By Martha Patterson                         

The wind whipped her bonnet strings as Anne walked along the pebbled beach.  She’d walked two miles, as was her habit every day, but the weather threatened and waves crashing on the beach were fiercer than usual.  There was a storm coming.

Her father, a sea captain, had just passed away.  She was 32 and motherless – her mother had died while giving birth to her second child, and the baby, a boy, had died as well.  Anne had lived with her “Da” ever since; he’d raised her when not traveling, and tutored her in French and music, for he’d lived in Paris before his marriage and was a talented amateur violinist.  She’d had few suitors in her life; her father in his elder years had required too much attention. 

Right now she gazed out over gray waves to dark clouds gathering in the west.  She ought to make her way home at this hour and in this weather; it was six o’clock, time for supper, and the cook would be waiting for her.  A gale arose and Anne had trouble keeping her shawl around her shoulders.  Suddenly a man appeared in the distance, striding rapidly and swinging a walking stick.  He seemed about her age and was dressed in a blue frock coat and black breeches.  As he came near he spoke.

“You’re out in bad weather, Miss!” he said, tipping his stovepipe hat.

“I walk here every day,” she replied, smiling.  “I love the sea.”

He was handsome and clean-shaven.  He paused for a moment and then spoke again.

“I wonder if you’d be the Anne Hodges I’ve heard of, whose father just passed on?”

“How did you know who I was?” asked Anne, startled.

“I’m a distant cousin.  I got a letter from his solicitor about his death, saying he’d left me a gold signet ring.  I never knew him – he was the nephew of my great-grandfather – but he must have known who I was to remember me in his will.”

Anne leaned closer to this man.  The ocean gale was getting wild and several times as he spoke Anne strained to hear him, his voice getting lost in the wind. 

“How kind of my father,” she said.  “And you already know my name.  What’s yours?”

“Harry Edmonds.  I’ve taken a room at a hotel half a mile from here.  I’ll only be in town for one night.”

“You must come back to our cottage with me and have dinner, then.  It’s that time of evening and I hate to think of you dining alone.  Come with me – the house is just past the dunes.”

“Thanks for your hospitality.”  With his walking stick, Harry pushed a large stone that had been washed onto the sand away.  “This is a rocky beach.  You might sprain an ankle.  And we ought to get out of the wind.  It’s going to rain any moment.”

Together they made their way up through a dune onto the paved seaside street where Anne’s cottage was situated.  She let him in and invited him into the parlor.  The cook appeared, saying supper would be served in half an hour.

“Would you like a glass of sherry?” inquired Anne of Harry.

“To be sure,” he replied, and she poured two glasses full from a decanter. 

“I must say, you’re a lovely woman,” said Harry, gazing at her brown, doe-like eyes that matched her dress. 

“How kind of you,” said Anne.  Just then a bolt of lightning flashed through one of the tall windows and the rumbling of thunder could be heard. 

“You showed up on the beach at the right moment,” he continued.  “I wanted to meet you.  I’d heard such nice things about you, and you’re pretty as a picture.” 

“Are you married?” asked Anne boldly.  She was already taken by Harry’s appearance and manners.

“No, never met the right one.  And I suppose you’re not, either?”

“No,” Anne answered.  “I’ve been busy the past decade taking care of my father.”

“I see.”

Another bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens outside and lit up the room for a second. 

“That storm is really harsh,” said Anne.  “I walk on the beach every day but seldom see weather like this that makes me come inside before I’m ready!” 

Just then, the cook announced dinner.  Anne and Harry ate roast beef together, happy in conversation.

“How will you get back to the hotel?” she asked.

“In a carriage – I saw several on my way while I walked here.  No point in going back on foot in this storm.”

Anne watched him as he smoked a pipe after dinner.  They talked about her father, how gifted a musician he’d been, and of his travels to India and Africa as a sea captain.  Harry spoke of growing up a solitary child like Anne, and she related to the isolation of his youth.

By the time he was ready to leave, Anne felt half-infatuated with Harry, and it must be said he felt the same way about her.  She was gentle and kind, and not without a sense of humor.  They said goodbyes and Harry promised to call on her the next morning before taking the train home.  Anne’s heart fluttered and she ached for him to kiss her on the cheek as they parted – after all, they were distant cousins!  But he didn’t.  Instead, he touched her face gently and brushed a lock of hair that had fallen from her brow over her eyes.  So he was a romantic!

She closed the door and went upstairs with a glad heart.  Gazing out her window to the sea some 100 yards away, she thought it was a stroke of luck she’d met Harry.  It was only because of her father’s death that they’d met, but she felt fortunate nonetheless.  She looked forward to seeing him again the next day.  And she went to sleep that night dreaming of love, passion, and two hearts that beat as one.

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