19. Elodie
NINETEEN
ELODIE
I really need my parents.
The early-morning light felt too bright, too indifferent to the wreckage left behind by the fire.
Golden sunbeams stretched long across the fields, glinting off the lingering remnants of charred wood and blackened earth, highlighting just how much had been lost. The air still carried the acrid scent of smoke, mixing with the usual crispness of morning dew, and it made my stomach turn.
It wasn’t my farm, not really, but in many ways it felt like it was.
Every inch of this land had woven itself into my skin and become as much a part of me as my own breath.
And now, looking at the smoldering ruin where the barn used to stand, where Levi and his friends had nearly burned the whole place down, something inside me ached like it had been carved out with a dull knife.
It could have been so much worse.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to exhale slowly as I raked my hands through my wild hair.
The worst was over. No one had died. That was supposed to be the silver lining, but somehow it still felt like I was standing in the aftermath of a disaster, picking through the bones of what used to be whole.
Footsteps crunched behind me. I turned to see my parents approaching, my mom slipping on work gloves, my dad already rolling up his sleeves, ready to help. I hadn’t even needed to ask. They just knew. Tears welled in my eyes as I walked toward them.
“Oh, sweetheart.” My mother’s voice was thick with sympathy, her arms already opening for me.
I let myself lean into her for just a second, the warmth of her embrace grounding me. My dad was less vocal, but I felt the solid weight of his hand squeeze my shoulder.
That was enough. Their presence was everything.
Movement caught my eye and I saw Levi sulking across the grass in our direction.
I half expected him to show up, knowing Cal would probably make him atone for his mistakes.
He stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was waiting for someone to bark angry words at him and tell him to leave.
For a long moment I didn’t know the right words to say. Part of me wanted to be angry. Part of me wanted to tell him to go home and think about what he’d done. But mostly I just felt bad for the kid.
When he finally had the guts to look me in the eye, I winked. He stood, stunned, before the tiniest smile ghosted on his lips.
“We’ll get it cleaned up,” Dad said simply. No wasted words, just action. That was how he’d always been.
I nodded and straightened, swallowing past the lump of tears lodged in my throat. If ever there was a moment to hike up my big-girl panties, it was then.
“Stan’s already moving some of the larger beams.” I gestured toward where he and a few of the farmhands were hauling away twisted metal and the charred remains of the farm stand.
The barn was supposed to be the heart of Star Harbor Farm, but it was gone.
“I don’t want to sit around feeling sorry for myself. I just want it done.”
Mom gave me a knowing look but didn’t argue. “Then let’s get to work.”
I had turned to say something to my dad when I caught movement in my periphery—Levi had stepped forward, grabbing a shovel from the pile of tools without a word.
He didn’t look at me again, just adjusted his grip and walked toward the wreckage with purpose, like he needed to be there.
The morning passed in a blur of movement.
Hands blackened with soot. The sting of sweat in my eyes.
The rhythmic scrape of shovels and the occasional low murmur of conversation.
There was no space for dwelling, just the simple, repetitive act of cleaning up what was left.
I took a few moments to document the wreckage.
I posted a few slides with images of what was left of the barn, us working to clean everything up.
The images were real and raw. There was something cathartic about documenting the setback, letting the world know I wasn’t giving up that easily.
My eyes burned from lack of sleep and my shoulders ached from use as I looked out over the glittering Lake Michigan waters.
I felt Cal before I saw him, his presence a weight at the edge of my awareness.
I turned, and there he was—moving through the wreckage like he belonged there, too, boots kicking up ash, sleeves pushed over his forearms as he lifted a fallen beam with that same effortless strength that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to examine .
He hadn’t said he was coming and hadn’t asked whether I needed help. He was just there .
I tried not to watch him, tried not to notice the way the sunlight caught the damp edges of his hair, the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he worked, but it was impossible not to.
At some point we ended up next to each other, neither of us speaking. The fire had done more than burn wood. I had a sinking feeling it had burned something else, too—something fragile and undefined that had been forming between us.
I didn’t know whether that tenuous something could be rebuilt.
I reached for a charred board at the same time Cal did, and our hands brushed. I sucked in a sharp breath, but he didn’t move away.
He just exhaled slowly, his fingers curling around the wood as he lifted it, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “You holding up?”
I hesitated. A million responses flickered through my mind.
I could lie, say I was fine. I could say that it wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t breaking my heart to see this place damaged like this when we’d made so much progress on the farm.
But when I looked at him, at the quiet, steady way he was looking back, the lie wouldn’t come.
Instead, I said, “It just sucks.”
He nodded once, as if he understood exactly what I meant. “Yeah, I know.”
We worked in silence after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It never really was with him, and that was the worst part.
I spotted Levi across the barn, shoveling a pile of scorched debris, his movements stiff and too careful—like he thought if he did this right, if he worked hard enough, it would erase the events of the previous night.
It was so obvious that the poor kid was beating himself up over what had happened.
I walked toward him, stopping just a few feet away. He stilled, like he knew I was coming but didn’t know what to expect.
“Hey,” I offered softly, to not scare him off.
“Hi.” His eyes flicked up and he swallowed. “I know you’re mad.”
I nodded, not ignoring the fact that, yeah, a part of me was big mad. But it was more than that, and Levi deserved to understand the complicated emotions I was feeling.
“I thought we had an understanding, kid,” I said quietly, making sure my voice wasn’t too harsh. “I trusted you.”
Levi’s shoulders curled inward. He kept his eyes down, focused on the burned wood at his feet.
For a long second, he said nothing. Then, finally, he exhaled and forced himself to meet my gaze. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I know I messed up.”
I nodded, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Yeah.”
His throat bobbed. “I didn’t mean to?—”
I stepped forward, wrapping him in an awkward hug, his shovel pressed between us. “I know. We all mess up sometimes.”
Silence stretched between us. Then Levi’s arms wrapped around me, squeezing me back. “I’ll fix it,” he muttered through tears.
For a moment, I simply held him. “You already are.” A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I straightened to look at him, trying not to cry. “I’m just so glad you weren’t hurt.”
I squeezed him again, reassuring him that he was still cared for. After I let him go, I reached for my own shovel, exhaling past my emotions. “Okay, let’s do this. Teamwork makes the dream work.”
From across the barn, I caught Cal staring at us with an unreadable expression. I swallowed hard and tried not to imagine what he was thinking.
A few hours later, just as the worst of the wreckage had been cleared, Stan called out: “Ellie, come take a look at this.”
I wiped the back of my gloved hand across my forehead and walked over, Callum following without a word.
Stan was standing beside a section of the barn floor that had been warped by the fire and water damage. A portion of it had caved in slightly, revealing a dark space beneath.
“What is that?” I asked, kneeling to get a better look.
“I’d venture to guess it’s a root cellar, but I’ve never seen it before.” Stan frowned.
I looked into the hole. “It looks like there might be something in there.”
I glanced at Callum, who shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
We pried up the loose floorboards, revealing a small underground space lined with stone. It was mostly empty, save for a single, battered steamer trunk sitting in the shadows, its leather edges singed, its brass lock rusted.
A strange shiver crawled up my spine. I reached out, running my fingers over the lid. “How long do you think this has been down here?”
Stan whistled low. “Could be a hundred years or more.”
I swallowed, my pulse ticking faster. “Help me get it out.”
It took some maneuvering, but we managed to haul the trunk out onto solid ground. The metal clasps were weak from heat exposure, and with a little effort, we pried it open.
Inside, the trunk was filled with old fabric, bits of lace, and a broken pocket watch. But it was the bundle of letters tucked in the corner that caught my attention.
Most were ruined—the ink blurred, the paper falling apart in my hands—but a few were mostly intact.
I lifted one carefully, my breath catching as I read the date at the top: September 3, 1903.
I skimmed the first few lines, my pulse thrumming louder with every word.
My Darling, I cannot stay here any longer. Every day, I wake with the feeling that I am being watched ...
I read the rest, my hands tingling around the paper.
I should have left when I had the chance. Now, I fear it is too late for us ... I will be at the lighthouse before the tide turns. Meet me there before the moon is high, and we will go—far from this place, far from the eyes that follow me. If you love me, do not believe what they say.
At the bottom, the signature. Two simple initials. A.B.
The world around me faded. The ruined barn, the sweat and soot clinging to my skin, the exhaustion pressing behind my eyes.
Callum crouched beside me, peering over my shoulder to read the letter. His voice was a low grumble in my ear. “Well, that’s creepy as hell.”
I licked my lips, still staring at the letter. My fingers trembled slightly. “It’s a love letter.”
His gaze flicked to me, something unreadable passing through his expression. “You really believe that?”
I didn’t know, but I wanted to.
I wanted to believe that love—real, desperate, reckless love—left an imprint strong enough to last more than a century. That even after all this time, after all the loss, some part of her story had survived.
It gave me hope that maybe some part of mine would too.
The sun hung low over the horizon, bleeding gold and orange across the sky, casting long shadows over the farm. The scent of smoke still clung to the air, but the worst of it had faded, replaced by the rich, earthy scent of damp soil and the cooling breeze rolling off the fields.
I sat on the porch steps of the cottage, turning the letter over in my hands, the ink smudged but still legible. The words had burned themselves into my mind, looping over and over: If you love me, do not believe what they say.
Questions raced through my mind.
Who was she? Who had she been writing to? What had she been running from?
And why, despite everything, did it feel like I understood her?
Movement caught my eye, and I felt Cal approach the cottage. His boots scuffed against the gravel as he crossed the grass, his steps slow, deliberate. I didn’t look up, not even when the porch creaked beneath his weight as he climbed the steps and settled beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
I could see him from the corner of my eye—his forearms streaked with soot, his shirt damp at the collar, a smudge of ash along his jaw. He braced his forearms against his knees, exhaling low and steady, like he was carrying something heavy and trying not to let it show.
I never thanked him for staying .
For being the kind of dad that helped his kid be accountable.
For helping me when he didn’t have to.
But the words felt inadequate and caught somewhere in my throat.
Instead, I lifted the letter slightly, staring at the faded ink. “I think you might be right.”
Callum’s gaze flicked to the paper, then to me. “About what?”
“That it’s a little bit creepy. I’ve read it a few thousand times. I get the feeling she was running . Hiding.” I ran my thumb along the frayed edge. My voice dropped slightly. “Whoever wrote this ... I don’t think she was waiting for someone. She was trying to get away.”
The words tasted strange as I said them, like they held more weight than I understood. Like I was on the edge of something, just shy of grasping it.
Callum was quiet for a long moment. Then his voice came low, thoughtful. “People believe the stories they want to believe. Maybe there are a few more clues in the trunk to help you parse out what happened.”
I frowned slightly, turning the letter over in my hands again. Who was she running from?
I turned my head just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were shadowed in the fading light, unreadable.
Something between us had shifted. I could feel it, thick and uncertain, settling into the spaces neither of us had the nerve to fill.
I didn’t thank him for staying, and he didn’t say he was going to leave.
Instead I sighed, resting my head against his shoulder and looking out onto the dunes.