by Jody Hedlund
When she reached the passageway door, she touched the knob only to jerk away at the searing heat. She dropped her bucket and picked up two large decorative stones she’d placed in her flower bed. Without a second thought, she heaved them against the window.
The glass shattered with sparks and flames shooting out the jagged holes left by the stones. She pulled back at the blast of heat and fumes. Harry was already next to her and tossing his bucket of water through the opening. As the water hit the flames, black smoke rose with a sizzle.
She picked up her bucket and threw the water at the flames. The smoke momentarily blinded her, and when she blinked past the acridness, her heart plummeted. The two pails of water had hardly made a difference against the hungry fire.
Panic pushed her to action so that all she could think about was dousing the flames before they reached the tower. She raced to the water next to Hugh and Harry and rushed back with them to throw water again into the open window.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw with relief that Ryan was carrying Sarah out of the house cradled in his arms and that Tessa followed close behind, dragging a bundle of possessions with her.
“We need help putting out the fire!” Harry called, running up the grassy knoll from the lake, his pail of water bouncing against his leg and sloshing over the rim.
Soon Tessa joined them, and they formed a bucket brigade from the lake to the house. They passed the water as fast as they could one after another, until the muscles in Caroline’s arms grew weak from the heavy loads and her lungs ached for fresh air.
Ryan made several more trips into the house, carrying buckets of water, until finally he joined them outside. He kicked at the passageway door, and it crashed open. Caroline passed buckets to him, and he emptied them faster than she could supply. They worked hard for endless minutes, putting out the remaining half-dozen small fires.
Finally, after many more buckets, every flicker and glow of orange had disappeared. Instead, thick smoke filled the little room, escaping through the broken window and through a hole the flames had made in the ceiling.
Caroline collapsed on the grass and gasped for air. Through watery eyes she caught a glimpse of the interior, the blackened walls, the table, her logbooks, and everything else charred and half burned.
Ryan stepped out of the doorway. He was wearing her father’s old boots, which he must have slid on when he’d gone in to rescue Sarah and Tessa. His shirt and trousers were seared in spots from sparks. His face was black with soot, making the whites of his eyes even whiter. His attention flitted to each person where they rested on the grass as if assessing their condition before finally coming to rest on her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She didn’t have the energy to do much more than nod. She could only stare straight ahead, wheezing and trying to catch her breath.
Ryan’s brow furrowed and he came over and knelt beside her.
“I’ll be okay in a minute,” she said past the tightness in her throat.
He laid his hand on her back. “Everything’s going to be fine.” His tone was gentle and soothing. He started to knead the tight muscles in her neck.
After a while she could feel her body begin to loosen from the viselike grip of panic.
“Everyone’s safe,” he assured her. “And we saved the house and tower.”
His fingers on her neck were firm and warm. Slowly they squeezed the worry out of her system. Her hair hung in disarray, having come free from the knot she’d worn at the base of her neck earlier to church. His hand now moved from her neck to the loose hair. He tenderly brushed the strands, caressing them down her back, and then looked at her with wrinkled brows.
“I’m doing better,” she said, but her words came out weak and shaky.
He wiped a finger across her cheek, which she had no doubt was covered with soot. It took her a moment to realize that one hand was still on her back—his good hand—and that he was touching her face with his injured one. She was surprised he had the hand out of his pocket. He did most things one-handed, keeping his scarred hand out of sight.
As if realizing what he’d done, embarrassment flickered in his eyes and he dropped the hand, ready to stuff it back in his pocket. Before he could do so, she grasped his hand and lifted his two remaining fingers back to her face. Without hesitating, she pressed them against her cheek.
His eyes widened.
She leaned into his palm, hoping he could see the truth in her eyes, the truth that his battle wounds didn’t frighten her or cause her to think less of him. She admired him for his bravery and his willingness to go on with life after all the suffering he’d gone through.
His muscles turned hard beneath her touch.
She was tempted to slide his hand over to her lips and kiss his injury to show him that his mangled flesh didn’t repulse her. But with her brothers and sisters sitting only a short distance behind her, likely watching her interaction with Ryan, she refrained.
Instead, she smiled at him, hoping he could read her thoughts and that he wouldn’t mistake them for pity. But before he could react, Monsieur Poupard rounded the house at a limping run. His weathered face was red, and he was breathless, his chest heaving as if he’d run the entire distance from his tiny log cabin by the old windmill to the lighthouse.
Ryan stood and stuffed his hands quickly into his pockets.
Monsieur Poupard staggered to a stop at the sight of them all resting in the grass in front of the lighthouse. “I saw smoke,” he managed, looking to the blackened passageway and then back to the children.
“Aye, we had a fire,” Ryan said.
The old Frenchman turned toward Sarah, who lay motionless, curled up on a blanket where Ryan had deposited her. Her lips were blue, almost the same color as the lake, and her face was even paler in the bright sunshine of the afternoon. Though too weak to move, she smiled at Monsieur Poupard.
At her attention, the man seemed to melt. The wrinkles in his scowling face smoothed, his eyes lit, and his mouth curved into a gentle return smile.
Caroline could only stare in amazement at the transformation.
“The little sick girl is safe?” he asked.
“Aye,” Ryan replied. “Thank the Lord. We’re all fine.”
“I hurried here as fast as I could.” Monsieur Poupard wiped his brow with the edge of his red cloak.
“We were able to contain the fire to the passageway,” Ryan said, nodding at the still-smoking roof. “I doused the inner door and wall with water to slow down the spread of the flames into the keeper’s cottage.”
Gratefulness welled up in Caroline. Ryan’s quick thinking had saved the house.
Monsieur Poupard hobbled toward the door and peered inside. “How did the fire start?”
“One of the lanterns looked like it had been knocked over,” Ryan answered.
“But it wasn’t lit,” Tessa said from where she was sprawled in the grass. “I never leave the lanterns burning during the daytime. Caroline has always warned me that it wastes oil.”
“Maybe there was still a small flicker of flame?” Ryan suggested.
Or maybe someone purposefully started the fire. Caroline didn’t speak the words aloud. She didn’t want to scare her siblings any more than they already were.
“You have to believe me.” Tessa rose, and her lovely features were stricken. Her long hair had come loose too, but somehow it still looked beautiful and even fluttered in glorious dark waves. “I didn’t leave the lantern burning. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Nay,” Ryan said. “I’m not blaming you, lass. Not in the least. It was probably just an accident. That’s all.”
An accident? Just like all the other bad things that had happened recently? A shiver crept up Caroline’s back. Deep inside she knew the fire wasn’t an accident. Just like her getting trapped in the cellar wasn’t an accident. Or the ruined garden, or the boys nearly drowning, or the duck nailed to the rowboat . . .
She had to face the tr
uth once and for all. Someone wanted her to leave, and they would keep on threatening her and her family until she complied.
Hugh and Harry had risen from the grass and joined Ryan and Monsieur Poupard at the door of the passageway, looking inside and trying to determine the cause of the fire.
But Caroline couldn’t make herself get up, not even to check on Sarah. She could only stare at the scorched house, tears blinding her at the awfulness of all that had happened lately, especially how close her siblings had come to losing their lives. First Hugh and Harry in the boat, and now Sarah and Tessa in the house.
What if she and Ryan and the boys had lingered in town longer after church? Or what if Ryan hadn’t turned around and noticed the smoke?
Caroline shuddered.
Her family could have been killed both times. They still could be killed or harmed if she didn’t do something to stop this madness.
She had to put an end to it. Today. Now. Before anything else happened. Blinking back her tears, she glanced around the lighthouse grounds, the barren flower beds, the yellowing grass, the rocky shore, the various-sized buckets now lying abandoned. She tried to view everything coldly, through distant eyes. She willed her heart to let go of this place she’d come to love.
Her family’s safety was more important than anything else.
As hard as leaving Windmill Point Lighthouse would be, and as much as she’d wanted to put it off, she couldn’t any longer. It was time to say good-bye to the lighthouse. She couldn’t risk another day here. Not another minute.
She sat up, straightened her shoulders. Suddenly she knew where she needed to go and what she had to do. She didn’t dare look at Ryan or the others. Instead, she swallowed the inner protest that rose all too swiftly, stood to her feet, and walked to the lake to clean herself up.
They would stop her if they knew where she was going. She felt certain of it.
Her best course of action was to sneak away when everyone was busy, when no one was looking. Then she’d rush to get the deed done as quickly as possible before anyone could step in and talk her out of it.
Chapter 19
Ryan spread another blanket on the grass, hoping the fresh air would lessen the smoky scent that permeated each fiber. While he’d contained the fire to the passageway, smoke had seeped into the house and filled every crevice and corner.
“Last one,” Hugh said as he tossed down a quilt.
Everyone had worked tirelessly for the past hour, including Monsieur Poupard, in trying to clear out the house. They’d focused primarily on Sarah’s room, since the chill of day had caused her to start wheezing. When they finally settled her back in her bed, they started opening up the rest of the house and fanning out the smoke.
Tessa and Caroline had been busy boiling herbs that would supposedly lessen the effects of the smoke, and they’d also been hanging rugs and linens on the clothesline.
Ryan straightened, ignoring the burning that rippled through his arm. He’d gotten better at pretending the pain didn’t exist, and at times could almost believe he no longer had a piece of shrapnel buried in his arm. It certainly didn’t bother him the way it first had, and he supposed the strengthening of his muscles and constant use had built up his endurance.
He flexed his arm and looked down at the place where his fingers had once been, at the puckered red skin that existed in their place. He’d forgotten about his mangled hand and had touched Caroline’s face with his ugly stump. Humiliated at the thought, he tucked his hand in his pocket.
Caroline hadn’t minded the contact, but had pressed his hand back against her cheek, as if telling him that his deformity didn’t matter to her. Could that really be true? Doubts warred within him, working to cloud the truth. The truth that she’d accepted him with all of his glaring problems, that she’d been kind and helpful when she had no reason to be, and that she’d never passed judgment even when he’d deserved it.
His chest swelled with gratefulness—and something more. He searched the yard, needing a glimpse of her.
“Are you looking for Caroline again?” Hugh asked, peering up at him, his freckled face still streaked with soot and his brown hair flying away in all directions.
“You’re always looking at her,” Harry said. He had a broom in his hands and was beating one of the rugs that hung from the clothesline.
Was it that obvious that he longed for Caroline?
Both boys stopped their work and watched him, waiting for an explanation for why he stared at their sister so much.
He thought about making up some excuse, but he had a feeling the boys would see right through him. He reached over and ruffled Hugh’s hair and then grinned at Harry. “Aye. Guilty as charged. I can’t keep my eyes off her, can I?”
“Do you like her?” Hugh asked, stuffing one hand in his pocket.
Ryan studied the boy. Was Hugh imitating him? With his hand in his pocket, the way his feet were spread, and even the way he cocked his head, all reminded Ryan of himself. Without their father to influence them, were the boys looking to him and following his example?
He bit back a glib answer about how he felt about Caroline and chose his words more carefully. “Your sister is a very fine woman. One of the finest I’ve ever met.”
Harry stepped around the rug, his face and hair just as messy as his brother’s. “Are you gonna marry her?”
Marry Caroline? Ryan had a sudden flash of earlier that day when they’d walked back to the lighthouse after church, the way she’d smiled at him, as if offering him the whole world in that smile.
Aye, he wanted to wake up to her encouraging smile every morning and let it be the last thing he saw every night. But he wasn’t ready to get married, was he? He still had a debt to pay, and he couldn’t settle down or support a family until he’d made good on his vow.
“Caroline would sure make a good wife,” Hugh said, his eyes expectant, hopeful.
“Aye, she would,” Ryan agreed. “She’ll make some man a good wife. But I’m not certain that man is me—”
“She left a little while ago,” Harry said, cutting him off, nodding in the direction of the dirt road that ran through the marsh.
“Left?”
“I think she was sneaking off,” Harry said. “She walked away like she didn’t want anyone to see her.”
“How long has she been gone?”
Harry shrugged. “A while.”
A strange stillness fell over Ryan. He stared at the road. He couldn’t imagine why Caroline would sneak away without telling anyone where she was going or why.
Aye, she’d been upset after the fire. But after she calmed down, he thought she’d be all right. Sure, her face had remained pale and pinched, and she’d spoken very little. He’d just assumed she was still shaken up a bit and that was all.
Then an awful thought clamored within him. What if she’d decided to move out of the lighthouse? What if today’s incident with the duck and the fire had pushed her too far?
His body tensed with the need to go after her, to soothe her and assure her that everything would be okay. But would it be okay? Or was he simply fooling himself and her too? Maybe by living at the lighthouse, she was truly putting herself and her family in grave danger.
If she’d come to that conclusion, then she probably acted on the need to protect them. She was too loyal and too devoted to them to do otherwise. A thousand possibilities flashed through his mind, none of them pleasant.
“Do you have any idea where she was going?” Even as he asked the question, another horrible thought flooded him. Had she gone to Arnie Simmons?
Raw fear jolted his body into action. He started toward his horse that was tied on a long rope under a nearby tree.
“Where are you going?” the boys called, following after him.
Tessa stepped out of the house, letting the door bang shut behind her.
“I have to go after Caroline,” he replied.
“Where did she go?” Tessa had bunched her long skirt in her hand
and began running behind him.
“I think she went to the Roadside Inn to marry Arnie.”
“What? She can’t do that,” Tessa cried.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let her.” Ryan reached the horse and fumbled at the knot, his fingers unable to work. The need to stop Caroline had his nerves on edge.
Tessa and the boys stood behind him and watched, their faces solemn and filled with concern.
“If she marries Arnie, then we’ll be stuck here at Grosse Pointe,” Tessa said.
“If she marries Arnie, she’ll be in for a life of misery,” Ryan added. But he knew that alone wouldn’t stop Caroline. She’d sacrifice her life and future for her family, even if that meant marrying someone she didn’t love. And he wouldn’t let her do that; he had to reach her before she went through with the deed.
What if she and Arnie were on their way to the pastor’s house even now?
Ryan used his injured fingers, not caring that the others were watching. Caroline was more important than his hand, his dignity, and everything else.
“What if she refuses to come back?” Tessa asked.
With a last jerk, he freed the horse. He hoisted himself into the saddle and urged the mare forward. “I’ll bring her back.” He nodded at the boys and then shifted his horse so he was looking down at Tessa. “The keeper job belongs to Caroline. It’s never been mine. I should be the one leaving, not her.”
Tessa peered up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “If you leave, where will you go?”
He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. “I’ll go West. I hear there’s plenty of work out there.”
“West?” Her face lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go West.”
He gave the horse another kick, and the beast bolted forward. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do. All he knew was that ever since he’d arrived here, bad things had started happening to Caroline and her family. Maybe the threats were a warning to him and not her. If he pretended to leave for the West for a few days but secretly stayed nearby to keep an eye on her, perhaps he could discover what was really going on.