“Yes,” she replied, “but the night shifts are shared equally among the senior men. They all take turns. Maybe Joseph would consider that. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. Or I could talk to my father ...”
“No!” He slapped his magazine down on the coffee table. “For Pete’s sake, Emma. I don’t want any special treatment because you’re my wife. I’d rather drown myself.”
Having grown up on an island surrounded by shipwrecks, words like those didn’t sit well with Emma. “Please don’t say things like that.”
He stared at her with a fraught expression, then picked up his magazine and went back to reading.
In the hopes that some affection might help Logan express himself better, Emma slid closer on the sofa and rubbed his back. “I only want to help, darling. If there’s something that’s making you unhappy ...”
“Stop it.” He slapped her arm away. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just tired of this godforsaken island. There’s nowhere to go. Nothing to do. We’re all trapped here.”
His response was like a slap in the face, and Emma was confused, because he’d been so keen and determined, initially, to raise their child on Sable.
But then Emma strove to remember that he was not the first person to experience the adverse effects of isolation, especially during the long, cold winter, when it became necessary to remain indoors most of the time. Others struggled as well, and not just during the winter. She thought again of those men from theBelvederewho had stolen the lifeboat. And Abigail often showed signs of depression and anger. She became resentful in bad weather and didn’t always behave rationally.
As Emma slid away from Logan, she wondered if her experiences watching others come and go from the island was the catalyst that had sparked her interest in psychological therapies.
Not that it mattered now. There wasn’t much point thinking about it, because a university education was not in the cards for her—not currently, at any rate. What mattered today was her husband’s happiness and well-being, and his future ability to be a good father to their child. She only wished there was something more she could do to help him.
As Boat Day approached, Emma saw no improvement in Logan’s mood. Though he’d been granted a generous leave of absence from his posting and was bound for Halifax—a city of restaurants, theaters, and new people to meet—he grew increasingly quiet and distant in the days leading up to it. Emma wished she could better understand the source of his depression. Whenever she suggested they talk about it, he withdrew further and implied that she was henpecking.
Finally, Boat Day arrived. Two full weeks before Emma’s due date, she and Logan boarded theArgyleand settled into their cabin. Having learned to tread lightly with her husband, she avoided saying anything that might upset him and instead fell into the habit of overcompensating with light and cheerful conversation, always with a wish to lift his spirits.
“Isn’t it wonderful,” she said, “that we’ll get to spend a few weeks in Halifax? I’d love to walk through Public Gardens at some point, but I’m not sure if they’re open this early in the spring.”
Logan had packed a rubber ball for some reason. He lounged back on the bottom bunk, threw his feet up onto Emma’s suitcase, and tossed the ball repeatedly against the bulkhead.
Emma moved into the small bathroom and unpacked her toiletries. “Ruth lives in the South End,” she said, “only a few blocks from the hospital, and she’s quite close to the Gardens.”
Logan offered no reply.
“She’s a wonderful cook,” Emma added, putting on fresh lipstick in the mirror, then dabbing her nose with some powder from her compact.
Emma wondered wearily how many times she would use the wordwonderfulbefore the day was out.
The ball continued to hit the wall, and Emma worried that someone in the next cabin might complain to the porter. But she said nothing about it. God willing, when they reached the mainland and Logan stepped onto the wharf in the big city—and he heard honking car horns and the wail of police sirens—the psychological effects of his isolation would recede, and his mood would improve.
Chapter 16
Ruth Montgomery lived in a two-story Victorian town house on Inglis Street. The front of the house was painted Wedgwood blue with red trim and a bright-red door. Colorful pink and white geraniums spilled from flower boxes at each of the front windows, upstairs and down.
Emma stepped out of the cab and waited on the sidewalk while Logan took care of the bags and paid the driver. The cab was just pulling away from the curb when the front door of the house opened, and Ruth appeared.
It had been four years since Emma had seen Ruth in the flesh, and she was overcome by a staggering wave of love, along with a shock of surprise at how Ruth had changed. Her hair had gone almost completely gray, and the laugh lines around her eyes were more pronounced. She’d aged, to be sure, but she still looked lovely to Emma. It was the warmth of her smile that kept her so devastatingly beautiful.
“There you are at last.” She trotted down the steps, grasped Emma’s hands, and held her at arm’s length to look her up and down from head to foot. “You’re all grown up. I can’t believe it. And absolutely glowing.”
Ruth pulled Emma into a tight embrace. Emma laughed openly, overjoyed to be in the arms of her old friend and beloved mother figure.
“It’s so good to see you,” Emma cried. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too, but you’re here now, and finally we can catch up on everything in person. I’ll put the kettle on. It’ll be so much betterthan letters.” Ruth turned to Logan. “And this must be your husband.” She held out her hand. “I’m Ruth. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Logan replied courteously with a handsome smile—looking like his old self as he shook Ruth’s hand. Emma exhaled with relief and pride. “Thank you for having us,” he added.
“I’m happy you’re here.” Ruth turned. “Now, come inside, both of you. I know I said I’d put the kettle on, but maybe we’ll have a sip of brandy to celebrate.”
Ruth led them up the steps to the front door, and Emma reached for Logan’s hand. As she squeezed it, she gave him an appreciative smile because she was pleased that he’d made a good first impression. The last thing she’d wanted was for Ruth to worry about the choice Emma had made in a husband. She wanted Ruth to be proud of the woman she had become.
