by Lisa Norato
It had been years since he’d heard Nurse Hastings’s pet name for him. Brave Jon. Her sure, gentle hand raised his head. The rim of a cool cup was pressed to his parched lips, and he gulped greedily until the weak, watered wine hit the back of his dry throat and he sputtered, sending some of the liquid rolling down his chin.
“Easy now. Here, take another sip.”
The pain and dizziness began to ease a bit. “How long have I been here?” he asked, as she released him back onto the pillow.
“Have you no recollection of what happened?” asked Captain Moon.
“No. I don’t know. It is … unclear.” He pressed to remember, but his thoughts dissipated as though lost in a fog. His head ached, and concentration required too great an effort. “If I am here, then who is tending the light? Is Lud alone on the island?”
“We need not worry about Pilgrim Light any longer, son.”
Before Johnny could ask what he meant by such a statement, the voice of yet another woman burst upon the scene, announcing, “Captain, excuse me, sir, but Dr. Huxham has arrived.”
“Well, thank goodness, he is here at last,” Iris said.
A cool, moist cloth was pressed to his brow, but any relief he might have started to feel was lost in the anxiety of hearing yet another set of footfalls approach his bed.
“Welcome, Doctor,” said Captain Moon. “Johnny, Dr. Samuel Huxham has come from Duxbury Town to examine you. Sam, I don’t believe you’ve ever met our keeper, have you? This is Jonathan Mayne.”
After a brief exchange of pleasantries and a report on Lud’s condition, which had shown favorable improvement, Captain Moon said, “Out of the room now, ladies, and take Snow with you. Let us allow Johnny privacy.”
“Rest assured, my good lad, Dr. Huxham is a much experienced physician,” said Nurse Hastings in parting.
“We’ll be just outside, Johnny,” Iris called seconds before he heard the door close.
His eyes grew moist with gratitude for their concern and reassurances. Johnny submitted to the physician’s poking and prodding, willing himself to remain patient, when his only real concern was his vision loss. Dr. Huxham asked questions Johnny could not answer, and so Captain Moon explained all that had occurred, for both their benefits.
Johnny began to remember, but only in scattered pieces. He was shocked at the turn of events and couldn’t understand why he didn’t have clear memory of them. Pilgrim Light was gone! The lantern room had been struck by lightning while he’d been making the climb. He vaguely recalled the blast. Apparently the lamps had exploded and their flames burnt the entire wooden lighthouse down to the rubble. The fire took all of his personal possessions. He could scarcely believe it, and yet he was heartened by the quick action of the Nook men in rowing across the bay to the aid of Lud and himself. And this, after they had spent the day dragging frozen survivors off the wrecked barque Vulture.
The Almighty had spared both his and Lud’s life. Gratitude to be alive flowed through his entire being, and Johnny made a mental note to thank Iris for alerting everyone the moment the lightning strike had hit the tower.
Her watchfulness over him, which he had found bewildering, had likely saved his life.
The doctor called for a lighted lantern to be brought. A door creaked open and soon Johnny heard the women returning followed by the soft padding of a dog.
“Hold the lantern up to Mr. Mayne’s face for me, Captain,” the doctor said. “Closer. Yes, that’s good.”
Johnny inhaled the familiar scent of whale oil, and the flame warmed his cheek. He turned his face toward the heat, searching with sightless eyes.
“Can you see anything?” asked Dr. Huxham. “Anything at all?”
“I see shadows, moving about in the darkness.” Faint shadows, but shadows that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“Shadows,” the doctor echoed thoughtfully. “That is good.”
Johnny managed to raise himself. “Good? How so, Doctor? I cannot see.”
“Indeed, Mr. Mayne. You may well have been blinded by the injury you sustained to the back of your head. Perhaps you suffered a hard fall or were struck by an exploding timber. The how is irrelevant. It is the what that raises concern. One thing I know for certain. You have suffered a concussion — an injury to the brain which has caused it to swell. Some memory loss is consistent with a concussion, as is disorientation and headache. All symptoms you clearly exhibit.” The doctor’s sigh carried a depressing tone. “Unfortunately, cases like this are not uncommon. I once attended a similar case with a fellow who was blinded after falling off his horse.”
He was blind? Johnny could hardly conceive of it and yet proof of the tragedy was staring him the face — emptiness.
Responsive to every whisper of sound and the slightest movement, Johnny sensed those around him receive the news with the same shock as he.
All except for Iris. Her strong, clear voice broke their stupefied silence. “But there must be something we can do, surely, Doctor Huxham. There must be some hope for recovery.”
“I honestly do not know, Miss Moon. Injuries to the brain are tricky and delicate conditions, and the body’s healing powers are unpredictable. There are other possible contributing factors to consider as well. Based on what Miss Hastings tells me of the unnatural paleness of your skin when you were brought in, Mr. Mayne, you were quite likely stunned by the lightning strike. Your eyes may also have incurred injury or a scratch from the explosion.”
Doctor Huxham’s somber tone changed to one of awe as he added, “I might point out, you are very fortunate to be alive, sir. A very fortunate fellow indeed.”
Johnny didn’t know which he felt more keenly at the moment, anger or despair, but certainly not fortunate.
He had lost all, including his title. Already, he was being addressed as Mister and no longer Keeper Mayne. Without Pilgrim Light he had nothing. No livelihood, no source of income, no home, no future. Without his sight, he’d no skills to offer an employer. And without an employer, how could he repay his debts? He had no money. Any possessions he’d owned were gone.
And to think, he’d once believed prison was the lowest point he could sink.
A firm hand clasped his shoulder and gave him a firm, reassuring squeeze. “Yours was a narrow escape,” Captain Moon said. “God was merciful in sparing you, and for that I give thanks. You’re not to worry about anything but regaining your strength. You shall remain here at Nook House, as one of us. Indefinitely, if need be.”
God was merciful? Johnny held the captain in too high a regard to contradict him. Neither would he remain under the man’s roof, partaking of his charity, and indulge in self-pity. He didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him, especially the man who had been like a second father to him, the captain he’d idolized as a boy and even now held in the highest regard of any fellow he’d ever known.
He mustn’t give them reason to pity him. Johnny hated to be a burden, but for the present, he would accept his blindness and weakened state without complaint, no matter how much it stung his pride to be reduced to helplessness.
“Thank you, sir.” A sob lodged in his throat but Johnny swallowed it back. “I shall remember my blessings.”
“There’s a brave lad,” whispered Nurse Hastings.
“The fact you can distinguish shadows stands in your favor, Mr. Mayne,” came the doctor’s voice on a lighter note. “I don’t wish to raise false hopes, but if the swollen blood vessels around your eyes are the sole cause in obstructing your vision, then as the swelling goes down, your eyesight could gradually return. In any case, what you need is rest and plenty of it. I am going to bandage your eyes before I leave, for protection and to assure you do not cause them additional strain. After that, we can only wait and see. If something were to happen, I would expect to see improvement in as little as two or three days.”
“And if there is no improvement within that time?” Captain Moon asked the question Johnny could not.
“I won’t mislead yo
u. If that be the case, then it is most likely Mr. Mayne shall remain permanently blind.”
“Then I shall cling to that small hope, Doctor,” Johnny said.
What other choice was left him? He had not the strength to do more than cry out silently to God. Have you spared my life for this? For what purpose? To live as an invalid in a kindly man’s home?
Into his despair came not a voice but a scent — floral, heady and sweet. Lady Moon flew into his thoughts. Was it you who brought me here?
It didn’t make sense. Johnny did not understand what was expected of him, but he could not be guardian to Iris. If danger lurked, it had been for him. And now he could not protect anyone. Not even himself.
Dr. Huxham bandaged his eyes and departed with a promise to return in three days to remove them.
Holding fast to his last shred of dignity, Johnny refused to let Iris spoon feed him. He had no appetite but soon learned his own wishes were of no consequence in this prison of a different sort, when Hetty’s firm hand forced a mug to his lips. As she attempted to pour clam broth down his throat, Johnny took possession of the mug and sipped the hot broth on his own. If he had sight, he believed he would have seen a smile on both their faces.
His sense of taste heightened in the darkness, and the flavor of buttery clams combined with a touch of tart vinegar and the creamy texture proved a treat and a comfort. The small nourishment helped settle his stomach, but just that small effort of sitting up to drink it drained his remaining strength.
Exhaustion quickly overtook him, or perhaps that sly Cornish hen had slipped something into his broth, for the last Johnny remembered before lapsing into a dead sleep was the cold, wet feel of Snow’s nose nuzzling his hand.
Chapter 12
Johnny awoke to abysmal darkness, having no idea how long he’d slept. The sheets lay smooth against his skin. Mild warmth radiated from a wrapped brick at the foot of his bed. The hearth fire crackled softly, emanating the smell of wood smoke.
He harkened to the slightest vibration, any noise that might help him detect the hour. The house seemed to have settled in stillness, making the occasional creak or groan of an old timber sound that much louder. Nighttime still, he reasoned, and unable to sleep, Johnny lay there, listening. Simple house noises magnified in his ears — shifting embers in the hearth, the wind creeping through the cracks and something more. Something muted as though it came from inside the walls. Was that the creak of a stair? It was definitely the sound of someone moving about.
He raised himself and called “Who’s there?” but received no answer, though he waited several moments.
“Captain Moon?”
Silence. His skin crawled with an eerie sensation he was being watched.
Johnny swung his legs off the bed and dropped his feet to the floor. His head seemed to have cleared and the pain had reduced to a dull throb. He sat for a moment to get his bearings, then slowly stood. Arms extended, he ambled forward with unsteady, stumbling steps until he collided with the wall. Using it as much for support as for guidance, he felt his way along, searching for the doorway.
He braced himself against the door frame. He felt weak as a babe.
The noise had ceased.
And then he heard another sound. This one he recognized at once. That of a dog’s nails clacking over wooden floorboards. Snow’s excited panting grew louder. Johnny dropped his hand and a moment later felt her lick his fingers.
“Hey, there’s a good girl. So that’s why I didn’t receive an answer to my call. It was you.”
He crouched down to pet her, and she nuzzled against him. As he massaged the soft fur behind her ears, Johnny could hear her wagging tail thump against the wall. The unspoken, unconditional comfort from an innocent animal was his undoing. Johnny thought of his mornings with Salty. He might never see the gull again. A simple joy would be no more. All at once, the full measure of his loss hit him, and Johnny began to weep like he had never wept in his life … not as a small child losing his mother, nor at his uncle’s mistreatment, not when he was blamed for the death of a woman he once loved, nor after he’d lost every penny he’d ever earned — not even when he’d been thrown into prison.
Tears leaked into his bandages, and it was as though all the courage he had borne throughout his life had suddenly deserted him.
“Oh, Johnny, what are you doing out of bed? Shoo away now, Snow, and give him space. I’m sorry if she woke you. Here, let me help you to your feet.”
His tears dried in a wash of embarrassment. He heard the soft rustle of her skirt moving towards him and jerked back his arm when she tried to grab hold of him.
“No thank you, Iris. I don’t need assistance. I am capable of standing on my own.” It took all of his strength to rise and straighten, but he did so with his head held high. But in his zeal, the room listed like a swaying deck in a storm.
He reached out to the wall, needing a moment to catch his breath. All the while Johnny sensed her standing there, silent and still, watching him.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Had she heard him crying? Suddenly, he was grateful for the bandage covering half of his face.
She responded with a small, derisive laugh. “And how is it you suppose am I looking at you?”
“I can fairly feel the pity pouring from your eyes. I don’t require being minded like a child. I heard a noise and got up to see … to investigate. Why didn’t you make your presence known when I called out?”
“Because I did not hear you. I’ve only just come downstairs.”
“What are you doing here anyway? You should be in your bed asleep.” His tone was harsh and chiding, as though he was speaking to a child. He was grateful he could not see her beauty and vibrancy. It should have weakened his resolve, for even as a little girl, she could bend him to her will. She could soften his heart like none other, and he’d always felt a fierce protectiveness for her.
“Johnny, it is six thirty in the morning.”
“Morning? Well, it is all nighttime to me,” he blustered.
“Perhaps it was Peter you heard, as he was lighting the fires. I notice your voice sounds much stronger. You rested well, I trust? You’ve been sleeping nearly twenty-four hours.”
The sweet, encouraging tone of her voice grated. He knew she saw through his bravado and rebelled against the comfort she offered; at the same time a part of him longed to grab onto it like a lifeline.
“If you really wish to assist me, then fetch me my trousers.”
“I certainly will not. Doctor Huxham says you are to have bed rest. Meanwhile, the set of clothes you left at the Websters after drying off from the shipwreck have been delivered by my Uncle Alden. We found the articles to be in such a sorry state, they will need to be washed and mended before you shall be allowed to don them again. Hetty plans on giving you a shave when you’re up to it, though it appears to me you are improving fast enough for that to happen sooner than later. And may I suggest a bath as well? Only then shall you have your trousers, Johnny Mayne. Or perhaps not. For if I were to hand over your garments, what assurance do I have you will rest as the doctor ordered?”
Johnny couldn’t help himself. He grinned at her swagger. With one hand braced against the wall, he reached up to feel his prickly beard, but a cold chill passed though him thinking of the things he could no longer do for himself.
Strength seemed to be deserting him, and he doubted he’d be able to dress himself anyway. Pride prevented him from asking for her help back into bed.
“Hoyden,” he called her.
“Miserable cur,” she shot back.
That made him laugh aloud. Her joyous presence shone like a light into his darkness. She was a reminder of happier days.
They had fallen into the familiarity of a childhood long past. A trace of their friendship still remained, and despite the unwelcoming reception he’d given her, Johnny knew Iris sensed it, too. A bond forged as children had been rekindled, though Iris had been too young at the time to remember him t
oday. Or so he told himself. Why couldn’t she remember him? Had he meant so little to her that even now she had no recollection of him?
The realization struck Johnny that his feelings for her were no longer those of a boy but of a man.
“Praises to our Lord, is that laughter I hear? How pleasant the sound! And how fares our patient today?” came Nurse Hastings’s voice. Her footsteps paused in the doorway and Johnny heard her gasp. The next he knew, he was being led to his bed, and all he could think as he fell back onto the mattress was, Bless you, dear woman.
She began tucking the bed covers around him. Johnny could hear the sound of other activity — Snow trotting away, the fire blazing stronger in the keeping room and stirrings throughout the house.
“You must be hungry,” she told him. “Do you feel able to take some food? Before he’s off to the shipyard, I’ve a mind to fix Captain Moon a hot English breakfast on this cold winter’s morn. What do you say, Jon? I shall make a hearty dish of kedgeree with the leftover fish Peter brought us for supper last evening. How does that settle with you?”
“Very well indeed, Nurse Hastings. I am hungry, thank you. Although I won’t be spoonfed like an invalid. I’ll sit up and eat on my own or not at all.”
“My-my, such a tongue on you. I see a good night’s rest has done you a world of good. I expect you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
With a swish of her skirts and a cluck of her tongue, Johnny heard Iris move closer to his bed. “He’s only been here one day, dear Hetty, and he is demanding not to be nursed or pitied.”
“Ooow, does he now? Good, then the fight’s still in him. You hang onto that fighting spirit, Jon. Pity is the one thing you shall not get from me, but the nursing … that you shall have aplenty and I’ll have no complaint. That is my final word. Come, my Iris, and join me in the keeping room. Captain Moon should arrive downstairs to find his daughter occupied in the household rather than carrying on in one of his bedrooms with our disrobed light keeper. It’s your eyes should be covered, my girl.”