Chapter 5 - The Whisper in the Dark
"The one in the cradle," Walter said. "The one you won't look at."
Caroline stood up, her knees cracking in the quiet room. She looked toward the parlor doorway as if she wanted to run, but her legs seemed to have lost their marrow.
"I don't know anything about a baby," she said, her voice rising slightly.
"You were under the awning," Walter said. "The night of the storm. I saw you. I didn't realize who you were then, but I remember the coat. The yellow slicker."
She reached out and gripped the edge of the dining table, her fingers turning white against the polished wood. "I was just walking. It was raining."
"You left the music box," Walter said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The one with the bluebird. Your father made those, didn't he? He used to put the music boxes inside the small cedar chests he sold at the ferry dock."
Caroline let out a sound—not a cry, but a small, dry gasp, like someone who had been hit in the chest. She sat down on the bench by the hearth, her head falling into her hands. Her hair fell over her fingers, hiding her face completely.
"She was going to die," Caroline whispered. Her voice was so thin Walter had to lean forward to hear her. "My landlord... he said if she didn't stop crying, he’d put us both out on the street. I didn't have any oil for the heater. It was forty degrees in that room, Walter. The walls were wet."
Walter did not move. He stood three feet away, his hands at his sides.
"Who is her father?" he asked.
"He’s gone," she said, her head still in her hands. "He was a deckhand on the trawler Lady Grace. He went out in August and never came back to the harbor. He doesn't even know. He didn't want to know."
"Why did you leave her behind my office?"
"Because you were there," she said, looking up now, her eyes red and swimming with tears that did not fall. "Every night when the storm came, I saw your truck. I knew you checked the annex. I knew you had Margaret. I knew you had this house. I knew you’d find her before the water got to her."
She stood up, her small body shaking under the grey sweater. "I didn't want to lose her. I just wanted her to be warm. I thought if I could get a job here... if I could be close to her... I could see if she was alright. Just for a little while. Until I could find a place with a stove."
She walked toward the parlor door, her steps halting.
Walter followed her.
In the parlor, the brass lamp was off, but the light from the hall fell across the cradle. Emma was awake now, her small arms waving in the air as if she were trying to catch the dust motes floating in the light.
Caroline stopped at the edge of the rug. She did not go near the cradle. She simply stood there, her chest heaving, her hands tucked into her sleeves.
"I’m sorry, Emma," she whispered.
The words were the same ones she had whispered to herself every night for six weeks. They were the words that had kept her standing in the rain while the ambulance lights went by.
Walter looked from the mother to the child. He saw the same curve of the forehead, the same slight, straight nose.
May you like
"She has your father's brow," Walter said.
Caroline didn't answer. She turned and ran out the back door, her boots clattering on the heart-pine floor, leaving the scent of vinegar and lemon oil behind her in the dark.
