CHAPTER 46
Finally, the day came for Mr. Wilson’s visit. She wasn’t sure what to expect or how long he even planned on staying, but she made sure Kallias knew to stay far away.
It was around noon when she caught sight of her father’s little boat arriving around the bend, and in fifteen more minutes, he was coming up to her dock.
“Mr. Wilson!” she cried, waving. No matter what, he was still a dear—and her only—friend, and it was good to see his face.
He waved too. “Daria. How do you do on this fine day?”
“You seem cheerful.”
“And why should I not be? I’m about to have lunch with the prettiest woman in town.”
“I’m not in town.” She smirked.
“Ah, but if I say out of town, it’s only you and the rogue fishers, and that may not be the compliment I was going for.”
“No,” she agreed, laughing. “What did you bring with you there?” There were more than a few baskets.
“It’s not all from me,” he said. “After your little escapade, the villagers and I decided you needed more rations. Ah, Mrs. Allen made butter just for you. Mr. Clarke threw in some milk. Mrs. Clemson even baked you some bread.” After tying down the boat, he passed her up some baskets.
“You’re much loved. Probably because everyone’s glad someone’s crazy enough to do this job.
” It was clearly a tease and his light-green eyes sparkled accordingly.
“Stop,” she teased back. “I’m sure they’re just being kind.
” Though if she truly had to guess, it was Mr. Wilson who was being kind and he had roped them into it, for she could not even put faces to the names.
He likely thought she was suffering from losing those men and wanted to cheer her up.
She wondered how often she would have thought of that night if not for Kallias’s comforting arms. “Will you thank them for me?”
“Of course.” He nodded, stepping out of the boat himself with the last basket. “And this one, I packed. I know a lighthouse keeper is never to leave her post, but surely you have time for lunch.”
She gave a cheeky smile. “Are you trying to get me fired?”
“No, no,” he jested, playing innocent. “But during the day, with no storm in sight, can I steal you for a few hours?”
“You sound as if you wish me to leave the island.”
“Oh, no, I just was worried about distracting you. I’d never do anything to actually get you in trouble.”
She smiled to that. “Thank you. Unlike some people”—him—“I do have a boss.”
He laughed. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Why was she inclined to agree to that? But what was the other option? Images of her and Kallias sailing amongst the islands popped to mind and she couldn’t fight off the smile. Maybe that actually wouldn’t be so bad.
“Let me put these inside,” she said. He had even gone so far as to bring a block of ice. “Would you care to step inside?”
“I’d be delighted.”
She wasn’t openly thrilled by the idea of showing off her home. It was small—likely most would call it cramped—and it was dark with only a few small, circular windows, one or less per room.
But it was snug in more ways than just mere space.
Items from her father and his father before him—who had been the real collector—were packed in.
Bookshelves covered all the interior walls.
They were stacked with books on top of books with little trinkets from Grandpa’s travels hiding in between so that there was no space left to store anything—if one didn’t resort to aggressive shoving.
The furniture was dark, almost as if it all wanted to devour the minimal light.
The bookcases were a deep shade of wood, their books and trinkets mostly deep shades of greens and reds and browns as well.
A deep-red velvet sofa was pressed against the far wall.
There was a painting of a ship behind it with five tinier pictures of miscellaneous things surrounding it, such as one of an umbrella and another of an egg.
She didn’t know where her grandfather had gotten them or why he had even wanted them in the first place, but she was exceptionally fond of them now.
The rugs were dark red too, though with none of the purple tint the sofa had. They were allegedly Persian, and though faded and worn now, their designs of cream and black patterns were still exquisite in her eyes.
The only walls not stuffed of every inch of space were the circular outer walls, though Lord knew they had still attempted.
When the curve tightened and furniture could no longer properly hug it, that was when piles of books alone started, curving along with the walls.
And of course there were the random standalone pieces there as well, such as that suit of armor Grandpa had gotten that no one knew what to do with.
But as she descended into the lowest level—it was carved into the rock to serve as an icebox—it was not the books or rugs or even the suit of armor that caught Mr. Wilson’s attention.
No, it was the necklace she was weaving of coarse brown rope and sea glass that she’d left in front of the books on the bookshelf closest to the kitchen.
She hadn’t mentioned it to Kallias yet, hadn’t mentioned how she had picked out the whites and blues and clears and teals that best matched him, hadn’t mentioned that she smiled every second she made it with thoughts of him.
No, she had kept it secret, wanting it to be a surprise.
She worked on it here and there as she waited for the oven to cook or the water to boil.
And now it was Mr. Wilson who held it. Though he was as well-meaning as could be, it still frustrated her. She wanted it to be for Kallias and Kallias alone.
“This is quite interesting, how you’ve managed to braid the glass into the rope. It’ll be a necklace, I assume? The glass seems smooth enough not to pose a problem.”
“Yes,” she said, snatching it away. “It’ll be a necklace.”
“I didn’t know you liked jewelry. I’ve never seen you wear any.”
“I might not wear it.” In fact, she most certainly wouldn’t. “But I wanted to make it all the same.”
He nodded understandingly, but she assumed he didn’t actually understand at all for he said, “It must be very boring home all alone.”
“Mr. Wilson, if I found it boring, I wouldn’t be here.”
There was another nod and he huffed a smile. “You’re right of course. Forgive me. Are you hungry?” He held up his basket. “I packed us a picnic.”
It was nearing lunchtime and she had to admit she was hungry, but it felt remiss not to say, “I do appreciate the thought, Mr. Wilson, and the gifts, and of course, I’d love to eat lunch with you, but I just feel I should say…
” Why was it so awkward saying it? “I just feel I should say I really do not see myself getting married.”
He nodded thoughtfully before saying, “Didn’t you say you’d give me a chance before rejecting me? Was a chance all of ten minutes?” He was teasing, or at least, he looked like he was trying to be teasing.
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up or feel slighted later, when I really don’t think it’s something that I want.”
She expected words on family lines or a woman’s purpose or this or that, but he only nodded slowly. “I suppose it would be a bit presumptuous to ask why. But certainly, I can respect it. Will you still eat with me…as friends then?”
“Of course,” she happily agreed. She always knew he was a good man. He took it so well.
So they went outside and he laid out a blanket he had brought. There was cheese and apples, meat, bread, and wine. It was quite the spread.
“This is my first time trying wine,” she said, eyeing the glass before throwing it back.
“Daria!” Mr. Wilson exclaimed, practically balking, jerking his hand as if he had meant to take the glass from her. She supposed that wasn’t very ladylike, but that didn’t seem to be his concern. “It is alcoholic,” he reminded, “even if it is sweet.”
It was decently sweet for an alcohol, but she found she didn’t care much for it.
“Well, thank you for reminding me,” she said, reaching for the bottle which he pulled away an inch.
“But I have had alcohol before, Mr. Wilson. The shipping company regularly supplies me with whiskey and brandy.” They were in case storms prevented her from leaving the island to get fresh water.
Most of her fresh water came from rain water—though in times of extreme waves, the barrels could get contaminated with splashing sea water.
It was never enough to make it undrinkable though, just unpleasant.
And at age ten—because the idea of having no water to drink while being surrounded by it scared her—she created a little contraption that turned sea water to fresh water using the sun.
She’d put salt water in a glass pitcher where it could heat, then had a lid above that funneled the evaporated water into another bowl.
So she always had ample water—though she didn’t bother telling the shipping company that—and the alcohol had become something only for the darkest nights alone. It’d been a while since she’d had any; it was really piling up in her storage now, and she wondered what Kallias would be like drunk.
She grabbed the bottle from Mr. Wilson’s ever-pulling-away hand and poured herself another glass. He shook his head with a smile and seemed to let the matter go, though his eyes still looked a bit concerned for her.
“So, Mr. Wilson, tell me about yourself.”
“What is there to tell?” he asked, smiling as he put his own glass to his lips. “You already know I’m a carpenter.”
“And that’s all there is to know? One word?”
“It’s not quite as pathetic as that. I love my work. More perhaps than I should, for I truly have very little else to say of myself. But a non-carpenter might find it quite boring.”
“I doubt it,” she said. “You saw how many things in this house Grandpa collected over the years. There are some carvings too and the desk upstairs—the inlay is exquisite.” Not to mention all the secret compartments it had, but she wasn’t about to reveal her hiding places to someone else, especially a carpenter who could probably sniff out the design.
“Woodwork, rug weaving, even jewelry making, it’s all art in its own way.
You only have to find those who appreciate that. ”
“Like you?” His smile was so warm, like one Kallias might give.
“I do appreciate woodwork,” she said, carefully sipping her drink. She did enough of the basics of it for the lighthouse. “But I’m sure I’m not the only one.”
“You’d be surprised. Beauty is often forsaken for price.”
Ah, she understood. Many of the townspeople did not appear rich.
“Daria, are you not lonely after your father’s passing? I do worry about you.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. I like it here.”
“Still…”
She put down her drink. “What you might not realize is Father stayed up all night. When I was very little, I would stay up to be with him, but as I got older, I liked the sun too much, and even when he was awake, he had a million things to tend to. Our time together each day was short, if nonexistent most days, so silence and being alone are truly what I know.”
He had a sad expression, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t believe her or because he found it to be such a sad upbringing.
“Truly, I tell you I’m fi—” The word “fine” dropped faster than her heart at the sight of her white-haired mermaid, and she knew her shock was not subtle for Mr. Wilson leapt to his feet, crying, “Miss Daria! What’s wrong?”