A Soul to Keep

By E.A. Wilder

The black and frigid depths are not the only dangers Addie must contend with beneath the cliffs of Rockwell Island.

 

Adeline Baker is unwilling to marry the cruel, vain man her parents have chosen for her and unable to be with the woman she loves. When an embellished application leads to an offer of employment as an assistant lighthouse keeper on Rockwell Island, Maine, Addie runs as fast as she can from her repressive 1860s society life. Secluded on the island with her new sullenly handsome and mysterious employer, Duncan Price, she thinks she has finally found a place she can be herself—but when she cannot stop seeing glimpses of a woman shrouded in black among the cliffs, her idyllic days quickly turn to nightmares. Addie knows Duncan is holding something back, and she must discover the secrets harbored by the island and the man she thought she trusted before it is too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hellebore Publishing
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215283936

Book preview

Chapter one

Addie will be dead in two months.

At least, that’s how it will feel when she has forced the vows from her lips and let the shackle of the filigreed golden ring imprison her third finger, encircling it forever in cold, hard metal. The small, delicate rectangle of paper trembles in her grip at the thought of it. The paper is thin, embellished with scalloped edges, and adorned with an elegant, looping script. Each word reverberates like a clashing cymbal in her mind:

"You are cordially invited to witness the joining of Adeline Eleanor Baker and Charles Blake Danvers III in holy matrimony on Sunday, November 17, 1866."

She sits on one of the many gaudily upholstered settees in the parlor at her home, flanked on either side by her parents and the aforementioned fiancé. One of her mother's favorite China teacups sits daintily on a tiny saucer on her lap, and she stares into the sweet drink, watching the milk swirl around in creamy spirals, as she silently prays to every god from every culture throughout history. Desperately pleading to be anywhere but sitting on the god-awful, uncomfortable couch in the stuffy and increasingly claustrophobic room.

Her family's incessant chatter carries on around her, oblivious to her inner crisis. They throw around ideas, planning for the upcoming ceremony as they have been for what seems like ages, with very little input from her.

Adeline, your gown should arrive from Paris soon. She clasps her hands together with a greedy gleam in her eyes. I cannot wait to see the look on our neighbors’ faces when they see that we've got our hands on a Worth gown. They will all be positively green with envy.

When the wedding planning officially began, Addie suggested something simple for her dress. If they were going to force her to have a wedding, she wanted to wear something understated and forgettable. But her mother was, unsurprisingly, quick to shut down her suggestions. It was far more beneficial to their family's reputation to spend an exorbitant amount of money on an extravagant silk gown designed by Charles Worth in Paris.

Of course, I’ve had my tailor order in the finest doeskin fabric for my trousers. Charles, not one to be outdone, points out his intentions to be dripping in wealth and inspire envy in their guests. I can’t be completely outshone by my bride, now, can I? His lips curl up into that pompous grin that Addie has come to loathe. She would rather bathe in a tub of acid than be forced to face that grin every day for the rest of her life.

Her betrothal to Charles goes back so far, she can hardly remember it happening. Their families have always been close, and the two of them were thrown together at every social function through the years. They attended extravagant balls together and shared Sunday dinners with either her family or his, where there was, thankfully, always a chaperone present. The thought of being alone with him repulses her, akin to sitting down to a charred roast dinner swimming with squirming maggots. However, her feelings never held any sway in her parents' decision-making.

You’ve ordered the gardenias for her bouquet, Cora? Her father asks it in a way that suggests the only correct answer is yes.

Before her mother can reply, Addie says, Actually, I was hoping we could use lilies of the valley instead.

Her father's eyes slide over her face, heavy with disappointment. Are you trying to make us the laughingstock of all of Bangor, Adeline?

She doesn’t know why she even said anything. When they first got engaged, she attempted to make a few suggestions, but at some point, she realized the futility and stopped trying to voice her opinion. It was as if they had all made some sort of secret pact to make sure she knew she wasn’t to be trusted with anything important.

It is painfully obvious to her that every facet of her life up to this point has been preparing her for the prison sentence that lay stretched out before her. She is, of course, allowed and encouraged to have basic reading and writing skills, but they gave far more attention to teaching her the ways of the kept woman. She could pluck out a tune on the pianoforte, could backstitch and hem like a professional seamstress, and her father made it his special mission to water-board her with the proper etiquette of not inserting herself into conversations where she isn’t welcome.

Unfortunately for her, they are the only conversations that she has any interest in being a part of. There is an expansive, exciting world of knowledge and enlightenment out there, and it constantly beckons to her and tantalizes her like a forbidden fruit dangling just out of reach. If it will not serve to help her in her efforts to be a good wife and mother in the future, her family deems it to be useless information.

The very day that Addie turned 18, they set the date for her to marry Charles. Despite her hesitancy, everyone expected her to just accept it and plaster on a smile. Almost two years have passed since then, and every day, she feels as if a bomb lies dormant in her head, counting down the minutes to detonation.

Charles, on the other hand, seems to be very keen on the idea. She glances at him and notes the obvious excitement in his eyes at the thought of all the distinguished guests that will be in attendance at the wedding and the opportunity to impress and delight them. She swears she can see sticky beads of drool forming in the corners of his mouth.

She thought for a time that she could learn to get along with Charles, but she finds she just cannot overcome how the sight of his arrogant face and the sound of his self-righteous voice makes her skin crawl. One look from him and she is suddenly sure that a family of scarabs runs rampant beneath the fair flesh of her arms and neck.

The young ladies in town would never bat an eye if Charles asked them to commit murder for the opportunity to be with him, but after spending so many years forced to be in his presence, Addie knows him better than those other women ever could. What dwells behind those icy blue eyes is an abysmally boring personality and a tendency toward harsh words when he doesn't get his way—qualities that Addie cannot seem to overlook. Their conversations are vapid and unstimulating, and he finds it obscene for her to talk about anything he deems men's business.

He yanks her from her thoughts when he says, Just think, Addie, this time next year we could have a little Charlie Jr. for you to raise. And if we play our cards right, we can add to the number every year. He winks at her, causing her toes to curl in disgust. It will be nice to see you fulfilling your wifely duties.

Her parents chuckle in appreciation of their future son-in-law's witty comment, but Addie feels her breakfast threaten to make an encore performance on the floor in front of her.

A sudden, intense whooshing fills her ears, and her head feels heavy, as if all the blood throughout her body has rushed directly to it, making its home in the ridges of her brain. The edges of her vision tunnel and turn crimson. The corset that she laced loosely that morning suddenly feels like it was made to fit someone with a waist inches smaller than hers. It squeezes her stomach and lungs in a grip like a coiled anaconda, suffocating its prey before devouring it. Her breath comes in short, stuttered gasps as every pair of eyes in the room presses into her, full of concern as they notice the ghostly pallor on her face and the beads of sweat accumulating on her brow.

And then before she can stop it, something else bursts out of her mouth and it isn’t her digested breakfast.

Why am I even here if you won’t let me make any of the decisions? I don’t even want this wedding!

Her mother’s mouth drops open, a hideous gurgling sound bubbling up in the back of her throat. Her father’s eyes narrow to angry slits.

Charles looks at her with a quizzical brow and says, What are you talking about, my darling?

Her mind begins to clear; the red at the edges of her vision recedes, and she looks at Charles with righteous fire behind her eyes. I can’t stand the thought of having your children and being chained to you for the rest of my life.

Jeremiah, do something, her mother pleads with her father, although it's not necessary.

His face adopts the essence of an overripe tomato, fit to burst. Now you just wait one minute, young lady.

No, Father. I mean it; I can’t marry him. Her voice steadies as her courage rises in her chest. She faces her flabbergasted family and her blind-sided betrothed. You never once even asked me if this is what I wanted. I have absolutely no desire to be a wife and a mother! At least not right now… and not with him.

She takes another steadying breath before plowing forward with her seemingly scandalous statement. I’m only twenty years old; I’ve barely done anything with my life! There’s so much more I want to experience before I’m sentenced to a life of monotony and boredom with someone I don’t love. Her eyes flicker over to meet her mother’s horrified gaze. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to end up like you, Mother.

Before she can say another word, a flash of movement registers in the corner of her eye, and a stinging sensation explodes across her left cheek.

Eyes watering, she cradles the hot, screaming flesh, the row of teeth beneath it still vibrating from the impact. She stares at her father with a hatred that has been growing larger with each passing year. He towers over her, his blue veins pulsating, desperate to push through his skin with the pressure of his anger and distaste.

"You will go through with this marriage, whether you like it or not. I will drag you down the aisle by