LATE MORNING AND the strengthening sun illuminates the waters of Narragansett Bay, making everything shimmer like silk. I follow Harriet past great teetering piles of lobster pots and crab pots and thick coils of rope. I cover my nose as the pungent stench of harbor life settles in the back of my throat and turns my stomach to jelly.
Harriet unties a small boat from its moorings and rows us easily away from the harbor wall. Soon, we are gliding effortlessly across the bay, the gentle rocking motion of the boat no worse than that of a train carriage. Having prepared myself to feel seasick again, I am surprised to find myself quite enjoying being out on the water as Harriet sculls us toward a small island in the middle of the bay. I pinch my nose to block out the overpowering smell of the kelp. Harriet rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head. I ignore her and focus on the view.
Despite the smell, I enjoy the breeze in my hair, the sting of the wind against my cheeks, the glimmer of sunshine on the surface of the water, the soothing slap and bump of the waves against the hull of the boat. New sounds, new smells, new sensations. My skin prickles in response as I trail my hand in the water, remembering happy short-sleeved summer days when my father would roll up his trousers and take off his socks and paddle with me in the sea, jumping over the smallest waves as I squealed in delight. I’m still haunted by the look on his face when my mother told him I’d fallen into the worst sort of disgrace and hadn’t I only gone and got myself pregnant. To watch him close the living room door so gently behind him was the perfect demonstration of dignity and control when I had demonstrated neither. I’d only ever wanted to make him proud. All I’ve succeeded in doing is to disappoint him in the greatest way imaginable.
While my thoughts wander back to Ireland, Harriet focuses on her rowing, until even she can’t ignore the silence in the boat. “You get used to it,” she says. “The smell.”
Like a pet starved of attention I leap at the invitation to talk. “I hope so. Is it always this bad? It gets right to the back of my throat.”
“That’s Aquidneck for you.”
“Have you lived here long?” I ask. Harriet pulls on her oars. Four long hard strokes. She doesn’t reply. “Do you miss Ireland?”
She fixes me with a hard stare. “I thought you weren’t going to ask questions. Wasn’t that the agreement?” There’s an edge to her voice, a warning not to get too close.
I fold my arms defiantly, sit up straight, angle my chin. “There’s no need to be quite so rude. I’m only trying to make conversation because I’m sat with you in this stupid boat and because I have to spend the next five months with you, and because it’s common courtesy for people to get to know each other—especially if they’re related.” My voice wobbles with emotion as the anger I’ve held inside me these past weeks spills out in a rush. I’m angry with my parents for sending me away when I needed them the most, angry with myself for getting into this ridiculous situation in the first place, angry with Harriet Flaherty for being such a disappointment. I am even a little angry with Mrs. O’Driscoll for abandoning me just when I was starting to feel more hopeful about everything. I think of the piece of paper in my coat pocket. The neat handwriting. The word courage.
Heat rises against the locket at my neck. Like Newport’s kelp and the damp salty air against my skin, Harriet Flaherty has an almost physical effect on me. “If you’re determined to dislike me then fine, have it your way. I doubt you’ve ever had it any other, living on your own, shutting people out with your cutting remarks and your scowl and your . . . your clothes from a menswear department of the 1920s.”
I’m trembling by the time I stop talking, but I’m pleased to have stood up for myself. I refuse to let Harriet Flaherty bully and intimidate me. I’ve had nineteen years of that from my mother and I didn’t travel halfway across the world to have more of the same.
Harriet says nothing as she continues to row, never breaking her momentum. I could scream at her but I press my frustration into the wooden seat with the palms of my hands and stare at the lighthouse ahead, blinking away the flood of tears that threaten to fall at any moment. The oars rattle in their brackets as Harriet pulls them out of the water and rests them on the edge of the boat. Silence surrounds us as we drift for a moment. After a long pause, she responds.
“So, you do have a bit of something about you after all. I thought you’d become a prissy little madam like your mam, but maybe I was wrong. There’s nothing worse than a girl who doesn’t have anything to say for herself apart from do you like this dress and that hat and when will I ever be married.” She leans forward. “I’m glad to see you’ve a fire in your belly, Matilda. That’s all.”
So, it was a test. She was provoking me.
“I don’t know about a fire,” I say, sulkily, “but there’s something in my belly, all right.”
We glance at each other, and look away again, but not before I see the start of a smile on Harriet’s lips. I hide my own smile behind a fake yawn and turn my face back toward the sun.
Infuriating woman.
AFTER MOORING THE boat beside a jetty, Harriet strides up a flight of stone steps that lead to the lighthouse. The boat tips and wobbles as I move forward. If I weren’t so stubborn I would call for Harriet’s help, but I refuse to be seen as weak or helpless so I crawl out on my hands and knees until I make it onto dry land. The borrowed cotton dress clings to me like the limpets on the rocks as I follow Harriet up a winding shingle path toward the lighthouse.
Close up, it is much bigger than I’d expected. An octagonal white wooden tower stands proudly above a two-story clapboard keeper’s dwelling. The lower story is white wood; the upper story a sloping tiled roof with three dormer windows on each side. A lantern room crowns the top of the light tower, surrounded by black iron grille work around the outside. I tip my head back, dizzy as I take in the height of the tower. The breeze is stronger on the island, exposed without the shelter of the buildings that hug the harbor wharfs. I hold my hand to my hat as I stare up at the lantern, so engrossed that I don’t notice a dog bounding over to me until a wet nose nuzzles my hand.
I bend down to pet him. He’s a sweet little black-and-white patchwork of a thing, his stiff tail beating frantically, swinging his whole body from side to side as I rub his ears. He gazes at me with adoring brown eyes until a shrill whistle sees him scurry away. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I watch him run toward a man who scoops the dog into his arms before he continues to make his way over to me.
“Sorry about that,” he says when he reaches me. “Wants to be everyone’s best friend this one does.”
I smile and assure him I don’t mind. “I love dogs, and this little fella is an absolute dote.”
The man tickles the dog’s belly affectionately. “You’re a charmer, all right. Aren’t you, Captain?”
“Cute name. It suits him.”
“Her.”
Laughing, I apologize for my mistake as Captain squirms in the man’s arms. He puts her down and throws a sun-bleached piece of driftwood for her to chase. “I’m Joseph, by the way,” he says, holding out a suntanned hand. “Joseph Kinsella. Assistant Keeper.”
Joseph Kinsella is quite the American poster boy in his rolled-up faded blue jeans, deck shoes, and a college sweatshirt. A shock of fair hair falls into eyes that match the color of his jeans. He reminds me of Mickey Rooney’s Andy Hardy in A Family Affair, but a little wiser and older.
“Matilda,” I reply, shaking his hand. “I’m staying with Harriet Flaherty. She’s here somewhere.” I look around but can’t see her anywhere.
A look of recognition flickers across Joseph’s face. “So you’re the wild Irish girl!”
“Wild?” I blush furiously. Surely Harriet hasn’t told him the real reason I’m here. What about the cover story she’d said we should stick to? Only then does it occur to me that if I’m supposed to have been married, I should probably wear a ring.
“Only teasing,” Joseph says. “I’m a quarter Irish myself. Does that give me the right to tease?” His dimpled grin is hard to ignore.
“Just about,” I smile.
“You’re staying with Harry for the summer, I hear.”
“Harry? Is that what you call her?”
“That’s what she’s always been known as. Got the shock of my life when I discovered Harry Flaherty was a woman!”
“Well. Hardly.”
He laughs. “First time in Newport?”
“First time in America. First time anywhere other than Ireland,” I say as Captain races back to us, proudly dropping the driftwood at my feet, her head tilted hopefully to one side.
“Looks like you’re already made a friend,” Joseph says as he picks up the driftwood and throws it as far as he can, sending Captain skittering after it again. “Which part of Ireland are you from? My relatives are in Sligo.”
I hesitate. Mother had me well drilled, insisting I wasn’t to be telling people about myself or getting overly friendly with the locals. She is terrified that news of my condition will find its way back across the ocean to her narrow circle of judgmental friends. Being so far away from her, I suddenly couldn’t care less.
“Ballycotton,” I reply. “In County Cork.”
“Beautiful part of the country. Great beaches I hear, although we’ve plenty here to rival them.”
Captain returns with the stick, dropping it at my feet again. I rub her velvety ears and glance back to the lighthouse. There’s still no sign of Harriet. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d rowed back to the house and left me here as another test. “I don’t suppose you’d know where Harriet might be?”
“Probably at the beach around the back. She likes to collect shells and such. I’m heading up to the lantern room. You’re welcome to come with me if you’d like to look around.”
Joseph whistles for Captain to follow and heads up the path to the lighthouse. I follow behind, Captain at my heels, the sun at my back, and the breeze ruffling my hair. I’ve been in Newport less than a day, and I already feel as far away from my life in Ireland as it is possible to be. There’s something delightfully uncomplicated about this little harbor island with its timber lighthouse, and for a few untroubled moments I’m not the politician’s daughter who has disgraced herself and her family, but just a wild Irish girl on her American holiday, as free as the wind that ripples the water in the bay.
It is at that moment I feel a strange fluttering sensation deep within me, like a feather brushed lightly against my skin. I stop walking and stand perfectly still. I feel it again. And again. When you feel that first flutter of life . . . there’s nothing like it. The significance of it takes my breath away as Captain pushes past my legs. Ahead, Joseph says something about a glass of iced tea. I start walking, my mind spinning as I reach the lighthouse where I lean against the door. Suddenly light-headed, I trip over the step and stumble inside, just like the cheap drunken whore of my mother’s insults.
Joseph grabs my arm and helps me to a chair. He hands me a glass of water and says he’ll fetch Harriet. I’m not sure I say anything in response.
Captain lies devotedly at my feet, and as I stare at my reflection in the glass I feel the flutter again. It is the gentlest of feelings and the harshest reminder of what I have done and why I am here, and the only emotion I can summon is fear.
Sitting in this pretty little lighthouse, waiting for one stranger to fetch another, I realize that no matter how many distant relatives are unearthed, or how many well-meaning chaperones pass on their advice, I really am on my own. Harriet Flaherty doesn’t know the first thing about me, she doesn’t know what it’s like to be sent away from everyone and everything you know. However convenient her American home might be, Harriet can’t help me any more than I can help her.
In the end, the only person we can truly rely on is ourselves.