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R EBECCA

But we loved with a love that was more than love...

Annabel Lee

ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE SPRING, 1874

FOG WAS SETTLING IN, and the waters were churning as the sun went down. Rebecca hugged her knees to her chest as she cowered in the corner of the oil room in the lighthouse, listening to the wailing of the wind as it rattled the windows. Another storm, another tumultuous night reminiscent of the one prior. She had spent the entire day here in the oil room, the small room with the washbasin just off the dining area. Its floor-to-ceiling shelves were stocked with colza oil, stored in tanks, there to keep the flame of the lantern burning.

She’d sequestered herself in this room for the last several hours. While the sitting room with the rocking chair might have been more comfortable, something inside of Rebecca had landed her here, on the floor, curled into a ball and hopeful that she’d be left alone. The oil room seemed a lonelier place and, by being so, felt safer.

She’d heard the low timbre of the men’s voices—probably discussing her. What to do with her, why she was here, who she was. There was a deep fear rooted within her, a nauseating fear that kept her stomach churning and her soul indecisive. The man, Abel, had told her he didn’t know who she was. Edgar had been impassive. But there were tiny familiarities here in this lighthouse, and even more outside. Like distant dreams or another life. She had lived here once, and there had been peace. At least that was what one side of Rebecca felt convinced of. The other side was certain this lighthouse and the men within it were strangers, were dangerous, were somehow tied to the men from last night.

Even now, Rebecca closed her eyes tightly and then opened them, yet the memories of last night remained.

She ran through the woods, tree branches scraping wildly at her face. Rain pelted her with the stinging prickles of cold drops forming into miniature frozen spears. The men had come at her from both the east and west. They had encircled her like a pack of wolves.

They shoved Rebecca to the ground. The leering smile of the otherwise faceless assailant loomed over her, fading in and out of her memory. She felt his hands on her torso. Felt them in places no man had touched her before, and he was unkind in his force. Another man’s growling voice was no omen of rescue, and though he had shoved her assailant from his straddled position atop her, he had only taken his place. But it was his hands that had lifted her head and then brought it to the earth. She had choked on the rain. She had suffocated on the air stolen from her with the action and the subsequent pain.

A moment of scuffle between her attackers. Rebecca had broken free. She had run through woods at a breakneck pace and—

“Rebecca?”

She screamed, flailing her arms and legs.

The lightkeeper’s assistant—Abel, was it?—knelt beside her. She could hear him trying to calm her. His hand was on her arm. She screamed again, slapping at him. She couldn’t allow him to hurt her. She needed to get away. But the lighthouse was safe. It was a haven in the thunderstorm. It was—

“Rebecca!”

The sharp tone of Abel’s command snapped something aware inside of her. Rebecca froze, her chest heaving in terrified breaths, her eyes wide as she stared at Abel with fear.

His frigid look seemed to match the growing storm outside the lighthouse.

“You’re safe, Rebecca.” Abel reached for her, but she shrank back from his hand.

A shadow flickered across his face. Irritation? Anger? She couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t sadness—it wasn’t pity either.

She wanted to reach out to him, but his dark silence intimidated her. She wanted to flee from him, but the gentleness of his touch confused her.

“A storm is coming,” he informed her. “Please stay in the oil room. You’ll be safe here.”

Rebecca pulled herself into a sitting position, scooting away from him on her bottom until her back hit the wall.

Abel’s expression was troubled. “Rebecca...” he began.

He knew her. He at least knew something of her. Rebecca could see it in his eyes. But he withheld it from her. He let her believe they had only just met.

“Will you stay here?” he asked for reassurance.

She nodded. Lying. The moment he left her alone would be the moment she would run from the lighthouse. Back into the storm. Back into the proximity of her attackers from last night. Back into the unknown... Rebecca sucked in an unwelcome sob.

Where did she run when she didn’t know from whom she ran or why?

Abel eyed her, then strode to the corner of the room where he gripped a large metal, boxlike contraption. It had what appeared to be a trumpet configured to one side, like the earpiece of an elderly soul hard of hearing. He appeared to sense her curiosity, so Abel provided a brief explanation.

“The fog is getting dense, and the lake is turning wild. I need to sound the warning horn.”

Rebecca frowned, unsure of what he meant.

Abel tipped his head with instruction. “Stay here.”

Rebecca nodded, but while she answered him, a strange, overwhelming desire took over her, as though the lake were calling to her despite its anger. Perhaps its spirit was furious at the wrongs committed against her, and now it rose in her defense. Perhaps the lake was not a violent murderer, but a vigilante exactor of justice, devouring ships and sailors who dared to brutalize the innocent.

It made sense in Rebecca’s mind, yet it wouldn’t if she were to voice it. So she remained mum as Abel departed the oil room and headed toward the gale.

Fierce winds plastered Rebecca’s dress against her legs, whipping her hair and slapping it across her face. She had reacted to her strongest instinct. Flee. She saw Abel forging ahead, his rain slicker shedding water, unaware that Rebecca was mere paces behind him. The rain was cold, the wind blowing off the lake akin to a monster’s icy breath. She could hear nothing but the roaring and crashing of the waves, which had been unleashed from their morning calm into white-crested walls, rising to heights that would swallow men standing on one another’s shoulders.

The storm stunned Rebecca as she pled with her senses to align with reason. Run—to the woods. Run—to the lighthouse. Run. Her need swirled inside her with a similar violence to the storm building off the lake.

She stood, the rain pelting her, as Abel pushed into the storm. He neared the edge of the embankment. Perched above the rocky shoreline, he began to pump a small handle up and down on the metal box until, through the volume of the waves, Rebecca could hear the warning wail of the foghorn.

The lighthouse behind them cast its beam onto the lake, attempting to bust through the thick fog and the curtain of rain.

Rebecca regretted the lack of clarity in her thoughts. She regretted that nothing triggered recollections but only reinforced the utter fear that rose from her gut into her throat. Nausea claiming her, strangling her, and the already dark of night devouring her whole.

She dropped to her knees, leaning forward on her hands and gagging onto the sodden earth. Abel continued to sound the horn.

“A ship!” His shout interrupted Rebecca’s momentary fade as she felt the world closing in around her. “A ship!”

Another shout behind Rebecca told her that Edgar was fighting his way toward them.

“What are you doing out here?” A sharp reprimand laced his voice.

Edgar’s meaty hand clamped around Rebecca’s arm and hauled her to her feet. His bearded face pressed close to hers, and his snappy black eyes speared her with concern. “Get inside! Go!”

His shove sent Rebecca stumbling back toward the lighthouse. She struggled across the lawn, the warmth of the light beckoning her. Edgar had made her decision for her, and something in her responded to his direction.

Go back. Go back to the lighthouse.

A yell behind her made her twist in her position.

The foghorn had stopped.

The wind tore at her with wicked derision, but Rebecca fixated on Abel and Edgar as they scrambled down the embankment.

“—sinking!”

She raised her eyes to the lake and saw the outline of a ship. A steamer. The lake bludgeoned it, wrecking it into pieces.

The next moments might have been mere minutes or perhaps hours, but Rebecca lost sight of her own horror and instead surged after the two lightkeepers. There was naught they could do but watch as the lake ate the ship, debris already lifting on the high waves and pummeling onto the shore.

“Look for survivors!” Abel’s shout was cut off by the raging storm.

Far ahead along the shoreline, the flicker of lanterns awakened her to the realization that while remote, the lighthouse was not solitary in its existence. Other men were fighting their way through the storm toward the lighthouse, drawn by the shipwreck that occurred just offshore.

Rebecca clawed her way up the sandy bank, skinning her knees on driftwood and rock as she did so. She took refuge in a grove of trees, watching as a group of men arrived, all dressed in oiled coats and floppy hats that drained water from their faces.

Their yelling was unintelligible above the lake’s own voice. Ropes were uncoiled. A rowing skiff was hauled from its mooring on the shore toward the water.

Edgar waved his arms over his head, his wobbling run toward the men indicative of disagreement.

A shouting match ensued.

One man pointed toward the ship that was now in pieces, then at the skiff.

“You’ll sink!” Edgar’s hoarse cry reached Rebecca’s ears.

She wrapped her arms around a tree trunk, stabilizing her. Mesmerized by the chaos, she squinted into the rain. She could see people in the water now. One was lifted high with a wave that then crashed and appeared to roll over them. The depth of the darkness swallowed the victim, along with the violence of the lake.

She released the tree and hurried along the embankment, holding her hand over her eyes, a futile shield against the rain. A head bobbed in the lake and disappeared.

People were drowning before her very eyes, and she was helpless. The men were helpless. She searched the shoreline until her gaze landed on Abel. He stood like a solemn sentinel, bathed in the swath of light from the gallery, staring at the abyss as he watched the ship’s passengers drown. Helpless.

She hid in the oil room once again, uncertain as to why Edgar had directed her back there. He had spotted her on the embankment, the lighthouse most likely silhouetting her drenched form, and he’d waved her back. When she didn’t move, the old man had clamored up the ridge and shoved his face near hers.

“Get in the oil room an’ stay there!” His command was so brusque and sharp it had snapped Rebecca from her sodden stupor.

How long had she stood there, unmoving, spellbound and horrified not only by the storm but by the shipwreck and the destruction left in the wake of it all? It matched her very soul, she felt, and as the minutes ticked by, she had been less terrified and more entranced by the lake. By its majesty and its power. By the way it imitated every part of her. A tumult warring within her whose forecast refused to predict a calm anytime soon.

Now clanging and banging came from the kitchen as someone filled the range with coal. Rain still pelted against the window just across from the wall of shelves.

Rebecca shivered, soaking in her dress, unable to get warmth back into her bones. She peered out the window into the night. Men rushed to and from the lake in what appeared to be a for-naught rescue mission. No bodies were being carried to the lighthouse, but as the storm had begun to wane and dawn seeped into the sky, the waves continued to wash pieces of the doomed steamboat ashore.

“Goodness, you’re sopping wet, Rebecca.”

Rebecca was startled at the matronly voice and banged into the windowsill. She stared at the woman. Lucky if she was over five feet tall. A dry muslin dress swathed her frame, and a serviceable shawl draped her shoulders, the ends tucked in a band that stretched around the woman’s plump waist.

“What was Edgar an’ Abel thinking?” She tsk ed as she hurried from the oil room and then soon returned with a wool blanket in her hands. “Get out of your things. Even your skivvies. You need to get warm before you die of hypothermia or shock.” The woman glanced over her shoulder, as if the two lightkeepers were standing behind her, and scowled regardless of their absence. “Men. Half a brain and no mind to nurture.” She shook the blanket and held it up like a curtain. “There now. Out of your things. Hurry now. There may be more I need to help with besides you.”

“I’m not from the shipwreck.” Rebecca felt it necessary to inform the woman if for no other reason than that she felt guilty stealing attention from others in more dire need.

“Don’t I know that?” The woman’s gruffness was laced with kindness. Rebecca stilled and eyed her, whose blue eyes met hers. Confusion flooded the woman’s face. “Rebecca? Come now...” She shook the blanket again. “What are you doing?”

Rebecca stared at her. This woman knew her. Rebecca could see that she did. She took a step toward her. “Who—who are you?”

Drawing back, the woman eyed Rebecca, and an awareness crept over her that brought with it both an air of worry and a strong sense of caution.

“I’m Abel’s mum,” she explained, seeming to watch for Rebecca’s recognition. “You can call me Niina.”

The name was unfamiliar. It sounded different—accented, pronounced like the number nine with an ah at the end. Rebecca surprised herself when she asked, “Are you Finnish?”

The woman stared at her for a long second and then gave a quick nod. “ Joo . Yes,” she answered and then shook the blanket to emphasize. “Hurry, child.”

Rebecca did as she was told, pausing at her soaked chemise until she noted that Niina had turned her face toward the window to give Rebecca privacy. She stripped and reached for the blanket, which Niina released when she felt Rebecca’s tug. Wrapping it around herself, Niina turned back to Rebecca. Her eyes did quick work of skimming the bare skin that was still exposed regardless of the blanket.

“I’d like to flay the person who gave you those bruises.” Niina beckoned with her hand. “Come. We’ll head up to—we’ll get you dressed.”

Rebecca didn’t miss Niina’s falter and switch mid-sentence. She was going to refer to a place that should be familiar to Rebecca, but instead she’d bitten her tongue.

Rebecca followed without a word. The wind and rain still rattled the windows and echoed loudly in the spiral iron staircase. They climbed to the attic level, and Niina led Rebecca straight to the room with the locked door.

“No one goes in there,” Rebecca parroted Abel from earlier.

Niina huffed as she took a skeleton key from her apron pocket. “Says Abel.” She unlocked the door and pushed against its whitewashed wood. It opened, hinges protesting the movement. A musty smell laced with lavender greeted Rebecca. She sucked in a breath, the scent releasing a nostalgic emotion in Rebecca she could not identify. A lone bed with a thin mattress covered with a patchwork quilt was tucked against the far wall just under the slanting roof. There was no other furniture except for a trunk that sat at the end of the bed. Niina opened the chest and rummaged through its innards.

“Here we are.” She pulled out another dress, this one a dusty blue. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.” A chemise and underthings followed. Rebecca shed the blanket and quickly dressed, relishing the warmth. Niina gave her a hand-knitted sweater with leather buttons. “This will keep you warm.”

“Whose clothes are these?” Rebecca had to ask. First the gray dress Edgar had given her earlier, and now these things? She had a feeling she had seen them before, yet she also was certain she’d never worn them.

“Well, they’re not yours, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Niina answered, refolding a garment that had come undone and tucking it carefully into the trunk.

“These were Kjersti’s.” Niina’s voice broke. She glanced at Rebecca, seemed to wait for something, and when it didn’t happen, continued. “Kjersti was my daughter.” Niina closed the lid of the trunk. “She stayed here at the lighthouse with Abel and Edgar when I was on my deathbed. No one expected me to live. I surprised them all. My fever broke the day Kjersti came down with it. She was gone within three days. Before they could bring her home to me, and before I could nurse her as an ?iti should. Abel locked up the room, and no one can enter now. No one but me, mind you. I’ve the right.”

Of course she did. She was Kjersti’s mother.

“Abel locked the room.” For some reason, Rebecca had assumed the locked room was Edgar’s doing. A broken heart perhaps. Harbored memories. She’d not expected it to be at the hand of Abel, and for his sister.

Niina’s eyes shone with tears, and she blinked rapidly. “Kjersti and Abel were always close. She was the eldest and looked after him. He was lost without her—” Niina’s words hitched, and she shook her head. Waving her hand, she motioned for Rebecca to exit the tiny room. “He’ll have to manage with you being here in Kjersti’s room. There’s nothing to be done about it now. We’d best go down and see if there are any survivors. I’ll need your help if there are.”

As Niina led the way, Rebecca snuck a glance into the room opposite Kjersti’s. The room that must be Abel’s. Surely as an unmarried woman she’d not be expected to board across the hall from an unmarried man, with only a male lightkeeper a level down in the keeper’s bedroom?

“Might I...?” Rebecca hesitated, then plunged ahead with her question. “Might I stay with you instead?”

Niina’s stopped abruptly. She turned from her perch two steps below Rebecca as they curved downward. “No.” Niina’s hand rose and hovered over Rebecca’s cheek, her eyes softening. “It’s not safe.” She didn’t offer an explanation, and Rebecca knew instinctively that to inquire further would be useless. Her suspicions had to be true. Abel and Niina and even Edgar—yes, they knew who she was, but they did not want to tell her. They harbored her here in the lighthouse, along with secrets, and along with the truth of whoever she really was.