Then
When she awoke from a fitful sleep, early before the sun had broken the monotony of the dark sky, she left her bedroom to find an atmosphere of regret hanging over the house. It was heavier than any winter sea mist that would soon embrace their part of the Cornish coastline. Her parents were still in bed, and she found that she didn’t want to be there alone. Grabbing her bag and a coat, she headed from the house, down toward the sea.
The view that greeted her was quite different from the endless black of the ocean that had tried to claim her mother only hours before. Sunshine graced the coastal road, trimmed with thatched cottages and granite roofs as first light broke the night. Gulls swooped and cawed overhead, circling above fishing boats stuffed with pollack and mackerel. Drifts of smoke rose from the chimneys of fishermen’s cottages, wives warming hearths to welcome their husbands home.
“Miss Davenport, would you do an old man a favor and come down here?” Elizabeth looked up to see Old Man Cressa. He was standing at the edge of his boat, the Princess of the Sea. It was a vessel built for one man, a lonely life of early starts, his working day over before most had begun. Two of his front teeth were missing, yet his smile was only enhanced by the depleted sum of incisors and the overgrown beard that skimmed the center of his chest. “I heard about what happened last night,” he said as he shook his head. His voice was soft, and seemed even softer as he asked, “How’s your mother doing this morning?”
“Much better, thank you. She was sleepwalking because of a fever.” He nodded, unquestioning of her lie. “Was the catch good?” she probed, changing the subject.
“Not up to much, if the truth be told. Last night’s storm stirred up the waters. The weather that will feed a farmer will starve a fisherman. Seems summer’s in for an early finish.” He tossed her the edge of a net, still wet with seaweed caught in the knots. He motioned for her to pull tight while he set about bundling the other end into a bucket. He nodded to her satchel draped across her body. “Isn’t it a little fresh for you to be out drawing at this time of the day? Shouldn’t you be at home helping your mother?”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But it’s about last night that I’m here. I was looking for Mr. Hale. Tom,” she added, feeling a little foolish using his first name, as if they were friends. She didn’t want to confuse Old Man Cressa with the implication she was looking for Tom’s father. Everybody knew him. He was the local drunk, could often be found slumped on a bench, or sheltering by the moored boats. That was why her father had been disappointed when he’d discovered that Tom was a Hale last night. His idea of what it meant to be a Hale just didn’t fit with Tom saving his wife. “Is he here?”
“Still out at the moment.” He nodded toward the water. “Why don’t you come back later, once the catch is in?”
“I’d rather wait, if that’s okay.” It was only right to thank him again for what he had done, but Elizabeth also knew it wasn’t just that. It was something she couldn’t describe; thinking of him made her smile, made her wonder what it might feel like to have him smile back at her. What would it be like to meet with him in his own life, rather than embroiled in the momentary turmoil of her own?
“Then you’d better get yourself into the lifeboat station. You can keep warm in there until he’s back. Doors are open.” He looked over at the gently rolling sea. The view was better now, the light already stronger. “Shouldn’t be too long.”
* * *
Elizabeth bid farewell to Old Man Cressa and did as she was told, entering the lifeboat station via the heavy front door and down the steps. It was dark inside, quite different from when she’d last been here, little more than a child then, watching the launch of the Susan Ashley as part of the Spring Fete, a celebration of winter passing and the promise of calmer waters. But the smell was unchanged: the scent of sea and brass, old rope, the gentle hum of the ocean underfoot. It felt safe, and strong. Elizabeth could remember seeing Tom at that fete, dressed in an oversize yellow wax jacket and a hat too large for his head, which kept slipping over his eyes. He was climbing the ropes, hauling himself on deck, along with a vast number of other kids who were there to celebrate. Tom’s father was a volunteer then, part of Coxswain Nicholas’s crew. Yet she could remember her own father making a comment, something about the Hale boys being as troublesome as their father. Elizabeth had thought it looked as if Tom was enjoying himself, his little brother Daniel too. Everything changed for the Hales after he died. Everything, she supposed, except her father’s opinion.
How much time had passed before she heard the door to the lifeboat station open? His feet on the steps? She was so lost in thought, she had missed his boat coming in. Tom appeared, wearing a blue sweater, worn and pulled at the cuff, a little large on his frame. His hair was wet, like it had been last night, falling in wavy clumps across his forehead. With feet as heavy as lead she stumbled from her chair, feeling awkward and clumsy as he arrived.
“Old Man Cressa said you were looking for me,” he said, seeming confused. “Everything all right?”
Her fingernails pressed into her palms as she clung to her satchel, taking a step forward. “Yes. I just wanted to say thank you for what you did. You risked your life and saved my mother’s.” While she had been talking to Old Man Cressa she had seen the seaweed tarnishing the beach, the driftwood that had washed up in last night’s storm. It must have been a squally sea into which he had chosen to throw himself.
“And I’d do it again if the need arose.” He stepped out of his waders and went to slip his feet into his shoes, only to realize that they belonged to her father. “I’m sorry,” he said, motioning to the brown brogues. “I was intending to return them.”
“It’s okay. He doesn’t wear them.” Her satchel hung heavily between them as she offered it to him. After a moment he stepped forward and took it.
“What’s this?”
“Your clothes. I dried them for you.” In the early hours of the morning when she couldn’t sleep, she’d gotten up and hung them over an airer in front of the dying fire in the drawing room. Now they smelled faintly of soot. He took the bag and peered inside, before pulling them out and tucking them under his arm.
“Thank you,” he said. He set them down and knelt to lace his shoe. “How is your mother today?”
“She’ll be fine,” she said, trying to soften the edge of mistruth. Lying to Tom felt awkward after what he’d done. It was a strange feeling to her, that disconnect in her loyalties; it was impossible to tell Tom the truth without betraying her family, and yet despite that understanding she found herself wanting to tell him everything.
“That’s good then. But you know, it wouldn’t have mattered to wait to return these.” He motioned to his clothes. “It’s chilly out this morning. I reckon summer’s nearly over. You’ll catch a cold.”
“Well, it’s just that I was hoping to get you alone.” He smiled at that, appeared surprised. “Oh,” she said, realizing the implications of what she’d just said, feeling heat flood her face. “I didn’t mean it like that. No, honestly,” she said when he began laughing. “I’m engaged to be married.”