Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (104 page)

“I heard you loud and clear,” he replied, not
removing that awful, sly smirk from his face. What did he gain by
continually taunting me? I didn’t understand why that gave him so
much pleasure.

I stood unwavering, and if my eyes could
throw daggers, they would have. Heath took his time, purposely
slowing down the process by working in slow motion. Every muscle in
my body tensed up, and my head pounded from the sheer aggravation
he caused me. And just when I thought Heath was finished, as I
leaned in to take the washboard from him, he quickly jerked it back
and declared he had another item of clothing he needed to wash.

“Heath Dalton, I have no time for your
childish games! I have washing to do, a house to clean, supper to
prepare. You do want supper later, don’t you?”

He lifted his eyes up to me only for a
moment, then said mockingly, “You’re ruining my concentration.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?
You don’t need to concentrate on washing,” I grumbled and reached
down for the washboard. And just as he snatched it back with his
only good hand, I lost my balance and toppled into the dirty
washbasin. Heath jumped back, then broke out into uncontrollable
laughter. My hair was dripping wet, my dress drenched. “This is my
only dress! My other needs washing!” I screeched. Heath’s amusement
sent me into a rage. I swooped up his wet shirt and flung it at
him. I hoped it would sting his face as it flew by. “Now who’s
laughing?” I jeered.

Heath challenged me with a fiery glare, anger
bolted through his typically warm, translucent blue eyes. “You are
the most impatient, frustrating, aggravating, irritating woman I
have ever known!”

“And you are the most arrogant,
condescending, and childish man I have ever met,” I fired back,
then strode off in a huff.

“As for supper, don’t set a plate for me!” he
called. “I wouldn’t dine with you if you paid me a hundred dollars.
Do you hear me, Lillian Arrington?”

I stopped in my tracks, then sharply whirled
about. “My name is Lillian Dalton, and in the future, you may refer
to me as Mrs. Dalton!”

“Fine, Mrs. Dalton!” he boldly shouted
back.

With my hands clenched into small fists, I
pounded my hips, then stomped into the house. Oh how Heath was
driving me mad! His behavior was despicable. Now I had to find
something to wear before I caught my death in the saturated dress.
I paced my room staring at the empty closet until I suddenly
remembered Momma’s dresses. She had left several behind.

I undressed in Ayden’s room and slipped into
one of her simple work dresses. It barely fit, for I was taller and
slightly broader than Momma had been. But the dress fit well
enough, and feeling the material against my skin made me feel
closer to her than I had in years. Back in Savannah, in the room
where I was held prisoner, I wore many of her beautiful gowns.
Though they barely fit me, it was comforting to know she moved,
breathed, and was alive in those dresses. And as I wistfully
recalled how lovely she was, I could almost feel her small, thin
arms holding me close, and her soft, angelic voice whispering that
everything was going to be fine, that she and Daddy were always
watching over me, guiding me in the right direction. I stepped
before the mirror and gazed at myself, still startled at how much I
looked like her, how I possessed so many of her delicate, beautiful
features.

While I was deeply immersed in thoughts of
Momma, I hadn’t noticed the skies darkening, threatening a sudden
storm. Then in an instant, a crackle of lightning bolted from the
sky, followed by an explosion of thunder. I jumped and let out a
startled scream, then sped over to the window. The day rapidly
turned black, the wind began to howl, and the sea grew into high,
perilous swells. I fumbled with some matches and hurried to light
the lamp, then ran all the way, without taking a breath, up to the
top of the lighthouse tower.

When I went to light the wick, I realized
that no fuel had been hauled up! Without a moment to waste, I
turned and ran back down, tripping over the loose hem of the old
dress. I clung to the rail to balance myself, then continued down,
faster and faster, until I reached the last dozen or so steps, when
again I tripped, only this time when I reached for the rail, I lost
my grip. Out from my hands went the lantern as I toppled down and
around the solid, iron stairs until I landed at the bottom. Fire
immediately broke out all around; flames and smoke filled bottom
floor. I tried desperately to crawl away, but an excruciating pain
shot through my left leg, leaving me helpless to escape.

The fire was spreading, only inches from
reaching me, and the smoke stung my eyes, seeped into my throat,
and caused me to choke. I began to scream, calling for Heath.
“Heath, help me!” I cried repeatedly, until the smoke began to take
over, filling my lungs. “Heath, Heath,” I moaned. “Please help
me.”

Finally, just as I all but gave up, preparing
myself to die with a silent prayer, ready to see Momma and Daddy up
in heaven, Heath bolted in and saved me from certain death.

* * *

Heath hovered over me, shielding me from the
rain, his face distraught and frightened as I lay on the flooded
ground gasping for air. Out of the corner of my eye, while choking
and coughing, I saw a man through the haze, running back and forth
from the shore repeatedly with buckets of water to extinguish the
inferno.

“Thank God I saw the smoke coming out from
under the door. Thank God,” Heath kept repeating as he cradled me
in his arms. Then he carefully lifted me, using both arms, and
rushed me into the house.

I screamed out in pain, “My leg!”

Once in the house, I lay on the floor before
the fire. Heath ran for a quilt and tenderly placed it over me. “I
have to get my doctor’s bag. I will be right back,” he said, his
eyes filled with concern and barely contained tears.

I moaned aloud, shivering from the cold and
the pain. Neither the heat from the fireplace nor the comfort of
the soft quilt settled my shaking. I began to cry from the terror
of my ordeal, realizing how close I had come to dying a horrible,
agonizing, fiery death.

“I’m back,” he announced breathlessly, then
quickly fumbled through his large, black leather bag and pulled out
a syringe and needle. “This will ease your pain. Then I will check
your leg to see if it’s broken.”

The shot stung, causing me to screech.

“I’m sorry; I know it hurts,” he said.

Soon the room began to spin, and
recollections of my days inhaling magic powders up my nose came
rushing back. Heath carefully, tenderly, placed his hands on my
leg, both hands I noticed through my foggy drug induced state, and
declared I didn’t have a broken leg. “It’s badly bruised, and you
have a few small lacerations from the shattered glass of the lamp,
but it’s not broken.”

The flickering glow from the fire and the
burning medication he inserted into my arm made everything all
around seem distorted and faint. While Heath spoke, his voice
became garbled and indistinguishable, yet I sensed every word he
was saying. My face was close to his, cupped in his warm hands, and
I strained to see him clearly, even though our faces were only
inches apart. Soon I was drifting off, helplessly riding the giant
waves of my mind, up and down, then drowning, going deeper into a
heavy, merciful sleep that I didn’t wake from until a day
later.

The nor’easter raged on, the days dark as
night; the cold rain battered the island. The wind was relentless -
howling, destructive, and unforgiving. Waves taller than most
vessels, as high as city buildings, filled the angry, churning
sea.

Heath stayed by my side as I drifted in and
out of consciousness. When I was awake, he remained silent, and
didn’t speak when he helped feed me. Only when I called out for
Ayden as I began to fall back into a weighty sleep did his
expression become indignant and his somber voice hoarse. “Ayden
hasn‘t been able to return. The storm has not let up for two
days.”

“The light . . . who is minding the light?” I
murmured sleepily just before exhaustion won out to take me away
from the worry and anxiety that plagued me.

“Hank, the fisherman. He arrived on the
island to save himself from the storm. He is working the light
while I care for you,” Heath replied solemnly, then took my hand in
his and placed a long kiss atop it. Or so I thought. My delusions
were frequent. I thought he was Daddy at times and he awkwardly
corrected me when I pitifully reached out and begged him not to
leave me with the wicked, evil grandmother. “Please, Daddy, please
don’t leave me!”

“Your daddy isn’t here. It’s me, Heath.”

“Was I a bad girl? Don’t you love me?” I
sobbed tears soaking my face. “She hates me, Daddy; she locks me
away and starves me. I am alone, afraid. She will come back to
strip me naked and whip me again if you don’t come soon. She thinks
I’m the devil’s spawn. She knows about you and Momma; she knows you
are brother and sister.”

Heath desperately tried to shake me to my
senses, begging me to stop. “You’re not in Georgia anymore. You’re
safe here, Lillian, on Jasper Island.”

“Daddy, come back! DADDY!”

Finally, the storm ended, and the sun began
to peek around the menacing gray and black clouds. Heath had weaned
me off the medication. My leg was healing nicely. However, a deep
yearning penetrated my heart, leaving me feeling depressed. I
missed Ayden. I sat in the chair next to the window staring out
toward the harbor, waiting to catch a glimpse of his rowboat.

“Why isn’t be back?” I asked Heath when he
entered the room, knowing he didn’t have the answer.

After placing the plate of food on the table,
he came to the widow and glanced out. “I will go to the harbor in a
little while and find him. For now, I want to check your leg.”

“It feels fine,” I said without moving my
stare.

“One more look. Then I will leave you be,” he
replied with some dejection in his weary voice.

No longer did he taunt me, aggravate me, turn
my stomach into a giant knot. Heath became the image of his former
self - the thoughtful, sensitive young man I used to know. He was
my doctor, my caregiver, the man who came to my rescue. Yet I
couldn’t meet his eyes or accept his subtle offering of unadorned
friendship. I didn’t want to acknowledge that once again he was a
hero, and I didn’t look forward to the commotion from Ayden or
anyone else who heard.

Hank was aware, though he left the island
before I had a chance to hear about Heath’s courageous deed. And
although he had battled fire and smoke to save me, dragged me out,
and breathed his own air into my suffocating lungs, I didn’t want
to give him the satisfaction of granting him the title of
hero
.

“I said I’m fine. Please go find Ayden and
bring him home. Maybe something terrible happened. You said two
schooners went down. The seas were merciless. What if . . .”

“I will go. Please eat,” he implored with his
head lowered, his shoulders slouched. He turned to go.

I hadn’t asked him how he managed to use his
badly scarred hand all the days he cared for me, and wondered why
he wrapped it back up afterwards and refused to move it again. Even
when he got out onto the water with the rowboat, he only used his
good, capable arm to row. The effort would take him twice if not
longer to reach the harbor. Then I thought that perhaps I had
imagined it, as I had so many other things. Memories of the past
days after the fire were foggy. Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe Heath
didn’t cry and plead for my friendship, beg for forgiveness for
treating me so appallingly. Did he really tell me he set his own
hand on fire so that Sarah would no longer want him, so he could
return to Jasper Island without question? Could I have heard him
confess he made up the story of running into the fire and saving
the boy, just because he’d loved me all along? And that he made a
terrible mistake the day I went to leave the lighthouse, the same
night Daddy put us on a stagecoach never to return, and he kissed
me, then told me to go away and leave him alone?

No, it must have been all made up, my mind
playing terrible tricks on me, all induced by the drug Heath had
administered to me. I didn’t dare to believe any of it was
true.

If my leg was healed, I would have been able
to run and jump into Ayden’s arms the minute he opened the door,
with Heath only steps behind, and throw my arms about his neck and
smother him with dozens of kisses. Instead, I hobbled along, slowly
hopping down each narrow step until I reached the bottom. There,
instead of greeting me with a beaming smile and eyes wide open,
Ayden moseyed in, placed his cap on the mantel, then turned to me
with weary, bleak eyes. “I am terribly sorry,” he said, then came
and held me. “I should have had the fuel up in the tower. This was
all my fault!”

“I’m fine. All is well now,” I cried,
pressing my cheek against his, wishing he would cheer up and be
grateful instead of gloomy.

“How could I have been so stupid!” he groaned
and pushed himself back from me.

“Please don’t dwell on this. Heath has made
me well, and yes, I limp a little and am sore, but I am perfectly
fine!” I protested.

“If it wasn’t for Hank saving you, my life
would not be worth living,” he muttered and held my hands tightly
in his. I shot a puzzled look to Heath. He shifted his eyes away,
avoiding my confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I have to be going. If you need anything,
just call,” Heath interrupted, threw me an uneasy look, then closed
the door softly behind him.

“Don’t you remember Hank saving you from the
fire? Did you black out?”