Six

“Let me get my shawl.” Judith needed a moment to gather her thoughts. She didn’t wish to offend Piers, who had been a stalwart friend, but neither did she want to encourage him. She turned to the One who could help. God, if You can spare time from ruling the wind and the waves, I need Your wisdom.

I will direct your ways. The Bible verse came into her mind and gave her peace. She draped her shawl around her shoulders and left the lighthouse with Piers.

They walked along the path worn down between the lighthouse and the Vanderkamps’ home near the docks. Piers’s freshly washed hair gleamed gold in the moonlight, and she could see the sun creases around his eyes. He was attractive, kind, a good provider—everything a woman might want in a man.

Piers stopped about midway. The last rays of sunlight illuminated fishing boats bobbing at anchor. The sight, as familiar to her as the contours of the lighthouse, always made her think of Jesus and all the hours He spent at sea with the disciples.

“That was a mighty fine dinner you prepared this evening,” Piers said at last.

“Mistress Hathaway has been tutoring me.” Something Piers’s mother had never offered to do before her death from a fever a few years ago.

“You must be an apt pupil.” Piers took his hat off and stared at the ground as if it contained the answers to his questions.

Don’t say it. Judith willed Piers to stay quiet. Let us remain good friends as we have always been.

Piers drew a deep breath. “I spoke with your father this week. He has given me permission to court you.” He looked at her with great hope, baring his soul with an uncertainty he rarely allowed to show. “You must know how I feel about you.”

Now came Judith’s turn to look at the ground. Without looking at him, she said, “Piers, I fear I do not return your feelings.” Lightning streaked across the sky, and she jumped. Was God agreeing with her or chiding her for her foolishness? She raised her eyes to the man who had shown his love in a hundred different ways.

His face pulled into a scowl, teeth clenched together. “Do you hold any regard for me at all?”

“I care for you deeply, Piers—as I might for a brother.” Judith hated to inflict more pain.

“In time, that regard could deepen into something more.” Piers chose to take her words as encouragement. “Will you walk with me again Monday evening?”

How could he expect her to develop feelings in the next few weeks that had not grown in the past five years? Still, Father would expect her to give Piers a hearing. She had been honest.

“Gladly—as long as there are no further expectations on your part.”

“That is all I ask.”

A second flash of lightning raced across the sky, and the couple turned back to the lighthouse.

❧

Sam stood in the doorway, gauging the weather. A single boom promised a thunderstorm. Rain splattered the ground. Would the storm increase, or weaken? He looked to the point where the lighthouse stood. Two figures dashed for the edifice—Judith and Piers.

Eli Morrison would welcome Piers as a son-in-law. He proved his courage every day by going to sea, and he also knew all the workings of the lighthouse.

But what did Judith think of Piers? She had promised there was hope for Sam. He clung to that when he felt the cold wall of Eli’s disapproval that kept him away from Judith. Even the lighthouse keeper would not force his daughter to marry against her will.

Sam remained outside and watched as the lamps came on. One, two, three, all the way to nine and ten. Would such a warning have made a difference on the night his father died? He shook his head. Only God knew the answer to that question.

Rain pelted the ground as hard as new pennies against stone. Lightning screamed through the clouds; thunder struck his ear. Rather than ducking into the safety of the parlor, Sam took another step into the open air and bellowed.

“I’m not frightened of you! I trust the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth! He carries the lightning in His fists!” Sam repeated words from Job, begging God to make them true in his heart. The wind whipped waves into a frenzy, pounding the rocks near the lighthouse with a furor as loud as a canon’s roar.

He sensed his mother’s presence and felt her hand press against his elbow. “Come inside, son. You will not prove anything by catching cold.”

Only then did Sam realize rain had soaked him through to the skin. Warm breezes carried the rain, although sickness never plagued him through nights of sleet and snow during the war. He followed her inside and took a seat by the fireplace.

She disappeared into the kitchen, only to return with a mug of warm milk and a piece of gingerbread. He smiled his thanks. Neither spoke while Sam ate the sweet one morsel at a time, relaxing in the childhood ritual. While he ate, the fire dried his clothes. Wind moaned through cracks, the boards creaking as rain found weak spots. It almost had a musical sound, God Himself directing the orchestra of thundering trumpets, rain drums, and wind instruments. Sam stared out the window at the lighthouse. Flashing lamps punctuated the rhythm of the storm, highlighting first a rock, then a wave, then the sky. It gave him an odd sort of comfort.

Comfort, that is, until one of the lamps went black, then a second. Sam stood to his feet. “I must go.” He dashed out the door and across the open field to the lighthouse. A few minutes later, he pounded on the door.

An eternity passed before Judith came to the door. “Sam? What is it?”

“The lamps. Did you see. . . ?”

“Father.” Judith sucked in her breath and opened the door wide for him to enter. She moved to the stairs. Sam followed behind.

If the storm sounded like a symphony in his cottage, it became a thousand blaring trumpets in the lighthouse. Every board creaked, and the very tower swayed in the wind. His nightmares would multiply if he lived in a building like this one.

Sam raced up the steps two at a time, only slightly winded. Eli was relighting a lamp as Sam entered the lantern room.

“What are you doing here?”

“He—” Breathless, Judith spoke from behind Sam. She inhaled and continued. “He noticed that the lamps went out and came to check on us.”

“Hmph.” The older man studied Sam. He must look a sight, with his sodden clothes and wind-blown hair.

“I wondered if I could help, sir.”

A smile tugged at the corner’s of Eli’s lips. “I appreciate your concern, lad, but it’s not the first time the lamps have gone out during a storm, and it won’t be the last.”

In fact, all tens lights beamed as if nothing had happened. Rain lashed against the windows. Lightning flashed so much closer than at ground level. Sam took an involuntary step back. A single lightning strike could burn this brave outpost to the ground. Why had they ever made it of wood?

“As you can see, I am fine. You can leave me in good conscience.” Eli placed a hand on Sam’s back. Sam thought he saw a hint of approval in his eyes. “Thank you for your concern. It’s been a long time since we had neighbors.”

Judith accompanied him downstairs. “Thank you for coming.” Her voice was low, a soft woodwind instrument added to the storm’s orchestra.

“I would never let anything happen to you.” He paused, searching for words to say. “Call on me if you ever need anything.”

“I will.” A small smile lifted her lips. “Tomorrow, in fact. Your mother promised to teach me how to bake bread.”

Sam smiled widely. “Until then.”

The musical note of Judith’s voice drowned out the wind and waves as he returned to his home.

❧

“I prepared the sponge last evening, since it has to rise overnight. I’ll show you how to make that another time.” Mary took down the mixture. “This morning, we will add flour and knead the dough.”

Judith stared at the enormous sponge, enough for five loaves. Her mouth watered at the thought of fresh-baked bread. Her few previous attempts had failed; she bought bread from the town baker.

Mary placed a crock of flour next to the bowl and dusted the table with flour. “Add flour to the dough. Enough to make it easy to work.”

Judith stared at the sponge. How much?

Mary must have sensed her question. “Feel it. Add flour until it is less of a batter and more of a dough.”

Judith added a little at a time until she felt the pieces pull together. “Would you check it?”

Mary felt around the edges with her hands and smiled. “You have done well. Now let me show you how to knead it.” She whacked the sponge onto the floured surface, bunched her hands into fists, coated them with flour, and punched the dough. Judith jumped, and Mary laughed.

“Baking bread may be women’s work, but it takes a strong arm.” She worked the bread for a moment longer, folded it over, and invited Judith to try.

Judith stared at the dough, and at her hands. Resolutely, she balled her fingers into fists, coated them with flour, and pressed down on the dough.

“That’s right. A little more pressure. Now turn the mound.”

Five minutes into the experience, Judith’s arms felt tired.

“How long do we continue?”

Mary laughed. “A good bread takes about half an hour. I’ll take over for a spell.” She coated her hands with flour and worked the dough. “I hope I am not being forward, dear Judith, but how much do you know about other aspects of housekeeping?”

Judith sighed. “I know how to clean. Father has always kept the lighthouse in tiptop shape, and I followed his example. I care for the clothes—laundering and ironing them—although I burned a few things before I learned how to gauge the heat correctly. But. . .” She gestured at the new curtains blowing in the window. “I know nothing of sewing beyond the ability to sew on a button or turn a hem. Any man who marries me will need to afford a housekeeper, for I am poor in the household arts.” She took over kneading the dough.

“You have no need to worry. You learn quickly. You have shown a diligence and skill for cooking in the short time we have worked together. I will help you.” Mary looked at her sideways. “Is there any particular man you have in mind?”

Judith colored. Had Sam told his mother of Father’s rejection? How she loved this woman, like the mother she never knew.

“There may be.” She wanted to say more, but to do so felt like a betrayal of her father.

“Piers Vanderkamp is a stalwart young man.” Mary prepared five bread pans.

“Oh, Piers.” Judith couldn’t quite repress the frown that came to her lips at the thought of his persistent suit. “He has asked for permission to court me. Father likes him and thinks he is the perfect man for me.”

“But you?” Mary asked, humor brimming in the gray green eyes so like her son’s.

“He is a fine man. And I like him.”

“But?”

“But I care for him as a brother. I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with him. Yet I fear that if I do not accept his suit, I may spend the rest of my days alone.”

At that moment, Judith heard Sam whistling as he entered the house after a call on a patient. Her frown turned upside down, and her heart sang.

“I doubt that.” Mary cocked her head in the direction of the whistle and smiled. “God will provide.”

Sam poked his head into the kitchen and sniffed the air. “Yeast. Are you making bread?”

“Yes.” Judith became aware of the flour on her hands, her apron, in her hair. She must look a sight.

“I will look forward to lunch.”

“Is young Johnny well?” she inquired.

“Well enough to return to work on the morrow. I see no reason for him to remain abed, praise the good Lord.”

Sam came to the table and snagged a finger of dough. Mary slapped his hand.

He rolled it around his mouth and swallowed. “I can’t wait.”

Judith giggled. “You have no choice. They have to rise again.”

“You do know how to bake bread.” Mary beamed. “And we are ready to put the dough into the pans.”

“I can tell when I am an extra wheel,” Sam said. “In any case, I need to write up my notes about the visit.” He nodded his head in Judith’s direction. “I will see you later.”

Judith followed his departure, taking in his broad shoulders, the impossibly white cravat at his neck.

“Judith?” Mary’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts. “Help me divide the dough.” She touched Judith’s hand. “God will work everything out.”

Judith didn’t know about that. Overcoming her father’s prejudice would be a lot harder than learning how to bake bread.