Hearts Made Whole (14 page)

“The tower is in sore need of repairs and a painting,” she agreed. “I'd hoped to do it myself this fall to protect the stone before another winter wears it away, but I just haven't had the time.”

“If you show me what to do, I'll start today.”

“I'd love to.” She quickly bit into her apple to cover her eagerness.

At the slam of the door closing behind her, she nearly dropped her apple. Complete darkness descended, except for a thin crack between the floor and the bottom of the door.

“The wind must be picking up,” she said. “Maybe we'll have to wait on tower repairs until later.” She didn't like the idea of anyone being up on a ladder with the wind gusting.

A scraping against the outside plank of the door made her shudder. Every time they had rain and wind, her memory opened up with the heartbreaking image of her father clinging tenaciously to the boat, the wind and the waves lashing against him, weakening his hold and pulling him under.

Her chest tightened. The air in the cellar felt damp and stifling. She pushed at the door, needing to get back into the light and to fill her lungs with a fresh breath.

The door didn't budge.

She shoved harder. Still it didn't move.

“The door's stuck,” she said.

Ryan crawled forward, and she scooted out of his way.

He pushed and banged against the door, at first lightly, then with more force. But it did nothing but rattle. Almost as if the lock were back in place . . .

She started at the sudden realization of their predicament.

They were locked in the cellar.

A
ye. It's locked,” Ryan said, shoving against the door again. “Could the wind have done this?”

She gulped. “I don't know.”

Maybe the wind had pushed the door closed and the impact knocked the lock in place. It was possible, she tried to tell herself. Or had someone slipped the lock back in place without realizing she and Ryan were inside? Maybe Tessa had returned from town, noticed the cellar was open, and shut it without thinking.

“Tessa!” Caroline pressed her face close to the crack at the bottom of the door. “Tessa, I'm in here! Open up!”

She strained to listen through the thick plank and heard nothing but the whistling of the wind and the tapping of raindrops.

It was too early for Tessa to be back. Her sister had planned to stay in town until the boys were done with school and then walk home with them. Nevertheless, Caroline had to believe their getting locked inside the cellar was because of either the wind or one of her siblings. The other option was too frightening to consider.

“Tessa!” she called louder. “Anyone! Please open the door.”

There was nothing, no answer. She sat back on her heels and let out a sigh. What about the flash of red she'd spotted in the woods? Had someone been watching her after all? And waiting for her to return to the cellar to trap her here?

She hadn't wanted to believe anyone was trying to hurt her, that what had happened in the garden was a mistake, and that the duck was also a fluke. But she couldn't keep from thinking again that perhaps someone was threatening her. But who, and why?

Through the darkness she could faintly see Ryan examining the hinges as if searching for a way to unscrew the door or take it apart. But it was a solid plank intended to keep wild animals out, especially raccoons. If the door could keep critters out, then it could certainly keep them trapped within.

Ryan banged it again and rammed his good shoulder into it, then sat back with a barely contained groan.

“You won't be able to break it open,” she said. “Not with the lock in place.”

He leaned close to the ground and put his face against the bottom crack.

“Can you see anyone?” she asked.

He sat back up. “I can't see anything but grass and dirt.”

“I guess we'll just have to wait for Tessa and the boys to get home.”

“How long do you think that will be?”

“If they don't stop anywhere, I'd say we have at least another hour before they return from town.”

“An hour's not bad,” he said, crawling back to his spot, almost touching her as he went. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable.” Crates scraped and jostled in his effort to move them. “There's a space here for us to sit comfortably. It's tight, but I think we'll both fit.”

She hesitated. She knew she shouldn't encourage him in any way, not even by sitting next to him.

“I promise I won't bite.”

Biting wasn't what she was worried about. She was more concerned about her reaction to being in such close proximity to him. But she couldn't very well admit that.

But if they had to wait an hour, they might as well relax. There was no reason to worry. As soon as Tessa and the boys came home, she and Ryan would shout and bang on the door and attract their attention. They'd be free in no time.

She drew in a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked.

She crawled toward his voice, bumping his outstretched legs. “I'll be fine in a minute.” At least she hoped she would.

As she settled into the narrow spot next to him, he shifted and attempted to scoot his body over and give her more room. Yet no matter how she tried to hold herself away from him, her shoulder and arm wedged against his.

She sat rigidly, conscious of the warmth of his arm, the rhythm of his breathing, and his soapy scent.

The thought that he'd cleaned himself up when he awoke that afternoon reminded her of the progress he'd made since first arriving to the lighthouse over a week ago when he'd been a filthy mess and hadn't seemed to care about anyone or anything.

But even with the strength of his presence at her side, she couldn't keep her thoughts from skittering in a dozen different directions. What if someone was out there trying to scare her? Or worse, harm her? What if they hurt her family next?

Her fingers brushed against the smooth dirt floor and bumped against something slimy. She drew back. Something
feathery seemed to creep along her neck. She swatted her skin only to find nothing.

Panic surged in her chest. Her breath caught, and her whole body tightened. She didn't want to worry, but there were times that she couldn't seem to control the panic, when it rose up and threatened to swallow her alive.

Ryan's shoulder pressed against hers in a strangely comforting way. “Did I tell you about the time I got shot in the arm by pirates?”

She couldn't squeeze out an answer past the tightness of her throat.

“It was the summer I was chopping wood up at Burnham's Landing near the Presque Isle Lighthouse.”

He relayed the story to her in the same dramatic way that Tessa often used. After he finished regaling her with one tale, he launched into more exciting adventures on the Great Lakes he'd had during his fishing days.

She noticed that all his stories and everything he related took place before the war. But she didn't mind, because as she listened to him, her body began to relax and her pulse resumed its normal pace, until she all but forgot her panic and what was happening.

She didn't blame him for steering the conversation away from the war. She could only guess that the memories of all he'd experienced were too fresh and horrible to put into words. Even so, she wondered if sharing them would bring about further healing. Or if conjuring up the images would only bring more pain.

“Now it's your turn,” he said, shifting his position, likely as stiff as she was from sitting on the hard ground for so long. “I want to hear some of your adventures from your childhood and light-keeping days.”

“My life is rather boring compared to yours,” she said.

“As a lightkeeper? Surely you've had your share of danger.”

She knew what he was doing. She could sense it in his tone. He was trying to take her mind off the situation, which filled her with gratefulness for his consideration.

“I'm doing better,” she said softly. “Thank you for helping distract me.”

“I was just passing the time.”

“I admit I don't handle worry very well. And I'm not proud of it.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said gently, “No one's perfect. Least of all me.”

“I guess it's a good thing that God doesn't require perfection.”

Ryan was silent.

“My father always used to tell me that God is good. We can't do anything on our own to be righteous. But that when we turn to Him, He'll fill us with His goodness.”

If only she could remember to turn to Him when she most needed it, like now.

A gust of wind rattled the door, and she sat forward. “Maybe I better keep a lookout for Tessa's return.” She couldn't be sure how much time had passed, but she certainly didn't want to miss Tessa and the boys coming home.

She peeked through the crack, hoping for a glimpse of someone, but could see nothing except the rain splattering the grass. For a while they took turns pounding against the door and calling out to Tessa and the twins.

When her hands became sore and her voice raw from yelling, she sank to the ground and leaned her head against the door. Ryan knelt down beside her.

“They should be home by now,” Caroline said.

“Maybe the wind and the rain are drowning out the noise we're making,” Ryan offered.

Over the last several minutes the wind had picked up, and the rain was coming down harder. He could be right. No one would be able to hear their muffled voices over the clamor.

Or maybe something had happened to Tessa and the boys. Caroline shuddered at the unbidden thought. What if they hadn't come home at all? Maybe whoever was responsible for locking them in the cellar had trapped the others too.

Anxiety clamped its viselike grip around her chest. Maybe Sarah was even now all alone in the house with no one to move her or feed her or change her. She would get bedsores, and they would become infected from lying in her own filth.

“You're worrying again,” Ryan said. “I can tell from the change in your breathing.”

“I don't want to worry.” She closed her eyes against the darkness and the fear. “But I can't seem to stop.”

“I've grown to hate platitudes, so I won't tell you anything trite—like everything's going to be okay.” His voice was low and assuring. “But I want you to know that you don't have to go through this alone. Whatever happens I'll be here, and we can get through it together.”

His fingers made contact with her arm and then slid down to her hand.

She clutched him with a desperation that was almost embarrassing. She was glad for the darkness that hid her face and her eagerness for his comfort.

“Thank you, Ryan,” she whispered. “I'm glad you're locked up too.” If someone had trapped her inside, had they meant to trap Ryan too?

“Glad I'm locked up?” His voice rose in surprise.

“I didn't mean it like that.” Mortified, she started to pull away from him. “Of course I wish you didn't have to suffer in here with me.”

He laughed softly as his fingers intertwined with hers, linking their hands together, preventing her from pulling away. “I'm just teasing. I know what you meant. You meant that if you had to be trapped in a cellar with someone, you couldn't imagine anyone better to be with than me.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, let me tell you something,” he said, lowering his voice. “If I had to be trapped with someone, I couldn't ask for anyone better than you too.”

Warmth traveled up her arm and made a trail to her heart.

“And for your information,” he continued, “I wouldn't exactly use
suffering
as the word to describe my time with you. It's more like heavenly pleasure, even if we're together in a hole in the ground.”

“You're too flattering,” she said.

“It's not flattery. It's the honest truth.”

Once again she was glad for the darkness, so he couldn't see the effect he was having on her.

“Let's get comfortable, shall we?” he said, tugging her back to the interior wall. “Once the rain and wind die down, we'll do more shouting for help. Until then, let's try not to think about it.”

Unsure whether she could stop her worrying, she settled next to Ryan again, surprised when he didn't relinquish his hold on her hand.

“Besides, they'll realize we're missing soon enough,” he said. “And then they'll come searching for us.”

She hoped so, but a hundred possibilities lingered in the back of her mind and none of them involved happy endings.

Pain slammed through Ryan's head with the force of a cannonball. His throat was parched beyond endurance. Even though Caroline had opened a jug of apple cider, it hadn't quenched his thirst.

Night had finally fallen, and after pounding on the door several more times, they hadn't been able to get anyone's attention and help. Caroline had worried herself to exhaustion over who would light the lantern if she couldn't get free to do it.

She'd finally collapsed next to him, her voice shaking with the tears she was trying to hold back. He wished he could find a way to rip the cellar door from its hinges, but everything he'd tried had failed. They were stuck. With the rain and wind still drowning out their cries for help, he'd resigned himself to spending the night here.

He was glad, though, that he was trapped with her, that he'd trailed her to the open cellar and had been here when they got locked inside. He loathed the idea that she might have had to spend the night in the dark cellar all alone.