** We are ten days from the home I will never set eyes on again. It’s evening, and although the red sky suggests tomorrow will be a wonderful day to travel, my heart cannot become excited. The sway of the boat is nauseating and with every wave I feel I will vomit. Morning sickness plagues me all day long.
** A plan has taken root in my head and I wonder if I am brave enough to see it through. Ahead I see a beam of light, a warning for sailors to steer clear of the shoreline or guide them into safely into dock. I wonder if there is a safe harbor for a rebel child like myself. A life I can choose for myself. Nothing could be as grim as the future that awaits me at my Auntie’s shack.
** I set the plan in motion. The hired sailors who are to deliver me to my prison tower believe I’ve retired, and after they drink their fill of the liquid poison, they will collapse in bunks and snore the night away. Only a sparse night crew and one captain will steer the rudder through the waters in the midnight hours. But I will not be with them. The light from the shore beckons, and my escape or my death will be determined on the lower deck, port side.
** As I sit to pen my final farewell to the only life I’ve ever known, the child within flutters like a gentle ripple across my swollen belly. I gently rub the mound and the movement settles. I whisper; as if the walls had ears to stop my plan, I do this for you, little one. And if I find a measure of favor in the heart of the Creator of the night, perhaps He will keep us safe.
** I have written the note that will hopefully keep my father’s hounds off my trail. I document it in this book, which I will wrap carefully and place in a waterproof container. If I survive, the message will be a victory of sorts that I will cherish my entire life. It reads as follows:
General Augustus Charter
How I would have preferred addressing you tonight as Dearest Father, this one last time, but you have made the new margins of our relationship abundantly clear. I have shamed your name and find I cannot bear the humiliation and life of obscurity you have arranged for me. I refuse to stay locked in your prison as a life-penance for my sins and have chosen a simpler path. The water calls to me and I shall bury myself, and this unborn child, beneath its sheath of protection for all time. You may report whatever story suits your fancy, for society is no longer my concern.
Your dutiful daughter,
Simone.
I have placed the single sheet of paper into an envelope, appropriately stamped with the family seal, and propped against the lantern on my bedside table. The cloth bag I’ve prepared contains three of the simplest outfits in my wardrobe, my mother’s wedding dress, and a money purse – funds designated for Auntie. Now the cash will prove sufficient to start a new life somewhere beyond the swirling light just ahead. Glimpsing the luxury that I leave behind spurs me forward, with hopes of finding happiness with simpler folks.
** Somehow, I have survived the ordeal. Many a moment I felt I would not. For when the lighthouse spread its glow across the waters and the turbulent waters reached out to splash me in the face, I almost gave way to fear. The shoreline seemed so far away, and I prayed my years of swimming instruction would win the battle against the furious waves. And to my relief, after resting against a rock with edges sharp enough to slice me through, I managed to make it to shore. The only thing more miraculous than escaping a watery grave, was meeting the Bascall men. I will be forever grateful for their kindness to this dripping wet stranger pounding on the door in the middle of the night.
** Christopher stretched my wet belongings over furniture to dry and brought blankets to wrap myself in. There is another man here. He is young and very handsome, but I should not allow my mind to wander in that direction. Perhaps I house an enemy within that seeks to destroy me. I will not allow it victory in this chance at a new life. I will overcome. I watch the young man as I write. He has kind eyes that pierce me and I fear he can read my mind. But if he’s able, it does not turn him away. A warm fire is blazing, and I am tired from my swim but thankful these writings remained intact. A change in the wind’s direction and a prayer to the heavens pushed me through the waves and have brought me safely ashore.
** I’m afraid I lied to the men who risked their jobs to hide me in this place of refuge. They must not know of my background. I have decided this new world shall know me as a lone gypsy wanderer looking for a harbor of hope to call home. The Bascalls swallowed the lie and have agreed to watch out for me. God has sent me two guardian angels.
** I have been negligent to write while revealing to my protectors my true identity and the horror of my sins. I no longer feel comfortable living the lie and have told them from whence I came. They appear unaffected. Chris is teaching me how to garden, milk a cow, and cook an egg. It surprises him I know nothing of these jobs but does not push for answers I am reluctant to share. If I ever tell anyone my secrets, it will be this man for I believe I am falling hopelessly in love. To top it off, the man has taken kindly to the child that grows daily within. He asks no questions and has eagerly claimed the offspring as his responsibility. I marvel to watch a father grow before my eyes.
** I am beyond thrilled. Chris has professed his love for me and we walk as if in a cloud around this place they call Lookout Rock. He brings treasures home from the town store and we store them in a container upstairs. He says we will adorn our home with them after the baby is born and we unite in marriage. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my path would bring me here to my forever love. Today Chris brought a stranger to the lighthouse, and he took our photo. The weather outside is bleak, but the couple staring at each other in the photo are oblivious to their surroundings. We are in love.
** Something is wrong. I don’t feel the baby squirming inside my belly. Looking at Chris causes me confusion. For I know it would devastate him should anything happen to the child he’s claimed as his own. But the weakness is overtaking me and I fear I cannot hide the discomfort and pain much longer.
** It’s been a week and Chris has not returned. I cry for the dead baby mostly for his sake, but in truth I was growing accustomed to the idea of motherhood – when Chris was on board. But he’s gone now; I am childless and heartbroken. I thought our love could conquer anything, but I was wrong. His father says his Ma had a weak mind too and died when her son was eight-years-old. Can it be hereditary? In the circles back home, such a person would be silently whisked away and hidden from society. I just want him back.
** I must leave the security of the lighthouse. It’s been three months and Christopher Bascall has been more than gracious. No one from Texas has come asking after me. It’s safe to say they have forgotten me. I will keep the name I was born with for home is a long way off and chances of anyone I knew in my past life visiting this rough-and-tumble logging town is nil-to-none. I am uncertain how I will make a living but I will venture forth and let fate have its way.
** I misplaced my book and panicked but it showed up in a bottom drawer of a dresser at the boarding house – a fancy name for someone with a kind heart who refused to let me spend another night outdoors. I will forever be grateful to her. She introduced me to a grand gentleman from the camps. His dream is to expand his meager mill to the largest in Spruce Hill and even hinted that he may be on the lookout for a bride. I fear I am useless at most things and blame my pampered upbringing, but need to put down roots before my money runs out. Perhaps I shall turn the tables and pursue him, eagerly pressing him toward a proposal. If I’d stayed home, Father would have picked my husband, so it pleases me to think I have a choice in the matter to say yes or no – if you call starvation and an unfruitful existence a life. At least with a man, I can bear another child. My heart is ready to love.
** Today is my wedding day. Part of me is ecstatic while another part continues to scan the surrounding area hoping the mysterious Chris will come charging in and take me to live with him – wherever he disappeared to. But I must cast these feelings aside. Henry is a good man and treats me like a lady of worth. He has built me the finest home in Spruce Hil
l and is eager to bring me there tonight as his bride. I am nervous but this too shall pass.
** My joy knows no bounds. Old Doc Jenson has confirmed I am with child. Henry is excited but sometimes I wish his face would show it. He is a stately fellow, much like the man my father might have picked for me. Not so long ago, I realized with great sadness that I’d married my father’s double and that love wears many faces. I also found the picture the traveling photographer had taken of Chris and I standing at the door of the lighthouse. It would destroy Henry should he ever find it. So, I’ve hidden it in a safe place, and have told myself I must grieve his absence no longer. This child will unite the Foresters as family and is that not every woman’s dream?
** I met Christopher in Spruce Hill today. Still no news from his son, and I tried to act like I didn’t care, but I cannot fool my heart. He reminded me of the box of items Chris and I had saved to set up housekeeping, but I assured him it would not be appropriate for me to bring such items into Henry’s home. He is stubborn and swears the crate will be there when I want it – his son will not have need of it. He noticed I am great with child and formally congratulated me, but I witnessed the grieving shadows before he turned his face from me. I will not let despair drag me down. The Forester family will soon add one to its numbers, and this mother could not be happier.
** My baby girl was born in the upstairs bedroom a week ago today. I have not been myself; mixed feelings of perfect joy consumed with a sudden sadness is all part of a normal day. The doctor, who is little more than a glorified caregiver, says the darkness comes to some ladies and not to worry – it will go away. I pray it will soon for my heart has known too much grief already. The child brings me hope. I long for the day for when Bethany’s entire face smiles up at me; the one tiny dimple, huge inquisitive eyes, high cheekbones – she is perfect. She holds me wondrously captive, and I desire to be the best mother I can possibly be for her sake, and the baby who lived in heaven with the angels.
** Life is perfect. My daughter is strong willed and everything I’d hoped for. She will know her path in life and fight for it like a cougar protecting her young. Bethany will never settle for anything less than she deserves or desires. I pray the roads she travels in her lifetime will be smooth and bring her to complete joy and contentment. She adores her father, but I hide my amusement when she wraps her finger around his and in a flash the important businessman becomes mush, eager to do her bidding. I will take great pleasure in watching the woman I should have become unfold in Bethany.
** I wish I could say I was happy when Chris returned to Lookout Rock. At first my heart leaped with excitement while at the same time I realized this forbidden love would ruin everything I’d worked so hard to maintain in Henry Forester’s home. But I am helpless – the man is under my skin and I am shamed by my weakness. I visited him today and my words told him he was too late, that I was a married woman. But when I saw the tears pooling in his eyes, I feared for his sanity and rushed into his arms. He will be my ruin and my salvation. Life has turned upside down and I am a weak and stupid woman. Perhaps my father was right all along and I should have continued on to my Auntie’s house to purge me of this foolish streak that reins in me.
** I’ve decided to leave the book at Lookout Rock, for I fear Henry will find it. Such a devious life I live, stolen moments with Chris and a life with Henry that has become mundane. Bethany is the only reason I remain in the Forester home. I believe I have created my own prison tower, after all. Perhaps freedom has eluded me my entire life. These thoughts consume me now. I will not record my confusion any longer, but am too much a coward to destroy this tiny piece of evidence that I lived. I wonder if it is the only legacy my daughter will have, should she find these writings someday, and that she will try to understand her rebellious mother and not hate me. My sweet child: If you are reading of your mother’s torments today, my one prayer is that you will guard against settling for anything less than who you are. Life is short, yet I feel mine has been tragically long. Perhaps the suicide note I wrote on the vessel while headed to a life of heartbreak should have been my final goodbye. Ah, but then there would be no Bethany and the world would not be a better place without her.
Bethany shut the pink book that smelled slightly of damp mildew and grasped it close to her heart. Simone’s presence felt warm tonight, just like those first five years of story times that they’d shared together in this room. Somehow Bethany knew tonight would be the last bedtime story. The heart of Simone Charter Forester finally rested within her daughter and all was as it should be. The perfect timing of this gift provided the ultimate crowning for her day. Not to gloat in the details of her mother’s misfortunes, but to really know her – the imperfect woman who’d given her birth and showered her with unconditional love.
As Bethany’s eyes drifted shut and as she wandered into the land of dreams, her heart knew contentment.
Chapter 13
Happy-Ever-After
Bethany lingered, sitting on the stump and staring at the beach scene below. This was the heartbeat of her Sunday morning and today she had many reasons to praise her Creator. Her inner being soared; as if lifted by wings of eagles and viewing life from a new perspective – through the eyes of freedom.
Henry Forester, Ms. Fletcher, Christopher Bascall, and even the deceased Chris and Simone were moving on to a better existence. Her future loomed before her, and she envisioned Troy as the ultimate gift to trump this bizarre adventure. She’d not searched for love but it found her. Simone Forester’s book convinced Bethany that her mother would approve of her daughter’s choice for a husband and even Henry Forester had given his blessing. Now, if she could just settle her mind to accept the wifely roles he might expect of her – a discussion long overdue. She admitted to enjoying the attention of a suitor and hoped he wouldn’t encourage her to push up the date. She needed time to give her entire heart and life to the man before walking down the aisle.
A hand touched her shoulder, but she didn’t jump; it was as if she already knew his presence and felt at ease.
“Good morning, Bethany,” Troy said. “Do you mind if I intrude on your moment?”
“You are never an intrusion.” She smiled, patted the log beside her, and then gazed back toward the beach. “I have a secret. Would you like to know?”
“Definitely. Let’s rid ourselves of secrets, my love.”
“I’ve practiced this Sunday visitation since childhood.” She waved her arm into the air to encompass the entire beach. “I envision a host of angels singing praise to God along with birds and animals of every kind crawling, flying, strolling the expanse, all with a singular purpose and in one accord.”
“Sounds heavenly.”
Bethany grinned. “Is that a pun?”
“No – it really sounds heavenly.”
“I was late getting to sleep last night. I read through my mother’s writing. A thin book, and limited to a brief period in her life, but within the pages she spoke to me. She actually hoped I would read it.”
“I see your father’s strength of character in you – the ability to tackle the world. But I also see an uncertainty, a tenderness, which makes a man hope that even a strong woman, such as yourself, might actually need someone to complete her.”
Bethany reached for his hands. “Oh, Troy, I do need you, but more important, I want and love you, and can’t imagine moving forward without you by my side.”
Troy smiled and his face lit up as if all his happiness balanced on that one answer. “I am pleased to hear you say that. I love you more than I ever dreamed possible. I always feared that a woman quenched a man’s dreams. With you, I see shared ambitions and a lifetime filled with wonderful adventures.”
“Which brings me to a question I must have answered for peace of mind. What do you expect of me as your wife? A kitchen slave, changing dirty nappies for a dozen babies, cleaning…”
“Whoa, slow down. You make it sound horrible.”
“But it’s no
t. I’ll love it all but I don’t know if it’s enough.”
“Do you want to keep working at the mill?” asked Troy.
“My father has no sons, so it will pass to me and I couldn’t bear to sell it or watch someone destroy what we’ve worked so hard to build in Spruce Hill.”
“I realize you visualize schemes to move our community forward. So do I.” He grinned and his face lit up. “I see no reason for you to give up your job entirely. Surely your father can delegate more work to your assistant or hire a man if he thinks all his girls are just going to desert him when the next dashing fellow comes along.”
“Hire a man?” she laughed. “That would suit the backward thinkers just fine, wouldn’t it?”
“I respect you, Bethany. You are a wise woman who will know the seasons where home takes precedence over the mill and when it’s fitting for you to work part of your day away from our family. I will not hold you prisoner in our home, Bethany Forester.”
She beamed. “I don’t deserve you. You are the epiphany of all my dreams fulfilled and wrapped securely within your modern day thinking.”
Troy pulled Bethany to her feet. “So, does that mean our courting ritual has survived the unmasking of the Forester mystery?”
“Survived and surpassed. I’m ready to see what the future has in store for us, Troy Spencer.”
The intense passion in his eyes did all the speaking. Troy pulled Bethany into his arms and sealed the moment for all time.
A Liberating Love (Keepers of the Light Book 3) Page 11
