The Color of Forever (13 page)

Maybe I should consider therapy when I went home. It would probably be a good idea.

But first, I thought stubbornly, as I returned to the stone path and walked back to the house, I would see if I could find a way to have a lucid dream. Maybe, just maybe, new experiences and answers existed out there, somewhere in the ether.

Evangeline

Chapter Twenty-six

1878

I remained in my chair for a moment, waiting for the captain to exit the drawing room. Then, while Mrs. Danforth and her husband flipped through pages of music, I leaned toward my mother and whispered in her ear, “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

She watched me rise from my chair. Thankfully Mrs. Danforth began to sing as I reached the door, so my mother could not possibly follow without offending the performer.

I wandered to the grand entrance hall and noticed that the front door was open. Taking a deep breath and striving to prepare myself for a private rendezvous with a man I desired passionately—to the point that it felt almost reckless—I strode forward and stepped onto the wide veranda that overlooked the sea.

Captain Fraser stood at the white painted balustrade, gazing up at the stars and the half moon in the sky. He raised a glass of champagne to his lips, and I noticed another glass perched on the rail, waiting for me.

He turned as I approached, and without a word, he handed it to me. As I accepted it and gently clinked glasses with him, I was keenly aware of the soft murmur of the surf, surging onto the rocks at the edge of the lawn, even though it was a calm, almost windless night. Crickets chirped in the grass below.

“It’s a perfect half moon,” he said.

I looked up at the stars, twinkling in the sky. “What a beautiful night. Thank you for inviting us to your home, Captain. I love everything about it.”

He met my gaze with a tenderness I did not expect. “Tell me.”

I grinned at him, for I understood he was seeking my approval, that he wanted assurance that I could, potentially, be happy there. Perhaps it was over-confident and presumptuous of me, but I felt there was a connection between us that defied reason and experience. I felt as if we knew each other intimately, even though we’d only spent a few hours together. And I was convinced he felt the same way—that I had swept him off his feet just as powerfully as he had swept me off mine—and he was already considering the future.

“I love the vastness of it,” I said, looking up at the massive portico above us and the white Roman columns that supported it. “There is a perfect balance in the architecture. One side of the house is a mirror image of the other.” I looked out, beyond the railing. “And the wide green lawn and view of the sea… I love that with only the light of the moon, I can see all the way to where water meets sky. It’s like seeing to the very edges of the earth. And your staff seems so loyal and devoted to you. Footmen in Boston are not nearly so cheerful.” Captain Fraser chuckled softly at that.

“Your mother’s crystal is exquisite,” I added. “Where did she get it? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“My father brought it back from Singapore when they first married. He purchased it during an estate auction. It had belonged to an aristocratic Englishmen living with his concubine in the Far East.”

“Good heavens,” I said. “How positively scandalous. My mother would go mad for that story.”

He chuckled with amusement.

Inside the house, Mrs. Danforth continued to sing, and we listened for a moment.

“I wonder if she ever regretted leaving her glamorous career on the stage for married life here in Cape Elizabeth,” I said.

Captain Fraser shook his head. “She has everything a woman could ever desire,” he replied. “Her husband’s as rich as Croesus, and they only come here during the summer months. Otherwise, they’re in New York, and he doesn’t forbid her from performing. He encourages it, actually.”

“That sounds very modern and liberal. They do seem happy, despite the age difference.”

“I believe so,” he replied, “which is how it should be. As they say—the soul is ageless.”

“Is
that
what they say?”

He casually shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve heard it a time or two.”

While he regarded me intently in the glow of the moon, I took another sip of champagne and felt a pleasant warmth pour through my body. I was far too relaxed. My body felt like liquid.

I looked away. “Forgive me. I was nervous tonight. I drank too much wine and now I am a bit lightheaded.”

“Why were you nervous?” he asked, though I suspected he already knew the answer.

“Because I was looking forward to seeing you again. I didn’t know what to expect.”

He leaned casually upon the balustrade. “I was looking forward to seeing you again, too, Miss Hughes. You came into my life rather unexpectedly, standing at the side of the road as you were.”

“Like a drowned cat,” I replied, making fun of myself. “Shivering.”

“Thank havens for that, or you wouldn’t have accepted assistance from me, a complete stranger.”

“You mustn’t remind me. It was rather frightening for a moment or two. I had no idea what your intentions were.”

“I assure you, they were completely honorable.”

“Well, of course I know that
now
.”

He smiled again, and Mrs. Danforth stopped singing. The guests inside applauded and cheered.

“We should go back,” I said, finishing my champagne. “I feel guilty, keeping you from your party.”

“But this is where I want to be. Right here.”

“As do I. But we should go inside before my mother takes to worrying and causes a scene.”

“Very well.”

We turned away from the sparkling moonlit sea and crossed the wide veranda, moving slowly to the door.

The captain touched my arm. “I would like to call upon you, Miss Hughes—with your permission of course. Perhaps on Monday. It would give me great pleasure to escort you and your parents to the lighthouse for a tour. I am sure we could arrange it with Mr. Harvey this evening.”

“That sounds lovely,” I replied as we entered the house and returned to the drawing room just as Mrs. Danforth was curtsying before her captivated, adoring audience.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Portland Head Light, Monday

“As you can see,” Mr. Harvey said, leading us up the cast iron spiral staircase, “the tower is lined with brick, which was an improvement in ’55. And what you are about to see is a second-order Fresnel lens which was installed in ’64, after the wreck of the
Bohemian,
where forty immigrants perished. I wasn’t the keeper back then, but I’ve heard the tales.”

Our lighthouse tour proved to be a fascinating escapade, but equally fascinating was Captain Fraser’s continued ability to make a brilliant impression on my parents—my mother especially—who seemed to think she was the instigator and constant navigator of my budding romance.

“Mark my words,” she whispered in my ear when we first arrived at the lighthouse and stepped out of Captain Fraser’s luxurious carriage. “I’ll do whatever it takes to see you at the altar before the snow falls, because he is the catch of the century.”

“But it’s not up to
you
to make it happen,” I replied, knowing it was my pride talking, for I couldn’t abide the idea of my mother taking credit for Captain Fraser’s affection for me.
She
wasn’t the one who had inspired him to bring his carriage to a halt, throw open the door, and step out into the rain. If it weren’t for me, she would never even have made his acquaintance.

Later, after our journey up and down the tower stairs, followed by a leisurely walk along the cliff, Mr. Harvey invited us back to his single-story keeper’s cottage—a modest stone dwelling at the base of the tower. He offered us tea and biscuits, and while the water boiled on the iron stove, he entertained us with more thrilling tales of his life as a fisherman.

Then, suddenly, in the middle of one of his exciting anecdotes, the door swung open, and a young man, who appeared to be about my age, stepped into the light. He carried a load of kindling and wore a gray woolen cap. His windblown, honey-blond hair was in desperate need of a trim, for it nearly reached his shoulders.

Abruptly, he halted his stocky frame in the open doorway. “Good morning,” he said, appearing surprised by our presence in the front room.

Mr. Harvey beckoned for him to step inside. “Come in, come in. Close the door behind you and say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Hughes, who are new to the area, and their charming daughter, Evangeline. You already know Captain Fraser. Everyone, this is my nephew, Laurence Williams.”

Mr. Williams moved across the room to the woodstove, where he set the firewood down with a clatter in a wooden box. Straightening, he wiped his hands on the front of his tattered wool jacket, stepped toward my father with his hand outstretched, and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Father stood to shake the young man’s hand, while Mr. Harvey continued to explain: “Mr. Williams is assistant lighthouse keeper. He’s been with me for the better part of a year, and if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have the luxury of accepting generous invitations to fancy dinner parties and musical performances.”

Captain Fraser, seated at the table with one long leg crossed over the other, said, “Williams, one of these days I will invite you instead, and Mr. Harvey can be the one to hold down the fort.”

Mr. Williams smiled. “That would be very good, sir. And I wouldn’t feel guilty about it. Not one bit.”

The men laughed and Mr. Harvey slapped his nephew on the back. “Poor lad hasn’t had a day off in six months. Join us for a cup of tea, son. You’ve earned it.”

Mr. Williams pulled a chair away from the wall, spun it around and sat astride it. “So you’re new to the area?” he asked me directly.

“Yes, we’re from Boston,” I replied. “My father just retired.”

“Ah. Well, you picked a good place for the next chapter of your life, sir,” Mr. Williams said to my father. “There are plenty of decent people in this town who would give you the shirt off their backs. And it’s just about the prettiest place on earth in the summer months when the flowers are blooming, the breeze is blowing, and the water is warm enough for a swim.”

“It’s never quite
that
warm,” Mr. Harvey disagreed as he removed the kettle from the stove and filled the teapot. “Once you’ve bathed in the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, it spoils you for the North Atlantic, even in August. Sometimes I wish I’d never taken that plunge.”

My mother perked up excitedly. “Oh, do tell us about that, Mr. Harvey. What was it like, swimming so close to the equator? I cannot even imagine.”

He described the climate in St. Thomas and Mexico, and the extreme heat that could make a robust man faint dead away on his feet. The conversation was lively and relaxed as we sipped our tea and enjoyed biscuits with strawberry jam.

Soon it was time for us to go, and we rose from our wooden chairs to thank Mr. Harvey and his nephew. They walked us outside toward Captain Fraser’s coach, but halfway there, I realized I had forgotten my gloves on the table.

“I’ll fetch them for you.” Mr. Williams jogged back to the little stone house. I waited a moment or two in the yard while Mother and Father climbed into the vehicle, causing it to bounce slightly under their weight. At last, Mr. Williams reappeared in the doorway.

“I can’t find them, Miss Hughes!” he called out to me. “Are you certain you don’t have them?”

I quickly checked my reticule, and sure enough, I had stuffed them into the bottom. “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Williams! Here they are!” I quickly pulled them out, waved them at him, and tugged them on.

He ran back to meet me. “It’s just as well, because I found this on the floor. Is it yours?”

He opened his rough, callused hand to reveal a pearl earring in a drop setting.

“Yes, it’s mine. Gracious, that’s never happened before.” I reached up to check my other earlobe, to make sure that earring was still in place. “These were a gift from my late grandmother. I would have been heartbroken to lose them.” I plucked the earring from his palm and dropped it into my reticule. “I will have this checked before I wear it again.”

All the while, Captain Fraser was conversing with Mr. Harvey outside the coach, waiting for me to join them.

“Have you made many new friends since you arrived, Miss Hughes?” Mr. Williams asked me. “Sometimes it’s difficult in a new place, to meet people your own age. If you like, you could come to a corn boil on Saturday at the Smiths’, around 7:00. They live at Smuggler’s Cove.”

“Smuggler’s Cove… That sounds a bit dodgy.”

He laughed. “Nothing to worry about. The Smiths are decent folk. Their son’s a fiddle player and it’s always a rip-roaring good time. I hope you’ll come. You can bring your parents, of course. Mr. Smith would be happy to meet them. He’s friendly and hospitable.”

Mr. Williams stopped and faced me, not far from the open door of the coach, and waited for an answer. My eyes roamed over his sun-bronzed face, golden hair and bright blue eyes. There was something youthful, energetic and lighthearted about him, yet something that suggested experience and wisdom as well.