CHAPTER 4
“Are you feeling better?” Mrs. Starkson asked when she shifted awake.
She wanted to groan. Despite falling asleep on an armchair, it was beaten down enough that she felt like she had slept on the floor, but Father had always said to be grateful when in the home of another, so instead she tried to give her best smile. “Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Starkson.”
“Oh no, call me Rose. You call Lionel his name because of your father, don’t you? I won’t be having any special treatment.”
She wasn’t sure if that was good etiquette or not, but it was probably best to just go along with whatever the person wanted, right? She smiled, this time actually meaning it. “Okay. Thank you, Rose.”
The woman’s brown eyes sparkled. “I’ll make some tea.
Do you like biscuits? Well, even if you don’t, you’ve never had a biscuit until you’ve had mine.
Why Lionel…” She went on and on, her voice a constant and yet soothing drone.
It was the first conversation Daria had had in over a year—if she didn’t count the monthly delivery of supplies from the shipping company, which she didn’t for there was so little talking, and if she didn’t count the screams of last night, which was hardly a conversation at all.
In fact, besides her few conversations with the carpenter and with the shipping company for business purposes, it was probably the first she had spoken to anyone since Father had died some five years ago.
Of course, back then, Lionel had come by first to speak to Father and then upon finding out the news, to pay his respects.
But he was a quiet man—stoic—and she didn’t remember him saying more than he was sorry to hear it and that they’d be there for her if she should ever need them. And that was five years ago at least.
So it was nice, even if she wasn’t always fully following. She hoped there wouldn’t be any need to recall any of it later, not when the woman talked of this and that way to bake bread.
Finally, there were biscuits steaming in front of them.
“You like honey?” the woman asked, drizzling it over before Daria had answered. “I always say they’re better with honey.” She handed Daria a plate.
“Thank you for this,” Daria said, taking it. Father had only known one bread recipe and he had taught it to her. She hadn’t even thought to try another.
But upon one bite, she understood. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “This is incredible! I’ve never tasted anything like this.”
The woman laughed. “Who knew you had such a reaction in you? You’re very cute, aren’t you, dear? I’ll give you the recipe. In fact, I can lend you all of my recipes.”
She nodded, mouth full of biscuit. “Okay!” Had Father known things could be this good?
The woman frowned. “You know, you really are a beautiful girl. You shouldn’t stay all cooped up in that lighthouse. How are you going to find a husband?”
“Oh.” She had no real intention of finding a husband at all, but the woman had said it like it was obvious she must. “I’m happy with my life as it is.”
“All alone?”
“I’m not alone. I have the sea. And a lighthouse keeper is never to leave their post except once a year if they have someone to watch it for them.” For that reason, one of the merchants had a deal with the shipping company and would boat her supplies once a month.
“Yes, I know. But have you thought of not being a lighthouse keeper? I’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while now, but I wasn’t going to make it out over all those rocks, and Lord knows how I hate stepping in a boat!
Lionel says you’re suited for it and I should let things be, but what does a man know?
A young lady should not be alone in such a place.
You should be out attending dances and meeting fine young gentlemen.
And honestly, alone? What if someone comes… ?” She drifted off.
“Comes and…?”
The woman’s brows fretted and her lips pursed. “Never you mind. Why, it’s just a good thing no one would expect a young woman out there by herself.”
She still wasn’t sure she understood, but she nodded anyway and took a sip of tea. It was good, more floral than the ones she was used to.
The door opened and Lionel came in, wet and weary.
“Oh dear!” Rose said, jumping to her feet and instantly helping him out of his jacket. “You’re all wet! Let me get you a towel and something to change into.” And she bustled out of the room.
Lionel didn’t even seem to register it and then looked at Daria with tired eyes. “We saw nothing. Jon and Stephen even went out, but there was no sign of them.”
She hadn’t thought there would be. Still, it suddenly felt cold again and she curled up a bit over her tea.
“You did everything you were supposed to, Daria,” he said. “You did good.”
It certainly didn’t feel that way. Not when ten souls were drifting toward heaven and she could have stopped it.
“How did you make it back?” he said. “You said you were out quite a bit when your boat capsized but not what happened after. Did you swim?”
“I don’t know what happened,” she said. “One of the men took the oars while I reached for someone in the water, and then the boat tipped and I fell in. Something hit me in the head and I blacked out and woke up on the beach.”
Rose gasped, hand on chest. “It’s a miracle! An absolute miracle. See. I told you. The Lord probably saved you for something more.” With that tone, was the something more that she had in mind marriage? For Daria could remember nothing else in the woman’s words about the Lord or his plans for her.
“Or He saved her because she’s a good lightkeeper,” Lionel grumbled, as if also guessing what the woman was referring to.
“How many men do you think would risk themselves to go out like that? Why, the storm now wasn’t even a tenth of the strength it was last night and only Jon and Stephen were insane enough to go out. ”
The woman’s pout said not many and that she didn’t like it all the same.
Maybe Rose was right though and it was a miracle. No other argument made sense.
“Maybe some of the men were able to get to the jetty,” she suggested.
“Men went to look, but that storm was fierce.” He sighed. “Miracle is right. There are some storms you shouldn’t rush out into, you know.”
“And leave them to die?” That couldn’t really be an option to anyone, could it?
“Better that than you all dying. You got lucky, Daria. Inexplicably, miraculously lucky. But don’t expect that luck twice.”
That seemed to be the sentiment of the townspeople as well, and when she told the clerk of their shipping company, he gave her the funds for a new boat, applauded her heroism, declared it a blessed miracle, and then promptly began to scold her as well—harshly, she might add.
She took it silently as he raged on for over a minute until finally his tone turned soft.
“Miss Wains, please. Try to understand. While we agree it is your duty to help when you can, a storm like that, why, I’ve never seen one quite so bad.
You must know your limits, and we must direct you to note them or it’ll be your blood on our hands! ”
“I understand,” she said, nodding her head in a bow of acknowledgment.
“Good. Now I’m not saying to ignore those in distress, but do try to know your limits.”
She didn’t like that, but she nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Miss Wains, please do cheer up. I’m not saying you’re not capable.
You’ve already had quite a few rescues to your name.
Five, if I remember correctly, saving over twenty men.
I’m hardly saying you can’t do it. I’m saying no man should’ve been there that night, and it would have been more sensible to continue manning the light. ”
She frowned. But ten men were, and who was she to choose not to save them?
But she understood what he was saying. In certain death, it was best not to go out for she would only be adding to the death toll. But who was to say it was certain death without attempting it? Maybe if they hadn’t gone for the captain, she could’ve saved at least three.
“Yes, I understand,” she said quietly.
“We don’t want to lose you,” he said, frowning as if he could tell he was hardly getting through to her.
“Yes, sir. I will be more thoughtful in evaluating risk next time.”
He nodded. “Do you feel you wish to stay in your post?”
The question surprised her, and it must have shown on her face for he said, “You nearly died, so I merely wanted to ascertain you were not traumatized.”
“No, sir,” she said. Maybe it had yet to sink in or maybe it was because she had been unconscious, but she didn’t feel as though she had almost died at all. “I do not wish to leave my post.”
“Well, thank God for that. And thank God for preserving you.”
“Yes. Thank you, sir.”
And when she left the office and wandered about town, she could hear them all talking, so much of it the same conversation only in different words. She was brave—perhaps stupidly so—and it was only by God’s hand that she had been preserved.
She wasn’t sure what to make of it. She never was, never understood quite what to do when the ladies would stare and whisper, when the men would gawk like she was a wild animal come to town.
And when they spoke to her, she was even less unsure.
Growing up, there had only been her and her father on that tiny island, and he had always been a man more inclined to read than talk—and that was when he was around, for he was often off manning or tending the lighthouse—so interactions always felt so foreign to her.
Things seemed to be expected which she didn’t understand, and people often seemed to follow some sort of script that she didn’t know and which made it all the more confusing.
One thing she was certain of was that the way people treated her was different than how she had seen them treat her father on those yearly trips they would take to town.
Few seemed to appreciate that she was the keeper and far more seemed to think it was improper, seemingly only because she was a girl, which seemed even more confusing than anything else they ever said.
Why should it matter? She could save men just as well, and even Lionel had said few men would have dared to go out last night.
So why did everyone look at her through the side of their eyes like some stray dog?
She rounded a corner to get to the carpenter’s and two fishermen stopped her. “Ey, girlie,” the one said, a man in his fifties with a patchy beard and an inch-long, greasy, low ponytail. “Did you really go out last night or are you just saying that?”
She blinked once in confusion. “Why would I just say that?”
The second, a redhead with bulging muscles in his late twenties, stepped closer. “Lord, are you dumb?”
Dumb? She tried not to frown. Maybe she might seem that way for not understanding, but she had never come across a book she failed to understand, not of anatomy or music or physics or astronomy, and she had never once struggled to apply any of what she learned to instrument or invention.
“I don’t think so,” she said, which startled both men and they stared at her blankly, reminding her something of fish, and when they said nothing after a moment, she said, “Excuse me,” and stepped past them, only to see the carpenter up ahead, arms crossed and laughing.
“Oh Daria, you never cease to amuse me,” he said as she stepped into the shop. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m not dumb,” she pouted.
“Is that what they said?”
“They asked if I was fabricating going out last night for the rescue. Then when I didn’t understand why they would even ask that, they asked if I was dumb.”
He smiled at her fondly, a warm smile that reminded her somewhat of Father’s. Mr. Wilson was a man in his late twenties, with muscular arms and a broad back and chestnut-brown hair. He didn’t have a family, one of the few men his age to have not yet done so.
“Are you about to say something of how I should have socialized more as a child? Or that I shouldn’t be a lighthouse keeper?” she asked.
“Would I say either of those things?”
Hmm, perhaps not. And perhaps that was why this place had always felt like a refuge, like the only place in town she actually wanted to be. The rest was just a trial to get here each and every time.
“Want me to teach them a lesson?” he asked, smiling dangerously.
“Mr. Wilson!” she cried.
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Lighten up. They only said that because they’re not brave enough themselves to go out, so it’s easier in their minds to tell themselves you didn’t either. Their little egos can’t handle it otherwise.”
It made sense but she couldn’t empathize. What did it matter that they wouldn’t do it? Wasn’t that how society was formed, with each soul taking the job most suited to them? Very few humans went it solely alone.
“As far as was it dumb,” Mr. Wilson continued, pursing his lips, pondering, “it certainly borders on it. Doesn’t make you dumb though. Makes you crazy.” She laughed as he continued, “But that’s also why you should be a lightkeeper. You’ve got the crazy for it.”
She snickered. “You make ‘crazy’ sound like a compliment, Mr. Wilson.”
“Only for you, Daria.”
There was a comfortable, natural pause, and she shifted to pull out some boat dimensions she had scribbled together at the trading post and some money. “Here. I got a commission from the shipping company already. These are the dimensions.”
He took them, seemingly unsurprised to hear it. News really did spread fast in such a small town. “Yup. I remember making your last one.”
Five years ago, he had made her a new one in celebration of her becoming the keeper. Her father’s boat had been over twenty years old at the time and had seen more than its fair share of trouble.
“I’m sorry to lose it so soon,” she said. “I always appreciated it. And how well it was built.”
He had taken her father’s in a sort of trade. She had been happy to see it go. It reminded her too much of him.
“Why don’t you take your father’s back?” he said. “And then we can trade again once this is done.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Sure. You need one far more than I do, and it’s a dangerous walk otherwise.”
“I like the rocks.”
“Sure, sure,” he agreed easily. “And I bet you’re good at them, but one good slip and you’ve got a scratch that can kill you.”
She laughed. “Stop being so dramatic.”
“Just take the boat please.”
She nodded. “Okay, thank you.”