by Darci Hannah
This caused him to pause in midpull while cinching the girth of the saddle. His lips twitched into a smile, but he was fighting it, until, settling on a mildly rebuking grin, he turned to me. “Only the good Lord knows why, but they do. ’Tis one of your more endearing traits. But, lass, I don’t want MacKay to like me. I want him to fear me. I want him to loathe me. By God, I want to see him sweat! And with you along that’s not likely to happen—with your winsome, carefree smiles and charming light natter and such. This is not what ye might term a neighborly visit.”
“Yes, I understand that, and that’s exactly my point. He has a wife and two children … children who should grow up knowing their father. I like Hugh MacKay, in spite of the fact that he tricked me.”
“Us,” he corrected, and gave one last, mighty tug on the strap, securing the saddle once and for all, and then tied it off. “For Christ sake, I’m not going to kill him. But I am going to make him pay for using my boats. And you,” he said, turning to face me again, “you will be a good lass and obey my wishes, and those are that ye stay here. You still need to smooth over all the feathers ye ruffled on Kate—don’t look at me like that!” he chided, and then added, “I know the woman’s a tempest, but I, for one, am tired of storms. Like it or not, we all have to live under the same roof.” And from the look in his eyes, including the dark rings that encircled the spectacularly compelling irises, I could see just how tired he was.
“I’m well aware that I have some work to do concerning Kate. I am also well aware that the MacKays are our neighbors here, just as are the other men who colluded to row your boats out to the ship the other night. We all have to live here, William. Please, try to remember that when you exact your revenge on Mr. MacKay.” And with a fervent look in my eyes, I let him go on his errand—alone—obeying his wishes for once. Not necessarily because I wanted to, but simply because I was too big and cumbersome to follow on my own.
After watching Mr. Campbell ride off, I was left to find some shred of decency on which to repair the fractured relationship between my former companion and myself. Truthfully, there was little left to even work with there, things had grown so disagreeable between us. And since my return from my wee holiday, and after our bout of heated words to each other, she took to ignoring me. This was all well and good, for I didn’t feel much like talking to her myself.
I walked back inside and silently took up the chore of scrubbing the breakfast pots beside her. Noticing me standing there, she dunked a bowl into the tub of hot water, creating an unsightly splash. She pulled it out, letting the water drip all over the floor, sprinkled a little sand in it and scrubbed the bloody thing so hard I thought she might reduce it to rubble. I picked up a bowl of my own and did the same thing.
Robbie, clean-shaven and freshly scrubbed, emerged from his room. He then noted our silent engagement in the kitchen. Robbie was a sagacious creature and knew how and when to pick his battles. This was one he wanted no part of.
“Ladies,” he uttered, purely for the sake of civility, and made a dash for the door with eyes peeled to that lone bastion of male security: the light-tower. Kate watched him go with a regretful look in her eye, making me believe that she didn’t relish the thought of being left alone with me either. A quick look in my direction, and she dispelled all illusions of containing a humane emotion, and dunked her bowl again, with the obvious intent of drowning it.
“You could go with him, and I’ll finish here,” I offered sincerely.
Her eyes, a disarming liquid brown, grew wide as her fine brows arched with suspicion. It was hard to believe such anger and spite could live behind something appearing so lovely and docile. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be welcome just now.”
“So,” I said, drying my hands on my hopelessly stained cotton apron. I turned fully to face her. “You have been instructed to find some way to live with me as well. My, how men grow skittish when their domestic tranquillity is threatened. Very well, let’s have it out, shall we? Do you wish to start or shall I?”
She turned to face me, drying her hands on her own, much cleaner apron, ignoring the pile of dishes on the board behind her. She narrowed her eyes warily; her lips, flushed as red as her cheeks, were pursed in a look of extreme consternation, and then, rather calmly, she tilted her white-capped head in my direction.
“Very well, I’ll start,” I began, and set out on a course that I prayed would make her understand. “Let me start by commending you on your loyalty to my family.”
This elicited a skeptical quirk of an eyebrow.
“No,” I said, “I’m not making sport. I’m being sincere. You have a moral sense of obligation from which you never waver. You know your duty; you know your mind, Kate, and once you set a course, nothing can throw you from it. I find that very commendable. I, however, have never been anything near to such discipline of principles. You have chosen for your friend, Kate MacKinnon, someone who has ventured way beyond the reach of moral soundness, family obligation and perhaps even common good sense by now, and for that deception and the pain it must have caused you, I am truly sorry. That being said, I am not sorry or ashamed I carry this child. And no amount of hardships I suffer for it will cause me to marry a man I do not love. I made a choice eight months ago, and it was a choice I made consciously and willingly, in spite of what you may believe. Whatever happens in the end, I want you to know this above all else: I did truly love Thomas Crichton, and I truly believe that he loved me in return. Let me hold on to that, Kate. Please. Do not take that from me. If the child should live and I should not, then I will entrust it into the care and discretion of a person of my choosing—not my family. They have suffered enough. Yet if both the child and I do survive, you may consider telling my parents otherwise, if you wish. Perhaps that would be a kinder service to them. Because I intend to keep this child.”
Her face blanched. All the color, all the high spirits she possessed in such great quantity, left her as she stood listening to me. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. She swallowed, her lower lip quivered and she began in a voice that croaked as if the wind had been choked out of it. “You … you would really give up everything … everything for the bastard you carry?”
“That is, I believe, what I have been trying to tell you.”
“You would suffer poverty, hunger, banishment from your family and all good society for it?”
“If I had to, yes,” I responded levelly. “And it’s not an it, Kate. We’re speaking of a child here; my child.”
Her hand came over her mouth. She looked at me as if hearing for the first time what I had been trying to tell her for months. “Dear God,” she uttered when she could. “You really will do it, won’t ye? Dear God … Oh God! Sara?” And then, unable to bear the naked truth of it any longer, or the sight of me, she ran from the room, sobbing uncontrollably.
Kate MacKinnon now understood what it felt like to suffer defeat.
Her mission to save my wretched life and character was over, as was her dream of being returned to the bosom of my family a hero. And as I heard the door to her room shut soundly behind her bitterly weeping form, I felt a twinge of sorrow, knowing that I had been the one responsible for crushing her dreams.
• • •
I was never so anxious for the return of the light-keeper than I was that day. I kept watch for him while going about all my duties as well as Kate’s since she remained sequestered in her room, my eye seldom leaving the road. Robbie had tried a few times to console his wife after hearing of what transpired in the kitchen. Yet he, like me, returned to the parlor every time with a look of utter astonishment. This induced me to be extra kind to him, taking special care to fix him a good hot meal and seeing that he had plenty to drink. And after he was consoled as well as he could be, I encouraged him to get some rest. And thus with Kate and Robbie sealed in their own quarters to ease each other’s sorrows, I went outside to wait for William Campbell.
It was shortly after noon that the light-keeper returned. A
fter finishing all my chores I then, primarily for the sake of keeping myself occupied, began rummaging through the kitchen garden, a little plot of land nestled between the high walls of the courtyard and the barn, and not far from the cottage refuse pile. It had been a hastily planted garden, I surmised, noting the random budding scion of last year’s crops amidst a goodly tangle of weeds. But then, two men had lived here, I recalled, and I doubted very much either one of them had a green thumb. The soil would need to be turned, of course, and replanted, but until that could be done I busied myself pulling weeds. I was absorbed in the task; I found it rather cathartic after such a tumultuous morning. And as I turned my mind to the budding green tangle, I heard the sound of a horse approaching. I grabbed a handful of the invasive green nuisance and gave a mighty tug.
“That,” spoke the familiar voice in its rich, melodious brogue, “’tis nay weed, my dear lass.”
I looked up. I scanned the strong face, clean-shaven that morning. The original bruising around the eye remained, but there were no others that I could immediately detect. I tilted my head to look at him, still holding the clump of broad-leafed stems in my hand, and said, “Excuse me?”
“That … in your hand,” he pointed, “’tis nay weed but Rheum rhaponticum—or rhubarb, if ye like.” He smiled. “But it’s long from being ready.”
“Oh yes, of course. I know that,” I lied. “I found it just lying here.” And I gave him an earnest stare, noting with some dismay that dirt still clung to the roots. “I think … I believe the hares were at it.”
His eyes, glowing with mirth, held to mine; yet he was making a great effort to frown. “Hares? Is that so? Tell me, Miss Stevenson,” he said, swinging down from the saddle and pausing to secure the reins to the little post that guarded the entrance, “do ye happen to have a knack for the gardening?”
“I’m unclear exactly what a ‘knack’ might be, sir, but I have read many books on the subject.” This, to a man who gleaned a good deal of knowledge from books himself, was not an entirely flippant statement. He gave a nod of approval and gently took the fleshy stems from my hand, inspecting them with half an eye.
“These are uncommon hares what did this,” he stated, turning the plant in his hand while palpating the stringy roots with the other. And then he tilted his head at me, awaiting an answer.
“Yes,” I uttered in agreement, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I know for a fact they were uncommon. I also know for a fact that they will know better next time than to go after this particular plant.”
“Uncommon hares what learn?” he quipped, and then a slow smile lit his face. “I would almost welcome such enchanting creatures into my garden.” His eyes came up, locking on to mine. And he added very softly, “For I’ve a great deal of respect for besoms that can mend their ways.”
“I never said the hares would mend their ways, sir,” I corrected with the same soft tone. “I was simply stating that they have a capacity to learn.”
This elicited a broad, truly heartfelt smile. It was a remarkable look for him, lighting his entire being and causing his mesmerizing gaze to appear purely incandescent. “I find that learning’s a start,” he said, holding to my eyes with a heated gaze while tossing the wasted leaves onto the rubbish pile.
“Learning is all well and good,” I agreed, and looked away; for his gaze was too bright and heady by far. And then, consciously changing the direction of the conversation for my own sake, I asked, “And maybe you could tell me, Mr. Campbell, did Hugh MacKay learn of your displeasure at watching him degrade your boats with his illicit cargo?” Feeling bolder, my eyes traveled back to his, curious to see how he would react to this line of questioning. “Does Mr. MacKay, in fact, still live at all?”
“Och aye, he lives,” the man breathed evenly. “But he lives a might meaner now, knowing I know what I know. He was also not overly joyous when he discovered you’d gone missing either.” Here he delivered a particularly pointed look. “I leave it to your own overly active imagination as to just how that conversation went, but I will tell you plainly, he got an earful. For what man in his right mind would let a young woman—a very pregnant young woman forbye—sneak away in the dark of night to walk across the parve alone? I believe he has a better understanding of the matter now, and he now wears a black eye to prove he’s learned his lesson.” Here he was quick to add a nod at the irony of such folly. “It had him fair flummoxed that ye would do so, Sara. And MacKay, for his part, was very contrite on the subject. So contrite, I might add, that he was inclined to strike a wee bargain with me.”
“A bargain? What kind of bargain, sir?”
At this a mischievous grin split his face and he turned back to the horse. After a moment spent rummaging through the saddlebags he returned with two dark green bottles in hand and a knowing look in his eye—the same variety of green bottles, I noted, that Mary MacKay had given to me on that first momentous visit.
“What’s this?” I questioned, eyeing both him and his bargain curiously.
“Retribution,” he replied with a slightly wicked grin. “This, Miss Stevenson, is payment for the flagrant debauchery of my boats.”
“Payment? He’s paying you for … debauching your boats? You’re not actually going to let him continue to … debauch them, are you?” This was a curious turn of events indeed, and I stared with wonder at the light-keeper.
“I’m not exactly going to say what’s to happen to the boats beached at Kervaig Bay, for they’re out of sight from the tower, aye? All I’m saying, dear lass, is that from now on our table will be provided with pure, fine quality, unadulterated French wine, and I will have a rescue team at my beck and call whenever I have need of them. Whatever else may occur in that bay is, from this day forward, between Hugh MacKay and his maker.”
“Even if your boats happen to fall into the hands of those that might … misuse them?”
He shrugged at the notion rather nonchalantly.
This news—this change of heart—startled me so greatly that I cried aloud, “William! William Campbell, that’s wonderful news! I’m so proud of you!” And before I could stop myself, being swept up in his triumph, I found my whalelike body racing to his arms. Surprisingly, and without hesitation, he opened them to me.
It was an awkward embrace, for I had never held a man with my belly protruding so greatly before, and at once I was very conscious of what I had done. Mr. Campbell, for his part, was quick to overlook the impediment, yet not so quick to release me. And that, in spite of the fact I found his embrace warm and comforting—a bit wonderful even—was awkward indeed. William, finally sensing the unsettling calm, gently released me and I quickly stepped away, putting a good four feet between us. He made a show of studying the nascent garden, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, head bent forward while a tuft of his chestnut hair obscured his eyes. I too studied the paltry plot of earth, while covertly studying him. And to break the awkwardness that had grown up between us, I softly offered, “It appears you have upheld your end of the bargain nobly and have done more than I could have ever asked to keep peace on the Cape, and for that I truly am proud of you. But I should tell you, I tried my best to uphold my end of the bargain as well today.” I glanced to see if he was following. The mixture of cautious curiosity playing about his features told me that he was. “I’m sorry to inform you, sir, but my unpleasant task didn’t turn out nearly as successful as your own.”
• • •
In the days that followed Mr. Campbell’s triumph and my less than notable cease-fire with Kate, there was a gentle sort of calm that settled over the lighthouse and all her inhabitants. Mr. Campbell exhibited the greatest change, in that I believed for once he could actually sleep. After our little conversation in the garden he went inside, hung up his coat and asked if I would mind waking him for supper. And then, without another word, he retreated down the hallway to his bedroom and quietly shut the door. That he needed me to wake him suggested that he was actually contemplating giving in
to what his body craved most, and I was glad of it.
Kate displayed the oddest behavior change amongst us; whereas she had always shown a fiery disposition, verbose and bossy even, she now was a mere shell of the woman she once was, going about her chores quietly, her demeanor humble and reticent. Whenever I made light of a subject, attempted to engage her in small talk or offered a direct challenge merely for sake of a direct challenge, she backed right down without even the courtesy of a questioning look. And when she did happen to look at me it was with large, maudlin brown eyes, very like the look of a dog that lost its master. Kate, from all appearances, was now the one having difficulty sleeping. Robbie, with a fortitude belonging only to those men with a deep and abiding love for their spouse, was patient and gentle with her, yet he was just as puzzled by this change in her demeanor as the rest of us. And truly, it broke my heart; for Kate now walked the cottage like a woman abandoned by her most cherished dream. Only when the MacKay family came for an unexpected visit did she show any signs of her true self again.
This unexpected visit was, of course, under the guise of learning. Mary explained as she alighted from the wagon, a squirming Maggie in her arms, how wee Hughie had lamented the fact that I had gone without saying so much as a good-bye or leaving further instructions on his letters, and they felt it their neighborly duty to check up on us to see if aught was amiss. I took the squealing toddler in my arms and gave her a welcoming hug before setting her free, assuring Mary that all was well. Maggie, I knew, was indeed happy to see me, for she was too young to have learned the fine art of schooling her emotions. Wee Hughie, on the other hand, sat glowering at me from the safety of the wagon. It was proof enough that I had hurt him, and for that I was deeply sorry. I was sorry too for leaving the hospitable family with the capricious temerity I had. But suggesting that wee Hughie missed me solely for the pleasure I took in tormenting him with informal schooling was a bold-face lie. And it was a lie I gladly accepted. I walked over to where he sat on the wagon and took his reluctant hand in my own. I then forced him to look at me, and when he begrudgingly did, I vowed sincerely to make it up to him. To start with, I implored him to take the first slice of the apple tart Kate and I had worked hard on all morning.