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Authors: John Hamilton

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BOOK: Isle Royale
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“Hush now,” Grandma admonished Edward. “Take your medicine.”

The assistant lightkeeper grimaced, then downed the liquid as fast as he could. When the ordeal was complete, he retreated under the towel, groaning pitifully. Grandma rapped him lightly upside the head.

“Stop that,” she scolded. “You’re a grown man, for heaven’s sake.”

Sally smiled and turned back to her dishes. When her mother had died giving birth, Sally’s grandma had moved in to help take care of the baby. Devastated by the loss of his beloved wife, Edward had never remarried, and Sally’s grandma had stayed on all these years, even when Edward had joined the Lighthouse Service and moved the family to the ends of the earth. She was the only mother Sally had ever known, and neither she nor her father could imagine what life would have been like without her.

Sally smiled again to herself as she put the dishes away in a stack on a shelf over the sink. Then, out the window, she saw Ian MacDougal approaching the cliffs just below the lighthouse. The teenager was carrying a long length of rope slung over his shoulder.

Sally bit her lower lip, then turned around again. “I’m done with the dishes now, Grandma.”

“Did you finish your schoolwork?” the old woman asked, as she put away a jar of homemade boysenberry jam.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sally turned back to the window and watched as Ian tied one end of the rope to a gnarled pine tree on the lip of the cliff, wrapped a section around his waist, and then disappeared over the edge.

Grandma persisted. “Did you take your cod liver oil?”

“Yes,” she repeated.

A pause. “Okay, then.”

Sally quickly moved to the table and kissed the top of her father’s towel-draped head. He moaned and waved good-bye with one upraised hand. Sally grinned and then hurried out the back door.

Ian’s heart raced as he eased himself backwards over the cliff, one hand gripped tightly to the rope above him, the other hand skillfully adjusting the loop wrapped around his waist. Every time Ian went rappelling, there was that first leap of faith, that brief moment of terror when he leaned back over the edge, certain he was about to fall to his death. But the moment always passed, as it did this day, and Ian soon went about the business of bouncing down the cliff face of Wolf Point.

His parents had never understood Ian’s passion for rock climbing. He’d picked up the basics from the older brother of a friend back home in Two Harbors. A totally useless hobby, his father had told him. His mother couldn’t bear the thought of her son dangling off some granite cliff, and begged him to take up a nicer sport, like football, or butterfly collecting. But the lure of the rock always kept Ian coming back for more. He couldn’t help himself.

When he was scaling a cliff, nature was the only competition. There were no schoolbooks to study, no nagging parents, no chores to complete. In fact, there were no rules or regulations save one: don’t fall. Ian had to rely on his own skills, his own cunning, to conquer the rock. He enjoyed feeling his heart pound, his breath quicken, as he tested his courage, strength, and stamina. Rock climbing was his escape from a summer of mind-numbing boredom. At the lighthouse, he felt dead inside.

Except for Sally. This year, something had changed between them. They’d known each other for three seasons, and their friendship had grown deep. But now, Ian felt something else for her, something he knew was more than simple friendship. He wondered if she felt the same way toward him. The signals were there, and yet… Ian could never quite muster the courage to outright ask her. Now that the season was drawing to a close, it would soon be too late. But how to ask her? And what to say?

Ian frowned as imaginary conversations raced through his mind. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. Not now, he thought. I came out here to escape all that.

With a few quick movements, Ian launched himself into space, like a spider on a gossamer web. Skillfully using the rope wrapped around his waist to regulate friction, and therefore his rate of descent, he swiftly scrambled halfway down the two-hundred-foot precipice.

Near the wooden dock at the base of the cliffs, Sally checked over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being watched. The narrow path behind her cut through the pine forest, rising up sharply and leading toward the rear of the lighthouse compound high above. Twice on the way down, Sally had stopped and listened, convinced she’d heard something other than the bumblebees buzzing among the wild daisies growing at the side of the path. But the rustling she’d heard in the brush had proved to be nothing more than a fox hoping for a handout, not someone following her as she’d feared, although why someone would be following escaped her. Still, best to be cautious.

Now safely on the shoreline, and satisfied finally that she was alone, Sally quickly moved across the pebbly beach and ducked behind a thicket near a hidden inlet. She bent down to remove a clever camouflaged array of branches and leaves. Underneath was a dinghy, bobbing gently in the water, its line securely fastened to a tree stump. Sally stepped back to admire the tiny, single-masted boat.

She and Ian had discovered the dinghy earlier that spring, shortly after the families had arrived on the island for the season. After a few weeks of elbow grease and loving care, they’d made it ship-shape and Bristol fashion, ready for the open lake. It was Sally’s pride and joy. She’d taught herself to sail that June, and by July had actually become quite skillful. Ian always went along for the ride, but showed little interest in piloting the dinghy himself, content to sit at the bow and watch intently as they zoomed past the great cliffs. Sally suspected he was looking for new rock-climbing challenges, but kept her mouth shut, preferring to think he was just enjoying his time out on the lake with her.

Sally loved piloting her little boat. It wasn’t something women were supposed to do, but this was the Twenties; women were breaking new ground all the time, and Sally was determined to be a part of the movement. In 1920, just four years earlier, women had won the right to vote, and now Nellie Tayloe Ross of Wyoming was poised to become the first woman governor. If she could become governor, if Annie Oakley could outshoot any man, if Amelia Earhart could fly a plane, then by golly Sally Young would pilot a dinghy on Lake Superior!

When she was out on the lake, with the sun on her face and wind whipping through her hair, Sally was the captain, a salty sea dog with grease on her gold braid. Trouble was, she wasn’t supposed to sail on Superior alone. If her dad knew she had a sailboat of her own, he’d chop it to kindling just to keep her off the lake. Ian’s dad was even more strict. How silly, she thought, that a pair of lightkeepers should so hate the water.

Sally shrugged and untied the line. With one fluid motion, she pushed the boat out and stepped aboard. She rowed out of the inlet, then hoisted the sail. Sally smiled as the canvas filled with air, the fabric crinkling and snapping in the breeze. With a lurch she was off, sailing across the water.

Ian rappelled once more down the cliff face, then cinched the rope tight around his waist. He dangled there a few moments to catch his breath and take in the scenery. Above him, past the lip of the cliff, gulls sounded out their shrill cry. One hundred feet below, waves licked the granite wall. A collection of boulders were strewn at the base of the cliffs, their jagged edges pointed skywards. If Ian fell, he’d hit rock, not water, a thought not at all comforting to the boy. Ian’s rope stopped about twenty feet above the boulders. When he reached the end, he’d start the long, but exhilarating, climb back up the cliff.

Ian craned his neck to look behind him at the open lake. He reached into a back pocket and extracted a small telescoping spyglass. It was the kind pirates used, or at least that’s what the storeowner in Two Harbors had told him. Ian expanded the spyglass, then put it to his eye. He scanned the horizon, looking for something of interest.

“What do you see?” came a faraway voice.

Ian looked down and saw Sally directly below him in the dinghy, the sail lowered, holding her position with the oars.

“The fishing village got wiped out by the storm last night.” Ian put the glass back to his eye and looked again at the point about a mile up the coast from the lighthouse. The collection of boats and tents were gone without a trace.

Sally shouted up at him. “It’s almost the end of the season anyway. They’ll rebuild next year.”

Ian snapped the spyglass shut, then slipped it back in his pocket. He looked down at Sally in the dinghy. She rowed out a little ways, avoiding the boulders against the base of the cliff. Ian smiled, then braced his legs against the rock. He bent his knees and pushed off hard. He sailed down another thirty feet, then landed back against the cliff face.

Sally watched Ian’s stunt and cringed. “Your dad’s gonna have your hide.”

“He’s in the house sleeping,” Ian called down. “Besides, I’m grown up. I can take care of myself.”

Showing off now, Ian pushed off again, harder this time—too hard. With a sickening crack, the rope above him snapped. For a split second, Ian hovered in space, and then, with his arms and legs flailing uselessly, felt himself hurtling toward the lake.

Chapter Six

C
ollene MacDougal tended to her small garden at the side of the house. Her harvest of corn, peas, carrots, and potatoes had long since come out of the ground. This morning, she busied herself packing the rose bushes, trimming them down and covering them for the long winter to come. Gardening was Collene’s passion. She had a knack for coaxing things to grow, even in the rocky soil of Isle Royale.

She glanced up as Clarence stepped off the front porch and strode toward her.

“Can’t sleep?”

Clarence stopped at the edge of the garden and watched as his wife carefully trimmed the rose bushes. “I need to go down to the dock, take care of some business,” he said finally.

“Oh.”

Collene pulled a weed from the ground. She seemed preoccupied.

Clarence cleared his throat, then said softly, “Jean was here last night.”

“I know.”

Clarence pursed his lips, unsure what to say next. “He might show up again today. But he won’t be long.”

“That’s good.”

Clarence stood there, uncomfortable with the moment. “Collene, honey…”

She stopped trimming and looked up at him.

Clarence stammered, then blurted out the words. “Are you happy? I mean, here, with me, at the light?”

Collene smiled sweetly, brushing a strand of flaxen hair from her eyes. She paused, then simply said, “I have everything I need.”

Clarence pursed his lips again, then turned to go.

“I love you, Clarence MacDougal.”

Without looking back, Clarence smiled to himself. His step lightened as he headed for the path leading down to the wharf.

Sally screamed as she watched Ian plummet through the air. The boy fell without making a sound, his arms cartwheeling uselessly. Sally was sure he would be dashed upon the rocks at the base of the cliffs, but after a heart-wrenching moment realized that his last push before the rope snapped would propel him clear of the boulders.

Right before he hit the water, Sally locked eyes with Ian. His face was ashen, his eyes wide open with fear and surprise. When he hit, not far off the bow of the dinghy, he made a thunderous splash.

Sally frantically rowed closer and then shifted from side to side in the dinghy, searching in the crystal water for her friend. There was no sign. The lake dropped off steeply on this side of the island. Even this close to shore, the water could be one hundred feet deep or more.

Sally hurriedly took off her shoes, ready to dive in after him, when Ian suddenly surfaced. He grabbed the side of the dinghy and grinned sheepishly.

“Hi, Sal,” he said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Sally reached down and cuffed him on the side of the head, then sat back down in a huff. She put her shoes back on and laced them up tightly. Ian treaded water next to the dinghy, enjoying the cold swim.

Sally looked over at him, annoyed. “Not funny, Ian MacDougal.”

“The rope broke. It wasn’t my fault.”

“If you kill yourself and leave me alone on this island, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Help me in.”

Ian beckoned to her with one hand reaching in the boat. After a moment, Sally sighed and reached down. With a sly grin, Ian jerked back, pulling Sally into the icy water. When her head popped back above the surface, she shrieked with laughter. She splashed Ian playfully, and he splashed right back. High above, the gulls cried out as they circled the two frolicking teenagers.

Collene MacDougal watched as Clarence finally disappeared down the path leading toward the boat dock. She waited a few minutes, then set aside her gardening tools and walked to the front of the house. When she opened the porch door, she turned around to make sure no one was watching. She felt like a schoolgirl, about to commit some petty crime. She laughed at herself, then entered the house.

As she took the uneven wooden stairs up to the second floor, she thought about the previous night, and seeing Jean LeBeck standing there in the shadows, staring at her. Old feelings came flooding back. Her heart ached as she tried in vain to push the emotions aside. Why have you returned, Jean?

When Collene reached the top of the steep flight of stairs, she paused a moment, holding the wooden handrail for support. She was breathing heavier than usual, more than the exertion of the stairs should have caused. She forced herself to calm down, then set off down the length of the hallway toward the master bedroom. As she passed Ian’s room, she noticed with some annoyance the unmade bed and clothes strewn about the floor. She sighed quietly. That boy, she thought. Probably off getting into trouble again, even now.

Collene reached the master bedroom. She stepped inside, then swung the heavy oak door shut behind her. She turned and with a flick of the wrist secured the lock. Just to be sure, she tried the handle. It was locked tight. Collene smiled, then made her way across the room to the bed.

BOOK: Isle Royale
8.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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