Heart of the Ocean by Heather B. Moore

mother might have
left behind?”
    Eliza bit her lip. “I don’t think there’s anything to find
in the house, but my aunt did mention a journal by . . . Helena Talbot.”
     “My mother.” He placed a hand on her arm before he realized
what he was doing. “Where is it?”
    Eliza pulled away from him, alarm in her eyes.
    “Sorry,” Jon said. “You don’t know what finding my mother’s
journal would mean to me.” He took a breath. “I don’t know what to believe
about her death. Ruth told me one thing; the villagers say something else.”
    He found himself waiting for her response. Had she already
read the words of his dead mother? Had he divulged too much?
    “My aunt said she found the journal in the lighthouse,”
Eliza said. “Maeve left it there, and that’s why I came today, but I couldn’t
find it. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you more.”
    Jon took a step closer. “Where have you searched?”
    “Only the upstairs room.”
    His mother’s journal was somewhere in the lighthouse! His
mind churned with possibilities. It might have the answers he was looking
for—the location of his birth record, and what really happened to her. He
couldn’t waste another moment; he turned and walked to the lighthouse door.
    “Wait!” Eliza called after him.
    He paused in his step. “Will you help me search, then?” He
hoped his voice didn’t sound too desperate.
    Someone interrupted before she could answer, calling out, “Eliza!”
    Jon turned toward the direction of the voice. A young man was
riding toward them, and by the looks of him, he had to be a Prann boy.
    “I’ve been searching for you,” he called to Eliza. “A storm’s
coming in.”
    The rider looked over at Jon, and their gazes met for a
brief instant. The curiosity was plain in the Prann boy’s expression.
    “I was about to return,” Eliza answered, walking to where
the boy had pulled his horse to a stop.
    The boy climbed off of it and held out his hand toward
Eliza. She took it and said, “What is it, Nathaniel?”
    Jon didn’t like the familiarity he showed toward Eliza. Nathaniel
Prann, it seemed.
    “Your father’s in town,” Nathaniel said.
    Eliza nodded and released his hand. “Yes, I know.”
    “You know?” Nathaniel looked puzzled and cast another glance
in Jon’s direction.
    Eliza shrugged. “I sent him a telegram, didn’t I? I assumed
he might arrive today, as the funeral is tomorrow morning.”
    So she wasn’t going to mention his encounter with her
father, Jon thought. He exhaled and turned away. It also appeared that Eliza
was otherwise occupied and wouldn’t be helping him today after all.
    He stepped into the lighthouse and waited for his eyes to
adjust to the dimness. In the few moments since Nathaniel’s arrival, the sky
had grown even darker.
    Jon climbed the stairs, his footsteps slow and heavy. The
voices outside faded until he could no longer hear them, although that didn’t
stop him from remembering Eliza’s upturned face and Nathaniel’s obvious
interest and concern for her. A rock formed in his stomach. From the loft in
the lighthouse, he was drawn to the window.
    Eliza had mounted the horse she’d brought and was riding
away, followed by Nathaniel in pursuit.
    You fool , Jon chided
himself. Foolish because of the way he had let her make him feel. And foolish
because he was very securely engaged.
    ***
    The day of Aunt Maeve’s funeral dawned misty and gray. By
the time the incoming storm hit land the night before, it had dissipated into a
harmless drizzle. Eliza was still glad Nathaniel had come to fetch her before
she spent more time with Jonathan Porter. The man was confusing—one moment he
was harsh and angry, the next, he was kind to that strange man. Then Jon was
practically pleading with her to help him find his mother’s journal. And why
had he been moody again around Nathaniel?
    “Are you ready, Eliza?” Mistress Prann’s voice came through
the door to the room Eliza shared with