Isle Royale (29 page)
Rock Harbor, on the extreme northeast corner of Isle Royale, is a narrow, ten-mile-long stretch of water, with the island proper to the west and a series of outer islands to the east that form a barrier to Lake Superior. The water here is usually calm; even during the worst storms it is merely choppy, with countless coves and inlets in which to take cover.
On the far north end of the harbor, nestled in a well-protected cove, sat the Coast Guard station, which shared a series of docks with several other vessels from time to time, passenger liners and the occasional supply boat. Today, a crowd gathered on the docks near the Coast Guard cutter. There was a festive atmosphere among the people, an excitement barely contained.
Seagulls flew high above the placid water, their shrill cries echoing down on the crowd. One bird broke away from the flock and hurtled downward, sharp beak projected forward, its eye attracted by a glint of something shiny on the ground. The gull zoomed through the air, coming close to its prize, then realized its mistake and at the last second pulled up and away. As it circled away from the docks, it let loose a scolding cry that echoed in the autumn air.
Clarence looked up at the crazy gull and frowned. Glancing down again, he opened his shiny new gold watch, which gleamed like fire in the sunlight. He frowned, somewhat annoyed. “What’s the delay?” he said to no one in particular. “I’ve got me a lighthouse to attend.”
“Hush, now,” said Collene, who stood at his side. She wore a brand-new dress and matching coat, bought the previous day, just for this occasion, from a supply ship out of Duluth. She turned toward Clarence and adjusted his crisp dress uniform, taking care not to bump the bandages and splints. “I’m sure Mr. Young is doing just fine attending the light on his own.”
“Aye, you’re right,” Clarence said, trying to sound less gruff. “But I’d still like to get this show on the road.” It wasn’t that Clarence didn’t trust his assistant to keep the lighthouse in working order. Far from it. Clarence was simply impatient to get back and continue working on their plans, their future.
With LeBeck dead, the authorities had declared the diamonds to be the MacDougals’ property, minus a sum deducted to pay for damages to the lighthouse and reconstruction of the fuel shed. (The U.S. Lighthouse Service had conveniently sent Clarence a bill.) Clarence split the remainder with Keeper Young. Now they had to figure out what to do with their share. Whatever they decided, Clarence was determined to keep his job as head lightkeeper. It was in his blood. He could never be happy sitting in a chair in some fancy house sipping lemonade, watching the world go by. He had a job to do. But he vowed his family would never live in poverty again.
Collene smiled as she smoothed his lapel with the palm of her hand. “Always the impatient one. Don’t you know we’ve got all the time in the world?”
Clarence’s face broke into a crinkly smile, his eyes glinting with joy. He snapped the watch shut and pocketed it, then wrapped an arm around his wife and drew her close. And then, in broad daylight, in front of the crowd surrounding them, he kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that sent their hearts soaring.
“Hoo hoo!” Sally cried out. She and Ian stood a few paces away near the edge of the docks, with Ian wearing a new cap and Sally sporting a blue dress and coat.
“Sal!” Ian scolded, trying to avert his eyes. He glanced to his left and saw Captain Ben standing there at attention, looking prim and proper in spite of the head bandages and crutches. Ben turned his head slightly and locked eyes with Ian. A trace of a smile crept onto his lips. Then he stiffened, eyes straight ahead once again.
Ian heard the sound of someone dragging a heavy object over the docks. He turned and saw Old Ollhoff, the Norwegian fisherman, grumbling to himself as he hauled his aged sea chest toward the end of the pier and a waiting passenger steamer, which would take him on the first leg of his journey home. A smile lit on Ian’s face. At least the old fisherman would be escaping his father’s bagpipe playing.
“So,” said Sally, interrupting his train of thought. “Now that your folks can afford to send you off to college, what are you going to do with your life?”
Ian shrugged. “That’s so long from now. We’ve still got a few summers at the lighthouse.”
“I know. But then what?”
Ian looked a little bewildered. He’d always imagined himself running a lighthouse someday, like his father. It was always assumed, like it or not. But now…
“Well,” said Sally, not waiting for Ian’s reply, “I’m going to Minneapolis, and then start a sailing school. Hang around the big city for a while. Then maybe run for governor.”
Ian smiled. “You’ve got my vote, Sal.”
“So, what about you?”
“Maybe go to the university, become a writer. Or learn to play jazz trumpet.” Ian’s eyes twinkled at the thought.
“Well,” said Sally, leaning closer, “No matter where you go or what you do, you’ll always be my lighthouse, Ian MacDougal.” She quickly kissed him on the cheek, then stepped back and smiled. Ian, his eyes wide with surprise, looked over at her beaming face. His face felt flushed, and for a moment a dizzy spell came over him. Sally reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him. “Don’t fall into the lake, Ian. It was only a kiss.”
“Sal…” he stammered.
“Shush, you two!” whispered Ben out of the corner of his mouth. It was time.
Ben and his crew stood shoulder to shoulder, lining the edge of the dock, with Ben and the two teenagers at the end. The old sailors stood stiffly at attention, some on crutches, some with bandages wrapped around wounded limbs. They stood proudly, their snowy-white hair and beards standing in sharp contrast to their crisp navy-blue dress uniforms. Many in the crowd were relatives of the long-lost sailors, here to take them home at last. But first, one final ceremony.
A senior officer of the Coast Guard, brought up from the main station in Duluth for the occasion, disembarked from the cutter, then marched stiffly down the length of the pier toward Captain Ben.
“Here he comes,” whispered Ian, giddy with excitement.
“Shhh!” Sally nudged Ian with her elbow.
The officer stopped and turned to face Ben. They squared off, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Captain Ben Sellers,” the man began. Ben’s crew, and the crowd gathered near, held their collective breath.
“The Coast Guard salutes you.” The officer pinned a medal on Ben’s chest, stepped back and snapped a salute.
Ben, in unison with his old crew, raised his aged arm and responded back, as crisp and smart a salute as ever was thrown.
“All right!” cried Ian, tossing his cap high into the air. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Ian grinned and looked up into Ben’s eyes. Windows to the soul, they twinkled and shone with a new fire from within.
That night, as darkness wrapped its arms around Isle Royale, the lighthouse once again came to life. To the sound of bagpipes drifting over the water, the bright beam pierced the dark, ever searching, ever protecting.
THE END
About the author:
John Hamilton lives in a suburb of Minneapolis, Minnesota, with his wife, three lovely daughters, and a little black dog named Charlie. He has been writing fiction nearly all his life and has taught creative writing as an adjunct professor at Concordia University in St. Paul, Minnesota.
Isle Royale
is his first young-adult novel.
John is also a bestselling author of children’s nonfiction. His work includes books on fantasy folklore, the national parks, and pirates.
Lewis Clark: Adventures West
(Sparrow Media Group) was named a finalist at the 17
th
Annual Minnesota Book Awards in 2005. In 2008, John won a Golden Duck Award for excellence in children’s science fiction literature, for a 12-book series called
The World of Science Fiction
(Abdo Publishing). In 2010, John won a second Golden Duck Award for
You Write It: Science Fiction
(Abdo Publishing).
John’s hobbies include researching the American West, and King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable. He is a martial artist, with black belts in both karate and kung fu. John can be found most summers hiking along Minnesota’s North Shore. He is also an award-winning photojournalist and nature photographer.
Connect with John online:
Web: www.johnchamilton.com
Email: [email protected]