offered.

  Her look told him that was not the case. “They aren’t paying guests. They lost everything in the shipwreck.”

  “I didn’t think about that.”

  Fiona’s look told him she wasn’t surprised. “That means we’re condemned to enjoy their company even longer.”

  Condemned was a harsh word. “Why does their presence bother you?”

  The direct question drew a bit of a gasp, followed by yet another look that labeled him as a fool. “You, of all people, should know.”

  She was jealous. In the two days that followed Dinah’s enraptured announcement, Fiona had been cross and out of sorts. Maybe the beautiful redhead did feel something for him. It would go nowhere, though, as long as she thought he liked the girl.

  “I assure you that I have no interest in her.” He worked hard not to smile. “My sights are set on a beautiful, spirited woman, not a girl.”

  “Oh?” That had caught her attention. “Anyone I know?” Color flooded her cheeks, and she uncharacteristically averted her gaze before looking up again with what appeared to be a hopeful expression.

  Sawyer’s heart pounded. Was he reading her correctly? He’d been wrong about Julia. He would be more cautious with Fiona. “I’m certain you do.”

  “Oh.” Her lips curved downward. “Louise?”

  Sawyer was tempted to tease her, but she seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I wouldn’t ever consider her spirited. More like reserved.”

  Fiona brightened. “Yes, she is. Very quiet, peaceable and...educated.”

  “Unlike the lady who interests me?”

  Fiona’s eyebrow quirked upward. “She’s not educated?”

  He’d blundered. “No...that’s not what I meant. She’s educated.” But he could feel the embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Well enough.”

  Her color heightened, making her positively irresistible. Add in the way she drew back, eyes ablaze, and he longed to calm that temper with a kiss. Some men preferred the quiet types. Not Sawyer. Give him a woman with spirit any day. He’d had enough stoic silence from his former fiancée to last a lifetime.

  “You think I’m educated enough?” She spat out the words. “Or were you referring to someone else? And what qualifies you to judge anyway?”

  “Nothing.” Sawyer had blundered yet again. “I can’t seem to say the right thing. Can you forgive me? I was trying to tell you—”

  Mrs. VanderLeuven’s ill-timed return broke the moment before he could explain that Fiona was the one whose spirit intrigued and delighted him.

  “Here we are, two slices of my apple caramel cake. Oh!” The woman drew to a halt. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Not at all.” Fiona opened her bag and began looking through it.

  Sawyer paid for their cake and tried to ignore the delighted gleam in the hotel proprietress’s eyes. She clearly hoped not only for a sale, but also for a romance. Sawyer did too—if Fiona could wait for marriage. By his estimation, the hotel business was not good. Every guest in town except Stockton was staying at the boardinghouse. Sawyer was going to have to m
ake some changes to turn the place around.

  He set his plate of cake across the table from Fiona and took a seat.

  “Are you finished assessing my character?” Fiona asked, her fork hovering over the cake, which she had not yet tasted.

  Sawyer’s spirits sank even further. He’d upset her with his silly joking. “I could spend a lifetime and never grow tired learning about you.”

  At first she looked surprised, but then she gave him an odd look. “You speak like someone out of a novel.”

  Sawyer could kick himself. He’d let down his guard and acted like himself. Better be careful. He responded with a question, the best way to divert attention. “Is that a bad thing?”

  Her brow knit, and she picked at the cake. “I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily a bad thing. More that it’s...unexpected.”

  “I happen to like to read.”

  “You do?” Again her surprise was evident.

  Sawyer was having so much fun that he decided to push it even further. “When I was in school, I even acted in a play.”

  She stared at him. “I could almost believe I’m seated across from an entirely different man. Aren’t you the Sawyer Evans who fells trees and muscles huge logs through the big saws at the mill?”

  “The same.” He loved this interplay between them. “I’m also the man who accompanies you on piano and violin.”

  “Though not at the same time.” She chuckled.

  He laughed. “That did sound like I could play both simultaneously.”

  “There you go again. Where did you learn such...language?”

  He leaned forward, as if to reveal a secret. “My parents taught me English.”

  “You are impossible.”

  “Precisely.”

  She laughed again. “You always manage to lift my spirits. When life seems unfair, you make me smile.” She got serious. “Thank you for the cake.”

  “Thank you in advance for the advice about refurbishing the hotel.” His mind turned away from the pleasant time with her and onto business matters. “Let’s begin with this room, so it can reopen as soon as possible. What would you recommend for colors, fabrics and furniture?”

  “Who do you expect to frequent it?”

  A good question. “Locals. Perhaps some from Saugatuck. Those passing through or stopping on their way to Holland.”

  She nodded slowly. “Consider them and what would make them comfortable.”

  “I also want to grow.”

  “That can come later, but Singapore is not a final destination for most travelers. You must first attract those customers most likely to eat here.”

  Sawyer leaned back. “Miss Fiona, you have an astonishing head for business.”

  That brought a smile to her lips. “Perhaps I shall open that boarding school one day after all.”

  “No doubt you will.” Sawyer took a bite of the cake, which was indeed delicious. Back to business, which was much less fun than verbal sparring. “You are just determined enough to make it happen.”

  “All I need is the funding.”

  “They didn’t pay you well in New York?”

  Her gaze averted longer than it took to take another bite of cake. Sawyer waited until she answered.

  “Well enough to live but not to build a school.”

  “Then why leave? Singapore is a little rough for the kind of school you’re considering.”

  “You know what brought me here. Everyone does.”

  He didn’t miss the trace of bitterness in her voice. “What happened? A beautiful woman like you could have captured the attention of any man.”

  Instead of appreciating the compliment, her jaw tightened. “Do you know what some men think of a woman in my profession?”

  Sawyer swallowed hard. He knew all too well. “But that’s not you.”

  “Would that matter to that type of man?”

  Sawyer’s father leaped to mind. “No. It wouldn’t.”

  “So, I came here.”

  He still found it mystifying. “Why? To marry a man you’d never met?” It didn’t make sense.

  After a pause, she answered, “I have responsibilities.”

  The truth hit him. “Your family. Your niece.”

  She nodded but said no more.

  He covered her hand with his and softened his tone. “Whatever the reason, I’m grateful you came here.”

  That brought her gaze back to his. “Because you now have someone who shares your love of music?”

  “Your voice is beautiful, but I appreciate getting to know you even more.”

  She flushed and withdrew her hand. Then she fussed with her napkin before meeting his gaze again. “I am grateful for your skill on piano and violin. Our concerts have been...pleasant.”

  Not the response he’d hoped for.

  “But?” he prodded.

  She looked at the walls, as if examining the papering or the framed magazine covers that passed as artwork.

  “Like I said, I have responsibilities,” she repeated. “My niece.”

  “You plan to take care of her?”

  “I will. I must. Surely you understand.” She looked at him with such hope that it broke his heart.

  He hadn’t been mistaken. She needed a husband to help take care of her niece. As much as he wished that man could be him, he couldn’t possibly take on a wife and child. Not now. Not with the debt he’d just incurred. It wouldn’t be fair to Fiona or her niece. They deserved better.

  “We all have responsibilities,” he murmured, avoiding her gaze.

  She pushed aside the remainder of the cake. “I see. Then you understand that responsibilities sometimes come with certain...requirements.” She stood. “Good night, Sawyer. I wish you well with the hotel.”

  Sawyer shot to his feet. “Forgive me, Fiona. I shouldn’t have brought up personal matters.”

  “That’s right. You shouldn’t have.”

  “You came here to help me.” His voice actually shook, and he rubbed a hand across his mouth to hide how nervous he was. “I’d still like that help. Please.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Disappointment flooded over Fiona. She’d given Sawyer a chance to step up and help her. He’d not only shied away but had turned the whole conversation back to what he needed from her for his precious hotel. Couldn’t he see how desperate she was with Mary Clare soon to arrive? She’d all but told him outright that she needed to marry. The specter of marrying a man she did not know was raising such dread in her that she’d pinned her fading hopes on Sawyer Evans. A lumberjack. A man foolish enough to take on a faded and failing hotel. Even he had rejected her.

  “I never meant to upset you,” he said, those brown eyes of his as soft as a puppy’s.

  Her frustration vanished. How could he twist her around his finger so easily? One woebegone look, and she would give him another chance.

  This lumberjack had a sensitive side. When he played violin or piano, he sank into the music, eyes closed, oblivious to the world. That’s the man who tugged at her heart and made her want to cast aside any hope of wealth in order to be with him. But that wouldn’t be fair to Mary Clare.

  He stood before her in obvious anguish, thinking he’d ruined their friendship.

  She needed more than a friend. She needed a husband, someone who would help her raise the girl she would soon take in as a daughter. Mary Clare needed a father as well as a mother.

  The word sent a wave of panic through her. She knew nothing about mothering. Oh, she could feed a child and change a diaper, but the really important things didn’t come naturally to her. Though she had four younger siblings, she’d stopped her ears to their howls for attention and sang loudly to blot them out. Ma and her older sisters watched over them. Even Lillibe
th was better at watching the youngest. After Reginald rubbed coal dust all over the walls while Fiona practiced singing in the other room, Mama stopped leaving any of them in Fiona’s care. More than once her mother had shaken her head and declared that Fiona hadn’t a mothering bone in her body.

  Fiona had taken that as fact and moved forward as a singer.

  Now she had to raise a little girl, and she hadn’t the slightest idea how. Neither did she have the money. Sawyer had asked for her assistance redesigning the hotel. He would pay. She mustn’t cast away much-needed income over a perceived slight.

  “I will sketch out my designs for this room tomorrow.” She tugged on her gloves. “You may pick them up after supper.”

  Sawyer visibly relaxed. “Thank you. I appreciate it more than you can know. And I’m sorry I upset you.”

  She let the last part go unanswered and concentrated on the first as she swept through the lobby. “I could also come up with some ideas for this room. Clean, simple yet tastefully elegant, something to appeal to all guests, no matter their—” She lost her train of thought as Mr. Stockton descended the staircase.

  The gentleman caught sight of her and waved her over.

  Fiona’s heart pounded as she crossed the room. She must make a good impression for Mary Clare’s sake. “Mr. Stockton.” Her mouth had gone dry. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Yes, yes. Enough of that bother. Get me another pillow. I can’t sleep without at least three pillows. Make sure they’re down, mind you. I don’t want to get poked in the neck by a feather.”

  His demands laid out, he turned without another word and ascended the staircase.

  Fiona stared, mouth agape. Mr. Stockton thought she was a maid. A maid! Or a housekeeper. Yes, she had worn a rather plain gown in muted goldenrod, but it had cost a month’s wages and had been sewn by the finest seamstress Fiona could hire. In no way did it look like a common housekeeper’s dress.

  No doubt Sawyer was snickering behind her back. But he couldn’t know the worst of it. Stockton had not placed that advertisement with her in mind. No doubt he’d crumpled her letter or was laughing over it. A pillow!