He slowly withdrew his hands back inside the cell and let his arms fall to his sides.
“I have to go now,” she said.
Logan darted forward. “No, please don’t go ...”
She started walking.
“Can I write to you?” he asked.
She stopped and turned. “Of course. You’re Matthew’s father. You can write to me on Sable Island, because that’s where I’ll be. Because I’ll be taking the next ship home.”
In the end, she walked out of the jail, where a cold rain fell hard and pounded the asphalt in the street. Cars swished through puddles, their windshield wipers whipping back and forth. Emma raised her umbrella and hurried to where Ruth was waiting in the car with Matthew.
As she walked briskly, she tried to imagine what her future might entail. Logan could go to jail for life, or he might be acquitted—but either way, Emma could never regret their relationship, even though it was built on lies. Nor could she hate him. Because how could she possibly hate the man who had given her Matthew?
Part Three
The Captain
Chapter 19
Autumn 1953
It was just as he remembered it. Windswept and wild.
Perched on the transom seat of the motorboat, skipping fast over rollicking swells, Oliver adjusted the rudder to steer westward toward a convenient passage between two high dunes. Main Station wasn’t visible from the water, but he knew its location like the back of his hand. He also recalled the precise position where theBelvederehad run aground, though the wreck was gone now, buried beneath the ocean floor.
As for the island itself, the dunes were unrecognizable, altered, no doubt, by the continual hammering of storms over the past seven years.
Oliver approached the beach and drove his boat fast and aggressively onto the sand, where he waited briefly for a wave to retreat before he leaped out and dragged the vessel to dry ground.
Out of breath from exertion, he bent forward and rested his hands on his knees, then straightened and looked all around. He’d half expected a small crowd to come running at the sight of a visitor, but he was alone on the beach. Where were the patrols on lookout for signs of shipwrecks? Not that he fell into that category. His steamer was anchored comfortably a mile out, manned by a capable crew, and it was a clear, sunny day. But where was everyone? The island felt deserted.
Oliver glanced back at his motorboat to ensure it was safe from the incoming tide, then trudged up the sandy incline toward the dunes.
“Hey, there!”
The sound of a voice, shrill like the call of a bird, arrested him on the spot. He gazed in all directions until he spotted a small boy sliding fast down the slope of a dune to the east. The boy reached the bottom and ran toward Oliver, who paused, feeling slightly like an enemy invader.
When the boy reached him, he was panting, and he dropped to his knees. “Who are you?”
“I’m Oliver Harris,” he replied, turning to point toward the ocean. “I’m captain of that ship out there. I came ashore to visit some friends. May I ask who you are?”
“I’m Matthew,” the boy replied, shading his eyes against the blinding sun behind Oliver. “But today isn’t Boat Day.”
Oliver laughed. “You’re right about that. I’m not with the supply ship. I’m just passing through. I was hoping to visit John Clarkson, the superintendent. Have I come to the right place?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. They were deep blue, like the ocean. “That’s my grandfather!” He swung around to point inland. “We live just over there.”
As Oliver comprehended the boy’s identity, he felt the familiar stirrings of those old feelings—not forgotten, just withdrawn. John had written years ago with the news that Emma had married and given birth to a child. At the time, Oliver had done his best to be happy for her—and he was, he truly was—but that lingering sense of regret and the inevitable question “What if?” had never left him.
“I was here once before,” Oliver told Matthew. “But it was a long time ago, and everything looks quite different. Could you take me to your grandfather’s house?”
“Yes! Come with me.” Waving his whole arm for Oliver to follow, Matthew loped clumsily over the shifting sand.
Amused by the boy’s enthusiasm and eager to return to Main Station, Oliver plodded up the sloping beach.
Main Station was mostly the same, except for the narrow concrete walks between the buildings. What had changed was the level of activity. There was no one about to notice the arrival of a stranger.
