The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,110

and not all couples could do what we did. But we had your father’s courage and my perseverance. And hope arrived, in the form of you, Tom. I fell pregnant. You were unplanned—I’ll admit it. But you were a wonderful and fitting motivation for our recovery.’

Mary continued with her story, watching the attentive looks on the faces of her sons. She described Rose’s selfishness. Her laziness. The way she did little to help Jack around the house while Mary was in hospital. How Rose was more of an impediment to Jack than an assistant. She gave them a coloured truth.

Coloured truth, she believed, was far less sinful than a direct lie.

They had received an early storm warning from Maatsuyker Island to the south-west of Cape Bruny. Radio communication between the three south-eastern lights—Bruny, Maatsuyker and Tasman Islands—was a regular part of the daily routine. But even before the warning, they’d known the storm was coming. Purple clouds had been massing to the south all morning and the mountains of mainland Tasmania were obscured by a darkness that only came with heavy rains. By early afternoon, the skies were dark as dusk and the wind was shrieking.

From the moment they’d received the message from Maatsuyker, Jack and the head keeper had been skating over the cape, checking that everything was tied down. The grounds were always meticulously tidy, but they were worried about damage if the storm lived up to its potential. While the men were busy, Mary worked with Jan and Gary, bringing toys and bikes inside off the verandah. The cow was pleased to be led into the shed but they were unable to catch the pony. He was excited and skittish in the wind, galloping wildly across the slope, charging through each attempt to secure him. As the wind escalated, Mary and the children retreated to the cottage.

Jack dived in for a restless lunch, tossing back sandwiches and tea. His eyes were fastened on the window and the racing clouds. Little was said. Spattering rain was blowing in and out. He left quickly, hurrying to finish his tasks. Within the cottage, Mary knew they were safe; it had been built to withstand immense storms. And the light, too, had been constructed to stand for eternity. Jack would be safe up there.

For a while, she sat in the lounge room with the children, trying to knit. Gary was on the floor working on a piece of wood he’d been carving for days and Jan was curled up on a chair, reading a book. Outside, the wind gusted and shuddered under the eaves, whistling around the walls and pressing under the door. Eventually, Mary set her knitting aside and went to the kitchen where she could watch the tower. Jack was up there somewhere, observing the weather, like her.

She wished this thought might give her comfort, but the vibe between them had not been good lately. She couldn’t remember how long it was since they’d turned to each other in intimacy—Jack had locked that part of himself away. And they hadn’t talked about anything of consequence for months. At the dinner table, they kept up appearances for the benefit of the children, but beyond that it seemed there was little love left. And yet, there must be something in her that cared for his well-being. In threatening conditions like this, she still worried that he might be injured. He was her husband, and she felt loyalty towards him, even though their relationship was hollow.

She watched as the rain arrived in large fat drops, slung into long smudges on the windows. Her view of the hill became bleary, and the tower seemed bent and twisted. Time moved slowly as she watched the clouds sink and the raindrops thicken. Halfway down the paddock, the pony huddled against the wind, his tail pressed into the rain. She felt sorry for him, alone out there when he could have been in the protection of the shed. Perhaps he’d let her catch him now. She set the kettle on the warmer and pulled on her coat and hat, calling to Jan and Gary not to venture outside. On the porch, she paused to listen to the wind roaring across the cape and the sheds banging and clattering in the blast, the rain pounding on tin. Then she hurried to the paddock. It’d be best to get this job over quickly and retreat inside.

The pony hadn’t moved. He was standing by the fence, and as she