Argider looked out at the dark sea, at the waves Esma had just battled to rescue two men that had no business being out there, and cursed under his breath. He felt powerless, not only because he could do nothing to help Esma in her rescue attempt, but also because he had witnessed firsthand her reckless desire to help others at the cost of her own well-being. It reminded him of a conversation he'd had with Dr. Faron in Calmeni harbor several weeks prior.
Dr. Faron had been surprisingly amicable, perhaps realizing that Argider was at Aselada Island to stay, and asked how his leg had healed and how he was finding the region. The two of them had a short conversation, which Dr. Faron ended with the ominous advice to "make Esma take care of herself."
"Pardon?"
"Esma works far too hard, especially during the long winter nights. She has taken ill some winters, but refused treatment, committed as she is to her work. Perhaps now that you're there, she will push herself less, but, alas, I don't think that will be the case."
Argider grinned. "I have noticed her stubborn streak."
"But have you found a way to break it?"
"I don't think that's possible."
Dr. Faron laughed—Argider had thought him incapable of laughter—and shook his head. "Then you'd best develop a stubborn streak of your own. Make her rest, and both of you, look after each other."
Dr. Faron took his leave and Argider returned to the boat with his packages, perplexed by their interaction. Truly, Esma was stubborn, and relentlessly devoted to her work in the lighthouse, but would she really allow it to take priority over her own health?
He had gotten his answer tonight.
And with the morning light, Esma only emphasized it.
She woke as he was climbing into bed, and he immediately noticed that she did not look well. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, and she absently clutched at her forehead.
"Are you feeling ill?" he asked.
She frowned. "I don't think so. I might need more sleep. Is it morning already?"
"Well into it. I took care of the lenses and the lantern, wound the clockwork. Come on, lie down again. You need rest."
When she did, he could feel the heat radiating from her body. He placed a hand on her forehead and drew it away; she was feverish.
"I'll be fine," Esma murmured when he mentioned it. "I can sleep it off."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple."
She kicked her feet free of the blanket. "It's always worked for me before."
He settled down beside her and wondered with a grin if "stubborn" was a strong enough word to describe her.
Perhaps not, he realized that evening, when he climbed to the lantern room to find Esma scurrying around up there, checking his work from the morning and preparing for the first watch. She greeted him brightly, but the flush had not left her face, and he noticed her pause mid-movement now and again to catch her breath.
"You should be resting," he told her. "I can take care of things here."
"Don't worry about me," she said. "This happens every winter. As long as I keep moving, I'll get better."
"I'm sure Dr. Faron would disagree."
"So would quite a few other people. But I know myself; activity works best for me. If I lie down, I may never get back up."
Argider narrowed his eyes, a possible explanation creeping into his mind like a shadow. "Does this have something to do with Julen?"
"No. Well, perhaps. He was such a strong man, full of energy. Then he took ill and took to bed...and he never got up." Esma checked the lantern fuel for the third time, and finally lit the wick.
"You know it wasn't the taking to bed that killed him."
"Yes, but that's the kinder version I want to believe."
"Kinder?"
"It wasn't taking to bed, it was my own damned negligence." Esma stopped working, clenched her jaw, and looked away. "I saw that he was ill; I thought it was just a cold. I saw him get weaker, but I still believed him when he said he would fight it off. It wasn't until he was bedridden that I admitted his condition was serious enough to warrant the doctor, and by then...by then, it was too late."
Argider placed a hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up. She glanced at him, then averted her eyes again.
"Don't you realize," he said, "that you are doing the same thing to yourself?"
"I realize it."
"Then, why?"
"It's only fair."
Argider frowned. "You're punishing yourself."
"Someone has to take responsibility."
"It doesn't always have to be you!"
Esma scoffed. "That's an interesting statement, coming from you."
"I know I do the same thing. I've been doing it my entire life, and I'm finally starting to understand that it does no good. I can't change what other people choose to do, nor can I go back in time to avoid tragedy." He sighed. "And that's what Julen's death was, a tragedy. Neither of you expected the situation to get that bad. You didn't neglect him, Esma."
"You wouldn't know."
"Yes, I would." He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, noticing how warm her skin still was. "I know because of how you treated me. You're kind, Esma. You're helpful. You care. You care too much to leave a stranger to die in a storm; there is no way you can convince me that you didn't do what you could to help the man you loved."
Esma's lower lip trembled, and she blinked away tears, one of which escaped down her cheek to Argider's hand. "Just this watch," she said. "Let me take the first watch, and if I don't feel better, then I'll take to bed."
"All right. Would you like me to stay with you?"
"No, thank you. I'll be fine."
Argider didn't press the issue further, but cast a dubious eye toward the clouds that had blotted out the sunset. He retreated to the kitchen to eat supper, then quietly climbed back up to the lantern room, prepared to deflect any of her stubborn protests with good humor. But when he arrived, he found her pressing her hands and forehead against the window, her breath fogging the glass, her eyes wide, staring at nothing. Outside, it had begun to rain, but Esma didn't seem to notice. She didn't even hear Argider approach, and jumped when he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You need to lie down," he told her, then touched her cheek and immediately drew back. Her fever had intensified. She looked at him wearily and shook her head.
"My watch isn't over yet."
"Yes, it is. Now, let's get you to bed."
"Still have work to do."
"Even if you did, you're in no condition to do it."
She seemed to agree with him at last and allowed him to lead her toward the stairs. Once there, however, she stopped and squinted at the floor.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm a bit dizzy, is all," she replied. She stretched one foot out to gauge the distance to the step below, then pulled back. "I can rest here."
"Nonsense. I'll carry you to the bedroom." He stooped to pick her up and she pushed his hands away.
"You need to keep watch. The weather got worse." She sat on the top step and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'll be fine. Take care of the sea." But as she finished speaking, she slumped to the side, groaning and clutching her upper arms.
She insisted she was fine, again, but when Argider tried to pick her up, he noticed that her skin felt even hotter than before. She wasn't getting better; she was rapidly getting worse. Even with bedrest and water, he had no way of knowing if she would wake in the morning.
"I need to go for Dr. Faron," he said, helping her lie down.
"You need to keep watch!"
"The lantern is lit, and there are no ships as far as I can see. I'll be back soon." He started down the stairs, but returned when he heard her call out after him.
"The oilskin," she said, swallowing hard. "Make sure to wear one. Please."
"I will." Grabbing a coat and oilskin from the rack beside the door, he stepped out into the wind and rain. It was a terrible night for sailing, a much worse one for rowing, but he had no choice. He ran to the beach, unmoored the little boat, and set out into the strait.
The waves tossed the boat one way and another, and he maintained a white-knuckled grip on the oars just to stay upright. The rain lashed his oilskin and his face, and he struggled to make out the edge of the mainland coast. He focused instead on the lights of the harbor and let them guide him into Calmeni.
Once he arrived, his stomach knotted as he realized that he did not know where Dr. Faron's office was, much less where he lived. He asked the clerks closing up the general store, but they could only give him vague directions, which he followed until he found himself hopelessly lost in this town he hardly knew and which, in the midst of the storm, was all but deserted.
A cold gust of wind whipped the hood of his oilskin off his head, and he shivered, then thought of Esma back at the lighthouse, shivering for a completely different reason. The knot progressed from his stomach to his heart, and, out of options, he began knocking on doors.
Most people did not answer, and those that did gave him directions for the next street or two, but no more. And so, he ran through the wet streets of Calmeni, slipping on the cobblestones, knocking on doors, and gathering short directions, until he came to Dr. Faron's office, in the apartment above which, the doctor lived. The office had closed for the day, but there was a light in the upper window, so Argider knocked on the door.
No answer.
He drew his arm back and pounded on the door with his fist. Even as he heard the window above him open, he continued pounding.
"What is that racket?" Dr. Faron called down. "The office is closed! Call again tomorrow."
"I might not have that time!" Argider shouted back. "It's an emergency."
At the word, Dr. Faron retreated from the window. Argider waited for a few moments, then, with no sign of the doctor, began to pound on the door again.
"Enough," Dr. Faron cried, and opened the door. "I'm here, what is—oh. You're that sailor."
"Argider."
Dr. Faron's eyes widened. "What is the emergency? Is Esma well?"
"Not at all. She has a high fever and complains of dizziness. I tried to get her to rest earlier, but—"
"Just as I told you. She works so hard, it's as if the woman is punishing herself for something."
Argider looked away. Even Dr. Faron could see what Esma was doing to herself.
"Give me several minutes," Dr. Faron went on, "and I will be right back." He glanced out the window and raised his eyebrows. "Will we be able to get to the island in this storm?"
"I made it all the way here. We have to get back."
"Very well."
The westerly winds made the trip back to Aselada Island easier than the trip out. Argider still held tight to the oars, but was able to let the waves guide him toward the island's shore. Throughout the short trip, Dr. Faron clutched his bag to his chest and alternately muttered curses and prayers.
Argider did not stop to take off his coat and oilskin when they arrived at the lighthouse, and instead, bolted up the stairs to check on Esma. He found her seated at the top step of the lantern room, flushed and weak. Still, she smiled when she saw him.
"You made it," she said.
"Of course I did! I've brought Dr. Faron with me..." Argider glanced down the stairs, watching the doctor ascend at a leisurely pace. "He'll get here, in time."
Esma laughed. "I've never known him to rush."
"Then you should have seen him tonight." Argider looked out the windows, as far as he could see, for approaching ships. There was none; a small mercy on a night like this.
He sat down beside Esma as Dr. Faron took her temperature and asked about other symptoms. The doctor concluded that her most serious condition was her high fever and administered medication to treat it. He and Argider helped Esma to bed, where she fell asleep within minutes, still smiling.
"Headstrong woman," Dr. Faron observed. "Got it from her father. I'm glad she found someone else to press the issue when she is in serious need of help."
"I couldn't let her suffer." Argider brushed stray strands of hair from Esma's forehead. "I had to do something, whether she wanted me to or not."
"You truly care about her."
"Absolutely. She saved my life, then taught me what life was."
"I never would have foreseen this that night you were howling about your ankle."
"That was perhaps the best thing that ever happened to me."
Dr. Faron grinned and shook his head. "Well, then. I trust that Esma will be just fine, even better, in your capable hands. Now, all that remains is the little matter of my return to Calmeni. I am an old man and need my rest. How long do you suppose this storm might last?"
"I haven't seen any clearing, so it's got at least a few hours left in it." Argider noticed Dr. Faron's frown and brightened. "But you are welcome to spend the night in the cabin."
"That derelict building?"
"Derelict no longer. We've repaired it."
"Repaired?" Dr. Faron thought this over. "There are different standards to the word," he said at last, "but I suppose I might as well see it for myself."
Argider led the way from the lighthouse to the cabin and smiled at Dr. Faron's surprised expression when he crossed the threshold. The furniture was clean and inviting, and the odds and ends Argider and Esma had collected over the past months filled the mantelpiece. The kitchen cabinets were larger and brightened with a new coat of paint, the plush chair had been mended and draped with a thick blanket. The bookcase had finally been filled with new acquisitions from Calmeni and abroad, and the fireplace was clean and stocked with wood, ready to warm whoever sat before it.
Most importantly, the little bedroom on the west side of the cabin, the one reserved for guests and the one in which Argider spent his first few weeks on the island, was clean and decorated, its bed laid with fresh linens and a colorful quilt.
"It's as if I have stepped back in time," Dr. Faron muttered. "When the Abaroas still lived here. It's not exactly the same, of course, but the atmosphere... Tell me, Argider, did you do this?"
"Esma and I both."
"How did you persuade her to? For years, she's told me she was content to let this place go."
"I simply offered to help repair it."
"That's it?"
"She chose to help me of her own accord."
Dr. Faron looked skeptical.
"Have you ever talked to her?" Argider asked. "Really sat down and talked?"
"Esma is not the most forthcoming person."
"I know. But when she does open up, she's amazing. The kindest heart I've known. Biggest, too; it's as if she has an endless capacity for love." Argider grinned. "Thank you for leaving me here, Doctor."
"It wasn't my decision."
"Thank you for letting Esma make that decision for you, then." He turned toward the fireplace. "Shall I start a fire for you?"
"No, thank you. I will be all right beneath the blankets. Return to the lighthouse. Remember, you've got two watches tonight. Watch them well."
"You needn't even ask."
* * *
Esma was hard at work in the garden by the time Argider descended the lighthouse, planting wildflowers she'd dug up by the roots. The spring breeze fluttered the sleeves of her dress and snatched a few petals from her hands.
"Everything finished?" she asked, without looking up.
"Lenses polished, lantern filled, wick trimmed," he answered, crouching beside her to examine the flowers. "Thank goodness for clear mornings."
"I feel strange not spending every night up there. I worry I might be taking advantage of you."
"It's my pleasure. I love the sea; watching it all night is no hardship for me."
"Do you miss being on it?"
Argider took the trowel and began digging another hole in the soil. "Sometimes, but then it's simply the sensation of being on the water that I miss. All the time I spent on ships, on docks, I wasn't there because of the sea; I was there because I was looking for something. Someone. A place to call home." He grinned. "Now that I've found those, there's nothing left to look for."
"So," Esma said, patting the soil around the flowers, "you truly are content?"
"How could I not be?" He watched her until she raised her eyes to his. "All my life, I thought home was a place. I thought I would sail into a new port and suddenly find it, a place I belonged. But now I understand it's not a place at all; it's a feeling, a person I want to be with.
"Home... home is where you hold me."
A brilliant smile spread across Esma's face, and she pulled him into a close embrace. He inhaled slowly, the scents of Esma's hair and the sea and the soil soothing his heart, the warmth of Esma's body holding him in place, in a place he finally belonged.
"No," she whispered, a playful lilt to her voice, "it's not. Home is where we hold each other."
They remained in one another's arms in the garden, letting the sunlight warm their faces and encourage the little sprout at the base of the trellis to grow, to climb, to entwine, like the two lost hearts who had found each other, not so long ago.