The room quieted for a minute, then finally, Arne blurted out. “Don’t want to pry, but I know the history of this place, Miss Forester, and wonder if that’s the actual reason behind your visit?”
“Besides you?” she grinned, thoroughly enjoying the man’s company. “But yes, I must confess my mother’s death at this site finally dragged me here – to settle the ghosts, you could say.”
“Now I’d surely welcome that,” he said, laughing. “Never usually tell folks about the visitations. We don’t want anyone to think us crazy over here. It’s not like floating spooks or anything, just a sad feeling that sits in the air heavy-like. Might be a blessing to dig up the skeletons so life in our world, and the next, can find some peace.”
“Would you give us a tour?” asked Troy.
Arne was on his feet. “Not too much to see. This big interior space is where we do most of our living. Got four bedrooms, two on each side that runs the width of the house along the exterior walls. That door over yonder leads to mine. I’ll show you the room next to it – it’s cleaner.”
It was a large room with two beds, a wardrobe, and a dresser in the middle that served as a night table. Bethany could picture a pair of little blonde boys sleeping here – after he snagged that girl he couldn’t live without. Turning to leave, she caught sight of the only picture hanging on the wall. She walked closer and stared.
“Do you know the fella?” asked Arne.
“No – but he looks familiar.” Bethany glanced at Troy and added. “I believe I’ve seen a younger version of him in a photo recently.”
Troy lifted his brow when he saw her wink. “Who is it, Arne?”
“He’s a has-been. He’d already left when I arrived; never had the pleasure of an introduction. The rumor was he couldn’t take the pressure folks expected, keeping sailors safe while traveling in the bay area. Sounded fishy to me. As keepers of the light, we do what we can, but every good sailor knows the waters are unpredictable. Heard he built a log cabin somewhere in the forest around Puffin Point and likes the life of a hermit.”
“Do you recall his name?” asked Bethany.
“Should be in the files somewhere.” Arne left the bedroom and went to the far corner of the front window where a desk sat. He opened the bottom drawer, and a moment later withdrew a file. “The board requires us to leave a folder of what goes on at the lighthouse to help the new guy settle in. Mine’s fairly thin – not much goes on that needs documented.” He scanned the page. “Looks like your Christopher Bascall felt the same way. His file is a might slim too.”
Bethany’s heart pounded. The name on the back of her mother’s photo started with C and ended with R. Could this be the man? “Can I see the file?”
“Not sure that’s proper, but since you’re keeping company with the law, can’t see no harm.” He passed the file to Bethany, and her hands shook as she grasped it. At the table, she examined the few papers of hand-written material the man had left.
“It appears he terminated his service as keeper of the light in the spring of 1858 – twelve years ago.” Her heart plummeted. The picture in the room depicted him as a middle-aged man, and when her finger landed on his birth date, she groaned. 1810! He could not possibly be her mother’s secret friend. He’d have been forty-eight-years-old: Far too old to attract a young woman.
“That was the spring following your mother’s death,” Troy said. “The man could know something.”
Bethany’s spirit lifted. “You’re right. But how do we find him? If a man wants to get lost in the Tillamook forests, we’ll never find him.”
“Let me ask at work tomorrow. We keep old case files in the storage room.”
“If I recall the gossip, it was over with little to do,” said Arne. “Come to think of it, that could point to a coverup. Or a lazy lawman who couldn’t care less about the life of a crazy woman.” He looked at Bethany. “Sorry, Miss. Just repeating what I heard.”
“Why would you leave his picture hanging in there after all these years?” Bethany asked.
“Well, I tried to take it down once but someone had put his fist through the wall behind it. The portrait conveniently covers the damage, so I left it – figured the photo was better than the hole. Don’t use the room anyway.” He chuckled. “Guess that makes me a bit of a lazy lighthouse keeper.”
“Shall we continue with the tour?” Bethany asked.
The stairs were steep and only wide enough for one person. She led the way and moved to the side to allow the men to join her. The second floor opened into one large room, with shelves and equipment littering the space.
“Sorry about the mess. No one ever comes up here, so I just throw stuff here and there.”
“Well, you best clean it up, mate. The next female up here might be the real deal, and what will she think?”
“You have a good point, Troy.”
“We’ll come and help if you like,” Bethany said and looked at Troy nervously. “At least I can, not sure about the good Deputy.”
“Why would you want to do that, Miss Forester?” asked Arne.
She went with the truth. “Perhaps I might find a clue, even after all these years, that will help me understand what happened that fatal day.”
“It was a long time ago,” said Troy.
“Begging your pardon, gentlemen, but this room shows many years of neglect.”
“You’re welcome anytime. If it means getting rid of that little ghostly-gal that visits now and then, I’m in. Not that she’s a nuisance, just makes me feel gloomy. Like I said – don’t tell anyone you think Arne Svensson is not in his right mind, you hear?”
“I hear. Your secret is safe with us,” said Bethany.
“If it makes you feel better, Bethany and I have decided this adventure is all in God’s perfect timing. And we’ll be the first to admit there may not be a valid case at all – but if someone missed a detail or we can bring closure for Bethany, then it will be worth it. And rest easy with the spirit-thing, Arne. We give all the credit to the Holy Spirit as the presence who leads us.”
“I like that theory. Let’s go to the top. It’s sunny and calm today. The view should be spectacular.”
As they mounted the final steps that led to the balcony surrounding the light atop the house, Bethany took a deep breath and braved to enter the place where her mother had last walked. She moved to the front to get her bearings. She could see the peaceful small town of Spruce Hill in the distance. The first buildings constructed in the town spread out as if built on the spur of the moment with no ground plans to bring it into line. Many businesses crowded the main road. On the east side stood a church, café, the hotel and a general goods store where you could find most essentials and post a letter at the same time. And on the west side, stood the Sheriff’s office, jailhouse, smithy, and saloon. They faced one another, most having an upper floor to house the owners. Positioned not too far behind the church stood the Quinn Orphanage, a mission that ruffled the feathers of the rowdier members of the community. Suppose there would always be the few who cared less if discarded children lived or died. Construction was underway in Spruce Hill, creating additional roads to accommodate the new business ventures settling in on the bay.
Bethany’s eyes searched out the Forester Mill, quietly resting from operation on the Lord’s Day. Her family’s business provided a lot of the wood to grow the town, and it excited her to be part of something moving forward. Houses of every size speckled the countryside and scattered the community down dirt side roads shooting out from the center of town. Contractors and owners alike constructed homes out of roughly hewn logs, second-rate bark boards, or clean-cut uniform boards. Most unwed loggers stayed in the bunkhouses at the camps and only visited Spruce Hill for special events, to stock up on supplies, or waste their hard-earned money at the house of ill-repute, gambling, drinking and entertaining ladies of the night.
At the far end of First Street, Bethany saw her home and realized her mother had viewed this same scen
e, yet still jumped to her death. The loose stitches holding Bethany’s heart intact tore open. She was unable to comprehend how a mother could stare at the yard where her child played and waited for her return, and still go through with such a devastating act. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she sensed Troy move in behind her. He gently pulled the sweater tighter around her allowing his hands to linger on her shoulders.
“It’s chilly up here, Bethany. Are you sure you want to stay?”
She leaned against him for support and nodded yes. When Bethany grew restless, his hands slid down until they grasped her hands tightly. They strolled around the perimeter, halting when the full view of the bay loomed before them. Bethany leaned against the rail barrier. His arm wrapped around her and she allowed her head to lie back against his muscular chest.
This was the spot. Bethany gazed straight ahead at the whitecaps in the distance before slowly lowering her lids to focus closer to shore. Twenty feet to the bottom floor of the lighthouse and another twelve to the water. She observed the tips of sharp rocks protruding from the black depths and realized this piercing fate would occur long before one lost the battle against the turbulent swells. Bethany wondered for the hundredth time why her mother would choose such a brutal way to die.
Chapter 5
Courting
Monday, Bethany shuffled through her piles of paperwork with little enthusiasm. Her mind would not focus and kept wandering off to rehash the visit at Lookout Rock. She’d dealt with her lifetime fear of confronting her mother’s death site but came up empty in finding answers to questions concerning the tall dark stranger in her mother’s photograph. Now, Bethany relied totally on Troy to search the old files in the back room of the Sheriff’s office with hopes of finding a loophole in her mother’s case. So far, they’d keep the investigation secret. Her father mustn’t hear of her nosing around. Anger and distrust would singe the truth, and she had no desire to cause him additional pain in the chance that his wife enjoyed a fling on the side.
Bethany gasped and fell back into her chair when another thought hit her. Simone Forester was pregnant with her in the picture. She’d loved another man. Could it possibly mean Henry Forester was not her birth father? The mere idea caused her to pace the floor. She jumped at the voice behind her and whirled to see her boss and father standing in the doorway.
“Is this what I pay you to do?”
She stammered for words. “Papa, I thought you went to lunch with the boys.”
“That was an hour ago. Did you choose to wear out the floor during your lunch break?”
“I’ve not eaten yet.” She blurted the first excuse that came to mind. “Just trying to figure out whether we should ship to the Harvey’s or the Jacob’s first. They both want the same cuts, but Stan Jacob is hoping to build his cabin for his new bride.”
“Who ordered first?”
“You’re far too level-headed. Do you not have a heart for young romance?” She gulped the last two words as it came unbearably close to what really bothered her.
“This is business, Bethany. Treat it that way.” He walked inside. “You could get the whip out and move the mill operators along if that’s more your style.”
She pounded lightly on his shoulder and moved back behind her desk. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Just wanted to talk. Noticed you went for a long walk with our esteemed Troy Spencer yesterday afternoon. Do I detect a sudden interest in the lad?”
Bethany blushed. “It’s not sudden at all, Papa. If you stayed home more often, you’d know he took me to the dance back in February and sat with me at a couple of church events. He may even help me at the Quinn Orphanage with the children.” That was an exaggeration, for the idea had completely slipped her mind yesterday. She’d have to remember to speak to him about it when he called around.
“You should let the ones who established the shack do the babysitting for that bunch of riff-raff.”
“Papa!” Bethany squealed. “Surely you don’t mean that. Their homeless state is the fault of the parents who abandoned them, not the children.” She’d never heard such a lack of sympathy for the destitute children. “In fact, if I owned this mill, I’d build them a nicer home to make their ministry easier.”
“Aha, so now it’s a ministry and my responsibility to fund it? Daughter, you will put us in the poorhouse with that tender heart.”
“Suffer the little children to come unto me. Is that not written in the Good Book?”
Henry cleared his throat. She’d cornered him again, and the frown on his face showed he did not like it one bit.
“I’ll not be having you speak to me in such a manner. I am the head of our home and this business. No woman will ever treat me so deviously again.”
Was he still talking about her? No doubt that conversation had backfired. Perhaps she was getting too mouthy for her own good. Or perhaps it was just Papa who loved to control his women? She wondered about the marriage between Henry and Simone Forester. She could recall nothing from her childhood that would speak of happiness or discontent in the home. Not until the final day when it all went downhill.
Troy chose that moment to pop his head in Bethany’s office. “Ready for lunch?” When he noticed Henry, he came inside. “Afternoon, sir. I hope you don’t mind me taking your daughter on a picnic. Ma packed us a lunch this morning.”
“I’d have liked it better if you’d asked me first, young man. What are your intentions with my girl?”
Bethany sipped on a glass of water and nearly choked when Troy, never missing a beat, announced, “I’d like to court your daughter, sir.”
Henry turned toward Bethany and raised an eyebrow. “Does that arrangement suit you?”
Bethany regained control of her dropped jaw and spoke. “I suppose it does.”
“Supposing don’t cut it, woman. You either like the gent or not.”
“I like him, Papa.”
“Well then, you have my permission, young man. It’s high time she had another man to nag.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Get her off my back.”
“I heard that, Papa.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Troy Spencer. It’s a hard-headed independent woman you’re taking on.”
“Yes, sir. I think I like them that way.”
Henry grimaced. “That’s because you haven’t lived with one yet.” He stalked to the door. “Enjoy your lunch. And I’ll see you back behind your desk in one hour, Miss Forester.”
Troy whistled after the door slammed. “So formal? Are you two having a spat?”
“No more than usual. But, what of your grand announcement to my father? He will hold you to it, you know?”
“When I first spouted it, I figured it would give us free rein to investigate this case together without shaking the gossip vine.” When she attempted to speak, he held up his hand. “But, after I said it, my heart jumped in my chest and shouted, good job, boy; you finally asked.”
“You mean you want to court me?”
“Is that so unthinkable? It’s not like we haven’t coupled up before now for dancing and strolls about town. You said you liked me back then,” said Troy.
“I like you a lot, Troy. I just didn’t expect the status of my life to change in the blinking of an eye.”
“There’s no rush,” said Troy. “We’ll get better acquainted this summer while playing detective. Let’s see what the fall brings in the romance department.”
“How can a girl refuse such a gracious offer?”
“We best hightail it out of here,” Troy said. “Already wasted five of the precious minutes your father gave us.”
Troy and Bethany headed for the meadow close by the river and just beyond the trees that bordered the mill. She waved at men guiding logs into the holding pond to help fill the many orders littering her desk.
She sighed aloud, and Troy said, “The work never stops, I see.”
“Never, but the mill is grateful for the hardworking loggers who provide the
wood to help build our community. We are finally coming out of the dark ages.”
Troy laughed as he pulled a blanket from within his bag and stretched it on the ground. He winked when he noticed her questioning stance. “Ma thought of everything.”
“You must tell her thank you for me. I appreciate that she’s looking after her son’s best interests.”
“That about sums it up. You are definitely the most interesting person in my life right now, and I’m delighted to keep company with you.”
Bethany snooped in the basket. “Fried chicken, cabbage salad, and a piece of cake. Is that lemon – my favorite?”
Troy laughed. “At least it’s not chocolate, but probably sliced just as thick as yesterdays.”
After a short prayer of thanksgiving, Troy passed her a napkin. “I suppose you’re biting-at-the-bit to know if I found anything?”
“I can wait until after you’ve eaten.”
“I doubt that, my apprentice detective,” said Troy. “I read through all the documents and examined every piece of evidence filed in the box. It was an open and shut case. Only took old Sheriff Baker one week to investigate and bring it to court, and one week more for the traveling judge to pronounce his verdict – death by suicide. They both signed off on the case, then stored the box.”
“Is it always that fast? Was there no one there to speak on behalf of my mother’s sanity?”
“Old Doc Jenson stated in the hearing that he hadn’t seen the woman since she gave birth five years earlier. Figured she was healthy and happy since she had no need for a doctor. His remarks neither helped nor hindered the case for insanity.”
“Maybe we can talk to him,” Bethany suggested.
“Jenson’s not practicing medicine anymore. Not even sure the man had any schooling in medicine, just sort of stepped in to fill a need. Good thing we have a healthy community. But talking to him? I don’t know.”
“Old Doc Jenson still lives in town, right? Won’t hurt to hear what he remembers,” said Bethany.
A Liberating Love (Keepers of the Light Book 3) Page 4
