by Jody Hedlund
But she didn’t move. She had the sinking feeling he wasn’t planning to take her to Boston or Philadelphia or any other big city where she could amuse herself with new activities and events. In fact, she had the horrible suspicion he wasn’t taking her anywhere near civilization.
“Tell me where we’re going first,” she said.
His steps halted. His muscles visibly tightened, and then he turned, his expression rigid and ready to do battle. “We’re going with a friend in the cutter.”
“Where is he taking us?”
“Somewhere you’ll be safe.”
“I’ve willingly gone along with your plans all day. But I’m not taking another step until you tell me exactly where we’re going.”
Tom glanced at the group of fishermen in the nearby boat. They leaned on their shovels watching her interact with Tom and were silent except for the creaking of their dock line and the slapping of the waves against the hull.
With his jaw rippling—likely from the effort it cost him to stay silent—he crossed the distance back to her. “You’re causing a scene.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Just come with me.”
“No.” She attempted a stomp of her foot, but the effect was lost in the sand. “I should be consulted on the final travel arrangements.”
He clamped his lips together, a motion that said quite loudly that he wouldn’t divulge anything.
“I’d much prefer to be somewhere more metropolitan and exciting than a small town in the middle of a sandy desert.” She waved around at the sandy cliffs and dunes that rolled endlessly down the coastline. “Even if it happens to be a friend’s lovely cottage or resort, I’m not a country girl.”
“You’ll adjust,” he whispered with a nod at the fishermen who were still staring.
She knew she needed to stop drawing attention to herself, but the cockiness of Tom’s attitude irked her. “You can’t take me somewhere I don’t want to go.”
“Don’t make me pick you up and carry you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” The hard set of his features told her he would indeed, and that if she didn’t want to be totally humiliated in front of everyone, she’d have to get in the waiting boat, whether he answered her questions or not. She had no choice but to go along with him for the time being. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make arrangements to leave once she got there.
With a sniff, she started down the beach, holding her chin as high as she could and hoping to maintain some of her dignity, even though she was tired and hot and frustrated. When she reached the boat, she was momentarily taken aback by the small size of the old, rusty vessel.
“Jimmy,” Tom said behind her. He’d raised his voice as if his friend were hard of hearing. “This is my wife.”
Wife. The word startled her. If she hadn’t been fuming, she might have liked the way it sounded.
The old fisherman smiled, revealing a mouth devoid of most of his front teeth. His leathery face crinkled like a well-worn pair of gloves. But his eyes were kind. “Very pleased to see Tommy finally has a bride. And a fine one at that.”
“Thank you,” she replied, giving him a friendly smile. After all, it wasn’t his fault she was in this predicament.
Tom placed their bags in the boat and then reached out to assist her. But she ignored him and climbed down by herself, which was no easy feat, considering the fact that her feet tangled in her train, causing her to plop ungracefully onto the middle bench. She straightened her skirt around her, pretending that she made an everyday occurrence of flopping into boats all the while praying that neither of the men had noticed. When she peeked up from under the wide brim of her hat, unfortunately both were watching her. They exchanged a look before Tom nodded at the stern. “I’ll row in the back.”
“You’re coming back?” Jimmy asked.
“No,” Tom spoke louder and emphasized each word. “I’ll row in the stern.”
Jimmy waved a hand. “Naw. No need to row. She’s ready to sail.”
Tom climbed in and helped Jimmy with the rigging. Once the foresail filled with wind and they were underway, Tom clambered over the coils and bags and sat on the bench next to her.
She ignored him and focused on the endless blue of the bay that spread out on one side of the cutter and the sand cliffs and heathlands that made up the coast on the other. It was pretty in a wild, untamed way, but suddenly she was too tired to care. After having been up all night and now having traveled all day, she was exhausted, especially with the sun baking her.
“We’re going to stay with my parents,” he said. The wind and the spray of the waves captured his words, and she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly.
“Your parents?” She swiveled to face him.
He was staring off into the distance at a point of curving land. “My dad is the head keeper at Race Point Lighthouse.”
All of her protest from earlier dissipated. For a reason she couldn’t explain, the idea that he was taking her to his home seemed so sweet and personal and trusting. “I didn’t know your father was a light keeper,” was all she could think to say.
“I grew up living in lighthouses.”
The revelation made her realize how little she knew about him. She was ashamed to admit most of their conversations and interactions had revolved around her life. She supposed she’d been so consumed with her wedding plans that she hadn’t thought about much else. Plus, he’d always kept himself aloof, had clearly been dedicated to doing his job with the utmost professionalism. But now . . . Well, maybe she’d have more opportunities to get to know him better.
“So you must be glad to be going home.” She brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. The breeze had picked up in intensity and had thankfully grown cooler. The sails flapped overhead, and although Jimmy was steering them further out into the bay, the coast was still well within sight.
“My mom and dad are great people.”
He’d avoided her question. “But you don’t like Race Point?”
At her persistence he looked at her. “Every time I visit, I like it well enough.”
“Then you’ve never lived there yourself?”
“No. Dad’s only been there since ’70. I haven’t lived at home since before heading off to war in ’63.”
She did a quick mental calculation and realized that if he were in his late twenties as she suspected, then he’d only been a boy when he’d left, probably no older than fifteen or sixteen. What had he done in the war at that age? Certainly he hadn’t fought, had he?
Before she could pry further, he spoke. “I’ve taken the post as assistant keeper at Race Point.”
Oh. Now his plans began to make sense. “So we’re hiding there under disguise as the assistant keeper and his wife?”
Tom nodded. “My sister Ruth and her husband were helping. Greg was the assistant. But I got a telegram that he had to leave. His consumption has worsened.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“He’s getting treatment. But he probably won’t be able to go back. The climate’s too damp.”
“So you’re taking over?”
“Temporarily. Which is why we had to make things legal.”
“And why is that?”
“If the inspector visited and discovered that we weren’t legally married, I’d put my father’s career in jeopardy.”
He’d mentioned the inspector earlier, and now she finally understood. Her mother, having grown up in lighthouses, had told Victoria about the surprise visits inspectors often made to ensure that a lighthouse was operating smoothly and in top-notch condition.
A wave swelled against the bow, and the boat rose and fell with a splash. She clutched at the bench to keep from toppling forward. A cool mist fell like rain droplets upon her, salty but refreshing.
So he was taking her to live in a lighthouse. She mulled over the thought for a moment, tasting it much like the sea spray—unexpected but not entirely unwelcome.
“My m
other lived in lighthouses, too,” she said. “Her father was a retired sea-captain turned lighthouse keeper.”
“Yes. Your grandfather was well respected.”
She wasn’t surprised Tom already knew that information about her since he seemed to know everything else. “I always enjoyed visiting him, although it wasn’t often.” He’d passed away three years ago, and she’d never expected that she’d ever visit a lighthouse again.
“Then you’ll resign yourself to hiding at Race Point?” he asked.
“It’s not my preference, but I shall try.”
“Good.”
It would certainly be a world apart from Boston or Philadelphia. But she could survive a month there, couldn’t she? She loved seeing the inner workings of the lantern and the view from the top of the tower. Although she wouldn’t have nearly as much to do, the lighthouse would hopefully be stocked with books, so she would get plenty of reading time. Surely there would be cards for games. Maybe she could practice her sketching. She’d had lessons several years ago and had found that she was actually quite good at it, a talent she must have inherited from her mother, who’d filled sketch books before she’d gone blind. And if she grew too bored or restless, perhaps she could convince Tom to take her to Boston for a few days. Surely he’d be willing to do that.
As Jimmy sailed around the bend of Provincetown Harbor, the wind and the waves increased in intensity. The cutter rose on the swell of another large wave lifting her from the bench and threatening to wrestle her hat from her head in spite of the pins. Tom slipped his arm around her middle and held her firmly against his side. Once again she was conscious of the pressure of his body against hers, the hold of his fingers on her arm.
The roar of the wind and the crash of the waves made any further talking difficult. She was content to rest against him, knowing she was secure, even though the waves seemed to engulf the little boat.
When a distant tower began to come into sight, Tom’s arm around her began to relax. The conical tower was made of brick and painted white with a wide black lantern room at the top. It wasn’t as tall as the last lighthouse her grandfather had operated, but she could see that it was a solid structure over forty feet tall. It sat well away from the shore amidst low growing shrubs that apparently were able to thrive in the arid soil.
Next to the lighthouse, but not connected, stood a large keeper’s house, likely roomy enough for two families, the keeper’s and his assistant’s. The red shingles on the roof contrasted the white of the house, making for a bright spot of color amidst the endless waves of wind-sculpted sand dunes. Two other small structures sat nearby, and Victoria guessed one to be the oil house and the other a fog signal house.
“Remember,” Tom said as the boat drew nearer the shore. “We need to act like we have a real marriage.”
She pulled back slightly to see his face. “Will we really be able to convince your parents?”
He was staring straight ahead, his expression rigid. “We have to try.”
“Don’t you think they’ll see through our charade?”
“Not if we’re good actors.”
“We’re bound to slip up from time to time,” she said. “I think we’d be better off admitting the truth to them.”
“If they discover the true nature of our relationship, they won’t let us stay together.”
At his insinuation, she fidgeted with her skirt.
“They’re God-fearing people,” he continued. “They have strong ideas about what marriage should be like. If they learn I’m only married to you temporarily as part of my job, they wouldn’t consider the union valid. They’d insist that I find another place to live.”
“Where would you go?”
“There’s nowhere else. And even if there were, it’s my job to watch over you.”
“True.” He was still first and foremost her bodyguard.
“Besides,” he said, “it’s safer if everyone believes we’re happily married. Then we won’t have any accidental slipups.”
She hesitated. It was one thing to act in front of people they would never see again, like the older couple on the steamship. But his parents? She didn’t have a good feeling about deceiving them. But what else could they do? “Very well. If you really think we should.”
He nodded as if the matter were settled. “We need to get our back ground information straight.”
As Jimmy guided the boat toward a nearby pier, Tom rapidly outlined the story of how they’d met and gotten married. He’d been introduced to her in Europe when she’d been visiting. They’d carried on a correspondence over the past year. When he’d returned last month, they’d gotten engaged. They’d had a simple, small wedding. Now they planned to help at the lighthouse until Tom got a more permanent job.
As the fabrication deepened, so did Victoria’s discomfort. She didn’t like the idea of lying, but if Tom thought it would keep her safe, how could she argue?
The door of the keeper’s house opened and a man exited. He tugged his hat down further on his head and started down a path through the sand dunes that led to the waterfront.
“If they ask about my parents,” she asked her nerves fraying, “what should I tell them?”
“Fortunately, my parents won’t know anything about your father or any other millionaires. I’d be surprised if out here they even know who’s president.”
“So I can be free to share about my past with them?”
“Within reason.” His gaze was sweeping over the lighthouse, the keeper’s dwelling, and the surrounding grounds, seeing and assessing everything. “As hard as it will be, try not to mention Nathaniel, especially the fact that you’re engaged.”
He was goading her, reminding her of her flimsy connection with Nathaniel. Rather than defending herself, she responded vaguely and succinctly. “I won’t, since I’m not.” As the words sank in, his gaze swung to hers, and his eyes widened. “I broke it off last night in the letter I sent Nathaniel. It wasn’t fair to keep him waiting this month.”
“So you only broke it off for the month?”
“For now. That gives me time to discover my true feelings, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
Before she could read his expression and judge his reaction, he stood. Jimmy was steering the boat alongside the pier, and Tom stretched to help. Within minutes, the boat was secured opposite another cutter and Tom was helping her onto the pier surrounded on both sides by a narrow beach. Scalloped seashells poked through the sand. In some places slimy seagrass had washed up on shore and dozens of gulls now poked among the stringy masses searching for their next meal.
“Tom?” The man who’d come out of the house was striding through the sand with the same ease as Tom.
Tom lifted a hand in greeting. “Hi, Dad.”
The man picked up his pace. Beneath the brim of his black bowler hat, Victoria could see that his face was tanned and leathery from days out in the sun. It was clear Tom had inherited his striking features from his father. Even with a scruffy beard and side whiskers, Tom’s dad had a handsome face with the same dark blue eyes. He was smiling in genuine delight at the sight of his son.
“You said you’d visit, but we weren’t sure when,” Tom’s dad said as his boots clomped against the wooden planks of the pier.
“I wasn’t sure either.” Tom stuck out a hand in greeting, but Mr. Cushman ignored his son’s hand and instead grabbed him into a hug, slapping his back and then squeezing him tight.
“It’s good to see you.” Mr. Cushman pulled back, and his face practically beamed. “Two years is too long.”
Tom hadn’t seen his parents in two years? Victoria almost choked. Why had he chosen to visit so infrequently? She studied Mr. Cushman again, noting his waders, his brown trousers, and coat just a shade darker. Both were worn and faded, unlike Tom’s clothes, which were always clean and pressed and like new. She’d never once noticed Tom being anything other than perfectly groomed, which she supposed was one of the reasons he was go
od at his job. He looked professional and dignified enough to fit into a wealthy crowd.
“It’s good to see you too, Dad.” Tom straightened his suit coat lapels before holding an arm out to her. For an instant she caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes, something of the child he might have once been, a child who’d wanted desperately to please his parents but had been unsure how. With a sudden desire to make him proud, she took his arm and moved to his side.
As she did so, Mr. Cushman’s brow rose.
“I’d like to introduce you to, Victoria.” Tom’s bicep flexed beneath her hand. “My wife.”
First astonishment and then wonder flashed across Mr. Cushman’s face. “Your wife? Well, I’ll be…” He took a closer look at Victoria, starting at her hat, which was surely in disarray by now from the wind during the boat ride, and then taking in her travel garments. She wished she’d had time to change into something clean and new and pretty.
Nevertheless, she offered him a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Cushman.”
As though remembering his manners, he smiled in return. “Call me James. I’m pleased to meet you too, Victoria. You’ll have to excuse me. I’d lost hope that Tom would ever consider getting married. So to have him show up here with a bride… Well, it goes without saying that I’m more than a little shocked.”
Victoria tucked away that new nugget about Tom to quiz him on later. For now, she had the urge to convince Tom’s dad that she was worthy of his son, that Tom’s wait had been worth it. “I guess Tom just hadn’t met the right woman until he met me. I came along and swept him off his feet.” She curled her fingers more intimately around his arm and attempted her most flirtatious look. “Didn’t I, darling?”
From the glint in his eyes, she thought he might contradict her, but his words came out smoothly. “Yes. Completely.”
“I’m happy for you both,” James said with a grin. “So very happy.” With that, he reached for Victoria and drew her into a hug. She hugged him back, relishing his easy acceptance. His beard was scratchy against her temple and had the spicy hint of tobacco. He was about the same height as Tom but decidedly not as muscular. When he turned to hug Tom again, Tom accepted the congratulations, although not quite as enthusiastically as she had.
