Hearts Made Whole (17 page)

The man sitting next to Mr. Simmons was Mr. Finick, the lighthouse inspector, the last person on earth she wanted to see, especially at that moment. Mr. Simmons finally brought his team to an abrupt halt behind their gathering. Beneath his bowler hat, his dark eyes were sharp like those of a bird of prey searching out its next meal.

Mr. Finick sat with his lips pursed tightly enough to turn them blue. He cautiously descended, careful not to brush his light-gray pinstriped suit against the dusty wagon. At the same time, Mr. Simmons jumped down in one lunge that nearly tipped the wagon off its wheels.

“Looks like you found the missing keeper,” Mr. Simmons bellowed.

“Locked in the cellar.” Esther leveled a glare at him as if she placed the blame squarely at his feet for all that had happened.

Caroline studied Mr. Simmons's face, his outwardly composed facade, knowing that calm could dissipate as fast as a sunny spring day only to be overshadowed with storm clouds. Had Mr. Simmons been the one to start causing her trouble? He'd seen her at the rally outside his inn last week. Maybe he'd thought to teach her a lesson.

“Your son saved our lives,” Ryan said, pushing away from the hill and making an effort to stand on his feet without swaying. “If not for him, we'd still be locked in there.”

“Arnie would tear apart heaven and earth for that girl,” Mr. Simmons replied. “Too bad she's stringing him along instead of marrying him like a decent woman.”

Mr. Finick clucked under his breath, flipped open his record-keeping book, and scribbled something there. His long black mustache twitched with all the disapproval that likely coursed through his wiry body upon learning that she and Ryan had spent the past couple of days locked up together.

“Mr. Chambers was sick most of the time,” she hurried to add.

“I was nearly dead from pain,” Ryan confirmed.

She didn't dare look at him for fear of revealing the intimate moments that had passed between them in spite of his sickness.

“Nevertheless, Miss Taylor,” Mr. Finick said, “your behavior is unacceptable, and you've quite possibly sullied Mr. Chambers's reputation as well.”

“She didn't sully my reputation in any way,” Ryan protested. “I'm only sorry if I've caused anyone to question her character in the least. I can attest that she's completely innocent.”

“If you'd left when I instructed you,” Mr. Finick snapped at her, “none of this would have happened.”

Before she could respond, Ryan once again stepped in to defend her. “I told her she could stay as my assistant.”

Mr. Finick flashed Ryan a look of irritation. “You don't have the power to make those kinds of decisions.”

“But I need her help—”

“I'll determine if you need help,” he said. “And if you really do need help, it won't be from this woman.”

“And what does being a woman have to do with it?” Esther stepped forward, letting go of her husband, who watched her with pride beaming from his thin face.

“Women aren't allowed to be keepers.”

“There are plenty of women who've been allowed to be keepers in other states,” Esther insisted in her usual clipped manner. “And even if there weren't, it's time to put aside such antiquated rules and embrace a new way of thinking about women and their abilities.”

Mr. Finick narrowed his eyes upon Esther. “And exactly who are you? And what business do you have interfering with my job?”

Esther reached for her husband's arm, slipped hers through it, and tipped up her chin. “My husband is the mayor of Grosse Pointe, and my father is a Michigan senator.”

“Well, that has nothing to do with the Lighthouse Board, now, does it?” Mr. Finick's lips again pressed together. “And since I don't meddle in town or in state policy, I would ask you to refrain from meddling in lighthouse issues that you know nothing about.”

This was the moment Caroline had been dreading, the day when Mr. Finick came back and ordered her to leave once and
for all. The truth was, as sweet as Esther and Ryan had been about defending her right to stay at the lighthouse, Mr. Finick was the final authority in the matter. There was nothing they could do to change his mind.

Mr. Simmons stood back, crossed his arms over his chest, and grinned, clearly happy to see Esther put in her place.

But Esther's eyes sparked. “Everyone here can vouch for the excellent job that Caroline has done as keeper.” She glanced around at the others who'd joined the search party, her expression urging the townspeople to agree with her.

To Caroline's relief, they didn't need Esther's urging. They were already nodding and murmuring their assent.

“She's managed this lighthouse as well as any man—if not better,” Esther said. “And all of us think she deserves to stay on as head keeper.”

Mr. Finick picked an invisible dust mite from his coat sleeve. “Miss Taylor has been dismissed from her position. She cannot stay as head keeper or assistant. I absolutely forbid it—”

“I've asked my father to take the matter before the Senate.”

“She needs to leave Windmill Point today.”

“She's staying until we get word back from my father.”

“She leaves. Today.”

“She's staying.”

Esther and Mr. Finick locked eyes in a glare that rivaled a duel to the death.

Caroline's chest squeezed, as though the two were pressing against her and flattening her between them.

Ryan moved to stand beside her. “Listen. I'm not capable of running this lighthouse by myself.” With his pale face, sunken eyes, and unsteady legs, he certainly looked as if he were about to fall over and die.

“Then I'll have to begin to look for a replacement for you,” Mr. Finick said, jotting something in his book.

“Or you can let Miss Taylor stay as my assistant and continue to help me. If not for her, the light would have remained unlit many more nights than the past two.”

Even though he didn't touch her, his presence next to her was solid and strong and comforting. She wanted to reach for his hand, to thank him for his support. But she didn't dare to even look at him for fear of revealing the growing bond she felt between them.

“Even if I were to allow Miss Taylor to stay—which I'm not—the living situation here is completely unsuitable for an unmarried man and unmarried woman.”

“I'm living in the boathouse,” Ryan said quickly. “She can continue to live in the house.”

“That's unacceptable.”

“After making my home in a tent for the past four years, the boathouse is paradise.”

Ryan's comment garnered some laughter from the crowd, but only a frown from Mr. Finick.

“She just needs to marry Arnie,” Mr. Simmons said. “Then all these problems will be solved.”

Arnie had been pushed to the back of the gathering, but even there his face bloomed crimson.

“She's not marrying Arnie,” Esther spoke up again, her intense expression admonishing Caroline to stay strong. “And she's not leaving the lighthouse. Not until we hear back on the Senate ruling.”

Mr. Finick turned to Esther's husband. “You ought to take your wife home where she belongs.”

The mayor only smiled down at his wife. “She belongs out
here, championing for the rights of the people and causes she believes in.”

The seriousness in Esther's countenance softened. She returned her husband's smile with love and gratefulness radiating from her face.

Caroline watched her friend, unable to stop longing from snagging her. Would she ever find a man who could believe in her the same way? She was tempted to look at Ryan to see if he'd noticed the couple's sweetness with each other. But she knew it shouldn't matter what Ryan thought. No matter what had transpired between them in the cellar, no matter that he was started on the road to healing, he still had a long ways to go. She had to respect that and give him the space and time to become whole again.

Esther rubbed a hand over her belly as if to say that she could be a mother and still continue with her calling. “Mr. Finick, none of us in Grosse Pointe will let you remove Caroline from the lighthouse simply because she's a woman. If she must leave, then you must have much greater cause than her gender.”

Mr. Finick's grip on his notebook turned his knuckles white. In the morning sunshine, the darkness that flashed in his eyes made Caroline shudder. The man didn't say anything but instead climbed back aboard the wagon. He perched on the edge of the seat, straightening his trouser legs and smoothing out the wrinkles.

Finally he looked down at Esther. “You know as well as I do that the Senate has no authority in lighthouse business, and that you're only spouting nonsense.”

The gravity in his words sent another chill through Caroline, especially when Esther didn't respond.

“I'll be back,” he continued. “And next time I come, I'll be
bringing the sheriff along with official papers expelling Miss Taylor. If she refuses to leave, I'll have her physically removed and thrown in jail.”

Mr. Simmons rounded the wagon with a meaningful glance at Arnie. “Don't worry, she'll be gone by then.”

“Mr. Chambers, see to it that you have no further incidents,” Mr. Finick warned. “Or war veteran or not, you'll leave me no choice but to fire you.”

Caroline wondered why Mr. Finick was with Mr. Simmons so early in the morning. Had he ridden out from Detroit last night? She knew he favored cockfights and attended them from time to time. Or maybe he'd arrived late in Grosse Pointe yesterday and thought to ride out to the lighthouse early for one of his surprise inspections?

Whatever the case, he'd made it clear that her days at the lighthouse were indeed coming to an end. Even as he scribbled furiously in his notebook, she guessed he was writing down every sordid detail as further proof of her inadequacy.

At last the crowd began to disperse. Hugh and Harry were already playing, throwing fuzzy black caterpillars at each other, and Tessa was scolding them. Esther started to mingle and thank people for coming.

Ryan expelled an exasperated sigh. Caroline echoed him, yet she made a point of not turning to look at him, though she wanted to do nothing more than exactly that.

“Chambers,” Mr. Simmons called, “I've got a little something for you.” The big man dug through the wagon bed and then lifted out a brown bottle.

At the sight of the liquor, Caroline wanted to grab Ryan's arm and stop him from going to Mr. Simmons. But instead she spun away and crossed toward Esther, knowing she couldn't
interfere. Ryan had to fight his own battles. If she stepped in and tried to control his life, she wouldn't be helping him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him make his way toward Mr. Simmons. He conversed with the man for several moments, then shook his head.

Mr. Simmons pushed the bottle at Ryan, but he kept both hands tucked in his pockets.

The tension in her chest loosened, replaced by a swell of relief. He was doing it. He was resisting.

But for how long?

Mr. Simmons's grin faded, and he smacked the bottle harder into Ryan's chest. Ryan stumbled backward, his face set with determination.

For a long moment, Mr. Simmons glowered at Ryan. The anger in his eyes was cold and brittle. A chill skittered across Caroline's skin.

What would happen if Ryan made an enemy of Mr. Simmons?

“We'll win this, Caroline,” Esther said, drawing Caroline's attention. Esther reached for her hands, squeezed them, and gave her a look that exuded more confidence than Caroline felt.

“I don't know—”

“I do know,” Esther replied firmly. “You'll stay here. And in doing so you'll be standing up for the liberties of women everywhere.”

Caroline nodded. “Yes, of course.”

She agreed with Esther. It wasn't right for Mr. Finick to discriminate against her because she was a woman. But deep inside, she wasn't sure if the battle was worth it. She didn't want to make an enemy of Mr. Finick any more than she already had.

C
aroline smoothed Sarah's ebony hair off her face, which was as white and delicate as a single wood nymph flower.

“Monsieur Poupard would never lock you in the cellar,” Sarah whispered in her raspy voice while she peered out the window overlooking the backyard.

“I'm sure you're right, but still . . .” Perched on the edge of Sarah's bed, Caroline had a perfect view of the sprawling back garden that was now completely barren . . . except for the presence of Monsieur Poupard, who was kneeling in the dirt.

With the falling of dusk, Caroline had been about to ascend the tower when Sarah's call had stopped her. Her sister had pointed outside to the bent form of the man digging furtively in their garden. Caroline had spun angrily toward the door, ready to confront the old French trapper. After all, she'd seen a spot of red cloak in the woods the day someone had locked her in the cellar. He'd obviously been nearby.

But Sarah's weak grip on her sleeve had stopped her. “He's planting something,” the girl insisted. The darkness of Sarah's
room concealed them, and they could watch Monsieur Poupard without his realizing it.

Caroline knew that Monsieur Poupard wasn't capable of imprisoning her in the cellar. But it was so much easier to try to pin the blame on him than to have an unknown culprit on the loose waiting to strike again.

Sarah peered more intently at the crate the old man had brought with him.

“I have to go out there and talk to him.” Caroline started to rise, but Sarah's cold fingers stopped her once again. If he wasn't to blame, perhaps he'd seen the real offender.

“Wait, Caroline,” she said. “It looks like he's planting bulbs.”

Caroline broke away from Sarah and stepped closer to the window. She squinted through the growing darkness to the small item he cradled in his hand.

It looked like a stringy onion.

Caroline's breath caught. Sarah was right. He was planting bulbs.

He scooped dirt out of the ground with gnarled fingers, gently laid the item inside the hole, then covered it with soil. He patted it firmly before reaching into the crate he'd brought and lifting out another.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he paused and looked around. When he glanced at the bedroom window, she ducked away.

“So what do you think?” Sarah asked.

“I don't know.” Why was he planting bulbs, and in secret?

“He seems like a nice man,” Sarah said. Against the mound of pillows, she was cushioned like a rare jewel.

“How do you know if he's nice or not?” Caroline asked.

“I see him every once in a while passing by. He always stops and waves at me.”

Caroline turned to face Sarah. “He waves at you?”

“One time, when the window was open, he spoke to me.”

Caroline glared at the bent back of Monsieur Poupard. What was he up to? Why would he make conversation with a sick little girl?

“It was only for a minute,” Sarah said quickly. “He's always been kind to me.”

Caroline peeked at the man again, but he'd straightened as much as his hunched shoulders would allow. He picked up the crate and began to limp around the garden, the wings of his red cloak trailing in the wind behind him.

A soft knock on the doorframe drew Caroline's attention back into the room, to the sight of Ryan standing in the doorway. He glanced first at Sarah, then his eyes settled upon her, warmly, almost shyly.

“Do you mind if I come in?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Caroline said, waving him in.

Sarah smiled, and her expression took on a glimmer of adoration. “Ryan,” the young girl said breathlessly, sounding so much like Tessa that Caroline had to stifle a smile.

Apparently Ryan had cast his charm over Sarah too. At thirteen she was probably old enough to recognize just how handsome Ryan was, even if she didn't realize her own reaction to him.

“Hi there, beautiful.” Ryan gave Sarah a return smile.

A flush of faint color spread into Sarah's cheeks. The sight sent a pang into Caroline's heart. Though they'd tried every medicine they could find and had gleaned the opinions of several doctors, there wasn't much hope for Sarah living to adulthood. In fact, there wasn't much hope of her surviving the year if she continued to deteriorate as quickly as she had been.

Sarah would never get to experience falling in love, getting married, and having babies. And that reality wrenched Caroline every time she thought about it.

“How are you feeling today?” Ryan asked Sarah as he crossed the room to her bedside.

“I'm just glad the two of you are safe,” she whispered.

Ryan reached for her limp hand and lifted it with his good one. “We're perfectly safe.” His voice held a confidence that Caroline didn't feel.

The truth was, she didn't feel safe at all. All day after they'd been freed from the cellar she hadn't been able to stop thinking about who might have locked her in and why.

Whoever had done it was still out there. She couldn't keep from constantly looking over her shoulder and thinking someone was watching her and waiting to strike again.

She glanced out the window. There was no sight of Monsieur Poupard in the shadows of night. She gave a start at how quickly darkness was falling and moved across the room toward the door. She wouldn't let the tower go unlit another minute longer than necessary, not after the past two nights of utter blackness. She hadn't heard of any accidents, but she wouldn't take any more chances.

“Wait, Caroline,” Ryan said, releasing Sarah's hand and reaching into his pocket. He tugged something out.

Even in the dimness of the room, she could distinguish a small, dark bottle.

“I want you to have this,” he said, extending the vial toward her. Something inside clinked against the glass.

“Your pain pills?” she asked.

He nodded. And for the first time since he'd entered the room, she noticed the haggardness in his face, the dark circles under
his eyes. Hadn't he taken any medicine all day? After everyone had left, he'd gone back to the boathouse. She assumed he'd taken his pain pills to put himself out of his misery.

He shook the bottle in indication that she should take it from him. “I've decided I'm not going to take them anymore.”

“You're not?”

“No. Not after my body just went through the nightmare of ridding itself of the drug. Now that it's mostly out of me, I might as well keep it out.”

“That's probably a good idea.”

He stretched the pills toward her, his eyes begging her to take them before he changed his mind.

She reached for the bottle and took it from him.

“Use the medicine for Sarah,” he said, stuffing his hand into his pocket so that both hands were hidden away. “If you give her a pill now and then when her pain is especially bad, she probably won't develop a craving like I did.”

Caroline wanted to rush to him and throw her arms around him in a big hug. But Sarah was glancing back and forth between them, her eyes wide and much too perceptive.

Instead, Caroline offered Ryan a smile, hoping he could read her encouragement. He was doing the right thing. Getting rid of the pills was another step toward healing. But it still wasn't easy.

“We'd better get the lamp lit now,” he said.

She nodded in satisfaction. Not only had he turned down Mr. Simmons's offer of liquor and given up his pain pills, but he was taking the initiative to climb the tower steps and work, even though he was clearly still suffering.

She led the way to the lantern room, and together they worked quickly and efficiently to light the lantern. She stood back after the beam flashed over the lake and crossed her arms. “You did
well,” she said, breathing in the familiar scents of kerosene and smoke, relieved that tonight the passing ships would once again be safe. “I don't think you'll need my help much longer.”

He was bent over and inspecting the gears. “Maybe I won't
need
it, but I want it.”

“You heard Mr. Finick. He won't let me stay. In fact, maybe he's behind all of the so-called accidents. Maybe it's his way of driving me away.”

Ryan straightened. “We can't let him scare you off, Caroline. You deserve to be here. Much more than me.”

She sighed. The whole issue of whether to stay or leave had been weighing on her all day. As much as she wanted to be strong like Esther had admonished her, and as much as she wanted to fight for her rights, she also knew that Mr. Finick wouldn't be swayed. Not only did he believe women shouldn't be doing men's work, but he was a stickler for the rules. And if the rules said a woman wasn't allowed to be keeper, then he would consider it his sacred duty to make sure a man was running Windmill Point.

“At least stay until Esther hears back from her father,” Ryan pleaded.

She found herself sinking into the lush brown of his eyes, unable to resist the pull to lose herself in them. While her heart advised her to use caution, that neither one of them was in a position to have a relationship, she still hadn't been able to stop thinking about their intimate conversations in the cellar. And of course she hadn't been able to stop thinking about the kiss she'd initiated. They hadn't talked about it, but it was there between them nonetheless.

He straightened, wiped his greasy hands on a rag, then rounded the room toward her. His footsteps clanked against
the iron floor, causing her pulse to thud in anticipation of his nearness.

When he was less than a foot away, he stopped. The power of his presence radiated between them, tempting her to lean in, to fall into his arms and close the distance that separated them. He lifted tentative fingers, hovered above her cheek, and lightly grazed her jawline.

Her breath snagged in her chest. She started to turn her head into his touch, but then he dropped his hand, stuffed it back into his pocket, and released a pent-up breath that was warm and only reminded her of the way it felt against her mouth when they'd kissed.

“I'd love to stay up here with you all night,” he whispered hoarsely, taking a step away from her, “but I don't trust myself when I'm around you.”

There was something raw and powerful between them. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before, like nothing she'd ever imagined between a man and a woman. She couldn't deny that she liked it.

“I don't think we should be alone together,” he said, “at least not for long.”

His comment and the insinuation behind it made her look down at her boots in a mixture of embarrassment and desire, neither of which she wanted him to see.

“I thought maybe we could come up with shifts,” he continued, his voice strained. “Maybe we could each work half the night?”

She nodded. Other keepers and their assistants often had shifts for watching the light so that one person didn't have all the responsibility. “I'll take the early shift,” she said. “Why don't you sleep first?” She didn't have to mention that he would benefit
from the extra sleep, since his body was still ravaged from the lack of the opium pills.

At her proclamation, he pressed his fingers against his temple and let his guard down, revealing the mask of pain he'd been hiding. “Thank you. I'll sleep for a few hours and then relieve you.”

“There's no rush,” she said. “In fact, why don't you rest in the keeper's room. I won't have use for the bed . . .”

Should she make such an offer? Was it proper? What would the townspeople think if they learned Ryan was now sleeping in the house? Especially after he'd told them he would stay in the boathouse?

She opened her mouth to tell him to forget her suggestion, that it was a bad idea, but the longing that filled his eyes stopped her words. He'd admitted to everyone that he'd lived in a tent for years. She could only imagine how much he wanted to sleep in a real bed.

It wouldn't matter if he took comfort on the bed for a few short hours. It might even relieve his injury of some pain if he didn't have to sleep on the hard ground. It would only be for one night.

Besides, Tessa slept with Sarah to help when she awoke with pain. All Caroline needed to do was run down and inform her sister of the arrangement and tell her to lock Sarah's door. Tessa would understand.

“Yes, go on. Take the bed,” she said before she convinced herself it was a bad idea. “It will do you good.”

He smiled, and the pleasure in his face swept away her doubts.