The Lightkeeper's Daughter (24 page)

“And pigeons?”

She shook her head. “That clue has stumped me.”

“Perhaps the labyrinth in the garden. The pigeons love the birdbath in the middle of it.”

She clapped her hands together. “The very thing! I’ve been meaning to explore that labyrinth and haven’t had the time.”

“We’ll explore it together if you promise me a kiss when we get to the middle.”

Color stained her cheeks. “A lady never promises any such thing.”

“I might have to steal one, then.”

She opened her fan and waved it, but he could see the heat spreading up her face and grinned. Had he and Katherine ever indulged in romantic banter? He couldn’t remember anything like this.

T
WENTY-FOUR

E
DWARD BEGAN TO
stir on Addie’s shoulder. He lifted his head, then flopped it down with a contented smile on his face. She glanced at John from the corner of her eye. She’d noticed how the child relished his time with his father, and seeing it, Addie ached for the same relationship with her real father. Things would change soon. Her new papa would love her unconditionally, just like God.

The springs on the buggy squeaked as John shifted in the seat. Wide awake now, Edward squirmed from her lap to sit between her and John.

“We’re almost to Grandma’s,” John told Edward.

The boy’s high spirits subsided, and he leaned back against the buggy seat. Addie knew better than to ask questions about the situation with John’s parents. Edward had said the house was smelly. Did John come from folks like the ones in the tenement? He seemed much too lofty to have grown up in a place like that. His military bearing seemed innate.

The buggy rolled past a sea of women in the street. “What’s happening?” she asked. She craned her neck to take in the banners, which said Votes for Women and Equal Rights. “Oh, it’s a suffrage march. I wonder if Sally is here?”

“Sally?”

“One of the chambermaids. She invited me to come to a meeting.” She saw men in the parade as well.

“I’ve been to a few.”

“You’re in favor of voting rights for women?”

“Certainly,” he said, tossing her a smile. “No one can tell me you are incapable of knowing your own mind or comprehending the issues.”

She smiled back at him. “My father always said too many people are afraid to speak the truth.”

“He was right.” The buggy stopped in front of a butcher shop in a block of town lined with aging storefronts and cracked sidewalks. John seemed distant as he got out of the buggy and lifted his son to the street. His big hands circled Addie’s waist, and she was close enough to see the gray rim around his dark eyes. She followed him into the shop where two women turned at the tinkle of the bell on the door.

Addie glanced around. Meat hung from hooks around the perimeter of the small room entirely constructed in wood, even to the slatted ceiling. More meat lay on the counter. Hams hung in the windows. The man behind the counter wore a voluminous apron that used to be white over his vest and tie. The streaks of red made her stirring hunger vanish.

“Why, it’s little Johnny,” an older, plump woman declared as she waited in line. “I haven’t seen you in years, Johnny.”

“Hello, Mrs. Gleeson,” John said. An easy smile lifted his lips.

“We’re so proud of you, Johnny. On a submarine! My, what an exciting life. Are you home for good?”

“No, ma’am, I’m just on leave.” He pulled Addie to his side. “This is, um, Julia Eaton, Mr. Eaton’s daughter.”

The woman stopped short, and consternation squinted her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

Addie extended her hand. “I realize it’s confusing, Mrs. Gleeson. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. My father thought I’d drowned some years back, but as you can see, I’m quite well.”

The woman’s mouth gaped. “Oh my stars.” Mrs. Gleeson took Addie’s hand as the customer in front of her took her packages and exited the store. Mrs. Gleeson made an obvious struggle to recover her aplomb. “Is that your boy?”

From the way she eyed Addie, the story would be all over town by lunchtime. Addie stepped back and dropped her hand to her side. Would her father be upset? But no, he’d been introducing her last night as his daughter.

John put his hand on his son’s head and pulled him away from Addie’s skirt. “This is Edward.”

“What a fine lad. He’s the spitting image of you. Your mother and father must be so proud. Isn’t that so, Leo?” she called to the butcher, who stood watching them with a cleaver in his hand.

“That’s right, Evelyn,” the man said.

Addie studied him and realized he was John’s father. They shared the same ears, finely formed and close to the head. She sent a tentative smile his way, but he remained focused on his son.

Mrs. Gleeson turned back to the counter. “I’ll have two pounds of that pork loin you mentioned, Leo. Then I’ll let you visit with your boy.”

Addie waited for John to address his father, and when he merely moved to a corner of the room and waited, she shuffled out of the way of the door and studied the meat in the display case. Flies buzzed above it, but the glass kept them out. Fresh steaks, ground beef, and lamb lined the trays inside. The air was heavy with the smell of meat, and she understood Edward’s reference to the odor in the place, though it wasn’t offensive to her.

Mrs. Gleeson took her purchases wrapped in white butcher paper, then placed a final pat on Edward’s head. “Don’t be a stranger, Johnny,” she admonished. The bell tinkled over the door, and she was gone.

“Lock the door there, Johnny, there’s a good boy,” his father said. He transferred the meat to an ice chest while his son complied with his request, then beckoned to them. “Your ma is upstairs. She’ll be glad to see you. Supper should be on the table shortly.”

“We can’t stay for supper, Pa. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and bring Edward over to say hello.”

“It’s your loss, boy. Your ma is making beef stew, your favorite.” Mr. North wiped his hands on the bloody apron that swathed his generous chest and stomach, then whipped it off and rolled it into a ball.

“Edward might have a taste. I don’t believe he’s ever had beef stew.” John took his son’s hand and glanced at Addie as if to say,
Come along
.

She was eager to meet the people who had raised this man she was coming to love.

John had walked these narrow back steps a thousand times. His mother made sure they were spotless, and the aroma of beef stew wafted down the hall. Edward’s feet dragged, and John tugged on the boy’s hand. “Come along, Edward. I bet your grandma has cookies. There are always cookies in the jar.”

His son’s expression lifted. “Oatmeal?” he asked.

“Probably. And with raisins.” He led the way through the parlor to the doorway into the kitchen, then paused and listened to his mother sing the words to “Shoo, Fly, Don’t Bother Me!” The tune brought his childhood rushing back.

His mother turned from where she stood at the stove, and her ready smile came. “Johnny!” Her smile widened when she saw the boy. “And Eddie. Come give your granny a kiss.”

“My name is Edward,” the child said, but he tugged his hand from John’s and went to give his grandmother a kiss.

John’s heart swelled at the sight of his mother clasping his son to her bosom. He joined them and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Hi, Ma.”

She released Edward, who dashed to the cookie jar sitting on top of the icebox. “Can I have a cookie, Grandma?”

“I just baked them. Help yourself. I’d rather you call me Granny, sweetheart.” Her bright blue eyes etched with lines caught sight of Addie. “And who is this, Johnny? Your girl?”

Heat encased his neck. “This is Miss Addie Sullivan, Ma. She’s been teaching Edward his numbers.” He hesitated, uncertain how to explain her real identity.

His mother’s eyes sharpened. “This is the long-lost Eaton daughter? Julia Eaton?”

The news must have traveled already. “That’s right.” He turned to Addie. “Addie, this is my mother, Mrs. Ursula North.” He watched his son open the cookie jar. “Just one for now, Edward.”

Addie pulled her hands from behind her back and came forward to take his mother’s outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. North.”

“What a pretty little thing you are,” his mother said. “We need to fatten you up some though. Would you like a cookie?”

“I’d love one, thank you.” Addie dug a cookie out of the jar, her eyes roving the dining room. “You have a lovely home.”

John took another look at the room he rarely noticed anymore. His grandfather had made the maple table in the middle of the room. A red and white tablecloth hid the initials he’d carved into the top when he was five, and matching fabric covered the fronts of the base cabinets along one wall. The rose wallpaper was starting to fade, and the linoleum counter as well. But everything was spotless, including the rug on the painted wood floors under the table. The old pie safe was packed with dishes and pots. He noted the new wood cookstove.

His mother smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I’ve been telling Johnny’s father that I want to redecorate. He hasn’t agreed yet, but I’m wearing him down. Where’s your father, Johnny?”

“He came up ahead of us. I think he’s cleaning up.”

“Good. I’m about to put supper on the table. Oh, and Mrs. Eaton called. She’d like you to stop by the mercantile and pick up an order for her. Something about hats.”

“It’s a good thing Addie is with me, then.” John heard footsteps in the hall and tensed. “Here he comes now.”

His father joined them in the kitchen. “Supper about ready, Ma? I’m starving.”

“Sit down, Pa. John, you and Miss Sullivan sit down. Eddie, come help your granny get the food.” She took the boy by the hand. “I’ve got apple pie afterward.”

John didn’t know how to get out of the meal without hurting his mother, so he did as he was told and pulled out a chair for Addie. Her green eyes were wide, and he knew she wondered why they were here. He had the same thought as his father took the head of the table. His dad would be needling him before an hour was up.

His mother set steaming bowls of beef stew and dumplings in front of both of them. Edward carried the freshly baked bread to the table. John’s father lifted the boy to his lap once Edward completed his task.

“You’re a fine boy, Eddie. You should have your papa bring you over for the day, and I’ll show you how to carve up a chicken. That’s the first thing you need to know if you’re going to be a butcher like Grandpa.”

Edward stared into his grandfather’s face. “I’m going to be in the navy like Papa and go on the submarines. It smells funny here, Granddad. I don’t like the butcher shop.”

John’s gut clenched, and he rushed to intervene before his father exploded. “Great stew, Ma. The dumplings are perfect.”

“Thank you, son.” His mother slid into her seat at the other end of the table. “Pa, let’s not have any arguments at the supper table.”

Her plea had no effect. John’s father’s brows lowered. “Always gone, never home with your family. Parenting is more than begetting a child, Johnny. You need a trade that takes you home to your wife and kids every night.”

John set Edward down. “Go eat your stew.”

John took a bite but barely tasted it. He heard Addie put down her spoon.

His mother’s smile had faded, too, and her face bore signs of strain. “Leo, please,” she said.

His father said nothing and began to eat his stew. The air thickened, and it was all John could do to continue to lift his spoon to his lips.

His father eyed Addie. “You’re teaching the boy?” he asked.

She put down her bread. “Yes, sir. Just the basics, like his numbers and letters.”

“He learning them all right? I mean, his—” He broke off and glanced at his son.

“Edward is a smart lad,” John said, louder than he’d intended. “He’s picking it up quickly.”

“I’ve got a dog now, Granddad,” Edward said. “His name is Gideon, and he lets me know when I’m going to fall.”

The older man’s brows rose. “Is that right?”

“Well, I’m sharing the dog,” Edward said. “He belongs to Teacher too.”

“What’s this about, Johnny?” his dad asked.

“Ever since Miss Eaton arrived, he’s been fixated on her dog. He thinks the dog warns him before an . . . episode,” John said.

“That so?” His father turned curious eyes on Addie.

“I’ve seen it. Gideon does seem to sense when Edward might be having a problem,” Addie said.

“Don’t that beat all,” his father murmured. “What about school?”

“He’s not ready yet,” John said.

“It’s a mistake to coddle the boy,” his father said. “If people are going to make fun, he needs to learn it and toughen up.”

John gritted his teeth to keep back the retort. He took the last bite of his stew. “Great supper, Ma. We’d better go.”

“I want my apple pie,” Edward protested.

“Maybe next time.” He grabbed his son’s hand and escaped the censure.

T
WENTY-FIVE

J
OHN TURNED THE
horse into a lot by the mercantile. “Here we are. It’s nearly closing time.” He alighted and held out his hand to help her down. His broad shoulders and bowler towered over her when he set her onto the street. She took his arm, and they entered the side door of Oscar’s Mercantile. John removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. The scent of cinnamon, coffee, candles, and leather tickled her nose as soon as they were inside. A counter of fabric bolts caught her eye first, and she stopped to examine them. The quality ranged from common gingham to nicer satins and wools. She picked up a thimble painted with a rose and exclaimed over it, but John’s interest had been caught by a display of saddles along the opposite wall.