Chapter 2 #2
“Yes, very tragic. He fell from the lighthouse gallery during a storm.” Mrs. Pennington’s expression grew sad. “His wife, Mathilde, was devastated. She left town right after the funeral and never came back.”
“That must have been hard for her.”
“Oh, it was. Though some people thought it was strange, the way she left so suddenly. She didn’t even pack up their belongings properly.
” Mrs. Pennington paused, as if reconsidering her words.
“But grief affects people differently, and she was French, you know. Maybe she just wanted to be with her own people.”
Lily made a note about Mathilde’s hasty departure. “Did she have family in France?”
“I believe so. Though I heard she went to Boston first, then sailed for France from there.” Mrs. Pennington reached for one of the photo albums. “We have some pictures of the Aldriches. Would you like to see them?”
The photographs fascinated Lily—formal portraits of Edmund and Mathilde, posed shots of them with other community members, casual pictures of life around the lighthouse. They appeared content, well-integrated into local society.
“They seem well-liked.”
“Oh, they were. Edmund was very knowledgeable about navigation, and Mathilde was quite cultured. She spoke several languages and sometimes helped with translation work for the shipping companies.”
“Translation work?”
“Yes, Westerly Cove has always been connected to international trade. Ships from Canada, Europe, and even South America sometimes. When language barriers created problems with documentation, Mathilde would help sort things out.”
Lily made another note. “That sounds useful.”
“It was. Though . . .” Mrs. Pennington hesitated. “Well, some people thought the Aldriches lived rather well for a lighthouse keeper’s salary. They had nice clothes, improved the cottage, and had money for little luxuries.”
“Did anyone think they had another source of income?”
“Oh, just idle gossip. Small towns are that way—people notice when their neighbors seem to be doing better than expected.” Mrs. Pennington’s tone suggested she didn’t approve of such speculation.
“Edmund probably made extra money helping local fishermen with navigation advice. And Mathilde’s translation work would have paid something. ”
“Of course.” Lily turned to a fresh page in her notebook. “Did you ever hear any stories about the lighthouse itself? Local legends, that sort of thing?”
“Well, old buildings always attract stories. People claim to see lights in the windows and hear footsteps on the stairs. Nonsense, of course, but it makes for interesting conversation.”
“What kind of lights?”
“Oh, just the usual ghost story material. After Edmund died, some people claimed they saw lights moving around the lighthouse at night. Not the regular beacon, but smaller lights, someone carrying a lantern.” Mrs. Pennington smiled indulgently.
“Of course, that was probably just Mathilde moving around in haste. Grief can make people see things that aren’t really there. ”
“But people kept reporting lights after she left?”
“So they claimed. Though I always suspected it was just reflections from passing ships, or maybe teenagers playing pranks.” Mrs. Pennington’s tone became more serious.
“You have to understand, Lily, lighthouse keeping was lonely work. The families who lived there were isolated, especially in winter. It’s natural that people would develop stories to explain things they didn’t understand. ”
Lily nodded, but she was thinking about the timeline Sarah had created. If people saw lights after Mathilde left, and if those lights continued for years afterward, it suggested something more systematic than grief or teenage pranks.
“Mrs. Pennington, would it be possible to visit the lighthouse? To see the keeper’s quarters?” While her father had given her a tour, he didn’t take her into the quarters and she desperately wanted to see what was left in there.
“Oh, I don’t think that would be safe, dear. The building hasn’t been maintained in years, and I believe the town council keeps it locked.” She paused. “Won’t your dad help?”
“He will,” Lily said. “But I don’t want to bother him about his job.”
“I see,” Mrs. Pennington sighs. “I suppose I could ask around. If it’s important for your research.”
“I’d appreciate that. It would help me understand what daily life was like for the keepers and their families.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
They spent another hour looking through photographs and documents, with Mrs. Pennington sharing stories about various lighthouse keepers and their families. Most of the information was routine—descriptions of daily life, community events, the gradual changes that came with modernization.
But Lily focused on the small details that didn’t quite fit the official narrative. Mathilde’s sudden departure. The Aldriches’ apparent prosperity. The mysterious lights that people reported seeing long after the family was gone.
Individually, these details might mean nothing. But together, they suggested a story more complex than the official records indicated.
Walking home that afternoon, Lily thought about her conversation with Mrs. Pennington.
The older woman had been helpful and informative, but caution colored her responses.
She shared the official version of events while hinting at community speculation and local legends, yet she was careful not to endorse any theories about what might have really happened.
That evening, Lily spread her research materials across her bedroom floor, creating a comprehensive overview of everything she’d discovered. Sarah’s timeline served as the foundation, with photographs, interview notes, and document copies arranged around it in rough chronological order.
Looking at it all together, she had to admit that her findings weren’t particularly dramatic. A lighthouse keeper who died in an accident. Some community speculation about the family’s finances. A few local legends talk about mysterious lights.
But questions remained that the official records didn’t answer. Why had Mathilde left town so suddenly? What was the source of the Aldriches’ apparent prosperity? Who was seeing lights at the lighthouse, and why did the reports continue for years?
These might have simple, innocent explanations. But they were the kind of questions that serious researchers asked, the kind that separated real investigation from mere documentation.
Lily pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began writing a list of follow-up research tasks:
1. Check town records for any documentation of the Aldriches’ financial affairs
2. Look for shipping records that might show Mathilde’s translation work
3. Try to find more detailed accounts of Edmund’s accident
4. Research the lighthouse keepers who came before and after the Aldriches
5. See if any surviving family members might have stories
In writing this, Lily realized that her simple history project had evolved into something more complex. She was no longer just documenting the lighthouse’s past—she was trying to understand the human stories that official records had reduced to basic facts.
The thought excited her. This was the kind of investigation that real journalists conducted, the kind that required persistence, creativity, and the ability to see patterns in seemingly disconnected information.
But it also made her slightly nervous. She was seventeen years old, working on a school project about local history. She wasn’t equipped to uncover major secrets or solve historical mysteries. Maybe her parents were right to encourage caution.
On the other hand, she was probably overthinking things. The most likely explanation was that Edmund Hawthorne had died in a tragic accident, his wife had left town in grief, and the community had developed harmless legends to explain the unexplained.
Still, falling asleep that night, Lily couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something important.
The lighthouse stood just a mile from her house, its beacon long since extinguished but its presence still dominates the harbor.
For over a century, it had guided ships safely to port, its light cutting through darkness and uncertainty.
But lighthouses, she was beginning to realize, could also cast shadows. And sometimes, those shadows concealed things that were worth investigating.
The next morning brought the discovery that would change everything. Lily was back at the library, working her way through the town’s employment records from the 1920s, when she found the document that made her pulse quicken.
It was a simple form, the kind used to record employment changes. But the information it contained was puzzling:
Employee: Edmund Hawthorne
Position: Lighthouse Keeper
Employment terminated: October 15, 1923
Reason: Resignation
Final wages paid: October 31, 1923
Lily read it twice, then pulled out her notebook to check her other sources.
According to the newspaper, Edmund had died on October 14th.
According to the death certificate she’d found, he’d died on October 14th.
But according to the employment records, he’d resigned on October 15th—the day after his supposed death.
It was probably just a clerical error, a mistake made by someone who hadn’t heard about the accident. But it was exactly the kind of small inconsistency that made Lily’s journalistic instincts tingle.
She photocopied the document and added it to her expanding pile. Then she sat back in her chair and stared at the lighthouse through the library’s windows, wondering what other small discrepancies might be hiding in the official records.
For the first time since starting the project, Lily felt she was onto something real. Something that went beyond local folklore and community speculation. Something that might actually matter.
She couldn’t wait to show Sarah what she’d found.