can be overcome. For now, the light from Wolf Rock acts as a reminder that we remain in this world together.
My love, it is with great courage that I write this letter. I wish you were here so that I could say these things in person, and part of me thinks I should wait. But the truth is that I cannot bear it. Because, Tom, something quite wonderful has happened, although it is terrifying in equal measure. Tom, I think I am having a baby.
I cannot go to see the doctor to confirm this, but I asked Mrs. Clements how she felt when she was pregnant, and all the symptoms she described are exactly how I feel. She was most surprised by my questions, but I don’t think she suspected anything. I hope you are happy with the news. I pray that you are; I know you will make a wonderful and loving father.
I am sure this must come as quite a shock. It has come as a shock to me too. I was very scared when I first realized but then I thought of you, and the promises you have made to me. I remembered that you promised nothing would ever change despite everything that’s happened. I know we are young, and that our families have been tested against each other, but together I think we can do this. I was thinking about names. What was your grandfather called? I thought maybe if we have a girl, I could name her after my mother. Would you mind?
I think about you all the time and cannot wait for your return. Please stay safe. Until you are here I will watch the light and think of you.
Your ever-loving
Elizabeth
Then
Tom had known it was going to be a long night when he saw the fog coming in. He had seen it descend within minutes out here. Sometimes it seemed to simmer up from the calm waters, blanket the lighthouse in a mist so thick you could barely see the breaking waves below. Every five minutes for the rest of the night he would repeat his task, or at least until the fog cleared. It wouldn’t be the first night he hadn’t slept since his arrival; some nights, despite the fact that his bed on the third floor was comfortable and surprisingly warm, he couldn’t settle for the thought of what he had left behind. The last time he’d seen Elizabeth and what he had said. And the things he hadn’t. What good was withholding the truth about the night he saw her mother go into the water if he ended up losing Elizabeth anyway? He felt like the worst person in the world, and all he had tried to do was the right thing. But by whom? Not by himself. Certainly not Elizabeth.
Smoke from the first firing bled into the fog, then Tom descended the spiral staircase from the lantern room. The living room had a small gas stove to boil some water, and dressed in his winter woolens, he found Keeper Robertson already there, tending the pan.
“Thought you could do with one,” he said to Tom as he arrived at the foot of the steps. “I heard the gun. Looks like it’s set in for the foreseeable, don’t you think?”
“You know better than I do, Reg.” Tom pulled his scarf tight, a cool draft licking at his skin, a dampness to the air. The mug of tea tingled as he took it, the steam welcome on his face as he sipped.
“That I do.” Reginald was in his fifties, had been manning Wolf Rock since he was Tom’s age. To watch him maintaining the weights and the lenses was to watch a craftsman oiling his tools. He knew this place inside out, could work with his eyes closed.
“I don’t know how Danny sleeps through it,” Tom said as he took up a seat alongside Reginald. Danny was the third keeper currently stationed on the lighthouse. He was due to leave when the relief boat sailed back in. It would bring letters and supplies, newspapers and fresh food.
“Always can. His first offshore stint was Bishop Rock, and that takes the full brunt of the Atlantic’s moods.” Reg chuckled to himself as he leafed through a three-week-old newspaper. “It’s only just October, and you got yourself until at least the beginning of November here. But don’t worry, lad. She’ll still be there when you get back.” Tom’s eyes widened; he hadn’t told them anything about