Page 21 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Edna offered a wobbly shrug. “No one ever said spirits can’t travel.”
10
REBECCA
With a love that even the winged seraphs of heaven coveted of her and me...
Annabel Lee
ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE
SPRING, 1874
SHE HAD CLEANED UP,her hair freshly washed—thanks to Abel for filling the bathtub in the oil room with hot water. Nothing had felt better than slipping into the bath and allowing the warmth to saturate her body, to take the cloth Niina had provided her with and wipe away the grime and dirt. The bar of soap Niina had given her was made of goat’s milk, a soft, moisturizing experience Rebecca believed she’d never had before. The scent of lavender permeated the room and overwhelmed the lingering smell of oil for the lamp.
Now clean, Rebecca slipped back into the dress Niina hadprovided, then braided her hair into one long plait down her back. She opened the door to the main area of the house and glanced around.
“The men are outside. Things to do after the shipwreck.” Niina’s voice startled Rebecca as it came from the corner of the sitting area.
“Are they hopeful they may still find survivors?” Rebecca padded across the faded carpet, her bare feet relishing its softness.
Niina’s knitting needles clicked away as she rocked. “No. They’ll clean up the beach of any wreckage that washes ashore. If any of the goods from the ship happen to make it to shore intact, they’ll have to notify the port in Ontonagon.” She glanced up at Rebecca and then back to her craft. “You need to rest now. Up all night and then having to listen to the men grouse about Hilliard and the mines. You must be exhausted.”
Rebecca eased onto a worn, blue velvet sofa, its cushions threadbare in spots. “I’ll be fine.”
The needles clicked more, and the silence felt as calming as the bath had. Rebecca was grateful Niina had not left the lighthouse. In fact, she seemed very at home here.
“Do you come here often?” Rebecca ventured.
Niina smiled, though she didn’t raise her head. “Frequently, yes. The men would starve or end up eating dry oats with water poured over them to get by. I’m not concerned about Edgar, but my boy, Abel—he’s all I have left.”
Rebecca recalled how Abel had mentioned his father earlier, but it had been in the past tense. This made Rebecca’s own situation even more stark to her. If she had family, wouldn’t they be looking for her? She felt like there were voices just on the edges of her recollections. She caught glimpses of them in split seconds and then they dissipated into oblivion.
She toyed with the locket around her neck. The locket engraved with her name—or what she assumed was her name—onthe back of it. Someone had given this to her. Someone had cared enough to bestow a piece of custom jewelry. The locket was made of silver, and if she were correct, it had taken some coins to purchase it for her. Yet it was empty—stark and bare. That made the locket and its giver even more of a mystery. For why give a locket if it was to remain empty?
Niina’s voice broke through Rebecca’s pondering. “You’ll be able to sift through your confusion better if you let your body rest.”
“I know.” Rebecca’s acknowledgment didn’t mean that she intended to obey. While bed sounded like a refuge, she was also afraid to be alone with her thoughts. “What if I remember?”
“Hmm?” Niina lifted her chin to look at Rebecca.
Rebecca’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t intended on asking it aloud. “What do I do if I remember, and things fall into place?”
“Then you must share it with us.” Niina’s eyes darkened with sincerity. She set her needles in her lap, though she didn’t let go of them. “So that we may assist you.”
There it was. Rebecca could see the glimmer of half-truth on Niina’s face.
“You know me, don’t you?” She posed the question less as an accusation and more as a plea.
Niina returned to her knitting. “We know you were attacked, and that alone puts you in danger.” A stern look from the woman made it clear she wished for no more probing from Rebecca. It was hardly fair. Rebecca wanted to protest, but Niina continued quickly as if to fill the stillness, so Rebecca didn’t have a chance to inquire further. “You are best off here in the lighthouse. I realize you don’t see it as ideal or even proper. But if you were to come to my cabin—well, Edgar and Abel will keep you safe here. I, as a woman, cannot do that. Neither man will bring you harm, and who knows who is out there looking for you!”
Rebecca strained to examine the recesses of her memory. She hadn’t slept since her attack and since Edgar had found her in the woods. Her mind was cloudy, exhaustion warring with a louder voice than any memories she could conjure.
A wave of dizziness came over her, and for a moment she tried to camouflage it by digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. But it was no use. Niina set aside her knitting and rose.
“See? You need to rest. You’re as pale as the whitecaps on the lake.”
“I’ll be fine.” Rebecca struggled to sound convincing.
