Hearts Made Whole (29 page)

He studied her face, waiting for her to turn and beseech him for an escape.

But when Tessa finally looked at him, he saw resignation in her eyes. She pursed her lips, squared her shoulders, and then shook her head. The gesture confirmed what was written on her face. She still wouldn't marry him, and there was nothing he could do to change her mind.

He nodded at her. He couldn't force her. He'd have to accept her decision whether he liked it or not. And part of him admired her for not taking the easy way out, for her willingness to stay and accept the consequences of her mistake.

As he shifted his attention back to Caroline, to the happiness infusing her features, the other part of him was filled with a yearning sadness and resignation of his own.

He didn't stay in the sitting room to congratulate Caroline on the ruling. Instead he made his way outside and headed to the boathouse, where he began packing up the few belongings he'd left there.

“So you're leaving?” Tessa's voice came from behind him.

He spun to find her standing in the doorway. He held the driftwood cross he'd carried with him through every battle, every heartache, every step of his life for the past six years since his sister had passed it on to him.

His fingers caressed the rough wood. “I have to go.” Once the words were out, he knew they were true. As much as he wanted to run inside the house, wrap his arms around Caroline, and demand that she marry him, he wasn't ready for it.

He still had to pay back the debt he owed to the family he'd hurt during the war. While he was haunted less by the death of the boy, he'd vowed to make up for what he'd done. And he couldn't forget it.

More important, all that had happened over the last couple of days had shown him that he was in need of much more healing in his life before being ready to give himself wholly to a woman the way she deserved. Even so, he had to offer to help Tessa one last time.

“Are you sure you don't want to come with me?” he asked. “Now's your chance to salvage your reputation, your chance to leave the lighthouse.”

She didn't hesitate but shook her head vehemently. “Whatever may come, staying here is something I have to do.”

“Then you'll understand that I have to leave every bit as much as you have to stay.”

“Are you sure you can't marry Caroline?” Tessa shivered from the cold of the morning. She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. “I can tell she loves you. And she'll marry you if you ask her again.”

Ryan clutched the cross in his damaged hand, the rough wood digging into his two remaining fingers. “I want to marry her more than anything else in life.” He was surprised by the intensity of his statement. “But I have to do a few things first before I'll be the man she needs.”

Tessa nodded and then wiped a sleeve across her eyes.

He glanced down to the cross, twirled it in his palm. Just like this wooden cross, God had been there with him all along during his times of need. But he'd turned to everything else for help—to whiskey, to pain medicine, to sleep, and even to Caroline.

She'd been there for him, had accepted him and encouraged him even when he was at his worst. She hadn't condemned him but had loved him regardless of how he'd failed her. It would be all too easy to rely upon her for strength, to turn to her to
help him through his difficulties. But that wouldn't be fair to her. And it wouldn't be what God wanted either.

God wanted him to go to Him with his deepest needs, to stop looking elsewhere, so that he could be made whole again. Until he could do that, he wasn't fit for marriage with Caroline or any woman.

Ryan held the driftwood cross out to Tessa. “Here. I want you to have this.” He'd finally understood the hope the cross offered. Now that he grasped the message of hope, it was time to pass the cross along to someone else. After all, the letter that went with the cross urged the bearer to give the cross to a person who needed hope.

Tessa stared at it but didn't make a move to take it from him.

“My sister gave it to me. And now I'd like to give it to you.”

She took it from him, turning and examining it.

“There's a story behind it,” he said, and then told her about the original owner of the cross, Henry Cole, and how the wealthy young man had fashioned the cross out of driftwood left from a shipwreck that had stranded him at the Presque Isle Lighthouse. Henry had eventually fallen in love with the keeper's daughter, Isabelle Thornton. But circumstances and difficulties had thrust the two lovers apart. Through it all they'd had to learn to hope in the Lord.

By the end of the story, Tessa clutched the cross to her chest.

“Don't be a fool like me and forget God's presence in your life,” he finished. “Remember that He's there every hour, every minute, every second. We just have to turn to Him with our needs.”

She nodded.

He had a feeling Tessa was going to face more hardship in
the days and weeks to come as a result of her lie. And she would need to know that God had forgiven her and was still there for her, even as she had to live with the consequences.

He returned to his saddlebag and stuffed a shirt inside.

“Will you say good-bye to Caroline?” she asked.

He didn't want to. It would shatter his heart into a thousand pieces to say good-bye. More than that, it would hurt her, and he loathed the thought that he might bring her any more pain.

“Say good-bye?” Caroline's voice came from behind Tessa. “Why would you need to say good-bye, Ryan?”

Ryan's body sagged. He finished shoving the last of his things into the bag before turning to face her. She stood in the doorway now instead of Tessa. Her eyes were wide with questions. And something else . . .

Was it fear?

“Congratulations on getting the job back,” he said with a smile, steeling himself for what he was about to do. “The Senate and Lighthouse Board made the right decision. I admire them for their willingness to stand up for what's right.”

She reached for the frayed rope of one of the buoys hanging on the wall near the door. She didn't respond, but instead twisted and looped the rope.

Tessa had disappeared, and he was grateful to her for giving him a last few minutes alone with Caroline.

“They couldn't ask for a better lightkeeper,” he added.

“Why are you leaving?” Her hands on the rope stilled, and the sharpness of her eyes stabbed him.

He had the sudden urge to hide his saddlebag behind the canoe and pretend he wasn't going anywhere. But he knew he had to face her and say his good-byes sooner or later.

“You're the keeper now,” he started. “I'm out of work—”

“Tell me the truth.” Her command was harsh with anguish.

His throat tightened. He picked up his saddlebag and slung it across his shoulder. “It's time for me to leave. I have to go—”

She put out her hand to stop him. “I'll let you have the job. You can be the keeper.”

“No, Caroline.”

She stepped into the shed, ducking under a fishnet and dodging a paddle. “I don't need to be head keeper. I'll stay as your assistant.”

He shook his head. “My leaving has nothing to do with the job. I'm happy you're the keeper. You're much more qualified than me. In fact, I can't even begin to compare with your level of expertise.”

“Please don't go, Ryan.” In the dim light her eyes pleaded with him.

He felt his resolve begin to weaken. It would be so easy for him to stay, to rely upon her, to allow her to help him. But perhaps she needed to let go of taking care of him as much as he needed to stop relying on her for his healing.

He hung his head, hating that he had to hurt her. “There are some things I need to do,” he said softly. “And God has some work to do in my life before I'll be the man you need.”

“No” came her hoarse whisper.

“Aye. I have to make sure my drinking days are over.”

“You did it once. You can do it again. And I'll be here to help you.”

“That's just it,” he said, growing more certain that he needed to go. “If I keep on looking to you for strength, then I'll never stand on my own two feet.”

Thick tension hung in the air between them. For long
moments the chatter of Tessa and Esther near the house filled the silence.

“Where will you go?” Her question was strangled but resigned. It was almost as if she knew as well as he did that he wasn't ready to be in a relationship, and wouldn't be until he dealt with his inner demons.

“I don't know yet. Maybe the West.”

She didn't reply except for the awful pain that radiated from her slumped body.

He started to let the saddlebag slip from his shoulder, to give in to the need to be with her. But then she looked up at him, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I understand.”

And in the one statement he knew she accepted his choice and forgave him for the hurt he was causing her. She was as understanding as always.

He nodded and once more squared his shoulders. He had to go. Now. Before he utterly failed and gave in to temptation again.

With a heave he started forward, sidling past her. The warmth of her presence, the tiny catch of her breath, and the anguish she was desperately trying to hide all urged him to reconsider. But somehow he made it through the doorway and into the openness that led to the shore.

Any hints of sunshine he'd seen earlier had now disappeared. The clouds had closed their gaps, and the grayness had begun to spit pellets of sleet.

“I'll miss you.” Her soft, almost imperceptible call followed him.

It grabbed his heart, wrenched it so painfully that he lost his breath. He stopped, tossed his bag to the ground, and spun around. Then in three long strides he stalked back inside the
shed, grasped her by the arms, and dragged her against him. He dipped his head and took possession of her mouth.

He wanted her. He needed her. And he couldn't leave her.

Her lips responded to his with the same hunger. Her arms linked around his neck, and she clung to him.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment he forgot where he ended and she began. He was consumed with her. They were one. And the very thought of breaking the connection stabbed him worse than any war wound.

At the enmeshing of her fingers in his hair, he groaned, broke the seal of his mouth on hers, and brushed his lips to her cheek. His breath came in gasps.

The heat of her lips chased after his. He tilted away, trying to think straight, to remember what he needed to do. He trailed his mouth to the hollow of her ear and pressed a long, breathy kiss there.

Leave
came the urgent whisper in the depths of his soul.

His fingers on her arms tightened. His breath in her ear turned heavier.

She clutched him almost desperately.

Leave now,
the warning rose louder.

He closed his eyes, swallowed the desperation that swelled and threatened to drown him. “I love you,” he whispered. “I'll always love you.” Then he pried his fingers loose and took a step back, away from her.

Coldness filled the space between them. She shivered, but she made no move toward him.

He fought the urge to wrap his arms back around her, to comfort her and bring her warmth. He made himself do the hardest thing he'd ever done. He spun, walked through the door, and snatched up his saddlebag.

Then without looking back he strode toward his horse, his heart shattering with each step he took. He threw his meager belongings across the horse's flank.

He was leaving. And he refused to say any more good-byes.

Caroline sat alone in the boathouse, leaning against the tangle of ropes and life vests hanging on the wall. Her cheeks were dry, her soul empty.

The sound of horse hooves had long since faded, and they hadn't returned. She'd sat for hours, waiting for the sound of them to grow louder again, to signal that Ryan had changed his mind, that he wouldn't leave her after all. But there was nothing.

The dismal gray had grown darker. Her fingers and toes were numb from the cold. She'd lost her appetite and thought she'd never be able to eat again, but now her stomach growled with pangs of hunger from having eaten nothing all day.

Tessa had come to check on her several times throughout the day to urge her to return to the house where it was warm. And when the boys had come home from school to find Ryan gone, they'd peeked in on her too, their sad eyes reflecting another loss in their young lives, making her want to weep from the unfairness of it all.

He wasn't coming back.

She would have to accept it. Finally.

He was gone. And no amount of wishing or crying would bring him back.

Deep inside she knew he was right, that he still needed to heal, that he wasn't whole yet. Part of her even understood why he wouldn't be able to heal here with her, that perhaps
he would rely too much upon her strength so that he wouldn't regain his own.