by Erica Vetsch
His kiss. As she had done a thousand times, she allowed her mind to race back, to remember every second in his arms, the feel of his lips on hers. Then, like a bucket of lake water in the face, the cold shock of his dismissal struck her. She blamed herself. Her actions had been too emotional, too forward. She should’ve kept control, held her tongue and buried the truth about her brother’s death. By baring her soul, she’d opened herself up for rejection.
For an hour after he left her in the clearing, Annie had cried out to God, opening places in her heart that she’d tried to keep hidden from Him. Broken, she laid it bare before Him. All her guilt, her feelings of abandonment, of loneliness, she brought out for Him to touch, to heal. She asked for and received forgiveness and peace.
With His forgiveness came the knowledge that she had to confess her identity to her employers. A great weight lifted from her when she determined to do the right thing. Though her heart ached for Nick, she felt cleansed and renewed. “Thank You, Father, for loving me in spite of who I am. Please give me the strength to do what You want me to do.” Now she just needed to find a way to tell Imogen and Ezra the truth about who she really was. And Nick. She’d have to confess to Nick one more of her secrets.
She whacked the ball, sending it well past the wicket. It rolled across the grass and came to rest under a hawthorn bush. If only she knew how to broach the subject with Nick, to apologize and somehow get their relationship on an even keel again.
Clyde rubbed his ear and sauntered over to her. “You all right, Miss Annie?”
She tried to smile but had a feeling she didn’t pull it off too well. “I guess I’m just not in the mood to play today. I can’t seem to concentrate.”
He nodded then inclined his head toward Nick. “Like someone else. Guess he’s got a lot on his mind these days waiting to see if the boom is going to be lowered for him poking Grover Dillon in the nose. Rotten luck him turning out to be the inspector’s brother.” Clyde took the mallet from her hand. “Nick’s been touchier than a nest of wasps for a couple days now. Though I shouldn’t complain. He’s taken extra watches in the tower the past two nights.”
So that’s where Nick had been. Annie had missed him at mealtimes and especially in the evenings in the parlor. She hadn’t been able to make herself ask after him. It mortified her that he would avoid her this way.
“I’ll put the game away, Miss Annie. It’s almost time for the sing-along.”
“Thank you, Clyde. Maybe we can try again next Sunday.” If I’m still here next Sunday. She mounted the steps to the porch and sank into a chair.
Imogen lay with her head back against the swing. Her mouth tensed in a line, patient forbearance stamped on her expression.
“Headache again?” Annie leaned forward and took Imogen’s hand where it lay limp on the arm of the swing. Imogen nodded, not opening her eyes. “Just a touch.”
“Can I get you anything? Tea? A cold cloth?”
“Thank you, child. I’ll just rest here. The fresh air helps.”
Ezra looked up from his newspaper and frowned. “Perhaps we should cancel the sing-along today.”
“Oh no, Ezra. I love the music.” Imogen shifted and opened her dark eyes, entreating him. “And Clyde plays so well. Please?”
Ezra nodded, smiling, but eyes still clouded with worry.
Annie envied them their closeness, the assurance and security of their love for one another. Imogen, willing to brave being ill in this isolated spot so she could be with her husband. Ezra, doing all he could to make his wife happy, to ease her suffering as much as possible, allowing her to be here with him because that’s what she wanted most. Just yesterday he’d come into the house with a bouquet of spring wildflowers, eager as a young suitor. And hadn’t Imogen blushed like a bride at his attention?
Annie’s gaze went to Nick again. He stood with his back to the porch, studying the west horizon. His white shirt stretched taut across his shoulders. She could see his face in three-quarter profile—the strong jaw, the dark brows, watchful eyes scanning the water. A fitful breeze gusted, blowing his hair and fluttering his sleeves. Though he stood no more than twenty feet away, the gulf between them yawned. She longed to go to him, to recapture the closeness of the past. But she couldn’t risk his rejection again.
“Looks like some weather building in the northwest.” Nick didn’t turn around when he spoke.
Annie followed his gaze. A low smudge of gray hung in the sky, ominous, but far off. Another gust of air scurried past, whipping up puffs of dust from the path and bringing the smell of rain.
Ezra nodded. “It’s been a quiet spring so far. We’re due for a storm or two. Is the dingy in the boat shed?”
“All secure.” Nick crossed his arms. “It will be a good night to be inside, I think.”
Clyde came up the walk from his quarters, guitar in his hand. He settled himself on the steps and strummed the strings. “Any requests?”
“‘It Is Well with My Soul.’” Imogen lay back again, her voice barely above a whisper.
Clyde’s clear tenor drifted out. Annie lay back, allowing the music to soothe her rumpled spirits. As he sang of the great forgiveness that was hers through Christ, she relaxed, her heart unclenching. God’s forgiveness was unconditional. He already knew her deepest secrets, and He loved her anyway. That would have to be enough.
She watched Nick through half-closed eyes. Though his actions had hurt her, she didn’t blame him, not exactly. There could be no hope of a future together unless she told him who she really was. Would it make a difference? Would the fact that she was a wealthy heiress matter to him? The entire charade had become so burdensome, a barricade between her and the people she had come to care about. All at once the situation was intolerable. Annie sat up, resolved to come clean. She braced herself to rise. Nick deserved to know first, in private. She would apologize for her emotional display of two days ago and tell him the truth about running away from home. Then she would tell Imogen and Ezra. She owed them that much for their kindness to her.
A whistle blasted the air, freezing Annie in a half-standing position.
“That sounded like the Marigold.” Ezra bolted up, his paper falling to the porch floor in a rustling fan.
Imogen sat up, holding her hand to her head, squinting against the pain. “The Marigold? Isn’t that just like Dillon, calling on a Sunday with a surprise inspection?”
Annie’s heart turned to ice. The lighthouse tender. Inspector Dillon. She did a mental gallop through the house. The kitchen was spotless. Fresh cinnamon rolls sat on the counter under a cloth. Would he consider them a bribe? The kitchen inventory lists hung on a clipboard by the pantry door, as up to the minute as she could make them. And her room. He wouldn’t recognize the place. Neat as a sheet. Bed made, belongings in the drawers, not a hint of dust, not even under the iron bedstead. She’d even washed the windows yesterday.
The group burst into activity. Nick and Clyde sprinted across the grass to their quarters to don their uniforms. Ezra scooped up the newspapers and thrust them into Annie’s arms. He checked his buttons and cuffs while Imogen straightened the cushions and folded the afghan she’d used as a shawl.
Annie hurried inside to put the paper on the shelf in the parlor and to check her appearance in the mirror in the tiny hall. She repinned a few locks the breeze had displaced and made sure her blouse was neatly tucked into her skirt. She made a face at her reflection. If only the inspector had held off another half hour she might have been able to get Nick alone. At least she would have been able to confess her identity and get out from under this load of guilt.
At the door, she hesitated. Should she don her apron over her dress? No, not on a Sunday afternoon. Inspector Dillon would have to take her as she was.
When Annie stepped back onto the porch, Imogen took her hand. “The men have gone down to the dock. We’ll wait here for them.”
Annie’s hands trembled. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “The name of the Lord is a s
trong tower.” Lord, we’re running to You. Keep us safe.
Nick braced his legs apart and clasped his hands behind his back, never taking his eyes off the launch that bobbed toward the dock. The west wind shoved the waves before it into the shore, whitecaps crashing on the rocks, sucking and slurping under the dock beneath his feet. Storm clouds continued to build to the northwest, black and surly.
Ezra stood beside him. “You know I’ll speak on your behalf to the inspector.”
Nick shook his head. “Don’t jeopardize your career for me. Sutton Island needs you. The Lighthouse Board needs you. Don’t throw away a thirty-year career fighting with Jasper Dillon. I can take whatever he dishes out.”
“That may be true, but I don’t want to see you hung out to dry because of a personal matter. If Grover Dillon wasn’t his brother, he would’ve read the report and put it out of his mind instead of showing up here to condemn you for it.”
“Maybe he dislikes his brother and is here to give me a medal.” Nick’s lips twitched, and he cast Ezra a sidelong glance.
“This is no joking matter.” Ezra frowned. “If he fires you, where will you go? Do you have funds to live on until you find another job? You know I’ll give you a reference.”
Guilt raced across the back of Nick’s neck. He had more funds than Ezra Batson had seen in his lifetime. He had a name, power, finances, a share in the largest shipping company on the lake, not to mention a mansion and a family—all of which he’d turned his back on and hidden as if he was ashamed of them. But he wasn’t ashamed of his family, only of himself.
“I’ll be fine if he cuts me loose.” But would he really? Being fired meant leaving the island, leaving Annie. The past two days had been horrible, wanting to go to her and tell all but knowing he had no right to. Knowing she would reject him if she knew who he was and what he had done. And how could he ask for her hand when, in truth, he was betrothed to another? The pain of knowing he’d hurt her, that she didn’t understand why he had walked away, ground upon his soul. He longed to be free of the entanglements of his past so he could pursue and win her.
The launch neared the dock, and Clyde hurried out to grab the lines and make her fast.
Inspector Dillon climbed out of the boat, belligerent expression in place, reminding Nick of a pugnacious rooster.
Nick forced himself to relax, to unclench his fists and loosen his jaw.
Dillon turned back to the boat and assisted a woman onto the dock. She stood no more than five feet tall, her face wrinkled, eyes bright. A bonnet covered most of her hair, but what Nick could see was pure white. He glanced at Ezra who shrugged and shook his head.
Leaving the woman to trail behind, Dillon strutted up the dock. Clyde lifted bags, presumably the woman’s, and followed. The inspector stopped before them, scowling at Nick. His nose wrinkled as if he had encountered a foul smell.
“Inspector.” Nick stepped forward.
Dillon looked him over from head to toe. “If you thought I wouldn’t hear about your behavior, you are sadly mistaken. However, I have no intention of conducting business here on the dock with weather coming in. We’ll discuss your situation in the house like civilized individuals.” The words burst from him, as if he expected Nick to wrestle him to the ground and demand to know his punishment that moment. Dillon looked over their shoulders to where the path disappeared through the trees. “I see Miss Fairfax didn’t come down to the dock. Well, I’ll deal with her in good time as well.” He motioned to the old woman. “This is Miss Thorpe. She’ll be taking over Miss Fairfax’s duties beginning today.”
Nick’s heart lurched. Annie was leaving the station?
Dillon smirked. Pompous little fool, swelled up with his own power. He needed a proper lesson—like a dunking in the lake.
Lord, help me keep my temper. And help Annie. She’s going to be devastated.
“Is that really necessary?” Ezra smoothed his hands over his brass buttons. “We have no complaints with Miss Fairfax. She’s settled in quite well.”
“You may have no complaints, Mr. Batson, but the Lighthouse Board feels differently.”
“The Lighthouse Board or just you?” Nick’s eyes narrowed.
Dillon’s lips curled in scorn. “You are in no position to chide me, sir. I would suggest you concern yourself with your own situation. I’ll concern myself with Miss Fairfax.” He turned his back and started up through the trees.
Clyde shouldered past with the bags, eyes downcast, freckles standing out across his pale face. Nick stood aside to let him pass.
Ezra’s brows came together, but he offered Miss Thorpe his arm to assist her up the steep path. “Welcome to Sutton Island, Miss Thorpe.”
“Please, call me Hazel.”
sixteen
Annie recognized the stooped figure instantly. Emotions clashed in her chest—homesickness so sharp she wanted to cry, regret that she hadn’t been able to confess to Nick before he found out on his own who she was, resignation at her father sending Hazel to fetch her home, a tinge of anxiety at the welcome she would receive when she faced him.
She searched Nick’s face for the disappointment she knew would be there. But he bore only a look of concern, his brows down, his eyes troubled.
Dillon sneered and puffed out his chest, small in stature, small in mind. Seeing him again left a stale taste in her mouth, and she found her lips tightening. He’d no doubt relish her unmasking. She braced herself for his unsavory comments.
“Miss Fairfax, this is your replacement, Miss Thorpe. I’m officially relieving you of your duties, effective immediately. Miss Thorpe is more than capable of running the household and assisting Mrs. Batson. You may pack your things. The ferry will pick you up tomorrow morning and return you to Duluth. You are no longer needed here.”
Annie blinked.
Hazel stared hard at her, her eyes willing Annie to keep silent. Her former governess stepped forward, holding out her wrinkled hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Fairfax. I’m sure you’ll be able to show me over the house and my duties before the morrow.” Hazel gripped Annie’s hand so hard Annie’s knuckles popped.
She cleared her throat. “Miss Thorpe.” The words came out strained. Annie now knew how the birds felt when they flew into the tower windows. Blinded, stunned, reeling.
Dillon mounted the stairs and swept the group with an imperious glare. “If the gentlemen will assemble in the parlor. You women won’t be needed for our discussions.”
“I’d like the ladies to be present.” Nick’s face was casual, but his voice held a challenging edge.
Dillon pursed his lips, his weedy mustache poking out. “Very well, but I warn you, this is not a social gathering.” He swept into the house, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor.
Annie didn’t know what to think.
Hazel pulled her down to whisper in her ear. “Not a word until we can talk.”
Annie nodded, sure she couldn’t speak even if she knew what to say. Her legs resembled wooden planks as she shuffled, stiff-kneed, into the house. Hazel was here, Annie had been fired, and now Nick’s livelihood was on the chopping block. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
They filed into the parlor like a jury into a courtroom. Nick elected to stand by the fireplace, not wanting Inspector Dillon to look down at him. He’d take whatever the inspector had to say standing up.
Something about Annie’s demeanor disturbed him. She kept darting glances at the new housekeeper as if she expected that lady to do something unpredictable. And Miss Thorpe missed nothing, her black eyes moving from face to face, studying, evaluating. He doubted anyone could fool Miss Thorpe for long.
Dillon sat in the wingback chair and placed his feet primly side by side, withdrawing a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket. He perched a pair of glasses on his narrow nose and studied the pages, though Nick was sure the inspector knew the contents by heart.
The silence stretched.
Clyde coughed and dug for his handkerchief, sno
rting loudly. “Sorry,” he muttered, stuffing the red cloth back into his hip pocket.
“Mr. Batson, I am here to inform you that I shall be making further changes to your staff effective immediately. This man”—he gestured toward Nick—“has been deemed unsuitable as an employee of the Lighthouse Board.”
Ezra straightened. “Mr. Dillon, Nick is an exemplary worker, and his character is of the highest quality. I agree that in this one instance he might’ve chosen a better way to express his opinion, but he had considerable provocation. Your brother was quite drunk and belligerent.”
Nick winced. Don’t do it, Ezra. Think of your career.
Dillon scowled. “Mr. Batson, I have reviewed the incident fully. While my brother’s actions were regrettable, this man had no right to assault him. That sort of behavior is unworthy of an employee of the Lighthouse Board. But that is not why he is being released. You say his character is above reproach? I beg to differ.”
Nick’s gut clenched. A terrible sense of foreboding swept through him, leaving him weak and unsettled.
A sneer spread across the inspector’s face. “This man has been lying to you from the day you met him. He obtained this position under false pretenses. The man you know as Nick Kennedy is, in truth, Noah Kennebrae, disgraced captain of the ship Bethany. If I had known his identity when he applied for employment, I never would’ve hired him. He knew this and lied to gain this position.”
Shame thrust up in Nick’s chest. He looked from one face to another.
Ezra and Imogen regarded him with shock. Clyde with stunned awe. Dillon bared his teeth in a feral smile of triumph. But Annie, the one he cared the most about, sat like a stone, face pale, eyes wide.
“Annie, I—” He what? How could he explain to her?
Dillon tapped the papers on his knee then put the last nail in Nick’s coffin. “Mr. Kennebrae, now would be a good time for you to return to Duluth. I spoke with your grandfather just yesterday. He informs me that your betrothal is on the verge of being announced in the papers. No doubt your bride will wish you to attend your own engagement party. She must be most anxious for your return.”