The Rising of Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  Common Lighthouse Keeper Duties and Tasks:

  Light the lamp at sunset and put it out at sunrise.

  Fill the lamp with kerosene every evening.

  Trim the wicks of the lamp so they don’t smoke when lit.

  Clean and polish the Fresnel lens every morning.

  Clean the windows of the lantern room every day.

  Shine all the brass in the lighthouse.

  Sweep the floors and stairs of the lighthouse every day.

  Clean tower windows and sills as needed.

  Clean, paint, and repair all buildings on the light station when needed.

  Maintain all mechanical equipment at the light station.

  Maintain lighthouse log book and record all daily light station activities.

  Take weather readings every day and record in log book.

  Weed the walkways and maintain the light station grounds.

  Take soundings of river and inlet channels. Move channel markers as needed.

  Lend assistance to ships and sailors in distress as needed.

  Keep an accurate inventory of all light station equipment and fuel.

  Maintain light station launch (boat) and keep in good working order.

  Keep boathouse clean, organized, and in good repair at all times.

  Provide visitors with tour of light station as needed.

  Clean keeper dwelling chimneys as needed to prevent fire.

  Do not leave light station at any time without permission.

  Clean house on a regular basis and make repairs as needed.

  Keep privy (outhouse/bathroom) clean. Apply lime as needed.

  Stack wood properly in woodsheds.

  Maintain a clean uniform at all times.

  Plant and tend personal garden as needed.

  Because we were out at sea, many of the standard rules did not apply, including the planting and tending of a garden, and weeding walkways. And while some might have been just as happy to not have to perform those tasks, I wondered if some might have preferred having some solid ground beneath and around them.

  One person who seemed quite content to be far from any land was Striker, who was occupied at the moment with packing his duffle bag in preparation for his shore leave. While he was busy with that, Adam Wilson had taken the new keeper, Owen Perry, up the fifty foot spiral staircase for his first look at the lantern room above, and the massive Fresnel lens he’d be tending.

  The two men had arrived at my parents’ house soon after the sun was high enough to allow us to sail, and after brief introductions, we’d shoved off. Adam had offered to man the tiller, and as he’d navigated us through the bay and then the Atlantic, Owen and I had sat and talked while he helped with the sails.

  “So, do you prefer the west coast over the east coast, Mr. Perry?” I said, trying to sound relaxed and unaffected by the incredibly handsome man sitting across from me. My first thought upon meeting him was that if Michelangelo had laid eyes upon the man, he’d have been quite sure that his marble statue of David had come to life in vibrant, strong colors.

  Owen’s hair beneath his navy blue seaman’s cap was thick and curly, and from what I could see of it, it was as black as a raven’s wing with a sparse smattering of gray hairs throughout. It gave the lighthouse keeper an air of authority even though he appeared to be only in his late twenties or very early thirties, at most. He was tall and strongly built, and his nose was Romanesque, as was the rest of his angular face. But it was his eyes that deserved the most attention: They were gray—as gray as the sea before an approaching storm—and they were piercing, making me feel a little flustered and shy. I wasn’t used to feeling that way, which left me pondering the reason why a set of gray eyes could make me react so.

  “There are things I like about both,” Owen replied. Though he’d been at the Jupiter Inlet light for the last couple of years, he’d spent most of his time on the west coast of the United States.

  “They each have their own kind of beauty and challenges—and their own moods, and dispositions. To my mind, they’re much like two beautiful, but complex women.” He smiled. There was absolutely no denying that there was a natural sensuality about the man. Even the way he moved as he helped Adam with the boat’s rigging held my complete attention. Unlike Adam, Owen moved with a precise fluidity that was usually seen in athletes, which made me all the more curious about his past.

  Adam had introduced him as ‘the man from many places’. When I’d asked Owen exactly what that meant, he’d laughed and said he’d seen his fair share of the coastal states growing up as the son of a lighthouse keeper, then becoming one nearly ten years ago. However, Washington State was where he was born, and his mother had actually given birth to him in the keeper’s quarters at one of the lighthouses there.

  “I guess destiny had my life all planned out for me from the get-go,” he reasoned. “My poor mother had me out at Destruction Light, and she claimed it was surely prophetic as to what kind of child I’d be. She said there wasn’t a thing I picked up that I didn’t pull apart. Unfortunately, I could never quite figure out how to put it back together again,” he laughed.

  His gray eyes had a light of their own, and out in the strengthening sunlight, they were clear, almost translucent, and bright. But, in the darkness of the night, I wondered if they could be dark and smoldering, and—

  “Have you lived here all of your life, Miss Harjo?” Owen’s question startled me out of my musings and he looked amused, as though he knew exactly what I was wondering.

  “Oh…yes…yes,” I stammered. “I mean, no.” I quickly corrected myself and I could hear Adam chuckling, which made me wonder if it was that obvious this man had unsettled me.

  “I was born in Lake Weir—up in central Florida,” I explained. “But we moved here after the big freeze. I was about seven.”

  “How old are you now—if you don’t mind my asking?” he asked.

  He was certainly forward, but it didn’t come across as offensive or inappropriate. Instead, it felt like he was truly interested in the person he was talking to. “Nineteen, next month,” I replied. “And you?”

  “I’m an old man compared to you.” Owen smiled. “I’m twenty-nine.” He looked at me as though assessing me, and then asked, “So what do you do to keep busy in this lovely tropical paradise?”

  “Last week or next?” I smiled.

  “Well, that sounds quite intriguing,” he encouraged.

  “This time last week, I worked at the trading post on the Miami River, for the Brickells. You’ll get to know them all too well if you stay here for any length of time,” I explained. “But I’ll be teaching the children out at the Seminole village starting next week.”

  “Which leaves this week,” Owen pointed out. Apparently, he didn’t miss much.

  “I’ll be working with my father,” I vaguely answered. Salvaging was not something that I openly discussed, especially with someone I didn’t know. But Adam, who’d been listening to our conversation, obviously thought I was just being humble about being able to do something very few women would dare, and he proudly announced: “She salvages shipwrecks. And she’s damn good at it, I’ll have you know!” he beamed.

  “Is that so?” Owen looked impressed.

  “Well…yes,” I confirmed.

  “That’s really something! How long have you been doing that?” He was obviously very interested in my unusual line of work.

  “Long enough to know that I haven’t been doin’ it long enough to know what I’m doin’!” I laughed. We all did. But when I looked over at Owen a moment later and saw him watching me as though he was assessing me in a whole new light, I sat up a little straighter, tossed my hair in an affected way, and decided that Adam hadn’t been out of line after all, but had actually been bragging about me with only the best intentions.

  We arrived at Fo
wey, and because the seas were relatively calm, we tied the sloop to the dock instead of hoisting it up out of the water. I’d visit with Dylan for a short while and then head on back to the mainland with Striker. As it turned out, though, Dylan was leaving, too, because he was being transferred to Alligator Reef Light, and he needed to pack up everything he’d brought with him. Because there was no communications system at the lighthouse, Striker and Dylan hadn’t known that we’d be arriving, and when we did, they were in a hurry to get their gear together and be on their way. We had sailed over in Dylan’s sloop because Papa’s was having some work done on it, so my brother suggested that I ride back to Miami with Striker on the government-issued boat. That way he could take his sloop on down to the Alligator Reef Lighthouse.

  “You sure you want to have it out there the whole time?” Striker asked. “I mean, you can hoist it up on the davits out there, but, still, it’s safer leaving it in port.”

  “Nah, I’m takin’ her,” Dylan confirmed. “It’s hard havin’ only one boat available for all three keepers. One takes the boat in for shore leave and the others are stranded. Somethin’ happens out there and somebody needs to get in fast, that’s a real problem.”

  The other men came down from the lantern room just then. “I’ll be back in a week, maybe a little before then,” Striker said. “I’ve got the list for the fresh supplies we need. It’ll be good having a full crew out here for a change.” Striker turned toward me. “You ready to shove off, Eliza?” I confirmed that I was and all five of us walked outside.

  Because we were on the second platform, we stood about forty feet above the water, and the view was beautiful. But it was nothing like the one from the lantern room at the very top. From there, it was possible to see the barrier islands far to the north and to the south, and whenever I gazed out from that vantage point, I could understand how many a man felt the calling of the sea deep within his soul.

  As I stood at the railing looking out, Dylan and Adam lowered the lighthouse’s boat down from the davits to the water below.

  “All right, then,” Dylan said before starting down the ladder. “That’s it for me. Y’all take care. And Eliza, just let Mama and Pa know I’m at Alligator, and I’ll be home whenever I get some shore leave.” With that, my brother began to descend to the first platform. From there, another set of steps would take him down to the dock. As soon as Dylan was about halfway down, Striker followed; then once Dylan was off the ladder, I began to descend as well. Suddenly, I heard my name being called and looked up to see Owen grasping the top of the ladder, peering down at me.

  “I enjoyed meeting you, Miss Harjo. I hope we can see each other again.”

  My right foot slipped off the rung. Thankfully, I had a firm grip and caught myself. I wouldn’t admit it, but this part of visiting a lighthouse always unnerved me.

  “Whoa, there!” Owen cautioned. “Don’t want to lose you before I have a chance to get to know you.”

  Trying to sound composed as my knuckles turned white from holding onto the rung too tightly, I replied, “I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Miami’s a small place.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I’ll call on you when I have shore leave,” he said.

  “That—that’d be fine,” I managed. At the moment, I was all too aware that Striker was just below me, and I could tell that he’d slowed his descent. There was a very good likelihood that he’d heard every word of our conversation, and I was afraid that if I looked down, I’d see disapproval in his eyes. But what kept mine glued to the rungs in front of me instead of looking down to gauge Striker’s reaction was the fear that I’d see something far worse in his eyes than disapproval. I was afraid I’d see nothing there, only indifference.

  Chapter 10

  Changing Tides

  Striker dropped anchor on the bay side of Key Biscayne, and we threw our lines out to do a little yellowtail fishing. I was surprised he’d suggested it for he’d been quiet most of the way home.

  Sitting up on the bow, I rolled my pant legs up to the knee, tilted my face toward the sun and lay back against the angled front of the cuddy. There was nothing more to do than to wait for the tell-tale tug on my line letting me know that a fish had taken the bait.

  “Had I known we were going to stop, I’d have brought a picnic.”

  “It’s fine,” Striker said as he worked in the stern cutting up the remainder of the small fish he’d netted for our bait. “I had a huge breakfast. Are you hungry though?”

  “No. I ate big, too. Or ‘too big’ I should say.” I smiled. “Mama made pork tenderloin biscuits and I couldn’t resist.”

  “She makes ’em good,” he agreed.

  Striker climbed onto the bow and threw his line off the port side, away from mine. “Any bites?” he asked, sitting down and dangling his legs over the side of the boat.

  “Nothin’,” I replied, but no sooner had the word left my mouth that Striker said he thought he had one. Snapping the tip of his rod back so that he could set the hook, he waited for a couple of seconds to be sure the fish was on, and when the line started to tug madly, he reeled his catch in.

  “Honestly, Striker! You beat all! I could sit here all afternoon and not get one bite, and within thirty seconds you’ve landed a…nice one!” I finished as he swung a good-sized fish up onto the boat. The fat yellowtail snapper flapped around furiously on the deck until Striker strung a stringer through its gills and threw the fish back into the water to stay alive until it was time for us to leave.

  Picking up a piece of bait on the board next to him, he casually remarked, “That Owen fella seems like a decent enough guy.”

  Forcing myself not to smile, I agreed, adding that I’d only just met him, though. “You know anything about him—other than that he’s from Washington State?” I asked. It wouldn’t hurt Striker to think I was interested in the man, and, in all honesty, I was a little curious as to what Owen’s story was.

  “No,” Striker said as he cast his line out again.

  Silence followed, thick and heavy, and I tried to think of something to say. Looking back toward the southern point of the island, I could see the ninety-five-foot Cape Florida lighthouse through the trees.

  “Wonder how long Dylan will be down at Alligator Reef Light,” I said. “Sure wish he’d get a permanent placement somewhere. I can’t imagine that it’s much fun being bounced around among different houses of refuge and lighthouses all the time.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Striker said as he reeled in a little of the slack in his line. “Some men like moving around. It’s interesting to them to be in different surroundings, under different circumstances all the time. And there are some fellas who just have a hard time settling down.”

  I bit my tongue on that last statement.

  “Take for instance this new guy, Owen. It sounds like he’s made the rounds, himself. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some folks just have a hard time letting the dust settle on the tops of their shoes. Maybe they’re running from something, or somebody. Or could be they’re just running from themselves.”

  “Is that what you’re doing, Striker?” The words were out of my mouth before I had time to consider editing them.

  Striker looked startled at first, and then he let out a soft sigh. “Sometimes…yeah, I guess in a way I am.” He seemed tired, physically and mentally. “Honestly though, Eliza, it’s more than just trying to outrun the pain of losing my mom and dad. It’s…I don’t know…I guess I just haven’t found enough of a reason to let the dust settle, so to speak.” He looked at me as if waiting for me to respond, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. Instead, I reeled in my line to check the bait, and seeing that it was still on the hook, I walked toward the stern to cast my line in another direction. I needed a minute to think, to take the pulse on how I was feeling, to see how deeply the pain still ran.

  It suddenly occurred to me
how lost Striker really was and how young he now seemed to me. The feelings that I’d been hanging on to, and fed through blown up remembrances of what had been, and unrealistic possibilities of what might be, evaporated. I realized that I might have finally outgrown Striker. And I felt all right about it. More than all right, really. I felt wonderfully free, and relieved, as if I’d just shed an overly warm winter coat in the month of May.

  “The tide’s going out and the wind’s shiftin’,” Striker said as he stood up and began reeling in his line. “We’d better head in if we want to get there in one piece.”

  That was fine with me. In fact, everything in the world seemed fine at the moment. My heart had gone through its own changing tides, and I’d made it through the low one. Now I was ready to ride the high.

  Chapter 11

  Something Fishy

  The grouper and I were face to face and frozen in place for several seconds before the massive fish turned and quickly swam away. I had scared it out from the reef when I’d jumped in to explore the Paso Rápido, and as I watched it fade away into the turquoise abyss, I regretted not having my three-pronged harpoon with me, for the grouper would have made a wonderful supper. Returning to the task at hand, I focused my attention on the position of the wreck.

  The cutter had been badly damaged by the initial impact of the starboard side to the reef, leaving most of the vessel submerged and lying on its right side in about twenty feet of water. Our visibility was good, and the currents weren’t too bad at the moment, so our biggest challenge was not getting cut on the razor-sharp coral; blood from the smallest cuts would bring the sharks in.

  The plan was for the divers to salvage all that could be brought up manually, or be winched up. Then Papa and Ezra Asher’s trawlers would attempt to parbuckle the Paso through a rotational leveraging method using chains and winches to pull her off her side and back into an upright position. If successful, there was no telling what we might find buried beneath her, though gold and silver weighed utmost on our minds. Aside from what Ezra’s crew had found before we joined the salvage, we’d recovered four bottles of rum (one broken); a ruined Spanish edition of Macbeth; and personal belongings of the crew, including a comb, straight razor, shaving cup, a variety of clothing, and a wedding band that was still stuck on a skeletal finger. It was a poignant reminder that far more important things than gold and silver had found a final resting place beneath the waves.