Chapter Six

“Rab sent you, didn’t he?” Lisbeth looked her best friend, Frannie Becker, full in the eyes. “Do not lie to me.”

Frannie squirmed and shifted in her chair at the table upon which she had proudly set the seed cake she’d baked. “Why should I need Rab to send me? I’m finally smaller than a woodshed and only too glad to leave the children with Ed’s mother for a walk up the shore.”

“How is little Bess?”

“Fussy, but not near the handful Eddie was—still is, truth be known. I told Ed if he comes near me again before a year has passed, I shall level him with an oar. Still, they’re a blessing.”

She sighed and, not giving Lisbeth a chance to reply, chatted on. “A shame you and Declan never had a child—part of him for you to keep, like.” Immediately the words were out she looked stricken. “Oh, I am sorry—I did not mean to remind you.”

“Do you think I need reminding?” Lisbeth had wanted Declan’s child and couldn’t imagine why she had not conceived. Not for lack of trying on Declan’s part. “Hard to raise a child without its father, anyway.”

“That’s true. Perhaps it wasn’t God’s will for you to have a child. The good Lord must have known you’d be widowed so soon.” Wildly, Frannie cast about for something else to say. Her gaze fell on the pile of blue fabric on the bench. “Do you have a commission? Who’s it for?”

“Mignon La Marche.”

“Oh, her.” Frannie sniffed. “Remember what a trial she used to be to us in school? Always acting better and wealthier than the rest of us and tattling when we did something wrong. And oh, how she set herself at Declan!”

“Now she truly is far wealthier than the rest of us.” Lisbeth gazed away through the front door, which stood open, for a glimpse of the sea. How pretty and innocent it looked today—not like an enemy that would steal a woman’s husband.

“Wealthier, that’s all!” Frannie protested. “The money and that fine house don’t make her better than everyone.”

“She tried to give me that dress, once it’s a hand-me-down, in payment.” Lisbeth’s voice hardened with indignation. “As if I’d have any use for it.”

“Not surprising. She always did act like the queen of Lobster Cove, and treated the rest of us like servants. I confess I cannot abide the woman.”

“I need her custom,” Lisbeth said baldly. She focused on her friend. “Are you sure Rab didn’t send you to try and persuade me to move to town?”

Frannie looked uncomfortable. “He might have mentioned he thought it a good idea. You have to admit, Lisbeth, it would make things easier. Do you really want to spend another winter out here? And it would be lovely having you near.”

“I can’t just up and leave, though, Fran.”

“Why not? Is it because of Declan, because his memory’s here, I mean?”

Lisbeth’s gaze sharpened. “Just exactly what did Rab tell you?”

Frannie pushed the seed cake aside and leaned across the table, her brown eyes full of compassion. “He told me you think you saw Declan.”

“I confided that to him, not to be bandied about.”

“And he told no one but me. He’s worried about you, Lisbeth, out here on your own, having wild fancies. Now I’m worried, too.”

“I’m not sure it was a wild fancy. He stood right there in the doorway of the bedroom, Frannie, in his oilskins.”

“It had to be a dream, though, didn’t it, dear? Had you been asleep?”

“Yes, but something woke me—the storm—”

“You thought you woke; plainly you didn’t. You dreamt it, Lisbeth, a dream of longing. Because he’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Is he?” Lisbeth challenged. “His body was never found.”

“Many fishermen who die at sea are never found. The pieces of the boat came ashore; how could he survive in such a storm if his boat broke up?”

“He spoke my name. I heard his boots scrape on the floor.”

“You know how real some dreams can be.” Frannie drew a breath. “I think Rab’s right; you need to get away from here.”

Lisbeth tangled her fingers together on the surface of the table. “What if he comes back here looking for me and I’ve gone? How will he know where to find me?”

Frannie’s eyes filled with ready tears. “Love, he’s not coming back. And you need to get on with your life. It’s been a year—time enough for your heart to heal.”

“Is it? Who says so?”

“Listen, why don’t you look for a room in town, just for the winter? Come spring, you can always come back here and open this place up. That’s a fair compromise, isn’t it?”

“I promised Rab I’d think about it, and I will. I’m grateful to both of you for your concern, truly I am. I just wish you believed me when I tell you what I saw.”

“I believe what you think you saw—and that you want to believe it. I think that’s what worries me most. When will Mignon’s gown be done?”

“She needs it for the dance this Saturday.”

“When you take it to her, stop by and see me. We’ll talk again. Meanwhile, I’ll leave the seed cake. Promise you’ll eat some.”

“I will, with the greatest delight.”

“Then I’d best go before Ed’s ma tears her hair out.” Frannie rose from the table, glanced about, and shivered. “There’s just something about this place, even on a sunny day. Can’t you feel it?”

Lisbeth could.

****

The bright sunshine did not last. Well before sundown, clouds began to gather over the sea, and the wind freshened. Lisbeth smelled the rain.

She wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and went to walk the shingle, staring out into the water and beseeching all the gods who held it in their sway, “If he lives—if you have not stolen him—return him to me.”

She paced until it grew too dark to see and the clouds closed in. Rain began to fall, cold and sharp, as she went inside and lit the lamps, blessing Rab under her breath for the oil he’d brought. She didn’t know how she would ever be able to repay his kindness.

The cottage, like the clouds, seemed to close down around her, stifling. She changed into her nightclothes and sat by the fire, listening to the rain strike the windows, unwilling to go to bed.

Not wishing to waste the precious lamp oil, she at last blew out all the lights but one that she left burning deep into the night. She must have dozed beside the fire, for the sound of the latch lifting roused her from sleep.

She raised her head just as the door swung open. Rain entered first, shedding onto the floor and preceding the figure of a man.

Lisbeth’s heart leaped sickeningly in her chest. She came out of her seat as if hauled up by strings.

“Declan.”

Once more his head lay bare, the flame-red hair drenched and dark from the rain, or as if he had just come out of the deep. Raindrops ran down his cheeks like tears, and his tawny eyes looked wide and vacant as if he did not know her.

“Declan!”

He halted as if she’d struck him. His body jerked like that of a man coming out of a dream. He whirled and went out the door, back into the darkness.

“Declan! Wait!”

Without a thought, Lisbeth followed him, leaving the door ajar. Outside, the wind seized her and dashed rain into her eyes. She strained for sight of him and caught just a glimpse of the yellow oilskins on the path that led toward town. Heedless, she followed, still calling his name, head and shoulders bare and with nothing but house slippers on her feet. She ran up the slope in Declan’s wake, where the wind buffeted her more strongly. It tore her hair loose and streamed it across her eyes. When she could see once more, Declan had disappeared from view.

“Come back!” she screamed. “Come back to me!”

When he did not answer, she ran on into the darkness.