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R EBECCA

To shut her up in a sepulcher in this kingdom by the sea...

Annabel Lee

ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE SPRING, 1874

“COME.” EDGAR’S RASPY VOICE startled Rebecca, and she looked up from the book she was trying to read. It was dusk, with night settling in quickly. The wind had become stronger and more insistent, and she could hear the waves crashing against the shore from inside the house. Abel and his mother were in the kitchen, their voices a low murmur. “Come,” Edgar repeated, motioning with his gnarled hand.

Rebecca laid the book of poetry aside and stood from the sofa to follow Edgar. The lightkeeper led her upstairs and through his room to the door that opened to the spiral staircase. She expected him to halt at the door to the attic rooms, but instead he continued the climb upward.

She had not been to the lighthouse—not to the lantern or the gallery outside of it. Now, as night descended, the wind grew in intensity and whistled through the tower, causing the metal steps to clang beneath their feet.

“This lantern wasn’t here when Annabel was alive. Neither was this house.” Edgar’s words floated back toward Rebecca. His large feet lumbered up the steps, and when they reached the top, she was surprised at how narrow the circular walk around the lantern was.

Edgar busied himself with some maintenance to the lantern while he filled the air with his words. “Back in the day, this area was mostly Indians and trappers. I was friends with a man named John Bell at the time. He had a house he’d hewn from logs himself, along with a shop and a storehouse. Married a Chippewa woman and they had a little boy. John treated his wife well, and she kept a good home. But the Chippewa wanted the White man to pay his dues. They threatened to burn down John’s buildings, but he convinced them to leave his place be, giving them pork, flour, and corn as a kind of payment. We went on to trap and live in relative peace, but now and again a group of White men would try to canoe up the Iron River just over yonder in Silvertown. But you can’t get a canoe upriver more’n fifty rods because of the rocks and the falls. And it was visitors like them that made us aware this area wouldn’t stay wild much longer. The Chippewa knew it too.”

Rebecca listened as Edgar droned on. She’d never heard the old man speak so much, and she wasn’t certain why he was telling her this now.

Edgar pushed back the canvas that hung over a portion of the glass, which was there to protect the lens from the sun’s rays. “Only ten years later, the White settlers moved in and began mining for copper—that was when I first saw Annabel.”

Rebecca looked at him in surprise. Edgar had not admitted to knowing Annabel personally. She waited. He rounded the lamp and opened the door to the gallery. Motioning for her to follow, Edgar stepped out into the night air. The wind was cool and brisk, nipping through Rebecca’s cotton dress. The waves below rolled onto the shore with whitecaps forming. She saw a flicker of lightning off toward the horizon. The Porcupines to the east were dark blue mounds of wilderness.

Edgar gripped the rail and stared at the lake. Rebecca shirked the cold, unsure why Edgar had brought her here, and why was he speaking of Annabel? The expression on Edgar’s face had changed, going from a sharp-eyed, grouchy lightkeeper into a softer, more sentimental version of himself.

“Annabel was the daughter of one of the miners. She was young, motherless, and she cooked for the men.”

“Were you ever a miner?” Rebecca raised her voice to be heard over the growing insistence of the incoming storm.

Edgar shook his head, his white hair ruffling in the wind. “No. Never a miner. I trapped and fished. I knew these waters. I knew the woods.”

“And you knew Annabel,” Rebecca added.

Edgar gave a nod. “I did.” He moved to go back to the lantern, and Rebecca followed once more, glad to come in from the cold wind. Edgar closed the door of glass and latched it tight. “Annabel was a beautiful soul, Rebecca. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

She waited, still confused as to what had brought this on, why Edgar was telling her the story.

He stopped his busyness and met her gaze. “There comes a time here at the lighthouse when Annabel pays each soul a visit. Some see her as a beautiful phantom, while others see her dark side. The vengeful side. The side of Annabel who never wanted to die.”

A chill made Rebecca shiver.

Edgar didn’t seem to notice, yet his wrinkled face softened as he looked at Rebecca. She was surprised when she noticed tears glistening in his eyes.

“I loved Annabel.”

His vulnerable admission ripped through Rebecca.

Edgar reached out as if he were going to touch her cheek with a callused, fatherly hand. Instead, he pulled it away, a lone tear trailing down his weathered cheek. “Now you know my secret.”

Rebecca allowed a silent moment to pass. The water below them rolled ashore, crashed against rocks, and lulled them into a peace that was mysterious and foreboding all at the same time.

“Why are you telling me this?” she finally asked.

Edgar leaned forward, his elbows finding a familiar position on the rail that encircled the gallery. “Because we all have memories, Rebecca. Yours will come back to you, and when they do—” he hefted a deep breath, letting it out slowly as if weighing his words—“don’t forget how you loved.”

Concern edged its way into Rebecca’s spirit, unsettling her more than she already was. “I don’t understand.”

Edgar nodded, staring out over the lake again. “Horror can erase love. It can make love drown beneath its weight.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “Sometimes love has to be rescued, and sometimes it’s simply too late.”

The wind whined outside the lighthouse, and what made things worse was her being enclosed in the attic bedroom. Enclosed and alone while the storm brewed. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Or perhaps it was closer and being cordoned off in Kjersti’s room made it seem farther away.

There were no ghosts tonight, only the lingering haunting of Edgar’s words. She paced the floor, debating whether to head down to the kitchen to witness the storm for herself. No doubt Edgar was still awake, tending to the lantern and keeping an eye on the storm. He reminded her of everything she couldn’t remember. He’d spoken of horrors and of love, and Rebecca was certain now that she had recalled Kjersti first because Kjersti was safe. Kjersti had been a friend to her, a haven. But the rest? The unremembered parts? Abel and Niina? Were they horror or love? Rebecca wanted to know and yet she didn’t. She wanted to demand they tell her what they knew of her, yet it was fear that kept her from doing so.

She crossed the room to the wall that separated her from Abel. Splaying her hand on the wall, she felt the coolness of the plaster. It was probable he slept while Edgar kept watch. One of them needed to rest so that if they needed to swap roles at some point, they could. For a moment, Rebecca thought she heard Abel. Heard his footsteps, the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet.

Rebecca had shared moments with Niina, now with Edgar, but Abel? He kept his distance, though she felt his brooding gaze when she wasn’t looking. She knew his protective nature was there, and yet she didn’t trust it. She didn’t trust him . Something about Abel felt dangerous, but in a way that was different from the fear she felt toward her attackers, more than two weeks ago now. This fear confused her. It created butterflies of the unknown in her stomach and made her want to sequester herself when Abel entered the room. But she didn’t know why. She didn’t—

The bedroom door opened.

Rebecca whirled and knew she had not been imagining it. Abel had been pacing his small sleeping quarters. He stood in her doorway, presumptuous in his entrance, wordless and brooding.

“What do you want?” she breathed, clutching at the neckline of her nightgown.

Abel’s eyes were intense. The blue of them had faded until they appeared to be like ice. She believed she had seen hot iron once at a blacksmith’s shop, and the smithy had told her it wasn’t the blue flames that burned hottest; it was the white flames. White like the flame of Abel’s eyes.

He closed the gap between them in a few long strides, and before Rebecca could react, Abel reached for her. His arms were strong and unfamiliar, muscled with the potential of force, and yet Rebecca knew she could break free at any moment and he would release her.

“I want you to remember,” Abel said hoarsely. His hands held her at her waist, dangerously close to her abdomen.

Rebecca couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She had not expected this—not at all. It was as if Abel was someone who’d been caged and had finally broken free, but now he restrained himself. Or did he?

“Do you remember?” He searched her face.

Rebecca winced, wishing she could give the lighthouse assistant whatever it was that he wanted.

Abel pulled her toward him. She didn’t resist, while at the same time Rebecca knew she should. Needed to. She needed to push him away. Raising her hands, she laid them on his chest, intending to shove him back. But his chest moved up and down in barely controlled breaths. It was emotion, suppressed emotion.

“Do you remember Kjersti?” he asked.

Rebecca stilled. She’d not expected him to ask that.

“She saved you.” Abel leaned forward, his breath warm on her cheek. She felt the stubble on his jaw as he spoke into her ear. His hands still held her waist. Rebecca maintained the spreading of her hands on his chest.

“How could you forget my sister?” Accusation and desperation merged together in his question.

Rebecca pulled back enough to meet his broken expression. This man, he had loved his sister. He had loved Kjersti. Rebecca could see it wounded him that she might have forgotten someone so precious and, based on his statement, someone who had rescued her.

“I remember Kjersti,” Rebecca whispered.

Abel’s eyes flickered.

“I remember Kjersti,” she repeated.

Abel released her, staggering back. He stared at her, his eyes sparking with surprise, maybe hope, and something else she didn’t understand. And then he spun and fled the room, the bedroom door closing with a bang behind him.

Rebecca stumbled to her bed, sinking onto the edge, her hands trembling.

Kjersti. This was about Kjersti.

For a moment, she had thought—or maybe she had hoped?—the emotional boiling within Abel was about her. But no. It was grief. Grief was what haunted Abel, the lightkeeper’s assistant. Grief was what followed him. So desperate to keep his sister’s memory close, he couldn’t bear that Rebecca had forgotten Kjersti along with everything else.

Rebecca lay back on her pillow, shaking. The shock of it both confused her and frightened her. Grief. A hot tear trickled down her cheek. Kjersti. Yes. She had lost a dear friend. She knew that now. She knew that not long ago she had, more than likely, stood by Kjersti’s grave, within distance of Abel, and buried her.

Kjersti was what bound Rebecca to Abel. Kjersti and nothing more.

The storm blew in strong and persistent during the night, and Rebecca was wide awake, along with Abel and Edgar, who were busy tending the light and keeping watch.

“I don’t see any ships out tonight.” Abel struggled through the door, ducking as the wind and rain blew in behind him. He pushed it shut and swiped his rain hat from his head. Drops of water fell onto the wood floor in the narrow entry. He avoided her eyes as he asked, “Is Edgar in the lighthouse?”

Rebecca turned from the stove, where she had just added coal to the firebox. “Yes.” She had the sudden urge to grab a dish towel and wipe away the rain that dripped down Abel’s face. The impulse stunned her, but instead she remained frozen near the stove.

“Good. I’m going to go see if he needs anything.” Abel strode through the kitchen on a mission to assist the lightkeeper. When he disappeared around the corner, Rebecca collapsed onto a chair.

Would that God had not stolen her memories in such a way! There were feelings, glimpses of the familiar, of repetition, as though she had experienced pieces of these moments at one time. And yet her memories were blurred, her mind shielded by a fog—no, a blustering storm—that whipped the recollections into wild waves that forced them deeper into the cold depths of her subconscious.

Right there. A breath away. It was as if she were drowning, but if she could just reach up, her fingers breaking the surface of the water, she could grab ahold of something firm with which she could pull herself back to safety.

The door blew open with such force, Rebecca screamed. Sheets of rain splattered the entryway, and a gust of freezing wind blew her hair across her face like a whip. She tried to collect her wits against the sudden shock of nature’s intrusion. Rebecca hurried toward the door to latch it shut again. A tenuous smile touched her lips as she did so. Annabel had probably shoved the door open in her spiritous vengeance. Was it perhaps a desperate attempt to return to the man who had loved her—Edgar? The stories ricocheted in her mind as Rebecca held her forearm over her face to shield herself from the wind and the rain. She reached for the door that banged against the wall with each gale of wind.

A beefy hand appeared amid the darkness just outside the entry and yanked her into the storm. Rebecca’s scream was drowned by the roaring of the waves off the lake as they lifted and fell in the distance.

A sharp pain shot through Rebecca’s arm as she was hauled into the steely grip of a stranger whose face she could not see. Another man appeared then, and a rag was shoved into her mouth, pushing her tongue back against her throat and inducing a violent gag. Rebecca doubled over but was jerked upward. Her feet lifted from the ground as the man who had forced her from the lighthouse hoisted her over his shoulder. Rebecca squirmed and twisted, kicking and screaming deep in her throat.

The second man’s hand cracked against her face, and he shouted a command that was washed away by the violence of the lake’s fury.

Rain soaked through her dress, chilling her to the bone. Her breath was stolen as her body slammed against her captor’s shoulder. She could see nothing but rain as it battered her face. She heard nothing but the grunts of her assailants as they ran into the night.