Again, I wanted to tell Heath about the
ghost, but was too afraid. Instead, I would do as Otto said: I
planned to send Victor to the light so he could finally rest in
peace. What I didn’t realize - it wasn’t Victor’s ghost that now
haunted Jasper Island.
* * *
While Heath was up in the tower for all the
short nights of summer, I was barely able to sleep. In between
feeding, burping, and changing Thomas, I would lie awake and listen
for the eerie footsteps ascending the stairs, then coming down the
hall to stop at our bedroom door. Sometimes the doorknob slowly
would turn, sending chills down my spine. On the rare night I was
able to drift off, I was awakened by scary shadows that lurked in
the dark corners of the room. I tried to call out, tell the spirit
to go to the light, but my throat tightened in fear, and all I
could do was hold Thomas close and wish the spirit away.
I briefly mentioned my disturbing tales to
Opal before she and Edward returned to Hartford. She blamed my
delusions on sleep deprivation and the emotional aftereffects of
having a baby. “All women go through a strange mental state after a
baby. It’s normal. In a few weeks, Thomas will sleep through the
night and your mind will catch up on much needed rest.”
Heath noticed the dark circles under my eyes,
my pale complexion, and the worry etched into my brow. “You’re
exhausted,” Heath said worriedly on a balmy July night as he
climbed into bed beside me. “Let me tend to the baby tonight.”
“Would you, Heath?” I said and I began to
cry.
“Of course, my darling. When he needs to be
fed, I will give him his bottle. You sleep through it, all
right?”
I nodded in agreement and wiped the tears
away, then fell into his comforting arms.
“I know having a baby isn’t easy. But you are
doing a wonderful job; you are a great mother.” Heath continued to
talk, but his voice began to grow faint. I was drifting to sleep,
feeling protected and safe in his loving arms.
I slept soundly and peacefully for the first
time in months and woke feeling refreshed. Heath had the baby in
the kitchen with him, feeding him a bottle while stirring the eggs
over the stove.
“Good morning, my sweet wife,” he called out,
and ushered me to the table. “Eggs? Sausage?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“And after we eat, let’s you and I go for a
walk in the village, then have a picnic. Otto said he would look
after the baby.”
“Really?” The idea sounded exciting, but at
the same time, I wasn‘t certain I wanted to leave Thomas. However,
I hadn’t left the island since before delivering Thomas. A
leisurely day with Heath was exactly what I needed.
“Yes, really. So eat up, then change. I will
put Thomas down in his cradle, then pack us a lunch basket.”
I devoured my breakfast and then went to
change. I found my prettiest green dress - one I hadn’t worn since
being pregnant, and then styled my long hair under a new matching
green bonnet Opal had bought for me. Before I left with Heath, I
stopped in and checked on the baby. He was sleeping soundly - so
precious and sweet. I quietly stole over and stroked his soft face.
I realized how lucky I was. Here I had a healthy, beautiful baby
and the husband of my dreams, neither of which I could have ever
believed would happen to me.
“Well, look at my gorgeous wife,” Heath
grinned, gathered me up, and pulled me close. “Your lovely shape
has swiftly returned.”
“I thought you liked my pregnancy belly,” I
teased.
Heath blushed. “I did. You know I did. And I
want you to carry more babies.”
“How many more?” I frowned.
“Ten!” Heath joked.
“Two more at the most,” I laughed.
“Two it is. But for now, it’s just you and
me. Shall we go, my lady?” He tipped his keepers cap, and placed my
arm through his.
“Yes, we shall Mr. Dalton.”
Heath surprised me with a long-stemmed red
rose that rested on the bench in the rowboat. He always brought me
flowers and left them somewhere for me to find. Often there were
love poems attached that he wrote while up in the tower. Heath
always thought of me, day and night. In the fog, in the rain,
through brutal hurricanes, Heath had me in the front of his
mind.
I sat as Heath rowed over the sparkling water
with the rose lingering close to my nose and my eyes fixed on him.
If he wasn’t wearing his keeper’s uniform, I would have thought we
were back in time, rowing to school. Only now, he saw me as the
most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, the one who’d captured
his heart and whom he needed to spend the rest of his life with.
Oh, how fortunate I was to have Heath as mine. Years of dreaming
and waiting, longing and wishing had finally come true. There was
never a moment I took his love for granted. I flourished in the
warmth of his unreserved love.
When we stepped onto the harbor, Heath asked
if I would pick up our mail while he settled our outstanding bill
at the store.
“I’m expecting a letter. Promise me you won’t
open it,” Heath said. I laughed at first, but when he didn’t change
his serious expression, I quickly agreed.
“I won’t, I promise.” I didn’t know what to
make of that. Why was Heath receiving a secret letter? I
wondered.
I walked swiftly over to the post office and
retrieved our pile of mail. Heath’s secret letter was there, along
with a letter addressed to me, and after reading the return
address, I realized it was from Hazel.
It was the letter I had been dreading. Inside
I was certain were the details of Sylvia’s birth - the birth of
Ayden’s second child. My hands trembled while holding the envelope.
I contemplated opening it, as well as throwing it away. What did it
matter to me if Sylvia had Ayden’s son or daughter? I was never
going to have anything to do with the child, nor would Thomas.
However, the day my baby boy was born, I swore to myself I would
never harbor secrets and lies. I wasn’t going to raise Thomas in a
world of deception the way I had been raised. He would know the
truth about his real father - Ayden, and the man who raised him,
whom he called Daddy. As soon as Thomas was old enough to
understand, he would be told that Heath was his uncle and raised
him as his own because his real father died tragically. I would
have to wait until Thomas was much older to divulge the details of
his father’s death, but I was going to. Even if that meant he would
never look at me the same way and might possibly hate me. It was a
risk I planned to take, for not one lie was ever going to burden my
life again.
“Was it there? My mail?” Heath asked when he
met me at the post office.
I handed it to him and he immediately placed
it in his breast pocket, then took my hand and walked with me along
the streets of our seaside village. I didn’t show him Hazel’s
letter. I wanted to wait until later that day to open it.
When we reached the top of the hill, Heath
suggested we picnic at our old school. Because it was midsummer, no
one was there, so I willingly agreed. We found ourselves under the
same giant oak tree we used to sit beneath when we were
schoolchildren. I almost couldn’t believe I was there with Heath. I
knelt down on the blanket he’d brought, and stared at him in
amazement as he pulled out our apple butter sandwiches from the
small wicker basket.
It didn’t seem so long ago that Heath was
enamored with Clara Roth. It was with Clara that Heath wanted to
spend warm summer days, Clara for whom he’d written poems, and I
was certain it was Clara about whom he had dreamed intimately every
night. It was still easy to feel those same hurt feelings when
remembering how much I longed to have Heath want me as he wanted
Clara.
“Why do you have such sad eyes?” Heath asked,
catching me deep in thought.
“I was just reflecting,” I replied and forced
a smiled, realizing the pain I still carried wasn’t valid any
longer and was one of a few burdens I needed to liberate.
“That’s why I wanted us to come here,” he
said, taking a long breath of the dewy air.
“To reflect?”
“No, to think ahead, to our future.”
I gazed at him, wanting very much to talk
about the wonderful life we planned to share, but all the while
knowing I held a letter in my skirt pocket that needed to be read
so I could move ahead. I thought about how I was going to be strong
and face all the anguish of the past. But the past and the present
always seemed ready to collide at any moment, only to crash and
burn, leaving me with deep, critical wounds.
“You seem preoccupied. What is wrong?”
I pulled out the letter and handed it to him.
He quickly scanned the envelope, then lifted his eyes toward me. We
both knew what letter contained.
“Do you want to open it?” he asked
cautiously.
“I’m not sure I want to know. A part of me
does. And the other part is so afraid.”
Heath contemplated for a moment, thinking
very seriously. I waited with angst for his opinion. Whatever Heath
decided was best, I would accept. After all, he only looked out for
my best interests and would never waver from that.
“I think you should read it,” he finally
said, and handed the letter back to me. “Whatever that letter says,
remember that you and I have each other to lean on.”
I smiled through my ambivalence, and ever so
slowly read the letter. Heath locked his stare onto me, watching
for any sign of distress, waiting on edge for me to reveal what was
inside.
I carefully read each word, not once, or
twice. I read the letter repeatedly, trying to come to terms with
it all.
“What does it say?”
“I can’t believe it . . .”
“Can’t believe what?”
I read the most important part of the letter
aloud.
Sylvia, on her death bed, hours before she
died after giving birth to a daughter, confessed she had lied about
Ayden. He is not the father of the child. It was a seaman she met
by the docks who took her. Sylvia wanted me to tell you how sorry
she was and took the blame for Ayden’s death to her own grave.
James and I are raising the baby we named Leslie as our own on a
station off the coast of Charleston. I hope you can find it in your
heart to forgive my troubled daughter and go on with your lives in
peace and harmony.
The impact of Hazel’s letter left me unable
to breathe, gasping through my sudden bout of wretchedness.
“Calm down, Lillian,” Heath repeated over and
over while holding me. He was just as devastated and bewildered,
unable to comprehend Ayden’s state of mind the night he committed
suicide by rowing out onto the deadly sea.
“Why would he allow us all to believe Sylvia
was carrying his child?” I asked.
“Only Ayden can answer that, and he’s
gone.”
“It’s so unfair,” I wept.
“You and I are not going to dwell on this. We
have come this far, and I won’t let you turn back and start blaming
yourself again. I have big plans for you and me,” Heath explained
as I clung to him. “In my envelope, I have two ocean liner tickets
to England. We are going to go on the honeymoon of our dreams. And
our travels won’t end there. Each year we’ll vacation to anywhere
you desire, any port of call. And when we are tired of seeing
ancient ruins and exploring fabulous romantic hideaways, we’ll come
home to our lighthouse.”
“What are you talking about? We have baby
Thomas to consider, and where on earth would we get the money to
travel overseas?”
“I inherited a great deal of money from my
grandparents’ estate when I turned twenty-five. Enough to go
anywhere in the world. And Mother said she would look after Thomas
for us, until he is old enough. Then the three of us will travel
together. He can grow up to be an explorer,” Heath said with such
enthusiasm and excitement it was easy to become caught up into the
fantasy and romance of the idea. As much as I loved the lighthouse,
more than anything I wanted to see the world. And to have Heath by
my side was absolutely too good to be true.
“So let’s throw that letter away and never
look back,” Heath implored. He took the letter from me and ripped
it into pieces, then fervently tossed it into a sudden gust of cold
wind.
Our day ended up being next to perfect, and I
excitedly returned to the island. I missed Thomas and was anxious
to hold him and feed him. Heath rowed as fast as he could,
realizing I had been away from my baby just a little too long.
The sun was on its way down, painting the
twilight sky with long streaks of orange and purple behind a
striking canvas of sapphire blue - the same color as my son’s eyes.
We reached the island just in time for Otto to light the flame in
the tower. He was just stepping out of the house when we
approached.
“Thomas, how is he?” I nervously asked.
“Sleeping soundly in his cradle,” Otto
reassured me. “What a fine baby,” he added. Tilting his head up,
and pensively gazing at the brilliant early night sky, he observed,
“Got eyes that same color eyes, hauntingly familiar,” then
cordially tipped his hat and headed for the door of the tower.
What Otto said sent chills down my spine. I
didn’t waste another moment and instinctively rushed inside. With
an abrupt sense of urgency and unexplainable fear, I ran up the
stairs, yelling for Thomas.
“Lillian, what is it?” Heath called behind
me. “What’s wrong?”
The ghostly figure hovered over my son’s
cradle, about to lift my baby up when I bolted into the room. It
was only when he lifted his dark, sapphire blue eyes onto me that I
stopped in my tracks and gasped. It was neither ghost nor a
stranger near to steal my baby. It was Ayden! In the flesh and
blood, alive before me - not swallowed up and drowned in the
perilous sea!