The Lightkeeper's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

children to the other side. The five-story tenement was down a dark alley. Mortar had chipped from between some of the bricks, and one of the chimneys lay on its side on the roof. The faded paint and gouges in the door attested to the building’s age and lack of upkeep.
    He held the door open for Miss Sullivan and the children. Though he didn’t say anything, he frowned. Addie shrugged and went past him up the stairs littered with paper and dried mud. The place stank of body odor, tobacco, and stale food. The banister wobbled when he touched it, and he opted to ascend without its assistance.
    Brigitte and Doria scampered up the stairs like squirrels. Brigitte kept turning to see where the adults were, then dashing ahead a few more steps.
    “How far?” he called.
    “One more floor. We’re on the top,” Brigitte said.
    He shouldn’t be winded climbing five floors, but the stairwell had no ventilation, and the odors intensified as they rose. The last few steps left him breathless and longing for the cleansing coolness of the redwood forest.
    The stench of cooked cabbage hung in the air. Doria’s face grew pinched as she approached the first door on the left. The latch plate was bent, and he wondered if someone had kicked in the door. It wasn’t locked, and the knob turned when the child laid her hand on it.
    “Mama?” Doria called. “I have visitors.” She held open the door. Her sister had grabbed Addie’s hand and clung to it as they paused on the threshold.
    He took Brigitte’s hand and brushed past Miss Sullivan but left the door open. This place needed all the fresh air it could get. She followed with the dog, who rushed past her to the parlor.
    Doria beckoned to him. Her face brightened when he stepped into the tiny parlor. “Mama’s getting up. She was in the bedroom.”
    He glanced around the room. Sparse, threadbare furnishings, no decorations, paint that was streaked with soot. He heard a sound and turned to see a gaunt woman hurrying toward him. She wore a dressing gown that might have been white once but was now a blotchy gray. Her hair hung untidily from her bun, and she shoved it out of her face as she came.
    The dog padded forward to greet her and licked her hand. She patted his head. “Is Brigitte all right?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
    “She had a puncture from the needle,” he said. “Please don’t trouble yourself. Brigitte said you’d been ill. I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m John North.”
    “I’m Nann Whittaker. Thank you for bringing my girls home, Lieutenant North.” Her gaze went past him to Miss Sullivan, who had retrieved her dog’s leash.
    “I’m Addie Sullivan,” the young woman said. “I tended to Brigitte’s wound. It’s quite minor. The iodine should stave off any infection.”
    “You’re too kind,” Mrs. Whittaker murmured.
    He put his hand on the child’s head. “They’re much too young to be working on machines.”
    Mrs. Whittaker’s smile faded. “If there were any way to put food on the table without them working, I’d take it. My husband was killed in a logging accident last year. We got by okay with my job at the sewing factory, but then I took sick.”
    “Consumption, Brigitte said?” Miss Sullivan put in.
    The thin woman nodded. “The doctor says I need to get into the country, but that’s not possible. I’ve got three other children, all younger than Brigitte.”
    Five children and no husband. The knowledge pained him. “Both girls are polite and hardworking. You should be proud of them.”
    “Oh, I am!” The woman pressed her trembling lips together. “I’ll go back to the shop myself just as soon as I’m able, and they can go back to school. They are so smart.”
    “I can see that,” John said, noticing Brigitte’s bright, curious eyes.
    “Brigitte made top grades in school.” Mrs. Whittaker’s hand made a sweeping motion toward the room. “I want more for my children than . . . this.”
    John nodded,