The Language of Sand

let her go through with it. Paul had wanted her to live. That was why he’d saved her.

“Ruth, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Because the answer doesn’t sit right with me.”

“If Hank did this to himself, Nat would try to protect his honor. He’d take the rap for it.”

“That’s what’s making me worry. Have to trust Caleb will see this for what it is.”

“He doesn’t and he won’t. And now he’s trying to pin the robberies on Nat as well.”

At that, Ruth’s resolve hardened. “I’ll go and see Caleb tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Ruth. Thank you.” Abigail meant it more than she could say.

The caller was announcing the next number. “B-9. The number is B-9.”

Ruth’s eyes fell to her cards and she froze.

“Bingo,” she whispered. Soon she was repeating it louder and louder, “Bingo. Bingo. Bingo.” She sprang from her chair, waving the paper card.

“We have a winner,” the caller hollered.

“What’d I win? What’d I win?” Ruth was hopping up and down like a kid.

“That game was worth fifty-eight dollars. You can collect it after the final round.”

Beaming, Ruth had to sit down and fan herself with her winning card. “I haven’t won in so long, I can’t tell you, Abby. I feel like I’m having a hot flash. Only way, way better.”

People came and patted Ruth on the shoulder. She basked in the attention, savoring the moment. Watching her, Abigail caught a glimpse of her future. Ruth had faced widowhood, yet she’d found something that she looked forward to and enjoyed. It wasn’t exactly happily ever after. The happily part might be plenty.

 

  welter¹ (wel?t?r), v.i. 1. to roll, toss, or heave, as waves or the sea. 2. to roll, writhe, or tumble about; wallow, as animals (often fol. by about): pigs weltering about happily in the mud. 3. to lie bathed in or or be drenched in something, esp. blood. 4. to become deeply or extensively involved, associated, entangled, etc.: to welter in setbacks, confusion, and despair. —n. 5. a confused mass; a jumble or muddle: a welter of anxious faces. 6. a state of commotion, turmoil, or upheaval: the welter that followed the surprise attack. 7. a rolling, tossing, or tumbling about, as or as if by the sea, waves, or wind: They found the shore through the mighty welter. [1250–1300; ME, freq. (see –ER⁶) of welten to roll, OE weltan; c. MD welteren, LG weltern to roll]

Abigail awoke in her bed, uncertain if it was morning or night. The boards on the windows blocked the sunlight, transforming the bedroom into a cave. She pawed the nightstand for her glasses and watch, which sat atop the ledger. It was almost six. She wondered how early the ferry would start running.

“Maybe not this early.”

The floor was freezing. Abigail didn’t bother with socks. This was her last day in the caretaker’s cottage. She wanted to soak it all in, even if that meant cold feet.

She poured a glass of milk and sipped it sitting in the wingback chair. The absence of natural light gave the room the feel of a museum exhibit, a model recreated to show modern people how their forefathers lived. The house was like a time capsule. It had no heating or air-conditioning, no television or microwave, no washer or dryer. The modicum of current-day conveniences it did have, like the plumbing and the oven, functioned poorly. On top of that, everything creaked. And there might or might not be a ghost.

In spite of it all, Abigail felt at home.

Ironically, the part of the house she favored most was the place she’d taken the least advantage of. She hadn’t gone into the lighthouse since devising her scheme with the oil pail, and she’d missed her opportunity to take Bert up on his offer to check it for her.

“You could do it now.”

She awaited a noise, some discouraging response from the lamp room. The house was silent.

Perhaps Wesley Jasper doesn’t mind what you’ve done with the place.

The answer was based on a bigger question, one that would entail a trip to the lighthouse. With the hurricane quite literally on the horizon, Abigail’s courage was in dwindling supply.

“You could check on the pail after the hurricane has passed. That’s not an unreasonable arrangement.”

For days, she had been avoiding going to the lamp room and facing her fears; however, there would be no evading the storm.

Dark clouds menaced overhead as Abigail loaded the station wagon. The packing finished, it was time to go. She was having trouble leaving. She stood at the front door, staring in.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said, a pledge to the house and herself.