“I don’t know how Danny sleeps through it,” Tom said as he took up a seat alongside Reginald. Danny was the third keeper currently stationed on the lighthouse. He was due to leave when the relief boat sailed back in. It would bring letters and supplies, newspapers and fresh food.
“Always can. His first offshore stint was Bishop Rock, and that takes the full brunt of the Atlantic’s moods.” Reg chuckled to himself as he leafed through a three-week-old newspaper. “It’s only just October, and you got yourself until at least the beginning of November here. But don’t worry, lad. She’ll still be there when you get back.” Tom’s eyes widened; he hadn’t told them anything about what had happened with Elizabeth. “Don’t act surprised that I know about your girl back onshore,” Reginald added. “You think they often send inexperienced lads like you out to places like Wolf Rock? Old Pommeroy was doing you a favor, told me all about it in a letter.” Cards flicked black and red between spades and hearts as Reg shuffled a deck. “And your father has made quite the claim. Do you believe him?”
Something about his tone gave Tom the permission he needed for the truth. It was a genuine question, one that didn’t already have an answer.
“I do,” Tom said. “But I’m not saying anything about Dr. Davenport,” he was quick to add. “Only what my father saw.”
“I know, lad. Don’t worry, just us here now.” He licked the tip of his thumb and dealt Tom a hand. Tom fanned the cards out in a tight palm. “Elizabeth has a tough choice on her hands.”
“She already chose, I think,” he said, having spent the last lonely weeks mulling over their final meeting time and time again. “She believes her father.”
“Of course she does,” Reg said, setting a queen of hearts onto the top of the crumpled newspaper. “But I don’t imagine it was easy for her to hear that her father had some hand in her mother’s death. Plus, your old man’s a drunk, and even though you know what I’ve just said is true, I can see your hackles rising. You want to defend him just as she did hers, so don’t you tell me that she would find it easy to support you and what your father said over her own.”
Tom knew Reg was right. “But what if I knew something that might change her mind?”
Reg eyed him above the cards. “Such as?”
Never had he expected to confess what he knew, but what did he have left to lose? “That night I rescued Mrs. Davenport from the water.” Reg leaned in, waited. “She didn’t slip. She jumped.”
Reg shook his head. “I don’t think so, lad. You must be mistaken.”
“I was right there. She’d been confused for a while, wasn’t well. What if she meant to take that boat out, Reg? That would change things about what my father said, wouldn’t it?”
The weight of the knowledge he didn’t want settled on Reg’s shoulders. “Well, only you know what you saw.”
“I know,” he said, setting down his cards. “And I saw her jump. After I jumped in the water she was shouting, ‘Let me go, let me go,’ until she passed out.”
“Good Lord.” He tossed the cards down, all interest in the game lost. “I don’t doubt your honesty, lad. Done nothing but a good job out here on Wolf. But others might, so think long and hard before you go saying anything.” The glass in the small window rattled against the wind, nothing but thick gray cloud beyond. “The wind has picked up. Get yourself back up there to fire the fog gun. Last thing we need is a wreck on our hands.”
* * *
Tom was relieved to see the Stella arriving a week later, cutting a frothy trail through the sea. From the small table by the fourth-floor window, if he peeled back the frayed check curtain, he had a good view to watch the ship’s approach. Seeing the boat was surreal in many ways; the five-day delay made it feel as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. It was a little like he was adrift, even though he was stationary, his life suspended in uncertainty over what would happen next.
Tom rose to his feet, silencing the small radio and its songs, which sparked memories of home, and spun down the stairs to join the other keepers outside. Such was the relief to stand on the sliver of land they called home, to feel the wind in his hair now that the waters had receded, it made him want to sing out loud and tell everyone of his love for Elizabeth. Still, as the Stella dropped anchor and the small relief vessel set course for the rock, he relented. Such a display of madness would likely render him a liability, and so he kept his mouth shut.
“It’s been good to work with you,” said Danny McGreary to Tom. “Do you think you’ll be back another time?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, gazing first at the rocking motion of the boat, then the distant glimmer of the shore. It was like a mirage, there one minute, gone the next as the sea swelled and gave. “I suppose that depends.”
“If she’s got any sense, she’ll be waiting for you. Decent lad like you. She’d be a fool not to.”
Tom reached out and shook Danny’s hand, was surprised to find it sweaty. “Thanks. I hope you’re right.” He nodded toward Danny’s little pack, draped over his shoulder. “Have you got the letter I wrote?”
“I have. I’ll get it to Pommeroy, who’ll get it to her. I’ll bet you two bob she can’t wait to see you,” he said as his eyes followed an incoming barrel overhead, a new supply of paraffin, which after the five extra days without relief was in sure demand. “You’ll see, all this trouble with your father will blow over.”
“You mean the trouble with her father, more like,” Tom corrected, reaching up to steady the barrel onto the ground. The source of his need to defend his father was a mystery to him. Yet he always did, despite the anger he harbored concerning his behavior. It was unfathomable to him how the man who blamed him for the loss of his second son could simultaneously stir both hatred and longing in equal measure. He was not unaware that each emotion was intrinsically linked to the other.
“Aye, if you say so.” And with that, Danny McGreary attached himself to the winch and just a short moment later he was leaving the platform. With a salute and a smile, he was away.
* * *
It wasn’t Keeper Williams’s first time aboard Wolf Rock, and he kicked off his shoes and got his feet up on the table before the first cup of tea had even been poured. Tom could almost say there was a wash of relief across his face, satisfaction at the idea of returning home. It made Tom uneasy; he didn’t like the thought of this place being more familiar than the home he planned with Elizabeth. Where would they live when he returned? Porthsennen was unlikely, but what about London? Maybe if he could find a decent job. He knew how much she wanted to go there. Would she be willing to leave by the time he was back on shore? He’d agreed to come to Wolf Rock in the hope it would give her enough time to realize that he could no longer stay in Porthsennen, that together they could make a fresh start. He only hoped she could see that by the time he got home.
The thud of a tea tin on the table shook him from his thoughts, precious cargo inside with news from home. He stared at it, craving the correspondence. Home, he realized, was part of him, and he missed it; he even missed his father, if he was honest. The tin made a satisfying pop as Robertson removed the lid, air rushing out, full of promise.
“Looks like this is for you,” he said, tossing a small bundle Tom’s way. His heart skipped a beat as he fiddled at the ratty piece of string holding it together. “Somebody is a popular boy.”
Tom held the parcel close to his nose, sensed the smell of home—the sea, mixed with bread and tobacco. His name was written on the front of the envelope, a letter from his mother. Under that there was a small piece of cloth, wrapped around some of his mother’s Hevva cake. The material was damp, and Tom imagined it still warm when she’d wrapped it up that morning. It stirred a yearning for the life he once knew, and resentment for the rock upon which he was stranded. Fear for his life ahead. He split the Hevva cake in two and bit into it.
“Anything else left in that can?” he called to Robertson.
With his feet up on the edge of the table
, a newspaper in his hands, he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, without even looking up.
Nothing from Elizabeth. Could that be right? It was true that he hadn’t left things on good terms, but he thought they had agreed that nothing had changed. That time was all they needed. He never once imagined that she wouldn’t write to him while he was here. And he had been sure he’d seen her up on the headland, watching as he set sail for Wolf Rock, just as she’d promised weeks before. But now that she’d had the time to think it over, had she changed her mind? He had left the day after her mother died. He should have supported her, but instead he’d allowed himself to be hounded out of Porthsennen just because a few village busybodies made his job disappear, leaving when she had never needed him more. Oh, he had buggered it up all right, building a wall between them in the shape of seventeen nautical miles of rough Atlantic Ocean, one brick set in place for every whispered doubt and denial. And now he couldn’t do anything to change it because he was so bloody far away. Not only that, but he had sent that letter too, telling her all about how her mother had jumped. Was there any way to get it back?
With no other choice, he began to read his mother’s words. The note was brief, but it was clear she missed him. Dinnertimes were lonely, she said, but she reassured him that she and his father were both very proud of the job he was doing. His father had been inspired, had taken it upon himself to try to support the family and hadn’t been drinking for over a week. Tom had to take a break for a moment there, couldn’t believe the stroke of luck. But as he read on, his mother also wrote that Dr. Warbeck had been to see them before the ship’s departure, informed them that he had moved into Elizabeth’s family home, and that they would be married before Tom had a chance to return. He had asked that they write to Tom, explain that there was no future for him and Elizabeth. And then, at the end of the letter, almost as an afterthought, she wrote that Elizabeth was pregnant. Her final sentence read, And Dr. Warbeck says it’s his, and so I think you best leave it at that, Tommy. No point making things harder for anybody, is there? She added, as if it meant anything, that she was really very sorry.
“Where you going?” Reg called as Tom headed toward the spiral staircase that led to the lantern room. “Doesn’t need lighting for hours yet.”
“Just need some air,” he said, the letter still in his hand, the taste of Hevva cake rich in his mouth. Stepping out onto the narrow shelf, buffeted by the intemperate Atlantic winds, Tom tried to bring Elizabeth to mind. Yet all he could picture was a child in her place. A baby. His baby, or could Dr. Warbeck really be the father? How could things have changed so unrecognizably in just the few short weeks of his absence?
But as he listened to the waves receding, the howling of the rocks as the raging waters drained through the fissures in their surface, he realized that even if it was his baby, she had chosen James. And why wouldn’t she? What did Tom have to offer her? A useless fool, that’s what his father had called him. How was he supposed to raise or provide for a child, fishing when the seasons permitted and scrounging for whatever work he could when they didn’t? Elizabeth was doing what she had to do for security, for a better life for her child, but he couldn’t deny it hurt to think of how little faith she had in him, her actions reinforcing every harsh word he’d ever heard about himself.
Part of him wanted to swim to shore, put a stop to her asinine plan. If that was his baby, surely he had rights too. But the other part of him wanted to plunge into the Atlantic waters, and if he survived the drop, begin swimming the other way, deep into the ocean until his arms weakened and he slipped, quite painlessly, beneath the undulating surface to his death. Because losing Elizabeth and the future they once had planned reduced him to little more than a ghost, the shadow of what he once was, a remnant from a life that was already resigned to the past.
Everything about the thought of going back terrified him now. He couldn’t return to shore only to watch his dreams unravel. After one more glance at the letter from his mother he let it go, watching as it skipped up and down on the currents of the wind. It landed in the water moments later, where it disappeared, along with his future and all the dreams that Elizabeth had made him believe in, for good.
* * *
“Did you send it?”
James had barely stepped through the door after a difficult day. “Of course,” he said.
Her chest slackened as she let go of the breath she had been holding since he’d left the house that morning. So that was it; she had told Tom everything. A smile roused at the thought, and she reached to touch her tummy. A baby? Tom’s baby.
“Mr. Pommeroy set it in the can in front of my own eyes. Tom should have it by now.”
After helping James remove his coat, she hung it on the rack in the hallway. “You have no idea how much this means to me. To us.” His smile was strained, spoke of untold hurt, or so Elizabeth thought. Perhaps she was pushing it, gushing like that. But she had to ask, couldn’t help it. “Did he give you anything for me?”
James shook his head, patted her shoulder. “I’m afraid not.” It was impossible to ignore her disappointment, but he tried all the same. “I’m sure he was just too busy.”
“There are a lot of jobs to do on the lighthouse,” she said, trying to reassure herself. “And what about my father?”
James pulled a face she didn’t like much. It was sympathetic, but it didn’t hide the truth of how he really felt. “Not the easiest first day back, but I think it will have been good for him.”
“Where is he now?” By then they had moved through to the kitchen. Weeks together had taught her that he liked a nice cup of tea after a busy day at work, preferably with a shortbread biscuit if there was one available. Mr. Boden’s shop was out of stock after she’d snapped up the last pack that afternoon as a thank-you for James’s help with the letter. The tea was dark and strong as she poured, just the way he liked it, brewed in anticipation of his arrival. Offering a plate with three triangles of the Cornish shortbread arranged in a fan, she was pleased when he took one. Tapping away the crumbs, he sipped his tea and ate.
“He wanted to stay late to finish some paperwork,” he mumbled, catching the escaping biscuit with his finger. “He didn’t get much of a chance with all the chatting everybody wanted to do. He’ll be along soon.” He took her hands in his. “If I’m quite honest, I think he wanted to give us some time alone. You must remember that he knows nothing of your decision to end the engagement. He doesn’t understand the truth of our situation here.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I know,” she said, bowing her head as she sat down. “We have complicated things.”
“I think we must tell your father what’s really going on. He has all these expectations about our future. It seems so cruel not to tell him.”
“I know,” she said. “But he already has so much to deal with. I appreciate that it’s a lot to ask, but couldn’t we leave it until Tom is due to return?” To continue with this charade just a little longer would buy her a bit more time.
Eventually he moved forward and pulled her close. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and wrapped his arms around her. “You are such a sweet thing, Elizabeth. Always thinking of others over yourself.” He held her there for a moment, and she could feel his heart beating against her chest. “I hope to have a daughter as wonderful as you someday. You care so much about him that you would complicate your own life to simplify his.”
“I just don’t want to hurt him. We can tell him soon, I promise.”
He smiled, clapped his hands together. “Right, then. I need to change out of this suit and put my slippers on. Why don’t you make a start on some dinner? There’s a lovely fresh bream I got from Old Man Cressa in the fridge.”
It was such a relief that James had agreed to play along, but it was hard to extinguish the disappointment caused by the absence of communication from Tom.
“I’ll freshen up and be down in just a minute.”
* * *
James closed the door
to the spare room that had so far become his own. He set his briefcase down on the bed and clicked the two buttons. The clasps popped open and he stood up, removed his tie and jacket, set them across the back of a chair by the window. The edge of the bed creaked as he sat, then turned the briefcase so that he could see inside. Facing him was a small white envelope, the letters on the front spelling Elizabeth in simple printed handwriting. It smelled of the sea. He tapped the edge against the case notes from the day’s patients. He had to know what he was up against, so he used his finger to tear it open.
On the one hand he had no idea how he could continue lying to Elizabeth. He felt sick every time she questioned him, especially since he had read of the truth she had written to Tom that morning. Dizziness had consumed him to the point of near fainting when she asked him whether Tom had written to her, knowing her lover’s letter was right there in his bag alongside the one she had written to him, which he had failed to deliver. It had seemed such a good idea to tell her that he would deliver a letter on her behalf, but it was harder than he thought to lie to the woman he loved. Of course, he had never intended to send anything but had hoped the idea of communication with Tom would be the end of it. When no response came, he had been sure she would tire, her affections reverting to him. He couldn’t have positioned himself any better for it. But now there was a baby. He glanced down at the small white envelope and told himself that he really should give it to her. To let her go was the only kind thing, if that was what she wanted. But he couldn’t do it. He wanted her for himself. He had so much more to offer that it simply wasn’t fair to let her make such a terrible mistake. Not fair to anybody.
Elizabeth would always be the girl who’d fooled around with the local boy, he the fool who married her regardless, but if nobody knew, then it was almost as if it had never happened. The truth was only the truth once it was known. Why should he let her throw her life away for a boy who could give her nothing, when he could give her everything? Surely he would make a much better father than Tom. If he could just hold on a little bit longer, he knew he could convince her of the right way forward. All he had to do was keep her away from Tom once he returned from Wolf Rock. Or find a way to ensure that he never returned. Either suited James just fine.
Little Wishes Page 22
