The Girl in the Lighthouse (Arrington)

by Roxane Tepfer Sanford

  “Young lady, are you lost?” he asked.

  “No, sir. I’m on my way to the train station. I’m meeting someone,” I said.

  I sensed he was there out of kindness, not to take advantage of me as the other men had.

  “Well, let me take you. There is my carriage,” he said, pointing. It was a fancy carriage. He noticed my uncertainty and hesitation. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Richard Parker.” He had a northern accent. “I’m a commercial illustrator.”

  I didn’t know what a commercial illustrator was.

  “I draw images of people for books and magazines,” explained Richard.

  “Oh. And you live here?”

  He smiled, and with his extended finger, pointed to his place. “I rent a small apartment a block over.”

  I noticed a gold wedding band on his left finger, which put me at ease, and I agreed to his offer to take me to the station.

  “Thank you, Mr. Parker,” I said, as he assisted me into the carriage, instructing his driver where to go.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you,” Richard said. He was a dapper man, just like the men in the photograph I took from the attic. Richard was tall and slender; his hair was thick, dark brown with unmistakable red highlights, and his eyes were a deep copper color.

  “I know,” I said, and shifted my eyes to the floor of the carriage. “The dress. It’s the only one I have.”

  He gave a light chuckle and patted me on the knee, then said, “It has nothing to do with your dress. I noticed your timeless beauty.”

  My eyes lifted, and I stared at him. He was amused by my gullibility and innocence.

  “You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?”

  “Well, my momma was a beautiful woman, and I was told I look like her,” I replied.

  “Then there you have it.” He gave me a long gaze, then said, “I don’t know your name.”

  “Lillian.”

  “Lillian what?”

  “Just Lillian.”

  “I see,” Richard said, nodding in understanding.

  The carriage approached the station, and I thanked him warmly as the driver came around to assist me out. Richard leaned out of the window and said, “If you ever want to be famous, allow me to draw your image, and the world and its riches will be yours.”

  _______________

  Chapter Twenty

  I stayed by the station, aimlessly wandering about, waiting until the last train was to leave. I planned to jump aboard under the cover of darkness. All day long, people paid very little attention to me; they were all too busy getting to where they needed to go. One conductor did ask me who I was waiting for and glared at me with skepticism when I told him my daddy was arriving on the last train. After that, I stayed hidden behind the station and was grateful when night finally ended the long, drawn-out day.

  I prepared to leave, to execute my plan to find Warren, and I was about to make my way to the box cars, when out of the corner of my eye, under the glow of the lamppost, his platinum blond hair caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was Warren! He had returned, and I had seen him before I made a worthless and likely dangerous journey up north.

  I immediately called to him and he spun around, then our eyes locked.

  “Lillian!” He at once dropped his luggage, opened his arms wide enough for me to fall into, and hugged me tight.

  “What are you doing here?” he said into my ear.

  “Oh, Warren, if you only knew,” I said, and before I had a chance to prepare, I was bawling onto his shoulder.

  “What is it? What happened to you?” Warren asked, pulling back so he could better look at me. I could barely contain my sobs; my chest heaved in and out so hard I could barely catch my breath. The conductor came over to see what was wrong.

  “Nothing, sir. We are fine. She’s just a little upset. We’ll be on our way,” he said, and he led me off the platform and to the stables, where his horse had been boarded. Once there, he sat me down on a bale of hay then hushed me and caressed my hair as I leaned into his chest. I had broken down and collapsed onto the man who swore he would save me. I had kept that moment bottled up for weeks on end, and he was taken aback; he couldn’t make sense of my jumbled words.

  “Slow down, Lillian; take a deep breath and tell me why you were at the train station.”

  I lifted my head, and noticed his shirt was saturated with my tears. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

  Warren smiled, and said, “It’s okay.”

  I began the tale of what led me to him—the beating, the brutal murder, the hasty abandonment, the tragedy, and my eventual freedom. He looked at me with disbelieving eyes, and I wondered how he could be so stunned; after all, he knew of Grandmother and the evil kingdom she ruled.

  When we arrived at his cabin, he hurried me inside and sat me down, and told me how very sorry he was for not being there to help me in my time of need, for not protecting me the way he should have.

  “I feel like a good-for-nothing,” he said with sorrowful, defeated eyes.

  “It’s not your fault,” I said, reaching for his hand.

  He squeezed it, then told me to lay down and get some rest. “I’m sure it has been a long day for you.”

  I agreed, and he allowed me to use one of his shirts to sleep in. We eased into an understanding; Warren slept on the floor, his coat rolled up as a pillow. It was too chilly to sleep out on the porch I insisted.

  “Will you tell me everything about Cape Cod in the morning?” I asked, just as I closed my tired eyes.

  After a long silence, he said, just before we fell asleep, “What there is to tell you, I will.”

  To wake up to the first light of day and have my gaze fall upon Warren, peacefully sleeping on the floor, was almost a dream come true. I felt safe and finally embraced my freedom. My despair was behind me; I no longer had to look over my shoulder and wait for something bad to happen. I had a whole new outlook on life, and I was happy, so much so, that I couldn’t wait for Warren to wake. I needed to hear all about the Cape and when our house would be ready.

  I quietly slipped out of bed and went to stand over him. I watched for a while as he slept with a small smile on his rosy lips and breathed softly. Warren appeared years younger when he was like that. I wanted to lie down and cuddle up behind him. I needed to place my lips on the back of his neck and tell him how grateful I was to him, but I contained my eagerness, knowing how important it was to be proper, and woke him with a gentle tap on the shoulder.

  Warren rolled over and wiped the sleep from his face, and then a huge smile filled his attractive face. “Hello there,” he said

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” I giggled.

  “I bet you’re hungry,” he said, sitting up. “I need to get some supplies.”

  “How about you go, and I will straighten up while you’re gone? Then, after breakfast, you can tell me everything about your trip.”

  Warren agreed and said, “You’re a planner, that’s for sure.”

  I took that as a compliment and practically shoved him out the door so I could start cleaning.

  Maybe it was a fantasy played out, but I loved putting my hair up in a bun, the way Opal used to, and making everything around me spotless, as a good woman would. Though it was a small cabin, it was as first-rate as any home I had ever lived in, and thought of it as my own, and I worked hard to scrub the floors. I also used the bathing tin, filled with hot water boiled over the fire, to wash my dress, using vegetable soap to scrub out the small stains. Then I hung it over the porch rail to dry. I hoped Warren wouldn’t mind me wearing his shirt for the rest of the day.

  I had the cabin as clean as a whistle when Warren arrived with the box of supplies. I was anxious to cook him some eggs and sausage.

  “I’m a good cook,” I told him. He stepped back and allowed me to work in the kitchen and watched with amusement. At first, maybe he thought I hadn’t learned a thing about how to cook, but wh
en breakfast was served, he was quick to compliment me.

  “I must say, this is the best meal I have ever eaten,” he said after his stomach was stuffed.

  “Opal taught me how to cook,” I said.

  “I imagine you’re as fine a cook as she is, if not better.”

  “I think Ayden thought so,” I said, recalling how much he enjoyed my meals.

  Warren sat back into his chair and lovingly looked at me. He was pleased with me.

  “Can I get you anything else?” I asked, and began to clear off the table, taking the dishes outside to the pump for a washing. I needed to show him I would be a good wife.

  “No, Lillian. That’s fine. I’m going to split some wood. I will be outside for a while,” he said, kissing the top of my head as he walked out.

  It was a good start to our new beginning. I spent the rest of the day on the porch, watching him work and waiting for my dress to dry. It was the first warm day in weeks, and I was no longer cooped up in a stuffy room. I enjoyed the sweet fragrance of the fresh air and noticed the sounds of the trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and once again was mesmerized by Warren. He was exceptionally dreamy, and I was excited by the potential of a romantic connection. I knew he held back and was reserved with his affections, but in time, he would learn to let go and see I was good for him, that I was devoted and my love would take him to new heights.

  Days went on much the same; Warren had his chores, and I had mine. I kept up with the housework, and I cooked almost all day to feed his healthy appetite. I learned his favorite food was bacon and collard beans, apple butter, and anything with cheese—especially macaroni. But the nights were full of longing and anticipation of the moment Warren came to me. I would lie awake in the stillness and watch him sleep; at least, I thought he was asleep. Sometimes I wasn’t sure. If the light of the moon shined in just right, I’d think his eyes were open, staring over at me, but I wasn’t certain. I often felt his gaze, and only rarely did I catch his wandering eye—most often when I was walking about in the shirt that I used every night to sleep in. My slender legs were exposed, and I liked that he found them attractive. But as soon as I caught him, his eyes immediately shifted and he would step outside for a smoke of his pipe under the bright stars of the early winter nights.

  “Up there; that’s Horologium,” I said pointing to the constellation as I stole up next to him.

  He was sitting on the steps of the porch, looking up at the sky. I wanted to impress him, to teach him what I had learned from Heath. As I gazed at the stars, I remembered how enamored I had been with him. Heath was the most brilliant boy I had ever known, and he remained so. Barely a day went by that Heath wasn’t in the shadows of my mind. No matter what, Heath would always be my first love, my most special love because he stole my heart, and I never asked for it back.

  Warren nodded and took a long draw of his pipe, then motioned for me to sit next to him. We hadn’t talked about his trip; he persistently avoided my questions, though he said he would tell me the very first morning. Maybe, I thought, he told me nothing so I would be surprised when we did head north. I hoped that was it, and he wasn’t holding something back.

  “Hold out your hand,” he said, putting his pipe down and taking my hand in his. “Now close your eyes.”

  I did as he said, and when he told me to open them, I gasped. In my hand was a beautiful hair ornament—tortoiseshell with ruby-colored rhinestones.

  “What is this for?” I asked him, filled with thankfulness.

  “It’s Christmas. This is my gift to you.”

  My heart sank. I had no gift for him. I had long given up on the luxury of such a holiday, and of course, Santa never left me a gift during my imprisonment. Warren saw how sad I was.

  “I bought it for you because I thought it would look lovely in your long hair. You do like it, don’t you, Lillian?”

  A small tear escaped the corner of my eye, and I quickly brushed it away then said, “I have never seen anything so lovely.”

  Warren was pleased and asked me to put it in my hair. I did and took him off guard when I placed a kiss on his cheek.

  “Thank you, Warren. This means so much to me. I will treasure it for always,” I said softly then I went inside to leave him to his thoughts.

  He came in late, hours after I had gone to bed. I felt him sit on the edge of the bed; his stare brought me out of my light sleep. I slowly sat up and allowed him to climb in next to me without word. He rested beside me, his clothes still on, then turned and brought me close. My heart pounded, my body tingled as his soft breath fell onto the nape of my neck. I was wide awake; I was scared and anxious about his next move. I wanted to be loved the way a man loves a woman, but the fear of the unknown made my pulse race and my stomach turn into one big knot.

  “You’re so lovely,” Warren whispered then nuzzled my hair and fell asleep. He hadn’t tried to undress me; he didn’t want to touch me in my most intimate place. I was surprised, also relieved, and went back to sleep in the warmth of his breath and the comfort of his love.

  Warren came to me every night; he cuddled me, he held me close, and he whispered that I was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. In the beginning, I was frightened of what I believed would happen—that he could take me and have his way with my body, but he never once did, and sleeping together became ordinary.

  Then my fear was gone, my yearning took over, and I wanted more than anything to have him desire me. I didn’t understand how he could love me so much, yet want to sleep with me the way a brother would a sister. He kept his feelings distant, the way Heath had, and while the months passed and he didn’t pursue me, I became annoyed. I saw the yearning in his eyes when I caught him gazing at me. I knew I was beautiful, yet he remained standoffish with his manly desires.

  We made periodic trips into Savannah, and Warren purchased a new dress for me to wear when we went into town—a more modern, mature dress, so I wouldn’t be made fun of any longer. I always wore my hair comb, and he especially liked that. And while I sat in the buggy waiting for him while he purchased items from the store, men young and old, would tip their hats and smile at me; some would even come over to talk. Warren hated this and warned me never to talk to them after he shooed them away.

  “You’re a proper lady. You have no business speaking to men that approach you,” he said sternly.

  “But why, Warren? They mean no harm,” I said, secretly amused by his jealousy.

  “You do as I say, you hear?” he barked, urging the horse on. I didn’t like his tone and scowled at him.

  As we made our way through the streets, I heard my name being called. The voice was unfamiliar, but I immediately recognized the face. Richard was walking along the congested street with a heavy-set, older, red-haired woman with a stony appearance. I waved to him, but Warren refused to stop. When we were on the outskirts of the city, he sternly asked me who the man was.

  “His name is Richard Parker. I met him the day you returned from the trip you never speak of,” I snipped back, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “What business did he have with you?”

  “That business is none of your business,” I firmly replied.

  “Now, Lillian, don’t be angry with me,” he said, in a much softer tone. I turned and faced him, then blurted, “Why won’t you tell me about Cape Cod?”

  “There is not much to tell. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “What does that mean? Did you not purchase land to build our house on?”

  “I didn’t have enough money,” he confessed, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “That means that we can’t move there?” I cried.

  “In time, Lillian. Give me more time,” he begged.

  “More time. I don’t understand. You were gone for so long!”

  He didn’t respond and refused to look at me when he lifted me off the buggy.

  I marched into the house and turned my back on him when he stepped inside. I was annoyed at h
im for snapping at me, frustrated he did not find me desirable, and hurt that he didn’t fulfill his promise. I was not going to return north any time soon.

  “Lillian, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to yell at you today. I just think you need to be careful around men. You are beautiful; they all see that. You have no idea what they are capable of,” he said, then came behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “And I’m still trying to gather the money so I can take you away.” Warren’s voice was soaked in sincerity, but his words sounded so much like Daddy’s it made me cringe. I didn’t want him to treat me like a little girl; I knew what men were capable of. That was exactly why I was confused. Warren turned me, and with his finger lifted my chin, and said, “Don’t be angry at me. I love you with all my heart, Lillian. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  Of course I believed he loved me, but not in the way I fantasized. He had no idea what I dreamed of, how I yearned for him to make me into a woman, to make me his own. Warren didn’t see it in my eyes; he didn’t feel it when our bodies lay in the same bed every night.

  He leaned in and tenderly kissed my cheek, and again asked me not to be angry. I nodded, just to appease him, and excused myself, telling him I wanted to take a bath. I went to the well to fetch some water. Warren brought in the tub for me and said he would work outside until the end of the day. I was glad to have some time to myself, and while I was soaking in the hot water, I thought of how I could make Warren jealous. If he couldn’t see on his own how desirable I was, I was going to force him to see it. I didn’t care how angry he got.

  I also thought of Richard and remembered what he said to me. He thought my beauty could bring me fame and fortune. I didn’t know if I necessarily believed that, but it was exciting to think about. It was wonderful that he remembered me, spotted me, and called out. If he weren’t married, I could make Warren jealous of Richard. But I would have to use patience; something I always struggled to do.