“Where did you end up?” Joanna asked.
“On a small island with a good beach for landing,” he replied. “I learned later that it was about four hundred nautical miles from the Canary Islands, due west of the Sahara.” He paused to remember andreflect. “I don’t know why it took so long for anyone to find us after our SOS, but it was months before a young couple in a sailboat came ashore. They were sailing around the world, exploring uninhabited islands. Pure luck for us. Or maybe it was God who decided that I’d served my penance—because I’d certainly spent enough time on my knees, begging forgiveness for everything I ever did wrong and pleading for another chance.”
Joanna’s heart was beating convulsively in her chest. She couldn’t take her eyes off her grandfather, who was staring down at his plate, looking almost catatonic.
“I can’t believe you never told me about this,” she said. “What a terrible experience. Thank God you were rescued.”
“Yes,” he replied, “but not before two more of my men died from infections. And the rest of us were so malnourished it’s a wonder we survived, even after we made it back to England.”
For a while, all Joanna could do was stare at the wedding ring on her grandfather’s hand—the same hand that had gripped an oar on a lifeboat and rowed to save his life and the lives of his crew, probably until his palms were blistered and bloody.
He stared pensively at the floor. Then he looked up again, more alert now, and contemplative. “All my life, I’ve never understood why I’ve been given so many second chances. Whenever I thought I was done for and all hope was lost, a hand would reach down and pull me back from the brink.” He paused and gazed across the table at Joanna, as if she had all the answers.
“Was it God?” he asked. “The same God I’d cursed in the lifeboat? I don’t know. Maybe. Either way, I can’t help but wonder why.Why save me?Why not others who were just as deserving, or even more so?”
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead, while Joanna sought to answer a question that had no concrete answers, only guesses—and most of them required some kind of belief in God or the power of the universe.
“You told me before,” Joanna said, “that the universe had a plan for you. Maybe this was it.” She waved her arm about, gesturing around the kitchen. “The years you spent with Nana, the family you raised. I’m so grateful you’re my grandad because you fed my passion for horses and helped me find my way in life. You’re still helping me now. I’m happy with my career, and I’m a vet because ofyou. I can’t imagine where I’d be without you in my life.”
Joanna wiped a tear from her cheek and clutched both her grandfather’s hands across the table. “So maybe this was your destiny—to touch the lives of your children and grandchildren in incredible ways. But please tell me, Grandad. Have you been happy? I hate to think that you didn’t live the life you wanted, or that you sacrificed something or felt that you were repaying a debt. Do you ever still dream about what your life might have been like with Emma?”
Her grandfather slowly drew his hands back and shook his head. “Let’s not talk about regrets. I’m an old man. The past is out of my hands, and I can’t change it. But Sable Island will be with me forever, because Emma helped me see the glass as half-full, not half-empty, which served me well all my life. She was like that herself, and it rubbed off on me. I learned to be grateful and appreciate what I had. Which was Nana and our children—your mum and your uncle, Arthur. Later, you and your cousins. It’s been a good life, more than I could have asked for when I was stuck on that island, praying for another chance just to live.”
Joanna sat back and decided that the old adage must be true: with age comes wisdom. Her grandfather was able to look back on his life with a bird’s-eye view. He saw the whole picture—the beginning, the middle, and the end. Everything made sense to him now.
Joanna was twenty-eight and couldn’t possibly imagine what might be next for her now that she’d achieved her career goals. What might the middle of her life look like? Or the end? And how fortunate she was, in that moment, not to be praying for a second chance to live. She was blessed to be alive, in times of peace, not war, with her whole future ahead of her.
But there was still one question that lingered in her mind.
“Can you at least tell me what happened to Emma? After you were rescued, did you ever see her again?”
Her grandfather took a breath and sighed with resignation. “I knew you were going to ask me that.”
“You always said I had a curious mind,” she reminded him teasingly, and he nodded in agreement.
“Fine.” He rose from his chair. “But let’s clear the table first and bring out those cinnamon rolls. Then I’ll tell you what happened.”
Chapter 32
Sable Island, August 1955
Oliver jumped out of the tender boat and landed in the cold frothy salt water of the North Atlantic. A few gray seals lounged on the beach, basking in the warmth and humidity of a cloud-covered summer day. They watched him, but otherwise seemed wholly undisturbed by his arrival.
He dragged his boat up the sandy slope, reached a safe distance away from the incoming waves, and then doubled over in exhaustion, fighting to catch his breath. He was still down twenty pounds since his rescue and return to England, and his appetite had not fully returned. His doctors had advised him not to travel, but here he stood, back on the beach on Sable Island after sending an urgent wireless message to Emma:I’m Alive. On My Way to You. Oliver.
As soon as he recovered from the exertion, he left his boat and trudged across the deep, shifting sands toward the high dune and Main Station beyond. Oliver felt like a starving man, dehydrated, crossing a desert, desperate for water—but it wasn’t water he wanted. It was the sight of Emma.
Finally, he made it through the break in the high dune and stopped to catch his breath again and take in the view of Main Station—the familiar cluster of white buildings and Quonset huts. All at once, aflood of emotion erupted inside him. He’d never imagined he’d live to see this place again, but here it was, just as he’d remembered in his dreams. His prayers had been answered.
Overcome with relief and gratitude, and overwhelmed by the incredible gift of his good luck, Oliver fell to his knees on the sand, broke down, and wept rapturously.
When he finally recovered himself, he rose unsteadily to his feet, looked across the station yard at the Clarkson house, and his heart began to race with anticipation. He wanted to run, but he didn’t have the strength. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other, unrelenting.
The wind off the ocean blew his hair in all directions, and he continued, trudging toward the superintendent’s residence. He was so fixed on the Clarkson house that he failed to notice that there was no one about. Nor did he observe that the door to the staff house was flung open and banging against the outside wall.
Oliver finally reached Emma’s door and knocked repeatedly, but no one answered. Still eager and hopeful, assuming they were all off on some errand or gathering on another part of the island, he descended the steps. Only then did he perceive the air of abandonment. Solitude. His gaze moved from the open door at the staff house to the dead blooms in the hanging flowerpot outside Emma’s door. The clouds hovered low. The wind blew steadily across the marram grass on the dune, and the vast gray ocean roared.
Where was everyone?
