by Jim Newell
The reception that followed the simple ceremony was equally without pretence and the couple left as soon as they could decently get away to begin their marriage. They drove off in a Ford half-ton truck with a club cab, owned by one of Toby’s friends. All their worldly goods, including Allison’s painting supplies, which were to be transported to the island, were packed in the truck, ready to be delivered to the airport at Yarmouth where the Department of Transport helicopter would fly them and the newlyweds to Rocky Island next day. They spent their wedding night at a nearby motel. Sleep was not a large part of the agenda until other matters had been sufficiently attended to. Sleep finally claimed them and from that night on, Allison slept in Toby’s arms, sometimes spoon fashion, sometimes face to face. After a few days, his right arm no longer grew numb during the night. She never complained that the black mat of hair on his chest tickled her face, and he was never bothered by stray wisps of her silky blonde hair in his face. That sleeping pattern of their bodies became their constant sleeping pattern for years.
Neither Toby nor Allison had ever flown in any kind of aircraft. The early morning helicopter ride was exciting for them. The chopper was a large federal Transport Canada helicopter based in Yarmouth. It would make regular monthly trips for resupply, and should one or the other need to leave the island, would be their method of transportation. A Zodiac inflatable boat with its heavy-duty outboard engine was kept on the island for the lighthouse keeper’s use and generally would be for emergencies only.
On their arrival, they were met by the retiring keeper and his wife. The chopper waited on the concrete landing pad while the men unloaded the various items of cargo and took on what was to be shipped out while the outgoing keeper showed Toby around and his wife performed a similar duty with Allison and the house. After about four hours, the new keeper and his new bride were alone, watching the helicopter disappear over the horizon.
Toby had turned to Allison. “Well?”
“We’re here.”
“Going to be okay?”
“Of course.”
“What’s first?”
“Bed—just as soon as I get it made up.”
“I’ll help.”
They never did have lunch that day. In fact, Toby just got to the lighthouse in time to turn the light on by the half-hour before sunset deadline. His first time performing that chore, he spent longer at it then he would do as he got used to the task. When he returned, supper was on the table. They ate one-handed, holding hands, and without washing dishes, were back in bed an hour later. As Allison had predicted, Rocky Island was an ideal spot for a honeymoon.
For some reason that he couldn’t have explained, even had he cared to do so, these thoughts of five years of joyful marriage and satisfactory work as a lighthouse keeper were occupying Toby’s mind as he tramped along his daily walk on the path around the island.
CHAPTER TWO
When he returned to the house, Toby saw that Allison was doing laundry. He poured himself a cup of coffee and walking up behind her, gave her a one-armed hug. The noise of the washer had hidden the sound of his coming and the unexpected hug caused her to jump so that he almost spilled his coffee. She took his cup, then snuggled herself into him to hug him back and raise her head for a kiss. Toby could tell when she pressed herself against him that she was not wearing a bra, her signal that her monthly period was over.
“Storm coming,” he said. “You may not have time to get that wash dry outside.”
“Well, I’ll begin outside and finish it inside. Have you heard the forecast?”
“Nope. Just finished my tour and noticed the calm sea and the colour of the sky. I’m just going in to get the forecast now. Stormy weather is a good time for staying inside and making love.”
He grinned and gave her a squeeze.
“I think so, too, but first things first. Go away and let me finish this wash or it won’t get done because I’ll be busy with something else.”
Toby laughed and went to the room they had fixed up as an office and used the satellite telephone to call the Marine weather office in Halifax. The report was not good. The forecaster said that Rocky Island would likely have winds of seventy to eighty knots, gale force winds, and high seas during the twelve to eighteen hours starting about two o’clock or soon after that.
“Any shipping in the area?” inquired Toby.
“Just the local fishermen. Search and Rescue is trying to notify them all, but there’s a couple not responding to the radio calls. No large commercial shipping reported within fifty miles of you.”
Toby thanked the forecaster and went back to his wife. “Hey, Allie, the forecaster says the storm will begin about two this afternoon. I’m going down to check on the generator and the windmill. If you get your wash out right way, it might get at least partly dry. It’s nine-thirty now.”
“Take this basket then and hang up what’s in it on your way. That’ll help.”
After hanging up the clothes from the basket on the clothesline, Toby went to the windmill and pulled open the steel door to the box that gave bad weather protection to the huge gears installed to turn the generating turbine. He pulled the lever that put the big sails into a neutral free wheeling selection so the winds would just turn them without causing them the extra pressure of pulling against the generator. Then he started up the diesel and let it run for ten minutes until he was satisfied that it would be okay when called on later in the day.
On his return to the house, he picked up the laundry basket on the way. Before going inside, he walked around the building, making sure that everything was battened down for the bad weather. Inside, he went to the office and entered in the day’s log all the preparations he had made for the storm and turned on the marine radio and scanner, turning up the volume so that he would hear any messages that might pertain to vessels in his area. When the satellite phone rang, the call was from the Transport Department in Yarmouth. The Officer in Charge wanted to make sure that he was aware of the storm and to remind him that the helicopter would be delayed on its regular flight to Rocky Island the next day if it was called on for search and rescue operations.
The first rain began to fall shortly before one-thirty. Toby went out with Allison to bring in the almost dry wash, and then headed for the lighthouse. First, he started the big diesel, and set the switch that turned on the generator. When he had climbed the five flights of stairs to the lighthouse cab, he could see that the visibility was markedly down, confirming his ground level observation, so he turned on the light which immediately began its 360 degrees a minute turn, humming in its track as it moved. The red beacon on top of the light casing flashed its Rocky Island identification in Morse code: dot dash dot, followed by two more dots was confusing because of the steady stream of flashing short red “blinks”, but RI was what had been assigned and that’s what the light flashed.
Before he left the lighthouse after a half hour of making sure that everything was working properly, Toby noticed that not only had the rain become a downpour but that the wind had also freshened considerably. The blow was driving in from the east, making the rain slant from that direction as well. The gauge from the anemometer on top of the lighthouse told him that the wind speed was already gusting to sixty knots. He could see that even the scrub evergreen trees were whipping in the ever increasing wind, trees that managed to survive on the sparse ground covering the island. When he had left the house, a few hundred yards away, he had not put on his slicker and boots or his souwester, so by the time he got back indoors, he was soaked through to his skin. He stopped inside the door in the small entry hall and began to strip off his wet clothing. Allison came to the kitchen door and looked at him.
“You cold?”
“Bethcha’ life I am. Got some coffee?”
“Yup, and something better, too.”
“What’s that?”
“Me.”
“I’ll have some of both.”
They stayed in bed, their occupation with each
other so strong that the sound of the ferocious storm beating against the other side of their bedroom wall hardly penetrated their conscious thoughts, until well past six o’clock. Even after five years their mutual ardour had not cooled a bit and living on an otherwise uninhabited island had given them both room and time to make totally uninhibited love whenever and wherever they liked, indoors or out.
At one point on this particular afternoon, Allison murmured in his ear, “How many times do you think we’ve done this?”
“Who’s counting? Probably getting close to a thousand.”
“Well let’s make it a thousand and one while we’re at it.”
They did. In fact they reached a thousand and three.
When they finally got out of bed, the wind had risen to the point where the house was reacting to the strong gusts of wind, the rain blasting against the east side along with the wind. Toby automatically went to the window to check the light to make sure it was working as it should be. Reassured, he turned to his wife who was standing at the kitchen counter wearing nothing but her housecoat, looking at the counter.
“What’s for supper?”
“I was just considering. How about pancakes?” I have just enough maple syrup left for one more meal for us.”
“Sounds good. Have you got that on the grocery list?” She phoned her shopping list to the supermarket in Yarmouth once a month and her order was delivered to the Transport Department hangar at the airport.
“Uh-huh. But the chopper probably won’t make it here tomorrow.”
“Or the next day either if it gets called out for search.”
“I hope that won’t happen. Who would be out in this storm?”
“Allie, honey, there are always fishermen willing to take a chance. You never know who might have gone out hoping to get back before the storm hit.”
The storm raged all the next day and then, the wind having backed around to the north west as the low pressure system moved eastward, blew itself out during the night. Toby was up at his usual daylight hour to shut down the light a half hour later, and then began his daily walk around the island. He saw very little damage, just some areas of the shoreline rearranged by the heavy waves that were still pounding on the east side of the island. There was a good amount of driftwood scattered around and he stopped to pick up what he could reach and throw it back on the shore far enough that the waves wouldn’t pull it out to sea again. When it was dry, he would gather it for firewood for the living room fireplace that they would begin to use in a month or so. Just as he was about to change direction and move southward, he saw something else.
The badly shattered bow of what was most likely a Cape Island fishing boat, green with a white stripe running fore and aft, was banging on the rocks with each incoming wave. The section was probably about ten feet long. Where the rest of the Cape Islander was located he had no realistic idea, but he guessed that it would either still be floating or lying on the ocean floor somewhere east of the island. As he got closer to the wreck, his heart gave a jump. He knew that boat. He could see the name painted on the side of the bow: The Smitty II. The longliner belonged to Allison’s father.
He slithered down the wet rocks and found a six-foot section of rope hanging over the starboard side. Pulling with all his strength, he managed to get the bow up over the rocks onto the land. The effort wore him out, so he sat down on the side of the remains of the craft to rest and to think. How would he tell his wife? Straight out, he decided. There wasn’t any other way. He would also have to call the Department of Transport and report the loss of the craft and get a search going, hopefully for the crew, but more likely for bodies. Depending on where they had foundered, they could have been in the water for hours, and nobody could survive for long in the cold North Atlantic water and high seas. The best he could hope for would be that they would be wearing immersion suits and have got into an inflatable life raft, but the storm had been so intense that he didn’t hold out much hope for the success of such an event.
Slowly, he got up and continued his walk. He hoped that he might find more of The Smitty II washed up on the shore. That was not to be. He finished his circular check of the shore in about twenty minutes and walked slowly into the house where Allison was just getting out of bed. Her tousled blonde hair and sleepy eyes made her even more beautiful and her welcoming smile crushed his already heavy heart.
“Bad news, darling.” He took her in his arms and held her close.
“What? What did you find, Toby dear?”
“Allie, I found the forward part of The Smitty II washed up on the shore.”
For several moments she made no sound. Then she whispered, “No.” She pulled herself tighter into his arms and buried her head against his chest. “No. Not Dad.”
“’Fraid so. He must have been out and got caught in the storm.” He held her as she began to shake. “I’m sorry Allie, dear. So terribly sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
“That will kill Mom. She has always been afraid that it would happen to him some time.” She began to cry, the hard sobs shaking her and tears soaking his shirt. He led her back to the bed and helped her lie down. He stroked her hair, her back and made murmuring sounds to let her know he loved her and felt terrible for her and her family.
After a few minutes, he got up and went to the office to pass the news to the Yarmouth office where a search for the bodies of the crew would begin. Then he called the pastor of the Smith’s church in Barrington Passage to tell him of his discovery so that he could go to the survivors of the crew members. Douglas Campbell, the Pastor, didn’t know how many crew there had been on the fishing boat, but guessed three, the usual number, and Toby agreed with him.
Hanging up, he returned to Allison. She was lying quietly on the bed, all wrung out from crying for the time being. When she saw him enter the bedroom, she began to get up.
“Will you make some coffee, honey?” she asked. “I’m going to have a shower. Then I’ll have to call my mother.”
“She will know by now, or at least very soon. I called Reverend Campbell. I don’t know whether the chopper can stop in to pick you up and take you to Yarmouth today or not. They’re out searching.”
Allison nodded, but said nothing and disappeared into the bathroom. The water started running in the shower. An artesian drilled well not far from the house provided a good source of water, hard, but drinkable and in good supply so that there was no special need to take care to conserve the supply.
Toby didn’t listen to the conversation between mother and daughter, but he saw that Allison was crying when she came out to the kitchen, not the great racking sobs she had had earlier, but tears that welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She reached for a tissue and then another. She sat down at the table and sipped from the mug of coffee Toby had poured for her.
“How was your mother?”
“Shocked. Upset. About what you would expect. Apparently Dad went out early in the morning, planning to be back by mid afternoon, but he didn’t make it.”
“Must have had an engine failure or else the storm arrived at wherever he was fishing quite a while before it got here.”
“Could he have got into a raft in an immersion suit?”
“I hope so. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Toby turned on the kitchen radio, set it to the South Shore radio station to get the latest news. The storm was the lead story and the newscaster said that three boats were reported missing and that a Liberian-registered freighter had been damaged and was awaiting a tow to Halifax. There were several planes from the air force in the air searching for wreckage and possible crew members, either survivors or bodies. When the news was over, Toby left the radio on, but turned the volume way down. He and Allison didn’t need rock music right then.
Somehow, they got through the day. There was no word, either good or bad. Allison didn’t want to leave the house in case somebody contacted them with news. Late in the morning, Toby put the windmill back into
operation and shut down the diesel. All he found when he walked around the island was more driftwood. The waves were beginning to slacken in height and intensity and the sun was attempting to shine through the rapidly thinning overcast. He made lunch of ham and tomato sandwiches, but neither was hungry. He offered to prepare supper, but neither really wanted food and finally, about ten o’clock they went to bed. He held his wife in his arms as usual, stroking and kissing her hair, until she finally drifted off to sleep. It took Toby a couple of hours before he also fell asleep but the sleep was fitful. When it was finally daylight, he got up without disturbing Allison and went to the lighthouse as usual to shut off the light, and then proceeded on his daily tour of the island, hoping without success to find more debris from The Smitty II.
He kept himself busy with small chores throughout the morning, checking on Allison several times. She was coping better this morning than she had been doing yesterday as the idea of her father’s probable death sunk in. She didn’t talk much, but she did smile the second time he entered the kitchen where she was sitting by the radio.
“I love you Toby,” she said, getting up and coming to him. He hugged her tightly. “Thank you for being understanding.”
He had no words to offer. He kissed her, held her for several minutes, then returned to whatever he could find to do outside. She went to the satellite phone and called her mother. That was a mistake. Irene was not taking the news well.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, the sound of the approaching helicopter brought both Toby and Allison out to the landing pad. The chopper was flying in from the east and the fact that it was preparing to land did not bode good news. Luke Hepburn, the pilot, got out from the right hand side, moving slowly. The look on his face told them the story.
“Allison, I’m sorry. We found your father and one crew member. Their bodies are on board. Do you want to come to Yarmouth with us?”