The Lighthouse Keeper

As far as anyone knew, Eveleth Sullivan had always been the lighthouse keeper. She wasn’t a particularly old woman, but the nature of rents in those days was such that folks had to chase work up and down the coast to make ends meet and could not remain in one place for very long. So the town of Verbena Bridge had few permanent residents and no one to retain any long-term community memory. Eveleth’s small salary came from on high: a steadily-funded federal office made sure that mariners knew to steer clear of the granite headlands south of Aster Island. Not that anyone was navigating around there anyway; everyone knew that trawling these waters was a wasted effort. In fact, the “catch of the day” at the Silver Spinnaker was really just the cheapest fish on that morning’s train. 

Still, Eveleth remained. Her life was a well-oiled machine. In the morning she prepared a single cup of Earl Grey tea with a thin slice of untoasted bread before buttoning her raincoat tight around her neck and bracing for the cold drizzle outside. Her most interesting habit was that when her morning walk coincided with a low tide, she gathered kelp and seaweed at the sheltered pebbly beach on the north end of the island. She was motivated primarily by the need to maintain adequate nutrition and to minimize the supplies she required from the mainland, but on rare occasions would admit to herself that the rubbery stalks added a salty flavor to her otherwise dull root vegetable soups. 

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, she traveled to the mainland to buy lamp oil and provisions. The outboard motor required that she sit in the rear of her small dingey, causing the bow to rise nearly upright above the calm waters of the strait. The mercantile was her final stop, as lamp oil was the heaviest of her supplies and would otherwise weigh down her visit. She walked listlessly along the main street, eyes on the ground in front of her, always polite whenever she was greeted, but clearly inconvenienced by the interruption. She enjoyed her visits to town only so much as she could engineer the experience; the unpredictability of other people and their chatter was too much for Eveleth. 

In the evening, she was content to read scripture by candlelight and contemplate the sins of the world outside. She was not religious but keen on maintaining high standards of moral virtue. It never occurred to her that the absence of conflict, challenge, and temptation in her life offered few occasions to evaluate her moral faculties and that she may be equally inclined toward sin as toward virtue when confronted with an opportunity. Many evenings were also devoted to the baking of bread; the staple of her diet consisted of dense rye and whole wheat loaves baked slowly in a lidded cast iron dish that never left the top of the woodstove. She knew exactly how many (seven) and at what frequency (every 23 minutes) logs were required to cook a 1 lb. boule. She purchased flour in 25 lb. bags on a biannual basis; the height of her innovation was demonstrated by the tin containers she constructed to preserve the flours in the dark and dank atrium of the lighthouse. She sat on a wooden stool next to the desk which held her Bible and slept in a twin-sized bed near the woodstove. She had long ago forgotten the sound made by the driving rain on the cheap tin roof of the lighthouse, which ricocheted around the lantern room before descending the spiral staircase. As she had the dull rumbling made by the cobbles and boulders on the shoreline that receive the full force of the southwest swell. 

It happened one Wednesday in December that she was confronted by two vagrants during her walk through town. This was very common in Verbena Bridge, despite the ever-present moisture and winter temperatures that persistently hovered between 35 and 45 degrees Fahrenheit, conditions which were quite inhospitable toward occupying outdoor spaces overnight. The transient folk maintained small camps near the harbor, which made Eveleth slightly uneasy during the process of loading her boat with supplies. 

“Any spare change, ma’am?” 

“I’m afraid I have nothing to share after purchasing my supplies.” 

“Anything helps, ma’am.” 

“Have you inquired at the shelter for meals? I really must be going.” 

The young owner of the mercantile eyed Eveleth as she hauled two buckets of lamp oil up to the counter. Nervously rubbing his bearded chin, he cleared his throat several times. 

“Rain let up at all?” 

“Oh I suppose I hadn’t noticed.” 

“You must get the brunt of it out there eh?” 

She reached for her wallet in the pocket of her raincoat. 

“Say, Eveleth, my wife Valerie and I have had a pretty steady year here and we’re hoping you might join us for dinner this evening. She’s boiling mussels and potatoes now.”  

She counted out several bills. 

“I really should be getting back across the strait before dark.” 

“You know we have a spare room if you’d like to wait until morning.” 

She buttoned her raincoat. 

“Thank you for the oil.” 

Shoving off from the pier, her supplies weighed down the front of the boat and she noticed a fog bank beginning to make landfall on Aster Island. Looking back, she was surprised to hear the clanging of the bell hanging from the roof of the abandoned harbormaster’s hut. Her return trip almost always coincided with the late afternoon hour when the day’s wind paused briefly before reversing direction toward the sea. She could not recall whether she had ever heard this sound before. 

Looking up from her supplies to insert the key in the lock, she was startled by her reflection on the lighthouse door. For a split second she saw the face of her older sister Margaret before realizing that some time had passed since she had seen her own face, and that she had aged considerably in comparison to the image of herself she held in her mind. 

“Stop it Eveleth.” 

She found it necessary to speak out loud to herself – not in a way that was comforting, but in a way that one might speak to a poorly behaved dog that required constant directions and could never quite follow them. It was Margaret who had introduced her to Verbena Bridge and the lighthouse years ago. Eveleth admired her; she was truly free from the ills of civilization, sailing for months on end without having to stop in a single port and encounter shopkeepers and vagabonds. 

She awoke with a start and, looking at the alarm clock on her bedside table, was surprised to see that it was only nine. She was sure that she had gone to bed at exactly nine; she must have misread the clock. Her sleep was rarely interrupted: she had finely tuned her daily eating habits into a routine that guaranteed 8.25 hours of uninterrupted sleep from 9:15pm to 5:30am. 

“Get it together Eveleth.” 

She tossed and turned and wound her sheets into a knot before awaking in a cold sweat – 1am. Staring at the ceiling high above and the faint silhouette made by the spiral staircase in the dying firelight, she pieced together her dream. 

She was back home in Raspberry Landing. The summer had just begun, and the thick perfume of citronella wafted out from the porch into the garden where young Eveleth was picking dandelions and rubbing the golden powder all over her face and arms. The rhythmic chirp of frogs and crickets pulsed from the shallow marsh where the other kids were chasing after turtles and toads. Then she was behind the bar at the Drunken Barnacle, where the gnarled wooden tables and benches had been pushed to the sides of the narrow hall for the annual holiday party. Despite Eveleth’s best efforts at rewriting history, she could not control the words flowing from her mouth. 

“Boyd, listen.” 

“… and I’ll build us a lodge where we can sit by the fire and read to our kids with a giant kitchen where I can make us all blueberry pancakes and we’ll sleep in a loft that will stay warm through the night…” 

“Listen, you know I need to get out of here.” 

“Aw don’t talk like that.” 

“This place is too small for me I need to know what else is out there.”

“Well then I’ll come with you.” 

“I’m going alone I need to be free to go where I want.” 

“Aw Eve don’t be like this.” 

“I think you should buy a drink or make room for someone who will.” 

Finally, Eveleth dreamed of that great lodge and its many children and warm fire and blueberry pancakes. Walking along the muddy road where streetlamps illuminated swirling clouds of woodsmoke and misty rain, she peered in the bay window at the family huddled around the hearth. Her eyes rested on Lina, her replacement at the Drunken Barnacle. Boyd looked up from the book he was reading aloud and abruptly darted over to pull the curtain over the window. 

Eveleth lay restless, for the first time noticing the creaking of the walls and the echoes of the rain beating on the tin roof. For her, time was no longer linear like a stream descending purposefully through a mountain valley. Instead, time heaved back and forth as a wave crashing on cliffs with ferocious energy, never moving forward or backward in any overall direction but always transforming, doing work, eroding, crafting, reshaping what had been there before until it was unrecognizable. She agonized for several hours, wondering how she had deviated from her daily routine so grievously or what she had eaten to stir up old pains, before settling into an uneasy sleep. 

The fog was thick. Opening the door, Eveleth saw only the mosses and shrubs carpeting the sloping ground, which disappeared in the mist several yards away. The plants seemed to glow in contrast to the whiteness that bounded the landscape on all sides. She could hear, but not see the waves lapping gently on the east and north sides of the island. There was no wind; the moisture simply hung in place, condensing on Eveleth’s outstretched arm that held the door open. 

In last night’s haste, she had left one bucket of lamp oil on the dock where she launched her skiff. 

“You know this island well enough.” 

After pulling on her coat and stepping outside, she hesitated, looking back at the door as if to trace a line from the lighthouse to the dock. She walked a few paces and then looked back again to see that the lighthouse had already disappeared behind her. 

“One foot in front of the other.” 

After a few more steps, she heard the sound of the waves grow close before seeing the dark wooden dock appear out of the mist. She moved quickly, as if with each passing moment the route back slipped further from her mind, grabbed the bucket and began walking back the way she came. She was watching the ground closely, trying to note signs of her footprints when very abruptly a teddy bear came into view. 

“What on earth…” 

In shock, she dropped the bucket and bend down to pick up the teddy bear, which had not been there on her trip to the dock, and which therefore must have been left in the intervening minutes. The teddy bear looked so lonesome and abandoned on the ground, sending a ripple of sadness through Eveleth’s ordinarily cool demeanor. The feeling was nostalgia, of a painful variety – often nostalgia harkens back to a time and place when a strong and positive feeling was experienced, but Eveleth’s affliction was more akin to regret. 

Picking up the bear, she stood up and looked into the face of a small child, who, despite being completely drenched and shivering, smiled back at Eveleth with his head cocked to one side and pointed with one hand. 

“My dad says you’re a grouch!” 

“Mind your manners, young man. How did you get here?” 

“My Dad’s boat.” 

“Is he here too?” 

“I don’t know where he is. We were fishing and got lost in the fog and then I washed up here.” 

“How long were you in the water?”

“I can’t remember ma’am.” 

Comforting others did not come easily to Eveleth but given the circumstances and the unusually soft space to which the teddy bear had transported her, she jumped into action.

“Well you must have been in the water for some time; come in and let’s stoke the fire.” 

“Oh thank you ma’am I am a little cold and thirsty.” 

Eveleth wrapped her arm around the boy, holding onto the brown rags that hung off of his body, and they walked the last few paces to the lighthouse door. 

“Now let me just find the key.” 

She let go of the boy and fumbled in her pocket. She turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door, and reached back to see that the child had disappeared. 

“Hello! Where have you gone?” 

Eveleth let the door slam behind her and ran quickly back toward the dock, now following her footsteps imprinted in the moss from the past two trips. 

“Are you still here?”

When she reached the spot where she had found the teddy bear, it was no longer there.

“Do you need help? Where are you?” 

The mist now began to swirl about in great eddies, intermittently exposing the lighthouse tower before obscuring it once again. Eveleth looked down to see her jacket was now soaked through with moisture. Filled with a mixture of concern and fear and suspicion and wonder, she returned to the lighthouse, having realized that she might be able to find the child from above by looking out from the balcony of the lantern room. Throwing down the keys while keeping her soggy coat on, Eveleth ran up the spiral stairs, nearly tripping several times. She ran past the lantern which burned as bright as ever, pushed open the door to the balcony and ran around to all sides, putting one hand on the railing and the other around her mouth, yelling,

“Where are you? Are you still here? Do you need help?” 

Frantic, she ran round and round, clockwise and counterclockwise. Stopping on the southwest side of the balcony above the garden, she noticed a flicker of brown movement in the mist.

“Is that you boy? Can you hear me?” 

She leaned farther and cupped both hands around her mouth. 

“Do you need…” 

Shrieking, she tumbled head over heels off the balcony onto a sagebrush shrub before rolling onto the ground, which by now was quite saturated.  She lay groaning in the mud for several minutes, attempting to lift her head off the ground before becoming overwhelmed by dizziness and falling back onto the ground.

“Come on get up!” 

As the minutes passed, she began to surrender, deciding it would be best to wait until the dizziness faded. Surprisingly, Eveleth did not despair. Instead she remained filled with concern for the young boy, wondering where he might have gone and how he could survive any longer in these cold and wet conditions. For the first time in a long time, Eveleth felt a sense of purpose and drive. Of course, maintaining the lighthouse and its lantern required a good deal of effort and provided a sense of accomplishment as she worked through its tasks each day, but her concern for the boy felt distinct. 

“Get up Eveleth!” 

She tried again to lift her torso unsuccessfully and began to wonder how long she would be lying there on the ground. Not one to rely on others, Eveleth was surprised to find herself wondering how she might get help. The lantern in the lighthouse would burn for at least another day or two without additional fuel, and only the most foolish of mariners would venture out into such a fog. She stared blankly into the mist above her, which only swirled faster and more chaotically. 

She began to reflect on all the opportunities she had turned down to acquaint herself with the inhabitants of Verbena Bridge. There were the invitations to the holiday party at the Silver Spinnaker, volunteer shifts at the soup kitchen where the transient folk had their meals, and most recently, dinner with the mercantile owner and his family. She imagined all of them, huddled with friends, fellow travelers, and families around blazing fires. Filled with a slight warmth from these images, Eveleth fell into a dreamless sleep. 

At first she did not recognize the pale blue color that dominated her field of vision; when she focused on a small area, its blueness seemed to disappear into grayness, but the blueness returned when she considered its full extent once again. She recognized what she was looking at when a flock of seagulls crossed the great blue void. She rotated her head to one side and, seeing the bush that had cushioned her fall, recalled the events that had led her to this position. She slowly lifted her head, arms, and then torso into a seated position, surprised at the complete lack of pain anywhere in her body. Experiencing no trouble standing to her feet, she rotated her arms in great circles and explored her body’s full range of movement, as one does when awakening from a particularly deep sleep. 

The sky was cloudless. Such a day was rare in Verbena Bridge, perhaps one day each month, and only lasted for several hours before a new frontal storm arose from the adjacent sea and made landfall. She opened the garden gate and took a walk toward the southwest side of the island which looked directly out to the open ocean. The waves shimmered and sparkled, crowned by great clouds of mist like manes behind charging steeds. She felt as if she were taking in the scene for the first time, and in truth, the sea and sky were in rare form. 

On that day Eveleth did something she had never done before and decided to make a trip to the mainland despite having no need to purchase supplies. She nearly skipped her way around the lighthouse toward the small dock, launched the boat, and beamed all the way across the strait. Upon arriving in the harbor, she walked directly toward a circle of transient folk, who were reveling in the sunshine playing guitar, singing, and patting quietly on small drums, and distributed most of the contents of her wallet around the circle. The music continued on while she did so, but surprised and then grateful expressions traveled quickly around the circle of musicians. 

She walked down the main street with her head held high, greeting everyone with a smile and “good morning!”. The shock and surprise at seeing Eveleth so animated quickly gave way to joy and camaraderie. She pushed open the door of the Silver Spinnaker and strolled up to the bar. 

“Good morning! And how are you today?” 

“Hmm not too bad I suppose. What can I get you?” 

“A pint of ale please! And one for you, if you’ll have it.” 

“Oh Miss it’s a bit early for me, but today’s weather seems worth celebrating I’d say.” 

Seated at the bar, Eveleth made pleasant small talk with the bartender, which led into more intimate stories about his life and past. She patiently listened to each twist and turn, not as one waiting to say her piece, but fully latching onto every word and image and character, imagining herself in his place.  When her beer was finished, she left a generous tip and then continued on toward the mercantile. 

“Good morning Noah! And how are you today?” 

She had not previously noted the mercantile owner’s name, but, anticipating this visit and recognizing the value that folks often place on recalling names, had asked the bartender for it. 

“Well hello Eveleth! Fine weather we’re having. I’m half considering closing up for the day.” 

“Oh well you certainly deserve it. I’m wondering if I can still take you up on your offer for dinner.” 

“Ah well I’m not sure what the Mrs. has planned for this evening, but she’s over at the soup kitchen now for the next few hours. You might talk to her there.”

“That is a splendid idea! Well sir, for what my vote’s worth, I say close up for the day.” 

“It’s a done deal then! Your visit was the little push I needed to make the call.” 

“I’m happy to hear it. Perhaps I will see you later!” 

Eveleth continued her lively stroll over to the soup kitchen, where she found Valerie directing a number of volunteers in washing, peeling, and chopping tasks. All the windows were propped open and natural light poured into the normally harsh and sterile industrial kitchen. 

“Hello Miss Valerie!” 

“Well hello Eveleth, what brings you here?” 

“Are you in need of any more volunteers?”

“Oh my I suppose today we’ve got as many as we need. Do you have any particular skills in the kitchen?”

“Ah yes! I can make loaves of bread. Would that be useful?” 

“Actually now that you mention it, yes. Our most recent baker had to move on up the coast, and we’ve been purchasing loaves from a baker in town. When would you like to start?”

“How about today?” 

“Excellent! Let me introduce you to my sous chefs.” 

Eveleth’s good spirits were by no means short lived, and as the days turned to weeks and months, she became acquainted with all the residents of Verbena Bridge, both those who had the fortune of remaining there permanently, and those who had arrived recently or planned to move on soon. In that regard, Eveleth took on an informal role as a sort of town historian, using the stability and continuity of her lighthouse keeper role to knit the community together in a way that it had not been before, maintaining detailed mental records of comings and goings, facilitating seasonal celebrations, and resolving problems confronting the community. A day did not go by when Eveleth did not make a trip to the mainland; some days she even visited multiple times. While Eveleth had long envisioned following the path of Margaret and severing her association with the mainland permanently, she now found joy, purpose, and connection in maintaining a relationship with Verbena Bridge and its residents. Her reading of scripture took on new meaning as the stories she read spoke to her daily challenges. It was said up and down the coast that no town had a more kind, dependable, and friendly lighthouse keeper than Verbena Bridge.