“I started skipping out on school and going on the train almost every day after that. Pretended I was an orphan. The rich people treated me good—paid for my dinner, gave me sweets. The whole time, I was stealing from them when they had their backs turned. I didn’t like it much, but I had to. I swore, once I had enough money saved up, I’d stay on that westbound train until it got to California. Then, he up and died and I had to come here.”
Abby takes my hand. “And if you’d never come here, we’d have never met.”
“You’re right, I reckon.” I smile at her. “I just wish we could be together, Abby.Reallytogether. I hate it that you’re marrying Harlan. I wish there was some way ...”
“I can’t talk about it, Gracie.” Abby’s voice cracks. “What good does it do to think about the might-have-beens? That lighthouse won’t make me a living, and I can’t run our farm by myself much longer. It’s too expensive. Harlan has more than enough money to take care of things. You’ll get married, too, someday, Gracie.”
I laugh. “No. No I won’t. I’ll stay single, just like Granny.”
“And you know how people judge her for it—for having Val out of wedlock and everything.”
I let go of Abby’s hand. “My being single or married ain’t gonna change a thing about our standing in this place. They’ve always judged us. They always will.”
“Well. I’d better get back home. With Pa sick the way he is, I don’t like to leave him for very long.”
“Okay.” I turn away. “Go on, then.” I try not to cry. All of this is too much. There’s a beat of silence, then she takes me by the arm, turning me.
“Gracie?”
“What?”
“After you get some rest, come up to the lighthouse. Real early, before daylight. Pa ain’t up by then ... and well, I’d like to ...” She smiles shyly. “I’d like to finish what we started the other night.”
I touch my forehead to hers and close my eyes. “Maybe after Caro gets home, I can sneak away.”
“I’d like that a lot.”
It’s three in the morning when I creep down the ladder. Caro is in bed, sound asleep, one leg thrown over the covers. She hadn’t been able to find Doc Gallagher, but Granny had made it through the night without having another fit, and I’d finally gotten a couple hours of rest.
I silently slip on my boots and head out the kitchen door. The smell of charred timber hangs in the air. Down over the ridge, the sky still blazes orange. Now and then, the fire catches on a tree and shoots up a column of explosive flame. It’s almost enough to make me turn back and go inside—but this might be the only chance Abby and I have to be together, and I can’t deny myself the one bit of sweetness I have left in my life.
I head up the hill, my back to the fire and my eyes on Old Liberty’s steadfast beam.
When I reach the stone tower, the door is open, just a crack. Flashing yellow light seeps out. That must mean Abby’s upstairs. Waiting for me. My heart beats faster at the thought.
I take the stairs up the tower two at a time. It’s so stifling that I have to pause to catch my breath at the top before emerging into the lantern room, shielding my eyes from the white-hot light.
The French doors leading to the outer gallery are open. She must be waiting at our dangling spot. I undo my braids and shake out my hair, letting it flow long and loose down to my waist. I imagine Abby’s fingers tangling in it as she kisses me. Out on the gallery, I have a bird’s-eyeview of the fire. It’s huge, and dangerously close to the lights of town. The height coupled with the scent of smoke makes me dizzy.
A part of me worries that this was all my doing. I wonder if that surge of power I’d felt back in Bellflower’s tent created the blaze. If I could start a fire through sheer force of will, what else might I be capable of?
I turn from the railing and make my way around the curved side of the lighthouse to our dangling spot, but Abby isn’t there.
“Abby?” I call out. “You out here?”
I edge further along the metal catwalk, until I’m halfway around the side. Still no sign of Abby. The beam whooshes over my head, lighting up the forest below. My pulse quickens. Something ain’t right about this. She’s playing a game. She must be.
“Abby?” I call out again. “Now, it’s too early in the morning for games. You wanted me here, and I’m here.”
There’s no answer. I start imagining the worst—that she might have lost her footing and fell, or worse yet—jumped. I’d never known Abby for the melancholic sort, but with her pa about to die and a marriage to Harlan Northrup on the horizon—
A wave of nausea hits me at the thought.
Suddenly, a loud rush of wind comes from above, like the rustling of a large bird’s wings.
Everything goes still. The air. The trees. My breath.
I turn slowly, already knowing what I’m going to see.WhoI’m going to see.
