Hearts Made Whole (8 page)

She loved the peacefulness and the quiet. She loved the wild creatures that made the lake their home. She even loved the mysterious history of the area. Some claimed Windmill Point was an Indian graveyard and old battlefield where the Fox tribe had fought and been slaughtered by early French settlers.

Through the tall reeds among the distant woods to the north, she caught sight of a red flannel coat. Within seconds an old man burst out of the woods. He wore a coonskin hat, its striped tail flopping down his back, alongside his long gray hair that was pulled back in a queue. His gun was propped against his shoulder, and his black eyes glared at her across the distance.

It was Monsieur Poupard, their neighbor.

Caroline stood, fisted her hands on her hips, and stared back, refusing to let the old French trapper intimidate her. “You'll be very glad to see us go too, won't you?” she said.

Every once in a while she glimpsed him in the woods, hunting. Usually, though, the hermit kept to himself in his log house near the ruins of the old windmill.

He'd likely come over because he'd heard the news about her replacement. She had no doubt he was rejoicing that they were leaving. He'd rejoice to be rid of the twins, since they bothered him to no end, always encroaching on his land, or fishing on his section of the lake, or making too much noise near his house.

The only time he came over was to complain about the boys in his thick French accent.

She was surprised when he waved at her with a jerk of his arm. When she didn't move, he waved again, this time more forcefully.

“Make haste,” he called, his leathery face scrunched in a scowl.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“The twins,” he said.

She didn't have the time to listen to him grumble about Harold and Hugh. They'd be out of his way soon enough. Couldn't he tolerate them a few more days?

“I'm sorry they're bothering you again, monsieur. I'll be sure to talk to them about it.” She'd told them to come straight home after school and not to get into any trouble. They'd clearly disobeyed.

“
Non
, non, non.” The Frenchman's scowl deepened, and he sliced the air with his hand to cut her off. “The boys. They are in trouble. You must come at once.”

Trouble was nothing new for the twins. They were always getting dirty, ripping their trousers or scraping their knees in one of their many escapades. But there was something urgent in Monsieur Poupard's voice that caused an eerie stillness to
descend over her, as if she were swimming underwater where there was no sound.

“The abandoned well by the ruins.” Monsieur Poupard cocked his head to the north. “This is where they are. One of them has fallen inside.”

Fallen into the old well?

Caroline shuddered, and the outside world came rushing back to her senses with the force of a roaring gale. She picked up her skirt, bunching the material into her shaking hands, and darted toward him.

“You must get rope,” Monsieur Poupard shouted.

She nodded and veered toward the boathouse. As she ran, her heart pattered in time to her feet. She didn't bother to knock at the half-open door. She barged inside and almost tripped over Ryan's feet.

He was lying on his bedroll, his head resting against a life jacket. In the dim light she could see his eyes were closed and there was a whiskey bottle near his hand next to the driftwood cross.

Had he been drinking again?

She shook her head in disgust, quickly stepping around him and reaching for the rope hanging on the back wall.

“Is it time to light the lantern already?”

At the sound of his groggy voice, she jumped. “No,” she snapped. “It's not nearly time.”

He sat up slowly and wiped his hand across his eyes. “What's wrong?”

“It's not your concern.”

He watched her uncoil the rope from the hook and loop it over her shoulder. “Is someone drowning? Are you heading out on a rescue mission?” His voice lost the sleepiness and instead took on an edge.

“I said it's not your concern.” Her muscles were tight, urging her to get to the boys as fast as she could. Without a second glance at Ryan, she started out of the shed. His grip on her arm stopped her. She pivoted, astonished to see him on his feet.

His expression was alert, his eyes serious. “It is my concern now,” he said in a low voice. For an instant she could see the man he used to be—conscientious, hardworking, determined.

But at the sourness of alcohol on his breath, she yanked back from him and pulled free of his grip. “I don't have time to waste dealing with you right now,” she said. “My brothers are in trouble, and I'm going to rescue them.”

At her declaration, he released her. The determination in his expression wavered.

She spun away, her chest tightening at the thought of what awaited her at the old well. She didn't have another second to waste. Especially arguing with a half-inebriated man.

As she raced across the yard, she shouted instructions to Tessa through the open window. A few seconds later, the front door banged open and Tessa called after her as she rushed toward the marsh. Caroline didn't stop to answer but began pushing her way through the woods.

When she broke through the clearing by the ruins of the old windmill, her lungs burned with the need for more air. Her legs almost collapsed beneath her. Ignoring the pain, she sprinted the rest of the way to the crumbling brick structure of the windmill.

She gave a wheezing cry and fell to her knees at the sight of Harold leaning over the top ledge of the well. His arms were stretched down, and he was shouting instructions over his shoulder to Monsieur Poupard, who had a tentative hold on his legs.

“No, Harry!” she called.

At the sight of her, Harry wiggled out of his precarious perch
and planted his feet on solid ground. His face was dirty and streaked with tears. “Hugh is down there!” he shouted. “And he can't keep afloat much longer.”

Tessa staggered past her, her breath coming in gasps from running. She didn't stop until she reached Harry. “What happened?” Tessa demanded, gripping the boy's shoulders.

“Are you all right?” came a voice behind Caroline.

She turned and was surprised to see Ryan. His brown eyes regarded her with concern, and he grasped her arm and steadied her.

“Don't worry about me,” she said hoarsely.

“Hugh's under the water!” Tessa screamed. “He's drowning!”

Ryan sprang forward. Caroline stumbled after him, begging her weak legs to carry her to her brother.
Oh, God
, she silently pleaded.
Not Hugh too . . .

She'd had to stand back and helplessly watch her father drown. She couldn't do it again. She couldn't watch Hugh die without attempting to save him.

Ryan kicked off his boots and shed his shirt at the same time, then hopped onto the edge of the well with a nimbleness that spoke of his strength despite his injuries.

“Hugh!” he yelled into the darkness. “Hang on! I'm coming down.” Without waiting for a response, Ryan slid over the edge and jumped. There was a splash, followed by several long seconds of silence.

Caroline lifted the rope from her shoulder and peered down into the deep well. Through the shadows she could make out the tops of two heads.

“I've got the boy!” Ryan shouted up. “He's swallowed a lot of water, but he's alive. Throw me the rope.”

As her eyes adjusted to the dark interior, she could see Ryan's
upturned face and shoulders. His muscles were stretched taut in his effort to keep himself afloat while holding on to Hugh.

“I'll tie the rope around him, and then you pull him up.” Ryan's voice exuded a confidence that gave her a boost of energy.

She lowered the rope until she heard it hit the water. Within seconds he had the rope looped around Hugh's chest and under his arms. The weight pulled the rope so that it burned against Caroline's hands. Thankfully, Monsieur Poupard had already taken hold of the rope behind her, aiding her hold of Hugh.

“All set!” Ryan called. “Pull him up.”

Tessa and Harry grabbed the rope too. With the four of them heaving, they pulled Hugh's limp body to the surface. At the sight of him, a dismayed cry slipped from Tessa's lips, and she flung herself toward the boy.

She lifted him the last bit of distance into her arms and carried him away from the well. Caroline followed and knelt next to Tessa. The young girl had turned Hugh on his side and was pounding his back.

Seconds later, Hugh began coughing up mouthfuls of water. His eyes fluttered open and made a connection first with Tessa, then with his brother, Harry. Finally he looked at Caroline. “I'm sorry,” he whispered through trembling blue lips.

A wave of relief crashed over Caroline, and her body sagged. She cupped his freckled cheek and smiled. “You're safe. That's all that matters.”

“I didn't know the water was so deep,” he said. His hair was plastered to his forehead.

Caroline choked back a rebuke. Now wasn't the time to scold him. She would save that for later.

“I thought I could get out.” The innocence in Hugh's eyes unleashed guilt within Caroline, for she should have filled the
well with rocks earlier that summer when the boys had first stumbled upon it. She'd known it posed danger. But then she'd gotten so caught up with her keeper duties that she hadn't given the well another thought.

And to think of what had almost happened . . . She fought back tears. She'd almost lost Hugh.

The twins had been adventurous even before their father had died. But over the summer they'd steadily gotten into more trouble. Maybe she hadn't been paying them enough attention. Maybe she'd been too busy with her job to give them the supervision and training they required.

What if Mr. Finick was right? As a woman, perhaps she needed to focus on her home and family. Perhaps she'd placed too much attention on her work and not enough on caring for her siblings. Maybe losing her job as keeper was best for all of them. She could marry Arnie and then be able to spend her days taking better care of the twins and Sarah.

“How is he?” Ryan asked, kneeling next to her. His breathing was labored, and water dripped from his hair and clothes and puddled on the ground around him.

In her worry over Hugh, she'd completely forgotten about Ryan still at the bottom of the well. She glanced toward Monsieur Poupard, who was dragging the rope out of the well. The opposite end was wrapped in a tight knot around one of the supporting beams that rose to the dilapidated roof of the well. The old Frenchman had tied the rope and then thrown it back down to Ryan, who had apparently pulled himself up hand over hand.

She could only imagine the pain the effort had cost Ryan. She was tempted to look at his hand and his arm, but instead she focused on his face.

Every line was drawn taut, and his eyes radiated agony. But then he looked down at Hugh tenderly. “How are you, son?”

Hugh lifted a hand, and Ryan grasped it within his good one. “Thank you,” Hugh whispered. “You saved my life.”

“Aye. You're welcome,” Ryan said. “That was a dangerous thing you did.”

Hugh lowered his eyes at the same time that Harry let his head drop.

“A boy needs to have fun,” Ryan went on. “I won't argue with you about that. But foolish and fun are two different things altogether.” His blond hair hung over one of his eyes and curled up at the back of his neck.

She'd wanted to loathe this man or at the very least blame him for her current troubles. But how could she? He might be scarred and suffering, but he seemed to be a good man underneath it all.

As if sensing her scrutiny, he shifted his attention to her. The brown of his eyes was warm but firm. “How about if I bring the boys out here tomorrow and put them to work filling the well?”

His words contained no anger, only a logical tone that spoke of his desire to help prevent further mishaps while also giving the boys some needed discipline.

“That's a good idea,” she said past a swell of gratefulness that clogged her throat.

“What do you say, boys?” Ryan glanced from one to the other. His expression was still kind but filled with the admonition the boys needed.

The twins both nodded and looked at Ryan with new respect.

Yes, deep inside Ryan Chambers was a good man—a man worthy of respect, someone they could even come to like. Maybe
it would take some time for him to heal, to be able to live fully again. And she'd be long gone by the time that happened.

But one thing was certain, she couldn't fight him, couldn't even be angry at him any longer. She'd simply resign herself to the fact that, for better or worse, he was taking over the lighthouse.

C
aroline flapped Sarah's rug again, even though she'd already loosened all the dust from it on the third or fourth shake. In the morning sunshine, the dust particles glinted in the air and floated lazily away. They all seemed to make their way down the gently sloping span of yard toward the rocky beach and draw her attention to Ryan, where he kneeled next to the water's edge.

The sunlight kissed his bent head and turned his hair into a fetching shade of golden brown. And the bright reflection off the water showed a face, hands, and arms scrubbed clean of the dust and grime that had coated them previously.

Donned in his undershirt, he was bent over and scrubbing his shirt. Using only one hand and a bar of soap, his efforts were valiant but feeble. The longer she watched, the more she was tempted to go to him, grab the shirt, and clean it herself. But somehow she knew that such an offer would humiliate him. He probably hadn't done much of anything since his injury, including taking care of himself. Maybe one of the first steps in his healing process was to begin taking an interest in his
grooming and to do some of the difficult tasks for himself, to prove to himself he was still alive.

After all, he'd only lost a few fingers, not his life.

Nevertheless, she wanted to do something for him. At the very least she needed to thank him for saving Hugh's life yesterday. But she hadn't had the chance since he'd ridden off and hadn't returned until much later. From his wobbly walk, she guessed he'd spent the remainder of daylight hours at the Roadside Inn. So when evening fell, she'd ascended the tower stairs by herself and taken care of the light alone just like she usually did.

She'd expected him to come barging through the hatch, disheveled and dazed at dawn like he had yesterday. But when the sun had risen and she'd extinguished the lantern, he still hadn't staggered out of the boathouse. So she'd turned off the light and completed the morning chores in his stead.

For the hundredth time, she'd been furious at the unfairness of the situation. Inwardly she'd railed at Mr. Finick for replacing her simply because she was a woman and for giving her job to someone who didn't care about the light as much as she did.

But she couldn't muster any anger toward Ryan. Not after yesterday. Not after seeing the real him.

She let the rug droop against her calico skirt and stared at his bent back, at the strength that radiated from him even as he wrung at his shirt with just one hand.

There was a decent man buried somewhere beneath his layers of heartache, she was sure of it. The same way she'd noticed there was a handsome man beneath all the grime.

“You've sure been out here long enough,” Tessa said, stepping out the door behind her.

Caroline focused quickly on the rug and gave it another
shake. Her cheeks tingled—but only from the chill of the morning air.

“I thought you were going to town.” Tessa joined her on the grass, her apron smudged and her hands dusted with flour. She carried a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate piled with egg and porridge leftovers from breakfast in the other.

“I
am
going to town,” Caroline said. “I wanted to make sure Sarah's room was clean first.” Even though she tried to look at Tessa, she couldn't help but glance back at Ryan.

Tessa gave an unladylike snort. “I think you just like being out here watching the show.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Tessa nodded toward the shoreline. “Mr. Chambers giving himself a bath.”

“He's not bathing.”

“And how would you know that if you're not watching him?”

Caroline's cheeks tingled again. She forced herself to pivot so that she wasn't facing Ryan.

Tessa's lips crooked into one of her disarming grins. “You're blushing.”

“No, I'm not.”

Tessa's grin only inched higher, and she turned to stare boldly at Ryan. “I admit he's a much nicer man than I thought he'd be. And he's also better looking.
Much
better looking.”

“Tessa!” Caroline peeked over her shoulder to see if Ryan had heard her sister's declaration.

He gave them a sideways glance but otherwise appeared preoccupied with his soggy shirt.

“Put it this way,” Tessa continued. “I won't mind taking him his breakfast.” The young girl sashayed her hips and winked at Caroline before lifting the cup and plate.

Caroline swiped the plate from Tessa before she could take another step. “I'll take it to him.”

“What if I want to take it?”

“Young, unmarried girls don't take plates of food to strange men.”

The girl's eyes narrowed, and her smile disappeared. “I'm eighteen now. I'm practically an adult.”

Caroline wanted to roll her eyes but resisted the urge. After just turning eighteen, Tessa acted as if she were twenty-six and thought she knew everything. Without Father's admonition, she'd steadily become more resistant to Caroline's leadership. In fact, Caroline found herself fighting with her sister over the littlest of things.

It was true that, for some time now, Tessa had been forced to bear a large load of responsibility, beginning when their father's rheumatism had worsened and Caroline had taken over the light. The care of the twins and Sarah had fallen onto the girl's shoulders and she'd handled it well. But just because she'd managed the load didn't mean Caroline wanted her flouncing down the beach and making eyes at a man they'd only just met.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up your age,” Caroline said, reaching for the coffee mug. “Still, I'll take him the food.”

Tessa's pretty dark eyes flashed. “I'm old enough to have a beau if I want one.” She straightened and pushed back her shoulders, which only served to emphasize her womanly curves, much fuller and more rounded than Caroline's.

Lately, Tessa had been a little too encouraging with the few men she met at church or in town. She'd smiled at them too brightly, too invitingly. And Caroline hadn't liked the reaction of the men. They hadn't been able to pick their chins up off the ground and stop their drooling. Tessa was still innocent
and unaware of the effect she had upon men. But sooner or later, if Caroline didn't protect her sister, she was bound to get into trouble.

“But you've only just turned eighteen.” Caroline kept her voice low and controlled. “You're still very young.”

“I suppose you want me to end up an old maid like you.”

This time Caroline couldn't keep from rolling her eyes. Tessa's line of reasoning was irrational. At twenty, Caroline didn't consider herself an old maid. And just because she wanted Tessa to be careful didn't mean she wanted Tessa to wait forever. Yet Caroline knew from past experience that it was pointless to argue with Tessa when she was in one of her belligerent moods.

“I don't want you to go down there and flirt with the new keeper, Tessa. He doesn't need to be bothered by such silliness. And that's all I'm going to say about it.”

“It's not silliness to talk with a man,” Tessa shot back. “Most girls my age are getting themselves beaus now that the boys are coming home from the war.”

Caroline pinned her with a sharp look. “You don't need a beau. Especially not now, not when our lives are in upheaval.”

“So I suppose it's perfectly okay for a ‘young, unmarried girl' like you to take breakfast to a stranger?”

“At least I don't giggle and flutter my eyelashes at every man I meet.” With an admonishing last look, Caroline started toward Ryan. Tessa's dark gaze bore into her back, until the slamming of the front door told her that Tessa had gone back inside.

Caroline's footsteps squeaked in the dew on the grass, and as she neared Ryan, her insides creaked with strange jitters. She supposed all the talk of courtship and beaus had made her self-conscious now.

At the sight of her, Ryan stood and stuffed his injured hand into his pocket. In the bright morning sunshine, his eyes were clear, the haze that came from the medication gone. The brown in them was as warm and kind as it had been yesterday when he was talking with the twins after the incident at the well.

But this time he didn't smile. He simply stood and watched her, the backdrop of the lake and the sunshine causing him to glow. There was a quality about him, a vulnerability that made her want to be sensitive and patient with him. He didn't need her censure. He probably got much more than he needed from himself already. What he needed instead was someone to encourage him and believe in him.

Maybe she wouldn't be with him for more than a few days, but while they were together, she could show him a little more kindness, couldn't she?

She held the plate out to him. “Tessa saved you a little breakfast. And some coffee.”

His eyes lit with hunger at the sight of the food. “Please tell her I appreciate it.”

While he ate ravenously, she picked up his discarded shirt. “This would come cleaner on the washboard with a bar of lye.”

“Probably,” he said between mouthfuls.

“Tomorrow's washing day. If you bring your clothes over to the house, I'll scrub them with the others.”

He swallowed a big bite and then stopped eating. He looked at her with a seriousness that made her pause. “Thanks for the offer, but I'm leaving tomorrow.”

“Leaving? What do you mean?” But even as her question tumbled out, the resignation in his face gave her the answer. He was quitting his job as keeper.

“After your brothers are home from school, I'll take them over to the well and we'll fill it together. But then first thing tomorrow, I'm riding out.”

Her heart gave an uncertain thump. Wasn't this what she'd wanted? For him to leave so that she could have her job back?

Ryan studied the tower rising into the blue sky behind her. “I'm not fit to take care of the light.”

She agreed with him, but he didn't need her rubbing the fact in his face.

“Besides,” he added, “you need the job. And I can't take it away from you.”

“You didn't take it away,” she said. “Mr. Finick did.” If Ryan left, Mr. Finick would only send another man to replace him. And she doubted another man would be as kind and understanding as Ryan had been.

“Maybe if I talk to him, he'll let you stay,” Ryan suggested, setting aside his plate and retrieving his coffee mug from the rock where he'd placed it.

“Mr. Finick wants me out of here. He's wanted me out ever since my father died, maybe even before that. He won't be happy until he has a man back in the keeper position.”

Ryan took a long sip of the coffee, staring at the calm lake and the water lapping in a gentle, soothing rhythm against the shore. “So my leaving won't do you any good?”

“Not in the least. One way or another, I'm done here.” It was the truth, and the sooner she accepted it, the sooner she'd be able to make plans for her family. “I'm heading into town this morning to try to find a place for us to stay.”

If she couldn't figure out something, she'd have to accept Arnie Simmons's proposal. And that wouldn't be the worst that could befall her. At least Arnie was a sweet, kind man.

Ryan stared into the distance. The muscles in his jaw rippled, and his eyes narrowed. “What if you didn't have to be done?”

“I've already tried to convince Mr. Finick, but I don't have any say in the matter.”

“Maybe I do, though.” His expression was hard. “Since I'm the keeper now, I'll tell Mr. Finick that I'm letting you stay on . . . as my assistant.”

She shook her head at the impossibility of such a suggestion. “Mr. Finick would never allow it.”

“I'll tell him I need your training and help.” He cocked his head toward his injured arm. “Which is the truth.”

A tiny ray of hope speared through the confusion and disappointment that had fallen since the inspector's visit. Ryan
did
need help.

“You can continue to live in the house with your family, and I'll stay in the boathouse.” A glow began to light his face and smooth away the hard lines.

“With the colder nights coming on, you won't make it in the boathouse much longer.”

He shrugged. “We'll figure something out.”

Everything within Caroline urged her to agree to his solution. It would solve her problem of where to go, at least for the short term. But she couldn't imagine Mr. Finick would ever agree to such a plan permanently. He seemed determined to drive her away one way or another.

“We'll split the wages,” Ryan offered.

Mr. Finick wouldn't agree to that arrangement either. But she peered out over the water, the glassiness momentarily blinding her. Maybe Ryan's offer would only put off the inevitable, but it could buy her the needed time to find work as well as a suitable place for Sarah.

“I've already hurt enough people in my life,” he said softly. “I don't want to add you and your family to the list.”