PART ONE
THE ISLAND
Chapter One
Superintendent’s residence, Sable Island, Spring 1946
The storm had been raging all night, violently, without mercy. At dawn, the wind continued to howl. Waves thundered and pounded onto the beaches.
Emma Clarkson, the superintendent’s daughter, sat on a stool in front of the mirror at her vanity. Feet flat on the floor, knees pressed tightly together, she held a letter on her lap and ran the pad of her thumb over her name on the envelope. She felt a mixture of pride and dread, the emotions alternating, taking brief turns. It had been three days since the letter arrived on the supply ship Argyle, but she’d told no one of its contents. Not even her father.
Emma, an only child, was now a woman of twenty-one and fully cognizant of the fact that she’d always been doted upon. She and her father were a close pair because her mother had died in childbirth a year into the marriage, which had begun with the adventure of moving to Sable Island during her final trimester. They’d intended to stay five years and save enough money to return to Halifax on the mainland, where their children would receive a proper education. But the death of Emma’s mother had been a terrible blow to her father, who had lost all interest in starting over in a new home. Instead, he chose to raise his precious daughter on the island.
Emma could count on one hand the number of times she’d visited the mainland. Three, to be precise. Everything about those trips was imprinted on her brain—the blaring car horns and engines, the crowds that gathered in the Public Gardens for concerts at the bandstand, and the mouthwatering aromas from downtown restaurants. For Emma, it was like traveling into the future or to another planet.
This was why she knew that she needed to cease stalling, go straight downstairs, and tell her father about the letter.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he could be happy for her?
The windowpanes trembled in a furious gust of wind, and the roof timbers creaked.
Oh, what a dreamer she was.
***
The wind was still thrashing around the house when Emma finally entered her father’s study. He was seated behind his desk under the light of a single lamp, focused on some documents in front of him. She waited until he turned a page before she cleared her throat.
His eyes lifted. “Emma. Sweetheart. What are you doing awake? The sun’s barely up.”
“Who could sleep in this storm?” she asked.
He removed his glasses, laid them on top of his papers, and sat back in his chair. “At least it’s rain and not snow. Summer can’t come soon enough.”
“Agreed.” She moved to the window and drew back the curtain to look out at the ashen sky, the driving rain, and the marram grass on the high dune, whipping wildly in the wind. All of it together mirrored the storm of dread in her belly. For a moment she wanted to slink back upstairs and return to bed, but she’d been putting this off long enough, so she turned and faced her father. “I need to talk to you about something.”
He gazed up at her with uncertainty, then stood and switched off the desk lamp. “All right. Let’s go sit in the great room.”
Emma led the way and chose a spot on the sofa directly across from her father, who took a seat in his big brown leather armchair. She gave him a moment to settle in, then willed herself to speak assertively, because she knew what she wanted. It was time that he knew it too.
“A few months ago,” she told him, “I sent an application to Dalhousie University for the psychology program, and I was accepted.”
With a sudden look of confusion, he frowned. “I’m sorry?”
Emma pushed on. “I’ve been accepted to Dalhousie, and I want to go. It starts in September.” She paused uneasily. “I’m hoping you’ll help me with the tuition.”
The wind gusted through the gutters, and the whole house shuddered. Glancing briefly at the ceiling, Emma worried that the roof might blow off at any second.
Meanwhile, her father was tapping his forefinger on the armrest of his chair and quietly mulling over the news she’d just delivered. Emma suspected he was most troubled by the fact that she had taken such action without discussing it with him first and had followed through behind his back. She felt an urgent need to explain.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t like the idea and you’d worry about me leaving the island. You’d lose sleep for months about something that might not even happen if I wasn’t accepted.” She sat up a little straighter and raised her chin. “Besides that, you’d spend the whole time trying to talk me out of it, and I just wanted to see what would happen if I applied.”
He spoke with dismay. “You’ve never said anything about wanting to go to university. Why wouldn’t you share that with me?”
“I just told you why.”
His expression grew strained. “But I thought you were happy here. This is your home. And you’ve had a better education than most.”
“I am happy,” she maintained. “I’ve loved growing up here, and you’ve been the best teacher I could ever ask for. But you know how much I enjoy learning . . . and you know that I’ve always been interested in animal behavior.” She’d been studying the wild horses of Sable Island since she was ten years old. “I feel the same way about human behavior, but how can I learn about that when my world is so small? There are never more than forty people living here at a time, and we’re spread out across miles. I’m tired of learning everything from books.”
Her father scrutinized her expression. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“About a year, I suppose,” she confessed. “But with the war on, it seemed like a pipe dream. I couldn’t possibly fathom leaving the island then. But the war is over now, and I want to get away.”
Her father exhaled harshly, as if she had sucker punched him in the gut.
“Not from you,” she quickly amended. “That’s the hardest part of this, the one thing that holds me back because . . .”
Emma paused. How could she tell him that she feared he might become lonely or depressed?
“Because you mean everything to me,” she said tactfully.
“I’d never want to hold you back,” he insisted. “But I don’t want you to make a mistake either.”
“How would it be a mistake?”
All at once, she felt contentious. It was no surprise that her father was against the idea—she knew he would be—and this was exactly what she’d been dreading since the letter arrived: An argument that would require her to stand up to him, to disregard his wishes, and to disobey him if he laid down the law. And ultimately to disappoint and hurt him.
He pointed at the window. “You have no idea about the world out there, Emma. It’s a dangerous place, even during peacetime. Especially for a young woman alone. You’ve lived a sheltered life here among good people, and you don’t know what evils exist beyond these shores.” His tone was growing increasingly intense.
Emma swallowed hard. “Now you’re just trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to educate you,” he said, “as I’ve always done—and to help you appreciate the life you have here.”
“I do appreciate it,” she argued, “which is why this decision has been so difficult. And I won’t pretend that I’m not nervous about going away, because I am. What if I get there and I hate living in the city, or I fail in the program? I’ve never gone to a real school before.”
“You’re intelligent and disciplined,” he said. “You won’t fail in the classroom. That’s not what concerns me.”
“What is it, then?” she asked, feeling her confidence wane.
His cheeks reddened. “Like I said, it’s a scary world out there. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. If you were hurt somehow, in any way, I’d never forgive myself for letting you go.”
There it was. The truth at last.
Emma’s heart softened, and she moved to kneel on the floor in front of him. She took both his hands in hers. “Nothing bad will happen, and I’ll write every day. When the Argyle arrives, you’ll have enough letters to keep you reading for a month.”
He looked down at their linked hands. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know,” she gently replied, “but I can’t stay here forever. I need to live my own life.”
“But you could have a good life here,” he persisted pleadingly. “I don’t know why you won’t consider Frank O’Reilly. He’s obviously in love with you.”
Frank was the chief wireless operator, who had taken up residence on Sable in ’44. He was young and handsome, and every woman of every age on the island had developed a crush on him the day he’d leaped out of the surfboat. Even Emma had felt exhilarated at the sight of him. But after a few evenings in his presence during her father’s Saturday socials, the infatuation had been short lived.
“I don’t like his arrogance,” she said.
“He’s not arrogant,” her father explained. “He only appears that way because he wants to impress you. And you said yourself that you’re happy here. Wouldn’t you like to start a family and raise your children on this little slice of heaven?”
Emma didn’t want to get into an argument with her father about the so-called virtues of Sable Island. It was like banging her head against a wall.
She rose to her feet and returned to the sofa. “Please, Papa. I want to go to university. It’s important to me.”
Another powerful blast of wind from the north lashed against the house, and when her father offered no reply, Emma sighed in defeat.
“Maybe we should talk about this another time,” she said, “after you’ve had a chance to think about it.”
He took a breath to respond when the telephone rang in the kitchen. They were both startled by the interruption, and her father rose to answer it.
“Main Station,” he said. He listened for a few seconds and frowned. “Where did you say? The west bar. How far out? I see.” He glanced briefly at Emma. “Sound the alarm at all stations, and get the crews out there with the lifeboats. Every minute counts. I’ll meet you at the boathouse.”
He hung up the phone and crossed the kitchen toward his yellow slicker on the coat-tree by the door.
“There’s a ship grounded on the west bar,” he said.
“Oh, dear Lord.” Emma was instantly engulfed by a sense of panic. “I’ll get dressed and help Mrs. McKenna load the cart. We’ll bring blankets and hot tea.”
With a rush of adrenaline, she dashed up the stairs, leaving all thoughts of her own future behind.
Chapter 2
Leaning into the fierce wind, Emma trudged across the sandy station yard toward the McKennas’ house, where Abigail, the meteorologist’s wife, was hitching the horse to the broad-wheeled wagon.
“I’m here to help!” Emma shouted over the roar of the surf beyond the dunes.
Abigail peered up from beneath the hood of her raincoat. A gust of wind blew the hood back, and her brown hair went wild in all directions. “It took you long enough! Go inside and get my first aid kit and the large thermos on the kitchen table. I’ve already loaded the blankets.” She returned to the task of hooking the leather pull straps to the harness while the horse tossed its head in the driving wind.
Emma quickly went inside and found the items on the table. She picked up the thermos and first aid kit but noticed a full bottle of whiskey on a shelf over the refrigerator. Deciding it might come in handy, she fetched it and stuffed it into the first aid bag, then hurried out the door.
Abigail was seated on the wagon bench, gathering up the reins.
Emma placed the items in the back and shouted, “That’s everything! I’ll saddle Willow and follow you!” She watched the wagon drive off, then ran to the barn.
***
Beneath the broody, gray sky, Emma rode Willow out of the station yard, across the heath, and eventually onto North Beach, where giant foaming breakers crashed and roared. The horizon had been swallowed whole by dense, dark clouds that rolled and curled in fury. The wind was most ferocious on the beach, but it was the fastest route, so Emma kicked in her heels and urged Willow into a flying gallop toward the western tip of the island. She overtook Abigail on the way.
When at last she reached the rescue operations, she slowed Willow to a halt and took in the situation.
Her father’s Jeep—the only motorized vehicle on the island—was parked at the edge of the high dune. Two horse-drawn boat wagons had been unloaded and the surfboats successfully launched.
Emma’s father stood at the water’s edge with his binoculars, his slicker whipping in the wind as he observed the stranded ship in the distance. It was at least a mile offshore, lying on its side, half-submerged, while violent breakers battered its hull and washed over the bridge. The crews in both lifeboats were rowing hard to reach it, riding up and down massive twenty-foot swells.
Emma dismounted and led Willow across the sand to her father. “Abigail is on her way,” she told him. “She has blankets, hot tea, and her first aid kit. I threw in a bottle of whiskey at the last minute.”
“Good thinking.” He handed the binoculars to her, and she raised them to look.
“Any idea how many souls on board?” she asked.
“Not yet. I only spotted one member of the crew waving at us from the portside rail when we first arrived, but I haven’t seen anyone since. They must be inside, taking shelter.”
Emma refocused the lenses and examined the wreck, which appeared to be a commercial cargo ship. She searched from bow to stern and back again. “I don’t see anyone now.” She swung the binoculars’ field of view to locate the two lifeboat crews still making their way to the wreck. They rode up a giant swell, disappeared over the other side, and reappeared seconds later, ascending the steep slope of another.
Emma handed the binoculars back to her father. “Why didn’t the captain order the launch of their own lifeboats?”
“I believe they tried. A boat washed ashore around Station Number Two with no one in it. That’s what alerted the patrols to a wreck.”
“I hope no one perished trying to make it,” Emma said.
“We’ll find out when we bring the others in, but we’ve seen no bodies yet.”
It was a macabre conversation, but Emma understood the dark realities of life on Sable Island. Since childhood, she’d witnessed more than her share of old bones rising out of the dunes. And there was a disturbing collection of skulls on display in the boat shed. When she was young, she’d had nightmares about such things, but she was over that now.
“Can I look again?” she asked.
Her father offered the binoculars, and she zoned in on the wreck. “It’s British. Probably three thousand tons.”
“That was about my estimate,” he said. “Two hundred and fifty feet. Steam engine.”
Philip McKenna, the weather station chief, came running to join them. He panted heavily as he spoke. “Frank finally got through to the coast guard. He’s waiting for more information, but I doubt they can send help anytime soon. They’ll have to wait for the storm to let up.”
“I expected as much,” Emma’s father replied. “For now, we’ll just have to rely on ourselves.”
Philip looked through his own set of binoculars. “They’re almost there.”
Abigail finally arrived with the blankets and supplies. Emma hoped they’d be able to put them to good use.
“They’ve made it!” her father shouted, still watching. “There’s a crewman on the deck, and he’s thrown a rope down. I see others climbing out of the bridge. They’re clinging to the rails.”
“Thank goodness.” Emma laid a hand over her heart and said a silent prayer that every soul on board would make it safely to shore.
***
Watching the ordeal from the beach became a nightmare with no end. The two lifeboats had been lashed to the steamship, but with every powerful swell, they were thrust mercilessly against the steel hull. The men attempting to abandon ship held on to the ropes and rails for dear life as they were knocked about by the waves. One man, about to leap into a lifeboat, slipped from the deck and plunged into the sea, but by God’s grace, he was pulled to safety by a crewman in the second lifeboat.
At last, the two boats began the treacherous journey back to shore. The trip seemed to take forever, while the thunder of the foaming waves on the beach made it difficult to think, talk, or breathe.
When the lifeboats finally approached, Philip waded into the surf and helped drag the first vessel onto the beach. The second followed close behind, and all the men spilled out. Those who had come from the wreck fell to their knees in gratitude, some digging their fingers into the wet sand. A few wept, others laughed, but all were thankful to have been rescued from the frigid water of the North Atlantic.
Emma and Abigail moved quickly and covered each man with a dry woolen blanket. One stood up and grabbed hold of Emma. He hugged her and sobbed. “Thank you, miss! Thank you!”
Her father approached and spoke in her ear. “You should fetch that bottle of whiskey.”
“Right away.” She hurried to Abigail’s wagon.
Her father helped one man to his feet. “What’s your name, son?”
“Billy Perkins.” He was tall and lanky with a space between his two front teeth and spoke with a cockney accent. “I’m just a cook.”
“That’s fine, Billy. My name is John Clarkson, and I’m superintendent of this island. Can you tell me…Is this all of you?”
Billy pulled the gray blanket more snugly about his shoulders and regarded John warily. “I’m not sure, sir.”
By now Abigail was beginning to serve hot tea to the survivors. Emma returned from the wagon and followed behind her, adding a splash of whiskey to each cup.
Her father addressed the whole group. “Who else is out there?”
No one spoke.
Emma turned toward the wrecked ship. Surely, it couldn’t withstand the punishing forces of those waves much longer. If there was anyone else on board, they’d be done for.
Billy’s teeth were chattering, and panic filled his eyes, as if he were about to face harsh discipline.
“Someone speak!” her father shouted.
One man finally volunteered. “Captain Harris refused to abandon his ship, sir.”
Her father stared at the man incredulously. “And you left him behind?”
“Those were his orders.”
Emma looked to her father. “Why in the world would anyone want to stay on that doomed ship?”
Her father pointed at another man. “You, sir. What’s your name?”
He quickly rose to his feet. “Davey Parker.”
“What’s your ship’s cargo?”
Emma understood her father’s reasoning. Perhaps there was something valuable on board.
“It ain’t the cargo,” Davey replied. “A crewman was swept overboard, and the captain stayed behind to keep searchin’ for him.”
“But we all knew there was no hope,” another said. “We saw him go overboard three hours ago.”
Emma approached Davey. “But your captain believed there was a chance?”
“I doubt it. I think it was his sense of duty. He’s a proud man, determined to go down with his ship.”
Emma locked eyes with her father. “We can’t just leave him out there.”
Her father glanced back at the rescue crew, who sat exhausted on the beach. “I don’t know if they’re up to it.”
One of the boat-wagon horses whinnied and shook himself in the harness, rattling the chains and buckles.
“We can’t just let him die,” Emma argued.
“We tried to talk him into coming with us,” Billy insisted. “But he wouldn’t hear of it. And I’ll tell you right now . . .” He pointed at the ocean. “Going back out there would be a fool’s errand. More good men will end up dead!”
“It’s not a fool’s errand,” Emma replied. “It’s our sole purpose here. We’re a rescue station.” She turned to her father again. “We have to try.”
He turned to the water and raised his binoculars again. For a full minute he studied the swells and breakers as they struck the ship. At last, thankfully, he nodded in agreement and strode to the lifesaving crew, who had been watching and listening to the exchange. Emma followed.
“It’s a lot to ask,” her father said, “but are any of you willing to go out there again and bring the captain back?”
They sat in silence, knees hugged to chests, shivering.
Joseph, the crew captain, got to his feet. “If we go, and he still refuses to get off . . .”
“Then I suggest you remove him by force!” Emma shouted over the roar of the ocean. “God knows what he’s been through! He might not be in his right mind!”
Her father nodded. “I need four volunteers.”
No one stepped up, so Emma raised her hand. “I’ll go.”
There was a sudden communal shout of protest as six men leaped to their feet.
“Now we’re talking,” Joseph said. “Larry, you’re the biggest. I could use your muscle.”
***
While Philip and Abigail drove the shipwreck survivors back to Main Station to be fed and housed, Emma remained on the beach with her father to watch the second rescue attempt.
When, at last, the crew reached the ship and lashed the boat to the south side of the bow, they found some shelter from the breakers.
“What’s happening?” Emma asked, her breath coming short, her heart pounding against her rib cage.
“Joseph just climbed aboard,” her father replied. “He’s entering the bridge.”
Emma waited with bated breath for more information. Seconds ticked by like minutes, minutes like hours. The salty spray blew relentlessly off the water, and Emma gathered her coat collar tighter about her neck and sniffled from the cold.
“They have him!” her father shouted. “He’s getting into the lifeboat!”
“He’s not resisting?” Emma asked.
Her father watched for a few more seconds. “He appears compliant.”
“Is there anyone else? The missing crewman?”
“It doesn’t appear so.”
He handed the binoculars to Emma while the men on the beach cheered. She focused on the lifeboat, which was no easy task as it crested steep swells like mountaintops and descended into the troughs, out of view. Where was the captain? At last, she spotted him seated at the stern, hunched over, his head bowed, hugging himself, probably chilled to the bone.
She and her father waited anxiously, in grim silence, for the lifeboat to reach shore. Again, minutes felt like hours.
“Damn!” Her father lowered his binoculars. “They’ve capsized!”
Emma strode forward, desperately scanning the waves. When she finally caught sight of the surfboat, it was overturned and sliding up a giant swell. Then it plunged forward while crewmen bobbed about in the waves. They were less than two hundred feet away. The men on the beach quickly pushed the second lifeboat into the surf and rowed frantically to their rescue.
Two men were pulled from the sea, but where were the others? Emma covered her mouth with both hands to stifle a sob.
Just then, a third man was hauled into the boat. Emma’s keen gaze searched the ocean for the last two, still unaccounted for.
“There!” She pointed. “Twenty yards to the left!”
A man was floating on the swells and dragging another. Suddenly, the lifeboat was thrust onto the beach by a massive breaker. Joshua and Larry jumped out and dragged it farther onto the sand, while three others dashed into the surf to meet the swimmer, who was washed onto the shore only to be dragged back out by the undertow. Thankfully, on the next wave, he was tossed onto the beach again.
It was the ship’s captain. He crawled on all fours until two men hooked their arms under his and dragged him on his knees.
The second man, unconscious, was also dragged clear of the breakers. It was Ezra, the oldest member of the rescue crew.
The world went silent in Emma’s ears. She ran to where the men had laid Ezra on his back. They all crowded around.
Emma’s father dropped to his knees and put his ear close to Ezra’s nose. “He’s breathing.” He slapped him lightly on the cheeks until Ezra opened his eyes, coughed, and sputtered.
“Thank goodness.” Emma then turned to the captain, who had collapsed onto his back, his forearm resting across his eyes. While the others tended to Ezra, she hurried to the captain with a blanket, dropped to her knees beside him, and covered him with it. “Are you all right, sir? Can I do anything for you?”
He gave no answer.
“You’re safe now,” she told him. “We took your crew to the rescue station, where we have food and shelter.”
He shook his head as if he didn’t want to share in any of that. He merely lay with his arm over his face. For a moment, Emma feared he was in a state of shock or mental paralysis, but then he sat up abruptly, tossed the blanket aside, and stared at her, unseeing, as if he were staring into an abyss. His clothes—black trousers and a black wool turtleneck—were sopping wet. His jet-black hair dripped onto his broad shoulders, and suddenly he began to shiver uncontrollably.
He turned a piercing gaze to Ezra, who, with help from the men, was rising unsteadily to his feet.
“Your man’s alive,” the captain said shakily.
“Yes,” Emma replied. “Thanks to you.”
Her father came striding across the sand just then. “Good morning, sir. I’m John Clarkson, superintendent of Sable Island.” He offered his hand to the captain, who allowed her father to pull him to his feet.
Emma quickly snatched the discarded blanket off the sand.
“Oliver Harris. Captain of the Belvedere out of Britain.”
“Thank you for what you did out there,” her father said. “You saved a life.”
Captain Harris bit back a response, then staggered slightly as if he were about to collapse. Emma grabbed hold of his arm.
“I don’t deserve gratitude,” he tersely replied. “I bear full responsibility for what happened here.”
“It was a bad storm,” her father assured him. “The worst we’ve seen in years. And you’re not the first to run aground on these shoals.”
The captain wiped a hand down his face. “It’s a first for me.”
He gazed out at the wreck, which was starting to break apart in the battering waves. He shook his head, then pressed the heels of both hands to his forehead. “You should have left me out there.”
Emma’s lips parted. “No, Captain. You can’t mean that.”
His angry eyes shot to hers. “I mean every word I speak.”
Feeling as if she’d been slapped by his tone, Emma couldn’t make her tongue work. All she could do was blink up at him.
“Forgive my daughter,” her father said uneasily. “She’s young.” He held an arm out to gesture toward the Jeep. “If you’ll come this way, Captain Harris, I’ll take you to Main Station, where you can have a hot meal and a brandy. Then we can discuss arrangements to get you and your crew safely transported to the mainland.”
Without glancing back at Emma, Captain Harris walked with her father to the Jeep, where he climbed into the passenger seat.
Emma remained on the beach, feeling suddenly weak in the knees and woozy as she watched them drive off. It must have been the adrenaline wearing off, she thought.
Slowly, she made her way back to her horse, Willow, who was waiting patiently at the base of the dune. Emma reached Willow, placed her foot in the stirrup, and swung a leg up and over the saddle, but it took a moment for her to regain any semblance of calm. She took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes, and waited for her racing heart to decelerate.
When she opened her eyes, Willow’s head was turned. She was waiting for Emma to decide which way to go.
As Emma gathered up the reins, she welcomed the return of her composure.
“Did you see all that?” she said to Willow. “Quite an ordeal, I agree. And just now, I was only trying to be helpful with the captain, but Papa told him that I was young—as if I didn’t know the first thing about how to talk to people and he had to apologize for me.” She stroked Willow’s neck. “It was humiliating, to say the least. And that’s why I need to leave this island. I need to get educated. Although I’ll miss you terribly.”
Willow began to trot, and the ocean raged behind them as the rescue crew heaved lifeboat number one back onto the boat wagon.
***
By the time Emma returned to the house, Captain Harris was seated in the great room, in her father’s heavy leather armchair. He held a snifter of brandy in his hand, just as her father had promised. When she shut the door behind her, silencing the wind, her father rose from his chair to greet her.
“Where have you been?” he asked quietly, with a touch of annoyance.
“I had to take Willow back to the barn,” Emma explained as she lowered the hood on her rain slicker.
“Abigail needs your help preparing extra food,” he said. “She’s called twice now. But before you go over there, I need your help here. We have to feed Captain Harris.”
Emma peered into the great room, where the captain was taking a lavish swig of his brandy. “I can warm up the beef soup from last night,” she suggested.
“Good. He’ll need some bread and butter,” her father added, speaking in low tones. “The man must be famished. They were out there all night fighting the waves.”
Emma spoke softly as well while she removed her slicker and hung it on the coat-tree. “I can’t imagine what they went through.”
She followed her father into the kitchen, where he fetched the half-empty brandy bottle, then returned to the great room.
“Would you care for another?” he asked the captain.
Emma moved to the sink to wash her hands. She was just reaching for the towel to dry them when she heard a heavy thump that shook the floor under her feet.
“Emma! Come quickly!” her father shouted.
She dropped the towel and ran to the great room, where Captain Harris was on his back on the rug, thrashing about. She came to an abrupt stop, panting in terror. “He’s having a seizure!”
She’d read about such things but never witnessed them. All she could do was stare in shock.
“Call Abigail!” her father shouted.
In her younger days, Abigail had been a nurse during the First World War, and she was a great asset to Sable Island, which had no hospital or doctor.
Emma ran to the phone and rang the McKennas’ house.
“Hello,” Abigail answered snappishly.
“Hello, Abigail. It’s Emma.”
“Finally. I’m up to my elbows in egg salad. You need to come over.”
“I’m sorry, but we need you here right away. Captain Harris is having a seizure, and we don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t do anything,” she calmly replied. “Don’t try to restrain him. I’ll be right there.”
The line went dead, and Emma ran back to the great room. “She’s coming, but she said not to restrain him.”
Her father let go of the captain’s shoulders and sat back on his heels. Sheer black fright rooted Emma to the spot as she watched the captain convulse on the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head. He didn’t even seem present in his body. It was as if he’d gone somewhere else.
After a moment or two, the convulsions slowed, and he went still, eventually slipping into unconsciousness.
Emma was breathless and terror struck. “Is he okay?”
The kitchen door flew open, and Abigail swept inside from the storm. She ripped off her coat, tossed it over the back of a chair, and strode purposefully toward them.
“Move back.” She knelt down beside the captain.
“The seizure stopped a few seconds ago,” Emma told her.
Abigail pressed two fingers to the pulse at his neck.
“Is he alive?” John asked.
“Yes.” Abigail pulled the captain’s eyelids back, checked both pupils, and looked up at John. “Was he complaining of any pain before it started?”
“In the Jeep, he told me he’d been knocked in the head when the lifeboat capsized. He thought he might have lost consciousness in the water for a few seconds.”
Abigail ran her fingers through the captain’s thick black hair and felt around his scalp. “Yes, yes, here we are. He’s got quite a goose egg. That must have hurt like the dickens. I’m surprised there’s no bleeding.” She leaned directly over his face and tapped his cheeks. “Captain Harris, can you hear me?”
He failed to respond, so she tried again, slapping harder and speaking firmly. “Captain Harris. Can you open your eyes?”
He managed to open them briefly, but it seemed to take great effort, and his eyes rolled back and he fell into a state of unconsciousness again.
Emma, frantic with fear, laid her hand over her heart. She didn’t know this man. He was a stranger to her, but the thought of him dying, after everything he’d been through over the past twelve hours, was horrendous, too dreadful to contemplate. He must have people somewhere who loved him and would mourn for him. He was someone’s son, or perhaps a child’s father. The idea of his death in her home, the finality of it, cut her to the quick.
“This is unbearable,” she said. “Will he be all right?”
“I’m not sure,” Abigail replied. “It depends what happens in the next few hours. It could just be a concussion. There might be some swelling under the skull that caused the seizure, and once that swelling goes down, he’ll recover.” She rose awkwardly to her feet and turned to Emma’s father. “But it could be worse than that. He should go to a hospital. Can we get him to the mainland tonight?”
“It’s unlikely,” her father said. “The storm hasn’t let up, and Frank said it’ll be at least a day or two before the coast guard can get here.” He looked down at Captain Harris. “Why isn’t he waking up?”
Abigail cupped her forehead in her hand. Her stress was evident in the set of her jaw. “It could just be a postictal state after the seizure. If he wakes up and starts to regain strength over the next few hours, that’ll be a good sign.”
“So, there’s still some hope,” Emma said, aching and yearning for it to be so.
“Yes, but I’ll need to keep a close eye on him.” Abigail directed her next question to Emma’s father. “Can we get a few staff men over here to bring the stretcher and move him to the sickroom at my house?”
“I’ll call Joseph right away.” He hastened to the phone in the kitchen.
“Emma,” Abigail said. “I’ll need you to finish the sandwiches and deliver them to the men at the staff house. Everything is on my kitchen table.”
“I can do that.” But something held her in a tight grip. She couldn’t seem to pull herself away from the captain before he woke up. She needed to know that he was going to be all right.
“Go now,” Abigail snapped, wrenching Emma out of her stupor.
She moved quickly to don her slicker and venture outside to brave the storm again.
ALL OUR BEAUTIFUL GOODBYES Available March 25, 2025