Despite her misery, Lisbeth smiled. Frannie might have a mad look in her eye now, but she would at some point in the future look back on these days as her happiest.
“What is it?” she asked obligingly.
But Frannie, ever the good friend beneath her distraction, looked Lisbeth in the face. “First, tell me what’s amiss with you? You haven’t slept.”
No more had she. After Rab left, Lisbeth had struggled between anger and uncertainty. She still wanted him so much it shocked her, and she feared he would not return.
Indeed, he had not put in an appearance before she left—not even to the forge. She wondered half frantically if her desire had ruined their long friendship.
What had possessed her, tossing away her modesty like that, thrusting her hands into his trousers and wrapping her fingers around him? She had never once behaved that way with Declan.
Declan. She had to discover whether she was, in truth, his widow, if only for the sake of her sanity.
“I had a bad night. Can we talk?”
“Of course.” Frannie visibly thrust her own concerns aside. “I’ll make tea.”
She placed Bess in the highchair Ed had built when Eddie was born, now much scarred.
“Eddie, for mercy’s sake go and play with your wooden soldiers. There’s a good boy.”
Wondrously, Eddie did. The kitchen, replete with piled dishes and sticky floor, settled into as much peace and quiet as it ever attained.
Lisbeth sat at the table. Now that she had a chance to speak, she didn’t know quite what to say even though she usually shared her troubles, hopes, and dreams with Frannie. Frannie had been the first she told when Declan asked Lisbeth to marry him—or more precisely when he offered her marriage.
I’d be willing to wed you, Lisbeth, if you want. I know you, and I expect it’s the only way I’ll be after getting you to the bed.
She compared those words with the ones Rab had spoken last night, delivered in a voice hoarse with longing. I want to wed you, Lisbeth. All his heart had lain in those words, and Rab Sinclair’s heart beat strong and true.
“What is it?” Frannie asked again. “What’s happened?”
How much could she confide in Frannie, after all? Nothing about what had happened last night; that must stay between her and Rab. But Frannie knew so much about how things had been with Declan—the times he had worried her, failed to come home, disregarded her feelings. And all the while she had loved him.
Or had she? Had it in truth just been infatuation? For it seemed a pale shade compared to what she now felt for Rab.
She tangled her fingers together and said, “Frannie, I think I’ve fallen in love with Rab.”
“Really?” Frannie’s face lit. She sat down opposite Lisbeth, everything else forgotten. “But surely that’s a good thing. You’ve been widowed a year; there’s no reason you can’t start courting.”
“No.”
“No? But people all over town are talking about you, anyway—best to make it official. Have you told Rab? You know, I suspect he’s been a little bit in love with you a long while. And he’s a fine catch. Emily Cooper’s been after him like mad.”
“Has she?” Just what Mignon had said, and Lisbeth didn’t like the way that made her feel.
“She’s always taking broken items to the blacksmith shop. I think she breaks them herself. But shouldn’t you look a whole lot happier than you do, if you’re in love?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is it, though?” Frannie studied Lisbeth with her soft, brown eyes. “If you love him and he loves you, the way I see it you could be wed by spring.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something? Declan.”
Frannie looked uneasy. “What about him? Oh, honey, you’re not harking back to that story you told about seeing him on the shore? That was imagination, surely, and the effects of the storm.”
“Was it? Frannie, I found his hat, held it in my hands.”
“You’ve been overwrought. Happen that hat was in the cottage for months and you only just noticed it. That place wasn’t healthy for you, but things are better now. And with Rab to look after you…”
“I don’t need anyone to look after me,” Lisbeth denied. Hadn’t she been the one looking after everything during her marriage to Declan? Though the idea of surrendering herself body and soul into Rab’s big hands, to his strength and care, left her breathless.
“It’s time for you to snatch some happiness,” Frannie declared.
“Rab and I—we quarreled last night. He went off and didn’t return this morning.”
“No wonder you didn’t sleep. I never do if Ed and I have quarreled. I always tell him he’s my peace of mind, which is a funny thing when he so often drives me to distraction. Listen to me; I’ve known Rab Sinclair since he arrived here in Lobster Cove. He’s not the sort to stay angry or hold a grudge.”
“This was no ordinary quarrel.”
“So tell him you’re sorry; he’ll be willing to forgive.”
“Maybe. But that’s not why I’m here. Will you do something for me?”
“If I can.”
“I want to go out to the cottage, but I don’t want to go alone. Do you suppose Ed’s mother would watch the children so you could go with me?”
“I don’t see why not. How about this afternoon? Only it looks like rain.”
The last thing Lisbeth wanted was to get caught up the shore in yet another storm. But she said, “I’d appreciate it. I promised Rab I wouldn’t go alone.” Or at all.
“Fine, then, I’ll speak to Ed’s ma and come by after lunch.”
Frannie got up to pour the tea. In the corner, Eddie giggled with Kelpie. Bess sucked on her fist.
“Thanks, Frannie. Now, what’s your news?”
Frannie paused and lifted the tea cup she held higher, affording Lisbeth a view of her silhouette. “See if you can guess. Only, in this loose gown, you probably can’t.” She set the cup in front of Lisbeth and lowered her voice. “I think I’m expecting—again.”
“Oh, my! That’s wonderful. But I thought you were determined to wait.”
“I was. It’s awfully soon after Bessie, but I swear, all that man has to do is look at me and I’m expecting.” Frannie giggled, sounding like Eddie. “Well, maybe he did more than look at me.”
Lisbeth glanced around the small kitchen, trying to imagine how another babe would fit. But she smiled, “Congratulations.”
“I honestly don’t know how I’ll ever manage. But a family’s always been my dream.”
“I know.” Lisbeth leaned her elbows on the table. “I suppose you are sure? It isn’t a false alarm?”
“As sure as I can be. I have all the signs: I’m hungry all the time, especially for sweets. I baked a cake yesterday and ate the whole thing myself. And my clothes are already getting tight. In fact, I was going to ask you to let out some of the seams if you can.”
Lisbeth stared at her friend as a light suddenly flared in her mind. “Hungry for sweets?” she repeated.
Frannie laughed. “You must remember how it was with these two.”
She chatted on, but for once in her life Lisbeth failed to listen.
It couldn’t be. Yet, in her heart, Lisbeth knew it was: Mignon’s high color, her penchant for sweet cakes, the expanded measurements for the new wardrobe… Lisbeth must have been a fool not to see.
Mignon carried someone’s child.
But whose?
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Storm brewin’,” Marv Chester said when he came to collect the shovel Rab had mended for him. “Big blow, if I’m not mistaken. Better get that lad home, Rab.”
Rab nodded, still trying to shake the discord that had haunted him since last night. He’d deliberately come to work late so he wouldn’t have to face Lisbeth over the breakfast table, or at all. She’d kept away from him all day, which he didn’t take as a good sign, and had failed to come into the shop, as she sometimes did, to offer him a drink.
And he ached with her absence, as with a raw wound. Now he nodded at Marv. Sweating even though he could feel how the temperature outside dropped, he looked at Dougie and said, “Right, lad. I’ll see you home.”
Dougie gave him a doubtful look. “Is anything wrong, Mr. Sinclair? Have I done something?”
“Nay, lad.” Rab ruffled the boy’s hair with unthinking affection. “You’ve done well this day. But if there is a blow coming, you need to get home safe.”
And he, Rab, needed to get back and speak with Lisbeth honestly. Was he the man to be put off by a measure of embarrassment? Or by his desire for her, which now seemed to have raged into an unquenchable fire?
“Shall I come back tomorrow, Mr. Sinclair?”
“I will be that disappointed if you do not, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Now, come.”
They banked the fire and left the shop, Rab resisting the need to check on Lisbeth before he went. She had been quiet all afternoon, sewing, no doubt. But Kelpie was with her, so Rab had no real cause to worry.
They went out into fitful weather, bits of spray striking them, rather than rain, beneath a lowering sky. The storm still hovered out above the sea and would no doubt come roaring up the coast all too soon.
Bent into the wind, they pushed, Rab with his arm about Dougie’s shoulders to steady and guide him. They saw almost no one out and about—just the fishermen down in the harbor, hurriedly trying to secure their boats.
Rab left Dougie with his mother and turned for home, noting as he drew near that no smoke issued from the back chimney. He frowned.
Passing through the warm forge into his quarters, he found them empty. The coals of a fire smoldered in the hearth, many hours untended.
His heart began to pound. Where were Lisbeth and Kelpie? Why had he failed to check before he went out?
Like a madman, he tore open the back door and looked out as if he expected to find them in the yard. Had she been so upset with him she’d fled? Where might she go? To Frannie? He prayed so, and that she had not gone up the shore.
Heedless now of the first driving drops of rain, he hurried down the street to the Beckers’, where he found Ed just arrived home and the children squalling.
Ed greeted him with a rueful smile. “What can I do for you, Rab? A bit noisy here, but step in.”
“I won’t, if you do no’ mind. I’m looking for Lisbeth. Is she here?”
“Lisbeth? No, why?”
Frannie stepped to the door with wee Bessie in her arms. “Hello, Rab. Surely Lisbeth’s back at your place by now.”
“No one’s there.” He shook his head. “Neither she nor Kelpie.”
“Well, she took Kelpie with her, but she should be long back.”
Rab’s heart sank. “Back from where?” As if he did not know.
Frannie looked shamefaced. “She walked up to her cottage. She asked me to go with her, but Ed’s ma has toothache and couldn’t watch the children. Lisbeth promised she would just go to look for something and come right back. As I say, she took the dog.”
“Do you think something’s happened to her like before, when she collapsed?” Ed asked. “Rab, I’ll come along with you and help find her, if you like.”
“No, Ed; it’s going to be a big blow. Best stay here with your family.”
“Oh!” Frannie reached out and seized Rab’s arm. “I never should have let her go alone. Promise you’ll find her.”
“I will.”
He ran back down Maple Street toward the harbor. Before him, the storm rushed inland, black clouds boiling above the ink-blue water. He prayed he would see Lisbeth on her way back to him, a slender figure with hair blowing in the wind. If she came to him now, he would never let her go—marriage or not.
But he saw only Ron Arnold struggling to close his shed door.
“Have you seen Lisbeth O’Shea?” Rab called to him.
Ron shook his head and hurried into his house.
At the harborside, he met the full fury of the rain. It dashed into his face like fine gravel. He called out to the nearest of the fishermen, but his voice blew away on the wind. He clambered out onto the wharf.
“Have you seen Lisbeth O’Shea?” he bellowed.
The man shook his head, and Rab made his way to the next mooring.
Not until he asked the last two men, on their way back up after securing their boats, did he get a positive response.
“Lisbeth? Saw her some time ago on her way up the shore toward her cottage. Surely she’ll have sense enough to stay put there.”
Rab made a helpless gesture, and the man offered, “Need us to come along?”
“No—get on home. But thanks!”
“Had that great dog o’ yorn with her,” the second man contributed. “Best get up there if you’re goin’, before the worst of this hits.”
Rab nodded and pelted off, veering onto the coast track that led north along Frenchman Bay. The storm roared up the coast, and the wind, mostly behind him, seemed to lend him wings. He told himself he would find Lisbeth safe with a fire in her hearth and her door well closed against the weather.
He would tell her how he loved her and that he was willing to take her on any terms she chose. Only let her and Kelpie be safe!
****
The cottage held a deathly chill and damp when Lisbeth reached it, as if it had been empty much longer than a few days. How quickly a place lost its heart when the fire went out, she thought as she moved from room to room, looking for she knew not what.
When she came here as a bride, her dreams had been so bright. So what if the place seemed shabby, she’d thought—it was her task to make a home of it for her new husband. And how she had tried! She’d stitched pretty curtains for windows that leaked so badly for lack of putty the cold wind came in. She’d made a quilt for their bed and cooked meals out of almost nothing, for which Declan failed to show up time after time.
Now she knew why. She paused by the hearth to finger a china figurine that had been her mother’s—one of the only fine things in the room. Declan must have been out chasing other women even when they first wed.
When he had come home—late—from the sea as she thought, or perhaps from the tavern, it was with a rakish, confident smile and words that rarely failed to charm her.
Don’t be angry with me, darlin’—come give me a kiss, for I know you’re that glad to see me.
And she had been, always, glad to see him. She’d forgiven him his failures and small lapses, as she believed a good wife should. But she didn’t believe she could forgive him Timmy Grier.
She looked at Kelpie, who sat just inside the door, watching her unhappily. The dog didn’t want to come into the cottage, and Lisbeth couldn’t say she blamed him.
“I’ll be but a moment,” she promised. “We’ll get back ahead of the storm.”
And for what had she come looking? Proof that Declan was alive? Or dead? She needed to know one way or another if she wanted to keep her sanity, if she hoped to free herself and move on.
What would prove Declan hadn’t died on the White Gull? One thing she knew for certain—someone had been in this cottage since she’d left. An ineffable something told her so: things had been moved, not a lot but some. She knew her home, had lived here two years, remembered how she always placed her belongings. Now it felt as if someone’s fingers had been all over them. She could sense it—almost smell it.
The figurine on the mantel had been off center until she adjusted it. The dishes on the shelves of the cupboard were not as she had set them. She had left all the chairs tucked into the table and the cloth smooth; now one chair stood out and the cloth lay rumpled.
She glanced at the dog again; he returned her look uneasily.
“Has someone been here, boy? Can you tell?”
She stepped into the bedroom and her heart rose into her throat. For she could see at once someone had been lying on her bed. Like the tablecloth, she had left the cover smooth; now it looked mussed, dirty, and wet.
Superstitious horror traced a chill up her spine. All at once she had no doubt someone had been here in her absence. And she knew who.
Out in the other room, Kelpie growled. Like a woman in a dream, Lisbeth turned and walked from the bedroom, knowing already what she would see.
He filled the doorway: fisherman’s boots, oilskins, and bright orange hair. “Lisbeth,” he said.
“Hello, Declan.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Lisbeth.” Declan repeated her name, and she seized the back of a chair to keep from falling down. Kelpie growled again; the dog turned and backed into the room, putting himself between Lisbeth and Declan, who still stood in the doorway with the storm gathered behind him.
Back from the sea, come in storm as he had gone. Returned home. But Declan neither looked or sounded like himself.
Whatever else, Declan had always looked after his appearance. Now the red hair, long and ragged, made a wild, uncombed mop. His face appeared unnaturally pale—so pale Lisbeth could see all his freckles—and his eyes, that had always been so irresistibly full of life, looked vacant.
What became of a man who spent a year in the sea? Lisbeth shook herself mentally. That wasn’t where he had been. He was no more a ghost than she was, for Kelpie could see him and clearly didn’t like what he saw.
Lisbeth had rarely heard the big dog growl so much.
“What happened, Declan?” she asked softly. “Where have you been?”
“Looked for you.” He waved a yellow-clad arm in a wild swipe, and Kelpie backed another step. “Everywhere.”
Lisbeth blinked. Declan had never spoken so awkwardly, not since she’d known him. Even as a lad, Declan had possessed a silver tongue that did not stumble over one-word answers. Her heart began to slam in big, painful beats.
“I was here, if you wanted to find me. Where have you been living?”
The White Gull Page 12
