by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
Deborah laughed. “Oh, please, Jacob. If you think you can keep him away for two weeks, you’re daft. Besides, we’ll be going back and forth to the Resolute while you’re loading her. I expect you might see both of us once or twice during the interval.”
“Yes,” Edward said, patting her hand. “I insisted Deborah decorate the cabin for her comfort and bring along plenty of clothing. We’ll be making a few trips to bring our baggage to the ship and get things settled.”
“Fine.” Jacob stepped back, looking around the room and smiling when his gaze lit on Abby. “Just don’t let me see you for a few days at least, Ed. You’ll scandalize the clerks if you show your face within a week.”
Felix roared with laughter as his wife approached with a plate of food and a glass of punch. Edward noted Deborah’s scarlet cheeks and guided her into the hallway, then, seeing they hadn’t been followed, up the stairs and into the room his mother had designated as Deborah’s new sitting room. The chamber adjoined the large bedchamber they would share and was fitted out with delicate cherry furniture and bright hangings and cushions.
“Are you tired?” he asked. “I thought you might want to sit for a moment, here where it’s quiet.”
“No, I’m not tired, but I’m glad to have a minute in private with my husband.”
He swept her into his arms, blocking from his mind the preparations, the ceremony, the chitchat with the guests. This was his reward for long patience. This exhilarating moment brought him such joy that he could not speak but held her tight, brushing his cheek against her silky hair and inhaling her scent.
“Hasn’t it been a splendid day?” she whispered.
“Perfect.”
He kissed her then as he had longed to kiss her for months now, prolonging the interlude and relishing the light pressure of her arms as they slid around him.
When he at last released her, she nestled in against his vest, and he cradled her there.
“You know,” he murmured, “I never thought I’d want to go back to Spring Island, but now I’m thinking it wouldn’t be so bad, if you were there with me.”
She laughed and squeezed him. “If you want to be marooned again, Edward, and live a wild life as a castaway, that’s fine with me. Just do take me with you.”
“No fear.” He stroked her soft, dark hair and kissed her brow. “I shan’t let you out of my sight now that I’ve found you.”
THE LIGHTKEEPER’S DAUGHTER
by Paige Winship Dooly
Dedication
Thanks Mom and Dad for your love and support through the years and for your encouragement when it came to my writing. I love you both!
Chapter 1
Little Cumberland Island, Georgia, 1867
I know Papa’s coming back, Samson. Don’t try to tell me otherwise.”
Hollan climbed to the top of the largest sand dune with Samson following close at her side. As they neared the peak, he nudged past her and plopped onto the sand. She sank down beside him. Her stamina wasn’t keeping up with the rapid improvements in her vision. They’d searched for her father as far as she dared. With her eyesight coming and going, she was afraid to go too far. “We just need to find him, that’s all.”
Samson released a small whine.
“With Mama it was different. I knew she was gone. My heart knew. But this time, with Papa—” She stopped a moment and gave her next words some thought, then shrugged. “I don’t know. With him, it’s different. He’s out there somewhere. I’m sure of it. We just need to figure out where. It’s only been a day.”
Samson lifted his furry head and raised an eyebrow.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you, boy?” She reached over and ruffled his tawny fur before settling on her back beside him.
The cloudless blue sky overhead stretched in all directions. The gentle breeze blew in off the water, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean. Hollan inhaled deeply.
Her vision had steadily improved during the past few months, going from nothing but blurred shapes, as it had been for most of the past three years, to dim but specific outlines of objects and people. She hadn’t told her father about the improvements, not wanting to get his hopes up if the experience was fleeting, but every day brought her more clarity.
Until now…. This moment brought her colors and clarity and …
“Samson!” She shot to an upright position and looked around.
Samson raised his head and barked, alert for pending danger. When he didn’t see any, he looked at her in confusion.
“I saw your eyebrow quirk! I can see you staring at me like I’ve finally lost my mind. I can see the sky and the water and—oh Samson! I can see it all!”
The ocean-side view spread before them. Hollan could see every detail clearly: the sea oats, the waterline, the birds, a faraway boat on the horizon.
“Samson, I can see the water.” Hollan held her breath, afraid that if she moved wrong or breathed too deeply the vivid scene in front of her would melt away. “Not only can I hear the waves, I can see them.”
The sun played across the water, causing it to sparkle. A fin cut through the surface, though from this distance Hollan couldn’t tell if it belonged to a dolphin or a shark. The movement—straight up, then forward for a few feet, then straight down—more closely resembled that of a shark. Dolphins tended to move in arched patterns, rolling up over the surface and back down, and they usually appeared and disappeared over and over until they moved out of view. She longed to see a dolphin. It had been too long.
Samson didn’t respond other than to stare. She leaned down and peered into his dark brown eyes. She hadn’t looked into a set of eyes in more than three years, and Samson’s doggy eyes were just beautiful. It was a perfect moment. Samson reacted to the direct contact by wagging his tail.
“I know, Sam. This is a gift. It’s precious.”
Her vision blurred, and she panicked, wiping quickly at her eyes. She stared down at her hands. Tears. She could see the crystal clear liquid on her fingers. Her vision wasn’t receding. The tears caused the blur.
“If only I could see Papa, Sam.” She looked into her dog’s eyes again. “He’ll come home soon, right?”
Samson laid his head on his paws and stared out over the water.
Dark storm clouds appeared on the horizon.
“The next storm is already on its way, boy. I guess we aren’t going to get a break in the weather for as long as I’d hoped.”
Hollan wanted to savor the view, but she knew with her vision coming and going she needed to do some chores while she was still able.
“Maybe he’s not coming back.” Hollan whispered aloud the words her heart had wondered about for the past three days. Words she hadn’t wanted to voice because stating them might make them real. Each passing day caused her more concern. Her father had never left her, not even for a day, and there was no way he’d leave her now unless he had no choice. Had she lost him to the most recent violent storm? She’d lost her mother during a similar squall three years earlier. She pushed back her panic and forced herself to take a few deep breaths. Perhaps he’d only been hurt. But deep down she knew even if he’d been hurt, he would have found a way to get back to her. Just as he always had in the past.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the thought, warding off the image of her injured father needing her when she was unable to find him. The reality that she’d kept pressed against the back of her mind insisted on forcing its way forward. If her father had been injured enough not to make it back, surely he wouldn’t be alive three days later. Their part of the island wasn’t that big.
Hollan faced the ocean and listened to the harsh waves as they crashed against the sandy shore—the sound the last remnant of the most recent destructive storm. The beach would be scattered with debris—driftwood, seaweed, and other odds and ends that always washed ashore with the waves.
But she wouldn’t know at the moment. Her vision had returned to its blurred state. She didn’t worry about
it too much. It had reappeared with vivid crispness several times during the past couple of days. The clarity stayed longer and came with more frequency each time. She prayed her vision would return in full at some point, but she’d adapted to not seeing, too.
She hadn’t spent much time with God lately. The realization caused a catch in her heart. Her prayers at the moment were rote, but she told herself she’d do better in the future. She’d spent most of her time during the past three years just existing. Her uncle had to be very disappointed. He’d told her as much, but in her newly blind state, she hadn’t really cared. And ever since, she’d drifted away from everyone except her father. And now he’d somehow drifted away from her. Maybe God was trying to get her attention.
The briny scent of the sea and the taste of salt on her lips reassured her that not everything had changed. But without her father, Hollan’s small world would never be the same. Two facts prevailed and tried to drag her down into depression. Her vision had faded, and her father hadn’t returned. She fought hard to keep her positive outlook, but it all felt so confusing.
While the familiar scents and sounds reassured, a tremor started at her leg and steadily worked its way through her stiff body. She wasn’t cold. The warmth of the early autumn sun beat down on her shoulders. She wrapped her arms tightly around her torso, as if the action could stop the shaking. She was afraid that if she let go, she’d fall into a million pieces.
A bark in the distance announced Samson’s arrival. Hollan whistled for him, and he barked a response. A few moments later, he brushed up against her. His panting gave away the exertion of his latest hunt.
“Still no sign of Papa, Sam?”
The dog only whined and leaned against her thigh. If Samson had found his master, he’d have let Hollan know.
“I didn’t think so, boy, but we’ll be fine. I still feel confident that Papa’s out there somewhere.” She reached down to rub his head. And they would be okay. Just as soon as she figured out a way to take over her father’s job as lightkeeper, her life would steady and move forward again.
Hollan had no idea how long she stood there, staring sightlessly at the water, but when dark clouds covered the warmth of the sun, and dampness from the brisk ocean breeze permeated the light cotton of her long dress, the tremors turned to shivers of cold, and she urged Samson to move back toward their home.
My home, she corrected herself, her steps slow and careful. Now that she was alone—and until her father returned—she was in desperate need of a plan. She passed through the shadow of the lighthouse and raised a hand to caress the cool stone of its base. The lighthouse had remained dark through the majority of the war. They’d only recently resumed operations. She’d need to go up there soon and ready things for the night’s work. Whenever her vision cleared, she hurried around and did everything necessary for the next few hours. She’d spent enough time in the lighthouse to do the basic chores even with her limited sight. When her vision dimmed, she was forced to let the lighthouse sit in darkness, too.
But first she needed to prepare a missive for her uncle. She continued toward the cottage, counting backward through the past few days. The supply boat—if it had fared well through the storm—would arrive later that afternoon. When the young captain, Fletcher, found her alone, he’d surely insist on bringing her back to the mainland. She’d argue with him, and he’d agree to search the island for her father, but after, even if she talked him out of forcing her away, she’d only have a day’s worth of time to plan before her uncle descended.
The abrupt pain of her bare foot stubbing against the lowest stone step of the cottage pulled her from her musings. She reached forward to catch her balance against the wooden door, barely preventing a headfirst tumble into the garden to her left. The pain was intense, and she clenched her teeth, blowing a few panting breaths through tight lips to ward off the ache before tentatively putting weight on the aching appendage. She’d likely bruised some toes, but they’d soon be fine as long as she was careful. Though her vision was steadily improving, she needed to pay more attention to her surroundings.
A wry smile formed on her lips as she clung to the solidity of the door and hobbled up the final two steps. Hadn’t her father said the same thing to her many times before? The thought brought him closer. Perhaps he wasn’t so very far away. His words and teachings, especially the ones about Jesus and His unfailing presence lived on inside her. The thought brought her a moment of peace, but the reality of the reason for the thought again caused tears to threaten. She’d never before been alone. Though she was strong and resilient, she needed to have someone close by. Her father had taught her that with Jesus as her Savior, she’d never be truly alone. But while that was all good and well during his suppertime teachings, it didn’t really seem to help right now when she lived alone in darkness and needed to find her way.
She shook away the panicked thoughts and chastised herself. More importantly, she needed to write her note before giving in to the cloying and ever-present grief and concern about her missing father.
The wind blew harder, and Hollan hurried to open the door, suddenly anxious to be safely tucked inside the dimly lit interior of the cottage. Samson nudged in front of her and trotted to his usual position near the dying embers of the fireplace. Hollan closed and secured the door then felt her way across the room until she bumped into the small dining table nestled against the far wall. She reached forward and located the lamp with one hand while the fingers of her other hand searched along the rough wood of the table for the nearby matches. The familiar routine soothed her.
Light flared, and she tested her eyes. Though she could see a dim outline of most items in the room, she couldn’t see anything clearly.
She moved a few feet across the floor to the hearth and nudged Samson out of the way before leaning down—mindful of her dress hem—to carefully stoke the fire. Years of practice made the chore easy, and she took a few moments to bask in the warmth of the crackling wood. When the flames had dried her dress and heated her skin, she sighed and moved to sit at her small writing table, ready to carefully formulate the brief note for her uncle. The change from the light of the fire to the dimmer light of her writing table didn’t help her mission. But in all reality, it didn’t matter. Even without the contrast of moving from the bright fire to the blank paper, she could just barely see well enough to discern the letters as she formed them on the blank page. Though not an easy task, she did her best to make the note brief and her correspondence legible.
She considered walking down to the dock to meet Fletcher but decided it was best to wait for him to come to her while she rested her throbbing toes. If she were to stumble or get hurt on the path, it would only fuel Fletcher’s potential determination to take her back with him. Instead, she’d sit tight and pray, with the hope that God would answer her prayer by providing her with a way to remain on the island.
Chapter 2
Jacob topped a slight rise and reined in his horse, scowling as he took in the view spread before him. He’d come home. He ignored the anxiety that invaded his thoughts as he contemplated the hostile reception he might receive and instead focused on the beauty of his surroundings. He’d missed the ocean. And if he had to admit it to himself, deep down he was glad to be back.
He had a lot of wrongs to right, and after one quick stop, he’d start the process with Hollan.
The dirt path he’d traveled led directly to the thin strip of water that separated the mainland from Little Cumberland Island. A larger dirt road bisected the path, leading to the tiny village where he’d grown up. Small fishing vessels bobbed on the dark blue water, each one filled with occupants in various stages of securing their catch. The fishermen pulled nets laden with their bounty from the salty water, while others prepared to toss their nets back in from a better vantage point. A few scattered figures walked along the shore, enjoying the brilliant day, some feeding the seagulls and others looking for seashells. Out on the island, the lighthouse stood tall on th
e distant horizon, keeping watch over the mouth of the Satilla River and the coast.
Jacob figured he should feel some sort of reluctance at the thought of returning home to the seaside town as a prodigal of sorts, but instead relief loosened the tightness from his shoulders now that he’d arrived at his destination. His burden felt much lighter.
Three years earlier, he’d left his hometown behind. By day he’d lived life as a traveling preacher. At night he’d scoured the surrounding towns, looking for his outlaw father and brothers. In both endeavors, he’d been full of expectations and enthusiasm. Yet life on the road had left him surprisingly empty and alone. He’d thought doing the Lord’s work would bring him contentment no matter where he was and that by bringing his family to justice he would in some way undo the evils they’d committed. But instead the process had drained him.
He had one more brother to track, but for longer than he wanted to admit, the tug to return home had consumed him. When his brother’s trail turned and led toward home, Jacob felt the first flicker of hope in a long time. He knew God had a plan for his return. And now that Jacob had returned, for the first time in a long time he felt reassuring peace flow through him. He felt confident that he’d soon locate David and that justice would prevail.
Jacob turned the horse and urged him toward the village. First order of business was to find his good friend and adviser, Edward Poe. He’d start at the tiny parsonage. Jacob held his head high as he rode, not missing the glances that followed his progress as he passed, nor did he miss the way the townspeople bent their heads close together to whisper as he moved by.
The double doors at the front of the small whitewashed church were propped wide open, and they welcomed Jacob inside. He swung down from his horse with a smile, secured him to one of the hitching posts that stood sentry under the shady magnolias flanking both sides of the front steps, and pulled his hat from his head. As he walked he slapped the dusty brim against his equally dusty pants in a vain effort to shake off the remnants of the trail. With a sense of anticipation, he moved forward and entered the cool interior of the worn clapboard building.