Lightkeeper's Wife (23 page)

When they broke into the air, Billy waved with one arm for the captain, who had manned the surfboat and floated a hundred yards from where they'd come up. With Billy holding her up, Hannah rested. She stopped kicking and closed her eyes, let her feet float back and her body lean against Billy.

“Don't leave me, Hannah. Stay with me.”

The captain approached in the surfboat and tossed the life ring to them. Billy hooked her free arm into the ring, and the captain braced his leg against the rail to haul them in. He leaned over and grabbed Hannah under the arms while Billy tried to help from the water as he pulled her aboard. Billy pulled herself up over the stern with the captain's help. She sat in the middle seat but was too tired to take up the oars. They drifted in the tide, the sea a storm of waves tossing them around. Waves rolled in from as far out as they could see. There was no telling where they came from, or why, they just rolled on and on, battering the shore with their endless weight.

***

Hannah refused to be carried up the beach. Instead, she leaned against Billy as they staggered toward the fire. Billy ordered the men to bring the boat in, and they lined up four along each side, making easy work of carrying it up the beach. “Coil these ropes,” Billy said, holding Hannah against her. “Let's get this gear stowed as well.” The men worked in sluggish silence. Billy was in charge now. Hannah slumped against her. The men made room for Hannah and Billy around the fire. “We saved the captain,” Hannah whispered, and they gathered around to shelter her from the wind.

Once they were inside, Hannah dragged herself to the dining table and slumped into a chair. That's when she saw the paper Billy had used to track her progress along the beach, the careful checkmarks made at half-hour intervals, every time Hannah rang the bell. She ran her fingers over the scratches and imagined Billy sitting here waiting for the sound of the bell and then making each mark.

“You need to get into dry clothes,” Billy said, and held a hand toward Hannah to help her up from the chair.

While she and Billy changed into dry clothes, the crew warmed themselves around the fire and ate soup with biscuits. The house was humid, the heat of the fire mixed with their bodies, the wet from the storm, and the men's clothes. Their silence weighed on the room, and with the thick air became its own kind of fog. They didn't want to wait for the next day's boat to Boston; they wanted to get as far away from Dangerfield as they could. Briggs sat beside Billy at the table.

“We'll want to be leaving as soon as we can,” he told her. “No need to stay here.”

“You need some rest,” Billy said.

“We can rest on our way back to Boston. The men need to keep moving.”

“If that's what you want. There's an afternoon boat.”

The men cleaned up after themselves, and took one last stand by the fire, two at a time, warming their backsides before thanking Hannah for her bravery and kindness. She was disinclined to accept their gratitude, but did so as graciously as she could.

April 8: Starling aground, wind SW 15, first use of lifesaving apparatus success until ship gone down. All sailors brought to shore alive.

Once the men had left, Hannah pulled on her nightdress and felt unusually hot, her body still humming with the rescue. It could take days to come down off a rescue, days to process the strange mix of energy and exhaustion. She flung the window open and stood before it with the wind on her face, blowing her hair back. Hannah knew now what it must be like to drown, the slow giving in to rest, the quiet underwater sleep. But then she realized the last gasps and lungs filled with water were something she could never know.

Billy had kept her safe. Hannah didn't blame herself for falling into the water. She was trying to save Billy, whom she now knew didn't need saving. Not anymore.

During the rescue she'd watched Billy move with authority. What struck her most about the rescue was Billy's complete competence, her ability not only to manage the lifesaving rig, but also to direct the men in such a way as to keep them safe and make use of the ones who weren't too depleted to help.

Billy was part of her daily life. She'd entered into every hour of Hannah's awareness. Every spare moment Hannah wondered what Billy was doing, and if she would do it with her.

Hannah knew why Billy looked away from her when she changed her clothes in front of the fire. When Hannah had seen Billy half dressed, she'd stared open-eyed like an animal in the torch beam, transfixed by the woman's body beneath her very male physicality. And Billy had let her look, had wanted her to look. It was the complexity of Billy's sexuality that drew her in: a woman's heart listening to every word and understanding; the way Billy sat with her legs apart, elbows on the table while she blew across a cup of coffee; her fierce determination pushing a wheelbarrow full of mulch and fidgeting with her chest strap. She thought of how hard Billy had worked on the lifesaving rig. And the drawing she'd made of Hannah, as if she'd been able to see Hannah in her most intimate self from the very beginning. She could question herself and give herself time to figure out whether she could manage her desire, but every time she put down her pen, or picked up a plate, there Billy was, looking back at her, as if to say,
This
is
our
life.

***

Huddled together in the wagon, the men discussed their plans, who would sign on to another ship; who would visit family; who would never go to sea again. Their voices were light, drifting on a southwest breeze that carried a heavy scent of brine.

Briggs sat next to Billy on the wagon seat.

“You don't need to tell anyone you saw me,” Billy whispered.

“There's a bounty for your capture and return to Jamaica. They'll hang you, just like they hang men. Who's to say I won't be back?”

Billy stopped the wagon and shoved Briggs back by the shoulders. “You'll not tell a soul or I'll kill you right now. I saved your life, and I'm not afraid to take it back.”

“I know, I know,” Briggs said. “You saved my life. I was just saying—”

“You think you'd survive carrying me back there? What would they do with you once I told them who you were?”

Briggs stared into the creased leather of his soaking wet shoes where they rested on the boards. He slid his hands up and down his thighs as if preparing himself to say something, but he said nothing.

As the wagon continued along the road, Billy said, “When did you leave the crew?”

“Not long after you. I signed onto the
Starling
to get north. I'm going to Boston to get on a fishing boat, try to make some honest money, not get myself killed.” Briggs spat over the side of the wagon.

The sounds of harbor wafted over the trees, and as they made the turn, the packet boat bobbed at the dock. “That's your boat,” Billy said.

“Well, I hope I never see you again,” Briggs said. “One wreck is enough for me. You better keep an eye on your lady friend, or she'll be the next one you drag out of the sea.”

Billy delivered the men to the boat and left them talking to the men on the docks, their hands gesturing, telling their tale of the wreck. By now word had spread, and the locals wanted to hear everything, as if reliving the wreck would inure them to devastation of their own. Billy walked among them but left the reporting to the men who'd survived. They were the ones with the story to tell. As she walked toward the horse and wagon, she eyed a ship navigating out of the harbor, sails still furled. The stillness of the ship while the men waited for open water reminded her of the
Alice
K
. How long since she'd thought of that? On the
Alice
K
, she'd been one of the crew and understood firsthand the quiet before the action. If she had to, she could set sail again, head north, away from her past. Start over again someplace else.

She climbed atop the wagon and shook the reins until the horse lifted his head, as if sniffing the breeze before heading toward the road. Only last night, she'd been in Hannah's bed. What hot torment that had been. She'd hardly slept, moving only to accommodate Hannah's slightest motion. She'd watched the lighthouse beam swing across the room, and she held onto the familiar pulse as if it could save her from the heat of the woman beside her. Then the storm.

It frightened her to think of the danger Hannah would row into without someone there to stop her. She didn't want to leave Hannah alone, even for a minute. What if she went on the beach to survey the wreckage and something on the water drew her attention?
Is
that
a
waving
hand?
Hannah would be in the rowboat without taking time to think. How many times had Hannah done just that? She'd rowed out to save that girl from drowning, and nearly drowned herself in the process. She'd rescued Mesha and the crew on the boat from Jamaica. And she'd rescued Billy from the wreck of the
Cynthia
Rose
. Weather didn't bother her. She seemed to thrive in it, as if it echoed some inner tempest. She was more alive in a storm than in the calm of an afternoon's work around the lighthouse, baking bread and feeding the chickens, washing the windows so the light shown far to sea.

Billy couldn't go on pretending that she wasn't in love with Hannah. She couldn't act as if she didn't want to take Hannah's hand and pull her close against her.

The sight of Hannah walking through the kitchen in her nightdress, the shadow of her curved figure, taunted Billy from across the room. The way Hannah looked at her sometimes made her want to leave, so intense was the depth of her gaze. To dispel that charge, she'd have to touch Hannah, but they didn't touch. That's why every time Hannah looked at Billy with love in her eyes, or something like it, Billy had to look away.

As Billy crossed the main street onto the road that took her to the lighthouse, she stretched her back and slowed the horse. The road was empty after the storm, puddles filled the muddy ruts, but the horse pulled the wagon with ease. Billy let herself be jostled over bumps in the road. She didn't want to reach the lighthouse. She couldn't go on like this. If Hannah couldn't be with her, she couldn't stay. The only person she'd ever thought to make a life with had been Daniel, and now Hannah. She couldn't play at being the workman, or best friend, when what she wanted was a lover and someone to share her life with. The thought of it terrified her, but it was true. When Hannah had slipped below the waves, Billy had panicked, as if the possibility of a life with Hannah, or any life at all, was drifting out of reach.

But all the rescues in the world wouldn't make up for her crimes. If Hannah ever discovered the truth of her identity, she'd make Billy leave. But then, Billy thought, Hannah must know at least some part of who she was. She'd seen her beat the man who'd taken Mesha, and she hadn't been afraid. Hannah wanted her at the lighthouse. She wanted Billy by her side. Of all the men in town who could handle the job, she chose Billy. The lighthouse came into view. Billy felt herself coming home.

She'd tell Hannah the truth.

***

When Billy returned from getting the men to the harbor, Hannah was in bed. She'd been up earlier for water and heard Billy go up to check the lights, but exhaustion was like an undertow that dragged her back beneath the quilts.

The door slammed and Billy appeared in the doorway, like a man awaiting orders.

They stared at each other, the weight of the day between them: the success of the lifesaving rig, the men saved, the disaster of the sunken skiff and Hannah in the water. Billy didn't say anything about Hannah going out alone, and Hannah didn't say anything about Billy trying to keep her ashore. They didn't talk about the confusion of their desires. All of it hung in the air between them.

“I got the men on the packet to Boston,” she said. “The lights are set.”

Hannah sat up, the comforter at her waist, her nightdress loose. Billy leaned in the door frame and scanned her fingernails for dirt, anything to distract herself from the sweep of skin below Hannah's neck and the suggestion of her breasts.

“You did a good job today. I rely on you, Billy. I trust you,” Hannah said.

“I wanted to make sure—”

“Come sit with me,” Hannah interrupted, and patted the bedside where she rested.

Billy obeyed, a clamoring inside her like bells ringing. Her steps creaked across the floorboards, and her boots felt heavy on her feet. Hannah's eyes had no more of the distance in them that she'd rendered in that first drawing, but her curiosity was alive and pulling Billy to sit on the edge of the bed. How long ago since she'd made that drawing? Even then she'd felt an intimacy that came from watching Hannah while she worked and Billy lay motionless on the hearth. She'd watched Hannah when Hannah thought she was alone. She'd seen the grief in her eyes when she thought about her husband and listened quietly when she heard Hannah crying in her bedroom; she'd seen Hannah throw a jar of peaches at the wall because she couldn't open the lid; she'd seen her work a boat like no man she'd ever known.

“You can take off your coat,” Hannah said.

Billy let the coat slide from her arms onto a chair. She closed the window to a crack, then she sat on the bed. This close to Hannah, her heart drummed in her ears. She wanted to lean forward and kiss her, but she waited. Hannah slid her hand over Billy's and said something, but Billy only heard the rush of ocean in her ears. A gull called along the edge of the dune, then faded into the distance. Hannah's breath brought her back to the look in Hannah's eyes that was love and something more and Billy didn't look away.

Hannah unbuttoned Billy's shirt and pulled it gently back from her arms. She ran her fingers along the side of Billy's arm where the muscle ached from hauling the sailors to shore. It was the weight of Billy that Hannah wanted, pressing her into the bed. She unwrapped the tight fabric around Billy's chest one loop at a time, pressed her hand against the pattern the fabric had etched into Billy's skin. When Billy kissed her on the mouth, she fell back against the pillow. With her nightdress off, Hannah was pale and strong. Her beauty affected such tenderness in Billy that her breath caught in her throat. Hannah let go and all at once became fragile and exposed. Billy kissed her neck and her mouth, and she felt Hannah along her chest and arms until she was everywhere around her.

The windows rattled in their frames, a sound that grew louder as the northeast wind came up. “Listen,” Hannah said.