Free Hearts Made Whole by Jody Hedlund Page B

woman’s scrutiny, he couldn’t keep from fidgeting. Had she been the one to come into the boathouse and rifle through his satchel? If so, she would have seen the awful truth about the kind of man he’d become.
    â€œI overslept,” he offered. “I guess the ride out here from Detroit wore me out.”
    Her eyes only narrowed at his weak excuse.
    Aye, he had no excuse. He should have woken up in time to light the lantern. “It won’t happen again.”
    â€œI hope not.” Then she shrugged almost as if she didn’t believe him.
    â€œThank you for lighting it for me.”
    â€œI didn’t do it for you . I did it for them.” She nodded curtly toward the lake.
    The condemnation in her tone added to the guilt already weighing upon him. He couldn’t keep from thinking about the oath he’d taken when he’d accepted the appointment to Windmill Point Lighthouse. He’d promised to carry out the assigned duties with energy and enthusiasm, and to serve loyally and honorably. So far he’d failed on all accounts. Caroline had every right to scold him, even though she was obviously refraining from doing so.
    â€œSince you’re here now, I’ll leave you to your work.” She bent to retrieve the oil can and then stepped toward the hatch.
    He glanced at the lantern, to its gears, weights, and wick. How was he supposed to turn it off? And when?
    She brushed past him and lowered herself through the narrow hatch in the floor.
    â€œWait,” he said, unable to stop the panic from creeping into his voice.
    She paused on the top rung and refused to look at him.
    He couldn’t very well admit he had no idea what he was supposed to do, could he? She was already angry enough that he’d taken away her job. She’d hate him if she realized Mr. Finick had replaced her with an idiot. Sure, his sister, Emma, had shown him how to turn off the Presque Isle Light. But he’d never done it himself.
    â€œWhat?” she asked, finally lifting her eyes. The sadness in their depths socked his stomach.
    He wanted to tell her he was sorry. But he already had, and saying the words again wouldn’t make the situation any better.
    There wasn’t anything that could make the situation better . . .except maybe if he left. But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Based on the salary Mr. Finick had quoted, Ryan figured he needed to work about a year to save up enough. And even then, he’d probably not have all that he owed.
    â€œI need this job,” he said, the deathly white face of the nameless boy rising up to taunt him.
    Caroline’s eyes radiated with accusation. “You’re not the only one who needs a job, Mr. Chambers.” And with that she disappeared through the hatch.
    He stared after her, fighting the urge to retreat, to give in, to let her have the post. He didn’t really want it. All he wanted to do was go back to the shed, quench his thirst, and return to a world where he didn’t have to think or feel anything.
    Shame heaped onto the guilt and made his knees weak. What kind of man had he become? He muttered a low curse at himself. He was exactly the kind of man he’d sworn he would never become. He’d always told himself he’d never end up a no-good drunk like his dad. He’d always told himself he wouldn’t hang on to the pains of the past and let them control him like his father had.
    Yet here he was, a wretched excuse for a man.
    Anguish smoldered inside him. “Oh, God, why didn’t you take me? Why didn’t you let a better man than me live?”
    He’d asked himself a thousand times why God had spared him when so many of his comrades had died. He hadn’t deserved to make it through the war when there were men with wives and children waiting for them back home, better men who were far more deserving of life.
    â€œI can’t do it,” he said aloud with a bitter tone.