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R EBECCA

And neither the angels in heaven above nor the demons down under the sea...

Annabel Lee

ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE SPRING, 1874

REBECCA STARED UNSEEING into the expanse that was Lake Superior. The window of the oil room had become her escape, and once she was safely back inside, Abel had left her there, alone. She’d had nothing to say after his pronouncement that he was the father of the child that was swelling her abdomen. He knew her better than she knew herself merely because he could recall and she could not.

She was numb. There had been no rejoicing, no sudden resurgence of memory or understanding. There had only been a long stretch where she had no words and Abel beseeched her merely by his expression to come back to him.

That there was an innate pull toward Abel had been evident from the first day Edgar had brought her to the lighthouse.

“ Anishinaabewi-gichigami. ” Now, Edgar came along beside her in the oil room. His presence was unexpected, and yet Rebecca didn’t mind it. Of anyone here at the lighthouse, Edgar was now the least intimidating. He didn’t come with expectations. He was just Edgar, the lighthouse keeper. The one overseeing the lake who ensured each ship and crew made its way in the darkness.

Maybe he could help her as well.

“That is what the Ojibwe call this lake.” Edgar leaned on a long stick of smoothed driftwood that he brought into the lighthouse, stabilizing his bowed legs. His floppy fisherman’s cap squashed his white hair, but from her peripheral vision, Rebecca could see he was following her stare across the waters rather than demanding she give him her full attention. “Annabel loved the lake.”

Rebecca inhaled a steadying breath scented with lake water, drawing it deep into her lungs.

“I hear Abel told you he’s the father,” he stated.

“Yes,” Rebecca answered flatly. She didn’t care to speak of Abel, not yet. But then a part of her did, and perhaps Edgar would be the safest person to talk to about it.

“The story of love consumes a soul. Remember what I said? Don’t forget the love? There’s often no other thought but that.” Edgar’s words hung in the room between them.

“Do I love him?” It was the question that plagued her the most. Rebecca hated herself for the pained expression in Abel’s eyes. She agonized trying to summon recollections. There was no question she was drawn to him, had even trusted him, and something in her desired to be close to him. But there was no tangible memory to cling to. No recollection of their love, let alone the conception of the babe she now bore.

“Only you can answer that. It’ll take time,” Edgar acknowledged.

“And I’ve lived here at the lighthouse? With both of you?”

“Since Kjersti concocted her plan to get you away from your father in the first place.” His explanation confused her.

“Kjersti?” Rebecca struggled to remember.

“Yes, Kjersti. You two had been friends for a while. Kjersti and Niina lived in Silvertown not far from the Hilliard house. And Kjersti knew about your father.”

“You mean that he was greedy?” Rebecca offered.

Edgar’s expression turned dark when he looked at her. “No. That he flat-out disowned you, that he abused you your whole life. You’d visit Kjersti with a black eye and with no good explanation.”

Rebecca was beginning to understand. Kjersti’s concern. A black eye. Yes, she could remember—vaguely, but still, it was there now that she’d been reminded of it.

Edgar sucked in a resigned breath. “Kjersti convinced her brother, Abel, to marry ya. Get you out of that house before Hilliard did something worse to ya. I doubt that man has one ounce of affection for you.”

Rebecca recognized the dull cold in the pit of her stomach. It was coming back. Like a rainstorm where the rain came down harder and harder, pelting her with its fierceness. Yes. Her father.

“You are a chilling reminder ... unfaithful...”

“My father was furious with Abel and me,” Rebecca said, remembering more pieces of her story now.

Edgar studied her. “ Furious is the right word for it. Abel and you stayed here at the lighthouse. We had no idea Hilliard would just about lose his mind over it. But then after Kjersti got sick—” Edgar stopped and swallowed hard—“nigh on about six weeks ago—”

“ Six weeks! ” Tears sprang to Rebecca’s eyes. No wonder Kjersti was fresh in her memory. No wonder Abel could hardly speak of her. Aside from her attack, Kjersti’s death would’ve been the most traumatic thing to have happened. Abel was still reeling from his sister’s passing. Niina was hiding behind Finnish fortitude.

“Six weeks.” Edgar nodded. “You blamed your father.”

“For Kjersti’s death.” Rebecca knew then. The memory of her fury. “We couldn’t get her treatment. That’s why she was in the lighthouse instead of with Niina as Niina was ailing. My father stood in the way of Kjersti because she convinced Abel and I to marry—out of convenience—so I could leave the Hilliard house.”

“Yep,” said Edgar.

Rebecca clenched her teeth. It was coming back like the nightmare it was. “My father hated my besting him and leaving, as much as he despised me when I was at home.”

Edgar turned, his eyes scanning the vast breadth of Lake Superior. “You left the lighthouse after Kjersti died. You were not only angry, but you were petrified for your brother’s safety. You said if—”

“If my father could allow all of this horror, then Aaron would be the next one to suffer,” she finished.

Then there was Abel. Her cheeks warmed. Abel had tried to rescue her months ago. He had taken her as his wife—on Kjersti’s plea and due to his innate protective nature. Convenience. And yet ... there had been more.

“The babe.” Rebecca put her hands to her hot cheeks. She was beginning to remember that too. She remembered feeling the awkward bride, and later, the palpable relief she experienced when she’d moved to the lighthouse. She remembered sleeping in Abel’s room. That first night he’d slept on the floor. That arrangement went on for days, weeks. And then with his steady presence, his eyes, his quiet spirit ... one night everything changed between them.

Edgar leaned on the driftwood stick as he pointed out the window. “That’s the earth this lighthouse stands on. Seems fittin’ it was built where Annabel died. But love here in these wilds? It’s not an easy place for love to survive. It’s beaten and abused. Life ain’t simple, not as it should be. Love should be straightforward, but then people threaten the ways of it. They have their own plans, their own schemes. Dirty deeds lend a man to do more wickedness, and all in the name of love.”

Rebecca waited, sensing there was more, though Edgar seemed to talk in riddles.

“You’re a Hilliard.” Edgar summarized what Abel and Niina had only danced around. “And then you became a Koski. Abel’s wife. Rebecca Hilliard Koski.” He shifted to look at her. “When I found you days ago, we knew your father would stop at nothing to exact his anger. But these papers? We don’t know about that. We don’t know what you did when you left the lighthouse to go back to Aaron.”

Panic surged through Rebecca. She drew back from the window and stared at Edgar. “Is Aaron all right?” How had she not thought of that yet? Where was he? Was their father punishing him for her deeds?

Edgar held up his palms to calm her. “Niina has seen him. He’s fine. Not a speck of a bruise to be seen, and he smiled at her. That’s all they can do; they don’t dare speak to each other. But every indication is your brother’s all right.”

“How did it come to this?” Rebecca cried. “What did I do when I left here? I hurt Abel, and now I’m carrying his...” She couldn’t think of that now. With all that she could remember, her feelings for Abel were the most confused, a torrent of whirling emotions. And then there were the papers. Those blasted, mysterious papers! “I don’t remember what I took from my father. I don’t remember why they were chasing me—why they almost killed me!”

Edgar shook his head and sniffed. “Awful things happen, an’ when they do, sometimes your mind can’t look at them. That’s what yours is doin’. You can’t look at the awful and you can’t hear the painful, so your mind has told everyone ‘no more.’ All we know is your father hates you for leavin’ to be with Abel. But your father hated you just as much for stayin’ with him. An’ now he believes you’ve crossed him by taking those papers, an’ if it’s what I’m guessing, you took something of immense value regarding his silver mines, the stamp mill, and who knows what else? The men he sent after you the first time tried to get it out of you. That’s when your mind said enough was enough. You blocked the images, the memories, the people. Your mind wants to start fresh, but you can’t.”

“And I can’t stay here, Edgar,” Rebecca added. “Regardless of my carrying Abel’s child. I put him and Niina and you in danger each moment I don’t face my father and supposedly hide whatever it is he thinks I have.”

“You can’t go back to your father.” Edgar’s black eyes bored into hers. “He’ll kill ya. You’re not runnin’ from us again. We’re family, an’ that baby is family. Whether or not you an’ Abel can figure things out between ya.”

“Why does my father hate me so?” Rebecca breathed.

Edgar’s expression grew disdainful. “Because the man is a fool. He doesn’t believe you’re his child.”

Rebecca’s mind spun, trying to piece together the puzzle that was her life.

Edgar struck the floor with his walking stick and mumbled something under his breath.

“What did you say?” Rebecca pressed.

“I said he’s an envying demon who doesn’t know the good of what he had.” With that, the lightkeeper hobbled from the room, looking especially stoop-shouldered, especially tired, and especially old.

Rebecca knew then that despite the gaping holes in her story and the unknown tales of Edgar and Annabel’s story, they shared one thing in common: Anishinaabewi-gichigami was a coffin for the hope of ever being loved. It allowed its wild waves to grow into what was good and then pulled it apart until only broken pieces were left behind. Pieces better sunk to the depths and forgotten about.

She had tried to forget, but the waters did not seem to allow her to.

Beating on the lighthouse door brought Abel’s footsteps pounding across the floor. He cast a wordless glance at Rebecca, who sat alone at the kitchen table. It was the wee hours of the morning. She had spoken to no one after her conversation with Edgar, but neither had she left the lighthouse as she’d planned. Niina had left to go back to her cabin in Silvertown, Edgar had retired to the lighthouse, and Abel ... he had given Rebecca a wide berth. The air between them sizzled with sparks that needed merely the right question or statement to erupt into emotional flames. They were flames Rebecca didn’t know how to put out or how to contain or even how to properly tend. She must avoid the flames. Only now, it seemed, the flames had come to their front door.

“The stamp mill’s ablaze!” It was a boy’s voice at the door.

“The mill?” Abel verified.

Rebecca pushed up from her place at the table.

“ Joo! ” the lad responded in Finnish. “Flames higher than the trees! All available men must come before it spreads to the woods.”

Abel sprang into action, grabbing his hat, sliding his feet into his boots.

Rebecca hurried to the entryway “What can I do?” The boy at the door eyed her with suspicion, and she drew back.

“Nothing,” Abel said. “Stay here.” He shoved his arms into his slicker. It wasn’t raining. Perhaps he wore it to protect against sparks and flames. Abel hesitated, seeming to debate within himself, before turning and pushing his face close to hers. His icy eyes reflected a hardness in them. “Do not leave the lighthouse,” he told her.

Rebecca simply nodded. She wanted to say be careful , but the words stuck in her throat.

“Tell Edgar what’s going on.” And with that, the door slammed behind Abel.

Rebecca opened it and rushed outside. Black smoke billowed over the treetops, suffocated the sky and the fresh air. Abel and the boy raced to a sturdy wagon and climbed aboard. Even as Abel took his seat, the boy had already whipped the two horses into action. They were stocky breeds, not meant for speed, but they would reserve Abel and the boy’s energy to fight the stamp mill fire.

Movement behind Rebecca drew her attention. Edgar approached the doorway, a question etched on his face.

“The stamp mill is on fire.” Rebecca’s explanation brought a darkness to Edgar’s expression.

“They’ll blame you for this.” His statement made Rebecca go cold.

Her incredulous stare was returned with frankness. “Hilliard will say you started the fire. He will say you’re out to destroy him.”

“Whatever reason would I have to do that!” Rebecca cried in utter disbelief. It made no sense! Did her father think she was the devil himself, bent on wickedness?

“Because of her ,” Edgar spat. He looked beyond Rebecca. “He’ll think it’s because of her. She bewitched him just like she did everyone else. He’ll say she’s bewitched you too.”

“Who? Who has bewitched me?” Rebecca didn’t feel bewitched, but then maybe that was why her memories had been stolen from her. Maybe that was why, in the depths of her heart, she knew she would die if something happened to Abel tonight, and yet she could not grasp whether she loved him at all.

Edgar gave the side of the lighthouse an angry slap. He reared back and brought his hand down a second time, ignoring how a corner of one of the bricks sliced into his callused hand, drawing blood.

“Annabel!” he said between gritted teeth. “We will never be free of her.”