Prologue
On the night of May 8, 1946, a wild and terrible gale whipped up fifty-foot waves and swept a British merchant ship off course, thrusting her hard and fast toward the dangerous shores of Sable Island.
Crescent shaped, like a narrow sliver of the moon, Sable is remote and desolate—a burial ground for hundreds of wrecked ships, their wave-battered remains concealed beneath the ever-shifting shoals. From time to time—after a storm that leaves the island’s landscape forever changed—a long-forgotten vessel emerges like a skeleton from a shallow grave.
Yet Sable is also a place of rare beauty, an island of sand and grass where wild horses run free and a small, close-knit community of residents maintains two lighthouses, a telegraph station, and a lifesaving establishment to rescue shipwreck survivors from the Atlantic.
The British ship that fought those giant swells on the evening of May 8 was no stranger to turmoil at sea. She and her captain had served heroically in World War II. They’d patrolled trade routes in search of German U-boats and provided rescue support during one of the largest convoy battles of the war.
Why—exactly one year after VE Day celebrations—would wind and water thrust her so cruelly and undeservedly upon such treacherousshores? It’s a question that has no answer—because nature answers to no one. She simply does what she wants.
On the island, however, people fight for some semblance of order amid the chaos of their surroundings. To preserve life and provide an oasis of calm, they willingly go to battle with the waves.
Part One
The Island
Chapter 1
Spring 1946
Superintendent’s residence, Sable Island
The storm had been raging all night, violently, without mercy. At dawn, the wind continued to howl. Waves thundered and pounded onto the beaches.
Emma Clarkson, the superintendent’s daughter, sat on a stool in front of the mirror at her vanity. Feet flat on the floor, knees pressed tightly together, she held a letter on her lap and ran the pad of her thumb over her name on the envelope. She felt a mixture of pride and dread, the emotions alternating, taking brief turns. It had been three days since the letter arrived on the supply shipArgyle, but she’d told no one of its contents. Not even her father.
Emma, an only child, was now a woman of twenty-one and fully cognizant of the fact that she’d always been doted upon. She and her father were a close pair because her mother had died in childbirth a year into the marriage, which had begun with the adventure of moving to Sable Island during her final trimester. They’d intended to stay five years and save enough money to return to Halifax on the mainland, where their children would receive a proper education. But the death of Emma’s mother had been a terrible blow to her father, who had lostall interest in starting over in a new home. Instead, he chose to raise his precious daughter on the island.
Emma could count on one hand the number of times she’d visited the mainland. Three, to be precise. Everything about those trips was imprinted on her brain—the blaring car horns and engines, the crowds that gathered in the Public Gardens for concerts at the bandstand, and the mouthwatering aromas from downtown restaurants. For Emma, it was like traveling into the future or to another planet.
This was why she knew that she needed to cease stalling, go straight downstairs, and tell her father about the letter.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he could be happy for her?
The windowpanes trembled in a furious gust of wind, and the roof timbers creaked.
Oh, what a dreamer she was.
The wind was still thrashing around the house when Emma finally entered her father’s study. He was seated behind his desk under the light of a single lamp, focused on some documents in front of him. She waited until he turned a page before she cleared her throat.
His eyes lifted. “Emma. Sweetheart. What are you doing awake? The sun’s barely up.”
“Who could sleep in this storm?” she asked.
He removed his glasses, laid them on top of his papers, and sat back in his chair. “At least it’s rain and not snow. Summer can’t come soon enough.”
“Agreed.” She moved to the window and drew back the curtain to look out at the ashen sky, the driving rain, and the marram grass on the high dune, whipping wildly in the wind. All of it together mirrored the storm of dread in her belly. For a moment she wanted to slink back upstairs and return to bed, but she’d been putting this off longenough, so she turned and faced her father. “I need to talk to you about something.”
He gazed up at her with uncertainty, then stood and switched off the desk lamp. “All right. Let’s go sit in the great room.”
Emma led the way and chose a spot on the sofa directly across from her father, who took a seat in his big brown leather armchair. She gave him a moment to settle in, then willed herself to speak assertively, because she knew what she wanted. It was time that he knew it too.
“A few months ago,” she told him, “I sent an application to Dalhousie University for the psychology program, and I was accepted.”
With a sudden look of confusion, he frowned. “I’m sorry?”
Emma pushed on. “I’ve been accepted to Dalhousie, and I want to go. It starts in September.” She paused uneasily. “I’m hoping you’ll help me with the tuition.”
