What do you think?” she asked him. She continued to look in the glass, watching the reflection of his image, pretending his presence did not affect her. She reached for the veil and fit it over her head, arranging the netting over her face. So this is what it feels like to be a bride.
Trevor, deliberate and unhurried, walked over to Julia’s side. He gently took her right hand with his left and pulled her around to face him. Julia simply stared up into his eyes. Ever so slowly he traced a gentle course from her fingers to her wrists, along her elbows and shoulders. His actions sent shivers down her spine.
“What are you doing, Trevor?”
“What I should have done months ago,” he said, his voice low and earnest. Julia did not breathe as he continued to draw his fingers along the graceful curve of her neck. Silently he pulled the delicate veil away from her face and settled it carefully over her head. Then he bent and met her lips with his own, kissing her first softly, then urgently, then softly again.
ALSO BY LISA TAWN BERGREN
ROMANCE NOVELS
THE FULL CIRCLE SERIES
Refuge
Torchlight
Pathways
Treasure
Chosen
Firestorm
CONTEMPORARY FICTION
The Bridge
HISTORICAL FICTION
THE NORTHERN LIGHTS SERIES
The Captain’s Bride
Deep Harbor
Midnight Sun
NOVELLAS
“Tarnished Silver” in Porch Swings & Picket Fences
CHILDREN’S
God Gave Us You
God Gave Us Two (fall 2001)
TORCHLIGHT
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Copyright © 1994, 2001 by Lisa Tawn Bergren
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bergren, Lisa Tawn.
Torchlight / Lisa Tawn Bergren.—1st WaterBrook ed.
p. cm. — (The full circle series)
eISBN: 978-0-307-77814-7
1. Inheritance and succession—Fiction. 2. Young women—Fiction. 3. Maine—Fiction. 4. Large type books. I: Title.
PS3552.E71938 T67 2001
813′.54—dc21
00-068627
v3.1
To Jansey, for your steadfast friendship,
love, contagious laughter, courage,
and tenacity as you look for the Light.
I love you, my friend.
The sun will no more be your light by day,
nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you,
for the LORD will be your everlasting light,
and your God will be your glory.
ISAIAH 60:19
Contents
Cover
Also by Lisa Tawn Bergren
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Letter from Lisa Tawn Bergren
Excerpt from Pathways
Excerpt from Chosen
The Full Circle Series
CHAPTER ONE
Julia Rierdon traveled along what she assumed would be the equivalent of Vermont’s Glory Road come fall. The verdant countryside flanking the narrow, winding road shouted spring. Alive! Awake! The sprouting leaves seemed to wave at her as she drove quickly by in her restored red convertible. This was what she had hoped for when she had left the crowded freeways of San Francisco headed for Maine. The power of this vista, the overwhelming sense of homecoming, was the magnet that had pulled her away from her career, her parents, her social circles, and, quite possibly, from her boyfriend.
Miles had been so angry when she left. Would he ever speak to her again? She hoped so. They had spent four years together; certainly their relationship could handle a little separation. But how long would they really be apart? For the hundredth time, Julia shoved the question from her mind. She had things to get straight, in her head, in her heart. And it was at Torchlight that she would be able to do so.
The air still held a hint of winter’s edge, but the sun was out and, despite the chill, Julia could not resist pulling the car top down when she pulled to the side of the road to stretch. She grabbed a blue duffel coat from her bag and a matching beret, which she slipped over her head, leaving her long, golden hair hanging beneath its edges. Julia took a deep breath and reached toward the sky, then easily hopped over the car’s door and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and she blasted the heater so at least her feet would be warm. “Almost there,” she announced to herself and pulled onto the highway once more.
An hour later Julia crested a hill at a place where the trees thinned, allowing her a spectacular view of the Atlantic. She cried out at the sight of the deep, blue waters she had gazed upon as a child from the windows of her family’s Maine estate. Her memories of the mansion and lighthouse were dim. Both had stood vacant now for twenty years, in need of repair and someone with the passion—and finances—to take on the project. Now it was hers for the taking. She could not believe her good fortune.
Julia was so lost in her memories, she paid little heed to the motorcycle that had begun to tail her. She slowed as she passed through a quaint seaside fishing village, then sped up again upon reaching the north side of town. After four more miles, the motorcyclist casually crossed into the opposite lane, and Julia caught sight of him in her sideview mirror. He drew up alongside her car, keeping his eyes on Julia and not the road in front of him.
The man wore faded jeans and cowboy boots, and a weathered denim jacket covered his broad shoulders. Julia blushed at his obvious attention, although unable to see his face behind the dark shadows of his helmet. His lackadaisical attitude toward the risk of oncoming traffic made her anxious. He’s toying with me. Well, two can play this game.
She lowered her sunglasses on her nose and stared back the next time he glanced at her. The man threw back his head, apparently laughing, when he could not stare her down.
Just then a logging truck rounded the corner, loaded high with thick, felled pine trees.
Her heart pounding, Julia stepped on her brakes, and the man easily slipped into her lane, in front of her. The trucker laid on his horn and shook a fist out the window as he thundered past.
The motorcyclist waved once to Julia, then opened the throt
tle.
He was out of sight within seconds.
It took several minutes for Julia’s heart to return to a normal pace.
After passing three fishing villages and several roadside shacks labeled LOBSTER, Julia came to a peeling sign that announced her destination in OAK HARBOR, POPULATION 435. It was late afternoon, and bright spring sunlight still illuminated the valleys, inlets, and wide natural basin surrounding the town. The houses were made predominantly of white clapboard, with sunny porches and large yards that already showed signs of new spring flowers. A few brick buildings were interspersed among the homes, along with two picturesque churches, each with a bell tower and steeple. A covered bridge stood farther up the shoreline, crossing a harbor inlet.
Famished after her long drive, and stiff after several days of travel, Julia pulled up to a café that bore a sign that made her smile: TARA’S GOOD FOOD. As she entered, she realized there were no other customers—too late for lunch, too early for dinner. The café was partially decorated in the simplified Federal style made famous by the Shakers, although the rich wood of the bar made Julia surmise the building had once been a tavern.
Pine board walls had been laboriously painted matte terra cotta, giving the entire room a warm, reassuring feel. An elaborate, hand-stenciled frieze capped the walls above cream-colored molding. Classy, Julia thought. Someone has some artistic talent. She sat down on a tall cane stool and waited for someone to help her. From the kitchen came the sounds of someone humming and, apparently, chopping food.
When no one emerged after several minutes, Julia called out, “Hello?”
The chopping and humming stopped. An attractive young woman peeked out the window through which food was passed from the kitchen to the dining area. “My goodness,” she said with a slight New England accent. “How long have you been sittin’ there?”
“Not long. Sorry if I interrupted. Are you open now?”
“Always open when I’m here at work. What’s the sense of havin’ a restaurant if you close it?” The woman grinned and walked into the main restaurant area, wiping her hands on a bleached white dishtowel that was thrown over her shoulder.
“The name’s Tara. Welcome to Oak Harbor.”
“Thanks. It’s wonderful to be here,” Julia said with feeling.
Tara raised her eyebrows. “You sound like you really mean that.”
“Oh, I do. I’ve been driving for days, and it’s good to be home. I’ve come to renovate my family’s estate—make it into an inn. I’m Julia Rierdon.”
“Rierdon? Not a familiar name ’round these parts. Which estate might you be speaking of?”
“My great-great-grandfather was a shipbuilder named Shane Donnovan. He built the mansion beside the lighthouse on the point. The Torchlight estate.”
Tara’s eyes grew wide. “That’s wonderful news! It’s high time someone came and looked after the ol’ girl. I love that mansion. I even climb the lighthouse steps from time to time to look out from up top.” She blushed. “I guess I just confessed to breaking and entering … or at least entering. The lock was picked long before my time. Probably by some bored high-school kids. Sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I guess I won’t be trespassing anymore now that the owner’s home.”
Julia immediately felt a bond with the woman who loved the estate she had dreamed about for years. “You won’t be trespassing anymore. You’ll be my guest.”
“Well, that’s kind of you. Say, since you’re new in town, why don’t you come over to my house Saturday night for dinner? I’ll invite some townsfolk over and introduce you around … make you feel right at home. But listen to me go on! You came here to eat. What can I get you?”
“What do you have?”
“I can fix up almost anything you please. Right now, I have a pot of clam chowder on the stove and sourdough bread in the oven. If you care to wait five more minutes and pass the time of day with me, you can have some fresh.”
“Fabulous. Oh, and a cup of coffee would be great too.” The woman smiled warmly and moved down the counter to get Julia the coffee. Julia watched her as she poured the steaming liquid into a cup. Tara was shorter than Julia, with a more curvaceous figure, and she had rosy apple cheeks. Her short brown hair swung as she walked, and her eyes danced when she spoke. Julia looked forward to getting to know her better. No wedding ring, she thought. Maybe we single gals can hang out together.
“Here you be,” Tara said as she served Julia minutes later. She poured herself some coffee and scooted up to sit on the counter behind her, to sit and face her guest. She watched her eat and looked amazed when Julia accepted a second bowl of chowder and blueberry pie afterward. “How do you keep that figure?” she asked pointedly.
Julia blushed. “Obviously, I eat like a pig. Lucky genes.”
“I guess so,” Tara said.
Julia smiled along with her. “Did you decorate this place? I love it.”
“My great-great-grandparents were Shaker farmers. I think they’d be proud to see I turned the town pub into a sober café.”
“Are there any Shaker colonies still around?”
“Very few. One up at Sabbathday Lake. Nothing like a penchant for celibate marriages to kill off a tradition.” Tara smiled mischievously. “What about you? What made you decide to fix up Torchlight?”
“I’ve been on the fast track for a while—San Francisco CPA. I had a great office, top salary—but I was miserable. I’d always dreamed of coming here to restore Torchlight and opening an inn. When I hit thirty, I decided it was time. I came into some Donnovan family money on my birthday and thought the best place to spend it would be on the old estate.”
“No one else wanted the estate?” Tara asked incredulously.
“My brother’s pretty entrenched on a ranch in Montana—he loves it there—and my parents are wrapped up in their lives in San Francisco. I’ve always been the one who was interested in the old place, in Oak Harbor. We used to come up summers when I was a kid. When my grandparents died, we stopped visiting, and the place was closed up.” She looked from the window to her hostess. “How about you? How long have you been a restaurateur?”
Tara scoffed at the lofty title. “I’ve spent my whole life here. A lot of my friends have left, looking for something bigger and better. But I can’t imagine leaving. It’ll be an adjustment for you, but I think you’ll like it. The restaurant has been mine for, let’s see, two, almost three years now.”
Julia glanced outside then down at her watch, looking worried. “I’ve enjoyed my first meal in Oak Harbor, Tara. Thanks for your hospitality, but I’d better get going if I want to make it to the estate and get settled before dark.”
“You can’t sleep in there tonight! You’ll freeze to death. Look, why don’t you stay with me? We’re practically neighbors, and you can head over to explore at first light tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Tara, but nothing’s going to stop me from getting home tonight. I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it.”
Tara looked at her resignedly. “Well, if you can’t get a fire goin’, you just head on over to my house. I’m a mile south of you on the left side of the main road. I get home ’round ten, and the guest bed is always made up. Good luck. You have your work cut out for you.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Julia smiled and walked toward the door.
Tara liked her new neighbor and hated to see her go. But the entrance of Benjamin DeBois and his son, Mike, quickly distracted Tara just as Julia was leaving. Ben met Tara’s eyes, looking curious.
Mike beat him to the question. “Who’s the babe?”
“The babe, as you so rudely put it”—Tara swatted him across the shoulder with her damp dishtowel—“is my new neighbor, Julia Rierdon.”
“Julia who?”
“Rierdon. The heiress to Torchlight. She’s come to rebuild the old lady and make her into an inn.”
“Wow. A gorgeous babe and rich.” The boy was the spitting image of his father—sun-burnished brown hair, wide, soulful
blue eyes, and ruddy cheeks. They settled in at the counter, side by side, to chat with Tara, as was their habit three afternoons a week.
“Humph,” Ben grumbled. “Just what we need. More rich folks coming in here and driving our property taxes up.”
“Bad day, pumpkin?” Tara teased.
He allowed a smile. Tara believed she could kick his bad moods faster than any other person in the county could. “Sorry. Even with spring coming, the fishin’s been lousy. If this keeps up, I’ll never get Mike to college.”
“Aw, who needs college?” the fifteen-year-old interjected.
“You do.”
“You didn’t need a college degree to fish,” Mike argued.
“Son, we’ve been through this. The lobsters aren’t gonna be around long enough for you to make a livin’ off ’em. It’s time you start facing reality.” Ben’s voice was low and firm.
“I don’t care. I wanna be out there. If it’s not fishin’, I’ll find some other way to be on the water.”
Tara broke into the familiar conversation. “How ’bout some chowder?”
Both sun-bleached heads turned toward her.
“Sounds great, Tara,” Ben said, smiling at her shyly.
CHAPTER TWO
Julia followed Tara’s directions but could have found the old place without them. The Donnovan estate, dubbed “Torchlight” by Julia’s great-great-grandfather, was the largest structure in Oak Harbor. As the sun set in the west, the water to the east of the old house became a deep blue-gray. Waves crashed against the rocky ledges that protected the old lighthouse, which George Washington had commissioned in 1791. In the early days the beacons had been critical in guiding the numerous seafarers who navigated the dangerous reefs and shoals of Maine.
Beside the lighthouse was a small structure that had served as a home for those who manned the post. When Shane Donnovan had bought the property, he had allowed the lighthouse keeper to live on his land. According to the family’s oral history, Shane had a deep love for lighthouses, no doubt because they routinely saved many of his vessels, while his wife, Anna, simply considered the entire pointed headland a romantic and wonderful place for a home.
Torchlight Page 1