Undaunted Hope (18 page)

Alex's rasping cough wafted faintly through the floorboards. “I'm sure he loved every last drop.” Tessa wished she could have seen his expression when Nadine forced the liquid into him. It certainly would have lightened the mood.

“I'll leave Josie with you,” Nadine said. “You can't be staying here by yourself any longer.”

“Are people beginning to talk?” Tessa had to ask, though she dreaded the answer.

“No,” Nadine remarked. New lines of worry added to the wrinkles already creasing her face. “Not yet. Everyone knows how badly the wickies suffered from frostbite. So far they're only saying it's been mighty nice that you stayed to watch the kiddies and tend the men.”

“Really?” Relief whispered through Tessa.

“But now that the men are recovering, it's just about time for you to come on back to the house. That way you won't give anyone the chance to start spreading rumors.”

“I can come back tonight—”

“Not yet. They need you a couple more days. At least.”

“Don't leave me, Miss Taylor,” Ingrid said in a wobbly voice, not having left her side since she awoke. “Please don't go away.”

How could she say no to the girl's request, especially when she peered up at her with her bright blue eyes so full of trust and love? Tessa squelched the desire to flee. She couldn't leave just yet. Michael and Alex still needed her and so did the children.

She prayed that both she and her reputation could survive a few more days.

T
essa scanned the nearly empty shelves in dismay. The supplies in the company store had dwindled down considerably.

“Don't worry, Miss Taylor.” Samuel paused in his dusting of one of the shelves. “The boats will be here soon with more.”

She glanced out the wide storefront window to the big wet snowflakes that had begun to fall more rapidly since she'd entered the store a few minutes earlier. She was so tired of snow. No place on earth should be allowed to have so much snow, especially so close to April. “I wouldn't be so sure of that. This is the winter that won't end. I think it's tied spring up and put it in jail.”

“Spring's in jail?” Samuel's eyes widened in his rounded flushed face. A glistening of sweat had formed on his bald head despite the frigid temperature in the store.

“What I meant is that I don't think spring will ever arrive.”

“Oh, it will,” Samuel replied eagerly, as if revealing to her something she'd never before known. “It comes every year.”

She gave a faint smile and eyed the bottom of the potato barrel where wrinkled potatoes sat among dirt with their overgrown eyes tangled together. They looked as unappetizing as about everything else in the bottoms of the other barrels. She wrinkled her nose at the moldy dirt scent. “Well, let's just hope that spring decides to come sooner rather than later.”

The spring equinox had come and gone. April was almost upon them. Yet the ground was covered with layers of snow, the trees still barren. Everything was a dull grayish brown—the leafless trees, the log cabins, the boulders along the shore. Even the evergreens were looking pale, as if they too were in protest of the overlong winter.

Samuel anxiously eyed the back door that led to the company office. Then he leaned toward Tessa and lowered his voice. “Percival told me there's more in the storehouse. He just wants to make sure all this is used up first.” Samuel gestured toward the barrels.

“That's good news, Samuel,” she said, knowing he'd told her something he wasn't supposed to, even though she didn't understand what difference it made whether she knew or not. The company warehouse, located along the harbor, had been stocked full in the fall with enough supplies to see them through the winter. While much of the fresh food had frozen, it had still been edible even if it hadn't been palatable.

She forced a smile. “At least we won't starve to death before the new supplies come, right?”

Her attempt at humor fell flat whenever Samuel was concerned. In fact, instead of eliciting mirth, her words seemed only to stir anxiety within him. “We almost starved two winters ago. Percival had to divide up the remaining food carefully.”

“I'm sure that won't happen again.”

Samuel wrung the cloth in his hands, and his forehead puckered. “There's enough food in the storehouse. That's what Percival said.”

“It must be true then,” she said and squeezed his arm. She'd expected to eat more fresh game. But ice fishing was too dangerous now, many animals were still in hibernation, and the wild fowl hadn't yet migrated north. The fact was, even if there had been more game for hunting, the miners were still working twelve-hour shifts and too tired to think about hunting when they climbed out of the cold dark caverns of the mines every night.

“Even so, I'll be jubilant when the first steamer arrives.” She moved on to the next almost empty shelf to find the flour she'd come to purchase. “I think I'll hold a party in its honor.”

“What kind of party?”

She froze. It wasn't the question that stopped her and made her blood run cold. It was the voice. Percival stood in the doorway to the company office that adjoined the store.

“Maybe a box lunch picnic,” she answered, wanting to keep her tone nonchalant.

So far, since the incident after the spelling bee, she'd avoided being alone with Percival. During the past weeks he'd been occupied and content with his new mistress and thankfully hadn't paid her much attention.

“A box lunch,” Percival repeated cheerfully. “That sounds like a good idea . . . so long as I get to share the picnic lunch with you.”

Was Percival once more on the hunt for a new woman to use? Was he about to prey upon her again? A sickening swell rose in Tessa's stomach. “Now, Mr. Updegraff,” she said, wishing to race across the store and exit as fast as she could. “You'll have
to bid upon the lunches fair and square and sit with the owner of whichever basket you pay for.”

“Don't you think Miss Taylor should give us a clue beforehand, Sam? Then we'll know which one is hers so that we can eat lunch with her?”

Samuel nodded vigorously, his eyes bright. “I'd like to eat lunch with Miss Taylor.”

Percival's well-groomed mustache twitched with the hint of a smile. “She's a nice lady, isn't she?”

Samuel smiled shyly and ducked his head while his cheeks flamed red.

Percival chuckled and then glanced at Tessa with what she could only describe as appreciation. Was he thanking her for being kind to Samuel? Although none of the townspeople dared to mock Samuel openly, very few made efforts to befriend the simpleminded man the way she had.

“I'd gladly share a box lunch with you Samuel,” she said. “But I'm afraid at this point all I'd have to offer is shriveled potatoes.”

“It's okay, Miss Taylor,” Samuel said. “I don't mind. I like potatoes, especially mashed.”

She shared a smile with Percival almost like two parents would over the antics of a child, but something in his glance turned suddenly more calculated. Time for her to go. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and started toward the door.

“You aren't leaving so soon, are you, Miss Taylor?” Percival's voice followed her. “You haven't made your purchase yet.”

“I'd hoped to find flour and apples,” she said, “but it looks like you're in short supply of both.”

“I've heard you make a tasty apple pie.”

Her skin crawled at how much he knew about everyone and everything in Eagle Harbor.

“If I find you flour and apples,” he continued, straightening in the doorway, his intense gaze still upon her, “will you promise to make me an apple pie?”

“I can't make any promises, and I was planning to make one for someone else first.” She knew she'd said the wrong thing when Percival stiffened.

“Don't tell me you were planning to bake a pie for Alex Bjorklund.”

“And if I was?” She hadn't been. She'd planned to make one for herself and the Rawlings family, to try to bring some cheer into what had become a drab existence over the past couple of weeks. Not only had she been forced to live through a never-ending winter, she'd had to watch Michael and Alex suffer after nearly losing them both.

Percival's expression had turned dangerous. “You're not allowed to purchase supplies to give to people who aren't employed by Cole Mine.”

While she was anxious to leave the store and get away from him, she couldn't resist the challenge in his statement. “If I pay for the goods with my own hard-earned money, who are you to tell me what I can or cannot do with them?”

Percival took a firm step forward. “The lightkeepers get their supplies from the government. They have all they need.”

“Yes, but if I purchase something, no one can control what I do with my belongings. If I want to give them away, I have every right—”

“The things in this store are for Cole employees only. It's my job to make sure the people in my charge are taken care of first and foremost.” Percival's voice was taut. “If you don't like that policy, I'll make sure you're no longer a Cole employee.”

The retort on the tip of her tongue died. Arguing with Per
cival Updegraff wasn't going to help her cause. She would only end up homeless and jobless. Besides, she didn't have to win the argument to continue to do as she wanted with her purchases.

His unyielding stance told her he was waiting for her concession.

“Very well, Mr. Updegraff.” She had to yank each resistant word out. “You're the boss.”

“He's the boss,” Samuel echoed from where he'd resumed dusting a shelf.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way.” She pulled open the door.

“I hope you're not planning to go to the Bjorklunds'. You've spent entirely too much time there lately.”

“Michael still needs someone to help change the dressing on his frostbite wounds.”

“I'm sure Alex can do it.”

She had the feeling Alex could do more than he admitted. He was usually on the sofa when she arrived in the afternoon after school, acting as helpless as ever. But from the appearance of things, she could tell he was getting around on his own.

Whatever the case, it was none of Percival's concern what she did or didn't do. “Good day, Mr. Updegraff.” She opened the door wider. “Good-bye, Samuel.”

Samuel's childlike good-bye followed her as she stepped into the wintry mix of snow that was falling. She huddled further into her coat and lengthened her stride through the slushy gray mixture that covered Center Street.

She half expected Percival to follow her outside and demand that she turn around and go home to the Rawlingses'. But when she peeked over her shoulder at the storefront, only the gleaming, spotless glass of the window stared back at her.

Not taking any chances, she picked up her pace. When she arrived at the lighthouse, she didn't knock but entered through the back door into the woodshed. The dark lean-to was nearly empty of wood now, and a scattering of chips and bits of bark littered the floor. She unwrapped her scarf, breathing in the scent of balsam still strong in the air.

At an angry voice coming from the parlor, she froze and listened.

“You don't need her attention any more than I do,” Alex shouted.

“I need it more than you” came Michael's terse reply. “You're the one lying around pretending to be helpless whenever she's here.”

“I'm resting.”

“So that she'll mope over you.”

They were talking about her.

“And you're having a pity party for yourself,” Alex countered, “so that she'll feel sorry for you every time she sees your sad face.”

“You just don't want to admit the truth.” Michael's voice was louder than she'd ever heard it before. “She likes me more than she does you.”

“You're the one who won't admit the truth,” Alex shot back. “She loves
me
.”

Michael gave a short barking laugh that ended up in a cough—the same cough that Alex had suffered through.

Tessa's entire body was riveted in place. Alex had accused her at one other time of loving him, and although she liked him and deeply respected him, she didn't love him. It didn't matter that her heart always picked up speed around him. It didn't matter that she was attracted to so many things about him. It
didn't matter that she dreamed about the kisses he'd given her and that she longed for more.

She could never allow herself to love him.

“You're delusional if you think she loves you,” Michael said in between hacking coughs. “But then again, you've always thought more highly of yourself than you ought to.”

“I can't help it if women like me more than they do you.”

“Oh yeah. Those hordes of women hanging all over you,” Michael said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I'd like to see them.”

There was a long silence. Tessa shifted her cold feet. Should she retreat slowly and quietly out the door and then come back in the front door noisily so that they'd know she was here?

“All that matters is that Tessa loves me,” Alex finally said. “You might as well accept that and concede defeat.”

“We'll see about that.”

“I've kissed her. Twice.”

“We agreed that neither of us would,” Michael stated firmly.

“I never agreed to it. And I'm planning to kiss her again. Soon.”

“Then maybe I will too.”

“You better not.” This time Alex's voice rose a notch.

“If you can, then I can too.”

Tessa's muscles tightened in protest. She couldn't believe Alex had boasted about kissing her. Or that Michael thought he could kiss her too—whether she was a willing participant or not. Both men sounded like petulant children in need of a severe tongue-lashing.

“The reason I kissed her,” Alex said even louder, “is because I'm planning to marry her.”

Planning to marry her?
She almost choked at his declaration.
Alex
was
rather proud if he thought a couple of stolen kisses in the heat of the moment meant he had a right to marry her.

“You're wrong!” Michael yelled. “I'm planning to marry her!” His words trailed into a fit of coughing.

Tessa couldn't bear listening to another word. She strode out of the woodshed, crossed the kitchen, and stomped her way to the parlor doorway.

Her clomping through the house had drawn their attention. From their spots on the sofas, both men stared at her.

She fisted her hands on her hips and glared, first at Michael, whose cheeks flamed as he dropped his gaze to the knitted afghan covering his lean body, and then at Alex.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he said, his lips curving into a half-cocked grin. The blue of his eyes sparked, but not with his usual mirth. Instead the sparks were sharp, remnants of his anger from his fight with Michael.

“You're both ridiculous,” she said hotly. “I can't believe you're lying here arguing over me like I'm a piece of cargo for barter.”

“It
is
ridiculous,” Alex muttered, tossing his brother a glance that seemed to tell Michael he was the loser and shouldn't have challenged him.

The look only stirred Tessa's ire. “You're insane if you think that just because we shared a kiss—”