On the day of Catherine Davenport’s funeral, the sky was clear, the soft gray of cashmere rising from the ocean. Standing in the churchyard at Saint Sennen’s, one hand in the loose grip of her father’s, the other in the tight hold of James’s, Elizabeth listened to the committal. Numb feet shuffled as they lowered the coffin, and then, when it was all over, she watched as her father retreated to the vestibule of the church to where she saw Tom’s mother dressed in a simple black dress, waiting almost out of view. Her hair was neat, a small hat perched on the top. Elizabeth’s father held her in a brief embrace.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” James said, almost as if he was trying to hurry her away.
But keen to see what was exchanged, she waited, watching as they spoke. From behind her, she heard one of the village women in attendance mutter, “Some things never die,” and Elizabeth knew there and then that Tom had been telling her the truth about their parents’ past.
Porthsennen had quieted like a hibernating bear, adjusting to life in the new season. Fishing had all but finished, even the most experienced keeping well away from the rougher seas of fall, and most of the tourists had gone home. The village was quiet, contemplative, regarding the season it was leaving behind. Elizabeth had been walking up to the old Mayon Lookout most evenings since her mother’s death, sitting among Tom’s belongings, which almost made her feel as if he could return at any moment. The quilt stitched by his family kept her warm while she sat gazing from the window toward the light from Wolf Rock. When it turned colder still, she lit his small gas stove, read his copy of Pride and Prejudice in the soft light, wondering all the time what she was supposed to do without him.
One night not three weeks after he’d left, she was blessed by the silvery smudge of the Milky Way streaking through the sky like the sunlight from a fish’s scales. It made her feel closer to Tom somehow, even though he was a world away. Her efforts focused on trying to imagine him out on that tiny outcrop of volcanic rock. Fears for his safety stirred, the fog creating nightmares that sometimes made it hard to breathe. Other times the thought of his return, and all the things she had to tell him, made her feel even worse.
* * *
James positioned a plate of warm buttered toast on the table, but even just the smell of it was enough to make her feel nauseated. Since Tom left just over a month ago, that feeling had become a regular distraction. Still, she took a slice to please James, didn’t want to negate his efforts.
“Have you written it yet?” he asked, turning to the countertop for a pot of tea. “I have to go in a moment.”
In her father’s absence from the medical practice, James had been manning the clinic, which had become busier than ever since her mother died. The whole village had sickened at once, an epidemic of intrigue. Half of them had nothing wrong with them. He also seemed to have taken on the role of head of the household in the most discreet of ways, paying the odd bill, ensuring that Mrs. Clements took her pay at the end of the week. Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to think as she watched him slipping effortlessly into her father’s shoes, as if he too were no longer there.
“It’s upstairs,” she told him. “I’ll go and get it.” Elizabeth moved to stand but James motioned for her to sit.
“I have to go up anyway because my shoes are up there. Is it on the dresser?”
“Under the doily,” she told him as she bit into the toast. “Thanks again for helping me like this.”
“What else was I to do? You need me to do this.” One night in the first week following Tom’s departure, she had lost track of time. In a panic, James had set out to find her, and did so in the old Mayon Lookout, gazing out at a misty sky with tears in her eyes. When she explained that to be there watching both the stars and the light from Wolf Rock was the only thing that eased her loss, he had seemed so sad for her. “If sending a simple letter to Tom can alleviate some of your pain, how could I stand by and do nothing?”
“Well, I really appreciate it,” she said. “What time are they setting sail?”
“The Stella leaves around ten. Mr. Pommeroy promised me that he would put the letter in the chest with the newspapers.”
“Please make sure he doesn’t read it.” It was terrifying to wonder what Tom would do when he read what she had to say. But she told herself to be strong, that she was doing the right thing. “It’s just for Tom.”
“Of course, Elizabeth,” he said, patting her shoulder. “A letter is a private thing. Mr. Pommeroy would never be so indiscreet.”
* * *
Her father appeared in the doorway to the kitchen a short while later, a smaller version of the man she once knew, cut down by the blade of death. Tiredness gripped him, even when he’d just woken up, as if he no longer had the energy for life.
“Was that James I heard leaving?” he said as he moved into the room, collecting the newspaper before sitting down at the table. Elizabeth poured him a cup of tea from the pot and slid it toward him.
“He has a full clinic. Mr. Bolitho has made another appointment.”
“Isn’t that the third time in a week?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I believe so.”
“He has nothing better to do than fish for gossip. He ought to be ashamed of himself.” It was strange to hear her father speaking that way. He never usually had a bad word to say about people. Still, what he said about Mr. Bolitho was tame in comparison to the thoughts he had shared regarding Tom’s father. “I should really make the effort to go in. I cannot stay here forever, festering in these pajamas. Perhaps if I make an appearance, they will lose interest and leave us in peace.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, although she doubted a fast resolution. A strange death would take some getting over for most folk.
“Plus, I must put a stop to this indecorous intrusion of James being here before you’re married.” Elizabeth thought that perhaps it was exactly the kind of gossip they needed to take the focus off her father. An unwed couple. Cohabitating. Simply dreadful, Mrs. Anderson would say. But Elizabeth was going to have to get used to gossip soon enough. All that she could hope for was that Tom would be back in time to help share the burden.
“It’s not like he is sleeping in my room, Daddy. He is here as a friend to help.” If he weren’t, she would be alone, and right now, with everything going on, she couldn’t face that either.
Her father shook his head. “The sooner the wedding takes place, the better. Plus, it’ll give us all something to look forward to.” He finished his tea, took a long breath. It crossed Elizabeth’s mind to ask him about his past with Mrs. Hale then, but it was so close to her mother’s death that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “You have been quite wonderful these past few weeks, have taken such good care of me after the awful things that were said. I want you to know how much I appreciate it, and how very proud I am of you.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy.” How she was going to straighten things out between their two families once Tom returned, she still had no idea. What Tom’s father had suggested remained unforgiveable. But once Tom was back, they had no other option but to try. Things did seem to have blown over a little. Elizabeth had overheard the whispers surrounding her mother’s death, shock at her inexplicable presence on a boat and over the terrible things implied by Tom’s father. People, she was beginning to realize, loved to have something to ponder, extrapolating the how and why until they had their own, more exciting version of the truth. But the gossip had quieted now, and she thought perhaps enough for the unification of their families, once Tom came home. The flame of hope was weak, but it burned still, and it warmed her.
“You are such a wonderful girl. You will make James a very happy man. Now,” he said as he stood up and drained his tea. “I’m going to get dressed and have a walk along to the clinic. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”
It was about time, that was true. But it was also the time for something else: the truth. When she thought about telling him, the tremor of trepidation hit her so hard, she sometimes couldn’t breathe. Telling her father that which she must left her even more anxious than the idea of telling James. But there was no going back now, because the letter was already on its way to Wolf Rock, meaning she had no choice but to await the most terrifying thing of all: What the hell would Tom say when he found out?
Dearest Tom,
It still feels unreal that I am here without you, and that I must resort to writing you a letter. It seems an almost impossible feat for it to reach you in your current location. But to write it is the only thing I can do until you return. Please tell me that you are coming back soon. I promise you that I am counting the days.
Since you left, I walk each night down Cove Hill and climb the steps until I reach the fork in the path that leads to the rocks. Although I admit it frightens me to go there after the fall I took, somewhere within the black of the horizon you are painted, as a flickering light to guide people to safety. I wait for the light each night to prove to me that you are still alive. When I see it shining, I can imagine you here, with me, as if the distance between us can be overcome. For now, the light from Wolf Rock acts as a reminder that we remain in this world together.
My love, it is with great courage that I write this letter. I wish you were here so that I could say these things in person, and part of me thinks I should wait. But the truth is that I cannot bear it. Because, Tom, something quite wonderful has happened, although it is terrifying in equal measure. Tom, I think I am having a baby.
I cannot go to see the doctor to confirm this, but I asked Mrs. Clements how she felt when she was pregnant, and all the symptoms she described are exactly how I feel. She was most surprised by my questions, but I don’t think she suspected anything. I hope you are happy with the news. I pray that you are; I know you will make a wonderful and loving father.
I am sure this must come as quite a shock. It has come as a shock to me too. I was very scared when I first realized but then I thought of you, and the promises you have made to me. I remembered that you promised nothing would ever change despite everything that’s happened. I know we are young, and that our families have been tested against each other, but together I think we can do this. I was thinking about names. What was your grandfather called? I thought maybe if we have a girl, I could name her after my mother. Would you mind?
I think about you all the time and cannot wait for your return. Please stay safe. Until you are here I will watch the light and think of you.
Your ever-loving
Elizabeth