by Erica Vetsch
“What does that mean to you?” Ezra looked at Clyde.
“We have a safe place to run when things get tough.”
Annie froze, hoping Ezra wouldn’t call on her for her opinion. She hadn’t even opened her Bible. What did the verse say again? Her hands went cold.
“Annie?”
She shook her head, mind racing. “That’s all right. Nick?”
“We serve such a powerful God that even His name holds safety for us. He has promised never to leave us, and we know that if we are in trouble, He is waiting to help us. He won’t abandon us.”
Abandonment. Annie knew a thing or two about that. Maybe God didn’t abandon good men like Nick or Clyde, or good people like the Batsons, but why hadn’t He saved Neville? Why hadn’t He stopped Mother from losing her reason or Father from shunning Annie after Neville died? Annie’s thoughts whirled like a mini-tornado, memories and old hurts clashing with the words of the verse. “A strong tower. A strong tower.”
Ezra spoke again. “This promise is supported again and again in the Old Testament. I can believe this promise now because God kept His promises to the Israelites way back. Every time they called on Him, He heard them. He was a strong tower for them in their times of trouble. He never once left them, and He won’t leave us either. All we have to do is run to Him. I take great comfort in that.”
Imogen nodded, her face peaceful and loving, eyes intent on her husband.
Sure, she can agree with him. Ezra adores her. They’ve been together a long time. He’s never abandoned her. Annie feared she would never know that closeness with anyone. Certainly not with someone her father chose for her out of greediness for money and power.
At Ezra’s bidding, Clyde stood and picked up his guitar. With a nod to Imogen, he put his foot on the low table and settled the instrument on his knee. He strummed the strings, sending music vibrating through the room. In a clear tenor, he sang a few words of a familiar hymn.
Everyone joined in, Annie doing so automatically, though her thoughts remained on the Bible verse and her reaction to it.
Clyde opened the mailbag for everyone, a treat put off in the busyness of yesterday to be savored in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon.
Annie knew there would be nothing for her since she’d only just arrived at the island, though she couldn’t help but catch some of the excitement from the others.
Clyde received a package and letter from his mother in Superior. “Socks. She knows me well.” Clyde held up a handful of gray wool. “And Pa’s got a new job at Kennebrae Shipping. He’s working on the Bethany. Guess they were able to salvage her.”
Nick had a letter he tucked into his pocket without reading. He must want privacy. Annie could appreciate that. Was it from a sweetheart at home? She couldn’t tell. He didn’t look particularly eager to read the letter, nor excited about the sender. Surely if it was from a girl, he’d be less grim.
She chided herself for being so inquisitive and turned her attention to Imogen. Imogen received two letters and Ezra one.
Then there were the papers. Everyone took a Duluth newspaper, regardless of the date, and began reading. Annie found herself looking at yesterday’s paper. She smoothed the crisp pages in her lap then held them up to hide her smile. At home, Father never would’ve approved of Annie reading the newspaper. Such behavior was unbecoming to a lady. She wondered at how much her life had changed in just a single week. Washing dishes, folding clothes, sweeping floors, and now reading newspapers.
Annie’s eyes finally focused on the article under the masthead:
LOCAL HEIRESS DISAPPEARS
Anastasia Fairfax Michaels, only daughter and heir to Phillip Michaels, was reported missing early Friday morning. Phillip Michaels, owner of Michaels Mining and Manufacturing, reportedly worth more than one hundred million dollars, told police early yesterday morning that his daughter had disappeared from their Skyline Parkway mansion. Anastasia (19), a recent graduate of the Duluth Ladies’ Academy, stands to inherit the Michaels fortune someday. The family is distraught. Michaels told this reporter his daughter was betrothed to a prominent Duluth businessman, though the formal announcement had yet to be made. Michaels refused to give us the name of the groom-to-be at this time.
Authorities are baffled by the case. So far, no ransom demand has been made and no plausible theories as to how a kidnap could have occurred have been put forth. Is this a kidnapping? Or did the young lady elope?
When the possibility of his daughter’s running away was broached, Michaels became violently angry, shouting at reporters and police alike. “She wouldn’t do anything so foolish. All her things are here, even her jewelry. If she ran away, why didn’t she take them with her? I demand you find her and bring her back. I’ll pay five thousand dollars’ reward to anyone who will help get my daughter back.” He then ordered his footmen to escort all news personnel off his property.
Annie glanced up.
No one looked at her. All were engrossed in their reading.
She stood. “I believe I’ll take this upstairs to finish reading.” Her pulse throbbed in her throat. The paper shook in her hands.
She reached her bedroom and leaned against the closed door. She quickly scanned the article again. Annie hadn’t thought about the press or the police when she’d fled, only escaping her father’s marriage plans for her. Leaving everything behind and being outfitted by Hazel in ordinary clothes, not even writing a note to anyone, had all been necessary to her escape. Just getting away wouldn’t have been enough. She had to get away without anyone knowing her whereabouts. Well, no one but Hazel, and she’d never tell.
That must be why Hazel hadn’t told the police it wasn’t a kidnapping. She could hardly say she knew Annie had fled without saying she also knew where Annie had gone. Anyway, Hazel was probably on her way to Hibbing to that retirement cottage promised to her by Father.
Father. Annie rolled her eyes. Just like him to demand people help him then throw them out. And she couldn’t believe he’d mentioned the betrothal. How could he still be planning the wedding when she wasn’t even there? “I bet if I showed up in Duluth today, he’d have me married by tomorrow.”
Guilt gnawed at her for causing such a fuss. Surely all the uproar would die down in a week or so, wouldn’t it? She folded the paper, wondering where to hide it. Another headline below the fold caught her eye. SALVAGE CONTINUES ON KENNEBRAE BETHANY.” Evidently the Bethany’s captain had left Duluth. Poor fellow, she didn’t blame him. Folks would be talking about the wreck of the Bethany for years to come. Annie finished the article and stuffed the paper into a drawer. She’d take it down to the kitchen before breakfast tomorrow and burn it. It just wouldn’t do for anyone here to see it. They’d make the connection between Anastasia Fairfax Michaels and Annie Fairfax in two blasts of a foghorn.
nine
Nick pumped air into the fuel tanks to pressurize them to the proper level. He tested them, a fine mist of kerosene spraying out of the nozzle. Perfect. He shielded his eyes and lit the oil-vapor lamps inside the lens. The lantern deck burst into white hot light.
One last squinting glance around the edge of his hand to confirm all was well and Nick clanged down the spiral staircase to the bottom of the tower. He checked the chains in the column then wound them slowly and evenly, cranking at a steady pace to ensure they didn’t tangle. He checked his watch then engaged the gears. The light above began to revolve. He watched for four complete revolutions, timing them with his pocket watch. Perfect, one flash every ten seconds.
The chair creaked familiarly beneath him. He scooted it up to the desk and reached for his pen to update the log.
Tanks pumped and lantern lit at 7:34. Chains wound and light timed. Weather clear, slight breeze from the northeast. Three ships sighted before dusk, one ore carrier and one lumber boat with hooker in tow. N. Kennebr—
He stopped in frustration. He’d almost signed his real name. He dipped his pen into the ink and deliberately let a blob fall on his signa
ture. Good thing he’d noticed his slip. Ezra might ask some awkward questions.
Rules dictated every action taken concerning the light be logged while on watch. Past logs entries made for some interesting reading. The first keeper here, a man named Orrin Olden, was particularly wordy. His entries spoke of bad weather, a ship just off the coast whose boiler exploded, causing the ship to go down so quickly the keeper didn’t even have time to launch a rowboat to save anyone aboard. One entry told of a lightning storm over the island. Not even the lightning rods on the tower kept bolts from striking the buildings. Nick flipped back to that entry.
Terrible lightning storm last night. Windows broke in the tower, but the lens, thank the Lord, is still intact. Lightning shot out of the faucets and raced in fist-sized balls across the floor and into the parlor. By far the strangest oddity of the storm was the lard bucket I’d set beside the downspout on the corner of the house. When I looked at it this morning, it had hundreds of tiny holes pierced through it. Guess I won’t be using that as my bait bucket anymore. –Orrin Olden.
Nick flipped back to the current page and signed “Nick Kennedy” next to the ink blotch. He checked the wall clock, then his watch, then stepped outside.
Clyde sat on the back porch of the Batsons’ house, strumming his guitar and singing. In the twilight, Nick picked out Annie’s form leaning against a porch post, her hair pale in the growing dusk. Every ten seconds the soft edge-glow of the lighthouse’s beam circled overhead, briefly illuminating the Batsons sitting on the porch swing.
An owl hooted in the trees behind the house, preparing for his night hunt. From below the cliff, a fish jumped, flopping into the water with a smack. Must have been a big one. Perhaps Nick could find a little time tomorrow to fish off the dock, though he wondered what Annie would do if he presented her with a half dozen fish to cook.
Had that last rotation of the light been slow? Nick counted, waiting for the next flash to hit the chimney of the house. Eleven. He’d better check. He was probably counting too fast.
He stepped into the tower and held his watch to the wall sconce. Eleven, almost twelve. A quick check told him the weights weren’t fouled in the shaft nor were the cables tangled. The rotations continued, but each was just a few seconds slow.
Ezra arrived before Nick got halfway up the stairs. “Is the light slow?”
“Yes, I’m just headed up to check on the mechanism from up there.” Nick shielded his eyes when he reached the lantern deck and ducked down to observe the clockworks at the base of the light. The hot smell of burning kerosene filled his nose. The heat generated by the lantern was intense, though much of it drifted up through the vent ball in the roof. He saw nothing wrong. The light hurt his eyes even though he tried not to look at it.
He rejoined Ezra in the watch room. “I can’t tell. Everything seems to be running well. We won’t be able to tear it apart and look at it until tomorrow.” Nick blinked, still seeing spots.
Ezra stroked his chin. “We’ll have to turn it by hand then. I’ll get Clyde.”
Nick rolled up his sleeves, turning back the cuffs in precise folds. It was going to be a long night. He looked up when Ezra returned with Clyde. Nick jumped to his feet when Annie entered the watch room.
Ezra crossed his arms. “I’ve decided we’ll work in shifts. Nick, you’ll take the first watch. Annie has volunteered to keep the time for you. We’ll alternate two-hour watches until daylight. Annie”—he turned to her, handing her a marine stopwatch—“ten seconds exactly for each flash of the light, twenty for the clamshell to turn once around completely, right?”
She nodded, her dark eyes appearing black in the light from the wall sconce.
Ezra and Clyde left to try to get some sleep before their watch, leaving Nick and Annie alone in the watch room.
Nick studied her then picked up the chair from the desk and took it into the tower. He set it along the wall under a lamp for her.
She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and sat down. “How do you want me to do this?” Two narrow vertical lines appeared between her eyebrows. Her bottom lip disappeared behind her upper teeth.
“Count out the seconds. You’ll have to do it loud enough that I can hear. I’ll be turning this crank.” He motioned to the lever. “It’s attached to the gears that turn the light.”
“Why is it so important that the light flash at ten second intervals? What’s wrong with eleven or twelve? Isn’t the fact that the light is shining at all enough?”
Nick began the process of disengaging the chains and weights from the gears. “Every light on the lake has its own signal, its own timing, and its own color. Some of the lanterns are green, some are white, some are red. The precise timing of the light lets mariners know which light they are near. There’s a whale of difference between, say, the lighthouse at Two Harbors and the lighthouse at Devil’s Island. If the captain doesn’t know or can’t tell the difference, just having the light won’t be enough to keep him from running aground if he thinks he is somewhere he’s not. Even then, you can’t always avert disaster. A lighthouse shouldn’t give a captain a feeling of safety. It should increase his awareness of danger.”
“It makes me think of all the ships that were lost last fall. Remember the Bethany? Her captain was within sight of the Duluth Harbor Light when he ran aground. All winter that ship sat there in the ice. I wonder what happened to that captain.”
Nick bent to the lever without answering her. Guilt, shame, anger, everything he’d been trying to escape by coming to Sutton Island was trapped within his chest. “Start counting.”
“Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One, two, three …” Annie continued to count aloud. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she longed for a cup of hot tea.
Nick bent over the crank, turning, turning, turning, never stopping. Sweat dripped from his forehead and patches soaked the back of his white shirt, sticking it to muscles that moved and rippled with each turn.
Annie tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and wiggled her toes in her boots. The temperature had dropped as the hours passed. Soon she would be able to see her breath. Sitting in a stone-and-iron tower during a Lake Superior April night was enough to bring on pneumonia.
“Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One, two, three, four …” This is how people go insane. Whoever says lighthouse keepers’ jobs are easy is a fool. They were on watch every hour of every day. What made them choose this work? They had to be men of extraordinary commitment. Men who wouldn’t run away when things got tough. Not like her father—
She shut that line of thought down and concentrated on counting. And she watched Nick.
Nick would be a good husband. He was kind, honorable, and hardworking. He loved God and never shirked a duty. Imogen sang his praises, and Ezra and Clyde got along with him so well. And a girl would have to be blind not to see how handsome he was. His behavior toward Annie had been perfect. Well, except for a little teasing about her cooking, but only the once. Yes, he would be a good husband.
“Nine, ten. One, two …” Not like the worm her father had chosen for her. Annie envisioned a miserly, middle-aged grump with bad breath and thinning hair. He probably smoked foul-smelling cigars and maybe even wore a monocle. He’d drone on endlessly about capital ventures and voting shares when he bothered to speak to her at all. She would be expected to run his house smoothly, see to all his comforts, and, above all, produce an heir and preferably a spare within the first five years of marriage. As a proper wife, she would be required to attend such functions as he permitted and to overlook all his faults, particularly those involving breaking the seventh commandment. And he would magnanimously overlook her past sins so he could get his grubby mitts on her inheritance. Annie’s fingers gripped the stopwatch so hard, her hand shook.
“Five, six, seven …” If her father had chosen a man like Nick instead of some spineless grub with dollar signs in his eyes, she never would’ve fled Michaelton House. But no man of Nick�
�s fine character would want to be mixed up with someone like her, money or no money.
“We’ll take over now.” Annie looked up to see Clyde taking over the crank and Ezra reaching for the watch.
Annie handed it over and attempted to rise. Her muscles had stiffened in the cold and inactivity. Pain pressed into her lower back like pushpins. Her feet were blocks of ice.
Nick held out his hand to help her rise. “You look worn out. We’d best go get some sleep before we have to come back in a couple hours and do it all over again.” He brushed a lock of hair off her cheek, the contact of his fingers on her skin sending spiraling jitters through her middle.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she told herself not to be silly, he was just being kind. She had let her imagination get away from her a bit, that was all. Her mouth trembled into a smile. “Good idea. I’ll set my alarm clock.”
They had gone only a few steps toward the door when a crash and shattering of glass sounded over their heads.
“What in the world?” Ezra stopped counting. “The lens!” He shot up from the chair and hurried up the stairs.
Nick was only a few steps behind him.
Annie and Clyde stared at each other. A second thud, then a third ricocheted down the spiral steps. Annie could stand it no longer. She grabbed up her long skirts and ran to the stairs.
She reached the lantern deck. The beacon blazed, momentarily blinding her. She cried out and threw up her hands. At her feet on the top step a bundle of feathers flopped weakly. Glass shards peppered the floor. Another thud and another pelted the glass. “What is it?” She had to shout to be heard above the sound of a hundred wings.
“A bird barrage.” Ezra held the door to the catwalk for Nick to squeeze through. “Get below.”
“Let me help. What can I do?” A Canada goose flew through the open window and crashed into the center prism of the light. Glass rattled, but nothing broke.