The Keeper's Son

by Homer Hickam

  “Just out of curiosity, what was our bet?” Josh asked, petting Thunder’s neck. The old horse was blowing but not too hard.

  “That you’d take me to the top of the light.”

  “I was going to do that, anyway.”

  “Now you have to take me,” Dosie said on a note of triumph.

  Josh shrugged. “Do you want to hear what I would have wanted?”

  “I suppose, even though you never had a chance.”

  “That maybe you’d learn to trust me,” he said, his tone a bit doleful.

  Josh’s dolefulness did not have the desired impact. “First I have to learn to trust myself,” Dosie answered firmly.

  They rode on until they reached the lighthouse grounds. The Keeper kept the place like a park with green grass and pin oaks and juniper trees all around. “This is the old home place,” Josh said in a hushed voice.

  They entered the parlor of the Keeper’s House, which was bright and cheerful, the light streaming inside through two big bevel-paned windows illuminating, in prismatic colors, a cherrywood table and chairs, a polished oak floor, and a big hutch filled with bright, silver-rimmed china. When Dosie looked closer, she saw the china pieces were decorated with a crest. When she asked about it, Josh explained that it was the Lighthouse Service insignia. “Daddy got pretty mad at President Roosevelt for merging his service into the Coast Guard,” he said.

  He took her into the living room, which was spacious and airy with a cloth-covered sofa and easy chairs upholstered in bright, flowery patterns before a big fireplace. Kerosene lanterns stood on the reading tables. Josh wanted to show Dosie his mother’s art room more than anything. He swung open the door and Dosie was transfixed by the feeling of welcome she received. She felt an urge to sit down at the worktable and take the beads and shells and beach glass that Josh showed her and make her own jewelry. She had always been good with her hands. When Josh showed her one of his mother’s bracelets, an uncompleted piece with green beach glass and silver wire, she wanted more than anything to complete it.

  Josh fixed glasses of iced tea, added slices of lemon, and carried them outside. He and Dosie sat in the rocking chairs, shared the sandwiches she’d made, drank the tea, and enjoyed the view of waving sea oats and soft, beige dunes and the rippling, blue sea. After they’d eaten, they rocked for a while longer, comfortable, just being quiet, and then Josh said, nodding toward the lighthouse, “Are you ready to go to the top?”

  “Lead on, Hawkeye!” she said smartly, although her heart was in her throat. To her surprise, she discovered she was frightened.

  They walked down the path and into the base of the lighthouse and crossed the black-and-white marble squares. Black cast-iron steps wound above them, reminding Dosie of photos she’d seen of the inside of a chambered nautilus shell. Josh led the way up, stopping at each level to let Dosie look through the narrow slits built into the brick walls. Dosie found the ascent disorienting, the interior diameter getting smaller with each step. She was suddenly glad she had not climbed it as a little girl. She knew she would have been even more terrified than she was now.

  Finally, they reached the lantern room. There were white curtains around the room and she was glad to get inside them and away from the spiral staircase. She leaned in close to admire the sparkling slats and prisms. The wind blew softly against the surrounding glass. “Can we go outside?” she asked. Her tone was braver than she felt but it was another childhood dream and she was intent on living it.

  “You bet,” Josh answered, “but let me lead the way and be sure to hold on to the rail. The wind is always strong up here.”

  Dosie thought perhaps Josh was being too protective, but when she followed him outside onto the narrow parapet, the wind hit her hard, grabbing her hat and sending it sailing away. She grabbed the rail and hung on, her heart pounding. “Oh!” she finally managed to gasp, her voice barely heard above the whistling, grasping wind.

  Josh came up beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m afraid I might be blown over,” she confessed. The wind gusted again and she gripped the rail so hard, her hands turned white.

  Josh held her waist to steady her. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Yes. But don’t let go. I’m a bit dizzy.”

  “I won’t let you go,” he said in a solemn tone.

  Dosie felt as if she were inside a kind of an amazing dream. “I never knew it was so beautiful,” she said in a tone much like a prayer.

  Josh’s voice carried above the river of rushing air in which they were submerged. “See that freighter and that tanker? They’re riding the currents. The tanker’s on the bright blue water. That’s the Gulf Stream come up from the Caribbean. But there, that gray water, where the freighter is, that’s the cold current come all the way down from the Arctic Ocean. They’re like rivers swiping each other. Up at Hatteras, they sometimes hit head-on. That’s a sight, a geyser of sand and shells thrown way up into the sky.”

  Dosie kept a death grip on the rail, even though she trusted Josh to not let her go. He told her to look at the sky and she forced herself to do it even as her head spun. She saw clouds skimming past, racing one another, so low she felt she could touch them.

  “We’re going to have a storm,” Josh said.

  Dosie felt as if she were going to be drawn right up into the clouds. She closed her eyes. “When?” she gasped.

  “It’s pretty much on top of us already.”

  “But it was so pretty a minute ago.”

  “That’s the Outer Banks for you!” he cried, then laughed a laugh of pure joy.

  They stepped down and down and down the winding iron steps. At the bottom, he told her that his parents had once danced on those very same tiles. “I think I would have loved your mother,” Dosie said, her head finally beginning to lose its spin.

  “She’d have loved you, too.”

  Dosie wished Josh would put his hands around her waist again as he had done on the parapet. Maybe he saw it in her face or maybe Josh simply wished the very same. He took a tentative step toward her. She tilted her face. “I hope I find my hat,” she said.

  His hands went to her waist and drew her to him. “I’ll buy you a new one if you don’t.”

  She studied his face, a weathered version of the boy’s face she’d sighed over so long ago. Her hands, as if controlled by themselves, flowed across his arms, up to his shoulders, and down his muscled back. Then she closed her eyes and his lips gently touched hers, just a whisper. Outside, the first raindrops of the storm began to fall. “We should dance,” Josh said.

  And they did. Josh took her into his arms and led her into a waltz. She was a bit stiff at first but she gradually allowed him to lead. Then the wind slammed the door shut and the spell was broken. Dosie took her arms back. “Josh,” she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  “It was just a kiss. And a little dance. That’s all.”

  “A kiss, yes, and a dance, and then what?”

  Josh put his hand behind his neck and rubbed it, a gesture of confusion. “Dosie, I don’t know. It seems to me you kind of look ahead too much.”

  “You’re right,” she said after a moment of thought. “I’m sorry. Why don’t we just start over? Just forget everything and act like we just met.”

  Josh didn’t want to start over. He’d told Dosie much of his story, he’d listened to much of hers, he’d ridden down the beach with her and laughed with her and shown her his boyhood home and his mother’s art room and then taken her up on the lighthouse. There, the wind had blown and a storm had threatened and then, in the base of the lighthouse on the beautiful marble tile, he’d kissed her and danced with her and he’d thought everything was pretty wonderful the way things were. “All right,” he said. “We’ll start over.” Then he damned himself as the coward around women he’d always been.

  “I’m glad you understand,” Dosie said, putting her hand on his cheek. Then she lifted her face to his and kissed him again, a long, loving
, deep kiss, even more soulful than the one before. Josh was about as confused a man as there could be. He wanted to ask her if the kiss was part of the starting over but didn’t dare. Some things, he was beginning to learn about Dosie Crossan, you just didn’t mess with.

  At twilight, Dosie climbed once more into the lantern room to help Josh light the light. He even let her hold the candle and touch its flame to the mantle. She thought herself happy at that moment, and useful, a feeling she’d missed for so very long.

  The rain had stopped and dark was gathering when they climbed aboard the horses. Pump Padgett, who filled in sometimes for the Keeper, waved at them as he walked the path toward the light. “I don’t want this day to end,” Dosie said. “How about we share another dram of Mount Gay at the Hammerhead?”

  “Chief Glendale just brought me a fresh bottle from Morehead City the other day,” Josh said.

  “Then let’s go put a dent in it. I’ll ride back when Keeper Jack and Thunder are ready to go.”

  When they rode into town, it seemed very quiet. They found Herman sitting on the hotel steps. Purdy the pelican was sitting alongside him, wearing a grave, long-billed expression. “Why are you here, Herman?” Dosie asked. “Where’s everybody else?”

  “They’re all listening to the radio, I guess,” Herman said, looking up. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks streaked with tears. “And I’m here to fight you, Mister Thurlow, for stealing my woman.”

  “Why, Herman,” Dosie said, “do you mean me?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  Dosie covered her smile with her hand, but Josh saw that Herman was fondling a hawksbill knife. Josh had fought men with knives up in Alaska and that’s what you needed to do, keep your eye on the knife, not the man, and be ready to move when it came your way. Of course, he’d never had to fight a boy before. Herman was fast and would probably nick him a little before he could take the knife away. But then Herman folded the knife and tucked it in his shirt pocket and put his face in his hands. Josh climbed down off Thunder and then noticed the wood shavings around the boy’s bare feet. Herman had been whittling at a limb.

  Josh sat beside the boy, Purdy moving a step to make room. “I’m sorry, Herman. I didn’t mean to steal your woman. You shouldn’t cry and I don’t think we need to fight, either. You’re still in the running, best I can tell.”

  Herman kept his face in his hands. “I ain’t crying about the missus,” he said through his fingers. “And I already changed my mind about fighting you.”

  “Then what’s wrong?” Josh asked.

  “It’s my brother and all the boys, all the boys everywhere.”

  Josh was flummoxed. “You want to tell me what you’re talking about?”

  Herman raised his wet face. His hands fell lifelessly between his legs. “It’s the damn Japs, Mister Thurlow.” He glanced up at Dosie. “I’m sorry for cussing, ma’am.” He took a breath. “They just bombed the bejesus out of some place called Pearl Harbor. It’s all over the radio. Our whole navy was there and it’s been sunk.”

  Josh absorbed the news while a great weight settled into his heart. “Herman?” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Are we straight, you and me?”

  “Yes, sir, we’re straight. I guess it’s up to the missus who she wants.”

  “OK. Then do two things for me. First, go find your brother and tell him to round up the other boys and Bosun Phimble, too. Tell him the Maudie Jane is putting out to sea.”

  “Yes, sir. What’s the other thing?”

  “Take good care of Miss Crossan. Can you do that?”

  Herman nodded, and was off like a shot.

  15

  The procession began at the orphanage after Sunday services and wound its way through town and into the heather fields. Townspeople joined Father Josef’s children until the narrow, sandy path was crowded with worshipers. Big white cranes wading in the reed flats stood very still as the crowd passed, then went back to picking off fish. The people sang the Nebelsee song of Advent, “Macht hoch die Tür”:

  Lift up your heads, ye mighty gates,

  Behold, the King of glory waits,

  The King of kings is drawing near,

  The Savior of the world is here.

  As the procession approached the lighthouse, Krebs was surprised to see an army truck parked beside the remains of the keeper’s house. A tent flapped nearby. Camouflage netting was on the high ground, just to the side of the thorn-bushes. The soldiers were diligently working on the equipment beneath the netting. A soldier came out of the lighthouse, trailing a wire. Krebs looked up at the parapet and saw that the wire was attached to an antenna clamped to the railing.

  Father Josef turned to the assembly and they gathered around him. “It is our tradition to come here each December to recall the days before our Lord came to earth,” he said. “Even our fishermen stay in to celebrate. Perhaps,” he went on to the approving chuckle of the fishermen and fishermen’s wives, “it is because the sea is so cold and fishing is so difficult this time of year, eh? But we gather as a family.” Father Josef deliberately sought out Krebs. “There is nothing more important than family.”

  Father Josef was a great speaker, his voice deep and compelling. Even the soldiers stopped their work and gathered around. Then, when he was finished, he blessed the assembly and the people sang a last hymn and began to disperse to their homes. The children waited patiently to be shepherded back to the orphanage. Krebs saw Father Josef talking to the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers. He caught the gist of their conversation as he approached. “I have my orders, Father,” the lieutenant said.

  “But your presence is too dangerous for Nebelsee,” Father Josef replied. “Please pass along to your superiors my suggestion to put your station elsewhere.”

  The lieutenant shrugged. “It would be like talking to that lighthouse.” He noticed Krebs and came to attention. “Good afternoon, Kapitän.”

  “I’m on leave, Lieutenant, so relax,” Krebs said. “What is all this about, anyway? A weather station, I presume?”

  The lieutenant nodded. “Indeed, sir. My headquarters wants precise measurements from this site. Wind velocity, temperature changes, and barometric pressures at different altitudes. Those are devices to send up balloons you see just there. Now, I’m sorry but I must get back to work.”

  Krebs took Father Josef aside. “Miriam and I wish to be married the next time I have leave,” he told him.

  Father Josef was delighted, though he gave no indication of surprise. “Fine news, Otto,” he said. “She is a wonderful woman.”

  Krebs chuckled. “You knew already, didn’t you? There are no secrets from you, are there?”

  “Not when it comes to my children,” Father Josef replied.

  Krebs was distracted by the low grumble of an aircraft engine. He checked his watch. It was about the right time for the Teufel plane to pass over the island. Still there was something not quite right about the sound of the engine. “Excuse me, Father,” he said and studied the approaching aircraft. It was a Ju-88, all right. He could make out its two engines, the flat line of its wing, the vertical line of its stabilizer. But it was coming in very low and very fast. Then he knew it wasn’t a Dreifinger at all but a plane very similar. “It’s a Mosquito,” he said, nearly to himself. Then he shouted to the lieutenant, “Get your men away! That’s an English aircraft!”

  The lieutenant stared, then ordered his men to take cover. Krebs started to look for Miriam and saw her standing beside the lighthouse. “Miriam!” he roared. “Come here!”

  The townspeople were running and the troops were joining them, scattering this way and that. Miriam was trying to gather the children. Krebs started after her but his knee suddenly buckled. He screamed at her. “Run away from the lighthouse!”

  The airplane flung itself overhead, machine guns stuttering from its wings. It had passed so low that Krebs could make out the rivets on its fuselage. Then he saw people had bee
n shot, their blood spattered across the heather. The Mosquito pulled up and then continued on its course across the island.

  Krebs heard another aircraft. Miriam had sent the children running away. She was looking around, apparently to see if there were any more children near the lighthouse. Krebs saw the blur of the bomb falling from the second Mosquito, and then the lighthouse disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris.

  When the debris stopped raining down on him, Krebs raised his head. All around him were groaning, wounded, and weeping people. Krebs crawled to the devastated lighthouse. Others came and picked him up, insisting that they were going to take him to a doctor. “No, no, I am all right. Help Miriam Hauptmann. She is beneath this rubble.”

  Willing hands started tearing into the brick and mortar. Miriam was easily found. She had an arm and a leg ripped off by the blast but was still breathing, her mouth open in shock. Her glazed eyes seemed for just one moment to come back to life, then blurred over. Krebs crawled through her blood and kissed her lips. They were already cold and tasted of brick and dust.

  PART TWO

  DEATH, I SAID.

  16

  Krebs lay on his back in his filthy bed and groaned, his head throbbing in painful sympathy with a heavy pounding at the door. He wanted to scream at whoever was doing it to stop and go away, but all he managed was a whimper. He reached for the bottle lying beside him but found, to his disgust, that it was empty. He threw it across the room where it burst against the door. As if responding to the insult, the door, after a furious kick, flew open. “Go away,” Krebs mumbled, each word like a hammer on his skull.

  Whoever had kicked in the door crunched through the broken bottle shards and stood over him. Krebs heard a familiar voice, although it was entirely too loud. “Kaleu, it’s me, Max. My God, you’re stinking drunk! Admiral Doenitz is here on a visit and is asking for you. The chief told me down at the boat. You have two hours to get to headquarters!”