“Sure. I don’t mean to pry.”
“Not at all. I’m grateful you’re willing to drive us around.” Joanna ran the pad of her finger around the gold rim of her teacup. “But maybe I could just ask you thisonequestion, without betraying his confidence.” She lifted her gaze and spoke with purpose. “Do you knowanything about Emma Clarkson? She was the daughter of the last superintendent, John Clarkson.”
“Yes,” Garrett replied. “She was raised here, and she studied the horses. She coauthored an academic paper about them.”
“That’s right.” Joanna’s heart did a little dance. “Grandad told me about that, and that she wrote it with the man who became her husband.”
Garrett nodded. “The original document is at the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic.”
“You’re joking.” Her shoulders slumped. “We went there yesterday, but we didn’t see that.”
“It’s in the archives. You’d have to make an appointment.”
Joanna sighed and sat back. “We’ll definitely do that when we return to Halifax.” She couldn’t help herself. There was another question she was burning to ask. “Do you happen to know what became of Ms. Clarkson after she left Sable for good? Or if she’s still alive today?”
Garrett grimaced. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that, which I guess makes me a liar, because I told you I knew everything.”
Joanna laughed softly. “I’ll forgive you, just this once.”
As the wind and rain thrashed against the windows and the storm raged over the ocean beyond the dunes, Joanna felt surprisingly safe and sheltered in the cozy common room of the big house at Main Station.
Or perhaps it had more to do with the company. She was intensely aware of Garrett regarding her in the hazy lamplight, and she didn’t shy away from staring back at him. She allowed her gaze to roam over his face, down to his neck and shoulders, his strong, masculine hands. How casual and relaxed he looked, sitting back on the sofa in his loose, faded blue jeans and gray cotton sweatshirt.
They were half smiling at each other, and Joanna felt an unspoken communication in it, the open acknowledgment of a mutual attraction.
Garrett’s half smile broadened. Seeming almost amused, he checked his watch. “On that note ...”
What note, exactly?Joanna wondered with a little thrill of pleasure.
“It’s almost two thirty,” he said. “I should get some sleep if we’re going to squeeze in an early tour. How about I meet you here at nine? Be sure to eat a hearty breakfast because we probably won’t be back until noon.” He stood up to leave.
Joanna stood also. “Thanks so much, Garrett. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied, speaking in a captivating way that filled her with excitement.
In that moment, he looked familiar to her, as if she’d known him previously and they’d been close friends for years.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.
“Sure thing.” She watched him walk to the door and don his raincoat. He gave her a wave before he went outside to brave the storm, leaving her standing there in high spirits, keyed up with anticipation for the morning.
At 9:00 a.m., the fog was thick as milk. Garrett arrived and escorted Joanna and her grandfather to the Jeep, which was parked next to the carpentry shop. Joanna offered the front seat to her grandad, but he insisted on riding in the back, which gave Joanna a chance, during the drive along the beach, to talk with Garrett about his work.
He told her that the weather station, because of its remote location in the ocean, was a unique and vital component of the national and global weather networks, and he and his crew represented the only year-round presence on the island.
While they talked, her grandfather said nothing from the back seat. He merely gazed out the window at the mist that shrouded everything and made the driving precarious. Garrett had to take it slow.
Eventually, they approached the west end, and Garrett touched his foot to the brake. “This is as close as we’re going to get. We’ll have towalk from here.” He shifted into park, shut off the engine, and turned in the seat to glance over his shoulder. “Ready, Oliver?”
“Yep. Let’s crack on.”
As soon as they got out of the Jeep and started walking three abreast, Oliver turned to Garrett. “Joanna told me about a book you’re working on.”
“Yes,” Garrett replied. “It’s about storms of Sable Island, and there’s a section about how they’ve affected the ships that have run aground here. I’d love to ask you some questions, if you’re willing.”
Joanna listened while they discussed the wreck of theBelvedereand her grandfather’s memories of the rescue. They moved through a break in the high dune and reached the hush of the interior. Joanna zipped her jacket tight around her neck to ward off a damp chill as they crossed the fog-shrouded heath.
About ten minutes later, Garrett stopped and looked around. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to tell where we are in this fog. I think it’s this way.”
