Page 70 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Annabel Lee
ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE
SPRING, 1874
REBECCA STARED UNSEEINGinto the expanse that was Lake Superior. The window of the oil room had become her escape, and once she was safely back inside, Abel had left her there, alone. She’d had nothing to say after his pronouncement that he was the father of the child that was swelling her abdomen. He knew her better than she knew herself merely because he could recall and she could not.
She was numb. There had been no rejoicing, no sudden resurgence of memory or understanding. There had only been along stretch where she had no words and Abel beseeched her merely by his expression to come back to him.
That there was an innate pull toward Abel had been evident from the first day Edgar had brought her to the lighthouse.
“Anishinaabewi-gichigami.” Now, Edgar came along beside her in the oil room. His presence was unexpected, and yet Rebecca didn’t mind it. Of anyone here at the lighthouse, Edgar was now the least intimidating. He didn’t come with expectations. He was just Edgar, the lighthouse keeper. The one overseeing the lake who ensured each ship and crew made its way in the darkness.
Maybe he could help her as well.
“That is what the Ojibwe call this lake.” Edgar leaned on a long stick of smoothed driftwood that he brought into the lighthouse, stabilizing his bowed legs. His floppy fisherman’s cap squashed his white hair, but from her peripheral vision, Rebecca could see he was following her stare across the waters rather than demanding she give him her full attention. “Annabel loved the lake.”
Rebecca inhaled a steadying breath scented with lake water, drawing it deep into her lungs.
“I hear Abel told you he’s the father,” he stated.
“Yes,” Rebecca answered flatly. She didn’t care to speak of Abel, not yet. But then a part of her did, and perhaps Edgar would be the safest person to talk to about it.
“The story of love consumes a soul. Remember what I said? Don’t forget the love? There’s often no other thought but that.” Edgar’s words hung in the room between them.
“Do I love him?” It was the question that plagued her the most. Rebecca hated herself for the pained expression in Abel’s eyes. She agonized trying to summon recollections. There was no question she was drawn to him, had even trusted him, and something in her desired to be close to him. But there was no tangible memory to cling to. No recollection of their love, let alone the conception of the babe she now bore.
“Only you can answer that. It’ll take time,” Edgar acknowledged.
“And I’ve lived here at the lighthouse? With both of you?”
“Since Kjersti concocted her plan to get you away from your father in the first place.” His explanation confused her.
“Kjersti?” Rebecca struggled to remember.
“Yes, Kjersti. You two had been friends for a while. Kjersti and Niina lived in Silvertown not far from the Hilliard house. And Kjersti knew about your father.”
“You mean that he was greedy?” Rebecca offered.
Edgar’s expression turned dark when he looked at her. “No. That he flat-out disowned you, that he abused you your whole life. You’d visit Kjersti with a black eye and with no good explanation.”
Rebecca was beginning to understand. Kjersti’s concern. A black eye. Yes, she could remember—vaguely, but still, it was there now that she’d been reminded of it.
Edgar sucked in a resigned breath. “Kjersti convinced her brother, Abel, to marry ya. Get you out of that house before Hilliard did something worse to ya. I doubt that man has one ounce of affection for you.”
Rebecca recognized the dull cold in the pit of her stomach. It was coming back. Like a rainstorm where the rain came down harder and harder, pelting her with its fierceness. Yes. Her father.
“You are a chilling reminder ... unfaithful...”
“My father was furious with Abel and me,” Rebecca said, remembering more pieces of her story now.
Edgar studied her. “Furiousis the right word for it. Abel and you stayed here at the lighthouse. We had no idea Hilliard would just about lose his mind over it. But then after Kjersti got sick—” Edgar stopped and swallowed hard—“nigh on about six weeks ago—”
“Six weeks!” Tears sprang to Rebecca’s eyes. No wonder Kjerstiwas fresh in her memory. No wonder Abel could hardly speak of her. Aside from her attack, Kjersti’s death would’ve been the most traumatic thing to have happened. Abel was still reeling from his sister’s passing. Niina was hiding behind Finnish fortitude.
“Six weeks.” Edgar nodded. “You blamed your father.”
“For Kjersti’s death.” Rebecca knew then. The memory of her fury. “We couldn’t get her treatment. That’s why she was in the lighthouse instead of with Niina as Niina was ailing. My father stood in the way of Kjersti because she convinced Abel and I to marry—out of convenience—so I could leave the Hilliard house.”
