The Story of Beautiful Girl (41 page)

“Yeah. Black raspberry. And a fountain in their front lobby.”

The two sisters shared a laugh. Tom asked, “You were in the Paulsen House?”

Hannah explained, “My parents knew someone who’d invited them to a party. They didn’t know Mr. Paulsen. They just thought it would be nice to go to a party on the beach. The house has a big patio out back that faces the ocean.”

“We’ll be able to see it from the other side,” Tom said. “We’re headed to the beach.”

He turned onto a small side road that dead-ended at dunes. The rain was falling steadily now, and Kate almost suggested they wrap up the tour and head on to their bed-and-breakfast. Then she heard Lynnie gasp.

Kate followed Lynnie’s gaze out the windshield. She didn’t see
anything until she lowered herself to get a better view, over the sea grass and tops of the dunes and into the darkening sky.

It was a lighthouse. A lighthouse with the face of a man.

“Come on!” Lynnie said, and she threw open the door and jumped out of the car.

“What’re you doing?” Kate called out.

Hannah was laughing as she jumped out her side. “She just wants to see it again. We went into it once as kids.”

“You
did
?” Kate asked.

Hannah called back, “In a storm. We ran to it. I told her it would be safe, and it was.”

“Is it open?” Kate asked Tom.

“It’s always open,” Tom said.

Kate opened her door, stood up, and called out, “Lynnie, isn’t this like the lighthouse on the mailbox?”

But Lynnie had already disappeared onto the path through the dunes, and Hannah was close behind.

Lynnie and Hannah were halfway down the beach by the time Kate and Tom had crossed the dunes. The wind was coming in strong off the ocean, churning up waves, whipping the sisters’ jackets behind them like wings, but on they went, Lynnie running faster than Hannah, Hannah hurrying behind, both of them moving toward the lighthouse, which rose directly up from the sand.

“Have you ever seen a lighthouse with a face?” Tom said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

“Actually, I have,” Kate replied, matching his volume as she tied a scarf over her hair.

“You’ve been here before?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s the only one in the world.”

“Really?”

“It’s the Poseidon Lighthouse.”

“And it’s always open? That’s how they got in when they were kids?”

“It’s always open
now
. Back when those two were young, it was abandoned. But I guess they just went in.”

“Hannah told her it would be safe,” Kate said, repeating what she’d just heard. “There was a storm, and they went in, and they were safe.”

Tom said, “Yup. That’s what lighthouses are for.”

Suddenly Kate understood.
This was why Lynnie thought they’d be safe that night.

And they were.

And then they weren’t.

She could see Hannah catch up to Lynnie now, far ahead of them, at the base of the tall white cone. To one side was the lighthouse keeper’s bungalow, its windows dark. To the other, she now saw, was a jetty, waves splashing high against the black rock.

Lynnie reached for the lighthouse door and pulled it open.

“It’s not abandoned now?” Kate shouted to Tom.

“It’s been restored.”

Hannah went through the door after Lynnie.

“How do you know it’s okay?” Kate called out to Tom. “Anyone could be in there.”

“I’m not worried,” Tom said.

“Well, I’m going to follow them.”

Then she and Tom pushed themselves through the wind toward the lighthouse door.

The lighthouse was chilly, and when Tom shut the door behind him, the thud reverberated. Kate could hear steps echoing and looked above her. A black metal staircase coiled up and up
and up. The metal was perforated, so she could see Lynnie and Hannah, already near the top. She could hear them laughing.

She grabbed hold of the handrail. “Right behind you,” she called out to them. Her voice had the same resonance it had under the dome of the Capitol in Harrisburg, and when Lynnie said, “Follow us, Kate,” Kate hoped she’d heard it, too.

Tom told her the history as they climbed. The lighthouse was built in 1838 and in its heyday saved many ships from ruin. The face was made from a metal grille set over the windows; and when the lamp was turned on, the distinct design could be seen for miles. The lighthouse was sixty feet high, and the story went that the designer built another, a twin, somewhere along the eastern seaboard. But although many had gone in search of it, it had never been found, and no one had ever known with certainty if he’d made the story up or if the structure had been lost to the elements. In any event, this one ceased operation in 1947, then deteriorated for decades. Finally it became so forgotten, it stopped appearing on maps.

Kate could see Lynnie and Hannah disappear into the top—“the lantern room,” Tom said. She could hear Hannah squeal, “We’re here again!” and Lynnie reply, “It’s so cool!”

“Now that it’s been restored,” Tom continued, “it’s my favorite place to bring tourists. People flock here no matter how bad the weather. Everyone loves this lighthouse.”

At last Kate reached the top of the staircase and stepped into a glass-enclosed room with an enormous lamp in the center. Taller than Kate, wider than three people pressed side by side, it was made of concentric rings of glass prisms. Fortunately it wasn’t lit, so there was no competition for the windows—and what a view! Kate and Lynnie and Hannah could just gape out in every direction, without the hindrance of reflections. She walked toward the sisters, and together they looked. To one side spread the wide, sandy beach, hugged by mansions. She moved around the perim
eter of the tower. To the other side stretched the frenzied ocean. The sky felt close, with low, dark clouds and rain sheeting down. The storm roared all around them.

“You came up here as kids?” Tom asked, his voice loud enough to be heard.

Hannah and Lynnie had not moved from their spot at the window, but Hannah turned. “We were at that party at the Paulsen house, and I’d taken Lynnie for a walk, and a storm came up suddenly. This looked like a place where we could wait it out, and we did.”

“I bet it didn’t look this good then.”

“You’re right about that.”

“Was this lamp here?”

“I think it was a different one. It looked like a glass beehive, but a lot of it was broken.”

“That
was
this one. It got repaired as part of the restoration. It’s a multiprismed lens called a Fresnel. This one’s a third-order Fresnel. They used to be lit by kerosene, but this one’s now electric.” He went on, and as Hannah wandered over to examine the lamp, Kate made her way to Lynnie.

She was standing before the pane of glass facing the shoreline, a location that provided a view of both land and sea. The houses along the sand had lights in their windows. Although the beach was almost enveloped by the roiling sky, Kate could tell it was empty.

Kate put her arm around Lynnie’s shoulders and leaned close, until their cheeks were almost touching. In a voice too soft for anyone except Lynnie to hear, she said, “This is why you wanted to make this trip, isn’t it.”

Lynnie, eyes fixed outside, nodded.

“You wanted to be back in this place with your sister.”

“That’s right.”

“You’ve made her very happy.”

“I’m glad.”

“You’ve made me happy, too. Do you know how you’ve done this?”

“By bringing you here?”

“Yes, Lynnie. By bringing me here.”

Lynnie looked at her, and Kate felt as if she could almost see the vulnerability in Lynnie’s soul. The child who couldn’t stay with her family. The mother who couldn’t keep her child. The woman who’d waited a lifetime for a man who could never return.

“Are you still sad about what happened?” Kate asked.

“Yes.” And then something changed in Lynnie’s eyes. The fragility gave way to a sureness. The sorrow gave way to a peace. “But I picked the right house to go to.”

“You did,” Kate said.

Lynnie turned back to the window. She reached over and took Kate’s hand, and as they gazed out into the writhing storm, Kate squeezed their palms together.

Behind them, Kate heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs. It hadn’t occurred to her that other tourists might battle their way across the beach in this storm.

But when Kate turned to welcome the strangers into the dim room, it was not a group she saw. It was a solitary person. A tall, lean, African American man with a head of white hair and the kindest of faces.

“Lynnie,” Kate said, but Lynnie was turned to the window.

Tom reached out and shook the man’s hand warmly, as if he were an old friend. The man then lifted a hand in greeting to Hannah and opened his arms toward the Fresnel lens, as if introducing it to her. Clearly, this was a routine that he and Tom had done many times.

The man turned around to a lever and threw the light on.

It burst into the room, the brilliance so strong, it made Kate squint—and it made Lynnie turn around.

At that moment, Lynnie saw the man, and he saw her. Bathed in the radiant light, they took each other in.

Their faces shared the same puzzled expression. Slowly, the man turned to Hannah and then to Kate. And then he rotated back to Lynnie. His eyes dropped to the necklace on her chest.

The man cried out, a cry beyond words.

His eyes were glistening. His lips began to move, and he was breathing hard. Then he parted his mouth and pressed through a sound. “Fuh.”

Lynnie stared hard at him.

“Fuh,” the man repeated. And then he added, “The.”

Tears came to Lynnie’s eyes as her fingers flew to her chest. She raised her hands and made a sign. “Feather,” she said.

They each dared to take a step forward. Their age fell away, and they took each other into their arms.

How many others are out there?
Kate asked herself.
How many other lives are hidden, and hearts are seeking? How many would give anything in the world to be held by the person they love?

In the lighthouse keeper’s bungalow, as the storm roared outside, she shook her head and returned her attention to Tom and Hannah. The three of them were all sitting in the living room, Hannah’s face alternating between shock and smiles. “So, six years ago,” Tom was saying, “this guy shows up out of nowhere and walks into the office of the most prominent real estate agent in town. He writes down on a piece of paper that he’s deaf. Then he writes that he’s been trying to find the lighthouse with the face for a long time, and now he wants to buy it. Most lighthouses aren’t for sale, and who the heck has that kind of money? But the real estate agent picked up a phone and called the Coast Guard, and when they learned about him, they thought they might save themselves the wrecking costs. They named a price, and before
the agent had hung up, the guy had written a check, and next thing you know, he was living here.”

“What’s his name?” Kate asked.

“Homan. Homan Wilson. He was named for homing pigeons.”

“Homan.” She said it slowly and sweetly.

“He mostly spends his time in his shop, in the back of this house. He makes things. He made a wheelchair that can roll on the beach. Once he fixed this place up, I knew it’d help the tourist trade, so I asked if I could bring folks here. ‘Anytime,’ he wrote, and also that he’d never close the door. He just asked me to ring the bell so he’d know I was taking someone up—”

“Bell?”

“These lights.” He pointed around the ceiling. “I rang the bell before we went up. Didn’t you see?”

“No,” Kate said. “I was so intent on getting into the lighthouse, I didn’t notice.”

“Well, he has two rules. One is I ring the bell, anytime day or night.”

“And the other?” Hannah asked.

“I have to get everyone who comes to sign the guestbook.”

“Oh? Where’s that?”

“In the lantern room,” Tom said. “And everyone has to sign it before they leave, no matter who they are or what hour they show up. So I ask him one day, What’s up with this? Even the owner of the Poseidon Inn doesn’t care that much about the guestbook. And you know what he said?” Tom looked out the window, up into the lantern room. The Fresnel light was glowing. The two bodies were silhouetted inside the glass, safe from the storm. They were holding each other, her cheek on his chest, his head tucked into her neck, moving back and forth as if dancing to their own beat.

Tom shook his head. “This is what he said: ‘I’m waiting for someone.’ Yup. ‘I’m waiting for someone,’ he said.”

2011

T
he schoolchildren burst into the lobby of the Washington office building, and, as always, the guard at the front desk wondered why they weren’t more dazzled by the luminous glass mosaic on the wall before them. He still fancied, seven years after the enormous artwork had been set in place, that kids wouldn’t be able to resist the way the lights behind the glass made each piece of the fifty-foot mosaic glow as the viewer moved from one end to the other. He wished the teacher and parent chaperones would get them to turn their attention from the Washington Monument key chains and Lincoln Memorial T-shirts they’d just purchased on the Mall, and from all their giggling and text messaging, long enough to look.