Page 12 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
She dropped to her knees, leaning forward on her hands and gagging onto the sodden earth. Abel continued to sound the horn.
“A ship!” His shout interrupted Rebecca’s momentary fade as she felt the world closing in around her. “A ship!”
Another shout behind Rebecca told her that Edgar was fighting his way toward them.
“What are you doing out here?” A sharp reprimand laced his voice.
Edgar’s meaty hand clamped around Rebecca’s arm and hauled her to her feet. His bearded face pressed close to hers, and his snappy black eyes speared her with concern. “Get inside! Go!”
His shove sent Rebecca stumbling back toward the lighthouse. She struggled across the lawn, the warmth of the light beckoning her. Edgar had made her decision for her, and something in her responded to his direction.
Go back. Go back to the lighthouse.
A yell behind her made her twist in her position.
The foghorn had stopped.
The wind tore at her with wicked derision, but Rebecca fixated on Abel and Edgar as they scrambled down the embankment.
“—sinking!”
She raised her eyes to the lake and saw the outline of a ship. A steamer. The lake bludgeoned it, wrecking it into pieces.
The next moments might have been mere minutes or perhaps hours, but Rebecca lost sight of her own horror and instead surged after the two lightkeepers. There was naught they could do but watch as the lake ate the ship, debris already lifting on the high waves and pummeling onto the shore.
“Look for survivors!” Abel’s shout was cut off by the raging storm.
Far ahead along the shoreline, the flicker of lanterns awakened her to the realization that while remote, the lighthouse was not solitary in its existence. Other men were fighting their way through the storm toward the lighthouse, drawn by the shipwreck that occurred just offshore.
Rebecca clawed her way up the sandy bank, skinning her knees on driftwood and rock as she did so. She took refuge in a grove of trees, watching as a group of men arrived, all dressed in oiled coats and floppy hats that drained water from their faces.
Their yelling was unintelligible above the lake’s own voice. Ropes were uncoiled. A rowing skiff was hauled from its mooring on the shore toward the water.
Edgar waved his arms over his head, his wobbling run toward the men indicative of disagreement.
A shouting match ensued.
One man pointed toward the ship that was now in pieces, then at the skiff.
“You’ll sink!” Edgar’s hoarse cry reached Rebecca’s ears.
She wrapped her arms around a tree trunk, stabilizing her. Mesmerized by the chaos, she squinted into the rain. She couldsee people in the water now. One was lifted high with a wave that then crashed and appeared to roll over them. The depth of the darkness swallowed the victim, along with the violence of the lake.
She released the tree and hurried along the embankment, holding her hand over her eyes, a futile shield against the rain. A head bobbed in the lake and disappeared.
People were drowning before her very eyes, and she was helpless. The men were helpless. She searched the shoreline until her gaze landed on Abel. He stood like a solemn sentinel, bathed in the swath of light from the gallery, staring at the abyss as he watched the ship’s passengers drown. Helpless.
She hid in the oil room once again, uncertain as to why Edgar had directed her back there. He had spotted her on the embankment, the lighthouse most likely silhouetting her drenched form, and he’d waved her back. When she didn’t move, the old man had clamored up the ridge and shoved his face near hers.
“Get in the oil room an’ stay there!” His command was so brusque and sharp it had snapped Rebecca from her sodden stupor.
How long had she stood there, unmoving, spellbound and horrified not only by the storm but by the shipwreck and the destruction left in the wake of it all? It matched her very soul, she felt, and as the minutes ticked by, she had been less terrified and more entranced by the lake. By its majesty and its power. By the way it imitated every part of her. A tumult warring within her whose forecast refused to predict a calm anytime soon.
Now clanging and banging came from the kitchen as someone filled the range with coal. Rain still pelted against the window just across from the wall of shelves.
Rebecca shivered, soaking in her dress, unable to get warmth back into her bones. She peered out the window into the night.Men rushed to and from the lake in what appeared to be a for-naught rescue mission. No bodies were being carried to the lighthouse, but as the storm had begun to wane and dawn seeped into the sky, the waves continued to wash pieces of the doomed steamboat ashore.
“Goodness, you’re sopping wet, Rebecca.”
