The Lightkeeper's Woman

The coachman’s gap-tooth grated her nerves. “Everybody knows fancy duds don’t last in Easton.”

Alanna pulled her foot from the sucking mud. The shoe’s pale leather would forever be stained brown. “In your line of work as a coachman I would think you’d see many people who aren’t from Easton. And that you’d take the time to tell them about the streets.”

He shrugged as he took her bag from the coach. “Strangers don’t come to Easton unless they’s shipwrecked. Most folks who’ve been pulled from the sea is so happy to be alive they don’t care so much about their shoes.”

Most probably hadn’t paid as much for their shoes as she had hers.

Alanna reached for her bag. “Thank you for your help,” she said tersely. “But I can manage from here.”

He tugged the bag and brought her a step closer to him. This close, Alanna could see dirt coating his pockmarked face. She could smell the hint of cheap gin and stale fish on his worn clothes. “I notice there ain’t no one here to meet you.”

She remembered how hastily she’d packed her satchel. “My arrival is a bit of a surprise.”

The coachman’s lips twisted into a grin. “That so? I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Name’s Roy Smoots.”

Alanna didn’t miss the implied proposition woven between Smoots’s words. Another time, an other place she’d have reminded him of his place. But, as he’d said, she was alone. “No, thank you.”

She yanked her bag free, stumbling back in the slippery mud a step before she caught herself, her derby-style hat slipping over her right ear.

He laughed. “Sure I can’t help?”

Righting her hat, she said, “Just tell me where I can find Rosie’s Tavern.”

The coachman didn’t look offended, but more amused. “A half a block down the street. I’d be happy to show you.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Smoots.” Alanna stepped through the thick mud, cursing her ruined shoes.

Mr. Smoots fell in step beside her. “No trouble at all.” Ignoring him as best she could, she stepped onto the boardwalk and stamped the mud from her shoes before she started down the sun-baked planks. Her bag thumped into her heavy skirts with each step.

The tavern was a two-story building marked by a faded wooden sign with black scripted letters that spelled Rosie’s below a faded red rose. The sign and building looked just as weary as the rest of town.

Alanna reached for the rusted handle. “Mr. Smoots, when does the next coach leave Easton?”

Mr. Smoots’s grin widened. “I leave at first light.”

“Book a seat for me. I’m leaving this town as quickly as I can.”

“Sure thing, miss.” He cackled. “So what you doing tonight?”

Alanna ignored the question as she shoved open the tavern door. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. Sea spray and grime clouded the inn’s small windows and blocked out the noonday sunshine. Around the room, two dozen fishermen stared at her over their tankards. Most had full beards and skin as weathered as the boardwalk.

The seamen’s whispers buzzed around Alanna’s head and their gazes darkened with a dangerous hunger. Her palms began to sweat in her kid gloves and for the first time she realized just how truly alone she was.

These were the kind of men Caleb had sailed with. Though he’d respected his men as sailors, he’d always been careful to keep them away from Alanna. And now she understood why.

Mr. Smoots circled his fingertip on her shoulder. “Sure you don’t want ol’ Roy’s help?”

Alanna flinched and pulled away. “No, thank you.”

He leaned so close that she could feel his hot breath on her ear when he spoke. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Mr. Smoots brushed past her, knocking her shoulder with his as he moved toward a table in a darkened corner where three other sailors sat. He said something to the men and they all laughed as they stared at Alanna.

Alanna could feel her courage slipping. When she’d received Caleb’s terse message days ago the urge to right old wrongs had burned hot. Time and fear had cooled the fire in her.

The barkeep, a burly man with a belly that hung over his belt, looked up from the glass of gin he was pouring. Surprise flickered as the barman set down the bottle and moved from behind the bar toward her.

Lantern light flickered on the white strands of the barman’s red beard and a gold loop hung from his left ear, winking in the lantern light. His crooked nose looked as if it had been broken more than once. He grinned as he wiped his hands on his soiled apron. “Name’s Sloan. Can I help you?”

Alanna’s mouth felt as dry as cotton as Sloan’s gaze slid up and down her body. Her fingers clamped tighter around the handle of her valise. “I’m looking for Captain Pitt,” she said in a soft voice.

All traces of humor vanished from Sloan’s face. “Who’d you say?”

Just speaking Caleb’s name left her edgy and restless. “Caleb Pitt,” she said in a louder voice. “Do you know where I can find him?”

The tavern room went deadly quiet and the men who’d been staring at her looked away.

Sloan’s eyes narrowed. The innkeeper studied her and she had the sense that she was being tried and judged. She wondered briefly if Caleb had told him about her. The old Caleb was a man who’d always kept his own counsel, but the new Caleb was a stranger to her.

“He ain’t in town,” Mr. Sloan said.

The tension that had been knotting her muscles frizzled into anger. “I thought he lived here in town. He listed Easton as his address.”

“He lives here sometimes, but he ain’t here now.”

“Then where can I find him?”

Mr. Sloan nodded toward the front door. “It’s best you leave.”

Alanna couldn’t go back to Richmond, not when she was so close to settling matters once and for all. “I’ve traveled too far to turn back.”

The innkeeper started back toward the bar. “Cut your losses. Leave.”

Alanna lifted her chin up. “I’m sure someone will tell me where I can find the captain if I wait long enough. I am willing to pay,” she said a little louder.

Alanna looked around the smoky room. Slowly, the men started to talk among themselves, and she had the distinct impression she was their topic of conversation. A minnow among sharks, she thought vaguely as she tapped her foot and counted the seconds until she could leave.

She moved into the room, aware that Mr. Sloan watched her as she walked toward a chair at an unoccupied corner table. Sloan hurried across the room. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sitting down.” She nodded toward a wobbly chair. “Aren’t you going to pull back my chair for me?”

At first Sloan stared at her. Then, sighing, he yanked the chair out from under the table. “Rest your bones a few minutes, and then I want you gone.”

Alanna gifted him with her best smile and sat down, her back to the wall. She took a moment to adjust the rich folds of her velvet skirts.

Bracing a hand on the back of her chair, he leaned forward and said in a low voice. “I know who you are and I can tell you that the captain don’t want anything to do with you. Do yourself a favor and leave the past buried.”

Heat burned her cheeks and stomach. How many times had she prayed the past would just go away? But each time happiness was within her grasp, bitterness and anger spawned by a thousand unanswered questions swept it away.