if she was dozing. Mrs. Calloway had insisted on giving the girl a dose of laudanum. Louise didn’t think that wise, especially before supper, but Mrs. Calloway brushed away her objections.
When Priscilla did not answer, Louise quietly turned the door handle.
“Mr. Hammond?” The somewhat slurred words trailed off.
The poor girl was dreaming. She must be. Jesse wouldn’t have promised to return that evening. Surely he had duties to perform at the lighthouse. Dusk was the crucial hour when the light began its daily vigil. Then again, perhaps he intended to go to the church supper after the light was lit. Between Mr. Blackthorn and Jesse, they could take turns tending the light. That would explain Fiona’s insistence that Louise attend but not Priscilla calling out Jesse’s name.
Louise gently pushed open the door to the girl’s room. The hinges creaked slightly, something that a little oil would remedy. She must tell Fiona’s husband, Sawyer, the next time she saw him.
Priscilla lay atop the bed, the bedclothes disheveled, as if she had tossed and turned through a night of terrors, yet she could have slept but a few minutes. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her face was flushed.
Louise caught her breath. Something truly was wrong with Priscilla. She crossed the room and placed a hand on the girl’s forehead. It was warm but not overly hot. Still, something had caused this thrashing about. Louise poured water from the pitcher into the basin on the washstand and then dipped a cloth in it. A cool compress wouldn’t hurt. After wringing out the excess water, she placed it on Priscilla’s forehead. The girl moved her head from side to side and murmured something unintelligible, but she didn’t wake.
Louise then took the chair from the table that had been intended as a writing desk but had been transformed into a vanity. She set it beside the bed and sat down. Priscilla’s uneaten supper lay on a table opposite. Her glass of water was also untouched. Louise watched the girl intently, but she did not thrash about again. Perhaps the compress was helping. The delirium might be caused by the laudanum, or it might be the beginning of a fever. Either way, someone must watch Priscilla carefully.
She would hold vigil tonight and as long as necessary.
Outside, dusk had settled into the early gloom of night. A beam of light flooded the room. The lighthouse! Louise hadn’t realized the light’s beam reached these windows. Her room faced opposite. The other girls had rooms that faced toward the river. Only Priscilla’s room had this vantage.
Louise hurried to close the blinds. The room ought to have shutters. She grasped the thick velvet curtains, ready to pull them shut, when she noticed a figure on the dune opposite, the dune where she’d first encountered Jesse. From the size of this figure, it must be the assistant lighthouse keeper. Mr. Blackthorn was considerably smaller. Pearl Decker said Jesse had been in town nearly a week. Priscilla might have seen him many times before their encounter on the dune. That was more than enough time for a lonely girl to fantasize about a handsome man walking across the dune outside her window.
Jesse headed downhill toward the hotel side of the building that housed both the school and the hotel. Priscilla’s delirious mutterings echoed in Louise’s mind. Had she expected Jesse to return? Was that the reason for the fall or feigned fall? That awful twinge of jealousy returned. What was wrong with her? She had no interest in Jesse beyond the professional. One way or another, she must gain control of her emotions.
So she began to close the drapes. Then she spotted Jesse moving past the hotel in the direction of the church. He must be going to the supper. Late, certainly, but there would still be food. There was always more than enough. Nothing else was located in that direction—except the saloons.
She drew in a sharp breath and pushed the curtain open again.
What if he frequented drinking establishments? The terrible thought gave her pause. Jesse didn’t seem like that sort, but what did she truly know of him? She had only seen him on the dune and in school. He hadn’t attended the worship service last Sunday. He might well be a drinking man. Many in town were.
She shifted so she could watch his progress. He would not see her, since she had not lit a lamp in the room, and the door was closed. In the light from the waxing half-moon, she could make him out. He stepped onto the boardwalk beyond the hotel. From there he could cross the street to the saloon or walk up Oak Street to go to the church building. Granted, he could also get to the church by staying on Cedar, but it was less direct. If he crossed at the intersection, it would prove he wasn’t going to a saloon.
She held her breath.
He looked toward the wharf and then crossed the street right where the saloon was located.
She let the curtains drop even as memories of Warren crashed into her mind. The drunken binges. The inevitable fights. The torrent of painful blows to face and body. The terror that he would go too far.
It wasn’t fair to put Jesse in that category. He might have had a perfectly good reason to cross at that particular point. Maybe someone called out to him. He might be going elsewhere, though the store would be closed and he had no business at the boardinghouse that she knew about. No, try as she might, she could find no reason he would head in that direction.
A strangled sound drew her away from the window.
Priscilla thrashed wildly.
Louise ran to the bedside. The compress was gone. She pressed her hand to the girl’s forehead. It was on fire.
Louise panicked. Guilt followed on its heels. Why had she let Jesse’s movements draw her from her charge? She must help Priscilla, but how? No one else was at the school. They’d all gone to the church supper. She couldn’t leave Priscilla, yet to get help she must leave. What if a doctor was needed? What if time was crucial?
She started for the door, but the girl’s murmuring changed her mind. First she must calm Priscilla.
Louise found another cloth and dampened it in the cool water. She placed it on the feverish girl’s forehead with little hope that it would remain.
Lord, watch over Priscilla. Heal her of this fever. And show me what to do.
The distant bang of a door woke her from the panic.
Of course. She would go to the hotel. Whoever was on duty would be able to fetch help.
Louise took Priscilla’s hand. “I must leave for a few minutes so I can send for the doctor, but I’ll be right back.”
The girl gripped her hand with desperation. Her eyes opened a slit. “Don’t!”
The plea reached deep in Louise’s heart, but there was no other way. She pried Priscilla’s fingers from her hand.
“I’ll be right back.”
Priscilla’s wail followed her out of the room and down the stairs.
* * *
Though Jesse was hungry, he was not going to attend the church supper. Mrs. Blackthorn had insisted too strongly that he attend. Every excuse he could devise—didn’t have a dish to pass, wouldn’t know anyone, didn’t want to deprive the Blackthorns—was met with an answer. She had sent a dish ahead with her daughter. Mr. Blackthorn must attend the light. Jesse would know Mrs. Evans and Roland at the very least, and it would give him an opportunity to get to know others in the community.
He
