Chapter 1 #2
The prospect filled her with the same excitement she’d felt when she first started working on the school newspaper. This was what she loved about journalism—the detective work, the slow accumulation of facts that eventually revealed a larger truth.
She had no idea how much larger the truth would be.
The Morgan house smelled like pot roast and garlic bread when Lily pushed through the front door. Her mother’s voice drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the soft rock station she always listened to while cooking.
“That you, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, Mom.” Lily dropped her backpack by the stairs and headed toward the kitchen, where Martha Morgan stirred a sauce on the stove. At forty-two, her mother still moved with quick energy and the warm expression that had made her popular with Lily’s friends throughout elementary school.
“How did everything go today?”
“Well. I received my senior research project assignment.”
“Already? Seems early.” Martha tasted her sauce and reached for the salt. “What’s your topic?”
“The lighthouse.”
Martha’s wooden spoon paused mid-stir. “The structure?”
“Hawthorne Point. I’m going to research its history, maybe focus on the keeper families.” Lily opened the refrigerator and grabbed a Coke. “Mr. Davidson said it was a good choice because Dad works there.”
“That’s . . .” Martha resumed stirring, but her movements had lost their easy rhythm. “That’s interesting, honey. I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”
The careful tone made Lily look up. “Is there a problem with that topic?”
“No, no problem. It’s just . . .” Martha set down the spoon and turned to face her daughter. “It has been part of this town for so long, I think people sometimes forget there are real stories behind it. Real people who called it home.”
“That’s what I want to write about. The human side of history.”
Martha nodded slowly. “Just remember that some of those people might still be around. The Aldriches, for instance. You’ll want to be respectful when you ask questions.”
“Of course. I’m not planning to write gossip, Mom. This is serious research.”
“I know you are, sweetheart. You always are.” Her expression returned to its usual warmth, but tension remained in her shoulders. “Your father should be home soon. He may have access to old records you could examine.”
Lily worked at the kitchen table for the next hour, organizing her research notes while her mother finished cooking. The sounds of home surrounded her—the radio playing softly, the occasional sizzle from the stove, her mother humming along to songs she’d grown up with.
This was what she’d miss most about home when she went to college. Not the town itself, but this sense of belonging, of being part of a stable and warm foundation. Brown University would be exciting, but it would also be four hundred miles away from everything she’d ever known.
The front door opened, and her father’s voice called out. “I smell something amazing cooking in here.”
Robert Morgan appeared in the doorway, still wearing his work clothes and carrying the metal toolbox he took everywhere. At forty-five, he had steady hands and the patient demeanor of someone who’d spent decades fixing things that other people couldn’t understand.
“How did your day go?” Martha asked, accepting his kiss on the cheek.
“Not bad. I replaced some corroded wiring in the beacon housing.” He glanced at Lily. “How did things go at school?”
“Well. I received my senior research project assignment, and I picked the lighthouse.”
Robert’s expression shifted in a way that mirrored her mother’s earlier reaction—surprise, followed by caution. “The lighthouse?”
“It's history. The keeper families, construction, that sort of thing.” Lily watched his face carefully. “Mr. Davidson thought it made a good topic because you work there.”
“It is a good topic,” Robert said slowly. “Lots of history there.”
“Mom mentioned you may have access to old records I could examine.”
Robert set down his toolbox and pulled out a chair. “There might be some maintenance logs from the transition period. When they automated the systems.”
“When did that happen?”
“1983. The Aldrich clan had been there for generations, but the Coast Guard decided it was more efficient to automate the beacon and foghorn.”
“What happened to them?”
Robert and Martha exchanged a look that lasted just a moment too long. “Gerald stayed on as the keeper even after automation,” Robert said. “He adapted to the changes, but they’re still very much involved with operations.”
“Gerald still lives in town,” he added. “His son Winston is the mayor now. You could probably interview Gerald if you wanted a firsthand account of the keeping days.”
“That would be great.” Lily made a note. “Do you think he’d be willing to talk to me?”
“I’m sure he would,” Robert said, but his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely certain. “Just remember, Lily, that it has been part of people’s lives for a long time. Some of those memories might be complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it wasn’t always an easy life. Isolated, dangerous work. And when the automation happened, it meant the end of a way of life that had lasted for generations.” Robert grabbed the salt shaker. “People might have strong feelings about that.”
Lily nodded, understanding. The shift to automation had probably been traumatic for people who’d built their entire identity around tending the light. That angle could provide compelling research, especially if she could interview people who’d lived through the change.
“Could I come out there with you sometime?” she asked. “Maybe tomorrow after school? I’d like to take some photographs, maybe see if any old records are still stored there.”
Robert hesitated. “I suppose that would be all right. But we’d have to be careful not to disturb anything. Gerald maintains strict security protocols, and the Coast Guard still owns the property.”
“I just want to look around, maybe take some notes.”
“All right then. Tomorrow after school.”
The conversation moved to other topics—Martha’s book club, weekend plans, the unseasonably warm weather. But Lily noticed that her parents seemed subdued, as if her research topic had introduced uncertainty into their usual dinner routine.
After helping with the dishes, she retreated to her room to review her notes and plan her next steps. The beacon swept past her window every thirty seconds, as it had for as long as she could remember. But tonight, instead of comfort, it reminded her of all the questions she hadn’t yet asked.
Who were the Aldrich keepers?
What had their daily life been like?
How had they felt when forced to adapt to new technology while staying in the only home their clan had known for generations?
And why did her parents seem so hesitant about her research?
She made notes to start with the basics—construction records, shipping logs, newspaper accounts of storms and rescues. The human stories would come later once she’d established the historical foundation.
But as she settled into bed, Lily found herself thinking about the people who’d lived in the keeper’s house.
Children who’d grown up beneath the towering structure, adults who’d made the nightly journey to maintain the beacon, entire generations who’d built their lives around the rhythm of ships and storms.
She fell asleep thinking about fog and light, and the burden of responsibility that came with standing watch over dangerous waters.
The next afternoon, Lily climbed into Robert’s truck with her camera, notebook, and growing anticipation. The structure looked different as they approached—not a distant landmark she’d seen her entire life, but an actual place with doors and windows, stairs and rooms.
“The keeper’s house is mostly empty now,” Robert explained as he parked near the base of the tower. “Gerald uses it for storage, and I keep some tools there. But the main structure is identical to what it was when the Aldriches lived there.”
The white tower rose eighty feet above them, its red roof brightening the gray sky.
Up close, Lily could see weathering on the stone foundation, newer concrete patches where workers had made repairs over the years.
This building had withstood 152 New England winters, countless storms, and the corrosive effects of salt air.
“Can we go inside the tower?” she asked.
“Sure. But be careful on the stairs—they’re steep and narrow.”
Robert unlocked the heavy wooden door at the base, and they stepped into a circular room that smelled of salt air and old wood. Stone walls, painted white, surrounded them, with a spiral staircase winding upward into darkness.
“The beacon room is at the top,” he said, handing her a flashlight. “There’s a landing about halfway up where keepers stored oil.”
Lily began climbing, her steps echoing in the confined space. The stairs demanded respect—steep and narrow, forcing her to pause twice to catch her breath. But when she reached the top and stepped into the beacon room, the view stole what breath remained.
The harbor spread out below them, dotted with fishing boats and pleasure craft. The town looked like a postcard from this height—white houses with red roofs, the church steeple rising above the treeline, cars moving along streets that resembled toy roads.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“The keepers used to say this was the best view on the coast,” Robert said, joining her at the windows. “They could see ships coming from miles away, and had time to prepare if a storm was approaching.”
Lily pulled out her camera and began taking pictures—the view, the beacon mechanism, the narrow confines of the room where keepers had spent their evenings.
She imagined herself as the human guardian of this light, knowing that your work was the difference between safety and disaster for every ship that passed.
“Dad, what was it really like for the Aldriches when automation happened?”
Robert stayed quiet for a moment, looking out at the harbor. “I think it was difficult. Gerald needed to learn new systems and procedures. It wasn’t just a job change—it was the end of a traditional way of life.”
“But they stayed with operations?”
“Gerald did. His son Winston moved away for a while, but he came back. He’s the mayor now.”
Lily made notes as they talked, trying to capture not just the facts but the emotional weight of the transition. This was the kind of human story that could make her research paper stand out—not just dates and technical details, but the real impact of technological change on ordinary people.
They explored for another hour, examining the automated beacon system, touring the keeper’s house where Gerald Aldrich still maintained his office. Robert showed her the small rooms where children slept, the kitchen where meals were prepared, the front porch where keepers had watched the sea.
As they prepared to leave, Lily took one last look around the beacon room.
The afternoon sun was beginning to set, and soon the automated light would start its nightly cycle.
But for just a moment, she envisioned herself as a keeper from decades past, understanding the burden that came with this position.
A brief chill touched her spine—not fear, exactly, but a sudden awareness of how small she was in this vast tower, how isolated this place must have felt during winter storms. The sensation passed quickly, but it left her with a deeper appreciation for the courage it must have taken to live here, to accept the responsibility of keeping the light burning no matter what.
“Ready to go?” Robert asked.
“Yeah.” Lily collected her camera and notebook. “Thanks for bringing me up here, Dad. This really helps me understand what I’m writing about.”
As they drove back toward town, Lily reviewed her notes and photographs. She had the basic framework now—construction dates, technical details, family names. Tomorrow she’d start filling in the human stories, beginning with a visit to the town archives and perhaps a phone call to Gerald Aldrich.
That evening, she wanted to organize everything she’d learned, to begin shaping the scattered facts into the structure of a real research paper. She already anticipated what she might discover in the records, what stories the former keepers might be willing to share.
The beam swept across the harbor behind them, beginning another night’s watch over the dark water.
And for the first time in her life, Lily understood what that light really meant—not just a navigation aid, but a promise that someone was always watching, always ready to guide lost ships safely home.
She could never have imagined how much those lost ships would come to mean to her own story.