See Notes at end
Lady of the Light
Terri Sutro
He stumbled along the
cobbled street, bumping into other men who angrily cursed his clumsiness and
shoved him aside. He was so cold and
tired. He forced his shivering hands deeper
into the pockets of the dark blue pea coat he wore. It didn’t feel right on him. Any more than the dark breeches and tall
black boots. But then nothing felt right
since he woke up on board the
*****
That day, the first one on the
ship, he’d been awakened by a sharp kick to the ribs. He was pulled to his feet and shoved to the
end of a line of men. He looked at the
shackles on his arms. At his
clothes. At his surroundings. This wasn’t right. He struggled to clear his head of the fog
that enveloped him.
A man they called the Captain
told he and the other men that they’d work for their food and be grateful they
got that. He remembered saying he didn’t
think he belonged on a ship. He
remembered the blow that dropped him to his knees. But he didn’t remember much else. After a while he stopped trying to remember
anything. He concentrated only on making
it through each day.
Hour after hour, day after day of
labor first in the remorseless sun and then in driving rain and cold left him
numb with emptiness. The food was scarce
and the beatings plentiful. Talk among
the men wasn’t encouraged. But he had
asked questions whenever he could find someone willing to talk and finally
learned that he’d been conscripted into the service of Captain Eamon Means,
skipper of the
His confusion threatened to
overwhelm him. He tried talking to the
man with the whip, but was rewarded for his question with night
duties. That meant he spent the night
freezing in the cold rain on deck. After
that he focused only on the job. Fix the
rigging. Tend the lines. He didn’t think he’d ever been on a ship
before, but he learned quickly. He
learned not to look anyone in the eyes.
Especially the man. Never look
the man in the eyes. Don’t do anything
to cause him to notice you. Don’t do
anything to draw the whip.
The whip. He’s endured it once, learning that to argue,
to say anything even in the defense of someone innocent of wrongdoing was
futile. The others looked at him in
astonishment when he challenged the man.
Then they looked at him in anger when they were denied their evening
meal because of his action. He learned
quickly.
He scratched a mark into the wood
next to where he slept each night.
Fifteen marks. Fifteen
nights. He closed his eyes. A face drifted across his memory. A smile.
He couldn’t quite grab hold of it.
Something about that smile made his heart ache. Maybe it was the loss of that smile. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything. His sleep was restless. His dreams unnerving. People and places flitted just on the outside
of his consciousness. Never close enough
to reach. And always that one. The one he wanted to reach more than
anything.
The ship finally docked. He looked at the buildings that framed the
waterfront and the grand mansions that decked the hill above. It was so green here. Trees covered hillsides. Flowers bloomed wildly. He had no idea where he was. It didn’t matter. He’d made a decision.
He performed his duties in an
unobtrusive manner as he could. But he
watched from the corner of his eye as the Captain went ashore.
The man with the whip checked the
chains that bound the men. Satisfied
they were secure, he broke out the bottle he’d been saving and ordered his
subordinate to keep watch. The man
sneered his answer, retiring to the ship’s aft section, grumbling over the work
that kept him from the small room in back of the herb shop down a narrow alley
in
The man took a breath and looked
around. Whatever was out there had to be
better than this. It was now or
never. He slid the nail out of his boot
and hid it in his palm. As casually as
he could, he wandered to the side of the ship closest to the dock. He knelt, seemingly recoiling the ropes that
lay everywhere on the deck.
The tall ship rocked to and fro
with the wind that blustered around her.
The sky blackened and thundered.
Flashes of light sparked in the distance.
He’d found the nail under some
tarps. He didn’t know why he picked it
up and slipped it in his boot. It just
happened. Now, he was grateful for
whatever instinct made him do it. And
whatever was telling him how it could now be exactly what he needed.
The nail slid into the lock and
with fingers stiff from cold he gently twisted it until he heard a soft
click. He slid his arm out of the iron
shackle, flexing his bruised, but still strong wrist. He undid the second shackle. He was almost free.
Cautiously he turned. No one watched him. The man whose whip had made his back bleed
was unconscious and unheeding of anything other than his rum induced
dreams.
From somewhere inside him he
found the last bit of strength he had and leapt from the ship to the dock. He fell, rolling the last few feet from the
gangplank.
Someone shouted. Then many voices called out that someone was
escaping. There was no bond between
these men. If helping capture an escapee
meant an extra portion of bread or maybe a drink of rum, well, everyone in who
worked this ship knew that was the way of life.
He ran, as hard as he could,
until his chest felt like it would burst from the pain. He ran, until there was nothing left for him
to run with. An empty warehouse offered
meager shelter from the pounding rain that drenched him. He ducked in, gasping for breath. As his vision adjusted to the darkened
building he quickly surveyed his accommodations. Deciding, he headed for the furthest
corner.
He sat on the damp wooden floor,
his back to the wall, his knees drawn to his chest, an attempt to keep any
remaining body heat from escaping. He
listened for pursuers, but heard nothing.
The world right now was quiet, but for the rain on the tin room, the
sounds of the waves crashing outside and the steady drip of water from the
window.
He told himself, he’d rest here
and in the morning things would be better.
The throbbing in his head subsided as he sat, eyes closed. He was free.
Now he could figure things out.
Like where he was. And more
importantly, who he was.
*****
The clanging of a bell
woke him. He blinked at the stream of
sunlight coming in through the window and rubbed his eyes open. He found his legs wobbly as he tried to stand
and wound up pushing his back up against the wall and clawing his way to an
upright position. The room swam. He clung to the wall and closed his eyes
against the nausea he felt.
He remembered hunger this
bad. He closed his eyes, but only saw
more strange images of people he didn’t know.
A little boy asking for more food.
A tall man in the black-frocked coat shouting and striking him. He shook the image away. Probably someone he’d met somewhere.
His vision cleared and things
stopped moving. He took a tentative step
and finding his legs seemed to be working, another. He took a deep breath tasting the salty
air. Straightening himself he started
for the door, peeking hesitantly outside making sure no one was there who might
be interested in him. He saw no one that
looked familiar, so he stepped out into the morning.
The smell of food teased his
already growling stomach and even though there was no money in his pockets, he
headed towards it. He’d work for
food. Anything to make the ache go away.
He stumbled along the cobbled
street, bumping into other men who angrily cursed his clumsiness and shoved him
aside. He was so cold and tired. He forced his shivering hands deeper into the
pockets of the dark blue pea coat he wore.
It didn’t feel right on him. Any
more than the dark breeches and tall black boots. But then nothing felt right since he woke up
on board the
The roughly dressed men and
gaudily dressed women who made the waterfront both a place called home and work
stared at him as he made his way up the street.
They laughed as he stumbled and hung onto a lamppost to steady
himself. “Pace yourself laddie,” one of
the old timers shouted. “Don’t be takin’
all yer pleasures at once.” He heard the
raucous laughter surround him.
He squinted at a group of men
coming towards him. He couldn’t quite
focus on them, the sunlight blinding him.
But he knew. Some long ago
developed instinct told him to run.
He turned back the way he came
and once again started running. The
shouts came closer. He ran as though his
life depended on it. He was certain it
did.
The men drew closer, he could
hear their shouts. He swerved down an
alley, skidding to a stop at the end.
There was no place to go. No place
but the water. The end of the alley
lead directly to the sea. It was now at
his back. The men were fast approaching
in front. His mind struggled for an
answer.
He heard someone shriek some
harsh profanity and lunge out of the shadows.
Something hit him and he felt himself topple backward off the
wharf. He flailed out as he fell, grasping
at anything that could break his fall.
But there was nothing. He heard
the men’s shouts. They were angry he was
falling. Somehow that comforted
him. But only for a moment. Then there was nothing but a stinging wet
blanket and a blackness that was terrifying in it’s promise of peace.
*****
She always walked the
shore in the morning. It was good being
here again. Walking this particular
shore. Finding bits of glass and drift wood
for her collection. This was her
time. Time before the day’s work began. Time to walk and enjoy the cool air and the
smell of the sea. Time to think. Time to look upon the vast ocean before her
and hope that one day she’d find him. It
had been twenty years and in her brain she knew he wasn’t coming home. But in her heart…the love they had shared for
only a few years had been the happiest she could remember in her life. After he’d disappeared, she’d never sought to
replace it as her friends had urged her.
No, she lived the life she wanted here by the sea. Solitary perhaps, but full. And every morning she walked the shore. One day she truly believed she’d find
him.
*****
“Mornin’ Miss
Laura.” The elderly man unclamped his
teeth from his long handled pipe and rose as she walked by.
“Good Morning Mr. Cutler. Is your leg better today?” Laura Blach Stratton smiled at the man as she
passed him.
“Yes ma’am. Nice to see you again. Things over to Ediz Hook good for you?” He sat down slowly, favoring his right leg,
still wrapped in bandages.
“Yes, Mr. Cutler they’re just
fine. Although I must admit I miss Point
Wilson. But I understand Mr. Littlefield
is doing a fine job. Take care of
yourself.” She walked on, eager to be at
her place. She only had a few more weeks
of time here before she had to return to her own post.
The man nodded and returned to
smoking his pipe. He watched the woman
wind her way down the path to the sea and wrapping her shawl closer around her,
start off on the sand. The tide was out
and the beach glittered with items washed up.
She turned and waved at the man
before she rounded a curve and was lost from his view.
The sun was warmer here and she
removed her tightly woven shawl and used it to hold the treasures the outgoing
tide left behind. Even though the sea
had taken the true love of her life, she loved it. Its ever-changing nature beguiled her. She knew she’d live her life out near
it.
She picked up a broken glass
float in a deep green color and held it up to the light. Humming softly, she gathered a largh conch
shell, a branched piece of driftwood, more bits of glass, a man’s pipe, a brass
button. She picked up her pace some and
tied her shawl closed. There were chores
to be done. This post was bigger and
more difficult to manage than her own.
She turned to make the climb to
the street when something moved in the shadows of the tangled mass of logs
washed up against the wall that separated the ocean from the town. She approached tentatively, but still
couldn’t quite make it out, hidden as it was.
“Is someone there?” She took
another step and cried out in shock as she discovered what it was.
“Oh my God.” She cried out as she saw the crumpled
figure. “John! Oh John is it you my love.” Her heart pounded and she mouthed a silent please
as she knelt beside him and gently turned the body over. Sadness washed over her. Not her lost love. Another’s perhaps. She checked the pulse at his throat,
astonished he was still alive. The sea
did not give up its victories easily.
“Can you hear me?” She tapped his face gently. “Please, try and open your eyes.” She smoothed the long hair back from his forehead and tried to sit him up, leaning him against the logs. His skin was ashen and he was too thin for the clothes that clung to him. She didn’t know how long he’d been lying here. His clothes though damp, were not wet. She shaded his face from the sun. His cheeks were flushed. She placed her fingers on his forehead. He was warm, she couldn’t tell if it was fever or just the sun.
He stirred, moving back from her
so suddenly that she fell back, startled.
He didn’t speak, but the eyes that fixed on her were desperate and
fearful and something else. Behind those
eyes was a man who didn’t give up easily.
If at all.
“Come, we have to get you
somewhere warm. I don’t know how you
survived the sea, but you’re hurt.
Come. My home is close by.” She didn’t know why she said that. She was a woman alone. She should call the Sheriff and let the law
take custody of this man. But something
in the way his eyes studied her, in the set of his jaw, reminded her of the man
she’d fallen in love with so many years before.
And something told her to follow her heart not her mind. “Let me help you.” She put an arm around him and helped him to
his feet.
He flinched at her touch, but
held her arm tightly and used the logs to balance as he pulled himself up. “Thank you.”
His voice cracked. It hurt to
swallow and he was having difficulty remaining on his feet.
“Hush now. Don’t talk.
Can you walk?” She tried guiding
him forward, but he almost fell.
A tiny smile formed on his
lips. “Depends on how far I need to go,
ma’am.” He whispered and sagged into
her.
“It’s not far. My carriage is close by. Just there.
Please you must try.” The sky,
just a moment ago clear and blue was now darkened with black clouds that
threatened to open at any moment. “It’s
not far and then you can rest.”
He hesitated for a moment trying
to sort things out. He remembered
falling. And the water. The suffocating blackness. A violent shiver ran through him. He knew he’d beaten death once again. He relived the moment when the ocean had
given up and tossed him back to shore.
He looked around suddenly frightened.
He was running. No he was being
chased. The men. Were they here? He struggled to run, but she held him. He looked for the men. But there was no one save the woman. And something in her eyes told him he could
trust her. For now.
“Yes ma’am. I’ll be fine.” He took a step forward, then another. His mind blocked out the pain. It blocked out everything but taking one
step after another.
*****
The house stood on a solitary
spit of land a short carriage ride from where she found him. At its front stood the tall trees and lush
grown of the forest. Behind, the steep
cliff that dropped to the rocks below.
He’d sat rigid for the trip,
forcing himself to stay conscious, while every rut the carriage hit caused
sharp, stabbing pain to shoot through him.
He didn’t cry out. Something, he
didn’t know what, made him afraid to speak.
As though speaking would cause more pain.
He nearly fell into her arms as
he tried to climb down from the carriage.
She struggled to guide him up the gravel path that lead to the
house. His breathing grew more ragged with
each step. She was nearly exhausted by
the time they’d reached the porch steps.
It was all she could do to get the man inside and out of the driving
rain that now pelted them.
He didn’t have anything left to
draw upon. Physical and emotional
exhaustion was overtaking him. The swirl
of images, mixed with some deep-seated terror bombarded him. He was dizzy and sick and now, though moving,
was barely conscious. She bore most of
his weight, practically dragging him forward.
“It’s not much farther. Just in there.” She moved towards a small room off the
parlor, falling to her knees as she deposited him on the simple iron bed set
against a corner of the room.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t.
No words formed as he tried to focus on the voice telling him it would be
all right. His eyes fluttered closed as
he surrendered to unconsciousness.
She stayed kneeling by the bed
for a while, gathering her breath and thoughts.
Then rose and lit the logs in the small fireplace that John had built
for them when this house had been theirs.
The room would be warm soon. She
returned to the bed, studying her visitor.
So much like John. The John she’d
loved so long ago. The coloring was
close enough to be the son she’d hoped to give him. But this wasn’t John. And there’d been no child. She pulled herself up. This young man was hurt and ill and needed
her help. When he was well he’d leave of
his own accord. That was as it should
be. She heard the church bells chiming
from town. She needed to hurry. There was much work to do before night
fell.
She hurriedly removed his
clothing. She was well past
modesty. It had been a hard life. She’d rescued dozens of men from the sea,
nursing them to health and sending them back.
The clothes were damp, thin and old.
The pummeling he’d taken from the sea had left them torn in places. She could mend them tonight. She unbuttoned his shirt, holding him
gently. She gasped in shock when she
finished removing it.
His back was a mass of
purplish-blue bruises and red lash marks.
He’d been beaten badly and not that long ago. The cuts were beginning to heal. The skin was warm around the cuts. They’d need treatment or they’d become
infected. She’d seen cuts like this
before. She knew the instrument that
could inflict them. She’d lived by the
sea long enough to have heard stories of the sea captains that drove their crew
with the whip. She finished undressing
him. He had to have been on a ship. And he had to have run away. Looking at the injuries again, and the
bruises on his wrists and ankles from the manacles, she said a silent prayer of
thanks that he’s gotten away. And
lived. And that he would find the
strength to continue to fight for life.
She found the ointment that would
help the wounds heal, and gently smoothed it into the cuts.
He moaned at her touch and tried
to turn away.
She held him still. “Shhhh, now.
This will ease the pain. Hush,
sleep.” She finished, covering the cuts
with soft white linen bandages. The
physical marks would disappear over time. She wondered if the emotional scars would
disappear as well. She checked the fire
and added another log, stoking it so the flames caught.
She had to go. The sky was darkening and she wasn’t ready
yet. She wouldn’t have the luxury of a
quiet afternoon. The ships that were
approaching the harbor needed her skill now.
She covered him with blankets and
a handmade quilt. Checking his forehead
again, she nodded. He was feverish, but
it didn’t seem too high to her. With one
last backward glance, she closed the door and climbed the narrow staircase to
the small room called the Pilot House, the place where she’d spend the rest of
her day.
*****
The storm raged throughout the day and night. She took only hasty breaks to check on the still sleeping man. He was restless at times, moaning and crying out, dreaming of things that she hoped he wouldn’t remember when he woke. Then he was so still she searched for a pulse to make sure he was still alive.
She force fed him a few spoons of
soup, but finally gave up and took the steaming bowl back upstairs with
her.
By morning she was nearly
spent. But the storm passed and there
had been no rescues to make. She walked
wearily downstairs to the room that would have been hers, but now belonged to
this stranger. She eyed the bed
longingly, but knew he needed it more than she did.
He was still sleeping. Nearly a full day. He looked peaceful. And so very young. She saw his clothes lying in a pile on the
floor. They needed washing. She gathered them up, searching through the
pockets for anything that might belong to him.
Nothing.
Sighing, she went to the small
kitchen to do the washing and to make some tea.
She’d try to get him to take some.
He seemed to be all right, but if he didn’t regain consciousness soon,
she’d go for the doctor.
A short time later, the clothes
were hanging on the line and the tea was made.
She walked quietly back check on the man. She gently swung the door to the room open,
hoping the creaking hinges wouldn’t disturb him.
He’d been drifting towards
consciousness since she had come in. The
creaking of the door reminded him of something else. He was walking on something that creaked
like that. There was more creaking. This time it startled him awake. He sat up quickly only to succumb to a wave
of dizziness and fall back upon the bed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake
you. Although I was afraid you’d sleep
another day away.” She came and sat by
the bed setting the cup on the small table that stood next to it. She laid her hand against his forehead. “Why your fever is gone. Are you feeling better?”
In truth he didn’t know how he
felt. Warm, for the first time in
weeks. The bone deep weariness wasn’t so
evident. He ached, but didn’t hurt. He was still confused and the fear that
haunted him was still there. But there
was something else. Safety, he
wondered. Kindness in the eyes of the
woman who smiled across from him. “Yes
ma’am. I don’t remember much, but you
saved my life didn’t you? You brought me
here. Is this your house ma’am?” The effort taxed him and his eyes
closed.
“This is my house and you’re
welcome here. Can you take some
tea?” She held the cup to his chapped
lips and watched as he gulped the hot, sweet liquid. “Are you hungry? I could make you some toast or some
broth.” But he was asleep again. She drew the cup away. “I suppose we can
introduce ourselves later.”
She pulled the covers back up to
his chin, then checked the fire.
Yawning, she at last made her way to the small parlor and touched
another match to the logs that lay in this second, larger stone fireplace. The warmth filled the room quickly. Curling up on the settee, she too drifted off
into a peaceful sleep.
*****
The chimes struck for the third
time before she awoke. Stretching she
rolled off the settee. A few more hours
and she’d start her nightly duties. But
for now, she had some time to see if her guest was awake.
He opened his eyes immediately as
she entered the room and pulled the covers a little tighter against him. His head no longer pounded and his vision had
cleared so he could actually see her.
She’d been a beauty once. Hair
still dark, pulled back in a loose tie at the nape of her neck. Eyes surrounded
by fine lines, but dark and direct. He
smiled at her. “Ma’am. Doesn’t seem like enough, but thank you for
helping me.” He struggled to a sitting
position. He grimaced at the pain when
his back settled against the pillow, and compromised by leaning sideways into
it.
“You don’t need to thank me. I couldn’t very well leave you out
there. Are you feeling better? You’ve slept for a full day. Are you hungry at all. I was about to fix my afternoon meal. It’s not fancy, just stew. But it is filling.” She watched his eyes blink as he concentrated
on listening to her. He was still
struggling to sort out what had happened and his mind was not yet rested enough
to help him.
“Sounds wonderful, ma’am.” His stomach growled to emphasize his
words. He looked embarrassed. “Sorry ma’am.”
She laughed. “I hope you’re not sorry when you taste my
stew.”
*****
The savory aroma of the
hearty stew made him salivate in anticipation.
This time he did manage to get to an upright position, pulling the
covers up as far as he could. His back
ached but the pain seemed to have diminished.
He shifted the covers
one more time having realized that he seemed to have lost his clothing
somewhere between falling into the sea and waking up in the woman’s house. He was trying to get the covers to stay up to
his chin while still leaving his arms free to eat when she came in carrying a
heavily laden tray.
Laughing, she watched him for a
minute. “Land sakes, don’t fuss so. Why I’ve pulled enough men out of the sea to
not be shocked at much any more.” She
settled the tray on his lap and motioned for him to start.
The need for food
surpassed any embarrassment he might have felt.
He picked up the spoon, but didn’t start on the food. “Where’s yours ma’am?”
She smiled. “Don’t you worry about me. I thought you might need yours first. You just get started, I’ll be back with mine
in a minute. If you don’t mind some
company.”
“It would be my pleasure
ma’am.” He frowned.
“It’s Laura. Laura Stratton. And yours is?” She cocked her head encouraging him.
He looked confused again and
frowned as he thought about her question.
His name. This was stupid; of
course he knew his name. But he didn’t. He looked up, a bit lost. “I don’t know
ma’am.” He thought harder. “I don’t know what my name is. Or where I’m from. Or anything before I nearly drowned. All I know is that men were chasing me.” His chest rose and fell quickly, the realization
hitting him, the panic starting to show in his eyes.
She looked startled. “Here now, calm yourself. Why you’ve had an experience most men don’t
survive. It’s no surprise you’re
confused. With some rest and good food
you’ll be fine in no time and then, why I’m sure your memory will return. For now, my stew tastes better hot. All right?
You mustn’t worry. It will just
make it harder for you to get well.” She
turned to leave.
He watched her, relief flooding
his being. Of course. He just needed some rest. No sense in worrying about something that was
sure to pass.
He turned his attention to the
tray. Stew with chunks of beef, thick
slices of bread, an apple and a big glass of milk. He took a tentative bite of stew and
immediately forgot about anything else. He was entirely content trying to get
every bit of food from every plate on the tray.
She wasn’t gone more than ten
minutes, returning with another fully laden tray.
He looked up guiltily. He’d finished the stew and bread and was
gulping the milk. It left a white coat
on his mustache. A sheepish smile escaped. “I guess I was a mite hungry.”
She laughed again. “I’d say you were. Do you want some more?” She exchanged trays before he was able to say
anything. “Here, take your apple. But this time, take a bit more time. You’re not used to this much food all at one
time I think.”
“But this is yours…I can’t…I
mean, please you eat this. I’m fine
now. He held the apple out to her. He wasn’t sure why.
“Of course you are. But I insist.
It’s been many years since anyone enjoyed my cooking this much. Go one.
There’s plenty.” She pushed the
tray gently towards him. “But slowly.”
This time a broad smile lit his
face. “Thank you ma’am.” He took a bite out of the apple, savoring its
sweetness. He almost felt good.
She returned with her
own food. Balancing it on her lap, she
sat opposite him. “Well, I suppose we
should decide what to call you until you remember who you are.” She spoke gently as she could.
He looked up and took a deep
breath. He didn’t say anything for a
moment. “You called me something when
you found me. I remember hearing your
voice and wondering if I was hearing an angel.”
“Well no one’s compared
me to an angel, except for my husband. And his name was John. I thought that…when I found you, I mean…that
it might be he.” She took a small bite
of stew and studied the bowl.
“I’m sorry Miss Laura. I didn’t mean to bring up a bad memory.” He frowned.
“We’ll think of a different name.
It’s just that John sounds familiar.
Somehow. I don’t know why.”
She studied him. “Well perhaps it is your name. And it’s not so bad a memory. My husband is…was a sea captain. His ship, the Lady Laura, was lost at sea
many years ago. He was a good man and I
don’t think he’d mind you borrowing his name until you find your own. So if it’s all right, we’ll just leave it with
John. I’m sure you won’t be needing it
for long anyway.” She got up and started
to leave.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s fine.”
His questions stopped her just as she’d reached the door. “Ma’am, where exactly are we?”
She smiled gently and returned to
his bedside. “I’m sorry, I
thought…you’re in Port Townsend.
Washington Territory.” She
paused. “Well, I must get the light
ready for tonight. If you’re strong
enough to get dressed, your clothes are clean and dry.” She pointed to the neatly folded clothes on
top of the chest of drawers.
“Washington.” He concentrated on the word hoping it would
mean something to him, but it was just a word.
“Are you done?” She reached down and started combining plates
and bowls onto one of the trays.
“Yea ma’am. It was wonderful. What did you mean ‘the light?” He looked around trying to understand what
she meant.
“The light. You’re in my lighthouse…John. I’m the keeper of the light. And if I don’t get to my chores, there’s
won’t be much light for the ships that count on it tonight. Rest.
Get dressed if you like. It’s
probably best you that you sleep. We’ll
have time to talk tonight. Once the
light is lit.” She closed the door.
He settled back enjoying
the quiet. He snuggled down further into
the covers. The calling of the sea birds
was the only sound that he heard.
Washington. He tried again. He didn’t think it was familiar. He scowled in disgust. Right now he was so confused he might have
lived here his whole life and not known it.
But he decided he liked the woman.
There was a gentleness mixed with efficiency about her.
Keeper of the
light. A woman? He’d never heard of a woman doing that kind
of work. At least he didn’t think he’d
heard of anything like that. He knew
what a lighthouse was though. He thought
maybe he’d seen one. Somewhere. Sometime.
He remembered a tall building, painted white. He remembered climbing the stairs to the top
and he remembered the light. He
remembered something else. Someone
actually. Someone laughing. The memory comforted him, but he didn’t know
why. He exhaled angrily. Why couldn’t he remember?
He arched up and peered out the
window. Night was approaching. He was suddenly tired again. How could that be? He’d slept for hours. He thought about getting up but
couldn’t. I’ll just rest for a
while. He closed his eyes and sank into
sleep.
The dreams started almost
immediately. Flashing images he
struggled to connect. He was on
horseback, riding fast. Men were chasing
him. There was a train. And money.
And a voice. He wasn’t
alone. He pushed himself to see the
face, to hear the voice. There was
safety with that voice. The images
shifted. A ship He was on a ship. Suddenly he was terrified. And mad.
He was running and running.
Someone was behind him, chasing him.
No face comforted him this time.
Why. Why was he running. He wouldn’t wake up until he knew the
answer. This time…
“Shhh. It’s all right. No one will hurt you.” She sat on the bed beside him, shaking him
gently out of the dream.
Her voice broke through the
images. His eyes flew open and he
grabbed the hands that held him.
“NO!” He shouted, holding her
hand away from him.
“It’s all right. You were dreaming. That’s all.”
She pulled free of his grasp.
“Hush now son. Don’t be
frightened. You’re safe here.” She brushed the dark hair from his
forehead.
“Dreaming. I was dreaming.” He blinked at her. “I saw someone. I think I know him. But men were chasing me. There were horses. And a ship.
I was on a ship. Could that be
how I got here?” His breathing
quickened. “If I could just see the end
of the dream.”
She covered his hands with
hers. “I’m sorry. You were crying out. I didn’t know if I should let you finish the
dream or stop you.”
“It’s all right. I seem to get closer with each dream.” He looked intently at her. “I remember running and that men were chasing
me. Ma’am. I don’t think I should stay
here. The men who were chasing me will
be searching for me. They’ll come here,
someone must have seen you helping me. I
don’t want you to be in danger.”
“Nonsense. No one will think twice about your being
here. I’ve put up dozens of men here
over the years and the worst that’s come of it is they’ve eaten me out of all
my stores of food.” She laughed.
“Thank you. If, you’re certain, I don’t want to be any
trouble for you. I can work around
here. Fix things that need fixing. Though I don’t know if I know how to fix
things.” He shrugged.
“Right now, just concentrate on
resting and getting stronger. We’ll take
care of the rest in time. And try not to
worry. She adjusted his pillows so he
could sit up.
He settled back against them and
winced. “Did I get hurt somehow? You took care of my back didn’t you?”
She didn’t know what to tell
him. “Yes, you must have been injured
when you either fell into the sea or washed ashore.” She didn’t think the truth would do anything
but hurt or confuse him more right now.
“I’ll need to change the bandages and put some more salve on the cuts
later.”
He nodded slightly. “But I probably was on a ship.” He said hopefully. It wasn’t much of a memory, but for now it
was all he had.
“Yes. I think so.
Many ships put in here. And your
clothes were similar to what the seamen wear.”
“Maybe someone knows me.”
“Perhaps. When you’re stronger, we could go to the
docks and see. You could talk to some of
the men.” She smiled encouragingly.
“Yes…” He frowned, deep creases cutting his
forehead. “No. No, the ship.
No.” He was becoming agitated.
“All right. We don’t have to do anything. Why don’t we just take one day at a
time.” She patted his hand to calm him.
He smiled gratefully. “How did you become a…keeper of the
light? Is that what you said?”
“Seemed natural I suppose. John, my John, was a ship’s captain. He loved the tall ships and he loved the
sea. He lived here all his life. He built this house so the sea would always
be at his back. We met when he came to
San Francisco. We were married shortly
after and I came here to live. We had
ten wonderful years together before…before I lost him. That was twenty years ago.”
“But this house is where he lives
still.” She swept her arms around. “And when I’m here I can sense him.” She looked embarrassed at the display. “Well, there had been so many tragedies, so
many ships lost on the rocks, so many men lost that the town council decided we
should have a light to guide the ships safely into the harbor. It needed a home and this was just the best
place for it. So they asked if they
could build it on top of the house.”
She looked wistful. “I suppose I thought that if it were here,
perhaps it would guide John home to me.”
She cleared her throat. “And it was
for the best. I had no income, with John
gone. They purchased the house from me
for the light. I don’t know why, I think
they just assumed I’d be the keeper.
I’ve since learned that many women do this.” She looked out the window at the gulls flying
by. “Leaving the Point was the hardest
thing I ever had to do, when they appointed Mr. Littlefield to be the keeper
here.”
“You don’t live here? Did someone make you leave? Why would they do that?” The dark eyes narrowed with concern.
“No, I haven’t lived here for
some time. I don’t know exactly why the
council asked Mr. Littlefield to take charge of the light here. And in the end, it did turn out well.” She brightened. “I’m the keeper at Ediz Hook. That’s not far from here. And perhaps it was good to put a little
distance between myself and the memories.
They’re all the sweeter when I am able to return.”
“Are you just visiting
here?” He decided that he liked Laura
Stratton.
“Well I suppose I am. Mr. Littlefield had to go east. Family matters I understand. The former keeper at Ediz Hook is watching
that light. I came here for a month to
tend this one. We all try to help out
when we can.” She rose. “I must tend the light. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you ma’am. I’m fine.
I think I’ll try getting dressed.”
He blushed slightly and smiled.
“Can you manage…of course. Take your time. I’ll be upstairs for a while. Don’t try to do too much.” And she was gone.
He straightened and slid out of
bed, wrapping the quilt around him. His legs
wobbled for a minute as he took a tentative step, but they held him up. He looked around the small room, seeing his
clothes, clean, folded and waiting for him.
He looked around again, then stealthily let the quilt slip to the
floor. He dressed slowly, his arms and
legs not moving with any degree of ease.
The clothes hung loosely on him.
He examined each piece as he put it on as though there was a clue
somewhere in or on them that would help him remember.
He walked to the chest of drawers
and peered into the mirror that hung above it.
He stared at the image not entirely recognizing the face he saw. Dark eyes ringed with black shadows focused
on the pale gaunt face, brown hair falling long past thin shoulders. A long dark beard, flecked with red. He shook his head and ran his fingers through
his hair. Something was missing. A hat.
Something shiny reflecting against the sun. He shook his head. There were a lot of things missing.
He jumped at the second image in
the mirror and turned. He hadn’t heard
anyone come up behind him. He was alone
in the room. He was shaking as he turned
back, clinging to the chest for support, suddenly feeling very tired again. He sank back onto the bed and held his head
in his hands. Who was this man? This face that haunted him. Was it a friend? Or enemy.
“Are you all right? What’s happened?” She’d entered unheard. “I heard you cry out.”
He rose quickly, a mistake as he
saw the room swim by again. He guided
himself back down onto the bed. “Yes
ma’am.” He paused. “No ma’am.
I don’t know. There was a face in
the mirror. The one that’s been in my
dreams.”
“You mustn’t worry.” She sat beside him and took his hands. They were trembling. “Please.
You’ve been through a great deal.
You must give your body and your mind a chance to rest. I have no doubt that you’ll remember
everything.” The eyes that looked at her
nearly broke her heart with the anguish she saw there.
“Thank you Miss Laura. I believe you. It’s just that I’m not a patient man.” Something sparked in those eyes.
“See there. I told you you’d start remembering. Now we know you’re impatient.” She smiled gently. “You know, I used to cut John’s hair and
beard. Would you like me to trim
yours?”
He nodded. “I don’t exactly know how it used to be, but
I don’t think it was like this.”
“Very well then. I’ll go find the scissors. The light is lit and there are no ships due
in for a while. Come along into the
parlor. The light’s better there. You know, the man you keep seeing might be a
friend. Someone who’s trying to find you
and somehow wants you to know that he’s there.”
Her eyes grew sad. “Sometimes I
still see and feel….” She stopped, lost
in her own memory. “I’m sorry. You’ve heard quite enough of my foolishness.” She paused at the door. “John, before long there’ll be a routine in
each day. It will bring you
comfort. And over time you will remember
who you are.”
He thought about what she said as
he followed her out of the room. Maybe
the man in his dream was a friend. The
visage did bring him comfort. “I hope
you’re right ma’am. More than anything,
I hope you’re right.”
*****
Kid Curry slapped the man hard. He was not a man prone to violence for its own sake. But it had taken him the better part of two weeks to find the man who’d had his partner kidnapped. He’d ridden through every town between Denver, Cheyenne and Laramie only to find the two men who had actually drugged Heyes. Kid persuaded them to give him the information he needed. That led him back to the outskirts of Cheyenne, where the man he sought lived in a small run down shack.
He was tired and scared
and angry and had long run out of patience.
His voice, raspy from lack of sleep was sharp and direct. “Where is he?
For the last time, Butler, I know you had him kidnapped. The men who drugged him already told me
that. They said they delivered him to
you. Now you got one minute to tell me
what you did with him or so help me nothing is going to save you.”
The man bound to the chair
paled. His eyes, bloodshot from too much
whiskey, stared at the man who stood before him. He hadn’t expected to meet with this
man. He thought he’d managed to put
Hannibal Heyes and all he’d been responsible for behind him. He thought he’d gotten even. And for a while it appeared he was
right.
Richard Davison Butler had been
wealthy and powerful. Part owner of one
of the biggest banks in Wyoming. Banking
was Richard Butler’s business. When the
banking day ended, Butler found his way to a less attractive part of town to
take his pleasures in the brothels and opium dens. That was where he met Ling.
Ling, the old Chinese man with
only one name. Ling, who ran a
profitable business providing opium, prostitutes and almost anything else that
might be considered illicit to the wealthy men of Cheyenne. Ling, who could keep a secret, until it
proved more valuable to sell it.
Butler enjoyed all of the
pleasures of Ling’s parlor. Up until the
bank was robbed and burned to the ground.
His source of cash gone, Butler was forced to sell his fine mansion and
it’s contents to continue his addictions.
When the money was finally gone,
so was Butler’s invitation to Ling’s parlor.
Butler turned to begging from men who used to be his friends. But now looked upon him as an
embarrassment. At first they gave him
money. But as time passed, their
generosity ceased and it was made clear to him that they’d prefer he bother
them no more. His anger and bitterness
grew.
Each time there was a report of
another bank robbery, the wound grow deeper.
The Devil’s Hole Gang garnered most of his hatred. They were almost viewed as heroes. Robbing from the rich. He grew to blame them for his problems. And their leader, Hannibal Heyes was the
center of his rage.
One day one of Butler’s former
friends visited the at this shack. A
man well known for his own addictions, as well as his powerful status in both
the railroad and banking communities, he looked around the one room with
disgust.
The disgust grew when the man
looked at Butler. He barely entered the
shack to explain his plan, preferring to stay close to the door. When he was finished he took a thick envelope
out of his coat and handed it to Butler.
Butler’s finger’s trembled as he
pulled out a thick wad of bills.
The man explained in specific
detail what would happen if Butler used the money for anything other than
executing the plan or if he revealed who had arranged for this to happen.
Butler nodded. He understood. This was a chance to right the wrong. It may not have been Hannibal Heyes that had
burned his bank. But it might just as
well have been. In Butler’s opium
damaged mind, he had decided that it was surely Hannibal Heyes who needed to
pay for everything that had happened to him.
The man asked again if Butler
understood what he needed to do.
Butler nodded again.
The man left as quickly as his fine carriage could take him.
The next day Butler visited Ling
and explained what he was going to do.
He didn’t mention that other man.
Ling thought it an interesting
proposal. He knew Butler had not planned
this. He also knew under the right
circumstances, he might learn who did.
And that knowledge could mean power or money. Or both.
So he handed Butler a small pouch
containing a white powder. Dropped into
a drink they were all but unnoticeable.
But the person drinking would put up no argument after. He repeated the instructions twice, staring
at Butler’s almost unfocused eyes.
Butler took the pouch with
trembling hands, as well as the other small packet. A gift of the flower from one friend to
another.
So Butler began. He knew of Hannibal Heyes association with
Sheriff Lom Trevors of Porterville. Word
had it that Heyes and Curry came to town frequently to see him. He talked to people he thought might know
Heyes. Finally he found a man who had
ridden with Heyes on one job. For $100
he was more than happy to describe him.
Butler went to town every day and
waited. Every day for three months he
stood in the shadows of the alley across from Sheriff Lom Trevor’s office. Watching and waiting. Waiting for Heyes to appear in
Porterville. Knowing sooner or later
he’d appear.
It was a long wait. But he made good use of his time. Every minute of every day he stood in that alley,
he focused on Hannibal Heyes. How
everything had been his fault. How he had to pay. And pay with his life. But not right away. Heyes had to suffer. Like he himself had suffered. The man who’d employed him said Butler could
do what he liked, as long as eventually Heyes was returned to Cheyenne. What Richard Butler liked was to cause as
much pain to Hannibal Heyes as possible.
He was only sorry he couldn’t be there to watch it. But that was too close. He’d have to make due with telegraphed reports.
So he waited. From time to time he’d wander to the
saloon. There he found the men he’d hire
to carry out his revenge. Two drifters,
guns tied at the thigh, not talking to anyone.
He approached them one quiet night with the offer of $1,000 if they’d do
a small job for him. They didn’t spend
much time thinking about it, before accepting his offer.
And finally, one night, standing
at the bar in the saloon he was rewarded.
Hannibal Heyes walked in.
Alone. He watched as the two men
he’d hired did exactly as they’d been told. Engaging Heyes in a poker game,
managing to distract him enough to slip the drugs in his drink. Laughing as Heyes lost consciousness, joking
about their friend not being able to hold his liquor and carrying him out of
the saloon to the train station, dumping him onto a seat.
Butler gave them $500, and told
them all they had to do was to get him to San Francisco, and a man would give
them the other half of their money. He
watched the train pull out, and went to send two telegrams. He had managed to get even with Hannibal
Heyes. Or so he thought. He was snapped back to reality by cold rage
in the voice that addressed him.
“Well.” Kid’s eyes were an ice
cold blue. “Time’s run out Butler. Now you gonna tell me what you did with
Heyes?”
“I’m not afraid of you
Curry. You can’t kill me. You’ll never find Heyes if you do.” There was a note of arrogance in the man’s
voice. A desperate arrogance borne out
of fear. And they both knew that.
They also knew that Butler was
hurting. He’d had no drugs for nearly 24
hours and he was feeling the effects of withdrawal.
Kid narrowed his eyes. When he spoke his voice was deadly soft. “Butler, I found you. And I’ll find Heyes. With your help or not. So I don’t figure I got much to lose if I
just blow your head clean off right now.”
He took his gun out and laid it on the table next to a tired and torn
black hat with a unique band laced with silver conches. It had been Butler’s personal trophy for
dealing with Hannibal Heyes.
He unbound the man’s hands from
the arms of the chair and tied them tightly together in front of him.
“But I figure if’n I wait just a
couple hours longer that poison you were smoking is gonna be completely
gone. Understand when that happens…well,
men have been known to chew their own hands off trying to get to that
stuff.” He pointed at the packet
containing a dark substance, which lay on the table. “Maybe killin’ you would make me feel better,
but maybe you’ll be persuaded to talk if we just wait a while.” He smiled, poured himself a cup of coffee and
sat down, as though he had nothing better to do than wait.
“You wouldn’t do that. Anymore than you’d kill me. You’re not…”
Butler looked into those blue eyes.
“Not what? A killer?
Well any man has it in him, Butler.
And I figure maybe Heyes is already dead. That’s why you’re not so eager to talk to
me. So I guess it just don’t matter if I
kill you right out or watch you die slow.”
Kid slowly spooned sugar in.
Spoon after spoon. He watched the
hunger grow in Butler’s eyes for anything that would take the pain away. He sipped it slowly, never taking his eyes
off Butler. “A little too sweet for my
taste. Want some?”
The man nodded desperately.
“Where’s Heyes.” Kid set the cup down, spilling a few drops
tantalizingly close to the man’s outstretched hands. He played with the packet of opium, bouncing
it from one finger to the other.
The man’s finger reached one of
the drops of coffee and he raised it to his lips hungrily.
Kid caught the hand and knocked
the liquid off. “Where’s Heyes.” There was a white heat behind the soft
voice.
“Please, I can’t think. Just give me something and I’ll tell
you.” Butler’s eyes overflowed and tears
poured down his cheeks.
“I’ll give you something…” Kid raised his hand, stopping as the man
cowered in fear, hunched over the table.
Something broke in Curry. He was not a violent man, despite his prowess
with a gun, his outlaw past or his legendary temper. He didn’t enjoy inflicting pain, even on
this man.
He lowered his hand and his voice
softened. “Look. We’re done here. We both know what you did. And we both know that with or without this
stuff, you’re not gonna be alive much longer.
You’re already dead Butler.
Inside. You died when you did all
this. You got one chance and that’s to
tell me where he is. I can try to get
you help, but you gotta help me first.”
Kid sank into the chair, exhausted beyond measure. He pushed the cup close enough for the man to
reach.
Butler grabbed the cup and gulped
the hot, sweet coffee. Then he stared at
Curry and gave up. “Didn’t mean for him
to end up…well I just wanted him to hurt that’s all. For all he did to me.”