Page 8 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Moving to the doorway that led into the house, Rebecca peered into the darkened room. It was a cramped, seemingly unused dining area with brick walls and no decor on them. Sunlight streamed through the windows, exposing the table in the room’s center. A lace cloth draped across the middle of the table, where a tapered candle in an iron base stood unlit and boasted a new wick. The unused candle indicated that Edgar the old lightkeeper didn’t often entertain visitors in his home.
Just off the dining room was a small pantry. It too had brick walls, and aside from the shelves stacked with various items, there was a washbasin with a hand crank to squeeze water from clothes after cleaning them. Rebecca was hard-pressed to imagine Edgar at work standing over the washbasin.
The only other room on the first level was a square sitting room with a fireplace, stuffed chairs with a small table between them, and kerosene lamps mounted on the walls in cast-iron holders. At the far end of the room was a set of stairs that led to the second floor. Rebecca made her way up the stairs, careful notto trip on the narrow treads. Once at the top, she entered another small living space that housed a desk, a bookshelf with volumes covered in cobwebs, and what appeared to be a lightkeeper’s log.
She ran her hand over the inked words dried on the page. The handwriting was clear with pen strokes that emphasized the writer’s confidence. The entry for yesterday was already penned:Routine work. Standing by—rain and strong winds.For whatever reason, Rebecca caressed the words. They seemed to come alive beneath her fingertips, to beat like a heart, strong and purposeful. The words exuded strength and didn’t match the perception Rebecca had drawn from the stooped-shouldered Edgar.
Her eyes blurred as her head pounded. Rebecca pushed her hair behind her ear, leaning against the desk while she composed herself. Once she had gathered her wits again, she took note of the solitary room beyond.
A narrow bed had been shoved into a corner between two windows, one at its head and one by its feet. That it was the keeper’s sleeping quarters was obvious by the shirt hanging off the scarred iron post of the footboard, the suspenders in a pile on the floor, and a few toiletry items littered about the top of a compact dresser.
Beyond that stood one more door that led into a little alcove. Rebecca moved closer but with hesitation, then peered into the alcove. It was clear where it went. She saw a landing and then metal stairs that spiraled upward to the lighthouse above.
Rebecca took a few steps upward, gripping the metal rail that curved along the stairs. She came to another landing, where a doorway on one side led to what she assumed was the attic, while the stairs continued their upward spiral to the lantern room.
She peered through the doorway into a short hallway. This was a space that wasn’t meant to be a living area and yet had been converted into one. It was dark with no windows. It smelled musty, yet there was the scent of spice and even the faint scent of lavender. There were two doors across from each other.
After a quick inspection, she noted one of the doors opened to a tiny bedroom with barely enough space for a single bed. It was plain and dull with a sloping ceiling that would make it necessary for anyone taller than Rebecca to duck. The bed had a navy-blue patchwork quilt and a sagging mattress, with a rag rug on the wooden floor. Rebecca turned from the room and saw that the other door—the only other entry into the constrictive space—was closed. She tried the knob, but the door remained solidly secured.
“It’s locked.”
Rebecca cried out in shock, spinning around and hitting her shoulder against the wall. She stared at the form who blocked the entrance back to the lighthouse stairwell. He was tall and bent over so as not to hit his head on the top of the doorframe. He had dark straight hair that hung over his forehead. His eyes were piercing, and yet he addressed her as a man might when coaxing a trapped, frightened animal.
“I won’t hurt you,” he assured, his voice rumbling in the hallway between them.
Desperation filled her at the sight of him. She blinked against the thrum of pain in her head, straining to recall if he was the man from the previous night who’d partaken in chasing her and beating her, and if she should claw her way to escape, or if he was in fact safe.
“I’m Abel.” Frosty eyes searched hers. When she didn’t respond, he took a careful step toward her, his hands up as if to indicate he meant her no harm.
Rebecca eyed him warily.
“I’m the assistant here. I work alongside Edgar. I’m training to eventually keep the light on my own.” He eyed her for a second, and Rebecca couldn’t find her tongue to utter a reply. Abel pointed to the sparse room and the sagging bed. “That’s where I sleep.”
Rebecca glanced at the open room, her hand still resting on the locked door she’d just tried to open.
Abel cleared his throat. “Edgar sent me to fetch you.”
Rebecca stared at him, searching her memory for something—anything—that would bring clarity to this moment. He was a stranger. Or was he? His eyes were so vivid, so sharp, she wondered if he could see into her soul and knew more about her than she did about herself.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
Surprise swept across his angular features. “Me?No. I mean, no.”
“You’ve never seen me before?” she pressed, her voice echoing in the small passageway.
Abel’s eyes narrowed as though trying to comprehend. “Don’tyouknow who you are?”
His question, though innocent and perfectly sensible, sparked something inside Rebecca. She had been here before. She’d walked the shores of this lake many times. She’d breathed in scent of the fir trees and the poplar. She’d been caressed by the same breeze that turned into a gale when one least expected it.
But no. She did not know who she was. And with nothing more to give the man in front of her, Rebecca simply shook her head and responded, “No. I am ... no one.”
5
SHEA
I was a child, and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea...
Annabel Lee
