A Liberating Love (Keepers of the Light Book 3) Read online

Henry turned away and cleared his voice using horrible guttural sounds that Bethany detested. “We’ve steered off-topic. Ms. Fletcher, how is supper coming? At this rate, it will be dark before my daughter and I go walking.” Jane launched into activity, her duty to the Forester family an honorable sight to see.

  After dinner, Henry and Bethany left the house and headed in the direction of Lookout Rock, an easy trek on level ground and clearly visible from their small logging town. The lighthouse provided a new interest to her after viewing the photo of her mother with the unidentified man. She made a mental note to investigate the area with a new purpose – to better understand her mother’s death.

  Two lighthouses served the area, guiding boaters safely to town and beyond. Bethany never tired of hearing the powerful waves breaking off jagged rocks and shoals, tossing the water to and fro like a lathered dog shaking a limp rag. On the other side of the bay to the north stood Puffin Point, a menacing spectacle surrounded by a heavily forested mountainside that shrieked of mystery. She wondered why her mother hadn’t committed the deadly act in that rugged landscape instead of within view of her home. A long time had passed since she’d ascended to the northern lighthouse. Her youthful days of exploration were now occupied with the mundane work of an adult. But spring stretched out before her, and she vowed this year she’d make the trek again.

  “Father, have you hiked to Puffin Point?”

  Henry’s head twirled to face his daughter. “Why would I go there?”

  “I just wondered, since you’ve lived here your entire life.”

  “So have you. It’s dangerous over there, and should be off-limits to sightseers with nothing better to do with their time.”

  “Then, what excuse do you have for Lookout Rock? You never go there either, and it’s in plain sight of Spruce Hill.”

  Henry scrutinized his daughter. “You do remember that’s where your mother died, right?”

  “Maybe memories haunt you, Father, but they comfort me. From my bedroom window, it looks grand and welcoming. I think I shall pay Arne Svensson a visit; see if he’ll give me a tour.”

  “You’re playing with fire, daughter.”

  She reached for his hand. “Don’t worry, Papa. I won’t get burned.”

  Bethany hoped revealing her plan would soften his anger later should he discover she’d gone snooping - and she did plan on snooping.

  The pair detoured around the mill and crossed the bridge that spanned the water feeding into the bay. They walked in silence, and when Bethany couldn’t bear the turmoil of her thoughts another moment, she spoke.

  “What was Mother doing at Lookout Rock that last day of her life?”

  “Most likely indulging her curiosity, and look where that got her.”

  “Curiosity sparks dreams, Father. I’m glad I inherited something adventurous from my mother. You do realize I’ve overcome my childhood fear of shadows?”

  “I’m rarely home, so I suppose that’s spared me a lot of fatherly worries,” said Henry.

  “I’ll be careful - if I decide to explore the place.” Bethany cast an inviting glance in the direction of Lookout Rock, while her father pulled her from the path that led to the lighthouse.

  “If you’re up for exercise, let’s go down the slope to the beach,” Henry suggested.

  “Lead the way.” Bethany had not expected him to oblige her choice of destination. “Are you working at the mill tomorrow?”

  “Thought I’d go in for a while and check up on what you’ve been up to while I’ve been gone. Then maybe later, take off and do a bit of fishing.”

  “You - fish?” Bethany sounded surprised as she’d never known her father to take a day off work, except Sundays, when he caught up on his scripture reading and gab sessions with fellow believers.

  “There’s a spot inland close to the camp, where the fish dance to get on your line, they’re so eager to provide food for a man’s table. I go there often but regret to admit, have never taken you. Would you like to spend some time with your old man?”

  “All the way to the camp – to fish?”

  “No. I know of another fishing hole closer to home just begging for company.”

  Bethany squeezed his fingers. “There is nothing I’d rather do. Course, you might have to explain favoritism to some male employees who’d like any excuse to steal my job.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll pick you up at noon when everyone goes home. Spare you the humility of being thrown to the Pharisees and ducking the rocks aimed for your head.”

  Henry always came off sounding like the man with all the answers - or at least one that could spout bible stories at the drop of a hat. Bethany pressed in close to his side and laughed.

  “You’ll be long gone next week when they pick up the stones to throw. But don’t you worry about me. I can stand up for myself.”

  “Yes,” Henry groaned. “I’m beginning to understand that. Where has this rebel girl been hiding all these years?”

  “Just waiting for the right moment. I’m eighteen-years-old Father, and I’ll not be attracting a man who thinks he can walk all over me. Someday the Forester Mill will be mine, and men will either honor that or leave by the toe of my boot.”

  “You’re a hard boss.”

  “No harder than any business leader. Grant you, some will tell you I’m a pushover because I follow your advice and let Wernicke run the show as the working foreman. But as long as he delivers my orders, he and I will get along fine.”

  “He takes pride in his job and the men respect him.”

  “And so do I. He keeps the peace and gets the job done, but my office assistant, Trudy, is more rebellious than I, and would love for me to break loose of tradition and create havoc with a few self-righteous men that the Forester Mill employs.” Bethany sighed. “Is the workplace all about one controlling others? My vision is to create a team, united to succeed, that results in bringing rewards for all.”

  “A noble goal, my dear, but a high order. Good luck. I hope I’m here to see unification in action.”

  “I do too.” Bethany stood on her tippy-toes and kissed her father’s cheek. “Race you to the beach.” She took off down the slope with her father close on her heels. She loved Spruce Hill and couldn’t imagine life anywhere else.

  Saturday night, Bethany busied herself in the kitchen with her evening chores, rolling pastry for Sunday’s pies, cooking the custard fillings, and whipping the cream for a top covering. Father had invited two families from church home for dinner this week, and he expected her to play hostess. Ms. Fletcher routinely disappeared into the kitchen on such occasions, rarely gracing the table with her presence, no matter how much Henry encouraged the woman to join them in the dining room. Her argument held firm all these years – cooking was her job, not carrying on conversations with ladies or agreeing with arrogant men who professed to know more than they did.

  One highlight for Bethany was that Troy Spencer, the son of one of her father’s friends, had weaseled in on the invitation, and he’d be a guest at their table tomorrow. Excitement at the prospect of entertaining the deputy of Spruce Hill, brought her eagerness to new heights. In light of recent developments, she now burned with questions that he might be able to find answers for. It helped that she liked Troy – more than a little – and enjoyed his company. He was hardworking, polite, and his gentlemanly behavior never appeared condescending.

  “Goodnight, everyone,” Bethany said as she popped her head into the parlor. “And thanks for the fishing trip, Papa. I had a wonderful time, even if I didn’t bring home the prize catch.”

  Henry lifted his eyes from the newspaper and waved a hand, confirming that he’d heard, while Ms. Fletcher never missed a stitch in her knitting, but offered a smile and a brief, “sweet dreams,” in response.

  Upstairs in her room, Bethany headed for the wardrobe. She pushed aside the hat and brought down the jewelry box. She praised the carpenter who’d fashioned the piece, for its artistry and practicality blende
d to create a fine but useful container. She fumbled in the bottom drawer and withdrew the picture. Bethany smiled. It felt good to gaze on her mother’s face. It had been so long, and although she made it a point to summon the childhood image to recollection every day, the edges in her mind had blurred and she’d feared forgetting altogether. The photo was an answer to her prayers, even with the addition of the stranger standing next to her. She considered cutting him out, so she could frame her mother’s photo and place it by her bedside, but left the original intact. She loved the way her mother stared at the man – the epiphany of true love. But this must remain her secret: For her private viewing alone. Father would have burned it if he’d discovered the secret compartment first. It was better he never knew.

  She flipped it over and noticed an inscription, written with a light pencil lead and fading to near invisibility. Because she knew her mother’s name to be Simone, she easily pieced that word together. What resembled the picture of a heart with an arrow pierced through it followed her name and then came the new name. Bethany brought the paper closer to her eyes and squinted. It started with a C, with the middle letters running together in a series of unidentifiable bumps, and ended with a curvy R whose tail ran off the edge of the page. Her mother appeared to love or at least admire this man, but the fact that she’d hidden it from her husband supported a romantic secret.

  This speculation released a flood of emotions which spilled into an undeveloped part of Bethany’s soul. She knew she’d never rest until she uncovered the name of the mystery man. This ill-fated path to uncover the past, set up a present-day collision course with a future she could no longer define. Fear of the unknown lurked, like a thief ready to steal the small measure of inner peace life had offered. Unable to break free of its force, she returned the picture to the box, hid the evidence in the wardrobe, and undressed for what she suspected would be a sleepless night.

  Chapter 3

  Sunday Arrives

  Sunday arrived bright and cheery, full of promise for the summer ahead. The blossoms and meadows displayed freshly splattered bursts of nature’s colors, and the tranquil water calmed Bethany’s spirit and prepared her for the service. The air smelled of fish, and she drank the familiar comfort into her soul. She walked alone, her father already gone to lead an early prayer meeting, and Ms. Fletcher to prepare her outdoor space for a children’s class. Bethany volunteered in other areas that did not involve Sunday morning. She relished this early morning jaunt, which allowed her precious time alone to cast her imagination to the wind.

  In the Spirit realm, she envisioned a chorus of angels singing on the shores of Chauntis Bay where birds and animals of every kind gathered to praise the King of Creation. And she, a mere mortal, had the privilege of joining them in worship. The experience possessed the power to lift and bring encouragement for yet another week. Breaking loose from her daydreaming, she started the trek back across the bridge, relieved to see stragglers still visiting outside the church entrance.

  As she drew closer, she heard a voice calling. “Bethany, wait up.”

  Glancing back, she noticed Troy Spencer jogging to catch up. The day couldn’t get much better. He was a fine specimen of a man – in her opinion – and one of the best available in Spruce Hill. She loved the way he wore his sandy-brown hair, teasingly long but professionally maintained. Even from a distance, she noted the intensity in his eyes, as if he saw clean through one’s thoughts to the motivation on the other side. A valuable quality for a law officer, but for her, it brought both intimidation and excitement. A crimson flush spread up her neck while he raced toward her.

  She waved. “Good morning, Troy.”

  He was out of breath when he reached her side. “Good morning to you. It’s a fine Lord’s Day, is it not?”

  She grinned at his small talk and jumped straight to the point. “It is. I wonder if you might need more exercise this afternoon – to help get you in better shape?”

  “Are you suggesting a walk after dinner?” he chortled. “Was hoping we’d get that in. But I don’t recall my proposal embracing the same motive that you’re implying. Are you hinting that I am out of shape?”

  “Thought it might be important for a lawman to run great lengths at fast speeds. To catch the bad guys, you know.”

  “I wish. Sheriff Hobbs buried me in paperwork all week. Today, I’m looking forward to some fresh air, and with you by my side, it will be a walk through the fields of heaven.”

  “Flattery, this early in the day, Mr. Spencer?” Bethany said mischief toying at the corners of her lips.

  “I’m headed to the house of God. I spout nothing but the honest-to-goodness truth.”

  “Am I to conclude that is not the case on the other six days of the week?”

  “You’re twisting my words, Bethany.” Troy laughed. “But I am pleased to find you in such a cheery mood.”

  “I have much to tell – but later,” said Bethany.

  Troy’s sea-blue eyes twinkled like the white caps of an upsurge ready to curl itself over a tunnel of hidden secrets. Or perhaps Bethany misread his boyish features, seeing only what her hopeful expectations wanted to see. Either way, he appeared thrilled.

  “Now you’ve gotten me curious,” said Troy. “I can hardly wait for later.”

  Troy held the tall, wooden door open for Bethany, and she slipped inside the building ahead of him. The organist was winding up her instrument, a signal for the congregation to find their seats and prepare to worship. Bethany headed for her family pew and Troy to his.

  Reverend William Kearns took his position behind the wood podium, and spoke in a loud booming voice that regardless of topic, always seemed to toy with a touch of humor.

  “Now that all the latecomers have found their seats,” his grin aimed straight toward Bethany, “let’s begin our service.”

  When the last strains of Our Great God drifted to its finale, the organist gave her final blast of the G-chord, which closed the hymn portion of the service. Pastor Kearns announced the benediction, and everyone waited until he passed down the center aisle to stand at the door, ready to shake hands with his parishioners on their way out.

  Once beyond the front steps, Bethany charged into the street, successfully ducking calls from the ladies to join their gab sessions. Her destination was the white clapboard building on the end of First Street that she’d called home her entire life. A large piece of property surrounded it, and the landscaping displayed an assortment of spring flowers, colorful bushes, and sheltering trees. If there were such a thing as upper class in the logging town of Spruce Hill, the Foresters would probably rank among the elite. But such social segregation did not exist, and Bethany mingled with all classes of people in the neighborhood. Not a snobby bone ran through her body.

  The builders had used the best wood the local forests could offer to construct the sizeable two-story structure. Her father white-washed the boards regularly to keep them looking new. A fresh sea-green color trimmed the windows and doors, and a traveling carpenter, Albert Fresco, had carved the ornate gables. The man had claimed to love the life of a nomad - no ties – hiring out his expertise then moving on to find work elsewhere. Bethany wondered how a person could remain so detached, then chuckled; the man likely entertained as many secrets as her mother apparently did.

  When company came to visit, Ms. Fletcher stayed for Sunday school then raced home to get ahead of the crowd. That meant missing the service, which did not sit well with Henry Forester, but he could see no way to solve the problem. If the housekeeper felt it her responsibility to have food ready for the table when the guests arrived, then so be it. He left it all in her capable hands.

  Bethany hurried inside just as the prime roast beef came out of the oven. “Smells divine,” she said and saw the woman’s face light up. Jane Fletcher loved to receive compliments, especially concerning her culinary skills. Bethany leaned over the huge roasting pan. “And look at those potatoes, all diced and spiced just the way I like it. You are
a fine cook, and I appreciate you.”

  The woman gaped openly at Bethany. “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course! And I don’t say it often enough. With our busy schedules, Father and I would be lost without you.” That seemed to satisfy her, for she blushed and pushed Bethany away.

  “Go wash up and set the table. The guests will arrive soon. Thirteen of us in all! Whatever was your father thinking?”

  Bethany laughed as she headed for the basin. “You hit the nail on the head. Father does not think before he speaks, especially when it involves planning the small amount of social life that he squeezes into his workweek.”

  “Now, don’t go telling him I complained. It’s really no bother. Three people or ten makes no difference.”

  Bethany sensed her nervousness and wondered if tensions had risen between the two since the attic episode. The door had remained unlocked, and Bethany hoped to smuggle Troy into service to help her drag the chest to her room.

  That first night, fearful she’d not regain access to the attic, she’d snuck back after the house had gone quiet, and spent hours handling the memories. A few seemed out of place; one lone box in particular. It held a chunk of driftwood with the name Simone inscribed, embroidered doilies that had never come out of tissue wrap, a hankie embroidered with the initials S.C, and other oddities that she wanted to explore in the privacy of her own room. These did not mix with the random lot in the chest’s bulk – as if treasures separated from another time. Bethany wondered if the handsome stranger in the photo lived these memories with her.

  She dried her hands and went to the cupboard for plates. After withdrawing the floral-patterned dishes, she set them around the dining room table, placing a folded cloth napkin and cutlery to the side. She hoped Father would seat Troy close to her. To her knowledge, Henry had no idea the couple had been testing their wings during his absence. Bethany pondered the emotional reactions sparking within her these days at the mere thought of the man. Could this be the start of love? Having no female confidants with whom to ask such a naïve question, matters of the heart remained unanswered. Jane Fletcher had never attempted to fill a maternal role in Bethany’s life – but she supposed the spinster knew nothing of romance anyway.