A Light Between Oceans Episode 39
Hattie needed to run to see Donald right now and make certain he was all right.
She dashed back to her room and threw on her warmest clothes, then searched a drawer for her mother’s old woollen shawl.
Then she hurried back to Sandy.
“Shh, darling. Hattie’s here. It’s very cold and I’m just going to wrap you up.”
Sandy stirred as Hattie gently dressed her in the thickest jumper she’d been able to find in the stash of clothing she kept for her visits, then a pair of trousers two sizes too large, wrapping the excess round the little girl’s feet.
“Hattie.” Sandy’s voice was protesting as she rubbed her eyes and wriggled her legs.
The buggy would slow them down and make too much noise, so Hattie tied the shawl around her neck like a sling, then hoisted Sandy into it, her little legs dangling on either side.
“No!” Sandy’s voice was shrill as she wriggled.
“We’re going to play a little game,” Hattie whispered.
“But you must be quiet as a mouse – just like when we’re hiding.”
Then, with her arms round Sandy, Hattie went downstairs, took the key, and they set out into the night.
There was no moon, and only a sprinkling of stars lit the inky blackness, but Hattie could have found her way blindfolded.
As she hurried through the maze of streets, she could see that the lighthouse had resumed its usual pattern of flashes, but when she scrambled up the hill and out to the headland, she saw it again – one, two, three, four.
Her shoulders had begun to burn with the weight of Sandy, but she hitched the little girl up a bit higher and ran down the path leading to the lighthouse.
Then she stopped dead.
She thought she saw the figure of a man coming out of the lighthouse door.
She gasped as she moved quickly to the side of the path and down the slope.
She prayed whoever it was hadn’t seen her.
She must get to Donald! Where had the man gone?
It was too risky to go back to the path. Should she hide and wait, then hope it was safe?
Waiting felt impossible.
There was another way, but she’d have to climb down to the rocks and then round the point, to where Donald kept a rowing boat.
Then they’d have to make their way back up the steep path on the other side.
The tide had turned, but it would be some time before the waves would make it impossible.
The wind came up even stronger as she made her way around the maze of rocks, and then an enormous wave seemed to crash out of nowhere, the freezing spray stinging Hattie’s face.
Sandy whimpered.
“Nearly there, sweetheart. Close your eyes,” Hattie said, rubbing Sandy’s back as they rounded the last bend before the path.
But the boat was gone. Had it come loose from its mooring?
There was another crash and this time they were soaked through.
She shivered with the cold and put her hand on Sandy’s head, ready to soothe her, but the little girl had fallen silent with the trauma and the cold.
At last they reached the lighthouse. Nearly faint with exhaustion, Hattie ran to the door.
It was unlocked and she pushed it open.
“Donald? Are you OK?”
There was no answer, and Hattie lifted Sandy out of the sling and set her down at the bottom of the spiral staircase, then latched the door.
“I’m just going up to see your daddy, sweetheart,” She pulled the shawl sling over her head and took off her wet jacket, wrapping them round Sandy. “I’ll be very quick. Just be still.”
She saw Sandy’s bewildered little face, a look of terror in her eyes.
“Close your eyes now.”
Hattie made her way up the spiral stairs.
“Donald?” she called again.
When she reached the top, she saw him, standing in the engine room.
The air smelled of woodsmoke and something vaguely chemical, and then she saw that the huge curved dresser had been pulled out from the wall.
Bits of broken wood and scraps of canvas covered in paint were strewn about.
He was stuffing them into the little stove, a haunted, frenzied look on his face.
“Donald! What are you doing?”
He looked up, his eyes searching hers as if he were a lost soul.
“Hattie.” His voice was hoarse and muted. “I’m finished. It’s no use . . .”
She rushed to his side, reaching out to take his arm, to pull him to a chair.
Then, because it was the one thing that might bring him back to reality, she said, “I’ve brought Sandy.”
Donald put his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving as he choked out the words.
“Our little girl – my Helen. Oh, Hattie, what am I to do?”
Hattie took his elbows, shaking him as she spoke.
“I’m going to bring Sandy upstairs to you. Donald, tell me what has been going on?
“Your paintings – what are you doing?”
“Hans is a good man,” Donald said, as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “My friend . . . he’ll be safe now.”
“What are you saying, Donald? Has Hans been here? Where did he go?”
“They’ll have seen the signal. The boat is sound. He had to get away.”
“Who will have seen it? Donald, what’s happened? Did you send that signal – the four flashes?”
Hattie’s mind raced. Donald would lose his post if such a thing had been noticed and reported.
But he was utterly lost and said nothing as his eyes cast vacantly about the round room.
“Donald!” Hattie shouted, shaking him, and then she heard Sandy’s pitiful, terrified crying echoing through the lighthouse.
She tore down the stairs.
“I’m coming, darling!”
Sandy was tangled hopelessly in the wet clothes. Hattie gathered her up, rocking her before carrying her up the stairs.
Donald looked at his little daughter, tears now streaming from his eyes.
Then Hattie put her in his arms and for a long moment they stood there together, like a family.