A Light in the Storm Page 4

  But to me the bell is a good and comforting sound.

  Tonight I can hear music. It is eerie and beautiful. I have heard it before. It comes to me on the wind. I don’t know if it is really music or just a trick played by the sea. If it is a trick, it is a very good trick, indeed.

  Wednesday, February 27, 1861

  Clear. Wind W. Fresh.

  What a beautiful day. The mild weather calls forth the caroling of birds. In Bayville, the blooming faces and bright eyes of my young scholars swell my heart with joy.

  It is hard to be without hope when the weather is so kind. Even the sea seems at peace.

  Thursday, February 28, 1861

  P. Cloudy. Wind N.W. Fresh.

  Mr. Lincoln has arrived at last in Washington. He took the final leg of his trip secretly, by carriage, because of threats on his life.

  In one week, he inherits the trouble of this great, unhappy country. In one week, the responsibility will be his — whether we come together again as a Union, or fall entirely to pieces. And here we sit, in Delaware, on the border between North and South, half the state holding slaves, half the state opposed to the practice. I do not envy our President-Elect. It is hard enough to hold a family together. Poor Mr. Lincoln. It is in his hands to hold a whole country together or watch it fall apart. My hands are calloused and strong from rowing and working the ropes, from lifting and carrying barrels of oil and scrubbing stone floors and spiral stairs, but I do not know if they are strong enough to hold Mother and Father together.

  Mr. Lincoln’s hands … they must be a thousand times stronger than mine. Please God, give Mr. Lincoln strong hands.

  Monday, March 4, 1861

  Fair. Wind N. Fresh.

  The weather is rare indeed for the season and would have done credit to May or June; in fact, yesterday and today the thermometer rose to 80 degrees — 4 degrees above the average summer heat. The consequence is the blooming out of crocus and other early spring flowers, and a general bursting of the buds and spreading of leaf everywhere, even here on Fenwick Island.

  Mother hummed today as she washed.

  Thursday, March 7, 1861

  Cloudy. Wind N.E. Fresh.

  Now we can say President Lincoln, for his presidency is official as of Monday last. I wish him good luck.

  Our new President says the Union is not broken. He says this issue is a matter of law, and he shall see to it that the law is faithfully followed.

  Mother despises President Lincoln. Father and I sat with her this afternoon as she prepared dinner. I read her articles from the paper that promise our President will not interfere with the practice of slaveholding in the Southern states, nor obstruct the return of fugitive slaves. But she would not listen.

  “He will have the whole country overrun with colored,” she said. “You just wait. How can anyone trust a man so ugly?”

  Father turned red. “Damn you, woman. You judge everything by appearance!”

  My cheeks burned.

  Father’s fury mounted. “If the Negro seems stupid it is because he has not been given the opportunity to learn. The fact that so many Negroes can read and write and handle themselves in this world is a testament to how great they might be.”

  “Do not speak this rubbish to me,” Mother screamed.

  I stood between them. Helpless.

  Friday, March 8, 1861

  Fair. Wind S.E. Fresh.

  Before I left Bayville this afternoon, Uncle Edward offered to treat me to ice cream from the confectionery. I caught sight of William Worthington’s mother as we crossed the street. I ran to inquire after her health, and to see the little girls, and have news of Daniel. Mrs. Worthington took me in her arms and held me. Her hand stroked my hair. “How I have missed you, Amelia,” she whispered in my ear.

  Oh, Mrs. Worthington, I have missed you, too.

  Thursday, March 14, 1861

  Cloudy and Rain. Wind N.E. Fresh.

  Father and I took Beans and the wagon across the Ditch while the weather was still balmy. We rode to Frankford for supplies.

  In Frankford we heard politics discussed everywhere.

  Perhaps this sounds strange, dear diary, but I am growing used to it all. At the Lighthouse, we go on, performing chore after chore. We trim and light the wicks, opening each mantle, adjusting the height of each flame, swinging the doors shut, and fastening the catches. We wind the clockwork of the lantern carriage. We watch through the night, ensuring that the beacon stays lit. And at dawn we extinguish the Light. This is the only way I know to go on.

  Perhaps it is because of the constancy of the Light that my heart can grow used to the uncertainty of everything else.

  Tuesday, March 19, 1861

  Cloudy and Rain. Wind S.E. Moderate.

  Caught a shad.

  Caught sight of Oda Lee Monkton, too, while fishing out in the skiff.

  Oda Lee’s husband deserted her years ago. He went to sea and never returned. Since then she has kept to herself, living on what she can scavenge. She would prefer for us to fail in our duty of keeping the good Light; she lives at cross-purposes, waiting only for ships to founder on the sandbars and shoals. Oda Lee lives off wrecks. She has become a pirate. And she keeps company with slave catchers.

  Keeper Dunne calls Oda Lee “the moon-cusser.” When the moon shines, a ship is far less likely to run aground. So people who make their livelihood from scavenging wrecks curse the moonlit nights.

  Mother forbids me to have anything to do with Oda Lee, and on this matter I have no difficulty complying.

  Thursday, March 21, 1861

  Clear. Wind N.W. Fresh.

  Last night the millponds froze over to the thickness of an inch — the thermometer being at 11 degrees this morning. I fear the peaches on the mainland are destroyed.

  Tonight I am so tired. Must force my eyes to stay open, force myself to remain alert. If I let the Light go out, even for a moment…. Reenie O’Connell said once she would never want such responsibility. She said it was hard enough to look after a family, how much more difficult to look after the sea and those who sail upon it. But it doesn’t seem difficult to me. Except when I am so tired.

  Sunday, March 31, 1861

  Clear. Wind S.W. Fresh.

  Keeper Dunne led us in morning prayer.

  Dr. McCabe came out later and stayed for the noon meal, complimenting me on my pie. He is a talkative man in this place where we say so little. We all listened to his stories. Even Mother. Especially Mother.

  He told of two patients lying ill in one room. One had brain fever, the other an aggravated case of mumps. They were so ill, Dr. McCabe said, that watches were needed at night, and he thought it doubtful either would recover.

  Mother dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, listening. I had not seen her so attentive in months. She was absorbed in Dr. McCabe and his stories, forgetting her own discomfort.

  Dr. McCabe told us he engaged a gentleman to watch these two patients through the night. The gentleman was to report any change in condition and wake the nurse periodically to administer medication. But the gentleman and the nurse both fell asleep. The man with the mumps lay staring at the clock and saw it was time to give the fever patient his medication. Unable to speak, or move any portion of his body except his arms, the mumps patient seized a pillow, and threw it as best he could, striking the watchman in the face. Thus suddenly awakened, the watchman fell to the floor, startling both the nurse and the fever patient awake with the sound of his fall. Dr. McCabe grinned and, to my delight, Mother laughed aloud.

  Dr. McCabe said the gentleman’s fall to the floor struck the sick men as so ludicrous, they laughed heartily at it for some fifteen or twenty minutes. When Dr. McCabe came to see them in the morning, he found both of his patients improved … he said he’d never known so sudden a turn for the better. And now they are both well.

  Mother joined us as we walked Dr. McCabe back to his skiff. She spoke to him in a way I had not heard her speak in some time. She spoke to Dr. McCa
be as she would to a friend. Suddenly I was struck by how lonely Mother must be here.

  Though Father was some distance away, inspecting the doctor’s skiff for seaworthiness and preparing it for the short return back across the Ditch, I was close enough to hear Mother’s words.

  She asked Dr. McCabe to excuse the condition of the house. She told him she had not been well.

  Dr. McCabe said he found nothing wanting but asked Mother to speak at greater length of her illness.

  Mother said, “I detest the sea. It smashes and stinks and tears everything apart. It beats down my gardens and has left my health in ruins. My head aches, my joints ache, and every morning I wake swollen. My hands are useless.”

  To hear Mother speak this way pierced my heart.

  Mother said Father should have taken a stag station, a station where the men live without their women, without their families. She said Father should never have brought us here. She told Dr. McCabe she was surely dying of damp and loneliness.

  My heart reached out to Mother, but if Father had applied to a stag station as she said, I would never have seen him.

  Oh, my diary, can’t Mother see how much I need Father? Father understands the bigger world. He has brought the dawning of that understanding to me. There is a knowledge that reaches beyond the little cottage on Commerce Street, beyond Fenwick, even. Father’s knowledge is more like the histories I read. To know the world only as Mother and Grandmother know it … pehaps that would be simpler. But my heart is filled with so many questions. And I am not certain I can find the answers in Mother and Grandmother’s world.

  Thursday, April 4, 1861

  Rain. Wind E. Fresh.

  Received and installed new glass to replace the cracked piece.

  Fine fishing weather. Brought in a good catch of shad. The run of fish is so plentiful, there is enough for us to eat and shad left over to sell. Assistant lightkeepers do not command much of a salary. It is good to help out.

  Thursday, April 11, 1861

  Clear. Wind N.E. to E. Moderate.

  There is much activity on the water to record.

  Uncle Edward says a large number of troops — 3,000 men — have gathered in New York. Steamers and men-of-war stand in readiness.

  The papers report that at Fort Sumter, in South Carolina, the supplies of the U.S. Government troops stationed there have been exhausted, and receiving fresh provisions will be a great risk. The Southern Confederacy might attack the Federal troops at any moment or at the very least force our Government to abandon the fort!

  When I sleep, when I wake, when I watch over the Light, when I wind the clockwork or haul the barrels of oil, when I sit in the skiff, fishing, when I look across the great sea, when I watch over the children in the classroom, I feel in my heart a collision is about to take place somewhere.

  I am beginning to think President Lincoln can’t force the Southern states back into the Union any more than I can force Mother to be happy at the Light station.

  That Jefferson Davis, so-called President of the Southern states — I like him less the more I hear of him. He knows President Lincoln can’t abandon our men at Fort Sumter. President Lincoln won’t leave our men there to die. It is a simple act of humanity. We have to bring supplies through to Fort Sumter.

  Uncle Edward says telegraphic communication with the South has been cut off below Petersburgh, Virginia.

  We may already be at war and not yet know. At war! With ourselves!

  Saturday, April 13, 1861

  Clear. Wind E.S.E. Moderate.

  Keeper Dunne arranged to have the Light tower and the oil house whitewashed.

  The painters arrived from the mainland early this morning. They rigged a barrel and tackle and swung out from the top of the tower to work. I did not believe when I saw who was part of the crew. Daniel Worthington. He nodded to me from the barrel.

  When I finished my chores in the Light, I climbed down the spiral stairs to the observation deck. Daniel called to me and asked if I could bring him some water at lunch break. I was busy with housework through the morning, but I did not forget Daniel’s request.

  I brought him a big slice of pie in addition to the water he had asked for.

  We sat on the beach with our backs to the dunes, and the Light, and my house.

  “I still miss William,” I said.

  Daniel stared out to sea. “He never listened to anyone.”

  “He listened to me.”

  Daniel laughed. “And then he went and did exactly as he pleased.”

  I laughed, too. I knew he was right.

  We talked about William and Mrs. Worthington and Daniel’s little sisters. Daniel kept his eyes on the sea as he spoke. I noticed how long and thick his lashes are.

  “I’m going to war as soon as President Lincoln calls,” he said.

  I told him perhaps there would not be a war.

  Daniel turned his face from the sea a moment to look at me. His eyes were laughing. “Really, Amelia.”

  I could feel myself blush.

  “Your mother might wish you to stay, you know,” I said. “Your sisters need you.”

  “I can’t stay,” Daniel said.

  His lips are full like William’s were and his nose, like William’s, straight and fine. And he has those pretty eyes, prettier than William’s, I think. Big and gray with those long, thick lashes.

  Daniel said he would work through the noon hour on Monday, and eat with me when I returned from school, if I liked.

  I am eager for Monday.

  Monday, April 15, 1861

  Rain. Wind N.W. High.

  The tide is the highest measured in nearly ten years.

  Oda Lee has been out scavenging night and day. The sea leaves her gifts. Her cloak whips around her legs. She moves slowly, bending into the wind. Sometimes the sheer power of the wind lifts her off her feet, and she is a goodly weighted woman. She flaps like a crow from one piece of flotsam to the next.

  The weather today was no good for painting Lighthouse towers. But Daniel came anyway. Just to see me. Because he’d promised. We ate our meal on the beach in our rain cloaks, watching Oda Lee.

  Thursday, April 18, 1861

  Clear. Wind N. to E. Fresh.

  The weather for the past few days has been rainy, making painting impossible. With all his free time, Daniel rowed out every morning while I was doing my Lighthouse chores. Tuesday morning he said it was good to get out of a house filled with women, and his eyes laughed as he said so. It gave me an oddly pleasant feeling, knowing he sought refuge from the mainland in my company.

  Yesterday morning, as Daniel rowed me across the Ditch from Fenwick to Bayville, we talked about slavery. “This fight over owning slaves has been too long in coming,” he said. “Slavery is wrong, it always has been wrong, always will be wrong, no matter what color a person’s skin.” Daniel likes talking history as much as Uncle Edward, as much as I. And I am always eager to hear what he thinks. I told him about the History of the United States I am reading and he listened with great interest and asked questions I had not thought of.

  Monday, Tuesday, and yesterday, after school, we went together to visit Uncle Edward and Daisy. Daniel treats Daisy as if she never was a slave. I so enjoyed myself, I delayed returning home each day until the last moment, but Daniel had promised I would get back to Fenwick in plenty of time for the Light.

  I would not mind if the weather kept the painting crew home all spring. It has made for very fine conditions for me to get to know Daniel better.

  Today, though, it was lovely and clear, and Daniel worked while I rowed myself to and from Bayville.

  Friday, April 19, 1861

  Cloudy and Rain. Wind S.W. Fresh.

  The War is begun!

  Uncle Edward said Fort Sumter was attacked by General Beauregard of the Southern Confederacy on Friday last and though the Federal troops resisted, Major Anderson, the commander at the fort, had no choice but to surrender. Fort Sumter has fallen to the secessionist
rebels and the Stars and Stripes have been replaced by the “Stars and Bars” of the Southern Confederacy.

  When I heard the news I felt a roaring inside my ears, a roar of outrage. That our country should come to this moment.

  Sunday, April 21, 1861

  Cloudy and Rain. Wind N.W. to N. High.

  Keeper Dunne led us in prayer.

  Uncle Edward said President Lincoln made a proclamation calling for 75,000 militia. He urges those in defiance of the law, all Secessionists, to return to their homes, and retire from this disagreement peaceably, and within twenty days.

  President Davis says he is ready for President Lincoln’s 75,000 Northerners.

  Where is Delaware to stand? Kentucky refuses to send troops to fight for the Union. Yet in Rhode Island, the very Governor has offered his own services to President Lincoln. Men from all across the North prepare to put away their daily lives and march to war to uphold our Union.

  Daniel is among them. But he is not without concerns. He worries about the welfare of his mother and sisters, as well he might. “Who will support them when I am away? Who will see to their needs?”

  I did not know how to answer. But I could see the matter was of great concern to him, though it was not so great as to keep him from joining the Federal army.

  Uncle Edward cannot go, because of his bad hand. But what of Father? Will Father join?

  Monday, April 22, 1861

  Cloudy to Rain. Wind N.E. High.

  The schooner W.B. Potter foundered on the shoals north of Fenwick Station. Father and I brought all hands ashore safely and they stayed at the Fenwick quarters overnight.