Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (111 page)

“I already asked. She said we’re short on
salt and flour,” he said, and nudged me along. “Looks like the day
might end in rain, so let’s go.”

I turned to see if Ayden cared, but he was
busy in the barn, unconcerned about what I was doing for the day.
Heath was right. The dark grey clouds were closing in on the pale
blue sky. I hurried along behind him.

The water was choppy, the ride over less than
pleasant. Heath rowed with great vigor, his arms surprisingly
strong and brawny. By the time we reached the docks, it was raining
lightly.

“I need to run an errand. I’ll meet you back
here in a short while,” he said, seeming unusually distracted.

I nodded and began to walk to the store.
Heath immediately headed for the post office, pulling a letter from
his vest pocket as he walked briskly. I hurried inside, but instead
of giving Mr. Makson my short list of items, I stayed close to the
window and fixed my eyes across the street to the open door of the
post office, where Heath stood inside and handed Mrs. Hagen his
envelope. The rain came down fast and steady, so rapidly the
streets turned into instant mud. People scattered and ran for
cover, ducking under the porches of taverns and storefronts. The
rain became so torrential and blinding that I couldn’t see across
the street any longer, and I lost sight of Heath.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Dalton?” Mr. Makson
asked, after he finished with a customer.

“What . . . yes. I need a pound of salt and a
sack of flour,” I replied, not prying my eyes off the post
office.

“Doesn’t look like this rain going to let up
anytime soon,” he said, peering out the store window over the
spectacles that sat just on the edge of his thin nose. “I’ll write
up the order and as soon as the rain lets up I’ll have it brought
to your boat.”

“Thank you." I waited a few minutes longer to
see if the rain would subside enough for me to find Heath. But
after standing and staring, holding my breath and wondering, I
couldn’t stand not knowing with whom Heath was corresponding.

I ran as quickly as I could through the thick
mud and battering rain and finally made it into the post
office.

“Why, Mrs. Dalton, what in the world are you
doing running in that rain? You could catch your death!” Mrs. Hagen
said.

“Dr. Dalton . . . which way did he go?” I
asked, trying to catch my breath.

“Toward the docks, I believe.”

I noticed Heath’s letter on her desk, though
most of the address was covered by other pieces of mail waiting to
be organized.

“Did he happen to pick up our mail?”

“Why no. There are a few pieces. Let me get
them for you,” she said, and turned around to gather the letters
from our slot. I took the opportunity to slide Heath’s letter over
and quickly scanned the name and address in Heath‘s handwriting.
The name read
Felix Lowell, Esquire,
and the address - a
street in New York City.

“Here you are,” Mrs. Hagen announced. “And
look, the rain has finally let up.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.” I rushed out so
I could get to the dock before the rain let loose again. The clouds
were still thick and black, and thunder clapped overhead.

As I hurried, my dress and shoes weighed me
down, covered with thick mud. I checked our mail to make certain
there wasn’t anything for Heath. There wasn’t. Heath was helping
load the boat when I arrived.

“I came as quickly as I could,” I said, and
climbed into the wet boat. Heath unlatched the rope and pushed off
the dock, then immediately sat down and began the tedious row back
to the island.

Not long after Heath had rowed us out from
the harbor, the rain started again, so much it seemed as though the
sky were falling in. Lightning bolts snapped all around the sea,
causing me to cover my ears and curl up in fear. Heath yelled for
me to drop onto the floor of the boat. I grasped onto the sides,
then slid down as he instructed. Poor Heath - the rain and wind
blinded him, and he was doing everything he could to row us over
the swells and whitecaps. I feared we were going to tip over at any
moment. And as I sat in the puddle formed in the middle of the
rowboat, tossed and jerked by the angry waves, I tried to focus on
the light. I knew Ayden was up there, sending out the beam, guiding
us toward home. Heath struggled to keep the boat from capsizing and
lost one oar in the process.

“Reach for it!” he yelled above the howling
wind. I scrambled up to my knees, leaned over the side, and tried
to grab it as the wave grew higher with the long, wooden oar
floating along for the ride. That’s when I fell overboard.

“Lillian!” Heath screamed and he rushed over
to the side to reach out for me. “Grab my hand!”

But I couldn’t. The water was cold, and the
waves pulled me away, just out of his reach.

“Heath, Heath!” I cried out in gurgles, while
being swept under by another large wave. My mind flashed back to
when I was younger and I threw myself off the cliff to end my life
after Momma had died. I was mysteriously saved then by Lady, our
dog, or by Momma’s spirit, I didn’t know which. Now, as I grew more
tired with each stroke I used to make my way toward the drifting
boat, I truly feared my life would end. After being dunked
repeatedly, when I surfaced I began to panic, trying to find a way
to survive the ordeal. I didn’t see Heath any longer, and I lost
sight of the lighthouse.

The day grew dark, and I no longer felt cold.
I became listless, unable to tread water. My fight was ending, my
hope dwindling. I didn’t see the light. It had faded somewhere in
the distance.

“Lillian!” I heard my name called, then felt
Heath grab me, wrapping his arm around my waist. The two of us
plunged under the water for a moment, then bobbed back up, both of
us desperately gasping for air. “Hold onto me,” Heath ordered, and
he held me tight and managed to swim with me in tow until we
reached the end of the line, the rope that James, Sr. threw out
that Heath had managed to take hold of.

* * *

I bolted awake in silent screams, gasping for
air, covered in sweat, my damp hair pasted to my clammy skin. I was
disoriented, confused, and uncertain as to whether I had survived
the nightmare. I tried to focus my eyes, but could only make out a
tiny flame coming from the lone lamp. Painstakingly slowly, my
vision cleared enough to make out my dollhouse, and I noticed the
shadow of someone playing with my dolls. I blinked my lids
repeatedly and took a deep breath, which immediately caused my
lungs to spasm.

“Oh, you’re wake,” the somewhat familiar
voice said, and I heard her throw the dolls back into the
dollhouse. Then she turned up the flame. It was Sylvia. “You sure
came close to dying,” she said in an offhand manner.

“Heath . . . where’s Heath?” I said,
panic-stricken at the agonizing thought he hadn’t survived.

“The doctor is with Ma, though he isn’t much
better himself.” Sylvia sauntered over beside the bed and fluffed
up my pillow behind my back. I lay drained and took another breath,
eliciting another round of coughing spasms. Sylvia stood motionless
and appeared slightly annoyed, waiting for me to stop.

“Pa dragged you up on the beach, turned you
over, and slapped the water out of you. Never seen someone spit out
so much sea water,” she said, while pouring me a large glass of
water. “Thirsty?”

“Ayden. I need Ayden,” I begged.

“The weather hasn’t let up. Your husband is
up in the tower, working the light while Pa waits to hear what
Doctor Dalton says about the baby, though poor Doctor Heath is no
better than you are. Sick with fever, coughing and hacking.”

Against the windows, the rain was relentless
- pelting the panes with small pieces of hail. The storm hadn’t yet
surrendered.

“What’s wrong with your ma?” I asked in
between coughing.

“Thinks she is losing the baby. It happened
once before. It was a girl, born dead as a doornail at five months
along. Ma named her Leslie, but Pa wasn‘t happy about it. He said a
baby that isn’t born alive doesn‘t need a name. So on her
gravestone back on the lighthouse station, it simply reads, Female
Baby Cooper and the date she was born and buried.”

Sylvia was holding my favorite doll, the one
I’d named Jane. She was tenderly stroking her hair, admiring her,
not looking at me. I closed my eyes, dizzy from the coughing. My
chest ached, my head throbbed, and I was horrified by Sylvia’s
short but dreadful chronicle.

“Can you please fetch Ayden? You can mind the
light, can’t you?” I begged with what little strength I had
left.

Sylvia, without consideration, threw the doll
onto the bed. “Fine, I’ll tell Ayden you’re awake.” She stomped to
the door then stopped abruptly. And with her back toward me added,
“One would guess it was Heath who was your husband, the way he
moaned and carried on when he thought you were going to die. Ayden
hasn’t been down from the tower once to see how you have
fared.”

Finally, Ayden came to see me with obvious
reluctance. He reached for my limp hand, held it against his chest,
and sighed. “I apologize for not coming sooner, Lillian. The storm
. . . Hazel . . .”

I slipped my hand out from his and swung my
weary eyes away.

“You’ve been in good hands. Sylvia
volunteered to stay by your bedside when Heath had to see to Hazel.
She stayed vigilant for the past two days while her mother
recovered,” he said, and affectionately caressed my back as I
lunged forward to cough up the thick, yellow mucus from my
lungs.

“Go back to the tower,” I choked. “I can look
after myself. Tell Sylvia to tend to Hazel.”

“Please understand. You know what I have to
do. I will have Heath look in on you. Sylvia says there is nothing
more he can do for Hazel. She lost the baby.”

Ayden was drained; his long hours in the
tower left him little to offer. “I have to get back. I love you. I
promise to come in and see you as soon as the storm ends,” he said.
He went to kiss me on the cheek, but I turned away, leaving his
kiss to linger in the still, damp air.

“Daddy would have never left Momma,” I
muttered, resenting his priority to put the light before me.

“Your daddy was a fine keeper, but in the end
he lost sight of his obligations. He let love blind him. Love drove
him to despair, to desperation. He died the kind of man I shudder
at the thought of becoming.”

“What are you talking about? Daddy died
saving sailors at sea,” I cried out in short wispy breaths not to
provoke my lungs to spasm again.

“No!” he lashed out. “Your father died a
fool. He was found dead in the arms of a prostitute. It was the
gossip all over town.”

“That’s not true!” I cried out in panic and
disbelief.

“It is true! Can’t you see? Don’t you
understand? Your father was nothing after your mother died. He had
no pride, no decency. He abandoned the lighthouse and you. How can
you possibly admire him?”

“That’s enough, Ayden!” Heath boomed, and
then went straight into a coughing spell.

“Lillian deserves to know the truth about her
father. He was no hero. He was a discredit to all keepers!”

“This is not the time,” Heath commanded.

Ayden glared over at Heath, then reached for
my hand and insisted I look at him. I opened my bleak, tear-filled
eyes, staring at the man who had just proclaimed that I was second
in line to his heart. His position as keeper of the light of Jasper
Island claimed his love first. How could I compete? The light
demanded him every night, and I had been foolish enough to believe
Ayden could possibly love me more than anything. I dreamed he would
love me as passionately as Daddy loved Momma, as deeply and
unconditionally. Ayden had claimed only a few months back that he’d
waited years for me to return, and life was not worth living
without me. However, here he was, standing before me, plunging a
dagger of truth deep into my soul, then pulling it out, leaving me
wounded and clinging onto whatever he had left to offer.

Perhaps it was my misgivings, my enormous
reluctance to be a real wife to him that drove a wedge between us
and allowed Ayden to fall in love with his own importance. Or was
it truly my father dying a disgraced, pitiful man that made Ayden
pull away from me, only to throw himself into the incessant duties
as primary keeper?

Ayden laid my hand down to my side and
marched back to the light as the faithful keeper he was. Heath came
and felt my forehead for a fever, then checked my pulse. He was
sickly himself, feverish and worn. His cough was as deep and
debilitating, and the spasms so violent he needed to cling to the
headboard, just so he wouldn’t fall over.

“Ayden should never have told you about your
father! Sometimes he doesn‘t think before he speaks.”

“Have you known all along?”

Heath attempted to contain his cough long
enough to say, “I just learned recently.”

“You need to rest,” I said, barely above a
whisper, so exhausted I could barely tolerate the energy and strain
it took to talk.

“You need not worry about me. Polly is on her
way up with some chicken soup. I left Hazel in the care of Sylvia.
There is nothing more I can do for her,” he said, and then
collapsed into the chair nearest to the bed.

“I will eat nothing if you don’t promise to
get yourself into bed,” I muttered.

Heath smiled at me, and though it was a weary
smile, I saw the sincerity behind it. “All right, Lillian, I will
do as you say,” Heath conceded and stood up.

Unexpectedly, he lingered over me, blocking
the light, casting his shadow like a blanket. Then leaned in and
whispered into my ear, “Ayden doesn’t deserve you.”

“Please don’t say that,” I replied in a
sleepy stupor, and I began to drift off, barely aware of the
delicate, uninvited kiss he placed on my lips.