Undaunted Hope

by Jody Hedlund

  “He’s a tyrant and a bully.” Tessa shook her head. “He intimidates everyone around him in order to get what he wants.”

  “No one else has come forward to complain.”

  “That’s because they’re all scared to death of what he’ll do to them once you leave.”

  Mr. Cole’s kind eyes crinkled at the edges with age. Even so, he was still a handsome man with the kind of looks that had probably once turned the heads of many a woman. “I don’t wish to disregard your concerns, Miss Taylor,” he said with a glance at the bruise on her cheek. “So before I leave Eagle Harbor, I’ll interview a number of people to validate your concerns.”

  “No,” she said quickly, her lungs constricting in fear for her friends. “If you talk to anyone else about this, Mr. Updegraff will find out who spoke against him and then punish them for it.” She’d already caused enough trouble, and she wouldn’t be able to bear knowing anyone else was suffering on account of her meddling.

  Mr. Cole cleared his throat. “Perhaps I can speak to the residents discreetly then.”

  “Nothing happens in Eagle Harbor that Percival Updegraff doesn’t eventually learn about.” She had no doubt he’d learn about this secret meeting with Mr. Cole too. But it didn’t matter. She’d soon be gone, and he wouldn’t be able to hurt her anymore. At least she hoped that was the case.

  “If you don’t allow me to question anyone, Miss Taylor, then how am I to investigate the matter any further?”

  “Speak with the lightkeepers,” she said. “They’ll confirm everything I’ve just said.”

  “I hardly think I can trust the word of two criminals.”

  “They’re not guilty, Mr. Cole.” She leaned forward in the chair. “No matter what Mr. Updegraff has told you, they didn’t start that fire.”

  “Then I suppose you have facts to refute Mr. Updegraff’s?”

  Percival had already presented his side of the story to Mr. Cole, and with all the evidence piled against Alex and Michael, what could she possibly say to defend them? They had no alibis. Alex had been caught coming out of the burning warehouse. Now apparently an oilcan from the lighthouse had been found among the charred remains of the building.

  “I don’t have any proof,” she said. “I just know both men wouldn’t ever do such a thing.”

  Mr. Cole pushed back from the desk and stood. “I’m sorry, Miss Taylor. Without any proof, I really must agree with Mr. Updegraff. The men must be brought to Detroit to stand trial.”

  She knew that was her signal saying she needed to leave. He’d graciously given her his time and was now dismissing her. But she couldn’t make herself stand. Her body was stuck to the chair as surely as frost to a window.

  “I need something more than just your word to go on,” he continued more gently. “Otherwise my hands are tied.” Something in his eyes and tone told her that he also knew about her past, that Percival had made sure to defame her in order to undermine her trustworthiness. How could she blame Mr. Cole for not believing her, not when she had a tainted reputation already?

  A rush of bitterness cut off her words. She didn’t know how to respond without sounding angry or without breaking down and crying and pleading. She’d tried so hard to bring life to the community here, to make changes, to help the people, but in the end her past mistakes had once again been her downfall.

  He walked toward the office door and opened it.

  Dignity, she told herself, fighting the urge to fall on her knees and beg him to listen to reason. Leave with dignity. Slowly, almost painfully, she peeled herself from the chair and rose. She tried to hold her chin high as she crossed to the door.

  When she entered the hallway, Mr. Cole spoke one last time behind her. “If you’d like, I can write a letter of recommendation that you can take with you to secure a new teaching position elsewhere.”

  You can take your recommendation and toss it in the lake, she was tempted to tell him. Instead she swallowed down the bitterness and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Cole. I would greatly appreciate such a gesture.”

  She’d have need of it to secure another job. She had Ingrid and Gunnar to think about and take care of until she could make arrangements to send them to their grandmother.

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Cole said again. “I wish I could have been of more help.”

  She didn’t blame Mr. Cole. She was the one who’d failed, utterly and miserably. Somehow she had not only let down Alex and Michael, but she also failed the entire community she’d grown to love.

  Chapter 25

  It was over. She was leaving Eagle Harbor with as much shame as she’d left every other place she’d lived.

  Tessa stood near the dock and gripped her emerald skirt, the same one she’d worn the day she arrived here. It was no longer as crisp and sharp. After the long winter, the hem had begun to fray, some of the ruffles had loosened, and the brightness had faded.

  It was only fitting that her outward apparel matched the tattered condition of her heart. After the past three days of packing and saying good-bye to as many of her friends and students as she dared, her heart—or what was left of it—was indeed in shambles.

  The shouts of deckhands and the cries of sea gulls rose above the slapping of waves against the Illinois. Her trunks and bags sat on the rocky shore next to crates containing all the worldly possessions that belonged to Michael and Alex. Ingrid and Gunnar stood next to her, watching the crew load the Coles’ trunks. The men would load theirs next.

  Tessa glanced to the lighthouse on the bluff that overlooked the harbor, and a pang of guilt resounded in her chest. When she first arrived, she’d refused to acknowledge the lighthouse or go anywhere near the brick tower and keeper’s dwelling. How was it that over the past three weeks she’d become the acting keeper, operating the light and growing more accustomed to being in the tower? Nevertheless, she’d slowly begun to shed the bitterness and the fear that once consumed her. Although she was ready to leave the lighthouse and never look back, she hadn’t expected to feel remorse.

  “It’s not my responsibility,” she muttered under her breath. “It never was.”

  Both the children and the dogs turned to look at her, eyes full of questions, just as they had been all week since she told them they were leaving Eagle Harbor on the same steamer that would transport Michael and Alex to Detroit.

  “Are you sure about this?” Gunnar asked, holding Tessa’s orange carpetbag that contained all the things they’d need during the four-day voyage.

  “I’m the only one who can help your father and uncle,” she said again. “First, I need to find them a good lawyer. Then I’ll seek out my sister’s friend, Esther Deluth. Her father is a state senator and might be able to intervene.”

  But who would take care of the lighthouse, if not her? Gunnar didn’t ask the question aloud, but it was in his eyes every day, every minute. The question also burned on the note Alex had penned to her earlier that morning. He and Michael had asked her to stay with the children and watch over the lighthouse until a replacement keeper could be found.

  The glass windows glinted in the sunshine, winking at her, as though beckoning her to return. She shook her head and shoved aside the guilt. The lighthouse wasn’t her concern anymore. She’d done her duty, she’d faced her fears, and now it was time for her to move on. Hopefully the inspector and Lighthouse Board would find a replacement soon. She’d sent a letter on yesterday’s steamer and prayed it would reach the inspector before she did.

  Victoria Cole and her father were making their way toward the docks with Percival by their side. It was payday for the miners and so the mine was closed. But instead of the Cornish wrestling match that everyone had been looking forward to—the first of the spring—the miners lingered along the waterfront to watch the departure. A somberness replaced the usual festivities. Tessa guessed they were curious to see the mine owner and his daughter, as well as interested in seeing the Bjorklund brothers being taken away in chains.

  “Have you seen Jo
sie or Nadine?” she asked the children as she glanced at the driftwood cross she’d placed on top of the closest trunk. She’d wanted to say good-bye to the Rawlings family one last time, had hoped Josie would sneak down to the docks to see her off. But so far Tessa hadn’t seen her anywhere.

  The last time Josie had come to deliver food, yesterday morning, she’d been neatly dressed, her face scrubbed clean, and her hair brushed into a mature knot. She’d told Tessa that Hannah had gained permission to reopen the school for the young children and had asked Josie to assist her.

  “I told her I would,” Josie had said shyly.

  Tessa praised Josie for the decision. Secretly she prayed the work would help Josie just as much as it would the children. Tessa had decided she would give Josie her cross. It was time to pass it on to someone else, and who better than Josie to be given a beacon of hope in this hopeless place?

  As Mr. Cole and Victoria came closer, Ingrid shrank into Tessa’s skirt. Ingrid’s face was pale, her body not much more than skin and bones. Though they’d had enough food to survive, it hadn’t been nearly enough for the children.

  Tessa was grateful to have found a stash of money in a small wooden chest on top of the sideboard in the kitchen when she was packing. She suspected it was the money Michael and Alex had been saving for Ingrid’s surgery. The greater need at the moment, however, was to use the money to pay for passage on the steamer and also to hire a lawyer. As much as she wanted Ingrid to be able to walk and run normally, she wanted the girl to have her daddy and uncle back more.

  Ingrid had braved the past few weeks without too many tears, yet each day the men remained in jail had taken its toll on her. Her sparkle and zest for life had slowly begun to ooze out of her, with fear and sadness creeping in and taking up residence in its stead. The girl burrowed against Tessa as the Coles approached.

  Victoria Cole walked arm in arm with her father. Once again she wore a beautiful matching skirt and bodice of dazzling magenta that made her stand out in the dull landscape like a ruby in an ash heap.

  “Good morning, Miss Taylor,” Victoria said, pulling her father to a stop in front of Tessa and the children. “Am I to have the pleasure of your company during the remainder of the voyage?”

  “Yes, I understand you’re cutting short your trip around the lakes and will be returning to Detroit.”

  Victoria cast a glance at her father, who was speaking with Percival, and with a conspiratorial smile she leaned toward Tessa. “He misses my mother terribly. He can’t bear to be apart from her any longer. Lucky for me, he’s decided to postpone the remainder of the trip.”

  “Then you’re headed back to New York?”

  Victoria shook her head. “My mother is visiting with her father. He’s a lightkeeper on Lake Erie near Toledo.”

  Victoria Cole’s grandfather was a lightkeeper? Tessa never would have guessed it, not of a young lady as wealthy as she. “My sister is a keeper at a lighthouse north of Toledo. Which light does your grandfather operate?”

  The young girl shrugged. “He’s been a keeper for so long and moved around so many times that I can’t keep track. My mother is always pleading with him to retire and come live with us in New York. But he’s too stubborn to give up his seafaring ways.” Victoria’s attention moved on to Ingrid and Gunnar. “And who are these children, Miss Taylor?”

  Before Tessa could reply, Mr. Cole drew in a sharp breath, then stepped forward and grabbed the driftwood cross off the trunk. His eyes widened and his face drained of color. He turned the cross over in his hands, examining it as if he were seeing a ghost.

  “What is it, Father?” Victoria asked.

  Thankfully, Percival had finished his conversation with Mr. Cole and was heading back toward town. Tessa decided she’d be happy if she never had to speak to Percival ever again.

  Mr. Cole studied the cross carefully before turning to Tessa. “Is this yours?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Where did you get it?”

  It really was none of Mr. Cole’s business where or how she’d gotten the cross, and she wanted to tell him that. But something in his stare was so intense that it caused a shiver to travel up her backbone.

  “Did it come with a letter?” he asked.

  It was Tessa’s turn to be surprised. “How did you know?” She pressed her hand against the letter tucked in her pocket. She’d planned to give it to Josie along with the cross, just as the instructions in the letter indicated.

  “May I see it?”

  Slowly she pulled out the letter and handed it to him.

  He unfolded the yellowed paper with shaking fingers. At the sight of the faded ink, he gasped and took a quick step backward as though struck.

  “Father?” Victoria’s delicate features creased with worry, and she put a steadying hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

  Mr. Cole didn’t say anything. Instead his eyes moved from line to line as he read the letter.

  “Father?” Victoria persisted.

  He lifted his eyes to his daughter’s, and Tessa was surprised to see them welling with tears. He handed her back the letter and pointed to the signature at the bottom of the page.

  “Isabelle Thornton?” Victoria’s voice rose in confusion. “Did Mother write this letter?”

  Mr. Cole simply nodded, a stunned look on his face.

  Victoria skimmed the page before turning to Tessa with a frown. “How is it that you have possession of one of my mother’s letters?”

  “Your mother is Isabelle Thornton?” Tessa asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

  “Not anymore,” Victoria said. “She’s now Isabelle Cole. But she was once Isabelle Thornton, daughter of the lightkeeper, Stephen Thornton. And this is her handwriting.”

  Tessa’s knees grew weak as she stared at the faded letter and the cross Mr. Cole clutched in his hands. “Your mother wrote the letter?”

  Victoria looked to her father and raised her brows, waiting for his explanation. She was obviously as confused as Tessa, perhaps more so.

  Mr. Cole again turned the cross over in his hands, running his fingers along the dark coarse wood. “Isabelle wrote the letter . . . and I made this cross.”

  Tessa sucked in a breath, too shocked to speak.

  “I made it seventeen years ago,” Mr. Cole said softly, “when I was shipwrecked at the Presque Isle Lighthouse on Lake Huron.”

  “That’s where you met and married Mother,” Victoria said.

  Mr. Cole nodded. “I fashioned the cross out of pieces of the ship as a reminder never to give up hope.”

  They all stood in silence, staring at the cross that had somehow made it through the passing of time and distance to intersect with them at that exact moment. The mystery of it overwhelmed Tessa.

  “Miss Taylor! Miss Taylor!” A childlike voice called to Tessa from the rocky beach, jarring the beauty of the moment.

  She glanced up to see Samuel, red-faced and breathless, waddling at top speed behind a group of miners who surrounded Alex and Michael as they came down the beach.

  At the sight of Alex’s hatless blond head, her heartbeat slammed against her breastbone with a pain that almost sent her to her knees.

  Percival led the entourage, with the miners enclosing Alex and Michael. They moved slowly, and after a moment she could see why. Alex and another man, Mr. Rawlings, were carrying Michael.

  Tessa started forward, forgetting that Ingrid was attached to her skirt. “Alex!” she shouted, straining toward him as desperation erupted within her. She needed to see him, needed to hear him, to be with him even if only for a few seconds to reassure herself that he was alive and well.

  At the sound of his name, he straightened and raised his head above the crowd. His blue eyes met hers, and they lit up at the sight of her. His face was thin and pale after the days of hunger and captivity. His hair was unkempt and he had the beginnings of a beard, but he’d never looked more handsome to her than at that very moment.

  Tears spr
ang to her eyes. She wanted to call out to him that she loved him, that she’d do everything she could to save him.

  “Daddy!” Ingrid cried. Her gaunt face creased with the need for her father.

  Michael lifted his head and strained to see in their direction.

  Ingrid called his name again and would have run forward, except that Tessa caught her and held her close. This was neither the time nor place for a reunion with her father. Once they were aboard the ship, she would speak to Mr. Cole about arranging visitation with the prisoners. Surely he wouldn’t prevent them from seeing the men.

  “Miss Taylor,” Samuel said, stumbling over the rocky shore in his haste. His rounded eyes flashed with the need to reach her.

  Tessa had the urge to hide. She wasn’t in the mood to reason with Samuel, not with her being forced to leave Eagle Harbor, not when she had to witness Alex and Michael being treated like common criminals, not when Ingrid was falling apart at the sight of her daddy whom she loved and missed.

  Samuel broke from the group and made his way toward her as fast as his short legs would carry him. She strained for another sight of Alex, but once again he’d been swallowed by the crowd.

  “Miss Taylor,” Samuel said, his voice ringing with distress. Sweat rolled down his forehead and cheeks, and his breath came in gulps.

  “Calm down, Samuel, and tell me what’s wrong,” she said as Ingrid buried back into her skirt, sobbing now. Tessa hugged the girl closer, wishing she had the forthrightness to send Samuel away so that she could comfort Ingrid in private.

  “Aren’t you my friend?” Samuel asked her.

  “Of course I am, Samuel,” she reassured while smoothing Ingrid’s hair and patting her back. “You’re one of my favorite friends.”

  She’d hoped her comment would placate him, but it only seemed to agitate him all the more. He studied the bags and trunks behind her and wrung his hands. “If you’re my friend, then why are you leaving me?”