“Mary Clare,” she whispered into the windy night. “I failed you.”
If she had found a husband sooner. If she hadn’t gotten entangled with that vindictive Evanston in New York. If only she had cast caution to the wind and taken in Mary Clare at once rather than head off on this quest to find a husband well off enough to give her niece all she deserved. What did it all matter now, when the little girl was sick and frightened on a sinking ship?
She looked back but could see only darkness cut by the beam of the lighthouse. This fretting was useless, borrowing trouble from the future. She had to trust Sawyer and the men. She needed to trust the ingenuity of the officers aboard the imperiled ship. Most of all, she needed to trust God. Turning back to the task at hand, she hurried to catch up to Mrs. Calloway.
They covered the distance in little time, pushed forward by the steady wind. Mrs. Calloway stomped her feet on the lighthouse stoop to knock off as much of the sand as possible. A coiled rope mat helped remove more before they stepped inside.
“Jane! We’ve brought blankets,” Mrs. Calloway called out.
A girl of perhaps twelve appeared. “Mother said to leave them on the hall chair.”
“Thank you, dear. Is there anything else you can use?”
Fiona set her stack of blankets on the chair, which was situated opposite the entry table. A simple pewter card receiver sat on the end of the table nearest the door. She couldn’t help wondering how many callers Mrs. Blackthorn got. The tray was empty. The hall stand was not. It bristled with coats, hats, scarves and gloves. A number of umbrellas filled a brass urn beside it.
Mrs. Calloway handed her the rest of the blankets. Fiona had to rearrange a bit to keep the stack from toppling.
“Mother said there could be dozens of passengers,” the girl said. “She’s making soup, but we don’t have enough bread.”
“Don’t go begging these kind folk,” came a voice from the back of the house.
“It’s no bother at all, Jane,” Mrs. Calloway called back. “I’ve got plenty left over, and we can get more on the rise in no time.”
Fiona wondered why Mrs. Calloway didn’t just go back to the kitchen, but then she looked down and saw the sand coating their skirts and coats. No woman wanted that tracked through her house. A considerate visitor stayed in the entry. Fiona recalled all the times she’d barged straight into the boardinghouse parlor without shaking out her skirts. Mrs. Calloway never said a word, but it must have made her sigh with frustration.
“Anything else we can bring after we get the dough ready?” Mrs. Calloway asked loudly.
Jane Blackthorn appeared at the end of the hall, hands covered in flour. “No need to go to that trouble, Mabel. I’ve got a batch ready to go. We might need bandages.”
The two women proceeded to discuss preparations while the daughter returned to the kitchen and Fiona waited. Her thoughts drifted back to Sawyer and the men. What had they encountered at the lakeshore? The waves must be huge in this wind. Their crashing could be heard inside the keeper’s quarters.
“Do you know what they plan to do?” she blurted out.
The two women stared at her.
“Some of the men went down the dune toward the lake,” she added.
Mrs. Calloway looked to Jane before answering. “I expect they wanted to have a closer look-see at the situation.”
Fiona prodded. “What will they do?”
Mrs. Calloway shook her head. “They’re probably seein’ what they can do to save those people on the ship.”
The lump grew in Fiona’s throat. “Then they are wrecked.”
“Samuel says they’re stuck on a sandbar,” Jane said. “The waves could tear the ship apart.”
Samuel must be her husband, the lighthouse keeper.
Icy fingers of dread wove their way around Fiona’s heart. “Then there’s little hope.”
“There’s always hope,” Mrs. Calloway said. “All things are possible with the Lord.”
The paraphrased scripture would normally settle Fiona’s nerves, but not tonight. “But how will anyone get to them in these waves?”
The two older women looked at each other.
Mrs. Calloway answered. “Apparently your Mr. Sawyer—” she often added Mr. to a man’s first name “—said during the war he saw someone send a line out to sea using a mortar.”
“A cannon?” Fiona gasped. “You have one?”
Jane shook her head.
“If the ship’s close enough,” Mrs. Calloway said, “they’re going to try tying a lead weight on the end and throwing it.”
That sounded far-fetched, but Fiona wasn’t going to say that, not with the ladies’ husbands involved.
“If that doesn’t work,” Mrs. Calloway continued, “they’ll use the mackinaw boat to try to get to the foundered ship.”
Boat meant small. Fiona’s head spun, and she leaned against the wall for support. All she could envision was Mary Clare’s lifeless body dragged from the icy water. Just hours ago, she’d been upset that her designs on Carson Blakeney had come to naught. What were her plans compared to people’s lives? Innocent people faced death on that ship, and brave men would risk their lives to try to save them. Sawyer in the lead.
“Now there,” Mrs. Calloway said, “no one’s gonna do anything foolhardy. They’ve all got a good dose of common sense.”
Jane nodded. “Samuel knows better than to send anyone out in impossible conditions.”
Even worse.
“But if no one tries to reach the ship...” She couldn’t fathom that. “They must try. They must.”
Again, the women stared at her.
“Now, what’s got you all upset, dear?” Mrs. Calloway asked. “The good Lord will take care of everyone.”
Fiona had always thought her faith strong, but she was no longer sure. Not sure at all.
* * *
Sawyer had seen the lake rough, but tonight was about as bad as it could get. When the waves and the cold were put together, the chances of rescuing anyone were slim. But they had to try. A little girl, Fiona had said, her eyes filled with an emotion he had never seen from her—fear.
Sawyer recalled the little girl who had held out her hand to him when he marched south from Atlanta during the war. Rail-thin, her lips had barely moved, but her eyes had told a terrible story. All she’d wanted was food, but he didn’t have any. That failure still haunted him. He could not fail Fiona’s niece.
A line of waves crashed and rolled ashore, pushing inland nearly to the edge of the dune. The men huddled there, just out of reach of the water. For now. With the wind steady, the waves would build. Soon there wouldn’t be any beach.
The ship was lodged on the sandbar. The lights aboard, likely lanterns since the engines had failed, vanished behind towering waves and then reappeared in the trough. Otherwise, they hadn’t budged. Blackthorn figured the sandbar—and now the foundered ship—was roughly a hundred yards offshore. Not impossible if they had a solid steam tug. She would pitch and roll like crazy, but they could get to the ship and get passengers onboard. It would take several trips, and hauling the passengers, especially the women and children, from ship to ship wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done.
The mackinaw? Impossible. The shallow-draft sailboat was designed to carry a lot of cargo, not weather heavy seas. It would flip over and fill with water in minutes.
“Maybe the ship will last till morning,” Garrett Decker yelled into his ear.
That was their best hope. That and the wind dying down. But if the passenger ship started to break up, they’d have to attempt the impossible. Sawyer could swim. But not a couple hundred yards into huge seas in icy waters. The ship might attempt to launch its boat, but that would be just as precarious as the mackinaw.
If only he had a cannon. They cou
ld attempt to fire the rope, attached to a shot, toward the ship and then rescue folks using that line. He’d seen it accomplished once, during the war, but the unit had resources that Singapore didn’t.
Sawyer rubbed his arms. “Let’s try heaving the line.”
They’d practiced a few times, failing miserably. This time Sawyer put Edwards on the spot. The man had boasted of his prowess. Let him prove it.
The wiry crew chief warmed up by swinging his arms several times. Then he grabbed the lead weight, reached back as far as he could and threw. The weight arced in the light from the lighthouse and then splashed into the water. Tuggman hauled it in.
“It’s useless,” Blackthorn said. “No one’s gotten near the ship.”
That was a kind way of saying they’d all fallen short by at least half.
“I’m praying she doesn’t break up,” Roland stated.
Sawyer shivered, though it wasn’t terribly cold. The southwest wind was warm, but the cold sweats had started coming on ever since he first saw the situation. Fiona’s desperate plea only made them worse.
“She’s breaking up!” Tuggman shouted.
Sawyer gulped. The worst had just arrived.
* * *
Fiona paced the small hallway in the keeper’s quarters after helping Mrs. Calloway haul bandages and liniments from the boardinghouse to the light station. The boardinghouse proprietress had vanished into the kitchen after asking Fiona to wait out front for word from the men. Nothing more could be done until survivors arrived.
Mrs. Calloway and Mrs. Blackthorn reappeared, busily calculating how many bed linens were available throughout town.
“The empty bunkhouses,” the latter suggested.
Mrs. Calloway shook her head. “It’s all at the boardinghouse. If only the hotel was open. There would be plenty there.”
“The VanderLeuvens would understand if we borrowed some,” Jane Blackthorn replied. “It is an emergency.”
Fiona couldn’t count blankets and bedding when lives were at risk. In addition to Mary Clare and the rest of the passengers, now Sawyer and the men attempting a rescue were in peril. When Samuel Blackthorn returned to check the light, he’d informed them that Sawyer and a few of the mill workers had gone to launch the mackinaw.
Blackthorn had shaken his head. “It’ll take the grace of God to bring them back alive.”
Fiona’s stomach churned. She was no sailor, but even she knew that a little sailboat didn’t stand a chance in such angry seas.
Mrs. Blackthorn returned to the kitchen, leaving Fiona alone with Mrs. Calloway.
“I can’t wait here.” She plucked her cloak off the wooden peg and threw it over her shoulders. “I’m going down to the beach to help.”
Mrs. Calloway stopped her with a firm hand on her arm. “Now, what do you think you’re gonna do that those men can’t do?”
“Something.” She couldn’t stand to wait.
“Do you think your Sawyer wants to be worrying about a woman when he’s got a boatload of people to rescue?”
Fiona didn’t miss the wording. Mrs. Calloway figured Fiona was upset because she feared for Sawyer’s life. She didn’t know that Mary Clare could be on that ship.
“Let them do what needs to be done,” Mrs. Calloway added. “And you be ready to help here when it comes our turn.”
“How can you be so calm when your husband’s part of the rescue party?”
“Faith in God above, child. Ernie is in God’s hands, and that’s the best place to be.”
Deep down Fiona knew Mrs. Calloway was right, but she couldn’t shake the fear. “My niece might be on that ship. My sister sent her here.”
“Oh, child.” Mrs. Calloway embraced her in a motherly hug. “God’s got hold of her. You have to believe that.”
Fiona was trying. “It’s so hard. What if...” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“Hush now. You just turn that precious girl over to the Lord’s care.” Right then and there, Mrs. Calloway prayed over the ship, the rescuers and the passengers, including Mary Clare.
A smidgen of peace wove through Fiona. Everything would be all right. She hoped.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs coming down from the tower. Both women looked toward the door to the tower. Fiona held her breath.
Mr. Blackthorn pushed open the tower door. His face was ashen. “The mackinaw’s gone under. They’re lost.”
Fiona gasped. Sawyer. All this time she’d been worried about her niece, who might not even be on the ship, when she should have prayed fervently for Sawyer. She had sent him out, had begged him to rescue her niece. Now he was gone? Guilt crashed over her. She moved her lips, but no sound came out of her mouth.
She’d sent Sawyer to the grave.
Chapter Four
Sawyer spit out a mouthful of water and coughed. The cold lake had shocked him for a moment, and he hadn’t been able to move. It took aching lungs and an iron will to swim for the surface. The icy air rushed into his lungs even as the frigid water slowed his limbs. He had little time to get out and warmed up, or he would be the first casualty.
Where was his crew? He spun, but in the darkness it was difficult to see.
Shouts came from all around. Someone hung a lantern over the water, and Sawyer spotted one, two, three heads bobbing on the surface. All the crew had survived, but the overturned hull of the mackinaw drifted farther and farther away with each wave.
Again the light shone toward him, and the shouted words became clearer.
“This way!”
The rolling waves splashed against his face. He rubbed the water from his eyes. That cost him effort. His legs were growing sluggish. Soon he wouldn’t be able to move them any longer, and he would sink beneath the seas.
Fight!
Something inside him pushed him to move toward the lantern. It must be on another boat. Maybe even the steamship. Their lanterns wouldn’t have survived the capsizing.
“Grab hold!”
A life ring landed nearby. Sawyer grabbed it as best he could, but his fingers wouldn’t grasp it. He slung an arm through the center and felt himself moving through the water toward the light.
“My crew!” He couldn’t accept rescue while his crew languished in the water. He let go of the life ring.
“Hang on! We have them,” the voice from above shouted.
Sawyer threaded his other arm through the ring and tried to hang on, but he kept slipping off. Then someone grabbed onto his arms and lifted him from the icy water. Sawyer clawed and scrambled as best he could until he ended up on the slanted deck of the doomed steamer.
“Tuggman, Calloway, Edwards,” he croaked.
“Here, sir,” each said in turn.
Sawyer closed his eyes in gratitude as a heavy blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and a mug of hot and painfully strong coffee was put in his hands.
“Some rescue.” He drew in a ragged breath as he recalled the moment they’d capsized.
They’d been near the steamer, ready to hand over the rescue line when a wave caught the mackinaw and flipped it over in a second. Sawyer hadn’t had time to react. One moment he was completing his mission, and the next he was in the water.
“We got the line you brought,” said an unfamiliar voice.
The rescue line had made it, but what good would it be without the mackinaw? Unless one of the ship’s boats could be launched.
“Your boat,” he gasped.
“Already preparing for the first passengers.”
Passengers! Sawyer’s eyelids shot open. Fiona had been upset about her niece. “Is there a young girl on board?”
An older gentleman stepped into the lantern light. By his somber and simple attire, he was either a preacher or part of one of those clans who advocat
ed simplicity.
The man tucked his thumbs under his suspenders. “Well, there are several young women under my care, but they are already spoken for.”
Sawyer couldn’t fathom what the man meant, but it wasn’t what he needed to know. “I’m talking about a little girl. Seven years old.”
“Oh.” The gentleman’s manner eased. “No children aboard.”
Sawyer heaved a sigh. At least Fiona could rest easy on that account.
The deck shook and slanted more severely. Sawyer slid toward the deckhouse and caught his balance before he slipped back into the water. This wreck was in a precarious position.
He pushed to his feet. “We have to get the passengers off now. Women first.”
If God heard prayers, the rest of them would make it to shore alive.
* * *
“The first survivors are ashore!”
The hurried shout came from a windblown mill worker who opened the door to the keeper’s quarters.
“Survivors?” Fiona pulled herself from gloomy thoughts. “Who?”
“Passengers.” Having delivered his message, the man left with a slam of the door.
“Mary Clare. It has to be,” Fiona whispered. “Maybe Sawyer.” At Mrs. Calloway’s grim expression, she added, “And Mr. Calloway.”
“They’d send the women and children first. If your niece was on board, she’s here now.” Mrs. Calloway grabbed a stack of blankets and piled them in Fiona’s arms. She then took the rest. “Regardless of who it is, they’ll need warmin’ up, and that’s our job. Follow me.”
The girl who’d first greeted them opened the door to let them out even while her mother assured them that she wouldn’t be far behind with the hot coffee.
The moment Fiona stepped outside, the wind slapped the breath from her. Sand stung her face. She squinted against it and could make out a small group huddled atop the dune. They were all standing. If survivors, they must be freezing in this wind.
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