When the great walls of the house that embraced pure evil were a pile of ash, I had one more piece of business to finish, one more bridge to burn, one last piece of the tragic past that had to be destroyed.
Warren ran into the cabin where I stood like a statue, arms crossed over my chest, my expression cold as stone.
“Sutton Hall! Have you seen the smoke? It burnt to the ground; all that remains are the chimney stacks. It’s all gone!”
Warren’s eyes blazed, and I wasn’t sure if it was from terror or delight. When I didn’t respond, shooting daggers at him across the small cabin with my stare, the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to say, though I knew whatever I did manage to get out would forever destroy his heart; there would be nothing left of it when I was done.
“I sent Sutton Hall back to the fiery hell from which it was built,” I said, my tone laced with venom.
“You set the mansion on fire? Why?”
I took several steps forward and watched his rosy lips turned pale and begin to quiver. “I needed to send the demons that filled every corner of that house back to Hell. You know what Hell is, right, Mr. Stone?”
“Lillian, what is this all about?” he asked, swallowing hard.
I stepped up to him, no longer afraid of the sinful, dirty deeds he had done to me, to Momma. I was in control now, and he knew it.
“I despise every fiber of your being. Just looking at you sickens me. I know what kind of sadistic man you are; I know what you did. I know all about it!” I screeched. My high-pitched voice made his ears ring, and he winced in pain.
“Lillian, please understand. I am not the man you hate. I love you, and I know—I know I hurt you,” he began, eyes welling with tears as he scrambled for excuses. But I had no sympathy for the man that had violated everything that was sacred.
“You more than hurt me. How dare you have me fall in love with you? How dare you make me believe in you or convince me you were my friend, when all this time you—” I stopped myself, remembering the night he forced himself inside of me. Warren tried to embrace me.
“Get away. Don’t you ever touch me again,” I commanded. “I know your secrets. I know who you really are!”
Warren was stunned, my words were like a slap, and I watched all the blood drain from his face.
“I know you’re my father,” I choked out. I stood defiant and refused to look away as defeat claimed him. All the lies, all the deception was now out in the open. However, I wasn’t going to succumb to the sins of my father; I would rise above it and turn my back on the man who had almost taken my soul.
Warren begged, pleaded, and asked for mercy.
“I love you more than life itself. Just the way I loved Amelia. Don’t you see that, Lillian?”
“You love me the way you loved my mother?” I spat in disgust.
“No, I love you more than I loved her. You make my world alive; you fill my heart and every part of my being. I have been in love with you since the moment my eyes fell on you, you are even more captivating and breathless than your mother. I tried to fight off my love; I know what you are to me. I just can’t help it. Please, Lillian; stay with me. Marry me. No one will know.”
His pleas for an immoral and unholy union sent my mind spinning in astonishment. Warren fell to one knee and extended his arm and said, “Please, Lillian, be my wife.”
“You are completely insane.” My words came out as a hysterical laugh. “All of you, every one of you—from my momma to the man who told me to call him Daddy since the day I was born—are crazy!”
“We can live just as Amelia and Patrick did. No one will ever know,” he continued, and it was apparent he believed and accepted the madness. There was no way to make him see how absurd his suggestion was, and I had heard enough.
Warren ran and jumped in front of me as I hurried down the road towards Savannah. I wouldn’t spend another night in the cabin. I would wait all night at the train station for Richard and his wife to arrive.
“You can’t leave like this,” he cried, walking briskly beside me.
“Yes, I can,” I replied, not looking at him.
Then he seized me and made me stop. “I can’t lose you the way I lost Amelia. This can’t happen to me again.”
“Let go of me!” I insisted, snatching my arm away.
Warren’s face turned deep red, full of rage. “She came to me; she undressed and made me lust after her, just as you did,” he spat. “I’m a man. I’m only human!”
“So this is my fault?” I cried.
Warren pulled me into his embrace and placed a long, wet kiss on my lips. I struggled to free myself and pounded against his chest. When he pulled back, he smiled—a disturbing, sinister smile that made me shiver.
“You are just like her. You wanted to be violated; you wanted me inside of you,” he whispered into my ear, then placed his hands around my neck and began to squeeze. “I need you. You will stay. Do you understand?”
I tried to pry his fingers off my neck, but they wouldn’t budge. I was choking and believed he would kill me if I didn’t agree. I nodded, agreed to stay, to be captured again, just to stay alive.
“That’s a good girl,” he mumbled, taking hold of my hand. “Now, let’s go.”
I walked with him a few yards before I saw a wagon flying up the road. In an instant, without thinking, I yanked my hand away and pushed Warren with all my might right into the path of the horses. He let out one long scream, and was trampled. The driver stopped but wasn’t able to catch sight of me before I disappeared into the woods.
_______________
Chapter Twenty-three
Dawn arrived to a sun-drenched sky with gentle and fragrant southern hospitality. The day was like no other I had ever experienced. Though tragedy always seemed to loom over my world like a perpetually dark cloud, on this day, I saw only clear skies, smooth sailing, and an uninhibited future. The chains that bound me, figuratively and literally, were lifted, and all I kept in my mind were visions of home—the lighthouse, the sea, and the people I loved to greet me.
The local newspaper’s front page included the tragic story of Warren’s death—a first-hand account, the full details of what happened. The only witness, the driver, stated Warren died instantly, which put my mind at ease, for there was a part of my heart that had once truly loved him. The article mentioned a young girl, with Mr. Stone at the time of the incident, who was being sought after for questioning. The driver did not have a good description of me; his eyes had been captured by the gruesome scene.
So I was confident as I strolled about the train station with only the newspaper I’d purchased in my hand, waiting for Richard and his wife Judith to arrive. I was only slightly skeptical, suspicious, and concerned that Richard had lied to me. I honestly believed he was going to show up and buy me my train ticket that would take me all the way up to Maine.
The station quickly began to fill with morning travelers, and I was shoved and bumped enough times to put myself in a corner, where I kept a keen eye out for them. And when there were barely fifteen minutes to spare before the train departed, I saw him trailing behind Judith to the ticket counter. I let out a long sigh of relief and proceeded over.
“Lillian, you’re here,” he exclaimed when I tapped him on the shoulder.
“One extra ticket,” he said to the ticket taker.
Judith turned her head slightly and gave me a forced smile. After she had the tickets in hand, we gathered on the platform. I waited for her to hand me my ticket, but she immediately gave it to the conductor, then Richard ushered me onto the train and my mind was transported back years before, when Daddy put us on the train and my life took a dramatic turn for the worse.
It was still almost impossible to believe that the man who raised me and loved me so unconditionally was an imposter. Daddy wasn’t my daddy after all, and it hurt beyond words. The feeling of loss would be forced to the deepest depths of my soul—covered and
buried, just so I could go on.
When we were settled in our seats, in the private car meant for rich travelers exclusively, I looked at Richard and Judith and smiled in appreciation. The train began rolling, and I felt fortunate to have met a man who valued me, even if it was only because of my attractiveness.
Judith was much older than Richard, by at least ten years, I suspected. I could tell she must have been beautiful in her day, though she now covered her filled-out face with layers of makeup. I had never seen a woman with so much makeup on, and it was revolting. Her expensive French perfume, was heavy, lingered, and crept into my nose. Judith wore expensive clothes. Her dress was pastel, a lovely cuirasse, v-shaped collar bodice with pleated cuffs and lace trim, and the bustle skirt was so pronounced I wondered how she sat comfortably. I felt plain in the simple dress Warren had bought me.
Judith had noticed me scanning her attire and drank in my envy. She stuck her pudgy nose in the air and gave me a sly smirk. Her protruding round eyes were dark brown, and her hair was coarse, like horse hair, and fiery red.
I paid close attention to their relationship, and right from the beginning, I could see Richard was more like her servant than her husband. When she spoke, he sat at full attention, however I could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. Judith didn’t seem to notice.
“When we arrive in New York, I wish to travel out to the estate immediately,” she said, bringing out a powder compact to dab the shine from her nose.
“Yes, dear,” Richard said, winking at me.
“I’m hungry, Richard. Take me to the dining car,” she whined. Richard lifted her from her seat and led her out of the private car.
When they were gone, I pulled the newspaper from under my seat, glanced at it one last time, then pulled up the seat cushion and slid it underneath. Richard quickly returned and sat back down. “I brought you back a piece of cornpone. If you want a full breakfast, you can go in and place your order.”
Richard was different from the man I met when he was alone. His wife brought out a more subdued and passive side. There wasn’t the sparkle in his eye that he had when he sketched.
“I want to thank you again, Richard,” I said.
He had been looking over his shoulder, almost afraid she would reject her morning feast. “What? Oh, sure, Lillian. I’m happy to help.”
Richard put a warm smile on his face when he realized Judith wasn’t coming back anytime soon, then sat back, stretched his long legs and said, “Don’t forget, you have the power to make all things possible.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I’m just glad I met you and you convinced me to be a model for a day. That was my ticket home, then and there.”
“So,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where exactly do you live?”
“On a lighthouse station. My daddy is waiting there for me. There is also a second keeper and his family.”
Richard gazed at me, skeptical. But it was the truth—well, except for Daddy waiting for me.
“I see. It is unfortunate.”
“What is?”
“You keeping your beauty hidden away on a desolate lighthouse station off the chilly coast of Maine.”
“Well, that’s where my family is,” I replied.
“And what became of that friend of yours you were staying with?” Richard asked as his copper eyes went dark and narrow. I refused to let him see the pain and anguish that haunted me, so I smiled and said, “He has his life, I have mine. He said he would come and visit next summer.”
“And your daddy—things are now better?”
Richard had obviously remembered everything I told him with great accuracy.
“Yes, thank you for asking.” I confidently smiled, then realized I was nervously twisting my hair around my fingers. Richard turned to stare out the window, then said without turning back, “The man who was killed yesterday, was that your friend?”
He must have heard a small cry escape my lips, for he sharply swung his head and locked his eyes to mine. I bit my lower lip and didn’t say anything. My heart raced, and I feared he would make me get off at the next stop, abandoning me for being involved in such a terrible incident. But his eyes softened and he reached out to touch my trembling hand.
“Remember, Lillian, I’m here to help. I’m your friend.”
I eased my hand out from under his, fighting back the tears that were building up under my lids.
Richard cleared his throat, and in a hushed voice said, “I don’t think it would be wise for you to return home just yet.”
I wiped away the tear that escaped the corner of my eye then asked, “Why not?”
“They will be looking for you. No crime, Lillian, goes unpunished.”
“There was no crime,” I cried. My voice had tightened, and I was unable to keep from sobbing.
“I believe, without a doubt, that you have done no wrong. I saw the way he was—” He leaned over so no one would hear him. “I’m certain he did some terrible things to you. He no doubt deserved to be trampled.”
I closed my eyes and took a long breath. Once again, the dark, stormy clouds that always lingered nearby were closing in, leaving my journey to the light on the edge and out of reach.
“What do you suggest I do?” I asked, my eyes closed.
Richard paused, and I listened as he took long, effortless breaths. I waited, wondering what he was thinking then opened my eyes and looked at him. He sat confident and assured, the man with the sketchbook who believed all things were possible.
“Come with us to New York. Let me introduce you around. I have connections. I can make you famous.”
Richard sounded confident, but it didn’t sound good to me at all.
“I think I will take my chances and return to Jasper Island. I have no intentions of being famous. That’s not a life that appeals to me.”
Richard wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Then perhaps it would be wise if you spent a few days with us, just to let things simmer down. You need to lay low until the storm passes. Then you can make your way up to Maine. What do you say?”
I thought about it for a moment. Richard made sense. Maybe he was right; let the storm pass, wait it out. I had learned from my years on lighthouse stations to be wary of storms and to avoid them at all costs; otherwise, you were likely to be torn up, broken, and pulled to the far depths of the unforgiving sea.
“I suppose a few days couldn’t hurt,” I said, resigned.
“Good, very good. Judith wants to return to the estate and you and I will remain in the city. After a few days, I will put you on the train, and off to Maine you shall go.” Richard was satisfied, but he hadn’t broken the news to Judith.
“You won’t tell your wife about—”
He stopped me by leaning in and putting his long finger over my lips. “This is between you and me. This is our secret. Let me do all the talking.”
Another secret. That part I worried about. Secrets were no good; they only led to more problems, sometimes even horrible tragedies.
Judith returned to the car. Richard stood at attention and waited to assist her to her seat. When she turned to sit, Richard smiled and winked, then sat back down next to her. Judith gave me a quick scowl then closed her eyes and said, “I’m ready for a nap.”
Within only a few minutes, she was resting her head on Richard’s shoulder and snoring loudly. I giggled, and Richard rolled his eyes in displeasure then whispered, “She snores like a pig.”
I nodded, and I sat back, relaxed, and found my hand pressing against the small book hidden in my skirt pocket. Then I remembered Hattie and what she told me. This was Momma’s book, her thoughts and words from when she was a girl. There were stories and secrets and forbidden love captured on every page of paper, and I had it in my possession. I carefully pulled out the journal and held it in my hands for a while. Richard had closed his eyes and leaned his head against Judith’s, dozing lightly.
I looked down into my lap and slowly opened the frail b
ook. My eyes fell onto the first discolored page, and I hesitated, my fingers trembling as they held the tattered book open, and I apprehensively began to read Momma’s wistful words that were filled with all things disgraceful and wholeheartedly beautiful.
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The Girl in the Lighthouse (Arrington) Page 27