Page 52 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
“Have you heard of a woman named Rebecca?” Shea asked.
Fronell’s head whipped around, and he skewered her with a look. “Why do you ask?”
“Um ... the name just happened to come up in my research.” Shea tiptoed around the truth. She was hesitant to bring up Jonathan Marks, especially as she still sat there speared by Fronell’s dark eyes.
“Leave Rebecca out of it. It’ll go better for you and everyone else.”
Shea frowned. “But—”
Pete’s hand on her knee stopped her, and she stared at him with annoyance. Pete ignored her. “Rebecca is more off-limits than Annabel.” It was a statement acquiescing to Fronell’s directive.
The elderly man shifted his attention to Pete and gave him a nod. “Annabel has turned legend. Folks round here love a story of a ghost set on vengeance or love—both are debated. But only a few of us old-timers know of Rebecca—and we don’t talk about Rebecca. She did no good for this area. None at all.”
“But...” Shea started, then bit her tongue. It hadn’t once crossed her mind that Rebecca might be disliked according to the historical accounts. That she might be someone not worth remembering, maybe even a villainess in the story of Annabel.
“Geneis the only one who has the right to talk about Rebecca,” Fronell finished. And it was final. Shea could read it in his expression and knew it by the way Pete stood and shook hands with the man.
The conversation was over, although now Shea wanted to find out more than anything who Rebecca was, why Captain Gene had the right to speak of her, and where in the Porkies the elusive captain might be?
ANNABEL
THERE’S A WISTFULNESS IN DYING.
The world becomes quiet around you.
But I can see your face. I can see in your eyes how you wish me dead.
So I will die.
For you.
I will die because of your hatred and your desperate love.
I will die for all you gave to me and all you refused me.
When death comes calling, I answer it.
When the tempest swells, I row into it.
My life is worth nothing, but you—you are worth everything.
There is a wistfulness in dying, for the loss of what was, what is, and what could be.
The loss ofwhat could beis what haunts me most.
It’s thewhatthat willneverbe that will chase after you when I am gone, riding on the cold breath of my watery vengeance. I shall never release you, my heart and my soul. You are what gave me breath. You are what gave me death.
I made my vows, and I shall keep them.
Even in death we shall not part.
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REBECCA
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, in this kingdom by the sea)...
Annabel Lee
