Chapter 6
The morning sun felt warm against Emily’s face as she sat on her cottage porch, cradling the pottery mug she’d gotten at the farmers’ market.
The coffee inside had gone lukewarm while she’d been lost in thought, replaying her discovery of the journal and Winnie’s cryptic warnings about people who wanted the lighthouse’s secrets to stay buried.
She took a sip anyway and grimaced. Cold coffee was still coffee, though, and she needed the caffeine after staying up half the night reading through the journal’s entries.
The entries, at least those she could decipher from the old-fashioned handwriting on many of the early ones, had documented decades of mysterious activities.
Signal patterns. Midnight deliveries. Each entry raised more questions than it answered.
The sound of raised voices pulled her attention toward the courtyard.
“You can’t just set up wherever you want.” A man’s deep voice carried clearly across the morning air. “There are rules about common areas.”
“Clint, I’m not blocking anyone’s access.” A woman’s voice was sharp with frustration. “I need the angle from this spot. The light hits the lighthouse differently here.”
Emily set down her mug and leaned forward slightly, gazing out at the courtyard.
Clint—that was Winnie’s nephew, right?—stood with his arms crossed and his broad shoulders tense beneath a faded t-shirt.
Facing him was a woman with shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.
She wore muted gray clothing and had one hand resting protectively on an expensive-looking camera mounted on a tripod.
That must be Melissa Reeves, the photographer Winnie had mentioned.
Clint gestured toward the equipment. “The rules exist for a reason. You can’t just claim space because it suits your artistic vision.”
“My artistic vision?” Melissa’s laugh held no humor. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s never created anything in his life.”
Clint’s jaw tightened. “I maintain this property. I protect it. That’s creating something.”
“You enforce arbitrary rules to feel important. There’s a difference.” Melissa adjusted her camera’s position slightly, as if to prove she wouldn’t be moved by his protests.
“Those arbitrary rules keep this place running. Maybe if you spent less time hiding behind your lens and more time actually living in the community, you’d understand that.”
The words hit their mark. Melissa’s hand stilled on the camera. “At least I’m creating something,” she shot back. “What are you doing besides following orders from your aunt and keeping everyone at arm’s length?”
Emily remained still. The argument had shifted from property disputes to something far more personal, though she had no idea what history lay between them.
Before Clint could respond, the lighthouse keeper’s quarters door opened.
Winnie emerged with the calm authority of someone accustomed to mediating conflicts. She wore a white shirt and a floral-patterned, flowing skirt, with her silver hair swept into a neat bun. Her gaze took in the scene with a single glance.
“Good morning. I see we’re having a discussion about the courtyard space.” Her voice carried clearly without being raised.
Clint turned toward his aunt. “She’s set up her equipment in the common area again. Right on the pathway. We’ve talked about this.”
“I need this specific angle.” Melissa didn’t look at Winnie, keeping her attention fixed on her camera. “The morning light creates shadows on the lighthouse that I can’t capture from anywhere else.”
Winnie walked closer, her steps measured and unhurried. She studied Melissa’s setup for a long moment, then turned to examine the sight lines from each cottage.
“You’re right that this angle offers a unique perspective,” Winnie said finally. “And Clint is right that the courtyard is shared space.”
Neither party looked satisfied with this even-handed assessment.
She turned to Clint. “But I don’t think her equipment will really bother the other guests. Most of them don’t really use the courtyard until later in the mornings anyway.”
Melissa looked triumphantly at Clint.
Winnie then turned to Melissa and pointed toward a spot about six feet to the left. “That location gives you nearly the same angle while staying outside the direct pathway between cottages. You can set up there for your morning shots.”
Melissa opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. She gave a single, sharp nod. “That will work.”
Winnie made it sound light, but Emily recognized the skill in what she’d just witnessed. Winnie had given each person something while requiring compromise from both. Neither had won completely, but neither had been dismissed either.
Melissa began breaking down her tripod without another word. Clint stood watching for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning and walking toward the maintenance shed with deliberate steps.
Winnie remained in the courtyard, her gaze following first one, then the other. She turned and caught sight of Emily on her porch. The woman’s expression shifted to something warmer, and she crossed the courtyard in quick steps.
“Good morning.” Winnie paused at the bottom of Emily’s porch steps. “I hope the excitement didn’t disturb your coffee.”
Emily glanced down at her mug. “It’s gone cold anyway. That was some impressive mediation.”
Winnie smiled. “Practice. I’ve been navigating lighthouse politics for more decades than I care to count.”
“They seemed pretty worked up for a dispute about camera placement.”
“It’s never really about the camera placement.” Winnie settled onto the porch step without waiting for an invitation. “May I?”
“Of course. Can I get you some coffee? Fair warning, mine’s terrible, but I could make fresh.”
“I’m fine, thank you. I had my fill this morning while reading the newspaper. Or trying to. The local paper has gotten distressingly thin. I remember when it was a proper newspaper with real investigative journalism.”
“I noticed the Beacon has a historical column,” Emily said. “Marty Fuller writes about the town’s history. It even has a one hundred years ago and fifty years ago column.”
“Marty runs Tides and Tales, the bookstore downtown. I think I mentioned that to you. Lovely man. Passionate about preserving local stories. You should visit his shop.”
“I should drop by. I’d love to pick up a novel or two to read.”
Emily glanced out to the courtyard and saw Melissa packing up her gear. She must have gotten the shots she wanted.
Winnie leaned back against the porch railing. “So, did you look at the journal more last night?”
The journal. Emily had almost forgotten about it in the drama of the morning argument.
“I read through more of it. Your ancestor’s documentation is somewhat vague.
References to visitors who came and asked questions, but they were told nothing.
Notes about sequences and confirmations, although I couldn’t figure out all the entries. ”
“My grandfather was meticulous about his records. Sometimes too meticulous for his own good.” Winnie stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirt.
“Anyway, I should get back to my chores.” She started down the porch steps, then paused.
“We’re having our usual Friday gathering in the courtyard this evening.
Nothing fancy. Just neighbors sharing a meal and conversation. You’d be welcome to join us.”
“I’m not much for group socializing right now.”
Winnie’s face remained neutral. “I understand. But the invitation stands. Sometimes the best way to stop running is to stand still long enough to let people catch up to you.”
She walked away before Emily could respond.
Emily sat for a long time after Winnie left, watching the morning light shift across the lighthouse’s white walls. The structure itself seemed to pulse with secrets. How many people had stood where she sat now, watching the same lighthouse and wondering about the stories it held?
The sound of a door closing drew her attention. Melissa emerged from Captain’s Watch Cottage carrying her camera bag. She wore a baseball cap pulled low. Without the tripod and equipment, she looked smaller somehow and more vulnerable.
Their eyes met across the courtyard.
For a moment, Emily thought Melissa might simply turn away. Instead, the photographer gave a small nod of acknowledgment before heading toward the path that led to the beach.
It wasn’t much. It barely qualified as interaction. But something about the gesture felt significant.
She found herself standing and calling out before she’d consciously decided to do so. “The light’s beautiful on the water this time of morning.”
Melissa stopped walking. She turned back slowly, her expression guarded. “It is.”
“I used to paint seascapes.” She rose and crossed the distance between them. “Back when I painted. The morning light was always my favorite. That quality right after sunrise where everything looks both sharp and soft at the same time.”
“Used to paint? You don’t anymore?” Melissa frowned slightly.
“I’m taking a break.” The euphemism felt ridiculous even as she said it. “An involuntary break, I guess.”
Melissa’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I understand involuntary breaks.” She adjusted the strap of her camera bag. “They’re harder than the voluntary kind.”
“Much harder.” She paused, then decided to continue. “That’s why I came here. Just to get some privacy. A break from… everything.”
Melissa nodded as if she knew exactly how that felt.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Melissa looked at her like she wanted to say something more.
“What?” Emily asked.
“Well… the Friday gathering in the courtyard.” Melissa’s gaze swept across the courtyard. “I usually skip them. Too many people, too much forced cheerfulness. But if you were thinking about going, it might be less awful with someone else there who also doesn’t want to be.”
“That’s possibly the least enthusiastic invitation I’ve ever received.”
Melissa’s mouth lifted in something that might have been a smile. “I’m out of practice with people.”
“Me too.”
“So is that a yes?”
“Yes,” she heard herself say. “It’s a yes.”