Page 87 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
The truth was that there was no wealth to be had unless her father was able to strike it big with a new vein. Otherwise, there were only investments to be lost—or siphoned into other accounts her father had. Filtered away in small amounts, but enough to fund the new mine, the new vein. Unless Rebecca exposed him, revealing the fraud and hiding the map which led to the silver vein.
Now, Rebecca stared at her feet, her toes growing numb from the bindings around her ankles. She blinked away tears as Abel threatened to invade her fortitude and what small determination she had left.
Abel.
Dear Abel.
He had been an unexpected promise amid the brutality of the world in which Rebecca lived. It wasn’t until last year that she had seen him during the trip she’d made to Silvertown with Hilliard. Abel and his mother, Niina, and his sister, sweet Kjersti.
Rebecca couldn’t stop the tears that trailed down her cheeks at the memories of Kjersti. It was she who had befriended Rebecca. It was Kjersti who had been the first glimmer of hope. It was Kjersti who had convinced Abel to rescue Rebecca with their flimsy marriage.
“It will break your bonds to your father when you become Abel’s wife!” Kjersti had promised.
An elopement with a virtual stranger whose propensity for empathy and protection was juxtaposed with her father’s intoxication with coldness and abuse, which had proven only to compound the problem.
Hilliard had been furious. His pride had taken a major blow. Rebecca was no longer a Hilliard; she was Rebecca Koski now. And that loss of control incensed Hillard.
The lighthouse became their refuge.
The hospitality of Edgar had become their burgeoning hope.
The days of respite away from her father had opened Rebecca’s heart to trust again.
Abel’s tenderness ... his gentleness...
She remembered that night. The first time had been needful, surprising, a consummation of their marriage that was both meaningful and filled with unknowns. Expectations. Feelings. Unspoken words. But the second time?
It was after she had nursed the feverish Kjersti for several days, agonizing that her dearest friend was slipping away from her.
“Never be afraid of him,”Kjersti had urged Rebecca that night.“He will take care of you. For me. Abel will take care of you.”
And he had. Rebecca had slipped from Kjersti’s room as herfriend slept. She had sagged against the wall, fighting back tears of desperation. Hope was always stolen by the anger of this life. Her father, Kjersti’s inevitable death, and her comforting but mostly platonic marriage to a man who—
Abel had exited his room at that moment.
He had seen her pain.
He had held her.
His fingers had traced her cheek.
The tenderness—it was the tenderness that had engaged Rebecca that night. Perhaps it was her presence of comfort that had engaged Abel. The strangeness of their situation, the understanding of necessity that had settled between them, the undeniable need for intimacy in crushing circumstances—perhaps it was those that had brought Abel and Rebecca together.
Rebecca’s eyes flew open as Bear punched open the shack’s door, busting into the reminder of what love might have been had she not crossed her father in such a detrimental and final act.
Abel.
In his way, Rebecca knew he had grown to love her. In her way, if she could only come to know what love was, then maybe ... no...
Rebecca lifted her chin in preparation for Bear and his inevitable bruising fists.
No.
She did love Abel. In her way. It was the kind of love that ached at what could have been. The kind of love that knew their babe should not be made to suffer as she had suffered all these years. It was the kind of love that knew her sacrifice would set them all free.
And maybe she didn’t understand it properly.
Maybe she was misguided.
