Chapter 6
Chapter 6
It was not easy to keep the Belvedere crew in good spirits while they waited for news about the crewmen who had rowed recklessly into the dark ocean at night. Emma felt certain it was the trauma of the shipwreck that had infected their minds with terror and an irrational fear that the island was cursed. The whiskey certainly hadn’t helped.
Over the next few days, she kept busy cooking and cleaning for the extra guests on their remote little island.
With his concussion on the mend, and a desire to maintain discipline, Captain Harris assigned daily duties to his crewmen. Some were directed to assist Sable’s lifeboat crew in patrolling the beaches in search of the missing engineer, whose body might have washed ashore somewhere. Others were sent to assist Philip at the weather station, with an objective to learn about meteorological studies and the collection of scientific data. Those who possessed experience with horses spent time at the corral and helped break a few mares for work at Main Station.
On day four, there was still no news about the men who had attempted to row to the mainland, nor any sign of the drowned seaman. But a group on beach patrol recovered the second lifeboat, which had capsized during the rescue, not far from old Station Number Two. The retrieval of the invaluable craft kept both crews busy and working together for hours. For those men, the sense of accomplishment was a welcome respite from feelings of despondency when they had nothing to do but wait for the supply ship to arrive and to recall the horror of the shipwreck.
On day five, Emma finished her early-morning chores, saddled Willow, and went for a fast, exhilarating ride along the beach, splashing through frothy incoming waves. Her thoughts, as usual, drifted to Captain Harris. There was so much about him she yearned to know—how his childhood and upbringing had led him to a career in the navy, and why he’d taken a wife when perhaps, in his heart, he’d already been wedded to the sea? What could have happened between him and this woman to cause a rift so deep that she could fall in love with another man and deprive her husband of a place in his children’s lives?
Feeling breathless, Emma slowed Willow to a walk. Heaven help her. There was no question in her mind that she was becoming infatuated with the captain. Or perhaps it was something more. Was this what it felt like to fall in love? A complete loss of emotional control? The more she thought about it, the more she suspected it was akin to what had driven those two men to steal a boat in the night and row into the dark and turbulent sea.
As Emma wheeled Willow around and galloped back to Main Station, she decided to never tell anyone what she’d been feeling. Especially her father. He’d drop dead if he knew what she was dreaming about when she switched off the lamp in her bedroom each night.
Emma could have jumped for joy when she walked through the front door of her house.
“We’re having a dinner party,” her father announced, with no notion whatsoever that he was throwing fuel onto the desires she’d been hiding from him.
“Who’s coming?” she casually asked, which took some effort to conceal her explosion of excitement.
“Captain Harris and Philip. But not Abigail.”
“Why not Abigail?” Emma asked, laboring to sound nonchalant.
“I suspect she’s tired,” her father replied. “The captain has been her houseguest and patient for almost a week. That’s why I thought it right to invite him here. To give her a night off.”
“That’s kind of you.” Emma moved to the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, grabbed an apple, and bit into it. “Have you thought about what you’d like to serve for dinner? I could roast a chicken with carrots and potatoes, but I’d have to get started on it right away.”
Her father moved toward her and held her face in his hands. “That sounds perfect, sweetheart. What would I ever do without you?”
Despite the thrill of a dinner party with Captain Harris in attendance, Emma found herself bristling at the reminder that her father still didn’t want to let her go.
That evening, Philip walked in with a bottle of brandy he must have been saving for a special occasion, because her father made a great fuss about it. Captain Harris entered behind him, shook her father’s hand, and directed his attention to Emma. He held out a book—one of the titles she’d lent him on the day of the wreck, about the wild horses of Sable.
“I thought I’d return this to you,” he said. “I finished it this afternoon.”
“And?”
“It was excellent. I appreciate the loan.”
She stood there feeling a wave of happiness for their shared interest in horses, but mostly for being near him again. “I’m glad it helped pass the time.”
Her father examined the label on the brandy bottle. “Shall we have a drink to start the evening on a high note?”
“I’ll pour,” Emma offered, reaching for the bottle.
While the gentlemen gathered in the great room to discuss the weather and the latest wireless communications from the mainland, Emma moved into the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a tray of four brandies in fine crystal snifters and settled in to join the men.
They were about to toast to good weather at last when a knock sounded at the door. Emma rose to answer it.
Outside on the steps stood Frank O’Reilly, the chief wireless operator.
“Hello, Frank,” she said.
He swiped his hat off his head and crumpled it in his hands. “Good evening, Emma. You look pretty tonight.”
“Thank you.” She stepped back. “Come in.”
He entered the foyer. “I have important news for your father.”
Without delay, she led him into the great room.
“I apologize for the interruption,” Frank said to the men.
“No need,” her father replied. “We’re about to devour a roast-chicken dinner. There must be enough for an extra plate, Emma?”
She smiled at Frank. “Of course. Will you join us?”
“I wouldn’t want to impose.” He studied her intently, searching for some additional form of encouragement, which she was not prepared to give.
“It’s no imposition,” her father insisted. “Have a seat, and Emma will fetch you a brandy.”
She took Frank’s hat and coat, hung them up, and went to the kitchen, but continued to listen to the men’s conversation in the great room.
“This must be important news,” her father said, “if you’ve come to deliver it in person. Did they find the crewmen?”
“Not yet,” Frank replied. “But the Argyle will be here the day after tomorrow to transfer everyone from the Belvedere to the mainland. Weather permitting, of course.”
Emma nearly lost her grip on the crystal snifter as the news jetted through her mind. She didn’t want to think about the captain leaving so soon.
Her father spoke warmly. “There. You see? I knew it would be no time at all before help arrived. We always take care of our guests at Sable. Cheers to that.”
Emma poured a glass of brandy for Frank, returned to the great room, and handed it to him.
He looked up at her with unabashed adoration. “Thank you, Emma.”
Emma couldn’t meet his gaze, or anyone else’s, especially after the news he’d brought. When she returned to her place on the sofa, she picked up her brandy and took a deep swig that burned her throat. Then she locked eyes with the captain. His eyebrows lifted a fraction, as if to communicate that he recognized Frank’s crush on her, and he remembered what she’d said about not wanting to encourage any of the young men on the island. He looked faintly amused.
Emma grinned, then had to look away before anyone took notice of this familiarity between them—and the fact that she felt drunk from something that had nothing to do with the brandy.
Conversations about the Argyle resumed, but Emma couldn’t escape her physical awareness of the captain, which brought a glut of unhappy thoughts about him leaving. Stop, Emma. He’s a married man.
“Emma?”
Her father’s voice ripped through her emotions. “Yes?”
“What do you think of that?”
“Of what?”
“A musical evening here tomorrow night. A party. For everyone.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she replied, reclaiming her composure. “A proper send-off.”
“Exactly.”
On the bright side, a special gathering meant another opportunity to spend time with the captain. On the downside, he would leave the very next morning, and she would probably never see him again. How in the world would she manage her emotions when that moment arrived?
After dinner, Emma cleared the table and washed dishes while the men talked politics and worked their way through the bottle of brandy in the great room. She was just dipping her hands into the warm soapy water and swirling the wet dishcloth around on a plate when she heard the floorboards creak behind her. All her senses came alive with excitement because, somehow, she knew who it was. She felt it in all her nerve endings.
The captain approached the counter beside her, so close that his elbow touched hers.
“You’re hard at work.” He set down his empty glass.
“I like to keep busy. I hope you enjoyed dinner.”
“Everything was delicious.”
He lingered a moment, and as she placed another clean plate on the dish rack, she felt yearnings she didn’t know how to manage. The rapid beat of her heart made it difficult to think of what to say, but she didn’t want him to return to the men in the great room just yet.
Why was this so excruciating?
At last, he spoke. “Since I’ll be leaving the island soon, I wonder if you might have time tomorrow to show me the famous wild horses you keep telling me about.”
Something gave way inside her—a great cascading flood of relief. A rising euphoria.
She turned to him and dried her hands on a towel. “I’d love to, but we’ll have to go early because of the party. Why don’t we meet at the barn at six thirty? I’ll saddle two horses.”
“Wonderful,” he said. “Cheers, Emma. I’ll look forward to it.”
The sound of her name on his lips stoked a fire in her belly, and as she watched him walk away, she wondered if he had any notion of his effect on her.
She suspected that he did.
“Ready for a run?” she asked Willow the following morning as she stroked her nose. Willow pawed at the hay-strewn floor, so Emma set to work getting her saddled along with Mrs. Miniver, a strong gray mare.
Emma led both horses outside and spotted Captain Harris jogging energetically toward her. He wore denims and a black wool jacket he must have borrowed from Philip or one of the staff men. “Am I late?” he asked, slowing to a walk. “I’d planned to help you saddle the horses.”
“Not at all. I couldn’t sleep, so I came early.”
“I couldn’t sleep either.” He turned his attention to Mrs. Miniver. “Who is this enchanting creature?”
Emma laughed. “This is Mrs. Miniver.”
“From the Hollywood film?” His eyebrows lifted.
“That’s right.” Emma mounted Willow, then watched him stroke Mrs. Miniver’s neck as he became acquainted with her. He tested the tension on the saddle cinches and assured himself that all was in order before he mounted as well. Together, they trotted out of the station yard with the radiant sunrise warming their faces.
“What are the chances we won’t encounter any herds?” the captain asked a short while later as they crossed the green heath, making their way through the network of horse paths.
“Very low. I know most of their home ranges and where they roam at different times of the day. I’ll take you to the spot where I usually see Willow’s family in the mornings.”
“Willow was taken from a herd?”
“Yes.” Emma inclined her head. “I know that sounds cruel, but we need horses to survive here, and I feel better about taking them into our care than watching them get shipped off to the mainland for sale. That’s painful to see, because I’ve given names to all of them—which my father tells me not to do, but I can’t help myself. Lately, I’ve been sending letters to people in government to try and stop the shipments from happening. Maybe one of these days they’ll pass a law or something to protect the horses here.”
“That sounds like a noble cause,” he said.
Emma brought Willow to a halt and looked around. “This is where they usually make an appearance, over by that pond. It’s strange they’re not here today.” She gathered up the reins and dismounted. “Let’s take a walk.”
Captain Harris dismounted as well. “Do you ever worry that Willow will run off and try to rejoin her family?”
“Never,” Emma replied. “She loves me too much, and she’s spoiled by her life of luxury at Main Station. She gets an apple every morning and a carrot each night.”
“You’ll miss her when you leave for school,” he mentioned perceptively.
Emma turned to Captain Harris, so handsome in the morning light, which turned his hair to auburn at the tips. Looking at him, she felt the same exhilaration she felt on the beach whenever she galloped with Willow.
“I’ll miss her very much.”
She gave Willow a friendly tap on the rear flank and watched her and Mrs. Miniver trot jauntily toward the pond for a drink.
“Shall we walk this way?”
Emma led the captain through narrow, winding paths among hardy cranberry bushes and wondered what he thought of this place. And what he thought of her.
Oliver followed Emma in silence for quite some time. They tramped through sandy meandering pathways. Occasionally, he paused to scan the horizon for a glimpse of a wild herd, but for some reason, the horses stayed away.
Emma raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “I don’t understand. They always come here in the mornings.”
“Maybe it’s my fault,” he said. “They can smell a foreigner at fifty paces.”
Emma laughed. “I’m glad you can keep a sense of humor after everything.”
Oliver immediately thought of his ship, lying on her side, stuck on the sandbar with waves pounding against her hull. He felt Emma’s eyes on him and had the distinct impression that she was guessing, correctly, at his thoughts.
It always seemed to be that way between them. Whenever they spoke privately during their walks and rides, there was a natural understanding, an agreement about most things they both considered important, and he felt no need to hold anything back. He’d shared a great deal of his inner self with Emma and had revealed things he’d never revealed to anyone.
But today, he didn’t want to go down that road and talk about loss and failure. It was their last day together. He wanted to be positive.
“I’ve learned to soldier on,” he said.
She regarded him knowingly, with compassion, and strolled toward another pond.
Oliver decided to saunter in the opposite direction because this strange emotional connection to Emma had the potential to become problematic. He was feeling too good on this island, too buoyant and optimistic, but it wasn’t the real world. It was fantasy. What he needed was a moment to remember his true reality: His unhappy marriage. His failures as a father. The wreck of his ship. These were important issues he would need to confront after he left this place. He couldn’t continue to avoid them, because day by day, inch by inch, they were digging deeper holes into his heart and mind.
This was a fact he now understood. His brief descent into madness—when he’d wanted to go down with his ship—had been a distress signal.
Because he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to do better for his children.
Oliver stopped on the path and turned to look back at Emma. Bloody hell. What was it about her that made him so introspective? Whenever he spent time with her, he talked and talked. Then he listened and ended up reflecting on his past and future and wondered how he’d ended up here—a disgraced captain and a failure as a husband and father.
Pondering all this deeply, Oliver veered off the path into a clearing of clean white sand. In that moment, just ahead, a dark mass on the ground brought him to a halt. The breeze shifted, and he was struck by a fetid stench.
It was a dead horse. He raised his forearm to his nose and breathed through his sleeve.
Emma must have detected it as well, because she came running. “Oh no.” She stood beside him, staring. Then she untied the patterned scarf from around her neck, held it to her nose, and approached.
Oliver followed. The ocean breeze blew strands of the horse’s mane and tail, while buzzing flies made Oliver’s skin prickle.
Standing upwind, Emma lowered her scarf. “This is Willow’s mother,” she said, her voice breaking.
Oliver turned to her and frowned. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I know her well, and she knew who I was to Willow. Sometimes I fed her apples.” Emma raised the scarf to her face again. “I wonder what happened to her. Old age, I guess.”
The waves on the beach reverberated gently in the distance, and Oliver found himself sinking deeper into the rhythms of the island, the essence of life and death, so very different from what he’d known during the war. Violence had played no part in this.
While the breezes off the ocean hissed through the marram grass on the high dune, Oliver looked around at the rolling landscape. “Maybe this is why we haven’t seen the herd this morning, because they want to leave her in peace.”
Emma strolled back to where he stood. “I was just thinking the same thing. But who knows? It’s springtime, and they often go looking for sandwort at the west end of the island.”
The wind shifted, so they retraced their steps to the pond where Willow and Mrs. Miniver were grazing at the water’s edge.
“I apologize,” Emma said. “I don’t think I’ll be good company for the rest of the tour. I’m a bit heartbroken.”
She bowed her head, and Oliver wished he could take her into his arms and comfort her, but that would cross a line.
With a slender, graceful hand, she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and looked up at him with wet eyes. He stared back at her, and that was the moment he knew mere feelings of friendship with this woman were impossible. He was entranced and enamored, and fighting desire.
A tear spilled onto her cheek, and Emma wiped it away. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is so embarrassing.”
He was embarrassed himself because he was awestruck and speechless. He’d never known anyone like this woman. His heart was cracked open.
“Maybe this has something to do with the fact that I never knew my own mother,” she suddenly confessed in a flood of emotion, her breath shuddering, more tears streaming. “She died when I was born, which maybe was my fault ... I don’t know exactly what happened that day. My father doesn’t like to talk about it. And I’ve always felt guilty that Willow was separated from her mother as well. And now her mother is dead, and there’s no future for them, no chance to be together someday. No more hope for that. It’s the end.”
Oliver observed Emma’s deep self-awareness, which was remarkable for one so young. He was equally surprised by her openness and candor. What a rare person she was.
“I’m sorry you lost your mother,” he said, because it was the proper thing to say, and he was grateful for social conventions. Without them, he would be lost.
Or would he? He stared at Emma, their eyes fixed on each other’s, and felt a surprising calm wash over him. He was glad to be there for her, simply to listen. That was all she needed.
“I wish you weren’t leaving so soon,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”
“I’ve enjoyed getting to know you as well.”
“I wish we could talk more.”
“I wish the same.”
And there it was—the admission, and the surrender to the impulses of his heart, an organ that had become sadly unresponsive in recent years.
“But we still have time, don’t we?” he added. “We can keep talking. Would you like to walk back to the station rather than ride?”
He waited while Emma considered his suggestion. She glanced toward the clearing where they’d found the remains of Willow’s mother. Then she took a deep breath and let it out. “No. I promised you wild horses. Let’s ride to the beach.”
As far as Oliver was concerned, it didn’t matter what they did. He wanted whatever she wanted.
“All right,” he replied.
Oliver strode to Mrs. Miniver and swung himself up into the saddle.
“This is your last day here,” Emma said as she tapped her heels to urge Willow into a trot. “I want you to remember Sable Island for its beauty, not as a place of shipwrecks and death and my foolish crying just now.”
Oliver felt a jolt. He knew he was looking at someone very important—someone who would have a profound effect on his life. He didn’t know what that effect might be, but he knew he would never forget Emma Clarkson.
“I promise I’ll remember nothing but beauty,” he told her.
Emma steered Willow toward the high dune and launched into a gallop. He kept pace with her as they climbed to the breezy top, and there, down on the beach, beneath the blue sky and cottony clouds, with the vast, rolling ocean behind them, was a family of horses.
There were striking against the white sand, walking leisurely ahead of a magnificent black stallion. They moved in perfect harmony with each other.
“You’ve kept your promise,” Oliver said, feeling dazzled by the smile Emma gave him.
Together, they watched from the high dune until the herd began to gallop and soon grew distant.
“Should we follow?” he asked, wanting to be wild and reckless.
“I wish we could,” Emma replied, “but I’m expected back at the house to prepare for the party.”
Oh yes, the party. He’d forgotten about that. It was a disturbing reminder that this was his last night on the island. Tomorrow, he and his crew would board a ship and return to civilization, where he would face questions about the loss of the Belvedere and her cargo. It could mean the end of his career and livelihood.
But there was another reason for his reluctance to sail away from Sable Island. Something had cast a spell on him, and he wasn’t sure he truly understood it. Maybe it was his attraction to the young woman at his side. Or maybe it was something more. He didn’t know what to call it exactly, except a soulful experience, a connection to peace and serenity.
All his adult life, he’d been surrounded by chaos. War. Explosions. Terror. Before that, a rush to get married. And always, the unpredictability of the ocean from a place of command where lives were at stake—and where he held each of those precious lives in his imperfect hands.
Oliver realized his entire existence had become one of hypervigilance. He had never paused to simply be quiet, to reflect and look inward. He still didn’t know what he was looking at, but at least he felt alive, and he was grateful to be so.
By the time Emma and Captain Harris returned to Main Station, the sun had retreated behind a misty veil. It was lovely in its own way—a soft and gentle light upon the island.
Emma led Willow to the barn doors. She was conscious of Captain Harris dismounting behind her—the sound of the leather straps creaking, his boots landing on the ground. She forced herself not to look back as she entered the barn. Instead, she listened to the rhythm of Mrs. Miniver’s hooves on the plank floor as the captain walked her to her stall.
Bobby, one of the staff men, was filling a bucket with water. “I’ll take care of these two,” he said to Emma. “You should get home. Your father’s been looking for you.”
She handed Willow’s reins to him. “He wasn’t angry, I hope.” She hadn’t told her father she was going riding that morning, and he expected her to be setting up for the party.
“You’ll have to ask him,” Bobby said, leading the horses away.
Emma and the captain walked out of the barn. As soon as she inhaled the fresh air off the water, she touched the captain’s arm. “I want to apologize again for my emotions this morning.”
“Please ...” He stopped and raised a hand.
“No, I need to say this because I don’t want you to think that I feel sorry for myself, or that I was a poor orphan girl with no mother. I was quite lucky, actually, to have a mother figure on the island during my childhood.”
The captain inclined his head curiously. “Abigail?”
Emma laughed softly and lowered her gaze. “No, not Abigail. She and Philip came here a few years ago to replace the former meteorologist and his wife, Ruth. They were here for fourteen years, and Ruth took care of me when I was young. She was a wonderful teacher of life, and she loved me, truly. Sometimes I wonder if my mother sent her here to be my guardian angel.”
“You must miss that woman,” the captain said.
“I do.”
“I can’t imagine that Abigail has been able to fill those shoes,” he added with a knowing look.
Emma tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “No, but I’m not a child anymore and I don’t need babysitting.”
“I understand that,” he replied. “But still, I saw how she treated you when you brought the books to me. She’s not ... How can I say this without sounding ungrateful? Because I do appreciate her care over the past week. But she’s not a very pleasant person, is she?”
“No,” Emma replied matter-of-factly. “But I can’t fault her for that because I heard that her family abandoned her and she grew up in an orphanage, never adopted. My childhood was heaven compared to that. Which is why I can’t be too critical of her.”
His blue eyes connected intimately with hers. “You’re a very forgiving person.”
Emma’s whole being flushed with contentment. “I just think everyone has their own struggles,” she explained. “No one’s life is perfect, even if it appears that way on the surface.”
He let out a sigh, which, to Emma, felt like admiration. “More wise words that I won’t forget.”
They started walking slowly across the station yard, still talking, and finally said goodbye to each other at Emma’s front door. The captain walked on toward the McKennas’ house, and Emma watched him go, dreading the thought of his departure from the island the following day.
At least she would see him again at the party. If she could have her druthers, she’d spend every single minute with him, talking all night, until dawn.