Tuesday, June 8, 2010
An Excerpt from The Lightkeeper's Daughter
"I marry Jacob, or I leave the island." The whispered words blew away on the breeze. "I can't leave my island. It's all Samson and I have left. It's our home."
"Then you agree to the marriage?"
She thought hard, but no better solution came to her. "Yes, Uncle Edward. Prepare the way for my wedding. I guess I'll marry the outlaw."
"You'll marry a gentleman. I'll have you see it no other way."
“Perhaps you should re-introduce me to my groom.” She folded her arms at her chest and refused to turn around to see if Jacob stood nearby. “Is he still standing on the hill, listening?”
Her uncle chuckled. “No, he fled just after your original shriek of horror and the foot stomp. He’s down the beach a bit with Samson.”
“With Samson? The traitor.”
They fell into step together and headed in that direction. The sound of the surf rose in volume as they neared the shore. Hollan’s bare feet sank into the soft sand and an impetuous thought made her smile. What would her new husband think of her perpetually shoeless state? Perhaps he’d never know. But with the loss of her sight, she needed to use each and every sense she could. She loved to feel the textures of the ground around her. And she found the sensation of sand beneath her toes to be her favorite sensation of all. She wouldn’t have that pleasure in town.. She’d made the right decision, even if it was scary and hard.
She stopped momentarily to breathe in the always-present, reassuring scent of her surroundings. Marriage couldn’t be worse than losing the island. She’d come through this and be just fine on the other side. She was not her mother.
Her uncle’s voice broke into her musings. “Samson seems content. He’s retrieving sticks thrown into the water by Jacob. Maybe the animal sees the merit of the situation better than you do.”
“Samson doesn’t make up with anyone, Uncle Edward. You know that. All the changes of late must be muddling his little doggy brain.”
“That dog has more brain than most men I know, your fiancé not included.”
“My fiancé..” She groaned.
"Your fiancé only for a short while.” Her uncle’s voice held a hint of laughter. “Before you have a chance to get used to the idea, your fiancé will be your spouse.”
“Maybe I could have a bit more time to get used to the fiancé angle before we jump into marriage?” she asked hopefully.
“Take all the time you need. After re-introductions, which are about fifteen feet ahead of you, you’ll have the better part of the next hour to get used to the spouse part of the idea. You’ll get through this just fine.”
“Fifteen feet?” Hollan stopped, and Samson ran to her side. She ran a clammy hand self-consciously through her wind-tossed hair. The hot sun beat down on her back. What must her husband-to-be think of her? Did he, too, see the ceremony as “something to get through?” Would he someday mourn his loss of choice in hand-picking a bride in the future? He’d already turned his back on her once. Would he spend the rest of his life regretting her?
She squared her shoulders and moved forward. She wouldn’t be pathetic. Her husband would meet the independent woman who was his future wife.
And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness." 2 Corinthians 12:9
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