lighthouse.
Clarence looked up and saw Ian putting the final load on the tramcar, which was now stacked high with boxes. The lightkeeper snapped shut a paddle-lock on the supply shed. He eyed the shuttered windows, then tugged at the door to make sure it was secure.
Ian stood next to the tramcar, now stacked high with supply boxes. He wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, waiting impatiently for his father to secure the shed for the night. He watched as the lightkeeper snapped shut a padlock on the door, then tugged to make sure it was secure.
Ian glanced up at the sky and watched as ominous black clouds began rolling in on a hot, foreboding wind. Sally sauntered over and sat down on top of the supplies on the tramcar. “You sure about tonight?” she asked quietly.
Ian looked toward the dock. Several of LeBeck’s thugs had made themselves at home on the beach, cooking dinner over open fires.
“Yeah,” Ian said. “Better bring your mac, though. I think Captain Ben was right about the rain.”
“Never been a spy before.”
“It’ll be an adventure. Besides, we won’t be gone long.”
Sally gestured toward the approaching figure of Clarence, then whispered, “I’ll meet you after Grandma hits the hay.”
Clarence fired up the steam engine, then threw a switch. With a lurch, the tramcar began its long trek up the slope toward the lighthouse compound. Ian and Clarence watched Sally wave back at them as she rode the bumpy rail upwards.
Ian remembered something, reached into his pocket, and handed his father his gold watch.
“Thanks, laddie,” said Clarence. “That was brave of you back there. Stupid, but brave.”
Clarence opened the watch, wound it, then checked to make sure everything was running in good condition.
Ian observed the great care his father took in handling the watch—it was almost as if he were holding a baby. “I know how much Grandpa’s watch means to you, Dad,” he said.
“Someday I’ll pass this watch down to you, Ian. When I think you’re ready. But you’ve got to control that temper of yours first.”
Surprised, Ian said, “But he was going to...”
“People like LeBeck are scum,” Clarence interrupted. “You play right into their hands when you fight ‘em. Ride it out, like a storm.”
A shrill whistle blew from atop the hill. Ian looked up. From their vantage point, he could see black clouds moving fast over the lighthouse.
“Sally’s up,” said Ian.
Clarence moved to the engine and shut it down for the night. As he locked the shed door, a gust of wind blasted him in the face. “We best start walking up ourselves,” he said, watching the storm roll in. “Have to fire up the light early tonight.”
In silence, except for the wind whistling through the trees, they started the long climb up the narrow dirt path that led toward home.
Alone, with black clouds rolling in overhead, Captain Ben strained his muscles against the oars, struggling to keep his little boat on a straight course. Lake Superior was becoming more and more agitated by the minute. Wind gusts whipped up whitecaps, sending waves pounding against the granite shore of the island.
Ben, worry painted on his weathered face, finally pointed the boat toward shore and began rowing furiously, his old bones creaking with the strain. The boat groaned in protest as waves smashed into the wooden hull, some high enough to crash over the side, threatening to swamp it.
But Ben was too salty a seadog for that. He expertly kept the boat high and dry, timing his strokes and keeping the bow as best he could perpendicular to the waves. The worst moments came when the boat was down in the trough between two big waves; it was as if a wall of black water surrounded the boat, ready to collapse at any moment and drag Ben under. But always the little rowboat popped back up on a crest, where Ben could get his bearings and continue steering toward shore.
Lightning began crackling overhead, adding to the feeling of
Clarence looked up and saw Ian putting the final load on the tramcar, which was now stacked high with boxes. The lightkeeper snapped shut a paddle-lock on the supply shed. He eyed the shuttered windows, then tugged at the door to make sure it was secure.
Ian stood next to the tramcar, now stacked high with supply boxes. He wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, waiting impatiently for his father to secure the shed for the night. He watched as the lightkeeper snapped shut a padlock on the door, then tugged to make sure it was secure.
Ian glanced up at the sky and watched as ominous black clouds began rolling in on a hot, foreboding wind. Sally sauntered over and sat down on top of the supplies on the tramcar. “You sure about tonight?” she asked quietly.
Ian looked toward the dock. Several of LeBeck’s thugs had made themselves at home on the beach, cooking dinner over open fires.
“Yeah,” Ian said. “Better bring your mac, though. I think Captain Ben was right about the rain.”
“Never been a spy before.”
“It’ll be an adventure. Besides, we won’t be gone long.”
Sally gestured toward the approaching figure of Clarence, then whispered, “I’ll meet you after Grandma hits the hay.”
Clarence fired up the steam engine, then threw a switch. With a lurch, the tramcar began its long trek up the slope toward the lighthouse compound. Ian and Clarence watched Sally wave back at them as she rode the bumpy rail upwards.
Ian remembered something, reached into his pocket, and handed his father his gold watch.
“Thanks, laddie,” said Clarence. “That was brave of you back there. Stupid, but brave.”
Clarence opened the watch, wound it, then checked to make sure everything was running in good condition.
Ian observed the great care his father took in handling the watch—it was almost as if he were holding a baby. “I know how much Grandpa’s watch means to you, Dad,” he said.
“Someday I’ll pass this watch down to you, Ian. When I think you’re ready. But you’ve got to control that temper of yours first.”
Surprised, Ian said, “But he was going to...”
“People like LeBeck are scum,” Clarence interrupted. “You play right into their hands when you fight ‘em. Ride it out, like a storm.”
A shrill whistle blew from atop the hill. Ian looked up. From their vantage point, he could see black clouds moving fast over the lighthouse.
“Sally’s up,” said Ian.
Clarence moved to the engine and shut it down for the night. As he locked the shed door, a gust of wind blasted him in the face. “We best start walking up ourselves,” he said, watching the storm roll in. “Have to fire up the light early tonight.”
In silence, except for the wind whistling through the trees, they started the long climb up the narrow dirt path that led toward home.
Alone, with black clouds rolling in overhead, Captain Ben strained his muscles against the oars, struggling to keep his little boat on a straight course. Lake Superior was becoming more and more agitated by the minute. Wind gusts whipped up whitecaps, sending waves pounding against the granite shore of the island.
Ben, worry painted on his weathered face, finally pointed the boat toward shore and began rowing furiously, his old bones creaking with the strain. The boat groaned in protest as waves smashed into the wooden hull, some high enough to crash over the side, threatening to swamp it.
But Ben was too salty a seadog for that. He expertly kept the boat high and dry, timing his strokes and keeping the bow as best he could perpendicular to the waves. The worst moments came when the boat was down in the trough between two big waves; it was as if a wall of black water surrounded the boat, ready to collapse at any moment and drag Ben under. But always the little rowboat popped back up on a crest, where Ben could get his bearings and continue steering toward shore.
Lightning began crackling overhead, adding to the feeling of
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