The rain finally stopped completely. Ben stepped outside for a moment and was treated to the glorious sight of the sun breaking through the clouds over the water.
“It’s over,” Ben said. “I think we can make it home now.”
“Good,” she said.
The rainfall had been heavy. When they reached the beached boat, they had to bail out the water before they could climb in. To his surprise, Moriah didn’t take over control of the motor. Instead, she chose to sit at the front of the boat.
“You trust me to drive?” he asked, surprised.
“The way I’m feeling right now,” she said. “I trust you a whole lot more than I trust myself.”
A few minutes later, Ben guided the little fishing boat through waves still choppy from the storm. It felt good to get away from the dark and damp lighthouse. It was one thing to be there when the sun was shining and things were cheerful. It was another thing entirely when it was raining and dreary. Especially when his companion was screaming in terror.
Like Moriah, he couldn’t help but wonder how depressing and lonely it must have been for the light keepers and their families when it grew dark out there on the tip of the peninsula, especially when provisions were low and the nearest neighbor was miles away. Those old lighthouse keepers did not have an easy life, no matter how much people tended to romanticize the profession.
Spray from the waves flew into his face. He kept his chin down, trying to avoid as much of it as he could. Moriah faced the front of the boat with face uplifted, as though the spray felt good on her skin. Perhaps, she hoped it would wash away the lingering horror of that terrible dream.
For Moriah’s sake, he was trying to act calm about the whole thing, but he had been stunned listening to her describe not only what could have been her mother and father’s murder, but his own father’s death, as well. He had never known the details of that night. There had been no non-Yahnowa witnesses, except the one child. Now, he would forever bear the image of his father fighting to protect that little girl. It was so typical of his dad.
He could see his father so clearly in his mind. The man had been heavily muscled, even in middle-age. He could just imagine him fighting with those strong, stonemason fists. It was exactly the kind of thing his dad would do. Petras had once been nearly as good of a fighter as he had been a stonemason.
Petras. It meant rock. The name so aptly described the man.
When they reached the small dock, he climbed out and tied off the rope while Moriah stayed huddled in the boat so deep in thought that she didn’t seem to notice where she was.
“We’re back,” he said. “We will soon be warm and dry up at the lodge.”
Moriah was young, strong, and healthy. Normally, she bounded out of the boat like it was nothing. Now, she climbed out as stiffly as an old woman. He grabbed her hand and helped steady her.
“A hot bath. Some cocoa. Warm, dry clothes.” He steered her toward the lodge. “You’ll be as good as new, lass.”
He hoped he was right about that. He had never been a lover of secrets, and he had a suspicion there had been way too many of them in the Robertson family.