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R EBECCA

...my darling...

Annabel Lee

SILVERTOWN UPPER PENINSULA OF MICHIGAN SPRING, 1874

SHE WANTED TO LIVE! The realization coursed through her as Rebecca prepared to die, though, knowing that life had led her here to this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered under her breath to Abel.

I’m sorry , she spoke from her heart to her unborn babe’s. I’m sorry you didn’t get to live. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you enough to bring you into this broken world. I’m sorry you will not know your father.

But I’m not sorry that I love you.

A grunt shocked Rebecca back to the present. Mercer’s knife flung from his hands, and his body careened off hers as another man barreled through the shack’s door and into him. A booted foot caught Rebecca in her hip, and she cried out, rolling away even as her bindings prohibited quick movement.

Bear shouted.

A resounding gunshot filled the room, deafening Rebecca’s ears to only a high-pitched whistle. She winced, her vision blurred from the abuse her face had already taken by the hand of Mercer. Seeing his knife a few feet away, Rebecca tried to wriggle toward it.

A man shouted, and then the sound of a fist cracking against skin and bone urged Rebecca to try harder to reach the knife. From her peripheral vision she saw the still form of Bear lying on the shack’s floor. A pool of blood was spreading from beneath him.

Chaos by her feet ensued as two men rolled on the floor, grunting and shoving, along with the brutal noises of fists and feet waging battle. Rebecca reached the knife and worked her bound wrists around it, holding the handle as stable as she could with her forearm while working her bindings against the blade. It was awkward, and the knife nicked her wrists and hands, but the bindings gave way, freeing Rebecca to scoot into a sitting position and sweep the knife along the ropes at her ankles.

“You son of—” The words were muffled as the new man rolled atop Mercer and leveled a fist into the man’s face.

Rebecca’s mouth fell open, and she screamed, “Edgar!” Never had she expected the man coming to her aid with such ferocity to be the old and arthritic lightkeeper. Mercer struggled beneath him, his face bloodied but fixed in a grin that said he was gaining the upper hand. He shoved Edgar off of him, and the old man careened into the wall. A rifle lay off to the side where it had fallen, obviously the weapon Edgar had used to silence Bear, though it was of no use to him now.

Rebecca scrambled toward the rifle, but Mercer dove in front of her and grabbed it. She heard the resounding click of the rifle’s lever action, and both she and Edgar stilled. Mercer struggled to his feet, his nose dripping blood, his eye swelling.

“You should have stayed away, old man!” he growled at Edgar, who matched him for injuries but seemed far worse for the fight. Edgar hunched against the wall, gripping his midsection and gasping for breath. But his eyes were narrowed, his expression hard.

“Leave her alone!” Edgar shouted.

Rebecca’s fingers closed around the knife that she had freed her bonds with.

Mercer adjusted the rifle against his shoulder. “Where are the papers?” he demanded.

A genuine look of honesty crossed Edgar’s face. He looked at Rebecca and then back at Mercer. “I don’t know where they are.”

Mercer stalked forward, jamming the barrel of the rifle into Edgar’s chest. “Tell me or I’ll put a bullet in you.”

“Then you’ll never find out where they are!” Rebecca mustered the courage to challenge him. “If you hurt him, I’ll never tell you!”

Mercer spun, bringing the rifle with him to aim in her direction. “Where are they at then, you little chit?”

Rebecca hid the knife behind her back. She glanced at Edgar, who shook his head in warning.

Edgar. Sweet, darling, crotchety old Edgar. She didn’t understand how he’d loved her mother if Annabel was married to Hilliard, but he had. If he was her father ... Rebecca almost wished it were true. She shifted her attention back to Mercer. It would be wise to reveal where she’d buried the papers. It wouldn’t thwart Hilliard’s grandiose plans of power and wealth, but it would potentially spare Edgar now. Would Hilliard leave them to the lighthouse once and for all if she capitulated to the demands?

Rebecca opened her mouth to reveal the location just as Edgar pushed himself from the floor. There was viciousness in his eyes that stunned Rebecca into stillness and momentarily shocked Mercer. With a guttural growl, Edgar stumbled and launched himself at Mercer, shouting at Rebecca simultaneously, “Run!”

The rifle in Mercer’s hands fired, and Edgar lurched backward with the blast.

Rebecca screamed and without thinking flew at Mercer, wielding the knife. She sunk it deep into the man’s shoulder, and he dropped the gun, falling away in agony. As Mercer writhed on the floor, Rebecca fell to her knees, grabbing the rifle and pulling it with her even as she hurried to Edgar’s side.

The elderly man lay on his back, his chest heaving. A poisonous red spread along his shirt.

“No, no, no!” Rebecca wept over him as she pawed as gently as she could at his shirt, trying without success to stop the bleeding. She grabbed at her dress, ripping the bodice until her chemise was exposed. She wadded the strip of material into a ball and pressed it firmly against the gunshot wound.

Mercer rolled on the floor behind her, spitting vitriol as he clawed at the knife that was embedded in his muscle.

“Edgar!” Rebecca leaned over the lightkeeper while holding the wad of material against his chest.

Edgar’s hand curled around her wrist in a weak hold. His eyes were glazed but soft, with moisture in them that could only be attributed to unshed tears. “Get out of here, child,” he rasped out, demanding she flee for her freedom.

“I won’t leave you!” Rebecca cried, her own tears falling on Edgar’s weathered face.

He lifted his hand to her cheek. “I’m old. I’ve lived my life. You ... live yours now.”

“Edgar, I—”

His eyes closed and then snapped open. “So many regrets.”

Rebecca pressed a bloodied hand against Edgar’s face. “Are you—?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not ... your father. That’s Hilliard. Though he don’t believe it. Two can love ... and not do all wrong. Annabel wouldn’t.”

Disappointment coursed through her. “But you loved her—my mother.” Rebecca’s statement filled the air between them even as she heard Mercer in the background, gritting out words she would never repeat.

Edgar grimaced, then gasped out, “More than I should have.”

Rebecca frowned. “What do you mean?” She was desperate to know the truth—the truth about her mother Annabel and about Edgar. If he wasn’t her father ... then what? Had he tried to save her as she fled the hands of Hilliard? To rescue her from the icy waters of the lake?

Edgar’s eyes widened, and for what seemed an eternity he stared deep into Rebecca’s. “I saved us from him,” he said. “Run. Go live.” His eyes slid shut, and he expelled a long breath.

“No!” Rebecca screamed. She spun when she heard Mercer behind her, stumbling to his feet, the bloody knife in his hand which he’d pulled from his shoulder. She snatched up the rifle, pumped the lever, aimed and pulled the trigger.

S HEA

Marnie’s fingers squeezed oxygen from Shea’s throat, blocking her airway. Shea reached up and grabbed at the woman’s wrists and threw her weight against the waitress, Edna’s daughter. She’d not expected to recognize the woman in the lighthouse. Now she wrestled not with a ghost or an idea, but with a woman whose anger she felt in every clawing scrape left on Shea’s throat.

“Get. Off. Me!” Shea shoved Marnie away from her, and Marnie fell against the lighthouse window. Her body crumpled to the metal floor, but Marnie reached for part of the lantern’s mechanism, pulling herself to her feet.

“Where is it?” Marnie’s breaths came swiftly, and the women stood in a sort of standoff, the lantern between them, the waves and the storm held at bay only by the grace of the lighthouse’s frame and glass. Marnie’s nightgown—eerie and all too familiar as the ghost of Annabel—fell to her ankles.

“Where’s the map?” Marnie swiped blood from her lip where Shea had nicked her.

“I don’t have it!” Shea shouted.

Marnie shoved her long hair back, hair that when waitressing had been pinned into a tidy roll. Now she looked like a crazed version of a human trying to be a ghost. “I won’t let it go,” Marnie spat. “You don’t know what it means to have it!”

“How do you know you’ll even have rights to the silver vein if you find the map?” Shea shot back. “Most of this area is state park land! Even if the map tells you where it is—”

“It’s not about that!

“Everyone thinks that Rebecca’s secret should be kept.” Marnie shook her finger at Shea. “The stupid map should stay hidden. But Gene knows where it is. He always has! But Jonathan found out where it was!”

Jonathan .

The name startled Shea.

“Jonathan Marks?”

Marnie’s face shifted into a sneer. “Penny’s man . I know he found out where it’s hidden. It is family legacy . Family legacy, I tell you, and I will not be cut out!”

“Cut out?” Shea said, clueless as to what Marnie meant.

Marnie took a menacing step toward Shea. Shea backed away, glancing behind her to gauge the space between her and the stairs. If she could get to them, she could run. Run away from Marnie and the lighthouse. How had Marnie even gotten into the lighthouse to begin with? With Captain Gene and Holt and Pete, she would have had to pass them all to get in. Unless ... she had snuck in before Shea had been stopped by Holt at Annabel’s grave. Marnie had to have waited for an opportune moment to sneak into the lighthouse, and when Shea left the lighthouse tonight, she must have made good of the moment. Which meant...

“You’ve been watching us? Here at the lighthouse?” Shea accused.

“At least you figured that out,” Marnie scoffed.

“Did you hit Pete with your car?” Shea glared at the woman, who didn’t even flinch.

“He was in the way.” Marnie’s admission was unemotional. “He never even saw me.”

“In the way of what?” Shea shot back, inching toward the stairs.

Marnie laughed. “ You! I’ve spent my entire life trying to get out of Penny and out of Captain Gene where the map is hidden. Holt has been worthless. Messing with the lighthouse, inviting guests. At least when Jonathan lived here, I was able to toy with his brain and get him all mixed up about Annabel’s ghost. The man thought he was losing his mind!”

“ You’re the ghost,” Shea stated. Marnie was the footsteps. The woman on the shore. She was dressed to fool the occupants and play with their superstitions. She must have a key—some way to enter. “But why? How does haunting a lighthouse have any effect on its occupants?”

“It was supposed to make Jonathan leave,” Marnie said with satisfaction. “It was supposed to make you leave.” She grinned with clenched teeth. “I can’t search this place with people here. I had time for a while, after Jonathan and before Holt turned the lighthouse into a rental. I have a key—I could search everywhere, but then ... people. People everywhere. They never stopped coming!”

“I don’t know where the map is hidden!” Shea’s foot found the first stair, and she stepped down onto it.

Marnie was rounding the lantern. “That’s what Jonathan said, but he was lying.”

“But you shot him anyway?” Shea had already drawn that conclusion, yet now she voiced it.

Marnie clucked her tongue. “Well, it was a pity the gun misfired. I hadn’t intended...” She paused, seeming to check herself. “He wasn’t supposed to die. Then my pathetic nephew buys the lighthouse—Holt has always been in the way.”

Confusion spread through Shea. She paused on the lighthouse step. “You and Penny are sisters?”

“Stepsisters,” Marnie corrected. “Captain Gene married my mother, Edna, after Penny’s mother died. My mother already had me, but I should have been his daughter too. I was just a child! Yet it was always Penny first. Always. And Captain Gene told me as much when I was a teenager. The family legacy—the Hilliard family legacy—would always be hers through his bloodline. She was his .”

Marnie’s expression seemed to soften. Vulnerability entered her voice. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to be loved for something? Without the Hilliard legacy, I’m just Marnie the waitress. The spinster. The daughter of the second wife, Edna. My mother doesn’t care. She always loved the history, and when she and Captain Gene divorced over thirty years ago, she didn’t care about losing the legacy. But I do .” Marnie’s words stunned her. They were so poignant, so brutally true that they knocked the breath from Shea’s intent to flee. “And I won’t let Gene keep me away from that legacy—the silver, the money. It should also include me!”

Shea remembered the gravestone. Edgar . “And how does Edgar fit into the story? The lighthouse keeper?” she asked.

Marnie’s expression went blank. “I have no idea who that is. An old lightkeeper, I suppose. Nobody important.”

Shea nodded, accepting Marnie’s response, and took another step down. “Marnie, even if you found the map, it wouldn’t be yours. Not legally. It would belong to Captain Gene, and I—”

“Shut. Up.” Marnie took three determined steps toward Shea, and Shea took another quick step down and away from her. Marnie’s face grew taut, causing her face to contort. “It’s all I have,” she hissed, her words choked. “It’s all I have.”