Hearts Made Whole (19 page)

Caroline shuddered, and when Tessa sidled next to her, Caroline slipped an arm around her sister. No matter their differences, she loved Tessa, and they needed each other at that moment.

With the weight of the two boys holding on to him, Ryan sank underwater, his head disappearing for several long seconds. When he popped back up, she began to shake. She didn't want Ryan to die either. In fact, the very thought of life without him filled her with an aching hollowness. Tessa's steady strength at her side was the only thing that kept her on her feet.

They watched wordlessly as Ryan began the swim back to shore, one twin on either side gripping his shoulders and paddling alongside him. When they finally reached shallow water, Tessa let go of her and rushed into the water to meet them. Sobbing, Tessa grabbed Harry, relieving Ryan of one burden.

At the sight of Harry shivering violently, Caroline plunged in. The bitter cold of the water chilled her to the bone and seemed to wake her from her stupor. She floundered toward Hugh, lifting him off Ryan and dragging him the rest of the way back to shore.

She sank to the rocky ground next to Harry and Tessa, pulling them both into her arms, letting her tears mingle with theirs.

Panting, Ryan crawled out of the water. He sank into a heap, his face pinched in agony, his injured arm cradled against his side.

For a long moment, Tessa's sobbing, Harry's and Hugh's sniffling, and Ryan's labored breathing filled the air. A distant
call of a migrating goose and the lap of waves couldn't bring peace to Caroline's soul today.

With teeth chattering, Harry wiped his sleeve across his dripping nose. “I'm freezing.”

Caroline turned toward Ryan, wanting to thank him, needing to know he was okay. He lifted his head wearily. “Take the boys inside,” he said. “Get them dry and warm before they catch a chill.”

She nodded and stood to her feet with Hugh. She reached a hand toward Ryan. “Come inside too. You need to get warm.”

“Take care of the boys first,” he rasped, letting his head drop, almost as if the pain was too much for him to bear.

She hesitated, but when Hugh shuddered again, she nodded and rushed him toward the house.

Ryan leaned against the boathouse and wrapped the wool blanket around his torso. Even though he'd warmed long ago, his entire body still trembled at what had almost happened earlier in the day.

Hugh and Harry had almost drowned.

If Tessa hadn't gone outside when she did . . .

He whispered another prayer of thanks that God had seen fit to give him the strength to make it back to shore. There had been a time or two he'd wanted to cry out from the bite of the piece of shrapnel in his arm. It had been so agonizing, he'd had to fight not to black out. But somehow, by the grace of God, he'd made it in spite of the pain.

Maybe God was trying to tell him that he could do more than he believed he was capable of doing. Maybe he'd assumed that with his injury he'd never be able to shoulder real work again, that he'd be useless and half a man the rest of his life.

But like with so many other things, he was realizing he'd been mistaken, that perhaps he could do more than he'd ever thought possible.

He glanced through the grimy boathouse window to the place where his leather satchel sat with the rest of his belongings. He'd refused to take more whiskey from Simmons. He'd given up his pain pills. All he had left was one little tin flask in his satchel. There was no sense in getting rid of it. Such a tiny thing would be easy to resist. In fact, keeping it would force him to grow all the stronger in his resistance.

The door of the keeper's cottage squeaked open. In the gray light of the afternoon, Caroline came striding toward him, a steaming mug in her hand.

His pulse quickened at the sight of her. Maybe he hadn't had enough faith in himself. But Caroline had never doubted him. Not once. She'd believed in him all along.

She stopped several feet away and held out the mug.

He took it and wrapped his good hand around it, letting the warmth seep into his skin.

“How are you?” she asked.

Somehow he knew she was asking about his arm, that she'd known the incredible effort it had taken to rescue the boys. “I'm in some pain,” he admitted.

She nodded at the mug. “Maybe the birchbark tea will help a little.”

He took a sip of the bitter brew.

“Thank you for saving their lives.” Her lower lip trembled.

“How are they?” The hot liquid made a trail down his throat to his stomach.

“We gave them both hot baths, fed them warm milk, and snuggled them under piles of quilts. And now Tessa's reading to them.”

“Then they're not too shaken up?”

“I think they'll be just fine. They're sturdy little men.”

“Good.” He breathed out the pent-up anxiety that had settled in his chest since they'd disappeared inside the house.

“Tessa feels guilty about not watching them closer.”

He nodded gravely. “She can't be too hard on herself. Boys are boys, and regardless of what anyone does to protect them, they're bound to make some mischief.”

“They said the water came in through a small hole in the side of the boat.” Wisps of hair floated around her face, which was still pale.

“They didn't notice the hole before they set out?”

“Apparently it was plugged up. The plug pushed out once they were in deeper water and started fishing.”

His mind scrambled to make sense of Caroline's words. Had someone tampered with the boat? Cut a hole and then plugged it in anticipation of the boat's sinking?

“Do you think someone intentionally cut a hole through the hull?” Her voice was raspy with the effort to speak, her lips still shaking.

He wanted to reassure her that no one would do such a thing, but he couldn't lie to her. “We won't know for sure what really happened unless we get a good look at the boat.” But the boat was down at the bottom of the lake. They'd likely never see it again.

“What if the same person who did the other things did this . . . ?” But Caroline couldn't finish the thought.

The fear and worry in her beautiful blue eyes made him long to pull her into his arms, to wrap himself around her and promise her that he'd take care of everything, that she'd never have to worry again. But he couldn't make such an extravagant
promise, even though he wished he could. “We'll have to keep a better watch out for anyone snooping around the place.”

Maybe he'd stay up the next couple of nights and keep a lookout for anyone or anything suspicious. He was having a hard time sleeping in the bed anyway. Every time he lay down, thoughts of Caroline tormented him and only stirred his yearning for her. And of course his slumber was tortured by other, less pleasant, thoughts too.

Sometimes he couldn't help wondering if he'd been too hasty in giving up his pain pills. There were still too many times when he wanted to escape, to sleep without any nightmares of the war and of the slain boy.

Aye, telling Caroline that night in the cellar had been freeing. But he knew he wouldn't be truly free until he returned to the family and paid them the debt he owed, and asked their forgiveness for his standing by and doing nothing.

Caroline stared out over the lake, the waves ebbing with a steady rhythm, the gray water reflecting the low, dark clouds. “I think it would be safest for us to leave. It's becoming too dangerous here.”

“Nay, you can't leave. Not yet.”

“Someone is clearly trying to force me out,” she said, glancing to the woodpile, then to the well, as if someone were lurking nearby and waiting to spring out at her.

“We don't know for sure—”

“Ryan, look at everything that's happened. They can't all be a coincidence.”

“Do you have any idea who the culprit is?”

“It could be any number of people. Mr. Simmons, Mr. Finick, perhaps someone Mr. Finick hired, maybe a complete stranger.”

Ryan shook his head. Mr. Simmons had shared his dislike
for Caroline's father, and his desire for Caroline to be out of the lighthouse. Still, Ryan couldn't picture Simmons sneaking around the lighthouse. “I doubt Simmons is doing this. He seems more like the kind of man to pick a real fight, not resort to these underhanded tactics.”

“He knows I'm like my father, that I won't ever turn off the light for him during one of his smuggling attempts. So maybe he shut me in the cellar so that the light would stay dark. Then he wouldn't have the worry of getting caught bringing in his supplies.”

Ryan wasn't surprised to learn that Simmons was smuggling, but his muscles flexed at the thought of the man doing such a terrible thing in order to carry out his plans.

“Has he asked you to turn off the light yet for him?” she asked, hugging her arms across her chest.

“Nay,” he began, but then he thought back to the conversations he'd had with Simmons whenever he visited the Roadside Inn, the free whiskey Simmons had given him. Was the tavern owner plunging him into debt so that he'd have no option but to repay the friendship by turning off the light during the smuggling operations? “You don't think Simmons and Finick are working together, do you?”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “I highly doubt it.”

“But it makes sense.” Ryan straightened, and the wool blanket fell away from his shoulders. “The day I arrived, Simmons said Finick hired me, saying I was the sort of man they'd be able to work with.”

His gut roiled at the implications. As an injured drunk with a craving for opium pills, he'd likely be considered a good candidate to aid Simmons in his smuggling. Simmons wouldn't have to ask him to turn off the light. He would miss lighting it on his own . . . if not for Caroline.

Ryan hung his head.

Caroline didn't speak for a few moments, and he could see that she was coming to the same conclusion as him. Finally she spoke. “I don't think Mr. Finick would be involved in the smuggling. Allowing the lantern to remain unlit goes against everything he stands for.”

“Aye, but sometimes money has a way of persuading even the staunchest of men.”

“You think Mr. Simmons is bribing Mr. Finick to put a lightkeeper here who will aid the smuggling?”

“Maybe not
aid
,” Ryan said, “but at least not oppose it.”

“And because I'm still here, the light has remained lit.”

The whole explanation stung his pride, although he knew it shouldn't. He'd done this to himself with his foolhardy drinking. But no longer. He was changing.

“From now on, it will remain lit,” he promised.

She turned her big eyes upon him, sweeping him off his feet in one little movement. “But apparently they want me gone. And as long as I'm here, I'll be putting my family in danger.”

He didn't like the thought that she was in danger either. He didn't want to think about what the perpetrator might do the next time he attacked and who would get hurt as a result. But still . . .

“I don't want you to leave,” he whispered. “Please . . .”

He knew it was selfish, yet he didn't want to lose her. She'd become a rock in his life, and he didn't know how he'd go on without her near him.

“Please stay.” He didn't care that he was practically begging her. “I promise we'll stand strong and fight this battle together. I'll go out today and confront Simmons. I'll tell him to leave you alone. I'll make sure he knows that even if you're not here, I'll be lighting the lantern every night.”

For a long moment she didn't say anything. When at last she gave a nod and said, “Okay,” he let out his breath, relieved he wouldn't have to lose her. Not yet anyway.

Ryan let the tavern door slam behind him. Standing at a nearby table, Arnie spun so quickly that he dropped a mug. It crashed against the wood-plank floor, the shards of brown glass skittering in all directions.

“Where's your father?” Ryan demanded.