Page 13 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Rebecca was startled at the matronly voice and banged into the windowsill. She stared at the woman. Lucky if she was over five feet tall. A dry muslin dress swathed her frame, and a serviceable shawl draped her shoulders, the ends tucked in a band that stretched around the woman’s plump waist.
“What was Edgar an’ Abel thinking?” Shetsked as she hurried from the oil room and then soon returned with a wool blanket in her hands. “Get out of your things. Even your skivvies. You need to get warm before you die of hypothermia or shock.” The woman glanced over her shoulder, as if the two lightkeepers were standing behind her, and scowled regardless of their absence. “Men. Half a brain and no mind to nurture.” She shook the blanket and held it up like a curtain. “There now. Out of your things. Hurry now. There may be more I need to help with besides you.”
“I’m not from the shipwreck.” Rebecca felt it necessary to inform the woman if for no other reason than that she felt guilty stealing attention from others in more dire need.
“Don’t I know that?” The woman’s gruffness was laced with kindness. Rebecca stilled and eyed her, whose blue eyes met hers. Confusion flooded the woman’s face. “Rebecca? Come now...” She shook the blanket again. “What are you doing?”
Rebecca stared at her. This woman knew her. Rebecca could see that she did. She took a step toward her. “Who—who are you?”
Drawing back, the woman eyed Rebecca, and an awareness crept over her that brought with it both an air of worry and a strong sense of caution.
“I’m Abel’s mum,” she explained, seeming to watch for Rebecca’s recognition. “You can call me Niina.”
The name was unfamiliar. It sounded different—accented, pronounced like the number nine with anahat the end. Rebecca surprised herself when she asked, “Are you Finnish?”
The woman stared at her for a long second and then gave a quick nod. “Joo. Yes,” she answered and then shook the blanket to emphasize. “Hurry, child.”
Rebecca did as she was told, pausing at her soaked chemise until she noted that Niina had turned her face toward the window to give Rebecca privacy. She stripped and reached for the blanket, which Niina released when she felt Rebecca’s tug. Wrapping it around herself, Niina turned back to Rebecca. Her eyes did quick work of skimming the bare skin that was still exposed regardless of the blanket.
“I’d like to flay the person who gave you those bruises.” Niina beckoned with her hand. “Come. We’ll head up to—we’ll get you dressed.”
Rebecca didn’t miss Niina’s falter and switch mid-sentence. She was going to refer to a place that should be familiar to Rebecca, but instead she’d bitten her tongue.
Rebecca followed without a word. The wind and rain still rattled the windows and echoed loudly in the spiral iron staircase. They climbed to the attic level, and Niina led Rebecca straight to the room with the locked door.
“No one goes in there,” Rebecca parroted Abel from earlier.
Niina huffed as she took a skeleton key from her apron pocket. “Says Abel.” She unlocked the door and pushed against its whitewashed wood. It opened, hinges protesting the movement. A musty smell laced with lavender greeted Rebecca. She sucked in a breath, the scent releasing a nostalgic emotion in Rebecca she could not identify. A lone bed with a thin mattress covered with a patchwork quilt was tucked against the far wall just under the slanting roof. There was no other furniture exceptfor a trunk that sat at the end of the bed. Niina opened the chest and rummaged through its innards.
“Here we are.” She pulled out another dress, this one a dusty blue. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.” A chemise and underthings followed. Rebecca shed the blanket and quickly dressed, relishing the warmth. Niina gave her a hand-knitted sweater with leather buttons. “This will keep you warm.”
“Whose clothes are these?” Rebecca had to ask. First the gray dress Edgar had given her earlier, and now these things? She had a feeling she had seen them before, yet she also was certain she’d never worn them.
“Well, they’re not yours, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Niina answered, refolding a garment that had come undone and tucking it carefully into the trunk.
“These were Kjersti’s.” Niina’s voice broke. She glanced at Rebecca, seemed to wait for something, and when it didn’t happen, continued. “Kjersti was my daughter.” Niina closed the lid of the trunk. “She stayed here at the lighthouse with Abel and Edgar when I was on my deathbed. No one expected me to live. I surprised them all. My fever broke the day Kjersti came down with it. She was gone within three days. Before they could bring her home to me, and before I could nurse her as anäitishould. Abel locked up the room, and no one can enter now. No one but me, mind you. I’ve the right.”
Of course she did. She was Kjersti’s mother.
“Abel locked the room.” For some reason, Rebecca had assumed the locked room was Edgar’s doing. A broken heart perhaps. Harbored memories. She’d not expected it to be at the hand of Abel, and for his sister.
Niina’s eyes shone with tears, and she blinked rapidly. “Kjersti and Abel were always close. She was the eldest and looked after him. He was lost without her—” Niina’s words hitched, and she shook her head. Waving her hand, she motioned for Rebecca to exit the tiny room. “He’ll have to manage with you being herein Kjersti’s room. There’s nothing to be done about it now. We’d best go down and see if there are any survivors. I’ll need your help if there are.”
As Niina led the way, Rebecca snuck a glance into the room opposite Kjersti’s. The room that must be Abel’s. Surely as an unmarried woman she’d not be expected to board across the hall from an unmarried man, with only a male lightkeeper a level down in the keeper’s bedroom?
“Might I...?” Rebecca hesitated, then plunged ahead with her question. “Might I stay with you instead?”
Niina’s stopped abruptly. She turned from her perch two steps below Rebecca as they curved downward. “No.” Niina’s hand rose and hovered over Rebecca’s cheek, her eyes softening. “It’s not safe.” She didn’t offer an explanation, and Rebecca knew instinctively that to inquire further would be useless. Her suspicions had to be true. Abel and Niina and even Edgar—yes, they knew who she was, but they did not want to tell her. They harbored her here in the lighthouse, along with secrets, and along with the truth of whoever she really was.
7
THERE WERE NO SURVIVORS.
The lake had claimed the steamship, with few bodies having washed up onshore. Hours later, the men who had joined Edgar and Abel had left the vicinity.
“This is the harsh side of life here in Silvertown.” That was the only sorrow expressed by Niina. She had set to work baking bread, and the kitchen was filled with an inviting aroma. Niina asked Rebecca to assist, and then she eyed Rebecca as she stood there hesitantly, unsure of what to do.
“You’ve never baked bread before.” Niina’s observation was terse but softened with a smile. “Well, watch and learn.”
