Lightkeeper's Wife (20 page)

“Sailors are resourceful. They have what they have and they put it to good use. Fishnet on a chicken coop makes perfect sense to them,” Cassie said, delighted, and without taking a breath, she continued. “I'm so sorry to hear about your husband. How are you getting on?”

“I'm grateful for my duties here. Keeping our home and keeping the lights going is what John would've wanted.”

“You're very brave, very brave indeed,” Cassie said. “I don't know anyone who would hold up so well under the circumstances.” She broke off a piece of orange cranberry bread from her plate and popped it into her mouth. Something in the tone of her voice triggered a nagging feeling that Hannah should appear to be more undone by her grief. Any woman who truly cared about her husband would simply not be able to go on.

“I have difficult days, of course,” Hannah said. “But the demands of the lights keep me focused on my responsibilities as a lightkeeper's wife.” Hannah knew they would not understand how she could step into John's role as lighthouse keeper, or how she could live with a strange man she'd rescued from the sea.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Cassie said. Tom nodded, brushing crumbs from his jacket. He stroked his sideburns where they grew long near his jaw. Hannah noticed his new riding jacket, the pressed cotton shirt, the slicked-back hair, all of it reaching for something just above him, whether it was money or status, she couldn't tell. Maybe it was to impress her or maybe it was the love of this woman he sought with his finery.

She understood his attraction to Cassie. Even her casual dress had been sewn from a polished fabric, an exotic floral design of green and gold cut to accentuate her tiny figure and show her delicate wrists. Her hands pale and soft, the fingernails smooth and clear as tiny pieces of glass, reminded Hannah of a child's hands not yet put to work. And her face captivated with a freedom of expression and delight that animated her brown eyes. She was likable, she deferred to her audience while maintaining her own opinion, she could take a joke, she could listen. When she gazed at Tom, her eyes widened, and she nodded in agreement with most of what he said, not out of a dim-witted womanly duty but with a real like-mindedness that made Hannah envious and lonely.

“Where's Billy? I thought he'd be here,” Tom said.

Hannah smiled. “Tom loves to include the help. It's one of the things I like about him. He doesn't see himself above anybody.”

“Billy's more than just the help,” Tom said. “He's—”

“He's gone down to the harbor for supplies,” Hannah said, giving Tom a look meant to keep him from saying anything further.

“Yes, well. I suppose Cassie will meet him another time,” Tom said.

“Has Tom told you of his success? He's become quite the sensation in Barnstable with a reputation as a fine furniture maker. He's considered an artist. Father thinks he can make a name for himself in New York City. Go ahead, Tom, tell her.”

“Well, yes, ah, Cassie's father, Charles, he's a fine man, very helpful, a mentor to me really. The furniture has done so well that the limited supply has driven the prices up very high. Because I can only produce so much furniture by myself, Charles suggested a manufacturing model. I could build the furniture with a crew of men, and we could produce more pieces. In fact, we could have many pieces of furniture in the works at any one time. The key, he said, and this is fascinating, really, is that we need to find the exact point where the supply of furniture does not exceed the demand so that the prices stay high and people still feel that they are buying something unique and special.” Tom became especially animated, pacing back and forth as he spoke and looking into Hannah's eyes to make sure that she was following his logic. “That's what they're paying for, the story, the handmade quality, the attention to detail. If too many pieces of furniture were to make it to market, they would not command the same prices. If the prices go down, or if too many people acquire the furniture, buyers lose interest. The key is to find the balance.”

“Sounds like you will be making the trip back and forth to Barnstable quite often,” Hannah said. “To gather wood and build and whatnot.”

“We hope to keep two homes,” Cassie said.

“We'll have to see how our business plans shape up,” Tom said. “It could very well work.”

“Yes,” Cassie said, turning to Hannah. “So how about a tour of the lights for a couple of town ladies?”

Hannah rose and escorted the women to look out the kitchen windows and into the bedroom, where she explained the historic features of the keeper's cottage, the arrangement of the windows at awkward intervals along the wall to allow a wide view of the coast.

“How quaint,” Freda said, stepping carefully over uneven floorboards. “You sacrifice so much in order to carry out your duties.”

“I don't see it as a sacrifice, though, Freda. I enjoy this view the way you might enjoy a wonderful library filled with your favorite books.”

“Don't you get lonely, Hannah?” Cassie asked. “Don't you miss the parties and the friends you grew up with? Do you remember Evan Pierce? He's a lawyer now. He works for my father now and again.”

Hannah did feel her loneliness then, listening to Cassie talk. She was ready for them all to leave, ready for Billy's return.

Hannah led her guests along the passageway to the lighthouse, and they looked up into the column at the curving stairs. Cassie looked straight up the middle at the black steps forming concentric circles that got smaller and smaller toward the top. “My, that's a long climb.”

Freda watched from the side, as if the mere suggestion of heights was enough to make her nauseous. “How do you get up those stairs in your skirts?”

“Well,” Hannah said, “it's difficult. With John gone, I realized that men wear trousers for good reason. This may sound ridiculous, but as I stepped into my husband's role as lighthouse keeper, I found it convenient to step into his trousers as well.”

Cassie slapped Freda on the arm. “Hah! Did you hear that? Hannah Snow, you are outrageous. Men's trousers indeed. Wait till I tell—”

“Oh no. Please, if my mother hears of it, she'll never leave me alone. Please don't speak of it, Cassie.”

“All right, if you insist. It will be our secret. But it's going to be hard to resist. You're quite the outlaw, Mrs. Snow.”

Hannah laughed, leading them back to the house. “No, not really. I'm just practical.” In the living room, she pulled the curtain back and peered up the road for Billy, but there was no sign of her. What would she think of this curious girl that Tom was going to marry? She felt tired now, and bored with these women. Where was Billy? She'd been gone for hours. Her visitors talked, but their voices sounded far away. Billy had been so angry. Had she forgotten that Hannah was keeping her on for the winter even after her lies and her foolish drinking? Couldn't she see that Hannah needed her help? Didn't that mean anything?

When Hannah turned her attention back to her guests, Cassie had settled into a chair, her dress rustling around her. Tom stood to one side of her. Freda wiped her seat cushion fastidiously with her handkerchief before sitting down with her spine straight, her hands folded on her skirt. They were waiting politely for her.

“Hannah, Cassie was just saying how she remembers you from Barnstable,” Tom said.

“You don't remember me because you were one of the older girls and I was just a little one, but I remember you out on the boat with your father. You didn't care about anything but fishing. You went everywhere with your father. My mother used to say you were that man's shadow and if you wanted to grow into any kind of lady you were going to have to stay home. That's how she was. But all the girls admired you. We wanted to spend time with our fathers. All we did as little girls was play house, play with dolls, and run from boys. Oh, and take piano class. It was all so dull.”

Hannah smiled and looked at Freda, certain that Freda had never admired her. Tom couldn't keep still. Hannah watched him poke the fire, stack kindling, and gaze around at the women as if they would tell him what to do next.

***

Twilight lasted forever that evening, a silver light stretching along the horizon, bladelike. Billy kicked through some rubbish behind the grocery store. Millie didn't have anything for her, and she shouldn't be buying anything from Millie anyways, but her mind was in ruins. Not the cold wind, not her heart beating hard enough to crack her ribs, not the scraping in her gut, nothing eased the underwater feeling she moved through like a swimmer with rocks roped to her boots. She realized her desire for Hannah in the utter ache that permeated her body. Hannah had kicked her out, like some kind of expendable hired help. She slogged up the alley and back around to the front of the grocery store.

All these people in town with their friendly faces, all these people who waved hello and knew each other, had known each other for years, had lost husbands and sons and brothers together, survived winters and fished together. Their warmth and camaraderie exaggerated her own loneliness. She headed toward the docks, where there had to be some sailors on shore leave with a pint to spare. She needed a drink. The clouds broke apart now, streaked with light from the disappearing sun. Finally, dark swept over the street like a blanket.

On the dock a fiddler played and men sang around lanterns that splashed light across the dark water. Billy leaned against a post and listened. The plaintive fiddle, joined now by a mandolin, eased her sadness and for a moment she was not a stranger. How could Millie be out of liquor? She regretted leaving the lighthouse in a rage. A drink would ease her back. But Hannah might kick her out for good if she got drunk. It was probably exactly what Hannah was expecting. She would sniff the air around Billy. No. Not this time. She wouldn't smell of it this time. How could she return to the lighthouse? Where else could she go? She pushed herself forward and toward the road. She felt weak on her way up the hill that led out of the village. When a wagon pulled alongside, she hopped onto the back and sat with her legs dangling. The driver coughed and spat over the side, coughed and spat again. His breath rasped loudly in the still air. She slid off the wagon when they reached the main road, and she watched as the driver headed north toward Provincetown, his figure fading into the dark. There was the lighthouse beam flashing through the trees. Her heart lifted. If only she could harden herself against longing, but she was tired, desperation had ground her down, and there was the light, calling her back.

***

Hannah changed back into her work clothes, relieved to be free of the constrictions of her bodice and polite company. As much as it interested her to hear news of Barnstable, the familiar family names she'd known growing up—Cobb, Hutchinson, Worthington, Collins—she tired of the talk. Her responsibilities kept her from the whorl of emotions eddying within her. If she could climb the lighthouse stairs, those names would echo and quickly recede, as if Cassie had never come and spoken them in her house. What did people think about her living at the lighthouse now that John was gone? She'd been too self-conscious to ask Cassie outright. Still, she wondered as she stood at the sink. Was that Billy coming up the porch? Hannah tipped her head to listen for footsteps, but it was only the wind pushing a wood chair across the boards.

Hannah went out to the barn, lantern swinging from one hand. The pale light swirled about the expansive dark in the barn. Only emptiness, a rock in her stomach. The ropes Billy had used the first time they tested the lifesaving rig hung coiled on the back wall. Hannah remembered how she had trusted Billy to guide her down to safety, and how she trusted Billy now to help her with the rescues. She should've let Billy stay, but she was afraid of what the women would think. She was a coward, and she regretted her decision. Nellie rustled in her stall, the heavy clomp of her hooves reassuring. “Are you out here?”

She turned in a circle, shining the light along the walls and then walking into the corners where the shadows thickened. She searched each stall and climbed up to the loft. What if Billy was gone for good? There was nothing keeping her here. She could take this opportunity to move on to whatever awaited her on her route north. If Billy didn't come back, it would be Hannah's fault.

“You can't stay out here forever,” Hannah said, her voice tiny in all that dark.

***

In full stride from the road, Billy rattled the floorboards on the porch. She entered the room like a northeast wind. On the table, the remnants of tea, a half loaf of cranberry bread and empty teacups, reminded Billy why she'd been asked to leave, and the disorder of her longing and her fear ruined her.
Hope
was
a
fool's dream
.

Hannah met her at the door. “I'm sorry,” Hannah said.

Billy held up her hands to stop Hannah's words. “It doesn't matter.” The gaunt look, the squint in her eye that wouldn't look at Hannah directly.

“I want you here. It was a mistake to ask you to leave. Do you hear me?”

“I'm too tired to listen to this, Hannah.”

But Hannah stepped through the gravelly sound of Billy's voice. The way Billy's body moved like a blade, her forehead knotted and strained, didn't frighten Hannah. She took Billy's face in her two hands and spoke, even as Billy's eyes looked into the corner of the room. “I need you here. It was a mistake. I'm sorry.”

Billy couldn't resist the feel of Hannah's hands, nor her insistent need to pull Billy back. “But you asked me to leave. I'm not good enough for your friends.”

“That's not it. I was afraid.” The pleading, half-desperate look in Hannah's eyes confused her. She shook herself loose, stepped back.

“You're not afraid of anything, Hannah.”

“That's not true. I was afraid what they would think of us if they sensed our friendship. What they would say back in Barnstable. Then I was afraid you were gone, and that was worse.”