Free Hearts Made Whole by Jody Hedlund Page A

stumbled across the grass toward the tower. “Idiot,” he berated himself. “You idiot.”
    The faint light of dawn was showing pink on the eastern side of the lake. And he’d shirked his duties by hours.
    When he’d awoken from his medicated stupor, his heart had squeezed with panic. First he’d realized someone had rummaged through his satchel and taken out his pills. The clinking of pills against the glass indicated they were still there. He’d been relieved, but only for a moment, until he’d remembered where he was and why. The panic had returned like a cavalry stampeding toward the front line.
    He’d forgotten to light the lantern last night.
    â€œHow could you be such an idiot?” He cursed himself again and paused at the causeway door to glance up to the lantern room. The flashing beam prevented him from seeing anything inside the room. He knew right away who had been responsible for lighting it, even though it was now his job.
    He hesitated at the doorway. Should he knock? It wasn’t his home yet. And after last night’s neglect of his duty, he wasn’t sure it should ever be.
    A fresh burst of remorse pushed him forward through the door. He forced himself into the tower and up the stairs, each step jarring him and sending shards of pain through his head. When he reached the ladder that led the last distance up, he paused and pressed his hand against his temple to fight off dizziness. How would he be able to climb the stairs each day on multiple occasions without causing himself intense pain?
    His heart sank at the thought, but he forced himself forward. One-handed, he started up the ladder and hesitantly poked his head through the hatch. The lantern room was empty.
    He released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and finished ascending. He didn’t know much about lighthouses, but he knew enough to understand that the light at the center of the room was a small sixth-order lens, the smallest light designed for lighthouses. He’d expected a larger lens for a station located in such a strategic position, one that handled the heavy commerce of boats traveling around the horseshoe of Michigan from Chicago to Detroit and on to Buffalo.
    He could tell that Caroline was an immaculate keeper. The floor was swept, the windows were spotless, and the brass base polished until it shone. Even the oil can sitting on the floor near the light had been buffed to a coppery glow.
    The half door that led to the gallery swung open, and he took a quick step back, bumping into the round metal wall. Caroline stooped to enter through the low door. Once inside, she straightened and flipped her loose hair over her shoulders before she caught sight of him.
    She gave a start, and her eyes rounded. “Mr. Chambers.” The surprise was then replaced with a look of censure.
    â€œAye. It’s me.” He squirmed and wished he’d thought to run a comb through his hair or soap down his face. He could only imagine how he must appear. “I’m sure I look like a dead man who’s risen from the grave.”
    She didn’t respond except to purse her lips together.
    â€œI probably smell like one too.” He wasn’t sure why he was attempting humor. In fact, he was certain he’d lost his sense of humor when he’d lost over half his company that bloody day at Gettysburg.
    She held a long nautical spyglass in her hands and had obviously been out on the gallery scanning the lake, keeping watch on the ships that relied upon the light for their safety. Her cheeks were pink from the coolness of dawn, her hair mussed from the wind. She was entirely too pretty.
    He couldn’t resist sliding a hand through his hair, although he knew it was a feeble attempt to make himself presentable. He was as disheveled on the outside as he was within. He hadn’t cared before, hadn’t given his appearance a second thought for months.
    But under this