by Erica Vetsch
“How dare you!” Nick’s jaw ached, his teeth clamped hard. He shook the man. The captain howled. “My head.”
Ezra stepped forward and placed his hand on Nick’s forearm. “Maybe we should sober him up before—”
Nick shrugged Ezra off, too angry to think. “He wounded his own crewman on purpose. He’s soaked with liquor. This is dereliction of duty in all its worst forms, putting women and children at risk for no reason other than unbridled lust for liquor.” A nasty taste grew in Nick’s mouth. He turned back to the pathetic officer. “You were so drunk you ran over a bell buoy and grounded your ship at the foot of a lighthouse. You endangered the lives of your passengers and crew. You don’t deserve to be a lake captain.”
The drunkard’s chin came up, a look of belligerent contempt gleaming from his bloodshot eyes. “Hah. You’re one to talk. I know who you are, Kenne—”
Nick’s fist shot out and caught the captain in the jaw.
The man’s head snapped back, his eyes rolled, and he sagged in Nick’s grasp.
Pain shot up Nick’s arm, but he disregarded it.
Annie gasped.
Nick saw her out of the corner of his eye. She put her hand over her mouth, her brown eyes wide in shock.
He gulped for air, tense as an anchor chain in a storm.
Annie blinked, staring at him as if at a stranger.
The anger drained from him. He released the man’s lapels.
The captain sagged to the floor, sniffling and moaning.
Nick held up his hand to Annie, wanting to apologize, but the words lodged in his throat. He wasn’t sorry for the punch. He’d gag if he tried to say he was. But he was sorry to have been such a brute in her presence. He swung away from her shocked face, shoulders quivering, fists clenched.
Ezra’s troubled eyes met Nick’s. “I wish you hadn’t done that, son.”
Before Nick could respond, the captain pushed himself to his knees. Spittle and blood flew when he opened his mouth. Though slurred, Nick understood him perfectly. “You’ll be sorry for this. I’m Grover Dillon. My brother Jasper is your boss. He’ll have your job for this.” A thick sausagelike finger poked the air.
Annie’s gasp sliced through Nick’s heart. A ton weight pushed against his chest. He had to get away before he took another swing at that pathetic man. The doorframe wavered. He blinked, clearing his vision, then turned on his heel and strode out through the kitchen into the sunshine.
Emotions bounced around inside him like ball bearings dropped on a concrete floor. He turned his face to the warm rays, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. What had possessed him to punch that man? Violence hadn’t solved anything. It only made his situation worse. Nick’s hand throbbed in time with his heart.
What hurt the most was knowing that not all of his anger had been righteous. Had he punched the man for being a drunkard or had he punched him to keep him from revealing Nick’s identity? Nick knew the truth, though admitting it shamed him to the core.
He hung his head. Lord, I’m a fool. I acted without thinking. Forgive me, please. And help me to bear it if the captain broadcasts the truth.
The thought of the hurt in Annie’s eyes should the truth come out made Nick wince. He had to avoid that at all costs. Nick flexed his hand and lifted his chin. At least his day couldn’t get any worse. He nodded to two of the ferry refugees on the cobbled path.
“Say”—one of the men stopped on his way into the house and turned to study Nick’s face—“you look awfully familiar. Haven’t I seen you in Duluth?”
thirteen
When Nick volunteered to handle extra watches in the tower, Ezra couldn’t hide his relief. A man of peace, Ezra no doubt wanted to keep Nick from punching anyone else.
In the two days since putting his fist into the drunk’s face, Nick had remained in the tower and watch room. Clyde or Ezra brought him his meals, making him feel like a prisoner. Of Annie he’d seen nothing. His gut churned each time he thought of her. What might she say if the truth came out?
Would Dillon keep his mouth shut? Perhaps Nick should come clean with Ezra at least. For two days he waited for his secret to come home to roost, but nothing happened. His only escape from the lighthouse came when he and Clyde took one of the ferry’s crew over to the grounded ship to offload some of their supplies to help feed and house the passengers.
Nick now stood on the catwalk outside the lantern deck, a fresh breeze ruffling his hair and making his pant legs flap like flags. He swept the horizon with the field glasses.
A tiny blot to the north gradually became more defined. A stack emerged, white steam trailing back. Gleaming decks and a red side wheel plowing the water. He waited. The boat came close enough for him to read the name, though he knew it by heart. Jenny Klamath in black and gold letters.
A gull rose above the level of the cliff and hung in the air only a dozen feet from the tower.
“We’ll get these passengers loaded, especially Captain Grover Dillon”—contempt dripped from Nick’s words—“and anyone else who might recognize me. Then things can return to normal.”
The gull cocked his head, pinfeathers fluttering. He keened as if in answer then plummeted toward the water.
Several hours before, Ezra had raised the flag on the pole at the end of the dock, signaling for the ferry to stop on its way down-lake. The Jenny Klamath would be on the watch for it, as they always were when passing the light, and would soon slow and head toward the dock. The ferry’s shallow draw allowed it to pull right up to the dock, unlike the supply ships which had to anchor well offshore and use a launch.
Would Annie be at the dock? Maybe he should go down there. No, better not to risk Dillon or one of the other passengers blowing the whistle.
A blast of the ferry’s horn indicated she’d seen the flag. Nick kept the glasses on her until she disappeared behind the trees on the west side of the island.
The screen door on the house slapped repeatedly as refugees ventured out and headed across the clearing toward the gap in the trees that marked the path down to the dock.
Footsteps clanged on the metal staircase, and the heavy iron door scraped open behind Nick. He turned.
Clyde’s blazing mop poked through the small opening. His blue eyes squinted in the sunshine. “Thought you’d be up here. Guess you’ll be gladder than anyone to have all these people gone.” His white shirt fluttered and flapped, molding to his narrow chest and wiry arms. “Captain Dillon is still growling like a bear with a bee-stung behind.”
Nick lifted the glasses to his eyes once again. “Did he say anything more about me?”
“No, and that’s mighty odd, because he’s complained about everything else. Whenever your name comes up, he gets a weird gleam in his eye. I’d watch out if I were you. He means you no good, and that’s the truth.”
Clyde’s open, sunny personality both refreshed and chided Nick. So many weeks of hiding his own identity, of watching every word, grated on him. The more he grew to like and admire Ezra, Imogen, and Clyde—and Annie, particularly Annie—the more distasteful his duplicity grew.
Clyde leaned his hip against the rail and crossed his arms, seemingly oblivious to the one-hundred-plus-foot drop to the water below. “Nick, have you ever courted a girl?”
The glasses came down. “What?”
Clyde’s cheeks reddened until his freckles disappeared. He shrugged, whipped out his handkerchief, and rubbed a spot on one of the windowpanes. “A girl. Have you ever courted one?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
Clyde sighed. “Well, it’s about time you did.”
“Excuse me?”
“Miss Annie. I think you should court her. I was going to give it a try myself, her being so pretty and nice and all, but she’d never go for a guy like me. Anyone who’s been around you both for more than ten minutes can see she’s got feelings for you.”
Warmth blossomed in Nick’s chest. She did? In spite of himself he had to ask, “How do you kn
ow?”
“The last two days while you’ve been hiding in the tower”—he gave Nick a knowing look—“she’s been wandering around like a lost kitten. No smiles, no laughter, and every time one of us comes back from bringing a meal to you, she asks how you are.”
Nick pondered Clyde’s words. Was it true? Could she have feelings for him? “If she cares so much, why didn’t she come over and see me for herself?”
Clyde’s boots scraped on the metal grating. “I don’t know. Maybe she thought you didn’t want her to. Or maybe she didn’t want to look like she was setting her cap for you, especially since you haven’t let her know you’d like to court her. Girls are funny that way.” His lips pursed and he nodded, all the wisdom of his twenty years gleaming in his eyes.
“And how is it you know so much about women?”
“I have nine sisters. A fellow has to learn a few things just to survive in a house like that.”
Nick handed him the field glasses. “You can take the watch. I’m going to get cleaned up.”
He mulled over Clyde’s words. Did he want them to be true? And if so, what was he prepared to do about them?
Annie took the last glass from Imogen and placed it on the pantry shelf. She squared up the bottles and tins of spices, each label facing frontward, each container even with the ones next to it. “We’ll have to make note of the extra supplies we used for the guests.”
“You’ve made marvelous progress, Annie.” Imogen spread the damp tea towel on the bar on the inside of the pantry door. “Inspector Dillon won’t find anything to cavil at when he returns.”
Annie laughed, grimacing. “After the first disastrous inspection, I had nowhere to go but up. And I owe it all to you. You’ve been so patient. And the men. They’ve borne my ruined attempts at cooking with great fortitude. I think Nick wondered if he might starve to death when he caught sight of my first attempt at cooking oatmeal.”
Imogen preceded Annie into the kitchen and poured them each a cup of coffee. “It’s a good thing you’ve become such a marvelous baker. Cookies and pies and apple dumplings cover a multitude of sins.” She smiled, her dark eyes glowing with friendship.
Annie took the cup Imogen offered and sat at the table. The silence wrapped around her like supple silk. No more crowds, no more people asking her for things, no more surly captain holding his head and swearing at her. Now things could return to the tranquil pattern of before. And Nick could come down from the tower once more.
Nick. She could admit to herself how much she’d missed him over the past few days, missed his easy banter with Clyde, missed reading aloud with him in the room, missed their discussions of novels and politics and nature when the reading was done. And most of all she had missed him during yesterday morning’s worship service. Though the parlor had been crowded with people, for Annie it had seemed empty without Nick to lead them in prayer, to discuss the passage read.
Imogen sat down opposite Annie, a worried frown on her brow. “Annie, I know it isn’t any of my business, but I’ve noticed how you watch Nick and how your face lights up when he comes into the house.”
Annie focused her gaze on Imogen, heat easing into her neck and up her cheeks.
Imogen moved her cup in small circles, staring into it. “Nick is a fine man, to be sure, but you need to be careful. Living here in such close quarters, sometimes you can feel things for someone, or think someone feels things for you, when it’s really just a matter of proximity.” She looked up, dark eyes entreating Annie to understand. “I just ask you to take care. You’re young, and Nick’s very handsome. But we all have lives away from here: other things, family, commitments, and such. Just go slow, all right?”
Annie dropped her gaze to her lap and twined her fingers together. Was it just proximity? Would she feel the same about Nick if she’d met him on a busy street in Duluth? “I appreciate the warning, Imogen. I really do. You don’t have to worry. I won’t rush into anything. I’d best get back to work, and you should rest. You’ve worked too hard the past few days. I’ll straighten up the parlor myself.”
She was still folding blankets and moving chairs when Nick came into the house. She knew his footsteps instantly, and her heart thumped more quickly in response. In spite of her words to Imogen about not rushing, she couldn’t help her response to him.
“Annie.” He stood in the doorway, his hair windblown. Caution clouded his eyes, a wariness she hadn’t seen in him before.
“Nick.” She dropped the afghan onto the back of the rocker, so happy to see him after his self-imposed isolation. “There’s fresh coffee.” She joined him in the kitchen, lifting down an enamel mug.
“Annie, I want to apologize for my behavior.” He sounded as if he had a ball of yarn in his throat.
She handed him the coffee, puzzled.
“I shouldn’t have been such a brute in your presence.” His blue eyes studied her, making her skin tingle. “That captain deserved a thrashing, but I should’ve taken things outside. I’m sorry. No lady should have to watch such undignified behavior.”
“Please don’t apologize. The captain got nowhere near what he deserved. I’m only sorry it drove you out of the house for a few days.”
He took her hand, sending ribbons of heat swirling through her. “You’re most generous. I’d like to make it up to you somehow. I’ll tell you what. I have to fix the bell buoy on the east side of the island and check on the ship. Salvagers showed up this morning to start patching her and getting her off the rocks. Why don’t you come with me on the lake? It’s a warm day. We might even do a little fishing.”
Annie’s mouth went dry. Go out on the lake in that tiny boat? Cold sweat prickled her skin like hundreds of ants. With everything in her heart she wanted to go with him, to spend time alone with him. But fear cloaked her. Memories mocked her.
“Annie?” He stepped closer, his clasp on her hand tightening.
“I’d like to, Nick, but—”
“I know you don’t like the water much.” He stood close. “I’ve seen how you won’t venture out on the dock. Falling into the lake your first day here must’ve been terribly frightening. But that’s in the past, and you’re fine now. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I’d really like you to come.”
No. I can’t. Never. I’d die of fright.
“Yes, Nick. I’d love to go.”
fourteen
Walking down the trail through the trees to the dock, Annie wondered for the thousandth time in the past hour what had possessed her to agree to this. Her other hand rested in the crook of Nick’s elbow, the muscles playing beneath his shirtsleeve doing nothing to calm her jumping heart.
Lord, what was I thinking? I can’t do this. I can’t. How can I cry off without looking a fool? Help me. Help me get through this. I can’t do this.
Her mind kept up a constant prayer. She cast a glance back up the slope through the trees to the tower. The beginning of the Proverb Ezra had read at services her first Sunday on the island played through her head.
“The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.”
A strong tower. God is a strong tower. A refuge.
A trickle of calm flowed into the maelstrom inside her. They reached the foot of the dock. She could do this. With God’s help, she could do this.
“I can’t do this.” She stopped the instant her feet scraped on the damp wood. Her hand slipped out of Nick’s arm and she scooted back to the safety of dry land. “I can’t.”
He turned quizzical eyes upon her. “The dock’s sturdy. Look.” He jumped and landed on the boards with a thud. “Solid as the cliff she’s fastened to.” He smiled, his teeth white against his tanned skin. “Well, maybe not that solid, but no woman as small as you is going to unsettle it.” He held out his hand, beckoning her to follow. “I’ll keep you from falling in again.”
A strong tower. A strong tower. A strong tower.
Against everything within her, her hand reached out for his.
Here in the lea of the island, the breeze sighed and the waves swished and gurgled almost playfully. She looked down but quickly raised her eyes. She didn’t want to see the water moving between the boards under the dock. It might sound playful, but she knew the dangers lurking there.
She suddenly recalled his last words. “I didn’t fall off. I was pushed.” Her chin came up. The very idea that she’d fall off the dock like some ninnyhammer.
He shook his head. “Naw, I think you weren’t looking where you were going and tumbled in.”
“I did not. Clyde hit me with a mailbag. You were there. You saw the whole—” She stopped when he laughed.
“Look, you made it all the way to the boat.” Nick nodded toward the small craft bobbing on the waves. He wore a smug expression.
“You teased me on purpose.” The knot in her stomach loosened a coil.
“Worked, didn’t it?” He stepped into the boat and braced his feet against the rocking motion. “I’ll help you in. And this time, no throwing up on my boots. It’s calm as a baby’s naptime out there today. You shouldn’t get seasick.” His eyes twinkled. He beckoned for her to come closer to the edge.
What on earth was she doing getting into a rowboat? Her feelings for Nick had addled her brains.
He put his hands on her waist. Her fingers shook as she settled them on his broad shoulders. As if she weighed nothing, he lifted her, swinging her into the boat. She sagged onto a seat, her heart knocking wildly as the boat wobbled.
Tools lay in the bottom of the rowboat, clanking gently. Nick slipped the rope from its mooring and used an oar to shove away from the dock.
Annie put her hand on her chest, trying to assist her breathing. How was it all the wide outdoors didn’t have enough air to fill her lungs? Her knuckles turned white and ached from her one-handed grip on the gunwale.
Nick fitted the oars into the oarlocks and pulled. The boat shot away from the dock.