Page 33 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Rebecca shrank into the corner, her back against the wall, an oilcan on the shelf near her shoulder. She was careful not to kick a box of lantern wicks as she pulled her knees up to her chest.
“And you know what that means!” Another man’s voice broke in.
“No. No, I don’t.” Abel’s tone was controlled now.
“It’s a bad omen, Abel, and ya know it. We already had the shipwreck—come to find out it sank with the supplies for Hilliard’s mine. Set us back by weeks.”
“Edgar and I have nothing to do with Annabel—or her—herghost.” Abel’s words made Rebecca hold her breath.Shehad been on the shore last night. Had the men seen her and believedshewas Annabel? Or had they seen the same apparition Rebecca had, wilting into the waves and disappearing? Maybe it hadn’t been just her own vision. Maybe Annabel reallyhadmade an appearance.
Abel was speaking again, this time more insistent. “I’m telling you, whoever you saw, we had nothing to do with it. Do you think we conjure Annabel’s spirit? No!”
“Sure you do!” The original man’s voice rose. “We all know she thinks this place is her own. This lighthouse and the land around it. She don’t want Hilliard and his mines here.”
“That’s superstition, man, and you know it!” Abel snapped.
“Do I now? Not after what I seen last night. And so did others. On the shore just like they describe her. Pacing the sand like a wraith. She’s real as real can be.”
“She hasn’t done anything.” Abel defended the dead woman’s spirit—or perhaps he defended Rebecca, for she was almost certain it was her the men had seen. “And what do you want us to do about it anyway? We can’t catch a ghost and lock her up. If you saw Annabel, then she’ll do what she wants, there’s no doubt about that, and you can rot in your superstitions.” There was a bitter edge to Abel’s voice now.
“What’s next? You say she’s not done anything? She’s caused a shipwreck. She lost our supplies. Next, she’ll be going afterus! The men are shook up.”
“Don’t be daft,” Abel shot back. “Annabel’s ghost doesn’t control the weather. There’s nothing Edgar and I can do aboutyoursuperstitions.”
“You listen here, and you listen close.” There was a chill in the man’s voice that made Rebecca hug her legs tighter. “If I see her again, I’ve no problem—”
“No problem what?” Abel interrupted. “Are you going to kill a dead woman?”
Silence was his answer, and then finally there was the stomping of feet, the men walking away. But then they turned and came back. One of them said, “You’re still not welcome in town, you know that, Abel.”
It was an unsettling declaration, and Rebecca strained to hear, wondering why these men held Abel so responsible for the supposed actions of a spirit.
“Do you see me in town?” Abel retorted. “You think I have any desire to be there?”
“Keep it that way,” the man concluded. “And make sure your mother keeps her nose to herself too.”
A yell split the tension. Rebecca recognized Edgar’s growly vibrato, the one that emanated straight from his gut. “Get off my property!” His shout was followed by loud thwacks and thumps.
Rebecca dared to crane her neck to look out the window covered by white sheer curtains. Two men jogged away, Edgar chasing them as fast as he could hobble, waving an oar in the air and attempting to bring it down on the back of one of the men.
A tiny smile toyed at Rebecca’s mouth even as she absorbed the gravity of the moment. The puzzling questions piled up inside of her. There was a hatred in the men that went deep and spoke to a history that was darker than their words stated. A hatred for Annabel’s ghost, yes, but also for Abel. Which made little sense. He would have been a young child when Annabel was alive. He had nothing to do with her, and he was obviously not her son or anything sensational such as that because it was apparent Niina was his mother. Eventheyhad said as such.
So why were Annabel and Abel linked so closely in the eyes of the mining community in Silvertown?
While the answers to those questions evaded her, Rebecca knew with certainty it was her on the shore the men had seen last night. Her own vision of Annabel had been brief, while the men had stated they saw Annabel pacing the shore. Rebecca held her hands over her abdomen as she considered the weightof that. The small mining community believed her to be a ghost, and there was no mention of a missing woman. If she had been from Silvertown and had somehow gone missing, wouldn’t it stand to reason that they would assume it could have been her before they leaped to the conclusion of Annabel’s ghost? Even Abel had been harried, wanting her to hide on the men’s arrival. Abel must have assumed the men were looking for her, not to confront him about a ghost.
But no. There had been no mention of her. Just a superstition. A belief. The overwhelming awareness that the miners frantically searched for a dead woman’s ghost, while flesh-and-blood Rebecca huddled in a corner, crashed over her with the ferocity of the lake’s frigid waters.
It was a lonely, vicious realization that shattered Rebecca.
No one was looking for her.
She was not missed—by anyone.
She felt him crouch before her, but Rebecca kept her eyes closed and her face turned away. Something deep inside told her she had always questioned her place, but now it dawned on her that it was more than that. It was aknowingthat she was truly alone. That the memories that teased just out of her reach did not hold promise of desperate reunion with family who was besides themselves to find her. Instead, they hold no promise of reunion whatsoever.
Abel moved, and the air between them shifted. A whiff of the lake came off him and awakened her senses. Rebecca had no doubt he was staring at her, his gaze boring holes into her skin, her soul. Yet she didn’t dare open her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see whatever lay in the depths of his look. Disdain? Pity? Compassion? She feared any of them would be her undoing.
“They’re gone now, Rebecca.”
